BufBloPoFo 09 DayTen (March 23, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

For BufBloPoFoMonique day, tell me who inspires you. Who is your hero?

Finally, an answer to a prompt that will come as easy for me as shooting fish in a barrel. The most inspirational figure in my life is none other than my sister and fellow partner-in-blogging, Jen. For those out there that don’t already know the scoop, Jen is a successful traffic reporter for several high profile Chicago radio stations. She is also married to an awesome guy, is the mother of two beautiful girls, and, no crap here fellas, ol’ Jen is also quite fetching (see post below regarding Jen’s attention grabbing booty). Her beauty is made all the more shiny by her witty and intelligent personality and her ability to have a laugh at herself. But objectively, even without these things, she’d a be a 10. She makes all of this look so easy and is one of the most approachable and accessible people you’ll ever meet. These end results instill great admiration in me for my little sister. But the reason she is my hero is because of all the years of slogging through mud to get to where she is now.

Growing up, I was the typical big sister, alternately protective and annoyed, but always enamored of the kid I introduced shortly after her birth as “MY baby sister Jennifer.” We are two years and three days apart, and not many people find this credible, but God as my witness, I remember everything about the day this child was born. I was that excited. Fine, I was a little reluctant to leave the slamming toddler pool party I was attending when my Dad came to pick me up to pay my first visit to the hospital, so as we can see I haven’t changed much. However, I recovered quickly when I got my first glimpse of MY baby. She was sickly and spent her first few weeks in the hospital, but Baby Jennifer was never out of my sights for long. It didn’t take many years before it was widely accepted that this stubborn little blonde thing with the super fine hair was really ever only going to listen to me. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

From grade school, to high school, to college, I was the pacesetter. Jen had to endure years of teachers confusing her with me and my nerdy achievements, auditioning for sports, plays and other activities because I encouraged her to take part in the same things I loved. One would never know it now, but back then, Jen was quite shy, reserving her hilarious personality for the inner circle in our home. I will readily admit that I had my moments of concern that my kid might never break out of her shell.

But though I always knew her better than anyone, I was as nonetheless suprised when the student became the teacher. I stumbled in college – big time. I have come to refer to my years at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign as my “lost years.” Those of you who knew the depressed, overweight, underfunctioning mess I was then know exactly what I am talking about. Those who got hurt by me due to the chaos and confusion going on in my head for half a decade, I still owe some apologies. It was at this time that Jen began to demonstrate a confidence and self-assuredness that I not only didn’t know she had at the young age of 18, but it also contrasted in such a way with my post-adolescent floundering, that I appeared all the more ridiculous to myself.

One semester into her pre-med freshman year, Jen fell in love, became preganant and got married. Goodbye U. of I. Goodbye Chicago. Goodbye perpetually confused older sister. Jen was moving out of state, about to be a first time mother and wife. These were grown-up situations I could not even begin to relate to, especially out of it as I was. I readily admit that when Jen completely changed her life to be a stay-at-home, very young mom, I wondered where it would all end up.

As marriages between two very young people sometimes do, this one fizzled quickly. But do you think my sister had the time or the inclination to give into self-pity and start wailing? No way. She was going to be a single mom. She packed up her baby (the famous KK), her car and her posessions and came back to Chicago. By this time I had graduated and was working my first “real” job downtown. Jen and KK came to stay with me. Within a few weeks, and without the benefit of a college degree, Jen landed herself a solid job, and even registered herself for night classes to boot. Not for the first time, I wondered who this confident woman was and how could I be more like her?

About a year later, Jen met her husband and my brother-in-law through the company where they both worked. They knew they were the real deal almost right away and sadly (for me), I was waving goodbye to Jen and KK as they started another new chapter of their lives in the suburbs. Not long after they married, Jen and the brother-in-law bought a nice house. Jen had earned several promotions at work, and the story could have ended there. But this is my formidable sister we are talking about, and it didn’t.

Jenny didn’t really care for her job, nor was she that into the classes she was taking. By now, she was no longer the shy blondie who hid behind her sister at other people’s birthday parties. She called me one day to announce she was going to broadcasting school. Ok, fine, let’s see how that goes. She entered into a 10 month program, still holding down her full-time gig, and keeping up as wife and mother. Again, she made all of this look easy while she attended classes, hosted an internet radio show through her program, etc. Later the next spring, I watched my baby sister get her diploma.

The school she attended did their due diligence. Chicago is the #3 media market in the nation. People just don’t walk into jobs fresh out of broadcasting school in this town. She was told she’d have to pay her dues elsewhere: Topeka, Kansas or Scranton, Pennsylvania anyone? Pshaw! Jen was having none of that. Her husband, family and life were in Chicago and she wasn’t going anyplace. Those of us who loved and supported her wondered if she had put all this hard work into learning the broadcasting trade, only to have the door shut on her before her career ever started. But here’s the thing I have come to admire most about my sister: Jen doesn’t let doors shut on her. Girl kicks them down with aplomb. For my sister, “No,” only means, “Won’t be easy,” and she isn’t afraid of that.

Still working her day job, still a wife and mother, Jen worked one payless, thankless internship after another, sacrificing her weekends, her valuable time with her family, because she knew she was building something – herself. Once again, this tenacity paid major dividends, because as my story began, there it ends. Jen is a fairly well-known radio personality in the #3 market – at the ripe old age of 28. I can only imagine where she will go next. I pity the fool who gets in her way.

And now of course, Jen is the mother of two. Rosebud joined the family in 2007. I could not imagine how Jen would find more room on her plate and love in her heart, and yet she did. Standing next to my sister, I often feel lazy and shallow, but not because of anything she says. In fact she is my greatest cheerleader, the one who has encouraged me to get my off my ass and give this writing thing a real shot before I end up looking back with regret. With all she has to do, she is the one who actually got this blog off the ground. If you have become sick of my blogging voice, it is only because Jen unleashed it on you. Blame her.

I broke the news to Jen today that I was planning to take my career mission a step further by resigning from the job that makes me miserable, and going after the career in writing and editing that I really want. Even in this horribly weakened economy, I received nothing but supportive feedback from my best pal and sister. Why? Because it’s no risk she hasn’t taken before, and with a lot more to lose. Jen of All Trades? You are my inspiration.

BufBloPoFo 09 DayNine (March 22, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

Today’s assignment was to talk about the BufBloPoFo participant below you on the list over there on the sidebar. Today, if the blogger above you on that list was kind enough to ask you a question, answer it! If not, either find a question that was asked of someone else and answer that or, you know, write a post about, um… soup. Look, these topics can’t all be winners, people.

The blogger above me on Garvey’s list hasn’t written a post since January 6th. What’s that about? It’s BufBloPoFo time people! Needless to say, Twine Elms Press did not direct a question my way. So then…soup it is!

My friend Jimmy made a fabulous fish stew from scratch this week. I know this because he invited me and our other friend/co-worker Diane to his nearby convertible downtown apartment for lunch on Wednesday. It had been awhile since the three of us has gone off on a lunch hour sojourn, and I would have liked nothing better. However, with these Miami meetings a week away, time would not allow me to step from my desk for a full 60. So Jimmy was kind enough to bring me some GladWare from his house so I could sample the wares. Mighty tasty.

BufBloPoFo 09 DayEight (March 21, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

Take a look to the right over there and you’ll see a list of the “BufBloPoFo 09 Participants”. It’s pretty, isn’t it?!? Look at them all! Okay, now find whichever blog is below yours and talk about that dude. If you know them, tell us how you met. If you don’t know them, talk about something you read on their site. Whichever it is, end your post by asking that person a question. (That last part maaaaaaay be important later on…)

I like this little homework assignment to begin the second week of BufBloPoFo. Because as much as I have wanted to, I haven’t found the time I hoped for this last week to check in with my competition. The name of the blog below mine, entitled “Whoa Mama,” is written by a lady named Leah, with whom I am not acquainted. However, she is apparently, a highly educated person, a mother (twins!) and an excellent chocolate chip cookie baker. In a few ways, she reminds me of my well-loved sister (though I wish Jen would try a little harder with the chocolate cookies. Come on!). I am impressed that Leah finds the time to blog at all, considering her full and busy life. Once again, this reminds me of the ongoing conversation I have with myself about someday: to mother or not to mother? When you read the voice of someone like Leah, who is apparently doing it very well and has a very sunny quality to her blog space that cannot be false, it’s emboldening.

Anyway, this is where you can look up Leah’s blog:

http://triplethreatoftoddlers.blogspot.com/

My favorite post on her site is one she did outside the confines of BufBloPoFo, before the mayhem started. The post is dated March 13th and it’s titled “Rats.” She really gets to the heart of the emotional roller coaster that comes with the job hunt. The nerves, the excitement, the self-confidence that often comes before a crushing disappointment. I admire Leah’s determination to work her temporary “purgatory” job, and to do so with humor, until the next great career phase of her life arrives.

My question to Leah may seem banal, but after spending some time on her blog, I found that Leah and her hubby genuinely love and support each other. So tell me how you two met and fall in love? I am interested in beginnings because there is usually a great story to tell. Did you know he was the one right away, or like myself and Eddie, was your first instinct to run screaming in the other direction? My gut is usually reliable, but on the subject of men, I have found that the one who repelled me at “hello” was bound to be the one I ultimately lost my head about. So my soulmate needed some time to grow on me. How was it for you?

BufBloPoFo 09 DaySeven (March 20, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

You get a freebie for Day 7. It’s like the center square of your BufBloPoFo bingo card where you get to use those creative participant brains of yours and come up with your own topic. And hey, if I like it, I’ll use it for everyone in week two…

How many times am I told I can write about anything at all, and yet find myself in the frustrating position of having nothing creative to say? It’s much like a broken pinata full of candy falling in front of a diabetic child. Useless. This is the quandary I find myself in late this afternoon.

It’s been a hellish week, professionally speaking, and I have taken a few hits: to my time, my ego, my ability to blog and update my FaceBook status (the horror!). Don’t get me wrong. I come to work to work. But like everything else in my life, I tend to produce on “10” and typically do find myself with a spare moment or two to waste. Not so much this week. I think what really has sapped my energy is the unfortunate and unfair dressing down I and my teammates received, publicly yesterday afternoon. Actual screaming was involved. I will not bore you with the details, because I am already bored myself.

I had every good intention of going home last night for a workout. Instead, I found myself nursing a 24 oz. can of Miller Lite in the train station bar, alone after my pal Mark left go home. Folks, if there is any image more pathetic than this, please tell me. Normally, I find my own bouts of solo intoxication oddly refreshing (see Hotlanta posts from early February), but this time it appears I was intent on sinking further into my own wallowing, rather than celebrating my fabulousness. When I got home, I figured since I had already had the equivalent of two beers, why stop there? I chased down my train station ale with 3.5 shots of Jose Cuervo. For some reason that only God knows, I often follow these mini binges with a determination to shave my legs. Seriously, I have done this quite a few times over the years. Apparently, I need intermittent reminders that alcohol + razors = blood. Two minutes into my nice warm bath, I nearly required a transfusion, and realized I need better coping mechanisms.

So there you go Garvey, I guess my topic for the day, like any episode ofSeinfeld, is nothing. Or since I am literary-minded, perhaps I will deem it stream of consciousness in the vein of William Faulkner.

BufBloPoFo 09 DaySix (March 18, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

Tell me about your first home away from home. Tell me about the first apartment you had that wasn’t under your parents’ roof. A dorm? A loft? A cardboard box? Give us a tour.

Before I proceed, I have to give a shout-out to Garvey for his most excellent, gut-busting post from BufBloPoFo 09 Day 5. It was a three hankie event of laughter:

http://royaltoybox.blogspot.com/

Truth be told, I am feeling a little winded on Day 6 of this blogging bonanza. I have to find a way to recharge. All the more difficult since my day job literally sucks the lifeblood from my veins these days. But I digress…

I could launch into a tale of my first dorm room at the University of Illinois at Champaign Urbana, the first time I ever had U.S. Postal mail delivered to a place where I happened to live, besides my folks’ pad. However, I think it would be inaccurate to call this my first “home away from home.”

My first dwelling that deserves the title is a tour bus in South Africa, summer of 1996. I was about to turn 18 and I was on a performing tour with the Chicago Childrens Choir. That all sounds very wholesome, doesn’t it? False. One of the more scarring, and thus maturing episodes of my young life, literally thousands of miles away from anyone who shared my DNA.

What didn’t happen on this tour? The coldest winter South Africa experienced in 40 years. Stop laughing. It was cold on that tour bus at night. It was 40 degrees or so, and bear in mind that South Africans generally do not have central heat on their buses, and almost none of us had brought along our winter coats. The weather was a freak thing, naturally.

I suffer from motion sickness. Ironically, I also enjoy daredevil activities, so that is my cross to bear. But on this tour, I just wanted an adventure off the bus. My mother had filled out my pre-trip medical forms, which clearly stated that I suffered in this area. I had brought a fair supply of Dramamine with me, but at 17, I had no concept of what 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for five weeks really meant. My drug supply was cashed quickly. This led to some unfortunate puking incidents, one of which involved an ostrich farm. Don’t ask. Now, I had a longterm boyfriend who also happened to be in the choir, and also on the same trip. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Of the four chaperones on the trip, three of them were women (one a nurse). Women being the gossipy beeyatches they often are, they saw a frequently barfing 17 year-old girl who spent a heck of a lot of time with her fella and drew the worst conclusions. Much later there were accusations in a parking lot from the nurse as we boarded the bus – in front of just about each of the 60 other choir members on the tour with me. But before we reached that hellacious humilation, the leaders made an executive decision to cut me off from any more Dramamine doses. You know, because it’s bad for the baby and all. So I vomited unnecessarily for days until I found a pharmacy in a South African mall that sold drugs way more effective than Dramamine. All the stomach chill without the sleepiness.

But guess what? My mom was a nurse too. After the Jerry Springer-like confrontation in the aforementioned parking lot, I gave Mom a ring and told her they had driven me around for days and let me upchuck with impugnity, despite my denials of being knocked up and given the fact that I had a medical form stating my condition. It is not for nothing folks that Jen and I are experts at dressing people down. One phone call to the choir elders later, and suddenly I was being given a surprise 18th birthday party in a dorm lounge, and all the anti-pukey pills I could ever want.

I could go on about this trip. Who slept with whom and where (fine, some of that involved me – I told you I had a boyfriend). Don’t ever let anyone tell you that “kids today” are so much more awful than previous generations. Kids unsupervised are always going to be little shits the world over in a timelessly predictable fashion. But what was my point again? Oh yeah, I carried my own money, fought my own battles (and lost some), cried, puked, drank, laughed, had sex, stayed up too late – a foreshadowing of my soon-to-come University days. This was my first adult home away from home. Oh yeah, and I was in fucking amazing and gorgeous South Africa too.