We put the assy in classy.

So, I survived my 15-year class reunion. It was very low-key – out of 174 graduates, only like 20 or 25 attended the festivities.

But really, it was great. Everybody talked to everybody. Some highlights:

• The drunken wife of one of my classmates regaled BFF and I with tales of her infertility woes. I couldn’t even look at BFF, who is Very Childless By Choice. A note to the dear woman in question: sweetheart, know your audience. I don’t know you, and I don’t know what a progesterone implant is. And that’s ok. I’m glad you have a beautiful daughter now, and let’s just leave it at that.



• A boy I’ve known since we were 4 years old told me all about his first DUI. Evidently, our hometown jail closes at noon on Saturday, so if you get picked up Friday night, you better make bail pronto or you’re stuck til Monday morning. Good to know.



• I talked college choices with one of our class jocks. His stepdaughter is a senior in high school and is looking at one of my alma maters. I believe this makes us old.



• My sweet, inebriated friend John talked about how proud and humbled he was to have grown up with such amazing people. “I look at you all now and you are nice, good people,” he said. “I was so privileged to grow up with you. I’m so proud of you all.”
  
  Me, too, my friend. My thoughts exactly.



• BFF and I talked about how there’s no place we would have rather grown up than our hometown. That was bittersweet, as we had this conversation at a high school football game, 10 days before she moves to Africa for two years, courtesy of the U.S. government. More on that later, but suffice to say that there were lots of teary goodbyes this weekend along with the joyful reunions.

And the best part?

My Raquel Welch wig-esque hair looks just fine. My mom took my picture as I headed out to the reunion, just like the first day of school. I wore a pair of her jeans, as yes, my mom is way cooler than I am. Then, my sweet daddy looked at me and said, “I really like your hair. You look so pretty.”

It makes me think of the ninth-grade dance where I didn’t have a date. My dad bought me a corsage.

I couldn’t ask for more.

And this is what love looks like.

It’s been a hectic and stressful and painful week.

Issues at Corporate Behemoth have exploded to the point where Cha Cha, Queen of Just Doing Her Job and Figuring it Will All Come Out in the Wash, has actually had to do spin control.

Yikes.

And then there’s the break with Mr. Wonderful.

Be still my aching heart.

I am not sleeping. I am not eating. I am a hot flippin’ mess.

And my class reunion is this weekend and I look like I am wearing a Raquel Welch wig.

I’m working from home today in hopes that I can sneak away early afternoon to get my reunion on. And I’m exhausted and I haven’t packed and blah blah blah.

Geriatric Poodle has been very fussy today. Finally, I just plopped him on my lap and he is now completely satisfied. I must say … having his soft little body snuggled into mine is one of the few calming influences in my week. And really? If somebody shoves their nose into your armpit to find comfort and solace, you know you are loved.

Baa baa black sheep.

Today’s question comes from Melissa of Green Girl in Wisconsin. If you don’t know her, you should. Her tales of holding her own against Team Testosterone make me laugh, and she is a seriously good writer. Like, seriously.

Oh, and I’m dying for photos of her remodeled bathroom. Hint, hint.

Melissa posed the question, “If you had to move to another country and start a new career, where and what?”

Hmm!

My brother actually did move to another country and start a new career – twice. He moved to Ireland and became a bartender – and a darn good one, too. He is now incredibly particular about how to properly pour Guinness – that shamrock is for American pansies. And he moved to Wales and became a shepherd. It was lambing season, after all.

I have always been in awe of my brother’s ability to feel the fear and do it anyway. I was the kid who did everything she was supposed to do. He was the kid who did sort of weird stuff that everyone was secretly (or not so secretly) jealous of. Like ending sentences with a preposition.

So, if I had to move to a different country and start a new career … I’d move to Canada and become a rock star. Because I like cold weather. Canadians are nice. And I could be Canada’s female Dave Grohl. With less hair.

Or, I’d travel around Europe as a stylist/designer, which would be my official excuse to go junking in flea markets around the globe. With other people’s money. The joy is in the hunt.

Or maybe I should just focus on being happy where I am. Because it’s never too late to stop doing what you’re supposed to do and start doing what you want to do.

Ahoy, matey.

Today’s question comes from the lovely and amazing Linda Crispell. I blame Linda for the fact that I can hardly move today. Her blog features her collections, collages and amazing home. After a visit to her blog, I got a wild hare to paint my laundry room and realized that another finished room in my home would mean an entire new room in which to decorate and fill with excellent estate sale finds … and so, it’s totally Linda’s fault that I have Kilz in my hair.

Blame her and check out her blog. We love her!

Linda’s question is: “If you did date Dave Grohl would you address the hair in the eyes thing?”

Mmm. An important question, especially in this election year. I don’t see the candidates addressing this issue enough.

Let me state first that My Boyfriend Dave Grohl is married and has a daughter. I believe in The Girl Code and would never put the moves on a married man. Ick. Plus, Mr. Wonderful and I are on a break. This doesn’t mean it’s ok to screw the copy girl … or Dave Grohl.

That said … if I was single and My Boyfriend Dave Grohl was single, and we bumped into each other at Dairy Queen and he bought me a chocolate dipped cone and the sparks flew (as they of course would) and we became an item … I would not address the hair in the eyes thing.

But Cha Cha, why?


Because he’s a grown man and can wear his hair however he darn well pleases. I love him just the way he is. Unless he’s getting hair in the lasagna or something.

Plus, people make fun of the way I pronounce “barrette.” I think I put too much emphasis on the R, so I sound like Pirate Hairdresser.

Letters! We get letters!

Thank you for posing questions and providing me with some blog fodder while I am On A Break. Keep ‘em coming. They make me feel popular.

The lovely Mrs. G. chimed in, asking,

If you had $500 and no debt what you spend it on?

Really, I should spend it on a shrine to Mrs. G., who was the very first non-personal friend to ever comment on my blog. Whether she knows it or not, she has inspired me many a time to keep on writing, keep a sense of humor and give homeschoolers a break already (Mrs. G., I hope you didn’t see the homeschoolers portrayed on last week’s SNL – I thought of you and cringed.).

Anyway. If I had no debt and $500 …

I mulled this one over, and I realized, “Hey! I don’t have any debt, except for a mortgage, and everyone has a mortgage, so that doesn’t even count. And, I have $500. And, I’m sad! And, I should totally spend $500!”

While I don’t believe the original intent was a call to action, my tiny brain and overactive wallet took it as such.

So. What did Cha Cha do with those 500 glorious American dollars?

I wish I could tell you that I increased some charitable donations, or helped out the homeless man who told me he couldn’t get a job because he couldn’t afford a phone.

But I am not that kind of lovely right at this moment. No.

No, with $500:

• I paid for some blood work and bought some Chinese herbs for the Geriatric Poodle. He seems to be doing well. And if you’re ever in need of a low-carb, low-sugar treat for your dog? Canned pumpkin, my friends. They lurve it and it’s great for mixing in meds and herbs. Just a tip. I didn’t actually spend $500 on canned pumpkin.
• I bought two books recommended by my counselor. And a cookbook that was on sale but I had to buy it because a) it’s vegetarian cooking and all of my cooking expertise is Iowan and therefore involves lard and ground beef; b) it features full-color photos of each and every recipe. Because I am what I graciously like to call a “visual learner,” this picture book of food was just up my alley.
• I scheduled a massage. Yeah, it’s my third one in six weeks. Shut up.
• I bought a five-class yoga punch card. I attended the first of these classes last night. While I was afraid that my two-year yoga hiatus would render me That Woman who can barely lift a limb and falls down during class, I was instead greeted by my body screaming, “YESSSSS! Thank you!” I don’t know if the other class participants heard the Hallelujah chorus, but I sure did.
  
• I bought some new face powder, two lotions and two shower gels. Because averting shine while also smelling purdy makes a girl feel good.
• And finally … I had the main sewage line from my house to the city sewer snaked. Oh, yes I did. Because when the kitchen sink gurgles when you flush the toilet? I’m not an expert, but I can tell you that that’s not good.

I'm fine. No, miserable, No, ok. No, really sad.

Yesterday, I attempted the cute-shoes-to-cheer-me-up move again. The shoes in question? Cork wedges with pink and purple polka dot uppers. Very cute.

Sadly, these only cheered me up marginally. Today, I'm working from home, so I'm going barefoot, which should cheer me up in a different way.

Mr. Wonderful and I are now officially On A Break. The general reaction to that seems to be "Don't fuck the copy girl," as my generation seems to automatically equate On A Break with Ross and Rachel from Friends. I have no concerns about fucking the copy girl. I'm just trying to figure out what's what.

As I attempt to be a Klassy Lady, I won't air our dirty laundry here. Suffice to say that my heart is alternatively feeling positive and optimistic and breaking into a million painful pieces.

So help a girl out and give me something to write about. Pose a question or give me a topic. I need to do something besides sit on the couch and moan, and blogging might as well be it.

Stone in love.

I accomplished a major life goal.

Yes. I finally saw Journey.

Mr. Wonderful had seen them twice, post-Steve Perry. He told me we'd be seeing the best karaoke show in the world.

But, alas, no!

Journey's new lead singer is the real deal. The band found "the thriller from Manila" on YouTube. Yep. Arnel Pineda was fronting a band in his homeland of the Philippines and Neal Schon saw them on YouTube.

While we were waiting for the band to come on, we noticed that the entire row in front of us was filled with Filipinos of all ages. A few rows in front of that, there was a row of Filipinos with banners and signs.

I had heard that when Mr. Pineda landed the gig with Journey that it was big news for a month in the Philippines. The folks we saw at the show obviously weren't familiar with the music, but it was like they were watching an Olympian represent their country.

The couple in front of us was, well, really cute. She spent the entire show text messaging on her phone that had a picture of a rooster as the wallpaper. He took photos of the concert pretty much nonstop, which was a chore because I don't think he topped 5'3".

In a crowd filled with people in varying stages of inebriation reliving their misspent youth, singing at the top of their lungs along to songs that probably accompanied many a back-seat deflowering, it was touching to see this outpouring of pride from folks who obviously have no personal affiliation with the music or the singer they came to support. It made me happy.

And Journey? Kicks some serious ass. Jonathan Cain plays, like, 27 instruments. The band sounds even better than you remember. The new lead singer is amazing.

And I totally need to score a pic of a rooster for my phone's wallpaper.