Sorry is Such an Important Word

Dear Blog Readers....

I owe you a deep and heartfelt apology. I published one legitimate post and then stopped posting, stopped writing, and let this blog fall to the same fate as a dusty old box filled with knick-knacks that you stick in the back of the closet and then eventually move to the attic, only to uncover again years later and say "Oh, yeah! This! I forgot about this!"

I am sorry. Consider the dusty box recovered. I will blog again. I hope you will forgive me and read it.

I think the best way to re-enter the world of blogging is to start by addressing the passage of time since last I posted and then proceeded to disappear off the face of the internet and leave you high and dry.

My last post was October 1, 2013. It is now January 2015. Well over a year has passed between posts, and so many many things have happened. I moved from Boston to the San Francisco Bay Area, I started a job that really didn't make me happy at all, I dated a really sweet guy for a few months, I left the job that made me so unhappy, I turned 27, I went back to work for my old Boston company and helped open an office in California for them, I worked from home and realized that I don't have a heck of a lot of friends in the area, I also realized that when you spend enough time at home with your cat you start conversing with your cat, and I did a lot of soul searching. Looking back, I would have to say, it was a rough year. I didn't get anything done that I intended to do, and I wasn't very happy. But I recently discovered a new mantra, "If it doesn't challenge you, it doesn't change you" and I can definitely say the last year has both challenged and changed me. My promise when the clock struck 12AM on December 31, 2014 was that I would not let 2015 be the same kind of year as the many that have come before. So here goes...I promise not to disappear from the internet again. I promise to explore the challenges, the changes, the good, the bad, the ugly, the funny, the pretty, and the poignant.

--Ellie

Exaggeration is not Pathological Lying

Recently, I went on a vacation with my brothers to Florida, where we enjoyed the many expensive pleasures of Universal Studios. This was a momentous trip for a number of reasons.

First, it was smack dab in the middle of my brothers' extended visit to the North East, a visit solely for the purpose of seeing their older sister (and bringing me my cat from Oregon - more on that later).This trip to see me was I am sure for them, NBD. Just a vacation, a chance to see Boston, spend time with their un-hip, un-cool, older sister - no big deal.

But for me, it began to take on epic proportions. Before they came I spent countless hours trying to plan out the best sleeping arrangements, searching the internet for fun things to do that two under 21 year old boys would enjoy (deciding on a Blake Shelton concert as one definite activity). I hoarded money away in my savings account in preparation for the visit, read countless reviews of restaurants on yelp, made lists of where I wanted to take them, and then made more lists. I was determined that this trip would be awesome with a capital A. 

It was the first time my brothers and I have spent an extended amount of time alone without supervision from our parents. Normally when I am home visiting, there is a moment when I regress and become an obnoxious older sister and they become pesky younger brothers, and then there is yelling and maybe some pushing and slapping, and either my mother or father break it up by screaming 

"ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS???!! ELEANOR. HOW OLD ARE YOU??? Stop this instant and go to your room." 

It’s almost a small ritual, the definition of roles in the family structure. Mom and Dad are the authority figures, I am the bossy older sister, and the boys are the annoying younger brothers. There is a sense of comfort in the consistency of this structure. We fit and belong, it is the way of things, and we don't need to examine the new structure that the family is taking on. We have in a real way all become adult children, each with our own lives and dreams, and the ability to make our own decisions and mistakes. That is one of the things I felt most keenly on this trip, my brothers have grown up. There was (at least on my side) no temptation to fight and fuss, only simple enjoyment at being able to spend time with them. A wish that they would be more verbose in describing their lives, wishes, dreams, hopes, and a subtle easing of the semi-present homesickness that I often carry around with me. 

The idea for a trip to Florida rose out of what I thought was my need to attend a conference my company hosts in Orlando. I was to be sent down to manage an exhibit booth and contribute to the company presence at the conference. (FUN!) I talked with my Mom about the timing of this trip, as we had already booked the tickets for the boys, and we decided that flights were cheap enough that we could just get the boys to Orlando with me, and they could spend their days in the theme parks and I could spend mine working. This seemed exceedingly unfair, but because my age has lent itself to responsibility, I swallowed my jealousy and stiff upper lipped it. Lo and behold, after all the tickets are booked and the trip is looming on the horizon, I am told that I don't need to go after all to the conference. 

After a moment of breathless panic, and a desperate call to my mother [“They don't want me to go to Florida! BUT I ALREADY BOUGHT THE TICKETS!"] 

My mother suggested that I go anyway, find a cheap hotel by the theme parks and spend the days in the theme parks WITH my brothers. This seemed like a good plan, so I arranged it. At the time that I was buying the flights to Orlando, I was still under the assumption I would be at the conference. So, I booked us on the first flight out to Orlando on Sunday morning. Allowing me at least one day in the theme parks, (most importantly - one day at Harry Potter Land) I was determined that I would get butter beer and see Hogwarts, so help me God. After I no longer needed to go to the conference, I remember having a vague thought about the fact that we still had an early morning flight, but it didn't really concern me. I was too busy prepping for the imminent arrival of the brothers, and moving to a new apartment. Flight times were to be dealt with closer to flight dates. 

Mere days after their arrival, the Blake Shelton concert happened, and we headed off to see him play. He was playing the large concert arena about an hour outside of Boston, on Saturday night. Despite my personal experience with the traffic jams leaving this concert arena, I naively assumed that we would be home around 12ish, and still have PLENTY of time to sleep and get to the airport the following morning for our Florida trip. I was WRONG. 

The concert was amazing, the traffic terrible. We got home around 2AM-ish. And I looked at the flights and realized that no, we did not have to be at the airport at 6, our flight LEFT AT 6. Meaning we had to be at the airport at 4:30ish. So, a short nap later, my brothers and I straggled in to the airport, looking kind of like death warmed over. 

On the shuttle to the airport there was a particularly obnoxious and precocious little girl, who seemed intent on telling the strangers on the bus her life story: 

"My name is Gracie, and that is my little sister, and she is still a baby, and she cries sometimes. And that is my daddy, his name is Robert, and that is my mommy, her name is Allison. I am looking for seats for all of us, but there are none." 

She was wearing bright colored Disney princess pajamas and had tangled curly brown hair, and she looked so utterly confused at the prospect that there were no seats. How could there not be any seats for her and her family? I had the sense that she was thinking, there had to be seats, because after all she had just arrived, and surely there was nothing happening before that. Because in the sheltered way of childhood, we forget there is a world outside of ours. 

At this prompting, I encouraged my brothers to stand up so the beleaguered parents of this chatty child could sit during the pre-dawn journey to the terminals. The father began to barter with his child. "Would she be quiet and sleep on the airplane if he bought her a treat? No? A special treat? No? A super special treat?" The daughter resisted this pitiful attempt at bribery and decided instead to rain kisses on her squirmy little sister's face. This was not something her sister seemed to want, so she began to push and scream.

The mother, looking utterly exhausted, said something like, “Please don't touch your sister. Please leave her alone" 

To which the child answered, "But I just want to love her, because I am the best big sister." And lip quivering began to tear up at the thought that her sisterly affections were not wanted. Jumping in, the father tried to save this situation by telling his eldest daughter that she was the best big sister and her little sister loved her very much, but was tired and cranky and needed to be left alone. At which point the older daughter rationalized that if she was cranky she clearly needed kisses to make her happy and resumed again with the kiss attack.

I watched the parents of these kids with a feeling of pity, and also a smile, as their precocious daughter did have a very special charm. However, it looked like it would be a long flight ahead for them. The family got off the bus, the father still trying to convince their daughter to leave her sister alone, and they faded away, the brief shared bus experience over.  

At this point, my brother looked at me and said "That is exactly what you were like as a child isn't it?" And he was right. From the matted hair, to the Disney pajamas, to the over-sharing with strangers, to the not taking no, to the belief that my world was the only one of note, that little girl was almost a carbon copy of me at that age.

And you know what little girl? It’s going to be ok. You will turn out great. Keep believing that all we need to fix a cranky mood is a kiss. That kind of optimism is precious.

We finally got to the airport, sailed through security, onto the plane, and slept our way to Orlando. Once we landed, we had all reached the cranky stage of sleep deprivation and were starting to snipe at each other. We got to our hotel and dropped off our bags. Orlando was much hotter than we expected, and the leggings and tunic I had worn on the plane were sticking to me and I felt a desperate need to change, but did not want to paw through my luggage in the luggage storage room behind reception looking for something suitable, so I decided to just deal. The first order of business was to find breakfast; we needed some food and caffeine ASAP. Looming out of the distance was a store called “Bargain World”; I could practically hear it calling my name. And next to it was a restaurant offering an all you can eat breakfast buffet. This was destiny. I muttered to my brothers that I was going to check out Bargain World and that I would meet them in the restaurant. I entered the store and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright light of the street. I stood in awe in the doorway of the store, racks and racks of cheap vacation sundresses and clothes lay ahead of me. I must have looked particularly stricken, as the woman running the discount ticket booth just next to the entrance of the store called out to me. “You lost honey?”

Me: No, I am not lost. My brothers and I just got here to Orlando today and are going to get some breakfast next door. We didn’t get much sleep last night, and are starting to get a little surly. I just wanted to peek in here first.

Maybe it was seeing the little girl that morning, maybe it was the exhaustion but suddenly I found myself oversharing with this woman. She began to pump me with questions…

Woman: Where are you staying?

Me: Next door at the Avanti hotel.

Woman: Did you know that it was a remodeled Travelodge?

Me: No I didn’t. How about that, it seemed nice from the pictures, and you can’t beat the price.

Woman: Where are you from originally?

Me: Oh, we came in from Boston today. But we aren’t really from there, I just live there now. We are from California, well Oregon originally, Southern Oregon, but I was down in California for awhile.

Woman: OH! Really? Whereabouts? I am from California!

Me: Um, Northern California, the San Francisco Bay Area, the East Bay specifically, Oakland, actually Piedmont, but near Oakland.

Woman: Oh! Wow, I was out towards the Sacramento area. Some days I miss it, some I don’t.

Me: Isn’t that the truth.

(At this point, I had the feeling that this conversation was spiraling out of control, in the last minute, I had said more state and city names than was even close to acceptable)

Me: Well, I’m going to just have a quick look around.

Woman: You looking for anything in particular? There is a nice plus size section right over there.

(Mildly offended at being pointed to the plus size section, after all, I don’t consider myself THAT large, I sniffed and hedged)

Me: No not really. I just came in to browse; we just got off the plane and are feeling a little travel worn.

 Woman: Just browsing?  Did you forget something you needed back home?

(And at this point, something inexplicable happened. This sense of shame washed over me, like it was not socially acceptable to just want to browse at Bargain World, that there had to be a reason WHY I was at Bargain World. Like, “Oh shoot, we forgot the swim suits, sunglasses, sunscreen etc. Guess we have to go to Bargain World.” So…in an almost blind panic and spurred on by exhaustion, I opened my mouth to speak, and the most ridiculous straight up lie poured out.)

Me: Actually, no. I don’t have my luggage, it got lost at the airport. Airlines these days are just awful aren’t they?

This prompted the woman to gasp, clutch her heart, and say:

Oh my dear! Well you have come to the right place. There is plenty to be found here.

And dazed, confused, and unsure what had just happened, I hustled off to find something to wear that was better than the suffocatingly hot leggings I was currently sporting.

Thumbing through a rack of one size fits all sundresses; my brother stormed up and said, “LOST LUGGAGE??? Ellie! You are a pathological LIAR, this is ridiculous! Let’s go! I am HUNGRY!”

And ripping the dress I was holding out of my hands, and tossing it back to me he stalked off and stormed out of the store. Sensing that we were on the verge of a dicey situation, I scampered up to the counter with my newly acquired shorts and sun dress, and made my purchase quickly.

The woman waved as I left, saying “Glad you found something sweetie! Hope they find your bags soon! Damned airlines!”

Waves of guilt slapped me in tempo with the waves of heat, as I stepped back out to the Florida sunshine.  I found my brothers and we went into the breakfast buffet, out of curiosity I asked my brother how he had known that I had said the luggage was lost.  

Brother: I went into that store looking for you and that lady just started talking to me. She was all like, “You must be the brothers! I am just so sorry to hear about your bags! Do y’all need some T-shirts or shorts? Toothbrushes?” And I instantly knew what you had done.

Brother 2: Yeah, I was totally confused for a second and about to say, I think you must be thinking of other people, we didn’t lose our bags, and then I realized that you probably told that lady they lost the luggage

Brother 1: Because you are that ridiculous, who else would make up such a stupid lie at a place called Bargain World. We just told her that we carried on our bags and they only lost yours. But seriously, ELLIE. It is SO TYPICAL.

My brother’s scorn made me think. Was he right? Am I a pathological liar? Or just a storyteller prone to exaggeration? I prefer to think the latter. While undeniably fabricated, the story of the luggage lost was just that, a story. One that poured from my exhausted, hyperbolic lips, and gave this strange woman the context she seemed to need and me the face saving I seemed to feel I needed to have. Should I have told the truth, and said that I just wanted to get a sundress and something cooler to wear? That I really did just want to browse at Bargain World and couldn’t resist a good bargain? Yes. I probably should have, I should have owned my love of cheap vacation schlock.

I am a firm believer that the truth is of the utmost importance. Listening to the truth of ourselves, and our lives, telling the truth to others and being in touch with the reality of things is vital to success and survival. But it can be a lot harder to practice this than to preach it. There are constant forces pulling us and pushing us each and every day: what we think of ourselves, what others think of us, how we see ourselves, how we see others, all of these become factors that color our vantage point. And for the storytellers, for the dramatic ones, for the precocious charmers, at what point does exaggeration of the truth become an untruth? Sometimes, the better story comes when you smudge the edge of reality a bit, when you dramatize just the right details to enhance the humor or drama. So, my moment of inappropriate hyperbole in a Floridian Bargain World, urges me to think deeper thoughts, and ask tougher questions, and come to some realizations.

What are the lessons learned?

Know the line between truth and fiction, and recognize one from the other. Exaggeration can make a story better, but playing up the details can’t change the facts and those should be remembered and protected.

Care not what others think. Don’t be afraid to just stand up and say….I am just here for the bargains lady. No shame in that.

Enter the Blog...

Recently, one of my best friends, my soul sister, and fellow blogger, Rosemary, encouraged me to start this blog. The conversation went something like this:

Rose: You should start a blog.
Me: Now, why would I want to do that? I barely have enough time in my life as it is...who has time to blog these days?
Rose: Me. I have a blog.
Me: Oh. Sorry. Well...even if I had a blog, what would I write about?
Rose: Everything you tell me on a regular basis. Every funny story about the stuff that happens to you. All the real life emotions and experiences that you have to share. It would be great.
Me: Maybe.

Fast forward a few weeks and the conversation continues like this:

Monday -
Rose: You should start a blog.

Tuesday -
Rose: Have you started a blog yet? Because you should start a blog.

Wednesday -
Rose: Where is your blog? I want a blog!

Thursday -
Rose: Start a frigging blog already Woman! Start one!

Friday -
Rose: *Sniffle* No blog?

etc....

SO.... Rosemary... here you go. Here is my blog.

Since deciding to acquiesce to Rose's iron will, I have been battling names for this blog. Trying to decide what to call it. Rejected options and friendly suggestions include:

"Ellie's Adventures in the Real World"
"Life with a side of Failsauce"
"Failing can be Fabulous"
"Boston Sassy"
"East Coast Fancy"

The list goes on....

I ultimately decided to name the blog, "Hyperbolic, Inappropriate" because it is something I say quite often. So much so, that my friends have begun to use it as kind of a catchphrase for me. And, ultimately, it is a phrase that I think aptly describes me, myself, and my life. I am hyperbolic, often wantonly exaggerating stories and retellings to make them better (sometimes without even realizing it!) and I am often inappropriate. Queen of the TMI and the blunt statement.

So...here we go. A blog. About me and my life. It will at times be hyperbolic, inappropriate, and I hope at others sincere, moving, thought provoking, inspiring, and most importantly -  funny. So readers...let's go on a journey. I will be posting as the mood strikes, but will commit to at least 2-3 posts a month. More if inspiration strikes. Here you will find an eclectic mix of funny anecdotes, hilarious adventures, serious commentary, recipes, memories, and perhaps a dash of creative pieces as well.

As a standard disclaimer, this is my blog. And my words are my own. So please feel free to share them with others, but don't take them as yours. And please comment frequently, I want to interact and hear from dear readers such as you. And if you don't like what you see, kindly turn your eyes away and visit another site. Let's not have any nastiness posted here. As mothers across the world are wont to say, "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything".