Being Thankful: Part 2 and WTF, TV

Today I have a lot of little tidbits I want to share, but I’ve already committed to being thankful this week. So, I’m going to be thankful and then move on to some other more pressing topics. Topics like, WTF is wrong with television networks. Why do they play 5 episodes of a new show and get me hooked then tell me that I have to wait 4 WHOLE MONTHS for it to start back up again. Seriously? That’s how they want to play this. If I wasn’t already hooked on V, I’d tell ABC to go suck it. But now I have to wait until March 2010 for it to start back up again, and I’m not committed enough to my anger over the whole scenario to boycott the show. I have no self-control sometimes. I need to work on that.

Anyways, speaking of work and being thankful. Today I’m feeling a little thankful that I have work. As much as I whine about having to leave Azita 5 days a week to go work in an office, I am thankful that I have an office to go to. An office that will give me a paycheck. Having been unemployed for a whole year once, I can really feel for all of the unfortunate people who are part of the statistics quoted in the news every month. It is a horrible feeling to be unemployed, and it honestly puts the fear of unemployment in you. I am constantly fearful of losing a job at a time when I can’t afford to lose one. So, I am thankful. Thankful that I have a paycheck, because right now I really need it. Thankful that while I am in a position where I have to reside in an office for much of the week, at least my work is challenging and interesting enough to make the week fly by. Usually.

You know what else is interesting? How seriously bloated Roger’s head has become thanks to yesterday’s post. I am half tempted to delete that shizz and act like it never happened. But, I’ll admit that big head Roger is kind of more fun to banter with sometimes, so maybe I’ll leave it up.

By the way, that was some segue into the previous paragraph, huh? I say this because have I mentioned how idiotic I find the talking heads of News Channel 8? (That totally made sense, because I have heard the stupidest segues in the whole wide world on that news show) I don’t know why I watch that crap every morning. Oh wait, I remember. BECAUSE I WANT TO SEE THE EFFIN WEATHER. Yes, somehow I think it will be faster to hear them tell me whether or not I should pile on the warm clothes, wear a raincoat, or otherwise make weather-inspired adjustments to my daily attire, than to just look up the weather online. Instead the one guy who looks like Malcolm from Malcolm in the Middle basically reads the entire contents of the entertainment section on Google News to the camera. And, he acts like 1) people care what he talks about and 2) he is enlightening us with something truly amazing, like proof of the Riemann hypothesis. He makes me crazy, and yet I watch this drivel every morning. Someone needs to motivate me to find the remote control and use it. STAT!

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zahra, November 24th 2009 | Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Culture + Stuff

Being Thankful: Part 1

Lately things kind of suck on the work front, and the malaise I feel as a result is spilling over into my life. I’d whine about it, but the truth is I hate whining, especially when done in the week of thanksgiving. I take Thanksgiving seriously. It’s not just a day for me. I try to be thankful all year. Even when suckiness abounds. Actually, especially when it does. There is no better time to remember that the good in your life outweighs the bad.

So this week I am going to do the thing everyone else with a blog is doing, and I’m going to detail the things I am most thankful for. I will force the thankful into me damn it, and maybe it will push some of the woe is me out.

Today since I’m doing the obvious thing post-wise, I will start with the least obvious thing that I am thankful for — my husband. I say that this is not so obvious, because I tease the poor guy mercilessly. I can really dish it out. You’d think I disliked him if you heard it. He of course can dish it right back.  I think our back and forth makes for an interesting marriage personally. We are certainly never bored.

I am thankful for his presence in my life. If you know me, you know that I am an anxiety-filled wreck. Take any good situation, and I will someone find something to feel anxious about. Anxiety keeps me up at night. It starts with me trying to workup my to do list for the next day and ends with me frantically putting together a spreadsheet with a year-long budget for our household or scouring websites about deadly diseases or trying to figure out how we’re going to buy a new car that we will surely need to buy because I think I heard a slight rattle when we turned left this morning. On those nights, Roger knows how to bring me back down to Earth, to help me be rational again. He doesn’t discount my feelings. He listens and helps me understand why everything really is all right or at least manageable. Then he helps me manage it. I’m fully aware that most people would call me a kook then roll over and go back to sleep. I’m really lucky, and I’m thankful for it.

But that’s not all. Roger is my biggest fan and my biggest ally. He is a loving father, not just to Azita but also to our dear little kitties — Buzz and Maggie. He contributes a great deal to running the household, and I don’t even need to ask him.  He tells me I’m pretty and looking thin, even when I know I’m looking chubby and rough around the edges. At the same time, he’s honest with me when I ask him how an outfit looks (that’s actually a good thing to me, just so we’re clear). He writes me lovely letters, and he has many times stayed up late with me so we could talk into the wee hours of the morning. He loads my iPod with my favorite music, and with new music that he knows will become some of my favorites. He lets me vent to him when I really need to vent and lets me know when I’m crossing over into whiny bore territory. He cooks me dinner when I have no time for cooking, and he stays out of the kitchen when I am indulging in some much-needed cooking therapy. He doesn’t whine about all of the crazy hobbies I decide to pick up, nor about all of the stuff I have laying around from said crazy hobbies after they don’t pan out. That includes an autoharp, by the way. I am not joking. An autoharp.

Clearly there are many reasons to be thankful for Roger. There are many more I haven’t mentioned, mostly because I can’t remember them now. But they do exist, and I’m sure they’ll come to me as soon as I hit the Publish button.

Don’t let him know it, but I like having him around. And I am really thankful that he loves me.

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zahra, November 23rd 2009 | Tags: , , ,
Posted in Family + Friends

Sick daze

I’m horrible at being sick. I’m like an old smelly dog. I walk slowly, I growl a lot at anyone who comes close, I like to be in the corner alone and far away from people — even those who only want to take care of me.
This worked out perfectly for me in my darker days — also known as bachelorhood. No one was around. No one tried to “comfort” me or “help” me or “bring” me food, and that was OK by me. No one got growled at and no one got bitten.

Then I met Zahra and the whole thing went to hell. She wanted to take care of me and for some strange-to-me reason, I didn’t mind it so much. I occasionally growled at her. I certainly barked at her enough to warrant many a punch in the face. But I let down some of my guard and allowed her to, dare I say it, care for me.

Flash forward seven or so years and I look at my daughter. She’s sick today. She has been for almost three days now. I know she’s in pain. But she’s a fighter. I know because she laughs before it hurts and then she cries a little before laughing again. But the cries break your heart. I find myself holding her close and crying a little to see if my tears won’t take some of her pain away.

Then I wonder if she will let me take care of her when she is sick — and is old enough to bark at me.

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zahra, October 6th 2009 | Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Stupid pants… stupid, stupid pants

So the daily running thing is working its magic. The baby weight is slowly but surely disappearing and I’m feeling stronger and stronger every day and every run. I’m on top of the world when I return from a run just as the sun dips behind the horizon of trees and buildings. I have more energy after the run than I had before it, and I’m pleased with my slow but steady progress back into the sport. (And I can blame the pregnancy for my inactivity, but the knee injury didn’t help matters at all.)

I sleep better at night after running and I greet each morning just about as happy as Princess Azita, who smiles with her lips a second or two before she opens those big brown eyes and starts to smile with those at her Maman… then Baba. I’m patient, I can wait. I get about 10 minutes with her by myself, then Zahra returns with clothes for the day and I jump up for  a shave and to get us a couple iced coffees. I throw on some clothes (there just isn’t enough time to care as much as I used to care each morning and to be honest, my neckties feel a bit neglected these days.) So I grab a polo and a pair of pants. And that’s when my morning crashes. All because of my stupid, stupid pants.

I’m about 20 pounds over my Fighting Weight now. Oh I’ve been plenty more over my ideal weight in the past but for about the last five years I’ve been in a Happy Place. In fact, the only times I discover I’m  in an Unhappy Place is when I put on pants. Women understand this. Some men do. No men talk about it.

When your weight goes up — because of age, an injury, a lack of ability to get off your ass and work out — for whatever reason the pants are the most unforgiving member of your wardrobe. I’ve worn tight shirts and lived to tell the tale. But a tight pair of pants is just wrong. Looks wrong. Feels wrong. Is wrong. Pants need to fit. They should be comfortable and they should “work” for you — not the other way around. To battle this issue, I buy new pants. I like new pants. New pants make me happy. I buy them, I wear them and I feel better. I am heavier, but I’m well dressed.

But for the last few days, my stylist (and wife) has noticed what I’ve been trying not to notice: my pants are too big. Easy for her to say. Trouble is, I’m what you would call “in-between sizes” right now. It’s either a little baggy or a little snug. Comfort vs. looks. My mind tells me to run an extra mile every night and jump from the bigger size to the next size and do it as quickly as possible to make sure no one pays attention enough to call me on the fact my pants don’t fit. But if Zahra notices the pants thing, others will. Now I’m stuck at work and I don’t want to get up to go get coffee because my pants are too big.

Like I said. Stupid, stupid pants.

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zahra, August 25th 2009 | Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Food + Fitness

Dr. Martens don't cut it

The Midwestern contestant on Project Runway is gone. ( I just finished watching the first episode for the second time.) While I’m sorry for her and her family and fans, I’m more concerned with what this whole thing does for the rest of us from the Midwest.

We battle on a sometimes daily basis against the forces of the Northeast and West Coast. We are farmers even if we have never spent a night on a farm or baled a bale of hay. We are rednecks even if we are left of most liberals. We are hillbillies even if our moms never made squirrel stew. We are stuck in the 1980s or 1990s or 2000s –  depending on which decade we went to high school. We are the Rodney Dangerfields of fashion. And not just because most men from the Midwest are shaped like the man who could get no respect.

My wife still makes fun of me and my Midwest roots. Whenever I even consider wearing khakis to the office she reminds me how Midwestern I am and how I might want to grab a pair of jeans or flat-front slacks. And I generally agree with her and put on a pair of pants that flatter me and my shoes. ( I love shoes more than most women, it’s my cross to bear.) But every time she looks at me with her I’m From D.C. So Back The Fuck Up Eyes, I have to laugh. I mean, I was going to wear Dr. Martens with my khakis — That’s hip, right?

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zahra, August 23rd 2009 | Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Culture + Stuff

Worried Man

It is my job — my singular task in this world now — to provide my child with food, shelter, safety and unconditional love. To give her all that is necessary to survive and thrive in this world. So when I woke up at 3:37 am a few nights ago — covered in sweat, with a raging headache and a cold, cold fear in my heart — I wasn’t about to ignore the cause of my concern.

What would I do if my daughter liked the Stones more than The Beatles?

I’ve struggled with this question for nearly a week. It weighs heavy on my mind.

And it’s a choice she will have to make  on her own. I cannot help. When she is of the right age — I’d say around 8, maybe 7 (she’s shown signs of advanced musical tastes) — she will stop her iPod, take off her headphones and look over at me. “Baba, Aren’t the Stones just a really good cover band?”

“Yes they are princess. Yes they are. Now go get Rubber Soul from the top shelf in the library so we can hear how it was intended to be heard.”

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zahra, August 19th 2009 | Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Culture + Stuff, Parenthood + Childhood, Uncategorized

Bonding

Azita peed on Roger today. Not sure how this hasn’t yet in the past 7 months, but I finally feel like we’re bonded in parenthood.

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zahra, August 13th 2009 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood, Short + Sweet

Running Man

I spent just about a year nursing a knee injury. I couldn’t play soccer. I couldn’t roll around on the floor with my nephews for more than 20 minutes at a time without cringing in pain. And I couldn’t run. It sucked. I had no idea how addicted I was to (slowly) propelling myself forward — cutting through the air as my shoes pounded concrete, pavement, bricks, dirt and puddles of mud water.

Z and I had trained for and ran the Marine Corps Marathon two years ago. And here I was limping around and trying not to feel too self-conscious about spending so much time on the elliptical machine. So I avoided the gym. Made excuses not to workout. I gained 20 pounds. Z was seven months pregnant and I was just fat. My clothes were snug or just didn’t fit at all. It was worse than not being able to run. As much as I love to run, I love looking good in good-looking clothes. I was forced to wear khakis and a polo shirt to work. I looked like, dare I say, the average guy. It sucked big time.

But now, four weeks into running between 12-15 miles each week. Slowly working my body back into some shape other than an over-ripe pear. Steadily running faster (from 14 min. miles a month ago to 11:30 min miles tonight). I am feeling better and better about the chance that one day I will walk over to that closet, open those doors and grab that Thomas Pink shirt and not think twice about my love handles.

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zahra, August 10th 2009 | Tags: ,
Posted in Uncategorized

Teenagers and parks

I joined the Green movement in 1987 after getting super stoned at Par Hill Park in Joplin, Mo.

“We have to save the world, man… The planet. The rivers. This grass.” Chris cracked up. Mark cracked up. We all cracked up. “Seriously man. We have to save this park.”

Of course, Par Hill  was in no danger of ever not existing. It was about a square mile in the middle of a middle-class neighborhood in a small town in Middle America. It had man-made ponds and streams and wooden bridges that rocked back and forth when you walked across them. There was a tornado slide on one island and a wooden fort with gun turrets on another. There was a sandbox and playground on one corner and a row of super-cool looking boulders with a malfunctioning street light that shocked you when you touched it on the other side of the park. It was on this side — the “teenager side” if you will  — that I spent most of my youth (outside of school and the steamy hot kitchen of the local Red Lobster).

We would gather in Par Hill in the middle of the night to play soccer under the security lights and functioning street lights. We would hang out there to drink beer or wine we snagged from an older brother or parent. We would meet there before going to the river to drink and swim and swing off the rope swing. We ran from the cops in that park. We hid from cops and angry old people in that park. We learned quite a bit about ourselves in that park.

I took Zahra to Par Hill Park the first time we traveled to Joplin together. I hope to take our daughter there someday. And out of respect for the teenagers (some like me who want so badly to get out of their hometown they sometimes go to the park alone and write sentimental poetry; some like me who went there just to get fucked up), we won’t go at night and we won’t go to the teenager side of the park. We will stay near the sandbox and playground and when my daughter ask me about the other side of the park, I’ll change the subject and tell her that’s just someone cooking dinner — “Smells good, though.”

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zahra, August 7th 2009 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Uncategorized

Salutations

I’ve done the blogging thing before, but it never stuck. I thought I’d give it another try, but this time as a joint effort. This is basically the blog of the Safavian/Hughlett family. We are what happens when two very different people meet, get married, and refuse to change their names or anything else about themselves. So, we are Roger Hughlett and Zahra Safavian, a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy from Joplin, Missouri and a very not-blonde Iranian girl born and raised in Washington, D.C. We are both a little crazy and a lot hot-tempered, and we can probably out-argue most people on this planet. We love each other and often hate each other, sometimes simultaneously.

But, we stay together for the sake of the cats. Kidding. We stay together, because no one else can understand either of us quite like the other can. And, we do have some things in common. We both share an utter disdain for most people. We are both militant pedestrians. Zahra likes to bake, and Roger likes to eat baked goods. We both like soup and snowpeas. And, quite frankly, we could talk or not talk for hours.

-Zahra

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zahra, December 5th 2007 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Uncategorized