Category Archives: thirtysomethings

The Future Is Disappointing

by Rima Posted on May 10, 2013

I think this mid-life crisis business might be real. One doesn’t want to drape one’s destiny around a looming, arbitrary number (forty, coming up in July), but as the date that wasn’t supposed to mean anything draws nearer, the funnel of possibility that was once so wide it was impossible to avoid it is getting narrower by the minute.

I keep reminding myself that the way I live my life, my way of being, means much more than the sum of my accomplishments, but I still have this nagging feeling that there are certain things I must do (write, draw, make music). At the same time I know in my very bones that I’ll never do them – not the way I want to – and that makes me profoundly sad.

I think often about the way our lives affect those of others in ways we’ll never know and could not have imagined, and sometimes that thought is enough to half-convince me it will be okay if I never publish a book or sell another piece of artwork, or live abroad, or learn to sing alto, or read Ulysses, or appear on the Daily Show as a special guest.

There’s another part to my mid-life crisis I like to keep close to my vest. I’m not sure when it started happening, but I fear I’m becoming somewhat of a recluse. It’s not that I don’t like people or want to have friends; more that I prefer solitude and the quiet introspection of daily, repetitive tasks to the trauma of picking up a telephone, making plans, sustaining conversation, putting on a pair of socks.

I don’t think it’s good for me, but the warm cocoon of my domestic dominion has some kind of built-in force field that makes it very difficult to step out.

As I write this, my husband is in the next room over, building a robot. He has decided that fishing is too emotionally draining and taken up robotics as a hobby instead.

“The future, as I see it, has been very disappointing,” he said. “By now we should be commuting to work in hovercrafts and having robots complete our daily tasks.”

“I think I’m having a mid-life crisis” I told him.

“Why do you think I’m building this robot?” he said.

Here is something I’ve discovered: life gets smaller the longer you live it, not the other way around.

I’m not depressed, in case you were wondering. And I know that if could just find a good cause to throw myself into, all of these imaginary problems would be roundly solved. Because isn’t that the ticket? Doing things for others instead of the solipsistic navel gazing I’ve been engaging in, instead?

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Posted in secrets, self-indulgence, thirtysomethings, totally unabashed mushfest | 2 Comments

I Feel Bad About My Feet*

by Rima Posted on July 23, 2012

When I was thirteen and looked about seven, people used to say, “It’s a gift! You’ll appreciate it when you’re forty!” And they were right. Because today I turn thirty-nine and darned if I don’t look a day over thirty~~-five~~.

Of course, I am going gray and certain parts of my physique aren’t as upwardly mobile as they used to be. But these are things that can be fixed with cosmetics and the right kind of underwear. My only complaint, really, is my feet, which seem to be getting wider.

But I am very happy. I’m so grateful for the Amazing P-Dawg, my children, my friends and my family. And I am grateful for you, dear readers of RimaRama. I love writing here, and I love that you stop by to read what I’ve written. Sometimes you even give me a Facebook “like” or a comment, which is like crack/cocaine to me.

My children presented me with fabulous gifts this year: my daughter a $100 gift card to the “Style-N-Go” beauty salon up in her bedroom, and my son a $100 gift card to the “Zip and Go Plaza.” There is some confusion as to what goods and services may be procured at the Zip-N-Go, but I have a two o’clock appointment at the Style-N-Go salon today.

I’m gonna get a pedicure.

*Apologies to Nora Ephron

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Posted in anniversaries, children, good times, thirtysomethings | 9 Comments

How to Ask Your Husband on a Date

by Rima Posted on July 17, 2012

Recently, I realized that the P-Dawg and I hadn’t been on a date in a long time. The problem was that between the two of us, I was the only one who’d realized it.

I began turning it over in my mind. Some might say, “perseverating.” I really wanted to go on a date! Sure, I could have just asked him. But that would have defeated the whole purpose, which was for my husband to naturally arrive at the realization that what he wants, more than anything in the world, is to wine and dine his smart, beautiful, and not quite thirty-nine year old wife.

Reluctantly, I activated the handy, but not always reliable first tier persuasion mechanism: mind control. Whenever the two of us were together, I would close my eyes, furrow my brow, and direct pointed thoughts about going on a date toward my husband.

“Why are you making that face?” he asked me. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

Next, I dropped strategic hints, such as naming some couples I knew of who had gone on a date. “I heard it can be fun,” I told him.

Finally, there was no choice but to broach the subject directly.

Husband: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Husband: “Are you sure?”

Me: “I guess.”

Husband: “What?”

Me: “Forget it.”

Husband: “No, what?”

Me: “It’s just that . . . oh, nevermind!”

Husband: “Okay.”

Me (sulking): “Okay.”

(Time passes. Husband pays some bills, organizes his fishing gear, and putzes around on computer.)

Me: “Unbelievable.”

Husband: “What?”

Me: “It’s like you forgot we were even having a conversation.”

Husband: “I thought our conversation was over.”

Me: “That just goes to show you how out of synch our energy is. I don’t even remember the last time we went out together.”

Husband: “You know, you’re right. We should go on a date! Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

Me: “I don’t see how I could have made myself any clearer.”

Sometimes, you just have to spell it out for them.

(By the way, we went on a date and it was really fun, just as I heard it could be from some couples! Also, I feel I must tell you that the P-Dawg is actually a fantastic husband. In fact, I really think he got the short end of the stick when he married me. There is really nothing for me to complain about in our relationship, except the fact that after almost twelve years of marriage, he has not yet mastered the subtle art of mind reading.)

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Posted in He's From Mars I'm From Venus, married life, the P-Dawg, thirtysomethings | 6 Comments

What Happens When You’re Married, With Kids

by Rima Posted on February 13, 2012

Last weekend we joined my friend V and her family at one of those domed structures that houses several pools and slides, not to mention contraptions which spill giant bucketfuls of water on your head every fifteen minutes. It was extremely crowded there, but the children had a blast while I scurried from one end of the waterpark to the other saying, “I swear I just saw him in that treehouse two minutes ago.”

Afterwards everyone was ravenous, but there would be no greasy waterpark pizza dinner for us! We were headed to a nearby winery with an excellent seafood buffet where children are always welcome and reservations are not necessary.

When we arrived, there were so many cars in the parking lot that my friend V and I selflessly volunteered to be dropped off by the front door to scope out a table while the menfolk went in search of a parking spot. For some reason, the restaurant was packed to the eaves with diners conversing in low voices with heads bent together over plates of steamed mussels and bud vases containing a single white rose.

“What is going on here?” I wondered while my friend V fought her way up to the hostess station and requested a table for eight, lickety-split.

The next one would be available on Sunday, July 15th.*

“We’ll be dead by then” I sobbed inwardly while gnawing on a knuckle. I didn’t want my friend V to think I was some kind of a nutritionally-driven wuss.

A strange thing was happening at that restaurant. It was almost as though the entire state of Ohio had decided to eat at the same place on the same night! Did they know something we didn’t?

One thing about my friend V is she never gives up. While our children ping-ponged around the holding area, she continued to stand in front of the hostess until a table miraculously opened up. “I can’t believe you swung that!” I told her as we stepped into the elevator leading up to the attic storage room**, where we were going to eat.

The crab legs, prime rib, coconut shrimp and heart shaped risotto balls were delicious, even if we had to ride up and down a couple of floors every time we wanted to re-fill our plates. We still couldn’t figure out why the restaurant was so darn crowded, but then again northwest Ohio wine country is a pretty up and coming vacation spot.

“This is is just plain crazy,” I said to the P-Dawg as we elbowed our way up to the chocolate fountain with dessert plates of strawberries in hand. “You should leave some room for the Double Chocolate Love Bomb of Love. I hear it’s pretty good.”

Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody! I hear it’s sometime this week.

* Where “Sunday, July 15th means “in a few hours.”

** It was a really nice attic.

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Posted in food-o-rama, My Friend V, thirtysomethings, vacations | 9 Comments

Have I Said This Before?

by Rima Posted on January 25, 2012

My daughter the V-meister has a fantastic memory. She recalls a lot of very specific things that happened a long time ago and which I frankly sometimes wish she’d just as soon forget.

“Hey, Mama. Remember when I was two and you forgot to buckle me into my car seat?”

“No.”

“Or how about that time we got stopped by a police officer and you said, ‘CRAP ON A CRAP CRACKER’!”

She has always been a whiz at facts and figures, able to quickly summon very specific information as though retrieving it from some kind of file cabinet. (Her brain?) Verily, she sometimes even speaks of the “folders of her mind.”

One thing I know for a fact is that my mind has no folders. Maybe it did once, but now it’s more of a desk with towering piles of papers on top of it. Often I have a vague hunch that something I need is somewhere near the bottom of one of those piles, but damned if I have any idea how to go about retrieving it.

And this issue is not just limited to ancient memories. You put a child, a pet, and a husband in front of me, and I’ll go through each one of their names before scoring on the third try. I never understood this when my mom or grandmother did it, but now it’s perfectly clear that people should simply be numbered. Also, I’ll tell you the same story three, four or seven times with absolutely no recollection of ever uttering a word of it, and just today I forgot where I was going on my way to pick the V-meister up from school.