Last night I went to the Mr. Thunder Pageant with D at her high school. This is not like the Thunder Down Under, which would be very wrong since there were teenage boys involved. It wasn't dirty or sexy, but it was silly, goofy and, at times, touching.
There were 12 senior boys participating in the pageant with the purpose of raising money for Jackson, this year's Sparrow Club beneficiary (more on Jackson later). The evening's entertainment consisted of typical "beauty contest" events - sportswear, talent and formal attire with interview. Only with a twist, because these are teenage boys we are talking about. Sportswear meant putting on the uniform for whatever sport they compete in. For one boy this meant a fluffy, pink polka-dotted robe that revealed a neon pink leopard-print speedo underneath. My retinas pretty much have that image burned into them. It's not pretty.
The talent portion meant anything from a fake display of Guitar Hero skill (played to a YouTube video) to a Justin Bieber impersonation to a father/son duet to a stand-up comedian (who was really funny - just deadpanned it perfectly) to a self-choreographed dance. My favorite was the one-man band. This kid rocked. He played piano, bass guitar, acoustic guitar, drums, trumpet and French horn to a piece he composed himself. It was beautiful.
The teenage girls who emceed the event put together a wake-up video of each of the boys. They woke the contestants up at 5 a.m. and asked them questions like "What kind of mythical creature would you like to be?" and "If you were on a deserted island, which contestant would you eat first?" These were grumpy faces only a mother could love, grunting and hiding under their sheets. My favorite answer to the mythical creature question came from the single gay contestant. "I'd be a fairy because I'm already halfway there."
The funniest answer during the interviews was in response to the question, "What is beauty to you?" This was a boy after my own heart - "It would be really beautiful if everyone in the world stopped wearing crocs." The most touching answer came from the gay student. He claimed that his twin sister is his hero because she has been through it "all" with him. For a teen, this seems flippant. What hardships have these mostly-privileged teens faced in their young lives? But he was very open and candid talking about coming out and how his sister has always accepted and supported him. It was a moment of bravery.
However, the tears came for me in the beginning of the show. Each boy was introduced with a video of pictures from infancy through today and these were accompanied by blurbs about them that their parents wrote. I saw them as silly, goofy, show-off kids. Which they are. But their parents saw them as loving, kind, compassionate, generous people, young men that they are proud of and that they love. Which they also are. So I sat there and tried my best to wipe my eyes discreetly, because I was surrounded by a bunch of other teenagers who might not have been so nice. They can smell fear, you know.
And now the real reason that we were all there. For Jackson. Jackson is a little boy who just turned one. In his tiny little life he has had to endure six surgeries and over 80 days in the hospital. He has a condition I can't pronounce or remember but it prohibits his body from absorbing nutrients. He is on IV nutrition for 16 hours a day, which puts him at constant risk of infection. Jackson was present last night with his parents, his mom carrying his backpack of fluids, tubes connected to his belly. He's adorable. He's a perfect baby who doesn't deserve the restrictions his body has placed on him. His mom said it's easy to forget how sick he is because he is always so happy. But he is sick. He's very sick.
At the end of the evening, shortly before the Mr. Thunder winner was revealed, it was announced that as of last night, $41,000 has been raised to help Jackson and his family with their ongoing medical costs and care. Times are still tough for a lot of people, which makes this amount so significant.
I was talking to a friend about the pageant and fundraising efforts. She's a teacher and this wasn't her first time at the rodeo. She, rightfully, has a certain cynicism towards the whole thing. I get that. Kids do act dumb, some might not have really taken it seriously. But there's no denying that they did a Good Thing. I'm okay with teenagers making fools of themselves if this is the result. I know why their parents are proud of them. I would be too.
I'm sure Jackson's family would be more than willing to accept ongoing donations, but I couldn't find any contact information to give you. I suggest calling Summit High School as someone there is bound to be able to help you if you want to help Jackson.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Wedding Bliss
Thirty years ago I was fascinated by a wedding and a princess. Charles and Diana's nuptials were the most romantic event in my young life. I ate up everything I could about their courtship. I went camping at the beach with my best friend and her family and we convinced her parents to let us watch the TV movie that reenacted their romance while eating s'mores. Miraculously there was a TV in the tent and we swooned and giggled with mouthfuls of marshmallows.
Mostly, though, I was in love with Diana. Charles was the prince, but he was comparatively old, and to be honest, a doofus. She was beautiful; she glowed. I wanted my hair cut like hers. I desperately wanted a copy of that red sweater she wore with the single black sheep. I even loved her nickname, Shy Di, because I was painfully shy at that age. She made shyness exquisitely charming.
My parents couldn't have been less interested in the royal wedding, but thankfully tolerated my infatuation. The only time I was ever allowed to watch television in their bedroom was to view the wedding as it was broadcast live. I was alone, but it was my own Cinderella moment. It was like a dream, a real-life fairy tale. I had never witnessed anything so enchanting - the yards and yards of her gown as she floated down the aisle, the grandeur of the ceremony, the couple waving at the cheering crowds of onlookers from the carriage that whisked them away from the church, that awkward kiss on the palace balcony.
We didn't yet know how devastatingly unhappily this marriage would end. The truths that were revealed were ugly and sad, but they never tarnished my love for Diana. When she died, I cried for a week. I watched her funeral and my heart broke seeing her two young sons following the casket, topped with white flowers and a card simply labeled, "Mummy".
And now her oldest son is getting married. "Wills" is the future king of England with his mother's smile. Will I be watching this wedding? Oh, will I!!!
I have scoured the internet for details of this wedding to Kate ever since their engagement was announced. I watched the engagement interview, carefully noting how they look at each other, how he talks about her respectfully and with love. I want this marriage to last. I don't know why it matters to me, it just does. It's as if Diana's love for her son should live on in his happiness, that her early influence will have taught him how to love someone in a way that she wasn't.
What will really matter in less than two weeks now is the glamorous celebration that will take place at 4 a.m. my time and yes, I will be awake. JW invited me to watch it with her. We contemplated a party and I wanted to send out invitations if only to get the "Hell NO! Are you crazy?" responses. But she thought people might decide to start showing up around 8 a.m. and that just isn't right. Only those awake from the beginning get to enjoy the champagne. I may be drunk by 6, but I will have earned it.
Here's the best part. We will be wearing pajamas after deciding to forgo the fancy hats and dresses. However, I will be wearing my veil and JW has created the most delicious pink taffeta-tiara confection. The menu has been planned to honor the bride and groom - tea sandwiches with cucumbers and smoked salmon, scones, eggs, pastry-wrapped sausages, tea and champagne. It will be the second-best thing to being at the actual wedding.
I'm pretty sure that even though Diana won't be there, she will be watching.
Cheers!
Mostly, though, I was in love with Diana. Charles was the prince, but he was comparatively old, and to be honest, a doofus. She was beautiful; she glowed. I wanted my hair cut like hers. I desperately wanted a copy of that red sweater she wore with the single black sheep. I even loved her nickname, Shy Di, because I was painfully shy at that age. She made shyness exquisitely charming.
My parents couldn't have been less interested in the royal wedding, but thankfully tolerated my infatuation. The only time I was ever allowed to watch television in their bedroom was to view the wedding as it was broadcast live. I was alone, but it was my own Cinderella moment. It was like a dream, a real-life fairy tale. I had never witnessed anything so enchanting - the yards and yards of her gown as she floated down the aisle, the grandeur of the ceremony, the couple waving at the cheering crowds of onlookers from the carriage that whisked them away from the church, that awkward kiss on the palace balcony.
We didn't yet know how devastatingly unhappily this marriage would end. The truths that were revealed were ugly and sad, but they never tarnished my love for Diana. When she died, I cried for a week. I watched her funeral and my heart broke seeing her two young sons following the casket, topped with white flowers and a card simply labeled, "Mummy".
And now her oldest son is getting married. "Wills" is the future king of England with his mother's smile. Will I be watching this wedding? Oh, will I!!!
I have scoured the internet for details of this wedding to Kate ever since their engagement was announced. I watched the engagement interview, carefully noting how they look at each other, how he talks about her respectfully and with love. I want this marriage to last. I don't know why it matters to me, it just does. It's as if Diana's love for her son should live on in his happiness, that her early influence will have taught him how to love someone in a way that she wasn't.
What will really matter in less than two weeks now is the glamorous celebration that will take place at 4 a.m. my time and yes, I will be awake. JW invited me to watch it with her. We contemplated a party and I wanted to send out invitations if only to get the "Hell NO! Are you crazy?" responses. But she thought people might decide to start showing up around 8 a.m. and that just isn't right. Only those awake from the beginning get to enjoy the champagne. I may be drunk by 6, but I will have earned it.
Here's the best part. We will be wearing pajamas after deciding to forgo the fancy hats and dresses. However, I will be wearing my veil and JW has created the most delicious pink taffeta-tiara confection. The menu has been planned to honor the bride and groom - tea sandwiches with cucumbers and smoked salmon, scones, eggs, pastry-wrapped sausages, tea and champagne. It will be the second-best thing to being at the actual wedding.
I'm pretty sure that even though Diana won't be there, she will be watching.
Cheers!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Daddy's Little Girl
My dad and I have always had a complicated relationship. Or maybe I only have a complicated relationship with him. Different animals.
My parents divorced when I was four. I don't remember them ever being happy. As soon as we walked in the door at the end of the day, they were at each other's throats. I would sit quietly on the steps outside the kitchen and wait for my dinner.
The custody battle was long and ugly. I knew how much each parent hated the other. I felt responsible for their feelings and learned how to protect them, answering questions based on who was asking at the time. Secretly, I always wanted to live with my mom but he was given custody first. Most of my return visits were tense to say the least.
After my mom remarried and moved from our home in Texas to California, she continued to fight for me and was finally granted custody. I was six, halfway through first grade.
I saw my dad for the last time when I turned seven. He made the drive to California to pick me up for a summer vacation. I don't even remember where we went. Camping. Somewhere. I didn't know when he took me back home that it was the last time. I was just happy to be sleeping in my own bed again.
Then the phone calls stopped. No more birthday cards, no Christmas gifts. There was never any child support. I'm sure Mom was relieved. Since I don't remember having my own feelings, I can only assume I replicated her relief. Dad became my "sperm-donor" at some point because I had a new dad. Life went on in California.
When I was 24, living in Oregon and married, we found out he was looking for me. He had hired a private detective, some stupid woman who called Mom's house on a regular basis claiming to be a college friend of mine. The last straw was my dad showing up at my grandparent's house unannounced and wanting to show them every picture of me he had, oblivious to the fact that his presence was desperately unwanted.
I finally called him. I wasn't so nervous as angry. Angry that he had taken so long. That he had done it this way. I was also fiercely protective of my family. My grandparents were being dragged into the drama and my mom was beside herself with anger. Livid with hatred.
That was the first call, it ended up not being the last. He asked to see me; I hesitated for months and then acquiesced. Out of curiosity? I'm not sure. That first visit was horribly uncomfortable. He was like a stranger, but a stranger that I knew. Mostly I felt like he didn't know me, he could only think of me as the seven-year-old he saw last.
It's been like that ever since. I've been angry with him for being gone. Or coming back. They're sort of mixed up together. I sent a few hostile letters at first. I didn't know if I even wanted to keep him in my life, let alone how to fit him in. He clearly wanted to be a daddy and I was past that point and had been for a long time. I needed a daddy when it was Christmas, when I got braces, learned to drive, went to prom, graduated from high school and then college. I needed my daddy to give me away at my wedding. My dad was there, but not my daddy.
When my daughter was born I felt obligated to allow him into my life. I wasn't just making decisions for myself anymore. I felt she had a right to know who her grandfather is and form her own decisions about her feelings. Of course I forgot that she takes her cue from me and won't love him on her own. She is the second generation now that won't love someone without the permission to do so.
People have said, "At least he tries." "At least he is here now." Parent/child relationships don't work that way. Seventeen years is a length of time that "at least" doesn't cover. It's not superficial, not a surface feeling. I was a child. As a parent, I would never turn my back on my daughter. Ever. It isn't even physically possible for me. He has his reasons, his excuses, whatever he tells himself so he can sleep at night. But how does the eight-year-old child understand why her father is gone? Did he stop loving her? Was he tired of her? Does he love other kids now? Is he even still alive?
He has now been back for almost as long as he was gone. He won't let me push him away. He's the first person to offer help when I need it. Even I can't ignore that anymore. He's remarried and I adore my stepmom, even though I rejected her at first too. She helps to bridge a lot of the weirdness between us. She's a buffer and I think she knows it and doesn't mind in the least. I finally call them "my parents" and it doesn't feel strained. A year ago I absolutely refused to go visit him; this year I happily accepted his invitation.
What changed? I've lost a lot of my family. There is too much distance between most of us, both physical and emotional. I've lost important relationships that I never wanted to give up. I suppose I'm just taking family where I can get it these days. He genuinely wants to be a part of my life and it just gets harder to try to turn that down. It doesn't show up every day.
At my last book club, I was asked what connects me to my dad. My first answer was "guilt". Because for a long time it was. I didn't want to have regrets later. I didn't want to be the reason I didn't have a dad. Also, selfishly, it let me off the hook so that I could continue blaming him, I could have a scapegoat. I could be self-righteous and absolved when he left again because I did my part.
It might be more than that now. And maybe it's just time. Finally.
My parents divorced when I was four. I don't remember them ever being happy. As soon as we walked in the door at the end of the day, they were at each other's throats. I would sit quietly on the steps outside the kitchen and wait for my dinner.
The custody battle was long and ugly. I knew how much each parent hated the other. I felt responsible for their feelings and learned how to protect them, answering questions based on who was asking at the time. Secretly, I always wanted to live with my mom but he was given custody first. Most of my return visits were tense to say the least.
After my mom remarried and moved from our home in Texas to California, she continued to fight for me and was finally granted custody. I was six, halfway through first grade.
I saw my dad for the last time when I turned seven. He made the drive to California to pick me up for a summer vacation. I don't even remember where we went. Camping. Somewhere. I didn't know when he took me back home that it was the last time. I was just happy to be sleeping in my own bed again.
Then the phone calls stopped. No more birthday cards, no Christmas gifts. There was never any child support. I'm sure Mom was relieved. Since I don't remember having my own feelings, I can only assume I replicated her relief. Dad became my "sperm-donor" at some point because I had a new dad. Life went on in California.
When I was 24, living in Oregon and married, we found out he was looking for me. He had hired a private detective, some stupid woman who called Mom's house on a regular basis claiming to be a college friend of mine. The last straw was my dad showing up at my grandparent's house unannounced and wanting to show them every picture of me he had, oblivious to the fact that his presence was desperately unwanted.
I finally called him. I wasn't so nervous as angry. Angry that he had taken so long. That he had done it this way. I was also fiercely protective of my family. My grandparents were being dragged into the drama and my mom was beside herself with anger. Livid with hatred.
That was the first call, it ended up not being the last. He asked to see me; I hesitated for months and then acquiesced. Out of curiosity? I'm not sure. That first visit was horribly uncomfortable. He was like a stranger, but a stranger that I knew. Mostly I felt like he didn't know me, he could only think of me as the seven-year-old he saw last.
It's been like that ever since. I've been angry with him for being gone. Or coming back. They're sort of mixed up together. I sent a few hostile letters at first. I didn't know if I even wanted to keep him in my life, let alone how to fit him in. He clearly wanted to be a daddy and I was past that point and had been for a long time. I needed a daddy when it was Christmas, when I got braces, learned to drive, went to prom, graduated from high school and then college. I needed my daddy to give me away at my wedding. My dad was there, but not my daddy.
When my daughter was born I felt obligated to allow him into my life. I wasn't just making decisions for myself anymore. I felt she had a right to know who her grandfather is and form her own decisions about her feelings. Of course I forgot that she takes her cue from me and won't love him on her own. She is the second generation now that won't love someone without the permission to do so.
People have said, "At least he tries." "At least he is here now." Parent/child relationships don't work that way. Seventeen years is a length of time that "at least" doesn't cover. It's not superficial, not a surface feeling. I was a child. As a parent, I would never turn my back on my daughter. Ever. It isn't even physically possible for me. He has his reasons, his excuses, whatever he tells himself so he can sleep at night. But how does the eight-year-old child understand why her father is gone? Did he stop loving her? Was he tired of her? Does he love other kids now? Is he even still alive?
He has now been back for almost as long as he was gone. He won't let me push him away. He's the first person to offer help when I need it. Even I can't ignore that anymore. He's remarried and I adore my stepmom, even though I rejected her at first too. She helps to bridge a lot of the weirdness between us. She's a buffer and I think she knows it and doesn't mind in the least. I finally call them "my parents" and it doesn't feel strained. A year ago I absolutely refused to go visit him; this year I happily accepted his invitation.
What changed? I've lost a lot of my family. There is too much distance between most of us, both physical and emotional. I've lost important relationships that I never wanted to give up. I suppose I'm just taking family where I can get it these days. He genuinely wants to be a part of my life and it just gets harder to try to turn that down. It doesn't show up every day.
At my last book club, I was asked what connects me to my dad. My first answer was "guilt". Because for a long time it was. I didn't want to have regrets later. I didn't want to be the reason I didn't have a dad. Also, selfishly, it let me off the hook so that I could continue blaming him, I could have a scapegoat. I could be self-righteous and absolved when he left again because I did my part.
It might be more than that now. And maybe it's just time. Finally.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Nine Weeks
That is nine weeks as in nine weeks of unemployed boredom. Not 9 1/2 weeks of tantalizing, honey-covered sex. Guess which one I'd rather have?
I realize it's been a while since I've given an update on my thrilling life of No Job, but really, there's no point. Aside from my little jaunt to Vegas, every week is the same. I sleep in, I complain about the weather, think a lot about eating, play online, drive the kid around and wait by the phone. Or email, as it seems to be in the technical world.
This week was only slightly different because this will be my first month being solely dependent on my unemployment "benefits". The severance was used last month to get caught up on bills so now I will feel the full weight of not having a regular paycheck. I woke up in a panic attack the other morning when I realized this. I have trouble breathing if I think about it for very long, so I try not to think about it.
I switched to a more affordable form of my antidepressant. Generic Celexa is not my beloved Lexapro. I feel like I'm on nothing at all. Hence the panic attacks, the crying myself to sleep at night and lacking the energy to clean my house. Forget about working out. Excuses come easily in a depressed state.
Here's the real news. It's time for a change. A big one. I'm in a rut, I'm tired of complaining and waiting for things to happen to me. Time to make things happen for me. I've started applying for jobs out of state, in warmer states. It seems like an impossible task; there is a lot to coordinate with D and her activities and goals and well-being. But I think it's time. My family isn't here, my relationship ended, the job is gone. If the universe is trying to send me a message, I also expect it to cooperate with my efforts.
Austin is at the top of my list. Is it crazy to move somewhere I've never been before? Does it count that I lived in Dallas until I was six? I've been doing my research. It's a top 10 city in the country for dogs and dating. Hopefully the two aren't related. There are numerous ballet schools plus one really great academy. Music, food, art, warmth, Life. There are even celebrity bats, what's not to like? The only negative attribute I ever hear is that it can be hot and humid. Are you kidding me? I'd willingly trade a couple of months of scorching mugginess over nine months of cold, gray, rainy, snowy oppressive skies.
Wish me luck. Or better yet, find me a job and pay for my move. I'll invite you to my housewarming party. Come on, it's a fair trade.
Okay. You're caught up. I did something productive today. Go back to your breakfasts and coffee. I'm going to go back to teaching the dog to play hide and seek.
I realize it's been a while since I've given an update on my thrilling life of No Job, but really, there's no point. Aside from my little jaunt to Vegas, every week is the same. I sleep in, I complain about the weather, think a lot about eating, play online, drive the kid around and wait by the phone. Or email, as it seems to be in the technical world.
This week was only slightly different because this will be my first month being solely dependent on my unemployment "benefits". The severance was used last month to get caught up on bills so now I will feel the full weight of not having a regular paycheck. I woke up in a panic attack the other morning when I realized this. I have trouble breathing if I think about it for very long, so I try not to think about it.
I switched to a more affordable form of my antidepressant. Generic Celexa is not my beloved Lexapro. I feel like I'm on nothing at all. Hence the panic attacks, the crying myself to sleep at night and lacking the energy to clean my house. Forget about working out. Excuses come easily in a depressed state.
Here's the real news. It's time for a change. A big one. I'm in a rut, I'm tired of complaining and waiting for things to happen to me. Time to make things happen for me. I've started applying for jobs out of state, in warmer states. It seems like an impossible task; there is a lot to coordinate with D and her activities and goals and well-being. But I think it's time. My family isn't here, my relationship ended, the job is gone. If the universe is trying to send me a message, I also expect it to cooperate with my efforts.
Austin is at the top of my list. Is it crazy to move somewhere I've never been before? Does it count that I lived in Dallas until I was six? I've been doing my research. It's a top 10 city in the country for dogs and dating. Hopefully the two aren't related. There are numerous ballet schools plus one really great academy. Music, food, art, warmth, Life. There are even celebrity bats, what's not to like? The only negative attribute I ever hear is that it can be hot and humid. Are you kidding me? I'd willingly trade a couple of months of scorching mugginess over nine months of cold, gray, rainy, snowy oppressive skies.
Wish me luck. Or better yet, find me a job and pay for my move. I'll invite you to my housewarming party. Come on, it's a fair trade.
Okay. You're caught up. I did something productive today. Go back to your breakfasts and coffee. I'm going to go back to teaching the dog to play hide and seek.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Church, Naked Midgets and Oysters
For my seventh week of unemployment, I decided to go to Las Vegas. D had spring break, the weather here was shit as usual for Central Oregon spring and my dad sprung for the plane tickets. Yep, Dad lives in Vegas so we also had a free place to stay and a chauffeur.
My dad and step mom don't drink or gamble so I knew this wasn't going to be my regular idea of Vegas fun, but I wasn't prepared for our first evening's activity. When they told us we were going to church, I balked. Church? In Vegas? I hadn't been to church with my dad since I was probably six and I don't remember the last time I've been since I've lived here. Huh. Well, when in Rome, right?
The church wasn't much to look at on the outside and wasn't located in the fancy part of town. The inside, though, had its own tiny charm. Best of all? Real pews! I haven't seen real, wooden pews in years.
The people were the real surprise. They had all heard of me; it was like I was a celebrity. I shook more hands than I could count and everyone was so warm and welcoming and friendly. My dad would start to introduce me and they'd say "yes, of course!" I was taken aback when one very sweet old man named Claude said he's been praying for me and it was nice to put a face with the prayer. Apparently they were all aware of my unemployment situation and I was unknowingly a part of their regular prayer requests. It was oddly comforting.
The sermon was simple, and appropriately fitting for me at the time. The pastor talked about anticipation and expectations and being open to more positivity and joy. It was just what I needed to hear.
As we left, my dad introduced me to more people, including a man named Napoleon and a Mr. Berry, both black men, one of which he goes fishing with. This was what touched me the most, how close he was to each person, no matter what color they were. This is a man who called my step dad the "n-word" when I was a small child just because his hair was curly. But I wasn't seeing the same person now. He was so accepting and open with everyone and told me that these people are his family. And he meant it.
I went to bed that night feeling like I had been exactly where I was supposed to be in that moment. I fell asleep feeling Gratitude.
The next two days were spent on the strip. I hadn't told D much about what it was like so that she'd be surprised. She's so my child. She loved the casinos - the lights, the sounds, the smells (minus the cigarette smoke). We shopped, we ate, we walked miles and miles until I thought my feet would fall off. We took picture after picture of everything, even the lion that peed. As it peed.
I think the part that amused her the most was anything to do with sex. And there is plenty of that in Vegas. She giggled at Hooters, snickered at Planet Hollywood's Peepshow, took a photograph of a sign that said "Even our condiments are sexy". She even began to imitate the countless peddlers on the street handing out their "porn". The real highlight was when one of them asked my dad and step mom, "Hey, you guys into naked midgets?" It was probably cruel to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I finally accepted some of the "porn cards" so that we can add them to a scrapbook.
Our last day we went to Hoover Dam. D was not pleased. She was bored out of her skull and didn't even hide it well. "I don't want to see stupid sights, I want to see a mall." Grampa made up for it by taking her to a mall and buying her shoes. Spoiled much?
At dinner that night I met my stepsister. It's so weird to say that. I didn't even have a step mom for most of my life and now I find out I have a stepsister! And she's cool! And she lives in Hawaii!! I think we are going to be bff's.
Leaving was hard. I knew that I was going to come back to cold and snow. In the car on the way home there was a commercial for laser bowling. D scoffed, saying, "That's what Bend has to offer? Bowling?" Yeah, coming back to reality was a hard landing.
Except that night there was a send-off party for those of us that were laid off with former co-workers. I expected a handful of the usual regulars but there were at least 20 people there. My friends. And my friends had missed me.
The next night some girlfriends and I went out for oysters and champagne. This was certainly not in my budget but it was worth every delicious, decadent bite and every moment of laughter and conversation. For the second time in a week, I was just where I needed to be.
I gained a lot this week. New family, deeper friendships and priceless time with my bugabooga. Hey, if this is what unemployment is like, I'll take it.
My dad and step mom don't drink or gamble so I knew this wasn't going to be my regular idea of Vegas fun, but I wasn't prepared for our first evening's activity. When they told us we were going to church, I balked. Church? In Vegas? I hadn't been to church with my dad since I was probably six and I don't remember the last time I've been since I've lived here. Huh. Well, when in Rome, right?
The church wasn't much to look at on the outside and wasn't located in the fancy part of town. The inside, though, had its own tiny charm. Best of all? Real pews! I haven't seen real, wooden pews in years.
The people were the real surprise. They had all heard of me; it was like I was a celebrity. I shook more hands than I could count and everyone was so warm and welcoming and friendly. My dad would start to introduce me and they'd say "yes, of course!" I was taken aback when one very sweet old man named Claude said he's been praying for me and it was nice to put a face with the prayer. Apparently they were all aware of my unemployment situation and I was unknowingly a part of their regular prayer requests. It was oddly comforting.
The sermon was simple, and appropriately fitting for me at the time. The pastor talked about anticipation and expectations and being open to more positivity and joy. It was just what I needed to hear.
As we left, my dad introduced me to more people, including a man named Napoleon and a Mr. Berry, both black men, one of which he goes fishing with. This was what touched me the most, how close he was to each person, no matter what color they were. This is a man who called my step dad the "n-word" when I was a small child just because his hair was curly. But I wasn't seeing the same person now. He was so accepting and open with everyone and told me that these people are his family. And he meant it.
I went to bed that night feeling like I had been exactly where I was supposed to be in that moment. I fell asleep feeling Gratitude.
The next two days were spent on the strip. I hadn't told D much about what it was like so that she'd be surprised. She's so my child. She loved the casinos - the lights, the sounds, the smells (minus the cigarette smoke). We shopped, we ate, we walked miles and miles until I thought my feet would fall off. We took picture after picture of everything, even the lion that peed. As it peed.
I think the part that amused her the most was anything to do with sex. And there is plenty of that in Vegas. She giggled at Hooters, snickered at Planet Hollywood's Peepshow, took a photograph of a sign that said "Even our condiments are sexy". She even began to imitate the countless peddlers on the street handing out their "porn". The real highlight was when one of them asked my dad and step mom, "Hey, you guys into naked midgets?" It was probably cruel to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I finally accepted some of the "porn cards" so that we can add them to a scrapbook.
Our last day we went to Hoover Dam. D was not pleased. She was bored out of her skull and didn't even hide it well. "I don't want to see stupid sights, I want to see a mall." Grampa made up for it by taking her to a mall and buying her shoes. Spoiled much?
At dinner that night I met my stepsister. It's so weird to say that. I didn't even have a step mom for most of my life and now I find out I have a stepsister! And she's cool! And she lives in Hawaii!! I think we are going to be bff's.
Leaving was hard. I knew that I was going to come back to cold and snow. In the car on the way home there was a commercial for laser bowling. D scoffed, saying, "That's what Bend has to offer? Bowling?" Yeah, coming back to reality was a hard landing.
Except that night there was a send-off party for those of us that were laid off with former co-workers. I expected a handful of the usual regulars but there were at least 20 people there. My friends. And my friends had missed me.
The next night some girlfriends and I went out for oysters and champagne. This was certainly not in my budget but it was worth every delicious, decadent bite and every moment of laughter and conversation. For the second time in a week, I was just where I needed to be.
I gained a lot this week. New family, deeper friendships and priceless time with my bugabooga. Hey, if this is what unemployment is like, I'll take it.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Open Letter to the Jerk in the White Car
Dear Fuckpuppet,
Remember me? We met shortly after 6:00 last Friday night? You know, the roundabout by Ray's and Safeway. I was in the car in front of you that you rear-ended. Oh, that's right. We didn't actually meet. Why not? Because you. drove. off. Like an asshole. Seriously. Who rear-ends someone and then just drives away? Dude, I hit a Porsche and stopped to make sure I didn't do any damage. Then again, I don't have shitty karma now. Not like you do.
I would like to thank you. But it's only a tiny little thank you. Because of you, I had the best massage of my life this week. It almost makes up for the headaches and stiff neck and back that I've had all week. Or the calls I've had to make to my insurance company because this really should be coming out of your insurance. If you have any.
Yeah, good luck with that karma thing.
Insincerely,
Good Karma Seeker
Remember me? We met shortly after 6:00 last Friday night? You know, the roundabout by Ray's and Safeway. I was in the car in front of you that you rear-ended. Oh, that's right. We didn't actually meet. Why not? Because you. drove. off. Like an asshole. Seriously. Who rear-ends someone and then just drives away? Dude, I hit a Porsche and stopped to make sure I didn't do any damage. Then again, I don't have shitty karma now. Not like you do.
I would like to thank you. But it's only a tiny little thank you. Because of you, I had the best massage of my life this week. It almost makes up for the headaches and stiff neck and back that I've had all week. Or the calls I've had to make to my insurance company because this really should be coming out of your insurance. If you have any.
Yeah, good luck with that karma thing.
Insincerely,
Good Karma Seeker
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Concrete is Really Hard. Who Knew?
My friend ML invited me to her gym this morning. Despite the early time (9:00 is early for the unemployed), I accepted her invitation. I wasn't so gung-ho when the alarm went off, but I told myself I'd be glad I went. Yeah, right. I should know better than to listen to myself.
When I showed up with my bottle of water, ML remarked how smart I am. Umm... okay. She suggested I warm up on the treadmill because once the class starts, they "hit it hard."
Except at first it wasn't. Jog up and down the gym, woo hoo. Then run sideways. Oh, look at me! Look how fast and energetic I am! Oh no, don't look at me falling! Yes, I tripped over my own feet and fell on my knee. On the concrete floor. Audibly. Because I'm clumsy. I get asked how I can walk in four-inch heels. It's easy people, I'm walking. Walking is the key word here, not running in odd foot patterns.
It hurt. I've got a nice bruised scrape. It hurt for the rest of the workout. The rest of the workout hurt. I thought I would either pass out or throw up. Or puke while passed out, that would be super pretty.
I don't think I'll be mobile at all tomorrow. If it's not my knee, it will be my butt. Or my abs. Or maybe my back. I'm not sure what got the most abuse, as it was more of an all-over hurt while it was happening.
ML is crazy. She does this four times a week and is about 20 years older than me. She was my role model before, now she is my freaking hero.
Even if I'm cursing her tomorrow. Her and the concrete. And the inventor of concrete.
When I showed up with my bottle of water, ML remarked how smart I am. Umm... okay. She suggested I warm up on the treadmill because once the class starts, they "hit it hard."
Except at first it wasn't. Jog up and down the gym, woo hoo. Then run sideways. Oh, look at me! Look how fast and energetic I am! Oh no, don't look at me falling! Yes, I tripped over my own feet and fell on my knee. On the concrete floor. Audibly. Because I'm clumsy. I get asked how I can walk in four-inch heels. It's easy people, I'm walking. Walking is the key word here, not running in odd foot patterns.
It hurt. I've got a nice bruised scrape. It hurt for the rest of the workout. The rest of the workout hurt. I thought I would either pass out or throw up. Or puke while passed out, that would be super pretty.
I don't think I'll be mobile at all tomorrow. If it's not my knee, it will be my butt. Or my abs. Or maybe my back. I'm not sure what got the most abuse, as it was more of an all-over hurt while it was happening.
ML is crazy. She does this four times a week and is about 20 years older than me. She was my role model before, now she is my freaking hero.
Even if I'm cursing her tomorrow. Her and the concrete. And the inventor of concrete.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Jobless Loser Week 4
Alright, so the week isn't over quite yet, but I'm going to go ahead and call it. I was productive enough to start my weekend now.
I had an interview Monday morning. It was a phone interview so I wore my pajamas. The downside to wearing your pajamas? It feels like you're wearing your pajamas. They lulled me into a false sense of security and when I actually started answering questions, I felt too fuzzy-headed to speak intelligently. I've spent the rest of the week second-guessing every sentence. Damn it.
Wednesday was another interview with a different company. I promised not to blog about them, but I will say that it was my second coffee interview. At first I thought it was kinda weird, having an interview in public with beverages, but I think I've decided I like it. You know some research person came up with the idea and then recommended it to the human resources world. Neutral turf, casual atmosphere, puts people at ease. Come to think of it, it was probably a Starbucks employee and they got paid a gazillion dollars for being so brilliant. I need to come up with an idea like that. If I was a gazillionaire (Really, spell check? Gazillion is a word but gazillionaire isn't?), I wouldn't have to go on any more interviews. At coffee or in my pajamas.
Oh, how about the martini interview? Of course most people would blow that one. Not everyone gets more charming after a martini or two. Most people just turn into idiots. But then that would eliminate the candidates pretty quickly too. Separate the idiots from the talent! I totally need to copyright this idea...
The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. Most of it. I did have this odd little nighttime quirk that freaked me out. You know how in the horror movies the protagonist gets woken up at the same time every night? Or there's a door that opens at the same time every night? Because that's the time that somebody died and the ghost comes back to do all the creepy stuff that happens forever after that? Yeah, my week was like that. Four nights in a row I woke up at 4 a.m. 4:00 on the dot. Seriously, last night I was going through my e-mail and Facebook to see if a relative had died and I missed it. And then I tried to stay up later to see if I could make myself super tired so I'd sleep through it. When I woke up at 3:38 I was ecstatic! Ha! I beat you, creepy-unknown-thing-that-keeps-waking-me-up-for-no-reason-at-all!! Of course now I'm thinking that I still woke up, within half an hour of 4 a.m., so the creepy, unknown thing is probably just fucking with me now. Great.
Yeah. 40, single, unemployed and haunted. I am living the dream.
I had an interview Monday morning. It was a phone interview so I wore my pajamas. The downside to wearing your pajamas? It feels like you're wearing your pajamas. They lulled me into a false sense of security and when I actually started answering questions, I felt too fuzzy-headed to speak intelligently. I've spent the rest of the week second-guessing every sentence. Damn it.
Wednesday was another interview with a different company. I promised not to blog about them, but I will say that it was my second coffee interview. At first I thought it was kinda weird, having an interview in public with beverages, but I think I've decided I like it. You know some research person came up with the idea and then recommended it to the human resources world. Neutral turf, casual atmosphere, puts people at ease. Come to think of it, it was probably a Starbucks employee and they got paid a gazillion dollars for being so brilliant. I need to come up with an idea like that. If I was a gazillionaire (Really, spell check? Gazillion is a word but gazillionaire isn't?), I wouldn't have to go on any more interviews. At coffee or in my pajamas.
Oh, how about the martini interview? Of course most people would blow that one. Not everyone gets more charming after a martini or two. Most people just turn into idiots. But then that would eliminate the candidates pretty quickly too. Separate the idiots from the talent! I totally need to copyright this idea...
The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. Most of it. I did have this odd little nighttime quirk that freaked me out. You know how in the horror movies the protagonist gets woken up at the same time every night? Or there's a door that opens at the same time every night? Because that's the time that somebody died and the ghost comes back to do all the creepy stuff that happens forever after that? Yeah, my week was like that. Four nights in a row I woke up at 4 a.m. 4:00 on the dot. Seriously, last night I was going through my e-mail and Facebook to see if a relative had died and I missed it. And then I tried to stay up later to see if I could make myself super tired so I'd sleep through it. When I woke up at 3:38 I was ecstatic! Ha! I beat you, creepy-unknown-thing-that-keeps-waking-me-up-for-no-reason-at-all!! Of course now I'm thinking that I still woke up, within half an hour of 4 a.m., so the creepy, unknown thing is probably just fucking with me now. Great.
Yeah. 40, single, unemployed and haunted. I am living the dream.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Week 3
First, I must report there were no meltdowns this week. There were, however, a couple of days of debilitating, mind-numbing depression. The rejections have started flowing in and my ego has taken a beating. I ended the week emotionally exhausted and vowing my forever-friendship with Lexapro. If it could take me to dinner, I would date it.
There were more layoffs at my recent job and my pal JW was laid off yesterday. At least my misery has good company. I'm thinking of starting an Unemployment Club with pajamas as uniforms. We can start drinking before noon and watch movies all day, pooling our limited funds for pizza delivery.
Stupid, wanting-to-take-over-my-life depression aside, the week wasn't all bad.
I planned a trip for my friends' business. They let me plan one with dogs - bonus! It won't be until June, but I am totally looking forward to it since I'll be hosting. Hanging with dogs all day? Always a good idea.
I saw a movie with some girlfriends (plus a token male), read books, ate ice cream, went to happy hour with former co-workers and watched my dog try to have sex. It's like dog porn, but two dogs who are both fixed have no idea what they are doing. They just know they want to do something, right-freaking-now, damn it! Leave it to my dog to provide the comic relief and gross-out moment of the week. All in one. That takes talent.
Tomorrow I've got a date with a little bald man called Oscar. Yep, the Academy Awards are on, my favorite television Event of the year. (Running a close second is the season finale of Dexter.) I don't even care who wins, I'm just going to enjoy the mini-break from Dreary Town and enjoy the glamour.
I did manage to score an interview Monday morning, so cross those fingers, people. I even agreed to do it at 9 a.m., which is unheard of as a wake-up time these days, but since it's a phone interview I can wear my pajamas.
Tuesday is book club, which is truly my fondest activity of the month. I get to eat good food, visit with wonderful people and feel Smart for a while. It will be like a little oasis of acceptance in the desert of rejection I've been stranded in.
I can do without more dog porn though. Seriously, once is enough to last a lifetime.
There were more layoffs at my recent job and my pal JW was laid off yesterday. At least my misery has good company. I'm thinking of starting an Unemployment Club with pajamas as uniforms. We can start drinking before noon and watch movies all day, pooling our limited funds for pizza delivery.
Stupid, wanting-to-take-over-my-life depression aside, the week wasn't all bad.
I planned a trip for my friends' business. They let me plan one with dogs - bonus! It won't be until June, but I am totally looking forward to it since I'll be hosting. Hanging with dogs all day? Always a good idea.
I saw a movie with some girlfriends (plus a token male), read books, ate ice cream, went to happy hour with former co-workers and watched my dog try to have sex. It's like dog porn, but two dogs who are both fixed have no idea what they are doing. They just know they want to do something, right-freaking-now, damn it! Leave it to my dog to provide the comic relief and gross-out moment of the week. All in one. That takes talent.
Tomorrow I've got a date with a little bald man called Oscar. Yep, the Academy Awards are on, my favorite television Event of the year. (Running a close second is the season finale of Dexter.) I don't even care who wins, I'm just going to enjoy the mini-break from Dreary Town and enjoy the glamour.
I did manage to score an interview Monday morning, so cross those fingers, people. I even agreed to do it at 9 a.m., which is unheard of as a wake-up time these days, but since it's a phone interview I can wear my pajamas.
Tuesday is book club, which is truly my fondest activity of the month. I get to eat good food, visit with wonderful people and feel Smart for a while. It will be like a little oasis of acceptance in the desert of rejection I've been stranded in.
I can do without more dog porn though. Seriously, once is enough to last a lifetime.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Unemployment Week 2
The second week has been harder than the first.
First, the Negatives.
The week started with Valentine's Day. Unemployed and unattached. There was no way this could be a good day. I tried to get the day canceled, but it apparently makes too much money as a fake holiday for anyone to listen to me. Poo.
I went to the dentist, which sucked enough. But halfway through, I realized a song was playing that reminded me of my ex-boyfriend. In fact, it was "our" breakup song. The hygienist mistook my tears of sadness for tears of pain. I got a free chapstick.
The only man who touched me that day was my chiropractor. Is it dirty that I tried to enjoy it? Of course it was over too fast.
It snowed. A fuckload. Which started my meltdown mid-week. Crying was involved. So was vodka.
The next day some jackhole hit my car. Backed right into me at a stop sign. Yes, "stop" would be the key word here. Backed right up into me, crunched my license plate and drove off.
Oh yeah, I got rejection emails for three of the jobs that I applied for. Not that I'm counting.
Now for the Positives. Because there were a few.
I learned how much my friends watch out for me. MG, thanks for saving me from a night that sounds like something that would have pushed me over the edge into killing myself. JW brought vodka and listened to me cry. The wife made me watch "On a Boat" to cheer me up.
I had an interview and I think it went well. Also got a follow-up email from another prospective job. Fingers crossed that the one I really want will call next week.
After three weeks, three chiropractic adjustments and a massage, I finally woke up pain-free. Had I known my insurance was going to cover it all, I would have done this a long time ago. I've got nine days left and you can bet I am taking full advantage of it. Scheduling three more massages before it's over...
Yesterday I got a tattoo. It's small and only took about 15 minutes, but I love it. While we were waiting for the appointment, we went to another studio. This guy does fucking rad, beautiful work and he wants to do my peacock tattoo!! I am now accepting donations since the price of this one will be equal to a small car.
Sixteen Candles is on. It's movies and pajamas for the rest of the day.
And here's to hoping that next week brings far more positives than negatives.
First, the Negatives.
The week started with Valentine's Day. Unemployed and unattached. There was no way this could be a good day. I tried to get the day canceled, but it apparently makes too much money as a fake holiday for anyone to listen to me. Poo.
I went to the dentist, which sucked enough. But halfway through, I realized a song was playing that reminded me of my ex-boyfriend. In fact, it was "our" breakup song. The hygienist mistook my tears of sadness for tears of pain. I got a free chapstick.
The only man who touched me that day was my chiropractor. Is it dirty that I tried to enjoy it? Of course it was over too fast.
It snowed. A fuckload. Which started my meltdown mid-week. Crying was involved. So was vodka.
The next day some jackhole hit my car. Backed right into me at a stop sign. Yes, "stop" would be the key word here. Backed right up into me, crunched my license plate and drove off.
Oh yeah, I got rejection emails for three of the jobs that I applied for. Not that I'm counting.
Now for the Positives. Because there were a few.
I learned how much my friends watch out for me. MG, thanks for saving me from a night that sounds like something that would have pushed me over the edge into killing myself. JW brought vodka and listened to me cry. The wife made me watch "On a Boat" to cheer me up.
I had an interview and I think it went well. Also got a follow-up email from another prospective job. Fingers crossed that the one I really want will call next week.
After three weeks, three chiropractic adjustments and a massage, I finally woke up pain-free. Had I known my insurance was going to cover it all, I would have done this a long time ago. I've got nine days left and you can bet I am taking full advantage of it. Scheduling three more massages before it's over...
Yesterday I got a tattoo. It's small and only took about 15 minutes, but I love it. While we were waiting for the appointment, we went to another studio. This guy does fucking rad, beautiful work and he wants to do my peacock tattoo!! I am now accepting donations since the price of this one will be equal to a small car.
Sixteen Candles is on. It's movies and pajamas for the rest of the day.
And here's to hoping that next week brings far more positives than negatives.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Week 1 of Unemployment
Sucks.
Yep, one week ago I was laid off. There was something about financials and making "tough decisions", blah, blah blah. Since I was the only one in my department that was let go, it's hard not to take it personally. And yes, it sucks.
I've been trying to stay positive though. I have found 7 or 8 jobs to apply to, filed for unemployment, spiffed up my resume, everything I'm supposed to do. I've also slept until 11:00, watched a dozen movies on Netflix and eaten banana pudding for breakfast.
It's been a weird week. When I'm lazy I feel guilty about it, but most of the time I can't figure out what to do first and remain immobilized. I went to Ignite Bend Wednesday night and, in the course of telling a friend about the jobs I'd applied for, discovered I was smack dab in the middle of a group of one of the companies I'd applied to. Impromptu networking. Good thing I washed my hair.
What's made the difference and kept me from shutting down in utter panic is the support I've received from my friends. Work friends, new friends, old friends, family. Kind words, hugs, a Super Bowl party, girls' night out, emails with offers of help. My friends are invaluable and the best and I love them to pieces.
We'll see what the next week brings. Hopefully calls for interviews, which brings its own set of nervous problems. More working out is on the agenda, a dentist appointment, lunch with a friend, maybe a trip to the dog park and hours more of Netflix movies.
Most importantly? Trying to breathe.
Yep, one week ago I was laid off. There was something about financials and making "tough decisions", blah, blah blah. Since I was the only one in my department that was let go, it's hard not to take it personally. And yes, it sucks.
I've been trying to stay positive though. I have found 7 or 8 jobs to apply to, filed for unemployment, spiffed up my resume, everything I'm supposed to do. I've also slept until 11:00, watched a dozen movies on Netflix and eaten banana pudding for breakfast.
It's been a weird week. When I'm lazy I feel guilty about it, but most of the time I can't figure out what to do first and remain immobilized. I went to Ignite Bend Wednesday night and, in the course of telling a friend about the jobs I'd applied for, discovered I was smack dab in the middle of a group of one of the companies I'd applied to. Impromptu networking. Good thing I washed my hair.
What's made the difference and kept me from shutting down in utter panic is the support I've received from my friends. Work friends, new friends, old friends, family. Kind words, hugs, a Super Bowl party, girls' night out, emails with offers of help. My friends are invaluable and the best and I love them to pieces.
We'll see what the next week brings. Hopefully calls for interviews, which brings its own set of nervous problems. More working out is on the agenda, a dentist appointment, lunch with a friend, maybe a trip to the dog park and hours more of Netflix movies.
Most importantly? Trying to breathe.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Another One Bites the Dust Storm of Raid
It happened again. If you don't already know the saga, you can read about it here and here and here.
Yesterday I killed another black widow. In my house. Number 13, 14? I don't know. I've lost count. And I have nothing clever left to say about it.
Except that since they keep reproducing in my house, I think the bitches are getting better dates than I am.
Yesterday I killed another black widow. In my house. Number 13, 14? I don't know. I've lost count. And I have nothing clever left to say about it.
Except that since they keep reproducing in my house, I think the bitches are getting better dates than I am.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
The Small Moments Count the Most
I once had the thought that I really know very little about my mom. I didn’t know her as a child or a young adult. For the first couple of years I wasn’t really conscious of her as a separate being and have very little memory of that time anyway. For many years I only thought of her as Mom and not as a person. If I know so little about my mom as an individual, who I’ve known my whole life, how well do I really know anyone?
As my daughter grows up, I think I know everything about her. Since I’ve known her for her whole life, not just mine. Since I’ve been there since the very beginning. Day one. I know she had not a single birthmark. I know when she broke her collarbone, who her first best friend was. I know her favorite foods, her favorite color, her favorite TV show. I know what she wants to be when she grows up and how sweet she looks when she sleeps. On top of it all, she tells me everything. More than I want to know sometimes.
Once in a while, though, she surprises me. Like last night.
She wants to get a job. She wants to go to ballet camp next year. Yesterday she told me her bright idea of how she is going to earn money. She is going to get gigs around town playing her guitar and singing. Um. She just started playing at the beginning of the school year. She also said this is how she is going to start her career. She’s 14 and starting her “career”. I sort of brushed it off. I didn’t take it seriously, but I’m also not going to tell her she can’t. That it won’t happen. Because who knows? Maybe it will. Maybe she will be the one out of thousands who makes it. I don’t tell her that she can’t or won’t.
She asked to play a couple of songs for me that she’s been working on. That’s when it happened. Her voice was beautiful. The songs she chose were ones I had never heard but very lovely. Fitting. When did this happen? How did I not know? This is my child? My heart swelled. I thought it would burst.
Halfway through the third song, a tear rolled down my cheek. By the time she was done, I needed a box of Kleenex. And in her teenaged-attitude voice she asked, “Are you crying??” I asked her to sing it again and she rolled her eyes a bit and told me not to cry again. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t. She really hated me clapping and cheering.
She was so beautiful and I could actually envision her playing somewhere. I told her this and then I planned her outfit. Before I could even say it, she said the exact outfit I was thinking of, down to the boots! Ha. I guess I know her pretty well after all.
Surprises are nice sometimes too.
As my daughter grows up, I think I know everything about her. Since I’ve known her for her whole life, not just mine. Since I’ve been there since the very beginning. Day one. I know she had not a single birthmark. I know when she broke her collarbone, who her first best friend was. I know her favorite foods, her favorite color, her favorite TV show. I know what she wants to be when she grows up and how sweet she looks when she sleeps. On top of it all, she tells me everything. More than I want to know sometimes.
Once in a while, though, she surprises me. Like last night.
She wants to get a job. She wants to go to ballet camp next year. Yesterday she told me her bright idea of how she is going to earn money. She is going to get gigs around town playing her guitar and singing. Um. She just started playing at the beginning of the school year. She also said this is how she is going to start her career. She’s 14 and starting her “career”. I sort of brushed it off. I didn’t take it seriously, but I’m also not going to tell her she can’t. That it won’t happen. Because who knows? Maybe it will. Maybe she will be the one out of thousands who makes it. I don’t tell her that she can’t or won’t.
She asked to play a couple of songs for me that she’s been working on. That’s when it happened. Her voice was beautiful. The songs she chose were ones I had never heard but very lovely. Fitting. When did this happen? How did I not know? This is my child? My heart swelled. I thought it would burst.
Halfway through the third song, a tear rolled down my cheek. By the time she was done, I needed a box of Kleenex. And in her teenaged-attitude voice she asked, “Are you crying??” I asked her to sing it again and she rolled her eyes a bit and told me not to cry again. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t. She really hated me clapping and cheering.
She was so beautiful and I could actually envision her playing somewhere. I told her this and then I planned her outfit. Before I could even say it, she said the exact outfit I was thinking of, down to the boots! Ha. I guess I know her pretty well after all.
Surprises are nice sometimes too.
Monday, January 31, 2011
"Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad."
In order to tell you what I am about to, I had to make a double Cosmo. Also it's Monday. And I'm PMSing. And, after all, this blog has "martini" in the title. Oh, who am I kidding? I don't need an excuse, I drink every day anyway. But it really does help if I'm going to have to relive Friday night.
I said that I had a bad date. My guy friends all agreed that he was a tool, but seemed a bit incredulous at how much of a tool he really was. When I relayed more of the details to a girlfriend, she said it sounded like something made up, but she knew I wouldn't do that. People, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
There were several points at which I should have ended the date, but I think I was in shock; I couldn't quite believe what was happening. Besides, I wouldn't have this great story to tell you if I had. What follows are some of the lowlights.
1. Within 30 seconds he insulted me by telling me I'm short. Kind of douchey, but I was nice and chalked it up to nerves.
2. 45 minutes later, he asked if my boobs are real. Seriously. "How about those? Are they real?" I looked at him and said, "Did you really just ask me that? Really?" Total dick move. I still don't know what to say about that.
3. If I talked about a girlfriend, it turned into some kind of sexual innuendo. He actually said "I'm a lesbian." Barf. Gross.
4. He called his kids assholes. I know that dealing with teenagers is difficult. And it's personal. But I don't call my kid a bitch. Even if she's acting like one. Or an asshole. So what kind of parent does that? A bad one.
5. Next, he invited himself to see Empty Space Orchestra with me. I had planned on going with The Wife after drinks, but he decided he also wanted to go. Fine, whatever. Stalker.
6. We went to dinner. He asked what I wanted for an appetizer. I looked at the menu and declared "Tempura!" He looked at me flatly and said, "You know that's fried." "Um, yeah. And?" He did not order the tempura. Apparently there was a fat quota for the evening that I wasn't aware of. And I was too fat, but nobody told me. Asshole.
7. He went on and on about Charlie Sheen. He apparently worships a drug addict. He actually said "Charlie Sheen is living every guy's wet dream." And "I'd snort a briefcase full of coke but I get drug-tested so I can't." He also wishes he could sleep with porn stars. Unbelievable.
8. At this point, The Wife texted to see where I was. I was just about done with The Jerk and told her to meet us at dinner on the way to see ESO. I practically begged her to come meet me. Being a Good Wife, she did. I thought The Jerk was going to jizz in his pants seeing the two of us together. Barf. Gross. Pretty sure he thought he was going to get the two of us. No. No way.
9. Later, like the next day, Wifey told me that he talked about "choking bitches out." I had stopped listening at that point. I also didn't want to encourage him to talk anymore, because he was getting really loud and drawing a lot of attention to himself.
10. We went to Silver Moon. He decided that my hair was really soft and he needed to touch it every five minutes. Ew. Uninvited. He touched my ass, I slapped him. I told him not to be inappropriate. Did I ask you to touch me? No. No I didn't.
11. There was a drunk guy at ESO. What?? Someone got drunk at a concert? In a bar? The Jerk looks at him (I assume, I didn't want to look at either one of them) and says, "Classing up the place, aren't you?" Wtf? Who engages the drunk guy?
12. My favorite local band starts. Wifey and I move to the front. We start dancing. For some reason, The Jerk assumes that my dancing is an invitation to make out with me publicly. Ew. No. I move away. Several times. The very worst part? There is a very cute, very young boy eyeing me. I was cockblocked. Damn it!!!
13. Since he had taken a taxi to meet me, I had to drive him back to his hotel. He tried to entice me with a pull-out bed. Uh, no thanks. Oh, he had a king-size bed? No thank you. His parting words getting out of my car? "You women are all the same. You talk about how much you want dick, but when it comes time to put out you're too scared." What? What the fuck? Did I really hear that? At what point did I express I wanted to have sex with a misogynistic asshole? I must have missed that part of the evening.
The only thing I am thankful for regarding this date is that he took the hint and didn't contact me again. Whew.
The next night The Wife and I went back to The Scene of the Crime and I ordered the tempura and the tempura roll and anything else fried we could find on the menu. It was awesome. And fun. And the exact opposite of the night before.
Yep. Girls rule. Boys drool. I know who has my back.
I said that I had a bad date. My guy friends all agreed that he was a tool, but seemed a bit incredulous at how much of a tool he really was. When I relayed more of the details to a girlfriend, she said it sounded like something made up, but she knew I wouldn't do that. People, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
There were several points at which I should have ended the date, but I think I was in shock; I couldn't quite believe what was happening. Besides, I wouldn't have this great story to tell you if I had. What follows are some of the lowlights.
1. Within 30 seconds he insulted me by telling me I'm short. Kind of douchey, but I was nice and chalked it up to nerves.
2. 45 minutes later, he asked if my boobs are real. Seriously. "How about those? Are they real?" I looked at him and said, "Did you really just ask me that? Really?" Total dick move. I still don't know what to say about that.
3. If I talked about a girlfriend, it turned into some kind of sexual innuendo. He actually said "I'm a lesbian." Barf. Gross.
4. He called his kids assholes. I know that dealing with teenagers is difficult. And it's personal. But I don't call my kid a bitch. Even if she's acting like one. Or an asshole. So what kind of parent does that? A bad one.
5. Next, he invited himself to see Empty Space Orchestra with me. I had planned on going with The Wife after drinks, but he decided he also wanted to go. Fine, whatever. Stalker.
6. We went to dinner. He asked what I wanted for an appetizer. I looked at the menu and declared "Tempura!" He looked at me flatly and said, "You know that's fried." "Um, yeah. And?" He did not order the tempura. Apparently there was a fat quota for the evening that I wasn't aware of. And I was too fat, but nobody told me. Asshole.
7. He went on and on about Charlie Sheen. He apparently worships a drug addict. He actually said "Charlie Sheen is living every guy's wet dream." And "I'd snort a briefcase full of coke but I get drug-tested so I can't." He also wishes he could sleep with porn stars. Unbelievable.
8. At this point, The Wife texted to see where I was. I was just about done with The Jerk and told her to meet us at dinner on the way to see ESO. I practically begged her to come meet me. Being a Good Wife, she did. I thought The Jerk was going to jizz in his pants seeing the two of us together. Barf. Gross. Pretty sure he thought he was going to get the two of us. No. No way.
9. Later, like the next day, Wifey told me that he talked about "choking bitches out." I had stopped listening at that point. I also didn't want to encourage him to talk anymore, because he was getting really loud and drawing a lot of attention to himself.
10. We went to Silver Moon. He decided that my hair was really soft and he needed to touch it every five minutes. Ew. Uninvited. He touched my ass, I slapped him. I told him not to be inappropriate. Did I ask you to touch me? No. No I didn't.
11. There was a drunk guy at ESO. What?? Someone got drunk at a concert? In a bar? The Jerk looks at him (I assume, I didn't want to look at either one of them) and says, "Classing up the place, aren't you?" Wtf? Who engages the drunk guy?
12. My favorite local band starts. Wifey and I move to the front. We start dancing. For some reason, The Jerk assumes that my dancing is an invitation to make out with me publicly. Ew. No. I move away. Several times. The very worst part? There is a very cute, very young boy eyeing me. I was cockblocked. Damn it!!!
13. Since he had taken a taxi to meet me, I had to drive him back to his hotel. He tried to entice me with a pull-out bed. Uh, no thanks. Oh, he had a king-size bed? No thank you. His parting words getting out of my car? "You women are all the same. You talk about how much you want dick, but when it comes time to put out you're too scared." What? What the fuck? Did I really hear that? At what point did I express I wanted to have sex with a misogynistic asshole? I must have missed that part of the evening.
The only thing I am thankful for regarding this date is that he took the hint and didn't contact me again. Whew.
The next night The Wife and I went back to The Scene of the Crime and I ordered the tempura and the tempura roll and anything else fried we could find on the menu. It was awesome. And fun. And the exact opposite of the night before.
Yep. Girls rule. Boys drool. I know who has my back.
Bitter, Party of One
Conversation today with a co-worker friend. For real. I make nothing up.
E: well how about this for some suck -- i went out to get in my jeep this morning
and somebody had opened one of those starkist bags of tuna and scattered it all around the inside
Me: bag of tuna?
E: a pouch of tuna, instead of the kind in a can
Me: was the pouch open? like mushy tuna was in your car?
E: yes! the pouch was empty on the floorboard and tuna was splattered everywhere inside my jeep
Me: how did that happen?
E: no idea. some shithead teens in my neighborhood, i guess
Me: yeah, that sucks.
but you're getting married.
so my bad date trumps your tuna car.
E: well how about this for some suck -- i went out to get in my jeep this morning
and somebody had opened one of those starkist bags of tuna and scattered it all around the inside
Me: bag of tuna?
E: a pouch of tuna, instead of the kind in a can
Me: was the pouch open? like mushy tuna was in your car?
E: yes! the pouch was empty on the floorboard and tuna was splattered everywhere inside my jeep
Me: how did that happen?
E: no idea. some shithead teens in my neighborhood, i guess
Me: yeah, that sucks.
but you're getting married.
so my bad date trumps your tuna car.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Why Girls' Night Rocks
I had a date Friday night, my first real date in ages. It doesn't matter who he was, because I won't be seeing him again. It was a reminder of why I don't date, the definition of a Bad Date. This should sum it all up: his role model is Charlie Sheen and he mentioned him at least four times throughout the evening.
While we were having drinks, a group of six or seven girls came and sat at the table next to us. I soon wished I was at their table instead and truly appreciating the time I spend with my girlfriends.
This is why girls' night is better than 98% of the dates we all go on.
1. Makeup isn't required and a ponytail is considered a hairstyle.
2. Pajamas are perfectly appropriate when having girls' night in.
3. We can skip shaving our legs. And elsewhere.
4. Nobody asks if our boobs are real (and a guy who's good will find out on his own, without asking).
5. Women know the difference between a cock and a dick. We only want one of them.
6. There are no lesbian references.
7. There is no inappropriate, unwanted touching.
8. We can talk about sex all night in dirty detail and it's not considered a come-on.
9. Nobody is appalled if we order fried food. We can eat as much as we want. We can have fried dessert and nobody gives a fuck.
10. If we're a bit too loud it's because we're having a good time, and not showing the world how obnoxious we are.
11. We know that we dance for us, not because we want to make out in public.
12. We laugh our asses off more with each other than any guy could ever get us to do.
13. We can get as drunk as we want and not be taken advantage of.
14. Impressions aren't necessary. Our friends already love us.
15. Girls' night is always the perfect way to spend a weekend and makes us so glad that we are women.
Cheers, ladies!!
While we were having drinks, a group of six or seven girls came and sat at the table next to us. I soon wished I was at their table instead and truly appreciating the time I spend with my girlfriends.
This is why girls' night is better than 98% of the dates we all go on.
1. Makeup isn't required and a ponytail is considered a hairstyle.
2. Pajamas are perfectly appropriate when having girls' night in.
3. We can skip shaving our legs. And elsewhere.
4. Nobody asks if our boobs are real (and a guy who's good will find out on his own, without asking).
5. Women know the difference between a cock and a dick. We only want one of them.
6. There are no lesbian references.
7. There is no inappropriate, unwanted touching.
8. We can talk about sex all night in dirty detail and it's not considered a come-on.
9. Nobody is appalled if we order fried food. We can eat as much as we want. We can have fried dessert and nobody gives a fuck.
10. If we're a bit too loud it's because we're having a good time, and not showing the world how obnoxious we are.
11. We know that we dance for us, not because we want to make out in public.
12. We laugh our asses off more with each other than any guy could ever get us to do.
13. We can get as drunk as we want and not be taken advantage of.
14. Impressions aren't necessary. Our friends already love us.
15. Girls' night is always the perfect way to spend a weekend and makes us so glad that we are women.
Cheers, ladies!!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
How to Create a Crime Scene. Or Avoid One. Whatever.
Fiona and I have made many delicious, tasty noms since she came to live with me. There was the bourbon cake, a dozen loaves of bread, “ocean rolls”, key lime pie, whipped cream, bread bowls, pizza crust and crème brulee. Like all relationships, we were in the honeymoon phase. I even introduced her to my friends. And then, like all relationships, we had our first little tiff. I admit, it was my fault. I got a little overeager, but she let me know quickly, and near-disastrously, to back off.
We were making a red velvet cheesecake. I was smart enough to turn Fiona off when I was adding my liquid ingredients since she wasn’t wearing her pouring shield. I thought I was saving a step by not having one more thing to wash afterward. Shows what I know.
I put in the cream cheese, eggs, sugar, vanilla, buttermilk. The recipe called for two bottles of red food coloring, but several of the reviews said that one was plenty. I poured in one bottle, mixed it up, and decided I really needed the second bottle because I wanted a deep, rich red color. I poured in the second bottle. And then I flicked the mixing speed switch too quickly, thinking I’m such a pro now. But I skipped the first two speeds and it went too fast! Fiona spat out most of that second bottle of red food coloring. All over my kitchen counter. My beige kitchen counter. I reached over and turned her off and took half a second to survey the damage. My kitchen looked like a crime scene. “Blood” all over the counter, “blood” spatters all over Fiona and her mixing bowl. (Oh, if only Dexter were there!) It looked like someone had killed a small animal on my kitchen counter. Violently.
After scrubbing up the mess and wiping Fiona down, we resumed our task. I took it slower the second time. The cheesecake? Obviously not as red as I wanted, but still every bit as delicious.
Last night we made up. We got out one of the new attachments and shredded cheese for a quiche in 30 seconds.
Tonight we have a date to make ocean rolls. I think we’re back on track.
We were making a red velvet cheesecake. I was smart enough to turn Fiona off when I was adding my liquid ingredients since she wasn’t wearing her pouring shield. I thought I was saving a step by not having one more thing to wash afterward. Shows what I know.
I put in the cream cheese, eggs, sugar, vanilla, buttermilk. The recipe called for two bottles of red food coloring, but several of the reviews said that one was plenty. I poured in one bottle, mixed it up, and decided I really needed the second bottle because I wanted a deep, rich red color. I poured in the second bottle. And then I flicked the mixing speed switch too quickly, thinking I’m such a pro now. But I skipped the first two speeds and it went too fast! Fiona spat out most of that second bottle of red food coloring. All over my kitchen counter. My beige kitchen counter. I reached over and turned her off and took half a second to survey the damage. My kitchen looked like a crime scene. “Blood” all over the counter, “blood” spatters all over Fiona and her mixing bowl. (Oh, if only Dexter were there!) It looked like someone had killed a small animal on my kitchen counter. Violently.
After scrubbing up the mess and wiping Fiona down, we resumed our task. I took it slower the second time. The cheesecake? Obviously not as red as I wanted, but still every bit as delicious.
Last night we made up. We got out one of the new attachments and shredded cheese for a quiche in 30 seconds.
Tonight we have a date to make ocean rolls. I think we’re back on track.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
A Special Kind of Hell
I didn't want to do it. I wouldn't have, especially with the hangover causing waves of nausea in my alcohol-lined stomach. But I needed toilet paper. There was no way around it.
I had to go to Walmart.
I felt like shit, so I wanted to blend in. I did take a shower though. I may shop at Walmart, but I'm not a Person of Walmart. I'm not that gross. Dried my hair. Squeezed into a pair of jeans, not an easy task with booze bloat, threw on a t-shirt, sans bra. Remember the "fitting in" part? Slipped on some tennis shoes and was on my way.
The parking lot alone made me want to turn back and hide in the safety of my house. It's like a really sad carnival. Nobody really knows how to drive, most bodies are shuffling or stumbling around. Walmart zombies.
I walked in the door and was hit with the foulest stench. Seriously. Why the fuck would I smell stale beer? Did someone break a six pack or just throw up? I held my breath until I made it through that vomit-inducing odor.
I needed a shopping cart. Too hungover to actually carry anything. But there was a large Mexican family loitering around the carts. Like twelve of them. Fucking people, just move the fuck out of my way! It's Walmart, have they never been there before? Take a cart and move the fuck along.
I got toilet paper first, without another clusterfuck of loiterers. I needed laundry detergent too, just the next aisle over. Turned the corner and there was a really fat woman in some gold, shiny thing taking up half the aisle. I don't know where you even buy "clothes" like that. It hurt my eyes and offended me as a human being.
Decided that some Gatorade might be nice to have. It was on the way to the check-out stand. And this brought up a question. Does Walmart not know who their customers are? The fattest people in America shop there and yet they have the tiniest aisles. It's almost impossible to pass another cart. These aren't the kind of people I want to be that close to. I have boundaries, assholes.
Normally I go to the self-checkout to avoid any interaction with another person. Not this time. A sad little stringy, gray-haired lady asked if I was ready as I tried to pass by. Oh, what the hell. I was really too tired to all the work. She looked like she needed a purpose in life.
Lesson learned? Don't be close to running out of toilet paper and hungover at the same time.
I had to go to Walmart.
I felt like shit, so I wanted to blend in. I did take a shower though. I may shop at Walmart, but I'm not a Person of Walmart. I'm not that gross. Dried my hair. Squeezed into a pair of jeans, not an easy task with booze bloat, threw on a t-shirt, sans bra. Remember the "fitting in" part? Slipped on some tennis shoes and was on my way.
The parking lot alone made me want to turn back and hide in the safety of my house. It's like a really sad carnival. Nobody really knows how to drive, most bodies are shuffling or stumbling around. Walmart zombies.
I walked in the door and was hit with the foulest stench. Seriously. Why the fuck would I smell stale beer? Did someone break a six pack or just throw up? I held my breath until I made it through that vomit-inducing odor.
I needed a shopping cart. Too hungover to actually carry anything. But there was a large Mexican family loitering around the carts. Like twelve of them. Fucking people, just move the fuck out of my way! It's Walmart, have they never been there before? Take a cart and move the fuck along.
I got toilet paper first, without another clusterfuck of loiterers. I needed laundry detergent too, just the next aisle over. Turned the corner and there was a really fat woman in some gold, shiny thing taking up half the aisle. I don't know where you even buy "clothes" like that. It hurt my eyes and offended me as a human being.
Decided that some Gatorade might be nice to have. It was on the way to the check-out stand. And this brought up a question. Does Walmart not know who their customers are? The fattest people in America shop there and yet they have the tiniest aisles. It's almost impossible to pass another cart. These aren't the kind of people I want to be that close to. I have boundaries, assholes.
Normally I go to the self-checkout to avoid any interaction with another person. Not this time. A sad little stringy, gray-haired lady asked if I was ready as I tried to pass by. Oh, what the hell. I was really too tired to all the work. She looked like she needed a purpose in life.
Lesson learned? Don't be close to running out of toilet paper and hungover at the same time.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Moments of Gratitude
Yesterday wasn’t a great day. It started out pretty great, I had coffee and an Ocean Roll with a friend I hadn’t seen for a while and it was just really nice to catch up; she’s one of those people that just makes you feel better being around her. I trotted back to the office in a little happy bubble.
A few hours later, that bubble burst when Reality poked its ugly head into my day. And for such a stupid little thing. But it’s the stupid little things that pile up and overwhelm me. They shouldn’t mean anything, in the grand scheme of Life. Really, what meaning does a cable bill have? Or putting gas in the car? But they’re nagging and immediate and demand to be taken care of. With resources I don’t always have readily available. And some days, like yesterday, it just feels like too much for one person to handle. At least one of me. I found myself wiping away tears at my desk, wanting to go home and crawl under the covers and hide, but knowing that wouldn’t happen because there was more Reality waiting at home for me. Dinner to be made, ballet taxi duties, homework checking and laundry.
I stared blearily at my computer screen until I saw an email pop up. It was from one of my favorite people. It wasn’t a long email; it contained no earth-shattering news of joy or offer of rescue. It just made me smile. It gave me a friendly little connection with something good, at just the right time, and helped me get through the rest of the day. It took just a little feather off of my heavy load, but I felt it and it made a difference.
It’s these little moments of gratitude that my friends give me that make such a difference. They don’t seem like anything that should change my life. Except they really do. And in smaller, bigger, ways, they change me.
My book club has no idea what they’ve meant to me. And, had I met them each individually, in another setting, I don’t know that we would have been friends. At first glance, they’re so different from me. Most days I feel like such a dork. I’m goofy and potty-mouthed. They all seemed so much smarter and I was a bit intimidated in the beginning, watching what I said and choosing my words carefully. Attempting to mirror their sentence structure and Smartness.
Then one night, one book unraveled it all. I found myself emotionally vomiting all over the table after our beautiful dinner. All of these feelings I didn’t want to share with people I hardly knew came spilling out, revealing parts of me I thought would make me as ugly in their eyes as I was in mine. Their simple questions about my thoughts provoked answers that burned like shame.
The next day I received a single email from M that healed it all. My comments, my sharing had meant something significant to someone else. Shame melted into acceptance.
The remaining year of books brought more challenges, frustrations, reflection. And through our dinners, - ham, mushroom sauce, caramel cake, jelly and bread bowls – I’ve learned to trust, accept, and know that I can be myself with people that I really respect. They let me because they are my friends. There are times that I even think I become my Best Self with them, because of our shared love of books. And food.
I love that I have such a variety of friends. Each one gives me something different, teaches me something about myself and about the world.
When I first met C, I thought her goody-two-shoes act was just that. Nobody could be that naïve or that good. Someone once said that rainbows and unicorns follow her around. Maybe they do. Because she really, truly is Good. I didn’t think that kind of person existed anymore, but she does. And because she does, I’m a little less jaded.
From A, I learned to really look below the surface, that people have hidden talents and loves that add more dimensions than you see when you first look. MH has shown me what vibrance looks like.
I know who I can depend on for advice at work. I know who to call when the tears just won’t stop for the hundredth time and she’ll listen with patience and not judgment. I know that with this smorgasbord of friends, I’ll never be hungry.
It might be a simple email or a lazy evening of watching movies. These are my quiet moments of gratitude that keep me going from one day to the next, sometimes even from one step to the next. If I start to tear, there is someone there to fix me. Only they’re not just fixing me. Each time they patch me up, they’re weaving something stronger. Someone stronger.
I’m learning to accept myself because they accept me. For that, I will be eternally grateful. There is no greater gift.
A few hours later, that bubble burst when Reality poked its ugly head into my day. And for such a stupid little thing. But it’s the stupid little things that pile up and overwhelm me. They shouldn’t mean anything, in the grand scheme of Life. Really, what meaning does a cable bill have? Or putting gas in the car? But they’re nagging and immediate and demand to be taken care of. With resources I don’t always have readily available. And some days, like yesterday, it just feels like too much for one person to handle. At least one of me. I found myself wiping away tears at my desk, wanting to go home and crawl under the covers and hide, but knowing that wouldn’t happen because there was more Reality waiting at home for me. Dinner to be made, ballet taxi duties, homework checking and laundry.
I stared blearily at my computer screen until I saw an email pop up. It was from one of my favorite people. It wasn’t a long email; it contained no earth-shattering news of joy or offer of rescue. It just made me smile. It gave me a friendly little connection with something good, at just the right time, and helped me get through the rest of the day. It took just a little feather off of my heavy load, but I felt it and it made a difference.
It’s these little moments of gratitude that my friends give me that make such a difference. They don’t seem like anything that should change my life. Except they really do. And in smaller, bigger, ways, they change me.
My book club has no idea what they’ve meant to me. And, had I met them each individually, in another setting, I don’t know that we would have been friends. At first glance, they’re so different from me. Most days I feel like such a dork. I’m goofy and potty-mouthed. They all seemed so much smarter and I was a bit intimidated in the beginning, watching what I said and choosing my words carefully. Attempting to mirror their sentence structure and Smartness.
Then one night, one book unraveled it all. I found myself emotionally vomiting all over the table after our beautiful dinner. All of these feelings I didn’t want to share with people I hardly knew came spilling out, revealing parts of me I thought would make me as ugly in their eyes as I was in mine. Their simple questions about my thoughts provoked answers that burned like shame.
The next day I received a single email from M that healed it all. My comments, my sharing had meant something significant to someone else. Shame melted into acceptance.
The remaining year of books brought more challenges, frustrations, reflection. And through our dinners, - ham, mushroom sauce, caramel cake, jelly and bread bowls – I’ve learned to trust, accept, and know that I can be myself with people that I really respect. They let me because they are my friends. There are times that I even think I become my Best Self with them, because of our shared love of books. And food.
I love that I have such a variety of friends. Each one gives me something different, teaches me something about myself and about the world.
When I first met C, I thought her goody-two-shoes act was just that. Nobody could be that naïve or that good. Someone once said that rainbows and unicorns follow her around. Maybe they do. Because she really, truly is Good. I didn’t think that kind of person existed anymore, but she does. And because she does, I’m a little less jaded.
From A, I learned to really look below the surface, that people have hidden talents and loves that add more dimensions than you see when you first look. MH has shown me what vibrance looks like.
I know who I can depend on for advice at work. I know who to call when the tears just won’t stop for the hundredth time and she’ll listen with patience and not judgment. I know that with this smorgasbord of friends, I’ll never be hungry.
It might be a simple email or a lazy evening of watching movies. These are my quiet moments of gratitude that keep me going from one day to the next, sometimes even from one step to the next. If I start to tear, there is someone there to fix me. Only they’re not just fixing me. Each time they patch me up, they’re weaving something stronger. Someone stronger.
I’m learning to accept myself because they accept me. For that, I will be eternally grateful. There is no greater gift.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Holiday Highlights
I’ve been meaning to write about my Christmas, but I’m lazy and I wasn’t sure anyone really cared, so I thought I’d just give the highlights. You win a doughnut if you can guess the theme.
Nutcracker weekend -
This went surprisingly smoothly, given the chances of someone being sick, hurt or complaining endlessly. D actually was sick and her toes did hurt, but she kept her complaints to a minimum. I was sober the entire weekend, my dad and his wife visited and I think I only complained about the lack of help we got from D’s dad. That hardly even counts, and when I consider how well I got along with my dad, I just get extra brownie-acting-like-a-grown-up points.
I took Stepmom (it is still really weird to say that after living over 35 years without one) to my cookbook club’s cookie exchange. I had at least one of everything and attempted to get everyone else drunk off of my bourbon balls. The parents helped me get my tree up and we watched the Snowflake/Flower Soloist flit across the stage.
The big news of the weekend was that my dad bought me the coveted Pink Artisan KitchenAid Stand Mixer, which I promptly named Fiona. I. Love. Her. She is going to change my life! She’s already changed my waistline.
Christmas –
Christmas Eve was very low-key, with a feast of breads and cheeses. Fiona and I made basil-beer bread. The leftovers are going to make really good croutons.
Christmas Day was also mellow. D came home and had to open her presents right away. No brownie-acting-like-a-grown-up points for her! She acted like she was four, but whatever. I wanted to make cinnamon rolls with Fiona and even had the perfect-looking, fluffy dough all rolled out when I realized I was out of cinnamon. Because I’m awesome, I used cardamom instead and turned them into “ocean rolls” and they were delicious!!
Wifey came over, we opened more presents, and found out who the best gift-giver is. Since the gifts were given to me, it’s not me. But I’m really good at getting gifts! Go me! We had a fondue feast with Monterey Jack cheese, red pepper and artichoke fondue, shrimp, mushrooms, apples, lemon parsley sauce, lime cilantro sauce and two bottles of wine.
My gifts? leopard-print slippers, Fiona, scarf, Boston Terrier ornament, French Bulldog ornament, the most darling apron, the softest-ever blanket and money that I partially used to buy accessories for Fiona. A stylish girl needs the right accessories.
New Year’s –
Another low-key evening (not the theme, by the way). A few friends and lots of food. I made tortilla soup, queso dip, guacamole, the Best Dressing Ever and “key lime” pie. JM brought flautas and we had margaritas and champagne. We played poker and Loaded Questions, which isn’t as dirty as it sounds but it can be. Mostly we just laughed our faces off and thanked JW for letting us know that the most dangerous animal in the world is a boar. We made it to midnight and wondered why on earth they still put Dick Clark on television.
New Year’s day I was super happy to wake up without a hangover! It was my little present to myself. I enjoyed one last day of laziness reading a book and napping, followed by a movie marathon while eating Chinese food. The Watchmen completely surprised me and I am thinking of nominating the “book” for a book club choice. Dinner for Schmucks was sad, funny and made me want my own little mouse diorama. Of course if it was about me, my mouse would have to have the best pair of shoes and her own tiny, miniature version of Fiona. And a tiny martini glass. I was “forced” to watch Saving Private Ryan when I made the mistake of revealing that I had never seen it. It is a great movie, but shouldn’t have been the last one we watched. It actually gave me nightmares.
All in all, it was exactly what I wanted and more. Fiona and I have also made crème brulee, French baguettes, whipped cream and bread bowls. Some things have been more successful than others, but, you know, we’re still getting to know each other. There is pie crust in our future.
Nutcracker weekend -
This went surprisingly smoothly, given the chances of someone being sick, hurt or complaining endlessly. D actually was sick and her toes did hurt, but she kept her complaints to a minimum. I was sober the entire weekend, my dad and his wife visited and I think I only complained about the lack of help we got from D’s dad. That hardly even counts, and when I consider how well I got along with my dad, I just get extra brownie-acting-like-a-grown-up points.
I took Stepmom (it is still really weird to say that after living over 35 years without one) to my cookbook club’s cookie exchange. I had at least one of everything and attempted to get everyone else drunk off of my bourbon balls. The parents helped me get my tree up and we watched the Snowflake/Flower Soloist flit across the stage.
The big news of the weekend was that my dad bought me the coveted Pink Artisan KitchenAid Stand Mixer, which I promptly named Fiona. I. Love. Her. She is going to change my life! She’s already changed my waistline.
Christmas –
Christmas Eve was very low-key, with a feast of breads and cheeses. Fiona and I made basil-beer bread. The leftovers are going to make really good croutons.
Christmas Day was also mellow. D came home and had to open her presents right away. No brownie-acting-like-a-grown-up points for her! She acted like she was four, but whatever. I wanted to make cinnamon rolls with Fiona and even had the perfect-looking, fluffy dough all rolled out when I realized I was out of cinnamon. Because I’m awesome, I used cardamom instead and turned them into “ocean rolls” and they were delicious!!
Wifey came over, we opened more presents, and found out who the best gift-giver is. Since the gifts were given to me, it’s not me. But I’m really good at getting gifts! Go me! We had a fondue feast with Monterey Jack cheese, red pepper and artichoke fondue, shrimp, mushrooms, apples, lemon parsley sauce, lime cilantro sauce and two bottles of wine.
My gifts? leopard-print slippers, Fiona, scarf, Boston Terrier ornament, French Bulldog ornament, the most darling apron, the softest-ever blanket and money that I partially used to buy accessories for Fiona. A stylish girl needs the right accessories.
New Year’s –
Another low-key evening (not the theme, by the way). A few friends and lots of food. I made tortilla soup, queso dip, guacamole, the Best Dressing Ever and “key lime” pie. JM brought flautas and we had margaritas and champagne. We played poker and Loaded Questions, which isn’t as dirty as it sounds but it can be. Mostly we just laughed our faces off and thanked JW for letting us know that the most dangerous animal in the world is a boar. We made it to midnight and wondered why on earth they still put Dick Clark on television.
New Year’s day I was super happy to wake up without a hangover! It was my little present to myself. I enjoyed one last day of laziness reading a book and napping, followed by a movie marathon while eating Chinese food. The Watchmen completely surprised me and I am thinking of nominating the “book” for a book club choice. Dinner for Schmucks was sad, funny and made me want my own little mouse diorama. Of course if it was about me, my mouse would have to have the best pair of shoes and her own tiny, miniature version of Fiona. And a tiny martini glass. I was “forced” to watch Saving Private Ryan when I made the mistake of revealing that I had never seen it. It is a great movie, but shouldn’t have been the last one we watched. It actually gave me nightmares.
All in all, it was exactly what I wanted and more. Fiona and I have also made crème brulee, French baguettes, whipped cream and bread bowls. Some things have been more successful than others, but, you know, we’re still getting to know each other. There is pie crust in our future.
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