It has taken me two weeks to have an emotional response to something KB said. He told me that he wants me to start dancing again. This morning, while checking out my darkening under-eye circles in the office bathroom mirror, I felt offended. I guess it’s not enough that my sleep is disturbed by his insomnia every damn night, but now he also has to drop hints that I’m getting thick around the middle. I know, dammit! I’m the one who has to squeeze myself into my clothes every morning!
I’ve just recently agreed to join a 3-person team for a friendly inter-office boys vs. girls gym games competition. So far, the exercises that we’ll be competing in will be pushing the water-filled sparring bags across the carpeted auditorium, jogging backwards on the treadmill and dead lifts (with the appropriate weight corresponding to each person’s ability). When the event happens early next year, there will likely be a few more exercises added. I’m using this competition as a little jump start to getting myself back into the groove. I’m determined to beat this constant feeling of exhaustion and sleep deprivation. I’m getting snarky (well, more than usual and uncontrollably). I’m not just sticking my foot in my mouth anymore, I’m just plain mean. I look at people who are happy and smiling and I want to say something to hurt their feelings. As is my way, something tends to slip out before I have a chance to turn the filter on. I’ve got to turn this trend around before I say the wrong thing to the wrong person or worse… I stay this way for the rest of my life.
I had an impromptu heart to heart with Twin Peaks yesterday about my attitude problem. Basically, my pessimism and cynicism have become huge roadblocks between me and what will make me happy. Those already dominant characteristics of my personality are only getting stronger as I age (and while I am pushing myself through this rough transition into tandem apartment living). Initially, when I decided that I didn’t want to pursue a career in anything relating to Physics, I dropped out of college and went to work at a theater in SF. I started working as an usher. It didn’t pay squat, but at least I had a chance to talk to people who were already working and try to get my foot in the door for sort of crew or production position. With a handful of rejections on my heart, I moved over to selling concessions so I could make more money working at concerts while still keeping some sort of link to the theater. Eventually I stopped working at the theater altogether, only visiting once in a while as a patron…this is where I still stand – on the opposite side of the curtain from where I envisioned myself ten years ago.
A few years back, while living alone in an apartment across the street from the one I am living in now, I made an attempt at breaking into the poetry nightlife. I was taking a class at the local community college that required me to write and read poetry. I surprised myself with some of the things I created in that class. I thought they were good enough to consider as performance pieces. Don’t get me wrong, they are good enough. However, the very thing that makes them good to me is what makes me unable to recite them. I couldn’t even read them in class. It’s too close to my heart. Just reading them silently to myself makes my eyes glossy. There’s also that pesky social anxiety thing… but that’s another blog. Today I’m trying to get unstuck.
Instead of looking for the holes in every concept and shooting everything down, I’m gonna just go for it and ignore those inner skeptics. I’m not going to become Super Yes Woman by any means (like Jim Carrey in that movie with the hilarious scene where he keeps prattling on about Red Bull), but I am going to put more effort into exploration. I’ve always liked to wander on a grand scale – from something as big as Thailand to as small as the spur of the moment road trips I used to take in the middle of the night when I was bored (and unattached). I have somehow dug myself into a bit of a hole here. I do have more responsibilities now, but that just means that I’ll have to pursue smaller bits of adventure. Perhaps those little things that I’ve overlooked up to this point are the keys to a bigger and better pursuit to come.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Why Throw Stones? - Blog #2 New Orleans Series
Friday night we went to a block party off Music Street in St. Roch (8th Ward), which is considered to be a “bad” neighborhood. It was a surreal experience because the location of the party was between two houses across the street from each other. One of the homes was converted into a rather modern-looking artist studio. The interior walls were exposed brick and the floors were polished cement. There was a bar on the left of the entryway just before a few steps up to the main level. The main level was just a huge room with a bed in one corner and a patch cut out of the cement in the center, where the earth was exposed and a lone tree stood in a woven planter. To the right of the entry was an enclosed room, which was not open for viewing. Behind it, just before the back door of the house, was the bathroom. The bathroom was a popular topic of conversation because of its glass door, which was frosted in the center and along the edges, leaving the perfect crystal-clear rectangular frame for you to peep inside and watch whatever business someone could be conducting in there. The floor of the shower was a large, chunky wooden grid. There was a clawfoot tub set lengthwise against the back wall. The toilet and bidet were on the left and the sink was on the right. As with the rest of the studio, there were a couple of art pieces strategically placed. One of the bathroom pieces was a porcelain head on the floor next to the sink. Odd…
The artist studio belongs to Kirsha Kaechele. She is the founder of KK Projects – Life is Art Foundation (http://www.kkprojects.org/). Although Kirsha herself seems to be involved in many things at once, this KK Projects foundation has the look and feel of art exhibits housed in derelict and deteriorating houses abandoned by their previous owners after being damaged by Katrina. Local and International artists are invited to work in these houses as they are for a three month installation, during and after which time the houses are allowed to continue to naturally deteriorate – a maturation of the art piece as a whole you could say. Upon seeing a couple of these “gallery homes”, I said, ‘Hmm, this one must be in the finishing stages.’ My boss pointed at an overturned empty beer bottle lying on the floor and said, “What do you think this symbolizes?”
‘The emptiness left behind after attempts to fill an emotional void with chemical dependence.’ I shrugged. At the time, the Sazerac in my hand tasted pretty good. Unfortunately, it didn’t continue that way through the night. The Sazerac is evil! The pouring of this cocktail was so dramatic with its special steps in the proper order and whatnot. Then I took a sip and it tasted just like Jaigermeister. This block party was full of that kind of irony.
The house across the street blew me away. It was referred to as “The Safe House”. In the heart of a questionable neighborhood, you know exactly what I thought, right? Well, this house is literally a safe, complete with a round steel door with dials and knobs on the outside. The house itself is just an art spectacle. What I found really amazing was inside. Lining the walls of the house were hand-drawn 100-dollar bills. This is the FUNDRED project (http://fundred.org/). The goal is to have the equivalent of $300M in Fundred Dollar Bills to present to politicians in Washington D.C. in trade for the real thing. The money the organization hopes to receive will be spent to remove the lead from New Orleans. The dark red areas on the map are the higher concentrations ( a map which I will insert when Blogger eventually allows me upload it). - Let me insert a side note here than we also met with a representative of the New Orleans Food & Farm Network earlier in the week who had given us some interesting information about the findings of an experiment where university students removed lead from the soil in a vacant lot using sunflowers. That lot is now suitable for farming and is slated to be the next urban garden project in the Central City neighborhood. - Mel Chin, the creator of the project, expressed his concern to me that people may ignore this project because it has such a specific area that benefits from the desired outcome. “We have to start somewhere.” Indeed, Mel, we do have to start somewhere. So why not New Orleans, right? If I ever saw a place that needed a helping hand, this was it. Seriously…
The best part of FUNDRED is that they aren’t just asking for your money. I mean, sure they’d love some money. I mean, this kind of thing doesn’t happen for free, but you can make a difference by just creating your very own Fundred Dollar Bill (go to www.schoolartsonline.com to download the template). The Fundred Dollar Bill project has a WVO biodiesel armored truck that will travel to predetermined stops across the US spreading the Fundred message and collecting Fundred Dollar Bills from schools where students have been collecting and filtering vegetable oil in anticipation of their arrival. Not only do the kids get a chance to help the communities in NOLA, but they also learn about renewable fuel in the process. Check and check! Although I am not a fan of being cornered and hearing somebody drone on and on about their nonprofit organization (sorry, Mel), this is really one of my favorites so far. The highlight of Mel’s lecture was when one of the neighborhood kids (who are welcome to hang out in the house every day and often choose to become representatives of the cause) came by and asked where he could find a chair for his grandmother to sit on. The New Orleans slang that came out of Mel’s mouth (yes, he’s Chinese as one would assume by the last name Chin). I stood there patiently waiting for him to continue his presentation as if nothing out of place had transpired, but my subconscious mind went, ‘What the hell just happened? What did he say?’ It was awesome. I was already sold on the program, but I liked him so much more after that.
What I found as the most unsettling contrast was how much of an upscale feel the block party had to it. There were attendees there from the local neighborhood, but there was this palpable air of separation. In the car on the way back to the house from the party, we criticized Kirsha for having such a luxurious home (not luxury in the traditional sense, but as far as living in a style befitting a studio artist) in the middle of a poverty-stricken neighborhood. However (and my boss brought this up during our last group meeting), she could have lived in that fashion anywhere. She chose to make a house from an abandoned house and include the locals in what she is trying to accomplish. The neighbors didn’t want her there when she moved in. She won them over with her kindness and genuine concern for their wellbeing. Whether she was born into money or lived a charmed life really is irrelevant. It’s funny how those of us who do nothing have the nerve to judge those who are doing something. It’s just something to think about…
In case you wanted to know more about Kirsha, who has had an absolutely fascinating life so far, take a look at this interview: http://www.interviewmagazine.com/art/kirsha-kaechele/. To talk to her briefly in person, you really would never guess that all of that experience and thoughtfulness lies under the surface. Also, her scant way of dressing is a bit of a distraction. I was like come on, at least put on a bra to hold them up. Sheesh!
The artist studio belongs to Kirsha Kaechele. She is the founder of KK Projects – Life is Art Foundation (http://www.kkprojects.org/). Although Kirsha herself seems to be involved in many things at once, this KK Projects foundation has the look and feel of art exhibits housed in derelict and deteriorating houses abandoned by their previous owners after being damaged by Katrina. Local and International artists are invited to work in these houses as they are for a three month installation, during and after which time the houses are allowed to continue to naturally deteriorate – a maturation of the art piece as a whole you could say. Upon seeing a couple of these “gallery homes”, I said, ‘Hmm, this one must be in the finishing stages.’ My boss pointed at an overturned empty beer bottle lying on the floor and said, “What do you think this symbolizes?”
‘The emptiness left behind after attempts to fill an emotional void with chemical dependence.’ I shrugged. At the time, the Sazerac in my hand tasted pretty good. Unfortunately, it didn’t continue that way through the night. The Sazerac is evil! The pouring of this cocktail was so dramatic with its special steps in the proper order and whatnot. Then I took a sip and it tasted just like Jaigermeister. This block party was full of that kind of irony.
The house across the street blew me away. It was referred to as “The Safe House”. In the heart of a questionable neighborhood, you know exactly what I thought, right? Well, this house is literally a safe, complete with a round steel door with dials and knobs on the outside. The house itself is just an art spectacle. What I found really amazing was inside. Lining the walls of the house were hand-drawn 100-dollar bills. This is the FUNDRED project (http://fundred.org/). The goal is to have the equivalent of $300M in Fundred Dollar Bills to present to politicians in Washington D.C. in trade for the real thing. The money the organization hopes to receive will be spent to remove the lead from New Orleans. The dark red areas on the map are the higher concentrations ( a map which I will insert when Blogger eventually allows me upload it). - Let me insert a side note here than we also met with a representative of the New Orleans Food & Farm Network earlier in the week who had given us some interesting information about the findings of an experiment where university students removed lead from the soil in a vacant lot using sunflowers. That lot is now suitable for farming and is slated to be the next urban garden project in the Central City neighborhood. - Mel Chin, the creator of the project, expressed his concern to me that people may ignore this project because it has such a specific area that benefits from the desired outcome. “We have to start somewhere.” Indeed, Mel, we do have to start somewhere. So why not New Orleans, right? If I ever saw a place that needed a helping hand, this was it. Seriously…
The best part of FUNDRED is that they aren’t just asking for your money. I mean, sure they’d love some money. I mean, this kind of thing doesn’t happen for free, but you can make a difference by just creating your very own Fundred Dollar Bill (go to www.schoolartsonline.com to download the template). The Fundred Dollar Bill project has a WVO biodiesel armored truck that will travel to predetermined stops across the US spreading the Fundred message and collecting Fundred Dollar Bills from schools where students have been collecting and filtering vegetable oil in anticipation of their arrival. Not only do the kids get a chance to help the communities in NOLA, but they also learn about renewable fuel in the process. Check and check! Although I am not a fan of being cornered and hearing somebody drone on and on about their nonprofit organization (sorry, Mel), this is really one of my favorites so far. The highlight of Mel’s lecture was when one of the neighborhood kids (who are welcome to hang out in the house every day and often choose to become representatives of the cause) came by and asked where he could find a chair for his grandmother to sit on. The New Orleans slang that came out of Mel’s mouth (yes, he’s Chinese as one would assume by the last name Chin). I stood there patiently waiting for him to continue his presentation as if nothing out of place had transpired, but my subconscious mind went, ‘What the hell just happened? What did he say?’ It was awesome. I was already sold on the program, but I liked him so much more after that.
What I found as the most unsettling contrast was how much of an upscale feel the block party had to it. There were attendees there from the local neighborhood, but there was this palpable air of separation. In the car on the way back to the house from the party, we criticized Kirsha for having such a luxurious home (not luxury in the traditional sense, but as far as living in a style befitting a studio artist) in the middle of a poverty-stricken neighborhood. However (and my boss brought this up during our last group meeting), she could have lived in that fashion anywhere. She chose to make a house from an abandoned house and include the locals in what she is trying to accomplish. The neighbors didn’t want her there when she moved in. She won them over with her kindness and genuine concern for their wellbeing. Whether she was born into money or lived a charmed life really is irrelevant. It’s funny how those of us who do nothing have the nerve to judge those who are doing something. It’s just something to think about…
In case you wanted to know more about Kirsha, who has had an absolutely fascinating life so far, take a look at this interview: http://www.interviewmagazine.com/art/kirsha-kaechele/. To talk to her briefly in person, you really would never guess that all of that experience and thoughtfulness lies under the surface. Also, her scant way of dressing is a bit of a distraction. I was like come on, at least put on a bra to hold them up. Sheesh!
Saturday, November 14, 2009
not goodbye, but see ya later - Blog #1 New Orleans Series
I'm streaming one of my classical stations on the Blackberry, cleaning some clothes and going through my things to get them ready for packing. The washer is on spin cycle - banging and clicking like there's a war happening in the laundry room. When it stops I can hear the creaks, ticks and other sounds of this enormous house behind the violin concerto playing in my palms.
I didn't bother bringing a computer. I also had no intention of watching any TV. I've been tapping away at this teeny qwerty keyboard all week trying to make notes of all the wonderful things I've heard from my 26 house mates this week. Twenty-six. That's a lot of fucking people in one house. I'm not nice enough to live with 26 people, but somehow we did it. No one hit me, and I didn't erect any new walls (to my knowledge). I laughed and joked about some things that other people didn't think were funny, but that has been happening my entire life. I have tried not to be awkward in that way, but fighting it just made it more pronounced with each attempt. I accept it now after living with it for 35 years. It amazes me that some of my fellow volunteers have done it in just one week. Perhaps it has something to do with our mission.
I could go into the whole schpeel here with the mission statement and history of In Good Company, but you have a computer and they have a Facebook page. There...
On Tuesday, some of us worked on a food garden in the Holy Cross neighborhood. For those who don't know, New Orleans is very segmented. We were taken on a tour by a delightful native named Pam. Not to say that we are all now experts, but I felt that she truly enlightened us. The neighborhoods, before Katrina, were fairly self-sufficient, and most people living within them rarely ventured beyond them for any things they needed to survive. Since the levees failed and the neighborhoods were devastated by the flooding, very little has been rebuilt in the poorer areas. Many people have no food source near where they live. There is also the issue of unemployment since the companies many people worked for have not resumed business here.
New Orleans Food and Farming is working to teach people who don't already know how to grow their own food and encouraging neighbors to work together to restore the community bond that once existed. The Guerrilla Garden in Holy Cross is in its first stages. Jenga is the garden's keeper. I worked there twice this week digging out a rain trench, sifting the dirt and hauling the rocks in wheelbarrows to line the street side of the trench. I personally prefer digging to sifting. Sifting is just another one of those tedious tasks - like removing lint from a black sweater. I got really sweaty yesterday. The inevitable exhaustion that followed was probably a key component in my raging hangover today... as was the Sezerac - a god awful anise-infused alcoholic debacle. It had mixed reviews. I suppose my alcoholic taste buds are just not refined enough to enjoy it.
During the afternoon on Tuesday and all day Thursday, everyone worked on the home of Alice Cousins. Her house is in the Hollygrove neighborhood (not too far from where Pam's Food and Farming garden project is located. The house has been in her family for generations. I spent an entire day just painting doors - speaking of tedium. There was this youngish-looking black electrician there who took an interest in me. Although he was nice, I didn't consider it an efficient use of my work time to flirt. Besides, I've seen enough gold teeth to last a lifetime. One of my coworkers tried to lead him to believe that there may have been some sort of spark, but I successfully managed to put that suspicion to rest by openly and quite obviously preferring to spend my free party time talking to everyone else. It was weird because he was also there at the club when we went out to the Blue Nile on Frenchmen St. I smell a rat.
Wednesday was heartbreaking for me. We worked with a wetlands restoration organization (I'll have to plug in their info later). We toured the bayou (via canoes) and got to see firsthand the damage done by the freight and oil industries. There seems to be no end to the work that needs to be done there. I was overwhelmed by the destruction and my eomotional reaction to it. It made me ashamed to be human and deeply depressed. I drank a lot that night, but couldn't quite get the feeling I was after. I was finally able to relax after bowling with the group, but I gotta say that I am going through the classic coping stages with this issue already. I never knew I had such a tree hugger inside me. It's weird.
Living and working with 26 people on these restoration and rebuilding projects has surely changed me. I have no doubt that most of my friends will like the changes (many of which are yet to come - I've been warned). I'm absolutely certain that Killa B will be pleasantly surprised and maybe mom will too.
As for me and New Orleans, we're not party friends. I'll never be a tourist again. This relationship is being built on sweat and tears, is sure to last at least my lifetime and may be leading me somewhere I'd never imagined going before.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Adventures in Cohabitation - Bitchfest #1
At this moment I am having a cup of drip coffee. I normally don’t do this in the afternoon, but I am exhausted. I was up late (as I have been every night this damn week) fixing yet something else in the new place. It was such a stupid thing too – setting up the digital receiver so I can watch the news from bed before getting ready for work. It’s something that helps me get up and ready to face the world. I’d asked Killa B to set it up for me on his day off yesterday. He forgot. He forgets lots of things. I guess I shouldn’t complain since I do too, but I’m going to anyway. Women…
I fully expected “shacking up” to be a difficult transition for me. I know I am very well suited to living alone. I have countless obsessive-compulsive habits that don’t bother me much, but I can see how they may drive someone else crazy. Killa B has gotten a glimpse of them during these past months that we’ve been dating. Now that we have been living under the same roof for almost a week, I am starting to think that I will be the one to go crazy, not him. I’ve managed to stop myself from incessantly nagging the poor man every hour that we spend together. However, I’m starting to feel twinges of resentment building up. We’re going to nip this in the bud now because I don’t do the passive-aggressive thing. There’s no need to play the ‘guess what’s wrong with me’ game because I’m going to tell you in plain English. Either we’re on the same team or you can kiss my entire ass.
I like to have luxurious finishes in my home: shiny granite, smooth clean floors, fluffy warm towels and beddings and everything you need within reach just by opening a closet, drawer or cabinet door. I am also obsessively clean and organized. I am ware that this is unusual. 90% of people are probably not going to have the same standard of clean as I do. This is why I carry wet wipes in my car and my gym bag contains miniature versions of just about every type of sanitary and hygiene product you can think of, separated by cosmetic and Ziploc bags. In my mind, it’s not as bad as it sounds because I don’t give it the white glove treatment every day. I usually let dust build up for a week or two. Biological waste is my main concern. I don’t like food to sit out and attract bugs. I don’t like to look into the toilet and see remnants of the last person to use it. I don’t want a nasty film of God knows what in the sink where I expect to clean my hand or dishes. I don’t want to turn the covers down on the bed and see hairs on the sheets. I especially don’t want to spend every weekend doing a thorough housecleaning when I could just spend a few seconds spot cleaning everything after I use it. I am really just as lazy as the next person, but I want to lie around in a sparkling clean apartment. It’s when the chores are done that I can truly relax. That is, in my opinion, as it should be.
I’ve realized that I do not have roommate-friendly furnishings. When I purchased my futon, I bought it for the bedroom at my mom’s house. I had some lavender paint, which I applied while home sick with strep throat for almost a week. Ok, I’m only really lazy until I get bored; then I start doing things on the “to do when there’s absolutely nothing else to do” list. I purchased the futon to brighten up the room because the lavender paint was a little darker than I expected. The futon is off white. So are the dining chairs. The walls in the new place are also off white. I really want to paint but Killa B is trying to discourage me from doing that. We’ll see who wins that debate. Keeping everything clean would be a chore even if I were living there by myself – and I normally change clothes as soon as I get home to keep “outside dirt” off the furniture. Realistically, I can’t expect Killa B to change his clothes before sitting on the couch. Hell, I can’t even keep him from sleeping on the damn thing! Basically, I am going to have replace the off-white futon cover in another 4-6 weeks. I think I’ll opt for leather next time. I may as well get rid of those dining chairs now… and the animal pelt rugs and throw pillows. I keep reminding myself that this can work. I just have to bend a little and make a few changes.
I’m such a hardass sometimes. I have a very particular and deliberate way of doing most things. It’s really bad right now because this is a new place, which was immaculate when we moved in. I want to keep from dominating Killa B at every turn. I need to leave him to do things on his own without the constant watchful eye or nitpicky criticisms. If I still feel the need to come back and clean up after he has cleaned (as he probably expects me to do since I have terrible OCD at home), then it shouldn’t be a grand exhibition. That says, ‘look at me redoing this because you are incapable of doing it correctly’. That’s just wrong. I hate it when people play the martyr.
I fully expected “shacking up” to be a difficult transition for me. I know I am very well suited to living alone. I have countless obsessive-compulsive habits that don’t bother me much, but I can see how they may drive someone else crazy. Killa B has gotten a glimpse of them during these past months that we’ve been dating. Now that we have been living under the same roof for almost a week, I am starting to think that I will be the one to go crazy, not him. I’ve managed to stop myself from incessantly nagging the poor man every hour that we spend together. However, I’m starting to feel twinges of resentment building up. We’re going to nip this in the bud now because I don’t do the passive-aggressive thing. There’s no need to play the ‘guess what’s wrong with me’ game because I’m going to tell you in plain English. Either we’re on the same team or you can kiss my entire ass.
I like to have luxurious finishes in my home: shiny granite, smooth clean floors, fluffy warm towels and beddings and everything you need within reach just by opening a closet, drawer or cabinet door. I am also obsessively clean and organized. I am ware that this is unusual. 90% of people are probably not going to have the same standard of clean as I do. This is why I carry wet wipes in my car and my gym bag contains miniature versions of just about every type of sanitary and hygiene product you can think of, separated by cosmetic and Ziploc bags. In my mind, it’s not as bad as it sounds because I don’t give it the white glove treatment every day. I usually let dust build up for a week or two. Biological waste is my main concern. I don’t like food to sit out and attract bugs. I don’t like to look into the toilet and see remnants of the last person to use it. I don’t want a nasty film of God knows what in the sink where I expect to clean my hand or dishes. I don’t want to turn the covers down on the bed and see hairs on the sheets. I especially don’t want to spend every weekend doing a thorough housecleaning when I could just spend a few seconds spot cleaning everything after I use it. I am really just as lazy as the next person, but I want to lie around in a sparkling clean apartment. It’s when the chores are done that I can truly relax. That is, in my opinion, as it should be.
I’ve realized that I do not have roommate-friendly furnishings. When I purchased my futon, I bought it for the bedroom at my mom’s house. I had some lavender paint, which I applied while home sick with strep throat for almost a week. Ok, I’m only really lazy until I get bored; then I start doing things on the “to do when there’s absolutely nothing else to do” list. I purchased the futon to brighten up the room because the lavender paint was a little darker than I expected. The futon is off white. So are the dining chairs. The walls in the new place are also off white. I really want to paint but Killa B is trying to discourage me from doing that. We’ll see who wins that debate. Keeping everything clean would be a chore even if I were living there by myself – and I normally change clothes as soon as I get home to keep “outside dirt” off the furniture. Realistically, I can’t expect Killa B to change his clothes before sitting on the couch. Hell, I can’t even keep him from sleeping on the damn thing! Basically, I am going to have replace the off-white futon cover in another 4-6 weeks. I think I’ll opt for leather next time. I may as well get rid of those dining chairs now… and the animal pelt rugs and throw pillows. I keep reminding myself that this can work. I just have to bend a little and make a few changes.
I’m such a hardass sometimes. I have a very particular and deliberate way of doing most things. It’s really bad right now because this is a new place, which was immaculate when we moved in. I want to keep from dominating Killa B at every turn. I need to leave him to do things on his own without the constant watchful eye or nitpicky criticisms. If I still feel the need to come back and clean up after he has cleaned (as he probably expects me to do since I have terrible OCD at home), then it shouldn’t be a grand exhibition. That says, ‘look at me redoing this because you are incapable of doing it correctly’. That’s just wrong. I hate it when people play the martyr.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
This is me
I don't often tell people that I love them (unless I'm sauced up). I almost never cry in front of anyone. When I'm feeling especially vulnerable, I withdraw into solitude to have my freak out, shed my tears and pick myself back up in preparation for going on with my life. Right now, I'm having one of those recovery moments. A less sensitive (and perhaps a wiser) person would be sleeping right now.
The worst part of wondering what's wrong with me is comparing what is happening right now to things that happened in the past. I guess it's just impossible not to rip open the old wounds. They still hurt, so I suppose they never really healed anyway. I am constantly searching for ways to simplify life. It can't really be as complex and confusing as we make it, can it? How are some people so composed and focused when there are those of us that are just miserably adrift, at the mercy of an unpredictable sea of emotional ups and downs? I can sometimes appear to be the former, but let me assure you that I am the latter. The logic kicks in after I've gone through my stages of mental anguish, and I return to the general population appearing as though nothing has changed. Oh but it has, Blanche. Below the surface, the crack in the shell is still being patched.
Unfortunately, when I plug up one of the holes that leads to my fragile inside, it has less of a chance to show itself to someone. Will it appear this time, or will I be too afraid to let myself be opened up? If I can't feel okay with this level of vulnerability, what hope is there for more intense involvement? See what I mean? I'm reading too much into it. What ever happened to just being in the moment? Did I stray from that path on my own or was I led off? It's time to take a deep breath and get back on it.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
The worst part of wondering what's wrong with me is comparing what is happening right now to things that happened in the past. I guess it's just impossible not to rip open the old wounds. They still hurt, so I suppose they never really healed anyway. I am constantly searching for ways to simplify life. It can't really be as complex and confusing as we make it, can it? How are some people so composed and focused when there are those of us that are just miserably adrift, at the mercy of an unpredictable sea of emotional ups and downs? I can sometimes appear to be the former, but let me assure you that I am the latter. The logic kicks in after I've gone through my stages of mental anguish, and I return to the general population appearing as though nothing has changed. Oh but it has, Blanche. Below the surface, the crack in the shell is still being patched.
Unfortunately, when I plug up one of the holes that leads to my fragile inside, it has less of a chance to show itself to someone. Will it appear this time, or will I be too afraid to let myself be opened up? If I can't feel okay with this level of vulnerability, what hope is there for more intense involvement? See what I mean? I'm reading too much into it. What ever happened to just being in the moment? Did I stray from that path on my own or was I led off? It's time to take a deep breath and get back on it.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Monday, September 14, 2009
Curse of the Aging
My father's best friend died today. In fact, just over an hour ago. His grandson came by to break the news. I hadn't seen that guy in so long that I barely recognized him. His grandfather loved my mom.
Smitty is the third man that Mom has outlived. I don't know how that affects a person. I mean, she was already crazy. It's like looking in a funhouse mirror in the Twilight Zone. I can see how crazy I will be in another forty years. It's not very comforting. I'm hoping the knowledge of its inevitability will somehow help me to avoid or reduce it. Hopefully I will be lucky enough to have good friends until the very end. I damn sure ain't having any crumbsnatchers just for that sole purpose.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Thursday, September 10, 2009
who needs an evil twin?
I’m gonna be evil for a few minutes. Who am I kidding? I’ve been evil for at least the past few days. I’ve been slinking around doing little underhanded spiteful things to people passive-aggressively because I don’t want to have a confrontation, and I’ve been incredibly moody (so I don’t really know if people are doing stupid things or if I’m just taking it the wrong way). The other day, however, I got a really good snicker. The following morning that little snicker turned into an all-out tickle. I can even laugh now remembering it.
I’ve been a little gun-shy on the social drinking front since the whole NDB asshole incident. Pebbles has moved to Israel to dance with a company there. Killa B and NDB finally got a new roommate. The new roomie is a 20-yr old stoner and has a bestie who is also similarly tempered (the pair will be referred to herein as Bill and Ted – which is probably dating me). When I met them the other day, they’d just returned from a house party in West Oakland. If you have any idea what I’m talking about, you’re already well-prepared for where this story is going. I dropped my bag in KB’s room and heard him in the kitchen saying, “You guys left [NDB] at the party?”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” I added.
“Leave [NDB]?” asked Ted. I looked at Killa B. He shrugged.
“You may as well go ahead and say it now.” That’s my boo – behind me every step of the way. LOL! So I went on to tell him that either NDB needed more years under his belt to figure out what his limits were so that he could keep up with us, or he just needs to cut it out. Ted looked a little puzzled because he had no clue that KB and I are significantly older than he and Bill are. He went on to laugh to himself about it like a crazy person for another half hour or so (damn stoners). Ted said something about drinking E&J and Carlos Rossi, and I thought back to the old days of Frank, Rome and me going to house parties in East Oakland, each of us carrying a fifth of Smirnoff blue label with no chaser. I also mentioned Thunderbird with Kool-Aid - the hood cocktail. Yeah, those were the days. It’s surprising that we lived through them. It’s even a bigger shock that we are all functioning members of society, well, more or less. So this is the new generation of partiers, huh? They’re silly and make me laugh. I hope they live through it too.
The following morning, KB told me that NDB took a bowl of coleslaw to the BBQ/house party that night and after pissing someone off (big shock there), got cracked in the head with said bowl. It took all my resolve not to laugh loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear me. That is two things crossed off my checklist. NDB got left someplace and then got popped upside the head. I mean, I didn’t get a chance to do it myself, but it was done so I’m counting it. Check and check! He’s fine, but he’s gonna have a knot for a while. I tell you, karma is a bitch sometimes. I’m sure he has earned that knot a hundred times over. I wish I could have gotten it on video so I could watch it over and over again. Frank says he feels sorry for him. I do not and I won’t unless I get a chance to say the things I want to say to him. All this pussy-footing around the MF is not helping him. Don’t be afraid of tough love, people! KB has pretty much kept me from talking to the poor guy. Seriously though, someone really needs to step in and run an intervention so he can have a chance at experiencing what it’s like to be genuinely happy and not just toasted. Where are his friends? Does he not have any? Doesn’t he wonder why?
I’ve been a little gun-shy on the social drinking front since the whole NDB asshole incident. Pebbles has moved to Israel to dance with a company there. Killa B and NDB finally got a new roommate. The new roomie is a 20-yr old stoner and has a bestie who is also similarly tempered (the pair will be referred to herein as Bill and Ted – which is probably dating me). When I met them the other day, they’d just returned from a house party in West Oakland. If you have any idea what I’m talking about, you’re already well-prepared for where this story is going. I dropped my bag in KB’s room and heard him in the kitchen saying, “You guys left [NDB] at the party?”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” I added.
“Leave [NDB]?” asked Ted. I looked at Killa B. He shrugged.
“You may as well go ahead and say it now.” That’s my boo – behind me every step of the way. LOL! So I went on to tell him that either NDB needed more years under his belt to figure out what his limits were so that he could keep up with us, or he just needs to cut it out. Ted looked a little puzzled because he had no clue that KB and I are significantly older than he and Bill are. He went on to laugh to himself about it like a crazy person for another half hour or so (damn stoners). Ted said something about drinking E&J and Carlos Rossi, and I thought back to the old days of Frank, Rome and me going to house parties in East Oakland, each of us carrying a fifth of Smirnoff blue label with no chaser. I also mentioned Thunderbird with Kool-Aid - the hood cocktail. Yeah, those were the days. It’s surprising that we lived through them. It’s even a bigger shock that we are all functioning members of society, well, more or less. So this is the new generation of partiers, huh? They’re silly and make me laugh. I hope they live through it too.
The following morning, KB told me that NDB took a bowl of coleslaw to the BBQ/house party that night and after pissing someone off (big shock there), got cracked in the head with said bowl. It took all my resolve not to laugh loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear me. That is two things crossed off my checklist. NDB got left someplace and then got popped upside the head. I mean, I didn’t get a chance to do it myself, but it was done so I’m counting it. Check and check! He’s fine, but he’s gonna have a knot for a while. I tell you, karma is a bitch sometimes. I’m sure he has earned that knot a hundred times over. I wish I could have gotten it on video so I could watch it over and over again. Frank says he feels sorry for him. I do not and I won’t unless I get a chance to say the things I want to say to him. All this pussy-footing around the MF is not helping him. Don’t be afraid of tough love, people! KB has pretty much kept me from talking to the poor guy. Seriously though, someone really needs to step in and run an intervention so he can have a chance at experiencing what it’s like to be genuinely happy and not just toasted. Where are his friends? Does he not have any? Doesn’t he wonder why?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
where have all the homies gone?
Okay so…
After more thought about The Color Purple question, I’ve realized that I don’t have any straight black male friends who grew up in a predominantly black community, except for the “special” ones. When I say special, I mean that they went to private school or immigrated here from other countries. I don’t have any straight American-born black male friends who grew up in predominantly black communities and public schools. Why is that? I used to have a whole bunch when I was younger. In fact, all my friends were guys before I became an angsty teen. I still keep infrequent contact with a few of the ones I grew up around, but mostly they’ve all disappeared. I wonder what has happened to them. Am I in denial? Have they all become what the statistics say?
After more thought about The Color Purple question, I’ve realized that I don’t have any straight black male friends who grew up in a predominantly black community, except for the “special” ones. When I say special, I mean that they went to private school or immigrated here from other countries. I don’t have any straight American-born black male friends who grew up in predominantly black communities and public schools. Why is that? I used to have a whole bunch when I was younger. In fact, all my friends were guys before I became an angsty teen. I still keep infrequent contact with a few of the ones I grew up around, but mostly they’ve all disappeared. I wonder what has happened to them. Am I in denial? Have they all become what the statistics say?
Now that I'm no longer bitter...
After a fun night of “So You Think You Can Dance” show highlights and Dance Dance Revolution during commercial breaks, Twin Peaks and I were in the car on the way to take her home. I remembered a conversation I had with Killa B. “Do you think all black men watch The Color Purple or is it just gay black men?” During a car conversation I had with Killa B last week, I referred to a scene in The Color purple and discovered that he’d never seen that movie. The only black man I have ever had extensive conversations about movies with is gay, so I wasn’t sure if The Color purple is a black woman and gay man thing or if it’s just a black thing. I mean, every black American has seen Roots, right? I supposed if I had to qualify them, The Color Purple is probably not as historically significant as Roots, but the story is very compelling. I’ve cried watching that move at least half a dozen times. I’ve watched it too many times to count. It’s hard to imagine that someone I know could have possibly lived 36 years without having seen it even once.
I think this is day six of Classical music. I switched back to House for a few hours Tuesday evening, when I went out for Dinner-Breakfast with Frank (the gay black man I referred to earlier) and my niece for her last night in the States before returning to Bordeaux for college. After I dropped Frank off back at his apartment, the Classical returned. I’ve never listened to it for such a long (and practically uninterrupted) stretch before. I’m starting to recognize the work of some more contemporary composers. I’ve also determined that I am not a fan of the Harpsichord. It makes me wince like I do when I hear someone playing an out of tune piano. I may learn to tolerate it, but for now I am thumbing-down all of the harpsichord pieces on Pandora.
I have a serious problem on my hands with the boredom. I am now realizing that I have to find some sort of coping method, besides just giving in to it and finding something exciting to do. The steel-string guitar I bought five years ago is collecting dust, and to have spent almost (or perhaps more than) two thousand dollars on video game equipment that only gets used once or twice a month is ridiculous. If I plan on being responsible homeowner, three things have to happen:
1) I will let people transport themselves
2) I will stock a full bar at my house and use it instead of going out
3) I will focus my nervous energy into a constructive hobby instead of seeking distraction
Okay, so let’s get to it.
I think this is day six of Classical music. I switched back to House for a few hours Tuesday evening, when I went out for Dinner-Breakfast with Frank (the gay black man I referred to earlier) and my niece for her last night in the States before returning to Bordeaux for college. After I dropped Frank off back at his apartment, the Classical returned. I’ve never listened to it for such a long (and practically uninterrupted) stretch before. I’m starting to recognize the work of some more contemporary composers. I’ve also determined that I am not a fan of the Harpsichord. It makes me wince like I do when I hear someone playing an out of tune piano. I may learn to tolerate it, but for now I am thumbing-down all of the harpsichord pieces on Pandora.
I have a serious problem on my hands with the boredom. I am now realizing that I have to find some sort of coping method, besides just giving in to it and finding something exciting to do. The steel-string guitar I bought five years ago is collecting dust, and to have spent almost (or perhaps more than) two thousand dollars on video game equipment that only gets used once or twice a month is ridiculous. If I plan on being responsible homeowner, three things have to happen:
1) I will let people transport themselves
2) I will stock a full bar at my house and use it instead of going out
3) I will focus my nervous energy into a constructive hobby instead of seeking distraction
Okay, so let’s get to it.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
know your limits
After all the crunchy meditation and anti-consumerism talk, it comes down to me being a total hypocrite. After Killa B’s gardening gig came to an abrupt end (without payment for the work he’d already done), I took on the responsibility of funding most of our entertainment. It was nothing too fancy: movies, meals out, a dance club here and there and lots of booze and billiards. I let the cost of these excursions get away from me for a bit. I suppose I just got lost in the shuffle and excitement of it all. Now that I have to keep an eye on just about every dollar I spend, my tune has changed from party girl (or rather, half of a party couple) to more of a “where is this going” kind of melody. I’m even considering buying a home before the market starts recovering here in the East Bay. I’ve been sending listings to my favorite realtor (I guess I should give him a plug here: jeffrey_surratt@comcast.net).
There are tons of houses and condos in Richmond and Oakland for under $100K that appear to be move-in ready and will likely be worth three times their current price in just a few years. I’d have to be nuts not to take advantage of the opportunity. My worries about sacrificing travel and partying are really not very logical or practical.
During this whirlwind of new romance, I’ve also let my training slide. The Nike Marathon is only a few weeks away. This is going to be interesting (in that way that anal probes are interesting). I’ve gained five pounds over the past two months, and I seriously doubt that it’s muscle.
The wake-up call came a couple of weeks ago when I was boozing at Killa B’s place with his two roomies and a female friend of mine, who will from now on be referred to as Twin Peaks (since her boobs are huge and that nickname is funny as hell). This was our second consecutive night with a second 1.7 liter bottle of Smirnoff. Everything seemed to be going fine, with most of us cheerfully tipsy and ready to hit the street. Killa B was taking it easy since I’d already determined that he would be the driver.
We headed into downtown Oakland, about a mile away. The clubs were open and appeared to be pretty hopping but the entry fees were outrageous. We decided to go to Berkeley and check out the White Horse, since Killa B’s gay ballet dancer roomie (herein referred to as Pebbles) required a queer-friendly establishment. Once we got moving in the car, the other roomie (a.k.a. NDB) started getting really agitated. I thought maybe he was feeling a little hot in the pants and just needed t be somewhere. I figured he’d be fine once we landed and I was able to buy some smokes to shut up his constant pleading for a cigarette. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt, I practically flew to the liquor store and bought a pack. When I got out of the store, Killa B was there with NDB was stumbling across the parking lot behind him. NDB said he had to take a piss, so he proceeded to try to do it on the FRONT of the store… Killa B snatched him by the collar and relocated him to the side of the store. At this time, I removed myself from the equation and headed across the street to the club, where Pebbles and Twin Peaks had already gone inside.
Pebbles came out of the club door and we stood on the corner watching Killa B and NDB. NDB was being a complete drunken idiot, and Killa B was trying not to kick his ass. He was trying to get NDB back into the car so he could take him home. Pebbles and I looked at each other. “Someone should stay out here with them”, he said.
“I’ll stay. You go inside and dance.”
“No, he’s my roommate; I should stay.” At this time, Twin Peaks emerged from the club door, checking in to see what the delay was.
“Okay.” I said. Then, I grabbed Twin Peaks by the arm and we headed to the dance floor. The music wasn’t great, but it was a damn sight better than dealing with a wasted asshole outside.
A few minutes later, Pebbles joined us. About ten minutes after that, Killa B came in as well. Twin Peaks and I looked at each other when he came in and shared a raucous laugh. Killa B asked me to buy him a drink, which I obliged without hesitation. He drank a few sips and then handed it to me. I shrugged and enjoyed the rest of it while dancing to a few more songs. My knee was killing me, but I wasn’t willing to give up the dance. KB came out on the dance floor and said, “We should go soon.” The four of us passed a glance at each other and quietly exited like we were on our way to a funeral.
NDB made the car ride home a fiasco. He harassed Twin Peaks incessantly. I hate it when I have to treat adults like children, but I turned around and yelled, “Knock it off!” The last thing I said to him before retiring to KB’s room was, “You’re a pain in the ass.” I haven’t spoken to him since. When I do speak to him again, that will likely be the next thing I say to him as well. However, next time he will remember that I said it.
There are tons of houses and condos in Richmond and Oakland for under $100K that appear to be move-in ready and will likely be worth three times their current price in just a few years. I’d have to be nuts not to take advantage of the opportunity. My worries about sacrificing travel and partying are really not very logical or practical.
During this whirlwind of new romance, I’ve also let my training slide. The Nike Marathon is only a few weeks away. This is going to be interesting (in that way that anal probes are interesting). I’ve gained five pounds over the past two months, and I seriously doubt that it’s muscle.
The wake-up call came a couple of weeks ago when I was boozing at Killa B’s place with his two roomies and a female friend of mine, who will from now on be referred to as Twin Peaks (since her boobs are huge and that nickname is funny as hell). This was our second consecutive night with a second 1.7 liter bottle of Smirnoff. Everything seemed to be going fine, with most of us cheerfully tipsy and ready to hit the street. Killa B was taking it easy since I’d already determined that he would be the driver.
We headed into downtown Oakland, about a mile away. The clubs were open and appeared to be pretty hopping but the entry fees were outrageous. We decided to go to Berkeley and check out the White Horse, since Killa B’s gay ballet dancer roomie (herein referred to as Pebbles) required a queer-friendly establishment. Once we got moving in the car, the other roomie (a.k.a. NDB) started getting really agitated. I thought maybe he was feeling a little hot in the pants and just needed t be somewhere. I figured he’d be fine once we landed and I was able to buy some smokes to shut up his constant pleading for a cigarette. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt, I practically flew to the liquor store and bought a pack. When I got out of the store, Killa B was there with NDB was stumbling across the parking lot behind him. NDB said he had to take a piss, so he proceeded to try to do it on the FRONT of the store… Killa B snatched him by the collar and relocated him to the side of the store. At this time, I removed myself from the equation and headed across the street to the club, where Pebbles and Twin Peaks had already gone inside.
Pebbles came out of the club door and we stood on the corner watching Killa B and NDB. NDB was being a complete drunken idiot, and Killa B was trying not to kick his ass. He was trying to get NDB back into the car so he could take him home. Pebbles and I looked at each other. “Someone should stay out here with them”, he said.
“I’ll stay. You go inside and dance.”
“No, he’s my roommate; I should stay.” At this time, Twin Peaks emerged from the club door, checking in to see what the delay was.
“Okay.” I said. Then, I grabbed Twin Peaks by the arm and we headed to the dance floor. The music wasn’t great, but it was a damn sight better than dealing with a wasted asshole outside.
A few minutes later, Pebbles joined us. About ten minutes after that, Killa B came in as well. Twin Peaks and I looked at each other when he came in and shared a raucous laugh. Killa B asked me to buy him a drink, which I obliged without hesitation. He drank a few sips and then handed it to me. I shrugged and enjoyed the rest of it while dancing to a few more songs. My knee was killing me, but I wasn’t willing to give up the dance. KB came out on the dance floor and said, “We should go soon.” The four of us passed a glance at each other and quietly exited like we were on our way to a funeral.
NDB made the car ride home a fiasco. He harassed Twin Peaks incessantly. I hate it when I have to treat adults like children, but I turned around and yelled, “Knock it off!” The last thing I said to him before retiring to KB’s room was, “You’re a pain in the ass.” I haven’t spoken to him since. When I do speak to him again, that will likely be the next thing I say to him as well. However, next time he will remember that I said it.
Just when I thought we were past this...
I loaned Secret Squirrel some money a while back, and I finally detached myself from its repayment last week. Considering how he still hasn’t returned my DVDs, which he didn’t seem to have any desire to watch in the first place, I thought I should take that as a sign of where I stand. I sent him a text saying, “If you’re not going to pay me back, I‘d like you to at least tell me.” I didn’t think it was an unreasonable request, considering how we parted on relatively good terms. However, I wasn’t expecting much. You know how people can be unpredictable. If he was harboring some sort of resentment, which I didn’t know for sure since we don’t talk anymore, I figured that the chances were pretty good that I may not get an answer at all. ‘So be it’, I thought. “I said my piece.”
About half an hour later, he called my desk. “No matter what happened between us, the money is completely separate.” Is this a sign? Have I finally turned the corner? I want it to be true. I want to be mature enough to have logical resolutions to life’s challenges. I want to have mutual respect with people no matter what capacity in which we are associated. We spoke for about 10 minutes, and I felt compelled to end the conversation during the second awkward silence. We used to talk on the phone for hours. I could feel him missing that. Is that a weird thing to say? I just knew I had to end it before it evolved into something uncomfortable. I didn’t want him to think I called because I miss him; I just wanted him to know that the loan is not forgiven just because the “relationship” has dissolved. I did ask him how he was doing, but I didn’t feel like it was appropriate to go any further than that. He told me that he wanted to start paying me back ASAP and would be contacting me over the next couple of weeks to make arrangements. I filed the topic away as resolved in my mind, done. Awesome.
A few days later, a few minutes after 10PM, Killa B and I were lying in bed watching TV and my cell phone rang. I sat up quickly, and he asked what was wrong. I told him I heard my phone ringing, and he said, “Booty call!” I laughed it off, but I felt nervous because no one ever calls me after ten on a weeknight unless they’re stranded and need a ride. It was Secret Squirrel. I looked at KB and said, “I think you’re right.” Then I turned off the ringer and got back in bed without answering it. I figure if it’s something important he would have left a message or he would call me back at a more reasonable hour.
Yesterday morning, SS called me at my desk and asked how soon I could meet him down the street at Peet’s. I told him I’d be down there as soon as my conference call ended. Naturally, I was thinking that this would be the first installment of repayment. I had an extremely busy day, so I took a community bike to make the trip brief. I get down to Fourth St and he’s sitting at the bagel shop. I sat down and he started in on the “I need to get something off my chest” conversation. I thought, “Dammit, not this.” Yadda yadda yadda… ‘I think you’re special”… yadda yadda yadda… “If I were the type to have a real relationship with someone”… yadda yadda yadda… “I feel like we didn’t get a chance to have a last hurrah.” He asked if there was some possibility that I may need a lover on the side. It was the typical man conversation. I think he meant it as a compliment, but I was disappointed. I also felt really uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me. I knew how he wanted me to respond, but he had to just be satisfied with the knowledge that I heard his request. Being a cheater doesn’t appeal to me, and I was offended that he would even imply that it might. Men say they respect someone honest, loyal and faithful, but in the same breath they will try to influence you to be the opposite. Furthermore, two months into a new relationship is not the time for the ex to propose closure.
About half an hour later, he called my desk. “No matter what happened between us, the money is completely separate.” Is this a sign? Have I finally turned the corner? I want it to be true. I want to be mature enough to have logical resolutions to life’s challenges. I want to have mutual respect with people no matter what capacity in which we are associated. We spoke for about 10 minutes, and I felt compelled to end the conversation during the second awkward silence. We used to talk on the phone for hours. I could feel him missing that. Is that a weird thing to say? I just knew I had to end it before it evolved into something uncomfortable. I didn’t want him to think I called because I miss him; I just wanted him to know that the loan is not forgiven just because the “relationship” has dissolved. I did ask him how he was doing, but I didn’t feel like it was appropriate to go any further than that. He told me that he wanted to start paying me back ASAP and would be contacting me over the next couple of weeks to make arrangements. I filed the topic away as resolved in my mind, done. Awesome.
A few days later, a few minutes after 10PM, Killa B and I were lying in bed watching TV and my cell phone rang. I sat up quickly, and he asked what was wrong. I told him I heard my phone ringing, and he said, “Booty call!” I laughed it off, but I felt nervous because no one ever calls me after ten on a weeknight unless they’re stranded and need a ride. It was Secret Squirrel. I looked at KB and said, “I think you’re right.” Then I turned off the ringer and got back in bed without answering it. I figure if it’s something important he would have left a message or he would call me back at a more reasonable hour.
Yesterday morning, SS called me at my desk and asked how soon I could meet him down the street at Peet’s. I told him I’d be down there as soon as my conference call ended. Naturally, I was thinking that this would be the first installment of repayment. I had an extremely busy day, so I took a community bike to make the trip brief. I get down to Fourth St and he’s sitting at the bagel shop. I sat down and he started in on the “I need to get something off my chest” conversation. I thought, “Dammit, not this.” Yadda yadda yadda… ‘I think you’re special”… yadda yadda yadda… “If I were the type to have a real relationship with someone”… yadda yadda yadda… “I feel like we didn’t get a chance to have a last hurrah.” He asked if there was some possibility that I may need a lover on the side. It was the typical man conversation. I think he meant it as a compliment, but I was disappointed. I also felt really uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me. I knew how he wanted me to respond, but he had to just be satisfied with the knowledge that I heard his request. Being a cheater doesn’t appeal to me, and I was offended that he would even imply that it might. Men say they respect someone honest, loyal and faithful, but in the same breath they will try to influence you to be the opposite. Furthermore, two months into a new relationship is not the time for the ex to propose closure.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Mind Over Matter
Since the backpacking trip, I’ve been really pushing myself physically because I know I can do more. I’d like to just be able to jump into something relatively strenuous and hold my own without training up to it. The running will help. If only I had a better relationship with running… I’m working on it.
Last week I was good, except for Wednesday, when I had only a half hour of hands-on Feldenkrais and an hour Yoga class. On Thursday, I did an hour of personal training, an hour of crazy pretzel Yoga, jogged 3 miles and stayed out all night partying and dancing. Friday, I was awake for a total of 5 hours. Saturday and Sunday were a wash. I am not properly recovering from my hard workout days. I should be getting at least an additional half hour of sleep every weeknight (totaling 8 – 8.5). These days, seven solid hours is a blessing.
It’s not that I can’t sleep. I’ve been trying to spend a few hours hanging out with Killa B every day. It’s hard. Choosing between sleeping, cooking and hanging out is a tough spot to be in. Ideally, one would have enough time for all of those things. I guess if you’re training 2-3 hours every day, you have to sacrifice something, huh? What I need is a personal chef, someone to help me stay on track with my nutrition goals and keep me from cutting corners with fast food and boxed/frozen meals. I like to cook, but the weekend is the only time I have to do it. That’s also my laundry, house-cleaning, socializing, shopping, car maintenance and fun time. In addition, I also tend to make travel plans for weekends.
I used to have a “veg-out” day every week. Even when I was going to school full time and working full time, I still had a day when I didn’t change out of my PJ’s. That doesn’t really happen anymore unless I take the day off from work. The days that I do leave free always end up being the “drive Mom around” days. Is it possible to get burnt out on just regular life? The funny thing is that I would probably be bored if I weren’t so busy.
People always wish they had more time and money. I guess I’m no different, although I once thought I was.
I’m going to take off for an easy jog outside before I shower and go visit Killa B. I’m feeling a bit fatigued today, but I have a schedule to keep and a mind to train. This is just the beginning. “I am strong. I am powerful.”
Last week I was good, except for Wednesday, when I had only a half hour of hands-on Feldenkrais and an hour Yoga class. On Thursday, I did an hour of personal training, an hour of crazy pretzel Yoga, jogged 3 miles and stayed out all night partying and dancing. Friday, I was awake for a total of 5 hours. Saturday and Sunday were a wash. I am not properly recovering from my hard workout days. I should be getting at least an additional half hour of sleep every weeknight (totaling 8 – 8.5). These days, seven solid hours is a blessing.
It’s not that I can’t sleep. I’ve been trying to spend a few hours hanging out with Killa B every day. It’s hard. Choosing between sleeping, cooking and hanging out is a tough spot to be in. Ideally, one would have enough time for all of those things. I guess if you’re training 2-3 hours every day, you have to sacrifice something, huh? What I need is a personal chef, someone to help me stay on track with my nutrition goals and keep me from cutting corners with fast food and boxed/frozen meals. I like to cook, but the weekend is the only time I have to do it. That’s also my laundry, house-cleaning, socializing, shopping, car maintenance and fun time. In addition, I also tend to make travel plans for weekends.
I used to have a “veg-out” day every week. Even when I was going to school full time and working full time, I still had a day when I didn’t change out of my PJ’s. That doesn’t really happen anymore unless I take the day off from work. The days that I do leave free always end up being the “drive Mom around” days. Is it possible to get burnt out on just regular life? The funny thing is that I would probably be bored if I weren’t so busy.
People always wish they had more time and money. I guess I’m no different, although I once thought I was.
I’m going to take off for an easy jog outside before I shower and go visit Killa B. I’m feeling a bit fatigued today, but I have a schedule to keep and a mind to train. This is just the beginning. “I am strong. I am powerful.”
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
BCM @ Yosemite - Third Year
Over the week that I spent with volunteering with Big City Mountaineers in Yosemite, I ate more junk food than I’d eaten in the past several months at home. It’s weird t think of eating gummy bears and chips on a backpacking trip, but those were the things that I most looked forward to at the end of a day of hiking. It would make more sense to have a banana or a Clif Bar, since they replenish nutrients a damn sight better than candy. Oh well, sometimes your emotions outweigh your common sense. I think that happens to me more often than I realize.
This year, I was sent with East Oakland Youth Development Center, an organization that I wish I would have known about when I was growing up in the neighborhood. Seriously, the center is less than two blocks from my old place. I also went out with EOYDC two years ago, on my first trip with BCM. The girls there are well behaved – mostly due to the presence of Regina Jackson, the driving force behind EOYDC. She swore two years ago that it would be her last backpacking trip because she was getting too old for it. Yeah, right. Those kids are all her kids. They love her like a mother and she looks over them as if they were her own. Why don’t all the organizations send an adult chaperone with their kids? Teenagers are unpredictable enough with their raging hormones and emotional dilemmas. They need some type of stability. Don’t just send them out into the backcountry with a bunch of strangers. Duh!
I had a realization about myself, as I usually do when I spend any time in nature. I’m hiking up some switchbacks behind Timmeya (however you spell it), the most dramatic of all the girls on our trip, on Trail Day #3 and I’m hurting pretty badly in the knees and the bottom of my feet. My shoulder straps are cutting into me where I got an awful chafing burn the first day of hiking, and I’m thinking, “Hester, you’re an idiot. You’re suffering right now as you do every time you do this shit, and when you get back you will forget all about this part. You’re going to be the first one to sign up as a volunteer next year like none of this torture ever happened.”
It’s completely true. When I send in my volunteer application next year, I won’t be thinking of the teenage angst and attitude problems. I won’t be thinking of the nasty cyst I got under my left boob that I had to pierce with a needle from my blister pack two nights in a row before it started to heal (not nearly as disgusting as squeezing the puss out of that fungal infection I got under my fingernail at the monastery in Thailand, but definitely high on the repulsive scale). I won’t think of the spine-tingling shock in my knee when I jump down from a rock on a downhill switchback. I won’t think of the endless hours that passed when I was too tired to remember the lyrics to a song so I kept singing the chorus in my head over and over again. What I will remember is the sweeping views of the Sierras, the fields of wildflowers dancing on the breeze, the fluffy white clouds passing overhead and the girls smiling and giggling all the way home. I’ll remember how strong and centered I felt afterwards. This is why I keep telling everyone to do it and experience it for themselves.
We had to hike out a day early because it was snowing. Yes, I said snowing! We had planned a 10,000+ ft summit climb, but the temps were too low. It was uncertain if we had enough clothing to make it safely through the night, so Alison (another volunteer and also a Park Ranger at Yosemite – and one of the kindest and most generous people I’ve ever met) and I hiked out the one mile to the end point ahead of the girls to go and shuttle the cars so they’d be ready when the group came out. They started screaming when they saw the SUVs through the trees. As expected, they ran the last hundred feet or so to the parking lot. It’s hilarious to me every time. I’m hoping to get a chance to return to Yosemite before the Fall so Killa B and I can do a hike (either the same trail in two days instead of four or a couple of day hikes with a night spent on Alison’s floor in between).
This year, I was sent with East Oakland Youth Development Center, an organization that I wish I would have known about when I was growing up in the neighborhood. Seriously, the center is less than two blocks from my old place. I also went out with EOYDC two years ago, on my first trip with BCM. The girls there are well behaved – mostly due to the presence of Regina Jackson, the driving force behind EOYDC. She swore two years ago that it would be her last backpacking trip because she was getting too old for it. Yeah, right. Those kids are all her kids. They love her like a mother and she looks over them as if they were her own. Why don’t all the organizations send an adult chaperone with their kids? Teenagers are unpredictable enough with their raging hormones and emotional dilemmas. They need some type of stability. Don’t just send them out into the backcountry with a bunch of strangers. Duh!
I had a realization about myself, as I usually do when I spend any time in nature. I’m hiking up some switchbacks behind Timmeya (however you spell it), the most dramatic of all the girls on our trip, on Trail Day #3 and I’m hurting pretty badly in the knees and the bottom of my feet. My shoulder straps are cutting into me where I got an awful chafing burn the first day of hiking, and I’m thinking, “Hester, you’re an idiot. You’re suffering right now as you do every time you do this shit, and when you get back you will forget all about this part. You’re going to be the first one to sign up as a volunteer next year like none of this torture ever happened.”
It’s completely true. When I send in my volunteer application next year, I won’t be thinking of the teenage angst and attitude problems. I won’t be thinking of the nasty cyst I got under my left boob that I had to pierce with a needle from my blister pack two nights in a row before it started to heal (not nearly as disgusting as squeezing the puss out of that fungal infection I got under my fingernail at the monastery in Thailand, but definitely high on the repulsive scale). I won’t think of the spine-tingling shock in my knee when I jump down from a rock on a downhill switchback. I won’t think of the endless hours that passed when I was too tired to remember the lyrics to a song so I kept singing the chorus in my head over and over again. What I will remember is the sweeping views of the Sierras, the fields of wildflowers dancing on the breeze, the fluffy white clouds passing overhead and the girls smiling and giggling all the way home. I’ll remember how strong and centered I felt afterwards. This is why I keep telling everyone to do it and experience it for themselves.
We had to hike out a day early because it was snowing. Yes, I said snowing! We had planned a 10,000+ ft summit climb, but the temps were too low. It was uncertain if we had enough clothing to make it safely through the night, so Alison (another volunteer and also a Park Ranger at Yosemite – and one of the kindest and most generous people I’ve ever met) and I hiked out the one mile to the end point ahead of the girls to go and shuttle the cars so they’d be ready when the group came out. They started screaming when they saw the SUVs through the trees. As expected, they ran the last hundred feet or so to the parking lot. It’s hilarious to me every time. I’m hoping to get a chance to return to Yosemite before the Fall so Killa B and I can do a hike (either the same trail in two days instead of four or a couple of day hikes with a night spent on Alison’s floor in between).
Monday, July 27, 2009
Calm and Centered
I’ve been in a funk over the past couple of week s because of the emotional roller coaster of infatuation and all the excessive spending that comes along with it. The budget is starting to tighten and it is making me very uncomfortable.
I’m the type of person who is always seeking stimulation, something that meditation would help to control if only I’d do it. I’m really out floating on the seas of uncertainty. My mood changes with the weather. It’s a tough spot to be in, but I get this feeling that most people feel this way. We’re all looking for some sort of escape from our regular lives. Whether we find it in liquor, dancing, fishing or smoking pot really depends on the person. I used to find mine dancing. Now, the places where I used to go dance are all tainted by my recent spike in alcohol consumption. I can’t go there and not drink anymore. It’s distressing. I’ve turned to writing these damn blogs to keep me sane and try to get a handle on it. I haven’t threatened anyone, I haven’t shown up at work intoxicated and I haven’t been asked to leave a bar or nightclub for being too drunk - so far so good I guess.
This past weekend I ran most of a 10K. It went better than expected, considering I hadn’t trained for it at all. We have a few walk breaks and a port-a-potty stop. My knee is a little tender today and my hips are creaky, but nothing terribly unusual. In fact, I’m rather pleased with the outcome. Now, if I can just keep it going on my own. I set the Hal Higdon Marathon Training Schedule for Novices as my home page to remind me to put some mileage in during the week. I’m hoping I get a comp to the Nike Women’s Marathon this year. They have the cutest gear and the best goodie bag. Also, that hill just past Aquatic Park has my name all over it…
I’m just taking it one day at a time right now. I realized this morning that I haven’t been in love in forever. That door is closed, but not bolted shut. I need to be in a happy place for that to happen - not the fake one that exists when I’m tipsy, but the REAL happy place where I am taking good care of myself, handling my responsibilities efficiently and effectively without undue stress and really treasuring my friends and family.
I’m the type of person who is always seeking stimulation, something that meditation would help to control if only I’d do it. I’m really out floating on the seas of uncertainty. My mood changes with the weather. It’s a tough spot to be in, but I get this feeling that most people feel this way. We’re all looking for some sort of escape from our regular lives. Whether we find it in liquor, dancing, fishing or smoking pot really depends on the person. I used to find mine dancing. Now, the places where I used to go dance are all tainted by my recent spike in alcohol consumption. I can’t go there and not drink anymore. It’s distressing. I’ve turned to writing these damn blogs to keep me sane and try to get a handle on it. I haven’t threatened anyone, I haven’t shown up at work intoxicated and I haven’t been asked to leave a bar or nightclub for being too drunk - so far so good I guess.
This past weekend I ran most of a 10K. It went better than expected, considering I hadn’t trained for it at all. We have a few walk breaks and a port-a-potty stop. My knee is a little tender today and my hips are creaky, but nothing terribly unusual. In fact, I’m rather pleased with the outcome. Now, if I can just keep it going on my own. I set the Hal Higdon Marathon Training Schedule for Novices as my home page to remind me to put some mileage in during the week. I’m hoping I get a comp to the Nike Women’s Marathon this year
I’m just taking it one day at a time right now. I realized this morning that I haven’t been in love in forever. That door is closed, but not bolted shut. I need to be in a happy place for that to happen - not the fake one that exists when I’m tipsy, but the REAL happy place where I am taking good care of myself, handling my responsibilities efficiently and effectively without undue stress and really treasuring my friends and family.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Pump Your Brakes
The past couple of days have been strange. It has taken just about twice as long as normal to get things done. I felt depressed yesterday morning after arriving at the office without my daily soy latte. I tried to power through it without the coffee, but every time I thought about it I just felt bluer. It was the weirdest thing. After that, everything kept getting on my nerves. Appointments that should have taken 15 – 30 minutes were taking up to 3 hours to reach a resolution. I was so pissed off by the afternoon that I just caved and treated myself to an iced soy latte. It was heaven. I felt right as rain after just three sips. Well, I felt better anyway. I still had a melancholy disposition. I did yoga, and still the grey cloud hovered over me.
In the back of my mind, I’ve had the nagging fear of meeting Killa B’s best girl. She’s eight. I’ve been here before. The last time (about 6 years ago) was a bad experience – one that has soured me for good it seems. After that, I really don’t want to meet any more kids, especially girls. If someone were to analyze my last string of involvements, they might notice that I purposely throw a hostile variable into the mix when the possibility of me meeting the kids threatens to come up. It gets so complicated when they are involved. If dealing with kids wasn’t enough, the baby mommas are a mess. After earning the kid’s trust, then you have the mom breathing down your neck and using the kid as a manipulation tool. It’s pathetic. My mom and I fought for a really long time after I came of age because of that type of behavior. I knew my dad loved me, and I resented her for saying anything in opposition. I’m over that now. I mean, no one is perfect. My parents were a dysfunctional couple. They loved each other and us (me and my brother); they just had a strange way of showing it. After they split up, my mom had boyfriends and my dad had girlfriends. The boyfriends were cool, but I despised the girlfriends. As far as I was concerned, I was the only “other woman”. This is why I hate meeting guy’s daughters. I know exactly how they feel. Furthermore, I was a tyrant. There was no controlling me once I had the girlfriend in the crosshairs. Seriously, I became a smaller version of my mother, and we were all afraid of her. Six years ago, I met my 12 year old self reborn as my ex’s daughter. Karma is a bitch.
I’ve had some great experiences with the children of platonic guy friends. In the late 90’s, I had a friend who was a single dad with 2 girls. He and I had a long history of close calls. We had a very innocent childhood crush on each other that didn’t get soiled when we became adults. It was like neither of us wanted to step over the line because we had a really special friendship. His toddler treated me like her mother – she even started to call me mom one day when a bunch of us were sitting around at his house hanging out. It was very surreal. He asked her to repeat herself. She pointed at me, and said, “Mama”. I didn’t visit for a few days after that happened – scared I guess. When I did go back, it wasn’t long before he asked me to marry him. I said no. Soon after, he moved away. I missed the kids more than I missed him – confirming that my answer was the correct one.
I also don’t like sending the message to kids that casual involvements are cool. If I had my way, I’d have married my high school sweetheart and been done with it. However, he turned out to be a deadbeat dad who eventually turned on me and dotted my eye when I refused to accept his infidelities. No matter how much I was in love with the idea of spending my entire life with one person, I couldn’t settle for bullshit. For a while, I thought that there was some possibility that I could still meet someone who would be “the one” for the rest of my life. Now, though, I wonder if it really exists for me. I must admit that I have more doubt than faith. The older I get, the less I believe in that magical storybook love.
Children should believe in storybook love, love at first sight, happily ever after, Santa Claus, Peace on Earth, etc. I can’t go there anymore except sarcastically. The only thing I can do for kids is warn them about the inevitable disappointment that is coming. Sure, I can tie on my roller skates and take the little screaming banshees on a lovely turn around the rink, but what they don’t understand (or even need to) is that I’m skating to forget.
So, I’m putting off meeting the girl. I can meet parents, grandparents, friends, psychiatrists, brothers, sisters, exes or whomever – just no kids. Killa B is looking forward to it, so this will certainly come up again and again until I either meet the child or flee. I can hear Clay and Martina in my head saying, “Don’t be no punk.” LOL. I’m not ready yet! There’s no hurry, right? Why are people always rushing anyway?
On a side note, KB is cutting off his dreads tomorrow. When I get back from the Wharf to Wharf 10K, he'll be bald. He asked me how I felt about it, but I look at it like this: I'm not telling him what to do with his hair because I'm not going to ask him what he thinks I should do with mine - hello. Although I do think the dreads are hot, I'll get over it. I maybe wouldn't have been so attracted to him when we met without the locks, but as The Puppetmaster says, "If Affirmative Action gets you in the door..." That MF is so funny sometimes! Right now I am getting mentally prepared to meet up with a bunch of folks I haven't seen since Junior High School. I'm getting there early so I can be nice and tipsy when most of them show up. Everybody gets to see Friendly Hester tonight. Cheers!
In the back of my mind, I’ve had the nagging fear of meeting Killa B’s best girl. She’s eight. I’ve been here before. The last time (about 6 years ago) was a bad experience – one that has soured me for good it seems. After that, I really don’t want to meet any more kids, especially girls. If someone were to analyze my last string of involvements, they might notice that I purposely throw a hostile variable into the mix when the possibility of me meeting the kids threatens to come up. It gets so complicated when they are involved. If dealing with kids wasn’t enough, the baby mommas are a mess. After earning the kid’s trust, then you have the mom breathing down your neck and using the kid as a manipulation tool. It’s pathetic. My mom and I fought for a really long time after I came of age because of that type of behavior. I knew my dad loved me, and I resented her for saying anything in opposition. I’m over that now. I mean, no one is perfect. My parents were a dysfunctional couple. They loved each other and us (me and my brother); they just had a strange way of showing it. After they split up, my mom had boyfriends and my dad had girlfriends. The boyfriends were cool, but I despised the girlfriends. As far as I was concerned, I was the only “other woman”. This is why I hate meeting guy’s daughters. I know exactly how they feel. Furthermore, I was a tyrant. There was no controlling me once I had the girlfriend in the crosshairs. Seriously, I became a smaller version of my mother, and we were all afraid of her. Six years ago, I met my 12 year old self reborn as my ex’s daughter. Karma is a bitch.
I’ve had some great experiences with the children of platonic guy friends. In the late 90’s, I had a friend who was a single dad with 2 girls. He and I had a long history of close calls. We had a very innocent childhood crush on each other that didn’t get soiled when we became adults. It was like neither of us wanted to step over the line because we had a really special friendship. His toddler treated me like her mother – she even started to call me mom one day when a bunch of us were sitting around at his house hanging out. It was very surreal. He asked her to repeat herself. She pointed at me, and said, “Mama”. I didn’t visit for a few days after that happened – scared I guess. When I did go back, it wasn’t long before he asked me to marry him. I said no. Soon after, he moved away. I missed the kids more than I missed him – confirming that my answer was the correct one.
I also don’t like sending the message to kids that casual involvements are cool. If I had my way, I’d have married my high school sweetheart and been done with it. However, he turned out to be a deadbeat dad who eventually turned on me and dotted my eye when I refused to accept his infidelities. No matter how much I was in love with the idea of spending my entire life with one person, I couldn’t settle for bullshit. For a while, I thought that there was some possibility that I could still meet someone who would be “the one” for the rest of my life. Now, though, I wonder if it really exists for me. I must admit that I have more doubt than faith. The older I get, the less I believe in that magical storybook love.
Children should believe in storybook love, love at first sight, happily ever after, Santa Claus, Peace on Earth, etc. I can’t go there anymore except sarcastically. The only thing I can do for kids is warn them about the inevitable disappointment that is coming. Sure, I can tie on my roller skates and take the little screaming banshees on a lovely turn around the rink, but what they don’t understand (or even need to) is that I’m skating to forget.
So, I’m putting off meeting the girl. I can meet parents, grandparents, friends, psychiatrists, brothers, sisters, exes or whomever – just no kids. Killa B is looking forward to it, so this will certainly come up again and again until I either meet the child or flee. I can hear Clay and Martina in my head saying, “Don’t be no punk.” LOL. I’m not ready yet! There’s no hurry, right? Why are people always rushing anyway?
On a side note, KB is cutting off his dreads tomorrow. When I get back from the Wharf to Wharf 10K, he'll be bald. He asked me how I felt about it, but I look at it like this: I'm not telling him what to do with his hair because I'm not going to ask him what he thinks I should do with mine - hello. Although I do think the dreads are hot, I'll get over it. I maybe wouldn't have been so attracted to him when we met without the locks, but as The Puppetmaster says, "If Affirmative Action gets you in the door..." That MF is so funny sometimes! Right now I am getting mentally prepared to meet up with a bunch of folks I haven't seen since Junior High School. I'm getting there early so I can be nice and tipsy when most of them show up. Everybody gets to see Friendly Hester tonight. Cheers!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
North-South Wrap-Up
Friday – Road Trippin’ to San Simeon
Never leave too many things for the day of – I already know this. I had a schedule set in my mind of when everything would be done. In my opinion, I had allotted ample time for unforeseen events short of someone needing an intervention. Ale x somehow convinced me to come out to Inner Sunset and pick him up (after working on me for an entire week). Since he is the least “morning person” of all the people in the car, I figured it would be in my best interest to go ahead and cave. That way, my schedule could remain intact…or so I assumed.
To tell you the truth, I neither want to relive the experience nor blast every detail of it on the internet. Suffice it to say that after an extra hour and a half of errands that I didn’t know would take so damn long, we were on the road at around Noon coming from SF on 101 South. We stopped in Gilroy to be sidetracked by another snafu in the 100+ degree heat, then again when we almost ran out of fuel on the 100-mile stretch of Highway 1 that has no diesel stations. Relying on the kindness of strangers (or even friends) is not a position I am comfortable in. In fact, that may have been the most stressed I have been in quite a while. Driving soothes me, so at least I had that working in my favor. We finally made it to San Simeon around 6PM. I had calmed down a bit by then, but I knew what was coming as soon as I got out of the car. I called it a couple of hours earlier. CT and I have spent enough time together for me to know exactly what he’s gonna say.
“So, how was the drive?” He asked. I looked around at Martina, Alex and KB.
“I’m not ready to talk about that yet.”
“What time did you leave?” He said it all exactly the way I predicted! “How long did it take you to get here?” I had to walk away and get started unloading the car. It was too fresh and I wasn’t completely over it yet. Yeah, I’m a bit of a control freak about certain things, but I assure you that it’s for a reason. I had hoped to put my cruise control on 80mph and just let the road unfold before me. That’ll teach me. Seriously, when you have a bunch of passengers on a road trip, something always goes wrong. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I suffered the most distress. Everyone else seemed to come away from the experience relatively unscathed.
While waiting in the car earlier that morning for KB, I picked out our weekend drink. I plugged Vodka into the drink recipe app on his iPhone and got an uber-long list, so I scrolled down to the J’s and saw the “Jackson 5”. Perfect! Here’s to you, MJ. For those not in the know, the Jackson 5 works very much like a Long Island Iced Tea. It has an element that hits you immediately and a creeper that quietly builds with every drink you consume, waiting for that moment when you think you’re on top of the world to bring you back down to Earth. After my second (and a pot cookie), I attempted to finish off the evening with a beer but only made it through a couple of sips before excusing myself to crawl into the tent. At that point, standing up was a feat in itself. Lying down turned out to be an adventure full of twists and turns as well. When KB got in with me, I clung to him for dear life. The spinning stopped long enough for me to get a few minutes of sleep before the cacophony of snoring and snarling. I tried getting up to escape the sleeping bear, but the spins returned. Damn it!
The rest of the camping trip was awesome. We all got sauced, swapped funny stories, did a little dancing and walked along the beach at all hours of the day and night. There were countless displays of intoxication that served to further entertain us. The hammock CT brought was a very tempting trick. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried mounting/dismounting a hammock while drunk, but it’s not pretty. What a great weekend! I can’t wait ‘til the next one.
Thanks to errrrrybody who came out (for traveling way out yonder and putting up with my attitude).
Thanks Kim for keeping us grounded and out of trouble.
Thanks CT for providing the minefield of inappropriate humor and intelligent fireside conservation (fire hot – lol).
Thanks to Tracey for making that long ass drive just to spend one night with us – awww it makes my belly feel funny inside.
Thanks to Alex The Puppetmaster for providing most of the intoxicants and then using us all for his own entertainment.
Thanks Martina for being the good-spirited buffer that we desperately needed.
Thanks to the Wonder Twins, KB and Burly, for getting drunk on Bourbon and geeking out for the rest of us to laugh at – and then retiring to the tents and passing out before sunset so we wouldn’t have to keep an eye on you two (awesome).
Becky, Rolando, Mark and Eden, we missed you guys – see you next year.
Oh YES! Thanks to the generous guys at the Park Ranger Station 20 or so miles North of Cambria. Without you, I probably would have snapped and made it a Donner Party weekend...
Never leave too many things for the day of – I already know this. I had a schedule set in my mind of when everything would be done. In my opinion, I had allotted ample time for unforeseen events short of someone needing an intervention. Ale x somehow convinced me to come out to Inner Sunset and pick him up (after working on me for an entire week). Since he is the least “morning person” of all the people in the car, I figured it would be in my best interest to go ahead and cave. That way, my schedule could remain intact…or so I assumed.
To tell you the truth, I neither want to relive the experience nor blast every detail of it on the internet. Suffice it to say that after an extra hour and a half of errands that I didn’t know would take so damn long, we were on the road at around Noon coming from SF on 101 South. We stopped in Gilroy to be sidetracked by another snafu in the 100+ degree heat, then again when we almost ran out of fuel on the 100-mile stretch of Highway 1 that has no diesel stations. Relying on the kindness of strangers (or even friends) is not a position I am comfortable in. In fact, that may have been the most stressed I have been in quite a while. Driving soothes me, so at least I had that working in my favor. We finally made it to San Simeon around 6PM. I had calmed down a bit by then, but I knew what was coming as soon as I got out of the car. I called it a couple of hours earlier. CT and I have spent enough time together for me to know exactly what he’s gonna say.
“So, how was the drive?” He asked. I looked around at Martina, Alex and KB.
“I’m not ready to talk about that yet.”
“What time did you leave?” He said it all exactly the way I predicted! “How long did it take you to get here?” I had to walk away and get started unloading the car. It was too fresh and I wasn’t completely over it yet. Yeah, I’m a bit of a control freak about certain things, but I assure you that it’s for a reason. I had hoped to put my cruise control on 80mph and just let the road unfold before me. That’ll teach me. Seriously, when you have a bunch of passengers on a road trip, something always goes wrong. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I suffered the most distress. Everyone else seemed to come away from the experience relatively unscathed.
While waiting in the car earlier that morning for KB, I picked out our weekend drink. I plugged Vodka into the drink recipe app on his iPhone and got an uber-long list, so I scrolled down to the J’s and saw the “Jackson 5”. Perfect! Here’s to you, MJ. For those not in the know, the Jackson 5 works very much like a Long Island Iced Tea. It has an element that hits you immediately and a creeper that quietly builds with every drink you consume, waiting for that moment when you think you’re on top of the world to bring you back down to Earth. After my second (and a pot cookie), I attempted to finish off the evening with a beer but only made it through a couple of sips before excusing myself to crawl into the tent. At that point, standing up was a feat in itself. Lying down turned out to be an adventure full of twists and turns as well. When KB got in with me, I clung to him for dear life. The spinning stopped long enough for me to get a few minutes of sleep before the cacophony of snoring and snarling. I tried getting up to escape the sleeping bear, but the spins returned. Damn it!
The rest of the camping trip was awesome. We all got sauced, swapped funny stories, did a little dancing and walked along the beach at all hours of the day and night. There were countless displays of intoxication that served to further entertain us. The hammock CT brought was a very tempting trick. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried mounting/dismounting a hammock while drunk, but it’s not pretty. What a great weekend! I can’t wait ‘til the next one.
Thanks to errrrrybody who came out (for traveling way out yonder and putting up with my attitude).
Thanks Kim for keeping us grounded and out of trouble.
Thanks CT for providing the minefield of inappropriate humor and intelligent fireside conservation (fire hot – lol).
Thanks to Tracey for making that long ass drive just to spend one night with us – awww it makes my belly feel funny inside.
Thanks to Alex The Puppetmaster for providing most of the intoxicants and then using us all for his own entertainment.
Thanks Martina for being the good-spirited buffer that we desperately needed.
Thanks to the Wonder Twins, KB and Burly, for getting drunk on Bourbon and geeking out for the rest of us to laugh at – and then retiring to the tents and passing out before sunset so we wouldn’t have to keep an eye on you two (awesome).
Becky, Rolando, Mark and Eden, we missed you guys – see you next year.
Oh YES! Thanks to the generous guys at the Park Ranger Station 20 or so miles North of Cambria. Without you, I probably would have snapped and made it a Donner Party weekend...
Weekend Kick-off
I’ve got a lot to update. I’ll start at the beginning.
Thursday night @ Vibe.
The usual suspects were out minus the troublemakers in New York and a couple of folks catching up on sleep. Killa B and I met there after a busy day of work and catching up with friends. I had come from having cocktails with a couple of Jr. High classmates and a long-time friend we shall refer to as Frank (which just happens to be the name of his alter-ego). The four of us (and two kids) sat at Chevy’s on the water’s edge and talked about old times over Fresh Mex and Margaritas. It was a nice mellow way to begin the evening. From there, I took Frank home and got busy running my miscellaneous errands. I had the weekend’s camping trip to pack the car for and a few loose ends to tie up before I could leave town. I’ve learned not to leave much for the morning of because the unforeseen events tend to take over. This trip was n exception, but that’s coming later.
I finally get to Vibe just before midnight and I belly up to the seemingly vacant bar on the ground level. The owner peers around the one other patron sitting there and says, with a sly grin on her face, “I have photos from the one-year anniversary party.”
“Am I in any of them?” I was suspicious.
“Yes.” She snickers. “Let me go get ‘em.” She went into a back room and came out with some card stock prints. I thumbed through them. I came to one of me, Alex and Martina and gasped. Then I put my head down on the bar and lost it. I’m between Alex and Martina and it looks like I am licking Arnold (Arnold and Webster are Martina’s boobs – they were named by some girlie boys at Ana and Ro’s Pink Party earlier that day – I swear I couldn’t make this shit up). It was the third photo I’d taken in that pose that day. The first two were with men. Oh, and the manwich! Ooooh. That may be a story for another time. Needless to say, the photo was hilarious. The bar owner watched my face when I came to it and got the best giggle I heard all night.
When Killa B arrived, we sat for a few quiet, calm minutes and just decompressed before heading upstairs to the dance floor. Frank was there well on his way to being wasted. I wasn’t worried though. I mean, the guy can drink and usually disappears before anything crazy happens. Besides, I was enjoying KB’s company and ringing in the weekend with some good music, friends and fun. Once I got into my groove on the floor, Frank and KB has some sort of mano a mano pissing contest. I left them to do what boys do. Next thing I know, KB is standing next to me saying, “You have to take him home.” I look over, and he’s slumped over the bar. “Great.” One of the guys in the club helped us get him down the stairs, but we ran into a hiccup trying to get him into the cab.
Frank was flailing around and fighting. He gets like that when people surround him, so I put myself between him and everyone else. I yelled for everybody to back off so I could calm him down. He was still shoving, and KB was uncomfortable watching me get pushed around. I wondered for a bit if we’d be able to get into the cab before the driver lost his patience and left us there. Finally, Frank relaxed and fell into the back seat of the cab. I folded his legs in and sat on his lap. I thought I’d wait for the right time to let KB know that Frank lived on the third floor of his elevator-less building. That time came swiftly. The look on KB’s face was classic (I’m laughing now just remembering it). The building manager was there after a few minutes of bumping around in the hallways, watching us lure Frank up the three and a half flights of stairs.
A drunk ain’t shit. That’s a saying for good reason.
Thanks for your help, Killa B. Thanks to the club folks for not throwing Frank out on the curb. Thanks to the cabbie for being patient, and thanks, Frank, for creating yet another funny story at your expense.
Thursday night @ Vibe.
The usual suspects were out minus the troublemakers in New York and a couple of folks catching up on sleep. Killa B and I met there after a busy day of work and catching up with friends. I had come from having cocktails with a couple of Jr. High classmates and a long-time friend we shall refer to as Frank (which just happens to be the name of his alter-ego). The four of us (and two kids) sat at Chevy’s on the water’s edge and talked about old times over Fresh Mex and Margaritas. It was a nice mellow way to begin the evening. From there, I took Frank home and got busy running my miscellaneous errands. I had the weekend’s camping trip to pack the car for and a few loose ends to tie up before I could leave town. I’ve learned not to leave much for the morning of because the unforeseen events tend to take over. This trip was n exception, but that’s coming later.
I finally get to Vibe just before midnight and I belly up to the seemingly vacant bar on the ground level. The owner peers around the one other patron sitting there and says, with a sly grin on her face, “I have photos from the one-year anniversary party.”
“Am I in any of them?” I was suspicious.
“Yes.” She snickers. “Let me go get ‘em.” She went into a back room and came out with some card stock prints. I thumbed through them. I came to one of me, Alex and Martina and gasped. Then I put my head down on the bar and lost it. I’m between Alex and Martina and it looks like I am licking Arnold (Arnold and Webster are Martina’s boobs – they were named by some girlie boys at Ana and Ro’s Pink Party earlier that day – I swear I couldn’t make this shit up). It was the third photo I’d taken in that pose that day. The first two were with men. Oh, and the manwich! Ooooh. That may be a story for another time. Needless to say, the photo was hilarious. The bar owner watched my face when I came to it and got the best giggle I heard all night.
When Killa B arrived, we sat for a few quiet, calm minutes and just decompressed before heading upstairs to the dance floor. Frank was there well on his way to being wasted. I wasn’t worried though. I mean, the guy can drink and usually disappears before anything crazy happens. Besides, I was enjoying KB’s company and ringing in the weekend with some good music, friends and fun. Once I got into my groove on the floor, Frank and KB has some sort of mano a mano pissing contest. I left them to do what boys do. Next thing I know, KB is standing next to me saying, “You have to take him home.” I look over, and he’s slumped over the bar. “Great.” One of the guys in the club helped us get him down the stairs, but we ran into a hiccup trying to get him into the cab.
Frank was flailing around and fighting. He gets like that when people surround him, so I put myself between him and everyone else. I yelled for everybody to back off so I could calm him down. He was still shoving, and KB was uncomfortable watching me get pushed around. I wondered for a bit if we’d be able to get into the cab before the driver lost his patience and left us there. Finally, Frank relaxed and fell into the back seat of the cab. I folded his legs in and sat on his lap. I thought I’d wait for the right time to let KB know that Frank lived on the third floor of his elevator-less building. That time came swiftly. The look on KB’s face was classic (I’m laughing now just remembering it). The building manager was there after a few minutes of bumping around in the hallways, watching us lure Frank up the three and a half flights of stairs.
A drunk ain’t shit. That’s a saying for good reason.
Thanks for your help, Killa B. Thanks to the club folks for not throwing Frank out on the curb. Thanks to the cabbie for being patient, and thanks, Frank, for creating yet another funny story at your expense.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Counting down to North-South Reunion
The annual camping trip is coming up this weekend, and I’m so excited that I can barely contain myself. This will be our fourth trip and the first time I’ve ever brought a date. First of all, my friends are crazy. Second, only a person who knows their limits and can hold their booze can really hang out with us. We don’t do much more than regular campers do, but it’s definitely something special because this is the only time all of us are together. See, there’s another reason why I never brought a date before.
Why now? Why am I bringing the new guy (a.k.a. Killa B) to the reunion? Well, he fits. When I met him, I wondered if he was going to be part of “the crew” – the folks I see whenever I go out because we all go to the same places when we get bored and it seems like no time has passed in between this time and the last time I saw them – or something else. Now I’m thinking that maybe those worlds may be colliding. The idea didn’t appeal to me at first, but resistance to change has never served me well. I have so far survived the incestuous network of Facebook. I was a little creeped out by how many of my old friends know my new friends. What can you do? Life doesn’t tuck neatly into your pocket. I haven't lost any sleep over it, and I don't foresee that happening.
Although I am riding the honeymoon high, I must admit that I am still unconvinced that all this is really happening. I’ve become a bit of a skeptic when it comes to love. When I look back at the few people I have loved in my life, it’s a bit like a Three Stooges episode.
Why now? Why am I bringing the new guy (a.k.a. Killa B) to the reunion? Well, he fits. When I met him, I wondered if he was going to be part of “the crew” – the folks I see whenever I go out because we all go to the same places when we get bored and it seems like no time has passed in between this time and the last time I saw them – or something else. Now I’m thinking that maybe those worlds may be colliding. The idea didn’t appeal to me at first, but resistance to change has never served me well. I have so far survived the incestuous network of Facebook. I was a little creeped out by how many of my old friends know my new friends. What can you do? Life doesn’t tuck neatly into your pocket. I haven't lost any sleep over it, and I don't foresee that happening.
Although I am riding the honeymoon high, I must admit that I am still unconvinced that all this is really happening. I’ve become a bit of a skeptic when it comes to love. When I look back at the few people I have loved in my life, it’s a bit like a Three Stooges episode.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Appetizers are so good that I could make a meal out of them
For years, I have considered myself an “In-Between”. I consistently meet and connect with guys who have some sort of intimacy blockage, broken heart or general mistrust of women. I find it interesting how they always end up trusting me. It probably has a great deal to do with how I see relationships. I view everything (especially matters of the heart) as transient. It takes a little bit of getting used to, but it’s liberating. It’s surprising how much you can enjoy an experience when you see it as the last one of its kind. The worst assholes of all end up being the sweetest and most thoughtful lovers. I guess they have to be when they know that this is it – no do-overs.
On extremely rare occasions I meet someone like me, another “In-Between”. Secret Squirrel, in my mind, fit into this category. The more I think about it, the more I realize that he is not meant to continue on in my life as a friend. He just doesn’t fit in anywhere. I don’t see us all chummy and palling around over beers and peanuts. I can see our next chance meeting’s palpable tension and sideways glances. I can see us talking for a few minutes in a grocery store. I thought about perhaps trying him on as my own personal in-between, but I’m afraid I’m just not programmed that way. Also, I can’t imagine repeatedly being so close with one person without developing feelings for them beyond what is manageable for an in-between. In that type of arrangement, someone is destined to get hurt.
I’ve been avoiding writing about the new guy. I have many reasons. First and foremost, I am completely smitten. My objectivity is pretty much nil at this point. I am incapable of making sensible decisions right now, so I’m doing my best to defer committing to anything. It’s challenging because he, like me, has a tendency to jump into things head first and make grand plans. Somebody has to keep a foot on the ground, for crying out loud! I’m doing my best. He’s just so damn hot… I get all flustered.
When he asked why I am not married or in a long term relationship I said, “Because I’m complex.” At the time, I felt it was the truth. However, it may actually be the opposite. Perhaps I simplify too much. Maybe I shouldn’t say what’s on my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t be transparent. Maybe I should play the game everyone else is playing. Maybe I should want the things that everyone else seems to value. Once in a while, I do consider it. I have those urges, just like everyone else, to cling to people and to hold on to things that remind me of happy times in love that is now lost. I too feel nostalgic when I hear a song or smell a fragrance that stirs up memories from the past. It’s the delightful bitter sweetness of being human. I prefer that to the resentment that grows stronger with each passing day spent in a relationship that has outlived its enjoyment. When I say that I get bored, it’s not meant as an insult. You could say it’s a coping mechanism. There’s no need to despair when something dies because it lived.
I always come back here. This quiet place in my mind tells me that it would be so much more pleasant to go for a walk than to waste time worrying about how other people think. Even this seemingly insignificant moment could be better spent with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. In the time it takes to work myself up into pointless anxiety, I can watch a bee pollinate a dozen blossoms. Speaking of which, has anyone else noticed the decline in the bee and butterfly population? It’s truly tragic.
RIP Michael Jackson - poor guy never had a real life, a musical genius treated like a zoo animal. The world is so ugly sometimes.
Oh, and Happy Birthday Mushun
On extremely rare occasions I meet someone like me, another “In-Between”. Secret Squirrel, in my mind, fit into this category. The more I think about it, the more I realize that he is not meant to continue on in my life as a friend. He just doesn’t fit in anywhere. I don’t see us all chummy and palling around over beers and peanuts. I can see our next chance meeting’s palpable tension and sideways glances. I can see us talking for a few minutes in a grocery store. I thought about perhaps trying him on as my own personal in-between, but I’m afraid I’m just not programmed that way. Also, I can’t imagine repeatedly being so close with one person without developing feelings for them beyond what is manageable for an in-between. In that type of arrangement, someone is destined to get hurt.
I’ve been avoiding writing about the new guy. I have many reasons. First and foremost, I am completely smitten. My objectivity is pretty much nil at this point. I am incapable of making sensible decisions right now, so I’m doing my best to defer committing to anything. It’s challenging because he, like me, has a tendency to jump into things head first and make grand plans. Somebody has to keep a foot on the ground, for crying out loud! I’m doing my best. He’s just so damn hot… I get all flustered.
When he asked why I am not married or in a long term relationship I said, “Because I’m complex.” At the time, I felt it was the truth. However, it may actually be the opposite. Perhaps I simplify too much. Maybe I shouldn’t say what’s on my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t be transparent. Maybe I should play the game everyone else is playing. Maybe I should want the things that everyone else seems to value. Once in a while, I do consider it. I have those urges, just like everyone else, to cling to people and to hold on to things that remind me of happy times in love that is now lost. I too feel nostalgic when I hear a song or smell a fragrance that stirs up memories from the past. It’s the delightful bitter sweetness of being human. I prefer that to the resentment that grows stronger with each passing day spent in a relationship that has outlived its enjoyment. When I say that I get bored, it’s not meant as an insult. You could say it’s a coping mechanism. There’s no need to despair when something dies because it lived.
I always come back here. This quiet place in my mind tells me that it would be so much more pleasant to go for a walk than to waste time worrying about how other people think. Even this seemingly insignificant moment could be better spent with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. In the time it takes to work myself up into pointless anxiety, I can watch a bee pollinate a dozen blossoms. Speaking of which, has anyone else noticed the decline in the bee and butterfly population? It’s truly tragic.
RIP Michael Jackson - poor guy never had a real life, a musical genius treated like a zoo animal. The world is so ugly sometimes.
Oh, and Happy Birthday Mushun
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Change Clothes
So I’ve finally gone and done it. It was coming, and everyone knew. Secret Squirrel was not angry, nor was he surprised. I told him last week that I’d met someone of interest the week prior. I told him today that I wanted to end my involvement with him so I can feel comfortable moving into something new with this person of interest. He took it well. He encouraged me to look into this new thing that could possibly be developing. He even said that he wanted to remain friends. I told him that I’m still game to have him kick my ass in pool once in a while and stay on speed dial as my designated driver (that is, if he doesn’t mind). He is my only friend who doesn’t drink or smoke pot. Hmmm. Can I call him a friend or must he be classified as an ex?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Reinvention
I'm bored. This happens regularly, but right now is the boredom in the deepest part of me. This is the time to start something brand new. I (and I'm sure others too) usually assume that new love is the cure to what ails me. However, since the Thailand trip, I've reconsidered. I am in dire need of a meditation practice. Some daily yoga wouldn't hurt either. Every once in a while you just need a little soul refresher.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Reality Check
I have to keep telling myself not to take things personally today. All the way to work, people were riding my bumper in traffic. Since when does that make traffic go any faster? Then there are the parties I am not invited to…maybe if I took the time to visit (or at least call) people I would get the invites. I have my nerve! To top it off, there are the ‘too cool’ people. They’re the ones that never want to hang out but always seem to find their way into every conversation you have with someone else. I mean, you’re not my friend so why are you always butting into my conversations? Then I have to realize that these people are having some sort of internal issue. It’s not all about me. This is not The Hester Show.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
where is my focus?
I’ve been trying to figure out a way to trick myself into being good. I have these grand ideas of things I want to achieve, but I am so easily distracted by…ooo shiny…what? Anyway, I just said yesterday that I wanted to be bare-midriff ready (and I mean truly ready, not like these people who go outside looking like they have lost their damn minds) by the first week of August, and here I am eating some damn Ben & Jerry’s. UGH! I am annoying myself!
I slept badly last night. I’m starting to realize that it may not actually be the boy that is the problem here. His bed is too firm for my taste and the bedclothes are scratchy. The temperature was weird last night too. I may be fighting off a cold because I'd be sweating and overheated one minute and freezing the next. I just couldn’t get comfortable all night – after being sleepless until 1AM. Those five and a half crappy hours of fitful sleep did nothing for this day in the office. I binged all day on crap. I bought this family size bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos and now they are screaming my name from the file drawer behind me.
This is crazy. I’m going running.
I slept badly last night. I’m starting to realize that it may not actually be the boy that is the problem here. His bed is too firm for my taste and the bedclothes are scratchy. The temperature was weird last night too. I may be fighting off a cold because I'd be sweating and overheated one minute and freezing the next. I just couldn’t get comfortable all night – after being sleepless until 1AM. Those five and a half crappy hours of fitful sleep did nothing for this day in the office. I binged all day on crap. I bought this family size bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos and now they are screaming my name from the file drawer behind me.
This is crazy. I’m going running.
Monday, June 8, 2009
ramblings
I decided that I’m going to make a real effort to slim down. Since the Thailand trip, it’s only been a maintenance thing. I’ve kept the ten pounds off, and I’m teetering back and forth within a three pound window. I’m eating whatever I want and sweating it off in the gym or dancing. This is a sustainable lifestyle for me. Gradually, over the past few weeks, I’ve been incorporating more weight training. I got a little full of myself last week though. I hit the arms hard on Thursday and couldn’t straighten them all weekend. They’re still sore today. They hurt so bad Friday night that I couldn’t sleep.
I think it’s already making a difference. You know how when you start a new fitness regimen, you see results quickly at first? Well, I think that is what’s happening right now. As for the effect it has had on my social life, I’m not sure yet. I do think that there have been fewer overweight men (and women) hitting on me lately. Most of the people who flirt with me or more are fit and/or thin. It could be that the overweight guys are invisible to me. I have that tendency. I don’t care if that’s shallow. I have no desire to feel somebody’s sweaty folds of flesh on top of me. EW! I just grossed myself out. It’s so much easier for men to lose weight, and I can’t stand a lazy man.
I think it’s already making a difference. You know how when you start a new fitness regimen, you see results quickly at first? Well, I think that is what’s happening right now. As for the effect it has had on my social life, I’m not sure yet. I do think that there have been fewer overweight men (and women) hitting on me lately. Most of the people who flirt with me or more are fit and/or thin. It could be that the overweight guys are invisible to me. I have that tendency. I don’t care if that’s shallow. I have no desire to feel somebody’s sweaty folds of flesh on top of me. EW! I just grossed myself out. It’s so much easier for men to lose weight, and I can’t stand a lazy man.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Alcohol and My Big Mouth
After 3 glasses of champagne and two cocktails, I determined that it would be fun to leave the dance floor and head outside to chat with the other partygoers. Why oh why do I always try to make new friends while intoxicated? I know it's not a good idea, especially because of that incessant flirting thing that happens. The only friends I can meet under those circumstances either want something from me or ate just entertained by my antics. Most of my current friends started off as the latter. I'm really fun at a party, but who knows what promises I've made and who these people are calling my phone.
Thankfully, I rarely go out alone. My club buddy this time, however, was just as much of a troublemaker as I was! We cannot be trusted together or apart. Looks like we'll need a third to be the voice of reason. Apply within. He he he
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Today's rant - Can men and women be just friends?
The question is not whether men and women can be friends. Can a straight man and a straight woman be friends and hang out one on one without one or both of them crossing the line that separates friendship from something more (or something less depending on how you look at it)? I used to think that it was possible, until I tried it. I tell you, no man in his right mind is going to spend several hours a week alone with you unless he is either gay or in love with you (or both).
If a gay man loves a woman, no harm, no foul. I've been on the receiving end of that love many times. These are some of the best friends you can have. Men have this way of remaining friends even through deceit and neglect. They may fight for a night or maybe even a week, but they eventually get over it and move on. You can't buy that. Women aren't so forgiving. I've learned so much about friendship and loyalty from men. Some of the lessons were brutal, but a person as hard-headed as me gets used to that kind of thing. I often can't admit I'm wrong until I've been broken down to my last shreds of pride and vanity.
I have more straight male friends (whom I haven't slept with or even thought of in that manner) than any woman I know. For a hotass with a wandering eye, one might wonder how this is possible. It's easy! All you gotta do is hang out in groups with boys. Boys love hanging out with each other and the token raunchy female is almost always welcome. I love Boxing and MMA. I can become quite animated while watching these matches on TV. Throw in some alcohol and you've got two shows for the price of one...seriously. You'd swear I either fought professionally myself or had money riding on it. I understand football fans because of this obsession I have with fighting. I love watching fights - professional or street. I love coaching the fighters from the couch or sideline. The rest of the world sort of fades away, and there's nothing but the fight. Crazy, huh? I feel the same way about riding with nothing but open road ahead of me - that damn accelerator just whispers my name so sweetly that I have to answer the call, but I digress.
In the beginning, you're two peas in a pod. You hop from party to party, watching each other's backs and pretty much teaming up against the world. Eventually something happens on an otherwise uneventful night, and one of you looks at the other with a little sparkle in the eye. This person you've just been combing the streets with for weeks as a platonic buddies so much more than that. How blind I've been not to notice the way the light catches your hair and forms a halo around your face. The echo of your laughter down a vacant alley sends tingles down my spine...whatever. You get my point.
It is so over!!! It can only end one of two ways: either they hook up or somebody gets their feelings hurt. I've been on both sides. However, I prefer to just put some distance between myself and the dude if I start to feel that intimate pull. He may wonder why I don't hang out so much anymore, but I just say that I'm busy or (even better) I decide to stop partying for a while. It's for the best. Trust me.
The worst that can happen is that he moves on to hanging out with someone else. Big deal. If you're really interested in being just his friend, you'll get over yourself and he'll welcome you back with open arms (remember that whole forgiveness thing). If he falls for you, he will give chase. You are in big trouble now, missy. Do you really want this? Once you cross the line, it will be changed forever and you can't go back. When you're attending his wedding (to someone else) years later, you'll be standing there wondering why you set yourself up for this crap. Prepare yourself for being a Godmother... and I'm not talking about the fun, glamorous Fairy Godmother either - I'm talking free babysitter in case of emergency. Sheesh.
But I'm not bitter...
If a gay man loves a woman, no harm, no foul. I've been on the receiving end of that love many times. These are some of the best friends you can have. Men have this way of remaining friends even through deceit and neglect. They may fight for a night or maybe even a week, but they eventually get over it and move on. You can't buy that. Women aren't so forgiving. I've learned so much about friendship and loyalty from men. Some of the lessons were brutal, but a person as hard-headed as me gets used to that kind of thing. I often can't admit I'm wrong until I've been broken down to my last shreds of pride and vanity.
I have more straight male friends (whom I haven't slept with or even thought of in that manner) than any woman I know. For a hotass with a wandering eye, one might wonder how this is possible. It's easy! All you gotta do is hang out in groups with boys. Boys love hanging out with each other and the token raunchy female is almost always welcome. I love Boxing and MMA. I can become quite animated while watching these matches on TV. Throw in some alcohol and you've got two shows for the price of one...seriously. You'd swear I either fought professionally myself or had money riding on it. I understand football fans because of this obsession I have with fighting. I love watching fights - professional or street. I love coaching the fighters from the couch or sideline. The rest of the world sort of fades away, and there's nothing but the fight. Crazy, huh? I feel the same way about riding with nothing but open road ahead of me - that damn accelerator just whispers my name so sweetly that I have to answer the call, but I digress.
In the beginning, you're two peas in a pod. You hop from party to party, watching each other's backs and pretty much teaming up against the world. Eventually something happens on an otherwise uneventful night, and one of you looks at the other with a little sparkle in the eye. This person you've just been combing the streets with for weeks as a platonic buddies so much more than that. How blind I've been not to notice the way the light catches your hair and forms a halo around your face. The echo of your laughter down a vacant alley sends tingles down my spine...whatever. You get my point.
It is so over!!! It can only end one of two ways: either they hook up or somebody gets their feelings hurt. I've been on both sides. However, I prefer to just put some distance between myself and the dude if I start to feel that intimate pull. He may wonder why I don't hang out so much anymore, but I just say that I'm busy or (even better) I decide to stop partying for a while. It's for the best. Trust me.
The worst that can happen is that he moves on to hanging out with someone else. Big deal. If you're really interested in being just his friend, you'll get over yourself and he'll welcome you back with open arms (remember that whole forgiveness thing). If he falls for you, he will give chase. You are in big trouble now, missy. Do you really want this? Once you cross the line, it will be changed forever and you can't go back. When you're attending his wedding (to someone else) years later, you'll be standing there wondering why you set yourself up for this crap. Prepare yourself for being a Godmother... and I'm not talking about the fun, glamorous Fairy Godmother either - I'm talking free babysitter in case of emergency. Sheesh.
But I'm not bitter...
Monday, June 1, 2009
Idle Hands are the Devil's Playground
The other night, I found myself dancing with hotness. I swear this guy has been sexy forever. In my mind I reminded myself not to do the eyelash batting thing or sneak that copulatory gaze in there. I mean, when you keep friends for 20+ years, the line has pretty much drawn itself. It doesn't matter how hot your old friends get, they are off limits. Besides, there is a whole world of available men out there to have adventures with...ones who won't go back and tell all your mutual friends about all your freaky bedroom antics. I don't care if the guy I'm dating tells his friends about me, as long as they are not my friends too. That's just a mess. I like to keep my life as drama free as possible. It's not so easy when you need to be entertained almost all the time.
So I've been thinking about this hot old friend since seeing him. It's because I'm bored with my current lover. I'm not picturing him naked or imagining places to put his lips or any of that naughtiness (although that doesn't sound so bad). To be honest, that's not how my fantasies go these days. I want more than just a good lay. I've been fortunate enough to have had some great lovers. In fact, I don't really think it's him I'm thinking of in particular, but the excitement of discovering someone new and feeling the beginnings of attraction - the butterflies, the hair standing up on the back of my neck when I know he is staring at me from across the room. I miss the instinctual part of it. I miss feeling my own tingling heat under the intense gaze of a hunter.
My fantasy is being attracted to a kindred spirit. I like to picture myself racing motorcycles against Mr. Perfect Match. We drink and gamble all night in Atlantic City. We go to the opera. We backpack through Yosemite and skinny dip in the moonlight. We challenge each other physically, emotionally and intellectually. We are so well matched that we grow together - instead of that familiar staleness that happens when most people get comfortable.
Really, it doesn't matter how sexy some guy in a bar is. I know that he's just another guy in a bar. I'll be bored with him in a few weeks, and I'll go back to slinking through the streets sniffing around for the next hint of pheromones - making some new unsuspecting egomaniac believe that I am the prey. The chase is still fun, but the resolution is so anticlimactic.
I guess I’ll just have to find my excitement elsewhere. Did I mention that I bought a new pair of roller blades yesterday? I need a new bike too – faster and sleeker with a deeper growl. Then I can get myself close to some more dangerous trouble.
So I've been thinking about this hot old friend since seeing him. It's because I'm bored with my current lover. I'm not picturing him naked or imagining places to put his lips or any of that naughtiness (although that doesn't sound so bad). To be honest, that's not how my fantasies go these days. I want more than just a good lay. I've been fortunate enough to have had some great lovers. In fact, I don't really think it's him I'm thinking of in particular, but the excitement of discovering someone new and feeling the beginnings of attraction - the butterflies, the hair standing up on the back of my neck when I know he is staring at me from across the room. I miss the instinctual part of it. I miss feeling my own tingling heat under the intense gaze of a hunter.
My fantasy is being attracted to a kindred spirit. I like to picture myself racing motorcycles against Mr. Perfect Match. We drink and gamble all night in Atlantic City. We go to the opera. We backpack through Yosemite and skinny dip in the moonlight. We challenge each other physically, emotionally and intellectually. We are so well matched that we grow together - instead of that familiar staleness that happens when most people get comfortable.
Really, it doesn't matter how sexy some guy in a bar is. I know that he's just another guy in a bar. I'll be bored with him in a few weeks, and I'll go back to slinking through the streets sniffing around for the next hint of pheromones - making some new unsuspecting egomaniac believe that I am the prey. The chase is still fun, but the resolution is so anticlimactic.
I guess I’ll just have to find my excitement elsewhere. Did I mention that I bought a new pair of roller blades yesterday? I need a new bike too – faster and sleeker with a deeper growl. Then I can get myself close to some more dangerous trouble.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Catching Up With Old Friends
Last night I went out with some friends from middle school. We met at a local bowling alley, so I assumed there would be some bowling. I was wrong. I have a short attention span, so I try to give myself an out by meeting people in places where there are some fun physical activities. Much to my disappointment, the Dance Dance Revolution arcade game was out of order as well. I was stuck sitting in the bar, being reminded that most people get married and have children and Party Girl is not an acceptable life path. The funny thing is that, although my peers have their serious lives to return to, they enjoy a good time and hearty laugh as much as I do. However, I'm greedy. I want it all the time. I don't want to live one single day without smiling and laughter. If I can throw an orgasm or two in there as well, even better.
I sometimes feel guilty about wanting nothing more than to feel alive and enjoy it. The world outside says that I should want something else. It says that I need more material possessions and more money. It says that I should be more beautiful, thinner, smarter. It says that I (and the thousands of people who are my neighbors, coworkers and friends) don't really exist. I am strangely comforted by this. I truly enjoy the anonymity that most people resent. I can seek carnal pleasures without fear of public humiliation. I can be a geek, dork, freak or weirdo. I'm free to pursue whatever desires I please...within reason of course.
Speaking of reason, I was struck by a moment of clarity last night. I decided not to drink the Long Island Iced Tea I ordered because I was already sobering up and I wanted to get out of that boring place. I hadn't gotten my weekly dance quota, so I was determined to go out and get it. The old classmates and I headed over to a jazz club, where one of the girls' husbands played with his Calypso band. We had a good half hour of dancing (maybe more since I have that annoying habit of losing track of time). I had a glass of rosé, and well, I didn't need it. The sobriety I was starting to feel disappeared and I found myself a couple of notches higher on the party scale than everyone else. Awkward!
Afterwards, I went to the waffle house with the last two people - both men as usual. One had flown in from Miami and was the reason why we all decided to get together, the other is local and has had a reputation of being a playboy since our early teens. When I looked at them as strangers, I couldn't envision them as friends. However, fate has a way of making unlikely matches.
I sometimes feel guilty about wanting nothing more than to feel alive and enjoy it. The world outside says that I should want something else. It says that I need more material possessions and more money. It says that I should be more beautiful, thinner, smarter. It says that I (and the thousands of people who are my neighbors, coworkers and friends) don't really exist. I am strangely comforted by this. I truly enjoy the anonymity that most people resent. I can seek carnal pleasures without fear of public humiliation. I can be a geek, dork, freak or weirdo. I'm free to pursue whatever desires I please...within reason of course.
Speaking of reason, I was struck by a moment of clarity last night. I decided not to drink the Long Island Iced Tea I ordered because I was already sobering up and I wanted to get out of that boring place. I hadn't gotten my weekly dance quota, so I was determined to go out and get it. The old classmates and I headed over to a jazz club, where one of the girls' husbands played with his Calypso band. We had a good half hour of dancing (maybe more since I have that annoying habit of losing track of time). I had a glass of rosé, and well, I didn't need it. The sobriety I was starting to feel disappeared and I found myself a couple of notches higher on the party scale than everyone else. Awkward!
Afterwards, I went to the waffle house with the last two people - both men as usual. One had flown in from Miami and was the reason why we all decided to get together, the other is local and has had a reputation of being a playboy since our early teens. When I looked at them as strangers, I couldn't envision them as friends. However, fate has a way of making unlikely matches.
Pull your damn pants up!
When is this fad going to end? I'm tired of looking at your underwear and watching you trip over yourself as you hold your pants up by the crotch. And what's with the belt? It's not holding anything up, so why bother wearing it? It's as pointless as a pair of lace gloves.
Guess what? The people who want to see your ass are other guys, not girls. Dumbass.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
and this is why I'm such a bitch
My ex’s mom passed away a few weeks ago, and I attended the funeral with a crowd of people bigger than the chapel could hold. I wasn’t that close to her, but he and I were once inseparable so I though t it at least appropriate if not necessary that I go and show some friendly support. This particular ex has been trying to get back into my pants forever, but we have a pretty comfortable rapport so I just let it slide off me most of the time. I mean, he’s a guy and guys can sometimes be dogs. I understand this. I accept this. He’s my ex, so I don’t give a shit what he does or who he chases – it’s not my problem.
He’s been pretty much calling me regularly since his mom passed and I’ve agreed to perhaps meet him for a drink or two one night whenever our schedules meet up or we don’t have other plans. I didn’t think much of it because I’m set in the way I think about him. It’s so very over. I always loved talking to him, but it’s more of a novelty now. I am not obligated to take his calls and I can feel free to excuse myself when I’m no longer entertained. I feel like I spent enough time listening to his BS when we were together to blow him off whenever I feel like it.
I had to hang up on him today. He crossed the line between just talking on the phone and asking questions that only a BF or lover has any business asking. Before realizing that it was time to hang up, I raised my voice and started arguing with him. Keep in mind that this is an office phone…why do exes want you to make such an ass of yourself?
I was trying to be nice to a MF, but I think we’re done here.
He’s been pretty much calling me regularly since his mom passed and I’ve agreed to perhaps meet him for a drink or two one night whenever our schedules meet up or we don’t have other plans. I didn’t think much of it because I’m set in the way I think about him. It’s so very over. I always loved talking to him, but it’s more of a novelty now. I am not obligated to take his calls and I can feel free to excuse myself when I’m no longer entertained. I feel like I spent enough time listening to his BS when we were together to blow him off whenever I feel like it.
I had to hang up on him today. He crossed the line between just talking on the phone and asking questions that only a BF or lover has any business asking. Before realizing that it was time to hang up, I raised my voice and started arguing with him. Keep in mind that this is an office phone…why do exes want you to make such an ass of yourself?
I was trying to be nice to a MF, but I think we’re done here.
California: Gooey Liberal on the Outside, Hard Republican on the Inside
Today's hot topic is the California Supreme Court's decision to keep gay marriage illegal, upholding the majority vote on Prop 8. Their additional decision to consider those marriages valid for gay couples who took their vows while it was legal is what has created the real scandal. I mean, how can those be legal without legalizing gay marriage? Who thought this made sense and why does that person make so much more money than I do?
Religious advocates argue that we must protect the sanctity of marriage, something that I agree with in concept. I propose that we make divorce illegal as a solution to that problem. The liberals gasp and start creating their protest signs, but just hear me out for a sec. There would be some loopholes. For example, battered wives/husbands and those whose mates are compulsive, incurable adulterers would be absolved of their spousal responsibilities – as free as single people to find a new mate and remarry. The cheaters and oppressors they leave behind would be considered marital outcasts – still bound by law and financially responsible for their ex-partners. These people would not be allowed to remarry legally. “’Til death do us part” would take on the meaning that was initially intended by those words. Some of my friends think that domestic crime and suicide rates would skyrocket, but I believe that people would just consider what they’re getting into more carefully before taking the plunge.
Now we get down to the real reason why most people voted to pass Prop 8 - to prevent their kids from being taught about the homosexuality in school. Well folks, rumor is that "Gay Tolerance" is on the agenda for California's (and perhaps other states') curriculum. This madness about teaching homosexuality in schools was just a myth created by supporters of Prop 8 in the first place, but it appears that their plan backfired. All this media coverage has caused quite a stir. I agree that children should learn about sexuality from their parents first. Although it is extremely unfortunate that some kids are being taught that they are freaks and what they feel is wrong, but I do believe that parents really mean well (even when they teach us the backwards crap). Kids weren't learning to be gay from school in the first place, so it really doesn't make a f-ing difference anyway, but Mom and Dad should be the ones to open the door to that conversation.
Where is this all gong to lead? I'll tell you where. Gay marriage will eventually be legal (again). It will be at least mentioned in school curriculum. Mom and Dad will still tell their gay boys and girls that they are freaks, and nothing much will have changed except for the little slip of paper. Shame on us for fighting over this.
Religious advocates argue that we must protect the sanctity of marriage, something that I agree with in concept. I propose that we make divorce illegal as a solution to that problem. The liberals gasp and start creating their protest signs, but just hear me out for a sec. There would be some loopholes. For example, battered wives/husbands and those whose mates are compulsive, incurable adulterers would be absolved of their spousal responsibilities – as free as single people to find a new mate and remarry. The cheaters and oppressors they leave behind would be considered marital outcasts – still bound by law and financially responsible for their ex-partners. These people would not be allowed to remarry legally. “’Til death do us part” would take on the meaning that was initially intended by those words. Some of my friends think that domestic crime and suicide rates would skyrocket, but I believe that people would just consider what they’re getting into more carefully before taking the plunge.
Now we get down to the real reason why most people voted to pass Prop 8 - to prevent their kids from being taught about the homosexuality in school. Well folks, rumor is that "Gay Tolerance" is on the agenda for California's (and perhaps other states') curriculum. This madness about teaching homosexuality in schools was just a myth created by supporters of Prop 8 in the first place, but it appears that their plan backfired. All this media coverage has caused quite a stir. I agree that children should learn about sexuality from their parents first. Although it is extremely unfortunate that some kids are being taught that they are freaks and what they feel is wrong, but I do believe that parents really mean well (even when they teach us the backwards crap). Kids weren't learning to be gay from school in the first place, so it really doesn't make a f-ing difference anyway, but Mom and Dad should be the ones to open the door to that conversation.
Where is this all gong to lead? I'll tell you where. Gay marriage will eventually be legal (again). It will be at least mentioned in school curriculum. Mom and Dad will still tell their gay boys and girls that they are freaks, and nothing much will have changed except for the little slip of paper. Shame on us for fighting over this.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
If I ruled the world, all the fatty foods would taste like dirt
I was just sitting here at my desk procrastinating going to the gym, so I figured why not write a blog? I get my measurements taken today. The last time I was measured, I’d just returned from Thailand. This should be interesting. I’ve been eating crap all week. Okay, maybe not for every meal but at least once a day I’ve had Ben & Jerry’s, a greasy burger or something else that doesn’t quite fit into the plan. I am not good at limiting my fat or calorie intake. I have so far been tracking every morsel that passes through my lips for about a week. It isn’t exactly encouraging. I exceed my calorie limit by at least 600 every day. I’ve tried offsetting the extra calories with a harder or longer workout, but that only makes me eat more. I am not one of those people who can sit around and listen to my stomach churn and rumble. In fact, I’m a bit of a glutton. Even when I’m not hungry, I like to taste things. I need to stop doing that. If I’m going to continue my constant sampling of every dish I come across, then I need to cut out regular meals altogether. All this working out is getting on my nerves!
I just want to relax. Is that so wrong?
I just want to relax. Is that so wrong?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
a freewrite from abstinence
Something I found while looking around on my hard drive:
I thought long and hard about making this vow before I committed to it.
I considered how much I’d miss you once I took away the one thing keeping us together….and then I did it anyway.
It’s all so clear without sex. I have so much energy to pursue the things that give me great satisfaction, a satisfaction that brings with it more energy and feelings of empowerment. I relearn who I am. I embrace my sensuality, knowing that it exists in its purest and simplest form, independent from the worries and complication of the life we shared. This is me – vibrant, happy and loving – transcending the physical desires and trivial matters of the worried mind and brittle heart.
Helpless and weak now strong and powerful
No more tears
Only laughter
The love I held so close to my bosom was an anchor drowning my spirit in the murky depths of codependence
I thought long and hard about making this vow before I committed to it.
I considered how much I’d miss you once I took away the one thing keeping us together….and then I did it anyway.
It’s all so clear without sex. I have so much energy to pursue the things that give me great satisfaction, a satisfaction that brings with it more energy and feelings of empowerment. I relearn who I am. I embrace my sensuality, knowing that it exists in its purest and simplest form, independent from the worries and complication of the life we shared. This is me – vibrant, happy and loving – transcending the physical desires and trivial matters of the worried mind and brittle heart.
Helpless and weak now strong and powerful
No more tears
Only laughter
The love I held so close to my bosom was an anchor drowning my spirit in the murky depths of codependence
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Adventures in Medical Anomalies
After a couple weeks of feeling better that I have all year, I broke out in a rash something like the rash that one might develop during or after having a really high fever. Since I'd been having issues with a recurring strep infection, which I've already been treated for twice this year, I assumed that it was a strep rash (also referred to as scarlet fever). I had strep rash earlier this year following the initial appearance of strep throat (during SuperBowl/Ski Weekend). I was diagnosed with an ear infection almost a month ago (which made sense to me because I was home sick with the flu the week prior). The doctor who diagnosed me that time also did a throat swab because it looked reddish. That throat culture came back positive for strep. Great...this again. I took Erythromycin three times a day for twelve days. My era infection cleared up and it appeared as though that would be the end of the strep as well.
Now there's this rash that I noticed last week. In the evenings, I break out in hives in the affected areas. All the redness and swelling makes me look like I've been attacked by a colony of red ants. And the itching! The itching is as intense and persistent as Chicken Pox - I remember that well because I was 19 when I had it. I believe that the worst days of the rash are behind me now. I spent almost $50 on over-the-counter creams, sprays and allergy pills. I think I've narrowed down the effective treatments to Hydorcortisone cream and Benadryl tablets. The tablets make me drowsy (and a little bit delirious), but they work. The cream application may just be a ritual that I need to calm myself. Whether it really works or not may not be as important as the need being filled by the application process. I have to feel like I am doing something to help myself heal.
The results to my Saturday blood draw were all perfect - thanks for the clean bill of health but no thanks for the lack of answers. My urine test yesterday was also clear. My newest strep test came back positive again, but the doctor doesn't want to keep giving me antibiotics. She thinks that perhaps the strep bacteria are going to stay inactive in my system indefinitely like some people who have Staph dormant in their bodies. That is NOT what I wanted to hear. It makes me nervous to still have the bacteria in my system because of all those post-infection complications I suffered through when I got strep at 16 years old (which gave me all kinds of weird afflictions and caused me to miss too many days of the summer Driver's Ed program to pass the course).
Does this mean that every time I get sick the strep will come back? This analysis is not acceptable to me. I wish my gynecologist was also my general practitioner. He listens to me.
The affected areas on my arms were very active yesterday and last night. It was maddening, but I'd already experienced the exact same thing with the rash on my legs last week. After doing an hour of cardio (which only served to aggravate the condition), I took a hot shower with some antibacterial bar soap and applied hydrocortisone afterwards. This morning, it looked and felt much better. By the time the doctors figure out what the hell is happening to me, this ordeal will be over. Odd are they will only have a guess anyway, not a definitive explanation. That's how these things usually work.
I'm starting to wonder if it's the antibiotic that I am allergic to. I broke out in a mild rash after completing the first round of Erythromycin, which was only a few days worth. The second time, they gave me a stronger and longer prescription. Now I have a really terrible rash. Could it be that simple? I just think it's weird that it's only on my arms and legs. I'll have to bring it up to the Dermatologist I am supposed to meet with this afternoon. I'm also supposed to see an allergist.
I've been sick more during the past three months than I have in the past few years prior. It's freaking me out. I have coworkers who complain about the same thing. There's some crazy virus going around that starts off feeling like a cold but lasts for two weeks, and it sort of hangs around with that last sniffle for almost a month. I was lucky enough to get that one out of the way early. Now I get to watch other people go through it and listen to them complain about how long it lasts. As a germ-aware person, this is a bit unsettling to me. All that talk about supergerms and superviruses created by antibacterial sprays and gels might be coming to fruition.
Now there's this rash that I noticed last week. In the evenings, I break out in hives in the affected areas. All the redness and swelling makes me look like I've been attacked by a colony of red ants. And the itching! The itching is as intense and persistent as Chicken Pox - I remember that well because I was 19 when I had it. I believe that the worst days of the rash are behind me now. I spent almost $50 on over-the-counter creams, sprays and allergy pills. I think I've narrowed down the effective treatments to Hydorcortisone cream and Benadryl tablets. The tablets make me drowsy (and a little bit delirious), but they work. The cream application may just be a ritual that I need to calm myself. Whether it really works or not may not be as important as the need being filled by the application process. I have to feel like I am doing something to help myself heal.
The results to my Saturday blood draw were all perfect - thanks for the clean bill of health but no thanks for the lack of answers. My urine test yesterday was also clear. My newest strep test came back positive again, but the doctor doesn't want to keep giving me antibiotics. She thinks that perhaps the strep bacteria are going to stay inactive in my system indefinitely like some people who have Staph dormant in their bodies. That is NOT what I wanted to hear. It makes me nervous to still have the bacteria in my system because of all those post-infection complications I suffered through when I got strep at 16 years old (which gave me all kinds of weird afflictions and caused me to miss too many days of the summer Driver's Ed program to pass the course).
Does this mean that every time I get sick the strep will come back? This analysis is not acceptable to me. I wish my gynecologist was also my general practitioner. He listens to me.
The affected areas on my arms were very active yesterday and last night. It was maddening, but I'd already experienced the exact same thing with the rash on my legs last week. After doing an hour of cardio (which only served to aggravate the condition), I took a hot shower with some antibacterial bar soap and applied hydrocortisone afterwards. This morning, it looked and felt much better. By the time the doctors figure out what the hell is happening to me, this ordeal will be over. Odd are they will only have a guess anyway, not a definitive explanation. That's how these things usually work.
I'm starting to wonder if it's the antibiotic that I am allergic to. I broke out in a mild rash after completing the first round of Erythromycin, which was only a few days worth. The second time, they gave me a stronger and longer prescription. Now I have a really terrible rash. Could it be that simple? I just think it's weird that it's only on my arms and legs. I'll have to bring it up to the Dermatologist I am supposed to meet with this afternoon. I'm also supposed to see an allergist.
I've been sick more during the past three months than I have in the past few years prior. It's freaking me out. I have coworkers who complain about the same thing. There's some crazy virus going around that starts off feeling like a cold but lasts for two weeks, and it sort of hangs around with that last sniffle for almost a month. I was lucky enough to get that one out of the way early. Now I get to watch other people go through it and listen to them complain about how long it lasts. As a germ-aware person, this is a bit unsettling to me. All that talk about supergerms and superviruses created by antibacterial sprays and gels might be coming to fruition.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
get outta my face
When things go wrong, especially when there is a sequence of occurrences that seem to be working against my efforts and peace of mind, I usually try to just be quiet about it (unless someone asks). I don't want to give a bad day any additional power by affirming it. I can say it once I get home or to my destination, "today was a bad day". That usually makes me feel better. Everyone has bad days. Sometimes they are consecutive. Sometimes I get pissed off about it. I try not to let it get so bad that I completely lose my temper because...well, it scares me. I'm afraid of what I am capable of. I think it's all part of the human condition. We have to create our own balance and order within to avoid snapping and losing control. There is more and more of it on the news these days: folks killing each other, the kids and themselves. Sure, that is the worst of it - the very end of the spectrum, but the small battles we wage with life every day are our practice bouts leading up to that big title round, right? This morning I was overwhelmed by the feeling of loss. I am losing this battle. I need to take a break from it or just leave it alone altogether. I don't want to fight anymore. I can't win this one. I'm starting to take it out on people who haven't done anything to deserve it. I'm gonna write it all down and hopefully it will finally be over so I can move on.
A couple of weeks ago, Secret Squirrel and I took a road trip to Reno. We both wanted to get away, and my luck at the casinos has been good this year. I think he may have been hoping to have some of it rub off on him. I guess luck just doesn't work that way. We both lost. The total combined was somewhere around $1500. We also lost contact with each other in downtown Reno. After soliciting a stranger for use of a cell phone and waiting around with a terrible migraine for two hours in a smoky casino, I ended up taking a taxi back to our hotel because he had the car keys. He showed up back at the room about two hours later (5AM). We showered and got in bed, where I suffered for an additional 2-3 hours with nausea from the migraine and the antibiotic I was taking for strep throat. The next day, we hung out for another few hours before hitting the road. I was done. I was done the first day. After losing $200, I wanted to go home. Little did I know that I still had another $500+ to lose and a night of sickness still ahead of me. All the food we ate that weekend sucked. I wanted to visit some of the nicer Reno restaurants, but the boy wanted to dine at the greasy spoons. We compromised, and nobody was happy. Although I could drink with the antibiotic I was taking, alcohol made the headaches worse. I haven't been smoking weed for a while, so I hadn't prepared for that option. Also, weed is so very illegal in Nevada. It was a complete bust, but I didn't want the boy to feel bad about me not having a good time. He said he had fun, so that was all that mattered to me at the time. I'd recover from the discomfort and the money is just money - it comes and goes. Looking back, I should have cancelled the trip when I found out I had strep throat the week prior. Duh. that was an idiot move.
I think I've just been too concerned with making other people feel comfortable or making sure other people are happy. I've always considered myself to be pretty spoiled and selfish, so it's weird to discover that it might not be completely true. My mother has always told me that I was spoiled, self-absorbed and insensitive. Perhaps, as an adult, I've been trying so hard to compensate for it that I have somehow managed to become too giving. I still don't believe that for a minute, but let's just explore this hypothetically for a minute.
After the road trip, I had a few days before my birthday so I got caught up at work and took almost a week off to just relax and get some things done around the house. Alex and I took a snowboarding day trip the day before my bday to Sierra at Tahoe. It rocked! I switched my feet on the snowboard from goofy (the only position I've ever used snowboarding) to traditional. I kept moving to the backward side when I was in the goofy stance, so I said why not try it the other way. I had to learn how to stop all over again, but I think it's still the right way now. My back knee started hurting and I had a sharp pain in it for a few days following that excursion. It's just now back to normal. I think I tweaked it on the lift while trying to hold my board away from Alex's. Whatever. It's okay now. We passed by Red Hawk Casino in Placerville on the way home, where I managed to win a few hundred bucks. We got back to the Bay Area about twenty minutes before midnight. When I got to Secret Squirrel's place, I was exhausted. I should have just gone home - idiot move #2. He didn't have my birthday gift and he wanted me to be awake so we could hang out. My fault (that's what I thought at the time anyway).
The next day, since I hadn't prepared for sleeping over at SS's, I had to go home so I could get changed and ready to face the world. SS had taken the day off to spend with me. I had other plans (albeit not very solid or impressive plans, but plans nonetheless). He didn't tell me until the night before that he took the day off to spend with me. It was a Wednesday, so I figured I'd be flying solo or perhaps with Mom. I wanted to texturize my hair, get my eyebrows waxed, restock my overnight bag with essentials, get my car detailed, get a manicure and pedicure and get to the casino (where they were having a party 10AM - 10PM). This "day off to spend with me" complicated my schedule, and I wasn't too keen on spending any time with him as it was, so I decided to go ahead and do my hair and eyebrows. I got home, showered and dressed and then called him to find out where he wanted to have lunch (I skipped breakfast so we could at least eat together). He said he'd made plans for some of his own errands and was therefore not available until later in the afternoon (and then only for a couple of hours). At that point, I was wondering what happened to spending the day with me, but I was too hungry and irritated to even give it any more thought.
After I ate, I called him back and we talked about how he hadn't used the bday gift suggestions that he insisted I give him earlier that week, so what was the point of me racking my brain for the damn list anyway? I figured that the one person I spend most of my free time with should know me well enough to know what I like. If he was having that much trouble picking a gift, then fine give me the money. He said he knew what he wanted to give me but it would be a few days. Ok cool. Whatever. The week blew by, ending with Game Night #1 with Alex, Martina and Tracey on Saturday, which was more fun than I could have anticipated. Overall, I'd say it turned out pretty well.
I got my gift from the boy on the following Monday (I did mention that my bday was Wednesday, right?). He gave it to me that night after we had a long talk in the car about how I felt about the things that had transpired between us over the previous week with the miscommunications and disappointment. It was a boxed collection of the Family Guy cartoon series (plus) which included a ping-pong set (minus - who the hell plays ping pong?) and a poker set [which I already own and have been storing on the bookshelf at his house for several months since I never use it] (double-minus). I told him before opening it that Martina had already given me the Family Guy Season 6 (half-minus since he didn't know that when he bought it). I tore the shrink wrap off and the shattered glass box fell apart in my hands (triple-minus). I told him not to give it any more thought because the issue had already been discussed and the universe was obviously conspiring against him on this. Since then, I have also discovered that the first 5 discs in the set do not play. This awful gift just won't die, will it? I should have taken the money when I had the chance. I guess that is idiot move #3 on my part. When you want something done right...Next year, I'm taking myself for a spa day.
There have been other little things bothering me as well. Mother asked me to give her some money as usual, as if it was just another day. She put $100 in my card, and I returned it to her since I know she's on a fixed income and I really didn't need it as much as she did. Then, she asked for more! I said, "Why are you harassing me on my birthday?" I eventually put the additional $100 on her kitchen table with a note saying that she didn't have to bother taking me to dinner. "I’ll find something on my own out there." I think family just treats you like shit because you're stuck with them for life. They don't have be concerned about your happiness. By the end of that day, which I decided was around 7PM to be merciful on myself, I just wanted to be left alone. I got in bed when the sun was still out and was asleep before 9PM. The next day, mother gave me back my $100 (out of guilt no doubt) and took me to dinner after I drove her to her appointment at the Philippine Embassy.
On a more upbeat note, Alex and Martina have been great sports throughout this whole fiasco. They listen to all my bitching, get me out of my funk and I always feel better afterwards. Also, most of the scratches I got on my rear bumper from that kid rear-ending me a couple weeks ago are barely visible after two car waxes. Oh, and I am FINALLY well! The cough, sore throat, fever and hives finally went away. I’m done with antibiotics and caught up on my sleep. Since Secret Squirrel has been getting on my nerves, I have been spending more nights at home and therefore getting the rest I need. In fact, I think I’ll wait until he has set up that memory foam mattress I got for him before I go over there again. The damn thing has been leaning against the wall in the corner of the hallway, still in the shipping carton, for over two weeks now! See what I mean? How annoying is that? Ugh. I could have used that money for a spa day and still had some left over for a nice dinner afterwards. Technically, that would be idiot move #2 since I bought it before the road trip.
Is it just inevitable that men just slack off once they get comfortable? They expect us to maintain our figures, care for them, dote on them and every once in a while surprise them with a little something special. This is every day people! Then when a special day comes along, where’s my damn return? I really want to be over this. I want this to stop bothering me. I want the effort to truly be equal. I don’t want to just hear the words; I want to see the action. YOU MEN ARE SO FULL OF SHIT! I need to go back to being abstinent. This is bullshit.
I thought I was skipping over all this stupid shit by being in a casual type of involvement, but it’s all the same. I need to just sleep with someone that I don’t give a fuck about. That way, I won’t feel compelled to help him when he’s having trouble or give him tokens of affection. Then I won’t expect the same in return. I will never again have to give head because he’s horny and I’m on my period. I can just tell him to kiss my ass and really mean it. I can send all his calls to voicemail and then delete the messages without listening to them. I can move on to the next MF that catches my eye without remorse or a second thought. I won’t have to provide closure. I can just stop talking to a MF. Is that how I need to act for shit to change? Will you MFs be paying attention then? Fuckers…
…and I don’t give a shit how many assholes read this and get mad. If it wasn’t true, you wouldn’t have any reason to be upset.
A couple of weeks ago, Secret Squirrel and I took a road trip to Reno. We both wanted to get away, and my luck at the casinos has been good this year. I think he may have been hoping to have some of it rub off on him. I guess luck just doesn't work that way. We both lost. The total combined was somewhere around $1500. We also lost contact with each other in downtown Reno. After soliciting a stranger for use of a cell phone and waiting around with a terrible migraine for two hours in a smoky casino, I ended up taking a taxi back to our hotel because he had the car keys. He showed up back at the room about two hours later (5AM). We showered and got in bed, where I suffered for an additional 2-3 hours with nausea from the migraine and the antibiotic I was taking for strep throat. The next day, we hung out for another few hours before hitting the road. I was done. I was done the first day. After losing $200, I wanted to go home. Little did I know that I still had another $500+ to lose and a night of sickness still ahead of me. All the food we ate that weekend sucked. I wanted to visit some of the nicer Reno restaurants, but the boy wanted to dine at the greasy spoons. We compromised, and nobody was happy. Although I could drink with the antibiotic I was taking, alcohol made the headaches worse. I haven't been smoking weed for a while, so I hadn't prepared for that option. Also, weed is so very illegal in Nevada. It was a complete bust, but I didn't want the boy to feel bad about me not having a good time. He said he had fun, so that was all that mattered to me at the time. I'd recover from the discomfort and the money is just money - it comes and goes. Looking back, I should have cancelled the trip when I found out I had strep throat the week prior. Duh. that was an idiot move.
I think I've just been too concerned with making other people feel comfortable or making sure other people are happy. I've always considered myself to be pretty spoiled and selfish, so it's weird to discover that it might not be completely true. My mother has always told me that I was spoiled, self-absorbed and insensitive. Perhaps, as an adult, I've been trying so hard to compensate for it that I have somehow managed to become too giving. I still don't believe that for a minute, but let's just explore this hypothetically for a minute.
After the road trip, I had a few days before my birthday so I got caught up at work and took almost a week off to just relax and get some things done around the house. Alex and I took a snowboarding day trip the day before my bday to Sierra at Tahoe. It rocked! I switched my feet on the snowboard from goofy (the only position I've ever used snowboarding) to traditional. I kept moving to the backward side when I was in the goofy stance, so I said why not try it the other way. I had to learn how to stop all over again, but I think it's still the right way now. My back knee started hurting and I had a sharp pain in it for a few days following that excursion. It's just now back to normal. I think I tweaked it on the lift while trying to hold my board away from Alex's. Whatever. It's okay now. We passed by Red Hawk Casino in Placerville on the way home, where I managed to win a few hundred bucks. We got back to the Bay Area about twenty minutes before midnight. When I got to Secret Squirrel's place, I was exhausted. I should have just gone home - idiot move #2. He didn't have my birthday gift and he wanted me to be awake so we could hang out. My fault (that's what I thought at the time anyway).
The next day, since I hadn't prepared for sleeping over at SS's, I had to go home so I could get changed and ready to face the world. SS had taken the day off to spend with me. I had other plans (albeit not very solid or impressive plans, but plans nonetheless). He didn't tell me until the night before that he took the day off to spend with me. It was a Wednesday, so I figured I'd be flying solo or perhaps with Mom. I wanted to texturize my hair, get my eyebrows waxed, restock my overnight bag with essentials, get my car detailed, get a manicure and pedicure and get to the casino (where they were having a party 10AM - 10PM). This "day off to spend with me" complicated my schedule, and I wasn't too keen on spending any time with him as it was, so I decided to go ahead and do my hair and eyebrows. I got home, showered and dressed and then called him to find out where he wanted to have lunch (I skipped breakfast so we could at least eat together). He said he'd made plans for some of his own errands and was therefore not available until later in the afternoon (and then only for a couple of hours). At that point, I was wondering what happened to spending the day with me, but I was too hungry and irritated to even give it any more thought.
After I ate, I called him back and we talked about how he hadn't used the bday gift suggestions that he insisted I give him earlier that week, so what was the point of me racking my brain for the damn list anyway? I figured that the one person I spend most of my free time with should know me well enough to know what I like. If he was having that much trouble picking a gift, then fine give me the money. He said he knew what he wanted to give me but it would be a few days. Ok cool. Whatever. The week blew by, ending with Game Night #1 with Alex, Martina and Tracey on Saturday, which was more fun than I could have anticipated. Overall, I'd say it turned out pretty well.
I got my gift from the boy on the following Monday (I did mention that my bday was Wednesday, right?). He gave it to me that night after we had a long talk in the car about how I felt about the things that had transpired between us over the previous week with the miscommunications and disappointment. It was a boxed collection of the Family Guy cartoon series (plus) which included a ping-pong set (minus - who the hell plays ping pong?) and a poker set [which I already own and have been storing on the bookshelf at his house for several months since I never use it] (double-minus). I told him before opening it that Martina had already given me the Family Guy Season 6 (half-minus since he didn't know that when he bought it). I tore the shrink wrap off and the shattered glass box fell apart in my hands (triple-minus). I told him not to give it any more thought because the issue had already been discussed and the universe was obviously conspiring against him on this. Since then, I have also discovered that the first 5 discs in the set do not play. This awful gift just won't die, will it? I should have taken the money when I had the chance. I guess that is idiot move #3 on my part. When you want something done right...Next year, I'm taking myself for a spa day.
There have been other little things bothering me as well. Mother asked me to give her some money as usual, as if it was just another day. She put $100 in my card, and I returned it to her since I know she's on a fixed income and I really didn't need it as much as she did. Then, she asked for more! I said, "Why are you harassing me on my birthday?" I eventually put the additional $100 on her kitchen table with a note saying that she didn't have to bother taking me to dinner. "I’ll find something on my own out there." I think family just treats you like shit because you're stuck with them for life. They don't have be concerned about your happiness. By the end of that day, which I decided was around 7PM to be merciful on myself, I just wanted to be left alone. I got in bed when the sun was still out and was asleep before 9PM. The next day, mother gave me back my $100 (out of guilt no doubt) and took me to dinner after I drove her to her appointment at the Philippine Embassy.
On a more upbeat note, Alex and Martina have been great sports throughout this whole fiasco. They listen to all my bitching, get me out of my funk and I always feel better afterwards. Also, most of the scratches I got on my rear bumper from that kid rear-ending me a couple weeks ago are barely visible after two car waxes. Oh, and I am FINALLY well! The cough, sore throat, fever and hives finally went away. I’m done with antibiotics and caught up on my sleep. Since Secret Squirrel has been getting on my nerves, I have been spending more nights at home and therefore getting the rest I need. In fact, I think I’ll wait until he has set up that memory foam mattress I got for him before I go over there again. The damn thing has been leaning against the wall in the corner of the hallway, still in the shipping carton, for over two weeks now! See what I mean? How annoying is that? Ugh. I could have used that money for a spa day and still had some left over for a nice dinner afterwards. Technically, that would be idiot move #2 since I bought it before the road trip.
Is it just inevitable that men just slack off once they get comfortable? They expect us to maintain our figures, care for them, dote on them and every once in a while surprise them with a little something special. This is every day people! Then when a special day comes along, where’s my damn return? I really want to be over this. I want this to stop bothering me. I want the effort to truly be equal. I don’t want to just hear the words; I want to see the action. YOU MEN ARE SO FULL OF SHIT! I need to go back to being abstinent. This is bullshit.
I thought I was skipping over all this stupid shit by being in a casual type of involvement, but it’s all the same. I need to just sleep with someone that I don’t give a fuck about. That way, I won’t feel compelled to help him when he’s having trouble or give him tokens of affection. Then I won’t expect the same in return. I will never again have to give head because he’s horny and I’m on my period. I can just tell him to kiss my ass and really mean it. I can send all his calls to voicemail and then delete the messages without listening to them. I can move on to the next MF that catches my eye without remorse or a second thought. I won’t have to provide closure. I can just stop talking to a MF. Is that how I need to act for shit to change? Will you MFs be paying attention then? Fuckers…
…and I don’t give a shit how many assholes read this and get mad. If it wasn’t true, you wouldn’t have any reason to be upset.
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