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.

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!

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...

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.

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.

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