Hold Up, Wait a Minute . . .

I got this email the other day from an old friend of mine. See, he reads the blog and he was castigating me for being down on myself lately.

I got kind of annoyed. Mainly because that's just the nature of a blog I think. I mean, some days you're down.

Sometimes those days last for a while.

Get over it!

Right now I'm up.

I am currently typing from the comfort of my bed.

Yes folks, this here baby is now wireless.

Which, seems sort of dangerous really.

I'm also up because my laptop is not the only thing occupying my bed these days.

S is here.

He is currently working away on my roomate's computer as it's had a lot of issues lately.

So, life is good.

Really good when you consider that right at this very second his head is on my shoulder.

So, why the hell am I still typing!

Night folks!

Miss America, Soy Yo (I Am Miss America)

"I am not pretty."

Those are the words I used to say to my reflection in my mother's vanity. I would sit with my chin on my hand and stare at my face from all angles. I'd look at my profile and push the tip of my nose up with my finger. "If only I could have a Morgan Fairchild nose," I would moan in my head.

I remember the first time I saw Whoopi Goldberg's standup act on HBO.

I don't remember it because it was funny (although I'm sure it was), but I remember it because of this one particular bit that she does.

She affects the tone of a little girl while placing a long-sleeved yellow shirt on over her dreadlocks. She flings the long sleeves and tail over her shoulder and tells the audience to look at her beautiful "long blonde hair."

I was stunned into silence.

I thought I was the only one that did that.

My "long blonde hair" was a golden bath towel wrapped Turban style around my 10-year-old head. I’d stand in front of our bathroom mirror and fling that towel around with all the vivacity of the most talented shampoo model.

Let me make one thing clear: I don't blame my childhood insecurities on Barbie.

I blame them on Christie Brinkley.

She was all the rave when I was growing up.

Her "All American" looks stared back at me from the racks at the grocery store. I coveted her naturally rosy cheeks and that shining cap of golden hair that tumbled over her shoulders.

I was not that lucky.

I am of Honduran descent so there is absolutely no escaping my dark looks.

As hard as I tried to fight them, they were the first things that people saw when they looked at me.

My closest childhood friend had blond hair and blue eyes. We did everything together and eventually came to think of each other as sisters. This delusion was swiftly shattered when I overheard her mother refer to us as Salt and Pepper. I, of course, was Pepper.

In fact, most of my friends were blonde-haired, blue-eyed.

I didn't purposely surround myself with Caucasian friends.

It just worked out that way.

It wasn't until I got to high school that I had Hispanic friends, and they were just as messed up as I was. Our parents spoke to us in Spanish and we responded to them in English, and we all struggled in the quest to find the right foundation that didn't make us look orange or ghostly. Some of them told me that I was lucky and had a name like Melissa, not Marietta or Margarita.

I was always secretly grateful that my parents had given me such an Anglo sounding name.

But, that was high school.

I'll never forget the first time a man said to me, "Your eyes are so dark and mysterious." It made me take another look at my reflection.

I learned to make peace with my dark, curly hair. My first day as a curly headed woman, someone asked where I got my fabulous perm, I smiled shyly and said, "Oh, my hair is naturally curly." I still engage in the occasional fight to iron out those curls, but I’ve learned to like my "wild woman" look.

I've even come to accept the fact that Kate Moss and I will never have the same figure.

Hispanic women, no matter how thin, always have hips. I can look at the women in my family, big and small, and see that genetics are something I can only fight to a certain point. So, now when I look at my body I don't just see "big" hips, I see the soft curves that made Marilyn Monroe such a sexy woman.

I’ve also realized that as much as I tried to deny my background, my parents never let me forget where I came from. They shipped me off to Honduras every summer where only one of my cousins spoke English. I never lost the ability to speak "their" language, and for that I am eternally grateful.

So, you know what, I'm not white, but I'm as American as the next person; I get misty when I hear the Star Spangled Banner and the United States is what I refer to when I say home.

I've been accused of not being "Hispanic enough," but what does that mean?

Does that mean that I should have an accent when I speak or that I should look like Hollywood's interpretation of a Hispanic woman.

You know the one, the one with the really bad dye job wearing tight jeans and red high heels and ruffled ankle socks.

Maybe I'm not Hispanic enough, and I know I'm not white. just don't define me by my race because that was always my biggest mistake.

I know what I am: Miss America, soy yo.

Revenge of the Nerds

Because Janis Ian is a genius who still gives the ugly duckling in me hope!

AT SEVENTEEN (Janis Ian)

I LEARNED THE TRUTH AT SEVENTEEN
THAT LOVE WAS MEANT FOR BEAUTY QUEENS
AND HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS WITH CLEAR SKINNED SMILES
WHO MARRIED YOUNG AND THEN RETIRED
THE VALENTINES I NEVER KNEW
THE FRIDAY NIGHT CHARADES OF YOUTH
WERE SPENT ON ONE MORE BEAUTIFUL

AT SEVENTEEN I LEARNED THE TRUTH
AND THOSE OF US WITH RAVAGED FACES
LACKING IN THE SOCIAL GRACES
DESPERATELY REMAINED AT HOME
INVENTING LOVERS ON THE PHONE
WHO CALLED TO SAY - COME DANCE WITH ME
AND MURMURED VAGUE OBSCENITIES

IT ISN'T ALL IT SEEMS AT SEVENTEEN

A BROWN EYED GIRL IN HAND ME DOWNS
WHOSE NAME I NEVER COULD PRONOUNCE
SAID - PITY PLEASE THE ONES WHO SERVE
THEY ONLY GET WHAT THEY DESERVE
THE RICH RELATIONED HOMETOWN QUEEN
MARRIES INTO WHAT SHE NEEDS
WITH A GUARANTEE OF COMPANY
AND HAVEN FOR THE ELDERLY

SO REMEMBER THOSE WHO WIN THE GAME
LOSE THE LOVE THEY SOUGHT TO GAIN
IN DEBENTURES OF QUALITY AND DUBIOUS INTEGRITY
THEIR SMALL-TOWN EYES WILL GAPE AT YOU
IN DULL SURPRISE WHEN PAYMENT DUE
EXCEEDS ACCOUNTS RECEIVED AT SEVENTEEN

(INSTRUMENTAL)

TO THOSE OF US WHO KNEW THE PAIN
OF VALENTINES THAT NEVER CAME
AND THOSE WHOSE NAMES WERE NEVER CALLED
WHEN CHOOSING SIDES FOR BASKETBALL
IT WAS LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY
THE WORLD WAS YOUNGER THAN TODAY
WHEN DREAMS WERE ALL THEY GAVE FOR FREE
TO UGLY DUCKLING GIRLS LIKE ME

WE ALL PLAY THE GAME, AND WHEN WE DARE
WE CHEAT OURSELVES AT SOLITAIRE
INVENTING LOVERS ON THE PHONE
REPENTING OTHER LIVES UNKNOWN
THAT CALL AND SAY - COME ON, DANCE WITH ME
AND MURMUR VAGUE OBSCENITIES
AT UGLY GIRLS LIKE ME, AT SEVENTEEN

Dirrrrrrrrrrrrrrty

It was quiet this morning.

My hand moving in steady rhythm.

Hips undulating beneath it.

Until my breath came in short, quick gasps.

And then, bliss.

The only thing missing was you.

Deer in Headlights

Yes, it's true, I used to be a military wife.

The truth is, I didn't really mind it.

I was never forced to join the cult of Officer's Wives or perform any other "required" wifely duties and birth control was free, free, FREE!

But, there was always a little part of me that felt bitter about the fact that I was a "professional" and was never "taken care of" in the way of work.

I had to learn what it was like to move to a new city without any contacts and restart my career.
I've become quite good at it actually and it is only in hindsight that I am grateful for the sink or swim job hunting skills I acquired.

I didn't realize HOW thankful until I watched my spouse approach his "date of separation" (or, last day as an officer) with an approach that resembled a deer in headlights.

Think about it: J graduated college with his plans for the future mapped out. The military says, "You graduate and we'll send you to XY City and State where you'll begin your first job. While the rest of your classmates are scrambling to find work (or apply to grad school because they can't find work), we'll take care of you."

Which is all fine and great I suppose since you're willing to die for your country and everything, but I've seen what happens to "career military" who have never had to look for a job and are suddenly on the market.

J wasn't even career military and he was practically paralyzed with fear.

When I was in college, there was a major who was "retiring." I put that in quotes because what really happened was that he didn't get his next promotion and that's pretty much the military's way of saying, "Uh, uh, the bus stops here for you pal!"

So, this major had some community contacts and was trying to secure a job with The Red Cross.

Every day he walked into the secretary's office in the ROTC building asking, "Did I get any mail or calls from TRC?" And, it was always with the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice.

This man was panicked.

He was the breadwinner in his family and here he was about to face unemployment.

He did finally get the job, but it was right before his terminal leave ran out. (I have a friend who's military that reads this and if he could post on here a good definition of Terminal Leave, I'd appreciate it! BC, I'm looking at you!!!!)

It was the same thing with J. He had saved up 3 months of time off and his last day of work he was all, "Well, my plan is to find a job right away so that I can collect two paychecks."

Which is all well and good in theory, but anyone that's had to find a "real" job can tell you it can take months from finding the job posting to actually getting hired on.

I've had seven jobs since I graduated college and with the exception of one of those, it's taken me anywhere from three weeks to three months before I was hired on.

If you're getting out, here's what I recommend:

1. Figure out what you want to do. If you have to, get something like "What Color is My Parachute" and work through it.

2. Start your resumes now. Yes, that's plural because you'll need a unique resume for each job you respond to. Not all job postings are the same and your resume should be customized for each job.

3. Start your cover letters now. At least do a generic cover letter so that you have the guts of it and can customize it when the time comes.

4. Check the newspaper and online job postings.

Here's an interesting little story: I found the job that J had when he first got out of the military.

I did a Google search with the job title (xxx developer), the city and state (xxx, MS) and the word "Employment."

The first link on the list was for a small company website in my city and state. They hadn't posted on any of the big name job boards and if you weren't looking for that company specifically, there's no way you could have found it.

But, with a creative search engine request there it was.

5. It's never too soon to start applying!!!!! Some places receive resumes and take weeks before they start making call backs.

6. Start practicing your cold call speech.

Cold calls suck. But, I was desperate to get out of a job situation.

So, I sat back and thought to myself, "What can I do and what field can I do this in? What field am I qualified to work in?"

I came up with advertising.

So, I looked it up in the yellow pages and started calling the ad agencies in my office. My speech went something like this:

"Hi, my name is ________ and I live in the ______ area. I have had four and a half years of professional experience as a copywriter and editor for catalogs, magazines and a nonprofit agency. I was wondering if you might have any positions available for someone with my qualifications."

It sucked at first (because I felt like a telemarketer and was afraid they were going to hang up on me), but once I got into a rhythm I started to enjoy it. You just have to barrel on because if you pause or hesitate they might say, "Sorry, we're not interested."

Most of the time I got a receptionist who would say, "I'm not really sure but I can transfer you to our HR Dept."

Also, one agency was nice enough to say, "Well, we aren't currently looking for anyone, but such and such agency is."

That was helpful because I could call such and such agency and say, "Hi, my name is ____ and a gentleman at _______ mentioned that you had an opening for a copywriter."

The people you talk to are really nice because most everyone understands looking for a job.

Whatever field it is you're looking to get into don't forget to use your yellow pages.

7. Join professional associations and don't be afraid to talk to people. I'm at my current job because my ex mentioned to a friend of his that I was looking for work.

Friend of ex said, "You know, my wife's company is looking for someone that can do this, this and that. Does that sound like something your wife would be interested in?" Turns out my skills were a perfect match for what I'm doing now.

Also, finding a job may be your first priority but placing you is not the first priority of the company you interviewed with.

Follow-up that interview with a thank you note and call in two weeks if you haven't heard anything.

I interviewed for a job in N.O. on October 1 and sent a note a week later.

Around November 1 I called the place and asked about the position and the hiring guy's secretary informed me that he'd hired someone and was sending out thank you letters to those that had applied.

I still haven't gotten that letter.

If I'd sat around and waited to hear back I still wouldn't know anything.

And ya'll, I kicked ass on that interview and left genuinely feeling like I had the job.

Which, boys and girls, leads me to my next piece of advice: NEVER stop applying and interviewing for jobs.

Even if you are certain you have the job.

You may have knocked their socks off, but the person after you may have knocked their panties off.

It's never a sure thing until you have a printed and signed offer letter in front of you.

Don't even think you've got it until you're sitting in your office on your first day.

Here's what I've learned in searching for work: jobs don't fall into your lap. You have to get out there and hustle.

And, at the risk of sounding like a pinko commie, this is just one of the reasons I hate the military.

They are great when you are in their fold, but once you get out they kick you out of that nest and you'd better be ready to fly on your own because there's no safety net and those bastards have done you a huge injustice by handing you every job you've had on a platter.

If J-Lo Can Handle This, Then So Can I!

Ya'll, I'm a bit of a geek. So it should come as no surprise to you that I enjoy watching Inside the Actors Studio on Bravo. I enjoy watching actors discuss their process. And, as pretentious as this is going to sound, I consider myself a "creative" so when I get the chance to look into someone else's "process" I find it fascinating.

I used to really like this show, but it's credibility has been shot for me because just recently they had J-LO on.

COME ON!!!!

This is the same show that's had Meryl Streep, Stockard Channing, Paul Newman, Stephen Speilberg . . . and now, J-LO!!!!

It feels like an all-time low, but then I realize he's also hosted: Sylvester Stallone (although, he did write, direct and act in Rocky so I'll let that slide), Roseanne and he's soon to host Marky Mark, so it's not like J-LO is an abberation.

But, help me understand the decision to humor J-LO and her ego Mr. Lipton because I've seen The Cell, The Wedding Planner and Enough.

Okay, with that rant over: part of the reason I've enjoyed Inside the Actors Studio so much is also the last segment that James Lipton does as part of his interview.

Lipton asks his guest questions from the Bernard Pivot Questionnaire (and it's great to watch just to hear how snottily Lipton can say Bernard Pivot).

And I'm thinking if J-LO can answer these questions then so can I. So, here goes:

What is your favorite word?
Possibility

What is your least favorite word?
Can't

What turns you on?
Dry Humor

What turns you off?
Dishonesty

What is the sound or noise that you love?
Laughter

What sound or noise do you hate?
Whistling

What is your favorite curse word?
Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
Architect

What profession would you not like to participate in?
Dentist

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Here's a glass of wine and let me assure you, we have some interesting people here as well, I swear!

Sad

I'm in on a Saturday night.

It's really pathetic isn't it?

I feel like I should be out: dancing, drinking, kissing boys.

Except that if I really felt that I needed to do that then I suppose that is what I would be doing.

I kind of like staying in though. Besides, I had a really busy day and I'm wiped out.

I actually had a fairly busy Saturday.

I spent the morning fixing the perfect bowl of oatmeal (the right consistence, the right amount of brown sugar . . . ), I moved some things around in my boudoir and then my roomie and I spent three hours at a big craft fair.

So far, it sound like the perfect morning doesn't it?

If I was 70!!!!!!!!!

I did pick up some really cute things at this fair. I even picked up a Christmas present for my friend Melissa.

It's quite cool and fashionable (at a CRAFT fair? I KNOW!!). Melissa reads this blog so I can't go into detail about what it is, but I think she's REALLY gonna like it!

Anyway, we were on the way home and we decided to make a few more stops. We went to Home Depot (Which I hate with the fire of a 1,000 suns!) and I picked up some picture hanging materials as well as some velcro (Gotta work on those tear-away pants!).

Then, we headed to the Dixie for some groceries.

I made panfried oysters for dinner. I think I'm going to leave fried oysters up to the professionals from now on.

Then I showered, hung up some clothes and snuggled into bed. Where, thanks to this chilly weather, I'm enjoying the hell out of my down comforter and flannel pj bottoms!

That's it folks.

Another exciting Saturday night for me.

Oh, and you know my whole thing about "no romantic gestures" from last time?

Yeah, it's nice to know nothing's changed.

You know the worst part?

I've pretty much screwed myself because S read this and if he did show up on my doorstep I'd think it was forced.

But hey, nothing like a little guilt to stir up some inspiration, motivation, manipulation.

Which, you know, is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO romantic.

If you missed the sarcasm in that last little bit, then we're so not friends anymore.

Give up, already!

Okay, so I'm feeling a little down about myself.

Fridays tend to do that to me.

Which, I know doesn't make any sense but here's the thing: every Friday a teeny, tiny little part of me holds out hope that S will surprise me and just show up.

But, he never does.

You'd think I'd just let that go already and realize: It ain't gonna happen.

It kind of makes me feel like a big, dumb girl.

And it gets me down because a few weeks ago a woman I work with said to me:

"Oh yeah, when E lived in FW he drove up to see me every weekend. I know how it is . . . "

FW being approximately the same distance as S is from me.

And I think to myself, "Well, of course he did!"

I mean look at E!

She's beautiful: blonde hair, blue eyes . . . a real knockout in the truest sense . . . which, clearly, I am not.

Men just do not do that for girls that look like . . . me.

I know, I know, this is all very "Poooooor ME!" but I'm serious.

Never in my life has a man made any sort of grande, sweeping romantic gestures.

Maybe I'm just lowering my standards.

What I should do is hold out for the man that I inspire to be romantic.

Whatever loser, wake up and realize that it's just not in the cards for you.

It's not like I don't make an effort.

I used to leave little surprise romantic notes for my ex.

In his lunch bag, in his car . . . one time I came home from work and thought my efforts had finally paid off!

I found rose petals strewn down the hall leading to the closed door of our bedroom.

I thought, "Now this is more like it!"

You know what had happened?

I'd left the bedroom window open and a gust of wind had blown the potpourri out of the glass bowl on my nightstand, down the hall and then slammed the door shut.

Now that is more like it.

I've even surprised my current guy with last minute, impulsive decisions to go see him.

But, to no avail, I have yet to receive a surprise visit in return.

It's really quite depressing.

Don't we regular, average looking girls deserve to feel special, too?

Dammit, where's my copy of Lucinda's "Lonely Girls" when I need it!

I Love You, Goodbye

I had a therapist tell my former spouse and I that sometimes the hardest words to say are, "I love you, goodbye."

I understood what he was telling me, but I don't think I really wanted to hear it. So, my ex and I used to joke around and say to each other, "I love you, DON'T LEAVE!" We'd say it in this crazed voice and reach for each other's hands. Then we'd laugh at how pathetic we were.

In hindsight, we were a spectacularly co-dependent couple.

I gave him a safe place where I ignored things that seemed "off" to me. The weird class schedule, the angry reaction to me skipping a class and being home unexpectedly and too many nights out with one particular "friend."

You see, on some level I think I always knew he was cheating.

But, rather than confront him (or myself), I chose to stick my head in the sand. I tried to turn myself more and more into the perfect wife. I tried to be around more, to schedule more activities together; I really tried to control his time so that I'd know where he was at all times. I just never took the time to say to myself, "You know what, I'm not really happy with this." And, if I did think that I just kept trying to change him, not the stituation I was in.

And quite honestly, why would I? Getting out of that marriage would have meant standing on my own - being a grown-up even.

And even though J was cheating, he kept trying to make me happy.

Oh god, there were so many women that I knew (and still know) who think that J was the perfect husband. He helped around the house, he cooked, he cleaned . . . but all that time he was trying to seem perfect he wasn't happy. He wasn't happy with denying who he was.

I think we stayed in it thinking, "If I can just make this LOOK really good, then it will be really good," regardless of our individual needs.

It took me years to say to myself, "You know what, being on my own is going to be scary. I might not be able to pay all of my bills some months, but I'm not happy here and I need to sack up and find a way to be happy because I deserve it."

And so I left.

But then, so did he.

I haven't really had extensive conversations with J about "us" because there is no us anymore. In the last few months, I knew he was looking for work in other states and I encouraged him wholeheartedly.

Then one day he admitted to me that he simply couldn't be around me. That seeing me happy and healthy made him ache. It hurt too much to see me grow and flourish and know that he had lost me. That no matter how much he loves me, he knows deep down that he's gay and can't be my husband. Losing me is the hardest thing he's ever been through.

I was floored. I mean, I really had no idea that what "we" had meant so much to him. I know that sounds crazy, but when your partner cheats you figure the relationship probably wasn't a first priority.

Anyway, J did finally find a job he was happy with and this past weekend I drove him to the airport so that he could catch a flight to California.

I think I'd been in denial all week about it because when I woke up that morning I started crying.

This was it, he was leaving.

We drove to the airport and kidded around, but every few minutes I'd feel my eyes filling up with tears.

I was a mess at the airport and so was he and after he gave me one final squeeze, he bent down, picked up his bags and walked into the airport.

And I finally got it!

I love you, goodbye.