See, I told you that eventually I would quit writing with any regularity.
I was thinking the other day how March 3 is my anniversary date. My work anniversary date, and as you all know, a yearly anniversary usually means a review and maybe a raise.
I really wasn't thinking about that though, as much as I was thinking about how much I've changed in the last year.
Right before I started this job, I'd left a job in advertising that left me completely destroyed.
So destroyed that I just walked in one day and quit . . . WITH NOTHING LINED UP.
You have to understand how big that is for me. I graduated college in 1997 and in the intervening eight years I've had six jobs. That might seem like a lot and might even lead you to believe I'm flighty, but I've always had a reason for leaving a job, and I always had a better job lined up.
Sure, some of those jobs I left because I had a boss that was batshit crazy and one of those jobs I left because my ex was military and it was either follow him or forget our marriage, but for the most part I left to expand my professional experience and earn a bigger paycheck.
I never just walked out without a safety net.
But the design house, I left because after a year I was so broken I felt like a total loser. It was a constant uphill battle for me because as it turns out, I hate advertising. In all fairness, I'm pretty sure I hated it because I sucked at it.
It was a vicious cycle because like many things in one's professional life, you actually have to care in order to do a good. Whether that's as a sales clerk at a shop, or selling someone's corporate image or enticing folks to shop at the new mall.
So, here's how things would go: I'd get this assignment that seemed fairly easy and I'd crank it out as quickly as possible (the more jobs we passed through the shop meant the more money we made) only to get them back from my incredibly disappointed boss.
There were times where I wrote things that were really good. My particular forte, as it turns out, was writing radio scripts. Which really comes as no surprise to me because writing dialogue is something that's always come easily to me.
Writing a great headline though? Not so much.
This just killed my boss. For one, my inconsistency lead her to rightfully question my dependability. Sometimes I could knock something great out in 15 minutes, but other times I'd agonize for hours over a seven word headline.
I think it also killed her because I wasn't becoming what she wanted me to be. See, she has this thing for hiring the young and inexperienced. Not only can she pay them squat, but she can also mold their young minds to her style. So, she'd get personally vested in all of her creative staff because it was a direct reflection on her and her company.
I can understand that, but in time I really lost respect for her.
First, there was the "meeting" she called me in for when she heard that I'd been talking about her with people from her church. That's a long story that I'll save for another day, but let's just say I just said, "A is a very driven woman who knows what she wants from her company and she works hard to get it."
So, in our "meeting" she wants to discuss what she heard from a third party (an ex-employee). He'd been busted for sleeping in his car on lunch breaks. Mind you, he no longer worked with A when he learned that she knew.
I told her the gist of the story and she gets TEARY-EYED and says to me, "I just don't like thinking that the people that work for me think I'm a bitch."
Me, "No, never at any point in that conversation did I even discuss what it was like to work with you, or what I thought of you personally. The word bitch didn't even pass my lips."
(Hmm, reading that sentence back to myself I realize I sort of implied that while I thought she was a bitch, I wasn't stupid enough to say that to someone that attended her church.)
I walked out thinking, "Suck it up." You started a business to make money, not to make friends. Whether or not someone thinks your a bitch shouldn't be your concern. Get over it.
With that conversation behind us, we continued to work and produce. But, then we had this weird discussion one day. It's been so long that I don't even remember it now.
See, I'd go into her office for "mentoring," requested on my behalf. I really wanted to make this thing work and she really is the best in town so I wanted to learn from her. The truth is, I am amazed by her talent and really felt like I was working under someone that would go on to do something really big.
What it all boiled down to was that she couldn't understand why I wasn't as passionate about the work as she was. And, in this later meeting she teared up again and said to me, "When I think about everything I've given up to make this company work (sniff, sniff)."
I was disgusted by this whole pity me routine.
She chose to move to our small town and start this company (and let's face it, it's a lot easier being a big fish in a small pond), she chose to work weekends, she chose to sacrifice her social life . . . no one asked her to do it.
In my mind, I dismissed her at that point because I really didn't care to work harder for her. If I cranked out more jobs it meant more money to the company and more money for our paychecks is what we were told. But, uh . . . no. If I worked harder it meant I improved her bottom line and would only see a tiny cut of that. We didn't even have 401ks.
So, I started to care less and less, my work suffered, she let it be known and eventually I got to feeling like I couldn't do anything right and she let me know I was always disappointing her.
I left because I started to feel like a talentless joke.
So, I went back to corporate training because it was something that didn't require me to be creative. I at least learned this about myself: working 40 hours a week at a desk job is not for me.
You know what makes me feel better about having felt like such a loser? Everyone that has worked for her and quit feels the same way.
It's not that we are talentless. It's that she sets the bar so high that most of us keep banging our heads into it.
I am talented, just not in the way she wanted/needed me to be.
I was just not talented enough for her.
So, here I am a year later, working at a job that I love where people appreciate my skills.
A job that makes me feel good about myself and I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Baby Machine
Again?
That was the first thing I thought when one of my university friends sent me an email announcing that she's having a boy, let's call her Crafty.
This is Crafty's 3rd child, and if my calculations are correct she will have three children under the age of six in her house. All I can think is, "STOP!" Look into some birth control, some hobbies . . . I don't know, anything.
Crafty is a year younger than I am and has been married for (I think) nine years now. She married her high school sweetheart even. In fact, I think I was Maid-of-Honor in her wedding.
I don't really remember now because it seems it was such a long time ago and Crafty and I have really lost touch.
We just email occasionally now.
Anyway, she graduated from school with a degree in Human Ecology (Home Ec) with an emphasis in Fashion Design.
This is what I remember about Crafty the most.
See, she made a dress for me once. Such a cute dress that I got a zillion compliments on it the first time I wore it. People who didn't even know me were whispering, "Oh my god, look at that cute dress."
I heard them, even.
I graduated a year before she did and so did her spouse.
Being military, her spouse took off for training and then his first assignment, which meant that Crafty had to stay at university for 6 months without him.
Crafty was lost without him. She was so upset that she wanted to just quit school. Actually said, "It's not like I plan on ever really using my degree so I don't see the point in staying here without him."
Now, even though she was married her parents were still paying for her tuition, and having footed my own bill (partially) through college this really annoyed me.
The thing is, Crafty only went to university because her parents "made her." She went with the whole Fashion Design thing because she loved to sew (even though, she admitted, that in high school she was super competitive and always felt a small victory when she'd get a slightly higher grade than Sweetheart in Calculus). By all means, Crafty could have gone into the "hard sciences" and done really well.
In general, when I think about Crafty I get kind of annoyed.
Why? I have no idea.
As far as I know, she's thrilled being a stay-at-home mom, and I know that's what she's always wanted. She always used to say that she just wanted to be a wife and mom, but deep down I want more for her.
Maybe some part of me wants to validate my choices to work and forego children.
There's also a little part of me that thinks, "Why did she even bother with school?"
What was the point of having your parents shell out, out-of-state tuition when you had no intention of using your degree whatsoever?
To that, I think I have at least one answer.
Crafty's parents pretty much told her it was university or she was on her own.
And, I think, good god . . . why did all those women before us fight so hard for equality and opportunity when there's the likes of you running around?
You with your education and your decision to just pass GO and collect your MRS.
Then I realize, they did it for her.
They did it so that she could have that choice.
So, thanks Crafty for exercising your right to choose motherhood with no apologies to bitches like me who sometimes forget that it was about choice.
Congratulations on Baby 3!
That was the first thing I thought when one of my university friends sent me an email announcing that she's having a boy, let's call her Crafty.
This is Crafty's 3rd child, and if my calculations are correct she will have three children under the age of six in her house. All I can think is, "STOP!" Look into some birth control, some hobbies . . . I don't know, anything.
Crafty is a year younger than I am and has been married for (I think) nine years now. She married her high school sweetheart even. In fact, I think I was Maid-of-Honor in her wedding.
I don't really remember now because it seems it was such a long time ago and Crafty and I have really lost touch.
We just email occasionally now.
Anyway, she graduated from school with a degree in Human Ecology (Home Ec) with an emphasis in Fashion Design.
This is what I remember about Crafty the most.
See, she made a dress for me once. Such a cute dress that I got a zillion compliments on it the first time I wore it. People who didn't even know me were whispering, "Oh my god, look at that cute dress."
I heard them, even.
I graduated a year before she did and so did her spouse.
Being military, her spouse took off for training and then his first assignment, which meant that Crafty had to stay at university for 6 months without him.
Crafty was lost without him. She was so upset that she wanted to just quit school. Actually said, "It's not like I plan on ever really using my degree so I don't see the point in staying here without him."
Now, even though she was married her parents were still paying for her tuition, and having footed my own bill (partially) through college this really annoyed me.
The thing is, Crafty only went to university because her parents "made her." She went with the whole Fashion Design thing because she loved to sew (even though, she admitted, that in high school she was super competitive and always felt a small victory when she'd get a slightly higher grade than Sweetheart in Calculus). By all means, Crafty could have gone into the "hard sciences" and done really well.
In general, when I think about Crafty I get kind of annoyed.
Why? I have no idea.
As far as I know, she's thrilled being a stay-at-home mom, and I know that's what she's always wanted. She always used to say that she just wanted to be a wife and mom, but deep down I want more for her.
Maybe some part of me wants to validate my choices to work and forego children.
There's also a little part of me that thinks, "Why did she even bother with school?"
What was the point of having your parents shell out, out-of-state tuition when you had no intention of using your degree whatsoever?
To that, I think I have at least one answer.
Crafty's parents pretty much told her it was university or she was on her own.
And, I think, good god . . . why did all those women before us fight so hard for equality and opportunity when there's the likes of you running around?
You with your education and your decision to just pass GO and collect your MRS.
Then I realize, they did it for her.
They did it so that she could have that choice.
So, thanks Crafty for exercising your right to choose motherhood with no apologies to bitches like me who sometimes forget that it was about choice.
Congratulations on Baby 3!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Too Happy To Write?
That was the title of an email my friend B sent me.
I read it, thought for a second and realized, "Kind of . . . "
But, the truth is that I just haven't had a whole hell of a lot to say these days.
Maybe it's February.
It's the shortest month of the year, but it seems so long to get through. What with the crummy weather and the promise of Spring right on the other side.
Plus, you know, fucking Valentine's Day is in February.
In year's past, Valentine's Day has never really been very special for me. J would always bring home flowers or something and we may have gone out to dinner somewhere, but there was never anything really special about the day.
It just felt like another date night only with flowers.
This year, I got a wild hair and some months ago asked S if he'd like to spend Valentine's Weekend in a cabin in the mountains. He sounded excited about it so that's what we did and it was awesome.
You don't need all of the details, but I will say that we went on some lovely hikes, there was a beautiful fire in our fireplace and everything felt right.
S took a walk to the park's general store at some point and when he came back he'd bought a blanket.
He held it up and said to me, "I know that we don't need it, but I thought that every time we used it, it would remind us of this weekend."
Ya'll, am I not supposed to fall in love with this man?
Other than that lovely weekend, February has dragged on like Britney Spears' career.
Also, I think February is a huge drag because my birthday is in March, and having to wait a whole month before I get presents again seems like a really long time.
I read it, thought for a second and realized, "Kind of . . . "
But, the truth is that I just haven't had a whole hell of a lot to say these days.
Maybe it's February.
It's the shortest month of the year, but it seems so long to get through. What with the crummy weather and the promise of Spring right on the other side.
Plus, you know, fucking Valentine's Day is in February.
In year's past, Valentine's Day has never really been very special for me. J would always bring home flowers or something and we may have gone out to dinner somewhere, but there was never anything really special about the day.
It just felt like another date night only with flowers.
This year, I got a wild hair and some months ago asked S if he'd like to spend Valentine's Weekend in a cabin in the mountains. He sounded excited about it so that's what we did and it was awesome.
You don't need all of the details, but I will say that we went on some lovely hikes, there was a beautiful fire in our fireplace and everything felt right.
S took a walk to the park's general store at some point and when he came back he'd bought a blanket.
He held it up and said to me, "I know that we don't need it, but I thought that every time we used it, it would remind us of this weekend."
Ya'll, am I not supposed to fall in love with this man?
Other than that lovely weekend, February has dragged on like Britney Spears' career.
Also, I think February is a huge drag because my birthday is in March, and having to wait a whole month before I get presents again seems like a really long time.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
An Actual Conversation on Instant Messenger
The following is a conversation held with my dad via IM:
Dad says:
Hola hija que tal estas?
Translation: Hello daughter, how are you?
Trixie says:
Good, oooh it's Mardi Gras day. You have the day off.
Trixie says:
Is it raining?
Dad says:
Hay 60% de chance pero no esta lloviendo.
Translation: There's a 60% chance, but it is not raining.
Dad says:
Como seguiste,dice tu Mami si ya estas mejor.
Translation: How have you been, you mom says you are better.
[I've been getting over a head cold.]
Trixie says:
Yeah, I feel good. I am still blowing my nose and coughing but I'm not tired anymore.
Dad says:
Ok that's a good sign.
Dad says:
Estas tomando medicina?
Translation: Are you taking medicine?
[Any time one of us coughs or sniffles my mom's first response is, "Are you taking medicine." So, the running gag at our house is to ask if you are taking medicine with varying degrees of panic in our voice.]
Trixie says:
No, I sleep well at night.
Dad says:
OK, Jason va a recibir su K. Cake hoy, ojala le guste.
Translation: Ok, Jason will recieve his King Cake today. I hope he likes it.
[It's Mardi Gras and King Cake is a sweet sugary confection sold only during carnival season and only regionally. Read more here: http://www.mardigrasunmasked.com/mardigras/king_cake.htm The first year J and I moved to CO, mom and dad sent us a king cake. It was a complete surprise and they did it every year until I moved to AL because they figured I could get it now that I was back in the South. Boy did they rue the day they quit sending one. We got one the following year. Yes, I am "the baby." ]
Melissa says:
Will they deliver it if he isn't home I wonder? I know he'll love it. That was very nice of you guys to do that for him.
Dad says:
You know we like him.
Dad says:
I think he is a good man.
Trixie says:
Well, you're certainly nicer to him now that he's not my husband.
Dad says:
I don't think so.
[I call bullshit and if J is reading this, he's probably just let out a loud, "HA!" and is also calling bullshit.]
Trixie says:
I do. Mom was always nice but you were different.
Dad says:
You know I'm overprotective when it comes to you, I'm thinking always of abusive men.
[Which, I misread as, "I'm thinking always of abusing men."]
Dad says:
I know that was not the case with him.
Trixie says:
Oh god, that's so funny. You know, there are certain red flags when it comes to abusive men.
[Read more here: http://www.acadv.org/abusers.html#characteristics]
Trixie says:
I used to work for the Coalition Against Domestic Violence. I remember the warning signals.
Trixie says:
I know what to look for and if I ever suspected anything like that the guy wouldn't be around for long.
Dad says:
I know.
Trixie says:
And, don't worry about that with S. He treats me with a lot of respect and gives me a lot of room to do what I need to do.
Dad says:
Ok, it is good to hear that.
Trixie says:
He's actually a lot like J in some ways only better because, you know . . . not gay.
Trixie says:
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Jesus says:
jajajaja
Translation: hahahaha
Trixie says:
Seriously, be nice to S. He's a good man.
Dad says:
Ok I'll try.
Trixie says:
And, most importantly, S treats J with a lot of respect.
Dad says:
Yes I have noticed that.
Trixie says:
Not a lot of straight men are comfortable with gay men, and I honestly think that S doesn't think of J as gay.
Trixie says:
He just thinks of J as . . . a guy.
Trixie says:
And, J treats S with a lot of respect. Trust me, if J didn't like S he would tell me. That is what best friends do.
Dad says:
Ok, we are going to the parades this afternoon, weather permitting.
[This is dad's not-so-subtle way of changing the subject. Yes, he is this abrupt in person as well.]
Trixie says:
Good!!! Mom will like that!
Trixie says:
Are you taking T?
[My mom's sister, my aunt.]
Dad says:
She is going with Shero to the Casino.
[This was funny to me because it's become family folklore. My aunt's boyfriend has been around for years, but my aunt's first language is not English so she has always called him "Shero." When I was filling out wedding invitations I asked my brother, "How do you spell Shero?" And my brother ask me, "Are you serious?" and then proceeds to laugh like a hyena. He finally composes himself and says, "It's Sheryl." Me, "Ohhhhhhhh . . . "]
Dad says:
WE might end up going too, we'll see.-Talk to you later.
Trixie says:
Have fun!!!
Trixie says:
Don't let mom flash for beads.
Dad says:
No, I wont.
Dad says:
Hola hija que tal estas?
Translation: Hello daughter, how are you?
Trixie says:
Good, oooh it's Mardi Gras day. You have the day off.
Trixie says:
Is it raining?
Dad says:
Hay 60% de chance pero no esta lloviendo.
Translation: There's a 60% chance, but it is not raining.
Dad says:
Como seguiste,dice tu Mami si ya estas mejor.
Translation: How have you been, you mom says you are better.
[I've been getting over a head cold.]
Trixie says:
Yeah, I feel good. I am still blowing my nose and coughing but I'm not tired anymore.
Dad says:
Ok that's a good sign.
Dad says:
Estas tomando medicina?
Translation: Are you taking medicine?
[Any time one of us coughs or sniffles my mom's first response is, "Are you taking medicine." So, the running gag at our house is to ask if you are taking medicine with varying degrees of panic in our voice.]
Trixie says:
No, I sleep well at night.
Dad says:
OK, Jason va a recibir su K. Cake hoy, ojala le guste.
Translation: Ok, Jason will recieve his King Cake today. I hope he likes it.
[It's Mardi Gras and King Cake is a sweet sugary confection sold only during carnival season and only regionally. Read more here: http://www.mardigrasunmasked.com/mardigras/king_cake.htm The first year J and I moved to CO, mom and dad sent us a king cake. It was a complete surprise and they did it every year until I moved to AL because they figured I could get it now that I was back in the South. Boy did they rue the day they quit sending one. We got one the following year. Yes, I am "the baby." ]
Melissa says:
Will they deliver it if he isn't home I wonder? I know he'll love it. That was very nice of you guys to do that for him.
Dad says:
You know we like him.
Dad says:
I think he is a good man.
Trixie says:
Well, you're certainly nicer to him now that he's not my husband.
Dad says:
I don't think so.
[I call bullshit and if J is reading this, he's probably just let out a loud, "HA!" and is also calling bullshit.]
Trixie says:
I do. Mom was always nice but you were different.
Dad says:
You know I'm overprotective when it comes to you, I'm thinking always of abusive men.
[Which, I misread as, "I'm thinking always of abusing men."]
Dad says:
I know that was not the case with him.
Trixie says:
Oh god, that's so funny. You know, there are certain red flags when it comes to abusive men.
[Read more here: http://www.acadv.org/abusers.html#characteristics]
Trixie says:
I used to work for the Coalition Against Domestic Violence. I remember the warning signals.
Trixie says:
I know what to look for and if I ever suspected anything like that the guy wouldn't be around for long.
Dad says:
I know.
Trixie says:
And, don't worry about that with S. He treats me with a lot of respect and gives me a lot of room to do what I need to do.
Dad says:
Ok, it is good to hear that.
Trixie says:
He's actually a lot like J in some ways only better because, you know . . . not gay.
Trixie says:
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Jesus says:
jajajaja
Translation: hahahaha
Trixie says:
Seriously, be nice to S. He's a good man.
Dad says:
Ok I'll try.
Trixie says:
And, most importantly, S treats J with a lot of respect.
Dad says:
Yes I have noticed that.
Trixie says:
Not a lot of straight men are comfortable with gay men, and I honestly think that S doesn't think of J as gay.
Trixie says:
He just thinks of J as . . . a guy.
Trixie says:
And, J treats S with a lot of respect. Trust me, if J didn't like S he would tell me. That is what best friends do.
Dad says:
Ok, we are going to the parades this afternoon, weather permitting.
[This is dad's not-so-subtle way of changing the subject. Yes, he is this abrupt in person as well.]
Trixie says:
Good!!! Mom will like that!
Trixie says:
Are you taking T?
[My mom's sister, my aunt.]
Dad says:
She is going with Shero to the Casino.
[This was funny to me because it's become family folklore. My aunt's boyfriend has been around for years, but my aunt's first language is not English so she has always called him "Shero." When I was filling out wedding invitations I asked my brother, "How do you spell Shero?" And my brother ask me, "Are you serious?" and then proceeds to laugh like a hyena. He finally composes himself and says, "It's Sheryl." Me, "Ohhhhhhhh . . . "]
Dad says:
WE might end up going too, we'll see.-Talk to you later.
Trixie says:
Have fun!!!
Trixie says:
Don't let mom flash for beads.
Dad says:
No, I wont.
Friday, February 04, 2005
History
Clearly, at this age we all have a little history and the baggage that comes with it.
This has been on my mind today because when S moved in he brought a lot of stuff. Not just clothes and such, but a huge bag of pictures.
I'd told him earlier in the week that I wanted to look at them sometime. His response,
"Go to town, baby."
So, last night after he left for work I pulled out a plastic bin (like the kind you're supposed to store shoes neatly in - HA!) and started going through his pictures.
I don't know the chronology on any of them, but I figured organizing them by size was better than them sitting in a plastic grocery bag.
It took me a few hours to go through them all and in the process I found pictures of one S's exes. THE ex.
We all have one, you know, the one that broke your heart into a million billion bits and then walked all over them on his or her way out the door.
And, it made me sad.
Sad because I know he loved her and it kills me that someone would take S's heart and break it into a million billion bits.
I was looking at pictures of the two of them, candids of her, thinking, "I wish S wouldn't have been so beaten down by that relationship. I really wish things would have been better for them."
Then I realized, "Fuck that!"
I wish his heart hadn't been broken just as much as I wish my heart had never been broken, but then who would we be today?
Would we even be together?
All the bad exes, the cheaters, the liars, the schemers . . . they have all led us to where we are today.
Sometimes I look at S and think, "Mayn, am I a lucky girl," and I think sometimes I see that reflected in his eyes (except for him thinking he's a lucky girl and all) and I realize we deserve each other.
For all the bullshit we have been through with our exes we are finally cashing in on our kharma.
Do I expect him to throw out the pictures?
Nah, all of that is part of his past.
I'm his present.
And, hopefully, his future.
This has been on my mind today because when S moved in he brought a lot of stuff. Not just clothes and such, but a huge bag of pictures.
I'd told him earlier in the week that I wanted to look at them sometime. His response,
"Go to town, baby."
So, last night after he left for work I pulled out a plastic bin (like the kind you're supposed to store shoes neatly in - HA!) and started going through his pictures.
I don't know the chronology on any of them, but I figured organizing them by size was better than them sitting in a plastic grocery bag.
It took me a few hours to go through them all and in the process I found pictures of one S's exes. THE ex.
We all have one, you know, the one that broke your heart into a million billion bits and then walked all over them on his or her way out the door.
And, it made me sad.
Sad because I know he loved her and it kills me that someone would take S's heart and break it into a million billion bits.
I was looking at pictures of the two of them, candids of her, thinking, "I wish S wouldn't have been so beaten down by that relationship. I really wish things would have been better for them."
Then I realized, "Fuck that!"
I wish his heart hadn't been broken just as much as I wish my heart had never been broken, but then who would we be today?
Would we even be together?
All the bad exes, the cheaters, the liars, the schemers . . . they have all led us to where we are today.
Sometimes I look at S and think, "Mayn, am I a lucky girl," and I think sometimes I see that reflected in his eyes (except for him thinking he's a lucky girl and all) and I realize we deserve each other.
For all the bullshit we have been through with our exes we are finally cashing in on our kharma.
Do I expect him to throw out the pictures?
Nah, all of that is part of his past.
I'm his present.
And, hopefully, his future.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Intuition
S works nights.
So, at around 6:30 a.m. he crawls into bed with me and I snuggle with him for about 30 minutes.
There is no better alarm clock ever invented.
This morning though, something felt . . . off.
I was laying on my right side and he curled up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist.
I was groggy, but I stretched my left arm back and put it on his left thigh.
"Relax, " I whispered, "Your body feels really tense."
Normally, when he spoons me his body instantly relaxes. As if the second we make contact everything just goes away.
I dozed for another 30 minutes and when I rolled over to look at him he was on his back . . . eyes wide open.
I immediately asked, "What's wrong?"
And he preceeded to tell me what exactly was wrong.
I won't go into any detail regarding what was wrong because it's personal. Let's just say it has nothing to do with the two of us.
After he told me everything, he turned to me and asked, "How'd you know?"
Me, "Know what?"
Him, "That something was wrong?"
Me, "I don't know. Usually when you lay in bed you're out in two seconds. You never just lie there awake like I do."
Him, "No, you knew something was wrong before that. The second I touched you, you knew."
Me, "Oh, well you just felt different somehow. Usually when you curl up next to me you just sort of, I don't know, melt, sink in to me even."
Him, "Huh?"
Me, "Do you feel better having talked to me?"
Him, "Yeah, thank you."
Me, "No problem. Any time you've got something like this talk to me, okay?"
Pretty soon we were talking about ways to solve his problem and I said something silly and he was laughing. He shook his head, looked at me and said,
"I can't believe I'm even smiling."
Me, "I'm glad."
Him, "Thank you."
Thinking back on it, I don't really know what it was that lead me to believe something was up.
Yeah, we've been seeing each other for 10 months, but we haven't even lived together for a week yet.
Is it possible that I know him that well?
Was it intuition?
Whatever it was I'm just glad I didn't ignore it.
So, at around 6:30 a.m. he crawls into bed with me and I snuggle with him for about 30 minutes.
There is no better alarm clock ever invented.
This morning though, something felt . . . off.
I was laying on my right side and he curled up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist.
I was groggy, but I stretched my left arm back and put it on his left thigh.
"Relax, " I whispered, "Your body feels really tense."
Normally, when he spoons me his body instantly relaxes. As if the second we make contact everything just goes away.
I dozed for another 30 minutes and when I rolled over to look at him he was on his back . . . eyes wide open.
I immediately asked, "What's wrong?"
And he preceeded to tell me what exactly was wrong.
I won't go into any detail regarding what was wrong because it's personal. Let's just say it has nothing to do with the two of us.
After he told me everything, he turned to me and asked, "How'd you know?"
Me, "Know what?"
Him, "That something was wrong?"
Me, "I don't know. Usually when you lay in bed you're out in two seconds. You never just lie there awake like I do."
Him, "No, you knew something was wrong before that. The second I touched you, you knew."
Me, "Oh, well you just felt different somehow. Usually when you curl up next to me you just sort of, I don't know, melt, sink in to me even."
Him, "Huh?"
Me, "Do you feel better having talked to me?"
Him, "Yeah, thank you."
Me, "No problem. Any time you've got something like this talk to me, okay?"
Pretty soon we were talking about ways to solve his problem and I said something silly and he was laughing. He shook his head, looked at me and said,
"I can't believe I'm even smiling."
Me, "I'm glad."
Him, "Thank you."
Thinking back on it, I don't really know what it was that lead me to believe something was up.
Yeah, we've been seeing each other for 10 months, but we haven't even lived together for a week yet.
Is it possible that I know him that well?
Was it intuition?
Whatever it was I'm just glad I didn't ignore it.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Bad Girl!
This weekend was fabulous!!!!
I met S on Friday night in NO at a bar that we've been frequenting lately. The atmosphere is okay, the lingerie show (that I've never attended) seems a bit skeevy, but they have the best hamburgers!!!!
So, we met up there, ate, drank, I got the key to the room and he headed off to work.
Ya'll, I didn't realize how tired I was.
I unloaded my car, took a scalding hot shower and climbed into bed. I fell asleep watching the second Harry Potter movie.
At some point, my cell rang and it was S:
"Hey baby! I'm gettin' out early. I'll be there in a little while."
Me, "Hmmwha . . . oh, okay, great!"
Him, "Ooooh, I'm sorry baby. I didn't realize you'd be asleep."
Me, "'sokay. I'll see you soon."
I clicked my phone shut, laid it on my stomach and fell back asleep.
I don't know how much later it was, but my phone rang again.
This time it scared the shit out of me because I wasn't expecting to hear the vibratine. So, I jumped and it must have slithered off of me because when I did a half-assed search for it I couldn't find it.
In the back of my mind I though, "That's probably S telling me he's in the lot."
And, I turned over in bed and fell back asleep.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
Ya'll, when you add the 4.5 hour drive to 4 consecutive 12-hour workdays and you finally shut down . . . you SHUT FUCKIN' DOWN!
I was OUT!
It turns out S was calling me from the other side of our room's door. Yeah, he'd left his key in his truck and wanted me to let him in.
I know, I know . . .
The whole weekend was kind of a blur. We lazed in bed most of Saturday morning and eventually headed out, but we were so tired we gave up on any grand plans we may have had for Saturday.
On Sunday we went to the Quarter where S bought me the prettiest ring ever (not that kind of ring)and a groovy shirt. I also picked up some earrings and a Valentine's Day gift for J.
Then, we headed to Canal Place to catch Sideways. I liked it because it appealed to my, "I'm almost 30 and what have I really done with my life" crisis that I'm going through.
Before the movie started, S slipped his arm around me and I cuddled against his chest and I said, "You know, House of Flying Daggers is playing at the Capri [Montgomery indie theater] this weekend."
S, "You want to go see it when I come up?"
Me, pulling away from him to look at his face "You're coming up to visit this weekend?"
Him, eyes narrowing and peering at me, "Noooo, I'm moving up this weekend."
Me, eyes darting around like the busted doofus that I am, "That's THIS weekend?"
That's right folks, S is moving up and I completely forgot about it.
I lost track of the dates. I thought there was another week left in January or something.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
I met S on Friday night in NO at a bar that we've been frequenting lately. The atmosphere is okay, the lingerie show (that I've never attended) seems a bit skeevy, but they have the best hamburgers!!!!
So, we met up there, ate, drank, I got the key to the room and he headed off to work.
Ya'll, I didn't realize how tired I was.
I unloaded my car, took a scalding hot shower and climbed into bed. I fell asleep watching the second Harry Potter movie.
At some point, my cell rang and it was S:
"Hey baby! I'm gettin' out early. I'll be there in a little while."
Me, "Hmmwha . . . oh, okay, great!"
Him, "Ooooh, I'm sorry baby. I didn't realize you'd be asleep."
Me, "'sokay. I'll see you soon."
I clicked my phone shut, laid it on my stomach and fell back asleep.
I don't know how much later it was, but my phone rang again.
This time it scared the shit out of me because I wasn't expecting to hear the vibratine. So, I jumped and it must have slithered off of me because when I did a half-assed search for it I couldn't find it.
In the back of my mind I though, "That's probably S telling me he's in the lot."
And, I turned over in bed and fell back asleep.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
Ya'll, when you add the 4.5 hour drive to 4 consecutive 12-hour workdays and you finally shut down . . . you SHUT FUCKIN' DOWN!
I was OUT!
It turns out S was calling me from the other side of our room's door. Yeah, he'd left his key in his truck and wanted me to let him in.
I know, I know . . .
The whole weekend was kind of a blur. We lazed in bed most of Saturday morning and eventually headed out, but we were so tired we gave up on any grand plans we may have had for Saturday.
On Sunday we went to the Quarter where S bought me the prettiest ring ever (not that kind of ring)and a groovy shirt. I also picked up some earrings and a Valentine's Day gift for J.
Then, we headed to Canal Place to catch Sideways. I liked it because it appealed to my, "I'm almost 30 and what have I really done with my life" crisis that I'm going through.
Before the movie started, S slipped his arm around me and I cuddled against his chest and I said, "You know, House of Flying Daggers is playing at the Capri [Montgomery indie theater] this weekend."
S, "You want to go see it when I come up?"
Me, pulling away from him to look at his face "You're coming up to visit this weekend?"
Him, eyes narrowing and peering at me, "Noooo, I'm moving up this weekend."
Me, eyes darting around like the busted doofus that I am, "That's THIS weekend?"
That's right folks, S is moving up and I completely forgot about it.
I lost track of the dates. I thought there was another week left in January or something.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
Friday, January 21, 2005
So Tired
I'm tired.
So tired I'd like to just crawl into bed and sleep for days.
See, the place that I work for has a lot of members and lots of business to take care of. So, about once every quarter we throw a conference.
I don't know if any of you have ever hosted a conference, but typically it means 12-hour days. So yeah, I'm pretty tired right now.
The good news is that this weekend I'm going to be in New Orleans. That's right, I'm spending this weekend in S's arms and I can't think of any place I'd rather be.
But, before I sign off for the weekend, here's a song that is a few years old but I only listened to for the first time the other day (because, yeah, it's clear that I DO in fact live under a rock).
So cheesy, right?
So tired I'd like to just crawl into bed and sleep for days.
See, the place that I work for has a lot of members and lots of business to take care of. So, about once every quarter we throw a conference.
I don't know if any of you have ever hosted a conference, but typically it means 12-hour days. So yeah, I'm pretty tired right now.
The good news is that this weekend I'm going to be in New Orleans. That's right, I'm spending this weekend in S's arms and I can't think of any place I'd rather be.
But, before I sign off for the weekend, here's a song that is a few years old but I only listened to for the first time the other day (because, yeah, it's clear that I DO in fact live under a rock).
I Could Not Ask For More
Lying here with you
Listening to the rain
Smiling just to see the smile upon your face
These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive
These are the moments I'll remember all my life
I found all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
Looking in your eyes
Seeing all I need
Everything you are is everything to me
These are the moments I know heaven must exist
These are the moments I know all I need is this I have all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
Chorus
I could not ask for more than this time together
I could not ask for more than this time with you
Every prayer has been answered
Every dream I have's come true
And right here in this moment is right where I'm meant to be
Here with you here with me
These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive
These are the moments I'll remember all my life
I've got all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
Chorus
I could not ask for more than the love you give me
'cuz it's all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
I could not ask for more
So cheesy, right?
Monday, January 17, 2005
Bounce
I've grown up in a family of bouncers.
Not bar bouncers, car bouncers.
Car bouncing is this thing that my dad does when he gasses up the car.
The gas pump shuts off and my dad proceeds to bounce the car two or three times.
His theory is that this makes the gas settle and so you can top it off just a little bit more.
I know, I know . . .
The thing is, as crazy as it sounds, I bounce the car, too.
I kind of lean into it and give it a bounce.
This was an ongoing argument with J and I. The validity of bouncing and the dangers of topping off.
Not to long ago, I was riding around with S and realized I was low on gas (like, my light's been on for a while now so I guess I should get gas kind of low) and I decided to pull into the next gas station I found.
I pulled up to the pump, turned off the car and reached for my seatbelt and he said, "Stay, I'll do it."
I thought, "That's nice, cool."
So, I leaned in and gave him a kiss and off he went.
I sat in the car fiddling with the radio station and just as I heard the pump click off I felt the car bounce.
Once, twice . . . three times.
He got in the car, I grinned and asked, "Did you just bounce the car?"
Him, "Huh? Oh, yeah. You know you can add just a little bit more gas that way."
Hee.
Not bar bouncers, car bouncers.
Car bouncing is this thing that my dad does when he gasses up the car.
The gas pump shuts off and my dad proceeds to bounce the car two or three times.
His theory is that this makes the gas settle and so you can top it off just a little bit more.
I know, I know . . .
The thing is, as crazy as it sounds, I bounce the car, too.
I kind of lean into it and give it a bounce.
This was an ongoing argument with J and I. The validity of bouncing and the dangers of topping off.
Not to long ago, I was riding around with S and realized I was low on gas (like, my light's been on for a while now so I guess I should get gas kind of low) and I decided to pull into the next gas station I found.
I pulled up to the pump, turned off the car and reached for my seatbelt and he said, "Stay, I'll do it."
I thought, "That's nice, cool."
So, I leaned in and gave him a kiss and off he went.
I sat in the car fiddling with the radio station and just as I heard the pump click off I felt the car bounce.
Once, twice . . . three times.
He got in the car, I grinned and asked, "Did you just bounce the car?"
Him, "Huh? Oh, yeah. You know you can add just a little bit more gas that way."
Hee.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Baby Mine
Last night I worked late.
Really late. So when I got home I just wanted to veg out. I reheated some Chinese food and settled down in front of the tv. I was flipping channels and I ran across this:
"Cindy Margolis Inside Out"
I didn't know who Ms. Margolis was prior to watching this show. But, here's a link to her website: http://www.cindymargolis.com/ so from the looks of her I kind of thought Inside Out was going to be something about her rise as a porn star or something.
As someone who harbors a secret ambition to be a porn star (or at least a stripper, because . . . how fucking cool would that be!), I was immediately compelled to watch. (My strpper name would be something along the lines of Brown Sugar or Hot Mami.)
Imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be a special on Ms. Margolis and her hubby's struggles with infertility and their attempt to conceive through In Vitro Fertilization (IVF).
Maybe it's because I'm 29 and childless with no spouse to father my children. Maybe it's because I have friends who've been unable to have babies, but this show thoroughly sucked me in.
I sat there for an hour, watching her spouse shoot her up with hormones, listening to them argue about the need to get the shot at the exact time every day (which, you don't but it gave her peace of mind so shutupyoubigtool because if it makes her feel better and she's all hormonal anyway so you'd better fucking just suck it and be late to that goddamn Laker game. JACKASS!)
And then I cried.
SPOILER ALERT!
First I got upset because she didn't have enough embryos to put a couple on ice in case this didn't work.
Then, it started out with this lump in my throat when she told her spouse that she didn't want to go to the clinic and get the pregnancy test. As if she was trying to hold on to the ignorance of not knowing and believing in possibility.
I sniffled because she knew that emotionally she couldn't go through the weeks of shots again if it didn't happen this time.
Then I cried because her pregnancy test came out negative.
And then I kind of freaked out because . . . HELLO!
I'm 29 with no children and no spouse. I want children someday dammit.
What if I can't have any!?!
When I look at family history, it would appear that I will be able to conceive until my early forties. But you know what, that sometimes doesn't matter. My friend C's sisters all easily conceived well into their 30's, as did their mother, but it just wasn't a go for C.
She started going through perimenopause at 29!
I realize I'm overreacting and the fact that I'm due to start my period soon isn't helping matters, but I get sad at the thought of not having my own child.
I know adoption is an option, but I actually want to go through the experience of being pregnant, labor, delivery and nursing. (I know it's not going to be a picnic, but I walked home on a broken leg once so I figure I might have a reasonably high pain tolerance.)
I get sad at the idea of not being able to tell my husband, "Honey, I'm pregnant!" and then watching his face break out into a huge grin.
I want to feel him put his hand on my tummy, lay with my head on his chest and ask, "So, do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl."
I want him to help me fight the good fight against stretch marks and help me slather cocoa butter on my growing bump.
I want him to kiss that bump and hear him say, "Come on little one, I can't wait to hold you."
I want him there with me on the big day, when I'm cussing him out and telling him I'll never allow him to touch me again because the pain is so consuming, helping me bring into this world the lovely little baby that's about to change our lives forever.
If it doesn't happen, I guess I can always try and make that whole porn star/stripper thing work.
Really late. So when I got home I just wanted to veg out. I reheated some Chinese food and settled down in front of the tv. I was flipping channels and I ran across this:
"Cindy Margolis Inside Out"
I didn't know who Ms. Margolis was prior to watching this show. But, here's a link to her website: http://www.cindymargolis.com/ so from the looks of her I kind of thought Inside Out was going to be something about her rise as a porn star or something.
As someone who harbors a secret ambition to be a porn star (or at least a stripper, because . . . how fucking cool would that be!), I was immediately compelled to watch. (My strpper name would be something along the lines of Brown Sugar or Hot Mami.)
Imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be a special on Ms. Margolis and her hubby's struggles with infertility and their attempt to conceive through In Vitro Fertilization (IVF).
Maybe it's because I'm 29 and childless with no spouse to father my children. Maybe it's because I have friends who've been unable to have babies, but this show thoroughly sucked me in.
I sat there for an hour, watching her spouse shoot her up with hormones, listening to them argue about the need to get the shot at the exact time every day (which, you don't but it gave her peace of mind so shutupyoubigtool because if it makes her feel better and she's all hormonal anyway so you'd better fucking just suck it and be late to that goddamn Laker game. JACKASS!)
And then I cried.
SPOILER ALERT!
First I got upset because she didn't have enough embryos to put a couple on ice in case this didn't work.
Then, it started out with this lump in my throat when she told her spouse that she didn't want to go to the clinic and get the pregnancy test. As if she was trying to hold on to the ignorance of not knowing and believing in possibility.
I sniffled because she knew that emotionally she couldn't go through the weeks of shots again if it didn't happen this time.
Then I cried because her pregnancy test came out negative.
And then I kind of freaked out because . . . HELLO!
I'm 29 with no children and no spouse. I want children someday dammit.
What if I can't have any!?!
When I look at family history, it would appear that I will be able to conceive until my early forties. But you know what, that sometimes doesn't matter. My friend C's sisters all easily conceived well into their 30's, as did their mother, but it just wasn't a go for C.
She started going through perimenopause at 29!
I realize I'm overreacting and the fact that I'm due to start my period soon isn't helping matters, but I get sad at the thought of not having my own child.
I know adoption is an option, but I actually want to go through the experience of being pregnant, labor, delivery and nursing. (I know it's not going to be a picnic, but I walked home on a broken leg once so I figure I might have a reasonably high pain tolerance.)
I get sad at the idea of not being able to tell my husband, "Honey, I'm pregnant!" and then watching his face break out into a huge grin.
I want to feel him put his hand on my tummy, lay with my head on his chest and ask, "So, do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl."
I want him to help me fight the good fight against stretch marks and help me slather cocoa butter on my growing bump.
I want him to kiss that bump and hear him say, "Come on little one, I can't wait to hold you."
I want him there with me on the big day, when I'm cussing him out and telling him I'll never allow him to touch me again because the pain is so consuming, helping me bring into this world the lovely little baby that's about to change our lives forever.
If it doesn't happen, I guess I can always try and make that whole porn star/stripper thing work.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Best Boyfriend Evah!
Reasons why S rocks!
1. The man knows his way around plumbing!
I moved into an apartment that's in a building that's being renovated. Well, I don't think my landlord expected anyone in there so soon, but when faced with the prospect of a rent check he let me move in.
When I looked at the apartment the water was cut off.
So, imagine my surprise when I moved in and learned that the faucet in the bathroom sink runs continuously . . . when it's in the off position.
I couldn't even use the cut-off valve under the sink because IT was a few twists from falling apart. S came up, replaced my faucet and cut-off valve. I've snaked drains and such, but I don't think I would have known what all to get to accomplish this job. That night, I slept in the quiet silence of my apartment without the sound of the gentle waterfall from my bathroom. I think the cats were a little disappointed.
2. He fixed my rocky toilet.
I told you, it's an old building.
When I'd lean forward the toilet would rock. In a way it was kind of nice and soothing to take care of business while gently rocking, but I was starting to feel a bit like Rainman.
3. He saved me from the heart attack I might have had if that scary ass Camel Cricket had jumped in my face.
4. When I got home from work he had the massage chair set up with a glass of red wine next to it.
5. He knows how to wake me up without unleashing my inner bitch.
6. He can set up my wireless internet connection.
7. He can fix my roommates internet connection when the fools at Knology can't.
That's just the tip of the iceberg . . .
1. The man knows his way around plumbing!
I moved into an apartment that's in a building that's being renovated. Well, I don't think my landlord expected anyone in there so soon, but when faced with the prospect of a rent check he let me move in.
When I looked at the apartment the water was cut off.
So, imagine my surprise when I moved in and learned that the faucet in the bathroom sink runs continuously . . . when it's in the off position.
I couldn't even use the cut-off valve under the sink because IT was a few twists from falling apart. S came up, replaced my faucet and cut-off valve. I've snaked drains and such, but I don't think I would have known what all to get to accomplish this job. That night, I slept in the quiet silence of my apartment without the sound of the gentle waterfall from my bathroom. I think the cats were a little disappointed.
2. He fixed my rocky toilet.
I told you, it's an old building.
When I'd lean forward the toilet would rock. In a way it was kind of nice and soothing to take care of business while gently rocking, but I was starting to feel a bit like Rainman.
3. He saved me from the heart attack I might have had if that scary ass Camel Cricket had jumped in my face.
4. When I got home from work he had the massage chair set up with a glass of red wine next to it.
5. He knows how to wake me up without unleashing my inner bitch.
6. He can set up my wireless internet connection.
7. He can fix my roommates internet connection when the fools at Knology can't.
That's just the tip of the iceberg . . .
Payback!
"When I was in seventh grade I transferred to a Catholic school from public school and it was a difficult transition.All of the kids had known each other since kindergarten and were super close. They let me in for maybe three months and then someone made up a ridiculous rumor about me and I found out because when I walked up to a group of girls chatting, they literally shut me out. I tried to take a spot where there was an opening in the group and they promptly shifted to shut it."
I know right, how cheesy that I'm quoting my own blog!! But, I didn't feel like linking back to an entry so deal.
So, this past holiday season I went to a friend's Christmas party. It's always more or less the same group, but I had a lot more fun this year. I think it was partly because it was the first time I wandered the room unattached so more people came up to me and talked to me.
In particular, this one woman I'll call Bitchin' (which she totally was!). So, Bitchin' comes up to me and says, "I've seen you at these get togethers before, but we've never talked. My name is Bitchin'."
We started doing the polite chit-chat thing and I bring up that I'm from N.O and went to LSU. And, she starts talking about how her hubby went to LSU Law School and they get together for the U of A game every year! Then, she started dropping random last names, and one of them made me ask: Chlorine?!? One of the BITCHES that made my life hell in 7th and 8th grade!!!!! (I might not have said that last part.)
I nearly fell out of my chair (of course, the killer punch may have had something to do with THAT).
I was all, "Oh, I haven't seen her in ages. Really not since '89, how is she?"
Of course, she's still perfect!!!!
She's a lawyer living with her lawyer husband in a super trendy part of N.O. where people like Sissy Spacek own homes!
Anyway, I kind of laughed and said, "You know, I didn't really know her all that well. I only remember one story that typifies how she was back then."
Bitchin' says, "Oh GOD! You've got to tell me!"
Me, "Okay, we were in eighth grade Algebra and our teacher got on Chlorine. She was all, 'If you don't learn how to do this then how will you be able to figure out how much gas you need to mow the lawn?" to which Chlorine wrinked up her nose, tilted her head and said, "I'll just let the gardener figure it out!"
Bitchin' laughed so hard she snorted.
At which point, Bitchin' says, "Oh, that's so typical. My spouse went to fancy private schools all his life and so did Chlorine. I went to the county school and Chlorine's husband went to public schools, too. Anyway, on our way back from one of the LSU games to N.O. all of a sudden there was this loud noise from one of the tires. I was all, 'Pull over, we need to look at this now.' So, Chlorine's husband and I are like, 'Get the jack and tire iron . . . " and Chlorine and my husband are standing behind us, totally afraid to get dirty asking, "Can't we just call somebody?"
Which, you know, made me just smirk and nod my head.
There's one other "moment" with Chlorine that I remember that I just couldn't bring myself to share.
We had to do some sort of poster. I don't even remember what it was now, but my brother helped me with it. So, she comes up to me, all sweet and nice and says,
"Nice poster! Did you do all that yourself?"
I was ridiculously shy then and quietly said,
"No. My brother helped me with some of the drawing."
She totally dropped the sweet act, squinted her eyes at me and said, in the snottiest tone,
"Yeah, we figured," and returned to her pack.
Ugh! It was little moments like that, that made me terrified of her.
She'd be so sweet and then cut you with the snittiest little remark.
What was worse was that it was a small school and all the teachers knew how much money her daddy had AND she was a straight-A student: so, all the teachers thought she was just a ray of sunshine.
Bitchin' admitted, "She's irritatingly perfect and happy, but she's really pretty cool now. She's really laidback."
Which was kind of nice to hear.
I realize that 7th and 8th grade (ages 12 and 13) are trying times for all of us. She was probably just as insecure as I was and we spent so much time hating ourselves that we took it out on those around us.
I'm big enough to forgive and forget.
Also, I promised to send them her eighth grade picture as it's huge and she's got braces and
PERMED BANGS in it!
Turns out Bitchin's husband handles the alumni newsletter for his law school.
AWESOME!
I know right, how cheesy that I'm quoting my own blog!! But, I didn't feel like linking back to an entry so deal.
So, this past holiday season I went to a friend's Christmas party. It's always more or less the same group, but I had a lot more fun this year. I think it was partly because it was the first time I wandered the room unattached so more people came up to me and talked to me.
In particular, this one woman I'll call Bitchin' (which she totally was!). So, Bitchin' comes up to me and says, "I've seen you at these get togethers before, but we've never talked. My name is Bitchin'."
We started doing the polite chit-chat thing and I bring up that I'm from N.O and went to LSU. And, she starts talking about how her hubby went to LSU Law School and they get together for the U of A game every year! Then, she started dropping random last names, and one of them made me ask: Chlorine?!? One of the BITCHES that made my life hell in 7th and 8th grade!!!!! (I might not have said that last part.)
I nearly fell out of my chair (of course, the killer punch may have had something to do with THAT).
I was all, "Oh, I haven't seen her in ages. Really not since '89, how is she?"
Of course, she's still perfect!!!!
She's a lawyer living with her lawyer husband in a super trendy part of N.O. where people like Sissy Spacek own homes!
Anyway, I kind of laughed and said, "You know, I didn't really know her all that well. I only remember one story that typifies how she was back then."
Bitchin' says, "Oh GOD! You've got to tell me!"
Me, "Okay, we were in eighth grade Algebra and our teacher got on Chlorine. She was all, 'If you don't learn how to do this then how will you be able to figure out how much gas you need to mow the lawn?" to which Chlorine wrinked up her nose, tilted her head and said, "I'll just let the gardener figure it out!"
Bitchin' laughed so hard she snorted.
At which point, Bitchin' says, "Oh, that's so typical. My spouse went to fancy private schools all his life and so did Chlorine. I went to the county school and Chlorine's husband went to public schools, too. Anyway, on our way back from one of the LSU games to N.O. all of a sudden there was this loud noise from one of the tires. I was all, 'Pull over, we need to look at this now.' So, Chlorine's husband and I are like, 'Get the jack and tire iron . . . " and Chlorine and my husband are standing behind us, totally afraid to get dirty asking, "Can't we just call somebody?"
Which, you know, made me just smirk and nod my head.
There's one other "moment" with Chlorine that I remember that I just couldn't bring myself to share.
We had to do some sort of poster. I don't even remember what it was now, but my brother helped me with it. So, she comes up to me, all sweet and nice and says,
"Nice poster! Did you do all that yourself?"
I was ridiculously shy then and quietly said,
"No. My brother helped me with some of the drawing."
She totally dropped the sweet act, squinted her eyes at me and said, in the snottiest tone,
"Yeah, we figured," and returned to her pack.
Ugh! It was little moments like that, that made me terrified of her.
She'd be so sweet and then cut you with the snittiest little remark.
What was worse was that it was a small school and all the teachers knew how much money her daddy had AND she was a straight-A student: so, all the teachers thought she was just a ray of sunshine.
Bitchin' admitted, "She's irritatingly perfect and happy, but she's really pretty cool now. She's really laidback."
Which was kind of nice to hear.
I realize that 7th and 8th grade (ages 12 and 13) are trying times for all of us. She was probably just as insecure as I was and we spent so much time hating ourselves that we took it out on those around us.
I'm big enough to forgive and forget.
Also, I promised to send them her eighth grade picture as it's huge and she's got braces and
PERMED BANGS in it!
Turns out Bitchin's husband handles the alumni newsletter for his law school.
AWESOME!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Meant For Each Other
Ya'll know I just moved right?
Well, this weekend I was reorganizing my shoe rack and S walked into the room to see what I was up to.
I hear him quietly say, "Baby?"
I straightened up, turned to look at him and asked, "What's up?"
Him, still quiet, "Walk away from the closet and don't look back."
So, I did. And I, now whispering, asked, "Big bug?"
Him, still in sotto voce, "Oh yeah."
So, I slowly turned to look into my closet and expected to find this:
Which, yeah, would have freaked me out and I would have jumped on the bed like a big baby, but I could have sent in one of the cats and that would have been the end of that.
Those lazy asses might sleep most of the day, but you but a twitchy bug in front of them and it's ALL OVER! We're talking JUNGLE CAT baby!!!!
But, OH NO, what I saw, was THIS:
Which, made me go, "Huh?" And, I don't know if you can tell here, but it's got a really long, mean, looking horn or something coming out of it's butt: so, you know, the cats were not an option.
So I said, "Okay, let's just slowly take out the clothes and see if we can't catch it. Then we'll just let it go outside."
And S, bless his heart, gulped and really coolly said, "Yeah, okay."
So, I went into the kitchen, found an old jar and with S using a playing card (like standard size, not some big ass UNO card or anything) we popped it into the jar and closed the lid.
Now that it was contained, we both had the opportunity to take a better look.
Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before and when we had fulfilled our curiousity he offered to take it outside.
I said, "Okay, but let it go on the other side of the street. You know, in case it decides it wants to come back here it at least has to make an effort."
And, just, just as he's headed out the front door I called for him, "Hey S?"
Him, "Yeah?"
Me, "You know, while we've got him we'd might as well take a picture."
He grins, shows me the camera he's got behind his back and says, "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."
I smiled and said, "We gotta look that up!"
Him, now blushing, "Yeah, I was gonna check my bug book."
When he came back in from the release I asked him how it went and he said he had to tap it out of the jar and it stood there for a second and then just sauntered away.
I guess when you look like that you have very little reason to run away from anything.
(FYI: It's a Camel Cricket. Harmless to people, but it has been known to feast on fabric.)
Well, this weekend I was reorganizing my shoe rack and S walked into the room to see what I was up to.
I hear him quietly say, "Baby?"
I straightened up, turned to look at him and asked, "What's up?"
Him, still quiet, "Walk away from the closet and don't look back."
So, I did. And I, now whispering, asked, "Big bug?"
Him, still in sotto voce, "Oh yeah."
So, I slowly turned to look into my closet and expected to find this:
Which, yeah, would have freaked me out and I would have jumped on the bed like a big baby, but I could have sent in one of the cats and that would have been the end of that.
Those lazy asses might sleep most of the day, but you but a twitchy bug in front of them and it's ALL OVER! We're talking JUNGLE CAT baby!!!!
But, OH NO, what I saw, was THIS:
Which, made me go, "Huh?" And, I don't know if you can tell here, but it's got a really long, mean, looking horn or something coming out of it's butt: so, you know, the cats were not an option.
So I said, "Okay, let's just slowly take out the clothes and see if we can't catch it. Then we'll just let it go outside."
And S, bless his heart, gulped and really coolly said, "Yeah, okay."
So, I went into the kitchen, found an old jar and with S using a playing card (like standard size, not some big ass UNO card or anything) we popped it into the jar and closed the lid.
Now that it was contained, we both had the opportunity to take a better look.
Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before and when we had fulfilled our curiousity he offered to take it outside.
I said, "Okay, but let it go on the other side of the street. You know, in case it decides it wants to come back here it at least has to make an effort."
And, just, just as he's headed out the front door I called for him, "Hey S?"
Him, "Yeah?"
Me, "You know, while we've got him we'd might as well take a picture."
He grins, shows me the camera he's got behind his back and says, "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."
I smiled and said, "We gotta look that up!"
Him, now blushing, "Yeah, I was gonna check my bug book."
When he came back in from the release I asked him how it went and he said he had to tap it out of the jar and it stood there for a second and then just sauntered away.
I guess when you look like that you have very little reason to run away from anything.
(FYI: It's a Camel Cricket. Harmless to people, but it has been known to feast on fabric.)
Baby Got Back . . . and side, and middle.
I'm fat.
Now, from that one picture of my face I look okay, but trust me when I tell you it's all about angles.
Lately, I've just been feeling really fucking fat.
It was confirmed for me at my doctor's appointment last week. He didn't mention the weight gain, but I fucking cringed every time the nurse inched the scale towards a region that I'll refer to as, "Fat Ass."
I'm at a weight that I'm not happy with, AT ALL!
My whole life I've been up and down in weight. But lately I feel like I've been at a constant up.
And, I'm worried.
I'm worried that some day I'll hit a point where I get the courage to just decide to be fat and then let myself get yooooge!
But, it's not just that I'm fat right now.
I'm tired.
I'm tired of trying on clothes that look too tight.
And, you know, it's a new year and new beginnings and whatnot.
But, I'm not making any resolutions.
I'm not going on a diet.
I've got some of it down, it's not like I'm eating cheeseburgers, fried chicken, biscuits and fries.
The truth is, those things wreak havoc on my system.
I can't eat greasy, high fat foods, so for the most part I don't.
My problem is a general lack of activity.
The saddest thing?
I actually have a gym membership that goes unused most months.
I know! (I'm actually sitting here frowning and slowly shaking my head.)
Anyway, that's one of my life goals for this year.
To put my gym membership to good use and to run/walk at least one 5k this year.
This one year, I did the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 5k and I shit you not: the bald, recovering chemo patients had faster times than I did!
So, not only do I want to finish a 5K, I'd like to do it with a respectable time.
Other personal goals?
To write more fiction.
To submit at least one piece for publication.
To procrastinate less.
To arrive at work ON TIME.
To give it one final push at going to the gym before work! (J! I can hear you! I can hear the big loud Chris, "HA!" all the way from Cali buddy!)
To celebrate 30 like I'm the first person to ever turn 30!
To write more letters. Real honest to goodness letters on my pretty, pretty stationery.
I've also got all these books that are wonderfully introspective and give you tasks to complete on your quest towards self-discovery. I know that sounds incredibly hippified, but I'm looking forward to working through some of them.
Anyway, that's it for the new year.
It's not particularly original, but it feels better getting it out there.
Tune back later on my weekend and why S rocks!!!!
Now, from that one picture of my face I look okay, but trust me when I tell you it's all about angles.
Lately, I've just been feeling really fucking fat.
It was confirmed for me at my doctor's appointment last week. He didn't mention the weight gain, but I fucking cringed every time the nurse inched the scale towards a region that I'll refer to as, "Fat Ass."
I'm at a weight that I'm not happy with, AT ALL!
My whole life I've been up and down in weight. But lately I feel like I've been at a constant up.
And, I'm worried.
I'm worried that some day I'll hit a point where I get the courage to just decide to be fat and then let myself get yooooge!
But, it's not just that I'm fat right now.
I'm tired.
I'm tired of trying on clothes that look too tight.
I'm tired of being tired.
I'm tired of flinching when my boyfriend run's his hands over my body. (And, God bless this man because he knew me back in the day when I was so small I could have turned sideways and disappeared and he still, STILL thinks I'm as sexy as day one.)
And, oh God, he wants to take nekkid pictures of me. Not dirty, dirty ones or anything, but I'm terrified. Terrified that when he looks at the pictures he's going to realize, "Trixie is fat!"
Because pictures don't lie people; they are hard evidence!!!
And, you know, it's a new year and new beginnings and whatnot.
But, I'm not making any resolutions.
I'm not going on a diet.
I've got some of it down, it's not like I'm eating cheeseburgers, fried chicken, biscuits and fries.
The truth is, those things wreak havoc on my system.
I can't eat greasy, high fat foods, so for the most part I don't.
Because the truth is, I don't eat until I sigh.
My problem is a general lack of activity.
The saddest thing?
I actually have a gym membership that goes unused most months.
I know! (I'm actually sitting here frowning and slowly shaking my head.)
Anyway, that's one of my life goals for this year.
To put my gym membership to good use and to run/walk at least one 5k this year.
This one year, I did the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 5k and I shit you not: the bald, recovering chemo patients had faster times than I did!
So, not only do I want to finish a 5K, I'd like to do it with a respectable time.
Other personal goals?
To write more fiction.
To submit at least one piece for publication.
To procrastinate less.
To arrive at work ON TIME.
To give it one final push at going to the gym before work! (J! I can hear you! I can hear the big loud Chris, "HA!" all the way from Cali buddy!)
To celebrate 30 like I'm the first person to ever turn 30!
To write more letters. Real honest to goodness letters on my pretty, pretty stationery.
I've also got all these books that are wonderfully introspective and give you tasks to complete on your quest towards self-discovery. I know that sounds incredibly hippified, but I'm looking forward to working through some of them.
Anyway, that's it for the new year.
It's not particularly original, but it feels better getting it out there.
Tune back later on my weekend and why S rocks!!!!
Monday, December 27, 2004
Just Like Chicken
My brother Curl is a teacher. He has been for almost ten years now.
Every year at Christmas he gets an "interesting" assortment of gifts from his students. This year, his school's Assistant Principal got a gift that tops the american flag clutching ceramic bald eagle that my brother got a few years ago.
Curl is kicking back in the teacher's lounge when his AP walk in with a bottle of perfume.
She smiles and says to him, "I got perfume this year! Check it out!" And, she holds up a bottle that looks like this:
(I don't know about you, but most of my fine perfumes come in a Roller Bottle!)
My brother, wrinkling up his nose says, "Oh. Well, I'm sure it smells nice."
The AP, still smiling, "Read the label."
The scent?
Wet Pussy.
One of the Teacher's Aides walks into the lounge and says, "Oooh, perfume," snatches the bottle from my brother's hand, and without reading the label, opens it up and smears it on her wrist and proclaims, "Hmm, this smells familiar, but I can't quite place it."
Every year at Christmas he gets an "interesting" assortment of gifts from his students. This year, his school's Assistant Principal got a gift that tops the american flag clutching ceramic bald eagle that my brother got a few years ago.
Curl is kicking back in the teacher's lounge when his AP walk in with a bottle of perfume.
She smiles and says to him, "I got perfume this year! Check it out!" And, she holds up a bottle that looks like this:
(I don't know about you, but most of my fine perfumes come in a Roller Bottle!)
My brother, wrinkling up his nose says, "Oh. Well, I'm sure it smells nice."
The AP, still smiling, "Read the label."
The scent?
Wet Pussy.
(Santa, thank you for the lovely jewelry but where's MY bottle of Wet Pussy!)
But wait, it gets better . . .
One of the Teacher's Aides walks into the lounge and says, "Oooh, perfume," snatches the bottle from my brother's hand, and without reading the label, opens it up and smears it on her wrist and proclaims, "Hmm, this smells familiar, but I can't quite place it."
Monday, December 13, 2004
Just Say No
When to walk away from a proposal.
My ex and I were leaving campus for the summer and he was helping me pack my car.
We hugged good-bye and he said, "I hate that we can't be together."
Me, "Yeah, it sucks but your parents are only 20 minutes away."
Him, "Let's not do it anymore."
Me, "Well, I don't think my dad would keep paying tuition if I move in with a guy."
Him, "It's not just the holidays. I want to always be with you. Marry me."
Me, "Uh, uh, uh . . . are you serious?"
Right here it still sounds all sweet and a little clumsy.
Then he busts up with: "If you don't say yes now, I might never get the nerve to ask again."
Right at that last line I should have hopped in my car and PEELED. THE. FUCK. OUT.
But, because I was 20 and didn't know any better I thought it was romantic and said yes.
I didn't even get a bended knee or a ring.
Not that it's all about the ring, but COME ON!!!!
Next time, I'm not accepting any proposal unless it involves a pretty ring and the gentleman assumes the position.
Funny side story.
New guy and I were hanging out at recently and he busted out with some chocolate covered strawberries.
I'm sitting at the edge of a recliner, waiting for him to come back from the fridge and he drops down on one knee in front of me.
Ya'll, things are going great and I still get all weak-kneed and butterfly stomachy when I think about him or when I talk to him (and since it's long distance ya'll, I treasure those talks).
I mean, I literally feel 16 here!
So when he dropped down on one knee* like that I panicked and got that whole "deer in headlights" look and went pale.
I actually slid off the recliner and ended up sitting next to him on the floor.
He was all, "Are you okay?"
Me, "Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me . . . "
DUDES IN THE READING AUDIENCE... if you're dating a woman, NEVER EVER drop down on one knee in front of her.
Even if it's to tie your shoes.
*By the way, he dropped down on one knee to feed me the strawberries. Which, was incredibly sweet, but STILL!
My ex and I were leaving campus for the summer and he was helping me pack my car.
We hugged good-bye and he said, "I hate that we can't be together."
Me, "Yeah, it sucks but your parents are only 20 minutes away."
Him, "Let's not do it anymore."
Me, "Well, I don't think my dad would keep paying tuition if I move in with a guy."
Him, "It's not just the holidays. I want to always be with you. Marry me."
Me, "Uh, uh, uh . . . are you serious?"
Right here it still sounds all sweet and a little clumsy.
Then he busts up with: "If you don't say yes now, I might never get the nerve to ask again."
Right at that last line I should have hopped in my car and PEELED. THE. FUCK. OUT.
But, because I was 20 and didn't know any better I thought it was romantic and said yes.
I didn't even get a bended knee or a ring.
Not that it's all about the ring, but COME ON!!!!
Next time, I'm not accepting any proposal unless it involves a pretty ring and the gentleman assumes the position.
Funny side story.
New guy and I were hanging out at recently and he busted out with some chocolate covered strawberries.
I'm sitting at the edge of a recliner, waiting for him to come back from the fridge and he drops down on one knee in front of me.
Ya'll, things are going great and I still get all weak-kneed and butterfly stomachy when I think about him or when I talk to him (and since it's long distance ya'll, I treasure those talks).
I mean, I literally feel 16 here!
So when he dropped down on one knee* like that I panicked and got that whole "deer in headlights" look and went pale.
I actually slid off the recliner and ended up sitting next to him on the floor.
He was all, "Are you okay?"
Me, "Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me . . . "
DUDES IN THE READING AUDIENCE... if you're dating a woman, NEVER EVER drop down on one knee in front of her.
Even if it's to tie your shoes.
*By the way, he dropped down on one knee to feed me the strawberries. Which, was incredibly sweet, but STILL!
I Don't Want No Scrubs . . .
You know how I was saying I never get hit on.
Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration.
I do get hit on quite frequently by Black men. Which, you know would be all fine and dandy if it was like TAYE DIGGS.
Oh, but now sweetie, I get hit on the Germain Dupree's of this world.
The ones that are on the corner going, "Say, say baby giiirrrl . . ."
Take for instance my latest suitor at Stupid-Mart.
I walked in to pick up a few items and I was in a pretty good mood. I was finally back in town, which meant sleeping in my own bed, and in a few days S would be up for the weekend.
I walk in and there's your Stupid-Mart employee restocking the lettuce. I walk in and grab some apples when he leans over and says to me, "Good evening! How are you tonight?"
Me, smiling "Great, thank you!"
Doo, doo, doo I'm wandering around and realize I need lettuce and he's still standing in front of it. So, I walk up behind him and start looking at expiration dates and stuff.
He goes, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry I'm in you're way . . . let me move so you can see ALL the lettuce."
Me, smirking uncomfortably, waving my little bag of lettuce, "Oh no, it's okay. I found what I was looking for."
I go to walk away and he says, "Say, you come here often?"
BWAH, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Aside from being the sorriest line I've ever heard, I'm at a grocery store!!!
Yeah, I go there often. You know, to BUY GROCERIES!
Me, "Not lately, no."
I push off and wander over to tomatoes. Where I start picking up little plastic packs of grape tomatoes and he leans into my aisle again and says, "What's wrong with those?"
I, now a bit annoyed that this weird ass won't leave me alone, pick up a pack of tomatoes and loudly ask, "What's wrong with them?!? They look fine on top but when you flip the packs over they're rotten! LOOK!"
And, one by one, I pick up each pack and show him the nasty white goo oozing out of the tomatoes.
Him, "Aw man, I'm sorry. Say, I've got some in the back if you want to come with me and pick one out."
Riiiiight!
. . . A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me . . .
Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration.
I do get hit on quite frequently by Black men. Which, you know would be all fine and dandy if it was like TAYE DIGGS.
Oh, but now sweetie, I get hit on the Germain Dupree's of this world.
The ones that are on the corner going, "Say, say baby giiirrrl . . ."
Take for instance my latest suitor at Stupid-Mart.
I walked in to pick up a few items and I was in a pretty good mood. I was finally back in town, which meant sleeping in my own bed, and in a few days S would be up for the weekend.
I walk in and there's your Stupid-Mart employee restocking the lettuce. I walk in and grab some apples when he leans over and says to me, "Good evening! How are you tonight?"
Me, smiling "Great, thank you!"
Doo, doo, doo I'm wandering around and realize I need lettuce and he's still standing in front of it. So, I walk up behind him and start looking at expiration dates and stuff.
He goes, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry I'm in you're way . . . let me move so you can see ALL the lettuce."
Me, smirking uncomfortably, waving my little bag of lettuce, "Oh no, it's okay. I found what I was looking for."
I go to walk away and he says, "Say, you come here often?"
BWAH, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Aside from being the sorriest line I've ever heard, I'm at a grocery store!!!
Yeah, I go there often. You know, to BUY GROCERIES!
Me, "Not lately, no."
I push off and wander over to tomatoes. Where I start picking up little plastic packs of grape tomatoes and he leans into my aisle again and says, "What's wrong with those?"
I, now a bit annoyed that this weird ass won't leave me alone, pick up a pack of tomatoes and loudly ask, "What's wrong with them?!? They look fine on top but when you flip the packs over they're rotten! LOOK!"
And, one by one, I pick up each pack and show him the nasty white goo oozing out of the tomatoes.
Him, "Aw man, I'm sorry. Say, I've got some in the back if you want to come with me and pick one out."
Riiiiight!
. . . A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me . . .
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock - BULLSHIT!
The other day I was driving home from work and it hit me: I'm 29.
Clearly, I've known this since March 18, 2004, but it didn't really click.
See, the thing is, my mom had my brother when she was 29.
She was always my "marker."
When I got married at 20 I said to myself, "Mom had Curl at 29: I've got loads of time."
Only, here I am at 29 with no husband and no intentions of remarrying.
So, what now?
I know a lot of women who proudly say, "I've known my whole life the one thing I want most is to be married and have children," I can honestly say that was never me.
I was dating a "younger" guy when I was 18 (he was 16) and his sister (14) asked me how I'd planned out my future. I went on about finishing school, working and becoming successful.
And she says, "Okay, but what about getting married, having kids . . . " I just looked at her a bit stunned and said, "Hmm, I guess I just figure that will fall into place when the time is right."
And then, two years later I was married.
I know that at first I didn't want kids. I wanted time with my husband, time to finish school and time to start a career.
But then, I started to realize that I wanted kids, just not with J.
So, I started snarling at other people's children. Really putting on a good act because everyone thought I hated kids when the truth is I love kids.
I used to work as a party hostess for little kids' birthdays, I volunteered at the Children's Museum, I even volunteered as a Teacher's Aide for a Kindergarten teacher, and I loved every minute of it.
On some level, I must have known that things weren't right between J and I. I think we all have that nagging little voice that pipes up when things aren't right, but you choose not to listen to it because then you might have to do something about it.
A few months ago I visited with an old friend and I got to hold her 7-month-old and there was a part of me that wanted to cry.
Mind you, this is one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen: red hair, milky white skin, rosy cheeks and huge (I mean HUGE, like the Campbell's Soup kids HUGE, but not as creepy) blue eyes.
Right at the second when she was handed over to me, she looked up at me and just broke out into this huge toothless grin: the steel restraints I'd put on my ovaries finally gave way, and for the first time in years I thought:
"Fuck! I want children."
I don't think it was my biological clock ticking.
I don't think it's because I'm one year away from 30.
I think it's that I'm finally allowing myself to admit it's okay to want children.
But, I'm not going to rush things.
When I meet the right man: the one that makes me feel safe, cared for and protected, I'll know.
I'll know it when I realize I want my future children to have his eyes or his dimples.
Until then, I'm not sweating it.
Anyway, mom was 34 when she had me.
Clearly, I've known this since March 18, 2004, but it didn't really click.
See, the thing is, my mom had my brother when she was 29.
She was always my "marker."
When I got married at 20 I said to myself, "Mom had Curl at 29: I've got loads of time."
Only, here I am at 29 with no husband and no intentions of remarrying.
So, what now?
I know a lot of women who proudly say, "I've known my whole life the one thing I want most is to be married and have children," I can honestly say that was never me.
I was dating a "younger" guy when I was 18 (he was 16) and his sister (14) asked me how I'd planned out my future. I went on about finishing school, working and becoming successful.
And she says, "Okay, but what about getting married, having kids . . . " I just looked at her a bit stunned and said, "Hmm, I guess I just figure that will fall into place when the time is right."
And then, two years later I was married.
I know that at first I didn't want kids. I wanted time with my husband, time to finish school and time to start a career.
But then, I started to realize that I wanted kids, just not with J.
So, I started snarling at other people's children. Really putting on a good act because everyone thought I hated kids when the truth is I love kids.
I used to work as a party hostess for little kids' birthdays, I volunteered at the Children's Museum, I even volunteered as a Teacher's Aide for a Kindergarten teacher, and I loved every minute of it.
On some level, I must have known that things weren't right between J and I. I think we all have that nagging little voice that pipes up when things aren't right, but you choose not to listen to it because then you might have to do something about it.
A few months ago I visited with an old friend and I got to hold her 7-month-old and there was a part of me that wanted to cry.
Mind you, this is one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen: red hair, milky white skin, rosy cheeks and huge (I mean HUGE, like the Campbell's Soup kids HUGE, but not as creepy) blue eyes.
Right at the second when she was handed over to me, she looked up at me and just broke out into this huge toothless grin: the steel restraints I'd put on my ovaries finally gave way, and for the first time in years I thought:
"Fuck! I want children."
I don't think it was my biological clock ticking.
I don't think it's because I'm one year away from 30.
I think it's that I'm finally allowing myself to admit it's okay to want children.
But, I'm not going to rush things.
When I meet the right man: the one that makes me feel safe, cared for and protected, I'll know.
I'll know it when I realize I want my future children to have his eyes or his dimples.
Until then, I'm not sweating it.
Anyway, mom was 34 when she had me.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Is that Allen Funt?
I don't get hit on very often.
It just doesn't happen with any great frequency, so imagine my surprise when it actually does.
Recently, I was on a business trip and had just wrapped up a particulary hellish day. Now, any of you who travel for work are familiar with the blessed corporate expense account.
So, I'd been fantasizing about good food, wine and cheesecake and I made a date with myself to go to The Cheesecake Factory. I realize it's not the most inspired choice, but mmmmmmmmmmmmm cheesecake. Besides, I wasn't paying for it so why the hell not.
I walk in, and just as I'm being walked to my table I started thinking about a conversation I'd recently had with J.
I'd recently convinced him to buy a pink button down. He was a little nervous because, as you know, it takes a real man to wear pink.
So, he starts punking out on me saying, "Trixie, I'm gay and all, but none of the guys at work now."
Me, "Wearing pink doesn't mean you're gay. Besides, lots of men are wearing pink. It's the new black!"
Him, "Okay, but what am I supposed to do when they give me a hard time about wearing pink?"
Me, "Just tell them pink is the new black"
Then he gave me that, "Ohhhhhh. OKAY - that'll make it better," sarcastic face of his and we both started laughing.
So, I walked into the restaurant smiling and started glancing at the menu.
When, out of nowhere this good looking gentleman comes over to my table and says, "I was sitting at the bar and I saw you come in. I'm up here on business and I was wondering if you knew of any places that might be cool to hang out?"
Me, smiling and putting on my Chamber of Commerce voice, "Oh, there's lots of things to do in Birmingham. You should check out Five Points, that's a cool little area. And, if you've got time during the day the State Park has some nice hikes. Or, you know, there's always shopping (and I gestured out the window at the sprawling mall). I'm sorry, I'm up here on business, too, andI don't really know much of Birmingham either."
Him, "Well, I don't get much time during the day since I'm at a conference. I'm on business, too, I'm staying at the Marriott nearby."
Now, right about here was when I realized he was waiting for me to say, "Oh, I'm staying at The ______________," but I've seen too many episodes of A&E's Crime Files to know this is when shit starts to go awry.
So, I said, "I'm sure that's a nice hotel and I'll be the people at the front desk could give you tons of information on local attractions."
Then he says, "I'm only here for one more night anyway. Are you going to be back up this way for dinner tomorrow night."
Me, "I'm not really sure just yet what I'm doing for dinner."
Him, "Because, I was thinking maybe we could get together for dinner."
Me, inside my head, "Wah!!!!! ARE YOU HITTING ON ME!"
I was thisclose to leaning out of the booth to find a camera crew moving in my direction to tell me that I was on Candid Camera.
Instead, I played it cool, "Oh no, I'm busy tomorrow night. Yes, yes, I'm very busy. Very busy. I'll probably have dinner with one of the instructors even. Nope, nope, sorry, busy."
Him, "Oh."
Then I did that goofy thing that girls do: shrugged my shoulders, crinkled my nose, smiled and said, "Sorry."
After he'd walked away I sat there with a smirk on my face thinking, "Holy shit! I was just hit on! Someone hit on ME!"
And, truth be told, he wasn't bad looking.
I retold my brother this story and he asked me, "Why didn't you tell him, 'I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend."
You know, I'd thought about it, it was right there at the tip of my tongue when I realized this guy was hitting on me and then I realized his response might have been, "Hey, I'm just talking about dinner."
Later on, I asked myself, "If I wasn't dating S, would I have said yes?"
Fuck no, I watch CSI, Crime Stories, Forensic Files, The Deliberate Stranger:
I know what happens to the young girl who accepts an invitation from a good looking stranger!
Dude, wherever you are out there, it's not like I'm saying I thought you were a serial killer or anything, but I'm already taken.
Taken, yes, very, very taken.
It just doesn't happen with any great frequency, so imagine my surprise when it actually does.
Recently, I was on a business trip and had just wrapped up a particulary hellish day. Now, any of you who travel for work are familiar with the blessed corporate expense account.
So, I'd been fantasizing about good food, wine and cheesecake and I made a date with myself to go to The Cheesecake Factory. I realize it's not the most inspired choice, but mmmmmmmmmmmmm cheesecake. Besides, I wasn't paying for it so why the hell not.
I walk in, and just as I'm being walked to my table I started thinking about a conversation I'd recently had with J.
I'd recently convinced him to buy a pink button down. He was a little nervous because, as you know, it takes a real man to wear pink.
So, he starts punking out on me saying, "Trixie, I'm gay and all, but none of the guys at work now."
Me, "Wearing pink doesn't mean you're gay. Besides, lots of men are wearing pink. It's the new black!"
Him, "Okay, but what am I supposed to do when they give me a hard time about wearing pink?"
Me, "Just tell them pink is the new black"
Then he gave me that, "Ohhhhhh. OKAY - that'll make it better," sarcastic face of his and we both started laughing.
So, I walked into the restaurant smiling and started glancing at the menu.
When, out of nowhere this good looking gentleman comes over to my table and says, "I was sitting at the bar and I saw you come in. I'm up here on business and I was wondering if you knew of any places that might be cool to hang out?"
Me, smiling and putting on my Chamber of Commerce voice, "Oh, there's lots of things to do in Birmingham. You should check out Five Points, that's a cool little area. And, if you've got time during the day the State Park has some nice hikes. Or, you know, there's always shopping (and I gestured out the window at the sprawling mall). I'm sorry, I'm up here on business, too, andI don't really know much of Birmingham either."
Him, "Well, I don't get much time during the day since I'm at a conference. I'm on business, too, I'm staying at the Marriott nearby."
Now, right about here was when I realized he was waiting for me to say, "Oh, I'm staying at The ______________," but I've seen too many episodes of A&E's Crime Files to know this is when shit starts to go awry.
So, I said, "I'm sure that's a nice hotel and I'll be the people at the front desk could give you tons of information on local attractions."
Then he says, "I'm only here for one more night anyway. Are you going to be back up this way for dinner tomorrow night."
Me, "I'm not really sure just yet what I'm doing for dinner."
Him, "Because, I was thinking maybe we could get together for dinner."
Me, inside my head, "Wah!!!!! ARE YOU HITTING ON ME!"
I was thisclose to leaning out of the booth to find a camera crew moving in my direction to tell me that I was on Candid Camera.
Instead, I played it cool, "Oh no, I'm busy tomorrow night. Yes, yes, I'm very busy. Very busy. I'll probably have dinner with one of the instructors even. Nope, nope, sorry, busy."
Him, "Oh."
Then I did that goofy thing that girls do: shrugged my shoulders, crinkled my nose, smiled and said, "Sorry."
After he'd walked away I sat there with a smirk on my face thinking, "Holy shit! I was just hit on! Someone hit on ME!"
And, truth be told, he wasn't bad looking.
I retold my brother this story and he asked me, "Why didn't you tell him, 'I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend."
You know, I'd thought about it, it was right there at the tip of my tongue when I realized this guy was hitting on me and then I realized his response might have been, "Hey, I'm just talking about dinner."
You see, I read Cosmo and watch tv so I know these things.
Later on, I asked myself, "If I wasn't dating S, would I have said yes?"
Fuck no, I watch CSI, Crime Stories, Forensic Files, The Deliberate Stranger:
I know what happens to the young girl who accepts an invitation from a good looking stranger!
Dude, wherever you are out there, it's not like I'm saying I thought you were a serial killer or anything, but I'm already taken.
Taken, yes, very, very taken.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Drunkity, Drunk, Drunk, Drunk
Last weekend I was in New Orleans.
Last Saturday I was in the Quarter.
J was in town and I met up with him so that we could hang out.
Quite honestly, I think a large part of why we got together was because he needed to escape his immediate family for a few hours.
Sure, we missed each other (it's probably been years since we didn't see each other on a semi-daily basis), but I've spent time with his nieces so believe you me - he was needing a good excuse to get away.
So, we were kicking back, checking out the cute boys and knocking back drinks (you know, the usual things ex-husbands and wives do together) when I spotted a sign for Handgrenades.
You see, this is the honest truth, I'd never had a Handgrenade and what kind of New Orleanian would I be without ever having had one.
Something about the lime green half-yard with the handgrenade base and the toy handgrenade floating on top just seemed so fun.
So, I looked at J and said, "How 'bout it?" He smirked and said, "If we get one of those we'll get drunk."
I looked at him and said, "Uhm, hmm: and?"
He said, "It's only 2 in the afternoon!"
I said, "So, it's perfectly acceptable."
We sidled up to the "walk-through" window (where I'm certain I saw a sign that said, "You must be at least this tall to buy drinks here.") and each ordered one.
I don't really remember finishing my drink, but I do remember finishing J's.
We'd stumbed into a t-shirt store and J found a neon orange New Orleans Correctional Facility T that he just had to have.
But, the place was lacking dressing rooms and I said, "Just take your shirt off right here and try it on."
Well, maybe I slurred that just a little.
Now people, J doesn't need very much encouragement to take off his shirt in public. So, just like that, there he was: shirtless.
And God help me, it was a case of you don't know what you got 'til it's gone, because dude is smokin'! (Yeah, it may have been the copious amounts of liquor I had just imbibed, but he did look pretty good.)
The shirt didn't fit, but at least he got to take off his shirt in a public place.
After this we wandered over to some benches in front of The Market Cafe.
I don't remember very much of our conversation, but I think it was pretty deep.
Then Curl, my brother, called me because we were going to meet him and S to see Kinsey at Canal Place.
And the second my brother heard my voice he sneered, "You're drunk!"
I quickly passed the phone to J.
Shortly after hanging up with Curl, I called S. S was also acutely aware that sobriety had left the building.
If I recall correctly, his response was an amused, "You sound like you're having a good time."
In my haze, we arranged for him to meet us for the movie as well.
Hours later (okay, maybe like 30 minutes), I called him and said, "Where are you?"
To which he responded, "Can you see me yet?"
I looked up and he was on his cell walking towards me with a huge grin on his face.
I faught the urge to run to him all cheesy-movie-like and grinned back.
Poor guy, I think I sort of jumped on him and started macking on him right there, in front of my ex.
Then the rest is all a blur.
There was a 12 oz draft involved and then a few martinis.
I seem to remember a Venti Soy Pumpkin Spice Latte and me giggling as I walked into the already darkened theater.
I heard my brother hiss, "You're drunk."
And then, I lost it.
Perhaps it was the frightening sight of Peter Saarsgard's flacid penis, or maybe it was the pencil drawings of an aroused vagina, all I know is before I got there, Canal Place had impeccably clean bathrooms.
That's right folks, I threw up.
Tossed my cookies, ralphed, vomitted, puked, worshipped the porcelain god: whatever you want to call it, there was your's truly.
This was round one.
I managed to puke one more time before the movie ended (I think it may have been shortly after witnessing the gentleman who could become erect and climax in a ten second span, and really, wouldn't that make any woman sick?)
That was round two.
With J on one side and S on the other, we made it back to the car without any further incidents.
Somehow, I thought I was out of the woods, but it is clear to me now that God is evil.
I was merely experiencing an intermission.
S , also quite experienced in the art of copious imbibing, took this brief break to take care of his girl.
He popped into a corner drugstore and purchased a bottle of aspirin and a Sprite.
He offered to get water, but I insisted on Sprite.
And really, what wise man argues with his drunken girlfriend.
I thought I was okay. I really did, and then: round three.
On the way home, J and I were following S in my car (J was driving!) and I looked at J and said, "Pull over. PULL OVER NOW!" Mere seconds after he stopped the car, I flung the door open and lost all of the Sprite and the two aspirin I had just taken.
(Thanks J for rubbing my back and not making fun of me.)
In the process of throwing up, the entire bottle of aspirin that S had just bought managed to fall out of the car and straight smack into my river of vomit.
I thought to myself, "Dammit!"
So, I leaned out, gingerly picked up the bottle and shook it clean.
J asked, "You're not actually going to keep those are you?"
I looked at him and said, "Dude, he bought these in the Quarter, do you KNOW what they cost?"
Ya'll we were on the way to my house to drop off my car and myself and for some asinine reason I convinced the boys to take me with them to drop off J.
DUDES!!!!
WHY DO YOU LISTEN TO ME!!!!
I think, I think, I went another five rounds with this whole "STOP THE CAR" nonsense and most of those were with S driving.
And ya'll, he was great. What with the rubbing my back as I leaned over to vomit and holding my hair back.
HE HELD MY HAIR BACK - he totally loves me!
In all, I threw up eight rounds and I learned a few things:
Handgrenades are evil.
I'm just as much of a lightweight as I was at 19 (the last time I got this sick).
My reflexes are just as good as they were when I was 19 (not a speck of vomit hit me or my car).
S is an amazing, patient boyfriend.
J is an amazing, patient friend.
Pumpkin Spice Latte is just as tasty the second time around.
Last Saturday I was in the Quarter.
J was in town and I met up with him so that we could hang out.
Quite honestly, I think a large part of why we got together was because he needed to escape his immediate family for a few hours.
Sure, we missed each other (it's probably been years since we didn't see each other on a semi-daily basis), but I've spent time with his nieces so believe you me - he was needing a good excuse to get away.
So, we were kicking back, checking out the cute boys and knocking back drinks (you know, the usual things ex-husbands and wives do together) when I spotted a sign for Handgrenades.
You see, this is the honest truth, I'd never had a Handgrenade and what kind of New Orleanian would I be without ever having had one.
Something about the lime green half-yard with the handgrenade base and the toy handgrenade floating on top just seemed so fun.
So, I looked at J and said, "How 'bout it?" He smirked and said, "If we get one of those we'll get drunk."
I looked at him and said, "Uhm, hmm: and?"
He said, "It's only 2 in the afternoon!"
I said, "So, it's perfectly acceptable."
We sidled up to the "walk-through" window (where I'm certain I saw a sign that said, "You must be at least this tall to buy drinks here.") and each ordered one.
I don't really remember finishing my drink, but I do remember finishing J's.
We'd stumbed into a t-shirt store and J found a neon orange New Orleans Correctional Facility T that he just had to have.
But, the place was lacking dressing rooms and I said, "Just take your shirt off right here and try it on."
Well, maybe I slurred that just a little.
Now people, J doesn't need very much encouragement to take off his shirt in public. So, just like that, there he was: shirtless.
And God help me, it was a case of you don't know what you got 'til it's gone, because dude is smokin'! (Yeah, it may have been the copious amounts of liquor I had just imbibed, but he did look pretty good.)
The shirt didn't fit, but at least he got to take off his shirt in a public place.
After this we wandered over to some benches in front of The Market Cafe.
I don't remember very much of our conversation, but I think it was pretty deep.
Then Curl, my brother, called me because we were going to meet him and S to see Kinsey at Canal Place.
And the second my brother heard my voice he sneered, "You're drunk!"
I quickly passed the phone to J.
Shortly after hanging up with Curl, I called S. S was also acutely aware that sobriety had left the building.
If I recall correctly, his response was an amused, "You sound like you're having a good time."
In my haze, we arranged for him to meet us for the movie as well.
Hours later (okay, maybe like 30 minutes), I called him and said, "Where are you?"
To which he responded, "Can you see me yet?"
I looked up and he was on his cell walking towards me with a huge grin on his face.
I faught the urge to run to him all cheesy-movie-like and grinned back.
Poor guy, I think I sort of jumped on him and started macking on him right there, in front of my ex.
Then the rest is all a blur.
There was a 12 oz draft involved and then a few martinis.
I seem to remember a Venti Soy Pumpkin Spice Latte and me giggling as I walked into the already darkened theater.
I heard my brother hiss, "You're drunk."
And then, I lost it.
Perhaps it was the frightening sight of Peter Saarsgard's flacid penis, or maybe it was the pencil drawings of an aroused vagina, all I know is before I got there, Canal Place had impeccably clean bathrooms.
That's right folks, I threw up.
Tossed my cookies, ralphed, vomitted, puked, worshipped the porcelain god: whatever you want to call it, there was your's truly.
This was round one.
I managed to puke one more time before the movie ended (I think it may have been shortly after witnessing the gentleman who could become erect and climax in a ten second span, and really, wouldn't that make any woman sick?)
That was round two.
With J on one side and S on the other, we made it back to the car without any further incidents.
Somehow, I thought I was out of the woods, but it is clear to me now that God is evil.
I was merely experiencing an intermission.
S , also quite experienced in the art of copious imbibing, took this brief break to take care of his girl.
He popped into a corner drugstore and purchased a bottle of aspirin and a Sprite.
He offered to get water, but I insisted on Sprite.
And really, what wise man argues with his drunken girlfriend.
I thought I was okay. I really did, and then: round three.
On the way home, J and I were following S in my car (J was driving!) and I looked at J and said, "Pull over. PULL OVER NOW!" Mere seconds after he stopped the car, I flung the door open and lost all of the Sprite and the two aspirin I had just taken.
(Thanks J for rubbing my back and not making fun of me.)
In the process of throwing up, the entire bottle of aspirin that S had just bought managed to fall out of the car and straight smack into my river of vomit.
I thought to myself, "Dammit!"
So, I leaned out, gingerly picked up the bottle and shook it clean.
J asked, "You're not actually going to keep those are you?"
I looked at him and said, "Dude, he bought these in the Quarter, do you KNOW what they cost?"
Ya'll we were on the way to my house to drop off my car and myself and for some asinine reason I convinced the boys to take me with them to drop off J.
DUDES!!!!
WHY DO YOU LISTEN TO ME!!!!
I think, I think, I went another five rounds with this whole "STOP THE CAR" nonsense and most of those were with S driving.
And ya'll, he was great. What with the rubbing my back as I leaned over to vomit and holding my hair back.
HE HELD MY HAIR BACK - he totally loves me!
In all, I threw up eight rounds and I learned a few things:
Handgrenades are evil.
I'm just as much of a lightweight as I was at 19 (the last time I got this sick).
My reflexes are just as good as they were when I was 19 (not a speck of vomit hit me or my car).
S is an amazing, patient boyfriend.
J is an amazing, patient friend.
Pumpkin Spice Latte is just as tasty the second time around.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Change
I thrive on change.
I think that's part of the reason I start job hunting after a year at any position.
If you read my posts, you'll know that I was a military wife. That was great for me because every three years you are guaranteed change.
A few weeks ago my roommate came home and told me we were getting kicked out.
You see, our landlord is a judge who ran for the State Supreme Court and lost. He has friends all throughout the state and a lady friend of his lost her race in her county. She is now jobless and must move to the city I am in to gain employment.
Given that she is a friend of the landlord's, the landlord feels that she needs our place more than we do.
So, we have to move.
I was pretty pissed when I found out, but then I realized that wherever we go it will feel like "our" place.
My roommate have a platonic relationship (as he is a gay male and I am not) so it's not "our" place in the romantic sense.
When I moved in with him I had decided to leave my spouse. Fortunately for me, my roomie needed help making rent so we each found a situation that suited our needs.
But, I have always felt that I moved into "his" space.
So, I like the idea of moving into a neutral space that is neither his nor mine.
It's ours.
Anyway, I learned about the move about a month ago and my roomie still hadn't found a place. So, last night I spent about five hours riding around the city and calling up the numbers on for rent signs.
And, I finally found a place.
I got home and told my roomie, "I have something to tell you and I hope you don't get mad. I found a place. I can afford it on my own, but if you still want to live together I'd like to."
He was a bit stunned and I can't say that I blame him. But, he knows I've been looking and there isn't much out there so he's in.
This is the way I do things from time to time.
I make a decision, make it happen and then go from there.
Like I said, I like change and I'm not afraid to make it happen.
I think that's part of the reason I start job hunting after a year at any position.
If you read my posts, you'll know that I was a military wife. That was great for me because every three years you are guaranteed change.
A few weeks ago my roommate came home and told me we were getting kicked out.
You see, our landlord is a judge who ran for the State Supreme Court and lost. He has friends all throughout the state and a lady friend of his lost her race in her county. She is now jobless and must move to the city I am in to gain employment.
Given that she is a friend of the landlord's, the landlord feels that she needs our place more than we do.
So, we have to move.
I was pretty pissed when I found out, but then I realized that wherever we go it will feel like "our" place.
My roommate have a platonic relationship (as he is a gay male and I am not) so it's not "our" place in the romantic sense.
When I moved in with him I had decided to leave my spouse. Fortunately for me, my roomie needed help making rent so we each found a situation that suited our needs.
But, I have always felt that I moved into "his" space.
So, I like the idea of moving into a neutral space that is neither his nor mine.
It's ours.
Anyway, I learned about the move about a month ago and my roomie still hadn't found a place. So, last night I spent about five hours riding around the city and calling up the numbers on for rent signs.
And, I finally found a place.
I got home and told my roomie, "I have something to tell you and I hope you don't get mad. I found a place. I can afford it on my own, but if you still want to live together I'd like to."
He was a bit stunned and I can't say that I blame him. But, he knows I've been looking and there isn't much out there so he's in.
This is the way I do things from time to time.
I make a decision, make it happen and then go from there.
Like I said, I like change and I'm not afraid to make it happen.
Monday, November 22, 2004
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!
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!
Sunday, November 14, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, November 12, 2004
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
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.
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.
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!
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!
Saturday, November 06, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, November 05, 2004
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
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.
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.
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