Pheromone Girl Grows Up

Hello

2010-08-31T20:50:00.000-07:00

Just checking in to say hi. I have lots to say, just not a lot of time (yet) to say it.

There will be more. Thanks for hanging on and hanging in... we have quite an adventure ahead...

Time

2009-11-20T22:07:00.000-08:00

Having found each other, the two parts of her self, she realized that the person she was, the little girl under the water, was no longer. Time passes, whether we like it or not, and sometimes the only new beginnings come from an ending.

In leaving the water, coming to safe harbor on solid ground, she found her life full of more trouble than she'd imagined. Anger, hurtful and mean, and many lonely hours. She was never lonely when she sat with her mother brushing her strawberry blond hair. There was no going back, though. Only moving forward.

When her days of swimming and moonlight ended, her days of stomping in puddles began. Forgetting any puddle on that path to her new life was impossible. But wondering about the future, what lies ahead, is just as bitter as it is as full of joy.

Nothing is more difficult than goodbye.

2009-11-17T19:02:00.000-08:00

She washes dishes, hoping everyone else will just leave her alone. Enough yelling, already. As the soapy bubbles fill the sink, she pulls out a chair to stand on so she can reach the bottom of the sink. She's careful not to get her strawberry blond hair in the soapy water but still it drags through the oily water and she gives up, putting it back into a pony tail.

The stars are visible out her window and she catches herself daydreaming about having her toes in the sand. Maybe she can talk them into taking her to the river. It's better than nothing in the middle of a cold winter, after all.

Some day, I'll live at the bottom of the ocean and I won't have to deal with him, mad all the time. She daydreams and wonders what it feels like to have gills.

Three

2009-11-17T07:20:00.000-08:00

The small girl sits at the bottom of the ocean, watching the boys on the boat pull in their nets. She knows that the nets are dangerous, that the men are not supposed to see her. But there is something about watching them pull in their nets full of fish and crabs and sea life that makes her happy and sad, all at the same time.

Her friends grow tired of the game and wander off to play hide and seek but she stays, watching them, wondering what it must feel like to have toes. Do they ever itch? Are they ticklish?

In a sudden instant, a net floats by and somehow tangles itself in her hair.

Toes in water

2009-11-15T22:22:00.000-08:00

The girl sits quietly in her room, reading a book well beyond her years. She ponders the strange turn of events of the day, where her father was angry at her mother and yet she was the one who was punished.

"I need to learn to be more quiet," she decides and makes a note in her journal as a reminder. "Be quieter" it says. She whispers it under her breath a number of times, a mantra of what to be.

Her goldfish, Magellan, sits in his bowl, watching her, blowing bubbles and telling her things. Important things, but things she doesn't understand.

Outside, a storm brews.

She daydreams about toes in water, walking along the edge of the sea. Her calmest moments, her bravest, are when she is near the ocean. "Some day, Magellan, I will live in a cabin at the shore, with a wood stove to keep me warm. And you to keep me company."

She's focused on her book, about a man and a whale and wishing for things you can never have. She feels sad for the man, one who never understood that the simplest joys are those found right under your feet, in the form of a snoring Beagle that loves you best, despite the bribery attempts of those annoying brothers. Be quieter. Brush your teeth. The mantra repeats until it is embedded in her mind.

She feels disconnected at times, like she belongs to another family in another world. Ancient and a newborn, all in one breath.

Magellan swims faster. The girl wonders at his speed. He knows something is wrong and wants to warn her of the storm approaching. But, she doesn't understand his language, at least today. She watches the clouds out her window turn darker grey as the wind picks up.

Her father storms in the living room, yelling at her brothers that their sister is an idiot. A pain. Not worth the air she inhales. Wishing out loud to have had a son in her place, a boy that would have been helpful and not so needy. If only, he'd say out loud, she weren't here, my would would be better.

At sea, the thunder claps and the wind picks up speed, making its way toward shore.

Sleep

2009-11-15T11:34:00.001-08:00

Leaning quietly over the bed full of sleeping little girl, the mermaid whispers quietly into her ear, tucking her hair bhind her ear.

"We miss you, darling. I hope it's everything you wished for."

She leaves a puddle of water on the floor as she disappears through the door. Stirring in her sleep, the little girl reaches out for something that is no longer there.

She sighs, turns over and falls back into a deep sleep, dreaming of silvery fish swimming around her toes.

The ocean welcomes her mother back in a warm, soft embrace.

Coming up for air

2009-11-15T08:51:00.000-08:00

As a child, I liked to lay in the water at the edge of the waves. My favorite time was when the ocean was in ebb tide mode, receding from the shore. The light always seemed magical at that time of day.

I was fearful of water from the time I was very small. My oldest brother was washed into the ocean once when a sneaker wave grabbed him and pulled him out to sea. He was safe and fine in a few minutes, but I realized the overwhelming power behind those pretty little waves that the foam on the sand only hinted at.

I would lay in the sun with the sand blasting over me with gusts of wind. My hair was never more blond that after a day in the baking sun at the coast. My brothers would be busy digging gigantic caverns and forts, pulling driftwood over for a fire later that night. I'd sit at the edge of the tide line and wait for the freezing water to surprise me, watching cautiously for the seventh wave, the special one, the one that sneaks up higher than the rest.

I'd make up stories of mermaids just under the water. They'd play tag and you could occasionally see the splash of what I was sure was an iridescent fin as one dove down to the bottom to grab a shell. Oh, how I longed to be a mermaid, safe an comfortable in water. Never afraid.

The story quickly grew to be about a mermaid who got hurt in the ocean and decided she wanted to live on the land, where it was safe. She gave up her place amongst the sea grass, the flotsam and the jetsam and made her way to shore.

I never finished that story, Dad called me away to help make lunch. But today, after another long, long week of 10 hour days, maybe I'll spend a little time introducing you to the mermaid in her human form...

It's so cold in here, I can see my breath

2009-11-07T09:23:00.000-08:00

All summer long, I had lots of opportunities to see my breath in the cold morning air. Yes, I said summer. My kids liked the air conditioning turned down to "meat locker" and my room was the coldest. I'd wake up, knowing it was already 70 degrees outside, and hide under stacks of covers, waiting for my nose to defrost. I could see my breath.

When I was a kid, I loved days that were cold enough to see your breath. I'd be the first one out the door hustling up a game of neighborhood football (someone always got hurt, it was always a contact sport - no wimpy flags played on 67th and Klickitat) and the occasional tree climbing expedition.

When my neighbor's grand kids would come to visit from the country, we'd play kick the can and Red Rover. I'd have stinging red indian burns on my arms for days. Bruised knees. Life was really simple back then. Rub a little vaseline on before you played and you were ready for anything.

As a grown up, there are different things that make me feel giddy in the morning. The smell of coffee brewing. A warm dog at my feet when I finally have time to sit down and write a few lines. Sleeping in and waking up smiling, knowing the to-do list isn't going to kill me. Finally. That life is shifting again, back into a world where everything isn't always done at 100 miles per hour. There will be time for tea.

Autumn is quickly turning to winter and there have been two mornings this week when I could see my breath when I walked outside. I even had to scrape ice off the windshield one day. Does it get any better than this?

I have 5 and I don't like it

2009-10-31T09:46:00.000-07:00

I don't write to be followed. I write to vent, to share, to draw inspiration from my own ability to expel the experiences that cause me pain and joy and heartache. I honestly could care less about who reads and what they get from said reading. Learn something here? Great. Did I offer you something you needed to hear? Fabulous. But, if not? Whatever. I don't do this for any need to have my ego stroked (get plenty of that offline, thanks) or to watch the number of followers grow.

Now, I have noticed lately that lots and lots and lots of people have more followers than I. More VISIBLE followers. It just so happens that I am probably the recipient of the "person with the most invisible followers on the planet" award. I get emails every week from people that read my blog but have not added it to their crawl. So what?

I almost wish the number of followers was zero. I LIKE the fact that I have people pop in and say hi but I don't wonder why they're not commenting frequently. What I say will bother, titillate or garner a laugh out of follower A, B or C. I know some people watch that number grow (and have heard them say so - which is kind of sad) and I have to feel a little sorry for them. Here's why.

1) I have real, actual, air-breathing friends with whom I can share space on a daily basis. I've made some stellar friends online, but there are also lots of people out there that leave a bad taste.

b) I have a little family unit that I love and adore and am completely content with. My followers are NOT my family or really much more than acquaintances that found something in my writing that they liked. Which is great. But I keep it in perspective.

finally) I could give a rat's ass about how frequently you - or anyone else - visits. Unless I write a post specifically for you (and I'll send you a link if I do, but I don't do it often) this is about one thing and one thing alone. I don't need you to check in every day, every week or every month. You get to check in when you WANT to, when it feels good. I will write or I won't, based on the same feelings.

Since when did blogger become an extension of so many people's self? After all - what is following? It's sort of like friends on Facebook, a totally lame and almost altogether worthless form of feeling less alone.

Now there is one caveat to which I was leading. When I have received emails from many of the wonderful people I've connected with online, THAT is different. My rant above is about those teeny little pictures that show up on the home page because someone started following me. It's a little like stalking, I think. The followers. Sounds like a bad horror movie from 1988. I wish you could remove the ability to publicly follow my blog. I guess I just want it to be more personal. When someone posts a comment that they really got something from a subject I blathered on about, it makes me feel like we have connected on some level. And connections are what I'm all about.

I have a number of new favorite blogs that I have discovered lately. Favorites among them are Matthew, Tall Kay, Green Eyes Momster , Chef Kar & Mrs. Nesbitt. It's been a while, so I'm throwing them the Pop Tart award, just for fun. They can do with it what they wish, but the spirit of this award is to share it with people who bring something special to your world. No rules, no demands - just save it in your back pocket. The right moment and perfect recipient will show themselves.

In addition, I'm sending it to G-Man, who continues to give me reason to blog almost every Friday. I've met more cool people through him. You rock, Galen.

OK, I'm off my soap box now. But thank you to those of you who have become my friends. We need to MEET one of these days!

Vincent?

2009-10-30T06:12:00.000-07:00

Face painting

Trick-or-treaters
Creepy masks.
But what to wear?
Suddenly, an idea strikes.
Painting, painters, crazy people.
Blue iris with one white
Bandaged taped over one ear
Long, flowing night dress
And a stack of love letters a mile tall.
But what about miles of red hair?
Easy? Cut it off.

I mean the wig.
<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>
This Friday Flash 55 is dedicated to all the Vincent's in the world.
Happy Halloween. Check out the whole list over at G-Man's.

Moved moving mover

2009-10-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

Oh, lord. Finished at last, except we're not. One more load, to be taken on in a couple weeks, will go to storage. I wish it was goodwill, but some things never change.

I sit here, drinking wine, eating pie, wishing it was about a week from now and that I had nothing on my to do list. Yeah. Right. Like that will happen.

But I'm moved in - after a rather comical few moments here and there. Some very long days. Calves that feel like I ran a marathon. Guess what? My driveway is REALLY steep. Too steep for the truck, too steep to leave stuff sitting there. Steep, steep, steep.

Now, if I could just teach the kids to put their dishes in the dishwasher....

Another 24 hours

2009-10-20T05:32:00.000-07:00

I almost died of boredom once. I think that part of that sentence that is funny is the word "once". Most people I know create busyness to keep from being bored. Me? I would sell my firstborn for a 24 hour stretch with nothing on my to do list.

OK, maybe I wouldn't sell her, just rent her to a circus or something. She does this partial squid dance that should bring in some dough.

She told me recently that one of her friends is getting married at 19. Boy, doesn't that bring back some odd memories. I think her best quality of all is her ability to be random. I just don't know where she gets that from.

So, here I sit, pretending I don't need to be getting ready for work, excited and completely nervous about getting keys to a new house today. My soon-to-be-former landlord is unhappy that I gave notice and won't return messages. Nice. I'm not sure there have been many moments in my life where I completely and utterly disliked someone's behavior so much. Jerk. The last realtor through the house last night left it unlocked, too. How lovely is that? Coming home to a neighborhood full of homeless people and a wide open house. It is so time to do this. Yes, I feel a bit overwhelmed with the saying hello to a new bedroom, saying goodbye to almost a year worth of memories, although very few are happy ones on some level.

So, now I get to pack up, clean, unpack, clean some more and make sure that there is a place for everything and everything's in its place. I had a moment last night where I wondered what I'm going to do with all this space (as opposed to my former dilemma of what will I do with all this stuff?) I might just leave some rooms empty for the time being. Having lived in an old home with no disposal, no dishwasher and a fan that doesn't work, my kitchen will need to be run through the dishwasher. All of it. Everything. Even things I normally hand wash are getting a bath. I'll make homemade bread again, I'll have room. Dinner parties will again be an option.

I will not be sharing one lone bathroom with 2 teenagers. A bathroom that stays so damp that I have to wash towels twice a week or they smell musty. How wasteful. Maybe the new washer will actually get that lingering soapy feel out of my blue jeans. I'm not fond of foaming in the rain.

If I had an extra 24 hours this week, I'd feel more capable of the impending move. More content with the timing of everything. More able to call 4 utilities and the cable company before noon, pick up a certified check, sign my life away for 24 months. Or maybe I wouldn't and I'm just fooling myself.

I wonder where my new favorite spot will be?

2009-10-17T10:42:00.000-07:00

I wrote out my list of resentments. Tore it into little pieces. Put them in an envelope and mailed it to myself.

When it arrived, I glued all the pieces together, laughed at myself and burned them to a crisp.

To say that I feel free is an understatement. I also feel empowered like never before - to stand up for myself, to only allow people that make me feel good into my life and to enjoy the little things that matter.

Yesterday, I told someone I was pissed. Now, I'm frequently pissed at this someone, but I rarely actually TELL him. That felt good. I also gave him a chance to adjust his attitude and it worked - he adjusted. Decided to play nice.

Speaking of play, I want one of these in my new back yard. I hear they create their own mini weather system.

I'm going to need it to heat that hot tub.

As night falls

2009-10-15T22:23:00.000-07:00

It pulls at her hair
tangling it into knots
that will take hours and hours to undo
and yet she waits.
Stoically, faithfully,
never leaving her post.
The sky is dark and brooding
just like her soul
as she sits and thinks
of what to say when he appears on the horizon.
Hi, Dad. Goodbye.

-----------

Write fiction (why is my fiction always based on truth? Hmmm?) in 55 words, no more, no less. Tell G-Man when you're through. Make some new friends. You have time for 55 words, don't you?

Your secret's safe with me

2009-10-13T20:07:00.000-07:00

I know things. Lots and lots of things. Things that most people couldn't lock their lips about I carry around on my soul.

I know dirty little secrets. Happy, soon-to-be-announced secrets. Sometimes I know secrets that I discover on my own. But most often, they're the garden variety, "don't tell anyone" secrets.

The longest secret I've kept was told to me by my little brother when I was 6 and he was 3. Never spilled it, not for a moment. Not even today, when we're 42 and 39, respectively. Funny how that vast chasm of distance in age between us is actually almost invisible to the eye, all these years later.

The newest secret was told to me yesterday by a very close friend. It's a sily secret. But a secret, nonetheless.

I can count 37 secrets that I keep today. Thirty seven. Not too shabby for someone my age with a distinct loss of brain cells due to age and the necessity of sorting. I've never lost a secret. Not for more than a few hours, at least. It was the whiskey.

So, if I'm so good at keeping secrets, what causes people to want to tell them, hmmm? Why bare your soul of something so important? Why trust me? Why?

Do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell....?

Giggling with my girls and guys

2009-10-12T21:25:00.000-07:00

I love to laugh with my besties.

My best friends, that is. Shay, all the way across the country, and Scarlet, at the southern corner of the other coast. Riot Kitty, right here in my town.

My guy friends, too. Major Healey (who gets a special gift this week) and Boss man, Aeon and the Woodsman (who I woke up this morning on his first day of vacation because I locked myself out of the office... Hi!) and all the other IT monkeys. Last Friday, when I was supposed to be on vacation, Iron Giant came by no less than 5 times to cheer me up. Dan-o played me the theme songs to all my fave 80s shows (insert A*Team theme song here). I have so many boys that I consider above the rest, it's hard to count them. DP who made me laugh today with stories of working through sick, just like me. He also drew me the coolest picture. No wonder I'm sick - everyone comes to work and shares the germs!

My home girls include the Duck fan, who is awesome and always there, even when I'm a pain in the ass. Which was often over the past year. MM, who fed me and the kids, even though it was a stretch, on more than one occasion and offers me the best advice on men. Really. The not-involved-with-them kind. I don't ask about those with whom I'm involved because I fear she'll recommend castration. Says FUCK a lot. At the drop of a hat. There's not enough FUCK in the world, I tell you.

In addition, there's Alicia in Paris, Edwina in London, Mom across town. Aimee in NY, Queens in Brooklyn (don't ask) and Jeffie in Honolulu. Angel whom I work with - at that other place, that shall remain nameless - and Queen of Meditation (or is that Medication?), who tells me there's "a number missing from your chi and if you find it out and chant it for 7 days, all will be well in your world". Uh huh... sure.

Then there's Madge, who makes me believe in people again. I love her ability to separate work from play. She gave me the best book to read called Little Bee by Chris Cleve. I've cried as I've read it and I know it gets worse and better before it's done. I miss her. I wish she'd get back - but I'm glad she's on an adventure. Things will be chaos enough when she returns. But there will be stolen moments for lunches and the occasional sunflower.

I have new friends, too. Party girl, who introduced me to Corner Pub and shares Whiskey stories whenever we can. She's fun and kind and makes me remember to smile at work. I'll miss her whil she's on walkabout. Kharma who believes that all things happen for a reason. I have to agree. Liam, who I miss. A lot. B & T & boys. You guys, I miss you. It's been way, way too long. Blonde Bombshell. And bicycle boy. All of you - I think of you, I miss you and I hope you know you are loved.

Now, I'm going to stop all the sappy CRAP and get back to work. But a big shout out to YOU, all my blog buddies. You make this all worthwhile. HI!

Change is inevitable. Enjoying it is optional.

2009-10-11T20:11:00.000-07:00

Today, I'm finding that my world has changed in massive amounts in the past year. Most for the good, although a lot of it was hard.

But what I love most about change is the way it affects me. Change is GOOD, you see. Even if, in the midst of it, it feels bad, hard, and sometimes awful.

This week, I'm looking to rent this place:

Remembering a really excellent trip to this place:

And believing in someone I haven't believed in for such a long time, it's rather comical. Her name is Rachel, also known as Red Menace or the Red Angel, to some. She seems to be rolling with things and doing just fine, thank you very much.

Now, where'd I put my change purse?

I love love love love love

2009-10-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

I love too easily. Dang, that's supposed to be a bad thing.

But why?

I love hot buttered popcorn at the movie theater. More than the movie, most times.

I love hot cinnamon rolls I rolled out myself, made with that spectacular cinnamon you can buy at Cinnabon. Extra frosting, please! Fat free - are you kidding?

I love my friends. ALL OF YOU. Even if I missed your call today or forgot to write back to your email asking if I fell of the planet - I LOVE YOU. Sorry I'm busy. I can still love you when I'm busy, huh?

I love the memory of a boy that means everything to me making a snow angel in May at a lake by a bald eagle. With a giggle and a grin. I LOVE THAT.

I love Ezmond, the smelly terrier, even though he's making my house hunt painful and long. He's worth it. I need a good Ezmond house. Maybe this latest dream house will work out. Can't you just see a 75 pound pitbull skidding around on freshly polished hardwoods? I love that picture in my head. I also love it that he sleeps next to me now, sitting on the floor by his blanket, and his breath smells like puppy. Almost as good as baby breath. Dang.

I love cooking with gas. Spoiled, I am. No electric for this girl. That's a deal breaker. How can you boil water in 3-1/2 minutes? Unless, of course, you use the kettle. But the kettle is meant for TEA. Sheesh.

I love tea. Wild sweet orange blended with African nectar is the nectar of the gods. Right Shay!?!?!

I love leaves to stomp. Maybe I can take an hour off work one of these afternoons and get home in time to stomp. In the daylight. I'll light a candle, giggle unmercifully, stomp until the leaves know I show no mercy.

I love the Pub. Met a girlfriend there. Felt like I was about 22. Joy, joy joy. I love the pub. Can I have crisps, please?

I love football. I used to be a Brett Favre fanatic. Not so much now, the guy cried one too many times. I love college football. BC Eagles (Sorry friends, I know...) Matt Ryan is kicking ass in the pros. I love my Eagles sweatshirt on a cold autumn day.

I love pumpkins. I'm craving one. It calls to me when I sleep. It will be shaped like a zucchini. I will name it George. I will not bear to carve it, it will sit on my porch, sad and forlorn, until a squirrel eats part of it and gets stoned on pumpkin mold, dancing on my street. I love that.

I love to read YOUR posts. I feel terribly, horribly guilty that I haven't been able to for a couple weeks. I will, really, I SWEAR. I'm locking myself away with a computer and wifi on Saturday. I might not get out of bed. Doesn't that sound like something to love?

I love my daughter. Broken hearted and dumped by a boy - who never even had the guts to tell her - I love her even more because her one concern was that he return a video game he borrowed from her brother. In between the tears. It will be girls weekend this weekend, with slasher movie4s when only teenage boys die. Hee hee hee...

I love my life. How many people can say that? I'm stressed sometimes, exhausted frequently, working too much. I'm wishing for calm every minute. I'm MAKING calm by removing the people and the things that stress me out. AND, I'm finding joy in little things. Curling up with the kids and feeling them, warm, under the covers. A few minutes alone with my boy tonight, who mad me laugh and cry and crack unbelievably tasteless jokes, all in the span of about 3 minutes. There was ice cream, ghost shaped potato chips, a floor polisher, a mom embarrassing him with riding-the-floor-polisher jokes and a nice bottle of Merlot. And I was LOVED. To my toes. I love my life, every precious second of it.

I love it that moving closer to work means moving closer to my boy's friends and this girl he's liked for a long time. Long, long time. Long long long long time. Now, distance isn't gong to be her excuse. If she has one, I hope she uses it quickly and with mercy. The kid is loyal and patient and slightly crazy when he feels it... you guessed it. LOVE.

I love. I am Rachel, and I love.

Cleaning house

2009-10-05T05:29:00.000-07:00

I love a clean house, I hate to clean. The disparity between the two items is downright comical at times.

I remember being on my own in the world for the first time. I moved into a little apartment in town that was hardly 400 square feet and included a claw foot tub, hot water pipes everywhere due to the steam heat, and three adorable cats named Daquiri, Althea and Escher.

Dak was a bright orange, 15 pounds of pure muscle and would shed like there's no tomorrow. Thea was a seal point siamese with the attitude of cleopatra and a constant hunger for the mice that invaded my kitchen. She would not, however, eat the cockroaches, no matter how often I begged. Escher was a kitten that got into no end of trouble - frequently screeching when the heat in the steam radiators got to be too much and she didn't want to give up her cozy spot.

I worked at a job that took lots of hours - maybe 50 a week (If only I'd known that some day I'd work 70-80, I would have enjoyed this easy schedule) and I'd spend my Saturday cleaning the apartment. I didn't have a vaccuum so I'd borrow the manager's and vacuum her place as thanks. It took me all of 7 minutes to do both teeny apartments. Then, scrubbing kitchen, bathroom, wiping down the walls to try to stay ahead of the lovely orange nicotine buildup that would bleed through the walls - and be added to by Ryan - was a full afternoon's work.

We had time to goof off, too. We'd watch movies we rented - strange movies like A Clockwork Orange, Once Bitten, Superman. We called it good-bad movie night and it lasts today. We ordered pepperoni pizza from the place next door when they had a buy one get one deal going and would have 4 lovely boxes of cold, congealing, divine food that could feed us for almost a week. Winchells donuts were a staple because Ryan worked there at night, frying up the next day's breakfast for the maple bar lovers of NE Portland.

I took care of my elderly neighbor lady, Mrs. Peetes, as she recovered from a stroke. Breakfast and dinner, every day, were made for her out of foods that I couldn't imagine being able to afford. Pot roast. Meat loaf. Stuffed cabbage. Then, after not so much as tasting a bite, I'd go home to leftover Kraft dinner. At the time, it didn't bother me at all. I was content. I lived on processed food and hot tea.

I boxed a bunch of stuff this weekend. The space in which I live seems larger (amazing, since it's barely 900 square feet and full of people), there's more room to move, projects I have put off for months were attacked. After all, with people coming through my place, I have to have it at a certain level. Right?

So in cleaning, I was reminded of lazy Saturday afternoons with 3 cats rubbing against my feet, begging me to come sit with them so they could warm my lap while I read. Now, I don't have cats, but a dog and 2 kids that would love a bit of my attention. Maybe a bad movie.

I wonder, can you buy spare time at the store? I seem to continually run out of it.

2009-09-29T22:17:00.000-07:00

I had the most lovely night with my girl tonight.

Thai food at our favorite place (Jade, that is celebrating it's 1 year anniversary on the 8th. Awesome)

A great doctors appointment and a therapist that will write Ezmond a hall pass as a certified therapy dog. Not bad for a man-eating pitbull. Or not.

I'm most happy about the fact that she knows all the lyrics to Bananaphone... by Raffi. It's just downright terrifying.

We listened to music and found some awesome, fun videos. Enjoy.

Aw, damn

2009-09-28T22:20:00.000-07:00

Landlord finally did it. The house is on the market. Not the lot, but the house.

I don't intend to kill anyone. Yet. But I plan to make showing this house as unpleasant as possible. The guy, after all, left my daughter - you know, the one with an anxiety disorder? -in tears by asking that we show it whenever.

There is, after all, a first-time-buyers credit or some such shit.

Did anyone miss the part that I WORKED FOR A MONTH last December to get it LIVEABLE. Bad, moldy carpets have become black-stained hardwoods. Remodeled kitchen and bathroom. Every light fixture is new. But my landlord, he's a nice guy. Offered to help me rent a storage unit - for "your junk."

I hope he feels bad when I give notice next week and he's stuck with his house payment through the winter, no renters in sight. Or, when someone else moves in and has to deal with leaky basements, water pouring out of a shower and ants in the kitchen. Oh, and a camp stove to cook on.

WANTED: Nice rental house. 4 bedrooms. Accepts pitbulls and a slightly wacky family that will make it nicer than you ever imagined. Please?

Sigh.

The Definition of Bliss

2009-09-27T19:00:00.001-07:00

I did it.

I took the challenge Scarlet left (to take 5 words and write about them and what they mean to me) and of course I think she loaded the deck.

Bliss
Hourglass
Fantasy
Motto
Promesa (your Spanish word)

OK, the first one is easy.

BLISS
Feeling my toes in the sand, waking up with a new chapter written while I slept, hugging my son, laughing with my daughter, walking the Ezmond. Magical moments abound and bliss is the feeling of having everything you could possibly want right here with you, not wanting for anything. I felt it all day today, all day yesterday, and am pleasantly surprised that is seems to have returned with no intention of leaving again.

HOURGLASS
The first thing that came to mind was the guilty pleasure of my teen years. I had a very challenging schedule and got straight A's in school. The only down time I had, between work and school and volunteering, was weekday afternoons from 3-4pm. "Like sands through the hourglass, so are the Days of Our Lives." I try not to forget the sentiment, even though I've forgotten the characters. Except Bo & Hope.

Damn.

FANTASY

Most men who have met me will tell you this is the world I live in - one of fantasy. Always wishing for more, hoping for better and knowing that more is out there. Wait. I mean in here - in me. That I have high hopes and tall expectations for myself. I'm a Capricorn, after all, and fantasy is something for which there is little time. Not that I don't have a vivid alternative life that I live while I dream. Is that considered fantasy, Scarlet? If so, I guess my fantasy is to fall in love and live on a Chinese junk.

MOTTO
Most of my life has been spent in advertising. Mottos are a dime a dozen. In the 90s, I had a bit of a motto. Whatever. Sarcasm dropped from my tongue. People learned quickly not to piss me off. Enter the new millennium and it became a quote from Sir Galahad. "My strength is the strength of ten because my heart is pure." Being pure of heart, meaning well and doing my best is important, but not quite as important now as it used to be. Now, my motto is probably something more like "Happiness is what I have." No expectations, no disappointment. But I do always wish on falling stars when I see them.

However, there is a motto that will never leave me.

Wherever you go, there's your monkey.

PROMESA

I guessed what this translated to in English before I looked it up on dictionary.com. Promise. I think the only person really owed promises at the moment is me. I make promised to myself that I must keep. Any promises made to others are secondary, kind of nice to keep, but if I have to choose between the two, promises to me are much more important and I'm working hard to remember that. My promises may mean well, but I'm trying at the moment to only make those that I can keep. I'm learning to say No a lot, obviously.

If you're interested in playing along, ask for me to leave 5 words for you to write about and I'll post them in a comment on your blog. Although I know a lot of you have already received your words from my fiery redheaded friend in Miami. Just in case...

Words

2009-09-24T19:11:00.001-07:00

The muse has been awfully silent for a while
Waiting on inspiration, dreams, sage wisdom
To string together the sentences that thrill
Or bore
Or something in between.

When the angels fall silent, what do we do?
Should we feel haunted by the words we miss?
Or more so by those, if any, we find?

--------------------------------------------------------

Oh, G-Man, what shall I do?

This 55 is dedicated to my muse, who seems to think it's fun to hide this Friday.

Play along - write a fictional story, in exactly 55 words, and let the him know at the link I linked my links to, above. Or don't.

Whatever...

3-2-1 Contact

2009-09-21T19:43:00.000-07:00

I got a hug at work today. My cubemate wasn't feeling well, I offered her encouragement, told her to go home early and she gave me a hug. She is from a culture where affection is not shown. Women are not shown, either. They do not drive, show any part of their body except their eyes in public and they are indentured servants to the men they are promised to, by their families, when their marriage is arranged.

This small show of affection meant so much to me, I can't even describe it.

Do we ever get enough affection, enough contact? Babies that are denied touch often grow into very disturbed adults. But not always.

My parents didn't touch me. My mom because she was more interested in older people and only had children because it was expected. I don't know that she ever overcame that, but occasionally she will let me hug her. I've never kissed her and I would feel uncomfortable if I tried. My dad has huge, major issues. I wouldn't have wanted him touching me as a kid, now that I know what I do. I guess he was trying to protect me in some weird, twisted way, in keeping me at arms length.

When I started dating at 17, contact was a HUGE deal. Kissing and holding hands and hugging. So now, as an adult, when I often feel there isn't enough contact for me no matter what I do, to get a hug from a sweet, kind and wonderful new friend meant so much, I couldn't even speak. She, who is breaking traditions long bred into her culture, reached out to me and made contact.

Maybe its time to do the same, myself.

Anonymity isn't all it's cracked up to be.

2009-09-18T21:29:00.000-07:00

Remember me? I used to be here. Now, I'm living solidly in the present. Ready for an adventure. Life is full of uncharted waters. Roads less traveled. Mysteries. Bliss.

I'm ready for all of it. I hope you'll come back to visit. I'm leaving the old site up for a bit and will always have an archive in case you have a favorite story you want to remember. I have a couple. They aren't going anywhere.

So, our first order of business includes a decision to make. Whatever will this blog be about?

Whatever I damn well please, I bet.

Testing the waters

2009-09-13T17:54:00.000-07:00

How does it look? How does it feel?

I'm trying out my new blog and seeing if it's readable. And pretty.

Well?