Drifting thoughts of a snowflake

Monday, December 27, 2004

How I learned to just speak up

I was following him and couldn’t make myself stop. Just turn the corner. Drive around the block. Whatever you need to do, but don’t follow him home. I couldn’t stop myself. I was in that place where boundaries don’t exist anymore and your mind can rationalize even the most desperate actions.

My phone rang and I jumped to hit the reject button. I’m listening to Ani DeFranco’s version of “Fuck you” and singing along. He still in front of me and I think he’s driving too fast. I continue behind him and feel a rush of wine swirl in my head. I need to focus. I need to turn around, but I keep singing and I start to cry. Why am I doing this? I love my boyfriend, so why am I here? Why am I fumbling around my car to find a brush to fix my hair for another man?

God I need this. I need to feel that exchange with someone once more. I need the sweat to roll down my back and my lips to sting from his bites. I want to look down at him and own him for that single moment of release. I wanted to be wanted again, instead of needed. I wanted power and control. It was a premeditated decision for a quick fix with devastating results, but I kept going. I was crying because I needed something that was going to hurt him. I felt ashamed like an addict trying desperately to grab on to something that never exists and never fulfills you. I needed it in the same way that disgusted me when my lover reached out to me.

We got into his apartment and fell to the floor. Pent up aggression and months of pushing him away were played out in our movements. At times I would gain consciousness to the ramifications of that action, and I would push him off only to feel him pull me back into him. He had waited. It was his turn.

When it was over, I immediately stood up and got dressed. He was shocked at my distance and the way I completely separated after he left my body. I felt nothing for him. I asked him to take me to get a drink and I watched the lights streak by the window. Greens and yellows were bending into streamers and whizzing past the reflection of my face in the window.

We sat down at the bar and I ordered three shots in a row. The wine left over in my system mixed well with the vodka, and I could feel the fog come over my brain. Numbing me as best it could. I wasn’t really there that night; I was watching myself with morbid fashion as I destroyed everything I had loved. I couldn’t take the pressure. I couldn’t be that type of woman and I lacked the maturity to just speak up. So I did what I knew how to do. I knew how to get out of something the ugly way and I used it, because the idea of become a wife who’s really a mother was too much for me to bare. And I kept drinking, because I knew I had a lot to tell him the next day.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Melt downs

I came back from lunch a bitter frozen popsicle shell of myself. I decided to stop at the same grocery store as every other person in Austin. I parked a good ½ mile away and ran towards the store cursing myself for my lack of chub and my stupid decision not to wear a hat today. “At least I look hot today,” I thought to myself as I stumbled through the door past the trailer park lady with the token 5 snotty nosed children. I picked up a basket and began searching for my list. Where the hell is it? I found it on aisle five adhered to my ass. Well, so much for looking hot and not having any chub. Dashing through the lanes of Mommies and singing back to one mommy with a festive “Fa-la-la-la-la-la fuck off”, I ran back to my car in hopes of blasting heat on my face.

Pissed off and irritated I slumped back into my cube degrading the Holidays and mentally spitting on people with holiday cheer. You want me to have cheer? Hand me a damn Irish coffee and get the hell away from me.

Then an email came from TR,the sweet little Spaniard who came to visit this summer.

Dear Snowflake:

“I write to you to wish you good cheer, and have the merrest Chistmas and the
happest year!!!! sorry for my bad english......i need to practise more....”

How could my heart not melt? Oh how I miss her accent and those big doe eyes. How can I let myself be so bitter at a time like this? I have to get in a better mood. Maybe not a “Christmas” mood, but something lighter than cussing out innocent self proclaimed important mommies who sing carols at the store.

Then the phone rang, and my best girl from Colorado was on the other end. Immediately I remembered all the things that make me happy. We chatted about kissing and sexual escapades, boys of today and those of tomorrow, and our families. We told one another how great we are. We laughed about farting in front of Swedes, and conning Christmas bartenders out of their drink ticket scheme. “You go for the one on the right. If it doesn’t work, I’ll come in and act like we’ll do a little lesbian action if we need to.” Anything for a free drink and a good laugh.

With those memories and her contagious laughter, I feel less bitter. I’m happy again. At least for the moment, until some soccer Mom comes barreling down the freeway at me with a damn wreath on her car. Cheers to you!

Monday, December 20, 2004

I'm a bit drinky right now, please leave a message...

Last night found me drunker than drunk. The boys managed to wrangle me home safe and sound. As I walked into the bathroom, I suddenly lost my ability to walk. A little game of human pinball began as I slammed into the sink, then bounced off the cabinet, sprung over to the toilet, pushed myself back and landed in my laundry basket.

I must have struggled to get out of that situation, because this morning every towel and piece of laundry I own was strewn around the bathroom. At least I won the battle.

This morning I find myself thinking about sex. I think I must still be drunk. As I was driving into work I started laughing over a sexual mishap. I love when those little blurbs come out in the bedroom. You’re right in the middle of a great session, you roll over to climb on top, and as you do you stab the guy right in the eye with your fingernail. Ouch! Blinded the poor guy squirms for a minute, which delights you, until you realize he’s in pain. Then you start laughing and the hot little scene changes into something more juvenile. He asks if you’re going to proceed to punch him in the face when he comes.

But back to the fingernail problem, which assures me that I’m still liquored up. I was watching this porn recently and I couldn’t help but notice the cheap Lee press on nails the women were wearing. Evidentially this is what women focus on when watching porn. Those puppies can pop off with very little pressure. Which now has me wondering if you could truly blind someone with those things on. My little mishap would have lead to trip to the emergency room if I was wearing such garbage on my hands. Which takes me further wondering how many of those nails get loose during a taping of sexual frenzy. “Wait, we need to stop for a second Tom. You’ve got a fake nail stuck in your ass.”

I should probably not leave my work pod this afternoon.

Friday, December 17, 2004

From the mouths of babes

My sister has an incredible sense of smell. Long before anyone else in the family even remotely smells Uncle L’s fart, my sister is already gagging. Unfortunately she passed this trait on to her youngest son, whom I call Nu Nu. I’m convinced one of his first words was “stinky” and at almost 3 years old there are tons of foods rejected due to smell alone.

Yesterday my sister decided to torture the two tikes by making them sit on scary Santa’s lap. Is there a child in the world who enjoys forced closeness with a man who appears to be nothing like his own grandpa? I have my doubts. Regardless of their personal preference, up they went to be placed on the soiled legs of an old man. Immediately Nu Nu shook his head and gave my sister a dirty look. My sister didn’t know what was wrong and started to coach him into resisting his intuition, “Everything is fine. You’re ok”. Sitting on some old crow’s lap is not okay, nor is it something to force a child to do. How are they supposed to decipher the difference between Santa or some pedophile from the sticks?

Santa began by asking Boo, my 5 year old nephew, what he would like. Boo rattled off his list, while Nu Nu kept intensely staring at my sister. “It’s stinky, Mommy!” he shrieked. My sister, embarrassed, just smiled at him and winked. When Santa had fully discussed all of Boo’s options, he turned to ask Nu Nu about his wants. It was at that point that Nu Nu discovered the source of all that is rotten, and proclaimed in that loud little voice only two year olds have, “It’s your face, Santa! It’s stinky! That’s disgusting!”. Santa chuckled and looked at my sister as if pleading with her to silence the child, which only exacerbated the situation. “Santa, Santa! That smell - it’s coming from your mouth!” cried Nu Nu in hopes of saving Santa from some beast within his jaws.

Nu Nu was promptly removed from the lap of the crusty old bag and sent on his way. Luckily they snapped the picture before Nu Nu discovered the old man’s retched breath, and my sister has something to dole out to family. Ahh, if only they recorded such interactions. I guarantee it would be better than any forced picture they could muster up. Imagine all the things that man must hear from the honest mouths of babes.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Come play with me

I’m not sure if you’ve ever been to Austin, but if you haven’t you should consider coming down. On my way into work everyday I drive over lake Austin and look for rowers. I play a little game that if I see a rower; it’s going to be a good day. It froze here last night, so my drive over the river was beautiful this morning. Steam was coming off the dark water and the hills were covered in a light blanket of frost.

The hills were sparkling and a little fog was present lurking throughout them. The trees are still turning different shades of red and purple, but the grass is a radiant green. At night when I drive home I pass the moon tower tree and can make out part of the trail of lights.

Congress Avenue is decorated with greenery and glittering lights lining up the drive to our capital. All the bars have twinkle lights in them and feel cozy right now. Amazing bands keep pouring through our streets and even some of our homeless people can play the blues better than anyone else out right now.

Hilarious anti-Bush statements are everywhere and my sister complains how liberal everyone here is. Steps around the city are adorned with chalk advertisements of events to catch up on, and everyone talks about the recent shows and who’s who in the Austin music and film scene. We have a great roller derby and synchronized swimmers. A couple of famous people run around town like locals and no one ever goes up to them. We have the best of the best dive bars all around town, and it’s always easy to start a conversation with people.

We have plenty of freaks, which we regarded as celebrities in town. We know their names and their stories and we buy them beers. We swim down at Barton Springsin the summer and dive off cliffs at Pale Face. We drive over to Hamilton pool for picnics and marvel at the beauty of the green blue water. We’re blessed to be here around all the beauty and creativity our city has to offer.

I’m not sure why I feel so nostalgic about my home lately, but right now I can see how amazing it is. You should come.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Turning points

There is something to be said for events not meeting your expectations. Like the party you dread, but you’re the last one out the door at the end of the night. In my case, I built up my court date today to be the most heinous of events. I kept thinking about leaving my best friend and being alone. I went over our wedding a million times in my head. I kept thinking of all the mistakes I made with him along the way.

This morning we sat in the courtroom side by side waiting for my turn. He held my hand until I asked him not to because he was making me cry. The judge called my name and granted the divorce, and as I turned around my X was there to walk me out.

We drove down the street to a little Mexican breakfast joint. It was all hustle and bustle inside and we were quickly pointed to a booth. We talked about our goals for the next year and the goals we’d accomplished so far. We laughed about our families and figured out our Christmas presents. We remembered how lucky we have always been flying together and I grimaced as he ate his eggs. We talked about how we want our friendship to look in the future, and about how we could accomplish the tight rope dance of switching from partners to friends. And for a moment there was silence and we just gave one another a slight smile.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man approaching. He gave the X a wink, a simple greeting and a handshake. The X looked surprised at seeing his old friend. I smiled and said, “That’s your therapist, isn’t it?” He replied in the affirmative, to which I responded “I’ve always questioned if I was doing the right thing by leaving you. I don’t have to wonder that anymore. Your angels are all around you.”

As I drove away I felt relieved. I felt light for the first time in many years. I don’t have to look back anymore and question my decisions. Today marks a new beginning. I’m ready to enjoy the journey.

Please note, from this point on the X hubby will now be called K, his rightful name.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Repeat after me

I remember looking up at him while he said his vows. We were standing in the tiny chapel where I came as a little girl to hear about something called God. When I was little I would sit in the red upholstered pew looking down at my little black paten shoes dangling free, and wondering when it would be time to sing again. Then I’d look over to my right and stare up at the tall stained glass windows shimmering with morning light. There was that familiar man with the beard looking down at me so sadly. ‘Why is he so sad?’ I would think and then my mind would be distracted by a loose fray on my skirt.

I was distracted that night as well. The chapel was full of friends and family, people I hardly knew and others who were closer than blood. The man speaking to us performed my baptism and my communion. I’ve known him my whole life, and at that moment he felt more like my father than my pastor. “Repeat after me…”

And I spoke, shaking. Waiting for the world to end. And then it was his turn. “Repeat after me…”

And he started to speak with tears in his eyes. My thoughts were racing. He’s not going to go through with this. He is going to leave me up here in front of these people, alone. But he didn’t. He made it through all of the words. We made it through the prayer. I thought I had a chance at that point to really make it work.

I walked into that modest little chapel a year ago for my grandmother’s funeral. My husband at my side, we stopped and looked at one another as we walked in the door. We stared at the alter and then back at one another feeling destroyed and helpless. Wondering what happened.

And so it ends tomorrow, but not where it began. Removed from the comfort of that secure small space where sad men look down at you, we’ll be pulled into a room of people waiting to get it over with. We’ll be a number waiting for our turn like Monday night shoppers at the deli counter. I don’t know how many people truly love each other go through this. I wish it was cut and dry to me. I wish I hated him, so that when they called my number I knew I was doing the right thing.

Once again, I’ll hear those words “Repeat after me…” I honestly don’t know how I will make it through tomorrow. I know he is the love of my life. I also know we can’t make it work. I forced destiny to bend to my whim and lost, but at least I tried.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

My life is boring; lets talk about hats

I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’ve come to realize there is a distinct lack of hat wearing going on in the states. Sure beanies are all over the place, but when was the last time your tried your hand at a Kentucky Derby hat? (Please note scary lady with tiara on)

It came to me today when Thunder sent me clips from the Men without Hat’s video the Safety Dance. I so wish I could find the link. If anyone knows, please tell me why he gropes a midget in the video. Also if they are so against hats, why is everyone in the video wearing one?

Back to hats I think should come back into style. Who can forget Audrey Hepburn’s hat in Breakfast at Tiffany’s? This must be the best hat ever. Who wouldn’t want to get a piece of that hat? And don’t rule out her fan fair in My Fair Lady either. Although that hat might break your next.

So, it’s a little over the top for your office. Think of the looks you’ll get on the street by admiring men. If you’re looking for something subtler, what about the Jackie O pill box. Not bad for a First lady. Too dated for your cool hipster scene? What about a nice Aussie walkabout hat?

And boys, I have not forgotten you. Please put away that damn baseball cap. Who do you think gets more action? This guys or (back in the day)this guy?

Ok, so that guy is way hotter and not wearing a hat. What could I do? Plus think about it this way, if he was on top of you the hat would get in the way. Maybe hats are over rated.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Warning signs

I was right to listen to my instincts. Sure enough things here have been a little tumultuous. I’m sailing through rough seas and thankful I feel strong. I’m asking for what I want and need, and it’s serving me well.

It was the eagerness to go to court, the looks he gave her when he was sitting right next to me, and the confirmation of a cell phone bill that brought it all home. Don’t get me wrong I’ve never proclaimed to be an angel, but there are some knives I’ve sparred him. Making a fool out of your friends commands your enemies to spring forth. And so it went.

These things will pass for me, and in a few weeks my only reminder of him will be the house we use to share and my last name. I’m left with a hollow memory of a friendship in need of repair. I was always introduced as his first wife during our marriage. Funny how true that was in retrospect. Only he had one line wrong. “Your first wife is your most important wife, because she still loves you while you are poor and has your children.” I left without child.

Why does strength come to us in a disastrous fashion? What qualities does is possess that it refuses to let us to learn about ourselves during times of happiness? Part evil and part beauty, it must be something of a female construction.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

If you read this, you might get dizzy

Today I feel as if I should do a public service to you. After all my rants have been too long lately. Let’s laugh. Shall we? Imagine this duty performed by yours truly, wearing my best public servant mustache. (like the man on to our right,Thunder knows what I’m talking about)

Recently I have been drug into every possible meeting in my company. My philosophy on meetings is their real purpose to prove someone’s articulation skills are supreme to other coworkers. For this reason my mind usually drifts off, and I fill my head with random thoughts. I want to share some of these thoughts with you, in order to help you through your next linguistic debate with the most boring of all people. Plus, you’ll smile and they will think that you find them interesting and bright.

First thought: Remember that man I dated that actually spit on my ass as we had doggie style sex? What the fuck was that about? Was that some kind of degradation act or just some reflux problem? I wonder what he thought when I turned around and asked him exactly what he thought he was doing?

Next up: Better yet, remember other guy I dated whose psycho x-girlfriend showed up one morning and wouldn’t leave? I wonder if she’s now dating one of the cops who took her away? I wonder if she liked the shirt I had on and I’m glad the cops didn’t tell her my name.

Maybe I pick the wrong people to date. I hate dates! What are they exactly? Who wants anything dried up and shriveling? Isn’t that usually reserved to describe a 180-year-old man’s penis? You wouldn’t put a 180-year-old man’s penis in your mouth, so why would you put a date in your mouth?

Hmm, I wonder how many pork products are too many pork products in one day? If you have bacon for breakfast, and then a ham sandwich for lunch and a pulled pork sandwich for dinner have you devoured an entire pig?

What’s up with Jewish people? I really need to learn more about them. They are like a mystery to me. How can they justify not eating pork? God loves pork, I’m sure of it.

I wonder what God would say about all the profanity I use in my everyday life? Surely He has bigger problems, like men spitting on women in sexual acts. Wonder if He’s mad that I find his son totally hot?

I really think that you could die from eating too much rice. My grandfather almost died like that one time.

I hate birds, especially the thunderbird. If a Thunderbird car hits me, I hope my family sees fit not to give me a funeral. I don’t want all my friends laughing at me and saying how ironic that is.

I’m thinking braces would have been a good idea for Bob from IT. I feel like he’s related to the barracuda family . Remember that song, Barracuda by Heart. I heart Heart Damn, I’m retarded.

Good thing I don’t have ADD.

Crap, everyone is looking at me. “I agree, we really need to expound on that idea so I have a better understanding of what you need out of this project”

Wow – I need to focus.
What do you think about?

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

Anger, anger – he’s my man

On my recent personality profile it was determined that change and innovation were my typical driving forces. I wonder who else has a control, people, patience, and systems personality? I question if I would punch them in the throat or think they were the coolest person in the world.

I’m also questioning the fact that anger didn’t come up as one of my personality drivers. Piss me off and you’ll see the work of 100 women produced in less than an eight-hour work day. By boss is learning this lesson today, and if she’s not careful I’ll take her job by the end of next year. Not that I really want it, but ya – I’m that kind of bitch.

Of course I’ll cool off and go back to working only 3 hours a day pretty soon, but for now it’s on. And by on, I mean ass kicking carazy mad accounting crap like you’ve never seen. It’s not because I like accounting, it’s because I’m competitive. Is that reflected in the adjective of ‘control’ used to describe me? Funny I never saw, “Piss this bitch off and she’ll make you cuddle up next to Satan for shelter” or “Judge her and she’ll put the wrath of (insert whoever is Holy to you here) on you like Martha Stewart beating her daughter”.

Granted there is another side to my profile. It’s the girl who remembers everything you ever told her about your childhood, the one who makes lists of your talents and shares them with you, and the one who will protect you against people who look like Mr. T at the drop of a hat. She’s the one who will make you cry because her love is so big.

Somehow anger let me become that sweet and loyal girl. It allowed me the ability to struggle through the impossible and create the beautiful world I live in. I cherish it, because it serves me well. I’m not the type to lie down and cry, although I know people who say that works.

Right now I need that anger to get me through my personal and professional life. I’ll call on it when studying for my exam and then preparing for law school. It will come in handy the day of my divorce and the day my house sells, like a blanket wraps up scared child. So call me the angry girl if you want. They’ve told me that my whole life. But when I’m sitting on top of my dreams I’ll throw personality surveys and gin bottles at you.

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