Falling Fast

2007-04-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

See-saw

After talking with a girlfriend, I’m reminded how boring complaining really is. I agree and it’s hardly ever unique. Yet once the whining starts, I get sucked in. It’s comfortable there. Complaints are like a comfy overstuffed hand-me-down chair in the corner of a gray bar. Just let me curl up and say nothing. I’ll sip my pint and think too much.

Oddly I haven’t seen that side of me in quite some time. That’s rare for me. Nothing’s wrong in my world and I can’t complain about a thing. I still struggle fitting everything into my schedule, but that’s just me not being able to prioritize.

On the checklist of “happy”, I’ve gotten everything I could want. Devoted and loving dog, stable boyfriend, more friends than ever before, and my house that I love. Why do I ever complain?

I look around and see my family is miserable. I’m sad for them, but it’s not my complaint. My friends are stuck in the same holding patterns and I’m fine finally. I guess that’s how we balance each other out.

2007-01-10T13:19:00.000-08:00

Hello Kettle!

I recently started a second job where I do the books for a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. While it’s somewhat of a pain in the ass to work more after I get out of the first job, it can also be entertaining. It might be a bit of stretch for me to be working there since they would probably diagnose me as an alcoholic.

I sit at the receptionist desk. This allows me to be privy to both the conversations of people in a waiting room, and to counselors holding group sessions. So far, I’ve learned a few things. First of all, I’m not as mature as I’d like to be. I learned this when they asked if anyone had ever bought something instead of paying a bill. I have done that! Maybe I didn’t buy crack, but I’m sure I’ve bought clothing or CD’s instead of paying a bill.

Secondly, praise yourself for everything you do. Everything, regardless if it’s expected of a normal human being.

This morning a perfect example came up. I was speaking to a counselor regarding her time sheet and she said, “Well I try really hard to be honest on that time sheet. I’m in recovery, so I have to be. I guess I should try and be honest all the time, but now I really have to be.”

Yes, hooray! I will also praise myself for not putting down that I worked 10 more hours than I really did! Superb integrity!

Other inspiring stories I’ve heard include this one:

Patient: I shouldn’t be in here, cause I just smoke pot.
Counselor: So you don’t think that’s a problem? You think there’s not a downside when you decide to do that?
P: NO! It just makes me a little slow. That’s all.
C: So why are you here?
P: I got arrested for buying pot.

2006-12-18T14:58:00.000-08:00

Riddle me this

Suppose your relationship with said Boy ends up being rather serious. You go out for your Christmas parties this weekend and have a great time. After all, you use to work at his company so his bosses use to be your boss and you already know everyone there.

Everything is going great until you get this email from his (your prior) main boss:

It was good seeing you at the party. I liked the part when you were kneeling. I could get used to that.

ttfn

After you puke into the nearest garbage pail, what do you do? Do you tell the boy who’s feeling insecure at work and feels as is this boss does not like him? Do you do nothing and pretend it never happened? Do you respond to the email? Why oh why did they guy end it with a “ttfn”! Gross!!!!

Ewwweeee! I need a shower! Let me know your perspective when you have a chance, please. I’ll be trying to master the magic 8 ball on this guy.

2006-12-13T14:03:00.000-08:00

So what have we got here?

You are The Empress

Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.

The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.

The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

2006-11-13T06:09:00.000-08:00

Please Vote

If you have a minute, would you please vote for the Liberty Mutal Coach of the Year? I know it sounds strange coming from me, however Mack Brown from UT has pledged his donation to the Rise School of Austin.

This is a great school here in Austin for children with special needs. Some of my friend’s children attend the Rise School and we would love to see more funding for them.

Cheerleader_buttons/300x60_white.gif"
width="300" height="60" />Please vote!

2006-10-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

Not the golden glove I wish to be

It has come my attention that I am not equipped to deal with personal confrontation. I’m great at the “I’m gonna go windmill on your ass if you don’t get out of my face” when dealing with irate illogical strangers. More to the point, irate illogical strangers with tiny dogs. The problem comes into play when it’s someone that I care about.

I’ve heard the rules to fair fighting speech a million times. I know what I should do and shouldn’t do in order to have a productive conversation that leads to some form of compromise. For some reason I just can’t seem to keep them in my mind when conflict arises with a loved one.

I’m great at seeing the other side. I understand that I need to be more patient, but what do you do when express your feelings and you feel like the other person does nothing but belittle those feelings? I’m at a loss. It seems like I’ve felt this way hundreds of times before when arguing with important people in my life.

I just want them to say, “I can see how you’d feel like that. I don’t want you to feel like that and I’ll try and watch out for that.” When I don’t get that response out of the person, I feel like it turns into a huge order and a fight ensues. I know I’m not blameless in these situations, because they keep happening to me. Obviously, it’s something that I’m doing.

What could it be? Is it that I don’t have a clear goal in mind? Am I expecting too much? Are my expectations getting in the way of reality?

How do you “fight”? Got any tips for success in this area? I could use them. I need to change this part of how I deal with people.

2006-09-28T09:01:00.000-07:00

Long Live Willie

There are some people that remind you of family. Maybe they even remind you of a nice uncle you never had, but wish you did.

That’s who Willie is for me. He’s another Grand Dad who happens to roll around town as his own ass kicking force. Sure he’s old and sure he’s just a simple guy, but you can’t help but love the guy. Know anyone else who decided to start running more in there 70’s? Nope. Just Willie.

I got an email today from a friend regarding Willie. It said the following:

“You gotta love Willie. Look at his public statement regarding being caught with a bag of marijuana: ‘It's a good thing I had a bag of Marijuana instead of a bag of spinach. I'd be dead by now."

My thoughts exactly! How can you not love this man?

Oh and I hear you about the music. I do. I understand you’re not a fan of country music, but that’s where you went wrong. Willie isn’t really country music. He’s not quite what I would consider Texas music either, even though he certainly is one of the most influential musicians behind the so-called Texas music movement.

In fact, I can say that I’m not a fan of country music at all. I never have like it and just the thought of someone like Clint Black or Kenny Chesney makes me think that you have to be desperate to listen to that stuff. I just don’t get it and I don’t want to get it.

Willie’s music is pretty far from country. Sure it’s country influenced, but who doesn’t need to hear “Whiskey River” from time to time? And you can’t deny that he’s one of the most talented songwriters of our time. From “Crazy” to “Red Headed Stranger” and “Funny how Time Slips Away”’ the guy is brilliant and uncomplicated. It’s refreshing. If you like Johnny Cash, but hate Willie Nelson I would love to figure out how that’s possible. Please let me know.

If there’s one CD that you have to have, it’s Stardust. I grew up listening to this CD and it still impresses me. His lifestyle and relentless pursuit to still get up there and play his old guitar amazes me. He’s a legend. He’s one of my hero’s. Keep smoking and keep joking, Willie. Here in Austin, we’ll always love you.

2006-09-19T14:37:00.000-07:00

ACL Recap

I’m sad ACL is already over. I’ve been every year, and I can’t say that I was ecstatic this year when the schedule first came out. As the days got closer to the festival I started to gain enthusiasm for the line up and I now that’s it over, I can easily say it was the best ACL I’ve had.

In fact I didn’t have time to wander around the stores or the food section, because I was so busy jumping from stage to stage to catch someone. Every day had its highlight and I thought I’d share what I enjoyed with you.

You can get the set lists and downloads here so you know what I’m talking about: Here you go!

Friday my favorite show was either Gomez or Ray Lamontagne. I can’t say enough about Ray’s performance and like the little bitch that I am, I cried two or three times during his 1-hour show. I don’t know how you like your whiskey, but these days I’m enjoying mine with Ray in the background. Give it a whirl. Gomez put on a damn good show, too. Quite nice!

Saturday started off early for me with Galactic. I’ve always loved this band and even though I almost got a heat stroke at their damn show, I still love them. I usually have a hard time listening to them in the car or at home, but they put on one of the best shows this side of the Mississippi. (You like that Southern drawl?) As far as bigger bands the Shins were great. I had my doubts before hand, but they had a great performance and it was the perfect sunny day for them. I hate Jack White, but damn it the Raconteurs were fucking good. I so wanted to hate them, but that jackass is so talented you have to marvel at his work. Sigh.

Willie Nelson was the best that day by far, but I realize he’s home to me since I’m from Texas. I don’t expect you to understand. If you do understand, you’ll be pleased to know he’s still beating up Trigger better than you might expect for a man in his 70’s.

All I have to say for Sunday is that if you haven’t listen to G Love since that one old pop song, I feel sorry for you son. Try it again. Try finding someone who can play the blues and make you laugh that hard at the same time. Do it! If you figure it out, let me know. That man could make a dead man laugh and a tap his foot at the same time.

That’s my ACL review. Sure it’s sparse, but you don’t want a blow by blow anyway. There are some things I could have lived without. Waiting in the 4th row to see the Flaming Lips for one thing. This boiled down to standing for an hour in the sun with a thousand of my closets friends who refuse to wear deodorant and were all shrooming. Since I wasn’t shrooming, the performance was then lost on me I sincerely apologize to all the people dressed as Santa in the 90 degree heat for taking your spot. I’m sorry. You actually deserved it more than I did. I had no idea I would hate it that much.

To those of you who love Massive Attack, perhaps you can explain that to me. What on earth are you people hearing? The only thing that irritated me more than their music was that they had a better sound system than Willie. And don’t be mean here, people. Really, calm it down. My best friend loved Massive Attack and I still said the same things to her, “You really really need to stop with the bad dance club music. There’s a real world out there.” Maybe I’ll grow into, but for now their damn drowning and political “look at me, I’m so radical just like a high school kid” image is pathetic. If you get this band, help me out. I’ll try and grow, just for you!

2006-09-11T12:13:00.000-07:00

Super sighs and snakes

Asshat. It’s a word I haven’t used in a long time. This word applies to me. Actually it applied to me this weekend. Turns out that beer, champagne and a little rum make Snowflake one mean devil.

My X use to always say that I was mean as a snake. I would laugh and make an “sssssssssssss” sound for him. Lucky for him he never saw that side of me. Sure he knew my temper after 8 years, but I never got drunk and threw a tantrum that could out do Gary Coleman.

Poor Baby Boy was there for it though. Every last minute of it. I’m wondering how long it will take him to break up with me. I give it 3 weeks since his parents are coming to visit next week.

I might be getting dumped by a boy 8 years younger than me, but at least ACL starts Friday.

2006-08-31T11:31:00.000-07:00

The puppy you see above is the newest addition to my crazy shack. His name is Dingo and we started puppy training last night.

Dingo is super smart at home. He sits, he lays down, he kennels up and he stays on command. Get the little shit around other people or another dog and you’ve got another story.

Last night was his first time at puppy school and my sister was there with her new dog. Mimi’s dog is a fluffy cute labradoodle, a poodle and Labrador mix, which of course sat attentively at her feat and gazed up at her lovingly.

Dingo - not so much. He had a great rhythm going that looped bark, whine, and then sigh. It was great. He was the only one in the class that was given a toy in order to shut him up. He scoffed at that and it was back to his irritating mix.

So I endure the hour and half of ridiculously looking at him and saying, “Sit – yes!” and then giving him a treat. He’s looking at me like I’m the biggest idiot in the world for treating him for something he does all the time. I swear I caught him rolling his eyes at me once or twice.

At the end of the session the dogs got to great one another. It was at that time that he decided to hump all the other dogs. Lovely. I’m such a proud mommy. There’s nothing better than saying, “Hi, nice to meet you”, then looking down seeing your 15 pound puppy pretend fucking a 50 pound lab. Good job, Dingo!

2006-08-24T12:44:00.000-07:00

I know you know that I know that you know

I received a fortune cookie from a coworker today. Since I hate to be wasteful, I ate the cookie.

My fortune?

"Your talents will be recognized and rewarded"

It's official. The cookie obviously has no clue where I work.

2006-06-21T12:52:00.000-07:00

Lazy Summer Walks

Today I remember some of the people I’ve lost along the way. Lost like the way I never talk to my friend from first grade that I planned my high school graduation party with. By the time junior high rolled around I was in one group and she was in another social setting that seemed just as important to her.

Lost like my little friend, Erin, who died of leukemia in third grade. I was too young to grasp what happened. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t go over and play at her house anymore. She was a beautiful little girl, always full of life and laughing. We would play dress up, put all her wigs on, and style them in outlandish ways. I was envious of those wigs. I didn’t know not to be. For a long time my best friend told me that Erin died and became her imaginary friend. I was happy that Erin was still around us.

In the divorce I lost my mother in law. She was the one who taught me about boys, as odd as that might be. I met her at 15 and she was just as confused by life as I was. We would cook in her kitchen and she would tell me about things like “wants and needs” and the “importance of sex”. She was the first person who respected me like an adult. At times I found her inspirational. Other times I found her depth to be draining. Today I miss her creativity, nurturing, and brutal honesty. The X tells me that she called him a “pussy” for not being able to ride 200 miles on his bike. I think that sums up my nostalgia for the woman.

I lost my Rojo along the way, too. I thought of him a lot this weekend. I miss his naked dancing that was more of a spastic gyrating than any type of dancing and was solely intended to make me laugh. That guy should get a medal for all the times he tried to make me laugh in one of the worst times in my life. I miss our marathon talks over marathon drinking. I miss our bedtime talks and laughing. I miss chair dancing for him, which was nothing of a sexual nature. I miss his fucked up teeth that I always thought made him handsome. And Rojo – if you happen to read this, don’t worry – I’m not delusional enough to think anything would work between us, but I miss you all the same.

I think I’ll take a walk and remember these people. Have you forgotten anyone?

2006-05-12T06:12:00.000-07:00

Advice

Just to let you know, it’s a little bit difficult to eat peanut butter in the morning when you’re slightly hung-over. Think of a dog with peanut butter on the roof of his mouth. It’s like that.

I thought you should know, so this doesn’t happen to you.

2006-04-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

Egocentric Birthday Shout out –

Okay, people – it’s my birthday! Cocktails Friday night at G&S Lounge if it’s raining, and Freddie’s if there’s sunshine. If you’re not there, regardless of your current location, I will be forced to cross you off my super great blog friends list.

Yea, I have one. So what?

Also for something a little more meaningful, I keep having dreams and thoughts about my Grandfather that past away last year. I keep feeling his presence around me right now as I unpack my old belongings into my new house.

I keep looking at memories and feeling blue. Then today I sat down at my desk and was admiring the flowers that BB sent. (Yes, long story turns out I should have gotten the full story – I used my jump to conclusions mat and was wrong. It happens every 10 years or so)

A big bunch of tulips staring back at me, eager to open up and let me see their beauty suddenly reminded me of a childhood memory. When I was little my grandfather would always buy me or make me an orchid corsage for my birthday. I loved them. They glistened with their delicate petals pridefully showing off their lavish colors. I also felt so proud to be wearing it pinned to my t-shirt, which was always dirty from playing in the yard or climbing trees. My hair always escaped my ponytail and frizzed out around my face. I was a mess as a child; except for the days my mother demanded I wear a dress and forced my hair into a slick brown bun. Regardless, it was the girliest thing I ever put on as a child.

I wonder now why he always did that. I don’t remember him doing that for any of my siblings or cousins. Lately I can hear him in my mind telling me, “Come here, gal”. Which meant I could crawl up on his lap and let him protect me from the world or the people in my house, whichever was worse at the time. I’m thankful that he’s still with me.

2006-04-17T11:09:00.000-07:00

Today's riddle:

This group's latest release cites drum licks copped from Detroit Rock City.

Any one? Any one?

Thanks for everyone's help - I'll keep you posted on the progress!

2006-04-14T06:41:00.000-07:00

I suck at this!

Today's mystery is the following:

A member of this Texas group shares a name with Richard Starkey.

Okay, Richard Starkey is Ringo Star. I've googled away, but alas nothing. Anyone know the answer to this? If you are right you'll know because the artist's website will have a picture of the ACL grackle holding a green note.

Arggggg - this is driving me nuts! (Pirate refernce intended)

2006-04-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

HELP!

If you can figure out the band behind this riddle - I'm yours, like it our not. Please help me!

The driving force behind this act began his career in a band that shared half of its name with the birthplace of a famous fried-peanut-butter-sandwich-eater.

2006-04-11T07:06:00.000-07:00

You think you know everything

then you check his phone log and see text messages to a girl named Melanie.

so you get as much of your stuff as you can and then you leave.

and then after a couple of stiff drinks at a friends you decide to call him and ask if it's okay to pick up your stuff at his house the next day.

he explains is was just his X that lives in New York and it was just a birthday message.

you explain that you don't call your X by a pet name anymore.

he asks if things weren't working out why you didn't just end it.

you tell him that you wanted to work on it.

he tells you that he knows he doesn't feel that way about you.

he apologizes for wasting your time.

he cries more and feels bad that he can't be the man for you.

and you lay in bed thinking you knew everything.

thats when you realize, you don't know shit.

2006-04-10T15:05:00.000-07:00

Beat it with a stick

Do you ever want to beat the stuffing out of Ziggy Marley for not being as great as his Dad? And then you feel a little guilty, like maybe you should be easier on him because his Dad did die and all.

I realized today that I’m killing myself over here. I’m pretty much doing it in the slowest fashion possible, so that I annoy ever last piece of myself over and over and over again. I’m just a pain right now. I’m moody. I hate moody people. I hate everything about them. Just pick a personality and get on with it!

Yet here I am. Moody. And it sucks and I’m bugging the shit out of myself with this crap. My friend tells me it’s because my birthday is right around the corner. I blame it on switching my birth control to a generic form. When that didn’t feel quite right, I started blaming it on BB and our relationship. Which is really nice considering his birthday was last week.

Leave it to yours truly to wait until this Sunday to tell him how unhappy I am. Is that a reasonable length of time after his birthday? I mean 6 days, come on! The bad thing is, I don’t know if it’s him or me or the weather or my birthday or my medication or what.

I just suck right now.

I’ll write more when I perk up and am enjoying myself again.

2006-04-07T08:49:00.000-07:00

Klassy

I’m just walking to the copier….do..do…doo….and what’s this? Cute guy? Huh? Cute! Like the MIT shirt…..like the smile…..like the hair….nice…nice…what’s he doing in my office…. weird. There is never anyone cute here.

I think I’ll just turn back and get one more quick peek. Turn head, die of embarrassment as he is looking back at me.

Okay..okay…not so bad. I mean, at least he was looking too. Right?

I run into a coworker and tell her what an ass I just made out of myself with some new guy here in the office. Then she trumps me. “You mean Gena’s kid? The one in high school?”

Great.

I’m that girl.

2006-03-29T07:39:00.000-08:00

She's back!

Friday night BB and I decided to meet and drink all the 69 bottled beers at some horrible bar here in town. We had the help of 3 other people, but it wasn’t enough. We failed the mission, but we did manage do drink over ½ the beers listed and decided that maybe doing the list in 2 sessions was more appropriate. Being the only girl on the team, I did what I could and drank all the girly beers on the list. Frabroise Raspberry, Celis White, and the Hefes were all mine.

Later we went for appetizers and wine and then stumbled into another bar for a final beer before home. Well, evidently Meet and Greet Snowflake decided to make an appearance. (Side note – Meet and Greet is my drunky pants alter ego who can go into any bar and within 5 to 10 minutes will have everyone talking to her. She’s a whirlwind fun force)

Let’s all count the number of people Snowflake can both insult and flatter all at one time, and yet people still appear to be drawn to her.

Meet and Greet walks to the bar says hello to beautiful talented friend KB, and orders a few beers for friends. Meet and Greet is then aware there is a super tall monster man behind the first two rows of patrons bellied up to the bar. Monster Man appears to be yelling some sort of chant regarding the basketball game that is on. (I know – it’s March madness. I should know who was playing, but I have no idea who it was. I think the belligerent Monster Man screamed something about Yukon).

Meet and Greet then decides to start picking on the shy boys standing in front of the giant. “So. You guys decided to bring this guy, did ya? Great. Good idea. Now he’s yelling and huge. What’s next? Fireworks out his ass? Good job guys.”

Strike one up for Meet and Greet. She just insulted 3 or 4 men at once and they now like her. Why? No idea. Of course the guy wasn’t with them, as they were obviously shuddering each time he yelled the chant. Meet and Greet strikes continues conversation with new shy boy friends.

Next thing she knows, a man orders a beer to her left. Being Meet and Greet, she immediately replies – “Yes, and put everything I order on his tab as well”. Meet and Greet looks back at him and flashes him a quick smile, only to realize the guy is pissed and trying to kill her with his mean face. Meet and Greet then laughs, tells his girlfriend what a blowhard she’s dating and they all start talking like old friends.

Tick. Another insult for Meet and Greet and yet, people still like her. My night ended with Meet and Greet making lude comments about a breakfast they should have in their hotel room with pancakes and sausage. Demonstrations with sausage included. Appears Meet and Greet is also something of sex instructor.

Finally Meet and Greet decides she can no longer take the Monster Man and his yelling. About 10 people are entertaining her by this point and he’s making too much racket for her to hear all her new friends. She turns and starts yelling at him. “Okay buddy. We all get it. And we all know you’re wearing a big green sweat suit that matches the team. And we all know you’re super tall and fabulous, but really. Is this helping your team? You’re killing us.”

The hushes sound of shocked silence starts. Monster Man stares at me blankly. Looks down at BB and says, “Dude. Your chick has the biggest balls I’ve ever seen. I’ve never had anyone to tell me to shut up before.” BB smiles and starts laughing with the guy.

Later Monster Man came up and joined the growing group of Meet and Greet new friends. All he could say was, “Boy, you better watch her. A woman like that’s liable to either get you in a fight or get you laid”.

True. That girl, Meet and Greet, she’s a character. We’ll have to take her on a road show. I was actually worried that I had lost her. It’s been a while since she came out and played. Welcome back, MG – I’ve missed you!

2006-03-16T07:00:00.000-08:00

Can’t sit still – must…hear…more…music!

SXSW bitches, get your funky ass out and shake it! Tonight’s line up for the free show is Echo and the Bunnymen, Blackalicious, Spoon, and Mr. Lif. You fucking kidding me? They fucking hit you with the hip-hop / rap shit and then force a little Indie in you and push you back a million years to some Echo. Who the hell can’t have fun in this town right now?

Every morning this week, I’ve been greeted by Lyle Lovett giving me the weather report. Not sure why he’s doing the weather on my favorite radio station, but there he is. (There’s a live feed so you can listen to it too. Highly recommend the morning shows where they have all kinds of bands playing live)

Then you go to work and read the million of people playing while you’re working like an ant. You want to scream because you can’t make all the shows, but you’re alive. And it’s good. And it’s good to live here.

Saturday is going to be the New Orleans Funk day, and I can’t wait. Gimme a little of that too, won’t you? Buckwheat Zydeco, Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Ivan Neville’s Dumpstahunk, The New Orleans Social Club (the Meters with a couple friends), and Allen Toussaint.

And this doesn’t mention the parties where the Pretenders are playing, or the millions of other talents just walking our streets and eating Tex Mex right now.

Home. I love my home.

2006-02-16T13:05:00.000-08:00

Suspension

Thunder says it’s been too long since I’ve written anything here. I have my excuses, just like he has his.

There’s nothing really fun going through my head right now, so I’ve saved you the bother of reading about it. If for some reason the thing that gets you all tingly inside is year-end reports and audits, let me know. I’ll pray for you.

Other than that my days are spent working, getting a little bit of running in, and planning out the remodeling of my kitchen. I’m very excited about the new house and am often up thinking about it at 5 in the morning. Weeee! After that there’s Spanish classes every Saturday morning for 3 hours of frustration. I didn’t think I was getting enough hair pulling in, so I took this class instead. Remind me to tell BB that I like it rough. Maybe that would help. Last Saturday I spent 3 hours with the Spanish group at the flea market annoying anyone who looked the least bit Mexican. It was the first time since I lived with my Dad that I heard people say, “Look! I think that might be one” in public. Odd.

That’s about it. I’ve hit one of those rough patches emotionally where I’m wondering why I ended it with the X hubby. We still talk all the time. I still miss him. He still treated me better than anyone else I’ve ever met. I miss the days of knowing he would be there when I got home. I miss talking about music with him and having celebratory corn dogs. I miss talking about when we get old.

The 14th would have been our 9th year anniversary. I guess a little ho-hum is to be expected. In a week I’ll remember how his neediness drove me insane.

I hope you all are doing great. I’m still here. I’m just taking it a little slow right now

2006-01-04T10:59:00.000-08:00

Head Case

I’m pretty sure I made it though the New Year’s celebration pretty much intact. Well, from what I can tell so far. Here’s a little slice of it from the vantage point of my phone messages. Baby Boy was visiting some friends back home, leaving me to my own devices. Wonder if he’ll do that next year?

Phone call #1 to Baby Boy (BB) at noon on New Year’s Eve: “I can’t believe you’re not here for New Years. I mean, do you really mean all those things you say to me? If you did, I just don’t see how you could have planned to be away on New Year’s Eve. It’s obvious you don’t love me!” (Disgruntled BB tried to reason with me to no avail.)

Phone call #2 to BB at midnight: “Sorry I was mad earlier. I thought I was pregnant and I was super scared and pissed at you. But now I started, so I love you again! Happy New Year!” (Shocked BB mumbled sweet nothings and got off the phone relieved)

Phone call #3 to BB at 9 am the next morning: “Hi, you. I just got up and I’m leaving this message even though you didn’t pick up because this is the time in the mornings that I usually start talking to you and you’re still asleep and you get all annoyed at me and try to make me fall back asleep. So it’s like I’m with you, but you’re not forced to listen to me ramble until you’re awake. So it’s probably nice for you. So anyway, I woke up just a second ago to a bunch of blood all over my pillowcase. I think I’m fine, but I have no idea where the blood came from. Weird, huh?” (BB hears message at noon on Sunday and laughs)

Phone call #4 to BB at 10:30 am New Year’s Day: “Hi! Me again. Well I just wanted to call you back and let you know that I finally remembered what happened to result in the bloody pillowcase. I remember falling out of bed last night and hitting my head on my nightstand. I guess I didn’t realize I was that hurt and bleeding and I fell back asleep. Funny, huh?” (BB hears message and realizes he’s in way over his head with me and contemplates making me wear a helmet when I sleep)

So it turns out that not only am I neurotic, but now I’m mildly retarded as proven by falling out of bed and cracking the noggin. At the least I’m a retard that survived. I guess ’06 started out a little rough for me. Hope yours was prettier!

2005-12-30T08:35:00.000-08:00

Christmas Spider Web

It’s not often that I write about my oldest sister, The Dog Lady. TDL is ten years older than I am, and lives very close to my Mom. Well, except for the fact that she collects dogs and I don’t. And by collect I mean, she currently has 5 or 6 dogs ranging from a Great Dane to a beagle lab mix that are destroying what shred of a house she has left at this exact moment.

TDL is also a control freak. She dominated all of her younger siblings with a harsh tone and mean stare. She can be a loving woman, but there will always be a piece of her that I just can’t figure out. When TDL was younger she found it important to be a part of the Houston socialite scene and so, she rubbed elbows with some of the cities wealthiest trust funders. A few remnants of this time in her life still exist, but for the most part she’s grown out this irritating need.

This Christmas she asked that I have Christmas dinner with her at a friend’s house in the country. She informed me that my mother would also be there, and that it would be very laid back. I was highly skeptical, but seeing as though I really didn’t have anything else to do, I accepted the invitation.

I arrived at the ranch around noon on Monday. I was confused as to which one of the houses on the property might be the living quarters, until I saw TDL sticking her head out of one of the doors and waiving me in. I pulled into the drive way and jumped out handing her my re-gifted cookies as a hostess gift. (Yes, I really am that tacky)

She looked beautiful and eagerly walked me into the house. Once I walked into the forier I realized how incredible aloof I am at times. By the looks of this place, I was standing in a house that was well over a 2 million dollar home. And those other houses I saw were really stables. Guess it makes sense they live in this one.

The introductions started and I couldn’t figure out how anyone was connected to one another, except for the moms. This is RT, Surky, L’s Mom, M’s Mom and the kids. Great. The introductions are done. I can relax and eat. But something kept bothering me. It was M’s mom. I had never met her before, although my mother kept insisting I met her as a child. Her skin is so pretty. She seems to speak Spanish, but she’s very pale. I wonder if she’s actually Spanish?

Huh, RT is L’s Mom’s carpenter. Interesting. And then there was Surky. Surky was wearing cheap grey pants that didn’t cover his socks, with a black and white stripped shirt that barely covered his bulging girth, and suspenders. His ensemble was adorned with matching thick gold chains around his neck and wrist. Surkey reminded me of someone out of the Goodfellas cast due to his choice in jewelry and his slicked back grey hair.

Dinnertime came and we all sat down. M’s Mom was sitting in between RT and Surky and I noticed everyone using the term “honey” when referring to her. That’s odd. Is that some sort of nickname? Then Surky’s abnormal breathing distracted me as he began stuffing huge amounts of ambrosia and potatoes in his mouth. Plate after plate, the enormous man continued on his path of gluttony until he finally rested before dessert.

During his little break the fat man started talking and I’m sure he must have though I was a mental patient the way I looked up at him. Here he was this fat fat enormous man who looks like a low-level mafia man describing his work as a florist. And yes, he was gay. And of course his clientele is only the super rich. Yet I can’t stop wondering how this happened to a gay man? I mean, he’s disheveled looking at best. And for a while there I thought he was M’s Mom’s date. Man, I’m dumb.

RT was asked to bless the food before the night began. He started in on a prayer that would make the Pope weep. The words flowed through him in a dignified and humble manor. He was above all a respectable and gracious man. I liked RT. He was the only man in the house that didn’t appear too shifty.

The only other man there besides Surky and RT was M. M had been sent to prison during the 80’s and his girlfriend at the time waited for him to get out so they could get married, have kids and buy this huge house. It wasn’t any deplorable crime, just drugs and a little embezzling. You know. The basic?

So after dinner I wondered about the whole scene. My sister and my mom are here sitting in an X-con’s house having Christmas with a frumpy gay man, a carpenter and a woman who seems to have eyebrows stapled to the top of her scalp.

When we got home I asked TDL about the players and how they were connected. Turns out that “eyebrows” or M’s mom, became an advocate for people in jail when her son was thrown in the pokey. During this time she spent her days working with the men in jail, and that’s where she met RT. When he got out, they got married despite the fact that he was a convicted and confessed murderer.

Huh. If you had told me that I was going to spend my Christmas dinner with an X-con, a murdered, a mafia florist and my sister I wouldn’t have believed you. Can’t wait to see what New Years is like.

2005-12-09T09:18:00.000-08:00

Today is my mother’s birthday.

And she’s crazy. Crazy in the sense that she has no concept of reality. I think she started loosing it in her early teens and it’s become a rapid decline since then. I’m not sure how old she is today because she lies about her age. It’s tied up in some story about Pearl Harbor. I guess that makes her either 65 or 68, depending on which story you go with.

My mom is like one of those choose your own ending books. Depending on which page you flip the outcome is surprisingly different, but either way it’s a dramatic ending filled with fascinating twists.

I just called her to wish her a happy birthday and towards the end of the conversation she is accusing me of not emailing her regarding the closing date on my house. I’ve emailed her regarding this at least a dozen times. Then she goes into some rant about her knee and possibly needing knee surgery. It’s a perfect example of her mind’s squinty eye.

Me: “Oh my gosh, Mom. Are you going to get surgery?”
Mom: “I’m not sure. You know this happened during one of my cheerleading stunts”

** Blank stare down at the paper clip I am messing with in my hands **

Me: “When were you a cheerleader?”
Mom: “You know, back when I lived in San Francisco”
Me: “Oh. Well…I can’t believe it’s still hurting you”
Mom: “Well, I injured it again when you were little. Don’t you remember? I was sitting cross-legged like I always do, pinning dress patterns for you guys. I got up to take you to school and we got into the grey station wagon I use to have.”

**More blank stares to the paperclip. I’ve never heard cheerleading stories from her before and when have I ever seen her sit cross-legged? And why the hell is she making us dresses before school? Wouldn’t that be at 7 am in the morning or something? Who pins patterns at 7 in the morning when you have 4 kids to get to school? **

Me: “I don’t remember the grey station wagon. I must have been too little”
Mom: “Well, we got to your school and I couldn’t get out of the car. My knee had locked up and I couldn’t move it. Well, we just laughed and laughed and then I drove myself down to the ER. They had to lift me out of the car and drain my knee.”

**Eyebrows contorted and my face is tilted. When did my Mom become some type of stunt driver? How would she be able to drive with her leg straight all the way through Houston traffic to the hospital? **

Me: “Wow. Guess I forgot that”

My voice was flat and monotone. These are the stories she comes up with. These are the outrageous lines my Mom will hand you if you’re within earshot of the lady. She talks about going to Japan and Africa all the time. She’s never been out of the country. She talks about how my birth parents were in the Rodeo, but I was born in April and the rodeo is in February. She talks about hanging out with Dave Brubeck and how she once gave CPR to my brother’s hamster and it saved it’s life.

These are the tales of the woman who raised me. Reality was never permanent around her. It moved and shifted when you least expected it. It was hard and brutal when you wanted it to be soft and cuddly.

I needed her address the other day and so I Googled her. Page after page came up about all the amazing work she’s done. In this sense of reality she is amazing. Somehow she’s able to conquer the world, just not her private life.

So for what it’s worth, or whatever it means to her, I wish her a happy birthday.

2005-12-05T11:21:00.000-08:00

Ahhh, Houston strikes again.

I had one of those strange weekends that only Houston can provide, and now I feel like the most unproductive person in the world.

Maybe I just need a slack day in order to get my thoughts together. Right now my thoughts are scattered like marbles on the playground. And if anyone makes a mean little bully step into the middle of the marble circle, I might just loose a couple of them for good.

Friday night was Funky D’s birthday. So I headed out to Houston with my baby boy and we caught the party mid swing. It was the typical Houston affair. Nice bar, nice drinks, nice people and a few shady ones. The shady people follow Funky D everywhere he goes.

After playing the rounds and catching up with everyone we headed back to D’s house and I ended up going to bed around 3 or 4 am. I woke up the next morning hearing Funky D doing his impression of Harry Carry and other random people yelling, “Hi! I’m Brian Fellows”. I made my way down to the pool and it was just as I suspected. A pool full of naked people left over from the night before awaited me.

I made my stop to the convenience store for my water logged friends and went back to join them in the naked debauchery. Float, talk, sip the mimosa, and laugh. A good 8 hours of doing nothing at all but being amazed at how some people party.

Poor baby boy, I warned him but it’s something else to be thrown into it. I lost him for a good 10 hours over the weekend. And this time, it wasn’t me who went astray. I was a good kid tucked in bed right where I was suppose to be. Turns out that he learned all about the nightlife and silly bars, and people with more money than self respect.

I was accused at starting drama when I suggested that I would indeed beat the shit out of the girl hitting on me. I didn’t mind it so much when I had to pry her off of me, but make one move for someone I’m dating and I’ll try and beat you to a bloody pulp.

To me it was an anti-drama statement. You do that, and I’ll do this. Like a warning, I didn’t see any harm in it. If you fart, I’m going to throw-up. That’s not drama. So why all of a sudden is, “if you do that to my guy, I’m going to beat the fucking shit out of you” so dramatic.

I didn’t mean it that way, but I still got the result I wanted. She didn’t overstep my boundaries again. That’s all I wanted.

So it’s Monday and I’m back to my real world. No one’s doing drugs here and most everyone is at work today. I have no hint of all the champagne I drank this weekend and the only thing I’m feeling guilty about is all the stuff I didn’t get done this weekend. Although, I can’t think of a thing I really need to do anyway.

When did life get so busy that I couldn’t let myself get away for the weekend without feeling guilty? And has anyone seen that green marble? I need that one.

2005-11-02T12:30:00.000-08:00

One Step Forward

I’ve been looking to buy a house for the past month or so. It’s been the journey of walking into places and feeling under whelmed. Wow. Blank stare. I get to go into super debt for this? Not so yea.

Finally last night I found a house I could actually see myself in. Sure the person who is currently living there appears to be in love with faux finishes, but a little paint and all her hard work will go away. I’ve put the contract in and I’m just waiting for their answer. I should know by tonight.

Starting over is weird. It’s like graduating and wondering, “this isn’t really what I thought it would be like” because you’re still working for next to nothing. That’s if you can find a job. Since I pictured myself with kids and the X for such a long time, it seems weird to be buying a house by myself.

It feels like I am surrendering to being alone. I had the same twinge of pain yesterday when I was walking into work. I use to think that I would take my kids to the church next door for day care while I was working. Yesterday it hit me that I may not have kids. Ever. I don’t think that’s really a bad thing for me or that I would be incomplete without kids, it’s just different. It’s just not what I planned.

Last week when I got the news about my job, all I wanted to do was to go out and celebrate with a fancy meal. It’s what we did in my family growing up. I didn’t have anyone to go with and I realized that’s just part of being single. It’s not that my friends didn’t want to go, but they have lives and they couldn’t just drop their plans on such short notice.

It’s all these little things that keep coming up that remind me that I'm in a different place than I once thought I would be. I think my life is forcing me to move on. It’s a good thing for me. I need to. It’s time. So cross your fingers and we’ll see if this deal goes through. One step forward.

2005-10-26T11:27:00.000-07:00

Here’s your little ice cream with a fucking cherry on top

You know when you’re having a fine day, and then all of sudden your nose starts running and it won’t stop. So you spend the next few hours sniffling, and your boy calls and then starts calling you Sniffles. This makes the whole day a little more manageable.

So does the raise, promotion, and new office I got. It makes my hours here seem a little bit better. So once again, I’m happy. But never fear my angry side is here and this one, my dear, goes out to “Just Desserts” from your comment yesterday.

Dear Just Desserts,

Funny that you wrote that, almost ironic isn’t it? There you are wishing I was still with you as you cry yourself to sleep every night. While I’m out fucking other men and not thinking of your shortcomings.

Don’t be so sad Just Desserts, it was never meant to be. You’re not the only sucker in the room who thought that I would make them happy. You’re just the only one who doesn’t understand the huge “Leave me the fuck alone” sign I’ve plastered up in front of your face.

Yes, I realize you love revenge. Peeing on your old roommate’s couch really taught him a lesson or two, didn’t it? Boy, you got him there. However, your latest revenge devices with me haven’t had the sting one would hope. You send mean emails and crude text message. You love me as close to hate me as I’ve ever seen possible. This is where you flourish. You tip toe down that tiny sting between the two emotions without a net and fall without logic.

Did I ever have feeling for you? Sure I did. I’m not too big to deny that. There was a time when you were always on my mind. I’d spend hours dreaming about you and smelling the flowers you would send. After all, it was better than the piss smell you left your X roomie.

But here we are. You’re a liar, a coward, and a cheat. You can’t love because you can’t give yourself the right. You’re cruelty refashioned on women the way your family tortured you as a child. I’m sorry for your past, but the day comes when a man has to grow up.

So grow the fuck, already. You have a lot going for you if you would pull your head out of your lazy ass. I’ve thought about seeking revenge on you for the cruelty that you’ve dished out to me, but alas that would be like loving you in your eyes. So you’ve beaten me there. There’s nothing I can do.

Except maybe tell you this. Everyday that I am not with you, that I don’t hear your voice, that I don’t see your reflection in the window, I’m happier. Each time I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re not there, I smile. Every time I fuck the shit out of my boyfriend, I scream his name to remind me that it’s not you, and the orgasm is even better. Every time I think about how fucking incredibly moody and insecure you are, I hang out with my friends and remember what it’s like to have fun with someone instead of taking care of a child. Whenever I have drinks with my friends, I’m reminded that there are people who can handle their liquor without throwing a jealous rage. Oh yea – and when I’m out with my guy and another man looks at me, he snuggles up close to me, kisses me on the cheek and tells me how happy he is that I’m with him. Then when we get home he proves it over and over and over again.

I hope that stays with you and keeps you warm at night, darling.

2005-10-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

Is there room in that hole for me?

Okay, when did I say it? I know I said it somewhere at sometime. At some critical point in the last month I must have muttered, “It just can’t get any worse”. And some little Diablo smiled up at me, shook his horns, and gave me one more slap upside the head.

That’s right to add insult to injury; the wedding gifts to the X are being delivered to my house.

How do you get that wrong? Did he send out flyers requesting that people send gifts to the him and my replacement to an address that he hasn’t lived at in 8 months? I’m sure he’s around here somewhere trying to snap a shot of me crying for his website. That way he can mock my misery in a more public way.

Also, if anyone wants a new blender or a great new picture frame let me know. I think I can super glue them back together and you’ll never know.

2005-10-18T11:14:00.000-07:00

Snow Angels

I know I’m suppose to be busy as fuck at work, but I just can’t seem to get there. My ankle is still swollen (this makes the 3rd week or so) and I’m just pretending I don’t look like a tree stump down there. I’ve avoided the heels for about as long as I can take it, but with each day a little piece of me grows more intense and the need for height yells my name.

You know when you’re drunky pants and you think you’re all hot, so you decide to do a little sex kitten dance on the bed only to realize your boy is passed out on the carpet and has missed the whole thing? Yea, that’s what’s it like right now.

So you throw a little blanket on the man, and then proceed to make snow angels in your bed instead. Shit, you got the whole thing to yourself anyway. That’s my life right now. I’m trying to do the rascal dance, but in reality I’m a one legged gimp at a freak show with only the mop man looking over occasionally to make sure I haven’t slipped on the wet surface he left behind.

I can’t say that I’m unhappy about it. In fact I can say that things are going pretty well. Snow angels and all.

Now if only I could remember what it is I’m suppose to be doing….

2005-10-07T14:01:00.000-07:00

Who’s your gimp, baby

Yesterday just wasn’t my day. I’ve been grumpy all week and sleeping more than usual, so getting into work at 7:30 a.m. has been a stretch. It starts out with my hitting snooze until 6:54 and then pretending that if I move really fast I’ll make in and to my desk on time.

I have no sense of reality, just like my mom. Another trait my mother adheres to is clumsiness. Evidently, I’ve picked up that nasty habit as well. After ACL last weekend my ankle started to feel a little funny, and because I’m so bright I decided what I needed was a good long run. That nice little jaunt left me with a swollen ankle, which I’ve been denying for the past week.

The idea that I was denying it might be a little harsh. I’ve been complaining enough about it that my friends were beginning to avoid me, so I thought I better go in for an exam. I went to the Doctor’s office and spent my first hour waiting to be called so that I could wait again while he finished his yogurt or whatever it does that takes doctor’s so long in-between patients. I moved on to the second room and waited like a good kid on the table with the little paper protector crinkling underneath me.

I never know if I should get a magazine while I wait or not. The idea that a bunch of sick germ spreading freaks have thumbed through the pages hacking up golf balls of flim, makes me wonder why they have them in their offices at all. I decided a better us of my time was to day dreams that a beautiful young man would come in and take a look at my ankle. Of course he would be swept away with my gorgeous feet and we would have sex right there, but reality assured me that my piggies aren’t so great and neither was the doctor. Besides midway through the fantasy, I started considering that I could never really trust a doctor. I mean if he could fall in love with my feet and just start pounding away at it without really knowing me, then he’s probably a slut. I don’t want a man like that. I should really learn to let go when I fantasize.

Instead of the doctor and I having a tawdry affair, I ended up getting X-rays and a splint. He also gave me orders to wear tennis shoes for a week. A….wha…..week? Yep, doctor’s orders. Your little snowflake gets to run around in tennies for a week. Sounds good, unless you actually like wearing heels that make you look “tall”. Plus I’m convinced that the higher my heels are, the smaller my ass looks. I’m not sure why this would be, but I’ve somehow convinced myself that this is true. I just feel thinner in heels.

So now I’m not allowed to run or do anything like that, I can’t wear stilts, and I have to sport t-shoes. I’m not sure if this guy likes girls who look like guys, or whatever sick fetish he has, but I’m not much for that look on me. I’m pretty sure that I look like someone who’s on her way to get a mullet when I wear my running shoes in public.* The horror. I shudder.

I picture myself gaining a whole-nother body size, like say another 100 pounds, laying around icing my ankle, and then picking out golf shirts to go with my boyish khaki pants and t-shoes for the next day of work. I’ll probably start hanging out with my some of my coworkers who can pull off this look. Then I can get my own unisex nickname and learn to walk with a limp. It’s gonna be great. Once I get that mullet they’re really let me into their group, and then watch out. It’s sports bras and stud earrings for me.

Wow. Could it get any worse? Could I get any pettier? I just want to be girly – gosh!

*Mullet props go out to the Playa MC who suggested I go with him to get my mullet this week while he got his haircut.

2005-10-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

Out of Nowhere

I realize that some of the things we turn into coincidences are trite. I know this because when things go really poorly I run a hot bath, pour in some sea salts and smelly oils, and start talking to the shower head lingering up above me.

This ritual started around the time my grandfather died and it was a way for me to “talk” to him. (Oh shut up, like you’re so normal) I would spend a good hour each night jumping into my tub and washing all the horrors of the day away. I would look up and just starting talking to him like he was in the room. For some reason it doesn’t seem creepy to me that I’m naked in the bathtub communicating with the dead. When I write that I can see why every other person on this planet would think that.

I think of it like he can’t see me, but he can hear me. If he can see me I have reasoned that he has already asked and received the gift of blindness in this situation. There must me some type of mystical gift giving for the dead.

Either way I always seem to get some type of advise out of the situation. I assume it’s from him, but who knows. Maybe it’s just the heat going to my head, but I think he often finds ways to communicate with me.

At one of the lowest points of last year, I went outside on my porch for a smoke and to ponder what all had happen in the last year. I was feeling horrible and like I had lost everything. I looked over and noticed the bulbs I had taken from my grandfather’s house after his funeral were growing. They were tall and beautifully green in the midst of our winter. It gave me the courage to get my ass off the porch and to stop behaving like a child.

Since then there have been several of these incidents.

I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately since I decided to buy another house. Will I be able to make the mortgage? Will I be able to stick to a budget? What if I end up in a financial nightmare? What if I make the wrong decision? By the time Friday rolled around I was in need of a lobotomy, but instead decided to put on my St. Christopher chain. For some reason it reminds me of my grandfather, who was neither Catholic nor a religious man. Then again I don’t know why I have manifested him in the showerhead either, so I guess it makes perfect sense.

I felt like I needed him to be with me that day. I went into work that morning feeling blue and was confronted with an argument right away. Then the phone rang and I struggled with telling Rojo that it’s over between the two of us. I went into my boss’s office a couple of hours later and received the worst excuse ever about why I haven’t received a raise or a promotion. (If you know anyone else who is not receiving their dues at work because the company ran out of office space, please let me know. I’m searching for a support group)

Of course by this time I’m thinking it can’t get any worse, and I drive home to make a gift for a friend. Once I got home I realized I lacked the energy for any such activity and called the old roomie for dinner. I was driving to the restaurant with the top of the cabrio-gay down feeling a little bit more chipper until my phone rang. It was the X calling to tell me that he’s getting married in a couple of weeks.

Wow. My X husband gets divorced from me in December, and then married to the Replacement in October. Lighting speed to you Frat Man. I had no idea your sperm was in such high demand. I was stunned and said my formal congratulatory remarks and hung up the phone in order to whimper like a beaten dog.

The minute I walked into the door of Mexican food joint, two waiters immediately came up and asked me if I needed a drink. Nice. You know you must look like hell, but do you need the confirmation of a bus boy to do this for you?

I sat down and didn’t hear a word that my friends said throughout the evening. I muscled through dinner and left as soon as the check was paid. Back in the cabrio-gay I couldn’t bare to turn on the radio for fear that Etta James would be playing. I know it’s not likely, but then again…

In the safety of my apartment I fell on my couch praying that no one would call. I looked around and saw all the little things that use to be in our house. When I got up I felt the chain around my neck and my little St. Christopher hanging safely on my chest. And I knew, it’s just one day, it’s just one thing, it goes on even after its gone.

2005-09-28T14:16:00.000-07:00

I’m going to do that again

I was lying in bed recovering from a long weekend and making a list of things that I should never do again. These lists are a constant result of doing something incredibly senseless and erratic the weekend before.

My list started off a lot like one composed by a third grader would. I will never again drink 4 grape sodas and stuff my face full of pop rocks. Except the grape soda was really vodka and the pop rocks stood for pizza. Then I started to criticize myself for being so emotional at times. You know, like the time in 2nd grade when I locked the chubby girl in the coat closet for wearing the same dress that I had on. Even now I’m still wondering why we had a coat closet in Texas. I blame the poor architecture for my emotional shortcomings. If it wasn’t for the contractor poor design, I never would have pushed her into that closet.

After I got down to the 50th “I’ll never”, I decided this game was too negative and thought maybe I should focus on the positive. Maybe that will help me be a better person. So I’ve been trying all week to fit in “I’ll do more of”’s instead of those dreaded “I won’t”s.

Simple things like, “I will sleep more and go to bed earlier” and “I will extend my running from 45 minutes to an hour at least once a week” were working into my repertoire. I was beginning to feel like a more peaceful and gentle snowflake until I heard a local radio announcement.

The stupid Cheryl Crow will be hosting a free show this weekend in the park as a “thank you” to how nice we’ve been to her meat puppet Lance Armstrong. (If you’ve forgotten – I hate him).How egotistical is that? “I want to thank the city of Austin for being so nice to my fiancé, Lance” Oh puke some more you scrawny wretch!

Agreed we should be thanked for allowing that asshat to live in our community for all these years, but did she have to endure him during his early days when he was a whining baby? Did she have to sit around and listen to him being an ass to people who asked for an autograph in his pre Tour de France days? You should thank us, you no good harlot.

I might add that if you really wanted to thank us don’t drown us out with your tone-deaf whimpers, but instead move your boy out to LA. Could you? Since he’s all about name-dropping and such an over the top groupie of every bad band out there, he’d actually have friends in LA. I think people he could relate to would be great for his oversized ego.

You might be thinking that all this ranting isn’t very peaceful or positive for me. It’s just a purging so I can get back to being healthy on the inside again. I’d hate to pop, you know. Extremes in either direction are bad.

Extremes like say, how the NRA is campaigning to allow guns in the work place. Things that ridiculous could make me go back to ponytail pulling very easily. *Breathe, breathe* I will be happy at the face of such stupidity! I will, I will!

2005-09-20T09:17:00.000-07:00

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

In celebration of talk like a pirate day, The Playa MC and I went down to our local pirate bar. I should mention a couple of things about this bar to you. First off it’s on 6th street, which is all fine and dandy if you’re 18 to 20 something. However at 32, it’s a bit like slumming it. I’m no longer impressed with $1 wells and test tube shots, nor do I wish to explain to some boy in a baseball cap that I don’t have a major because I have, in fact graduated.

Unfortunately for me, I’m not above it like other people my age. I suppose this exposes my undeveloped emotional intelligence. I can’t help it! The people watching is fantastic.

I met up with the Playa MC at an ultra snobbish bar downtown and we started our dissension into the street with the catcalls for drinks coming from every direction. We reached the pirate bar only to find out they weren’t going to open for a while. Oh yea, we’re the only people out on this street who work an 8 to 5. What were we thinking?

We decided to kill some time until they opened and stopped for some pizza. At that point we were privy to 2 crack addicts trying to talk. I’m pretty sure the woman was a hooker, but I was wondering how either of them could function to the point where sex would be a possibility. Not only did they weigh 100 pounds put together, but balance didn’t seem to be one of their stronger suits. Either way they made for a good 5 minutes of people watching. Thanks crack people! I really enjoyed your dancing efforts at entrance of that dance club. Sorry the bouncer was so rude to you and made you leave. Better luck next time!

We were still leaning against the lamppost checking out the happy couple above when a guy sleeping at a café table on the street woke up and asked us if we would like our picture taken. He was waving his Polaroid around like it was flag in order to entice me to his photographical whims. The minute I replied in the negative, he tilted his head back down and was out cold again. Could it be that he is the narcoleptic Polaroid man? I always wanted to meet that man!

We had a couple of drinks at a low-key bar and watched the cops and the bar owner haggle over a scratch on his car. What were you thinking bar owner? You parked your car on 6th street where they serve more liquor than anywhere else in Texas. Did you not realize that something might happen if you leave your car around so many drunks? And you serve drunks, so you must know they don’t have the best judgment. You’re dumb bar owner, even if I did think you were hot and reminded me of Jason Stratham. Side note: What’s my freaking obsession with bald men? Even the PMC asked about it last night. I can’t help it. Who wouldn’t want to lick up that guy?

We headed to the pirate bar in order to find ourselves the only people in the joint. It was a little pathetic, okay really pathetic. The music was loud enough to deafen small children and the endless whines of Sheryl Crow weren’t helping. What’s wrong with these people? It’s NATIONAL talk like a pirate day and you are a pirate bar. Is it me, or do you think that maybe you could use this as a way to pick up a little extra cash on a Monday night? Hire some pirates, do a little advertising about your fun pirate bar and taaa-daaa! It could be a pirate extravaganza!

Instead it boiled down to the PMC and I sharing stories and laughing at random people on the street. The lack of pirates aside, I had a great night. I must say it ranks above people watching at both the airport bar and amusement parks.

2005-09-19T11:59:00.000-07:00

You know you wanna!

Allrighty mates! It’s talk like a pirate day for starters, so you know whose panties are all wet right now. On top of that ACL festival is this weekend and as long as hurricane Rita doesn’t wipe us out, we’ll be out and about all weekend with some super tunes.

Who could be more excited than me? No one, that’s who!

I have nothing else to report except that I had a fabulous weekend filled with lot of moonlight and wine. Shiver me timbers, laddie! I finally got it right.

Hope all is well on your side of the sail.

The mad pirate snowflake

2005-09-15T11:02:00.000-07:00

As the world crumbles

Why do people keep putting fatty foods in the break room? What is it about corporate culture that mandates only fattening deserts are be placed in front of American workers? Maybe it’s the French. I could see them creating this conspiracy so they remain the thin people of the world. You fancy French, with your “I walk everywhere” because our culture is so much better than yours, you make me feel pukey. But not in the anorexic way, I’ll have you know!

At my nephew’s school the parents are required to bring snacks for the whole class a couple of times a month. You never see a conscientious mom bringing in sugar loaded pastries or pixie sticks for the youngins. In fact it’s mainly apples or carrots or something in that healthy realm.

I wonder about working parents. Do they ever sneak into the break room at their office, choke down 10 cookies and a piece of birthday cake and then hide it from their kids? I imagine the exchange to go something like this:

“So little Sarah, how was your day”
“Great! We had apples and peanut butter for our snack today! What did you have?”
Lying parent ponders which snack to choose and squeaks out, “Yea, we had the same”

Meanwhile the deceitful parent spent the last 2 hours of work twirling in their chair and playing limbo with their telephone cord, and the “how low can you go” song is still repeating in their head.

We should treat ourselves as well as we treat our children. And by “well” I am not referring to people who have the nerve to adopt children and then locked them up in cages. Thanks for helping folks! Please let them end up in a cage of their own, where the children can visit them and poke sticks at them through the bars. That would be the best therapy imaginable.

I’m also thinking that if we do treat ourselves the way we treat our kids, that not only would we be healthier but we’d have more of an excuse to wear those dumb pointy birthday hats around the office. I’d pay a lot to see some people around here in those hats. And we could bring back the hand puppets! I would much rather talk over my cube to the next person using a hand puppet. Drawing eyes on my hand has gotten old, and I’m pretty sure I’ve sucked every element of surprise out of my neighbor. By this point I can hear her rolling her eyes when I stick my hand over the wall and fake a dumb voice.

**As a side note, I just went to google images to find a good hand puppet to reference. I ended up getting a bunch of pictures of women. You people disgust me! Right there next to Lambchop is a picture of a hooker! Really now, is that necessary?

2005-09-13T11:29:00.000-07:00

I dream of Genie with flowers everywhere

I’m supposed to be doing a million things right now and I’m not doing a single one of them. I know you are too, you asshat. Surely there is something else you should be doing than reading this dribble.

I just can’t seem to get myself motivated to the places I need to be. Like the grocery store. I need cat food and dishwasher detergent and bread. I just can’t seem to get myself in that place. I can’t stand the type of people who go to the grocery store. Yes, I realize everyone and every type of person has to go. Perhaps I don’t like anyone, which is fine by me. It’s just that people don’t watch where they are doing and the kids are screaming and people don’t stay to the right. Ahhh!

I just need 20 things and I’ll be out of here, but then here comes mom with her 5 nose picking assclowns and I have to sit there and wait until she makes up her mind about what type of Tuna Helper she’s going to buy. Meanwhile my head is about to burst because all I can think is “ Pick one, lady! They all taste the same! Plus your kids eat snot, so surely Tuna Helper is an upgrade for them.”

And then there is the oblivious old bat who doesn’t realize the rest of the two legged world doesn’t crawl at a snails pace. She’s the one inspecting every different kind of milk and has her cart in front of her blocking your access to every other dairy product they have for sale. So help me if she didn’t need the calcium before I bust in her hip, she will afterwards. And for crying out loud, it’s MILK! You know – 2%, whole, skim, fat free. It hasn’t changed over the last 20 years, so I think you should know what color top you are by now. The lid of the milk bottle probably matches your hair color anyway! Just get the blue lid and move on you old bittie.

Right as I finally make my way to the shampoos and body products, I inevitably run into a man who’s just realizing there are more choices for deodorant than he can handle. The only men who can handle themselves in the grocery store are gay; the rest of you straight men might as well go home. Besides I’m pretty sure the gay boys really aren’t there to shop much, so they just wiz through the aisles looking for a good piece of ass. Hooray for them, and boo for straighty! You’re the dumb boy sitting there realizing that there is something different between antiperspirant and deodorant. Wow – I’ll pick you up a sticker on isle 13 for figuring out that triumphant feat. Now move on, I just need my Secret and I will get out of your way. Which by the way, ½ of all men wear anyway.

And last, but not least, I hate the three frat guys who have decided to make shopping a togetherness activity. You are irritating by yourself and now you’ve just exponentially moved up your irritation quotient when you got together a gaggle of your white t-shirts and kahki shorts. And why is your car loaded with meat like that? How much meat can you eat? You would think they were feeding all the homeless shelters in town. And then they have to buy the super gigantic pack of 100 paper towels, which are then thrust on to the top of the meat heap. Now there are three loud frat guys trying to maneuver a cart and they can’t see where the hell to go. Just like your sex life, boys. How depressing.

So I guess I do understand why I don’t want to go, but there’s no escaping it. I’m even thinking about going to the expensive grocery store to avoid all the people. I even had a dream last night about going to the fancy grocery and the whole time I was worried about the prices, but then I got over it because all the lanes were filled with flowers and it was just me zipping through the isles without any obstacles.

This is bad, I’m dreaming of grocery stores. Neurotic much?

2005-08-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

Blue light

Every time I work on my home computer I get depressed. I see you everywhere in here. I pull up my music to get away and you’re there to haunt me. Remember this song? We danced to this song out in the parking lot under those enormous lights that made the rain look like confetti falling on us. I know this song too, it’s the first time we kissed and I blushed because I saw the way you looked at me like a woman instead of a little girl.

I came across your poetry tonight. From the beginning to the end, it’s all documented and neatly organized in your chronological way. You were the neat one. The organized one. I was the one with chaos whipping my hair up into my face.

I read your words tonight and I must admit it’s been along time. I had to stop a couple of months back from reading one of your poems over and over again because my heart couldn’t take it any longer. I picked up the opus you wrote me the other day and your words spilled like liquid to the floor, flooding me with those memories of what could be. What wasn’t for us.

You’re still the most talented man I know. It’s in your writing that you hide like a secret. I remember the first time we moved and we had to move our bed. I never realized how much you wrote until that moment we pulled the mattress off and stood shocked in your sea of words. You were naked. I loved you. Just as you were that moment.

It was at that moment that you weren’t dying. You weren’t a CEO or COO of a company. You didn’t make a dime. You weren’t a frat guy and I wasn’t a lost girl. You were honest. You were you, not the model person you thought you had to be. You stopped being an athlete for a split second, and became my poet. My inspiration.

As I read your words tonight, I can’t help but think of your new love. Will she move you enough to write with everything in your being? Will she push you to be honest in your writing? Will she love you enough? I want her to love you enough. I want her to see all those splinters that make up you.

I worry about you even though I know I have to let go. I can’t right now. I still cling to you at the oddest moments. I worry about you when it’s hot outside and know you’re going to go running anyway. I still laugh when I can’t find a CD and I can hear you telling me to put things up in the right place and I wouldn’t have these problems.

I miss you. I’m sorry for what I did and for who I couldn’t be.

2005-08-22T17:22:00.000-07:00

Full Moon Fever?

I’m back and I don’t really have much to say. Spain is fun and I behaved myself like a nun. No really, I did. I managed to leave the country without contracting any diseases or even trading American germs. How about that for self-control? I’m the master of the loveless night. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Since my return I’ve been trying to get my life back into some routine that doesn’t include pretending I’m a rock star. Slowly but surely it’s coming together. I’ve been a bit blue, but maybe that’s just because I’m back and there’s nothing too impressive on the horizon of fun. Either way, it’s not like me and I miss my happy self.

All weekend I couldn’t shake it. Was it the run-in I had with a friend? Was it realizing how different my life is from a year or two ago? I miss my dog. Some days I miss my old life. I forget the complacency that went with it, and so I continue to daydream about the past when things were simple. I forget the lonely nights sleeping next to someone who I dreaded would graze past me when he rolled over. I forget the tailgate parties I felt forced to go to. I even forget the feelings of having to beg for his forgiveness to people in public when he had completely embarrassed me.

My life is simple and relatively stable. There’s nothing I really want or need that I don’t have, except for getting over this feeling of loss. It haunted me all weekend. The thoughts of growing up with people who tried to keep me down flooded my mind. Saturday at the lake all I could think about was the family I started to create and then dissembled.

I know it will pass. I know it takes time. Why can’t you order that from Amazon?

2005-07-27T07:56:00.000-07:00

I'll be back

I'm off to Spain today and won't be back until next Friday. It's a life long dream to go off to Espana, and here I am. My flight leaves in a couple of hours.

So big kisses and I can't wait to be back. I'll share all my times and pictures if possible. Pray that I don't get deported. The Playa MC has his doubts.

Hugs and see you soon!

2005-07-21T10:14:00.000-07:00

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Yes, thank you Mr. Einstein, I realize I’m insane.

When I was in high school my parents insisted I see a therapist. While the reasoning behind their decisions was questionable, their demand was a blessing in some ways. Every teenage girl wants to hear that all of her problems are a direct result of inadequate parenting. I suspected as much, but this gave me the proof I needed to truly see them as people incapable of loving their own children.

And so I went every Thursday, just as happy as could be. My mother was invited in for a couple of sessions, but quickly pulled me out when the therapist suggested some of my hostile behavior was a reaction to her drinking problem. But before that day when the therapist tried a little too hard with my mom, she asked me a simple question. “If you know that every time you go down that road you are going to fall into a pothole, why don’t you take the other road or a bridge or something else?”

I responded that it’s a familiar road and that I know the potholes well. Sometimes I like hiding in them away from the rest of the world. At the time I liked self-destruction and I kept it up for several years. It was safe and it made sense. If my parent’s weren’t going to beat me down, I would learn to do it myself. Living in chaos was all I knew. It was my street.

I gave all that up several years ago. I don’t invite drama and lunacy into my life. I don’t get in fights and I try to be kind to people. I like my life, I love my friends, and I’m good to myself. I don’t tell myself how ugly I am or how unlovable I am. I’ve lost the reasoning behind why I use to convince myself that I would fail at everything.

Last night I did something really stupid. I went down that road knowing what the outcome would be. I did it because I wanted to be nice and I was hopeful that something had changed. I did it because wanted to see if love would change something that I couldn’t. It didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew that before I stepped foot in that direction. I ended up putting myself in a bad situation and getting hurt again. Except this time, I did walk away. This time I didn’t feel bad leaving those voices that tell me how horrible I am. I didn’t allow the chaos to pull me under and leave me lost.

I know what love is and it’s not someone telling you how horrible you are or accusing you of being someone you’re not. It’s not someone looking over and glaring at you. As much as it hurt to get up and walk away, I had to for me. I had walk down that new street alone. I refuse to go back to insanity where cruelness is called love.

2005-07-12T09:45:00.000-07:00

Why I hate Helen Keller and you should to

You know the scene. That damn scene at the water spicket. You know the one. Helen’s teacher is screaming “WATER!!!” at her and Helen is splashing all around and is finally able to grasp saying the word water. I bet it gets to you. You know it does. You know that teacher wanted to drowned her for being such a terror, but you know we’re all suppose to forgive her because until then she just couldn’t communicate.

I just want to tell that teacher that she should have left well enough alone. The damn brat should never have found a voice, because now I have to listen to her perky little sayings all the time. Funny that none of her lines start with, “I use to be a real bitch until that lady jammed a bunch of water in my grill”.

I think my final straw with Helen came last week when someone handed me one of her quotes. “When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” Ya Helen, why don’t you tell me about staring at doors? Oh, that’s right. You can’t. And who made you Yoda?

You can’t see or hear and all of a sudden you turn out to be the damn poster girl for all the blind and mute people of the world. Pretty arrogant aren’t you? Miss High and Mighty have you ever thought that your quotes are just a bit much? How about this one, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it”. Obviously one can’t overcome awkward sentence structure, can they Miss I’m So Great?

What about all the other people in the same deaf and blind boat? Do you really think they want to hear you spuing how insightful you are? “Look at me, look at me!! I’m Helen and I’m mute, but I’m so much smarter than everyone else”. Puke.

I also have to disagree with this saying you came up with: “Many persons have a wrong idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose”. Obviously Miss Keller didn’t get to know her own self very well, now did she? Self-gratification is one of the healthiest and best ways to spend a Sunday morning. Fidelity to a worthy purpose? Isn’t that the underlying point of self-gratification? I thought with your ego, Helen, you’d think of your self in higher regards.

And before someone reads this and sends me some crap about how mean I am let me just say, “Yes, thank you”. I know I am. And no I don’t hate all deaf people, nor do I think they are dumb. Just stupid little Helen. Why oh why didn’t that lady push her down the water well? Now I’m stuck with these dumb little sayings. So to you Helen, I dare say, “Now that you have a voice, please shut the fuck up.”

2005-07-08T11:12:00.000-07:00

Why did ya have to go and say a thing like that?

It hasn’t rained in Austin for over 5 weeks now. Dry isn’t even the half of it. I think I’ve heard the earth coughing around here, looking for anything to quench its thirst.

I was walking back to my work pod yesterday afternoon and noticed a peculiar smell. I stopped dead on my heels and sniffed again. “It’s rain!” I belted out and ran to the window. I felt like an old woman in a nursing home whose days fluctuate with the weather. Sure enough it was rain. Texas rain is different that anywhere else I’ve been. Seattle has their little pellets of rain and Arizona’s rain looks like mist. The rain here is made up of huge lemon sized drops that can soak you immediately, like a Shamoo splash.

I went home to try and catch a run in the rain. It’s been so steamy that I can’t run at night, so I was jumping with joy at the chance of running in a heavenly shower. Sure enough I got home and there was no rain to be found.

I started making dinner and the Playa MC came by for a movie. I had the door cracked open when the downpour began. The street began to flood and the lighting cracked through the sky. Glorious rain. The lights went out a few times and then it stopped out of nowhere, like a tantruming child’s whose attention’s been caught by a butterfly.

We drank our wine and waited for my cat to come home. I kept getting up and looking out the door in hopes the lighting hadn’t chased him four counties away. During one of my attempts to coax him in my neighbor pulled up. I smiled because something about him always makes me smile. He got out of his car, smiled back and said, “You want to go for a walk in the rain?”

I could have melted on the spot and run fluidly into the stream rushing down the street. I declined, but damn if you ever want to get laid on the spot – try that line. If the Playa MC hadn’t been there, I’m happy to say I would have fucked that boy right there in the street. Damn him, now I’ll have to fantasize about that for a week.

2005-06-30T10:23:00.000-07:00

Happy? Who’s Happy?

So I’m happy right now, and crazy busy right now. I wish I had time to catch up on all that’s running through my mind. I want to take you on a tour of my happy. I want you to be able to roll around in it with me, like a lazy Saturday when you watch the day go by from your puffy bed. I want you to smile at yourself like I am, knowing you deserve this.

I passed my CPA exam. I huge hurdle in my life this far. The demons of my mental disability seem like an enemy I squashed. My friends and family are safe and sound. So what that my sister is worried about my moral state and thinks my choices are questionable? What does that have to do with me? I feel fine. I’ll just make a mental note that the sis thinks screaming naked boys in her house is something Jesus wouldn’t want. Oh, but wouldn’t he? Surely he has a larger since of fun than that. You can tell by the way he makes dolphins communicate and tortures the fundamentalist with monkeys. He’s a riot.

So happy Fourth of July to you all. I miss you and want to wrap you up in the big blankie of happy that’s found me. My best friend since childhood gets in today. It will be endless hours of talking and rationalizing everything from cheetos to men. We’ll mix up the margaritas and soak in the sun knowing there’s nothing the other could say that would ever be wrong. We’ll laugh at the boys who treated us like shit and then tried to come back, cry over the ones that didn’t work out, and marvel in the ones that make us smile today. We’ll look over at each and thank the Jesus that loves naked chaotic boys in my sister’s domain that we have one another. Happiness is an old friend and good stories.

2005-06-17T13:43:00.000-07:00

Say Nothing

I’m starting to realize that maybe I don’t express myself very well. I think of myself as a very blunt and to the point person. Despite this, I keep hearing from people that they didn’t know what I think of them or that I am hard to read. I find this fascinating, because I think its written all over my face.

I’ve listened to these complaints and I’ve tried to look at myself honestly and see if it’s true. I’m starting to see what they mean. Do you know how many times I have looked at you and wanted to tell you that I love you? Or the millions of times that I looked at you at thought you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but quietly shied away.

I’m not sure if it’s the pressure of dealing with those words once they come out, or the strength to say them that prevents me from opening my mouth. Part of it is the vulnerability that comes with honesty; some of it is the levity that comes with being honest.

I’m just not there yet. I’m not there with lovers or some of my friends. I’m trying to relay that it’s not personal; it’s just me right now. One day I’ll be brave again, but for now I’m being careful with me. And if one more person asks me to make an excuse for this, I’ll fucking chop their head off and mail it to their mom. Got it?

Love you! Kisses!

2005-06-13T10:12:00.000-07:00

Hidden Talents

Sometimes you just know how to do things, but you’re not sure where it came from. You know how to turn a doorknob just the right way so that the door doesn’t make a noise when you come in. You know how to hit the side of the fridge when it makes that noise to quiet it down. No one shows you, you just know.

For me this talent is secretly and subconsciously trying to kill myself. This weekend I tried to commit this foul agenda by running right into a shelf. You know those shelves that hang high up on the wall, designed to hurt unsuspecting people? Why do people have those? Do they hate their friends, or just want to laugh at their misery. I was just walking along and BAMB! The shelf hits me in the head and I fall to my knees. Two days later I’m guessing I still have a concussion, my head still has a huge aching knot, and both of my knees are bruised. And alas, it was not a sex crime. No bump on the noggin due to crazy reckless sex, but another attempt to injure myself.

After this graceful debraining, I then decided it would be a great idea to do a shot. My stomach didn’t agree and I ended up puking in someone’s front yard. I wonder how much classier I could be? “Hi? Wanna meet me? I try to injure myself at ever opportunity and then puke. Pretty huh?”

I’m just wondering why my unknown talent isn’t hitting a wall Fonzie style so a door opens. Instead I’m plagued with constant attempts to injure myself.

Sigh, maybe next time I’ll get drunk and end up with a new manicure or something. Anything would be better than looking like I’m in Fight Club. Want to party with me?
No wonder I sleep alone most nights.

2005-05-25T10:32:00.000-07:00

Excuse me professor is there another word for secret pirate treasure?

Sometimes I get really tough questions from my friends. It’s hard having all this great knowledge and understanding. I feel as though it is truly my duty to share it with you all. I don’t want to be greedy.

Today’s question comes from the Playa MC:

Hey, I did mean to tell you about the Mystery of the Magic Panties. I was sitting behind this girl wearing one of those midriff shirts and hip hugger jeans today in my bar review class, and she was making it very hard to concentrate because I could see half of her ass -- no panties. But then after the first break... WHAMMO! All of a sudden there were panties there where no panties were once before! Magic! So which is more plausible -- was she originally wearing invisible panties that all of a sudden became visible, or was it that this girl happens to carry an extra pair of panties around with her just in case she has to deal with an "emergency ass-crack escape" experience? I don't know, but it fascinated me. As an infrequent panty-wearer, can you shed light on this mystery?

My dear Playa MC,

First of all I would like to suggest that you spend a little more time contemplating your review books, and less time on the Mystery of the Magic Panties. Unless of course the bar includes a section for pervs like you, which could explain the justice system as it stands today.

Secondly you should know that several situations might increase the chances for an emergency panty placement. Things you might want to consider are:

What was the temperature of the room you were in? Was it cold? Could this simply be the need for this fine young lady to keep her ass at a more comfortable temperature?

Did she catch you leering at her buttocks? It is possible that she could feel your eyes burning an extra hole into her but. Since she probably doesn’t need a second pooper, she might have been defending her body from such damage.

Any chance she had a hot nooner with someone else in the class? Perhaps they were strategically missing in the beginning for the sake of quickness. (I’ve hear women can be whores like this)

A more boring explanation could be the dreaded Aunt Flo visited her and her undies came to the rescue in order to preserve her pants.

Another hypothesis could lay in the size of her derrière. Was this girl carrying around a budonka but? If so her panties could have been hiding in the extra fold of her enormous ass and escaped during a routine visit to the ladies room.

Sadly I cannot explain the mystery of the missing panties if the case was that they were later placed on her bootie. As an infrequent panty wearer, I do not keep a pair of backups with me. It is a bold, bold decision in the morning to go commando. I would never question my judgment by bringing a long an emergency back up. Once you’re out the door feel the breeze and revel in your decision knowing that you dear, are a brave woman.

That being said Playa MC, please pull your head out of her ass and get to studying the real material covered in this review course. I have a feeling I will be needing an attorney very soon due to my own ass crack endeavors.

Do you have an unsolved mystery the Snowflake could help you with? Is there a question you fear of asking due to impossibility that might ever be explained? If so, feel free to post your questions here. I will do my best to discover the answers to all your mysteries.

2005-05-08T19:54:00.000-07:00

Wings to Fly

Maybe I’ve been listening to Donavon too much, and you probably don’t have a clue who he is or what he sings. I have to get it out. And maybe it’s because I’ve been listening to that song about his boy, and I don’t have a baby. I haven’t had that opportunity, but I have my nephews. I have my Boo and my Brave Man Brother, and I listen to my sister cry because she thinks she’s a bad mother. On Mother’s Day of all days, and I want you to know.

I moved in with my sister when I moved to Austin. I went from living in Houston in a shared bed with Miss Universe, to living in Austin with my new husband, my nephew, sister and brother in law. I went from hedonism to “pretend you’re happy” overnight.

When I was there I wanted to write a book about living with Boo. My nephew was 3 at the time. He is extremely bright and gifted. Sharing Cheerios with him each morning was the highlight of my day; sleeping with my new husband was a void that filled my nights. I would awake each morning with his call.

His little body at the corner of the doorway, sniffing was a language our own. “Sniff….sniff”, he would make the noise like an aboriginal body. When I was awake enough I would mimic his sound with my own version of his “Sniff, sniff.” This meant in Boo and Snowflake language, ‘I’ll meet you in 5 minutes for Cheerios.” I’m not sure how or why we created this syntax. Or what it really meant on a deeper level, but we both understood it in a way I’ve never spoken to another.

Five minutes would go by and he would be waiting for me at the table downstairs. Everyone else busy beginning their daily routine, we would be our ritual. “How’s it going Boo? Sleep well?” I’d ask in a haze. “Not bad, you?” he’d respond. Not wanting to get into the idiosyncrasies that were my love life or marriage I would reply in some form of the affirmative, but I always felt he knew I was lying.

Before long my sister would show up, pregnant and feeling like hell. She was followed by my brother in law and next my husband. We moved as if in a play, as if distressed from time. Fluid like water running through the stones of a well aged man made dam. Each knowing that we were not natural, but forced to go into this path we chose.

Each morning I’d hear him sniff, and I would sniff back and it was the highlight of my day. Every breakfast was the beginning of possibility for him, and the possibility of redemption for me.

Soon afterwards we bought our house, but not before his brother came. Brave Man Brother appeared in such a different fashion than his elder. Calm, cool, and collective his little brother entered into the chaos we called “family”. Boo and I were amazed at the light that appear from his little body. He claimed a serenity neither of us has ever known.

Last year Boo started talking about killing himself. At 5 he was ready to slice his father’s ears in his sleep and content with talking about throwing himself from the window. My sister and I watched in horror as he began a spiral left for old alcoholics and the severely disturbed.

He’s my little boy. He’s already taking more pills than anyone else I know, and seeing more shrinks that I have. He’s bright and gifted in ways that I will never know. I taught him how to read music in 10 minutes. I think it took me months, if not years, to understand that pattern.

He woke up this morning early so he could make my sister breakfast, but she was already awake. The pressure of raising her two boys and the impositions of her husband’s family made her get up and rush to the shower for a break down. She said she stayed there as long as she could. She stood there sobbing and hoping no one would know how desperate she was. Boo ended up having a breakdown because he woke up early to make his Mom breakfast in bed and she was already awake and in the shower. He felt like he missed his chance, his opportunity to love her.

I can not tell you what it is like having a loved one diagnosed with mania at 6. I can’t tell you the brilliance I see in his eyes, or all the love my sister gives to him. I can’t begin to tell you the strength she has in facing his challenges and the destruction she feels at her ignorance with this disease.

I can tell you this, all the goodness I see in her children – all the love they pour from their little hearts speaks of her kindness and her belief in them. She will do anything to make sure that they get a better life than she had. She will make sure that the demons that hide in their heads, instead of underneath their beds like other little kids, are confronted. She will not stop short or pause to take a break, because she loves them. Because she has too.
Love gives us no option to give up on little boys who create languages because they love us. Little boys and little girls who don’t have it so easy make us try. Because life for some little kids isn’t about making paper dolls and planes out of newspaper, it’s about making it through the day intact.

My sister is a deeply religious woman, because that is all she has. I don’t know what you believe in. Hell, I don’t always know what I believe in, but whatever it is – whatever you think is good – could you ask them to give her strength? If not for her, then for little kids who dream of death instead of wings to fly.

2005-05-05T16:49:00.000-07:00

Pretty shoes and Strong Girls

I just turned it off. I’ve decided that I’m done. If I’m wrong, then I have at least 4 more months of hell. If I’m right, then I am free woman.

All the struggles of growing up with dyslexia come back when I study. I hear that smart girl with the pretty shoes laughing at me because I can’t recognize the difference between chief and chef.

I remember me struggling to get it together for the geometry test, and then finally paying off the dork in class for me to cheat my way to a “B”.

There I am my freshman year in college, hanging out with kids in remedial math. There I am excelling in foreign languages. Its memorization. The same way I learned to read and write. Other kids have special things called phonetics. I have spell check and a dictionary.

I hope I’m done. I hope this chapter is behind me. Yes, I can fool the whole company into thinking I’m a pretty good accountant. They don’t know that if I had to add anything in my head, my eyes would pop out and roll out onto the floor. Loss ratio? Just nod after someone else comes up with it, like you knew it way before they did.

I’m hoping this is the last time I have to sit for the CPA. Once this is done, I plan on hanging it up with my degree in accountancy (which I still don’t think is real word), but then right next to I plan on placing a childhood picture my mother refuses to hand over to me.

She thinks I put myself down with it. I think it inspires me. It’s a typical little drawing of a house and flowers, and across the top it reads, “To Karin, Love Me”.

Only special kids with specials tutors can read it. It’s written with those crazy little backwards letters that supposedly kept me a step behind. In reality, it kept me one step ahead of the other kids with their pretty little shoes and straight A’s.

2005-05-03T21:37:00.000-07:00

Free at last!

Last week wasn’t the best of all birthday weeks. First the fall that landed me keyless and bruised from head to toe, and then Friday I got into a wreck with the X. Sure it wasn’t his fault. I know he didn’t mean to beat up the cabrio-gay, but here we are.

In retrospect, I can’t help but smile a little over it all. He was gleeful that day. There we sat at the bank signing the last piece of paper that held us together financially. The house is sold, the bank accounts separated, the mortgage paid off, on an on. All that was left was a little transaction at the bank and we were done. Forever. For good. He was grinning ear to ear, and it bothered me. Not so much that I can’t understand moving on, I can. It was more that I took his joy to mean that he was happy to rid himself of my presence.

So off he skipped out the door of the bank, asking to follow me to the restaurant for lunch. He wants to celebrate my birthday, and all the while I’m thinking he is such a pussy that he has to hide it at lunch so my replacement won’t get hurt. Wow. I feel so belittled. Insipid little remarks like,” Aren’t you glad we are done? I’ve been looking forward to this day for months now!” are oozing from his lips.

We’re at a light and I’m trying to turn, but being cautious of the traffic. I move up a little to see better. WHAM! He guns his SUV and goes flying into my car.

Seconds later we pull over to inspect the damage. He gets out and throws his sunglasses over the hood of his car and into the meticulous grounds of Pier One. I get out asking if the woman behind him pushed him into me. Turns out she didn’t. Too bad I flipped her off thinking that she had.

He apologizes for days and I’m here with a little case of whiplash and a smashed up car. Turns out for him, we’re not so separated. I have a claim against his insurance now. Guess I’m not so easy to get rid of. We spend the rest of my lunch hour on the phone with the insurance company and I watch him shake his head in disbelief. “I was so happy about today when I got up. I felt free, at last” he whispered looking down at his shoes.

All in all, I must say it makes me smile. Just a little on the inside. Rubbing his happiness in my face was insulting. Yes, I’m happy we’re completely removed from one another. But he’s still my friend. I wouldn’t rub it in front of him that I’m happier without him, which is his normal status quo.

So now when I see the dents in the cute little car, I’m okay with it. It will be a pain to be without it for a couple of days, but somehow even with a sore neck I’m just a little bit happy. In a smug little way.

2005-04-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

Drinking shoes fail again!!!!!

Tis true, the drinking shoes once again let me down. And by down I mean a full on frontal face plant into something concrete. This is what I suspect, although I don’t really know.

Today as I write this, I sit in my little work pod all torn up. And by torn up I mean the following list of injuries:

Front tooth is chipped -you can't really tell, but I feel like this.
Nice cut on my neck (at first thought to be a hicky, but no such luck)
Elbow is bloody
Knuckles are scraped up
Bottom of foot appears to have a been burnt or severely injured
Nose is in pain and a little beat up

That’s all I can find right now. How could my drinking shoes let me down so badly? Last night was my birthday. You would think they would have gone an extra mile or so to make me happy, but no such luck. Did they need more polish? Was there something I didn’t give them? Do my puppies smell that bad? Why, oh why, did they do this to me?

In last night’s festivities I also managed to loose my key chain with all of my keys on it. Why do I keep loosing things? My cell phone, my key chain, my balance, what’s next? I had to do the walk of shame into my leasing office this morning for a new key to my apartment. How bad is the walk of shame when you didn’t even get any? At least I could have gotten a little play since I appeared to be a complete slut. I want to live up to my reputation. Again, I blame my shoes. If I hadn’t been falling all over the place, maybe someone would have taken me home. Damn them.

So if you see my keys, tell them I want them to come home. In case they can’t figure out where home is, I’ll be having a little ceremonial burning of the drinking shoes tonight. That should help light their way home.

2005-04-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

Movement

Turning the key I hear the familiar sound of the lock sticking. The door opens and the hardwood floors smell like they’ve always smelled. It’s the combination of a million foot steps and paw prints and a couple of hand and knees that have graced those floors.

Boxes everywhere, I pass through them like a maze to the backdoor. Realizing this could be my last time standing here, I look out the windows to the old oaks swaying in the breeze. I hear the wooden wind chimes faintly through the glass and smile.

I remember the night we closed on the house. We ordered pizza and drank beer with our favorite couple. We laughed and plaid drinking games breaking in the old pine nook the former owners left behind. We made the first of many ring marks in that soft pine surface from slamming our hands down with the dice.

Funky D ran outside into the backyard at one point, looked down on the rock garden that use to lay under a swing, and flung himself down. Pretending he was swimming in the rocks we laughed and hugged one another. We drank more and sang songs.

When the couple left, the X and I broke in the house my streaking through it. It was a mad dash through all the rooms. A right of passage us since we had never owned a home before.

All the parties. All the cops. All the traffic and early morning breakfasts for twelve. It seems forever ago.

We close on the house on Thursday. We have a bottle of champagne that someone gave us as a wedding gift that we never open. It’s in the fridge for Thursday’s celebration. I’m sure the giver never thought we would use it to signify our final step together.

The flowers planted, the rooms painted, and we now live in separate worlds. Our favorite couple is just as divorced as we are, but we pretty much stay in touch. We move on because we have to. We move on because we need to. May the Buddha that has always lived in the house, and been handed down from owner to owner, continue to watch over the new lives that fill the space. May they be as lucky as we were to have spent time inside those walls.

2005-04-15T11:08:00.000-07:00

Free falling

My day started of with an older man flipping me off. It’s not my fault that’s where my turn is, buddy. I can’t tell you how much it warmed my heart and put a huge smile on my face to see him throw his mid-life crisis car into 3rd gear and speed by me in a rage. I flipped him a finger back howling with laughter. It makes me smile to think I probably pissed him off the whole way to work. How do these people make it through the day?

On another front, I move into my apartment this weekend. I’m surprised I’m so happy about it. I’m leaving my bigger beautiful home for this little apartment with barely any storage. It’s amazing how simplifying your living space can change your perspective. I feel lighter and freer. I don’t have an entire yard to worry about and running faucets aren’t my problem to fix.

Last weekend my little block turned into an episode of Desperate Housewives. A hot young guy moved in a couple of houses down from me and since then the neighbors have been stirring. He’s popped over a couple of times and seems like a really nice guy. I have the feeling that if I don’t move this weekend I’ll end up washing my car in some pathetic display to get his attention. I can’t stoop to such measures. Yes, it’s time to move.

Of course, he is pretty hot.

I’ll let you know if I break down and ask him to do some heavy lifting.

Until then, sit tight – I’m slowly making a come back. And thanks to Mark Phillip, he really is the dopest black man in Texas. He saved my phone from the deep abyss and returned it safe and sound to me after I left it in a bar. Who says you guys aren’t the best?

2005-03-28T10:35:00.000-08:00

Because you can’t and won’t and you don’t stop

Costanza has text messaged and called me at least 3 times a day since I met him.

One would think the lack of interest might clue him in to my resistance. As a Costanza I thought surely he would “dump” me before I would have to call him out. Big buzzer. I was wrong again. This weekend he cluttered up my SIM card with Easter wishes and messages asking me if I was okay. Since when do acquaintances worry about other people’s well being instead of feeling blown off? I should have listened to you all. Brutal honesty really is the way to go.

Instead I took my regular stubborn route and ended up with an email from the balding short man this morning. No doubt he typed it over his Hawaiian shirt’s girth with the laptop resting on his khaki shorts that shamefully present his chicken legs.

I decided to reply telling him that I haven’t been in the mood for company and that right now I feel like keeping to myself. I cheered it up at the end wishing him good luck with his endeavors with a bartender in town he has the hots for. Subtle clue. Slight shove. This will work.

10 minutes later another email comes back from the little man and he is spouting Joel Osteen’s Easter sermon to me. I would have no clue who this Osteen character is, except my oldest sister was going on and on about him on Friday night. Has this guy invaded every materialistic soulless dweller in Houston?

At first I tried to be open to the idea. I like God, he seems like a great guy to me. So I read and read and then I realized Costanza quoted about 5 paragraphs from Osteen’s sermon. Did he print it out from the web after church? Did he take notes during on Sunday with a laptop? What the hell is this? It basically gives information about not being depressed, and conquering your life.

Who the hell is this guy? If I’m not a tad depressed after a divorce, when can I be? Since when do I have to feel social all the time? Just because I opt out of calling people and doing things for a week doesn’t mean that I’m on my way to hell. It just means I need a break.

Then it goes on to tell me about how Jesus is here to save me from myself and yada yada. Boy, if I wanted organized religion there are hundred of churches I could go to. I’m a spiritual person in a very private way, and I don’t appreciate these guilt-ridden tactics from someone I talked to for a couple of hours one day. Take your westernized white man’s Jesus and shove it up your fat little ass. Let me know if you find the answer in that.

My idea of spirituality includes the concept of God, and I don’t have any problems with people who go to church. I just ask that people don’t bring the church into my life. When I want to learn about your ways, I will. Until then stop judging me and let me be.

He signed off hoping the message might “strengthen me”. The only way that I could get any stronger at this point is if I picked up his bible and beat the shit out of him with it. What’s with religion these days that it comes from a point of judgment and despair to help people because there is something wrong with them? What kind of teachings lead us to believe the people that create this world are all so bad they need saving? I don’t want a religion that creates its foundation believing that people are non-thinking, weak, and sin ridden.

If there is a religion that starts out believing that people are growing learning beautiful creatures seeking out how to be better people, I’ll go there. As for Castanza and his “I think I was meant to help you attitude”… Sorry, but I’m looking for someone who realizes I don’t need help and that I can manage on my own. I’m not looking to be saved, just appreciated for who I am.

2005-03-25T08:44:00.000-08:00

The sun is shining and the men are out

I think it might be Good Friday or something like that. I’m not sure because my head is not attached to my body right now. Yes, rest assured your little snowflake is recovering from a hang over. Right now I am somewhere between feeling a bit tipsy and needing a nap. I’m trying very hard not to work today. I’m also realizing how fun the Coke bubbles feel on my mouth tongue. Carbonation is a great thing.

But I digress; today’s post is dedicated to firemen. I love firemen. **Sigh** I think it might be the only clean and tidy kind of man I’m really attracted to. I think policemen are evil, other public servants are boring and have those silly mustaches, doctors are just too busy to deal with and I think they all cheat of their girls for some reason, and well I can’t think of another type of clean and tidy guy. I much prefer a washed, but dishevel type of guy who’s laid back and doesn’t need to shave everyday.

Back to my point about loving the men with the big hoses… Well my lucky streak is continuing because this week in Austin is the Firemen’s boot drive. On every street you can find a fireman with a boot walking through traffic collecting donations. Could I love my cabrio-gay any more than I already do right now? I’m going to hit the streets of Austin like a sex-starved perv at strip club. I’m going to the bank after work to get $40 in ones and then I’m off. I’m going to put the top of the car down, put on something cute and hit the traffic. I can put on some happy music and drive through the streets admiring the men collecting donations. Does life get any better than this?

2005-03-23T11:06:00.000-08:00

I should have guessed his name was Mulva

George Castanza has entered my life and won’t go away. I’m not kidding. In case you skipped a blog the other day, Castanza Man entered my life on Saturday night. He’s my x-brother-in-laws best friend. Let me know if you need a diagram. I’ve known of him since high school, but he’s never registered on my radar. Not because I’m better than he is, but because he’s well….he’s just like George Castanza. I think I’ve spent the last 15 years trying to forget him.

Evidently I’ve done a pretty good job. When I saw him on Saturday my mind drew a blank and I had to introduce myself to him. He laughed and explained that we had met probably 20 times over the years. I blinked and look confused, but smiled and went on about watching the show. Turns out the guy is really funny. Well, I should qualify that. I thought the guy was funny because I was on my 3rd beer and pretty much would have laughed my head off at anything by that point. Helen Keller jokes? Hilarious at that point.

Oh and it turned out that we had all these things in common. We both like San Diego and sushi. We both hate homeless people who just threw up on themselves and won’t stop talking to you. Which, for me, boils down to having the same thing in common with at least 5 million people.

Castanza felt differently. Due to my beer luster state, I agreed to grab a bite with him after the show. I’m thinking it’s a family friend kind of thing to do, and this guy is thinking it’s a full-blown date. We sit down and I start analyzing his appearance. I finally left it at frat boy meets balding 35 year old who presumes that he is the shit because he has released a CD.

I had to listen to this man go on and on about all the music we could make together. Literally. Then he delves into the realization that we were meant to be and he has been waiting for the X and I to break up since the beginning of time. Nice to know people were rooting for us, huh? Next up he tells me how I am so much more myself than I use to be with the X. Impressive for someone whose name I didn’t know until 3 hours previously. He then brags about how much he makes, about the 20 year old women he dates, and his “music career”. My slight memory of the music career is that he released a CD, which was horrible, and forced all of his friends to buy one. I think the family has about 20 of them if you want one.

The whole time he is making terrible jokes to the waitress who only wants to serve us food and get out of the whole SXSW cluster fuck that Austin became over the weekend. I’m staring at him in disbelief. I’m wondering if he thinks that his newly purchased vintage shirt really works in Austin and if he should consider hair plugs. I mean he looks like the kind of guy who would get hair plugs anyway, so what would it hurt.

He then orders me another beer, which I reject, and then forced the irritated waitress to bring it for me anyway. The waitress and I roll our eyes at one another and the beer shows up in a flash. I proceed to tell the man that I don’t answer my cell phone and I don’t ever want to hang out with him.

The outcome? He’s called me roughly 10 times a day since Saturday. Including once when he got home after we had dinner together. I have countless messages that sound like a car salesman on my phone. “Hey, there! It’s me. Guess you really don’t answer your phone. I guess I’ll just keep calling until I get you.” And priceless text messages also. Things like, “you’re ass looks good from here”. That’ll win a girl over in heartbeat. Does that mean my ass is so large he can see it across town or is he imagining my ass from where he is? Either possibility mortifies me.

Why do I feel like I’m going to have to call this little man and ask him to stop calling me? Why can’t he take a hint? I think cupid is punishing me again. I hate that little flying baby.**

**Apologies to the Playa MC who loves cupid. I’m sure I’ll change my mind one day.

2005-03-22T12:29:00.000-08:00

Put a feather in my cap!

I really can’t say that nothing good ever happens to me. I once slept with a sailor who told me about real life pirates who would try and capture his boat. I thought he was the luckiest guy in the world, and then I worried if I could catch some type of scurvy from him. Soon afterwards I broke it off (the relationship, dirty minded reader). I’d catch scurvy for a pirate, but a simple sailor? No way.

Turns out the man was telling the truth about these savage boys of the sea. Check itout! Looks like pirate activity is up, ladies. Maybe we can catch a little of the action.

Oh, and cheers to the Austin pirate who gave me a good “RRRRR” the other night. I got his RRRR right here. Maybe next time he’ll cross the street and shiver me timbers.

2005-03-21T11:00:00.000-08:00

Thank God for hot men with guitars

One day my blog won’t be about my divorce, and I can’t wait for that day. Bear with me. It’s been a long weekend of digging in the past. My x- family –in-law came in for SXSW and wanted to get together. I spent Saturday morning working on the house and then ran out to meet them at a show. I was walking through the park on my way, trying to hold back the tears. I miss my little nieces. I miss their little blond hair, blue-eyed ways that remind me what amazing parents they have. “Aunt Mandy! Look what I made you! I miss you!” They were all hugs and full of things to show me. It was great to see the X-mom and brother-in-law, too. I felt more like myself around them than I have since high school. I didn’t feel the pressure of measuring up to wifey and it showed. Maybe it showed too much, because one of the brother-in-law’s friends hit on me all night. Later on he revealed that he always thought about me and wanted me from the first minute he met me. He now thinks that it is destiny that we “ran into each other again”. Except he tells me this after mentioning the only reason he came out was because he heard I was meeting up with everyone. Super sigh. I found it not only repulsive that he would do that to my X, as they are childhood friends, but the guy is an exact replica of George Castanza. He has called me 8 times since Saturday night. None of his calls will ever be returned.

Sunday was the X’s day to work on the house with his brother and my replacement (the new girl friend). Maybe I should jot down a thank you note to her for working on my house. Then again I sold her my used husband, so she must have her hands full. I got home in time to eat a bite and then rush out to a show. I ran into the X who was put out from working 9 hours on the house. Since I spend about 15 hours a week on the house, I decided to ignore him and close the door in his face. Alexi Murdoch was amazing and if it wasn’t for him, I could have skipped the weekend all together. I can’t recommend his music enough. Go here now.

This morning I got a call from the X wanting to get the specs on my engagement ring. “Why?” I asked in shock. “I thought you wanted to sell it and we could split the profit,” he muttered. I instantly began crying, which he turned into “me having a fit”. A fit Mr. X, is me slapping you across the face for wanting to sell something that isn’t yours and take half the profit. Me crying qualifies as me allowing you to yet again pull my heart out with your teeth. He states that he thought this is what I wanted and since I broke my promise of being with him forever, he now believes he has the right to take it back and sell it. Unbelievable.

I look at that ring and this is what I see –

“Remember what I’m about to say to you, because our grandchildren will ask you to tell them this story..”

Waking up the next morning after we were engaged and crying because I never thought I could be so happy.

Making sparkles of light in my car while sitting in Houston traffic, knowing that I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Spending every morning cleaning it because I was so proud of my husband and my life.

And now he wants to sell it because he feels bad about the debt he left me with. Funny, isn’t it? He wants to sell it and take half of the profit for himself. Pretty neat way to help yourself and others, isn’t it? Can I have the keys to your car? I’m going to sell it and give you half of what I make.

What a bargain!

2005-03-17T13:28:00.000-08:00

Please hold for the next available Snowflake

I feel like everything in my life is on hold right now. Social life? Please hold until Snowflake completes her big ass task at work. Workout routine? Please wait until the next available time when Snowflake doesn’t have to work until the cows come home. Fun? Hold. Nephews? Hold. Happiness? Hold, please.

I’m stuck in a waiting line that feels like it’s going to continue for months. I’m waiting on my house to sell, so that I can be happy again. I’ve tried a feel a little of that bliss on my shoulders while I’ve been there, but its too hard. I’ve found numerous reminders of my wedding. Every time I walk into a room, I feel like my husband or my dog should be in there waiting for me. I pass the threshold and realize it’s just me in there. Alone. And then I realize he’s at his girlfriend’s, with my dog, probably snuggled up on the couch watching TV.

Wasn’t I the one who wanted a divorce? Why is this bothering me?

Last night he stopped by to wash the dog and pick up some stuff. My guess is the new girl doesn’t approve of dogs getting a bath where she places her derrière. Regardless, the two of them bounded in the house and felt like strangers to me. Well, mainly just him. I’m not so sure that dogs can ever qualify as just an acquaintance after they’ve licked your face a 1,000 times. He did his thing and I did mine. Barely speaking. He left and came back right when I was on my way out with the Playa MC.

I wished him a goodnight and felt empty inside. Where am I going without him? When did he become a stranger to me? When did we stop being friends? When will I get over this? Loosing your best friend and your childhood dreams in one-fail swoop sucks. I’m ready to feel like my life will go on and will be better than ever. I’m ready for my little rock star self to come back into the picture.

Someone take me off hold.

2005-03-15T16:29:00.000-08:00

Can you see the horizon?

I’m working too much right now. Finish up, hurry home, eat, sleep, make sure I’ve set the alarm 5 times because I’d hate to be late tomorrow. All this and I just realized I’ve spent the last 16 hours doing something wrong. So I’m not the smartest accountant I know. I never wanted to be one anyway.

This lifestyle leaves me little to blog about. I don’t suspect you want to hear the ins and outs of my dreary days. There’s still a little drama, but it seems so repetitive. I could do without the unkind words and new girlfriends who are now raising my dog.

But I’m storing up my energy to come back with something fresh. I’ll take care of myself and put on a new smile. I miss writing in this little guy.

So take care, I’ll be back on the 1st with a new outlook.

2005-03-02T07:40:00.000-08:00

THE MUST READ POST OF THE YEAR

If you read only one of my posts this year, I beg that you read this one. I know it’s long, but it’s worth it. I’m super hella busy at work and the Playa MC has graciously allowed me to publish his childhood trauma right here to entertain you all. So without further adu, I bring you the baddest man in in the ATX – the Playa MC:

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Hey Snowflake fans. Amanda has been kind enough to lend me her fine blog for long enough to get something off of my chest. It’s the Bert Incident, you see. The single most important event of my life. Travel back with me to the mid 80’s, back before Dora the Explorer, Blue’s Clues, and even that dreaded purple dinosaur Barney had their turn ruling the public airwaves. It was a time when things were good and pure, and everyone could tell you how to get to Sesame Street. But a monster lives on Sesame Street. And it’s not the Snuffleupagus.

The story actually begins not when I was the biggest Sesame Street fan, in my kindergarten and pre-K years, but instead later, when I was at the age of 8-12 or so (I don't remember exactly when.) I was a relatively rambunctious and stubborn kid; quiet in school, but not really shy or withdrawn. Probably close to the way I am today, except much fatter and with leopard-spotted dork glasses. Then the Bert Incident occurred, and I totally changed personalities overnight. I became sullen, withdrawn, and untrusting. I credit the Bert Incident as the reason why I did band instead of sports, didn't date anyone until my senior year of high school, didn't lose my virginity until the summer after my freshman year of college, didn't drink until after I graduated from college, and played WAY too much computer games and Dungeons and Dragons throughout my J-high and early high school days. In other words, while I was a nerd before the Bert Incident, I was a total geek afterwards, and I don't think I really escaped my geekiness until college. As you can see from the date of the E-mails below, it took me almost 10 years to even get the nerve to talk about the Incident with my brother. He’s 2 years older than me, and he and I are the only witnesses to the Incident that are still alive.

All dramatic stuff, I know. And all this drama is built up around nothing more than a Bert handpuppet.

My grandmother is integral to the story. We called her Mee-maw, and she was a tiny little old lady (she was, like, 5 feet tall or so.) She loved to lecture us about all things conservative. Me and her always got along pretty well BEFORE the Incident, but I hardly ever spoke to her afterwards, and never without family present if I could help it. She died a couple of years after the E-mail exchange below. As my brother and I used my grandfather’s fireplace tools to bury the urn that held her ashes, her elderly brother looked on and commented, "Yep. It's just like planting okra, ain't it boys?" The surreal follows Mee-maw around like a shadow, even in death.

Anyway. I wrote the E-mail below just about a year after graduating from college, and over ten years after the Incident. It was the first time my brother and I had ever discussed the Incident--we didn't even talk about it right after it happened:

Subj: Me and Ernie have a bit too much in common

Date: 07/13/97

To: [the Playa MC’s brother]

Howdy.

I thought I'd drop in out of the blue and discuss early childhood experiences that involved muppets that scarred me for life. But that's a little redundant. What child can escape ANY experience with a muppet unscarred? Anyway, I refer to the infamous and long repressed "Me, Bert, & Mee-maw Triangle o' Disturbance."

Do you remember the event in question? Lets set the scene. We were young. And spending the weekend at the woodywoods. (possibly week? The events that are to follow could have only occurred after a great deal of severe mental trauma... most likely Mee-maw induced. I'm bankin' on a week long stay.... ) It is night. You and I are in the Vomitous "Lion Room" upstairs. You know... the one with the lion heads scattered all over the beds. You are near the bed against the wall. I am IN the other bed. Ummmmmm.... I also happen to have been stark naked and lying next to a Bert handpuppet, I do believe.

We will shoot by the incredibly disturbing "why?" question and cut to the Moment of Crisis. Mee-maw walks into the room. I panic and attempt to... I dunno what? Hide Bert? Squirm back into my pants? I'm not sure what. Anyway, Mee-maw notices my struggling and removes the covers. She sees me lying naked in bed next to Bert.

At this point, I've managed to successfully block almost everything else out. I seem to recall her screaming something Mee-maw-like like "Do you know what this is? This is GAY!" And me screaming something else back at her, something most likely profane. The rest is squeezed down deep inside me in a tight little ball of rage and humiliation. My next memory is of her lecturing us as she drove us home, and of me sitting in the backseat honestly considering bashing in her skull as she drives. And that's the story! I think, deep down inside, I've hated Mee-maw ever since. The End!

Recently, I finally let the parts of this story that I wrote above come back to me, and even told the story to a couple of my friends. They enjoyed it tremendously, and enjoy teasing me about it even more. I can't walk into a toy store with any of them without being showered with Bert Puppets. Fearsome.

But now its time to take the next step, and as the only other witness to this event (aside from the Mee-mawnator) I want you to fill in the holes. How much did I manage to repress? Is there any more to this story that I've blocked out? Did I do anything awesome like push her down or spit in her face? That would rock. But even if I wasn't THAT cool, I'd still like to know what all you remember. Most importantly:

1.) What the HELL was I doing naked in bed with a Bert Puppet?

2.) What did I scream back at Mee-maw? Did she say anything else particularly cool back to me?

3.) How did this all end? Did I chase her from the room with a hatchet?

4.) What the hell were you doing all this time?

Also, if you remember things any way differently, please let me know. I think with these questions answered, the Healing can begin.

Some good has come of this. [An ex-girlfriend] just gleefully sent me a web address that she thought I would appreciate in light of this story. It may be the coolest thing I have ever seen. Check it out: http://fractalcow.com/bert/bert.htm. It explains a LOT. [Sadly, the website referred to is long gone. It was shut down exactly one month after September 11 when Bert's evilness was connected with none other than Osama Bin Laden. No joke! There is conclusive proof that Bert is one of the evildoers that our president is always droning on about. Read all about it at http://www.snopes.com/rumors/bert.htm ]

My brother responded a few days later:

Subj: Re: Me and Ernie have a bit too much in common

Date: 97-07-15 16:51:21 EDT

From: [The Playa MC’s Brother]

To: [The Playa MC]

[Playa] --

Yes, of course I recall the event in question -- in fact, I knew immediately from the subject heading of your e-mail what event you were referencing. You see, I too have a Bert-shaped scar at the core of my being.

The residual humiliation stemming from the event still troubles me from time to time -- which is ridiculous, considering that the goings-on in question were all perfectly innocent. I recall thusly:

You were frolicking nude in bed with Bert; I was prancing around in a latex Catwoman outfit, masturbating onto a stack of Saline crackers. Mee-maw came in and accused us of being faggots. You called her Satan's cunt, then whipped out a fan knife and opened her up like a can of Vienna sausages.

She rolled around screaming for a while, trying to collect her slippery innards in her tiny hands; we bludgeoned her with kitty pillows until she grew still and cold. Then we hauled her down to the bathroom and dismembered her lifeless corpse in the tub, sealing her limbs and viscera in cellophane and washing the remaining gore down the drain with tapwater and a couple of bath pearls.

We were afraid Granddad would realize what had transpired, but he proved to be occupied with sitting at the kitchen table, shelling peas and mumbling like an autistic. We smuggled the chunks of her body out of the house one at a time and buried them in the creek, pausing a moment to urinate on the disturbed ground before returning to the house.

Everything was fine for about a week. Then Duke [their pet dog] dug up her decomposing head and began batting it around the front yard like an old Nerf volleyball. We both pled insanity.

See, you didn't repress much.

No, seriously. I pretty much remember it like you do, with a couple of additions:

1) The all-important "what the fuck were we doing, anyway?" question: I'm a bit sketchy here, but I'm quite certain it didn't involve any sort of faggotry. (Sorry; I just love the word "faggotry.") As I remember, we were engaged in a sort of spontaneous game that involved my repeatedly leaving and re-entering the room; each time I re-entered the room, you would have arranged some sort of humorous tableau involving Bert: Bert throttling a stuffed kitty, Bert hanging himself, Bert in flagrante delicto. You were obviously running out of ideas when Mee-maw made her entrance.

I am certain that this is the proper answer to the "what were we doing" question based on my second recollection:

2) The "what was I doing" question: I was not, as you mentioned, sitting on the other bed -- at least, not at first. When Mee-maw entered, I was on my hands and knees sucking your toes. Just kidding. I was standing by the cabinets, having just entered the room to witness the scene you had constructed. Later, after Mee-maw had begun her lengthy lecture on all things sexually questionable, I took my place on the other bed and dug in for the long haul.

3) The bad news is, that's about all I remember. I do remember you engaging in a bit of a tussle with Mee-maw when she first charged into the room, but if you threw any elbows or did any serious damage, I don't recall. I also remember you screaming something at Mee-maw, and it seems like it may have been profane, but I'm damned if I can remember what it was. As to how it all ended -- I don't remember that either. In many ways . . . it will never end.

We should have sent her to hell when we had the chance.

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So that’s my story. I already feel much better having shared it with you all. I think with this step, it’s finally all behind me, and I will no longer cringe when I catch sight of yellow objects out of the corner of my eye. But if you only learn one thing from this story, learn this... if you’re walking downtown on a sunshiney day, and you look up and see Bert headed your way -- cross the street. That puppet is one bad muthafucka.

2005-02-25T11:20:00.000-08:00

My Super Power Wish List

I have a couple of super powers that I would like to incorporate into my work identity. I’m not sure where I can obtain or learn these powers, but I will obtain them one-way or another.

First off, I would like the power to defecate on my own command. Think how great that would be. I’m not much for public restrooms, and I do prefer the setting of my own porcelain, but I could compromise for this special power. Think of all the people you could offend? Yesterday I walked into the women’s restroom and found a couple of women holding a gossip session. Maybe it’s me, but can’t you do that in your work pod or the break room? “Did you hear what that woman said?” blah blah blah….I wish I could poop on command and unleash a holy terror of a smell so foul that every known creature would leave me in peace when I run to the lady’s room. I don’t want to hear about Shannon’s bad dye job or how so and so’s boss is diddeling the help. I just want to take a piss without having to contemplate integrity and moral issues.

Secondly I need the power to burn people’s eyes out. I would reserve this treat for all the men I work with who think it’s not obvious they are staring at my chest. What’s that Mr. President? My tits can hear you just fine, but my ears are having a little trouble. I would love to be able to say to them, “Look into my eyes” in a despicable villainous voice and then radiate their eyes out of their skulls. I’ll basically be saving the entire woman workforce from having to deal with men like this. I’ll be the poster girl for office torture. I love it!

My third and final wish is simple. I would like the power to seize other’s vocal cords, and by seize I mean have control over their voice boxes. You know that dumb yahoo in your office that always stops by and makes pointless conversation with you? Well, not any more! I would simply turn his voice completely off. Maybe I could control this by a wink. “Hey, what’s up?” he’d ask all perky. I’d just give a little wink and render him mute. This would also work well with the people in my meetings who think they know more than other people. “I think what’s she’s trying to say, Bob is that …..”. One little wink and I could make their voice replicate Shirley Temple’s irritatingly high-pitched squeak. They would immediately shut up and we could be laughing at them, thus bringing entertainment to my boring work life. I could save myself, and my fellow coworkers, hours of endless chatter from insipidly stupid people. I’m telling you, I should rule the world.

What would you like for your super power?

2005-02-22T11:07:00.000-08:00

What did I miss?

It’s the little things you don’t say that seem to make the biggest impact. It’s that sunny day you called me at the office to have a picnic, but then couldn’t make time for it later on. It’s that friend who looks at you with tears welling up in their eyes, but you shy away from hugging them because it’s not a norm in your relationship. It’s the night you planned on making love to him, but skipped it because you ate too much at dinner.

It’s the lazy Sunday when you look over at the other person laying on the couch and start to tell them how much you love them, only to fall silent and distracted by a new commercial. It’s the little kid that starts to take your hand, but you turn to hear what someone else said to you.

It’s the opportunity that passed that defines so much of what we are today. I think of these moments I’ve let slip away, and wonder what my life would be like if I had taken advantage of them.

It’s looking into someone’s eye and knowing the perfect thing to say when a waiter with the daily special rerouts my mind. The moment is lost and forgotten like yesterday’s soup de jour. Do they know how you feel? Did you tell them? Did you make good on your word or let it slip by? We can do that next week, only you forget you ever made the plan.

Did you take them for granted or did you walk a few feet out of their way? Did you tell someone else to hold on while you picked up that little kid and twirled him around in the air? Did you reach out for their hand because they needed it? Did you pass that social line and hug them because they are human and we all need someone?

Drop a line, hold a hand, make a plan and follow through.

2005-02-18T13:18:00.000-08:00

Ode to the Playa MC

This week marks the Playa MC’s birthday. As my wingman over the past year or so, we have seen many a drunken night followed up with laughter and tears. We’ve chased pants and skirts, respectively, and have endured stalkers and witches alike. We’ve seen the end of our marriages and the beginnings of our new lives take shape. He makes me smile.

In order to help celebrate his birthday, I’m asking you to forward me well wishes that I will pass on to him, or leave them in the comments where he can read them. What’s that? You feel as if you don’t know the Playa MC well enough? I’ll give you a look-see.

The Playa MC is hilarious. Don’t believe me? Check out some of the C-isms he’s come up with over the years:

**The Playa MC inquires about a strip club: “That reminds me. Would you happen to know if the Pink Pussycat is the place with the one armed stripper?”

**Regarding our plans on Valentine’s day…“And don't feel bad if you'd rather go out on a date with someone that can offer you the possibility of guilt and awkwardness-free sex.”

**Related to my recent interviews…”I think you should do your next interview entirely in "Springer-guest" talk. When your prospect starts talking about their qualifications, just stand up quickly, start waiving your hand in their face, and scream "Wha' eva! Wha' eva! You ain't better than me! Wha' eva!" Then hit them over the head with your chair. That should make your day more interesting. And it will also enable you to observe the tact, fortitude, and skull-strength of your prospective hire.”

**Concerning one of his dates… “I don’t know if the witch figured out that she was the starring performer in a one-woman freak show Saturday night or not.”
**Talking about one of his date’s dreams… “She wanted to discuss her damn dream, and it was even a rerun. It’s the same dream she discussed immediately after I dumped my load on her stomach Sunday night. She wanted me to tell her what it meant if she was running through a field of brown grass stalks, but every stalk she touched turned to a “beautiful magenta” color. And the wind was blowing. All obviously indicating change from something old and lifeless to something new and beautiful, but I’m sure as shit not gonna tell her that. It means that I’M about to get f*ckin’ stalked is what it means.”
If you can’t tell from that he is the greatest guy in the world. Besides all the laughs and drunken nights, TPMC will also be there if you need to eat right or work out. He’s always there for me. The day after I returned from my grandfather’s funeral he was right there with me drinking my sorrows away. Most of the men I know don’t know how to react when I woman is sad, but the Playa MC can handle it with grace.
I’ve seen him grow from a man who’s never played a drinking game to the last one standing. I’ve seen him change his career to better the world. (Although that’s a work in progress) Did I mention that he’s brilliant? Yes ladies, leave him and email and I’ll ship his ass right over. He’s become the first person I call to grab a drink, vent about family, or tell a joke to. He’s always there to remind me to be patient with myself and to not be so hard on myself.

This week wasn’t easy for me. I was pretty down, and like a good friend, the Playa MC greeted me the other night with new CDs. He says I can’t be down listening to Wu-Tang clan. Not only does he make me happy music, he knows me well enough to force me to pop the trunk and put them in the changer. Yes, I’m that lazy.
So, here’s to you Playa MC! Thanks for being such a great friend to me. Thanks for listening to me bitch and then enduring it when I tell you that I am going to change the world. Thanks for being my biggest fan and enduring my alter ego that comes out. Thanks for hugging me when all I could do is cry, and thanks for being you. Oh yea, and thanks for feeding my Whatarburger when I get drunk. I blame you for my large hips. Bastard! Love you! Drinks tonight?

2005-02-15T11:21:00.000-08:00

I give up

I’m done with this. If you need me, I’ll be here.

Don't even think of joining me unless you bring a cocktail for me.

2005-02-14T08:12:00.000-08:00

Dear Cupid,

I know your insipid ass is out hitting people with arrows. I also know that you play mean tricks in your spare time on dogs in order to get them to stick together. I hate you and I thought that you should know that.

Yes, I realize at times you have been very good to me. I understand that you have provided me with endless hours of happiness, and that I really shouldn’t complain. But I am. So there. All I ever wanted was just to have a happy family of my own. Is wanting a family that values the simple pleasure of being together too much to ask? Is wanting to share my love of music and sense of fashion with these people a burden to you? Why oh why cupid, do you hold me back from my one true love. All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, was to be a part of a family like these people.

If my demands for peppy hair and shiny family shirts aren’t met by the end of today, I warn you know that I will seek my revenge. So help me the Easter Bunny and I will track down your sorry baby ass and shoot you in the head with your own arrows.

Hating you with all my guts,

Snowflake

P.S. If you can’t find me I’m going to be at Bull’s celebrating the Playa MC’s birthday. (Yea, real nice of you to try and steal the day from him.) We’ll be sitting in the window throwing garlic on couples and passing out Funion’s to promote stinky breath. You’re my bitch. Better get use to it.

2005-02-10T06:39:00.000-08:00

Would you like fries with that?

I feel like super ass right now. I’m not sure if it is a head cold or a hangover, but either way I feel like my head is levitating somewhere outside of my work pod. I’m swamped at work, which is really paying a price on my blog. Don’t they know they pay me to entertain myself by writing?

I’ll show them. I just spent the better part of the last hour flipping through the Tiffany’s website picking out jewelry that I would send myself if I was my own Valentine. Oh, and I had money. I think I spent about $30,000 in my head, but it’s okay because my head is now down the hall in another department.

I’m spending the other part of my time at work interviewing people to help me. That way I can actually have time to blog again and get my life back on track. I’ve met five people so far on this little journey, and its left me a bit sad. Do you have any idea how many people out there with degrees will work for nothing? I’m never leaving my job, because the competition is overwhelming. I’m hiring for a very low position, and I have people with more education than me applying. We should thank Mr. Bush for our great economy. I’m seeing first hand how much the job market has improved. Right. Out of work and hope these people flood my in box with resumes. I shake their hands and look at tired eyes that just want benefits. Fuck the pay, do you have medical insurance? Good job, Mr. President. Yes, I blame you.

I’ve seen fat people, skinny people, young and old people, some with hair and some without and all they want is this crappy little job. They are desperate and most of them are out of work. They spend their time riding with their truck driving husbands, taking computer classes at the community center, and practicing yoga. They tell me too much or they tell me nothing at all, but at the end they shake my hand and beg me to call. It’s like the desperate look in a love-starved woman’s eye at the end of a bad date when she already fucked the guy. There’s not going to be a call and we both know it.

I have three more people to talk to today. I’m looking forward to the Asian Van Dam that applied. I think he might be a bookkeeper extraordinaire. His cover letter said something like, “With the excellence that I bring to the team, with the determination that I have to succeed, and with the educational background that I carry with me, I know I will be the best addition to your company”. He sounds like an ass-kicking number force to me. He beats the lady with a “Degree in Secretary ship” hands down.

This is sad. My life is becoming my job. I’ve got to hire someone so I can go back to the fun little snowflake we know and love.

2005-02-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

Now is the time to stalk

It’s been decided. I command you to all become stalkers. What? You’re scared of little restraining order? Oh, you’re afraid they might think you’re psycho or question your mental stability? Well I have news for you buddy, if you don’t take up some sort of peeping routine you could end up with a total lunatic (and not a good lunatic like our fellow blogger). Don’t believe me? Well check this shit out.

Last night the Playa MC and I went to have burger over at Casino’s. Once we were satisfactorily full and a little tipsy, we headed down to one our favorite bars for a little nightcap before we staggered home. When we walked in, I noticed a boy around town whom I’ve always thought was attractive. Granted I’ve never spoken to him, and I have never planned on speaking to him, but he’s one of those people I keep an eye on.

He was sitting up at the bar playing a round of poker with some friends. The Playa MC and I sat down and starting gibbering about witches and warlocks. After a while, I looked over and noticed a girl sitting next to him. I didn’t give it much thought and I really don’t care if he is dating anyone. This is the type of boy that I don’t want to date. I just like to look at him and right now that’s more than enough for me.

At some point I looked up and the girl beside him was leaving. She removed a jacket off the back of his chair, and the Playa MC and I instantly looked at one another. Surely, surely she’s not with him. We quickly looked back to see him kiss her goodbye. I shrieked like a gay boy who finds a free supply of Cher memoirs. Now look, I’m not one that easily understands why straight guys choose certain women over others. I can tell a hot girl and pick her out for any of my friends with out much trouble. But this, this caught me with my pants down.

First off, lets just say she’s not easy on the eyes. I would compare her facial structure to some type of bird or other offensive flying creature. But lets be honest. More goes into a relationship than looks, so I can over look that. It was her hair that I couldn’t over look. When was the last time you saw a beautiful girl with a rat-tail haircut? Much less, a rat- tail on woman! Don’t know what I’m talking about? It’s like this or this, but on a girl.

In the year 2005, why would a woman have this? Does she live down by the river? Is she a river rat? Could it be that man sticks his Willie into that girl? I shrieked again and my eyes were bulging.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, he stood up. Dirty hair (I can live with that on the right man with the right hair), country shirt (again, some men can work it), jeans and WHITE TENNIS SHOES! SHRIEK!!!!!!!

Men, if you don’t know this I beg you to learn it here. Don’t ever – EVER – wear white sneakers unless they are some form of cool that one rarely sees. Your white workout shoes with jeans, you know the ones that you’ve had since 8th grade and are all beaten up, are ugly. It screams, “I have no idea how to dress myself and I live with my Mom”. Now I realize some of you out there are going to tell me that you can pull this look off, but I suggest you consult an honest female to confirm this for you. I’ve seen it work once or twice, but usually it comes off with me feeling like I’m back in the 80’s with all that shitty music and bad hair. Hey, wait! Maybe these two are meant for each other! Bad shoes = bad looking and bad hair to boot girlfriend.

So I hope this little post has taught you the importance of stalking. Just say that I had missed these jewels of information, then what? Maybe one day I would have kissed a man who use to put his tongue inside a bird’s mouth. Maybe I would have caught the dreaded river rat disease, or even worse I would have been forced to be seen in public with an 80’s white shoe-wearing freak. All of this was avoided thanks for careful and strategic peeping. Please feel free to send me all the thank you letters you want. I know this is the best advice I’ve given. I am going to start stalking my potential lovers tonight. If you need me, I’ll be the girl in all black sitting in the dark corner of the club with binoculars.

2005-02-03T11:08:00.000-08:00

Ray of light

It’s that moment where you’re telling yourself that you can’t move because the effort is too great and someone reaches out a shaking hand. It’s the little kid that tells you how beautiful you are when you’re still in your pajamas. It’s the person that cries with you when you don’t even know what you’re crying about.

In and out they circle your life, always there to catch you. I’ve had a million of these over my life. Some of them I know and some of them I can’t picture their face anymore. Yet they’re all here within me. They are the little whispers of memories that float into my head when my mind is all confused and grey.

It’s the email from someone you’ve never met face to face, but they tell you how amazing you are. It’s the smile from a random stranger who somehow gets you. The phone call in the middle of the night because someone knows you’re not sleeping and they know you need to talk. It’s the lady at the ice cream shop that winks and puts sprinkles on your scoop because she just knows you want them.

They trickle in. They shape your smile. They put movement in your dance. They sway you from being bitter and jaded about the raw deal you know you got. They change your perspective. They act a million years older than they are and give you wise advise.

Heroes. Angels. Who knows what to call them? They are everywhere. Someone reminded me not to judge other people so harshly the other day. He reminded me of the shattered state I was in just a year or so ago. “How’s that so different from you?” I blew the comment off as flippant and arrogant.

I thought about it when I woke up this morning. He’s right. I want to be that person that sends a card to an old friend because you heard about their loss. I want to remember my power of grace in this world more often. I want to leave chocolates on friend’s doorsteps and not be afraid to hug them. I want to tell them openly about how they changed my life, and see if there is anything I can do to change theirs. It’s time to make someone remember my actions instead of my face. It’s time I moved my life in this direction. Its time to let go of fear.

2005-02-01T11:58:00.000-08:00

Grab a Piece of This Fine White Meat

Man, o’ man. Where the hell have I been? Well, the exam went as the exam always does. By the end of it I felt like some fucking tax nerd had beaten me with a huge ruler, and I mean that in a horrible defeating way. It’s over for now and hopefully for good.

In other news, I was just thinking about women’s fragrances. Why is it that all women’s products have some edible quality to them? Manly smells don’t, so what does this mean?

Let’s take my normal smelly day. I wash my hair and put lavender cream in it. Not too edible, although I sometimes think my hair smells like strawberries. Does someone want a nibble of my hair? Next up, I always put orange blossom cream on my legs. Oranges….bite of the leg, ol' chap? Then there is the lotion on the rest of me and that’s something with a hint of vanilla. Why have a vanilla sorbet when you could chew on my elbow?

My hand lotion at work is green tea therapy. Why spend $100 bucks an hour on a shrink, when you could lick my hands and save yourself all that pain and suffering? Hell it might also aid you in saving yourself from purchasing that $5 Chia Tea Latte you grab at the coffee shop. I’ve checked around and men don’t smell like fruit and spices. Okay there is that crap called Old Spice, but nothing within 100 feet of that stuff is allowed near my mouth.

Do people just want to eat women up because we’re beautiful, or because we smell like grandma’s Christmas fruitcake? Is it because we’re sensual and loving, or because you somehow have an overwhelming desire to snack on cookies and a fruit plate?

I once tried to use a lubricant that was the exact same smell as vanilla cake. It sounded like all fun and games, but I swear we both gained 4 pounds after that excursion. Plus the whole time I was in bed smelling like the desert counter of La Madeline, I had craving for a glass of milk. Hardly sexy. Maybe that lube was made for a 400-pound fat man that couldn’t stop eating long enough to get it up with a woman. Regardless, it wasn’t for me. I felt like my nephews were going to pop out of my closet and ask me for a slice of some delectable dessert, only to see me doing something nasty to someone they don’t know. You see! This stuff is dangerous in so many ways.

I hate to say that it must have something to do with men, but I can’t help but feel that way. Does it go back to the old saying about the way to man’s heart is through his stomach? I wonder. I guess I’ll try rubbing meat tenderizer all over me the next time and let you all know if it’s true. Nothing like a nice piece of flank steak rub on my ass to make a man melt. Plus who knows, if it can soften up a pork chop it might do wonders on my arse.

2005-01-25T14:20:00.000-08:00

It’s hard to be hussy out of ideas

I wasn’t planning on writing this week. I’m hard at work studying for the last part of my CPA exam and feeling all smart and all. Well, I’m hoping I’m smart enough. I’m ready for this chapter of my life to pass me buy.

It’s beautiful in Austin. I wish you were here. All of you. I wish my backyard was in its old condition, and we were all here telling these stories face to face while we drank and watched the fire flies drift up at sunset.

Right now I’m finding it hard to excuse where I am. I refuse to apologize for where I am, but yet some people keep asking for an excuse. I don’t have one. I don’t need one. I deserve this time to myself. I deserve to get my shit in order and not explain to you why it is that I’m a basket case at times and a rock star at others. It’s who I am. I owe you nothing. So take your nothing, if that’s what you want. Wrap it up like a baby in a soft flannel blanket and sing it a sad song. If that’s what you need to do.

Me? I’ll still be me. I’m starting to look at the world in a different light. I’m changing and it’s a good feeling. I can see today that my actions impact the world around me. It’s more than just bringing in people who deserve to be in my life, more than just bringing in light. It’s realizing that everything I do has an impact on people I don’t know.

In a more specific sense, I realized at times I must sound like a complete floozy. Who’s to say if I am, or if I’m just more telling than some women? Last night the Playa MC and I were tossing back a couple of beers at the local spot, when I started telling him about how an encounter with another woman has changed me.

Sure I was drunky drunk. I think I had been drinking for more than 8 hours with old friends by the time she showed up. I didn’t know her, but her boyfriend and I are childhood friends. I didn’t know she would actually kiss me. I didn’t know that she would throw me down on the bed and make out with me like a banshee.

I always liked fantasizing about being with another woman. It seemed so soft and thrilling in my imagination. It seemed the experience would be so utterly sexual in the most feminine of ways that I dreamt up scenarios from time to time. I’ve always known that I’m not a lesbian, so I’ve never truly hit on another woman. From time to time, I’ve crossed paths with women that have made me questions that position, but I never tried it out.

So that night I was shocked. I was speechless to the point that the girl on top of me kept giving me a weird look as she kissed and caressed my body. This isn’t what I had in mind. I thought that it would be more intimate, more sensual, but it wasn’t. In fact, I didn’t find her particularly attractive. Its not that she wasn’t beautiful in her own way, it just wasn’t in that way that makes me wet. Maybe it was because she was a woman, or maybe it was because of her boyfriend who was watching us. I felt like I was in some cheap porn. At some point, I got up and excused myself. I’m not sure why I felt the need to apologize, but I did. Looking back on it there was nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t something that I particularly wanted to happen.

So she ruined the fantasy for me. Or maybe I ruined it for myself, who’s to say. Regardless now, that erotic little dream died. I’ve tried fantasizing about other women in my private time, and that damn red head keeps popping up and killing it for me. She squashed my fantasies with a realistic thud. Damn her. Now I have to find something else to entertain my thoughts while I indulge myself. Past experiences are fine, but I think I want something new to divert my attention.

What’s next? Midgets? Not really my thing. If you think of anything let me know. If not, I’ll be delving into some erotica after this damn exam in order to bring back my creativity.

And how this is reflective of my actions being reflective on the rest of the world, I’m really not sure.

Did I tell you that I’ve been studying like a mad woman?

2005-01-21T06:45:00.000-08:00

Stinky

I’ve been calling him Stinky ever since he arrived here. The receptionist called me to escort him to his area. I opened the door to see some brown tattered pig leather brief case stuffed under a disheveled man’s cheap thin dress shirt. The least he could do is wear an undershirt. I hate the way a man’s nipples show through those $12.99 dress shirts.

It doesn’t matter, I though. I’ll just give him the information he needs and he’ll be out of here in no time.

He’s been here since before Thanksgiving, and given the comfort he expresses in the office outside by cubicle, he has no intention of leaving his newfound soft spot. His hair is greased back by some disgusting wax or gel that appears is if it wants to leave his head. His shirt is barely tucked in and it ruffles up in places because of the crappy job he does dressing himself. My 5-year-old nephew does better than this slovenly soul. Then again, we’re pretty sure that my nephew is either gay or destine to be the first male in Broadway to sport fuck a woman dancer because he truly wants to. Either way, I just want free tickets to his shows.

Stinky is nothing like that. His skin is rather dry and pasty. At times I wonder why the hair on his chin is so long and flowing. It’s like the hair on my arms, but it’s lying there on his face all long and strait. It’s like an old woman who has hair on her chin. He tried shaving one day, but cut himself and bled all over his pathetic work shirt. He’s so lazy he didn’t bother to put toilet paper or a band-aid on the cut. Instead I watched the blood drip off his chin and onto his shirt as we talked about fixed assets. Drip, drip, drip. And he didn’t even move or wipe it or anything. His shirt was soaked with dots of red and brown drying blood.

I’ve avoided him at all costs. He submits his requests to me on papers that smell like him. Dirty and greasy and some other smell I can’t place, but it lingers and makes my desk smell like he’s sitting in here with me. I shove the papers in a folder and move them as far away as possible.

I went to check on Stinky today and let him know I’d be gone for a couple of days. Did he need anything? Did he have enough to do while I am out? Does he have any questions or concerns about the audit?

And in his pathetic little way, he looked up and asked me to explain something to him. And I realized that in some ways, we’re all a little like Stinky. Maybe not on the outside, but on the inside there’s that person we find some days. The one we have to motivate to put on deodorant and force to floss. The person who wants to put on that old hoodie that hasn’t been washed in a month, but it’s worn every day. That person who’s embarrassed to talk to others because they know they’re not playing within the rules of self-respect. They haven’t shaved their legs in weeks, because its winter and pants are good enough. They haven’t taken out the trash in weeks and it seems like you can go one more day.

Poor Stinky. His little every now and then waste of a person crept up and took over his self-loving person. He needs help getting out of there. So I smile and now I try and treat him more like colleague than I did before. Cause Stinky, I know where you are. I just don’t stay there as often as you do. And at the end of a day, I love to take a long bath, shave my legs, and jump into clean sheets. It’s the little things some days.

2005-01-14T13:01:00.000-08:00

Thanks, come again….

Ok I admit it. I’m fucking sad, and not sad like “gee I wish I had that one, not this one” kind of sad. I’m sad like my soul is ripping apart and all I can do is sit here like the pathetic little shit I can be at times and just watch it blow away. I’ll just sit here, smoking a cigarette and wishing that I could numb out or leave my body for a minute.

And fuck no, I don’t know why. I don’t know why giant mythical birds scare the hell out of me. I don’t know why single balloons flying in the sky make me sad either. Or why spear grass and buttercups make me giggle. Some things just are. And right now, I am just where I am.

Right now I want to write the author of that book, “Wherever you go there you are” and tell him to fucking leave the goddamn planet, because I need a vacation from myself. And I know I never get like this, but guess what? I have my days too. I can’t always entertain my friends with stupid stories and make them feel like we’re part of a rockstar posse. Sometimes I just need them to sip a slightly less than cold beer with me and stare out the window at the people shuffling by in their bad shoes. I don’t need them to say a thing. Just be there. Maybe hold my hand.

I had to see the gyno today. Maybe this explains everything. Why is it that they always comment on your cervix? “Looks really good. Great in fact”. Well, fucking thanks lady. Can I get a picture to show my lover so he’ll be all impressed and shit? “Look dear, this is a picture of what you’re fucking. Nice, huh?” Ya, that’d go over well. And what do they say to the bad looking ones? “Looks really….well, not so good in here” I imagine the voice echoing through the walls of the girls inside like it a cave. Thanks for the commentary, but could you really just pull those damn metal things out of me now?

I guess I should be happy my girl is happy. It was when she looked over and asked me about the outcome with my estranged hubby that I started to cry. Not because she had just violated my insides or because I felt obligated to her. It was a weird since of vulnerability. I guess my thought process was, well you’ve seen my insides here’s the rest of it.

She tells me this depression will only last a couple of months and that I need to go get on meds immediately. Who me? Happy Mandy? Shit.

Then again, I guess something should be done to stabilize me. My favorite word right now is fuck, my favorite drink right now is 6 of anything, and my favorite clothes are my pjs. I haven’t slept through the night in weeks and I just related it to drinking. Last night I didn’t sleep and I didn’t drink, so even my sorry ass alcoholic excuses aren’t working. Beautiful. So much for schlepping off my problems on an addiction. Even that won’t work.

This just isn’t me. I’m ready to be done with my couple of months of sadness now.
Thanks and have a nice cervix.

2005-01-13T11:43:00.000-08:00

What's next?

Odd things keep happening around town. Last weekend I met a couple of English men who actually acknowledged, without prompting, that I am in fact a goddess. If memory serves me right, one of them even knelt to show how well he could worship.

The Playa MC (formally Cal, who I am now changing his names due to his recent prowess) met a tarot card reading, vodka slurping, x-witch who has ESP. I think she might have a whole lot more up her sleeve, but only time can tell.

The Playa MC and I saw the best, or is it worst, mullet in the world last Saturday night. We made several attempts to snag a photo of the beast, but were denied each and every time. Only our memories will hold that man’s glory.

I flashed the worker at the YMCA yesterday. Is it me, or if you decide to work on the women’s shower in the middle of the day I think a sign might be appropriate. Nothing flashy, but a simple – “There’s a man in the locker room right now” would work. I’m not sure how many of my fellow Y members he caught a peek of, but I bet some of those 80 year old women had something to say about it. Hopefully the memory of all those sagging breasts will detour him from forgetting the sign next time. I hope he can hear today, also. I let out quite the shriek when I stumbled up on him.

Today at lunch I saw a real live pimp driving a Transam. This may not be news worthy to some of you, but it is to me. He was wearing a black pimp hat with a red scarf tied around it, a black suite, plenty of rings, and a hot red shirt. All this and he was lighting his cigarette with a match. A match? Don’t you think that a pimp could afford a lighter? I mean he had a fancy Transam and all. I wanted to follow him, but alas the Transam goes much faster than my cabrio-gay. I suppose he was off to his stable to pimp out his next trick. Ahh, what a life.

And lastly, well…someone asked to smoove me. I’m blushing. Why does this make me think of that song, "Smoove me baby one more time, once is never enough with a man like you...."

Well, I don’t really have anything else. Guess that’s about it. Maybe a deep thought will come my way. If it does, I’ll share it with you. Until then, it’s shallow sailing for me.

2005-01-11T11:32:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday NuNu!

Wow. I’m a terrible aunty. My X, K. just called to remind me that it’s NuNu’s birthday. He’s turning 3 today. Ahh, my adorable beautiful little nephew, don’t feel bad. I don’t remember anyone’s birthday on the correct date.

However, your day was an event sketched into my mind of how you brought your peace to our family.

My sister, Meme, was induced into labor on a Monday morning. Her last pregnancy had gone horribly wrong, so everyone was there to make sure she was going to make it through this one. Meme’s best friend, Miss J. was also there. Miss J was also being induced into labor that same day. My sister and Miss J were chatting before they were called into their rooms. It was like a little tea party between them, hardly the emotional levity I had expected.

About Meme was changing and getting into bed her doula walked in. The doula was hired because her husband is an unsupportive ass at times. It didn’t help matters that last time she tried to give birth she almost died. The extra help was crucial for her emotional state. The doula was a breath of fresh air. She was positive and had unnatural Kool-Aid red hair. She wore tons of jewelry and giggled with every sentence she spewed out.

Next up came the anesthesiologist. A handsome tall young man dressed in a routine white lab coat floated through the room asking my sister to call him when she was ready for her epidural. The nurses were in and out like a small swarm of bees. The doctor graced up with his presence and dashed out.

I was a wreck watching my sister talking away to her doula. She didn’t remember the last time the way that we did. Blocked for her memories are the seizures, the MRIs, her lost heartbeat, and the ICU. She doesn’t remember the pictures of the baby that we put in her isolated room. She forgets that she didn’t get to hold her baby for days after he was born. She was bruised beyond recognition. She was almost stolen from my life, and yet here she was excited to try it again.

The anesthesiologist came back in to give her the epidural. After she knotted up in a little ball, out came the long needle and then his shithead statement. “Oh, it didn’t go in the right place. I have to do it again”. I hit the roof at his error and was removed from the room temporarily due to my outburst and temper. Incompetency with a huge needle really isn’t a small discretion

By the time I got back, Meme was being coached on her pushing and her husband was working via his Blackberry. The selfish bastard! Here she is working her little body to death and he’s texting friends and coworkers. I wish she could marry that damn flaming red dula who is sweating as much as my sister is at that point.

We’re all coaching Meme along, when the door swings open and 10 firemen walk in. Yes, boys and girls, it was Austin training day on childbirth. So with a team of 10 firemen, one crazed dula, two sisters, two mothers, and one arrogant father NuNu slipped into this world with an audience at hand.

A perfect little baby boy born around chaos and fright. My sister was laughing, her husband texting away, and I was crying at the health that remained in that room. NuNu was calm and quiet after the initial shock of the world, and nestled into my sister’s chest. Everything stopped and for a moment and his grace, so new to us, filled the room.

He’s our blessing. He’s still the child who walks into the room while his brother is throwing a fit and crawls up into the couch and just watches him. He’s not judging Boo or looking scared. He’s just been here before. He’s patient. He’s our calm in the storm of this family, even at 3.

Happy Birthday, NuNu. I am grateful you are here.

2005-01-07T11:09:00.000-08:00

Entanglement

Well, guys. If you’re too good of friends with me, or you just can’t stomach thinking of me in a sexual way, it’s time for you to skip this post. (Cal, this post may not be for you!) Otherwise saddle up, partner, we’re off for a ride.

There are few things in this world that put me in the mood for a good thrashing about. Gin tops the list. So does trashy dance music and watching men at the gym, but this feeling is not about that.

This feeling is the one that comes over me when I’m getting over being sick or just a little hung-over, which is the case today. I felt the need for the warmth of a good man washing over me last night. I was sipping on a vodka tonic talking to the boys at the local bar. My attention fluttered aimlessly as the boys drank and talked about their jobs. I sat curled up in the corner of the booth, my legs folded up and maybe there was just enough of the cold seeping in through the door hitting me in just the right place to put me in the mood.

This time I don’t want you to slap my ass and talk dirty to me. I don’t want to hear about your cock and my pussy. I want to come home from work to find the house a little cold and quiet. I want to walk through the house silently and find you in my bed waiting for me. I don’t want you to say a word, just give me a little smile while you snuggled under the down comforter all warm and cozy. I want to get undressed while you stare at me.

Don’t say a word. Just watch me and feel yourself get hard. I want to slip under the heaviness of the comforter and turn towards you. I want us to lie facing one another. I want you to kiss me, tongues entangled for hours. I want to feel you in my mouth. I want you to do this until the sheets are wet from me and I can feel your sense of urgency. I want to make you slow down.

I want to be inside you for a long, long time. I want you to hold us in this pattern while the sun goes down and the streets grow quiet. I want you to pour lotion on me and rub yourself all over me. I want you to make me beg you with my eyes. That’s it. Touch me there. Not too rough, not too soft, just in the right place with the right amount of you pressing up against me.

Kiss me all over. Lick me all over. Don’t let it end just yet. I am yours, if just this moment alone. I will always be inside you after this. On those days when you feel lonely and you don’t know why, it’s me whispering that I need your slow touch and wet kisses. Come inside me. Look at me when you do. Study my face when you make me climax. Learn the way I give myself to you. Learn the way I curve and bend to your needs. Love me in the deepest way you can. Make me yours.

**After my last recent post, I probably won’t see this for a while. Thanks be that I make love to myself like no one’s business. Tonight? Me, some good food, a little study time, and then I’m going to make my own earth shake. It’s about time I got my fill.

2005-01-07T06:18:00.000-08:00

I know – I know. I pulled the tirade piss off post down.

You would too if a sweet boy called you last night all depressed, and when you asked him why he was sad he said “I just love you, and I’m sorry that things with your X still hurt. I know it’s hard, but you’re amazing.”

These words came from a boy who never gets depressed. A boy who misses his sunny weather and warm southern smiles, and feels a little down that his best girl is sad and he’s without her. A boy that held my hand a million times when I cried about my marriage, and taught me how to laugh in bed. A boy who would do spastic naked dancing just to see me smile.

I no longer wish to puke on him. I’ll reserve that for someone else. May the thunderbird swoop down and pick off some less deserving sap.

2005-01-06T11:38:00.000-08:00

Who’s Bitter? Not me!

To all the stupid fuckface (thanks be to Jen) boys who think that I’m a flake, might I remind you that I am very tired of dealing with manipulative men.

Next time I hear, “Oh, but baby you know I love you” I will commence to gather every little bit of food I have ever eaten and regurgitate it on your face. If I am unable to do this, I will proceed to do a ritual peyote dance in my yard until the Thunderbird arrives and carries you off to its nest or eats you whole. Either one is fine.

Next time Boy X tells me that I am one of those hot and then cold kind of girls, I will remind him that his fucking split personality might have something to do with it. If I tell you that I can’t go to dinner because I am studying, don’t take it personally. Getting my CPA will last longer than dinner or sex with you ever would. Not to mention, you suck in bed. One look at a boy who shaves all of his pubic hair makes me want to lock all my doors and pray the police won’t come and get me. If you have to go through such ordeals just to make your boy look bigger, maybe you should consider that women don’t care how big it is. They just want you to be able to use it. Save the money you spend on clippers and buy a fucking “how to get a woman off” video. Trust me half of Austin would be happier, you man-whore.

Don’t worry Wedding ring; I have something for you too. The next time you call me three times in one night, I’m going to call your wife and ask how your son’s doing. Obviously you’re not watching him. What on earth makes a man think a single woman would want anything to do with someone married? Thanks all the same, but I can get laid pretty easily. I’m a girl, remember? I don’t need to play hide the shalomi with you only to be burdened with a hysterical wife who’s going to take all your money once she finds out what a piece of shit you are. Then what will I have? A cheater with no money. You think you’re worried about the value of your home now? Wait until she takes it all and you’re sleeping under the South Congress bridge, Daddy. You and your son can play slug bug from your sleeping bag.

And there’s something for the other boy who constantly loves to fuck with my mind. If I wanted you to come into my life and put me on an emotional roller coaster, I would have just gone down to SPCA and looked at all the puppies that are about to be put down. Your nice, your mean, you want me to cater to your every whim, you want me not to baby you…blah blah blah. You miss me, you don’t. You’re coming in town, your too busy, your staying over, your driving home. Oh good God, just make up your mind and stick with it. And the next time you lie to me and tell me you’re not hitting on a girl, will be the last time you see my pretty face. I checked it out with everyone I know and it has been decided that the following line is hitting on someone. “You’re really pretty. I bet you get hit on all the time at work”. (If anyone reading this disagrees, feel free to correct me) I’m not sure if you’re fucking her yet, or if you were just trying to piss me off, but either way it doesn’t get me wet. If you want me to like you, try being nice and stop playing games with me.

And to the other two boys who guilt me about not calling them back, I’m not calling you back because I don’t like you. What do you want me to do? Go out with you and spend all your money knowing that I’ll never want to be with you. I’m not sure if you guys are masochists are not, but save your money for some girl who doesn’t realize how desperate you are.

I’m done. And from the looks of this post, I’m about to be dateless for the next month. Oh, well. That works for my schedule.

2005-01-05T11:56:00.000-08:00

Rainy days

It’s days like this when I miss you. When it’s rainy outside and everything is coming down on me. You always made it better in such an effortless way. You’d call to tell me hello and that I am beautiful. Those little notes filling my email reminding me that tomorrow will be better.

You’ll work on the house and do all the laundry. You’d tell me just to focus on work and my studies. You’d pay the bills and make dinner. You feed the dog and find my glasses when I throw a fit in the morning rush. You start my car on mornings when it’s freezing outside, because you know I hate the cold. You put my towel in the dryer when I take a bath so it’s warm when I get out. You take my calls even when you’re in board meeting and people are grilling you about how you run your organization.

You change the CDs in my car because you know I don’t make time. You leave my drawers open, even though you hate it, because I like them like that. You leave love notes in my car and in my books. A reminder that life is more than rushing to the next big thing. Reminders that I can do anything I put my mind to.

I cry because you don’t buy me anything sentimental for my birthday. Two days later a picture of Dr. John at his piano comes in the mail from my favorite photographer. You bought it because you like the way I looked when he played, my eyes amazed by his talent. I wondered why it you took so long to get beer during that show.

You tell everyone how great I am, even though I haven’t shown you my good side in weeks. You point out to your mother that I do a better job of cooking some of her dishes. You wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you saw a new talent in me that day.

You promise to never leave me.

I make you go.

I tell you to take care of yourself. I tell you that I’m fine on my own.

But on days like this, these cold rainy days when everything is coming at me at once, I whish for just one moment you would open the door and hug me. I wish I would walk into the house and see you and the dog smiling at me, eating your horrible jambalaya and telling me bad jokes. I miss you, my friend. It’s cold over here without you.

2005-01-04T11:10:00.000-08:00

Luck runs away

I’m driving along highway 71 listening to the Pixies as loud as the VW stereo will blast, when I look over in time to see a state trooper spot me. My first thought is how boring defensive driving is going to be. Why do people think that bad comedians are going to help me enjoy eight hours of anything?

If you’ve never been pulled over by a Texas state trooper, let me be the first to tell you they look exactly like this. Hat, chewing tobacco, boots and all. I see him driving up behind me with his lights flashing, and immediately pull off to the shoulder of the road. I get out my insurance card and driver’s license and wait for him to come up to my window.

“Howdy, mam. I pulled you over because you were going 78 in a 70. Any emergency?” he says with a horrible southern drawl. “No sir” I squeak out and wait for my ticket. I’ve learned the less you say the better with these boys.

“Mam, could I ask you to step out of the car?” he asks.

Umm...get out of the car? The only times I have been asked to step out of the car is when my car’s been searched for drugs. This has happened on a couple of instances when I was in the wrong place at the wrong time (aka looser boyfriend #4). I step out of car and feel the traffic whizzing by me. My legs are a little shaky and I’m starting to realize that I’m scared of this redneck officer.

“Mam, please step to the back of the car”. Holy shit! Isn’t this what they say during those Cops episodes right before they cuff the strung out dude who’s dressed up like Paris Hilton with burn marks on her hands? I walk to the back of my car as carefully as I can. My legs are still trembling and these stupid tall black pumps aren’t cooperating with the gravel at all. The whole time I’m thinking this guy is going to mistake my nervousness for intoxication, and that makes my heart race.

I watch him from behind my car, poking his huge cowboy hat through my car window. He stops and walks back to me. I’m shivering from the wind and endorphins and hoping my short skirt might pull a few strings. “Mam, what’s that thing with the bird on it?” he asks while his eyebrows point down and mold into one large V. “Oh, that would be a little candle votive holder thingy…” I sputter with my hands flying everywhere.

And then it hits me. Oh, no! D’s Christmas gift is in a crappy brown paper bag on my front seat, and as I remember this a Cheshire cat smile crosses my face. The officer looks at my expression, tilts his head down, spits, and says “I’m gonna give you a warning, Mam. Slow it down”.

Damn! The one time I would have LOVED to be searched and nothing. I’m shaking like a leaf on the side of the road looking as scared as Sid without Nancy, and the man doesn’t even search my damn car. If only he had. That little brown bag contained a rather large pink vibrator designed for a man’s delight. (Imagine a little pink face with a sock behind it and you’re on your way.) Oh, and think of the happiness I would have had telling him what that was as he held it up on the side of the road. “Oh, THAT officer? Oh, you’re holding a man’s pleasure device. See you put the vibrator right here in her chin and off you go. They tell me to use a ton of lube, but you know, I don’t really know”. Big smiles all around. Damn, I have no luck at all. I would go to defensive driving and endure hours of flat jokes just to see one of those bubbas with a pink sex toy in his hand.

2005-01-03T13:08:00.000-08:00

As close to a confessional as it’s going to get

It appears that New Year’s Eve turns me into a complete whore. Since I’ve been in a relationship for the past 6 years, I didn’t realize the slut force lying within me. From what I can recall, the old saying of “Gin gets her naked” is true. Below is a list of my behavior. If you are a powerful deity, I most humbly request your forgiveness. I promise to control myself next year.

Everything was fine before midnight, after that things got blurry. I ended up at the wrong party with “new” friends. Thank goodness people have cameras that document our crass behavior. Otherwise, I would still have a false sense of self-respect. The next day revealed pictures of me, nestled up to some girl revealing my breasts at the bar we were at. I can only hope that every man in the joint saw my lude behavior and will now regard me as the 2005 New Year’s Whore. I would wear my sash proudly, but that kind of goes against the naked theme. You understand.

I also decided to grab several of my guy friend’s asses throughout the night. I passed the point of a friendly fun loving third-grade tactic, when I grabbed someone’s booty that I didn’t know. I think his wife knew I was only joking, but she may now refer to me as the 2005 NY’s Eve Home Wrecker. I don’t recall apologizing, but I did find her business card in my purse. I’m taking this to mean that we must all be friends now, and I will be invited to their next barbeque. If not, I assume I will start getting dead animals delivered to my house. I’ll let you know.

Saturday morning I woke up at noon only to find my friends in the hot tub. Since it was noon, I decided the right thing to do was to grab a beer and join them. After spending a long day’s work gossiping about other NYE whores in the bubbly water, I received my penance for my evil doings of the prior night. It seems the hard concrete on the hot tub seats turned my naked bum into a scratch pad of some type. My derrière is about as red as it can be and I managed to rub a good portion of the skin off of it. Let’s just say I’m in a bit of pain as I type this. The idea of bringing a little hemorrhoid ring seat into the office crossed my mind today, but I didn’t know which situation was more embarrassing. Getting the question: “Gee, do you have hemorrhoids?” or having to respond, “No, I’m just your typical slut who spends all day naked drinking in a hot tub to the point where she can’t feel her ass rubbing off”. Classy.

Before I realized what horrid things that hot tub was doing to me, I allowed a friend to take a picture of me and another friend bent over the side of the pool. Yes, somewhere the lies a picture of my red moon arising. Lovely. So as it turns out, I am something of an exposure hog. I had no idea until this weekend. I can’t wait for all of my family to see these pcitures on the Internet. “Ahh, look at our little girl. Just as I remember her, ass up!”

If you see me in the New Year, please help me make my goal of being clothed in all pictures taken in 2005. I would do it for you. And should you see one of these pictures floating around, please don’t forward them to my mother. As for now, I have made it over 24 hours without being photographed in the nude or molesting anyone. Thank you. Thank you very much.

2004-12-27T13:10:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-22T13:59:00.000-08:00

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!

2004-12-20T10:01:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-15T11:53:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-14T10:14:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-13T08:37:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-03T11:10:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-02T11:23:00.000-08:00

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?

2004-12-01T10:55:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-11-30T10:46:00.000-08:00

Poo-poo flavored popsicles and all that's irritating!

I promise to post again soon. It appears my life is a little hectic and poo-poo flavored right now. Who wants to read about that?

Here – take this stupid quiz (I know it’s gotten that bad): I lay odds we all come up pirates – RRRR!

pirates of the caribbean

!!**_WHAT_MOVIE_R_U_FROM_**!!with Pics
brought to you by Quizilla

2004-11-23T16:18:00.000-08:00

me and my pops

2004-11-22T13:35:00.000-08:00

Another sleepless night

Last night was another night of restlessness. I woke up to the thunder that won’t leave our city. It’s been raining here for weeks, and it doesn’t look like it will change anytime soon. The crash of lightening sounded so close that I shuddered and tried to snuggle down deeper into the sheets. I was frightened like a child watching the shadows dancing on my wall.

I miss my grandfather. I miss the way he would always tell me things straight. No frills, no innuendos, just the plain hard truth. It usually stung a little, but they were honest words. I learned to stand up tall and respect the truth for what it was and what it would do for me.

My life wasn’t surrounded by truth. It was something that lurked around corners, and was covered by my mother. She would save us from that bitter sting of the truth. We were confused, but not in pain. Eventually reality ceased to exist in that house. Our words were exchanged for others to fit a particular agenda. Your memory was altered to aid the design of another’s agenda. Our perception was a combination of cloudy facts and prescribed ideas.

I would jump out of my parent’s car and right into the lap of my grandfather. Tell me everything. Tell me about when I was born. Tell me about your parents.

He would talk to me for hours. His blue eyes would light up during the pivotal parts of the story. His brow would furrow and he’d puff on his cigar in a magnificently strong manner. His demeanor commanded respect. His character demanded honesty. At times I would ask questions too hard for him to answer. He knew the fables my parent’s spun, and would not directly reveal their lies. Instead he would tell me that my instinct was right and that something was wrong there, but that people do crazy things to try and help others.

From time to time he would expose the truth to me, regardless of my parent’s efforts to protect me. Some truths were essential to me and he knew that, and he offered those words at a heavy price. My grandmother often shamed him for going against my parents. She is a relentless woman living in a make believe world of her own.

Listening to the rain last night, my instincts were warning me of something. Something is not as it appears in my world. I can feel the lie lingering, but I can’t uncover the deception. I’m afraid of it. I feel like that little girl who wants to go back and sit in her grandfather’s lap. I yearn for the assurance that everything will be all right. I want him to remind me how strong I am. I want to hear his words telling me that I am different than the people around me, but to be thankful for that gift.

Like I said, I just miss my grandfather and it won’t stop raining.

2004-11-18T11:07:00.000-08:00

Just a little more, baby - I'm almost there

I went shopping on my lunch break today. I was suppose to go and buy food for our company Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow, but those greedy bastards can wait. I need shoes and jeans and maybe a top and…

I wandered around the store picking up an armful of mismatched articles, and resisted picking up the one-piece leather strapless dress with more buckles than a courier bag. Yes, I was at Sluts and More – why do you ask?

I tromped into the dressing room, threw my clothes on the chair and swung around to see myself in the mirror. Not bad today. Damn, I’m kinda hot today. I think I’ll give myself a little strip tease. So off I go doing my best impression of an Anna Nicole pre-junkie-pre-fatty trash dance. Off comes the shirt and bra – after lots of twirling of course. Ta dada da da…I’m humming as I slide down my pants shaking my ass. I go to pull off my tall boot and ….and….where the hell’s the pull on the zipper? It’s at that moment, as I was bending down with my pants around my thighs that I fell and hit my head on the mirror.

“Umm, mam? Are you ok? Can I help you?” asks the 13-year-old attendant. “Oh, no – quite fine. Thanks”

Which takes me into an uncontrollable laughter at myself. So there I am naked from the top up curled over trying with all of my might to make the damn zipper go down. I don’t realize that I’m grunting, but it wasn’t budging. “Errrr – uggggg, come on…come on baby…”

“Mam, you’re sure you’ all right?”
“Yes, fine – thank you”

I take out my key chain and finally manage, after lots more grunting, to get the damn zipper down and the boot off. I am the McGuiver of women, after all. I let out a big relieved sigh and tried my clothes on, in a very humble way. Three of the workers are standing in the corner of the store laughing at me as I walk out. The odd part was is that they didn’t stop when I looked at them scornfully.

I proceed to the check out counter and wait to be rung up. Finally, one of the ugly laughers comes and says in a giggly voice, “Will that be all?”

“No – thrown in the trashy leather dress and a pair of those red panties” I smirk back.

I hope they think I’m the whore that I really am deep down inside. Can’t a girl have any fun by herself anymore?

2004-11-17T07:44:00.000-08:00

Hold my hand in the middle of the night

It’s the phone call I made last night at 4:30 in the morning that reminds me I’m loved. I was lying in bed listening to the rain rustle the leaves on the oak outside my window and worrying about my upcoming exam.

I haven’t studied enough. I’m never going to pass. I’m going to end up doing all of this work for nothing. I should have known I couldn’t do this.

I need to pay bills and look at my finances. When was the last time I did that? I wonder if I’m late or have missed a payment on anything. I hope my credit isn’t affected.

I’ve been drinking too much. It will probably age me and I will end up looking like 50-year-old woman by Christmas. And the smoking, too. Ridiculous. When was the last time I worked out? I really need to get my life together.

Then I went back to the beginning and started in on myself about studying. I finally looked over at the clock and realized I had been at this for over an hour.

I picked up my phone and called Rojo. No answer, but then he called back a minute later. “You ok, baby?” I explained my lack of sleep, my lack of motivation, my indulgent behavior and what I mess I am. He yawned and started talking me down in his sleepy voice so far away. “You’re fine. You can do this. Take one thing at a time and don’t get scared.”

I hung up the phone and snuggled down into my pillow. The wind still billowing outside, but my thoughts were calmer. I stayed awake for a couple more hours thinking about how loved I am, and how lucky I am to have a voice on the other side of the phone in the middle of the night. Some one who knows how relentless I am on myself, but always helps me snap out of it.

I wish you all a voice on the other side of the line.

2004-11-16T14:09:00.000-08:00

Stranger Danger

I love it when my friends are falling down in despair and pull me right into that deep dark void with them.

This weekend D was in town from Houston. D’s coming off of one of the nastiest divorces I’ve ever seen, and is doing the best he can. This can be defined as chasing women and drinking like a fish.

Friday night was comparable to a bar marathon, rather than a pub-crawl. We sauntered in and out of bars looking for women – any kind of women. Just show me one! The girls must have put out a warning, because there was not one lady in the city of Austin at any of the bars we popped into.

Saturday was spent eating and drinking beer around the house. We followed it up with a quick nap and were back on the town running from bar to bar. We actually found some girls and D found one to take home. He left the bar and went straight to her house. Around 7:30 in the morning he stumbled back home to my house.

A: Why are you home so early?
D: Because she woke me up and told me she couldn’t sleep with a stranger in her house.
A: What?
D: Turns out she couldn’t sleep because she thought of me as a stranger.
A: Did you guys have sex?
D: Yep.
A: Talk about Stranger Danger…and she’s worried about you sleeping?

Sunday we headed off for Mexican food and more cocktails. We also thought it might be nice to find our missing credit cards from the night before. We never found our credit cards, but D did find himself the owner of a new painting. D also learned the girl selling the painting at the club doesn’t come with the purchase.

Monday morning I waved as D drove off. We must have cleared $2,000 off of our group’s credit cards this weekend, with the largest tabs on Sunday night. I can barely afford a $50 tab once a week, much less this type of spending. Oh, to be young and stupid though. I wouldn’t take any of it back.

Except, well there is one thing. The next time I dry hump the Capitan Morgan’s pirate in public, the least you boys could do is snap a picture. Wonder if the Captain is worried about Stranger Danger?

2004-11-10T13:21:00.000-08:00

Free therapy

Today I was thinking back on all my old therapists. They have so much of my money, and they’ve squandered so much of my time. I thought perhaps you all might benefit from my plight of self-discovery

Therapist #1 – I worked with this therapist in high school. My alcoholic mother sent me to her because I had anger issues. Wonder why? It couldn’t be the result of my Mom drinking all night and that my friends called her Mike Tyson for obvious reasons. No, you’re right. It’s me. Her advice, “You know how there are always several roads ahead of you. Maybe you’re at the point where your intuition is confused. Perhaps by doing the opposite of what you feel, you may find the other road has less pot holes”. Ohh, good one. Ignore your gut feelings and intuition.

Therapist #2 – I started seeing therapist #2 after my mother entered a full time treatment center and my father left her. The coordinators thought “family” therapy was a good idea. Since I was the only one living in town, family therapy boiled down to just me. I was asked to bring in my journal one day, and randomly flip through the pages and read a passage. I turned pages and ended up on a poem I wrote about drowning in my sorrows. Given the commotion in my life at the time, it’s not abnormal to me that I wrote that. My father had left, my mother was a raving lunatic in a treatment center, and I was completely alone for the first time in my life. The lady told me I needed to be in a lock down facility and treated for depression. (As a side note, none of my other therapists have ever thought I have had anything other than situational depression). I was then told I could go to work. “You’re okay to go to work, aren’t you?” I left thinking, “Yea bitch, you just told me that I can’t cope in society right now because I’m so fucked up. Work is no big deal.” Needless to say, I never went back to that therapist again.

Therapist #3 was during my college years. Her advice, “Have you considered smoking more pot”. No, but you might be on to something there. I eventually stopped going because she suggested I read, “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” with a boy I had been dating for about a month. I was 22 at the time. Can you imagine what he would have thought about that one?

Therapist #4 had a giant crystal in her office. The X started going to her before I did. I was mortified to realize he thought the crystal was some type of ottoman and had been resting his feet on it during sessions. I terminated working with her because she started doing Chakra and astrological work with me. I could have dealt with those ideas on a different forum, but paying someone $150 an hour to read my chart was a little out of my league. She also decided all of my problems were due to my ADHD. Again, something no other therapist has ever brought up to me.

Therapist #5 takes the cake. Three months before the wedding, I decided I wanted to call it off. I was unable to work and I felt like I was having a complete breakdown. I saw her in a couples setting, and it was quickly determined that I needed one on one sessions because I didn’t want to have sex with my fiancé. These sessions focused on my intimacy issues, which we also discussed with the X. This lady suggested a technique called Quiet Vagina by Masters and Johnson. She tells us the fiancé has to keep an erection for 30 minutes and place his penis inside me. Neither of us can move or act on the situation. Basically you just lay in this position for 30 minutes. Needless to say, the ride home with the fiancé was deathly quiet. We never tried quiet vagina, although when it comes to mind we look at each other and say, “Shhhh – quiet vagina” and break into uncontrollable laughter. That was $150 well spent for the laughs alone. I’m still not sure how this technique would have helped, because I couldn’t even hold hands with him at the time.

Therapist #6 – Miss Suzanna. I trust her the most out of all of them. She’s extremely educated and dedicates her practice to sex therapy. Which, of course, was what I thought was wrong with me. Turns out it wasn’t, but before we figured that out Miss Suzanna came to an early hypothesis of the problem. Turns out my vagina was all wrong. Yep, wrong. Not in a physical or structural way, but in a muscle memory way. You know how when you lift weights and you train your muscles to remember that exercise? She thought that my bad sexual experiences has trained my vagina to accept all stimuli as a bad situation. Therefore, my girl was all wrong and needed to be retrained. Wow. I’m happy to say that I didn’t have to retrain my womanhood. I should really call her back and tell her that my vagina is really very happy and says “Hi”. I’ve never had a complaint, and she seems to work like a charm.

At the end of my journey, I’ve learned there is nothing wrong with me. I was just searching for a way to control my situation and fix my problems. If I thought the problem was me, I rationalized that I could just fix myself. What I learned in the end is that there’s not a damn thing wrong with me. I may not know why I feel a particular way, or react in a certain fashion, but in the end I’m just human.

So, here you go. Here’s what I learned for approximately $30,000: There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with you. Sometimes things are just the way they are.