1984-Present

I used to believe in the magic of Christmas.

Now it's just another day off work.

I used to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the holiday. I used to love being around people and seeing little kids dressed all fancy for their pictures with Santa. I'd look forward to feeling that there was warmth in the air even when the temperature was freezing. I forgot that I was fat and ate every tiny little morsel that was colored red or green and covered in frosting.

Now I watch people, especially shoppers in my store and look out for potential shoplifters.  When I see little kids, I wonder if someone has already told them that Santa isn't real. I wear a scarf, a nice warm coat and still I feel cold. There is no warmth. I remember I'm fat and I eat every tiny little morsel that's colored red or green and covered in frosting.

What was it that killed it for me?

I don't know.

I've been asked by several people. It would be easy to say it was because Mom wasn't here. Or that Grandma wasn't here or that I was without a man in my life. But it's not any of those things. Mom and Grandma haven't been here before-I've been alone before. I actually like who I am and how things are going so it's not even a bout of self loathing. I just....am over it.

Working retail during the holidays is hard and I've heard people say that before. I didn't really know what it meant but this was my 4th time around and I get it now. It's different for everyone-the holidays. Not just how they celebrate but how people are affected. Some love it-it's their favorite holiday. Some hate it and they'll be Grinch-y any chance they get and to anyone. Some are inconvenienced with closed shops and no mail delivery. Some start with Black Friday, still digesting turkey.

Christmas has held a bit of darkness over my family since I was a child. My grandfather died on Christmas Eve from brain cancer in 1984. I was still pretty young, only 4.

The phone rang while we were opening presents. Next thing I know we're in the car on our way to grandma's house, just like the little song. But no one was singing. It was very quiet and my dad was driving very fast.

When we got there, men in fireman's uniforms were milling about. There was an ambulance in the front yard, it's red light spinning, siren silent. We walked up the sidewalk behind two men with a stretcher.

My grandfather had been sick for a long time. He had a hospital bed in the living room and it was there as it had been for as long as I could remember. This time his smiling face was not at the end of the white sheet. It went all the way over his eyes, outlining his shape.

I remember asking my grandmother if I could see him and the look on her face when I did. A mix of horror and fascination and pride-she told me years later she'd been in awe of my childlike curiosity.  For that's all it was. For some reason I had to look under that sheet. But they didn't let me. Instead my mother cried with her and I was ignored for the moment.

My grandparent's house had many rooms. My favorite room was a tiny alcove off the kitchen. A window of blue and red stained glass used to paint colored shadows on the hardwood. There was a bird feeder just outside the window and grandma used to let me smear peanut butter and seeds on the ledge to attract finches.  It was at this window where my grandmother found me.

She asked me if I knew what had happened and I said I did. She asked me if I knew where grandpa had gone and I said, 'Heaven', like I was supposed to. I didn't really know what 'Heaven' meant except that it wasn't here anymore. The house already felt different without grandpa in it.

I remember watching the firemen from the staircase in the hall. They walked about the house, their boots stomping like cannons. They seemed so huge to me-like giants and I was scared of them more that the body under the sheet in the living room.

I remember telling my grandmother that she would love again someday.  I remember having nightmares for years after that night about giants in white doctor jackets chasing me through big empty houses. I remember that every Christmas Eve my mom looked a little sadder.

But I remember falling back in love with Christmas. I remember being told stories of Santa and his Elves and looking forward to seeing Rudolph on TV. I remember getting my picture taken at Frederick and Nelsen's- back when there was such a department store. I remember going to see the Nutcracker for the first time with my best girlfriends and starting a tradition.  I remember taking turns picking out a tree with mom and dad-rotating every year but never really remembering whose turn it was. I remember the joy and the magic of possibilities, of wishes coming true.

But not this year.

I didn't have warm fuzzy feelings. I didn't have scary dreams or sad feelings about a loved one that's no longer here either. I just worked. I worked every day leading up to Christmas and the day after it. If I felt myself getting Grinch-y, I took a moment to readjust my Retail Face-to be happy and positive for my staff.

On Christmas Eve I gave a woman with lung cancer an angel snow globe. I held the hand of the woman's son and let him cry before we rode in the car home-pointing out brightly lit houses to avoid the sad silence. My dad and uncle came over Christmas Day and we watched Blue Planet because there was no football on. I showed my dad how to use his phone and ate entirely too much chocolate. I slept and caught up on the first season of Game of Thrones.

It wasn't until today that I felt a little sad about it.

Talking with a friend or answering a customer's polite query about how my holiday was-the answer is always the same. "Nice, thank you. Quiet. And yours?"

I've Been a Good Girl

It's that time of year again Fat Man. I have a list for you. Before you hop on your reindeer pulled contraption maybe you'll take a minute to actually read my requests. You'll have to pardon my shortness but you haven't exactly come through for me the last few years have you?

I won't mention the lack of world peace or additional dollars to my bank account.

I'm not a materialistic person. I don't NEED anything. But if Commericalmas has taught me anything, it's that I should be given expensive things this time of year and so it's with that in mind that I present to you:

       DA LIST

• I want an iThing. I don't even really care which one. iPhone, iPad, iRobot....whatever. I want what all the other kids have. 
• I want a ridiculously large television. Something so obnoxiously large my friends ask me if I'm overcompensating for my small penis. 
• I'd like a dresser that doesn't resemble something from a Dr. Suess book. *I tried to move it with a giant ancient television that weighs a ton and the weak Ikea wood sort of.....bent. 
• I want every book, movie and album I want but don't already have. That in itself is a hefty list Fat Man. (see attached) 
• I want to travel to Europe. Does this request need to be directed to Pere Noel or some other foreign Santa? I want it to go to the right people.
• I want my dad to not have any bills. I want him to be well and happy and stress free. 
• I want to hire a maid to clean my house regularly. She/he has to be willing to clean cat shit boxes and occasional cat vomit stains off of light colored carpet as well as holding her own with giant dust bunnies and random debris. Laundry skills are a plus. 
• I want a car, insurance, and a license. 
• I want to take all of my friends out-ALL of them-at the same time to a giant dinner with anything they want to eat or drink. 
• I want to tell Elvis that there are a LOT of songs about him. You can get Elvis can't you Fat Man?
• I want to watch the news and for one day only good things be reported. 
• I want a dining room table so I can put more shit on it and never use it for actual dining. 
• I want new living room furniture-preferable a sofa that doesn't suck my ass, a chair that you can sit in without fear and a coffee table that doesn't look like a dining table for midgets. 
• I want the people that wander out in front of my store to find the help they need. 
• I want a set of sheets that I didn't buy with the ex-boyfriend. 
• I want to know how to sing, how to knit and how to play the piano. Oh, and speak Spanish. 
• I want a comfortable desk chair. Sitting here writing this to you shouldn't be painful for me. 
• I want a drag queen to make me over. 
• I want to be published and yeah, maybe a little famous. What? Don't give me any shit Fat Man-EVERYONE knows who you are. 

I can probably get some of these things myself.

I could learn how to play piano. I could get my license. I could maybe find a drag queen to make me over. But Commercialmas says that all I have to do is sit on your lap, whisper in your ear and tell you what I want. It says I deserve a new car, and a diamond ring and that I should drink something called 'egg nog'. What the hell is 'nog' anyway. Does it come from eggs?

Commercialmas also says I should  be nice to people that are holiday-stressed douchebags or I will receive a lump of coal in my stocking. First of all, who the hell wears stockings? If I felt like my last pair of clean socks were in danger of being soiled with...wait...doesn't coal eventually turn into a diamond?

Hmmm...Ok Santa.

If you give me Patience,  I'll take the coal and have fun while I'm waiting.

After a Glass of Wine---or two

I have a crush on Ferris Bueller. Seriously, his confidence is HOT. And that little smile? Makes me come down with a case of the vapahs

I've been trying this online dating thing-I went exploring somewhat begrudgingly. I've always wanted to meet someone face to face, feel a spark and have that spark turn all fire-y and wonderful. So far, not so much. So I tried this site. It has a corny name and although I didn't go in very optimistically, I'd be lying if the near constant 'ping' of chat requests didn't make me all giggly.

My hopes were immediately proven to be too high.

What I've learned so far is this: Old men with really bad mustaches, computer zombied 'tech' guys with moobs, and horny frat boys are pretty much what makes up an online dating site.

Occasionally you might come across a profile that says his perfect first date is coffee and a nice chat. Clearly coffee means casual sex and a nice chat means 'I don't want to know you'.

And why the hell not? According to more than a few I have the following traits:

I'm cute.
I'm nice.
I'm funny.

I sound like a cousin.

I wanna be sexy. Bad. Dirty.

It's just not gonna happen I don't think. Well now, wait a tick. I know I can be those things and there are a select few that would agree so I have proof.

God what was I talking about?

I told my coworker that I was thisclose to finding a lesbian to settle down with.  Well, I would if I was into lady parts. And if women weren't completely batshit crazy.

Oh yeah we are. COMPLETELY BATSHIT

And men are stupid. This has been said countless times I know, but I always thought people just said it to be well, to be jerks. But dammit, it is true. They think with their nether region and rarely allow rational thought to lead the way. They make stupid decisions, usually because their junk told them to and then they act like it's our fault somehow.

God but they're neat aren't they? They smell good-well, most of the time. If they don't you certainly won't miss it because another thing about men? They like poop. And they like to talk about it.  It's a weird kind of fascination I don't understand. But then they probably don't get why that pair of shoes or that purse or that (in my case) book is so freaking important to own.

I suppose it's good we don't really need communication to have sex or the world would never be populated. Imagine how easy things would be if we could just grunt, point and drag each other by the hair every once in awhile?

Or you know, you could just have a crush on a movie character.

Anniversary

One of the greatest romances I've ever known was the one that created me.

My mom and dad met when she was a waitress and he was the cook at a diner downtown in the early 70s. I like to imagine that they flirted with each other over the line like a cheesy romantic comedy.

I've heard stories of how they would close the diner down, talking and laughing into the night. I've seen pictures of the two of them during that time. My favorite is one that was taken at Halloween. They were dressed in bunny suits and in the photo they are staring into each other's faces, beaming love.

I remember overhearing my dad and an aunt talking at mom's service. My aunt was telling him she'd always been so in awe of the love they'd had and that someday...she hoped I'd find the same.

I remember thinking I wouldn't find anything else.

Truth is, what my parents had was rare. It was a love that was so pure, obvious and true....and something they surrounded me in. Most importantly, it was theirs. Someday I'll find what I'm supposed to have and it will be pure. Obvious. And true.

Remnants

You never expect the call to come but it always seems to come in the middle of the night. That call of dread that no one wants telling you someone is hurt, in trouble or dead.

I used to get calls like that on what seemed like a daily basis for about 3 years. Every time the phone rang I'd jump. This was before caller ID and the ability to 'accept' or 'reject' a call. I don't know that either of those choices are still the right one.

It's been almost 5 years and still I keep my phone by my bed. When it wakes me a shiver of fear runs through before I remember she's already gone.

It's different now. The phone could ring about Dad or any of the uncles or cousins or aunts or friends...It scares me to think about losing someone. Terrifies me actually. The people in my life are there for a reason and I'd be devastated to lose any of them.


It's not that I don't understand that death happens. I think I probably have a pretty good relationship with morality-watching a loved one die will do that to you. And I'm not angry at God-I don't even know him-or pissed at the Universe for not doing what I wanted.

I guess it's just that the sadness is so....thick. Overwhelming and consuming and it changes you every time. The loss is something you never get over, there is always a part of you that's just...gone. It becomes easier to understand or deal with as time passes, but it doesn't go away.

I woke up this morning with the remnants of a dream in which I'd lost all those I hold dear to me. Made my Cheerios a little less cheery you know?

At least the phone didn't wake me.

Kiss the Girl

I was watching tv earlier tonight and it wasn't even some mushy romance thing and I found myself wondering  when was the last time I was kissed.

It's been a long time.

I've kissed a guy or two in the last year but they were silly 'I've had too many beers and this is all we're going to do' kisses.

I can't remember the last time a man held my face in his hands or leaned in to kiss my mouth because he couldn't wait to taste it. 

That's such a fantastic feeling-the anticipation of a kiss. That sweet moment when lips meet and breath mingles. When the kiss deepens and everything suddenly becomes so much more. When your eyes close and you drink in the whole experience, drown in it just a little. Then finally, when you gently pull apart and there is delicious electricity and...

hope of another kiss.

High Expectations

He will communicate with me.

He won't be afraid to say how he feels about something and will listen as much as he hears.

He won't say what he thinks I want to hear.

He'll tell me if I'm being ridiculous.

He will compromise, share, and be my partner.

He will have friends.

He will respect my 'me time'.

He will know what I want for my birthday/Christmas/random special occasion.

He will help create random special occasions.

I have cats and I love them and he will understand this.

He'll surprise me with flowers, trips to the ocean, dinner, a kiss...

He will understand and appreciate my love of puns.

He will be kind and thoughtful and trustworthy.

He will understand my relationship with coffee.

He will know when to tell me the truth about the pants making me look fat and when to lie.*
*This one is tricky, but it can be done. 

He will be nice to waitresses, small children and animals. 

He will share silence comfortably with me. 

He will meet my dad and not be a complete tool. 

He will be understanding about what should be Mom's birthday or the day she died, or maybe just a random whatever thought that makes me think of her. 

He will understand sometimes I have to get through it on my own. 

He should probably like South Park.

He will respect me, not put me on a pedestal.   

He will have a decent knowledge of all things technology related and/or have excellent patience, because I'm going to ask for help.

He will wear his belt at his waist and nowhere near his kneecaps, i.e. the sagging pant.

He will make me laugh.

He will listen to me rant about a bad day and not try to fix it.

He will hold me when I cry.

He will accept me for who I am and love me.

Just as I do him.

Anywhere

Sometimes the world feels so small. I run into people I used to pour coffee for, people I went to high school with and people that taught me in elementary school.

I have been hugged, cursed at, cried with, laughed with, teased, ignored, loved and lived here my entire life.

I have lived other places only twice, and only for 3 months each time. Not long enough to establish a new existence.

I don't even know where I would go.

Sometimes it doesn't matter.

To Oregon. Near the ocean so that I could watch the storms come in winter, hear the peals of laughter from children in summer.

To the middle of the United States where I know no one and no one knows me. Where the entire way of life is different than here.

To San Francisco. I have family there-a safety net. I've been there before and it's beautiful-a lot like here actually.

To Alaska. Another beautiful place where I have family. I could adjust to the cold.

To England. To a foreign place where the language is mostly the same and the culture is nothing like here.

Sometimes all I want to do is run away and start over.

And then I remember how small the world is.

Bailey

I had never seen her before. She was probably in her late 40s, pretty in a mom way. I greeted her as I do everyone and I knew immediately she had a question.

"Do you have anything for my dog? I have to-he's being cremated tomorrow."

I breathed in tightly, looked in her eyes for tears forming.  I'd seen pet parents break down before-easily the hardest part of my job. But she was wearing her Everything is Fine face and so I adjusted my Retail Face and walked over to a brochure we had in the store for a crematorium. Crematorium brochures. Parents. Breaking Down.

She held the brochure in her hands and started telling me about the dog. A golden retriever that had grown up with her daughter. "She was only eight when we got him and they became such friends." She paused, turning the brochure over and over in her hands. Her voice was low, "This is the place we're taking him." 


I touched her arm gently. "I might have an idea for your daughter."

She looked up, her eyes lit with hope and I swallowed hard. I had to help her.  "When I was younger and my first dog died, my mom gave me a little pendant with a dog's head on it. It was such a little thing but it meant--"

"--the world to you," she finished my sentence and I nodded. "It really did."  

"Do have anything like that here?"  I shook my head and then suddenly we both new exactly what to do.

"A dog tag. With the inscription, "In Loving Memory of Bailey." She took my hand in hers, her face smiling with sadness behind it. "It's perfect."  

I started making her the tag-not a heart with sparkles because her daughter was 'so not a sparkle girl'-and she went to our card rack. "Any cards with goldens on-oh my gosh! This one-it looks just like my daughter. And the dog, it looks just like Bailey! Oh-oh it's perfect!"

I tried to share her enthusiasm but all I could do was think about what I was making. A tribute, a token of love. A few words on a chrome disc that a young woman would no doubt weep over. I started thinking of the sadness that would soon engulf this family of strangers and felt tears well up. Sadness. Family. Cremation. Daughter. Tribute.

I finished the transaction and then left the sales floor for a bit. I started talking to a coworker about what had happened and she relayed a similar story she'd experienced and then we were crying together. 

We hugged and put our Retail Faces back on-went to work.

Another coworker came in and he asked if I was ok. I began talking and then he was talking and the two of us are sharing mom stories and then we're crying together too. 

Not exactly what I planned on doing at work today. 

But as sadness often does, it faded. A few more hugs and I went back onto the floor. I tackled a piece of price tag madness and soon I found myself laughing. I started laughing so hard in fact that the tears  rolled down my face one more time. 

Not my Retail Face. 

Not my Everything is Fine Face. 

My Lindsay Face.
 

Never

Never can run
Fast enough
Away from
You
What you promised
but never did
Never can let
go of you
fast enough
to
What you did
but never promised

I Get So Emotional

What does it mean to be 'happy'?  I've asked people that before and the response is always different.

When someone asks me, I really think about it and give an honest answer.

There are a lot of things that make me happy-most of which are the little things that most people don't even notice. Being happy is an emotion that took me a long time to embrace.

Anger too. And I felt it today. I felt my blood proverbially boil.  I felt adrenaline start coursing through me and my thoughts became clouded and unfocused. I tried to get lost in a task and found that I couldn't concentrate-I was that pissed. It felt kinda good.


I told someone the other day that life wasn't fair. That you didn't always get what you wanted. He looked like I was speaking some sort of foreign language. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminded myself that experience, age, and some fucking common sense is something that I had and he didn't. I almost feel sorry for him now when I think of it-life is going to slap him in the face one day.

When I was on MySpace, they had these little options of 'current emotion' or 'currently feeling' or some such noise and I always picked what matched the closest to my current state.

If I had that option now, it couldn't be just one word because really my feelings are never just one at a time. I've got lots of stuff going on inside of me and that doesn't count what you might see from the heart on my sleeve.

Right now I feel sad a little cause I really wish I could call Mom and talk to her. Now more than ever as I explore my emotions, who I am, and start to really like who I find-I wish so much I could share that with her.

I felt pride because I know I made some really good decisions at work and not only did my boss see it, but I saw it. That was a new one for me too. Pride feels good.



My ex-boyfriend asked me if I was dating anyone. I told him no, that I was working on getting to know myself. "You've been doing that a long time," he said.

I answered him without hesitation. 

"I'm worth the wait."

Woe is Me

It occurs to me about halfway through a rant that I'm not happy right now.

I feel irritated and kind of sad and very just woe is me. Because I don't like the way it feels, I want to try and change it. Gotta find the root of the problem in order to do that....and my brain starts spinning.

I go through the checklist.

Work? No, work's pretty good right now. Changes are happening and it's challenging, but I'm learning and feeling pretty good about the progress so far.

Money? Sort of. Never have enough it seems, but who does?

Sex life? Oh wait, don't have one of those.

Family? Dad and I are good. Got to see my Unc lately-we even had dinner one night.

Weather? I used to love this time of year. The colors of the trees, the crisp fall air, the smell of wet leaves and fireplaces...Now, I'm just sort of....meh.

And then....

Today is the 12th of October. My Mom would have been 58 in 3 days. It will be 6 years next month that she died. I guess I'd never really put it together that when the weather starts to change, I remember.

The hospital visits. Dad's tears. The phone calls, lack of sleep, the worry, the hope, the waiting...The funeral. The blurred time after with family, friends, and then...alone.

Alone? Yes. Very much so. The apartment seems so big sometimes and I feel on the verge of tears too often.

I miss my mom and I'm lonely. Two things I don't have too much control over. I can surround myself with friends or type my woes to strangers but it's still inside me. I've had people ask me if it gets better over time when you lose someone. If the loss, the pain, the hurt, the wishing for just one more day lessens...and it doesn't. You just learn how to deal with it better. Struggling with that rationale right now. Don't really feel like I'm dealing with anything. Don't feel strong. Don't feel confident. Don't feel sure.

Although now I sort of feel like a deodorant commercial.

Sigh.

It won't always be like this, I know that. It seems to come on so suddenly and the feelings are so....consuming. And I end up being whiny and unreasonable and irrational and just a pain in the ass to be around. That's not me and I want to change it, but learning how is hard. Change is hard. Taking the steps to get to where you want to be, that's hard too. Fuck, LIFE is hard. And so many people, self included, don't know that until they're smack dab in the middle of it. No one said it was easy, but they sure as shit didn't say it might be tough too.

One of those things you just have to learn on your own I suppose.

What I Know Now

You know what? Fuck it. This is my blog right? That means I can say what I want and not worry about what other people might think. I mean it is titled, 'I'll Tell You How I Really Feel About That'.

This is what I'm feeling.

I'm pissed off and hurt and angry and jealous and confused and hurt again. I don't want to be any of those things but the rational part of my brain is totally drowning in emotions and for once, I'm just gonna let it.

I am not ok that Ex Boyfriend has moved on with a new girl. It's not because I'd hoped we could be together again. I knew a long time ago that he just wasn't the right man for me.

Then why am I not ok?

I don't know.

Because I wasn't expecting it I guess. 

I'm jealous a little because he's found someone.

I'm also mad. He's willing to try with someone new and my mind went inevitiably to 'what does she have that I don't'.

I feel so...insignificant.

Rationally I know that's not true, but the emotions are winning

Every time I see his name, I think 'He's probably out with her'.  

Ridiculous.

I would have preferred it came from him. And he probably would have told me eventually...

I have to admit, it stings that everyone knew.  I feel like I was the joke everyone got.

I have started writing him an email 3 times. I've gotten his name in the To box and one sentence written before I hit cancel. I don't have a reason to email him. What could I say except, "I know you have a girlfriend."  And when my rational side is winning I know it doesn't really matter.

He's a nice man, a good man, I've said so from the beginning. Just not for me.

Another one.
Not for me.
How many before I'm with the one that is for me?

Add lonely to pissed off and hurt and angry and jealous and confused and hurt again.
 

B-I-N-G-O

So I'm playing this virtual bingo game on facebook and I find myself remembering when I used to go to live bingo. You know, the one with people? I was getting into it. I could almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and hear the thunk of dobbers.

In the virtual game there is a little window on the side that acts as a chat room kind of thing. There are little buttons that you push so you don't have to take the time to actually type three letter encouragements like, 'WTG' and 'GL'.

Took me a few rounds before I realized that 'GL' meant 'good luck' instead of some weird element on the periodic table.

I was 3 cards deep and just staring a new game. I saw out of the corner of my eye that someone had actually tried communicating through this little window.

Janet B: i dont understand this game

Really?

It's Bingo. You click the number the computer tells you so eventually you can create some sort of blocky heart or capital Y before everyone else and 'win' money. Or in this particular case, pearls. It's not really difficult. I suppose one could get carpal tunnel syndrome from clicking on the numbers but it would have to be from some seriously excessive clicking.

I ignored Janet and got ready to begin my games. Once the numbers start going you can quickly lose track if you're playing too many cards. I'm currently able to keep up with 3 cards, but anymore and I have to scroll the screen and it's just too hard. I have my own problems Janet.

I was happily clicking my numbers when out of the corner of my eye I see Janet's plea.

Janet B: HELP

The capital letters insinuated she was in dire need of assistance. I immediately pictured Janet at her own computer, hunched over the keyboard, her brow knit in a confused furrow.  How do you click on B10? Why does the ball keep changing colors? Why does it say Bingo on the top of the screen? 

 Janet evidently hasn't had much experience with old people or summer camp. I hope this woman doesn't live alone. I bet she's the kind of person that believes her microwave is evil.

I went on to play my games, noticing no one in the chat room acknowledged poor Janet. I clicked away, amused.  I even won a couple of rounds and was given the title of High Priestess which I have to admit, sort of enjoyed.   Walked away with 679,000 virtual pearls and felt good about it. When the game was over and I'd gloated sufficiently-you know, to my cats-my mind went back to Janet.

I almost wish I knew her cause I wanna tell her what a dobber is.

Dad Thoughts

My dad is the kind of guy that tells people, "I don't care" when they ask him how he's doing. I've seen a man shake his hand right after dad has informed him he's a dildo. I've seen him dance like a leprechaun with his hat turned sideways and his dentures shifting.

I've seen him cry. 

I've seen him scream and stumble and threaten and laugh crazily.

When I see a sweatshirt on a customer at work, if it says anything about Alaska, I tell him proudly that my father is a commercial fisherman. I talk about how I'd finally been able to visit Alaska just recently and that it was like no other place I'd been. That trip created a relationship with my dad that I'd never had before. We had been on our way to creating one, but that trip united us.

I didn't always like him and I'm pretty sure he didn't always like me.

Mom used to get pissed at the two of us, accused us of ganging up on her and it's only now that I can understand what she meant. When dad and I are hanging out together, we'll play off of each other. Especially when there are other people around-we like to show off our Extreme Wittiness.

I have an example of course.

Dad and I were in Alaska with family. We were at my Uncle's house, catching up and drinking beers. Some of the small talk included our plane ride into Alaska and who had dropped us at the airport. I turned to dad and said, "Oh yeah! She seemed nice.... Ya pokin' her?"  With a little twinkle in his eye Dad didn't hesitate his response, "Well, maybe on special occasions."

My dad is probably the coolest guy on the planet. I hope I'm half as cool as him when I'm almost 70.

Probably will be.

Always a Good Thing

Sigh.

I feel all weepy and shit. It's ridiculous. I started out today in a fantastic mood. I got to brew myself some coffee, read a little of my book, I slept in and woke up before the alarm-always a good thing. I went to work and things were running smoothly, the customers were great-even got to hold a puppy today-always a good thing. But then I lost it a little bit.

I felt this ball of frustration start to build and I mentally squashed it down. I thought of all the good things that were happening right now and eventually was calm. I put on my manager hat and laid down a little law-constructively-always a good thing. But then I got home and I called a friend that needed someone to listen and as I did, I admit my mind wandered a bit. It didn't go very far.  It always goes to the same places anyway. But it made me feel a little sad.

When I can't figure out why I'm sad, or moody, or why ice cream seems like a good idea for dinner, I automatically go to the calender to see what time of the month it is. Today was no exception and instead of finding relief from my self induced emotional ride, I just hopped on another one. Anger. Fuck you menstrual cycle. I mean seriously, what the fuck?  I'm not even USING you right now, so can you leave my mental state alone?

It's so frustrating to feel this way. It's difficult sometimes to have emotions that just don't make sense and that you don't have any control over. It's harder still to try and explain to someone that they aren't really an asshole, it's just that everyone is right now.




Sigh.

.

Fantastic Voyage

One of my favorite questions to ask people when I'm getting to know them is, "If you could go anywhere, where would you go?"

If I'm asking a guy, I admit I sometimes do it to see if he'll say, "Anywhere you are." Can't help it.  What girl wouldn't want to hear that?

When I let my mind roam, this is what I think about. The places I want to go but for some reason haven't.

The Stanley Hotel where Stephen King stayed and was inspired to write one of my favorite books, The Shining. I've gotta see if that hideous carpet is there at the very least.

The ocean. I recently got to have a day trip and it was glorious as it always is. I love the wind, the way you feel cool and hot at the same time, the kites, the sand on bare feet, the waves licking toes, words carved into the sand that mean something to someone already gone...There's something about the ocean that makes me feel like my reset button has been pushed. I feel whole and calm and...small when I go to the ocean. I don't go nearly enough.

In your arms. I don't know who you are yet but I know that when you hold me it will feel perfect. My head will fit right under your chin and your arms will hold me close like a love song.

The Las Vegas strip. This would of course be paired with an extraordinarily large amount of money. Enough so that I could see all the things I wanted to. I want to see Cirque du Something in Vegas with a neon colored drink in my hand. Umbrella optional. I want to see the lights at night and feel the heat of the day. I want to see so many Elvises (Elvi?) that I can't count them all. I even want to contemplate marriage just because I can do it through a drive-thru. I want to put entirely too much money into slot machines and wake up somewhere I didn't intend to but am ok with. 

Venice, Italy. I just so badly want to ride in one of those gondola things with a striped shirt oarsman. I want to drink in the richness of the country, the buildings, the culture and the coffee. I want to drink a little espresso on a wrought iron table with a white tablecloth and watch someone (preferably a male Italian, clothing optional with wavy dark hair and eyes that smolder) walk through a group of pigeons.


Oz. Or Wonderland. No reason really except that wouldn't it be fantastic?


If I could go anywhere, where would I go? So many places....

Suddenly

candle painting
heart shaped shadows
on the wall
suddenly there
like love

Amtrak

She loved going to San Francisco. She loved going to spend time with her family and there was just something about the city that put her mind at peace. Usually she flew, but this time she decided on other means of travel.

A train. She'd never ridden a train before, except for the one in the airport and that didn't really count. A friend told her of her own experience on the train and the description was a tale of  beautiful sites and comfort. She fell in love with the idea. She would go to San Francisco by train and have a little adventure.

The adventure began at King Street Station with a late departure. The depot resembled an airport but only because it too had lines and irritated passengers waiting. A lot of headphone wearers, book readers, and nappers littered the station. She shrugged, not entirely impressed so far with her adventure and reached into her backpack for her own novel and headphones.

When they called for her departure, it wasn't a loud and jovial 'All aboard!' like she'd seen in her favorite movies, it was just a voice over an intercom. She frowned a little, disappointed.

Her feelings changed slightly as she climbed aboard the train and found her seat. Her seat was next to a window and she smiled the way you do when something pleasant unexpectedly happens.  She sat down and made herself comfortable. She was in for a long ride. She held her ticket in her hand and reread the information. 22 hours from Seattle to San Francisco. Was she crazy?

Whatever, it was 22 hours. She'd be tired when she got there but she would have had an adventure!

Her seat mate was a small older woman, a veteran in train riding. The older woman told her she'd traveled for years, just back and forth across the country on trains. She found the older woman fascinating and took her offered butterscotch candy with a smile.

Her camera beside her, a notebook  in her lap and her eyes gazing out the window, she was on her way.

Going out of the city she saw some of the grit everyone pretends isn't there. She could see homeless cities under bridges and overpasses, on the sides of tracks. She saw torn blankets as tents and broken playground equipment abandoned next to piles of tires. It wasn't exactly what she'd hoped to see on her travels.

Shortly after she left the city, the train slowed to a stop. The older woman next to her sighed knowingly.

"This track is shared with B&O Railroad. If they need to come this way, we have to let them pass."

Obviously this would take some time but she didn't mind. She picked up her book and started reading.

Hours passed. She finished her book and started a new one and still they had not moved. Her seat mate had long ago left for the Dining Car and her absence made her a little lonely. She stretched and caught the small child in front of her staring between the seats. She smiled and the child grinned back, showing a perfectly toothless gap where her two front teeth would be. The child came around and plopped down next to her. "Hi. I'm Allison. What's your name? Where are you going? Have you ever been on a train before? We're going to Alameda cause my grandpa died and his funeral is this weekend.  I have a brother, do you have a brother?"

The child was a breath of fresh air and she enjoyed the banter. She was on her way to visit her little cousins and this child reminded her a bit of them. They all shared a love of peppermint gum and Star Wars action figures and talking to the child passed the time.

The child's mother bummed her a cigarette at a brief stop in Eugene, Oregon. She had called someone she knew that lived there, had hoped for a spontaneous reunion but he never showed. The cigarette from a stranger is different from one of your own.

Dinner on the train came from a tired woman selling chips and sandwiches. Alone with her notebook and the passing scenery, she sat in the Snack Car. She was writing bad poetry when she saw him walk in.

He wasn't normally a guy she would have been attracted to. He had red hair, kind of long and a beard with beads in it like a pirate. She took in his Birkenstocks and flannel, casual stroll, and kind eyes and thought, "I want to talk to him."

She didn't have to wait long. He asked if he could join her table and she secretly loved how movie-ish the line was. He was from nowhere.

The scenery outside became dark as they talked over coffee. He'd ridden a train before, he'd run away before, he was running now. He was everything she had wanted in a train ride and she didn't even know what his name was. It didn't matter.

They went to the Observation Car to share moments of quiet as the night raced by. She had just closed her eyes when he gently touched her shoulder. "Look. The sun's coming up."


She sat up slowly, stretching in the small plastic seat. Before her were windows showing her the side of morning when the sun isn't quite there yet. It was breathtaking. No broken down buildings here, just green woods and hidden waterfalls in the rocks. They sat together in silence, watching the sun kiss the world awake.

"Where are we?"
"Does it matter?"

She lost herself a little on the train. There were no clocks, no signs on the side of the road to catch glimpses of. It really didn't matter where she was or what time it was.

Until it was time to leave.

He left first, somewhere in Northern California that he'd heard about and never been. He waved at her from the platform and she kept him in sight until she couldn't anymore. The child in front of her left soon after, her mother gave her one more smoke for the next stop. The old woman had left some time in the night, a small note left. "Enjoy your trip!" and a butterscotch candy.

Her phone had long been abandoned in her bag but now she dug it out and saw she had messages. The time told her that her 22 hour trip had turned into 32 and her aunt had called. Returning the call she was finally able to say where she was and her aunt surprised her with a promise to be at the next town. She'd been driving from San Francisco to meet her.

Pulling into the station at Emeryville, she saw her family. Her little cousins were bouncing around, her aunt stood patiently waiting. She'd never been so happy to see them. She hadn't slept, she'd only eaten food wrapped in plastic and her back ached from sitting. She stepped off the train and her little cousin bombarded her with a hug.  "Wow it took a long time for you to get here! Mommy said she's buying you a plane ticket for when you go home so you don't have to do this ever again."

She thought of the beautiful things she'd seen on her adventure, the people she'd met. She thought of the opportunity to devour 3 books, one after another and the pages of angst she'd been able to write. She thought of the pirate guy and watching the sun come up. She thought of her seat mate and her kind traveling advice and the child with 20 Questions.

Then she thought of the extra 10 hours in a small tube-like mode of transportation and she smiled at her aunt.

"Thank you."

Vodka Tonics

ice melting in a glass
bracelets clinking
a toast
soda bubbles up a glass
clear and smells a little
like adulthood
laughing
smiling
telling stories of remember when
lime balanced on the rim
swirl the ice
drink it
one gulp
two
gone
another
another
another
ice melting in a glass
water pooling at the base
rivers travel down the side
like hours through
the night
memories forgotten
lime curled in the bottom
sad
squeezed
all the juice is gone
alone
ice melted in an empty glass

Maybe You Might

I don't really know what I'd say to you if I could.

Maybe I would talk about work. Probably. It's kind of my main source of happening these days. Maybe I'd tell you I finally had a full staff and that I saw real promise in my store.

Maybe I'd tell you that I went out with some friends from work last weekend and that I had a great time with my vodka tonics. Maybe I'd tell you that I ordered those (with just a splash of cran) because they reminded me of Mom somehow.

Maybe I'd tell you I was comfortable in my own skin for once. Maybe I'd tell you that the other day I didn't cringe when I walked by a reflective surface and that it seemed like I was laughing more.

Maybe I would try to tell you. But you wouldn't care.

You would probably let me tell you a few things about work. You might make a joke about dog shit or something and then the conversation would turn to you. It always does. You might say how much money you made on your last job and I'd 'mm-hm' to placate you.

Maybe I'd tell you what placate meant.

You might tell me that you were alone tonight and that you were interested in getting together. And you might start making comments about time we used to spend together and you might start saying things that used to work.

Maybe I'd allow myself to think about it for a  half a second.

You might say that things were bad at home and that you needed me. Maybe I'd believe you. You would probably tell me all the plans about changes you weren't going to make and maybe I'd feel sorry for you.

I don't really know what I'd say to you if I could.

Maybe I won't call.

Dark Crystal Remembered

I caught it just as the credits were starting.  I nestled myself into the couch and smiled. In an instant I was reminded of childhood. I thought of Mom, the Unc and me watching it together. All three of us delighted in trying to mimic our favorite characters.

I thought of my ex too. Not the most recent one, the one before. The one that sometimes pops back into my life when he needs his confidence boosted.  I remembered us watching the movie together over and over again. Curled up on the couch, his legs over my lap. He'd never seen it before I showed it to him and I think we were both surprised that he fell in love with it as much as I had.

"Today, Jen's pipe brings no comfort." 

"Challenge!"

"Trial by Stone!"

"End, begin, all the same."

Only about fifteen minutes into the movie and I start texting the ex the lines I was sure he would remember. I don't get a response at first but it doesn't really matter. I'm also ignoring that my personal vow to never be the one to initiate contact has just been broken.

Finally, I text him, "Guess what movie I'm watching yet?" Do you still think about me when you watch movies we used to?"

"That one with all the weird muppets and shit. Sorcerer's Stone or something."

I can hear his teasing, even through a text message. And I'm glad for the thousandth time that we're not together anymore.


I'm done texting after that.

Mom's favorite was Fizzgig. Little Pomeranian-ish dog with two rows of teeth and a serious case of separation anxiety. He was cute though and Mom always said if we ever got a small fluffy dog it would have to be named Fizzgig.

My Uncle loved the Skeksis. He especially liked Chamberlain, a whiny misfit skeletal creature that is extradited from the newly appointed Emperor's castle. He is the loser in aforementioned "Challenge!" and has a fantastic whine that is surprisingly hard to imitate.

And my favorite, Aughra. Her face resembles a Pug and she's missing an eye. The other one she can remove and does so often. Her line is the one referring to Jen's life questions.  "End, begin, all the same. Big change. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. "

I watched The Dark Crystal alone just after Mom died and it brought me comfort. I didn't really understand what death meant. I don't think anyone does until they have someone they love die. It's something I had tried to put into words a million times and never achieved.

Aughra said it.

Jen tells Aughra that his Mystic (father figure) has died after she asks his whereabouts.

She pauses, looks into the sky and takes in her surroundings, "Hmph. Could be anywhere then."

I love this movie.

Weird/Good

This weird/good thing is happening. I'm feeling sort of responsible and funny and nice and not stressed and at peace but still in control...good lord. Either I've become a grown up or the Prozac is finally kicking in.

I don't even care which one, that's how weird/good it feels. 

My life hasn't abruptly changed, nothing spectacular has happened. Unless you count finding the little animated gnome game on Facebook. I started virtual harvesting strawberries and clicking on snails to 'feed' them but other than that...

I saw someone today and it was awkward.  We stopped being around each other suddenly and for tense reasons. I remember last week she called me and I stared at the phone, not able to push reject or accept. I just didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. I tried calling her back later and couldn't get through-maybe I wasn't supposed to.

Seeing her today was weird but not weird/good.

Getting a phone call that included a smile I heard and an invite out for drinks with the gang was good. Nothing weird about it. Hopefully by the end of aforementioned outing I will have had entirely too much to drink.

Had a pretty intense conversation with the ex recently. I felt like I got some closure and that we both got a chance to tell each other things we needed to. It's hard to reach those kinds of conclusions, harder still to admit you need to after a significant amount of time. I noticed we actually communicated better over the computer than we did in the entire year we'd been together with just a smidge of bitterness so that's good.

I went to the local farmer's market today and paid too much for blackberries because the guy selling them was cute. Bought myself a bouquet of flowers in white butcher paper from a small asian woman like you do when you go to farmer's markets too.

I got a song stuck in my head and before I knew what was happening, I was singing aloud, "...what a field day for the heat..." and my coworker came back with "...a thousand people in the street...."   It was one of those little moments when it just feels good to be sharing it.

I had another moment with a different coworker, talking about that wretched commercial currently tainting the airwaves for Old Navy-They took a beloved tribute to safe sex 90's style and turned it into a jingle.

"Let's Talk About JEANS, Baby"

I swear to god it hurt the first time I saw it.

Talking to my coworker, expressing my outrage at such a tragedy he laughed and then said, "Is that from something?"

A little part of me sighed, remembered I was 34, he was 21.

"It's from a song I used to freakin' adore in high school. 'Let's Talk About Sex, Baby', by Salt-N-Pepa."

Deer in headlights stare.

"Really?" I asked, " You've never heard of them?" Another sigh. "Christ I'm old."


"Well I'm sorry if I'm not well versed in the lyrics of the greats like Sat-N-Pepper."

"Oh no," I quickly corrected him.  "Not 'pepper', Pepa."

We both dissolved into giggles and moved on to sling kibble or discuss why dogs eat their own excrement or something along those lines.  21 years old is so young now.

I had a conversation today with a woman about how we will always love books and think a Kindle is a sign of the apocalypse. All hail the leather bound! <---That could be easily misconstrued. I'm leaving it in.

Spoke with someone else about public vs. private school. Her argument had some heat and when I suggested home schooling (she loathes public school but private is sucking her bank account dry) she told me she didn't have time for that and that her child needed special attention.

I retail smiled at her and wished her a good day because that's goes along with kibble slinging and conversations about dog shit. It's one of those weird/good things.

I'm beginning to think the church across the street is really a Mexican restaurant with pretty windows.  The Worshipers are there at least 4 nights a week, and tonight it sounds a little like I'm about to be served burritos. I am all for faith and truly, I don't mind that they are there. I actually think it's kinda neat and when no one is in it worshiping at top volume, it's really rather pretty.

 I had this moment today when I thought about making cookies for my downstairs neighbor. I thought it about it enough to come home, turn the oven on and begin slaving over the package of pre-made dough. I put them all on a sheet and then stopped thinking about it. I burned the cookies a little. I think the right word is 'scorched' as they could have passed for very dark chocolate chip if you squinted. I thought then about giving them to the neighbors anyway. I mean, what are they gonna do, give them back and say no thanks, they're burnt? No way. Nobody wants to be the asshole that criticizes free cookies.

I didn't do it though. Nobody wants to be the asshole that gives burned cookies either. I tossed them in the garbage and shrugged.

Gotta be the Prozac.

Rawr

Fuck you ovary. Fuck you with a spoon because it will hurt more.

At least I don't feel as crazy as I usually do this time of the month. And for the record guys, yeah-it is almost the whole month. You have one week (or more) of bleeding, complete with cramps, bloating, weird food cravings and more cramps. You have two weeks (ish)  when your body is preparing for the bleeding. Your egg drops and depending on if your fallopian tubes are allies or not (mine are not) you have pain as it travels down into the Almighty Uterus. Often all of this is accompanied with sore and/or tender and/or swollen breasts.

It has been my experience that most men find this part of the month their favorite.

Because of the boobs? Yes. But also because (and this is 100% true) women are sending off sex vibes to you. Or entire body wants us to reproduce and it wants to tell you about it.


We wear perfume and makeup and short skirts and low cut tops and high heels and all those other things usually the most around this time of the month.  We want you to notice us, mount us and impregnate us with your seed.

Doesn't that just make it sound...animalistic?

But does a tiger get to blog about her period? No.

And that's what separates us.





*You get a bonus Cool point if you caught that reference.

Hell yes I'm keeping track.

Football Season

Football season. Hearing a game in the background meant Dad was home from fishing.

Mom cooking something he loved for dinner and me curled in my corner of the couch waiting to be noticed.

When I was young I just stayed still, watching. I watched my Dad more than the game-smoking and snarling at the television.

I learned all the colorful swears during football season.

When I was teenager I'd occasionally grace my parents with my presence on a Sunday afternoon. I'd watch the game from my corner, making comments peppered with things like, "I'll say he's got a tight end," hoping for shock. Never got more than a petulant glare.

As an adult, on my own with a television all mine on Sundays, I have invited Dad over for dinner. I turn the game on for him, usually find myself sitting curled in the corner of the couch with a book. Last year I really noticed how quiet it was.

The snarling Dad was gone, replaced by this gently snoring man sitting on the other end of the couch. I felt warm, comforted, like that feeling of security I remembered from when I was little.

Dad was home.

Apartment Dwelling

Ok, so I love my apartment. Seriously, it's the envy of all apartment dwellers. It's in a small building with a church and a cop shop within walking distance. I have a sun room which is very important to a former basement dweller like myself. I have a fireplace and a dishwasher-after being without one for friggin' years. It's big and it's totally all mine. I love my apartment, I hate my neighbors.

Let me introduce them to you.

Madeline. Madeline is 92 years old. And if asked, she will tell you all the pains that come with being a 92 year old woman. From Jersey. She fell and broke her hip last fall but I found out only after I'd convinced myself that the reason she didn't answer her phone or door was because she'd finally died and was slowly rotting on the other side of the wall. Turns out she'd gone to the hospital and was just fine, recuperating in a rehabilitation center.

They wouldn't let her come home until they knew she had someone to help her. Guess who? I couldn't help it. I mean, seriously-92 years old. From Jersey. How could I not pick up her mail and help her into bed every night?

But Madeline is tough. A tough broad even. She didn't need my help any more than a maybe a month before she was up and walking around, even driving. In fact, she's going to see her family next week and she's asked me to check on her place while she's away. The woman has more energy than I do most days. Yes, she's nosy, more than a little bossy and I doubt she knows the meaning of the word 'tact'. But she's fierce and I hope I have half her spirit when I get to her age. Or hell, I'll take it now.

Above Madeline lives Shawna. I rarely see Shawna but I hear her all the time. She and her boyfriend work in a bar-she's a beer wench and he's in the band-and they get home after 3 in the morning. The steps that lead up to their apartment are directly on the other side of the wall my bed is against. First night I moved in, they pounded up the stairs so loudly the lampshade on my nightstand quivered. I seriously thought the cats and I were in an earthquake.

I ended up asking them if they wouldn't mind being a bit more quiet since I mostly worked mornings and their elephant imitations were waking me up. Shawna was really great about it, apologized, said she forgot someone had moved in....and that would have probably been the end of it except for, you know the screaming fights she and the boyfriend sometimes engage in. It's even more interesting when their chihuahua gets into it.



Next to Shawna and her 'rocker' boyfriend, a new family has moved in. They are friendly, quiet and I couldn't even tell you their name. I'm ok with that.

Below me is Greg. I know nothing about Greg except that he shares the laundry room with me and uses Arm&Hammer laundry soap. He doesn't mind leaving laundry soap rings all over the washer either. Just sayin'. He also owns a PT Cruiser that he washes obsessively and that he doesn't go outside except to do just that.

And then we have the newest tenants. They have spent the last couple of days moving in and well...I don't have high hopes. To be fair, the guy before them was the perfect downstairs neighbor. He worked nights, slept during the day when I was gone so I never had to worry about being too loud at night. I never saw him and when I did we exchanged pleasantries. But these new peeps....

And I use 'peeps' for two reasons. One, I like to pretend I'm hip with the ghetto-ease. And two, they kind of fit in that genre. I've lived here long enough to recognize my own kind.* She's thin, white tank (or wife-beater if you will), short shorts, ponytail and hoop earrings. He's tall, baggy pants (a 'loaded with shit' look if you will), doo rag, and gold necklaces. They have two beautiful little girls and they like to talk about who's turn it is to take care of them in the parking lot under my window.

They also like to smoke cigarettes and blow the smoke up so it floats into my open previously fresh breeze giving windows. And they listen to what I presume is considered 'hip-hop' at an obnoxiously loud volume. The music has been limited to their cars and as a result I am only subjected to the last minute before the car is turned off.

Behind me, the building is currently housing (at last count)7 stray cats. Seven cats that have decided that their mission in life is to harass my calico from the other side of the glass causing many many cries of 'Dammit cat, ENOUGH! and Get OUT of the blinds!!'

In the front is the church which we discussed in another blog. *Hint: It's the one called The Church Across the Street


My friend and I decided we were going to run away. I told her I needed to hermit in a cabin somewhere and after she reminded me she didn't 'do' cabins, we decided on another plan.

She's going to win the lottery, buy a giant house that requires 'help' and I'll live on the land in a side cabin, grow a beard and only visit the 'big house' when I needed to shower and/or steal food. I may or may not make something shady.

We decided the 'help' should be someone half naked with male genitalia and then she reminded me about her husband and that he might protest. After a small debate, we decided he could live close by and come over only if we needed the computer or TV fixed.

I dream of living hermited up. But not for long. I'd miss laughing with people and smiling at strangers. I'd miss meeting nice people at the DMV (They do exist, I swear it's true) and making fun of peeps.

Working in retail, or any customer service job, you realize pretty quickly that individual persons can be fascinating, funny and kind creatures. But people as a whole....stupid.

And loud.


*The Lindsay is in no way connected with the ghetto genre or it's affiliates.

The Church Across the Street

The church across the street rejoices loudly. I have my windows open all the time and usually I don't mind the noise. It sounds a bit like monks chanting and sometimes it's actually quite pleasant. I  imagine I'm in  a zen garden and there's water flowing (my cat's fountain) and the air smells like cherry blossoms (yay Yankee candles) and all is peaceful in the world.

Other times I want to scream "All hail the Dark One!" out those open windows.

Ok. I don't really hail the Dark One. But I am around people all the time. When I get home, it's nice to not be around anyone sometimes and when they are singing for long periods of time, into the later hours of the evening when I have to get up at the ass crack...You can see where this might start to suck.

If I have to turn up the volume on my television because the chanting drowns out the dialogue of Rupaul's drag queens, well let's just say I've contemplated how the police might respond to a noise complaint.

Could you imagine being that asshole? "Hello, I'd like to lodge a complaint. The church across the way is singing their praises too loudly. I can't hear my reality tv."

Truth is, it's not that bad. I don't mind the singing really, because I usually am able to achieve zen-ishdom. (*Ok, every time I type the word 'zen' my mind goes to Kung Fu Panda-just sayin')

It's the kids that irritate me. After church services are over (and they have them at least 4 times a week) all the small people run around outside in the church's parking lot, screaming, playing, enjoying their youth. It's annoying as hell. I lay awake sometimes playing the 'was that a scream of help or laughter?' game.

Maybe it's because my windows are open but I lived in a basement apartment with no windows for soooo long and natural light is pretty! I never close my blinds either. Maybe their loud rejoicing is actually punishment for that. Because I lived without windows for so long, I sort of got used to no one being able to see into my apartment and I did a lot of things naked. I'd watch tv in the buff, or do chores-anyone who walked by would be none the wiser.

Shortly after moving in ,I started vacuuming with nothing but my skivvies on and I was focused on the task so much that I didn't notice the cars pulling into the lot across the street. It was only when the stained glass windows began to glow that I looked up and saw at least a dozen parishioners milling about. It hit me that if I could see them, they could see me. These windows didn't work like 2 year old peek-a-boo. I immediately drew the blinds but then shrugged my shoulders and continued vacuuming.  Little late to be shy I suppose.

That has to be why they're so loud.  It's gotta be payback for that time I flashed my sinful flesh.

Audra

We introduced ourselves after we'd hugged for the second time.

Her name was Audra and I made her cry.

Wasn't my intention but somehow we started talking about when you lose someone and she asked me, tears streaming down her face, "Does it get easier?"

I didn't lie to her. I told her it just gets easier to deal with, but the loss will never really fade. I asked her if she was a hugger and she nodded, reached for me.

I had this sweet and tender moment with a complete stranger that just really needed to be held and told, "It's going to be ok."

She was my first customer of the day and the only one I could describe now if you asked me what she looked like. I see so many faces throughout the day but hers I won't forget. It was a kind face and under the grief there was hope and it made me remember my own.

I wish you happiness Audra.

Pre- Dad

My dad wants me to write his story.

A part of me has been holding back because it seemed almost like I was....well, like it was memorializing him and he's not dead so it felt weird.

But then I talked to him the other day and he reminded me he was going to be 70 this year and I figured, hell, that's almost dead. Probably better get started on his book.

We have talked about it before, the first time he mentioned it being shortly after Mom died. I had written a poem about her for the brochure thing they hand out at funerals and until then I'm not sure Dad really knew I'd fancied myself a writer.

I was going to begin his story at the beginning, and with a million notes taken from interviews. Trouble is-I work. Dad lives across town and did I mention I work constantly? Getting together to have an 'interview' didn't seem likely.

Then I thought about a phone interview since I call him nearly every morning on my way into work anyway. But that's just it. It's just a little check-in, how's things, love you kind of conversation and that's about it. We need more time.

But the other day an idea started floating around in my brain. I started thinking about all the things that reminded me about Dad and made a list. Just off the top of my head I had a page and a half of topics I wanted to write about. Dad's a colorful character-anyone that has met him would agree.

So that's what I've decided. I'm going to write little essays, snippets of memory that I have about my dad-mixed in with some of his story telling. I'm excited about the project. So, dear reader, if you are still into my blog-expect to get to know my dad.

Here is a sample of some of the things I'm going to write about:

Started smoking at 7
He was on America's Funniest Home Videos, lip syncing 'Too Many Fish in the Sea'
He made a commercial for AT&T
Been arrested-twice that I know of
I have 2 half sisters
He learned how to surf at 66 years old


This is gonna be good. Not a memorial-a tribute. An ongoing journey of Dad. Instead of 'shit my dad says', It'll be 'shit you wish you had the balls to do'.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

I looked at my hands today. Really looked at them. I saw my mom, years of heartache and strength.

I saw a scratch still red with blood in the little webbed part between my fingers. My boy cat did that and I just shrugged when it happened. Still stings a little but most hurt does for a while.

I saw crinkles in the skin that makes my cuticles. I saw it sitting there underneath the white moon in my nail and it reminded me of mom.

Her hands were so soft. And her rings-simple and meaningful. Like mine.

I saw my writing callus, almost gone from technology. When I run my thumb over it I felt the power of every pen I've held, every crayon I've created masterpieces with and every pencil I've flipped upside down to hurriedly erase mistakes.

And I think of mom again now. How she once told me to never write anything I wouldn't want someone to read.

It's why I'll never stop. I want someone to read me.

To hold my hands.

Restless

Soft scent-lavender and a little vanilla. Light is soft too-Christmas light glow that gives just enough bright for me to write about.  A movie playing I know all the words to. I smile at the scenes that remind me of you and let myself remember when we were an us.

Cat bells up and down the hall, little feet patters from the four leggeds as night grows darker. Another cat, my old fuss pot, mouthy, cranky and perfectly wonderful furry friend curled on my knees. Her black fur broken only by the white skulls on her collar because she's a badass.

The bed's too big for me now-a whole side with deliciously cool sheets and plenty of leg room. I sleep with pillows around me on the nights I wish they were arms.

A cool breeze comes through the window, stirring the chimes I hung outside just for moments like this. I listen closely-often with wind comes rain and....yes. It begins.


Originally written June 28, 2011

Buffer

Why are all the good ones taken?

A question women have been asking for years. This woman too.

I've had some good ones...they are all married or otherwise taken now. Maybe only one exception. And when I say 'had' I don't mean in the biblical sense. I mean emotionally had-and usually pretty intensely.

I fall in love hard and fast. I see things that even the most romantic poet might not envision. This is not always good and I've learned from my mistakes and my hopeless romantic heart many times.

If I were to make a list of all the men I'd had feelings for, over 90% of them would currently be in relationships now. Some good, some bad, but relationships I know about-some I know too much about.

You see, I'm the one they call when things suck. I'm the one they call to say things like, "It wasn't like this with you," and "I wish she was more like you."  I'm the one they realize they should have tried harder with.

I remember thinking that I wanted to be that girl. I wanted to be the girl they wished they had but I had no idea how lonely that girl could be. Because they don't leave their significant others. They love them. They want to work it out with them.

There's a part of me that recognizes how sad that sounds. How defeated and truth be told I don't really feel like I've never been loved. I'm reminded now of some advice my grandmother gave me when I was 15 and not ready to hear it.

I was professing my love for a boy at the time and she listened to me swooning as she crocheted on the couch. She eventually put down the needles and took my hands in hers. "Lindsay. Why do you love this boy?"

I quickly came up with a many reasons, one of which I think was because he was cute.

"Do you know why I love your grandfather?"

I shook my head and my teenage eyes rolled-at this point in my life, grandparents weren't very cool.

"I love him because he's good to me. But he's also good to others. He's kind and he treats people with respect. I have no doubt that you love this boy. I think you love him as much as you can at 15."

I remember leaving that conversation feeling kind of angsty, irritated and thinking she didn't know what she was talking about.

But she was right. Fifteen year old love is much different from 21 year old love, 25 year old love and 32 year old love. And I've felt it all.

I started writing this because I wanted to rant about how all the guys I've ever been involved with have since moved on to get married, have children or settle down with a loved one that wasn't me. I wanted to write about how I sometimes felt like a buffer-the nice girl that's there and helps you learn to love. The girl you're with just before you meet your perfect one. But none of that matters really. If they were supposed to be with me, they would be still. Some of the decisions were not mine to end things, some were, some were mutual.

There's a good one out there for me. We haven't found each other yet but when we do, it's gonna be amazing.

My Boobs Hurt

*My boobs hurt. This is usually a sign of the **Almighty Uterus readying itself to house a child. For the umpteenth month in a row, it is all for naught.

I'm nowhere near close to being pregnant.

Today, right now, I'm ok with that.

Some days the ovaries scream very loud and every little person under 3 feet is adorable. Yeah, sure, even midgets. (Is it still ok to refer to them as 'midgets'?)

But today I'm ok with the fact that the only responsibility I had when I came home was to feed my cats and if I was an asshole, I wouldn't even do that. I'm reminded every day that not everyone thinks of their four leggeds as family. Just about as many that do.

On my way home from a long day I started thinking about babies. Mostly because I smacked my boob with my backpack's strap  and it pained me and the pain sent a message to my brain and instead of 'ow', I heard 'you should be pregnant.'

Sore boobs=pregnant? Sure can.

Sore boobs=34 year old PMS?  There ya go.

I was convinced that the whole biological clock thing was bullshit. Of course, I had this thought when I was 21 and procreating was the farthest thing from my mind. 

My coworker is pregnant. My best friend wants to be pregnant. My other best friend wants to be pregnant again.

The need is all around me so why shouldn't my boobs want to be in on it? The Almighty Uterus is like a guest room. Just because it isn't being used, you still want it to look nice and be ready for when guests arrive.


Ok, so that leaves for a nice segue into my lack of sex life but I think I'm gonna go give my boobs a piece of chocolate. Or Chocolat-sometimes only Johnny Depp will do.

*Side tangent: I've had the opinion that women should not have breasts unless they are pregnant as their whole purpose is to swell with milk and feed a youngling. And to get free drinks. They're good for that too.
**Almighty Uterus is capitalized because it fucking deserves to be. It can make LIFE.

A Little Angsty

I'm wearing the nightgown you used to like. The thin white one with the blue flowers and the strings at the top. The strings you used to slowly pull, your eyes swimming in mine.

I'm listening to that song that reminds me of you. The one with the line in it that makes my heart hurt and smile at the same time. The hurt that is both familiar and a stranger.

I can smell the faintest whiff of your laundry soap still in the shirt I kept. The one I asked you to let me wear so that I could breathe you into my dreams.

I can feel your lips against my neck, whispering promises you won't keep.

I'm trying to understand the rejection and the hurt and the never feeling like I was enough. The feeling of unwanted. The feeling that eventually I gave in to, said goodbye to.

I'm rebuilding the confidence you destroyed in me. The confidence you killed with consistent avoidance.  The bit of me you slowly pulled away, your eyes never leaving mine.


I didn't particularly want to think of my ex-boyfriend tonight but there he is-dancing the polka around in my brain. I don't know why he'd be dancing the polka, but it just fits somehow. 

I miss him. I miss the companionship we had. I miss him being home when I got there after a long day at work. I miss seeing his face in the morning after he just woke up. I miss listening to him brush his teeth at the end of the night-always the same. I miss cooking dinner together and sharing laughter and knowing that I had someone that loved me. 

But sometimes love isn't enough. I didn't know that until I met him. I tried to let it be enough...I wanted it to be. But sometimes...


love isn't enough. 


Broken
Bruised
Beaten
Used
Inside 

Stronger
Learned
Lessons
Burned
Inside




 

Long Day Again

Some of the things I did today...

-Had a conversation with a coworker that included a detailed explanation as to why my boobs hurt and just what exactly PMS was.

-Helped a woman learn how to brush her dog's teeth.

-Offered to be a surrogate for one of my best friends-if it comes to that.

-Heard from Dad and felt relief flood through me when he told me he got some of his financial worries settled.

-Worked 12, no 14 and a half hours today.

-Brushed a 7 month old Newfoundland puppy that is bigger than most full grown Golden Retrievers

-Successfully dodged not 1, but 3 panhandlers

-Rode the exercise bike: My ass now  hurts as well as my boobs

It was a long one and I'm in desperate need of something chocolate.
Off I go...

Missing

I miss Mom today. I do everyday but today while I was out for a walk I took my phone out to call her before I remembered I couldn't.

I hate that feeling. It's a tough one. Mom had been sick for so long but I still never thought she'd die.

I wanted to call her today and tell her that I'm doing pretty good right now. I wanted to tell her that I feel ok with work-confident again-and that I went to see Harry Potter this afternoon. I wanted to tell her that I finally feel at peace-at least a little-with being single again. And that a little was better than not at all. I wanted to tell her that I was planning on getting a haircut tomorrow and that her little sister finally joined Facebook. I wanted to tell her about the song I'm currently in love with and why it affected me so much. I wanted to tell her so many things....

I wanted to talk to her about how I still didn't understand men but that I was ok with that. At least for today and I wanted to hear her laugh.

Instead I have to try to remember. I have to remember her soft face and gentle blue eyes that always saw right through me. I have to remember how she used to sing while she washed the dishes or to get me to sleep. I have to remember how she smelled-her hair...long and thin but so soft. Hair she used to put across her top lip to kiss me goodnight so I would get a 'kiss from Dad' when he was away fishing. I have to remember trips to the library and stacks of books next to us on the couch, my little body curled up next to her while she read the stories.

I miss her so much. I wish all the time that I could see her just one more time.

I have friends that have had a loss like mine and when it's really bad, I'll sometimes reach out to them. Today I needed to. The response back to me was perfect.

"Your mom isn't here in person but she is in you a bunch!"

I think so too.

Soooo tired

Jesus my eyes hurt. They feel like they've been open for 3 days and someone has just poured sand in them. I'm working the early shift for awhile and needless to say, it's not my favorite thing to do.

Don't get me wrong, being off at 3 in the afternoon has the taste of awesome, but why I have this shift kinda sucks. I had to fire someone last week.

Anyone that has ever had to do that knows how much it sucks. It's like breaking up with someone. There's a grieving process and everything.

Today was good though. I worked my ass off and answered questions like, "Why is it a good idea to have a harness instead of a collar for a chihuahua?" or "What can I give my cat so it isn't so fat?"

I played with an adorable Boston terrier puppy named O.G. (As in 'oh gee!') I comforted a woman that had recently lost her pet. I told someone how to spell chihuahua and where to get a pitbull neutered. These are not everyone's normal conversations in a day and I'm kind of glad actually. It makes me feel like I know a little more about something someone else might not and who doesn't like to feel smart? :)

There are the moments where just the little things can make you giggle too. Like when my coworker said she was 'going out the door' and I thought she called me a whore. Or when the phone rings and instead of answering with my store's name, I just say 'hello'. Days like this usually end with me trying to open my apartment with my store keys.

Not today though-just the sweet call of my couch and a little RuPaul reality tv. I love me some drag queens.

And...We're Back

I am here, I will roar at some point but not today.

Soon you will see blogs of angst, strongly opinionated blogs about Oprah and other television freaks, and blogs laced with memory or fantasy.

I'll probably swear a little too.

Stay tuned.