Devotion

People die every day, everyone dies eventually. Methuselah, purported oldest man ever, eventually died. Even Jesus died, at least in the flesh. But it still feels so terribly tragic. Especially if they were killed. Something in me, perhaps in everyone, especially distresses when people are attacked in malls, at the gym, at school, at work, on the street, in their home. Even for our men and women in uniform serving in theater, I still think we expect most of them to come home. Our losses there are heartbreaking in part I think because so many are killed while engaged in the mundane. Not in a drawn out gun fight but rather driving back and forth from work. Not shooting down a plane in a Top Gun gun fight, checking ID's at the front gate. Not rolling over the terrain during a tank battle, working out in the gym.

I'm not sure if they have changed since I left but when I served, the core values of the Air Force were: Integrity first. Service before self. Excellence in all we do. I hope the person or committee that developed that got their obligatory commendations and recognition because those are fantastic core values. I think those should be America's core values. Regardless of how or if you worship, regardless of what goes down in your bedroom, irrespective of how you feel about abortion, immigration, privacy laws, political parties or whatever else can alienate us from one another, if we embraced those core values and at least collectively tried to live them, what kind of amazing would result?

But even I, someone who their whole life sought to attach themselves to something bigger, to answer high callings, to serve, am growing tired and more selfish with age. But it is still hard when people are dying to take a day off. Even if there is nothing you can do. It doesn't feel right to press on with my ordinary worries and to-do lists, my ambivalency about my own work and whether it actually matters, any attention I give to the posturing and maneuvering of career, my sleeping in because I'm tired and have bad cramps. But that is life and I think I've sought safety in demanding careers because it gave me an excuse for not tending to my own life. Something, everything was/is always more important than getting a haircut, going back to school, visiting a friend or family, going to the gym. Institutions glorify sacrifice, denial of self, full-on consumption of the mission. Even taking care of your body and mind is encouraged in the context of being more available for the mission and better at it. I'm not entirely convinced one must have passion for their career or whatever it is they do to afford the life they want. I think it is a luxury to love your work AND have it support your lifestyle. And I think there are far more pragmatists than fully consumed patriots under any ideological banner but something in the human soul still seeks and responds belonging and belonging to something transcendent. Even if it is never as cool in practice as it is in principle.

I don't know. I'm just tired and conflicted. Maybe it is time to take that break I sought almost 10 years ago. Move back home, go to school, see what happens after that. Or maybe it is time to get serious about coupling, making 2010 the year of men so I can backburner these thorny questions on my sense of purpose and hope to consume myself in marriage and procreation. Or maybe I just continue on. I'm starting to consider that perhaps I can question, examine, evaluate things without abandoning them every time I find a wart. After all, there is no perfection this side of heaven so seeking it is a fools errand and a surefire path to a largely unhappy life.

A morose and brooding way to end the year but that's who I am sometimes so for at least the next 3-5 minutes, I'm going to be okay with that. Happy New Year and thanks to everyone still reading (all 2 of you), especially through these last few months of sporadic and often heavy posts.

Prologue

As my clothes smack around in the dryer, I'm thankful for wake-up buddies, for snowstorm adventures and kind dentists who give stranded strangers a much needed ride. I'm thankful for an introduction to an old jazz standard, Open the door Richard, and for the Amtrak adventures that accompanied my journey back to Philly from Washington last weekend. I still recall fondly the mirth with which we greeted the Amtrak conductor's apology for the short delay (over 3 hours) and after an additional 30 minutes on the static train, the admission they were still waiting for an engineer to show up so the train could actually leave. I still regard with wonder all which had to come together for me to end up in the car and the seat that made such a crap-tastic set of circumstances such a joy. I am thankful the night ended after 1 am with a night owl bus ride through the snowy city with the quietly menacing types that make up the night owl bus riding crowd. It was a perfectly magical and ridiculous weekend and it starts with a dear friend, an epic snowstorm, and a Mini Cooper.

Before launching in the windy disjointed narrative I suspect this story will become, I feel I should introduce the players. One of the most important people, the Amtrak engineer, I never even met but he seems like a Steve to me, so that's what I'll call him. The others are*:

Issa: A dentist in northern Virginia and a great Samaritan

Joy: A Phillipino nurse who was stranded with me when the buses shut down

Mini Cooper: My dear friend who drives a cute but impractical car, who spent Saturday morning assessing the storm and periodically clearing a trench around the Mini Cooper though it was increasingly clear the car would not see service that day. Hope springs eternal.

9 Cookie/Meal Ticket/Trustfund/Georgetown: Probably going to make my top 10 most annoying humans alive. Nice enough guy but mentioned his ability to have unlimited meals at the Georgetown cafeteria no less than 8 times. Also the first one to mention he went to Georgetown and the only one to repeat it at least 3 times. Seems to operate from an assumption that people are paying attention to him and actually care what he's up to.

Seattle: His traveling circumstances were completely tragic. He wasn't with us long, needing only a ride to BWI where he was likely going to spend the night. He spent most of his short time on board in the cafe car and I got a feeling he wanted no part of our reindeer games though he was not at all snotty about it.

Yea Something Like That: Large slightly menacing man who slept most of the ride with his headphones on which must have been turned all the way up because when he made a phone call, it was in loud deliberate Spanish which was already funny enough. When he finished the conversation in English with 'yea, something like that,' it was all I could do not to laugh.

Betsy: A nice older lady. I liked her hair and her overall chic-ness.

Tim: Last but not least, the charming Tim. I liked him immensely for the short time I knew him. He had a great way about him and I felt he would be successful at whatever he put his hand to. He was easy going, light hearted and affable, but seemed at his core to be kind of a serious young man, inclined toward introspection and thoughtful consideration of the world around him. He gave me his e-mail address as we were pulling into Philadelphia and said he'd like to read my account of our crazy adventures which is of course why he's considered so favorably in this prologue. :-) I'm sorry if 9 Cookie is your friend. Tim was unabashedly into hats and had at least 4-5 hats close at hand. Tim changed hats at least 3 times during the trip, though to be fair, one was a festive Santa hat adorned with his name written in glitter.


*some names have been modified

Le Beer, Le Sigh

My pleasant face-numbing buzz is leaving me and my belly is full of delectable lamb burger. *sigh* I hold out for these days because it just feels so good when I let myself have them. One beer had me thinking maybe Ed the bartender does have kind of a bar crush on me. My sister felt he was feelin me when we had dinner there and I dismissed her but he definitely recognizes me and I could swear his eyes lit up. Can't see anything coming of it but it's a nice feeling. Going to the bar alone is almost always more fun than going with a group of girls.

I want you to want me, I need you to need me...

All this time

I was talking to my mother tonight and out of the clear blue sky she said she had been thinking about me recently. She said she wasn't sure if she ever told me how much it meant to her that I gave her my kidney. She hadn't, and a part of me has felt guilty and feared she resented me because it did not work. I forced her to take it and then she was miserable for 2 years and back on dialysis. She said it was huge what I did and that she was almost moved to tears recognizing her daughter was walking around with one kidney because she sacrificed one to give to her mother. I could not help being kind of amused that she was almost but not quite moved to tears. Mom rolls hard. What she said meant a lot to me even though I don't really consider it a huge sacrifice and think more people should do it. It's not altruism as much as pragmatism that drives my world view as it concerns organ donation. It is amazing when you consider what you can give of yourself and never miss that can save, prolong, or improve someones life. Frankly it is more trouble and sacrifice to love one another well than it is to share what you can safely give from your body.

Returning to my conversation with my mom, as much as I was pleased to hear her say it, I quickly tried to make a joke or otherwise deflect further conversation about it. I often wish we could start over again and I had another kidney to try swapping with a stranger in return for one that might have worked better for my mom. I know if that scenario had ended the way this kidney did and my kidney was still working in some other person, I would be very happy for that person but also deeply resentful for our loss. I would be filled with the same questions about whether a different approach would have yielded different results. I honest to God have a hard time watching the George Lopez show because he had a kidney transplant that worked (that, and he's not very funny to me). I don't even like seeing his healthy looking face. Natalie Cole, same thing but even more so because she needed one as a result of a Hep C contracted through drug use and she got one from a fan. Someone who didn't even know her. Someone who could have found at least 5 people within 5 miles of their house that needed a kidney. People who don't have the resources Cole has. It's not fair for me to resent her, I know. It's misdirected energy, it's wasted energy, and I don't wish her or anyone illness or the tether and complications of dialysis. Just being honest about how I feel after all this time. Maybe a little like some people felt when Mickey Mantle got a liver.

Well that was a steep climb down from the soapbox. Feelin' a little light headed, the air up there is a little thinner.

Dog Vomit

Nothing tickles a maternal instinct like recognizing when the puppy is sick and comforting her while she throws up at your feet. Few things test my devotion and gag reflex like cleaning it up.

It was pretty rough.

How can you stay outside

The abridged lyrics to the song below (by Yael Naim) gave me comfort tonight. They let me know I am not alone which is one of the reasons I write.
--
Far far, there was this little girl
she was praying for something to happen to her
everyday she writes words and more words
just to speak out the thoughts that keep floating inside
and she's strong when the dreams come cause they
take her, cover her, they are all over
the reality looks far now, but don't go

How can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside


Far far, there's this little girl
she was praying for something good to happen to her
from time to time there are colors and shapes
dazzling her eyes, tickling her hands
they invent her a new world with
oil skies and aquarel rivers
but don't you run away already
please don't go

How can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how an you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside

Take a deep breath and dive
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
There's a beautiful mess inside
--

Beautiful.

My second winter in Philly approaches and I lament how little I have taken advantage of this opportunity to live in the city, to meet more people. I lament my complete lack of interest in doing so now. I've no momentum for the energy needed to mount that kind of assault on the inertia that has seized me. There is too much else to do and no one to help me do these things, these things I actually want to do. I'm not depressed in the sense I lack interest in doing something fun, I just lack energy to try to have fun, it's not guaranteed after all. Oh I don't know...I'm just in a funk. Tired of being alone, longing for luxury of having someone to complain about. Having a hard time seeing a future for me at work, imagining on the way home, a conversation years from now, explaining my strange journey home to the place I always belonged. I don't even know where it is but it felt like an awesome place. I felt secure, confident, free. I felt like it mattered that I was there. I had something to contribute that could not come from anywhere else. That I was actually gifted at what I did instead of merely adequate.

Don't get me wrong, adequate will probably see me comfortably retired in 25 years but God, how long to spend at something I have to curse, cajole, and drag myself into every day. I don't know what is missing and I'm not sure that some of my daydreaming isn't just frivolous escapism, romanticising things I would grow to dread as well. I certainly would not want anything that would drive me to consider present circumstances with rosy retrospection of the good old days. But life proffers no such guarantee. I make a move, and it either gets worse, gets better, or stays the same. I think if I ever stop trying to be a part of something bigger than me, something that espouses such high ideals and demands a devotion just shy of worship, then, then I might be on to something. I've always been looking for something to give my life to. But I think I've also kind of resented that the jobs I've chosen would expect, demand, and willingly take my life and offer me only baubles, trinkets, and money in return. It's never enough. For either of us. The job always wants more and I want more in return. Not because I need it but because something in me refuses to work harder for less than the numerous drains on space and oxygen I've come across. Because perhaps deep down I have a price, what I will put up with for health insurance, pension, and other trappings of security. Yes, I could dip out and all my days could be available to my whims, at least until I ran out of money. A part of me feels like I need something like that to figure out if I just need a break from work or a more literal break with my life as I know it now. I could try to moonlight another life but I'm a serial monogamist.

Oh. My. God. The dog just lit up the space underneath my nose. It smells like hot garbage.

Time to go outside until the beautiful mess inside of her comes out.

Gold Star

Even as I browse the internet seeking receptacles for my disposable income, I think of tomorrow and wonder if it is time for a vacation or a new job. I think it is a cry for rest or change when my greatest accomplishment is getting to sleep without struggle, and arriving at work on time showered dressed and presentable. I've got to be honest, I really think it's so awesome that someone should give me a gold star or something. If working out against yourself burned calories and built muscle, I would be freaking ripped.

Pouting at the Universe

It's been hard lately finding words for the stuff tumbling around upstairs. Even harder to make them coherent enough to post. So I'm going to try something I've seen at other blogs and just try a few sentences on a few topics. We'll see how it goes.

Relationships

I'm in that funk. That funk that needs and wants someone to love. The funk that fears it could go on and on like this. That funk that assumes everyone with someone else is happy, loved, and wanted. Even as I suspect one of my girlfriends is separated from her husband, I still stupidly envy that he wanted to marry her in the first place. In my mind she should at least know that someone wanted her but I'm sure she's probably wondering why they don't stay. Some people never marry, never have someone special in their life. It actually could be me. I should not watch romantic comedies. Ever.

Ever.

Seriously. Something needs to blow up in the next film I watch.

Thanksgiving

A predictable amalgam of love and despair. I sometimes feel that I'm inside out. That's why the current in a room gets to me, why I feel my mother's sadness and my dad's despair. Is that just the way of people who have been together longer than they have been apart? To reflexively shut one another down? To view each other through the smudged bifocals of a lifetime of injustices and slights so much even if they see each other's needs, it's hard for them to respond? Talking to one of my friends about the ambivalence of family gatherings, she said it sounded like I had a typical family visit. I think that's tragic even if it is typical because somewhere in our mind, we have this ideal. That we would be a priority to one another, that we wouldn't squander a visit staying up until 3 am and waking up at 2 pm. That since we weren't kids anymore, I wouldn't fall back into the role of being in charge, the border collie of the siblings. They came all the way home to appear as if they were being held against their will.

Since no one will be home for Christmas, I took the opportunity to present dad with the Crystal Head Vodka. As predicted, there was confusion regarding how I thought a skull filled with alcohol was a great gift for dads but we cleared it up and he was pleased with his gift. It was fun. I have a killer idea for Christmas that I think everyone is going to like. I can't help being awesome, it's just who I am.

Alone again, Naturally

November, I may have spent 10 days alone. I visited my best friend earlier in the month and hosted my sister for 2 weeks right after, followed by 4 days for Thanksgiving. My sister grinds my nerves in ways too numerous to name but one thing she does not mess around with is caring for Baloo. She loves Baloo. And coming home from work and chilling while she walked her was really awesome. And while I crave my space at times, truth is/was, I'm better when someone else is around. It kind of gives me a reason to live. To get up and want something out of the day other than to just get through it. It seems unfair to doom someone to a life alone who so clearly needs people.

A good friend of mine constantly issues invitations for me to visit. I feel like I'd like knowing they were there, but I would want lots of time away from them which has nothing at all to do with them. I just think I would like some time out at the beach, watching the waves and weeping it out. Pouting at the universe for denying me upper middle class income to sit and stare at the waves and for denying me someone to sit and watch the waves with. I rock the melancholy vacation. Again, I can not help being awesome at that. I'm just good at what I do.

Horowitz--scenes from my childhood

I love you, I hate that you do

I love that you're family. I love the comfort and ease I have with family. I may be annoyed, or contemplative or feeling just plain hurt but I don't worry what my family will think of me first thing in the morning.

I hate that you have been home all day and just got in the shower at 4:30 in the afternoon.

I hate that you have been home all day and left dirty dishes and my new skillet in the sink.

I hate that my decorative pillows are misshapen because you have taken up residence on a couch I now wish I could hide.

I hate that they are about to turn off your cell phone and the bank keeps calling Mom and Dad's house to talk to you about your unpaid bills and negative checking balance.

I hate that you're not taking care of that. Grow up.

I hate the anal retentive person you bring out in me because your lack of respect for me conveys to my possessions.

I hate that you say thank you but I feel like you are just being polite. You want it but you wish it didn't have to come from me.

I hate that you don't try. You don't try for me and more importantly you don't try for you. You think you can overcome your low self esteem by belching loudly in public and dressing badly. Take that world, kiss my ass, I can do what I want, you say. But I'm calling your bluff. You can wear shitty torn clothes, watch tv, and smoke as much weed as you want. Whatever you are running from is still behind you. If you didn't want what money and education requires, I could probably make my peace with your unmet potential. But to see you want something your ignorant ass could have is mind-numbingly frustrating and sad. You and your brother... I sometimes want a family so bad it's hard to get to sleep at night but then I think of you and think maybe it's for the best that I never have children. I can't imagine the joy you deprive our parents of. The world at your feet and you chose to launch into life with less than they started with over 30 years ago. It should be against the law to be that stupid. It maims my heart to see such loveliness squandered.

A mini update

Lot's of stuff going on here and much to write about. The cliff's notes version is no matter how disappointed I am about some of her choices in clothing, recreational activities, and general aspirations in life, there is no one else I would rather have an impromptu dance party with than my sister.

I will

I will ask, 'How was your day?' before we talk about the smell of burnt food and the new Caphalon skillet that was returned to storage sticky on the sides and still sporting vestiges of batter. I should have known you too would be intrigued by the unnatural Batter Blaster in the fridge. I'm genuinely curious how both side of the asphalt colored pancake in the trash were so terribly burnt. One side I get, both sides leave me wondering what you were doing between flips. I haven't looked in the bathroom but a glance at your room suggests a 24 hour maximum of any consistent housekeeping or conforming to the norms of the people you share space with.

I love family.

Siblings...

So I'm sitting here trying to decide what tone to take with my sister who is technically a woman but still can't manage to stay out of debt. She owes the bank 44 dollars and they have decided 180 dollars is a fair amount to extort in fees for that 44 dollar overdraft which was done over a series of small purchases, none over 8 dollars. My sister spends money in denial, like a woman insisting on only having half piece of cake 4 or 5 times. She's not making the connection that it doesn't matter if you only put 5 dollars in your tank instead of 25 if you don't have any dollars at all. I have to remind myself that she is 22 even if she is acting like she's 7. I sometimes feel guilty. I'm the good child. Is it too much to compete with? If I became a total fuck up would someone step up? But no, I'm not responsible for her choices, I'm not responsible for how she feels about mine, and being related, I understand what she gives up on everyday she decides to avoid facing her fears, unfinished work, and checking balances. I'm angry at her because she doesn't even put up a fight and succumbs to her basest instincts. I don't know what the right thing to do is. We do what all families do, we oversell modest accomplishments to try to convince ourselves they'll be okay. We bail them out because we don't want to their lives to descend any further We yell, we plead, reason, cajole, snipe. We don't know where and when to apply the various kinds of love (tough, unconditional). We don't know what it will take but we hope it's inconvenient and annoying instead of dangerous or harmful. No one has the energy or time to run her life for her but I wonder if that's what she needs. She'll be here in about 12 hours so I have time to get some sleep, some caffeine, and about an inch of perspective.

Remind me again why I would consider having children given the predilections of my gene pool. *Sigh*

Conservative hooker

Was looking for some new shoes at LL Bean and came across this review.


Overall Rating: (2 out of 5)
Strange fit, November 6, 2009
By rughooker2 from Somerset, MA (Read all reviews by this reviewer)

"I would love to recommend these shoes. They are very cute and good quality, but the fit is odd. It's not really that they run small, though the shoe is very snug in the toes, because it is very loose in the back. I was walking out of the shoe even though my toes were crowded. This was without socks. The footbed was nice and soft. I regretfully returned them. Could it be my feet?"

Age: 45-54
Gender: Female
How often do you shop at L.L.Bean?: Occasionally
I would describe myself as: Conservative hooker, as in rugs, i.e., Christian, Watercolorist

No other way to describe your hobby rughooker2?

Something funny

Was talking to the parents tonight while going through a big bag of clothes a friend had dropped by for me to try on. I mentioned to my mom that I was wearing a new bra that made my boobs look awesome and heard my dad immediately chime in "I'M STILL ON THE PHONE." Tee-hee-hee. I had not intentionally freaked him out, I didn't know he was still there but it was pretty funny. Even funnier for anyone reading this who has ever met my dad.

Hallelujah

Dear Job Letter

Dear Job,

I'm sorry I set you up every night so that every morning I can foist my frustration and resentment on you. I do know that I'm really mad at myself and you are convenient to be unhappy about because you are always just there. Every day is a slow climb to accomplishing anything with the daylight we spend together and I feel bad and don't take the time away from you that every couple needs to stay sane. I'm mentally tired for all the energy it takes to make awake happen and physically tired because as much as every morning has me longing for a return to the warmth of bed, every night is a petulant toddler's struggle to succumb to the rest I need.

It's not you, job, that consumes the 5-6 hours before bed with the spiritual equivalent of junk food, and catches the reflected glare of my countenance on the couch between commercials and is disgusted. Job, you have a free gym on my floor and give me time to use it. It's not your fault but I still hate you sometimes. I feel like if you weren't in the way, I would have this wonderful life, and perhaps with income as no object, that would be true. But Job, I suspect without you, my life would pretty much be the same, except I would have never challenged myself in the way you challenge me. I would know less about the world and the people in it (and I still know so very little). I would know less about myself (maybe not so much of a loss). I've explored some of my outer limits in tolerance of all types of stimuli and had some modestly notable achievements complete with obligatory office cake.

So Job, even though it's midnight and what was best for both of us passed close to 2 hours ago, I'm going to try tomorrow to appreciate you, not because I have you and others don't, but because you're you. I've had other jobs, I can leave you and I'm sure I can get another job before the ink is dry on my resignation letter, but I've still got to take me to every job I go to. So until you eclipse me as the worst part of waking up, I'm willing to stay as long as you'll have me.

p.s. A promotion wouldn't hurt. I'm just sayin'.

What would you do?

One of the great things about city is I don't need my car much. It stays parked throughout the week and I take it out on the weekend to grocery shop. Here's the thing, the person who parks next to me in the garage (assigned spaces) is wearing the crap out of my passenger side with their door. I came down this weekend and just cursed a blue streak at how much they dinged it in just a week. I leave them plenty of room but they just can't seem to open the door of their wannabe Jaguar shit box Hyundai without hitting my car (which is a Prius for crap's sake). I don't know if I should leave a note on their car or a note in the window of my car facing them that says PLEASE STOP HITTING MY CAR. What would you do?


p.s. I just saw the trailer for Ninja Assassin. AWESOME! I only optioned my life rights 2 years ago. Can't believe the movie is already coming out.

DFW on Leadership

Really liked this from David Foster Wallace*:

"A leader's true authority is a power you vountarily give him, and you grant him this authority not in a resigned or resentful way but happily; it feels right. Deep down, you almost always like a how a real learder makes you feel, how you find yourself working harder and pushing yourself and thinking in ways you wouldn't be able to if there weren't this person you respected and believed in and wanted to please.

In other words, a real leader is somebody who can help us overcome the limitations of our own individual laziness and selfishness and weakness and fear and get us to do better, harder things than we can get ourselves to do on our own."

*excerpt from Up, Simba essay in Consider the Lobster And Other Essays

Slumdog Millionaire and selected other thoughts

I took a look around earlier this week at some blogs I used to follow more regularly and was shocked at their large followings. Because most of the people who follow blogs don't read them every day or even after a few weeks, you have to reach a critical mass of a hundred or more before you can count on getting comments on every single thing you post, even if it's the blog equivalent of a comment about the weather (or an actual post about the weather). It's at that point it becomes a conversation. I can't help but write but it's even richer to have a conversation, someone to answer when I speak.

I'm in one of those times when there's a lot processing in the cranium but much of it hasn't been assigned any words yet. So I'm taking a break. A break from trying to describe my fascination with and guarded distrust of my boss, my stalemate with my whiny ass co-worker, my resignation over my relationship status, my strange envy of anyone having regular sex-not because I don't like sex, but because I don't want sex with people I barely know, and thus shouldn't envy them because they don't have anything I actually want. Add to that my recognition of how quickly this time in Philly is slipping away from me. I will not have even seen a show at the theater down the street from me if I don't make a point of doing so pretty soon. Oh city of broken ankles, illness, and hostile homeless men, the clock is ticking. I may already have less than a year left with you. Where shall I go next?

I finally watched Slumdog Millionaire. Good movie. I want my life to be like that in love, for every experience to yield fruit in such a beautiful way. Like it is written. Like it all matters. This sitting in my bed tapping away, the boy, the ankle, all seven moves, tonight in my PJ's at OG's house (having pulled me away from a Say Yes to the Dress marathon to watch Slumdog Millionaire)... All these things propelling me toward something my heart has always longed for and has never forgotten.

Le Sigh

Taking another sick day and am honestly a little tired but really content. It's a beautiful fall day, my dog is happy with her new walker, I finally mailed some packages off that had been sitting in my hall (aka staging area) for weeks. There is "fresh" air coming in from the window, I haven't had the air or heat on for weeks. My floors are vacuumed, most of my laundry is done, the sheets are fresh, I have a gorgeous new purse. I had oatmeal for breakfast and took myself to lunch somewhere I've been meaning to try. With time to spare before my appointment, I got a hot tea and snuggled into a big chair at Cosi and watched the street and bothered random friends with text messages. The nurse (practitioner) agrees it's some kind of infection and threw out walking pneumonia or sinus infection as possibilities. I wondered in the waiting room if medical care would be better if we were like babies or pets and doctors and nurses would have to actually conduct tests and explore the reasons why someone might be on antibiotics for the third time in less than a year. You know, instead of just guessing?

I got home early, and just woke up from a much appreciated nap. It was all loveliness and confusing life-like dreams. It was also my first solid nap on the new couch. I'm surprised with how well it naps and I considered for a moment buying a small travel pillow to function as my official couch napping pillow.

There is Post Office close to my house that I discovered after lugging boxes there this morning, does not accept boxes at that location. I'm not sure why anyone actually goes through the trouble of going to a post office if they don't have something they can't just drop in the mailbox on the corner. So I walk 4 more blocks to the next location and there are 4 people there including the woman behind the counter. None of us are in line. Because their signage is inconsistent, I was confused about the rate for one of their flat rate boxes. She whoa-Nellied me, explaining she had all these other customers to take care of before she could get to my question and that she would be taking us one at a time. I wish I could have the surveillance camera close up of the look on my face. There is NO ONE in your line. There is a guy experimenting with flat rate boxes, and old woman who does not seem to know where she is, and ME. Incredible. Right after she tried to make me get in line to ask her a question, and I mean right after, she answered my question. At that point in the morning, the post office had been open for no longer than a half hour. If she was flustered with having three people in her general area, not even in line, she was heading for a tough day at work. Yes, you are cheaper than FedEx and UPS. But you don't have to act cheaper.

Also weird is my insurance, which I think is pretty good, didn't cover the cough syrup the nurse prescribed. I know I can get cough syrup over the counter which was my first theory but the pharmacist insisted you could not get syrup with codeine OTC so I just shrugged and paid out of pocket. I had not even planned to take it, syrups disagree strongly with my constitution and I really don't want to suppress my coughing. I want the crap out of me. But it's good for a year and you never know if a day will come when I need my coughing suppressed. It's only kept me up one night and I was back down again after an hour or so with hot water, honey, and lemon.

I know this is rambling, marginally coherent, and lacking a theme. It's really just a collage of circumstances that leave me a content at the end of the day. And for those who have commented or called me re: Skid Mark and changing the locks, I'm working on it. :-)

Take Care

I have a line of bite marks on the inside of my cheeks from clenching. I've lost my voice and I was so, so exhausted during our short morning walk. But I don't feel like taking a nap. The body is fascinating. I don't understand what is wrong with me. I don't feel sick enough to feel so exhausted but webMD is confusing me so I don't know what to tell the doctors in the 45 seconds I'll have with them on Monday to help ensure I won't have to struggle to see them again if the problem remains. I feel a bit like I'm walking against a stiff wind, my body feels heavy and light at the same time.

Lodo thinks I should chill out and no doubt he's right. Despite my psychotic rants, I'm really one of the most chilled out people any of my friends know (friends who read this blog, this is where you chime in on the comments section letting everyone know how sane I am in "real life"). I'm rational to a fault almost and rarely care to invest the emotional energy to be terribly angry or even annoyed with people, mostly because it prolongs interaction with someone that I already don't care for. It's easier to just ignore them and invest my energy into avoiding them.

But I do need to manage stress better. Ironically, I'm stressed about that as well. I'm trying to figure out how to incorporate some more physical activity into my life. Though Nike had it right when they trademarked the phrase 'Just Do It', my struggle is with starting and stopping. I can start doing anything but I quickly lose interest and motivation. And I hate failing at that over and over again. So I'm trying to trick myself, trying to structure regular physical activity that has a social/accountability component and a variety component. I need to take better care.

When I started this post, I was also still stressing about my keys. I still had not received a response to my e-mail and was starting to screw myself back up into the ceiling (which is concrete and thus is quite a feat). I was psyching myself for escalation (if I start something I want to finish it) and figured I would next call the police. I was taking a break from my plotting when someone knocked on the door. It was SkidMark with my keys. Awkwaaaard. Fortunately? I have lost my voice to this latest plague and managed to squeak out a thank you which I think caught him off guard. It was brief, I have my keys and one less thing to be psychotic about. I'm not sure what would have happened if I wasn't home, no one bothered to call and Susan never responded to my e-mail so that was kind of lame but it's neither here nor there. I've got my keys, I can dial back the crazy, make some more soup, and listen to the rain until I have to actually go out in it with my little stinker dog.

2 Sick 2 B Mad

*Cough*

But I still want my keys.

An angry black woman

I might be on the news tonight.

Not because I rescued some kids or puppies and kittens or because I accomplished something great. I won't even be that random ignorant person answering a question about the Phillies or Eagles, or gas prices, or politics. I might be on the news tonight because I'm one aggravating incident from completely blacking out on someone. Biblical black out-the stuff of Revelations. Jesus will come back tonight if one more mother-f**ker trips my switch.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning. It's been a really long month. I think I've had mono for most of it. I've been dragging ass, struggling so hard to stay awake at work, I was almost tearful. I've spent most of my energy for the day just getting my ass out the door to work. Insomnia, tight pants, crazy hair, sadistically unflattering fluorescent lighting in the women's bathroom at work that makes me look downright unprofessional when I wear my hair curly and over 40 when I wear it straight, passive aggressive dudes with the keys to my house shitting in my bathroom, dog cancer, nervous about getting well before going to see best friend with infant children... All pretty ordinary things, just amplified in intensity by a compromised immune system.

So I break down today and decide that I should probably stop relying on my medical degree in diagnosing illness through Google and make an appointment with a real live medical professional. After a day of listening to a recorded message estimate my time on hold as one minute and my impatient hanging up at minute 8, I finally got through to someone at 3 pm. They told me to call back at 4 for Saturday appointments as all Friday appointments were taken. I called at 4 pm. She put me on hold so I was just chillaxin, pressing numbers every now and then to be sure I was still connected to something until the fast busy confirmed what I suspected when she put me on hold. Dumbass dropped the call. I called back at 4:15 pm and they had booked all of their Saturday appointments. Even typing this I want to choke someone out. She tried initially to pretend she didn't know who I was but we had talked no less than three times that day. She could have told me my own birthday, she had asked me so many times. Bitch please. I'm sick, not stupid. She finally apologized and booked me for an appointment on Monday afternoon-a time she had told me earlier that day she couldn't book for me any earlier than Monday morning. She knew she messed up and I'm glad I didn't have to show up there to force the issue.

I left work early into a windy and quickly deteriorating day. I thought, well at least today was Skid Mark's last day. The keys will be on the table and he will be out of my life. But it was clearly not meant to be the kind of day with an upside. I don't even have an adequate expletive for the note that ass wipe left me on my key-less table. To get into my place, you need both a key and a fob. The fob is issued by the building and is not free. My new dog walker needs this fob to start on Monday. Steve did not fucking leave the fob or the key. He left me a note instead relaying he would be giving the key to Susan so she could mail both to me because he couldn't engage the deadbolt if he left the key in the house. What. the. fuck. I thought my head was going to come clean off. I had to ASK him to start locking the deadbolt in the first place and even then the dumbfuck would leave it unlocked at least 2-3 times a month. Today was the day he decided to be conscientious. Really, you passive aggressive asshole with access to my home? You couldn't text message me to see what I wanted you to do? Like maybe leave the deadbolt unlocked? Just this once for old times sake, you deuce dropping fuck?

So I fired off an e-mail to Susan. It was probably longer than it needed to be but I gave her a small vignette of life with Steve and some of her quirks that I did not care for, all politely and within the context of the feedback she requested when I initially informed her we were terminating our service. Regarding the keys, I said this:

"I found Steve not leaving my keys or even my fob today a tad passive aggressive as well. I came home several times over the last nine months to find the deadbolt not engaged but on this very last day, it prevented him from leaving my keys. He could have asked me if I wanted him to leave the deadbolt unlocked so he could leave the keys but instead chose to turn them over to you to have them mailed. It's never pleasant when a professional relationship dissolves but mailing my keys seems far from the last impression you should be leaving me with, especially since I recommended you to a neighbor who has used your service for their cats (and was delighted with Jen). I'm sure you'll be sharing this all with Steve which is why I waited until our last day to share this with you. I guess the bottom line is that I was not comfortable and felt that if I wasn't comfortable with someone you trusted as a manager, I was not likely to be comfortable with the subordinates as an alternative."

So...I'm feeling a little topped off on the rage provoking fodder for this week and not feeling terribly well to boot. Just in case I am on the news being carried away flailing COPS-style after someone says or does something tonight to make me legally insane, I'm taking requests for shout outs. If I'm going to be on the news, I've got to represent.

A post about nothing just because I can

*Deep breath*

Is it only Tuesday? Dear God. How can the months peel by and the individual days have the weight of weeks? I came home and ate junk for 5 (or 10) straight minutes. I really want to go to the bar, get a burger, fries, and beer but I won't let myself. I need to shake it up a bit but I also don't really feel like talking to anyone. Not even to make nice and give them my order. It's the sort of feeling I know evaporates as soon as I sit down but it's a powerful force to overcome in getting me out the door and on to the barstool.

I think I've given up on Philly. I was walking home, enjoying the outline of the buildings against the blue dusk sky and I had a thought so loud, it sounded like a voice. It said, "He's not here." So sometime this week, I might check into the vacancies that might be available in Summer 2010. I'm not thinking of leaving out of spite, I'm just bored already with work so I may as well seek the next adventure. It also puts a sense of urgency on things as this then would be my last Philly fall.

I've been thinking about the company a person keeps and how even as an adult, it influences your behavior and attitudes. But now I need to think about putting on shoes and walking the dog.

Also, I set up my circa 1997 video camera to make Skid Mark think he might be on camera when he comes in the house. I've lost my damn mind. I even cut out a piece of red rubber to put over the record light so that a casual glance would suggest it's recording. Really insane. I don't know what I need but something's got to give. I'm becoming weird(er).

A Preview

So I'm going to be a complete basket case when Baloo takes her final nap. We went to the vet this week for her yearly check up and I (again) mentioned a tiny lump on her side that seemed to change in size. This time I had a good vet who aspirated the lump and called this morning to inform me it was a mast cell tumor. I was calm and collected on the phone, told her I would get back to her on scheduling surgery to have the tumor removed and biopsied to determine what stage cancer it was. I had been making lunch when the call came in so Baloo was not more than 3 feet from me at any time. I got off the phone and kind of freaked out. Okay, I pretty much broke down. Baloo was sweet and let me cry and hug on her a little bit but then kind of moved her head away in her classic way as if to declare 'enough warmth, what's the status on your lunch over there?'

While I was at the vet earlier this week, a family came out of one of the rooms crying holding a blanket. I looked at my healthy beautiful dog and welled up. We had been running late to our appointment and I harassed, pulled, and cajoled her along our walk because we didn't have time for her to selectively sniff for spots to pee. I was wondering why we didn't pick a closer vet, why I didn't drive instead, why I picked an appointment right after work-I had considered everything but actually leaving on time. Seeing those teary sniffing people leave without a member of their family just snapped everything back into perspective and of course made me think of having to make the same agonizing decision that family had just made. And that was before we saw the vet and the specter of mortality invaded our own little furry wet nosed cocoon.

I sometimes think, especially on really hot, really cold, or almost every morning when I'm running late how footloose and fancy free I might be without the responsibility of her. I could literally spend a weekend without ever leaving the house for any reason. I could leave the house and not return for days without having to make arrangements for her. But it's in all those ways and more that she has made my life better. In The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera writes:

“Mankind’s true moral test...consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals.”

*Sigh*

Shortcuts for bad managers

Got one of those fantastically classic group e-mails today laying down the gauntlet. We aren't doing enough, we aren't saying enough at the staff meetings, we don't look busy enough..so now we've been given an additional administrative burden to provide a weekly snaphot of what we did and what we plan to do. First thing on my to-do list is to ignore that e-mail.

My gripe with that kind of mass e-mail is it tends to be a group address to one or two people. People you should be talking to individually. I don't know why managers do that. If someone knows they're being called out, they are now either embarrassed or pissed, if they're doing fine but inclined to worry, you've just shortened their life a little, and if you're me, you're self-righteously indignant and have lost respect and regard for management and their bonehead arms-length dictatorial style. I don't lay claim to being good at much but I know I'm pretty good at leadership and management. I'm fierce about taking care of my people and challenging them and rewarding them. I love striving to emulate my best bosses and learning from the things they did well and things they did not so well. It's intangible but leadership matters. A lot. I hate to see it done so badly. It's like a bad makeup job. Heavy handed, garish, and distracting.

Ahem. Stepping down from the soapbox.

Dear Shortcut,

Having 'x' amount of years of experience does not mean you are actually good at what you do. It means you've been doing it for 'x' years. That's all. E-mails are not substitutions for conversations. We need to keep the boss informed, yes. But you release all of our correspondence, we do monthly metrics calls, we keep a calendar that you can see. Where is the information you need if those things can't give you a sense for what we're up to? Maybe no one waxes eloquent at the staff meeting because a: it's a waste of time, b: they don't want their colleagues to think they are an ass for going on and on about their projects, or c: all of the above plus now they resent you for wasting their time with a weekly report and yet another meaningless suspense. Instead of treating us like colleagues, you're treating us like lack of production is a result of laziness or lack of motivation. I'd like you to give us all a little more credit and I'd like you to take a little more personal responsibility as a member of the management team. Treating people like schoolchildren is quick road to having a group sink to meet your lowered expectations and busying themselves with appearance of being busy.

Really?

Interracial couple denied marriage license; La. justice of the peace cites concerns about any children couple might have

Wow. Others will have to be outraged for me. I have no words for this.

A bit of what's been going on here

It feels like forever since I published my last venomous post about strangers pooping in my house. Well, I finally hired a new walker and while they are a bit more fussy in the technology department than I care for, they seem far more organized and professional than the folks I've been working with over the last year. The only thing left is actually breaking up with the old dog walker. I'm trying to figure out how to give notice without engaging in a discussion about what I was not happy with. It seems unfair to unload on them at the end when I didn't really complain (a lot). Some of the core things I don't want to bring up because if you really have to tell someone it's not okay to poop in your house everyday, it's probably not worth bringing up.

In other news, I enjoyed the long weekend with a visit from my mother. Well, I enjoyed the last few hours after I decided a day and a half into her visit to stop being a complete freak show. However you love a person, you simply can not make them or love them into being better to themselves. You can not define their normal. I can not seriously consider quitting my job to invent a super nutritious 4 ounce supplement so I can stop freaking out about my mother's caloric intake. I hounded her for a day and a half horrified that she had not used the bathroom or had anything to drink or eat for 12 hours, was hungry, but would not eat. I don't know what normal is for someone who has three kidneys that don't work.

I felt like poop anytime she talked about what a good appetite she had before our failed transplant attempt. I know she wasn't trying to make me feel like walking in front of a car so she could take a crack at my other kidney, but I felt like that anyway. And I better understood my dad's panicky melancholy as it concerns my mother. It's hard to see her day after day and not be able to get to her, to really talk about how she feels about it all, to really energize her about taking care of herself. I understand why my dad thinks he should take her back to the place he ran away from because it's the place she considers home. I had yet another freak out as I absorbed the news of my cousin's pregnancy announcement and my mom's desire for grandchildren. I looked at her, full after two spoonful of beans and thought, 'I'm running out of time. I don't care if he's fishing food out of a garbage can, the next guy who makes a pass at me is in. Life is too short. Must. make. grandchildren.' Last weekend's reproductive spaz panic aside, I'm not hopeful any of the kids will be in the grandchildren making business soon. We're all some version of socially and emotionally strange and also have similar streaks in poor mate choices and timing so it may just be nature's way of working out the kinks-no reproduction for us.

Also, my mom said my dog is getting fat. She was too kind to note like dog, like daughter but she didn't correct me when I noted Baloo and I are both putting away for the winter. It's supposed to be an especially brutal winter and I like to be prepared. Whatever haters. So it was a good visit once I pulled my head out. That it happened late in her visit is a regrettable waste but at least we did have a nice ending. It was a dense weekend that I'm still processing.

Anyway...

While out in the crappy cold weather tonight, I ran into a guy I've never actually seen up close. He has two scottish terriers and always crosses the street when he sees me with my dog. I assumed he was just responding to the ninja reeking from my pores but it turns out his fearsome scotties don't care for other dogs, just like mine. He was sans dogs and we exchanged names. I immediately forgot his and he immediately declared he was horrible with names. I told him he was scottie guy and I was lab girl but then as we parted ways, he called me by my name and totally nailed it like he's been saying it his whole life. It really threw me off. I've had people confess after we're friends they were initially nervous to talk to me because they weren't quite sure how to say my name. And this guys nails it after hearing it once. And he didn't say it in a tentative not-sure-if-I-got-it way. Didn't repeat it when I told him the first time to be sure he heard me right. Just weird. I've been reading some posts by Lodo about some uncanny and spooky things that happened to him and this line in particular struck me: "only the most arrogant or pathetic of people would think or need to think they’re being watched".

Well if you aren't watching, you should be because I'm interesting. I'm motherf**king fascinating.

I'm just sayin'.

Skid Mark: the plot thickens

I was having a classically bad morning; woke up with a nasty headache, laid back down to try to take the edge off and overslept, couldn't find anything to wear, hair a mess, unable to move faster to make up time--like I said, classic bad morning. I finally got out the door to walk the dog and ran right into Skid Mark who was hanging out in the courtyard of my complex.

"Skid Mark?" (I wish I had called him that). He looks up at me. I wish I could say he looked surprised or alarmed to see me but his expression is preternaturally passive and flat. It's one of the many things that bugs me about him. Maybe he's an alien.

"Oh, hi. I got here kind of early (it was not even 0930-and he was kind of early for the dog's scheduled midday walk) and was catching up on my homework."

Blank expression from me.

"I could just take her now if you want" (I've already noted it was long before midday)

Confused look from me followed by, "Oh no, please go ahead and study. I just didn't expect to see you here, I walked out and thought 'I know that guy!' Kind of threw me off (insert ha ha laughter)"

I returned from our walk and Skid Mark was no where to be found. When I got inside, I saw he had texted me. His message: "Wow, i'm WAY earlier than i thought i was! i'll be back much later-or will you be staying home again today?"

WTF Skid Mark? What is this cat and mouse game we play? Why are you at my place at 0930 in the morning for a midday walk? How can you be that chronologically challenged? Why would you do your homework outside in my courtyard when you have your pick of coffee shops within a half block of my house? I've used the toilets in both, they are clean and have plenty of toilet paper to wrap your meaty fist in. What. the. hell. Also, I have never mistaken 0930 for noon or even 11 or anything close to those times. Were you coming early to work on the locked bathroom door? Are you in love with me Skid Mark? Are you marking my bathroom hoping I'll chose you to mate with?

And yet I still haven't called one of the three alternative pet sitters I researched over the weekend because I dread terminating this service and being asked why and I fear hiring someone who could find me recalling my time with Skid Mark fondly. Isn't this part of the reason people stay in crappy relationships of all stripes? Because they fear there is no trade up? The devil you know is better than the one you don't? Perhaps tomorrow I will take that first step and hope I can find a sitter that isn't just a devil trade but a divine alternative to skid marks, use of my perfume as an air freshener, pilfering of my bags, and all other manner of annoying things I've been less than thrilled with over the past year.

Skid Mark interim solution

I'm both delighted and sad to report my obsession with Skid Mark has yielded a delightful discovery: I can lock my bathroom door when I leave in the morning. I know this information is borderline amazing. I have even developed a tamper evident seal in the event he discovers how to open the lock.

I know...

That's the sad part.

A Watched Pot: addendum

I have a friend who just can't let a surprise be. When she was dating her now husband, he flew out to surprise her for some special occasion. She suspected he might try to surprise her and kept asking him questions and in my opinion sucking all of the joy out of the point of a surprise visit. But I'm a person who derives a majority of my delight in gifts of presence or presents in the surprise. I think I'm pretty hard to surprise so it takes a certain amount of commitment and effort to surprise me. I think that's what I love the most. Anyone can put a bow on something and give it to you-they don't even have to like you to do it. But to surprise a person takes planning and to me, that indicates some intangible measure of how much I matter. In the case of this phantom would-be soulmate whose existence I can't confirm, I guess I'm hoping I matter enough to God for him to surprise me.

So I wrote before about the torture of watching the pot and that is still true. The good news silver lining of watched pots is deep down, even while I despair, I'm watching them because I expect they will boil. That optimism is often treated to some pretty brutal pessimism and leaden despair but one still hopes for a surprise. I'm ruining the surprise for myself though, because every time I leave the house, I wonder if this might be the day he comes into my life. I feel like I'm trying to figure out the whodunit during the first scene of the film instead of letting the plot unfold and getting invested in the characters. I'm optimistic about it right now, feeling like he could literally be around the corner and I'm excited to meet him with the certainty of a woman who looks forward to meeting the child she is carrying; that he exists isn't the question, it's when he's coming that is unknown. It is getting kind of annoying because I have this inner monologue that keeps saying "is that him?" "ooh, do you think you'll meet him there?" "what if because you went this way instead of that way, you end up meeting him?" It's really f-ing irritating. Maybe I'm ovulating. I should track my hope on a calendar, see if my hope and despair line up with my cycle.

Or not. Wouldn't want my mood swing ovulation calendar lying around if/when Mr. Soulmate shows up.

V for Vendetta, T for Toilet

I've been operating with a baseline annoyance of Steve for almost a year now. He takes toys that I stuff with treats for my dog, uses them outside with her and brings them back in muddy. He runs her around for a half hour and doesn't fill her bowl with fresh water. He takes my poop bags, ones that I buy for the poo bag dispenser that he also somehow ripped, and keeps them for himself (or other dogs, I assume and hope). The notes he leaves me are friendly and full of exclamation points about fun walks, belly rubs for the puppy, and warm wishes for good evenings and weekends but in person I would swear he fantasizes about pushing me in front of a bus. So, when he repeatedy shits in my bathroom, especially after last winter's Skid Mark chronicles, I can't help but think that it's personal.

I know I've spoken before about my strange hypocrisy as it concerns strangers (especially guys) using my toilet and you've also probably noted that I tend to get wrapped around the axle, emotionally distressed, and consumed with revenge when someone repeatedly desecrates my space. Three days in a row now, I've had to spray down my bathroom and wait hours before I'm comfortable using the bathroom because of stupid Steve. Yesterday, he left the bathroom fan running. I can only imagine what kind of loveliness came sliding out of him. Jerk.

Rather than another elaborate and ultimately unsuccessful booby trapped toilet, I'm just going to get a new dog walker. I don't want him coming in my house anymore. Shitting in someone's private space should be a last resort kind of thing, not a daily stop on your dog walking tour. When I booby trapped the toilet I was hoping he would have a nightmare experience kind of like the one I had with my friend. Ironically enough, I was dog sitting and he came with me to check on the dog. He started to feel really sick. You know that feeling when you can actively feel things moving through your insides, and you aren't quite sure how much time you have left before it becomes a no kidding emergency? That feeling. So he ran to their guest bath in the nick of time and pretty much claimed the space for Satan. It was a hallmark moment in the friendship. It became an eternal bond when the toilet got stopped up. The rising and swirling brown pond made us sweat with fear. That's got to be one of the universal top 10 worse things in the world to watch happen. I don't recall how but somehow we made it right again and we left the place as we found it. But we were never the same. We don't shit in other people's houses. We just don't. I'm going to go out on a limb and say MOST people don't. Not if they are only going to be there a few minutes and it isn't an emergency. Most people prefer not to air their insides in the confined space of someone's home. Maybe it's just me. Is it just me?

Regardless of whether I should discuss the benefits and side effects of whatever drug they make to cure me of my disgust with Steve's poop, I think we've come to the end of our time. I'm going to be home on Thursday anyway, it seems like a good day to interview some prospective replacement walkers. Until then, I'm going to seethe with equal parts of indignation and disgust as I clean my toilet, consider washing all of my towels, and replacing my toothbrush every day after work until I can fire his ass and Steve gives me back my key.

Partay

Lately I've taken to looking at people and saying to myself, 'that's someone's baby girl or boy.' Someone looks at them and sees an apple cheek, gap toothed kid even if they now have studs through their nose and a back piece. My mom tells a story about me during their time in Vegas; it's over a hundred degrees out and she is trying her darndest to get out of the hot sun with a basket of laundry and me trailing behind. I have turned pink with the heat and she is imploring me to keep up but I am poo-pooing along, picking dandelions. I think that's me in a nutshell, ambling along, obliviously picking pretty weeds.

Speaking of weed, I went to a party tonight. When I spend my Friday and Saturday nights indoors, I sometimes feel like I'm missing something, that there is this fun 'out there' I'm not having. Then I go out and can't wait to get back in again. I know part of it is the people. We just aren't into the same things. There was a girl at the party who was/is bat shit crazy. Certifiable, honest to god. She's single white female crazy. I'm not sure if she was drunk but I do know she was talking really, really fast and was either manic or high. She didn't arrive at the party that way so I'm trying to remember when she might have snuck away and ingested generous amounts of amphetamines. She is one of those people whose only purpose in talking with other people is to convey information about herself and her accomplishments. She's a neurology nurse but it takes her a while to get to the nurse part. She describes herself first a someone who works in neurosurgery. Then she went on and on about her running club and how much she loved running, which if I took a lot of mind altering stimulants, I'd probably be into as well. She insisted I put my number in her phone so she could text me and rather than risk doing combat with her, I entered my work phone and only part of my first name. Now I'm thinking I could have just gotten away with giving her phone back to her without putting my number in. She didn't check. She was just talking so fast and so intently and I was a little scared. I couldn't get in an argument or confrontation with this girl over my phone number. You can't win arguments with crazy people and even less so when they are intoxicated or high.

Single white female was just the icing on the 'I need to get the hell out of here' cake. In what felt like an after school special moment, I wandered out back during the party to find a group of people expertly making a joint out of a hollowed out cigarette thingy. The guy had a bag of weed and when he saw me said, 'oh, did you want to...?' and I, saucer eyed, said no thanks and went back inside. I'm almost halfway to 40 and that is the very first time I've ever seen weed at a party. When I wasn't nodding and trying to keep up with single white female, or just saying no to drugs, I was floating in and out of various conversations about hookups and hangovers. That is just not me. I want to be somewhere I actually have something to add to the conversation. It's not that I'm highbrow and want to go to parties where people discuss Iran's nuclear ambitions or Khadafi's latest rant. It was the highlight of my evening out last weekend having a giggly conversation about poop.

But alas these nights are never a waste as I could not wait to get home to blog about it. I may just start being the weird girl who shows up with a notebook at parties. Not only are the people there interesting but I have thoughts about fitting in and the Mutual of Omaha show that is the cutest guy there vs all of the single women vs eachother that I just can't recapture when I get home. I probably won't have many parties to write about if I start doing that...

Time goes by so slowly

The year has flown by but this week seemed to last a year. It was a very dense week. I did a lot of thinking this week. I did a lot of doing this week too. The first part of the week when I was consumed with engaging in yet another tete a tete with with the dog walker, this time over his pilfering of my poo bags, I realized I'm more than a little petty. And vindictively passive aggressive. I would rather turn off the water to the toilet than ask a person not to desecrate my bathroom.

This week, I have used the phrase "I will end you" in conversation and even though I was simply recounting a story to someone about something annoying that happened, recalling the situation actually made me want to pistol whip someone in the mouth.

I also gathered further anecdotal evidence to support my theory regarding the Random Dude Index (RDI) which postulates that when I look put together and feel comfortable, random dudes notice me enough to let me know even though I'm not wearing revealing or suggestive attire. Sometimes it's the street sweeper, "Damn, girl, you just sexy." Today yet another security guy in the building asked me out. Other times it's a statement about how they would walk in the rain with me if we were together or some other comment that alludes they would love to do 'x' thing if they had someone special to do it with. A firefighter asked me to dinner (not sure why I let that one get away, he was actually cute with a sexy job). A homeless man offered to be my dog and get on all fours and bark for me. Charming. The point is, I can validate my feelings about how a particular outfit suits me through the RDI. Pay attention ladies. If you notice an correlation between an outfit and an uptick in the randoms trying to "get wich you" your stock is rising on the RDI.

Sometimes a day can turn on a dime. For most of the day, I vacillated between boredom and despair. Perhaps it was the decaf coffee and red velvet cheesecake. Perhaps it was a challenging but fun conversation with a interesting person with crinkly sparkly eyes. Perhaps it was the awesome boots that I found and am totally going to google when I finish this post. Or the light traffic and a great sing along to Lady by Little River Band. I don't know, but sometimes a day can turn on a dime and I'm grateful for it.

Time well spent

This weekend was awesome. Sunlight, discovery of a new delightful beer to love, books, more sunlight, hanging out with the puppy in the same sunlight while reading; pausing every few pages to watch her watch and wrinkle and wiggle her nose to sniff the air around her. I had dim sum for the first time today and probably ate three days worth of food as the carts went by and the previous plates were cleared to keep me from taking stock of just how much food I was consuming. Then I watched the Emmys and was excited to see people I actually know win awards. I hesitated sending them an e-mail; after all who the hell am I? It's not like we ever talk or send eachother holiday cards. But we were neighbors for a time and I was so excited both for their success and because they were on freaking TV! It was so cool. My sister sent me a text message the first time they were on screen and was just as excited as I was. Seeing them both buoys and diminishes my hope to see something become of this writing hobby. It seems like the camel passing through the eye of the needle. I do technically already write for a living so the issue is that of creative differences with my employer on the type of writing I get to do. I would like them to pay me to blog. They see it differently and would like me to continue to draft the official correspondence that is allegedly part of my job. The man is cramping my style...

Step Off part 2

That my earlier post shows up as the third entry when you google "sprite step off" is likely a clear indication that you have not done your media promotion correctly. I did return to the step competition just as some people I had met earlier in the day who, like me, foolishly thought actual competition started at 11:00 am as advertised, were leaving in disgust. It was 3 o'clock by that time and they were told there might be some actual step competition (imagine that) by 4. I was prepared this time with reading material so I hung out near the marina for a half hour or so and then slowly ambled back towards the competition. For my entire day of waiting, I saw 4 step troupes and one bizarrely dressed group of youth who should have been spared the stage although the cause they pursued (keeping kids out of trouble) was noble.

When the MC finally took the stage, he thanked the sponsors no less than 15 times and then stalled again with a rapper no one has ever heard of and some random girl group with Wolverine slashed pants that the crowd was not feelin. The crowd was pretty thin and generally annoyed at the entire day's worth of non-stepping. We weren't rude but we also weren't going to feign enthusiasm for yet another non-step related person on the stage. The artists weren't horrible but the point is no one was there for a music festival, we were there for a STEP COMPETITION. We saw two sororities and then we had yet another interlude of filler, allegedly to allow the judges to get their scoring together. That was some BS for real. There were only 2 sororities and one was overwhelmingly better than the other which consisted of 4 girls. Same thing with the guys. If the judges needed to confer on that or work some advanced calculus on their score sheet, Sprite needed to invest in some other judges.

It surprised me an event with such significant corporate sponsorship (as we were repeatedly reminded by the MC), Coca Cola (of which Sprite is a part), McDonald's, could be so poorly executed. Kind of soured me on the brands every time they were mentioned, which was often. I think the crowd was with me. In fact, the crowd was quite vocal about wanting to see less of the MC and everyone else. Random non-stepping artists would try to engage the crowd and receive lukewarm response. I sat down and read the newspaper I brought with me. I refused to answer the question "has anyone here ever been in love?" even once. I'm not even sure after the first musical act asked and got little to no response why almost every subsequent no-name artist insisted on asking the same kind of question. The only time the crowd got excited was when the MC asked if we ready for some more stepping (and when he stalled during one of the interludes with his own stepping) and when there were ACTUAL STEP PERFORMANCES. There were only 2 good teams of the 4 there and the fraternity from Temple performed what I thought was an ill conceived routine mimicking apes. No need to court associations that have such negative racial connotations.

But I am glad I went. The two routines that rocked the crowd were what we all thought we had come for a day of. They were fantastic showmen (and women), their routines were tight and hugely entertaining, and they made me proud. Both for them and for 'us.' I didn't join any Greek societies in college unless you count a national honor society for freshman students, Alpha Lambda Delta (aka, I Am a Huge Nerd) that absolutely don't count. I found myself wishing I had gone to a traditional school that had an actual campus and active Greek societies so I could have girlfriends like that. Of course most things look prettier from a distance and that ship has sailed. I would give them props but because I didn't attend a college that had that kind of stuff, their fraternity and sorority names were literally and figuratively Greek to me.

So Coca Cola, who visited my previous post, if you're checking on me again (likely to see if I'm using your logo or some other fair use/copyright issue), please take the time to read this and use it to improve the next stop of your tour. I met a family who drove from Easton, PA--that's an hour and half away from Philly, paid for parking and for admission, even rushing to get there by 11:00, who was disappointed and wasn't there when I returned. Many commented on the poor advertising and the lack of actual stepping. Again, we did not buy tickets to a music festival, your schedule on Facebook did not suggest at all that most of the day would be filled with non-step activities, and it seemed like you were making up the program on the fly. The MC did his best to vamp but he had far too much time to fill. Either you don't have your crap together or you don't care about this. I prefer to think you don't have your crap together because if what I experienced today was the best you have for my community, you can bet I won't quench my thirst or hunger with another Coca Cola product.

Step off

I don't go to a lot of events. I don't like big crowds or complicated logistics and don't usually like to plan in advance far enough to make attending large concerts or other big shows worthwhile. But the Sprite Step Off is in town not far from the house so I thought I would walk over and see what it was all about. I got up early (for a weekend), got the dog walked, had some coffee and left the house before 11, which was the advertised start time. Forty minutes later, I'm still standing around waiting for something to happen and sending pissy text messages to my sister. There are no programs, no rhyme or reason to when people are going to be on stage, and no f-ing steppers on the stage. Around noon, someone told me they heard from some random security guard that the big shows were probably going to start about 4. I walked home. While I was making my lunch and muttering to myself about black people and Sprite, I realized that as someone who generally likes to think of themselves as a 'go-with-the-flow' kind of person, I'm pretty type A anal retentive. At least about standing in the hot sun without any idea when any of the entertainment I had paid to see was actually going to happen. I'm chillin at the house now and will probably head back but be prepared for another world class rant if things haven't picked up by the time I get back. I'll probably come back and not be able to even find a good place to watch. At least it's nice out. I can get my tan on.

So.....

So I was out walking the dog and some guy was handing out flyers for their "fringe comedy" act and I decided to go. That's how I roll; plan ahead and I dread it with almost every fiber of my being, make plans about 20 minutes in advance, perfect. It wasn't until I was headed out the door that I realized the one of the guys was holding what appeared to be a used condom in the little flyer but I had asked the guy handing out the flyers was was so "fringe" about their comedy troupe, so there you had it, used condoms. Delightful.

Walking by one of the troupe members as I arrived for the show, I overheard him talking about how they had to tone their show down for the Philadelphia audience. This was strange to me as this was the same city that had a parade on election day 2003 featuring women in hot pink underwear and a strategically placed sticker that said "Lick Bush."

During the middle of the day.

Broad daylight, people. Kids around. Lick Bush. A parade down South Street that same evening chanting "Fuck Bush." Definitely spotted at least one kid in that crowd too, chanting along. So naturally, I was a little concerned about how the used condom might come into play in their 'toned down' version of the show and hoped there was no audience participation. To add to my anxiety was the fringe element gathering in the alley waiting to see the show. Some distinguished (read: old) couple who turned out to be press, a group of three couples so young they still talked about fraternities (made a silent vow to sit far away from them), these two odd guys I had seen while out for my walk earlier (I seriously entertained notions they may be masquerading as humans), and a non-couple couple where the girl had the body language that suggested she had feelings for him and he had the body language that wanted to be sure there was no confusion about the fact he didn't like her "that way." She was just happy he was there with her and probably even now is dissecting their night together to see if there was any interaction between them that would serve as a clue to his "true feelings" about her. I had grand plans to watch that play out and then the most annoying man in the world sat down in front of me with his wife/girlfriend/whatever. She was fine, he was an idiot. He kept trying to kiss on her even though she was clearly not into it. He anticipated lines during a sketch, he made 'ooh' noises. I think he's a professional live studio audience member when he's not annoying his dates and other people during comedy shows.

As it turned out the Bacivo Nuggets (what?!) were okay and definitely not a waste of the ten dollars I paid to see them. It was kind of like Saturday Night Live which is usually amusing but rarely hilarious. I will say though that the trend in comedy for men to make out or hump eachother is something I hope is a fad. I won't miss it when/if it passes. I don't really enjoy seeing men rub all over eachother, not even for comedy. I don't think it's funny. Uncomfortable, 'oh God please don't actually open your mouth and kiss that guy' laughter is not the kind anyone is thinking about when describing it as the best medicine. And the way the act ended ***SPOILER ALERT**** with two guys going at it with furtive and frightening commitment is not the way a single gal in Philadelphia needs to end her evening of entertainment. I don't have to pay to see two guys making it with eachother here. It's PHILADELPHIA.

Steak and Kidneys

So I'm looking for collapsible IV poles and came across some practical gift ideas for my mom. Then I kind of got sad thinking that a bag that keeps her PD bags warm and has a top organizer bag for the rest of her dialysis kit is a good gift. Right now she uses a heating pad to warm the bags but she sometimes forgets them and then they are too hot to use right away. Every now and then I think about it too long and I seesaw between gratitude that although her kidneys (and mine) have failed, there is a way to stay alive, and despair that she literally has to dialyze to live. Reminded of her mortality every 4-6 hours. Every day.

At any rate, my browsing and clicking eventually brought me to the National Kidney Foundation page. I thought about the activism that comes from understanding how a particular disease ravages you or a person you love. I watched part of the previously aired Patrick Swayze interview this week. Pancreatic cancer is so incredibly cruel, if for no other reason than it doesn't seem terribly important to pay attention to until it is far, far too late. But a person only has so much energy to devote to activism of any sort and so my cause du jour is kidneys. So when the random people on the corner who have asked me at least 8 times if I have 5 minutes to talk about gay rights, Greenpeace, or beautiful starving kids, I say no (politely), even though they phrase the question to make you feel like an ass and horrible human being when you say you don't have time for all of those important issues.

But back to mom. I finally guilted her into coming for a visit for Columbus Day and now I've got to firmly address the room of shame so that it can serve as her clean room to do her exchanges. I also promised I would have an IV pole here so she doesn't have to worry about transporting one or taking the one she uses at work (I know, I don't know why the woman insists on working, all I need is the suggestion of a scratchy throat to call in). So this wild and crazy single girl is hanging out on a Friday night canvassing Google for IV poles and working herself into a funk.

I know I've mentioned this before but she's single, boys.

Shhhh

I need a quiet mind. I don't understand how my head can move like molasses all day long and leap into overdrive at the mere suggestion of a pillow.

Backstabbing (but still whiny-ass) co-worker,

It's completely unhealthy, these fantasies you provoke in me. Today, while you were trashing people who weren't around to defend themselves to our boss, I had a daydream about jumping up out of my chair and punching you repeatedly in the mouth. *Sigh* It just feels so good to think about it now. It's like a cigarette after sex. But I didn't punch you, I left the room for your safety and my career.

You're welcome.

A Watched Pot

I called my mom tonight, seeking comfort and reassurance that someone would eventually want me. I should have known better. My mom is a lot of things but neither one of my parents should be on speed dial for reassurance and comfort when it comes to stuff like that. Instead I got off the phone feeling my own mother is doubtful a man exists that would want me. It is not reassuring to tell someone there must be someone for them because so many really jacked up people manage to find someone willing to marry them. It would have been worse if I talked to my father so at least he didn't answer the phone. If it happens, it happens but the particular torment of the moment is the sickness of magical thinking I've become susceptible to since moving here. I know all about the gravity of small decisions that change your life. Going to the pound on a whim and leaving with an animal that changes your life. Going to a meetup and meeting someone who lives one floor above you. Even the magic of catching the 48 bus delights me for the precision of how my morning has to unfold to catch that bus as it literally waits at the light ready to leave me.

Since moving here, a feeling has seized me that each time I say 'no', every time I consider an event and don't go, I might be missing him. I might be missing that 'how I met your mother' moment. It is the feeling that makes people feel certain slot machines are lucky, keeps them sitting at the machine even when they are losing, keeps them at the craps table, keeps them engaged in any game that depends almost entirely on chance. I am watching the pot too closely. I know it's not going to boil while I watch, I know I'm not going to see him coming and have no idea where he's going to come from, or if he even exists. But every single time I go out, almost every encounter with the opposite sex, I'm wondering, is this going to be the night? is he the one? is he the one who is going to lead me to the one? It is a total bi-polar cocktail of hope and crushing disappointment.

We met a ridiculously hot guy today on the street. I was holding a Burger King bag and pretty preoccupied with getting to my fries before they became inedibly cold. The guy, who considered me the way one considers the sidewalk, walked past me, a tour guide, and two other people to approach OG who was ordering a smoothie from a fruit cart to ostensibly ask her if she knew if the Megabus stopped at the corner we were at. I stood at the light for a few cycles waiting for the guy to close the deal with OG so we could go sit down in the park and I could devote my full attention to my rapidly cooling french fries. But they got to talking (of course) and eventually OG noted to hot guy (his name is Steven) that I was waiting for her and I walked over. He seemed pretty amazing, said a lot of things in three minutes that made me think we would get along like peas and carrots. He spent most of the weekend writing (ding!), went to Princeton (not really on the 'list' but ding!), helps out disadvantaged kids (holy crap! ding!) not really into Facebook (amen, brother and ding!). And he was stunning. Just a beautiful man. Steven got our e-mail addresses though I'm pretty sure if he writes either of us, it will be OG. Nevermind the weirdness again with guys taking out their phones to get your e-mail address. WTF is that about? He did not give us his. Probably because he didn't want me writing him.

That guy was out of my league by dozens. I would have air time with this guy only if he considered me disadvantaged (and I am, Steven. Ask anyone. Here you are this beautiful man and while I noticed your stunning looks, I was frankly pretty absorbed in getting to a park bench to dig into some fries I did not need. I think that is some pretty compelling evidence of profound mental challenge). OG could be enrolled in the guy of the month club, she's still trying like all of us to gain traction with just one guy but she has every reason to be confident that men ARE interested in her. And not just the usual suspects that are interested in all women (street sweepers, bus drivers, the occasional homeless man) and who remain my core demographic in terms of expressed interest in dating. I'm naturally a little jealous but happy too that she could have the self esteem boost of having a ridiculously good looking guy approach her like that.

My pot is filled with glacially cold water and the burner is set to 'warm.' I wish I could just give up. Stupid f-ing pot.

Bacherlorette Casualties

Went for our weekly grocery shopping with OG yesterday and much to her horror and disgust, picked up this:



That's right, it's pancake batter (organic!) in a whip cream dispensing device. I'm not sure how something as unnatural as pancake batter in that device can be USDA organic but I think I might give it a try today. I've titled this post as if such an unholy thing would never come into my house if I shared it with someone. But if the guy I'm with couldn't humor my curiosity/horror/mirth about the Batter Blaster, I'm not sure how long we would last. I'll keep you posted on whether you should make haste to get yours before they all run out.

An Obligatory 9/11 post

While taking a shower this morning I remembered my Grandmother, still wrapping my head around her no longer being around but didn't remember it was 9/11 until I got to work and saw the flags at half-mast. I don't have anything more significant to say about this day than anyone else; this day belongs to us all and yet it belongs to none of us. No one has the singular 9/11 experience, even those who lost loved ones are part of something bigger in their lonely community of grief. We have all lived out the ripples of that day in our own little ways. Some of us were there, some of knew people who where there. Some who were in junior high are now serving around the world supporting the decisions made by our leaders in the aftermath. For many of us far far away from it all, the terror was in the uncertainty of what might be coming next and in the mild hysteria, gas lines, and Armageddon grocery shopping that followed. My personal story is unremarkable but my incredulity at how quickly a day's priorities, worries, and frustrations can be reordered lingers.

When I started working at the Pentagon about a year after 9/11, I was amazed at how quickly they had restored the wounded side and standing in the yellow glow of the memorial chapel, it was easily the quietest place in the entire building. During my time there, I met a woman who took one of the shuttles that run between the Pentagon and some of the offices in Crystal City and Rosslyn on 9/11, leaving minutes before the attack and even saw the plane cross the highway before it hit. Amazingly, planes still regularly fly right over the Pentagon and you can sit in the courtyard in the center of the building (nicknamed Ground Zero long before 9/11) as their shadows pass over you.



note: The title of this post--specifically the choice to use the word 'obligatory' is not meant to convey glibness about remembrance of the day, rather to convey my inner chagrin at even posting something 9/11 related because a part of me resists having anything to say about a day that defies definition and in which I found myself, gratefully like most of the country, merely an observer. My post 9/11 tangential connections to the events of that day (e.g. working at the Pentagon) are equivalent to taking a picture with Dan Aykroyd. There is folly in imbuing the encounter with significance. Or, on a lighter note, like the Dr. Evil rap where he says he knows Jay-Z and then admits he only saw him in a restaurant. And on an even lighter note, a very tongue-in-cheek (and explicit) version of some of feelings I had that day as a (former) member of the Armed Forces itching to get deployed somewhere I could help this never happen again. We have A LOT to work on but America rocks.