I finally made it back from Florida. Just in the nick of time, too. There is a tropical storm where I was staying and there is all rain and no sunshine. That would make for a not-so-fun stay in Florida. All I could think about the last day I was there was about the house across the lake from my aunt’s house that rents for $20k a week. Yeah, you read that right twenty thousand dollars. It’s a big house. You could probably easily fit 20 people in it at $1000 a pop, but still a lot of money to pay to sit in that house for a week of tropical storms. Or maybe I just think that. My ride was rainy pretty much all the way home and my GPS was a dickhole. I told my cousin I would stop by his house on my way home. It was four hours to his house. Five hours to mine from his…. if my Waze would have taken me on an interstate, but it did not. Apparently, my navigational app thought I wanted to take the scenic route and drive through every back road and “holler’ on the way. (Note: Hollow, a small valley, as commonly pronounced in Appalachia as “holler”). So my four hour drive took five hours. It really seems to be the way of things when I travel. I’m not sure if I am just easily distracted by taking pictures or if I am abducted by aliens and probed for an hour before being set back out on my journey. Either way, I never get anywhere at the time my GPS originally says. I always lose an hour somewhere. On a stranger note than abduction, as I was driving, I passed a pasture full of cows. As I was coming up on it, I noticed that almost all the cows had a white feed bag or something hanging from it’s grazing neck. I’ve seen a lot of cows in my day. I mean, I haven’t seen enough to know whether a cow is a meat cow or a milk cow, but I’ve seen cows and never have I seen a cow with a white bag hanging off it’s neck. It looked gourd shaped from where I was. As I got closer, I looked even harder. When I got close enough to see, it wasn’t a bag hanging from it’s neck at all. It was a bunch of cows eating with, apparently, their pet geese. Almost every cow had a goose next to it. Cow, goose, cow, goose, cow, goose. It was such a crazy sight, by time I realized what it was, it was too late for me to double back and take a picture. Now I feel like you are as likely to believe that the cows and geese were chilling as you are to believe that I’m abducted by aliens every, single time I travel, but one of those things are definitely true.
Category: Roulette Weekend
Where are you going this weekend. Places near and far, but mostly near.
Thank You, Levi’s
This is just a short little snippet of appreciation that I don’t think is given enough to a company who makes magical things….. Happy Wednesday.
Why is it that everybody’s butt looks good in Levi’s? Is it just me or is that a real thing? I am pretty certain (like 94%ish) that their jeans are made with a little bit of cotton and a little bit of magic. Add to the pocket a permanent wallet imprint and a pair of boots (cowboy, steel toe, whatever) and I’m done for. I don’t know if it is the same way for guys looking at girl’s butts in Levi’s jeans or if the magic only happens on the other side of the fence, but I don’t care really, because as it turns out, I am on the side with the view.
It’s funny, the one and only thing I really miss about my job is the guy who wore the ass fitting Levi’s every once in a while. I often times called them “dick jeans” because they made the front look just as scrumptious as the back. As if that’s something I should be thinking about at work, and yet, even as I sit here without a job, I’m still thinking about him in his jeans. Lucky for me, I get to see him outside of work so I’ll probably get a glance every once and a while of those magical pants.
So thank you Levi’s for making a pair of jeans that make the world a little brighter and tighter.
Until Tomorrow…
The world can be so full of surprises. It can also be full of the mundane. Wake up, go to work, take lunch, go back to work, go home, make dinner, do dishes (for those that do that right after dinner, I don’t), maybe watch a show, go to bed, wake up do it all over again. And if you’re lucky, you have someone by your side who loves you through all of it, a kid, a lover, a friend, a dog….someone. I’ve been lucky to have always been surrounded by people who love me and people who accept me for who I am, good and bad. Sometimes I’m more good than bad. Sometimes vice versa. I’ve never fit into a box. I’ve never been content. I’ve always been looking for ……something……something else. I’ve been a job hopper for as long as I can remember. I get depressed in the winter and eat myself sick then complain in the Spring about how fat I got while I was depressed. I love my kids dearly and think they are truly the only important things in life, but contentment has never come easy to me. Most people, from a young age, know exactly what they want to be when they grow up. I never really did. I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to be a video girl. I wanted to be a Rockette. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a teacher. I never wanted to be a mom. It was never something I ever imagined. I wouldn’t even babysit when I was younger. My mom would have to force me to go with my sister on her babysitting gigs and I bitched the whole time. I hated kids. Until I had kids. Then, when I had kids, what I wanted to do and be, became less important. I didn’t have any dreams anymore besides giving my kids everything they needed to be successful human beings. When I say successful, I don’t mean riches. I mean successful in being happy, decent human beings. So I raised kids. And I worked for people. And I was always happy at first but then quickly bored. I’ve never had a job for more than a couple years. I’ve never had a relationship for more than a couple years. I’ve never lived in the same house for more than a couple years.(Geez, I think this is going to take way more than one blog to explore)
I think I mentioned this before…. I had a therapist once tell me that the common denominator in all my failed relationships (personal and professional) was me. I was offended at first, but he’s the professional. He went to school to give this kind of $200 per hour advice. So I listened and I tried to figure out what it was about me that made me such a failure in these areas. I’ve yet to figure it out, but I have stopped calling myself a failure in these things. It’s not fair to me or at least I don’t think it is. The work (failure) thing seems to be my strong willed beliefs and principles most of the time. I would say that’s the conflict 75% of the time. I start working for a place that I believe is doing good work and then after working there for a while, it turns out it was all smoke and mirrors to the general public and things are never what they seem. The other 25% of my business failings is working for people that either have no business sense (like my most recent endeavor) and ask for my help but then refuse to do what needs to be done to be successful or I just have a tendency to see things differently and in a way that apparently makes people feel stupid or intimidated by me (also what happened during my most recent endeavor). It’s not that I do any of it intentionally. I just do what needs to be done and I do it effectively without regard to people’s sensitivities. So I guess it is 100% my fault that I am not content working for people. The problem is that I don’t see this ever changing. I don’t think I will ever be happy or content working for someone else. Kymani Marley said in his book, Dear Dad, “What would you look like living the life that Jah Almighty gave you and you alone, but living that life on someone else’s terms and vision? If you do that, God just wasted a lifetime, giving it to you when you’re just going to give it away to another man’s vision. What’s the use of two of you if the two of you can only think and do one way? That makes one of you unnecessary.” And as I worked my last “job” helping this man try to get his business straight while getting fired once a month for hurting his feelings by being brutally honest about the way he handles business, this quote kept popping up over and over and over and over again in my mind. What was I doing with my life. The pay was good. I was semi-content. I hated the 40 minute commute, but the job kept me busy and never bored. There was a time in my life when I said, if you are going to pay me shit wages, then please at least be nice to me. If you want to pay me extra to treat me like shit, that’s cool. And I thought I meant it when I said it, but when my last “boss” so unprofessionally told me to “eat shit” and that I didn’t need to come in on Monday all because I told him that he underbid a job and it was 2pm on a Saturday afternoon and I clocked out at noon and we could talk Monday, I realized that maybe all the money in the world was not worth being verbally abused on a regular basis at work. And even though he knew he was wrong after he calmed down and realized he needed me there, he still would not apologize. And I couldn’t bring myself to stay. Maybe I’m a little sensitive too and not so forgiving no matter what the payscale is. So here I am, without a “job” trying to figure out my next move. Until Tomorrow…..
A Time to Rebuild
a·nal·o·gy
əˈnaləjē/
noun
a comparison between two things, typically for the purpose of explanation or clarification.
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Relationships are kind of like construction. Sometimes it takes an explosion. The old structure has to be knocked completely down and disposed of before you can even think of rebuilding a better one. You wouldn’t build a second floor apartment on a burned out first floor. And I think that in the majority of my relationships, after the demolition has occurred, looking at the emptiness left in its place is just too difficult for me. Just the thought of having to bend down and pick up the rubble and throw it away starts to stress me out. Maybe I’m lazy and I don’t like the gruntwork of a fallen relationship. But I’ve had this relationship that has been like an impossible remodel. When I first laid eyes on it, it was perfect. And I bought it, moved in, and then started noticing all the things that were wrong with it. And then I got frustrated. And every time something broke, I wanted less and less to fix it. Dripping faucet. Left it. Broken stair. Left it. Broken window. Left it. Eventually my dream relationship started to look like the only blighted property on the block. And I eventually left it to sit there and waited for it to fall down. But then a funny thing started to happen. Right around the time that the paint started peeling and the siding was blowing off and I thought the damage was irreparable, I realized, for some crazy reason, I love this damn house. So I started fixing the things I let go and it started to feel like home again. And even though it’s not the house anyone thinks I should be living in, it’s the one that makes me comfortable and happy most of the time. And like every other decision I get to make as an adult, good or bad, it is ultimately my decision and I will be the only one with buyer’s remorse if it doesn’t work out.
I guess my point is, everything takes work. I know I have a tendency to want to romanticize things and I know I have a tendency to always look at things through rose colored lenses, but I’m ok with that. I think things should be romantic. I think everyone should own a pair of rose colored glasses. More importantly, I think some things are just worth it moreso than others. Love is patient, right? I’m practicing patience right now. And practice makes perfect. Or so they say.
A Bit of a Phenomenon
I saw Joe Sunday. It was maybe one of the best days yet. Not because he was more lucid or made any leaps and bounds of recovery. It was because we spent five hours together without a break in contact. It’s nearly impossible for me to try to explain how I feel for him. Love doesn’t quite sum it up because it seems like such a small word for such a big feeling. I’ve had people try to explain it away, “you just feel like that because he’s unobtainable now.” Or I have people look at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. Not everyone, but some. I guess everyone sees this situation with the world view they were brought up with. I don’t even know why I try to explain it. Joe and I have always had more of a spiritual connection, a friendship, a love that blossomed through thousands of words written over two decades of letters. You get to know so much more about a person, especially a person of the opposite sex, when actual sex is not a factor. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in something that is spiritually and mentally bad for you when the sex keeps reeling you in. I’ve done it numerous times. So many I’ve stopped counting. The only thing that was ever missing from mine and Joe’s relationship was the physical. He is probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He’s handsome, caring, and generous. He’d help anybody. He loves God. He knows the bible backwards and forward. Sometimes we’d have long talks about religion and God. He’s more spiritual than anything. And we got to know each other over the years so well. And it’s shown the last few times I’ve gone to see him. I’ve gone in with my big smile and shouted out a gleeful “Merry Christmas,” “Happy New Year,” “Happy Sunday.” I even wore an ugly Christmas sweater for Christmas because it’s his favorite holiday and even though I’m slightly Scrooge-ish, I would have dragged a decorated tree in there with me if it was allowed just to chance seeing him smile for a second. I don’t get many smiles from him. He grimaces sometimes, like a child when the dentists asks to see their teeth, but never a smile. It’s like those muscles don’t work anymore and he can’t figure out how to make them. This weekend, though, I got a little bit of a grin from him. Maybe what happened happened because we do know each other so well. The irrational, in love side of me thinks it is because we are psychically connected and we can speak without words. I got there New Year’s Day like I do every Sunday. I walked in thirty minutes early like always. I got searched and frisked and escorted to his room. I did my little Happy New Year song and dance, gave him a kiss on the cheek and grabbed our book that we are reading and the chair I sit in and I scooted his bed over and sat down next to him. I always tell him what day it is and the date. I added the year this time since it changed. I told him what was going on at the house. Mel is fine. The dogs are fine. They all say hi. I told him about my dreary rainy drive and all the gunshots in my hood at midnight the night before and then I recapped the first part of the book and started reading to him. I make sure to touch him the whole time I’m there. I will rub his arm or his hand or his leg or his face or his hair, but I just always touch him because human touch is one of the most important things in life, I think. So I rubbed him and read to him. He started getting antsy and was moving his legs and his arm as if to tell me he had enough of the book. So I asked him if we were done reading. It was as if I could hear him saying yes we were done reading, but I asked him to clarify with a couple of blinks for yes. I think they usually make him do one blink for yes and don’t give him an option for no besides not blinking which I think is a flawed system. So I ask him to blink twice for yes and once for no, that way it’s less confusing. So he blinked twice and I put the book away. I think he just wanted me to rub his head with both hands really, and since he’s the boss, we stopped reading and I started rubbing his face and his eyebrows and running my fingers through his hair which seems to be his favorite because he always closes his eyes. So I did that for a while and sang him a couple of my favorite songs. Usually he keeps his eyes closed, but this time he kept them open the whole time I was singing to him and he just watched my face. Eye contact is a very intimate thing even when it is with someone who cannot speak or move. It’s like we have whole conversations without saying a word. Sometimes we just sit in silence staring at each other and it’s just peaceful. So I went through my whole little concert and we just looked at each other for a while and then he asked me to sing another song with his eyes. This is the part that all the skeptics will start rolling their eyes and calling me crazy and I’m ok with that. I may be crazy, but I asked him what song he wanted me to sing. And we just looked at each other for a minute and out of nowhere Bruno Mars popped into my head. So I said, “Bruno Mars?” and his face changed as if to acknowledge that was right. So then I asked him what song? And again, out of nowhere, it was like the answer appeared in my head. And I said, “the one about the moon?” And he blinked for yes. Then I told him I couldn’t for the life of me remember the words or even the melody. And, again, out of nowhere, it just appeared in my head. And I started singing it to him and when I looked at him, he was grinning (a real grin) in satisfaction, it seemed, that he had so eloquently relayed the message to me without a word. I know it sounds crazy. It is a little crazy to me too, but I don’t even have Bruno Mars in rotation in any of my playlists. Not that I don’t like him, because I do, I just don’t think of him often and the look on Joe’s face when I started singing it, well, it was worth every embarrassing out of tune note and it made me feel deep down inside that he is in there somewhere trying to find his way back.
Happy resolution day
I haven’t been one lately for resolutions. It’s more like I have intentions at the beginning of the year. I intend to eat better, I intend to work out more, I intend to enjoy nature more, I intend so many things. But if it doesn’t work out, I don’t beat myself up because I didn’t follow through with my resolution. But this year I decided to make a resolution list. It only has one thing on it. To accept people how they are instead of how I wish they would be. The way I see it, the people in my tribe wouldn’t ask me to change, and if they did I likely wouldn’t. I am who I am. Unless they were asking me to change because I was doing something that was hurting myself or others and then I would completely understand that. Fundamentally, though, you can’t really change how people are. You can only choose to except them and either let them in your life or not let them in your life. So this year I love more, I will laugh more, and I will accept people and the way they are not how I wish they would be. Happy New Year!
A Day and a Half
Well, I woke up with a swollen eye thanks to a stye. I wasn’t sure that’s what it was when I went to bed, but I was sure when I woke up. Derek came over last night kind of late. He would have been here earlier but I was being my usual uncertain self and told him I didn’t want any company, but then we just kept texting one another and before I realized it, all I wanted was to hear his voice in my ear and feel his hands in my hair, so I asked him if it was too late to change my mind and he seemed to have overlooked the question in the midst of our texting so I thought I was going to be sleeping alone until he all of a sudden told me he was on his way as long as I hadn’t changed my mind again. I think between yesterday and today I figured out part of my problem. Not the part about me being a psychopath. I think we all have that part figured out. But my problem with this whole situation. It’s the absence. I think sometimes the absence of pain is almost as shocking as the initial pain. Have you ever been hurt by someone or lost someone? Not lost them to death or anything just lost them to a fucked up set of circumstances. You think you’ll never breathe again. Then one day you wake up and you’re breathing. You’re looking in the mirror and your eyes are happy and you don’t hurt any more for any reason. And for a brief moment you miss that pain and you want it back because it was your companion for so long it became a part of who you were until you were happy and it wasn’t you anymore. I think that is what I have been dealing with. It took comments from a couple of you dear readers for me to figure this out. Not that I was grieving or unhappy, but my constant complaining about half ass men and half ass men in the dating world had become my constant companion. It was my comfort zone. For a moment, I thought, if I am happy and can’t complain about the dating world in my quirky little humorous way, that I would somehow be boring or something. I think my being miserable in love has somehow kept me content for so long that I was terribly scared to find someone I could sit across from at a table and enjoy, but as I laid in the dark talking with him last night, I realized that sometimes I am a stupid, stupid girl. And when we got up this morning and went into the kitchen to cook and laugh and eat together, I realized that I could do this every day for the rest of my life.
I had a volunteer gig today at a music festival that he dropped me off at and picked me up from. When I got in the car afterwards, I was fairly miserable. My eye was swollen and ugly. I had been sweating for six hours straight so I probably wasn’t smelling my best. I had a splitting headache from the heat. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed and maybe throw up, but he wanted to go to the bookstore and look for a book we had been talking about a few days earlier and so I smiled and tried to be excited despite how crappy I was feeling. We went to McKay’s, found the book, and then we drove around for a bit stopping to look at places that were made of stucco because of another previous conversation that we had and we ended up at Carabba’s to eat. By this time it was probably 9:30pm and I had started to feel a little better, though I’m pretty sure it was just my fake it til you make it attitude I had convinced myself to go with. So we ate and talked and laughed and laughed some more, which was odd because I had just gotten done telling two separate people on two separate occasions that we have fun together but we don’t really laugh, but I guess we do. And often. We drove home still talking and sat outside to continue our conversation for quite a bit until he told me I looked tired and I admitted that I was exhausted and he left. It didn’t feel like midnight when he pulled off, but it was. So now, I’m in my pajamas staring at this computer screen wondering what the fuck my problem has been over the last week. Maybe it was post menstrual syndrome. Is that a thing? I’m not sure, but if I go back and forth one more time about this guy, I really think I need one of you to come slap the insanity out of me because despite what he says, he really is amazing and I really have mental issues that I need to get worked out before I ruin what could possibly be the best thing I’ve ever had.
