That Ain't Working. That's the Way You Do It

Coadster with her guy.

So, kids...It was a busy weekend and then I had a migraine on Sunday night and therefore, no blogging was done. Alack and alas.

Today though. Today was just fine. I spent most of the day helping Coadster do her financial aid through texting. I know. It was weird and annoying. She just wanted me to do it for her, but my orphan issues make me make her do it herself. I told her much of her life will include filling out papers (online, whatever) and the sooner she learns to deal with it and not put it off until the last minute, the better. Still not what she wanted to hear, but she did sit down and do it and thinks she'll get about $3000 in grants. Not bad for a few hours of work.

Anyway. I guess she doesn't have to like it now, but hopefully she'll appreciate me not just doing everything for her, so she can do stuff for herself when she's older. I'll guess we'll see....Maybe I better start saving for her therapy bills now.

And Freedom Tastes of Reality

Coadster dispensing gifts at her final showchoir concert.

I might have to put a warning before every blog post for one thing or another, but I'll warn you about the sad, sorry sap potential for this one. My excuse is that Coadster just accepted her admission and signed her college housing contract tonight. (breathe, Churlita, breathe...Into a paper bag if necessary)

This is a year of lasts for Coadster. It was so strange this Sunday to think that we'll never see her flashing jazz hands and cranking up the cheese...On stage, anyway. I'm in the last few months of legally being able to tell her what to do, or being responsible for her. Starting this Fall, much of her life will take place without my knowledge. What a strange thing, this parenting gig is.

From a very young age, I experienced loss...And with my abandonment issues, I pretty much expect that eventuality from every relationship/friendship I have with people. But as every parent knows, it's different with my kids. I've never been so invested in another human being the way I am with my girls. I can pick them out of a crowd of hundreds, I know exactly what each facial expression, every bodily movement means and I really do feel every emotion along with them. I don't have the same control issues that a lot of my friends have, but it will still be hard for me not to be a part of Coadster's everyday life anymore.

This is also a year of firsts for Coadster. She will finally be able to vote (which for as political as she is, this is huge for her), she will live on her own, file her taxes, move to another town, make her own rules for herself, all for the first time. It's so exciting I could cry...And I'm sure I will..Often.

I'm not at all worried about her being on her own. I've said since she was born, that she's one of the most responsible, poised people I've ever met. It will just be hard for me to watch her make the mistakes she's bound to make and suffer all those slings and arrows that everyone does while they figure out how to be an adult in this world. All I can do is remind her that I'm here when she needs me...And keep those paper bags handy.

Don't Let It Bring You Down, It's Only Castles Burning

This is what Stinky looked like a lot when she was little and how I feel right now...Just kidding...Mostly.

Okay. So, the girl backed out. She seemed super into the apartment, until I told her what references the landlord needed. Then she told me that the place "wasn't really right" for her. Whatever. I have no more leads and I'm not sure what to do next. I'll have to think on it some, and see if I can come up with some other options. Most of the people who have looked at it came from Craigslist. The fliers didn't get me jack and so I stopped putting them up. I might try the hospital and see if there are billboards or rental lists for med students or something. Wouldn't it be great if I could find someone to rent my place, so I could finally shut the hell up about it already?

Okay. I want to get away from the bad stuff and move onto talking more about my new place. It still doesn't seem real sometimes. It should be great, but also a lot of work. I'm lucky because I have a lot of people who have offered to help me. Of course, as I've written on here before, I'm not always the best about either asking for or accepting help. I'm sure it has something to do with both my Irish Catholic upbringing and my orphan issues that make me worry about being a "bother" to other people. Which I know is stupid. I personally don't say things I don't mean, so if I offer help to someone, I really want to help them, and am a little sad if they don't accept. So, why would it be any different for anyone else?

I'm constantly working to get better at changing the things that bug me about myself, and that whole "not letting people help me" issue I have is one of the things I'm trying to work on. Logically I know that not asking for or accepting help when I really want/need it can make me seem passive/aggressive and confusing. I strive not to be either of those two things. So, when my friend Libby asked me if I needed help moving, I said, "Yes, please" (even though it made me VERY uncomfortable) and when my friend J. offered to help me do my hardwood floors, I first said, "oh, I'm sure I can figure it out..." then caught myself, and tried to graciously accept her offer. And you want to know what? It didn't kill me. Weird. So, I guess what I'm saying is, be very careful what you offer me. I just might take you up on it.

Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child

Here are some disembodied heads.

So, tomorrow is my last day to work this week. Then it is four, fabulous fun-filled days of birthday celebration for me. I know. It's not nearly enough time, but I'll try to make it work.

I have two more days of being the same age my mom as when she died, and then I will finally have moved on from that. Of course, my biggest fear in all of that was that I would die before my daughters turned 18. I know I talk about it all the time, but that's only because the thought terrifies me. Even if someone decent became their guardians, they wouldn't love them and understand them the way I do. You know? But we're getting close to that milestone too.

One thing that that "Motherless Daughters" book I read talked about, was the thing that many of us orphans who have children do. We try to make our youngins as independent at the earliest age possible. The book said to be careful of raising your kids to be orphaned, and it was so weird. I had no idea I was doing it, but I definitely was. I tried to calm down on that when the girls were younger and not make them learn how to balance a checkbook, order their own food in a restaurant and check the oil in the car by the time they were in kindergarten.

Now, I've noticed a different issue - I keep forgetting that I will be around to support Coadster when she turns 18. I didn't have that. I basically became an adult and had to figure everything out for myself. It's probably one of the many reasons I'm still not all that great at remembering to pay bills on time and all that other practical type stuff. For the last few months I've been stressing out about all the things I've forgotten to prepare Coadster for as an adult, as if I won't be around, but hopefully I will. If she has questions, she can just call me. If she's sick, she can whine to me over the phone, and if she finds herself short on cash at the end of the month, I sure as hell hope she has a rich friend, because I rarely have any money left then either. Just kidding. But I will be here for her. I don't know why that fact just occurred to me now. Duh.

Happiness Is So Hard to Find

Here is a recycled photo of myself and one of my co-workers at Gussini Shoe store in Berkeley in 1986.

I'm sure you all know how weird I am about music. I'm not as likely to look at how it's played or what people are doing with their instruments. You could have all the best musicians in the world performing and playing really well, and if I'm bored with their song, I couldn't be bothered. For me, music has always been an emotional thing. I feel really strongly about songs one way or the other. They can be an awesome memory or the soundtrack to a really bad part of my life.

Some songs I know are cheese, but it doesn't matter, because they take me back to a time in my life that made me really happy. Of course the opposite is true. Whether a song is good or bad, hearing it can remind me of a particularly shitty stage in my life too.

Lately, my daughter has really been into this song called, "I Can't Wait" by a band called Nu Shooz. I think someone else might be sampling it, and that's where she heard it. You may or may not remember them, but trust me, they were really big in 1986. At that time I was working at my worst job ever. (and I've cleaned toilets for living) I had just moved to San Francisco and was living in my boyfriend's mom's house, my boyfriend wasn't sure if he still wanted to stay together, I had no money, nowhere else to go and my bosses totally sucked. For years, I couldn't hear that song without it bringing back all those horrible feelings.

The crazy thing about it, is that I'm totally okay with it now. It's actually turned into a more positive memory. I can laugh at how I had to cover all the high school girl's shifts on Friday nights so they could get home in time to watch Miami Vice, and how my two favorite high school guys used to wait for me to close up, so they could ride the BART with me through Oakland and protect me if need be. I can look back with some perspective and remember that it was one of the first times in my adult life that I actually took control of a situation.

With my orphan issues, I was always so terrified to actively change things in my life. In the past, change usually meant I was moving toward something worse. I wouldn't leave bad relationships or jobs no matter what, because they were an evil I knew, as opposed to an evil I didn't know but was sure to meet. I was one of those people who just let things happen to them. I finally left that situation. I quit my job, got a new one and found roomates to live with, instead of my fickle boyfriend and his crazy mom.

So, I guess my daughter can bring it. I'm ready to take on all the music from that time. "Manic Monday"? Who Cares. "West End Girls"? I'll kick all the Pet Shop Boys' asses. "Rock Me Amadeus"? No, let me rock you. "That's What Friends Are For"?...Uh, no. I still can't listen to that one. Sorry.

Here In My Car, I Feel Safest of All

Here is a photo of some I-80 traffic on our roadtrip this Summer. I'm so photoless, I'm going through Coadster's vacation pics now.

We're almost at the weekend now and I am so happy. I want time to stay home and relax. I don't have any real plans, except for my friend Libby is coming from Chicago and we're planning on lunching together on Sunday. I got some shit to do, so I'm stealing from the old blog again. I wrote this in June of 2006. Read it and weep:

I have always been a freak magnet. It doesn't matter if I'm in a bar or walking down the street, you can guarantee that the only homeless, no teeth'd, crack head, psycho who ditched their meds, will come up to me and get all up in my grill. I used to think I had some kind of special sign around my neck that only they could see that said, "Lick me on the face and call me sucker." But today I think that sign fell off of my person and attached itself to the front of my car.

I had just dropped Coadster off at the baseball fields and was heading to the store to pick-up a few things, when I saw a woman standing in the middle of the street just ahead of me. At first, it looked like she was stupidly running in front of traffic, but then she turned around to face me and held up both thumbs. I stopped my car and she put her hands on my hood, then she kept her hands on my car and moved around to the passenger side window.

"Can you help me? I need help." I thought she might be sick or injured but I didn't have a cell phone. We were right by a gas station, so it seemed odd to me that she didn't go there. "I need a ride to my daughter's house over by Sheraton Street. I'm so hot and tired that I don't think I can go much further without fainting. Please. You're a lifesaver."

"You mean SheriDAN Street?" I asked.

"Yeah. Whatever. My daughter lives over by there and I need a ride. Please?" By that time, there was a line of cars behind me. If I had the girls, I would have said, no for sure. But I didn't have them. I used to hitchhike when I was younger, so I felt a little hypocritical not taking her. Although, I would never have been that aggressive about it myself.

"Um. Okay."

"Oh thank god. Shit. I'm on these new meds and they're fuc... I mean, messing with my system."

"Hmm, " I said. I didn't want to have to have a long, tiresome conversation about her meds, so I didn't ask her about them. I was just happy she was taking them.

"You know where Sheraton Street is? It's over by Summit. She don't live on Sheraton, though. My daughter lives on a street right off there."

"I know where Sheridan Street is."

"Hey, where you going? I don't go this way. I go a different way."

"This is faster than going to Court and then tracking back. It will still get us to Sheridan."

"Oh, this is Sheraton. You gotta take a left here."

"Left? Okay."

"Now we're back where we started. It should have been right over here. Drive around some more."

"You don't know where your daughter lives?"

"I would, if you'da gone the other way. Just keep driving around." I used to be a huge push-over when I was younger. It was that orphan thing where I thought I was a huge impostion to everyone and it was my job to help people and put up with all their shit. I continually felt like I had to make up for my being alive and breathing someone else's air. I'm finally old enough and have met too many people who were happy to take advantage of me, that I have gone the other way. Now, I push back once it's clear to me that the person I'm dealing with is shot full of entitlement issues.

"Actually, I'm not going to drive around. I was being nice to take you here, but I have things to do. I was going to Hy-Vee, and we were right in front of it, when you stopped my car..."

"So, what? Do you expect me just to walk around and look for the house by myself?"

"Yeah. If you don't know where your own daughter lives, how would I know?"

"Do you know where Summit Street is?" She said this slowly and loudly, like she thought I might be retarded.

"Yes. It's back the other way."

"Okay. Take me there and maybe I can find it that way."

"I'll take you to Summit Street, but that's it. I have things to do." I turned around and headed for Summit Street and two blocks away, she said,

"Stop! That's the street. I know it. It's here." I pulled over to the side of the road to let her out. She picked up her bright pink purse and said, "Thanks, so much. You're a lifesaver. God bless you. I'll be sure to pay it forward." And while I'm sure she'll be paying something, I doubt it will be forward, backward, or sideways. I have a feeling it will be straight to her dealer...Er, I mean, daughter.

Will I See You Give More Than I Can Take?

This was the spot of our Wednesday night meetings and where I used to tutor some of my co-workers to help them get their GED's.

I don't have a lot going on in my regular life, so I think we'll just take a trip in the way back machine, okay? Since this weekend's talks with Mr. B. have had me thinking about relationships lately, I thought I'd go back to 1985 and the scene of the beginning of my first real relationship. Ready? I'm not so sure I am...

Jimmy being a dork and wearing two pairs of sunglasses while building trails in the back country at King's Canyon.

I came to Leggett, California because of a guy. Originally, when I moved to California to join the Conservation Corps., I was planning on living at the site on Turtle Island in the San Francisco Bay. I had some friends moving to San Francisco, and we figured I'd be able to go into the city and hang out with them on weekends.

I met a boy named Jimmy at the training academy in Angels Camp, Ca. We spent three weeks there learning how to fight wildland fires and floods and getting in shape for the physically demanding work we would all surely be doing for at least the next year. Jimmy was smart and funny and we had that casual high school kind of thing where he never asked me, but it was assumed by everyone including us, that we were going out. He was going to do Salmon Restoration work in Humboldt County and he tried to get me to go with him. He said in San Francisco, I'd just be picking garbage and he assured me I'd get tired of that in a week.

I was nineteen and all of my plans were subject to change anyway, so I decided to go to Leggett. It sounded like more of an adventure. When we got there, Jimmy suddenly changed. We had been hanging out everyday at the academy, but once we got to our site, he ignored me and seemed really annoyed whenever I stopped by his trailer. Since I'd never had a real boyfriend before, I didn't know that he expected me to pine after him - that it was part of the game for him. Instead, I just figured he wasn't interested, and I went my own way.

Here is a picture of Neal in the girls' trailer at our site with the He-Man action figure we found while working in Willits , California.

The second week I was there, I was walking down to the swimming hole on the Eel River. Everyone else had already headed down, and since I was being pokey, I wandered there by myself. When I walked past the last trailer in the row, I saw Neal standing there watching me. I noticed him the first day we arrived, but he scared me a little. He was too good looking and I thought he was a lot older than me. (he was actually only a month older than I was) Since I was only wearing my swimsuit, I was even more self-conscious than I normally was around cute guys. I nervously said, "hi" and kept walking. When I reached the edge of the woods, I looked back and he was still watching me walk.

Here's another recycled photo of me learning how to run a chainsaw in the California Conservation Corps.

Neal was one of the saw specialists and in charge of teaching us new guys how to run saws so big, that I could barely lift one when I first started. One day he had a project where he needed one person to help him break-up a mini log jam. He picked me and later on, he told me he had it all planned out. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. The log jam was located on a double waterfall, right next to a gigantic Redwood grove. Since it was pretty precarious, he did most of the sawing, while I removed the wood from the water, busted them into rounds and Neal and I both bucked them into a crib where we'd store them until the Winter when we could come back and safely burn them.

We ate lunch and Neal finally talked to me. He seemed so quiet before, but when there wasn't anyone else around, he let loose. He asked me about myself, and was really open about all his shit. He told me he had his eye on me since I first got there, but he wasn't sure what was going on with me and Jimmy. I told him, "Apparently, nothing."

Within the next week, we were dating. We basically spent almost every second of the day together for the next year. He's probably the only person I would be able to spend that much time without strangling. We could be fun and social together and both be quiet and live in our own little worlds together when we were at home.

Here is a blurry photo of Neal, a year later, when we lived in San Francisco.

We definitely had plenty of problems. We were nineteen when we started dating and broke-up when we were twenty-two. He grew up with a lot more money than my family had, but we were both weird in the same ways. We were the youngest kids in our families and our mom's were both artists. His dad was a merchant marine, and mine was a photographer. In other words, we had similar abandonment issues. The thing I really liked about Neal and have a really hard time finding in other men, is that he didn't have to constantly label himself and create that persona. He painted and refinished antiques and made his own steel drums in his backyard, and read every book I recommended to him and did tons of environmental work but he never went on and on about being an artist or a musician or an intellectual. Those were just things he did.

Sometimes I wonder what he's like now. My friends and I talk about how different men get as they age. A lot of them get really cranky and set in their ways, and they all seem to get more emotional. Some men can deal with those emotions and become better people, but some freak out and can't admit that they have them. My big fear is that I would run into Neal now and he would have turned into one of those mid-life crisis forty-three year old guys who hang-out in bars and keep trying to prove to themselves that they can still get twenty year old chicks. I also wonder if he'd be disappointed by the forty-three year old I've become.

And I See Losing Love is Like a Window in Your Heart

Today on my blog I'm fulfilling two assignments and posting some more recycled photos. The first one is the Saturday Scavenger Hunt. Mrs. Big Hairy Woman chose the word, which, not surprisingly, was hairy. There's a lot you can do with that, but I'm taking it literally. I've used this pic before, but nothing illustrates the extent of my hairy issues at such an early age like it. So, here's my family looking like its own version of the Village People when we lived in Phoenix, before the Village People existed. I'm the five year old white girl with dreadlocks, wearing the blue and white cowgirl outfit (probably for the fourth day in a row). See why my roommate in college diagnosed me with acute hair phobia? I'm sure I'd be tidy and well-adjusted, if only I had nice straight hair that didn't get all frizzy and messy looking.

Here's my oldest sister with one of my parents artsy/beatnicky friends in Chicago in the sixties.

My other assignment was given to me by Dana at My Gorgeous Somewhere blog. As I'm sure I've said before, I don't really trust or understand poetry. I love it, but I have no idea what makes a poem good, I just know that imagery in certain poems, can make me want to write prose. I also feel a little betrayed by poetry. All that counting of syllables, is like math disguised as language and you know how much I hate math. It's also why poetry would be an excellent discipline for my messy, cluttered brain, if only I weren't so damn lazy.

I mentioned to Dana that reading her writing, makes me want to write and that was one of the biggest compliments I could ever give a writer. So, Dana being wonderfully Dana, gave me an assignment to write an American Sentence about whatever her poems inspired in me. If you are like I was, and don't know what an American Sentence is, you can go here. Basically, it was a form invented by Allen Ginsberg as an American answer to the haiku - a sentence made up of 17 syllables.

Here is a line that Dana wrote that made me think about the whole child/parent guilt thing:

We make coffee
for ourselves but
not for our children.

At first, I thought it sounded selfish, but then coffee isn't good for children, so then it seemed sensible, if not protective. It made me think about that weird parent guilt that you feel when you do something for yourself that doesn't include your children. Then I extended it to the guilt children(and when I say children, I mean me) feel about being a pain in the ass, and complicating their parents' lives. Since my mom didn't live long enough for me to thank her or make things up to her after I became an adult, I still have a lot of remorse.

Here is another recycled photo of my mom at a party before she had children.

So, here's my American Sentence:

My mom had more fun and nicer legs before I was born - is that my fault?

Stinky after hawking Hawkeye apparel for work last Saturday.

Stinky was talking about how glad she was that she and Coadster were getting along lately. I had noticed it too and it made me happy. I'm sure it's my orphan issues talking, but I always hoped my girls would be close, so they'd have each other if anything ever happened to me and their dad. I also realize the importance of having someone to make fun of your parents with. It's not like you want anyone else talking shit about your folks, but let's be honest, most parents deserve to made fun of at some point. Lord knows, even as much as I make fun of myself, it still doesn't seem to be enough.

Remember how I told you I always dance as much as possible around the girls' friends to make up for them embarrassing me at the store when they were two and I had to carry them screaming outside, while everyone else either gave me the apologetic smile, or that "you are a child abuser and I am this close to calling DHS" glare? Anyway, tonight Stinky was listening to Thriller and I started doing one of my dorkiest dance moves ever. "Hey, what if I danced like this in front of your friends? How would you like that?" I asked, trying to bait her.

Stinky glanced at me for a second and said, "You already have, mother, " and went right back to texting and instant messaging about 7,000 kids at once.

Here is a blurry Stinky, minus the Hawkeye cowboy hat, the fake face tattoo and the peace sign.

So, on Sunday night I watched the VMA's with Stinky, because I couldn't get her to watch the Bears game, damn it. There were a few times where I wanted to be all appalled at shit, as if Madonna never simulated masturbation back at the 1984 awards when I watched MTV on a regular basis or anything, but then I thought I'd just try to be objective and ask questions.

Me: Why does Lil Wayne keep grabbing his package like that?

Stinky: Because he's gangsta.

Me: Oh, okay. Now, are all those quiet spaces where they're bleeping out the swears?

Stinky: Yup. This song is a lot better without that.

Me: Well, yeah. Since 70% of it is dead air this way.

Everything Will be All Right, Tonight

Here is a bench next to a tree and behind some flood water.

First of all, I need to name the next Saturday Scavenger Hunt word maker upper. I think I'll choose Laura B. at My Boring Life blog. 'Kay?

Next, I think I should warn you that I'm in kind of a weird space. Things have been so bizarre the last week, that it's hard to process. Our town feels like a ghost town too. On Friday there was this mass exodus out of town on Governor Street and now it's quieter than I've ever seen it. You can even find a parking space downtown. No, really. I'm not kidding.

Another thing that feels odd, is the fact that the University shut down for a week. It rarely ever closes. I think before this year, it may have closed for bad weather once in like twenty years. When people call us during an ice or snow storm to see if we're holding classes, the guy who works behind me always tells them that we would only close at the threat of nuclear war. Now, we have a paid week off and it feels surreal.

Of course, it's wonderful that the waters are receding and we're not the first article on every news website anymore. At this point, I'm not so worried about the creek overflowing its banks either. It's not supposed to rain until Friday and the weather pattern we have right now is for non-humid temps in the seventies and eighties - in other words, perfect. The thing I didn't count on, is how kind of lost I feel after waiting for a worst case scenario that never happened.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. It's just that I'm used to the worst case scenario. I expect it. In my world, when my daughter gets sick, she has meningitis, when I take a quaint Sunday buggy ride, there is a horrible accident and my baby ends up in a cast, if there is a nasty storm, it turns into a tornado and takes the roof off of my house. This whole pretty good case scenario is uncharted territory for me. I find myself waiting for the next shoe to drop. What am I going to do with my gallons and gallons of bottled water? What will it be like to go to a grocery store that's actually stocked with food? Incidentally, did you know that peanut butter is the first thing to sell out when there's a flood? I didn't. It makes sense because you don't have to refrigerate or cook it, but it was still news to me. What is the etiquette when there's no need for them, after calling all your friends with trucks and asking them to be on stand-by in case you have to evacuate? Do I call them back and give them the all-clear?

Anyway, today was just a strange day for me. The town felt lonely and quiet...Too quiet. I kept waiting for the Indian warriors to come riding over the plains, ready to attack. Just like it always happened in all the bad Westerns I used to watch. Is it possible that sometimes things turn out just fine after all? Weird.

Nothing to Hide, Believe What I Say

Here's a picture that Erik took of me with open arms, or maybe I'm just trying to steady myself. You decide.

After yesterday's extremely mature butt post, I thought I'd change things up and talk about relationships. Mainly, my relationships. This weekend, someone told me that it made them a little uncomfortable to read about how strongly I felt about Erik on this here blog. They said they thought that by gushing so hard about how happy I was with Erik, I might kind of jinx our relationship. So, I figured I should just explore some of the things that were brought up in that conversation.

If you've read my blog even for a minute, you won't be surprised that I'm a very open person. Which isn't to say, that I talk about everything with you. As Erik pointed out when we addressed the subject this weekend, there are all kinds of things that you, dear readers, will never, ever know about my relationship with Erik. But, I was raised Southside Chicago Irish Catholic, and we generally aren't known for our stoicism. As I've said on previous posts, it's also very important for me to let people I'm close to know exactly how wonderful I think they are. Ask my daughters. They know without a doubt that I think they are the most amazing creatures I've ever met.

So, if I gush about Erik on my blog, it's way less than I do with him in person. If anything happened to me today, he would never have to wonder how I felt about him. Now, if that can somehow jinx my relationship, then it probably wasn't a very strong one to begin with.

That same friend said he was worried that I'd get hurt by being so openly happy with Erik. But I'm 42 not 22. I've been in several relationships before, that obviously all ended at some point, and I lived to tell about them. I guess I try not to look at break-ups as failures so much. Those other relationships weren't wasted time. I learned a lot from the people I've spent time with - both good and bad. In the few short months I've spent with Erik, I've already gained so much. On some levels, we are very different people, but we seem to fill in each others gaps. So, if things go sour between us, I will definitely be very sad. I really love Erik and I would miss a lot by not being with him. I'm also a strong person, and I've been single for many, many years. I do just fine on my own, thank you. And I hope that Erik and I would still be friends on some level no matter what happened between us.

I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I can't help being who I am and who I am is an open person, and if I didn't tell people how much I cared for Erik, I can't imagine it would make me any less sad if things didn't work out between us. As Erik said when we first got together and were talking about working on having a healthy relationship, "All we can do is try." And, so I'll continue to be openly happy in my relationship and post all of the things I think are great about him on here. Just like I do with my friends and my family and my daughters. I don't know any other way.

A Harbor in the Tempest

Doesn't it kind of look like cotton in those branches? Very cold, cold cotton.

So, by the time most of you read this it will be that day. I thought I'd shake things up and balance out yesterday's dolphins and rainbows post with a little reality. First, I'll link to my Valentines' Day post from last year, here. What a difference a year makes, huh?

Valentine's Day would have been my mom's 76th birthday and this year I will also turn the age my mom was when she died. When I was younger, I couldn't imagine making it to this age. All those years of living like I was going to die young, are mocking me now.

The other weird thing about this time of year, is that Stinky had meningitis on February 12th when she was five and I spent Valentine's Day that year in the hospital wondering what kind of shape she'd be in if she made it through. I was lucky that my friend T. worked in the hospital back then, and even though she didn't know me that well, she kept me company in Stinky's room after she got off work.

So, I can get a little squirrelly for a few days around this time of the year. Of course, because of Erik's efforts, this weekend should be pretty amazing. This week has been crazy hectic what with all my kid taxi cab duties and two choir concerts, two days in a row. Tomorrow night Stinky will have another movie night for her friends and Coadster and I have a stay at home date where we go in my room with tons of blankets and pillows and chocolate and watch a girl movie together. Then on Friday afternoon, I'm off to meet Erik and some friends and start boozin' and gun shootin' and all the other fun stuff one does in a town called Bourbon, Missouri.

So, for any of those of you who couldn't really get with yesterday's love fest, I'm asking you to allow me a bit of mushiness this pseudo holiday season - you know, just to make up for all those other years.

And Perspective Pushes Through

Here is Stinky's reflection furtively checking out the anatomically correct Superman made from butter at last year's State Fair.

Well, kids. It's been almost a week since I got dumped, and I still feel like I'm riding the sucker's roller coaster. I don't know how many times I've already said it on here before, but I hate the process. I don't want to feel the things I still feel and I just want to be over it all. Is it easier for people to let go who don't have the same abandonment issues I have?

Luckily, this weekend, I had my friends around to keep my mind off of things. I had a little relapse on Saturday, so I was annoyingly distracted that afternoon when we were at the pool and during dinner at The Hamburg Inn. I got over it that night once I had enough alcohol in me, and Sunday wasn't really all that bad either. I went with my friends to see the movie, Stardust and it was excellent escapism. It was just what I needed.

I was a little on the melancholy side today again. I've been trying to be good and work on my projects. Last Thursday, I did that thing that people do sometimes where they buy things to fill a void. And besides the stress of spending the money, I have to say, it worked pretty well and gave me my two current projects. One of the things I bought was an iPod. I even got the thing to stick in my tape player so I can listen to it in the car. It holds thousands more songs than my phone, so I've been obsessive about transferring, downloading, and ripping songs into my iTunes. I'm also still working on my home cleaning and organizing. I've decided to take a room a day, so I don't get so overwhelmed trying to do it all at once, that I just quit. My kitchen, which is bigger than most living rooms, looks amazing right now. I'm afraid to cook in it, for fear of messing it up again. So, I'll be continuing with that, except for Wednesday, when Stinky and I will meet my family at the State Fair and see things made of butter for a day.

I think I'm done with the "going out" portion of the process for a while. I kind of needed to last week, because I was afraid I'd spend too much time wallowing and dwelling and creating REALLY stupid scenarios in my head, if left to my own devices. Now, though, I need to just start delving into the shit, so I can get over it more quickly. I've got my projects, and plenty of comic books, and soon I'll have my own room where I can hang-out by myself and listen to Amy Winehouse, and start the business of getting over myself. Hell, I might even take Stepping Over the Junk's break-up advice and buy myself some fun, sexy underwear to make myself feel better. Hopefully, one of these days I'll be able to slip into my Levi's Movin' On jeans and just keep movin' on.

And Other Peoples, They Have to Work

I know you'll all be surprised to hear that, for once, I don't have much to say tonight. There's a lot of shit going on in my head, (which is never good) that I don't know how to process right now. So, I'm thinking I'll leave it up there to fester and bubble up and turn a nice infected neon green color and hope it all clears up on it's own. That's healthy, right?

I made it through my first day back to work in a week. Mostly, I stayed at my desk and tried not to establish eye contact with any of my co-workers - because it is a proven fact that if you don't see them, they can't see you. I think I was pretty successful, because when I was leaving to go home at the end of the day, one of the women in the front offices said, "Oh, I didn't even know you were here today." I think tomorrow I'll try a cloaking device and continue to fly under everyone's radar. I'd probably be more successful if I weren't so damn loud...

Yeah, that's all I got. I could talk a little about what a jerk my ex was being to my girls and how frustrating that was for me, but it makes me tired to think about and worst of all, it's not the least bit funny, so I'll stop here. Night, night.

Childhood Living is Easy to Do

I guess what I forgot to say yesterday, was that this thing I'm posting today and yesterday was just the first part of a larger piece of crap. So, what I post today probably won't feel like an ending. I don't know if you've realized this about me, but I'm not very good at viewing things in a linear fashion. I've posted stuff months ago that detailed what happened when my dad finally disappeared. This is more like the prequel. Um, so, yeah.

Continued from yesterday:

We start doing this thing we do when we get bored at the track. Me and my brother wrap the bottom of our t-shirts around our arms to make a bag. We walk around the seats and pick up the stubs to the racing tickets and put them in the bags we made. When our bags get too full we take our arms out of our t-shirts and stretch the bottoms really tight. The stubs go flying into the air and we start again. Sometimes this is fun and sometimes it isn't, but we do it anyway. It's like the way I touch the cup of skin between my nose and lip. When I start, it helps me helps me feel better, then after a while my finger gets tired but it's hard to stop. That's what picking up the stubs is like and we keep at it until my Uncle Jack sees us.

"You guys are still here?" He asks and we don't say anything back. Instead we look down because we know we're not supposed to be here. "Maybe you should tell your dad to meet me in my office in ten minutes and we'll go to Riata Pass to eat." He's trying to sound cheerful, but I can tell by the way his jaw is stiff that he's mad.

My brother is going to tell our father we should go. I would, but I don't want him to be mad at me and my brother doesn't care.

"Hey, Dad," my brother says, but he's too quiet. He clears his throat and tries again. "Dad. Hey, Dad!" He almost yells and my father doesn't move. He just stares out at the racetrack even though there aren't any horses running.

My brother tries once more and my dad doesn't move and I get scared and I'm crying. I yell, "Daddy!" My father doesn't stop staring, but he raises his hand and shoos us away. Now we have to go back to our uncle's office and he will go get our father. We walk slowly, because we're embarrassed. Once I heard my aunt telling my grandma about how she saw my dad staring for hours and the way she said it let me know that he shouldn't do that. On the way to Uncle Jack's office, I ask my brother, "Why does he do that? What's wrong with him?"

"Who cares. He's dumb. Why do you even care?" My brother is flicking his middle finger against thumb the way he does when he hates my dad, so I don't say anything else.

I Look through My Window So Bright

Just in case you were wondering, Stinky is still obsessively taking pictures of herself making goofy faces. Because in this house, we are nothing if not obsessive.

After work, I went to the memorial service for my friend's brother. It was very well done, but heartbreakingly sad. It was also extremely crowded. Again, I saw a lot of people who I either only talk to when they message me on Myspace or not at all. It sucks that it takes something tragic to get us all out of our lairs, but I'm just as guilty as everyone else.

At the end of the service, they invited people to come up and speak. Because he was only thirty when he died, his brother got up and talked about just what a lifetime meant and he was right on. My lifetime could be eighty years or it could be forty-one. My dad disappeared when he was 36 and my mom died at 43. I've been aware from a very early age that my odds are not that good.

When I was younger, I prepared myself and lived my life like I was going to die young. It was great until I was almost thirty and still alive. Then it hit me that the universe's terrible joke on me, would be to let me live until I was very old and all my earlier non-planning would really fuck me up good. So, I got more responsible and landed a job that would give me retirement benefits and as an extra bonus, gave me much to be resentful about as well. I left my controlling/abusive husband and lived my life like I might actually be around long enough to feel the effects of all the stupid shit I did in my twenties.

Now, however, when I attend funerals for people who died too young, it makes me ask myself that one ominous question: If I died tomorrow, what would make me happy about how I lived my life and what would piss me off? I can honestly think of a lot of things that I'm okay with. I think what I really need to work on is not spazzing as my initial reaction to any stressful situation and to quit obsessing about the things/people/situations I can't have, instead of being happy with what's here. And if this time of reflection is like all my others, I should be really aware of all this for the next day or two, until I slowly forget and start spazzing about all the shit I wish were different in my life.

But I Keep Thinking Something's Bound to Go Wrong

A friend of mine had a little scare today. She called her boyfriend a couple of times last night and his number was busy. She e-mailed him today, and he didn't respond. After his phone was busy again today, she started to worry. It was almost 24 hours without a response. Finally, another friend suggested that there might be a problem with his internet/phone connection. She was absolutely right, and once my friend's boyfriend got his connection back and read some of the frantic e-mails, he called her right away to make sure she knew he was okay. Later, we all joked about the fact that the only reasonable explanation we could think of for him not contacting her, was that he was dead. What else could it be? Both my friend and I have had a worst case scenario happen in our lives, so we have a tendency to assume the worst when given the chance.

The whole incident also got me thinking about my last words with people. Usually, I had no idea I would never speak to that person again. I was ten when my mom died. She woke me up for school and her face was the strangest shade of gray. I remember telling her she didn't look well, and that she should call in sick to work. She told me she didn't have enough sick time left. I have no idea what I said to her after that. Did I tell her I loved her? Did I whine about how much I hated to wake-up? I don't know. She had a stroke on her way to work and I never saw her again.

I think it's the reason I make sure to tell people how I feel about them while they're around. (unless, of course, if I don't like them. Then I try to keep my big yap shut) I don't ever want to have those regrets with anyone else.

The last time I saw my ex-boyfriend Neal, he was sneaking out of his backyard.

"Hey, Neal," I said. He had a bundle of wood under his arm. We had been breaking-up for the last two months and I was moving back to Iowa at the beginning of March.

"Hey. We're having a fire at Charles', and since I didn't see any lights on, I figured it was safe to stop by." He had been staying at his friend Charles' house since he realized he couldn't talk me into staying with him.

"Yeah. My grandma died today. I've been all freaked-out and wandering around the city..." Neal dropped the firewood and gave me a hug.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't stay, though. It's too hard to be around you when I know you're leaving me."

"You've left me plenty of times before, too."

"Yeah, but I always came back. I know you. Once you get your mind set on something, you won't change it."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Yeah, me too." And he picked-up the bundle of wood and went to his party. The next day, he put all of his stuff into his backpack and hitched his way up the Coast to his dad's house in Seattle. That was the last time I really ever spoke to Neal. I was just glad that I used my last words to apologize to him.

I'll go One-On-One Against the World, Left Handed

So, kids. I've been on the tired side lately. Mostly it's my own fault, because, while I am busy this time of year in general, I still spend too much time either obsessing over stupid shit on the internets, (I'm looking at you YouTube) or just plain dicking around. I thought I might try this new thing called, getting at least four or five hours of sleep in a night to see if it improved my dispostion and my ability to hold a thought for more than two seconds. It seems my attention span went on hiatus, and my severe abandonment issues are causing me to stress out that he will never come back. Sure, he was a little short, but I still miss him all the same. I might have to start tacking up "wanted" posters around the neighborhood to see if anyone has seen him.

Originally, I was going to make this a photo post, but then I couldn't get any photos to upload here. I have no idea what's to blame, whether it's my photo program, or Blogger or the storms on the East Coast, but I'm too tired to figure it out tonight. I might do that thing where I turn the computer off and hope that things magically start working correctly again tomorrow.

So, instead I'm putting up a link to a video. The college kids in my office played it about 87 times in a row, while our bosses were doing performance reviews in another area. It's called "The Landlord", with Will Ferrell. You may have already seen it, but if not, check it out here.

I've also been pondering something else, and I thought I'd see what you all had to say. What happened to the novelty song? You know how in the seventies, there were about a million novelty songs? There was "Dead Skunk" and "Basketball Jones" and "The Funky Worm" and pretty much anything by Ray Stevens. Who is the Ray Stevens of the new millenium? Don't say Paris Hilton either, because she is actually trying to be serious, and she doesn't count.

In case you were wondering, this isn't the kind of thing that's been keeping me up at night, so you don't all need to come running to my house with the commitment papers and a stun gun at the same time. It's just something I thought about for two seconds, before it was gone again.

Come on, Let's See What You've Got

Alas, my computer still isn't working. For the most part, I had to take last night off in order to allow for my daughter chauffering duties.

I e-mailed my friend Gareth and talked to my brother over the phone about my computer woes. They both introduced the concept of a power source problem. If that is the issue, it sounds like it will be kind of costly to remedy, so I definitely want to eliminate all other variables before I call Dell and order whatever it is I need to order to fix it.

Sarcastic Fringehead, who is awesome, has also been encouraging me to contact her boyfriend, and I may get to that point this weekend, if I can't get in touch with my friend, Bob. All this "asking for help" stuff is really hard for me and goes against all of my orphan issues. On any normal day, I like to fool myself into thinking that I'm self-sufficient, but as we are all now witnessing, I am not. There. I said it, and now I have to just suck it up and ask people (who have already offered) for help. That's my plan this weekend, in addition to preparing for the nasty winter storm that should be arriving tonight.

I just want everyone to know, that I appreciate all the suggestions and commiserating and I hope to have the problem fixed in the next week. Then, I can get back to writing about such pertinent subjects as the weather and my expanding mid-section.