September 6, 2008--It looks like fall but feels like Mexico. The Carolinas are sitting ducks as four impending hurricanes dance their way towards the coast. I could go for a little rain.
Time is moving slowly. My boots are marred in river mud and my mind fell out of my pocket about three steps back. This time of year always does this to me. I'm ready for October. I already started packing my summer clothes away, knowing full well I'll be digging them out again within 48 hours. I'm eager to visit my family for a few days. Enjoying conversation in shared physical space with my parents is a simple act I've grown to appreciate. I'm in a calm and happy place now, and am eager to face my hometown in my own skin, without the preoccupation of trying to impress or keep a fast pace or prove myself in numerous fashions.
I always loved my hometown in mid-October, so I've chosen the perfect time for a quick visit. The air will be just cool enough to dissect the smells of burning leaves, and the coffee with hazelnut we'll drink on the patio. My father will be inside in a sweatshirt, listening to a game on the radio with his tumbler of liptons, while my mother will show off her plants and newspaper clippings and other goodies she's been saving up for months to show off to her daughter.
I'll stare at the red house where the Dicksons live, and think about how I used to play under their porch and pick up rocks and how their house smelled like dog and baked apple. Now they are so old they're fragile and it feels like if i hug them too hard they will fold in half like paper dolls. The paint is as fresh and red as when i was five. It will never belong with a different set of occupants, and when that day comes, I will face the strange loss of something permanent crumbling in the skyline of my formative landscape.
The orange fat cat will slip in and out of view, like a person in a dream situation who doesn't belong, but keeps on making appearances.
We'll 'drive to go get a burger' and on the ride, mom will drop nuggets of news about people as we pass their houses or places where important things have happened. We will eat at home around the table and then move into the living room before dad decides to turn in, and mom will stay up to chatter, and then she'll ask my opinion on paint color palettes for the bathroom and she'll go to bed, leaving me to tuck myself in my bed in the room I grew up in. It's a lot more comforting than I gave it credit for. It will be bliss.
Hurry up October.
Album of the Day:
Harvest Moon--Neil Young
Friday, September 12, 2008
August 28, 2008
August 28, 2008--Last night I was restless. This morning, my bladder roused me at 5:30 a.m and I lay quietly until 5:58 a.m., watching the cat watch me from the floor.
At 6am, the sweet, crazy-haired husband and I plodded into the kitchen for strong coffee. I ironed while he watched replay of last night's Democratic Convention coverage.
I'm ready for change I think, but will rest easy with either candidate in the executive seat. Life is about to get interesting.
Today's Mix:
To Live is to Fly--Townes Van Zandt
Simple Twist of Fate--Bob Dylan
Power of Two--The Indigo Girls
Spirit in the Sky--Norm Greenbauch
A Case of You--Joni Mitchell
Starting a new life--Van Morrison
Ripple--Grateful Dead
Over the Hills and Far Away--Led Zeppelin
Sparkle & Shine--Steve Earle
At 6am, the sweet, crazy-haired husband and I plodded into the kitchen for strong coffee. I ironed while he watched replay of last night's Democratic Convention coverage.
I'm ready for change I think, but will rest easy with either candidate in the executive seat. Life is about to get interesting.
Today's Mix:
To Live is to Fly--Townes Van Zandt
Simple Twist of Fate--Bob Dylan
Power of Two--The Indigo Girls
Spirit in the Sky--Norm Greenbauch
A Case of You--Joni Mitchell
Starting a new life--Van Morrison
Ripple--Grateful Dead
Over the Hills and Far Away--Led Zeppelin
Sparkle & Shine--Steve Earle
Losing It
August 28, 2008--Today I decided to become more of a minimalist. The first thing I decided to get rid of: my belly. So at lunch I joined the YMCA downtown and after work I enjoyed my first spin class. Although, the music was not as exciting as I had hoped, Kate was a great instructor and my legs feel like jelly held together with safety pins so I earned my dinner tonight.
Tomorrow, I shall embark on the path to becoming a saver. I will go to the bank at lunch, and after work I will go to the Y and while I spin myself round right round I will ponder all the ways I can pinch pennies.
This is good housecleaning. New Year's in August I say! A toast...to the unpredictable and unconventional. Time for Change! What other resolutions are out there? Oh yes, nothing white and only flat bread. I need to go back to that.
Tomorrow, I shall embark on the path to becoming a saver. I will go to the bank at lunch, and after work I will go to the Y and while I spin myself round right round I will ponder all the ways I can pinch pennies.
This is good housecleaning. New Year's in August I say! A toast...to the unpredictable and unconventional. Time for Change! What other resolutions are out there? Oh yes, nothing white and only flat bread. I need to go back to that.
Lucky Sevens
August 13, 2008--
It is with great sadness that I report that the world's tallest woman has passed. Sandy Allen, the 7 -foot 7-inch Indianan has bounded through those pearly gates. I spent a moment in silence for you, sister of the stilts.
Godspeed.
Song Dedication: Long Tall Sally
It is with great sadness that I report that the world's tallest woman has passed. Sandy Allen, the 7 -foot 7-inch Indianan has bounded through those pearly gates. I spent a moment in silence for you, sister of the stilts.
Godspeed.
Song Dedication: Long Tall Sally
Simple Chaos
August 12, 2008--I've been very absent from this place. This little blog shack that was supposed to be my shelter from the storm on cloudy, thunderboomer days that are perfect for writing or crying. Where have I been? Oh don't ask that. I don't think I know where to start. Let me think.
During the past bit I have moved to a wonderful historic and giant purple duplex closer to downtown and to Raleigh's entire homeless population. The night of my move, 2 nice ladies pulled up to me as I was moving boxes from my car, offering up a rare treat---a giant bottle of Elizabeth Arden Red Door--at a discounted rate. It seems they were hungry and needed gas at 1 in the morning. Of course. When I declined (I don't wear perfume I said--and I don't, I'm more of a sandalwood balm-type of girl) they basically told me to give them 'some dollars,' which I didn't have. But it was awful nice of them to offer to take that burden off my hands. Another man wanted bus fare but wouldnt take the pizza I offered him. SInce when did these characters become so brazen?
At this pace, I'll never summarize my happenings, so sit back and here we go in my nutshell: I moved in the night of July 31--a Thursday-- unpacked until 2am. At work by 9, home by 5:30. It was a little warm in the new place, the lights wouldn't turn on. Are all of the light bulbs blown? no. check the fusebox. shit. Power's off. husband calls Progress Energy. Husband curses, goes outside. Husband says elderly parents are on respirator and need electricity to plug in. (husband lied). Progress doesn't care. No service call until Monday. Out come the candles, spray bottles (did I mention the 104 degree heat?), cold beer, and attitudes. Old friend from hometown by way of New York stops in Raleigh for job interview and for drinks on the porch and to sweat it out with us, and husband's friend. New neighbors pop in. We head downtown to enjoy some nightlife, drink some Smithwicks, dance some jigs, and walk it out like Fosse's Mexican Breakfast Remix. Burning late-night calories on downtown sidewalks is my favorite. We come home late, cool cabby. cheap fare. Friend goes back to hotel. Get up, go to coffee shop, do a little work on computer. Go home. Hot. Go to pub for lunch, have beer and burger. Lots of ice water. Go home. Hot. Weekend passes slowly with no electricity. How did the cavemen live like that? How did they live like that in the 1900s? The 10pm drafts sure were nice (from both the pub and the open windows) but 7am comes early and hot in a Southern Fried August. Even the cats were hot, sleeping on coolers and under beds, like little rugs you're not allowed to step on.
Early the next week I rolled right into my hospitality persona as we host our Annual golf tournament and conference at lovely Pinehurst--home of golf. It's so much nicer to visit than to actually live there. Who knew? The Carolina Hotel stay was a nice perk. Spent one morning on the green witnessing potential hole-in-one--no one made one, but I gave out free beer tickets which won me some new friends. Smiled a lot, assisted, chatted it up, made people feel welcome, took photos, ate, drank, passed out handouts, went home. Passed out. Slept through the weekend. Did a little yoga. Watched opening ceremonies for the 2008 Olympics---wondered how one man could choreograph such a wonderous feat. Wondered how the suits were timed with all those tiny lights. Wondered what was for dinner. Walked with husband to cobblestone section of town to Vic's for some real hand-tossed pizza and enjoyed the musical stylings of Carmine the Crooner. Got freaked out by mobsters at table nine and swiftly departed. Saw The Dark Knight. Was not impressed. Thought Heath looked like Mary Kate. Creepy. Give me some Sundance flix and wine anytime over that razzmatazz. Wished my dad happy birthday. Talked to my wondertwin. Cleaned up the new pad, which I've decided IS the Octopus' Garden in the shade. Watched more Olympics. Ate some salad. Thanked God that my last name isn't Rectanus. Talked to girlfriend from UGA by way of Newport News who went on surreal German adventure with me in 2006. A new Chapel Hill resident, we are back in close quarters. Perfect for reinstating long happy hours and good talks.
Tonight we visit on the front porch of the Octopus' Garden in the shade, with fresh air, electricity, husband, husband's sitar playing friend, cool cats, and general merriment on cobblestone streets before us. And a toast: Here's to not being a Rectanus.
Today's Songlist :
1. Particle Man--They Might be Giants
2. Heat Wave--Martha & The Vandelles
3. Paint it Black--The Rolling Stones
4. Hobo's Lullabye--Woody Guthrie
5. Beautiful People--Marilyn Manson
6. Mariella--Kate Nash
7. My Way--Frank Sinatra
8. Mexican Breakfast--Bob Fosse
9. Octopus' Garden--The Beatles
10. My Moon, My Man--Feist
During the past bit I have moved to a wonderful historic and giant purple duplex closer to downtown and to Raleigh's entire homeless population. The night of my move, 2 nice ladies pulled up to me as I was moving boxes from my car, offering up a rare treat---a giant bottle of Elizabeth Arden Red Door--at a discounted rate. It seems they were hungry and needed gas at 1 in the morning. Of course. When I declined (I don't wear perfume I said--and I don't, I'm more of a sandalwood balm-type of girl) they basically told me to give them 'some dollars,' which I didn't have. But it was awful nice of them to offer to take that burden off my hands. Another man wanted bus fare but wouldnt take the pizza I offered him. SInce when did these characters become so brazen?
At this pace, I'll never summarize my happenings, so sit back and here we go in my nutshell: I moved in the night of July 31--a Thursday-- unpacked until 2am. At work by 9, home by 5:30. It was a little warm in the new place, the lights wouldn't turn on. Are all of the light bulbs blown? no. check the fusebox. shit. Power's off. husband calls Progress Energy. Husband curses, goes outside. Husband says elderly parents are on respirator and need electricity to plug in. (husband lied). Progress doesn't care. No service call until Monday. Out come the candles, spray bottles (did I mention the 104 degree heat?), cold beer, and attitudes. Old friend from hometown by way of New York stops in Raleigh for job interview and for drinks on the porch and to sweat it out with us, and husband's friend. New neighbors pop in. We head downtown to enjoy some nightlife, drink some Smithwicks, dance some jigs, and walk it out like Fosse's Mexican Breakfast Remix. Burning late-night calories on downtown sidewalks is my favorite. We come home late, cool cabby. cheap fare. Friend goes back to hotel. Get up, go to coffee shop, do a little work on computer. Go home. Hot. Go to pub for lunch, have beer and burger. Lots of ice water. Go home. Hot. Weekend passes slowly with no electricity. How did the cavemen live like that? How did they live like that in the 1900s? The 10pm drafts sure were nice (from both the pub and the open windows) but 7am comes early and hot in a Southern Fried August. Even the cats were hot, sleeping on coolers and under beds, like little rugs you're not allowed to step on.
Early the next week I rolled right into my hospitality persona as we host our Annual golf tournament and conference at lovely Pinehurst--home of golf. It's so much nicer to visit than to actually live there. Who knew? The Carolina Hotel stay was a nice perk. Spent one morning on the green witnessing potential hole-in-one--no one made one, but I gave out free beer tickets which won me some new friends. Smiled a lot, assisted, chatted it up, made people feel welcome, took photos, ate, drank, passed out handouts, went home. Passed out. Slept through the weekend. Did a little yoga. Watched opening ceremonies for the 2008 Olympics---wondered how one man could choreograph such a wonderous feat. Wondered how the suits were timed with all those tiny lights. Wondered what was for dinner. Walked with husband to cobblestone section of town to Vic's for some real hand-tossed pizza and enjoyed the musical stylings of Carmine the Crooner. Got freaked out by mobsters at table nine and swiftly departed. Saw The Dark Knight. Was not impressed. Thought Heath looked like Mary Kate. Creepy. Give me some Sundance flix and wine anytime over that razzmatazz. Wished my dad happy birthday. Talked to my wondertwin. Cleaned up the new pad, which I've decided IS the Octopus' Garden in the shade. Watched more Olympics. Ate some salad. Thanked God that my last name isn't Rectanus. Talked to girlfriend from UGA by way of Newport News who went on surreal German adventure with me in 2006. A new Chapel Hill resident, we are back in close quarters. Perfect for reinstating long happy hours and good talks.
Tonight we visit on the front porch of the Octopus' Garden in the shade, with fresh air, electricity, husband, husband's sitar playing friend, cool cats, and general merriment on cobblestone streets before us. And a toast: Here's to not being a Rectanus.
Today's Songlist :
1. Particle Man--They Might be Giants
2. Heat Wave--Martha & The Vandelles
3. Paint it Black--The Rolling Stones
4. Hobo's Lullabye--Woody Guthrie
5. Beautiful People--Marilyn Manson
6. Mariella--Kate Nash
7. My Way--Frank Sinatra
8. Mexican Breakfast--Bob Fosse
9. Octopus' Garden--The Beatles
10. My Moon, My Man--Feist
Ten Reasons I've Been Away from My Keyboard
July 10, 2008--
In the past three weeks, I've:
1. Enjoyed a night of Kirtan chants at the Unitarian Church in Durham. Krishna Das puts on a mighty fine show--and my soul got clean... Sita Ram. Sita Ram Sita Ram!
2. Had another lunch date with my urologist. I think he grew bored of my urine and hasn't called back. It's been two weeks now. Do you think he's through with me?
3. Relaxed in Nags Head for a few days with lots of food, fun and family. And dolphins. I think the dolphins enjoyed us as much as we enjoyed them. Karen (crazy sister) immediately jumped in and slapped the water like Bud used to on Flipper. I don't think wild dolphins understand that code.
4. Planned a lunch date with a local gynecologist. I can't wait for her to crack open this treasure chest and see what barnacles need to be scraped off my hinges. Let's just pray it won't hurt or involve big syringes.
5. Decided that if I lose my uterus, fallopian tubes or an ovary---I'll always have the option for ethiopian babies, which will give husband Rob some serious running competition. Plus, there will finally be someone in my family with hair thick enough for tiny corn rows.
6. Moved office locations, and strengthened my biceps in the process.
7. Secured a new rental house for our temporary settlement. It's large and purple (think giant squid) and has all new flooring, and granite countertops. My biceps will be huge.
8. Played host over the Fourth to our favorite couple--Sara and Gerard from Atlanta by way of UCONN. We laughed, we ate, we had family game night, and we drank. and drank and drank.
a. After a hearty round of Apples to Apples, Clue, and Twenty Questions, we saddled up for the second attempt of walking to the fireworks show at the state fairgrounds but plans were thwarted by rain yet again so we found ourselves taking refuge from the storm at a sad little bar (appropriately, Sadlocks Heroes) listening to really good bluegrass and watching the local homeless offer up some unfortunate dance moves. (Random sidenote, this bar was playing a Bicycleface album inside where only a few homeless regulars gathered-- a very very obscure blast from the circa-92 Atlanta past. My husband associates with one of the bandmembers, who is thoroughly amused at this special tribute) The PBR was cold enough to feed our spirits to feel up for a little 2 mile walk in the rain to my favorite Irish haunt Tir na Nog for some Smithwicks and fussball----which swiftly progressed into Ketel One-and-Waters, Guinness, and somehow Mind Erasers and Red Bull & Vodkas. I immediately put on my imaginary leg warmers and flash dance sweatshirt and totally showed up the sorority girls trying to grind on their meatsticks of choice that evening, by tripping them, pulling their hair when they weren't looking and making fun of them behind their backs in every way possible. I don't know why I'm such a spiteful drunk, but I always have fun with myself, and bad 80s bands everywhere are slightly amused at the idiot who doesn't care about what her version of the Safety Dance looks like. Hopefully I didn't embarrass my guests too much, but they stuck around for breakfast so they must still be our friends despite my heavily abusive nature. Following the closing of the bar, we accepted a ride from the nicest cabby ever, good ole Howard Johnson from Alabama by way of 7 other states including Ohio. Approximately 3am, Gerard was in the kitchen getting in touch with his Italian side by mixing up a delicious post-stout meal of garlic-infused pasta tossed with fresh mozzarella, black eyed peas, black olives, and sriracha chili paste (i think). I have no idea how, but it worked. He's the maestro. Backdropped by a late late late night viewing of The Big Chill, it was the perfect close to the perfect random happening.
b. Just for your personal knowledge, I'd like to include reference to the fact that we're not just alcoholics. The weekend was also full of city touring, trips to the Art Museum, Oakwood Cemetery, first rate dining at Mellow Mushroom, Players Retreat, Carolina Cafe & Bakery, book and poetry reviews, as well as some historical and geological educational experiences at the Gem and Mineral show at Dorton Arena. Yeah baby, we're nerds too. So top that.
9. I washed my cat's butt last night.
10. Still organizing the Raleigh Chapter of 'Save a Turtle...It Feels Good.' So far a coworker has joined my cause. Don't you want to? You'll get a Tshirt. Just let me know.
Today's Playlist:
1. Proud Mary--Tina & Ike Turner
2. Green River--Creedence Clearwater Revival
3. Spirit in the Sky---Norman Greenbaum
4. Jessie's Girl--Rick Springfield
5. Busy Being Fabulous--The Eagles
6. Subterranean Homesick Blues--Bob Dylan
7. Knock 'em Out--Lily Allen
8-9. Mariella & Merry Happy---Kate Nash
10.Spill the Wine--WAR w/Eric Burdon
In the past three weeks, I've:
1. Enjoyed a night of Kirtan chants at the Unitarian Church in Durham. Krishna Das puts on a mighty fine show--and my soul got clean... Sita Ram. Sita Ram Sita Ram!
2. Had another lunch date with my urologist. I think he grew bored of my urine and hasn't called back. It's been two weeks now. Do you think he's through with me?
3. Relaxed in Nags Head for a few days with lots of food, fun and family. And dolphins. I think the dolphins enjoyed us as much as we enjoyed them. Karen (crazy sister) immediately jumped in and slapped the water like Bud used to on Flipper. I don't think wild dolphins understand that code.
4. Planned a lunch date with a local gynecologist. I can't wait for her to crack open this treasure chest and see what barnacles need to be scraped off my hinges. Let's just pray it won't hurt or involve big syringes.
5. Decided that if I lose my uterus, fallopian tubes or an ovary---I'll always have the option for ethiopian babies, which will give husband Rob some serious running competition. Plus, there will finally be someone in my family with hair thick enough for tiny corn rows.
6. Moved office locations, and strengthened my biceps in the process.
7. Secured a new rental house for our temporary settlement. It's large and purple (think giant squid) and has all new flooring, and granite countertops. My biceps will be huge.
8. Played host over the Fourth to our favorite couple--Sara and Gerard from Atlanta by way of UCONN. We laughed, we ate, we had family game night, and we drank. and drank and drank.
a. After a hearty round of Apples to Apples, Clue, and Twenty Questions, we saddled up for the second attempt of walking to the fireworks show at the state fairgrounds but plans were thwarted by rain yet again so we found ourselves taking refuge from the storm at a sad little bar (appropriately, Sadlocks Heroes) listening to really good bluegrass and watching the local homeless offer up some unfortunate dance moves. (Random sidenote, this bar was playing a Bicycleface album inside where only a few homeless regulars gathered-- a very very obscure blast from the circa-92 Atlanta past. My husband associates with one of the bandmembers, who is thoroughly amused at this special tribute) The PBR was cold enough to feed our spirits to feel up for a little 2 mile walk in the rain to my favorite Irish haunt Tir na Nog for some Smithwicks and fussball----which swiftly progressed into Ketel One-and-Waters, Guinness, and somehow Mind Erasers and Red Bull & Vodkas. I immediately put on my imaginary leg warmers and flash dance sweatshirt and totally showed up the sorority girls trying to grind on their meatsticks of choice that evening, by tripping them, pulling their hair when they weren't looking and making fun of them behind their backs in every way possible. I don't know why I'm such a spiteful drunk, but I always have fun with myself, and bad 80s bands everywhere are slightly amused at the idiot who doesn't care about what her version of the Safety Dance looks like. Hopefully I didn't embarrass my guests too much, but they stuck around for breakfast so they must still be our friends despite my heavily abusive nature. Following the closing of the bar, we accepted a ride from the nicest cabby ever, good ole Howard Johnson from Alabama by way of 7 other states including Ohio. Approximately 3am, Gerard was in the kitchen getting in touch with his Italian side by mixing up a delicious post-stout meal of garlic-infused pasta tossed with fresh mozzarella, black eyed peas, black olives, and sriracha chili paste (i think). I have no idea how, but it worked. He's the maestro. Backdropped by a late late late night viewing of The Big Chill, it was the perfect close to the perfect random happening.
b. Just for your personal knowledge, I'd like to include reference to the fact that we're not just alcoholics. The weekend was also full of city touring, trips to the Art Museum, Oakwood Cemetery, first rate dining at Mellow Mushroom, Players Retreat, Carolina Cafe & Bakery, book and poetry reviews, as well as some historical and geological educational experiences at the Gem and Mineral show at Dorton Arena. Yeah baby, we're nerds too. So top that.
9. I washed my cat's butt last night.
10. Still organizing the Raleigh Chapter of 'Save a Turtle...It Feels Good.' So far a coworker has joined my cause. Don't you want to? You'll get a Tshirt. Just let me know.
Today's Playlist:
1. Proud Mary--Tina & Ike Turner
2. Green River--Creedence Clearwater Revival
3. Spirit in the Sky---Norman Greenbaum
4. Jessie's Girl--Rick Springfield
5. Busy Being Fabulous--The Eagles
6. Subterranean Homesick Blues--Bob Dylan
7. Knock 'em Out--Lily Allen
8-9. Mariella & Merry Happy---Kate Nash
10.Spill the Wine--WAR w/Eric Burdon
I want my mama...
June 23, 2008--Today is Monday. I passed a kidney stone last Thursday and I still feel like ass warmed over.
I'm trying to ride out the storm, but it's likely that I'll end up at the urologist, something akin to a probing alien. I'm not keen on doctors, and I'm even less keen on doctors that go poking around on bladders, ureters, or anything perceived as fragile and tubelike.
Frankly, I'm a perfect candidate for one of those stupid girls who has a baby on the bathroom floor, just because I didn't know better.
I'll probably hold off on the urologist until I'm back from the Outer Banks, just so I can see if I live up to this:
Also, I've been having really strange dreams again. It started Friday when my troubled mind conjured up a lovely scene, where I was on an elevator in the tallest building in the world (kindof like Charlie & the Chocolate Factory as Robby pointed out) and my stomach kept dropping (probably the kidney stones moving along) and it became clear to me that we were halfway to the moon, and If we could only figure out a way to get the top of the elevator off then we could simply astral project. Right on.
In another episode of my head, I was pregnant and Robby was in the super secret service. And while he was off completing super secret missions, I found his super secret service handbook and realized he was in real trouble because he was neither organized or prompt--and he didn't own a trench coat--the first three mandates in the rulebook. So as I proceed with labor (I'm certain it's the kidney stones again), I'm all alone, except for his mother, who happens to be Pat Benetar. When the time came, I hit her with my best shot and delivered a very tiny bundle of joy. Off I go to another room to put on my pre-pregnancy clothes and freshen up a bit, and when I return, the baby had been cleaned and much to my dismay..unmistakably a kitten. I awoke thinking, Robby's going to shit when he realizes our child is a cat.
Final F'd up dream entry: Robby and I were driving about looking for new homes to rent and when we arrived at our noon appointment, this man in a purple cloak and dark long hair (very Ozzy) comes around the corner, and when he gets closer to us, I notice that he has a cotton nose like an Indian chief, that is a much darker flesh color than the rest of his face. That was hard to overlook even in non-reality. As he's showing us the house, Robby morphs into my mother, and it is she that will be renting the house with me and not my husband. She immediately begins to bicker about something, which escalates into a huge argument, not much to my surprise. The strangest element of all: Chief Cotton Nose planned on renting the room to us furnished. And his sheets of choice were white with pink rosebuds -- like the Laura Ashley sheets every girl my age had growing up. Ozzy, who knew?
Today's Playlist:
1. Fever--Peggy Lee
2. You Shook Me--AC/DC
3.Hey You--Pink Floyd
4. Mama, Yo Quiero--Ambrose & His Orchestra
5. Do You Really Want to Hurt Me--Culture Club
6. Love Child---Diana Ross
7. Apache--Tommy Seebach
8. And it Stoned Me--Van Morrison
I'm trying to ride out the storm, but it's likely that I'll end up at the urologist, something akin to a probing alien. I'm not keen on doctors, and I'm even less keen on doctors that go poking around on bladders, ureters, or anything perceived as fragile and tubelike.
Frankly, I'm a perfect candidate for one of those stupid girls who has a baby on the bathroom floor, just because I didn't know better.
I'll probably hold off on the urologist until I'm back from the Outer Banks, just so I can see if I live up to this:
Also, I've been having really strange dreams again. It started Friday when my troubled mind conjured up a lovely scene, where I was on an elevator in the tallest building in the world (kindof like Charlie & the Chocolate Factory as Robby pointed out) and my stomach kept dropping (probably the kidney stones moving along) and it became clear to me that we were halfway to the moon, and If we could only figure out a way to get the top of the elevator off then we could simply astral project. Right on.
In another episode of my head, I was pregnant and Robby was in the super secret service. And while he was off completing super secret missions, I found his super secret service handbook and realized he was in real trouble because he was neither organized or prompt--and he didn't own a trench coat--the first three mandates in the rulebook. So as I proceed with labor (I'm certain it's the kidney stones again), I'm all alone, except for his mother, who happens to be Pat Benetar. When the time came, I hit her with my best shot and delivered a very tiny bundle of joy. Off I go to another room to put on my pre-pregnancy clothes and freshen up a bit, and when I return, the baby had been cleaned and much to my dismay..unmistakably a kitten. I awoke thinking, Robby's going to shit when he realizes our child is a cat.
Final F'd up dream entry: Robby and I were driving about looking for new homes to rent and when we arrived at our noon appointment, this man in a purple cloak and dark long hair (very Ozzy) comes around the corner, and when he gets closer to us, I notice that he has a cotton nose like an Indian chief, that is a much darker flesh color than the rest of his face. That was hard to overlook even in non-reality. As he's showing us the house, Robby morphs into my mother, and it is she that will be renting the house with me and not my husband. She immediately begins to bicker about something, which escalates into a huge argument, not much to my surprise. The strangest element of all: Chief Cotton Nose planned on renting the room to us furnished. And his sheets of choice were white with pink rosebuds -- like the Laura Ashley sheets every girl my age had growing up. Ozzy, who knew?
Today's Playlist:
1. Fever--Peggy Lee
2. You Shook Me--AC/DC
3.Hey You--Pink Floyd
4. Mama, Yo Quiero--Ambrose & His Orchestra
5. Do You Really Want to Hurt Me--Culture Club
6. Love Child---Diana Ross
7. Apache--Tommy Seebach
8. And it Stoned Me--Van Morrison
Paying it Forward
June 18, 2008--Yesterday I was too worn out from an exciting day of software conferencing (more hair gel and flowbie action in that room than I've ever seen) and good deeds to even consider gloating in print.
Here's a quick 48-hour run down before I get down to real business and tell you how I saved somebody's life:
Monday I threw myself mercifully into an eight-hour work day, and I also found a wayward set of wedding rings in the bathroom, which were promptly returned to their rightful owner ( 1 point Instant Karma), thanks to my quick thinking and handy post-it note that read "If you lost something, I have it. Find me in Suite 150." The rings belonged to the cleaning lady, and she was really excited that I had her tokens of true love. I was really excited that I had the chance to play Lord of the Rings for an hour or so.To complete my day of philanthropy, I drove through a few shopping center parking lots on the way home from work, waving people across so they felt a revived sense that some people do indeed yield for pedestrians (Instant Karma points 3, 4 and 5). One guy actually looked like he might ask me on a date he was so shocked by a random act of consideration. But maybe he was just confused because I also waved him across a previous parking lot drive-by.
No-doubt, Tuesday is the frosting of my dayplanner cupcake for the week marked June 15-21. It kicked off with a super fun 8 am meeting, chock-full of strategic insight and ideas on how the organization can leverage its assets. (I spent the rest of the conference call fighting the urge to say 'Leverage up on these assets' so I'm not sure where we left off as we adjourned). Here's where my life's about to change.
At 10:30 am I am speeding down Hillsborough Street--running late for the flowbie convention in Durham---chatting on the phone with Melanie (think Gayle and Oprah here. This won't be the last mention of her as adventures tend to find us when we're together) as I'm closely observing the piece of tire rubber lying on the I-40 entrance-ramp that I'm about to roll over, which is beginning to look like some sort of creature-'OH SHIT IT"S A TURTLE!'--I think was my exact exclamatory phrase. My next immediate thought was What the hell kind of tail was on that thing? A dinosaur's? By the time I got to the top of the ramp, my conscience was screaming at me to pull off the road. I got off the phone with Mel--who happens to be the queen of turtle rescue in Arkansas--and prepared myself to either do my civic critter duty or be totally grossed out. I never ready to deal with anything freshly smashed. It took me forever to navigate downhill in heels but when I made it to the bottom--there she sat. Not happy about having to put her feet out on the hot asphalt, so she was pretty much on a suicide mission. Oh shit here we go, I exhaled.
Here I am hunkered over in the middle of the lane, turtle tucked safe between my feet as I'm sticking my hands out into traffic like the fashion police. I could almost read the mouths of people screaming 'stupid girl' and 'idiot' in their cars as they roared past. Almost on cue, this black jag pulls up and idles caddy cornered (traffic starts to back up) and this gaggle of the nicest white trash ladies start telling me that snapping turtles are mean and will bite me. No shit Sheila. And this particular individual has 100-degree asphalt feet, is probably thirsty, scared and could use a good bath, judging from the algae hanging off her shell.
I explained quickly that I wasn't going to let it sit out in the road, so they promise to handle the traffic while I transport the snapper to safey. A lot easier said than done. As I try to pick her up again and again she keeps slipping out of my grasp because she's so slimy. And then she starts hissing at me, and then when I get my hands under her shell she pushes up with some strong ass legs and starts freaking me out, so the jag committee tells me just to kick her across the road. Which sounds really bad, but my shoes ended up being the perfect shape to wedge under her shell and give her a little boost, which forced her to take three steps. So I did this little boot, scoot n boogy until she was safe and sound back at the edge of the road, where I'm assuming her bog is located.
All said, the process maybe took three minutes. So sorry for the inconvenience folks. And thanks nice jaguar ladies. If I knew where to find you I'd buy you a carton of Winston Reds. Afterall, it takes a village to raise a child, a turtle and an idiot like me.
After the fact, I had to do my ritual google as a tribute to my reptile sister. Here's what I found:
Common Snapping Turtle: Chelydra serpentina An adult usually weighs between 10 and 30 pounds but some will become well over 50 pounds. Unlike other turtles, snappers seldom leave their aquatic home, they rarely even come out to bask. Around the middle of June plus or minus a week, The females emerge to find and dig a place to lay their eggs. The eggs are slightly smaller than ping-pong balls, 20-40 perfectly round white eggs will be laid. This is one of the few times that Snappers will leave the water so they are frightened and easily angered-a large turtle seen at this time of year is best left alone. If the the Summer is hot, the eggs will hatch in late August or early September. If the Summer is cool the babies sometimes hatch but often remain in the nest until the following spring.
So now I'm totally feeling badass. Not only did I save one turtle, but I save 20-40 of her unborn children. (That's like the Instant Karma jackpot!). It's the middle of June so she was surely headed to the median to lay her eggs. What a bad idea, turtle lady. I hope she understands I was trying to help her. And if you're from Raleigh, please, NO SPEEDING near I-40 in August as it could likely be a crossing for snapper hatchlings, and I might not be there to supervise.
Moral of the story: Save a turtle. It feels good.
Playlist of the Day:
1. Road Block--Big Brother & The Holding Company
2. Keep it Light Enough to Travel--Be Good Tanyas
3. Send Me on My Way--Rusted Root
4. Shambala--Three Dog Night
5. Take Me in Your Arms (Rock Me a Little While)--Kim Weston
6. Instant Karma--John Lennon
7. Handle with Care--Traveling WIlburies
8. Don't Come Around Here No More--Tom Petty
9. I Shall Be Released--Bob Dylan
10. Thunder Road--Bruce Springsteen
11. Goin Down the Road Feelin Bad--Grateful Dead
12. Traveling Without Moving--Jamiroquai
13. Gimme Three Steps--Lynyrd Skynyrd
14. Ride On--Little Axe
Here's a quick 48-hour run down before I get down to real business and tell you how I saved somebody's life:
Monday I threw myself mercifully into an eight-hour work day, and I also found a wayward set of wedding rings in the bathroom, which were promptly returned to their rightful owner ( 1 point Instant Karma), thanks to my quick thinking and handy post-it note that read "If you lost something, I have it. Find me in Suite 150." The rings belonged to the cleaning lady, and she was really excited that I had her tokens of true love. I was really excited that I had the chance to play Lord of the Rings for an hour or so.To complete my day of philanthropy, I drove through a few shopping center parking lots on the way home from work, waving people across so they felt a revived sense that some people do indeed yield for pedestrians (Instant Karma points 3, 4 and 5). One guy actually looked like he might ask me on a date he was so shocked by a random act of consideration. But maybe he was just confused because I also waved him across a previous parking lot drive-by.
No-doubt, Tuesday is the frosting of my dayplanner cupcake for the week marked June 15-21. It kicked off with a super fun 8 am meeting, chock-full of strategic insight and ideas on how the organization can leverage its assets. (I spent the rest of the conference call fighting the urge to say 'Leverage up on these assets' so I'm not sure where we left off as we adjourned). Here's where my life's about to change.
At 10:30 am I am speeding down Hillsborough Street--running late for the flowbie convention in Durham---chatting on the phone with Melanie (think Gayle and Oprah here. This won't be the last mention of her as adventures tend to find us when we're together) as I'm closely observing the piece of tire rubber lying on the I-40 entrance-ramp that I'm about to roll over, which is beginning to look like some sort of creature-'OH SHIT IT"S A TURTLE!'--I think was my exact exclamatory phrase. My next immediate thought was What the hell kind of tail was on that thing? A dinosaur's? By the time I got to the top of the ramp, my conscience was screaming at me to pull off the road. I got off the phone with Mel--who happens to be the queen of turtle rescue in Arkansas--and prepared myself to either do my civic critter duty or be totally grossed out. I never ready to deal with anything freshly smashed. It took me forever to navigate downhill in heels but when I made it to the bottom--there she sat. Not happy about having to put her feet out on the hot asphalt, so she was pretty much on a suicide mission. Oh shit here we go, I exhaled.
Here I am hunkered over in the middle of the lane, turtle tucked safe between my feet as I'm sticking my hands out into traffic like the fashion police. I could almost read the mouths of people screaming 'stupid girl' and 'idiot' in their cars as they roared past. Almost on cue, this black jag pulls up and idles caddy cornered (traffic starts to back up) and this gaggle of the nicest white trash ladies start telling me that snapping turtles are mean and will bite me. No shit Sheila. And this particular individual has 100-degree asphalt feet, is probably thirsty, scared and could use a good bath, judging from the algae hanging off her shell.
I explained quickly that I wasn't going to let it sit out in the road, so they promise to handle the traffic while I transport the snapper to safey. A lot easier said than done. As I try to pick her up again and again she keeps slipping out of my grasp because she's so slimy. And then she starts hissing at me, and then when I get my hands under her shell she pushes up with some strong ass legs and starts freaking me out, so the jag committee tells me just to kick her across the road. Which sounds really bad, but my shoes ended up being the perfect shape to wedge under her shell and give her a little boost, which forced her to take three steps. So I did this little boot, scoot n boogy until she was safe and sound back at the edge of the road, where I'm assuming her bog is located.
All said, the process maybe took three minutes. So sorry for the inconvenience folks. And thanks nice jaguar ladies. If I knew where to find you I'd buy you a carton of Winston Reds. Afterall, it takes a village to raise a child, a turtle and an idiot like me.
After the fact, I had to do my ritual google as a tribute to my reptile sister. Here's what I found:
Common Snapping Turtle: Chelydra serpentina An adult usually weighs between 10 and 30 pounds but some will become well over 50 pounds. Unlike other turtles, snappers seldom leave their aquatic home, they rarely even come out to bask. Around the middle of June plus or minus a week, The females emerge to find and dig a place to lay their eggs. The eggs are slightly smaller than ping-pong balls, 20-40 perfectly round white eggs will be laid. This is one of the few times that Snappers will leave the water so they are frightened and easily angered-a large turtle seen at this time of year is best left alone. If the the Summer is hot, the eggs will hatch in late August or early September. If the Summer is cool the babies sometimes hatch but often remain in the nest until the following spring.
So now I'm totally feeling badass. Not only did I save one turtle, but I save 20-40 of her unborn children. (That's like the Instant Karma jackpot!). It's the middle of June so she was surely headed to the median to lay her eggs. What a bad idea, turtle lady. I hope she understands I was trying to help her. And if you're from Raleigh, please, NO SPEEDING near I-40 in August as it could likely be a crossing for snapper hatchlings, and I might not be there to supervise.
Moral of the story: Save a turtle. It feels good.
Playlist of the Day:
1. Road Block--Big Brother & The Holding Company
2. Keep it Light Enough to Travel--Be Good Tanyas
3. Send Me on My Way--Rusted Root
4. Shambala--Three Dog Night
5. Take Me in Your Arms (Rock Me a Little While)--Kim Weston
6. Instant Karma--John Lennon
7. Handle with Care--Traveling WIlburies
8. Don't Come Around Here No More--Tom Petty
9. I Shall Be Released--Bob Dylan
10. Thunder Road--Bruce Springsteen
11. Goin Down the Road Feelin Bad--Grateful Dead
12. Traveling Without Moving--Jamiroquai
13. Gimme Three Steps--Lynyrd Skynyrd
14. Ride On--Little Axe
Piddlers Unite
June 16, 2008--This is really no excuse for my second official blog entry, but upon my return from a skin-of-my-teeth bathroom break (out of nowhere my bladder almost gave way. Aren't I too young for this ? Do they make some sort of street shoe version of Depends for career women always on-the-go?), I am completely relating to my cat, who pees a lot, but more than that, has some sort of gland issue. Anal gland. TMI, I'm sure. But it's time for me to address her sensitive issue, publicly, and without shame.
Penny Lane (doesn't she sound adorable? she is.) has been plagued by this very unfortunate condition since she was a wee tot, and to make it even worse she has very long tufts of hair surrounding her haunches--like circus pants--which makes for a very unsavory visual in the chance you steal a glance as she's walking away from you. She's almost 9, and at the time of her adoption, we were both very very naive. I thought she was just a smelly cat from the humane society. What have they been feeding you? My mother was convinced it was because she was nothing 'but Alabama trailer trash.' Of course she did. We both agreed at least that it would probably pass as she progressed into cathood.
It hasn't. It's been a long, smelly decade. And I refuse to take her to the groomer for an 80 dollar 'lion cut,' which will only further humiliate her. There's no possible way I can give you a real good sense of this smell. But in an earnest effort, I will say it probably is along the same scent family as a freshly removed plaster cast in which sour milk has been coagulating against the skin for the hottest summer days. Honestly, Penny's ass is probably much worse. If she could read English and agree with me on this point, I'm sure she would. Poor thing, everytime she has to clean herself down there, she gags and makes that crazy 'something stinks and it's on my whiskers' cat face.
What makes it worse is that she's a beautiful and loving cat, who totally knows that her ass smells. Watching her embarrassment is probably as bad as the ooze itself. (it usually only oozes, but sometimes if you startle her it might shoot across the room like tiny baby oysters. Once, she ruined a friend's swishy pants that way. He scared her, she anally expressed herself on his favorite pants. The smell never washed out).
So what's a girl to do? I had pretty much given up all hope for my personal 'Until There's a Cure' campaign. But then I discovered these little-known jewels. Ohhh, Penny's getting a present--and she's gonna hate her mama now. (Maybe she'll lighten up when she realizes I'm sitting around next to her in my Depends).
Today's playlist:
1. Smelly Cat: Phoebe Buffay
2. That Smell--Lynyrd Skynyrd
3. Lovecats--The Cure
4. Kitty--Presidents of the U.S.A.
Penny Lane (doesn't she sound adorable? she is.) has been plagued by this very unfortunate condition since she was a wee tot, and to make it even worse she has very long tufts of hair surrounding her haunches--like circus pants--which makes for a very unsavory visual in the chance you steal a glance as she's walking away from you. She's almost 9, and at the time of her adoption, we were both very very naive. I thought she was just a smelly cat from the humane society. What have they been feeding you? My mother was convinced it was because she was nothing 'but Alabama trailer trash.' Of course she did. We both agreed at least that it would probably pass as she progressed into cathood.
It hasn't. It's been a long, smelly decade. And I refuse to take her to the groomer for an 80 dollar 'lion cut,' which will only further humiliate her. There's no possible way I can give you a real good sense of this smell. But in an earnest effort, I will say it probably is along the same scent family as a freshly removed plaster cast in which sour milk has been coagulating against the skin for the hottest summer days. Honestly, Penny's ass is probably much worse. If she could read English and agree with me on this point, I'm sure she would. Poor thing, everytime she has to clean herself down there, she gags and makes that crazy 'something stinks and it's on my whiskers' cat face.
What makes it worse is that she's a beautiful and loving cat, who totally knows that her ass smells. Watching her embarrassment is probably as bad as the ooze itself. (it usually only oozes, but sometimes if you startle her it might shoot across the room like tiny baby oysters. Once, she ruined a friend's swishy pants that way. He scared her, she anally expressed herself on his favorite pants. The smell never washed out).
So what's a girl to do? I had pretty much given up all hope for my personal 'Until There's a Cure' campaign. But then I discovered these little-known jewels. Ohhh, Penny's getting a present--and she's gonna hate her mama now. (Maybe she'll lighten up when she realizes I'm sitting around next to her in my Depends).
Today's playlist:
1. Smelly Cat: Phoebe Buffay
2. That Smell--Lynyrd Skynyrd
3. Lovecats--The Cure
4. Kitty--Presidents of the U.S.A.
Won't You Please, Please Help Me?
June 14, 2008--Nearly 30 days after turning 30, I've come to realize that I'm not necessarily the bucket of beautiful sunshine I've considered myself all these years. Maybe inside the dreamworld I've created I really am the carefree vixen I've cooked up---somewhat a cross between the Kate Hudsen character 'Penny Lane, Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, Some Big Chill Glenn Close for good measure, Wonder Woman of course for when I need to activate, and a splash of Audrey Tatou in Amelie for those days I'm just not feeling normal. Throw some of Van Morrison's or Donovan's greatest hits in the background for my personal soundtrack and I'm ready to hit the streets like a Doublemint Twin.
I heard the tell-tale record scratch at 10pm on May 24, 2008. I rang in my 30th year at 1pm. At 9pm I had just finished shoving some pizza in my face at Mellow Mushroom, and by 10pm I was sitting in my rented living room surrounded by new friends about to cut into a cookie cake, complete with a pink, icing-encrusted, stick figure portrait of myself (My friend Darren is quite the artist). I sat there looking at the cake , pondering my two gigantic, sprinkle-covered breasts and pony tail. I got up to get plates, and did a quick drive-by my full length mirror. Ponytail--check. Really big boobs--check check. I'm not who I thought I was. In my dream world, I was flat chested.
That very moment, the pretend world swung open it's jowles and spit me out into dirty reality, not unlike the Jersey Turnpike portal in Being John Malkovich. There I sat, helpless like an oversized infant. At least I remembered the plates for the cake, or else I might have blown my newborn cover. I sat the rest of the night in a corner wondering who the hell I was and where these big ass ta-tas came from and more importantly, how had I squeezed them in that tiny Michael Stars tank I was sporting. Not a good look, my infant eyes told me. Babies don't lie, so I must be telling the truth. I'm not sure since I was in total shock, but I think I left my own party with the excuse I needed sleep, but really I think I was hoping my dreamworld would come back looking for me and snatch me up so I wouldn't have to face this very ugly truth. It didn't. And Donovan didn't even show up to serenade me. I was totally out of my element.
So here I sit, dedicated to my new mission of facing reality as myself going forward. I'm leaving the vixens and heroines behind, but I'm keeping Van Morrison. And Donovan. Sister can indulge a little.
Before I set sail on the mission of discovering the new world, I think it's important to recognize my God-given talents. I've always been a natural writer and I've never really done anything with it. I mean, I'm a corporate journalism major, and I've also dabbled with a fiction manuscript that I'll probably never do anything with. In fact, I'm so sick of looking and thinking about it that I've probably ruined any hope for having it published. I've never done anything with my words other than a few lackluster travel articles that landed only in my hometown paper. So now that I'm thirty and have no idea who I am, I'm going to write. Every day. Also, I make really good guacamole, and even better black beans and rice.
It's also important I feel, for me to document all of the flights of fancy on which I've embarked over the years and never done anything with, although, had I been more focused, I'm convinced I could have been successful at any of these endeavors:
1. Child Entrepreneur: When I was in the third grade, I devised these little art project critters that were adorable, albeit useless. I would cram a bit of a blue maribou feather boa into half of a walnut shell, glue on some googley eyes and complete the look with some gold puffy paint accents, and then try to sell for 50 cents on the playground. I still don't know why those never caught on.
2. Mermaid: Growing up, we had a pool. And I loved Splash. I used to tie my ankles together with ribbon and jump in the pool to see if I could swim like the rest of the mermaids. But this was shortlived, as my dad caught me doing this one day, and probably thought I was trying to commit suicide so he made me stop.
3. Famous Ballerina: This obviously didn't work as evidenced by these ginormous boobs.
4. Mod statement maker: In college, I tried to only wear black shift dresses and look serious in the rain. But the thing with Auburn, Alabama is no one knows what mod is, and it's way too hot in the summers to go around in black all the time. Sorry Twiggy.
5. Cracker Jack Journalist: I threw in the towel after nine months, because really.. who wants to give up national holidays to sit in a flourescent atmosphere editing a free rag that no one even bothers to read? Not this one, I have shift dresses to shop for.
6. Nationally Acclaimed Photographer: I still haven't given up on this dream. In fact, it will happen. I think this is still on the table because pictures can describe any mood or moment, and having big boobs won't get in the way of my success.
7. Supermodel: I used to starve myself for years until I realized how foolish it was. At that point, I discovered a passion for dining, good beer, and general social enjoyment. Now I have a belly to go with my boobs, and I don't think Tyra would let me remain in the running to become America's Next Top Model. That's ok, because now I'm thirty and my belly is beautiful and womanly.
8. Go-Go Dancer. This is also one that's not over yet. I'm never going to let go of this dream.
9. Disc Jockey: I went through Auburn University's DJ class and everything. I even know the eleven words you can't say on-air. I'm not sure what happened. I think they wanted me to raise money for the station, and I just wanted to twirl and dedicate songs to all my friends. It's ok, I still DJ at my apartment. Any requests?
There are others, but I'm not going to bore you or myself with them right now. It's 5:30 p.m. and I need to go out for my born-again, ritualistic 3 mile jog. This is the year I learn to love myself and my shortcomings. I'll even embrace these 36C red headed step children. I'm pretty sure that I'll try on whimsies (like I do shoes on good days at DSW) for the rest of my life, but from here on it will be without Meg Ryan. Sorry Meg. I have an awesome support system right now so I don't really need you anymore. I'm speaking of course about my terrific husband (Whoo Robby!) who tries hard to understand me on a daily basis. He's got a head full of hair right now, but we'll see how long it lasts with me at his side. My best girlfriends and sister are scattered across the country, and I miss you all terribly. It gets lonely being one of the only true weirdos in Raleigh. Karen, you're more than my sister--you're part of my dysfunction. Mel, we are truly from the same stardust little wondertwin. I think one more visit and our dance moves will be perfected. Kellie, we have the same aura--and a photograph to prove it. Sara, no one else could make dolla-wine so enjoyable. Robin and Ash--we are the white trash bitches of the float-n-tote. Lorinda, I'm so glad we've reconnected and quite honestly, there needs to be a therapist among us. Thank you all for being good teachers and for helping me get my feet back on the ground.....
Today's Playlist:
1. Help--The Beatles
2. Runaway--Del Shannon
3. 36D--The Beautiful South
4. Yellow--Donovan
5. Gypsy Queen--Van Morrison
6. Situation--YAZ
7. Lyin Eyes--The Eagles
8. Gone Gone Gone--Alison Krauss and Robert Plant
I heard the tell-tale record scratch at 10pm on May 24, 2008. I rang in my 30th year at 1pm. At 9pm I had just finished shoving some pizza in my face at Mellow Mushroom, and by 10pm I was sitting in my rented living room surrounded by new friends about to cut into a cookie cake, complete with a pink, icing-encrusted, stick figure portrait of myself (My friend Darren is quite the artist). I sat there looking at the cake , pondering my two gigantic, sprinkle-covered breasts and pony tail. I got up to get plates, and did a quick drive-by my full length mirror. Ponytail--check. Really big boobs--check check. I'm not who I thought I was. In my dream world, I was flat chested.
That very moment, the pretend world swung open it's jowles and spit me out into dirty reality, not unlike the Jersey Turnpike portal in Being John Malkovich. There I sat, helpless like an oversized infant. At least I remembered the plates for the cake, or else I might have blown my newborn cover. I sat the rest of the night in a corner wondering who the hell I was and where these big ass ta-tas came from and more importantly, how had I squeezed them in that tiny Michael Stars tank I was sporting. Not a good look, my infant eyes told me. Babies don't lie, so I must be telling the truth. I'm not sure since I was in total shock, but I think I left my own party with the excuse I needed sleep, but really I think I was hoping my dreamworld would come back looking for me and snatch me up so I wouldn't have to face this very ugly truth. It didn't. And Donovan didn't even show up to serenade me. I was totally out of my element.
So here I sit, dedicated to my new mission of facing reality as myself going forward. I'm leaving the vixens and heroines behind, but I'm keeping Van Morrison. And Donovan. Sister can indulge a little.
Before I set sail on the mission of discovering the new world, I think it's important to recognize my God-given talents. I've always been a natural writer and I've never really done anything with it. I mean, I'm a corporate journalism major, and I've also dabbled with a fiction manuscript that I'll probably never do anything with. In fact, I'm so sick of looking and thinking about it that I've probably ruined any hope for having it published. I've never done anything with my words other than a few lackluster travel articles that landed only in my hometown paper. So now that I'm thirty and have no idea who I am, I'm going to write. Every day. Also, I make really good guacamole, and even better black beans and rice.
It's also important I feel, for me to document all of the flights of fancy on which I've embarked over the years and never done anything with, although, had I been more focused, I'm convinced I could have been successful at any of these endeavors:
1. Child Entrepreneur: When I was in the third grade, I devised these little art project critters that were adorable, albeit useless. I would cram a bit of a blue maribou feather boa into half of a walnut shell, glue on some googley eyes and complete the look with some gold puffy paint accents, and then try to sell for 50 cents on the playground. I still don't know why those never caught on.
2. Mermaid: Growing up, we had a pool. And I loved Splash. I used to tie my ankles together with ribbon and jump in the pool to see if I could swim like the rest of the mermaids. But this was shortlived, as my dad caught me doing this one day, and probably thought I was trying to commit suicide so he made me stop.
3. Famous Ballerina: This obviously didn't work as evidenced by these ginormous boobs.
4. Mod statement maker: In college, I tried to only wear black shift dresses and look serious in the rain. But the thing with Auburn, Alabama is no one knows what mod is, and it's way too hot in the summers to go around in black all the time. Sorry Twiggy.
5. Cracker Jack Journalist: I threw in the towel after nine months, because really.. who wants to give up national holidays to sit in a flourescent atmosphere editing a free rag that no one even bothers to read? Not this one, I have shift dresses to shop for.
6. Nationally Acclaimed Photographer: I still haven't given up on this dream. In fact, it will happen. I think this is still on the table because pictures can describe any mood or moment, and having big boobs won't get in the way of my success.
7. Supermodel: I used to starve myself for years until I realized how foolish it was. At that point, I discovered a passion for dining, good beer, and general social enjoyment. Now I have a belly to go with my boobs, and I don't think Tyra would let me remain in the running to become America's Next Top Model. That's ok, because now I'm thirty and my belly is beautiful and womanly.
8. Go-Go Dancer. This is also one that's not over yet. I'm never going to let go of this dream.
9. Disc Jockey: I went through Auburn University's DJ class and everything. I even know the eleven words you can't say on-air. I'm not sure what happened. I think they wanted me to raise money for the station, and I just wanted to twirl and dedicate songs to all my friends. It's ok, I still DJ at my apartment. Any requests?
There are others, but I'm not going to bore you or myself with them right now. It's 5:30 p.m. and I need to go out for my born-again, ritualistic 3 mile jog. This is the year I learn to love myself and my shortcomings. I'll even embrace these 36C red headed step children. I'm pretty sure that I'll try on whimsies (like I do shoes on good days at DSW) for the rest of my life, but from here on it will be without Meg Ryan. Sorry Meg. I have an awesome support system right now so I don't really need you anymore. I'm speaking of course about my terrific husband (Whoo Robby!) who tries hard to understand me on a daily basis. He's got a head full of hair right now, but we'll see how long it lasts with me at his side. My best girlfriends and sister are scattered across the country, and I miss you all terribly. It gets lonely being one of the only true weirdos in Raleigh. Karen, you're more than my sister--you're part of my dysfunction. Mel, we are truly from the same stardust little wondertwin. I think one more visit and our dance moves will be perfected. Kellie, we have the same aura--and a photograph to prove it. Sara, no one else could make dolla-wine so enjoyable. Robin and Ash--we are the white trash bitches of the float-n-tote. Lorinda, I'm so glad we've reconnected and quite honestly, there needs to be a therapist among us. Thank you all for being good teachers and for helping me get my feet back on the ground.....
Today's Playlist:
1. Help--The Beatles
2. Runaway--Del Shannon
3. 36D--The Beautiful South
4. Yellow--Donovan
5. Gypsy Queen--Van Morrison
6. Situation--YAZ
7. Lyin Eyes--The Eagles
8. Gone Gone Gone--Alison Krauss and Robert Plant
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