Silver Thinks

There Is No Try

2012-02-15T01:35:00.000-05:00

Thing 1 currently thinks the universe is like a Pac Man game where you exit one side of the maze and arrive on the exact other side of the same track repeating the path 'til you conquer that rightly and get to the next level of the game.

I have to say, from a philosophical, theoretical, universal standpoint, I think he's right.

So, how long are you going to play this same screen until you level up? How long am I?

I'm saying this because I went on a ski trip for the first time in 12 years this weekend. I was going to try snowboarding but I chickened out at the last minute justifying to myself that getting on skis after so long was challenge enough. And after seeing all the downed boarders on the slopes, why actively try to kill myself?

So I strapped on skis familiar.

And stayed on the beginner slopes all weekend even though I probably could have made it mostly alive down the intermediate runs a couple of times at least. I'm pretty sure of this because I leaned in and let go, and I didn't die even one single time. Granted this was on the green slopes, even the steeper ones. but still.

I didn't challenge myself beyond that victory. At the same time I'm proud of doing what I know I can, I regret the knowing that I didn't try for more. If I got hit by a bus tomorrow I'm pretty sure Not Trying The Blue Slopes would flit across my mind in semi consciousness moments. It is now very important that I don't get hit by a bus before our next ski trip.

Because how else will I teach them to do if I don't?

Not Pinterested

2012-02-06T19:12:00.001-05:00

I see so freaking many people going ape on facebook over Pinterest all of a sudden.

lahk zees:

OMG I'M ADDICTED TO PINTEREST LOL!!!! ROFLMAOMG ME TOOOO!!!!!

Which makes me raise an immediate eyebrow in a sideways glance and exhale like, orilly? and decide with anti establishment fortitude that I will not get involved in this pop cult.

But maybe that's not fair to Pinterest. Maybe Pinterest is something I'd omgluv if I got into it. I can't just dismiss it out of hand without even going to check it out. right?

fine. *clickety over to fucking Pinterest*

I see cupcakes. glitter shoes. food porn. cupcake nail polish. immaculately expensively decorated homes and outdoor patios overlooking the ocean. crafts. makeup tips. more food porn. more fucking cupcakes. adorable clothes I cannot afford.

This is exactly the type of Stepford shit in which I have zero interest.

Cupcake nailpolish? I can't even keep my nails unbitten for more than a week, and even if I could accomplish that miraculous task I certainly wouldn't paint them up to look like I'm getting ready for goddamn kindergarten graduation.

Food porn. Food porn can go to hell directly. do not pass Go. skip the $200. Besides, I don't need Pinterest for that; I see it every day on facebook already. and some of you? Kudos, looks delish, jehluz, etc. Most everybody else? you do realize that photographing food so it looks appetizing is kind of thing right? Like, a skill? It's all about lighting and effects and stuff to make the food look more tasty. I suggest checking out a book at the library on this, or at least Google it or something because whatever it is you just vomited onto my news feed? looks like vomit. But wait...it's VEGAN?! and CLEAN?! in that case... seriously just knock it off. kthx.

Makeup guidance. Um. Makeup tips have eluded me since I received my first issue of Young Miss magazine 3 decades ago. I tried to do "smoky eyes" one time last year just for practice and it looked JUST LIKE the picture in the magazine. Then the kids rolled off the sofa laughing at me. I believe the words, "Oh my god, Mom, you look like a Goth. No," were uttered between gasping giggle sobs. which was not embarrassing at all. So, I'm fine with my liquid eyeliner and Carmex. Maybe an eyelash curler if I'm feeling fancy. I have no use for makeup tips, Pinterest. what's next.

Immaculately decorated home spaces. *sigh. Yeah. Those are purty. and impossible from here. Thing 2 got a toy bow and arrow thing for his birthday? and he shoots it in the house. Well, just down the hallway where there's nothing breakable but still. I have boys. I have dirt. And I've never been a neatnik anyway. So Immaculately Decorated has no place under this roof.

Crafts and glitter shoes. These fall into the same category because I believe the glitter shoes were DIY. Now, I'll have you know I won't shy away from a craft project or two, but I mostly do those to be practical. And I'm no stranger to sparkly shoes, I have several pairs. I even made sparkly shoes of my own to wear to a Homecoming Dance. When I was 16. My mother and I glued silver sequins onto a pair of Keds. Trendsetter? oh hell yes. But the idea of dunking platform heels in a pile of glitter holds little appeal to me now. I'd rather throw $15 at the Payless for knockoff stripper shoes than make them myself.

Adorable clothes I cannot afford pretty much speaks for itself. I'd rather not subject myself to the torture of wanting what I cannot have. but thanks for putting that out there. you're awesome.

My opinion on cupcakes in general? I'm not a fan of the trend. To me, it seems all about the cutesy frosting and less about the actual cake. I'm more about the substance than the style, so I don't really get down with that whole genre.

Anyway, I'm sure Pinterest is just the greatest thing to hit the internests for some of you. And that's fantastic; everyone needs a hobby or twelve. But I'm not going to be hopping on that bandwagon anytime ever.

As far as I'm concerned this whole Pinterest business is just one more of those things like forwarded BS emails that clogs up the space we're going to need for beaming technology in the future. Just doing my part to keep the path clear.

Search Terms (or...Google Might Be Fucking with Me)

2012-01-28T19:20:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I go through my search term results just to see what leads people here and what they might be trying to glean from my vast stores of diarist rambling. For the most part you seem to be looking for "silverthinks" or some variation of that, which is fine. I always wanted a dedicated fanbase. thx.

But sometimes I get randomly other different search term hits and quite frankly I don't understand if Google is just fucking with me here or if they really think I'm the go-to source for some of this information. I don't know whether to be flattered or freaked out is what I'm saying because here's why...

A few notable search terms from recently:

Hot couple in rollers fucking
Fucking in her curlers
Hot girl in rollers

I sincerely apologize for the lack of fucking and general hotness you'll find here. It's sad for me too sometimes. trrrrust me. Anyway, I didn't realize there was such a thing as curlers/hot roller fetishism, but whatever, Rule 34 and all. It just seems so retro. Very 1950s ish. Like you're looking to be the milkman who pops in on June Cleaver unawares and *cue porn music* Or perhaps the interest is Oedipal in nature? Maybe your mom used to wear hot rollers or something and you remember that...um...fondly (see what I did there? fondle-y? heh) in which case...well...that's for you and your therapist to work out. best luck. and...sorry.

On a related note, there was also: Sissies in curlers

Now, for the many of you apparently who were searching for Sissies in curlers, wow, I mean I know you had to be super disappointed when you landed here. Because I got NOTHIN' in that department to satisfy your curiosity. And never in all my years did I think I would feel bad about that. Until now. So I think Google should really take the fall for this one because they led you pretty far astray.

But you're here and I'm a problem solver, so we may as well work together. Alrighty then, *neck cracking head turn. wiggly keyboard fingers* from my extensive research on this topic (clickety over to craigslist casual encounters), I'm pretty sure there's no shortage of Sissies within driving radius of your local metro area. And even if you don't want to meet them in person, I'd hazard a guess that they would very likely wear curlers, stockings, your wife's lace panties, or whatever else your repressed heart dreams up and email you many, many photos of that. Based on what I can now not unsee, Sissies seem to be quite...uhm...accommodating. And pretty enthusiastic about self portraiture.

What *I* gleaned from that search is that I need to post some new pictures here because the hot roller self portrait pictures are the ones that pop up if you image search le blog and...not only am I not as accomplished at photography as some people, but also I really should have thought that through.

Moving on.

Blonde with balloon tits sucks | redtube free

My question: What the everloving FUCK, Google? I love you and it's like you hate me leading people here with that. seriously. knock it off. I like internet porn as much as the next minivan mom, but come on.

Now for you, you silly little boy, looking for some chick with balloon tits and...well...sucking (and I'm positive you don't mean in an #EPICFAIL way based on the redtube bit at the end. Although I think that's a question of perspective) *sigh. Sweetie. Look. Those ladies have already been bought and paid for. So unless you have a limo filled with blow or semi-legitimate casting couch, they're not giving you the time of day. I'd like to be optimistic about the possibility that you're rolling in scads of cash to pay for limos and camera equipment, but you're Googling free porn. You are broke. Go check your craigslist and see if that waitress at Applebee's "hitt u back" on your Missed Connections post yet. Or just go back to the goddamn restaurant and ask her out in person. In this booty texting, Girls Gone Wild day and age, it's very likely you'll get lucky if you just show up.

Crack rose pipe

Okay, so, multiple people looking for information about the crack rose pipe, you have come to the right place. clearly. Now, you obviously have a little more knowledge than I did when I was first introduced to this appliance if you're stringing that search together. Because I wouldn't have associated crack cocaine with those little roses in the glass tubes at convenience stores at all. Until the crack smokers I used to sell timeshare with gave me the 911. But let's not let my former naivete get in the way here.

I'm taking the liberty to assume you're shopping for crack pipes online. And with Valentine's day just around the corner, two birds and all. I think it's wise that you're looking for a more discreet way to feed your habit. Especially since you've noticed the dude at the 7-11 starting to look at you with a special twinkle and if history is any indication, you're *this close* to ending up in the cooler with his dick in your mouth to score some quality rock (or vice versa? I haven't learned the etiquette of the sex for drugs exchange. sorry) but you love your wife and you promised her you would never, EVER, do that. again. hence the need for the roses.

Anyway, if you're looking for the line on where you can get crack rose pipes delivered in bulk I'm thinking you should check Oriental Trading maybe? Fingerhut? They have everything. And it's all made in China which means it is specifically designed to kill you. So I don't see why they wouldn't be selling crack rose pipes made out of asbestos and black mold or something. Seems like common sense to me but I can understand how your drug addled brain wouldn't have put that together right away.

See? HELPING! You're welcome.

In conclusion, I think Google is being prankful with these search results. But I haven't decided on whom.

grownupness

2012-01-26T09:48:00.000-05:00

Things 1 & 2 came in from an evening with the outlaws last night. Barely all the way in the door Thing 2 said, "Mom? Can you still pick me up?" I said kinda head turny scrunchy face, "Probably?" thinking, like, can I pick you up at all? What the...where did that come from? Maybe?

"Can I pick you up like a baby you mean?"
"Yeah, like that. Can you?"
"I'm sure I can. Because...y'know...," hip thrown to the side, "I work ooouuut" (from the "I'm Sexy and I Know It" song that cracks us up in the car). Okay, challenge accepted, "C'mere. Let's see." I scooped him up and sure enough, I can still pick him up like a baby.

I can still pick up Thing 2 too which is good to know just in case we find ourselves in an extreme unction situation. And that began a round of lifting exercises. They can pick each other up like babies and in a fireman's carry but neither of them would even try to lift me. Which, I have to say, kinda miffed me a little bit.

"So, if the house was on fire and I was incapacitated from smoke inhalation neither of you are going to even try to carry me out? You're each just gonna grab a leg and drag me? I'll have a bald spot on the back of my head from that! There'll be a blood trail through the driveway! That *I* am going to have to clean up later! Thanks, guys. Thanksalot." They melted into tears of laughter. I shuffled them off to bed.

Lately (and in the near future I expect) we're dealing with the world in ways that prompt boys of age 10 (in two weeks) and 11 (and a half) to decide who they are as people. I watch them figuring out what kind of Men they're going to be. But they still have a strong foothold in boyness as far as I can see. Which is a lot like most grown men I know come to think of it.

Anyway, we talk about things like where they want to go to college and what kind of dads they're going to be and when I'm going to let them move out. These are all great things for them to be considering in my opinion and I don't think it's too young for them to make these decisions for themselves at all. At least with guidance.

They think they want to go to Tech, except the shootings freak them out. So I tell them we'll go back up to DC pretty soon and they can walk around my college and see what that's like. Nothing against Tech, but the shootings kinda freak me out too. They want to be "active" dads who do stuff with their kids and play and hang out and teach them stuff that's good to know. I fully support this and admire them immensely for it. They want to get apartments with their friends when they're 16 and can drive and have jobs. I do not support this and put my foot down on the terms that they will move out no sooner than mid-college. They will get summer jobs in high school but no moving out. School is their job and they have the rest of their lives to be burdened with grown up responsibilities like paying bills and keeping food on the table. They protest only mildly from their snuggly beds before asking me to get them glasses of water. with ice. from the fridge not the tap. uh huh. That's right monkeys, savor this as long as you can.

I do want them to be independent. I love that they're getting older and wanting to do grown up things. I love teaching them to cook and do laundry and navigate the world. The only thing that bothers me is Thing 1 wanting a girlfriend but not knowing how to get girls' attention, and not knowing what to do with it if he ever did. Of course he steadfastly refuses to talk with me about this and that is completely understandable because "Mmm-o-o-o-OOM! shut. UP!"

So I told him, "Look, I don't know anything at all about what it's like to be an 11 year old boy, okay? So I can't tell you a single thing about that and I'm not even going to try so you don't have to worry about that conversation. But I do know what it's like to be an 11 year old girl. If you have any questions about things girls do or what they might be thinking, you can always ask me." He rolled his eyes and considered it. "Okay," he said. Looked like progress to me.

There are so many things coming up in their lives that they don't see coming. For now they just need to know that I'm strong enough to pick them up and carry them. whether they like it or not.

What Could Be Next

2012-01-23T01:59:00.002-05:00

My own little world consumes me a bunch of the time. I try to existentialize things and bring the universe into it or maybe project my microcosm out into the larger space as if it applies to the bigger picture. I do this for you. For me. for the children. It doesn't always work but sometimes it does.

I'm working on a thing, a writing thing bigger than le blog. It's just a goofy project type thing for me to do instead of puzzling or painting which I've done plenty enough lately to quell the voice in my head. you'd think. And because it's still too Winter for landscaping, Dirt Therapy will have to wait until Spring. I'm considering starting seeds for a garden indoors but given my penchant for killing plants I'm not especially optimistic about that prospect. So for now my only therapy is writing. Well, that and godblessamerica horrifying television. Ah Bachelor. You silly Shameless. And now Redneck Vacation. You have no idea what you mean to me in those desperately odd moments away from the computer. You are escape routes. Perhaps fucked up lights at the end of the tunnel. But a means to an alternate end. That is what you are, and for that I will always be grateful.

Anyway the voice in my head is taking a different tack and urging me to write outside of myself which is new. and HARD because I've never really done that before. but it's a good thing. I think. I've written the beginnings to fantasy scenarios for decades now but I've never gotten to the next part. They meet, they're drawn to each other, they collapse in a magnificent embrace. whee. but...next? I never get to the next. I'm usually just fine with the connection part.

Next is messy. Next is...baggage. Next is the stuff of life. It's all fine and good to fall in love with someone in their party clothes self, but working out the mechanics of being in love with someone in their everyday self is different. There is nothing romantic about that usually. In my experience anyway. Everyday is bad moods sometimes and being tired and having to figure out what's for dinner. Everyday does not look like a well timed glance across a candlelit room. Everyday kind of fucking sucks a lot of the time.

Next is practically impossible seeming.

So I write and I write trying for hours to work out a good Next. I walk away from the computer. I stretch and finish a sudoku puzzle. I sit outside even though it's only 40 degrees. I watch stupid TV which reminds me of everything Now I'm trying to avoid. But all I can see is Now.

Now doesn't look great. No matter how much I wish it did. Composing a Next from this Now? *grumble.

Everything is possible. I repeat that in my head like it's true. part of me knows better. but then another part of me wonders if this is just the middle of one of those obnoxious Christian romance stories.

I roll my eyes at that and try to write out an ending where I'm happier alone on my own island with my best friends around me and the troubles of the world are far away.

I've picked the island out and everything. It's only $800,000.

Shut Up and Color

2012-01-11T11:55:00.000-05:00

The paint is yellow like egg yolk and I wonder if I'm going to regret this. I dip my brush in the bowl and drag the edge along the side for just enough not too much to cut in along the chair rail. precisely. Because I don't use painter's tape anymore when I do this. I know my way around a straight line. And I'll paint over the chair rail later anyway ~~when~~ in case my mind wanders and I slip up.

For now I just try to focus on the paint. Don't think about any other thing except that line. Painting is like telling the voice in my head to shut up and color. But it doesn't shut up. At least it's not zoomy anymore. Now it's like a lava lamp. Thoughts bounce liquid and slow becoming other thoughts and drifting all around. Which reminds me I need a new bulb for the lava lamp.

Painting in January makes the paint tend to slide off the wall. What I just rolled out all bright and pretty-like gets melty looking and weird in less than a minute. I cock my head and stare but it's like trying to watch the sun move, you can't really see it as it's happening. Only after you turn away. And I wonder how things went sideways. I thought I had a good handle on it and... then it was over there. just gone.

At first after things went sideways, the zoomy voice in my head wailed and gnashed teeth in chaotic lament. Nothing made sense. not any singular thing presented to me made sense of any kind and I shuffled through town like a basket of banana nut muffins for weeks. Eyes glazed and glassy with unsheddable tears while the zoomy voice careened loudly. I didn't understand. I didn't know what happened. Everything was magic a minute ago and then...nothing made sense anymore. Everything I knew was wrong wrong wrong. for weeks.

Even the stupid puzzle didn't end up making sense. Because there's One. Piece. Missing. still. Which could only be more literal if I'd put that piece in a box and hucked it into the woods.

It all made me nauseous and tired and snappy and confused and sad. Painting was the only thing that could make this better. In a "jesus take the wheel" kind of fog I let someone else choose which color. and even which room. All I did was pick up the brush and here we are.

Beginning the second coat and lava thoughts swirl, blending sense better now. Nothing makes the kind of sense it did before and certainly not the kind of sense I hoped but I'm beginning to understand. The truth told to me was temporary.

It wasn't a lie. It was real enough at the time. But it was fleeting. Like a UFO sighting or a ghost out of the corner of your eye. You know it was there, you felt it. But now...gone. And trying to explain it makes people raise their eyebrows and look at you sideways and you realize it's better to just stop talking and paint.

Puzzling

2012-01-01T16:20:00.000-05:00

So I got Thing 2 a jigsaw puzzle for Christmas. A picture of Times Square at night taken circa new millennium. It's 2000 pieces which might have been a bit ambitious but the puzzle was kind of for me too and I have to get the big ones because I finish the others too quickly.

Anyway, Christmas afternoon I decided "we" should start working on this thing because it had been a weird ass day which included my father stopping by with a pair of skis for me. That he pulled out of the dumpster behind his office. And they looked perfectly fine to him but maybe I could sell them on ebay? Except here's a few things about that: 1. I haven't been skiing in over a decade, 2. these are cross country skis and I only do downhill and 3. I've never sold anything online ever and why in the world would I start with dumpster skis now? but...um...kmryxmasthx?

Thusly the puzzle was began.

The Things lost interest almost immediately because I am very adamant that all the edge pieces must be found and put together first. You cannot begin to put together the middle pieces before the edge pieces. You can't! Heavy on the eyeroll, they left me with 2000 pieces of crazytown and turned on War of the Worlds instead. And I manically puzzled my face off with Dakota Fanning screaming bloody murder every two minutes at full volume in the next room. So yeah, all y'all can keep your cookies and your glowy fireplace photos, THIS is the stuff Christmas memories are made of in my house.

I worked on that puzzle for hours. and hoursandhoursandhours. taking small breaks for facebook and turkey basting and the kids ate Christmas Day dinner on the coffee table with the lights off and the world ending on TV because I was working on 2000 pieces spread all over the dining table. I puzzled into the wee hours of the morning only stopping to sleep.

Woke up the next day and puzzled some more. All day. ALL. DAY. Because I didn't have to work but I forgot that temporarily and drove into the office anyway and I walked in and realized nobody else was there and the appointment book had the giant X meaning CLOSED across the Monday. so PUZZLE TIME! like a crazy person recovering from shock therapy.

I couldn't think of anything else. I didn't want to. I didn't want to read, or clean, or cook or do any other thing else except dive into that puzzle. Which floored Audrey. "How can you focus on a puzzle like that? Don't you have enough puzzles to solve in your everyday?" And I do of course, between junior counselor activity and just trying to make sense of the world in general but those things are nebulous and ephemeral and they go on and on forever. I can touch puzzle pieces. I can fit them together and they FIT. And there is an end to it eventually. And I need something I can work on that makes sense right now. So I kept puzzling and the kids had pizza on the coffee table for dinner.

But the next day was Taco Tuesday and that can't be done via coffee table. So I had to clean up puzzletown USA off the dining room table. But here's what...It's TWO THOUSAND PIECES. It's huge. And way bigger than any piece of cardboard I have to put it on and I don't have one of those puzzle roll up things, so all the work - the hours of mental energy I'd devoted - had to get broken in half. One on a piece of cardboard I'd used to cover up the hole in the wall the plumbers cut out to fix that leak a few weeks ago and the other on a banged up piece of plexi from one of those snaptogether poster frames I'd been meaning to put in recycling.

And I've done SO MUCH of the puzzle that there was no clean way to split it apart. So the middle got all fucked up and it's not even which really stressed me out, because being even is more important to me than I realized apparently. I set the two broke apart pieces of puzzle holder on the kitchen island because every other flat space in my house is covered but even those are hanging over the edge of the counter which is right in the middle of everything and I have to be careful not to bump into them so I don't lose any of the previously solved, now scattered pieces. And it's been just sitting there like that for about a week. In the middle of my space. I just want to put it back together again.

So I went looking for a rolly up puzzle mat so I can get back to work. And I found one. But it's only for 1000 piece puzzles and smaller? My gargantuan explosion of mental energy will simply not fit. of course. I don't know what the hell Buffalo Games is trying to do to me here, but I protest heartily. I opened the box anyway just to see the components of said puzzle mat because where there's a will there's a way goddamnit and I am not without resources. So it's just a piece of green felt and a cardboard tube which I can get in the right size at my local fabric store for the love a god for $4.17.

I got the stuff to make my own puzzle mat this afternoon. But I'm not going freakshow obsessive like before. Oh, it'll get put together, make no mistake about that, but with the right tools I'll be able to bring it out when I have the proper time to pay attention to it. Not because I feel like I'm on some fated mission to break the world's record for fastest best solving of something.

And when it's all put together, eventually, it will be beautiful.

There Will Be Snakes. Maybe.

2011-12-24T12:16:00.000-05:00

So the X came over last night to pick up Thing 2 for a sleepover. There's usually some banter that takes place during pick up/drop off events. What follows is a snippet of last night's conversation. Also? Fiction is dead. enjoy.

X: [Leans back on the sofa, spreads arms wide across the pillows] So I made a business investment
me: oh?
Thing 2: What business?
X: Well, there's a couple guys who are starting a business
me: Who?
X: A couple of my... friends. you don't know them. Joe and Bird.
Thing 2: Your friends have a lot of nicknames. bird? gutshot?
X: Yeah, they do.
me: Joe and Bird, I don't know them. okay...
X: So, yeah, anyway, they want to breed snakes and sell them online.
me: *blink
T2: Snakes? Cool! I wanna hold one!
me: *shudder
X: Well, you can't hold one yet. They're...hibernating.
me: *snort. "hibernating"? ....shhh...you can't seee theemmm....they're sleeepiiiinnng...
X: heh. Right? no, no...don't open the box....sleeepppiiinnng. haha...but yeah, they hibernate until ...Spring I guess?.
T2: Where are they now? I wanna see 'em.
X: Well...I don't... have them
me: bwahahaha
X: Bird's ordering them. From all over, like Arizona and Texas... Look, it's not a huge investment.
T2: How much was it?
X: $3,000
me: *blink
T2: How many snakes are you getting?
X: It's $3,000 for...multiple...snakes
me: BAHAHAHAHA
T2: How many is that?
me: bahaha "multiple" hahhaha "multiple" snakes...but...you can't see them now because they're...sleeeepiiinng...

The tears of laughter are falling at this point and I lose the power of speech. X starts to get annoyed with this display. I cannot physically stop laughing.

X: [leans forward on the sofa. elbows on knees serious] Look, there's six snakes, okay? And there are supposed to be 10-15 per...brood. Litter. Whatever. And they're supposed to sell for $300 a piece.
me: So that's... [skyward thinking look fruitlessly trying to do math in my head]
X: [eyeroll] Yeah, so it can make some money. All I did was get 'em started. They're going to pay me back my initial investment no matter what. And then I'll get a percentage of the snakes. But I don't even care about that. It wasn't a lot of money, okay? It's just $3,000.
me: *snicker for..."multiple" snakes...*snort.
X: *dirty look in my direction
me: *barely stifles tears of giggling

And then we went on to talk about my fear of snakes, X's fear of spiders (all of which are just Brown Recluse's in disguise in his mind), and that one time Thing 2 held a snake at the Tampa Aquarium.\

Okay, so...X knows some guys from ~~the poker game~~ ~~gambling ring~~ ~~pool hall~~ around town. They ~~probably owe him some money~~ have an interesting business opportunity and ask him to be patient and he'll get ~~all the money they owe him PLUS~~ his initial investment back PLUS extra. He just has to wait until the Spring when it's breeding season and the potential NINETY SIX snakes they're going to have (which just strikes me as apocalyptic) sell like crazy.

Of course. That sounds totally legitimate to me.

wait...no...FIFTY ONE snakes. god I suck at math. But still. 51 is a lot of snakes. is that right? 3 snake moms, times 15 baby snakes each, plus the 3 snake dads...that's 51 right? okay. anyway.

Now, I googled and there is a market for this apparently...because, good grief there's a market for everything online so I could see, possibly, how this could be a real thing. But I don't know these guys. What if they don't have their act together enough to follow through? What if the snakes are infertile or something? What if "snakes" is actually code for something...illegal? Or what if the snakes are actually drug mules? What if the guys take the money and skip town? What if they're not con artists and actually undercover cops and X is unwittingly implicated in some nefarious snake trafficking ring?

The possibilities are LIMITLESS is what I mean.

And I'm just bored enough to consider them.

But best case scenario is in the early days of Spring, in some dark, cool corner of Pleasant Valley a legion of snakes will spawn bringing prosperity to all who have helped propagate them.

Maybe there's something to all these prophecies of doom for 2012...

This post is only to get this crazy out of my head and keep it for future reference.

Faith.

2011-12-23T01:20:00.000-05:00

Evolution is not for the faint of heart. I ended with that last time. I wasn't wrong.

It takes love to build a miracle. And it starts with loving yourself. It's not an easy process. Nothing that's good is easy. It's the challenge that makes a good story. No Oscar or Emmy was ever won for tra-la-la magical perfection all the way through. No altering achievement was ever met without controversy.

I don't have faith in plenty of things in which most regular people find faith.

I find faith in:

exact change
thunderstorms
jeans that fit just out of the dryer
contact out of the blue
a blown lightbulb
a door held open
a joke nobody else gets

These are just a few of the things that let me know the universe is at work.

And I have faith in you.

You can do this. I know you're facing a mountain of obstacles from every direction and every single thing you've ever learned is telling you you're wrong to want what you want. But I don't think you are. Fuck those things you've been told. Trust yourself. You are not a lemming. I wouldn't love you if you were.

And I love you so very much.

This is what makes our story so good. Our Oprah moment. This is what makes us famous.

I want you to be you and me to be me and us to be fanfuckingtastic together.

Time is bendy. pliable I mean.

It'll happen and all the backstory will make sense in editing.

The Tao of Plumbing

2011-12-17T10:41:00.000-05:00

There was a leak in the wall not even close to my closet for an undetermined period of time and the way the concrete slab is graded led most of the water in a nonsensically northern direction. Now the floor of my closet is soaking wet and smells like post-Katrina New Orleans. But the leak did get fixed and an industrial fan has been blowing pretty much nonstop for days. It'll dry out eventually. I'm guessing.

So I was trying to render some philosophical significance out of that situation last night when I noticed my Christmas tree hasn't been taking on any water for some time and the 1,300+ lights I so proudly strung all over it now make it look like a colossal fire event just waiting to happen.

And suddenly the balance of the universe was restored. I have a whole yin yang microcosm happening under my very roof. I may be reaching a little bit for that, but I find strange comfort in the diametric extremes intertwining here so I'm rolling with it.

A delightfully symbolic solution would be to put the tree in the closet to see if it would soak up all water. And that did cross my mind for a second but the tree is 10 feet tall and fully decorated and my closet is slam full of closetty stuff so that's not a viable option. *shrug

So these problems will have to be solved according to their individual requirements rather than with a collective effort which is kind of a theme going on outside of my house as well. Lots of drama in the friends and family arenas lately and for a while I could pin that on the full moon, lunar eclipse and Mercury shifting out of retrograde but I think that's settled down now so they're less of good reasons and more of new agey bullshit excuses at this point and I can't really hang my hat on them anymore. But I do hope they settle down soon too.

It's been like a series of volcanoes going berserk around here actually and I think we're about ready for the cooling off, island forming phase. Because eventually? It's going to be a chain of magnificent tropical islands rife with exotic foliage and animals that would require an entire niche cable channel to document. Right now though? It's all still crunchy gooey steaming lava and if you tried to walk around you'd probably burst into flame.

Evolution is not for the faint of heart.

Where I Am

2011-11-24T13:45:00.001-05:00

The hills are ALIVE with the sound of music, people. Do you hear that?

Just get quiet in your truest heart for a minute and listen.

I can wait.

Do you feel it? It's right there. r i i i i i ght.....there. Just on the edge of knowing.

It's that place between being whole inside your skin and being nothing but bits of energy in the universe...it's being both at the same time. Like the first time you get the hang of those Magic Eye posters in the mall. Fragments of every little thing start to solidify into not just some picture, but this 3D thing...and it blows your fucking mind - and then you goof around playing back and forth with perception.

Every beautiful hateful crazy impossible moment I've been through makes sense to me in a way I never knew it could in my living life. and that fills me with a sense of love and wonderment and connectedness and a million other feelings so hard to describe.

It is just the most profoundly amazing place to be.

This is where I am.

And this is just the beginning.

Hot Rollers and Other Challenging Things

2011-11-05T21:10:00.000-04:00

It's a regular Saturday night at home. I've dropped the Things off with the outlaws under the impression that their father might grace them with his presence tonight. Because he said he would. I have my doubts. But whatever, it's Saturday night, that's what we do. HAVE FUN HANGIN' WITH GRANDMA KIDS! Because even though I don't have plans? I could. And someday I might. So they need to be prepped for any eventuality. and quality time and stuff.

Okay. So. What could I be doing tonight? Well, there's some kind of cookout in my neighbor's driveway across the street, but I didn't hear about that until just a little bit ago and I have loaves of bread in the oven. So I'm just going to skip the cookout. Because...meh.

What I'm doing while waiting for said bread to bake? Mess with hot rollers! Because I have layers in my hair for a reason and it doesn't have anything to do with the ponytail I wear far too often.

So, hot rollers. I got these a couple weeks ago and the result was AWESOME if there were a Dallas remake and they had a casting call in my area looking for honky tonk extras.

This is what we start with. Regular hair. Albeit unbrushed for a few hours.

Once the rollers are good and nuclear, we wrap up the hair and voila.

Oh shush. We can't all be The Bloggess.

Unwind those little demons and here we go. You can't pull them out mind you because it will do something horrible to the curls. The instructions say this along with every hot roller instructional video on youtube so I make sure to unwind carefully for best results. I didn't wash my hair for the requisite three days after my obligatory 8th grade perm either. Sidenote: when Spiral Curls are all the rage? Don't entrust your perm to a woman who does little old lady hair on the regular. It's a miracle she didn't throw in some Bluing just for effect. It was bad. But did I wash it out? Hell no! Just like I unrolled the curlers carefully here too. It's like I never learn anything sometimes. See?

Because what we got here is an unfortunate curl situation. I don't think Farrah ever dealt with shit like this on her worst hair day. And the Real Housewives? Tables would be flipped in short order I would assume.

Ever the optimist, however, I'm thinking there might be a way to remedy this mild hair-tastrophe. A megaton of Aquanet and a round brush. Here goes.

We have achieved fucked up Pageant Hair.

Does that warrant a Wah Lah? I mean, I'm not trying for the pageant circuit so I don't really think this'll fly. And I'm pretty sure most people who know me in real life wouldn't be able to stifle the snickering if they saw me walking around like this in public. I know because I walked around in public with this hair two weeks ago. There was an awful lot of snickering going around.

So, I have to take a slightly different tack with this apparently. I'm thinking spiraling the hair before winding might be the key to get the Real Housewives hair of my dreams. Or maybe just hairspray the hell out of it and give it a little time to settle down.

And that's where we are now.

Bouncin' and behavin' indeed.

So besides that, I mentioned I was baking bread, right? Well, every so often I'll pick up yeast packets at the grocery store with the intention of making homemade bread. Because I forget why besides that just seems like a good thing to know how to do. But the idea of it sort of scares me so I never actually went through with the bread making thing. Until today.

This is all because Undomestic Diva posed an Operation Eleanor challenge to her readers and on Twitter (hashtag #OpEleanor) to do something that scares you/me/us each day for 30 days. I don't know if I can get on board with the whole meme but when I walked away from the yeast packets in the pantry today thinking "I just don't think I can do that" all of a sudden the #OpEleanor directive sprang into my head and I started making bread. It was weird. But I did it.

I was positive the whole time the bread was probably going to suck because the "Best By" date on the yeast packets was October 2011 but I didn't remember at first that it was November already and it's kind of a good thing because I probably would have stopped myself if I'd had the sense to look at the calendar. But I didn't. And I made the bread anyway. And you know what? It's bread. Actual, edible, not at all terrible bread. And I'm pretty sure I could repeat that process more than once and better each time.

Who knew.

Missed Connections

2011-10-26T00:21:00.001-04:00

I read craigslist missed connections like I actually leave the house and could be missed by someone who speaks text. It's a bad way to look for someone. Backwards in fact. But I refuse...RE-Fuh-USE (extra phonetics for emphatic purposes) to join an online dating site. again. because that option is just horrendous across the board in my historical experience. It's not like I went on a bunch of dates and realized this, I just surfed around guys in my zipcode. Reading those profiles pressed against knowing them personally? heavy on the hell to the no eyeroll and best luck in your quest anyway.

I joined the gym. I joined the PTA. I joined kickball. what the godblessamerica else am I supposed to do to meet people? I don't think sitting on my sofa knotting a rug is the best option for social interaction probably. Am I doing that anyway? As a matter of fact, yes. It's something to do while I savor my TV addiction. And I need a rug. And who doesn't appreciate an industrious enthusiasm? Shut up because I know it's probably lots of people. whatever.

Anyway.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed with old boyfriends. They're the type that I'm looking for now. The X was chosen against type on purpose because the others didn't work out so well (i.e. we broke up. duh) but the X was such a departure...I just don't even know how I refracted reality to make that make sense sometimes. The X is so not geeky. He was a bouncer for god sakes. I love geeky. Bouncers? eh? not on my radar as a rule. It was the humor that got me...well, that he got my humor. most bouncers don't have that brain power. Meatheads. less than cerebral.

It's the intellectuals that I like. The ones who lean toward dark humor. Probably never been in a fight. Granted, it's a fiber optic line that delineates misunderstood geeky genius from twisted sociopath...I'd prefer someone with the ability to assimilate to pop culture and a healthy understanding that it's hilarious to watch. I teeter along that line. with plenty of smartass comments along the way.

I don't know what I want. I know exactly what I want. I don't know if what I want exists. Or maybe it exists and I found it a couple times and missed it due to circumstance. I think I'm going to die alone.

writing this out is one of the things that doesn't make me less crazy, it's just documenting my time.

Vibes

2011-10-15T00:23:00.001-04:00

Do you ever get those out of the blue feelings of people? You maybe haven't thought of them in years or months or long enough for them to fall off the radar and then all of a sudden they're on your radar again. They didn't even post anything online, they just pop up inside your head and you wonder how they're doing.

I call that vibing.

They vibe you; you vibe them...it doesn't matter which way it happens but the upshot is that you're thinking of each other. When that happens I know I should make a call or send an email or a card or something but I'm terrible at that and I don't always do it. Then I find out two weeks later whoever I was thinking of was just dealing with some major thing at the time I was thinking of them out of nowhere.

I should have called.

I hate that feeling.

I want to do better.

How would you feel if I'm not in the realm of your everyday fb or Tweeple and I DMed you about some status or remark you made that impacted me?

If I said, "Hey, Avitable...you said something about the Myers Briggs test and it seriously fucked with my head." or "@undomesticdiva...you're inspiring me to get my kids into MMA for the right reasons. I hope your move is going well." or, "Dear Jett, I just need to know you're here."

Random other stuff too. "@mayopie: I think of being a nudist sometimes but...y'know...winter."

These are the lines where blog and reality clash. because I love you dearly but I don't KNOW you know you, y'know? we can't sit and have ~~tequila shots~~ coffee and talk it out.

There are way more than just blog people who vibe me btw. Jessica, John, Mike, Grace, Tami, Clare, Jennifer, Mesmery, Todd, Pete, Gail, Anne, Mark, Tina, Brad, Paul, and so many more...

I don't know...I'm feeling vibes from all different directions right now. Just because I didn't mention it? Doesn't mean you're not on the radar.

It's All Fun and Games 'Til Somebody Gets on Facebook

2011-10-04T23:34:00.000-04:00

So Thing 1 went to a sleepover Saturday night. Afternoon of four 11 year old boys ~~playing~~ hanging out rolled into "We're spending the night at Friend's house, is that okay?" Of course, sure, no problem, and in all other ways YES. Thing 1 spends most of his available time on the Xbox so real live interaction outside of school is a welcome thing.

When he got home the next day I heard a rumble that Friend and Other Friend were being stupid on facebook. Both Friends are only 11, but they have fb accounts. They're boy scouts, right? What could go wrong. Anyway, The Friends say he Likes likes this one girl and were talking about it via fb chat with her and a couple other girls.

M'kay. Noteworthy enough in the Thing 1 world to mention it to me casually. It will later become evident why I'll burn this interaction into my brain as a HUGE red flag and inquire about these casual mentioning moments more intently in the future. A blip on the tweenage boy's radar equals a DRAMATASTIC EVENT in momspeak. got it.

Last night, Other Friend from Saturday night who was being stupid on facebook calls. Crying. Apologizing for his behavior. Obviously under threat of parental mayhem. I inquire again, "What happened?" "Nothing really. They just said I Liked Anonymous 6th Grade Girl and stuff. But it was mostly on message. Nobody saw it."

M'kaaaay...suspicions rising. What the hell is going on here? He shrugged it off. No big deal. Don't worry about it, Mom. I remind him on no uncertain terms this is why he can't have a facebook account until he's 13. People say dumb things all the time. My own friends do it and they're 40 for god sakes. An 11 year old brain on a facebook account is nuclear.

This afternoon I get a call from Sleepover Host Friend's Mother. She let's me know that the boys were being inappropriate on facebook during the sleepover. I tell her I heard a little something about it. She proceeds to inform me that she has the whole chat saved to her computer and that somebody, we're not sure who at this point because nobody's taking the fall for this, typed....

::pause for neck cracking head turn::

"THING 1 SAYS YOU LIKE TO SUCK COCK"

I gasped audibly. As any good suburban mother would do.

And inside my head I'm thinking, "Holy mother of jumping fuck." Because I know that between the Xbox headset and my exceptionally foul language, my kid could definitely have said that. But I don't use the word cock lightly, so I kind of doubt he'd have picked that up from me. But it's out there...obviously. OHMYGOD

So, like one does, I thanked her profusely for telling me and we agreed this was both a learning and teaching moment as parents and how much trouble would we have gotten in for pulling a stunt like that and times are different now with the internet and all and could you image being that girl and what on earth are her parents going to do and good luck to our kids for ever hoping to get a date after that.

Thing 1 and I needed to have a sit down. CLEARLY. I mean, we've talked about this kind of behavior before and I really thought I got the message across to him and his friends. But that was a different set of friends that time and these boys might need some life lessons too. and quick.

Thing 1 firmly maintained that he didn't say what Friend and Other Friend typed. He was telling them to stop and Other Other Friend tackled him off the keyboard as he tried to delete the message. I know this is true because I heard him over Xbox chat this afternoon calling the guys out about it when he thought I wasn't listening. "That was so stupid you guys! I'm the victim here because you're saying things I never said and my name is out there for that. You made Other Other Friend tackle me when I tried to stop you!"

So I didn't bury him under a lilac bush or ground him or anything. But he is required to apologize to the girl(s) they harassed. I told him (hands in the air like I'm weaponless) whether or not he really does have a crush on the one girl (EYEROLL MOM I DO NOT LIKE HER) if he has any hope of being thought of as a normal human being by Pleasant Valley's teenage denizens for the next 7 years, he needs to let her and her friends know that he is sorry for everything that happened Saturday night and that he would never say such a thing.

Is that enough?

To Don't

2011-10-01T09:39:00.002-04:00

I keep writing out To Do lists like they have any impact on my daily activities.

It's monsoon season in Pleasant Valley and my gutters are filled to bursting with every godforsaken thing that could drop from a tree. I've had "Gutters" on my To Do list for weeks. Two days ago, they were number one. They're only clinging to the house now out of spite.

Two days ago, I went browsing instead. Not shopping mind you. Browsing. Totally separate and satisfying in a recon way. I look around for things I might want to shop seriously for later and leave salesmen frustrated and clueless in the process. They trail me around the store like I'm gonna secret a coffee table out in my bag and ask me 68 times if they can help me. "No thanks, just lookin' around." No, I don't want to be on your email list. No, I don't want you to tell me about how great you think that bookcase is. It's not great. It belongs in Halloweentown. I need to go now because you just harshed my groove with your ineffectual chatter.

"Gutters" is still on my list.

"Cut grass" was on my To Do list for 5 or 6 days and I didn't get around to that for so long because it's been monsoon season as I mentioned and almost every day there's this incessant, mood tamping rain. But one day during an unexpectedly savory break in the weather and with mower blades set damn near as high as Craftsman would allow, grass got cut.

My productivity is spontaneous these days. It's fueled by red-lining hormones more often than Time To Make The Donuts diligence. I'm not saying I'm looking forward to menopause, but I certainly won't miss the volcanic fits of estrogen that compel me to tackle the most labor intensive things on my lists.

Like moving the old refrigerator out of the house. All by myself. I managed to overcome obstinate thresholds and take a door (or three) off its hinges. "Fridge" had been on the list for months except *I wasn't supposed to be the one who did it. But the guy who was supposed to do it sorta frailed and I was having a moment of "it's either lift something impossibly heavy or end my 39 year streak of not killing people." And then I rearranged the kids' whole room that same afternoon. A primal urgent force was holding the reins in my head and would not permit me to physically stop until I purged myself of all rageful-ish energy.

I put regular stuff on the lists too, like "Grocery" and "Shower" just for the satisfaction of crossing things off. And medium stuff like "Gym" and "Car Inspection" but then something important like kickball comes along, which I don't even have to write down, and it obliterates any item on the list for the day.

But I really need that car inspection done. Because it's 10 now and even though there were THIRTY DAYS of 9 for me to get this taken care of... I'll do it after kickball today. "Gutters" will just have to wait.

Trash & Treasure

2011-09-23T00:30:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago someone decided in a stupidly hateful moment to toss boxes and bags of literal trash on my doorstep. I know exactly why. Because they were hurt about something else but they couldn't take their frustrations out on that thing, so I became the target. Thanks for the info, Local Newspaper!

I chose not to respond in kind because:
1. Don't feed the trolls
2. Karma is a bigger bitch than I have the energy to, or could ever be
3. You're boring

Soanyway, amid the myriad garbage was this potted plant. It had a long spear of green leaf and a river stone. The pot was neglectedly cracked at the bottom...but...green leaf! It was a living thing, albeit barely. I couldn't disregard it along with the old shoes and broken plastic better meant for a dumpster where it would have been if some people had any conscience left.

I brought the plant inside. Set it up on a shelf in a window that gets morning sun. Gave it some water. I'm not great at plants but I'm pretty sure sun and water are a thing.

Anyway. It grew. By that I mean a whole other leaf sprouted. And that leaf is almost 7 inches tall now. It's a miracle. I didn't even coat it in chocolate to make it go down easier or anything.

I don't know what kind of plant this is. I haven't Googled. It's got a bulb at the base so I have a few guesses but I'm not totally sure.

I want to keep being surprised.

To clarify, Universe, I want to keep being surprised by good and inspiring things.

I do not want to be surprised by the eyerollingly banal ways some people suck.

thx

Crushes

2011-09-12T00:45:00.001-04:00

I get crushes. I always have since forever times a million. plus one. Crushes pass. They're supposed to pass. They don't ever pass in my experience actually. They linger somewhere in a corner. Crushes gather dust but they're there. That soft spot in your heart people talk about...that's where the crushes pile up.

You see your crushes in the grocery store or online or wherever and you have that scurry heart beating moment blowing the dust off boxes and ignoring the yellowed faded pages of notes gone by so the shiny newness from however long ago glimmers sometimes glaring straight into your everyday. for a moment.

But it didn't work then. It won't work now. You bump into these people because you're looking for something but it's like it's the wrong thing. Or maybe it's the right thing but the wrong time to find it. I'm not sure why crushes happen in the grand scheme. or why they don't ever seem to work out.

Maybe they're like the funnybone test in a physical. They pop up and whack you and your involuntary response means you're functioning fine. It tells you the chemical part of your brain that's supposed to trigger the Falling in Love sensation still works. whether or not you intellectually believe in romantic love anymore.

Somewhere inside it is remembered.

Just Kick the Ball

2011-09-11T01:45:00.000-04:00

My kickball team is the human equivalent of one of those cooking shows where the guy comes in and makes dinner from random stuff in your pantry. Tunafish! Pretzels! Barbecue sauce! WAHLAH! We're an eclectic mix of people is what I'm saying. But oddly enough we work well together. who knew.

Our first game was Wednesday night and we only lost by two. This is relevant because all the other games were something like 10 point shut outs. So I'm thinking this means either we played the other worst team in the league or we actually have a competitive shot this season.

I only got to kick once and after a miserably weak foul kick I made legitimate contact and took off like bananas for first base. But my ball was caught out. ::scrunchy face:: As far as fielding goes? Ready position, eyes on the prize. I proved I'm not afraid to try to catch the ball, but it's painfully evident I have the throwing arm of a 5 year old girl. Someone suggested rolling the ball next time. Duly noted. I concur.

It was a good night despite the loss. An extra hour of tailgating pre-game could be not entirely unrelated to that assessment. And I'm extremely glad Audrey suggested this activity for at the very least the next couple months.

The whole idea was to get out of the house and take time to do something just for us. Me. Grownups. whatever. Meet people. Be silly. Blow off steam...that type thing. Some women shop~~lift~~, some hit the spa. And some of us hit the rewind button so hard we end up in knee socks and ponytails playing kickball like we're twelve.

Ke$ha v. Jesus

2011-09-05T12:57:00.000-04:00

So I was in Target the morning of heading back home from my little road trip out of town. I picked up a Paramore CD for the 3.5 hour drive because my car radio is stuck on scan and listening to that for hours on end would drive me schizophrenic. Only when I got in the car and opened the CD I realized it was not Paramore but Parachute. Shit. I gave it a shot anyway because who knows, could be my new favorite band. The music was palatable if a little choir-y in the background. I let it pass but suspicions grew...syrupy love and loss lyrics, something about the tone...and then some song said something about "Jeremiah" and I knew I was fucked. Christian Rock. I bought a goddamn christian rock CD by mistake and listened to it for almost a whole hour. sonofa... I found the nearest exit off I-95 to remedy the situation and quick.

I found a Rose's department store in Hicksville, VA. If you don't have a Roses's where you live, it's basically a Wal-mart but not as fancy. The requisite Sunday morning shoppers littered the place: overweight, disheveled white chicks with their skinny, marginally thugged out black baby daddies in tow pushing cartfuls of cafe au lait toddlers. The new American Gothic. The only thing missing was a Maury Povich casting table out front.

Anyway, this Rose's had a discount CD rack. 357 thousand CDs for $3.99 and all of them George Jones, Conway Twitty or something similar. Then I spied the New Release shelf. Eminem, Rhianna, etc. More in the direction I'm looking for. I mean, nothing against Conway Twitty mind you, but my X lurves that guy and I didn't need 2 + hours whipping down memory lane if you don't mind. What happened next, I can't fully understand. All I know is that with a movement reminiscent of walking up the down escalator I grabbed a Ke$ha CD. I know. I justified to myself that this was a kind of anthropological adventure because the pop radio station at home plays Ke$ha songs every 25 minutes and with Thing 1 starting middle school I should find out what the hell is on his radar and the tramptastic early 80's Madonna was always my favorite and maybe this will be like that and what could be the worst? fucking Ke$ha. Here's your $12.50. I surrender. Ya got me.

So, like one does, I popped the CD in and blasted it. Car dancing the whole rest of the ride back to Pleasant Valley. Because I wanted to spend what little time I had left to myself in a state of utter frivolous abandon. Mission accomplished. Auto-tune is a bitch to sing along to btw but did I let that stop me? You would be wise to guess I did not.

Do I have a newfound respect and admiration for Ke$ha after that experience? Uh, no. I still think she looks like she stayed out all night and her friends kicked her home through traffic. After listening to her lyrics however, I have every confidence that's the look she's going for. She's like the embodiment of 95% of the submissions to Texts from Last Night. So yeah, the Ke$ha phenomenon symbolizes the filthy, glittery, impending demise of our society... but it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.

And I'd still rather listen to that than fucking christian rock.

We Interrupt This Program...

2011-08-23T00:08:00.000-04:00

RAINBOWS?!

What the fuck was I thinking.

I might have been in an altered state of consciousness when it was all about rainbows, okay? Leave me alone.

But...rainbows are relevant to what I'm going to talk about next. Not this time, but NEXT next time. Okay, I'll leak a little bit of it. Thing 2 told me out of nowhere the other night that when he was in first grade his classmates were chattering on about a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

But he's all tough and worldly and whatnot and said that wasn't true. He knew better.

And I feel I may have failed him as a parent.

I mean, our job as parents is to fuck up our kids with our own perceptions. Exactly HOW we fuck up our kids comes to light later. Down the road. Right? Not when they're nine. Or maybe when they're nine. whatever. He doesn't believe in bullshit myths that aren't true anyway. That's smart.

It's not like I killed his sense of hope sometime near or about the tender age of first grade or anything...

shit.

There is a happy ending to that story eventually. But for now? I AM GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF TOWN FOR A FEW DAYS!

Oh my god you don't even know how much I need this. This summer, with its hospital stays and extra blood besides that and general goddamn weirdness on deep emotional levels has left me with a desperate need to vacate the situation like you read about.

My threshold for crisis has been met. *white flag* get me outta here.

I will be in the greater DC area for a few days starting Wednesday. Making a pilgrimage to IKEA and communing with some sorority sisters if fate allows. And other DC blogger friends if I get my shit together on twitter and work things out? not sure yet. that would just be grrravy. But hey, Tyson's y'all. let's make some magic happen.

Chasing Rainbows

2011-08-21T00:49:00.000-04:00

There is a post. It is percolating.

It's something about hope and myths and truth and reality.

I've written four different things since Wednesday and I didn't mean for them to but they all come back to those many things unexpectedly and by surprise.

This beingness. It is all connected.

I have not left you. I'm just thinking.

Rainbows to follow.

Free Time? uh....what?

2011-08-16T21:37:00.000-04:00

I'm a great go-with-the-flow-er and let-things-happen-as-they-will-er, but surprise changing of plans and unexpected free time messes me up. I don't switch gears that easily. I mean, if our plan is to just see what happens? great. yes. fine. But if our plan is an actual solid plan that I've geared up for in my head and shit changes all of a sudden? notsomuch with that. I feel off balance and disorganized. I'm not a fan.

I was supposed to be at a meeting tonight. A PTA thing. I had it in my head what I was going to wear, what questions I was going to ask, how funny I would allow myself to be. For days. I made plans for the kids and everything. And then two hours before? cancelled. CRASH. wtf do I DO now?

I could go shopping! I could go see a movie! I could cut the grass! Or other things I need to do but am not in the mood for at the moment!

But what did I do instead?

Nothing. Fuck around on the computer for a while. Watch TV. Email. bleh. Write. Which is maybe not so bleh, but still. I meant to be doing something else right now. And I'm not doing that thing.

Sometimes I'm great at free time. I'll all of a sudden get inspired and saw 8 feet of benches off my deck or plant eleven lilac bushes I got on sale at Walmart in less than two hours because HEYWHYNOTNOW?! So I'm trying to forgive myself for being a complete schlub and not doing anything productive this evening. Except for wash all the bath mats and shower curtains and bleach the cutting board and stuff. Which doesn't really count because there's no heavily lifting or tools involved. And I could be doing something more fun probably like going to see my friends perform at the comedy club in town. or anything else.

But maybe this is where I'm supposed to be tonight. Home. Quiet. Laughing to myself like an idiot at this:

and this:

which I found here: http://www.mamapop.com/2011/08/volume-7-a-non-exhaustive-but-pretty-comprehensive-collection-of-images-from-the-tubes-that-will-make-you-cry-laugh.html
and here: http://www.mamapop.com/2011/07/a-non-exhaustive-but-pretty-comprehensive-collection-of-images-from-the-tubes-that-will-make-you-cry-laugh.html

And that's okay too.

Man, that chick is funny. Cry-laffing indeed.

Harriet Nelson, I Am Not

2011-08-15T00:50:00.001-04:00

The hardest part about being a parent is having kids.

My mother and I had an outstanding relationship; she was always honest with me about what a hard job it is to raise children. And everything else too, which I admire and greatly appreciate. In hindsight. Because hearing that she wanted to throw me out the window sometimes... literally? Stung when I was younger.

Now? I get it.

I think if I'd grown up believing life was like TV then this whole Mom deal would be 87% torture and I'd be fighting for first in line at the pharmacy counter. For all of us. But knowing it's a hard row to hoe yet a high yield crop if you tend it right makes things bearable.

My kids are driving me somewhat batshit is what I'm saying. And I love them a million, but I will be so supremely happy once we get back into the regular school year routine.

I haven't been to the gym since June. I've spent fitful nights at their beck and call since Sudden Surprise Brushes with Death arrived at the door last month. I feel like I've been hearing, "Mom....hey...Mom?" at seven minute intervals for weeks now... and it's wearing my ass slam out. Thank god for DVR. And it's a damn good thing for them they're cute and funny. If we hadn't had peals of laughter peppered throughout this summer then I would be seriously looking for a mobster boyfriend just for the payoff of Witness Protection down the road.

We are reinstituting bedtimes this week. With computer/gaming/TV blackout times an hour before sleep. "This is not a punishment." I told them. "This is so you don't keep having a yelling mom all the time. Because I don't like freaking out all over the place anymore than you like seeing it. Does that make sense?" That they climbed on board with this plan, however begrudgingly, gives you a smidge of an idea of how fun things have gotten around here lately.

Also, the trajectory of a half full laundry basket makes an impressive statement.

With or without my best intentions, some socks may never be recovered.

.

What It's About

2011-08-12T23:57:00.000-04:00

I declare with resounding certainty that the Always Home and Uncool family is neither *always* home nor uncool.

Sorry to kill the façade

I haven't said anything about it here because I didn't want to jinx the meeting, but tonight Thing 1, Thing 2 and I got to hang out with Mr. and Mrs. Uncool and their Things 1 & 2 as they breezed into town on the way to somewhere else. And the evening was lovely. Sitting on a beach at the Chesapeake Bay, we chatted over drinks and pizza under a gorgeous orange setting sun and equally magnificent rising orange moon.

I hope they had as good a start to their vacation as we had meeting them because I'm kind of blissed out by the night.

Our Things 1 were equally solitary-ish and our Things 2 got on like gangbusters. Mrs. Uncool possessed the quiet confidence of a woman you want on your side in a fight. Mr. Uncool was exactly as he presents himself, the only word I can think of is 'affable'. Dick Van Dyke minus the ottoman. Love that guy. The Murphinator was icing.

In my estimation, this is one of those blogger connections you hope for. When I started the writing challenge to myself a year and a half ago, to write every day just to see if I could, I wasn't sure what would come of it but I hoped it would be something good. I met Kevin at BlogHer '10 and WHAM!, here we are with a just because pizza picnic on the beach.

You can find controversy wherever you so choose in the blogosphere if that's your thing, or you can find people you'd like to keep for mostly ever.

Go Big or Stay Home

2011-08-10T00:07:00.000-04:00

I know the common M.O. of bloggers is that they're great online but when it comes to real live social interaction they tend toward shy and awkward. That is so not the case with me. I'm a joiner. If there's a club or an activity or any freakin' thing to do live and in person, I'm usually one of the first to raise my hand. As evidenced by my recent outbreak of joining things.

Remember how I said Google maps didn't reveal a location between kickball and the PTA? Well, since there's not? I was compelled to join both in a matter of days.

I'm like a freight train. You can't stop me.

As of now, I'm on a kickball team called Wasted Potential. heh. Our team color is violet. In true Joiner Geek fashion I've been looking online for fun knee socks to fashion a uniform. Found these:

I thought the pink elephants were appropriate.

And the first PTA meeting of the year was tonight. Of course I volunteered to chair the biggest fundraising event of the school year. I'm just working on the Dinner portion of the evening though, the Silent Auction is in someone else's hands. Now, however fantastic I am at doing silent auctions...whew...bullet dodged. Coordinating just the dinner part? Cakewalk comparatively. And that's not til the Spring anyway so I have puh-lenty of time to help out with something else too! Right?! Helping coordinate volunteers for every single other activity throughout the school year that people might need volunteers for! Yay!

Because if I'm doing one thing, I may as well do twenty. And if there's one good way to meet every possible person in the whole entire school it's ~~begging for~~ encouraging volunteers and rallying troops for the biggest, best special event ever.

I'm being glib, but I'm seriously way more in my comfort zone doing stuff like this than sitting at home under self imposed house arrest not being out in the world. I mentioned I wanted a project? Well, there ya go. Projects found.

I did feel a little like Kristen Wiig's Penelope character from SNL tonight though. "You need help with a spreadsheet? Ummmm, I created a huge spreadsheet for my high school reunion? there were like 20 people involved? I typed in 500 names and addresses in 6 hours? mmm'kaaayyyy." or, "Oh, it's a dinner theater event? Ummm, I lettered in Theater in Junior High? And High School?" "You need newsletter articles? Ummmm, I'm a writer?"

So, yeah. I maybe need to tone that down a bit. Granted, the difference between me and my beloved Penelope is that my things are true but...ergh. Desperate isn't my best color.

But whatever. PROJEX! w00t.

A Smattering from the Edge

2011-08-05T01:32:00.000-04:00

~~The one good thing about spending 10 days in the hospital with children drugged on pain meds is that there's time to read. At page 514 I am smack in the middle of A Dance with Dragons. It's the latest George R.R. Martin book and I've been waiting for it for a bajillion years now. I remember more frivolous times in my life when I could devour thousand page books in that amount of time or less. Gone with the Wind, the Robert Jordan series...*sigh. And I'm trying to take more time with this book, read it carefully, because it's so intricately written I feel like I need to pay attention. So there's that.

But it's a great book and worth the wait and the HBO series hasn't compromised the reading at all except for when I read the characters now I see the cast on TV rather than the one I imagined in my head for so many years. That's tough to reconcile but I'm working through it.

~~BlogHer '11 is happening this week in San Diego. I'm not there. For a million reasons I couldn't have been even if I'd made preparations so the happening without me part doesn't sting more than a smidge. I would like to have met my West Coast blogger people live and in person but maybe they'll pick a place more in the middle for next year's conference and I'll have another shot at it then. Maybe there'll be some other reason those meetings would take place. There's time enough in the world if it's meant to be.

~~When you describe inanimate objects with human characteristics, you are not talking about the objects. A coffee table is not flippant. A sofa is not morbid. A paint color is not insane. I find decorating is like a Rorshach test; I could be wrong but it's always worked for me that way. Pick things that make you happy. And if nothing makes you happy? Then don't pick anything. I probably do this with more than just decorating. And this is probably exactly why I'm still single.

~~However, not picking anything doesn't mean you should keep things around that you don't like anymore just because they're somewhat functional. There's always a sense of loss with demolition, but there is also an overwhelming sense of liberation. And you have to get rid of some things to make room for new ones. Even if you don't know what the new things are yet. Letting go of the things you no longer need is a good start is what I'm saying.

~~My old boss from a few years ago, the first job I was ever fired from, emailed me out of the blue the other day. She wasn't responsible for firing me per se, but she cleared the path to my altar of sacrifice. And here she was just popping in via fb to say HI. My thoughts were: 1. Fuck that psycho, 2. I might should consider updating my privacy settings and 3. if "living well is the best revenge" then what the hell do I have to say back to her right now? "Despite the lull in beach time, my tan is still killer!" ? *ergh* So I haven't emailed her back. And even if things do start going well in the near future, I'll probably refer back to my first thought.

~~I need a project. An outside the house, real world activity. Audrey suggested a kickball team but I don't think I can bring myself to drive a whole town over to socialize with a bunch of unproven 20somethings for that. My other option is becoming an active member of Thing 1's middle school PTA. Google maps reveals no location as a midpoint between the two.

If you see me on the ledge of tall buildings in the next 6 months? A solid shove in either direction would be welcome.

Ours Is Not To Reason Why

2011-08-04T02:00:00.001-04:00

Everything happens for a reason.

Someone said that last week on TV and Thing 2 squeezed my hand from his bed in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit and asked, "Do you believe that, Mom?"

I was only half listening.

"Believe what, babe?"

"Do you believe everything happens for a reason?"

"Oh. Yes. Absolutely I do. Even the bad stuff. Even when we don't know why. It's all for a reason." And we squeezed hands again. Drifting off to our own thoughts.

I don't know why his bike handlebars fractured his spleen on that trick. I don't know why his older brother's appendix decided to freak out and go gangrenous exactly two weeks before. There was nothing I could do to prevent either thing. I don't know why they happened. They just did. For whatever reason, we were meant to spend the bulk of July in the hospital rather than on the beach like we'd planned.

Minus one appendix and with a spleen on close watch, we're as fine as we can be now. And we're all a little bit older. Sometimes you can feel the grey growing in.

The why will be made known in hindsight. As my friend Betty's mother says, "Hindsight is 50/50." These days I'm inclined to agree. It's surreal when you find yourself living in a trailer for Final Destination 6.

Priorities change and I don't even mind that my event coordinating business has yet to get off the ground. My family is a shambles. What're ya gonna do? It's bizarre. The path is narrow and treacherous, yet I have to believe it has its singular rewards at the end.

"What does not kill us..." and all that.

I Miss the You I Used to Know

2011-07-07T02:41:00.001-04:00

We bounce when we fall. That's what we do. We fall. We all fall. And we bounce. It's the human spirit or something. I think.

It's *my spirit.

There is a girl in New York City
Who calls herself the human trampoline

You find yourself in these situations that seem impossible. Surreal. Never in a million years type things.

Or at least I do. I have.

And sometimes when I'm falling, flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Oh, so this is what she means

You have to take a moment. Or a week. Or four years. Some shit doesn't sort itself out in the seventeen minutes of a sitcom. Or the season of a drama. Or a whole life maybe. But...I hope it does.

She means we're bouncing into Graceland
And I see losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you're blown apart
Everybody feels the wind blow

This cannot be created nor destroyed. It can only be rearranged.

In Graceland, in Graceland
I'm going to Graceland
For reasons I cannot explain
There's some part of me wants to see
Graceland
And I may be obliged to defend
Every love, every ending
Or maybe there's no obligations now
Maybe I've a reason to believe
We all will be received
In Graceland.

It all evens out.

***

Paul Simon, Graceland album.

She's just so sad every day. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't meant for this. She was supposed to be Mayor of this town by now. Well, the Mayor's wife anyway. She trained for it. She went to all the right parties. Went to the right schools in the right places. Dated the right men with the right families.

And she ended up here.

In the right place but not in the right place. Stuck. Stuck in exactly the middle of where she thought she was supposed to be.

And all these people. These idiot people are all around her, spinning and toiling in their stupid, happy lives. Lying. Pretending that they're doing it right. But she knows better. She knows their secrets.

She has so much power. She could destroy each one of them if she wanted to with an old photograph or story. If she wanted to. But she sits back and watches them succeed while she chews on the empty twig of social niceties. She bides her time.

Someday her name will precede her. In a good way. On a plaque. In an event program. On a country club roster. But she can't see that from here.

Here is a place where everyone remembers and they don't let go.

It's such a small place. There's no room to stand here. That's why there isn't anyone else
around. If she could just step forward...

There's a whole big world where people love you for your trials. You don't have to hide them. And your triumphs are all the more impressive because of them.

In this big world we love you for who you are and for who you have always been. We love you the most for being true to these parts of yourself.

please.

I miss the you I used to know.

First Step: Small Victories

2011-06-29T21:35:00.000-04:00

Dammit I didn't mean for it to be this long between writing. There was a flurry! I was on a roll! And then...wtf...? I wrote twelve different times since then but I got distracted in the middle and now it's three weeks later and...hi.

I cleaned out my pantry today. There was an unacceptable moth problem. It had to be done.

In unrelated news, I roasted beets with butter on the grill tonight and braised the leafy beet tops like fresh spinach. Two side dishes for the price of one! You should know two things here: 1. I'm not historically a fan of beets and 2. I will rat out my own terrible cooking quicker than anybody. So please take my word for it when I tell you, they were fantastic and if you're open to new things you should give this a shot.

BEET RECIPE (feel free to skip ahead)

Get a bunch of beets with the leafy stems still attached.
Wash said beets.

Braised leafy stems part:
Cut off the stems and rough chop in 1 inch sized (ish) pieces.
With a little bit of water still on them, place them in a skillet with a lid.
Cook and toss over medium heat until they're wilty.
Butter, salt. voila.

Whole Beet part:
Lightly peel the beet bodies.
Cut into potato salad sized pieces.
Throw 'em in a foil packet with a couple TBSPs of butter.
Grill on medium hot for about half an hour.
Awesome.

My sister likes them with Balsalmic dressing. I thought they were fine plain.

Anyway, that was my food discovery tonight because I've been in the market for cheap fresh vegetables the kids haven't tried yet and someone mentioned that today. So I'm sharing with you. *curtsy

What else...hmm...if you live within 500 miles or a day's drive of Virginia Beach and the business you work for is looking for a destination to have a meeting or conference or something, please let me know. Even if you already have an in-house person who plans events normally, I can work with her and get you guys a local's eye view of the area. Even if you've been here four times, I promise we have so much better stuff you don't even know about yet, too many people come here and end up with all the crappy, touristy stuff. I would be honored to be your sherpa.

Also, I've been letting the Things stay at home alone while I go to work for a few hours in the mornings. Despite my fears, they've told me they don't feel "neglectioned" at all and I'm a good mom for trusting them. Before you roll your eyes to the point of needing replacement surgery, let me relay this morning's check-in conversation with Thing 1.

"Hey kiddo, how's it going?"
"Pretty good. [thing 2] is out playing"
"Did you have breakfast yet?"
"Not yet. I just got up. I'm about to do my workout. Then I'm gonna have some breakfast and take a shower."
"Wow. Okay."
"Oh, also, I changed the toilet paper roll"
*blink
*blink
"What?"
"Yeah. Is it okay if I do some laundry later?"
"Um...yeah. Of course. You remember how?"
"Uh...well...you know what, let me call you back when I'm ready for that."
"'kay."
"'kay, bye Mom."

Now, the fact that HE CHANGED THE TOILET PAPER ROLL WITHOUT BEING ASKED practically deserves a parade. And when he called me back later for the laundry instructions? *sigh.

I'm just really super proud of him is all.

Oh, and hey, Future Daughter in Law? You're welcome.

Hell at the Church Carnival

2011-06-07T14:21:00.001-04:00

So, I mentioned the church carnival was last weekend. That Zipper ride I took a picture of? Decided to ride it on Sunday after some hell broke loose I'd rather not get into yet or possibly ever because I'm still a little bit in shock over the whole thing. But today we're talking about the Zipper ride. And that's not even a euphemism. Well, it wasn't.

The Zipper is a carnival ride. It's got a big long, oval piece in the center maybe 50 feet long with 14 or so people cages attached that two riders can cram inside. No Single Riders, the signs warn. You have to find a friend and buddy up. foreshadowing, I never knew thee.

The aluminum cages for riders are faced with a dog kennel kind of mesh and the insides are reinforced with foam wrapped bars that have seen fluffier days. The seat side of the inside isn't a seat per se. Rather a contoured wall, padded with red diner booth vinyl. Looking back, I'm convinced an epic amount of WD40 had to be involved to keep these death traps from squealing out rusty hinged hints of impending peril.

As such, my sister and I met the kids up at the carnival on Sunday day and happily climbed right in after much coaxing from Thing 1, Thing 2 and their gaggle of buddies. Fine. One ride. that's it. We leaned into the diner vinyl ready for an adventure. Sometimes when your life feels like a carnival ride, it's good to get on an actual carnival ride and put things in perspective a little bit I think. "So, bring it," I thought.

The first half was fine. We laughed and shrieked as the Zipper swirled us around. I think we were the only two riders. The Things and their friends were watching us from the ground, holding bags and sunglasses. Thing 1 had stumbled off the ride two nights before yelling, "Never again!" in mock-ish outrage. But he'd been back on it a dozen times since then, so how bad could it be?

Then...

What happened on the second half I'm not entirely sure but it was easily the single most terrifying experience of my adult life.

As we paused mid-ride at the tippy top of the world, the ride operator must have set the Zipper on Straight to Hell mode because suddenly we started lurching through the air, flipping and looping and plummeting in ways that I would not have thought possible by watching from the ground. I felt like someone threw me in an old lunch box and swung me around changing directions by surprise and with such force that I was brutalized by gravity itself. Well, gravity and a roll bar. I still have bruises.

I would never survive the space program.

My sister and I screamed. And kept screaming. This wasn't playful shrieking anymore, these were piercing, tear-streaked, torrents of pure fear that drew a crowd on the ground below us. I don't even know how many people gathered by the time we were done because I was so dazed once I got off the ride. My sister needed to go vomit. I needed gingerale and a seat that wasn't moving. If I were a cartoon, I'd have had googly eyes and birdies chirping around my head.

Skipping over the gross parts, let's just say that once the next 30 minutes and the contents of both of our stomachs had passed, we felt much better.

Never again, Zipper. Never again.

Goodnight

2011-06-05T00:58:00.000-04:00

I love you. Even when you're being stupid and wrong, I love you. Because I think you're smart enough that you'll come back around to smart and right eventually. That's what family is.

But what happens when I don't think you'll come back around from stupid and wrong to smart and right? The smart and right that we've agreed upon for decades previously until just today earlier this evening when you said WHAT?

What happens when I think you're permanently brain damaged and dangerous?

I don't trust you anymore.

And like my mother always said, "If I can't trust you, I don't have any use for you."

Some people, to me, are done.

Sorry and stuff but I'm greasing the escape hatch.

The Oven Exploded and Other Things

2011-06-04T00:53:00.001-04:00

I blow out lightbulbs like birthday candles. Microwaves, video players and other small appliances too. Sometimes room fuses, once the whole house. Once the cul de sac went out but they never pinned that one on me officially. Anyway, today I blew out the oven.

See, I've been meaning to make Oatmeal Raisin cookies for a week or two just because I forget why. And today in a fit of prehistoric hormonal imperative, cookies got made. I was kvelling on the phone with Audrey while the second tray of cookies were in the oven. And...PHZZZT! POW! WTF?!

It sounded like a combination of ice maker and garbage disposal, but it came from my oven.

"Um, hey, can you hold on a minute? I think my oven just exploded."
"What? You're joking, right? Are you kidding? You have to be kidding."
"Um...I...uh..." *spies something glowing and possibly on fire inside the oven* "What the...I need to call you back."

I opened the oven and tried to figure out what the hell I was looking at. It wasn't a flame. It looked like it could maybe turn into one, but at the time it was just...this glowy thing in the back of the oven.

I took the cookies out.
Took the wire racks out.
Poured baking soda on it just in case it was grease.
The glowing didn't stop.

I kind of wished I had a fire extinguisher? but after the baking soda I realized there was no flame to put out so I just stood there and stared at the glowing and realized the open oven door was letting air get to it and if there's any truth to science, that was probably not an ideal situation for avoiding a fire. *put racks back in place* *close oven door*

Huh.

Meanwhile, I have two 9 year old boys, Thing 2 and friend, standing in the kitchen sucking on popsicles and staring into the oven with me wondering what we might be supposed to do next.

So I flipped off the oven at the fuse box and the glowy part of the heating element went dark. And the best I can come up with is that the oven is staying off until further notice.

Thank god I replaced the fuel line on the grill.

Anyway, that was a brief moment this afternoon. The rest of the week has had me doing other things.

Like...

I applied for my passport on Tuesday.

I'm okay with the picture. Although I wish I'd contemplated a hairbrush.

So you don't think I'm totally uncivilized, I did have a passport before but that was in my married name and I've not only gone back to my maiden name since but also I changed my first name and middle name too which makes for lots of paperwork and WHEE! but also, I lost my first passport a million years ago anyway so I HAD to get a new one because I have an international vacation coming up in a little while that I'll tell you about later. In a surprising and totally coincidental turn of events, it's going to take place near a teen ~~beauty pageant~~ scholarship competition. Thusly, Thing 1 will always remember that puberty started mid July 2011. *shakes head*

Random kite surfer

What else? Oh, I took the kids to the beach the other afternoon. For no reason other than Thing 2 was bored and I needed something else to do besides be in the house. Sometimes even though it feels like I should be chained to a radiator for the safety of the villagers, getting my feet in the sand is more calming.

Thing 1 & 2 just digging in the sand

I remember afternoons like that when I was their age. Doing Spelling homework in front of the ocean. Pretty outstanding memory to have. *wistful sigh. Anyway...

And this weekend is the big church carnival. Not my church obvs. My church can be found in the previous two pictures. But it's the neighborhood Catholic church and we go every year because they have awesome rides and creepy carnies and a not at all bad flea market section.

And sometimes you see stuff like this.

And it triangulates you exactly at "*gasp!* Precious!", "It feels like just yesterday..." and "...holy christ Thing 1 is starting middle school in three months."

So there's just all kinds of interesting things going on here lately.

It's not you. it's me. but duck just in case.

2011-06-03T00:19:00.001-04:00

You know that scene from Contact? Where Jodi Foster is in the space pod thing and she goes off on her adventure? They agree to let her go on the space trip and they follow the directions to make the travel pod *mostly* but she has to strap in to this stupid chair for her safety or whatever.

Here's a video of it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8axMaBL4uo

Anyway, I think of that ALL THE TIME.

If we just let things happen as they're meant to without trying to manipulate every corner and circumstance then I think we'd be a lot better off.

I say that because the last two days I've opted to lie down and be quiet instead of answering the question: At what velocity does a shovel split a human skull?

And thank god when I blink hard enough with incredulity my eyelashes don't extend like adamantium and slice people to ribbons.

Bluebird of Happiness

2011-05-25T00:26:00.000-04:00

HEYGUESSWHAT!

The X has recently become a reader of le blog! Unbeknownst to me until the other day, last week he clicked "like" on the fb fan page. Pretty sure it was since I showed him the catface video I mentioned in my last post. Not sure how to react to that but I'm welcoming you to my moment of "Uh...he's right behind me, isn't he?"

So let's all join in for the pausing, quick blinky thing.

...
blinkblink
...

Now we take a deep breath and a note from Pulp Fiction.

We're all gonna be like little Fonzies around here.

And what's Fonzie like?

That's right.

Cool.

(hehomgkthxbah)

******

In other news, my power keeps going out. And that might be a metaphor for something else but I mean it literally right now. The weather that destroyed the Midwest made its way to Pleasant Valley this afternoon and people are dodging trees and patio umbrellas in the streets which is absolutely not the norm for here until late Summer/early Fall when it's full on hurricane season. And it's weird. Reminiscent of one of my favorite despair.com pieces "Challenges."

Behold:

I expected times like this - but I never thought they'd be so bad, so long, and so frequent.

And the power just went out AGAIN.

and now it's back on.

real time. just like that. it's crazytown.

I meant to write about my adventures at the gym over the last two months but I re-read it and sneered at my own self. I've been too long and scattered away, I can't meet you again on the regular with gym habit ramblings. I just can't. It's not what I think of when the power goes out.

What I've been thinking of is how somebody said on Formspring not so long ago that all blogs die. It's fucked with my head for months.

I don't want to kill the blog. I don't want it to die. I just needed to reboot. And honestly, maybe I need to write my crazy out again more often because I'm trying to get a Corporate and Special Event coordinating business off the ground. I'm an LLC now and everything! And the last event venture I tackled went off so successfully it was like I meant to do it that way and I used this forum as the main pressure release valve all the while. maybe this was the key whole time.

Blurring the Lines

2011-05-18T16:13:00.000-04:00

The crazy must be piling up because lately I'm thinking to myself in blog. Words start to bubble to the surface and soon it becomes this roiling thing in my head reaching out with tendrils growing to branches unfurling swirls and layers of tumbling thinkingness until I can't even procrastinate with Spider Solitaire anymore because the words are clogging up my whole brain.

Soooo, HI!

Okay, I mentioned a couple of posts ago how I was being my Junior Counselor to the Free World self over at WYRD101.com right? I did a podcast for them that one time? And you all listened to it and thought it was much better than CATS and you'd listen again and again? Remember that? Well, I did another podcast. This time it was a video which you can download from here: http://wyrd101.com/bbb03/

I make my appearance around the 50 minute mark of the video and if you don't have the time or inclination to go listen to my SAGE WORDS OF ADVICE, just know that I did the podcast in catface makeup.

Like so:

mrawr

Because when someone tells me they're having problems getting along with people and they just don't know what in the world could be wrong and HALP! and then I get clickety and find out pretty quickly that this guy belongs to the Furmunity and identifies more strongly with a German Shepherd Dragon Hybrid at times than regular human people? I'm doing the podcast in catface because I think that's a kind of significant detail that might factor in to your interpersonal relationships and next time you might want to mention that because see how being a humanimal might be a little distracting? And I'm not even mentioning the pregnancy fetish thing. So, what I'm saying is that I'm not a One Size Fits All junior counselor, okay? It's called caring, people. I haz it.

Anyway, that's just a smidge of what I've been up to. Also I want to address the blurring of virtual and 3D people lines, because that's something I've been bumping up against lately.

See, I run into people I know in 3D who've stumbled across the blog (hey! maybe it's you) and it's always awkward for me because I have to wonder if I've talked shit about you here and what dear diary insanity you may have read about me so far. Because you don't really say what you've read, you just give me a knowing look and tell me I'm an amazing writer which, y'know, *BLUSH! and Thanks! and all and I don't know what to say except I'm a little paranoid now and how long have you been lurking around for god sakes?! sorry. It just seems weird to me that we've run into each other at little league and the grocery store with the neighborly "hey there" head nod 27 times and all of a sudden I find out you know my secrets. that's all.

Because I want to write more. I do. It's therapeutic for me and stuff. I can't believe I made time to do this every day for most of last year just because why not. And I could kick myself for checking out right before the entire blog awards season because I think I could have gotten an honorable mention or something from somebody. yeesh. But that wasn't the point.

The point was that while it's liberating to splay myself wide open all over the internet, knowing that my audience is just as likely to live around the corner as across the country is something I'm still working at reconciling.

Baggage Claim

2011-04-06T23:49:00.000-04:00

She's feeling a bit lost and sad. She knows she doesn't want to be where she was but she's not sure where Next is. She feels like maybe she doesn't deserve a Next. She tells me all the reasons why not.

"You're being too hard on yourself," I tell her. Junior Counselor to the Free World kicks in.

Nobody's perfect and anyone who expects you to be can go suck an egg. There is no such thing as normal, don't try to compare yourself to anyone else. Just be the best YOU. I love you. It will all be okay. Just breathe. Really, some days breathing is enough.

I try to tell her that so many times. No negative self talk. Nuh uh. Not around me. Admitting faults is fine but not to a hyperbolic degree. You are good enough, smart enough and doggone it people like you.

And yet.

Left to my own devices?

I'm flailing too. Panicked gasping sobs and eyes wide shut with imagined social terrors.

No man will ever truly love me again. I will die alone. I don't deserve to be happy. There is no hope.

I don't feel like that right this second but just the remembering of that feeling finds me big blinking and swallowing sad. but I can't tell you that. because who wants to hear that.

It's preposterous in the first place, right?! I'm fearless and bold! I jump out of planes for fun! well, just the one so far but I'd do that again in a heartbeat. I write my self to ~~thousands hundreds~~ tens of readers on the internet just because! And I'm funny! And pretty! and stuff. I'm all those great things people remind me about all the time that I don't hear when it's late at night and I'm alone.

Alone. Again. Still. For the howeverymanyth year in a row.

The loneliness used to not get to me but every so often. Now it gets to me about every day.

tears over time drip trickle stream gush torrent and the lonely carves a canyon right through me.

But canyons are a wonder, aren't they? People like to hike around in there. See the striations. Marvel at the depth. Whatever else people do in canyons. Camp? I've never been to one, so I don't know for sure. All I know is that the steady force of even the smallest thing given enough time can create something I can't find the right word for.

And maybe that's part of my problem. I can't quite find the right word for me. For where I am. I feel pretty proud of what I've accomplished since I've been divorced. Just about everything I've done in the last 7 years would not have happened if I were still married and hiding behind a husband. But I wonder if I've missed out on love. I never positioned myself in a place to find it. That wasn't my focus. I had my own concerns that didn't involve putting myself on the back burner. Again. Not that that's what love is about. I know that. now.

And that's where the problem lies. Logically I know better but emotionally I'm in a weird place. Now I'm lonely and that's a terrible time to seek out a relationship. It's like going grocery shopping when you're hungry. You start putting everything in your cart because all you want is something and it ends up a godawful mess. I can't do that now. not NOW. I've come too far for that fortheloveagod.

So, I'm feeling conflicted is what I'm saying. I'm pep talking people into feeling great about themselves and convention be damned, love who you are and don't worry about anything or anyone else! And then I cry myself to sleep because why can't I just fit into the box that so many other people fit into? Why do I have to be this awkward thing that doesn't lend itself to a container? Like I'll be found only when I'm tripped over as you're looking for something else.

But I was telling my pen pal the other day that the alternative to this is being one of those boxy, Glitterati people. You know the ones, most likely out on the display shelves? And I really don't want to be one of them because those people annoy the hell out of me as a general rule. I mean, I can make small talk at a buffet table with them just as well as anybody else but the second I see an opening, I'm probably going to seek out someone with some texture who has something real to say.

So anyway...where was this meant to go...?

Oh. Right.

You, you presently unclaimed piece of baggage, are zippers full to bursting with valuable content. You will be found.

me too.

just breathe.

Updating.....78% complete

2011-03-26T00:55:00.000-04:00

You know how full moons are supposed to make everyone crazy and certain astrological events have a profound effect on how people do things? Well, if you're into new agey things like astrology, magnets and The Force and stuff then you might be familiar with that concept, but if you aren't then I'm probably about to sound like a crackpot. consider yourself warned.

Okay, so in the last few weeks we've had some major planetary events. One of the most powerful earthquakes in history, a devastating tsunami and then the Super Perigee full moon right afterward. Now, I'm not saying I'm anywhere near Japan. In fact, I thought I was probably on the exact opposite side of the world from it until I found this totally radical mapping website and found out the geographic other side of the world from my sofa is freaking NOWHERE in the Indian Ocean southwest of Australia. Anyway, I'm nowhere near Japan is what I'm saying but I think the significance of all those events one right after the other served to shake up just about everyone on the planet.

As the world seemed to be finding its footing that whole week after the devastation in Japan, the Super Moon waxed to bursting overhead and I'm pretty sure that tipped the scales of the universe toward totally bonkers.

At least that's how it feels for me. I was a guest on a podcast over at wyrd101.com titled "A Fistful of Silver" which carries a NSFW warning and also Not Safe for the Easily Offended which I find oddly flattering and a complete surprise because they told me it was an adult broadcast and I was just speaking freely and I didn't think I was so offensive that I warranted TWO different kinds of warnings. I didn't even turn on the webcam. It was fun to be a part of actually. So, if you aren't at work and have an open mind and also an hour or so go listen and tell me why that event keeps playing in my head on a loop. Because I can't figure out why.

Another thing that has me thrown for a loop is that I joined the gym last Friday. I have been there every day except Sunday because my legs were on fire from 96 squat-related exercises but it still doesn't feel real. I don't even know how to explain the gym thing except that I felt suddenly and overwhelmingly compelled to join. An irresistible urge. Which is the definition of compelled if I'm not mistaken (and I'm not because I just looked it up, thanks Google).

I'm trusting it though. At this point in my life, I feel like I have to trust things like that because how much more time do I have to waste not listening to my intuition? The more opportunities I squander, the less time I have to enjoy my success when I finally do figure it out. So I think I should probably just do the right thing now rather than hold myself back any longer. I think.

I have been wanting a reset button on my life for a while. Of course I KNOW the universe doesn't give those out. Well, not without actual death involved and I don't think I'm quite there yet. But for whatever reason I feel like things got shaken off the shelves internally speaking and I'm reorganizing how they're arranged in my head. Probably why I haven't been writing here in so long that I feel I hardly qualify as member of the blogosphere these days. Even though there are a whole host of other things I could and have been blaming it on, it just boils down to me not have my thoughts nailed down in a way that I'm ready to share for a while.

Like this event planning business I mentioned a couple months ago. I've been dragging my heels on that kinda. Fits and starts anyway. And it's driving me nuts. End of April is when I expect to be fully legit. I just have to quit talking myself out of it. I read a quote in Inc. last month that pretty much summed up the mindset I need to keep:

Your competition is a secondary factor. Analyze whether you think you can be successful or not before you size up your competitors.

Because I don't want to adopt the habit of knocking people down to make myself feel better about my chances. You know how people do that sometimes? They look at someone else and say, "What a piece of shit; they should be ashamed of themselves for that attempt." and don't take into account 1. There's always a learning curve and 2. It's pretty easy to sit back and be a critic without getting your hands dirty. And, y'know, bitter isn't my best side. I'll let you know more about the event planning thing as it coagulates.

Having mentioned being critical, I have to admit that I absolutely love Regretsy, the website that snarks about ridiculous crafts on Etsy. But that's because what Regretsy features is so head cockingly WTF you can't help but rubberneck and giggle yourself stupid. At least I can't. so, there's my smidge of hypocrisy for ya.

Sex, Drugs and Rock n Roll

2011-02-05T20:57:00.002-05:00

Villainizing Charlie Sheen is not the answer. Or Lindsay Lohan. Or Paris Hilton. Or Mel Gibson. Or any of those other celebrities who do what people with too much money and time on their hands do. Hell, one of the reasons they're celebrities in the first place is because we've been glamourizing the Sex, Drugs and Rock n' Roll lifestyle for the past century. We live vicariously through them, well, maybe not those examples I gave specifically but who hasn't at one point looked to someone famous and thought, "That's what I wanna be when I grow up." At least for a minute or two before they died in a pool of their own vomit or something.

Celebrities, actors specifically, have historically had reputations as amoral vagabonds and thieves. For hundreds of years they were disrespected and treated near about the same as sideshow freaks. Charlie Sheen, for example, has probably been doing lines off the ass of anything dressed as a cheerleader in five star hotel rooms since 1984.

But NOW...now that we "invite them into our living rooms" (gack btw) via TV each week, we feel like we should have some jurisdiction on how they live their private lives? I say no. It's none of our business. They get up on stage or in front of the camera, put on the show we paid to see and that's that. You got your money's worth and that's all you're entitled to. You want a say in what they do off camera? Mind your beeswax. Now go make sure your kid isn't reenacting last week's episode of Skins.

Catching Up

2011-01-28T20:40:00.001-05:00

It's not that I don't love you, readers. I do. I promise. It's that...well...it's hard to explain. The absence I mean. Why I went from the Blog-a-Day Great Blogsperiment to jack diddly nothing two months ago. You feel gypped. Confused. Bewildered. It's okay. I understand. I would too if I were you.

And it's not like it's something I planned. It was just Thanksgiving and I thought I'd take the night off and things started to happen that I couldn't write about but couldn't get my head away from and then all of a sudden I wasn't thinking about what I had done I was thinking about what I was going to do and rather than fill you full of empty promises I didn't write anything. I fell off twitter too. Even facebook for a while.

Because even though hundreds upon hundreds of people find me witty and entertaining, it only takes one strategically placed accusation that my online presence is ruining someone's life for the whole thing to fall right the hell apart. Hypothetically.

But it has become overwhelmingly obvious that whether I'm out loud in a crowd or not? some things are just going to suck. And since I can't keep quiet in church? the blog is back. maybe not in the daily form like before, I still have some 3D stuff on which I have to focus that does not allow for hours and hours of navel gazing each day however charming you or I may find it, but in some form. Weekly, twice weekly. I'm not making any promises. I'm still figuring out the details. I will not be caged by your expectations! or something.

So there's that. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not dead nor have I been inhabited by pod people so you don't get too worried. Everything's cool. Just had to hold down the reset button for a smidge of time there. Thanks for understanding. You're the best. etc.

AND ALSO, my friend Kris, or Nine as I believe his minions call him, has invited me to write over at his site WYRD101.com. Which I always thought was pronounced "werd" as in "word" but apparently it's pronounced "weird" as in...well..."weird" I guess. And I should have known that because he calls his minions twistoids so you know there's something less than normal going on over there. Which is FINE with me. totally fine. There's no such thing as normal anyway, that's not what...anyway. not the point. The point is my friend asked me to write with/for him on his site. And I've been stumped. STUMPED I tell you as to what to write about.

So here's the preliminary deal. I'm going to drop some of my Junior Counselor to the Free World stylings on the general internet over at wyrd101.com on a somewhat regular basis. That is the plan at this point. Because people need my advice. Perhaps even you? When my eyeballs aren't floating from too much Dogfishhead IPA, I'm an incredibly intuitive insightful person. Which you've of course figured out after two months of poring through my archives because you were so desperate to find out my opinion on life as we know it while I was away.

Wait. What?!

You DIDN'T spend the past two months poring through the archives?! You just thought, "Huh, no blog from Silver. That's odd. Oh well, Studio Thirty + is chock full of other people, I'll just mosey on over there." without so much as batting an eyelash? REALLY?! Not that I blame you. Studio Thirty + is doing some amazing things. As is MamaPop, DadCentric, Polite Fictions and a whole slew of other group blog sites that I love dearly. So that's fine I guess. I can't fault you for that too TOO much. but...it stings. It... ow is all I'm saying.

Okay, so, advice. My free opinion for your viewing pleasure will be available at wyrd101 as soon as I get my act together to write an intro post and start taking questions. I'll answer anything you might need to know, like "What does it mean when your husband starts spray tanning and your pillow smells like unfamiliar cologne?" or, "How soon into stalking should I drink my face off then send an incoherent email at 3 a.m. professing my love with as few consonants as possible?" or even, "Uggs. Crocs. One bullet."

I'm here to help is what I mean.

So that's what's going on. Oh, and I'm becoming an Event Coordinator, which I have been on a volunteer basis for years but now I'm branching out into my own gig. So if you need any parties planned, shoot me an email. I can do anything from multi-day events with 400+ guests to the more intimate "I'd love to have some people over but the thought of planning it stresses me out" gathering. When you don't know, go with the pro! No event is too big or too small! And other propaganda-ish stuff as well!

Aaaaannnnd...what else?....hmmmm. That's about it for now.
Thanks for being here.

The Hype About Toning Sneakers

2011-01-22T23:10:00.000-05:00

Toning sneakers came on the scene big last summer. I know you've seen commercials for these shoes, they're the ones with the rounded bottoms? ...the shoes...not... well, the commercials aren't shy with the round bottoms either, so I guess that could really apply to both. and I doubt the guys are checking out the footwear when those commercials come on. but I meant the shoes.

When the toning sneakers first came out they weren't cheap. Some cost over $200 and that's more money than I'd like to pay for a fancy walking shoe if I'm being honest. So I coveted the shoes from afar and went on walking around in my beat up old regular sneakers. The only thing interesting about the bottoms of those is the green grass stains from when I wear them to mow the lawn.

But now enough time has passed for the copycat toning shoes to have made their debut. So, instead of spending $245 plus shipping and handling for the über high tech, schmancy, original toning shoes you can skip on over to Payless and pick up a pair of perfectly fine, unoriginal toning shoes on sale for $19.99.

I wondered if there was a difference. I wondered if the kind that cost literally TEN TIMES more money are more effective than the lesser priced ones. I know someone has to have done the legwork on this for me already.

Thanks to Google, I found out that they certainly have researched this and blah, blah freakin' blah...it's boring. Sneaker research is BORING. I just wanted to know which shoe is going to give me the ass of an Olympic speed skater in the least amount of time. Which shoes do THAT? Google hasn't answered that question but I noticed that all these people are walking around a hell of a lot in these new shoes to see which one works best, right? This led me to hatch a theory. It's pretty revolutionary. Brace yourselves...

I submit: If you exercise more then you'll start to tone up.

CRAZY, right?! Seriously, if you walk your way through seven time zones trying to figure out if the fancy shoes are toning your ass? Your ass is getting toned. It has nothing to do with the shoe.

If you're concerned enough about your health or posture or muscle tone to go out and buy special shoes to improve that and then use them, it has way more to do with your attitude and focus than the shoe. Does that make sense?

Not to rain on the fitness parade, but my official opinion is that the toning sneakers are kind of bullshit. I only say "kind of" because went out I got the $20 Champions from Payless. So when it comes to hype, I guess this means I only believe about 10% of it.

Boil Then Simmer

2010-11-24T23:53:00.000-05:00

On Thanksgiving Eve I am thankful for things I never saw coming.

Granted, many of those things were horribly painful and I wished to the bottom of my feet at the times they were happening that either they never existed or I never did but after those rapids were run and calmer waters were reached, those unexpected things became part of me.

Y'know, that whole "doesn't kill you/makes you stronger" thing. I'm thankful for being stronger, for running the rapids and for learning from them. and I'm glad they're over.

That's bigger picture stuff that doesn't have anything concrete to do with what I'm thankful for right now but it kind of does but anyway, right now...

I just want to stomp around and shout and marvel sometimes about how it's so Weird and Cool and Awe Striking what you're drawn to! and when! and whom! and whatever you think the why is for that at the time! And then when you find out later there's a whole other level of why to the the what and the when and the whom? *sparkly explosions!*

Moments like that make me redefine words. Or fine tune their meanings. Or obliterate things with a sledgehammer.

Moments like that make me look at every single theory about the creation of the universe as I understand it today from religion to science to dumb fucking luck and say, "You know what? You're right. All of you. Do you get how that's the coolest thing EVER?!"

Because I'm reading this book that one of my friends/readers/countrymen sent me yesterday. It's On Writing by Stephen King. and reading it is...I don't even...look, the only thing I can equate it to is that it feels like I'm in defrag mode all of a sudden. And I'm more than a little tripped out about all the different things that had to happen for this to land in my inbox and make sense. And I'm only on page 57 of 278.

I'm not sure if my head is being cracked wide open or sewn back together or if it's being both. What if it's being rebroken and reassembled to fit a different way that's more flattering to my brain? I could use a makeover. It would be timely. and also? howcoolwoulditbeifyoucoulddothat?!

y'know, figuratively because...kinda weird in a literal way. I get that.

Anyway, didn't see this coming. And I am not that easy to surprise anymore.

Thank you.

And I'm definitely buying the printed version.

Things That Won't Keep Me Awake Tonight

2010-11-23T23:59:00.003-05:00

So, you know how there's all this upheavily transition stuff going on where I KNOW I want to be a published writer and I KNOW I'm probably ready for the super exciting adventures of attempting to maybe try to get an actual date by leaving the house eventually and I would totally be doing that more if it weren't for all this VERY SYMBOLIC PROBABLY house rearranging not to mention spending all kinds of the quality time with my family because the holidays are upon us now but I promise I'll get right back to that dating thing as soon as I get a plan together.

You know how there's a couple things going on around here is what I'm trying to say...

Seems like this would be an excellent time to put together a Christmas Party for any people I might know who happened to go to my high school in the last 40 or so years of its existence who also happen to be on facebook. Or I might not know these people but they are mutual friends with people I know and they'll decide to show up. Because WHY NOT.

Right?!

So, in addition to the other stuff, there's that now too.

But I don't have to do anything for the Christmas party really. The Vice Minion is my logistics guy. I'm on creative and I already named the party and made a graphic. Five minutes later and WHAMO! it's a Facebook Official Event. No spreadsheets. I don't even think we need to have a meeting for this. piece of cake. or some seasonal and corny idiom that means easy that I can't think of right now because I'm not fully in Christmas mode because it's not even Thanksgiving until Thursday for god sakes...ease up.

But yeah, party. Just show up with a mistletoe headband, belt buckle, socks (if you're into that type of thing, I'm not here to judge) and wait for the magic to happen.

Completely unrelated, I wonder if I'll get to sleep before 4 a.m. tonight. Odds increase exponentially if I finally start reading Tai Pan.

*y a w* oh, excuse me. *a w n*

*s t r e t c h*

ahhh...just the idea of it is working already. fantastic.

One Eye Open

2010-11-22T23:19:00.000-05:00

I'm smack in the middle of the house overhaul process and the whole place is a jumbled mess. It's pretty much a cluttered nightmare most of the time anyway but this is more intense than our regularly scheduled programming. Stuff is now getting Officially Rearranged. So Everything is Everywhere.

Even when I put it away, other stuff appears in its place before I know it.. Because there's no permanent place to put anything right now.

Everything is in transition. My neverending story.

Somebody recently said I'm too hurried toward the destinations of everything. I should take more time to enjoy the journey. And I really thought about that a lot. I'm not constantly racing toward the finish line. I do enjoy the journey with some things. I'm not a light-turner-offer during sex for example. And I don't ever fall asleep in the car on long trips anymore. But there are so many moments when the journey (gack) feels like I'm groping blind.

I don't always mind the groping. And by that I don't just mean literal groping. I mean the figuring out process.

It's a tree. It's a rope. It's a fan. It's a wall.

I just want to be the one who figures out it's an elephant.

Or rather, ONE of the ones who figures out its an elephant.

Because I was talking with a friend and said, "In the land of the blind the one eyed man is-" and she piped in with "Oh! King! I know this one!" and I said, "No. Cursed! In the land of the blind the one eyed man is cursed."

Because when you're the only one who knows a truth, everybody else thinks you're crazytown.

But I'd like to be one of the one eyed people anyway. As long as I could hang out with the other one eyed people. because otherwise I'd be stifling laughter all the time because no one else would get the joke. and it's not healthy to hold things in.

So, yeah, more transition. The boys have moved into their remodeled garage/Tween Dream Room/Blue Room with nary a hiccup and I get to re-purpose their former bedroom and ~~pit of hell~~ toy room into WHATEVER I WANT.

And that's a lot to take on no matter what...but when I process it on a symbolic level? Holy fuck. I can't even write for a few days.

Side note about the Toy Room overhaul? Every Yu Gi Oh and Pokemon card I throw in the garbage makes yours more valuable someday. you're welcome.

Look Out Dating World...

2010-11-19T23:02:00.000-05:00

I don't date a lot. Right? We've established this? My X left in June 2004 and since then I've had a couple of boyfriends for maybe a month or two at a time but the last one was summer 2007 and my last actual pick-you-up-for-dinner date? three years ago. ugh.

I used to surf around personals sites occasionally and talked with men through those but for the most part I think online personals sites are utter crap. If you've found the love of your life through internet dating then CONGRATULATIONS. I'm sure you're incredibly blissed out. kudos. good work on snatching up the last non-serial-rapist type out there. you kind of suck for that by the way. but whatever. My position is firm, no internet dating for me.

I've had plenty of reasons for not putting myself out there more socially in the three dimensional realm also. Two small children. Dead mother. Complicated situation with the outlaws. Jail. you know, the usual.

But now, now I've reached a point in life where I feel totally ready for human consumption. And not just in a booty text kind of way. Because seriously, if you want to booty text me? don't. It won't end well for you is all I'm saying. Make sure your insurance covers therapy. I refuse to succumb to the stupid ass booty text. again. I am ready for dating. Actual dating.

And what I want to know now is: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!

Because most women would take this opportunity to ask, "What's wrong with me? Why doesn't he like me?!" because women blame themselves for everything. It's in our DNA. Men never do that. Or they do it very rarely. Men ask, "What's her problem?!" and blame other people when stuff goes wrong.

I'm taking the male stance for a minute because here's why...

Let's say, hypothetically, there was an attractive, single, straight, employed man in my age range. Hard to imagine, I know, but go with me for a second here. I don't know this guy all that well but let's imagine we have some friends in common and I might be interested in learning more about him. In theory, I open the door for a man like this to make a move in the dating arena in the form of witty email banter. I would feel pretty confident about this if I were to do it because I've been told I banter quite wittily via emails and he was the one who sent the first message...so...I should see if this has potential. hypothetically. Right?

Uh huh. Over the past couple of weeks every attempt I've made has glanced off this guy like Joe Dirt sprayed him down with PAM at the county fair. Seriously. At a point where most men would have pulled a Brett Favre, in theory...I can't get this guy past one line, cloddish messages.

My friend Audrey, ever the optimist, recommended I "re-bait the hook." Maybe he doesn't know I'm interested? Maybe...just re-bait the damn hook is what she said. In ALL CAPS if I remember correctly. *sigh. fine. I did. I gave him my number. I told Audrey, "okay. but just watch. it won't work." She said, "you never knoooow..." We bet a lemontini on whether or not he'd call and by when. Lemontini is our standard bet about stuff like this.

Audrey owes me so many goddamn lemontinis by now we're going to need an ambulance on standby the next time we go out.

Anyway, I need to talk to this guy for other reasons and the cavalry I enlisted during the reunion stepped in and tried to help me out. Which is awesome. I love my cavalry. My minions. But I should not need a fucking cavalry to help me get a date, okay? I am smart, funny, accomplished...sort of...and fairly cute. Some even say hot. but not if their wives are within in earshot or have access to their email accounts. ANYWAY...I should not need minions to help attract a man.

Because when that much effort is required? It's too much fucking effort. I end up looking like the chick at the bar who flips her hair like there might be a spider crawling in it. Or yanks her blouse down off the shoulder in a way that inspires observers to sport the you-do-realize-people-can-see-you? look. And then tries to position herself so seductively in her chair that she falls out of it in the process. All the while the guy is watching the game on TV and has no clue this is going on in his periphery.

And I don't even CARE about this guy. It's not even fun anymore. It doesn't feel like flirting. It feels like clubbing baby seals. and it's not even working. I quit.

So like I said, I'm adopting the male stance here. He's either brain damaged or gay. not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm not in the mood to try to flip anyone and brain damaged I simply can't work with. Or he's after some super-modelly type with fake boobs and a spray tan, and I can't work with that either.

There has GOT to be some single, straight, self-sufficient man in my area code with whom I share an attraction. There has to be.

I understand I could be way more strategic about this. "Leaving the house more" is on my list of things to do. definitely. Because everybody knows all the craiglist missed connections happen in Walmart.

The Doctor Is In

2010-11-18T23:09:00.000-05:00

So Thing 1, my 10 year old, showed me an itchy spot on his back last month. Looked like some bug got under his shirt and bit the hell out of his shoulder blade area. I smacked on some Neoporin and let it be.

The outlaws got involved. Alarmists. HE NEEDS A DOCTOR. I don't trust the medical profession but I rolled my eyes and went along with it because I don't have THAT much of a god complex. If the kid's sick and needs medicine...then let's get that.

After one month we've been on Four doctor visits. Two Pediatricians. Three Nurses. Four Dermatologists. Three tests. Six different medicines. And more guesses than I can even remember. Including: Strep Throat? Allergies? Poison Ivy? Poison Oak? Chicken pox? Herpes? Pityriasis lichenoides et varioliformis acuta?
Lymphoma? ETC?! WE DON'T KNOW! SEND IT TO THE LAB!

After all that. After one month of over $200 in co-pays and prescriptions...you know what it was?

Bug bites.

Fuckers.

But they said I can give Thing 1 Prednisone just in case. if I want to. for no reason whatsover. they'll write a scrip for it. When my eyes almost fell out from the rolling of NO the doctor hastily left the room. Okay then! No need for a follow up! Call us if you need to!

Prednisone. Like, Hey, if you want to sign him up for chemotherapy just in case you have really good insurance and some free time...we have a chair available!

Asshole.

Bug bites. Lysol. Neosporin.

Don't ever doubt me again.

Snippets

2010-11-16T23:59:00.000-05:00

His hand met her thigh like a magnet. It was a playful gesture but her eyes reflected like gasoline and he was the match. He left it there too long not long enough and the air around them seemed to ripple from the heat.

* * * *

They stood in the parking lot at the end of the night. He continued a conversation she half listened to as she leaned against her car deciding whether or not to dare him closer.

* * * *

She could not shake the feeling of his skin slick on her tongue. The back of his head tight in her hands. His thumb on her throat.

* * * *

It almost felt real.

I Need a Map

2010-11-14T23:43:00.000-05:00

Following up about the perceived opportunity as a Southern Living writer... um...yeah...le blog isn't going to cut it as far as published work goes. I knew this. It's okay. I'm sure we all agree, just because the Prom Queen said no doesn't mean I should never ask anyone out again. And you wouldn't expect me to retreat from writing, would you? You know me too well. As I live and breathe, tomorrow is another day. My work will see the printed page.

And that's enough with the Scarlet O'Hara theatrics. There's too much else going on. Although I will say, Gone With the Wind is an amazing book if you haven't read it. It took me almost a month and I cried through the last chapter. But I was 22. I wonder if I'd cry if I read it now.

I certainly cried for no apparent reason yesterday painting the Tween Dream room. Other than hormones I imagine. stupid PMS. But I was thinking about the Southern Living lady's email(s). First the rejection one saying I needed to be a vetted writer before a piece could be considered. Then the follow up of her being Wowed at a blog mention and how she could tell I was a good writer and encouraged me to keep trying. It was... it was exactly where I am.

There. but not THERE. y'know?

And I don't know quite what to do with here.

It made me miss my mom. It made me miss someone I could count on to say, "Well, duh. Of course you're a good writer. If you put as much effort into making your writing work as you do to waiting for the phone to ring, you'd have been on Oprah by now. You should include your picture next time."

My mother, who ~~drilled into~~ told me "Pretty is as pretty does" decades before anybody thought of Forrest Gump, confused the hell out of me with that picture business later on.

Anyway being good enough yet still being so solitary made me feel sad this weekend. And I know that's my thing and I need to leave the house more and stuff. but. i'm not sure where to go from here.

Something I Want

2010-11-12T23:47:00.003-05:00

So, okay. This idea of writing professionally. Not new for me. I've let it marinate in my head for the appropriate several year waiting period before I decided to take action. I signed up for a newsletter a few years ago, FundsforWriters. It's weekly. Comes on Fridays. Mentions helpful tips and contests and stuff. I don't always read it but I don't consider it spam.

Tonight? Newsletter said Southern Living is looking for writers. Southern. Living. I know, there are other more accessible places to find a footing in the world of published writing. I swear I'm gonna email them too...but...SouthernLiving. My go big or go home self couldn't resist. I emailed the link within ten minutes. "When's your deadline?"

You know what the Southern Living lady came back with? Basically, "Excellent question. Here are our guidelines and deadlines. Please send a resume and writing samples."

I read that and thought *BLINK!* Um. resume? writing samples? like published...samples? Um. I got a blog and smart people like it, does that count? I'm thinking of spreading my wings? starting here?

I maybe should have thought this through a little more when I saw "@timeinc.com" in her email address. But.. GO BIG OR GO HOME! and people are people, right? She was really speedy in her response...this could work in my favor? Also...I suck at moderation?

Soooo, I still want to do a Person of the Week or Month or something for the local AltDaily.com site even though I don't have tattoos or colored hair and I'm pushing 40 and drive a beat up minivan. But my name is Silver for cryin' out loud. (that's gotta make up for the lack of ink and general boring candy shell) AND...I will continue to want and strive for more. ...in the gooey center, writing department I mean.

it's just something I want.

Friends Help You Move

2010-11-11T23:59:00.001-05:00

You: [RANT! RAIL! AGAINST THE WORLD!] THE WORLD FUCKING HATES ME!

Me: [wide eyed look of "okay"] okay...?
You: You saw it coming, didn't you?! You told me all along! WHATNOW?!
Me: Get a financial exit plan.
You: But I'm not ready to leave.
Me: You don't have to be ready to leave. Just map out a financial exit plan for when you are.
You: But...what if I should stay and see if things will work out?
Me: Fine. Do that. But get. A financial. Exit plan. justincasetheydon't.
You: I should do that.

Me: [exhale]

I love you. I want you to be happy. Where you are right now is about the least happy place I've ever seen anyone. I know you think I'm your friend and I'm supposed to be on your side no matter what.

And that's true. I am your friend. I am on your side. Nomatterwhat. Even when you're wrong. because I know you well enough to know that wrong was provoked. I will stand up and fight in your defense on that point. And I will win.

But you should still get the hell out of that nightmare immediately.
Or quit asking for my opinion because you already know what it is.
Just let me know when I need to move boxes.
or bodies.
I love you.
I'm ready.

Quick Telephone Refresher

2010-11-10T23:59:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure how many planets are in retrograde right now but I kind of wish they would snap out of it so I quit having THIS phone interaction:

Phone rings. Twice.
Me: Good morning, Dr. Nelson and Associates. This is Silver.
Them: Hello!
Me: Hey there!
Them: Does he have any appointments open? ("He" being my father. The only He in the office to which they could be referring)
Me: Have you seen him as a patient before?
Them: [laughter] Oh yes. I've seen him for years.
Me: [insincere yet convincing chuckle] What's your name?
Them: Steve.
Me: [less smiley voice but still polite] Uh huh. Steve? Do you have a last name?
Them: Smith.
Me: [the a HA, now we're getting somewhere voice] Okay Mr. Smith, when would you like to come in?
Them: Oh, I don't know, whenever.
Me: [helpfully perplexed] 10:30 Thursday? Does that work for you?
Them: Oh. No. You know what? I don't have my calendar in front of me. Can I call you back?
Me: [sigh. smiley voice.] Suuuuurrre. No problem. Just let us know! [Hang up the phone quietly. close eyes. deep breath. head twisty neck crack movement. another deep breath.]

Can we (meaning you) please tighten that conversation up by a million and start off with, "Good morning. This is Steve Smith. I was wondering if Dr. Nelson has anything open late this afternoon?"

THEN all I gotta say is "have you seen him as a patient before?" (if I don't recognize your name right away. sorry) and we're good to go.

That way? I don't feel compelled to take up smoking again and you get to check your blindspot tomorrow without searing pain. Everybody wins.

We're all cool with this, right? I could write it down for you if you need. I've got sticky notes by the truckload over here.

Also, I'm still not smoking. Nearing on three weeks.

I will say a couple of things about not smoking at this juncture. Quitting smoking during Halloween Candy Season? poor planning.

Upside to slight weight gain? Boobs!
Another upside? Smelling vaguely of Snickers No.5.

Maybe I Could...

2010-11-09T23:48:00.000-05:00

Earlier this evening @wyrd101 tweeted a link in reference to my post from the other day about writing professionally. A local online magazine is looking for columnists. Paid columnists. And he thinks I'm an excellent writer and more people should know that. *BLUSH! * (dude! not used to that kind of praise. thank you. srsly.) Anyway it was kind of a cattle call, "whaddya wanna write about?" thing. And I'm definitely going to submit an idea for a random Person of the Week interview as suggested by readers...but I'm also wondering....

I'm wondering if could even get close to being a "meat and potatoes" journalist. I never tried that before. I've done interviews before. I've conjured up Press Releases in my time. I've certainly stumbled around this soap box for the past a lot of months. But they asked for someone to cover a specific topic and wonder...could I cover the Pleasant Valley City Council? AND make it interesting?!?!

One of the other East Coast Silvers lives a couple hours away from here. He has a blog that covers the Richmond City Council. And I'm sorry, Silver, but...it's dry. deadly dry. I know it's City Council and just how sexy can it be and stuff but if that's the case then why did you run for office earlier this year? or was that Virginia House of Delegates? I forget. Anyway...local politics needs more sexiness. Or how can we ever expect these guys to ever make it in Congress, where the big time scandal is?

Seriously though, scandal was the only thing that got me vested in this last local election.

See, the current mayor (and a couple of his minions) paid $5K and upward apiece to air some lame TV ad with a candidate in an elf costume from last Halloween. The candidate was sorta drunk looking with a barmaid type on each arm. Scandal, you say? I submit: Goal. Why the hell else are you gonna be a City Council dude in a fairly small town other than the power and chicks? Did we learn NOTHING from watching the....okay, from watching ANY administration in the history of politics for god sakes?! Politicians are rock stars. And you're more than a little kinda naive if you think power is only recently seductive.

So anyway, the guy in the elf costume with the chicks? He got re-elected. And the other guys got re-elected too. The meetings, the notion of getting anything done without a severe dramatic undertow...should be interesting. And there's less people in Pleasant Valley's City Council than Congress, so it should also be an easier story to follow.

My question is...can I report all of this from watching the local access cable channel or do I have to go to each weekly meeting for the full sensory experience? I'm thinking if I went in person to meetings once or twice a month, I could capture some honest to goodness City Council of Pleasant Valley drama.

RHBH

2010-11-08T23:53:00.000-05:00

I sat through my first full episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills tonight. I don't know why I've missed it up til now. I'm really only committed to the New York and New Jersey housewives shows. But anyway, I watched RHBH and have to say this is the only Real Housewives cast that makes me feel appalled and inadequate at the same time.

Sixty thousand dollars for a 4 year old's birthday party? Twelve thousand even? I could hang my head in shame for even tinkering with the notion of becoming an event planner after looking at that. Mother Daughter Diamond Barbie Head Pendants! And Matching Favors for the Guests! Chandeliers Outside Just Because I Looked Up and Thought "oooo! A Chandelier!" And nothing says Happy Birthday Sweetheart like a photo shoot with Mommy Barbie standing on the party table looking whimsical while Nanny #1 pushes Birthday Skipper on a swing somewhere out of the way. cherish the moments.

Do they have beginner classes in Obnoxiously Jawdropping Decadent Extravagance? Luxe 101? I couldn't plan a party like that until I took that class. I'd have to take it twice probably.

The $12K party for the two year old was obviously way better. Although I can't think of specifically why other than it was about 5 times less pretentious. But I was worried when the planner dude said "French Fry Bar." All I could do was roll my eyes and think, oh honey, how low rent. It's just...I'm so conflicted. Almost makes me wish I had a retreat in Hawaii to go rejuvenate my spirit or something. Feed my soul by giving you one of my Escalades? Or I could at least shoot up a little botox so the pain wouldn't show. I'd maybe settle for just the collagen if there was a wait.

see...I'm learning already.

As Real As I Make It

2010-11-07T23:50:00.006-05:00

The stringing together of words feels like breathing to me, like something I've never not done.

I want the words in my head to fall out of my fingers in a way that makes musical pretty pictures dance behind your eyes. I want to write in a way that gets discovered in a soda shop and becomes the next starlet. Writing an everyday blog doesn't always inspire that kind of "ready for my closeup" thinking but it's there. I feel it. Fumbling at the snooze button. five more minutes.

The F and the J on my keyboard are worn completely smooth. There's a spot on the spacebar I doubt is as solid as it should be. The hinge on my laptop is broken from so many openings and closings. It only stays open now. I should send it away for repairs but I don't think I could live 10 business days without the internet. The facebook. The twitter. The blog. I would have to write anyway. I'd spill the ink out of a case of pens in the meantime writing things I'd lose the courage to post. Second guessing the thoughts in my head as useless bits of fluff not worthy of human consumption.

My sister would think thankgod and smugly repeat something she likes to say about how those people online aren't outside my door. They're not real. Which stings like a slap when I hear it and isn't even true. Because even if I hadn't met some of them in person, perception is reality. so there.

See, I'm in the middle of a painting project. Painting projects always represent transition for me. I just don't know what I'm transitioning to.

I think I need to try submitting an article somewhere. just to see.

Retail Fail

2010-11-06T23:40:00.001-04:00

I know exactly what I want. What I want does not exist. At least not where I've been looking lately.

Shoes. Pointy toe, Kitten heel, not too fancy everyday shoes. Because it's November and holy cow brrrr flip flops, you're not cutting it. but they don't have the shoes I want in the stores I shop. Instead, they have clunky, chunky loafer clogs with wide rounded toes and square heels and I may as well wear logs on my feet because I'd feel just as sexy in those. I did chunky platform loafers with the plaid mini skirt ala Clueless back in the day. That's not a look I can, should or want to attempt 15 years later. And fuck you, Shoe Designers, for making the only options those, Lady Gaga and goddamn ugh boots. Are Uggs comfortable? really? So are Birkenstocks. I already learned my lesson there. be quiet. And the gladiator and mock boot thing? ...it's like you want me to look like an amputee. sadists.

Trench coat jacket. Neutral color. Hits at the hips. Tailored yet casual. That's what I want. Do I get that? Nope. PUFFY COATS! cropped military bomber jackets! FAUX LIGER VESTS from the Teresa Guidice Collection! and more wool plaid pea coats than you can shake a stick at.

It's just so frustrating because I can see it in my head. I just can't find it in the world. yet. I'll have to wait another year before my fashion genius trickles down to the outlet stores apparently.

Because last year? I really, super a lot, a whole lot wanted a Cloche hat. I don't know why that popped into my head, it just did. And I looked and looked and couldn't find 'em anywhere, or not anything I wanted. Forget about asking in stores. Cloche? What? like I was making something up. This year? they're everywhere. I already got a red one. I'm going to have more before the cold weather's over. I like the cloche because it has a brim but it's way smaller in the back. It's not as casual as a ball cap (those are a horrible look for me. I never wear ball caps. sorry if you have a fetish about that...anyway...) and for short people like myself with necks the length of your average teddy bear, cloches don't pop off when you inevitably tilt your head back to reach for something, or talk to someone over the age of 11.

So I like cloches. I wanted one. They decided to oblige me but only delayed by a couple seasons. It happens like this. Keep an eye out for the return of the pointy toe kitten heel and the jacket trench.

OH also. Out shopping earlier. I happened across a whole wall of For Dummies books. I only looked at it because I left my Feng Shui For Dummies book outside and it got rained on which was probably against the rules in the first place...but I can't read any of it anymore and I wanted to replace it. Which is not at all a dummy thing to do. of course. Anyway, I didn't see it where I was but my retail fail lead me to so many books For Dummies that made me do the head tilty "wha?" thing tonight trying to imagine who would pay money for them.

Another Day That Ends in Y

2010-11-05T08:22:00.000-04:00

Weird burst of energy last night and I entertained the notion of staying up until dawn painting the Tween Dream ceiling. Then the TheraFlu kicked in. I was out before midnight. thankgod. Because my fuse is short enough without volunteering for sleep deprivation while trying to stave off a cold.

The Great Garage Remodel/Tween Dream Room project is finished! Mostly! Except for all the finishy parts! but the major construction parts are done. awesome. Or if you were my father then you would react with a wholebody weepy shudder of relief like they just rescued six babies from a Chilean mine. (he overreacts to stuff)

So now I get to paint! And the carpet dude is coming this afternoon to measure and try to guilt me in to buying the more expensive cheap carpet from "his guy" even though the less expensive cheap carpet is exactly the same AND less expensive from the place where "his guy" is not employed. I've done recon and the carpet dude hasn't met me in person yet so he doesn't know he's about fail miserably at an upsell. sorry carpet dude. damn economy.

As I spot-primed the ceiling yesterday between emailing and general mom stuff I realized I'm going to have to prime and paint the whole damn ceiling which I am less than thrilled about for reasons that will not surprise anyone who has had the pleasure of painting a ceiling before. But compared to my last ceiling painting experience this Spring when I nearly killed myself several times navigating bedroom furniture I think this will go more smoothly. As there's no furniture in the room yet or carpet to spill stuff on or ceiling fans to circumvent...all I expect is neck pain but other than that, I should be okay. That's today's project.

Oh! AND it's officially been two weeks since I had a cigarette. I know this because of the whole countdown/countup thing and because I grabbed the last patch from the box yesterday. Given how snappy I've been getting toward the end of the 24 hour periods of patch wearing, we're definitely going to need another box of those. But still! Better snappy than smokey, right? no sudden movements, just slowly nod yes. So, two weeks! yay!

And my Vice Minion called yesterday asking why we didn't put anything in the local paper about our amazing reunion and that we donated $1000 from the party to our high school's scholarship fund. And all I could offer was that we forgot? and I ran out of reunion steam after it was all done? Adrenaline crash? So he's going to make some calls and get some press. Because why not? Pleasant Valley readers, I'll let you know when to look out for that.

Power

2010-11-03T23:01:00.005-04:00

Clancy Brown is my villain crush. Ever since I saw his head attached to his body with safety pins in 1991. I never had a villain crush before but that? resonated. And even after. Shawshank Redemption? Carnivale? He's my favorite villain. raw, composed, deadly all at once. whew. This has nothing to do with anything.

In other news, it IS possible for one to get caught up on 4 or 5 episodes of Cougar Town in one evening and not feel like you've lost two whole hours of your life. [skyward whistle] I'm guessing.

Also, when your kid walks into a new doctor's office and declares to the nurse with an inflated sense of bravado, "I'm not getting any shots." and the nurse responds with, "What? No shots? We wouldn't shoot you." or "We don't have guns here." or whatever the fuck it was she said exactly, then I'm hoping the appropriate response was to NOT kill her. Because I didn't. kill her I mean. Even though I reeeeealllly wanted to. way to code down the terror alert you idiot. I'll be prepared for your particular brand of stupidity next time. put your Mom on speed dial; I'll bring the Kleenex.

Aaaand to continue a smidge from the end of yesterday even though this debate might be over (although I doubt it's ever going to be for real over) about whether or not men should be attending women's blogging conferences? or "female focused" or "mom titled" events. Or in general whether some other person who identifies with a certain label maybe happens to want to branch out and attend an event with a whole different label and whether or not that's okay with everybody?

What sort of fear mongerer are you?

Ohno! A man! He must want to oppress us! He's brought friends! Don't look directly at him!

Shutthefuckup.

I fawned over people at BlogHer '10. You know who I fawned over? Who I could've passed out about meeting? Undomestic Diva. Who is not in the least bit a man. I ~~basically tackled her~~ introduced myself to her on the dance floor at Sparklecorn. Like a completely normal person who didn't need coaching.

And I got nervous at meeting Miss Banshee everytime I saw her (even though I'd just interviewed her for Studio 30 Plus the week before?!), and that could maybe be fawning.

And several other women from MamaPop (including Sweetney herself for godsakes) can confirm (probably with giggling) that I got knocked in the head by the elevator doors as I tried to exit our serendipitously shared elevator and breathe air at the same time. possibly fawning.

And I didn't want to freak out The Bloggess with fawning because I hear she tends toward skittish, so I just smiled and meekly said I really liked her panel as she left the hotel from the weekend.

If that's fawning then I'm guilty.

Did I meet some of the men who attended Blogher '10? Of course I did. Because we'd become email or comment friends beforehand. And I made new guy blogger friends at the conference even. Because the guys all hung out in a pack basically and they were hard to miss.

So if you consider making new friends fawning then I guess I fawned the hell all over everybody I met. Because I didn't know anybody before I went to this thing. Women or Men. I flew pretty much blind. I mostly walked into a dark room hoping people would be there when I flipped on the light. Didn't realize I was meant to be more specific than looking for blogger or writer when I opened my eyes

whoops?

All I wanted to do was join the blogosphere. the group. the conversation. If I'd known the conference was supposed to be exclusive then I would not have looked so forward to it or made the sacrifices I did to be there. and I know I wouldn't have enjoyed myself as much.

I understand the depth of feminism involved in making a conference, or even an organization, like BlogHer possible. Please allow me to explain that I attended every Take Back the Candlelight Awareness Ribbon Quilt Vigil I could think of as Political Correctness dawned over DC in the early '90s. The thought of Suffragettes alone makes me want to put my hand over my heart in thanks. I wouldn't want to live in any other time in history.

I just think people only have as much power as you give them.
Can we not so much worry about who's trying to take our power away and give ourselves more power instead? It starts with a mindset is all. Hope for gain rather than fear of loss.

Progress

2010-11-02T23:59:00.000-04:00

It'll be two weeks on Thursday of not smoking. TWOWEEKS. Not only am I out of counting hours now but I'm anticipating whole weeks. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call progress. I progressed so far that I didn't even put on a new patch right away yesterday after I took the one off. Just thought I'd see how long I could go without supplemental nicotine.

Then sometime this afternoon when my temper went off like a freshly lit string of firecrackers over some series of entirely inconsequential things it occurred to me that maybe slapping a patch on would be a good idea.

So...not quite fully recovered just yet. But getting there. Not absently reaching for the cigarettes anymore. Although I had to put away the bowl of Halloween candy because there's only so many mini Reese's Cups I can blindly eat before my clothing options involve an elastic waistband and I sweartogod I'm going to go on a date eventually and that just won't do at all. ::headdesk::

So anyway, I feel like I've been being ranty here lately. And I really don't want to do that. I'm totally blaming the quitting smoking thing. That has to be it. Because the Tween Dream Garage Remodel is almost finished. We've picked out paint and we're about two decisions away from a carpet. And then there's furniture and stuff. AND X casually asked what I wanted to do with the living room floor while we're at it. Because the concrete floor is fine (obviously) but it can't stay like that forEVER, Silver. I mean...

So yeah, after a little over a year of wanting it, I might actually get a real floor. So there's that. Which is exceptionally cool, make no mistake...but I'm reserving full jubilation for when I can actually slide across said floor in socks. I'm no stranger to the empty promise is what I'm saying.

Oh, and totally unrelated, there's all this rumbling in the blogosphere about this Mom 2.0 conference? I heard some about this at Blogapalooza in August but it really hasn't been on my radar since I don't consider myself a typical Mommyblogger (or typical Mommy anything for that matter) so the name...well, the name didn't really grab me. And now there's all this chatter going on about men at women's conferences and I don't know where I fall with that one. I see both sides of the issue. I'm just watching the debate for now. Anyway, now Mom 2.0 is on my radar. Because of course people get into heated debates about it right as the last discounted price offer expires. You think that coincidence is lost on me? It isn't.

I haven't decided yet about Mom 2.0. Still focusing on Blogapalooza in San Diego next August.

Are We Done?

2010-10-31T23:00:00.000-04:00

I woke up this morning feeling like someone hit me in the middle of the back with a tire iron. I was home alone last night so I'm pretty sure that didn't happen and I can't for the life of me think of why I'd be in pain given the fact that all I did was sit on the sofa in soft clothes watching Hot Tub Time Machine and Get Him to the Greek and be stupid on the internet.

Hot Tub Time Machine? great. but it's got John Cusack. I am naturally biased in favor of every John Cusack movie ever made. even that scary one I will never see in a million bajillion years because I hate scary movies. and 2012 probably which I haven't seen yet and quite possibly sucks but you won't hear that from me. Because I deeply, deeply love John Cusack and few things would make me happier than dewy eyed staring at him in person as he went off on some neurotic philosophical rant. *dreamy sigh*

Get Him to the Greek? I give it a solid "meh." But I was fairly well into the cabernet at that point which might be clouding my judgment. I was expecting a laugh out loud Tropic Thunder like experience. I did not get that. as I recall. and I don't feel like watching it again, so...meh.

And I woke up in pain. totally not fair. And then it was all "oh shit, Halloween is today! I gotta carve pumpkins and get candy and Thing 1 doesn't even have his clothes picked out for his costume and I gotta cover Thing 2 in spirit gum and fake hair. dammit I hate Halloween." Because I really don't like Halloween. I go through the motions for the kids but I would be totally fine without this holiday on the calendar.

The onslaught of scary movie commercials alone is terrible. I cannot get to the remote control fast enough when those come on. If I even see The Exorcist on the TV channel menu it gives me the chills. God forbid I landed on a scary movie even for a second by accident. I wouldn't be able to sleep for weeks. That ghost story, supernatural, stuff you can't kill terrifies me beyond reason.

And then there's all the candy. Which doesn't seem like that big of a deal until you're a parent and your kids collect enough candy in two hours time to eat a piece a day for the next year at least and turn into absolute hell on wheels about it. And I don't even get to dress up as anything fun because I have to stay home and hand out candy to these spoiled little morons who don't even know how to say Trick or Treat they just stand there and slobber over the candy bowl as I prompt them for 30 seconds with "what do you say?" because fuck if I'm having to go through all of this and they don't have work for it. slackers.

And sure, I guess I could dress up if I wanted to but I don't want to be the Mom Standard witch. And all the other costumes I'd pick would probably lean toward slutty and it's hard enough being one of the only single moms in the neighborhood without having all the little Storm Troopers and Fairy Princesses wander up to the door eye level with thigh high stockings and a too short skirt as their helicopter parents hover close behind in horror. I'm not stupid.

But it's over! Halloween is over. whew. And I can throw away the jack o' lanterns and take down the lights on the tree and figure out a way to keep the boys from being on a constant sugar high from now til January.

Oh, stalker update. To follow up from a few days ago about that guy who texted me inappropriately who I didn't even give my number to? I saw him on the ball field Saturday. At first, I happened to glance over just as he noticed me and watched him falter in midstep with the "oh fuck there she is what do I do?!" tripping over himself move. awesome. He didn't say hi. Then later he was working the concession stand and tried to play things off by pulling some random dude into a conversation,

"Hey! Uh...hey! Did you know her name is Silver?!"
Puzzled looking random dude said, "Wha?"
Texter said, "Yeah!" then turned to me and said, "I mean, that was sooo weird. Like. I can't even... heh. That just really threw me off when I found that out!"
"I know," I delivered with a nice smile, furrowed brow and a sucks-to-be-you shrug. And then I walked away because there were like 15 people behind me in line.

That should be the last of him.

No thanks, I'm good right here

2010-10-29T23:05:00.005-04:00

"I called the guy. About gettin' that thing. You found them things yet? Yer goin' on Monday."

My mother outlaw opened a phone conversation with that this afternoon. I had NO IDEA what the hell she was talking about either. I always need more words from her. Or none at all. either way. "Uhhh...what?" I responded.

"You know, for that...thing."
"Ooooh. THAT thing. right. okay, Monday's fine." what the fuck is this? code or something? No specific nouns EVER?! totally ridiculous. But I know what she's talking about now. It helps to be a telephone psychic sometimes.

Translation: "I called the passport office about getting passports for the boys. Do you have their birth certificates ready? You and X have an appointment Monday afternoon to fill out paperwork."

"That thing" she was referring to is the cruise X wants to take the boys on over Thanksgiving. I don't even know if you can get passports that quickly but heaven forbid I stand in the way of one of their brilliant last minute ideas.

Am I going on this cruise with them? Absofuckinglutely not. You are out of your mind if you think I'm stupid enough to do something like that. Know why? The last time X and I spent any amount of time together was last Summer when I went with them down to Carolina for a few days. X and I got along fine. We even took the kids to a concert together when we got back home. Happy family fun time, right? uh, sure. We even went out to dinner just the two of us one night. Why? I forget. Certainly not for reconciliation purposes or anything, there should be no confusion over that ever. Ever. We were getting along; we're still friends most of the time. We were just going to talk. whatever. It's not important.

Anyway, that night at the restaurant was from hell. Utter hell. I've never witnessed X wear a bigger ass hat without getting violent than he did that night. Did you know it's possible to both proposition a waitress then insult her about something completely unrelated AND make up your own language in the space of two minutes? I've seen it done is all I'm saying. And you know those super schmancy bottles of Louis XIII cognac in the lit up case behind the bar? Order as many of those as you want. You want to shoot them back like cheap tequila? seems a bit wasteful to me but cheers. Just don't forget your wallet next time. forthelove.

And then for reasons I cannot currently fathom, we went to an event together a couple days after that. I split off from the party later on to meet up with some friends from college and X got jealous. The next day he called my father for a meeting unbeknownst to me and told him that I basically slept with people in public that night and really hurt his feelings and that he was no longer giving me alimony from that point forward. Lies of course. Delusions. The fact that my father didn't defend me against this wet brained cirrhotic insanity nightmare pissed me off like you read about though because not a word of it was truth. And I was suddenly inspired to rip out all the carpet in the living room and paint 400 square feet of concrete in a lovely tile pattern. We all have different ways of coping.

Anyway, X and I are friends again but the boundaries are clearly drawn. We do not socialize near each other. ever. So, cruise? please. like I'm new. No cruise.

But I'll go ahead and help the boys go on a cruise to the Bahamas for a few days. X seems to have sobered up lately. I'm taking his word for it. I have faith this will not end poorly. And I'm actually pretty skeptical the cruise will happen at all. But I can't express any doubt to the outlaws.

Sometimes I feel like one of those patients in the psych ward who's just pretending to take her pills.

bullshit and parties

2010-10-28T23:38:00.008-04:00

I've gone a week without smoking. The garage remodel is in the middle. I blew out the lights in two rooms before 9 am. Halloween is Sunday and I can think of nothing interesting to say. I got a massage today? Do you even care about this? I'm not sure *I* even care about this. I can't imagine caring if I were you. I would be bored half to death of me by now. self absorbed rambling nonsense. gah. ridiculous.

I had a meeting with the Reunion Committee last night. It was a wrap up sort of. And a pre-planning thing for the Christmas party. Because, you know, the reunion was such a hit the people want more. fans. *sigh. what'reyagonnado?

Sooo...Christmas party. About a million times less planning than the 20 year reunion. Pick a day. Pick a place. Tell people about it. show up. done. maybe get balloons. bring a camera. No sweat. BUT LOTS OF FUN, YOU SHOULD TOTALLY STOP BY IF YOU'RE IN TOWN! WOO!

So there's that. But then...THEN...after that there's gonna be another party. A big one. In the Spring I think. The Vice Minion suggested it months ago and I literally raised my hand to volunteer for planning it. it's like I'm obsessed.

See, this town has some kind of big party nearly every weekend of the year. I've been to a few of them. Meant to go to more at one point, that was going to be my leap into the dating circuit. I figured the charity party scene was the perfect place to find a guy I'd be interested in meeting. Then I think I became profoundly too broke to afford tickets to this stuff or I was otherwise personally dramatic and opted out. So no luck there. but now...to be in the eye of the storm of the potential Next Big Event? Hell fucking yeah, where do I sign up?

But...we don't have a date yet. Or a theme. or a location. or anything other than the general idea. He just wants to have a party. and like I said...yay and stuff...but if he's talking about getting sponsorships and I'm gonna help get them? then I need a vision to sell. I can sell anything as long as I know how to spin it. It would be a casual style somethingorother party and each year the profits would go to a different cause. After we paid ourselves. which was an idea he brought up that had never occurred to me but I'm not opposed. It needs a hook though. a name. a something to set it apart from the million other Rescue Squad cookouts and Children's Hospital fishing tournaments and Art Center wine tastings competing for attention.

I think we start small this Spring. A core group from the reunion and others who wish they'd been there. Then it takes on a life of it's own. But it's gotta have a hook. it's gotta be good.

Good grief. If I could market myself the way I put energy into parties like that? I'd have a book deal by now. or at least a weekly segment on local access cable. something.

Good Advice from a Bad Boy

2010-10-27T23:15:00.001-04:00

In mid July 2008 I had a lot of free time. I lost my job and the kids were spending the Summer in Carolina with their father so I pretty much had one full entire month to sit around, evaluate my life, figure out what the hell just happened, etc. I was writing some but I had no clue about the blogosphere as I know it today. To occupy myself, I bought some books. Novels, humor, entertaining reading. nothing major. But one book stood out for me. The Manual. By Steve Santagati.

The cover caught my eye across the bookstore. Hot guy with I-dare-you eyes glinting over a smartass smirk. hmmm? what's this? I crossed the room. "A True Bad Boy Explains How Men Think, Date, and Mate - and What Women Can Do to Come Out on Top" is that so, Mr. Santagati? we'll see about that. I flipped through some pages. It looked funny. Humorous I mean, not...unusual. nevermind, you know what meant. Anyway, it looked amusing, and common sensical and...I bought it. And I ate the whole thing up immediately.

It was funny. And common sensical. And unapologetically straightforward. It was a male point of view I had been missing for a while. This guy wasn't trying to get me in bed. He wasn't trying to avoid me. He didn't know my X. And wasn't married to a friend of mine. Or old enough to be my father. And he was telling me what guys look for in women, dating, sex, whatever. All the things I'd forgotten. or had old information about because I was too long out of touch with all the men I used to have as friends for this kind of stuff.

He wasn't some degreed professional quoting statistics and scientific terms about brain chemistry. His tone was conversational and full of analogies and self effacing humor to which I related and found endearing. He wrote like someone I could be friends with.

When I read Chapter 47, the Black Widow chapter, I saw myself. Not myself at that time though. At the time I read the book I'd put on 8 months of grief weight, just gotten fired and was in this weird victim headspace. But in that chapter I saw the self I had been before. The one who, at the age of16 years, wrote "Flirt to Live, Live to Flirt: A Survival Guide to Flirting for the Beginner" for my best friend because deargod she was awkward and she really didn't know how not to be. That chapter reignited a spark I felt like I lost after life had kind of pummeled me.

Now, Steve's description of the Black Widow is pretty intimidating. Unapologetically sexual, heavy on the nonverbal communication, excellent navigator of male territory and dressed with the intent to kill. His version of this personality type is like my personality on steroids because holy crap that's a tall order to fill all the freakin' time. It doesn't always come through...but my friends these days don't compare me to lava lamps and Venus Flytraps for nothing. Black Widow. I love it when things have names like that.

Reading that chapter, that whole book really, reminded me how attractive confidence is. How it's okay to be unapologetic about who you are. To be who you are out loud. and I started to get my confidence back. It encouraged me to not settle for whoever crossed my path just because I was bored or lonely or it was a slow TV night. It made me want to invest more time in myself. To have something to bring to the table if and when I ever did get involved with dating again. And if the guys didn't want what I had to offer? then they weren't worth my time. really? I don't have to change for someone else...for serious? experts agree and stuff? *exhale!* (really though, that was a serious exhale moment for me at the time...so weird. anyway)

Obviously, reading that book was not the golden ticket to some crazy amazing dating life, because if you've been reading this blog for more than a minute then you pretty much know I'm perpetually single. but it gave me a different outlook on being single.

The Manual was basically a well-timed smack upside the head is what I'm saying. If you're a woman stuck in a rut and willing to take a look at yourself through the eyes of a guy who is kind of extreme about how much he loves life and women (and himself...which I don't have a problem with) yet is everyday enough to edit a typo you might point out in his blog [skyward looking whistle] ...then you might find The Manual useful.

Or not. Really. Totally your call. I mean, feel free to fight each other to the death over some idealized fantasyland dreamscape of what romance should be according to whatever Danielle Steele, Nicholas Sparks or the next Twilight novel has to say if you'd rather. I'm just offering up an alternative is all.

He's got a website Bad Boys Finish First, and if you want to get me something for Christmas, I'll take the Side Saddle t-shirt. Purple writing. Size small. thx. But mostly I pay attention to his blog, Ask Steve Santagati. Depending on your circumstance, you may think he's oversimplifying, or oversexualizing things, but for my demographic, he's shooting from the hip. He's talking honestly from a real life single male perspective and I appreciate that.

And he's nice to me. So I'm feeling pretty loyal. And even though his blog post today went in a totally other direction from the question I asked, I still feel certain that he will applaud the surgical precision with which I dispatch of the dude who keeps texting me even though I never gave him my number.

Little League field. Saturday. 3 o'clock high. It'll be like a movie scene where the guy gets sliced in half but it's such a clean cut he takes a few seconds to slide apart. Because I'll smile so pretty he won't know what hit him til after the blade is back in its sheath.

Don't. Scratch.

2010-10-26T10:38:00.001-04:00

I was minding my own business, absently fidgeting when I noticed it. Where did this...? How in the...? It was right there, this tickle just below the surface. A curiosity. A small little nothing really, but once I became aware of it my fingers didn't want to let it be. This tickle so tempting to touch.

I know better. Leave it alone. Ignore it. distract yourself. Don't. touch it.

I've been here before. I remember what happened last time. I remember what it's like to worry that tickle until it becomes a full blown itch. Feather touch fingertips become clawing hands on raw skin. I can't think or sleep or function. I am consumed. It's impossible to hide and everyone who sees me looks on with a furrowed Aw honey sympathetic brow. They offer suggestions I've tried and tried but nothing works. I'm left alone wracked with sobbing desperation just please make it stop. But once it gets to that point I just have to wait it out. It doesn't last forever. In my head I know this. The pain fades. The memory of wanting to climb out of my skin every second of the day grows distant.

I won't let that happen again.

I know better this time.

stupid poison ivy

Something About Electricity

2010-10-24T23:59:00.002-04:00

I had to replace light bulbs and now the kitchen is way too bright. I don't think there should be this much of a difference between 120 watts and 180 watts. It's unsettling really.

My light bulb situation has been a little haywire as of late. The oven light for example. It works now. My oven light hasn't worked for years. I never replaced the bulb because I am perfectly fine opening up the oven to check on stuff. And I didn't even turn the oven light on to discover this. One day in the last two weeks I noticed it was just...on. I don't understand it but chalked it up to a "Ours is not to question why" moment and let it be.

Then the dryer light started getting unpredictable. However, because I make a concerted effort to pay as little attention to the dryer as possible this doesn't seem as troublesome. But I notice it. occasionally.

And then all of a sudden two light bulbs in the kitchen ceiling fan were out. Two. Out of...three.

So I replaced them but with 60 watt bulbs instead of 40 watt bulbs because I already used the other 40 watt bulbs on the track lights in the kitchen before this and I didn't think I needed to rush right out and get more because I'd replaced the ceiling fan bulbs not that long ago and I know it's me we're talking about here but really? REALLY?! and now my kitchen is bright enough to make me squinty and be annoyed.

All the electricity is erratic actually. The battery on my computer is dead beyond dead now too. And this afternoon? Thing 2 tried to unplug the wall outlet power source thing for the laptop and broke that third round part of the plug that makes it a triangle so it was stuck in the outlet.

I shut off the power to the house for a minute so I could pry out the prong and then reattached it to the power cord. Because why not. Although I should probably take a class about basic electricity sometime because (you won't be surprised to learn) I've been mildly electrocuted before and I can see it happening again easily if I attempt something like that in the future especially if time is a factor. But I was clear thinking enough to go to the fuse box. this time. And I'm thinking maybe I gave my domestic electrical situation a kind of reboot in the process?

Maybe quitting smoking is a bit of that for me personally too. I guess I feel like I'm pressing on the reset button. Counting down my 30 seconds for a reboot?

Also, somewhere in the midst of hour 70 something and Day 3 of quitting smoking. Huzzah! Other also? Boardwalk Empire? not fair with the visual triggers. gah.

Ruby Slippers

2010-10-23T22:28:00.005-04:00

Hour number 50 something of not smoking. we're still in hours. I'm still unconsciously reaching for the pack and lighter like an itchy phantom limb. Even though I don't really want it. I mean, I'm not trying to convince myself I don't, I just don't. but it's like muscle memory or something. weird. So, I'm reconditioning I guess?

I take a deep breath (way easier already thanks), rub the patch on my skin like a touchstone and remind myself this is not my hobby anymore. I'd pop in another stick of gum too but my jaw's kinda achy from aggressive gum chewing all day. I don't even like gum, it's just a place holder so I don't bite my nails to bleeding.

So there's that.

I came across some journals the other day. Journals I forgot I even kept from when X and I started dating and on through the split. They were interesting to say the least. Okay, more like cringe worthy. At least at the beginning. Because from mid 1997 to sometime in 2001 I was a zombie. I can't believe I even had the presence of mind to write during those years. But seeing what I wrote? It was like I was on someone else's autopilot. It was all this dreamy lovestruck knight in shining armor destiny fulfilling absolute motherfucking vomitous trash. It's like I was lobotomized, but I was the jackass who handled the knife.

I convinced myself that the man I'd met would turn the world into rainbows and butterflies and the dirty tedium of everyday never even crossed my mind. Or it did but I was going to somehow tra la la to the wildlife in a gleeful magic way that didn't include figuring out what to make for dinner and dealing with whiny children. And I certainly didn't expect my knight in shining armor to have any other hobbies besides a regular Tee Time then racing home to shower boisterous devoted affection on me and the kids. Whatever planet my head was on was a far far distance from the one we all occupy today. Ward Cleaver didn't even live on that planet. Not even Bill Cosby. Maybe Danny Tanner, but I never even watched Full House because that show made my stomach turn so why in the...?

OMGWTF WAS I THINKING?!

*ahem*

But I started to wise up in the middle. The turn is visible in the journals. I start to question stuff. Realized money wasn't everything. Wrote "Better a crust of bread in a hovel than a castle full of strife" over and over again on pages and pages like The Shining. fucking creepy? sure. Also? true. And it was pretty much all downhill from there and resulted in catastrophic events I would just love to tell you about except my moral gray area was more a cry for help than anything else and I'm not all that keen on the ruining of lives beyond my own at this juncture if that's alright with you. thx.

moving on.

So, you'd think that recovering from a self-lobotomy like that, realizing I'd given all my power away for no reason other than I had no confidence in my own abilities and thought, "Hey, you're the most popular guy in the room. Have this!" and handing over everything that made me essentially me...you'd think that I would figure out to not do that anymore, right? Yeah, me too. Notsomuch in the journals. I met someone. I was toast after a few emails. there was poetry involved. it was plzshootme horrifying in retrospect.

Luckily I had something else going on at the time. A non-relationshippy thing. My first big special event fundraising project. I was really involved and became the unofficial chair. I fell in love with that event. Poetry/email dude got jealous. I kicked him to the curb. And the event made almost double the profit for the children's hospital than the year before. The idea that I directly helped raise $40K was...I mean...I never did ANYTHING like that in my life before. I rode that high for a while.

Special events became by niche. I knew what I was doing, developed a pretty good reputation in that regard. I was getting out in the world on my own. Not riding the coattails of a popular husband or boyfriend. And I didn't need anyone else's money or influence. It was just me. I changed back to my maiden name during that time and from Silver as a nickname to my legal first name for good and all.

But I couldn't get the boyfriend thing together. Or the dating thing. I'd see these charismatic men and be so ready to just lose myself because that was my pattern. They had what I wanted. Power. And they were already established. I thought if I copied them or did what they told me then I could have Power too. It never occurred to me that I was wearing the ruby slippers the whole time.

People told me all along that I was smart and capable and praiseful things like that. I don't know why I never believed it. I remember telling X years after the divorce, one of the things that drew me to him was that he was the guy whose car would break down in some nowhere town and by the end of the day he'd be having dinner with the City Council and the mechanic would send him on his way for free. He looked at me with the slow blink and said, "No. That's you."

Um. What? No, but...that's...waitaminute. I never thought of myself like that before, but it rang true and I knew he was right. That's when it really hit me that the people we're attracted to in whatever way are just reflections of ourselves.

So, now I'm riding the wave of this reunion praise and getting some attention from the male population and trying to figure out if I'm ready to test the waters of dating with the knowledge that I don't need to hitch my wagon to anyone else's star. That I am good enough, smart enough and doggone it people like me and not try to look for someone else to show me the way. because I know my path for real for the first time in a long time.

And I've got friends like Audrey and Betty and you, le blogosphere, to keep me in check if I start spouting off with romantical bullshit too soon.

Oh, but no need to be on immediate alert. I haven't been asked out yet. Just a heads up if I start sounding love culty or anything.

I Quit

2010-10-22T10:02:00.000-04:00

I don't know how it works for you when you decide to do something but for me it's like a switch flips inside my head. The foot shuffling question of should no longer exists. There is no hesitation, no nervousness, it's just...done.

When I went skydiving? I wasn't scared. There was no holding back. I was thrilled about it. I did not freak out in the plane on the way up like that one chick who left just before me and they had to bring the whole plane back down because she starting crying. She shouldn't have bought her ticket in the first place. She wasn't ready.

Me? Cool as a cucumber. Still one of the most favorite things I've ever done. But skydiving is not the point.

The point is that I decided to quit smoking yesterday. Or stop. or whatever you want to call it. And I went out and bought a box of Target brand nicotine patches. And I have one on right now. My name is Silver and it's been 16 hours since my last cigarette. Hi, Silver.

This is a decision I have wrestled with off and on for years. I quit a couple times before. The first time was with the gum, but that stuff is disgusting. More disgusting than cigarettes? you're asking. Listen, stop looking at me like that and quit being such a judgmental dick. The gum was gross. So I quit cold turkey instead. happy? pfffbbttt. And that lasted for a few months, but then I started waiting tables again and all the good gossip happens when everyone's smoking in the break room. That was a combination of temptations too great for me to resist. I'm only human.

So you didn't really quit then, did you? You just "stopped." you're thinking. Whatever. Semantics. And you don't have to read this if you don't want to. Hows about you get on board already or get clickety with that Next Blog button up there, m'kay? Don't fuck with me. I'm feeling a little edgy, as you might imagine.

The next time I quit after that I used the Nicoderm patch. It was fairly new at the time and I knew I needed a chemical weaning process. I was ready to quit, but I'd been smoking a TON. So, that worked and after two weeks of the patch it was a cake walk. The physical craving had stopped; mentally I was over it. Easy. That time lasted about a year. I forget what got me back to smoking. Probably just a night out and the infamous, "Oh, can I just have one drag?. No really, it'll be fiiiiine." Quit shaking your head. I know. so stupid.

And over the last 8 or so years since then I've stopped a couple times for a week or two or a month here and there but there was always some enormous stress trigger that smacked me in the face and I went right on back to smoking like Marlboro was paying me cash.

And with all this reunion business and every other mountainous thing I've been dealing with lately, the smoking hit a crystal-shattering crescendo. My lungs actually hurt. And it was noticeably hard to breathe. And it didn't go away after a few hours because I've gotten so physically and psychologically hooked on smoking that I wouldn't give myself even that amount of time to take a break from it except for when I was asleep. And that was kinda gross. More than kinda. Okay, fine. It was a lot gross. I get it. geez. I went out and got this didn't I?

So, now I'm quitting because I'm a truly devoted fan of pain-free breathing. And because I've noticed too many people cruising through the store in a Pig Pen-like aromatic cloud of cigarette smoke and I have had the audacity to think, "Ugh. ew. puh-lease, so gross." But then I had the immediate instant karma self-awareness moment of, "ohno. I just had a cigarette outside... Am I...? Do *I*...? nonononono. [shoulders slumped] dammit." And you're doing that raised eyebrow, straight-lipped nodding thing that means 'fraid so, idiot. And you can just stop that this minute. because I get it. I've been on the other side of that one too.

There was this one time years ago I saw a girl I hadn't seen in a few months. She'd lost a lot of weight. Looked great. I told her so. She then exclaimed, "After I saw those pictures from Spring Break I had to! Why didn't you tell me I was fat?!" And I just said, "Uh. I thought you knew." Because cryin' out loud that slingshot she wore to the beach wouldn't have done anyone any favors and you don't need to be doing that in public when you're 20 ell bees in the black. Especially not in Miami. But that was your town and I was just visiting, maybe I didn't know local custom. So I kept my mouth shut.

So yeah, that's me now. Realizing I've been walking around smelling terrible probably. And that is completely unattractive. And the switch suddenly flipped in my head that makes that entirely unacceptable.

Plus after the last few months, I'm pretty sure I've earned the right to to take a legitimate deep breath.

stupid writers block

2010-10-21T08:22:00.000-04:00

It's not that I can't think of what to write about. It's that I can think of SOMANYTHINGS and I don't know which one to pick. Because I either have no business writing about it or no idea how to put it in the right words that don't make me feel like a human circus. and not a fun circus. or a helpful-to-know-ME-TOO circus either. So no blog for a couple days.

[Jedi Mind Trick hand wave] You didn't see anything.

But I HAVE to write something today because Audrey will put another virtual gun to my head if she gets into work this morning and there's nothing new to read. Either that or she'll three dimensionally come over to my house and kill me with a Monkey Hammer. like the kind you use to open up monkey skulls and eat their brains like in Indiana Jones. because that's our latest plan to neutralize people who annoy the hell out of us. and she knows where I live. and she's got enough pent up rage and no good outlet to release it for that to possibly seem like a good idea in her mind no matter how much I think it would be like killing the goose that laid the golden egg because no goose means no more eggs ever, remember? just put the Monkey Hammer down and back away slowly, Audrey. I'm writing. sometimes people have off days.

I blame the full moon cycle. Or something else that's powerful and temporary. Because I can't write about stupid writers block because being all meta just pisses other bloggers off and they'll stop reading and that would suck. And I don't know how long I'll hang onto the novelty traffic left over from the reunion crowd because they're going to read for a couple days and quickly realize that despite the great party I'm just as odd as I was 20 years ago and I'm much more palatable in facebook status updates than whole entire blog posts and they'll go away too. and then I'll be back to where I started 9 months ago before the Great Blogsperiment began. basically alone and yelling ECHO at the edge of the pitch black internet canyon. that would also suck.

so. blah. writers block. meta bullshit. etc. take a can coozie on your way out.

But you know what? Something fascinating is bound to capture my interest any second now and I'll be inspired and writing solidly every day again like it's my job and boy will you be sorry because I bet I'll even be funny sometimes too. It's not outside the realm of possibility that I will find a fucking point to all of this and someone will say, "Hey, I've read some of what you have to say and I feel the world desperately needs to know your particular opinion about spoons. I beg you to let me publish you immediately." And I won't donate any of the proceeds to charity unless you consider Aruba a charity because that's where I would spend the buckets of cash from my rocketed to stardom, hugely successful "seven figure" writing career. You'd forgive me, right? Come on, I already do enough non profit work in real life...I feel confident in being extremely selfish with writing money. And it's Aruba for god sakes. totally worth it.

So anyway, that's what's going to happen next. The moon will cycle out of its current batshit phase, I will get out of this tangled headspace and by the time my 25 year reunion rolls around I'll be a wicked celebrated author. Pretty sure that plan will come to fruition in short order. stay tuned.

stupid writers block

Nobody's Perfect

2010-10-18T23:59:00.000-04:00

I used to have a gym membership and there was this one trainer, Jeffrey, who I used to talk with while I was there. He set me up on the machines when I joined and encouraged me while I was trapped on the elliptical throughout. We became friends. He'd tell me all about his girlfriend while offering to give me massages and stuff. I was unhappily married, so this was pretty much the highlight of my day at the time.

This was about 7 years ago. Jeffrey was the age then that I am now. Maybe a little older. and he was dealing with this crazyass girlfriend drama that made no sense to me whatsoever. They'd break up, get back together, fight some more because she was suspicious of his "massage" gigs and he'd go begging back to her for reasons I still don't understand. This went on for at least a year that I knew about.

He asked me once, "Why is it so hard to know if you're with the right person?" I asked him back, "How old are you? Shouldn't you know this shit by now? How many times do you have to go through this before you realize it's not working and move on to something that does?" I'm thinking she was adventurous in bed. Because he wasn't shy about describing that. including hand gestures. Unfortunately, this was a fairly popular gym and the PTA circuit has never looked at me the same since witnessing those conversations.

Anyway, I still feel that way about dating. I could date, I'm sure. It's not like I don't get approached from time to distant, distant time but god sakes. They're all, well not all, but most of them...are so easily dismissed in stereotypes. ...yeah, "labels are for cans" got that. fully understand. but come the fuck on already.

Don't you get to a point where you can see these people coming from three miles away? And at the first sign of familiar human nightmare experience shouldn't you just cut and run for your own survival? We're not getting any younger. Do you really want to waste six months of you life trying to decide if you truly love someone who pays attention to what Glenn Beck has to say? or thinks Jar Jar Binks was a fine addition to the cast of Star Wars characters? or has some other deeply rooted opinion that is infinitely objectionable to the core of your existence?

Why on earth do we trick ourselves into shit like that? If you think these people are broken and you can fix them, you're wrong. If you think you're broken and they can fix you then you are also wrong.

Because everybody's broken. And the only person who can fix your broken is you. If you want it to be fixed. And even then you just move over to another class of broken because everybody is broken all the time. Do you understand that? Do you get that no one is perfect? And what the hell does perfect look like anyway? I like the fucked up people...I mean, the ones who hang around my category of fuckedupness at least.

Bringing it back to Jeffrey and his girlfriend who I am guessing was just girlfriend number 357 in his repertoire...what was his fate? Maybe she WAS his particular brand of crazy and he bought a seat next to her on that train. Or maybe he broke up with her and continues to break up with these women because he hasn't met the other piece of his crazy puzzle in the right way yet.

I can't be sure. We both quit the gym before I found out the end of the story. I do wonder though.

Those massages were pretty hot.

Total World Domination. check.

2010-10-17T23:59:00.002-04:00

Round 2 of the Reunion Weekend was last night. The official event. The casual oyster roast deck party that I've been going on about here since January.

It was insanely good. Like, off without a single hitch or glitch or any crisis-style drama whatsoever. And everyone who said they were coming, came. And other people who said they weren't coming ended up changing their minds at the last minute. And a few other people who weren't even on my radar showed up as well. huh. shocking. welcome!

We showed up to decorate a couple hours before and the team of 8 or so people totally made the place beautiful.

It might not look like a lot, but that was the point I guess. And trust me, it takes a lot of work to make something seem effortless.

Not that anybody bought my "Aw, shucks. It was no big deal." shtick. They were all completely convinced it was a laborious process pulling this weekend off. Seriously, my facebook wall has blown up like it's my birthday or something. Honestly, it was laborious but it was a labor of love. As much as my committee, however small it may have been, claims that I did all the work...well, I sweartogod couldn't have done it without them and every other person who helped throughout the year making this event happen. I love my minions dearly for keeping me on track and accountable as this all came together.

But anyway, the party. After the decorating part it was pretty much out of my hands. Brush your hair, put on your clothes and let it happen. Everybody asked, "Are you nervous? Stressed out? Is everything okay?" And everything was seriously great. But really, once we made budget last week how could it not have been?

I mean, you saw that deck. That weather. Could you ask for anything more perfect? It was just exactly what I imagined. exactly. And once the people started arriving it was complete. The people make the party after all. All I can do is give them food, drinks and a killer atmosphere, the rest is up to them. And they were awesome. I didn't hear about anybody being snotty. From where I stood (which was everywhere), I could see nothing but hugs and big smiles and lots of conversations. And even dancing. I didn't dance. Sorry, guys. I shimmied past the dance floor every now and again on my way to make sure the check-in table was properly staffed though? Anyway, looks like they all had a fucking blast out there, so more power to 'em. Thanks for bringing the noise. and the funk.

And aside from just watching everyone have a fantastic time, and having a fantastic time myself, I know the party was a complete smashing success because the open bar closed at 8 and people stayed for hours and hours after that. AND, you know how when you're on a really good date and you make plans for the next date in the middle of it? (or so I hear) People were already asking if we have to wait another 10 years to do this again. Can we have a 25 year reunion? Can we do this every year? Let's get together at Christmas! Woo hoo!

So, that seems like a pretty solid indication that my goal for total world domination has been achieved. Because I think I'm supposed to plan the rest of these things too. heh. But that's okay, because like I mentioned, I absolutely loved doing it and the few speedbumps and headaches along the way were totally worth it once the main event was in full swing.

Oh, and I'm so glad I hired my photographer because I didn't take one solitary picture between that set up and after brunch today. So my camera goes from that last light-stringing setup shot to this one:

The guys I had brunch with goofing around on the walk back to the hotel.

And it's been so great seeing everyone's pictures from the weekend popping up in albums all over my facebook news feed. And I set up a shutterfly account for sharing all of those, but due to a severe Adrenaline Crash this afternoon, I have not yet fleshed that out. because, seriously, just gimme a minute.

So after this we can move on to other topics. Probably. until the next one of these rolls around. and hey, if you've put up with me through all of this...the next one should be fine.

Pre-Blissed

2010-10-15T23:59:00.001-04:00

It. Was. A. Success.

(and it didn't even happen for real yet)

Tonight was just the pre party. not even the big show.

And there were so many people across so many social lines and they were all there and they were happy to be there and it was...as much as I wanted and so more than I expected all at the same time.

It was pretty fucking surreal.

And we met budget already partycostwise and everything else gets donated to the school scholarship fund and...

I'm more than a little blissed out right now.

Because in the middle of all the SQUEEohmygoditsyouandhereyouareWOW excitement there were real moments of philosophical import not lost.

This. For me. Isn't just a party.

Even though it is.

This party means something.

And that something is good.

And real.

And I am beyond glad you felt it too.

It's Tuesday already?! wait...what?

2010-10-15T09:34:00.001-04:00

Do you ever do that thing where you think it's Thursday all day but it's really Wednesday? Or it's Saturday and you start your morning like it's Friday? For whatever reason you just can't sync up with Time? I think it's the wrong day a lot.

Yesterday, I knew it was Thursday, but it had a Friday feel. Probably because Thursday was the end of my regular week because today is the kick off of the reunion festivities and time was rocketing through the hourglass in a way that reminded me of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz desperately panicking "It won't turn over!"

By the way, I will be just as happy to stop thinking about the reunion as you will be to stop reading because tossing and turning at 3 a.m. realizing that 10 mile per hour winds on an outside deck will totally fuck up my tealights and I should've gotten taller candle holders but IT'S TOO LATE NOW and then trying to talk myself off the ledge because they're just tealights for god sakes let it go is not the most effective way to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for all the bajillion things I need to do for the party and I haven't mastered the art of makeup application to conceal dark circles so I'm probably going to look like iced hell for the next 3 or 4 days.

But that wasn't the point. The point was getting out of sync with the Time/Space Continuum. I'm a professional, so I make sure to research what I write about. And by "research" of course I mean type shit into Google until I find something on the internet that serves my purposes. So I totally scientifically googled "'not knowing what day it is' causes." What I found was somewhat disturbing.

First of all, this phenomenon doesn't have an official name. I don't like that. I like when things have names, even if they're in some other language with four consonants in a row. Named things make me feel a little more secure that I'm not the only one. Despite not having a name, not knowing what day it is is a recognized thing. In the Bible even. m'kay...

It's supposed to be a sign of The Rapture. As in, the second coming of Christ. uh...shit. Now, I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I mean, it'll certainly unclutter my facebook news feed when the raptured Christians are whisked away to the kingdom of eternal salvation but I don't know, something about me being tuned in to to a huge religious event is bothersome.

Another cause? Sleep deprivation. Hmmm...possibly. I get a solid 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night. Sometimes more throughout the day if my intermittent narcoleptic napping episodes occur. But I'm okay with that. I don't feel sleep deprived. I would hate to think that I have to become an Early To Bedder after all my years of Late Night Sitter Upper experience. That's a reconditioning I don't know if I'm ready for. I might could continue being fine with confusing days if that's the case. I mean, how would I ever catch up with my DVR?

Antidepressants were another reason. But I'm not on those so I that doesn't apply to me. Just saying, "they" attribute the messed up day thing to that. The more you know.

Alcohol intake. More specifically "wet brain" syndrome or something. Which, first of all: gross. Secondly: I've seen alcoholic wet brain activity live and in person, it's called Encephalopathy by the way, and that's not what I'm dealing with here. Denial, you say? whatever. There are too many other other symptoms I don't have of wet brain (seriously, stop saying that) to make it that. so there.

And lastly: insanity. Like for real delirium, dementia, schizophrenia. One of those or more or all of the above. As much as I joke around about being a crazy person I really don't want to have brought that on myself and find out this Thinking It's the Wrong Day Sometimes is a symptom of a serious institutionalizing condition. I'm not a fan of institutions. I mean, yeah, I can handle 'em. I know for a fact I could even make friends in jail...but good freakin' googly that's more of a survival mechanism than anything else and I'd really rather think today is next April than have to go through something like that again.

So, if you have any research that either names or explains the Thinking It's the Wrong Day Sometimes phenomenon and doesn't signify a catastrophic fantastical global event or make me half dead or officially off my rocker, I would appreciate it. thx.

It's Like This...

2010-10-14T09:12:00.000-04:00

Life makes sense to me by way of analogy. Now, I wasn't sure if it made sense via analogy, simile or metaphor so of course I had to Google and according to About.com (which usually annoys the hell out of me) I'm pretty sure analogy is the term I'm looking for. Although I feel that as I writer I should have already known that but whatever.

Analogies shape my perspective. Bad therapy days, when I used to be in therapy that is, made sense to me like cooking. When you're making a complicated meal, the process can look like the kitchen exploded but the result is a lovely souffle. I don't make souffles but they seem sufficiently impressive in my head. think of something with lots of ingredients and steps that's very delicious when you're done. Okay, so it made sense to me that if I felt like an unmitigated mess at times, it was all a part of the journey (gack) to being a not only functional but also very emotionally attractive human being. And I could carry on knowing I was on the right path.

I do this when acting as Junior Counselor to the Free World also. I don't have an advice arm of le blog as yet, but you guys don't know what you're missing. Just ask my closest friends. They're convinced I could stage a coup and overthrow Dr. Phil with minimal effort.

For example: Your boyfriend is neglecting you. You talk about this constantly with him. He tells you you're being overly needy and irrational and makes you feel dumb for wanting more from the relationship but you still know that you're unsatisfied emotionally and what now? Who's right?

Let's think of it like this. Say you're thirsty. You ask someone for a glass of water. They hand you a dixie cup. You down it and ask for more. They refuse because what the hell?! I just GAVE you water. What do you MEAN you're still thirsty?! No. That's all you're getting and quit whining about it. So, what are you going to do? Stand there and die of dehydration or take control and refill your own cup of water?

It's like that.

Here's another one: Your relationship started out fine. It was fine for a couple years. You were both happy. Now, it's gone to hell. You're both miserable with each other but where did it go wrong? You've got so much time invested already, should you stick it out hoping for things to get better or back to the way they were? Did you imagine the initial happiness? Is it your fault? What do you do?!

Okay, imagine for a minute you're in the shower. It's a comfortable temperature. Then for whatever reason the water is no longer comfortable. Freezing cold, scalding hot...either way it's intolerable. Do you linger in that shower for an extra 10 minutes because the water USED to be the right temperature and it might be your fault that the temperature changed even though you keep messing with the knobs and the water won't do right and you can't figure out how to fix it? or do you hurry the fuck up and get out?

Feel me?

Now, I've mentioned before that despite some people's perception I am NOT encouraging everyone I know to break up or get divorced or anything. These just happen to be two examples of shitty relationships that aren't/weren't working and needed permission to open the escape hatch. I'm sure I could come up with other examples of gardening or something about how you need to nurture a relationship and watch it grow and bear fruit and shit. I don't garden well, so this would be guessing mostly. And I don't do romantic relationships at all really but those who can't do, teach and stuff, right? heh. Anyway...

I got a million of 'em on all kinds of topics. And they're all tailor made for your situation/hobbies/etc. And I don't require a team of writers either, Dr. Phil. *cough* fraud *ahem*

So, what do you think? Start an advice segment of le blog? Write a book? Pitch a show? or a podcast or something (even though I don't know how those work)? Or do I just retain my amateur status for 3D people and leave you all to your own devices? I'm open for suggestions here. Like a...something...waiting for a...something else that's relevant.

I may need more coffee.

Relax. It's Not Prom

2010-10-13T09:26:00.000-04:00

What should I wear?! What are you gonna wear?!

Those are the questions everyone is asking now.

Holy crap it's only Wednesday. This reunion is three. and a half. entire. whole. days away. How am I supposed to know what I'm going to wear all the way on Saturday already? Perhaps there'll be a heat wave. or a cold snap. or a tsunami. Those things would affect my wardrobe choices.

Or perhaps the weather will be exactly like it is now except just a little bit cooler and since this party will be taking place outside at an inlet as the sun is going down then some additional layers might be in order because I'm the type of person who gets cold really easily. But if you're coming down from somewhere North of Pleasant Valley then this could feel like a Summer's day to you and you're all jazzed about shorts and a crazy Hawaiian shirt. Or maybe you're coming up from somewhere South of here and anything below 70 feels like the Siberian tundra. So I don't know what you should wear is what I'm saying here. That's a lot of pressure to put on someone who still has a dozen centerpieces to put together and a garage remodel to oversee and four feet of laundry just sitting there. mocking me.

You know what I would do? I would Google. You should Google too. or call the local weather hotline or use your imagination for cryin' out loud. yeesh. sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I'm just...there's a lot going on is all. It's not you, it's me.

And honestly, I don't know what I'm going to wear because I can't decide if I should be a gradient more fancy than casual because of my leadership role in these shenanigans. You know, like if I should look like a hostess or an in-charge person or if I should dress just as casually as I'm encouraging everyone else to because that's only fair and I don't want to hear 200 people whine, "But you SAID...!" because the only people who can talk to me like that are my kids and even then I don't like hearing it.

So anyway, I don't have my outfit picked out yet. All I can tell you is that it won't be a silver cocktail dress. There will be flip flops involved. And something flattering in the leg and/or cleavage arenas (listen, I'm a single woman and there's going to be a photographer. strategery!). But I'm probably not going out and buying anything new. Oh, and I shouldn't even have to mention this but...no body glitter.

You can wear whatever you like. Something that looks nice in pictures. Casual but not sloppy. No ties. No uncomfortable shoes. Nothing that would fall in the general category of formal or even semi-formal.

Just wear something you feel confident in that you don't have to fret over all evening. Keep it simple. No stress. Do not panic. etc. That's what I'm aiming for anyway. godspeed.

Sitting This One Out

2010-10-12T09:07:00.000-04:00

There's this bridge at the entrance to my X's parents' neighborhood that X and his friends used to jump off of when they were in high school. and college. and after college. and maybe last Tuesday but I can't be certain of that.

A million years ago when X and I started seeing each other we were hanging out with another couple for a night of karaoke and boating. Pretty sure we were far from sober. As evidenced by the fact that the end of the night found us all wearing only underwear. Anyway, near the end of the night everyone just thought it would be a stellar idea to relive the glory days (of a couple weeks ago probably) and jump off the ol' bridge. Because when you think it's a good idea to tool around in the boat barely dressed, jumping off a bridge seems like a fantastic way to spend your time. It's tooootally safe. totally. and ehhhhverybody does it.

So they pulled the boat up to the place right under the bridge. We all climbed up and took our spot on the ledge. And they launched right off the bridge with barely a second thought. I stood on the outside of the railing while they all called to me from the water below. "Jump! C'mon already! Wooo! You can DO IT!" I really wanted to join them. But after about 15 minutes of me debating the idea I chickened out and walked back to my future outlaws house waiting for X & Co. to bring the boat back around. They were very disappointed in my scaredy catness.

But somehow, even through the haze of Miller Lite and Jagermeister (or bourbon, or kamikaze shooters or whatever the hell I was supplementing with to keep up with everyone), I knew that my inherent klutziness combined with 1 a.m. combined with a long drop into shallow water combined with the boat right there would be the end of me for good and all.

And now I can answer the cliched question, "If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?" with a resounding, "No. I would not." and I have a story and witnesses to prove it.

Which brings me to this: I'm not doing the 30 Days of Truth writing prompt/meme thing.

I know, I know. Ehhhhhverybody's doing it. What am I, chicken? C'moooonnnnn! It's tooootally cool. And it is. For you. I've read some of them. Not all of them because the blogosphere is a big place and I don't know everybody just yet. And I am very impressed by the dedication to discovering your inner truths and stuff. And it's all awesome and wonderful and yay.

But I went to sleep last night trying to come up with something I HATED about myself (because that's the prompt for Day One) and I couldn't think of anything. And I came to the conclusion this morning that didn't want to. Because I've spent plenty of time hating myself and my life over the past few years and I just don't feel like dwelling on that for one more day right now. sorry.

So I thought about turning the meme into one of those facebook note things where I just give one word answers but there's days where you're supposed to come up with letters and playlists and whatever. And I can't fit that into one word. And I don't want to be super flippant anyway because you guys are spending some serious time on this project and I don't you to think I'm mocking you for it.

So you guys go ahead and jump, or keep jumping if you've already started. Consider me mesmerized by your adventure. I'll be here at the dock waiting for you to pull the boat around and tell me all about what I missed.

I'll Fight 'im For Ya

2010-10-10T23:59:00.003-04:00

So, the other day my sister was having a crisis moment. I rode my bike around the corner to talk her off the ledge. successfully. yay.

During this time, some neighbor kids came over and did some kind of weird incessant doorbell ringing/door knocking thing while Thing 1 was home by himself. Thing 1 was not pleased. He reacted in a 10 year old not pleased way. freaking out basically and practicing swear words. Thing 1 called me on my cell in a panic about it and I came home immediately. Kid crisis supersedes Sister crisis.

What we found out today? Neighbor kids video taped this. and uploaded it to youtube. Neighbor kids were in deep trouble. Because Thing 1 already has a personality complex and this? is unfuckingacceptable.

So, when neighbor kids responsible for this youtube humiliation video came over today I was waiting for them in the driveway. [hands on hips. no bullshit Mom voice] "That video comes down before tomorrow or I call your mother."

Video came down within the hour. And I've got my eye on that little sonofabitch. Because no fucking way do you mess with my kid like that.

And that's what I think more parents need to do. It's one thing to make sure your little darling wears a helmet everytime he approaches a wheeled object. It's something else entirely to know what the hell they're saying and doing with their personal relationships. Get a goddamn clue please.

Because you can be all up in arms about that youtube video that inspired a suicide but if you don't know your kid is participating in similar activity then you can kiss my ass.

And about that youtube video. I didn't see it. But I get the idea. and it is tragic.

I love the gay community. Because here's why. My gaydar didn't kick in until college so at least half the boys I was best friends with/had crushes on in my teens were gay and I was their beard without even knowing what that was. And they had people say mean things about them all the time which I never totally understood until later but I always vocally defended them because I hate bullies and I stick up for people I care about. And you can call me names too but you just look like an asshole. so THERE.

One of the too many to mention examples of my lovely gay friends: I remember working for this horrible buffet tourist trap down at the oceanfront when I was in college. After the gaydar kicked in. There was this guy Jimmy. He was really, really good looking and so gay he was practically on fire. Seriously, he used to quote Steel Magnolias constantly and wore a t-shirt with the Trix rabbit on it that said, "Silly faggot, dicks are for chicks!" *ahem* pretty sure he was being ironic. Anyway, we used to scope out men as they walked in the restaurant and call dibs. "Fight ya for 'im" we'd say. He usually won.

Anyway, that's just one of so many moments of my gay friend memories.

Going out to a club for a "girls night" with Christiano after he broke up with his boyfriend and standing face-to-crotch with a 7 foot tall drag queen and then getting hit on by the lesbian version of Cousin It? another unforgettable moment.

My life is richer because these men are in it. I'm not even mentioning my jealousy over my friend Pete's wedding on the water in Annapolis the month before mine because he and Mark had a Big Band and a sit down dinner and it was completely amazing.

I'm just saying you shouldn't mess with the people I love. They are truly lovable people and when you come after them, you are not. Because "I'll fight ya for 'im" can super easily turn into "I'll fight 'im for ya" and that's not a fight I intend losing. jackass.

Another Saturday Night

2010-10-09T21:32:00.000-04:00

Saturday night. Kids are gone. Blockbuster is freaking CLOSED forever. It's too late to call anybody to do anything. wah. but I don't want to write about that. I don't want to write about the reunion either even though this time next week it will all be over. And I only need about 50 more people to buy tickets to totally cover my proposed budget and not send me into a downward panicking spiral. It'll all work out. And next Sunday's post will be all about how wonderful the party was and I don't want to worry you all for what's really no good reason. I'm considerate like that. You're welcome.

So, what else? I had someone sort of kind of almost ask me out in a very nonspecific mumbling way last night. Which was cute in it's own way and the only reason I think he might have been serious was that he told me his email address multiple times like it was a Head On commercial. But I'm not going to email him. I gave him my number instead. Because look, guys, here's the deal. You want to ask me out? Fine. Man up. Make an effort. No texting. No email. No instant message. And certainly don't ask me to contact you to set something up. yeesh.

I'm waiting for a phone call, well, not holdingmybreath waiting but you know what I mean. I expect voice communication is what I'm saying. And a real "pick you up at 8" date. Are we clear? No "let's meet at the restaurant." No "Let's just hang out at your (my) place and ~~have sex~~ watch a movie." A proper date. With most of the clothing in tact at the end of the night. Let's keep it PG-13 for a minute, 'kay? We can get to the X rated stuff later. sorry. I'm turning over a new leaf. or something. shut up.

Okay, now, if I were stupid enough to join an online personals site ever again in my life which thankfully I am NOT then I would be fine meeting someone out somewhere because I don't fucking know you yet and you have no business knowing where I live because I have enough stalkers already thankyou and no interest in acquiring new ones.

But since I'm not going to join another personals site as long as I draw breath and I have spent enough time in person with you that I am interested in spending more time in person with you in a one on one datelike setting, then I'm pretty sure it's okay if you swing by to pick me up for dinner. or a movie. or a comedy club. or whatever people do on dates these days as long as it doesn't involve mini-golf and an ice cream stand because areyoukiddingme. Anyway, I have no idea how this actually works anymore because I haven't been on a pickmeup date in almost two full calendar years. I know. I can't believe it either. go ahead, exhale, it's okay.

Oh and for those of you newly separated or divorced? I am not a representative example of what the divorced population does. I don't think. I know plenty of people who got divorced after me who are now remarried or dating like it's their job or whatever. I just have had some other stuff going on and a very low tolerance for bullshit. Your situation could be totally different. In fact, I hope it will be. godspeed.

So anyway, this guy...the one who mumbled that he'd like to take me out to dinner...eh...I'm not holding my breath because I kind of stood there for a second after he said that doing the "you just said what?" blinking thing and I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud in his general direction but only because I used to have a wicked crush on him and everybody totally knew it and he kept giving me the Heisman because it would have been stupid complicated at the time and it was just the weirdest thing to see him acting sheepish after so long. So even though I said, "Uh yeah...yes...I'd like that," I don't know if it was the most encouraging response overall.

But it could turn into an actual date. maybe. we'll see. I'm not a counting my chickens before they hatch person. I usually don't even acknowledge that I have eggs. And I'm pretty sure my basket has a hole in it so I wouldn't put all of them in there at once because they just seem to fall right on out immediately anyway. So I don't even know why I'm mentioning this. It's just what I'm thinking about.

Create and Destroy

2010-10-08T12:08:00.000-04:00

Create or Destroy. That's what it comes down to, doesn't it?

My options yesterday were Smash Out a Wall or Monkey Around with Centerpieces. Naturally my first inclination was to reach for the sledgehammer. And I landed a couple solid *THUNK*s through the wall. But then Thing 2 wanted to get in on the action because what's more fun for an 8 year old boy than sanctioned demolition? maybe unsanctioned demolition. Anyway, then my mother in law showed up to pick up the boys for some quality time with their dad and sort of put the breaks on Operation Destruction.

Not that she has the ability to tell me what to do anymore but she made me question myself and that sort of pissed me off but it's completely stupid because she thinks that Handy Manny is going to just lay insulation over top of the existing wall and put in drywall over that but that doesn't make any sense because it would be a lot less work to take out the wall, lay insulation in the current framing and pop up fresh drywall than build out a whole nother frame, lay insulation and fuck up the windows and whatever electrical that's already there. Feel me? I mean, I can email Ty Pennington if I have to about this but I'm pretty sure he'll agree that taking out the existing plaster is the better plan here.

So even though I know she has the wrong idea about how this wall project is going to play out, I lost my destructive energy and all I had to show for my effort was a weak gash through the plaster. *sigh*

But it actually turns out that was a good thing because we're not going to insulate the wall until the dude comes out and does the "final" inspection on Monday. (i put that in quotes because the "final" inspection doesn't mean we'll really be done building shit because remember how I told you the outlaws hate red tape more than I do? this is them sneakily bucking the system. shhhhh)

And then I had to come up with something else to do. Enter: Centerpieces for the Reunion. See? This is why I like having 17 different things going on at once, there's always something to distract me from laundry. awesome. So...okay, remember how I ordered the decorations on my own? Well, they came in the mail on Monday and I was suffering a little bit of burnout about the whole reunion thing so I didn't even open the boxes until Wednesday which is very out of character because I can let mail sit around unopened for months sometimes but packages are a totally other story.

Anyway...Oriental Trading can energetically kiss my ass because their merchandise is very disappointing and not at all what I wanted. Sure, it's what I ordered for the most part (although I think some of their measurements may have been in centimeters and I read inches because holy crap the number of tiny little newborn starfish that had to die so you could make $4.99 plus shipping and handling is pure insanity) but it wasn't what I really wanted. So I had to return most of it because I'm not going to tout my ideas as all super wonderful and way more fabulously better than inflatable flip flops and plastic pre-school sandbuckets if you can only see them through a microscope and even then they look cheap and shitty.

So I boxed the stuff up and sent it back and went out and got other decoratory stuff that I like much better anyway AND was about $40 less expensive thankyouverymuch and came up with this:

Now, that's just a preliminary effort and it only took me like five minutes to put together and I'm sure I can get more fancy and creative with it but I think that's pretty representative of what the final product is going to be.

So there you have it. Rather than tear part of my house to pieces, I made something pretty. Well, I guess that's subjective. You could disagree with me and think my centerpiece sucks or something and I have no taste whatsoever and you would've much rather seen something involving giant novelty sunglasses and a coconut bra and I'm real sorry and stuff but if you want that much cheese you're going to have to order it from Cracker Barrel.

Anyway, I'll be destroying stuff next week.

Let's Call It Retro

2010-10-07T10:07:00.000-04:00

I remember flipping through the Sharper Image catalog decades ago and running across the Space Pen. It was a miracle of modern technology. The dawn of a pen revolution. A must-have for the man who has everything but the ability to write while he's upside down.

The Space Pen was conveniently invented around the time NASA started catapulting people toward the moon. One of the problems NASA ran into was that you can't write with ball point pens in a zero gravity situation. So along came this super duper high tech most amazing thing you ever saw Space Pen that writes right side up, upside down, on the moon, underwater probably, wherever! The only thing standing in the way of universal supremacy had been taken care of. Ta DAH! problem solved. Go forth and conquer. etc.

The Russians faced the same problem but it was the Cold War and we weren't sharing information so they had to figure this out on their own. Did the Soviets come up with a holy cow over the top you're never going to believe this revolutionary pen? Nope. Those vodka swilling communists used a pencil instead.

I have always loved that story.

I was reminded of it especially yesterday when dealing with my mailing label techo-crisis. Because in order to make that label business happen I needed a lot of super duper high tech equipment including but not limited to at least these many things:

Computer, printer, ink, labels. Not pictured: Word 2010 & aspirin.

I fretted and worked and stressed and gave myself a headache trying to work the whole thing out. I'm a pretty smart person. Glass is half full most of the time. I thought: There HAS to be a WAY!

And there was a way! There so totally was. You know what that way involved?

Plain old regular pen

Now, according to Wikipedia the Soviets ended up using the Space Pens eventually too because pencils are sort of flammable or something but you get my point, right? Don't kill the myth for me, okay?

Working with Change

2010-10-06T09:33:00.000-04:00

I have been defeated by Microsoft Word 2010. Specifically whatever they changed about mailing labels since the last time I had to enter data in for mass mailings. This isn't even for me. I was trying to help out the outlaws with some golf course promotional thing because they basically finance my life and I am a ~~strategic~~ nice person.

I spent an hour sifting through Googled pages of list in the teensiest fonts you can think of which made me wonder if I am on the edge of needing reading glasses. But I entered them into the wrong label template and I'm not exactly sure what in the world you have to do to convert one label format to the other but whatever it is seems to be beyond my technical capabilities because ohmygod I still haven't figured it out and I'm probably going to have to cut and paste all this crap into some stupid Excel spreadsheet and do a mail merge which I never remember mastering from my 9 to 5 days and if I had the envelopes in front of me I would actually rather address all 90 of them by hand because cutting and pasting that much information between applications is tedious as hell and the five phone calls I ignored from my mother in law last night inquiring about my progress didn't help calm my frustrated feelings of complete incompetence even though I don't have to do any of this and I'm just trying to be helpful because the more money the golf course brings in the less they guilt me about everything under the sun and the one hour I spent entering information turned into four more hours of editing and I went to sleep last night still trying to puzzle this out as my head hit the pillow.

And I haven't figured it out yet.

And I can't talk to my mother in law about it because she's just going to hover with all sorts of unhelpful suggestions and absolutely no specific nouns or verbs because the reason I even took this project on was that I tried to talk her through Microsoft Word over the phone and she couldn't figure that out. Not talk her through data entry mind you, talk her through simply opening the program and starting a new document. Sometimes it amazes me that this woman runs millionsomething dollar companies. "Oh...Silverrrrr... can't you do that thing...where you make that...you know...and then just...what if you take...shit, I don't know dick about none of it...I'll let you figure it out." and she flits about my kitchen in an ineffective melodramatic panic, making distracting tear-her-hair-out motions as if in sympathy when all I really want her to do is just be quiet and let me try to solve this problem.

I will not be defeated by stupid Microsoft Word 2010 dammit. this is ridiculous.

In other news, I tried to go browsing around the home improvement store looking for stuff for the Tween Dream room. I realized shopping is much less of an adventure when you know exactly what you want. Very many less daydreamy "ooooh...what if...maybe" moments and a lot more flat out No's. Carpet: blue. Ceiling fan: one without all the "walnut" and antiqued brass filigree that I can change the light bulbs without dismantling the whole thing. Paint. Paint is the only thing I got daydreamy over but that was more because I was shopping for my space (the Vault?) rather than the boys' new room. I think I'm going with yellow but with the same saturation as the salmon in the kitchen so it's more of a goldenish color. Japanese Koi is the name. I'm not in love with the name. but I figure if I could get past painting my bedroom Sassy Lilac I can certainly stomach Japanese Koi. I'll equate it to my newly discovered acceptance of sushi as a food group. There has to be some symbolic significance there.

Oh also, I have a lovely opportunity to combine remodeling adventures and my outlaw-related frustration: I get to knock out plaster walls with a sledgehammer. sweet.

Moving On

2010-10-04T23:59:00.000-04:00

This time last year I had a terrible case of insomnia. I was depressed and miserable and stressed out beyond anything I felt I could get out from under. I didn't sleep in my bed for months. The only place I could even lose consciousness periodically was the sofa in the living room. with the TV on. all night long. The ABC cable news channel sucks eggs at 4 a.m. in case you were curious. CNN was the only channel with a consistent visual output and could lull me to sleep at Volume level 4. just enough noise to keep my thoughts from talking at me. I could not be alone with my thoughts very often because they were dark nasty things that made me wish I was disappeared a lot of the time.

Not dead exactly. but gone. somewhere else. away from every stupid thing I'd ever done.

I looked into the possibility of moving to Australia. Or Costa Rica. I really did. it's not as easy as I would have liked.

And the words wherever you go, there you are rang in my head all the time. taunting me.

And the words when you're going through hell, keep going rang in my head all the time too. my inner drill sergeant.

I don't know if anyone really knew how awfully I wanted to disappear. I told them, sure, but joking. Always defaulting on the sarcasm because who could really believe that I would want to disappear? Not even me all the way evidently because that's also when I started planning the high school reunion, like, setting up committee meetings and calling venues and stuff. How could I be serious about being gone if I was laying the foundation for being so...here?

I almost wished I had an excuse to be relocated in the Witness Protection Program. I Googled and everything. I don't have an excuse. I looked into giving up my identity without federal help. Just running away. Changing my name completely. Except...I'm gonna go from being Silver to something else? That was the real kicker. I couldn't give up my name.

Even with all the hell that seemed attached to it at the time.

Wherever you go, there you are.

But lightning strike if I didn't think about it. hard. The escaping part anyway. I didn't want to think about the actual dealing with it part. And I certainly didn't write about it here at the time. Along with my other mantras this time next year it will all be different played on a loop. I would have rather focused on a distant point out on the horizon where all of it was behind me and I could finally breathe again. And it is behind me now. but not that distantly. and not without a great deal of effort.

What was the secret? How did I possibly step back from the edge of no return?

I faced the stupid shit I had to do and did it. Now, I know a lot of this *just* got finally taken care of after an extraordinary amount of procrastination on my part, but there was a lot more to it than what happened in the month of September. And I wouldn't even have had September's successes without doing all the dumb stuff I had to do before then.

So that's the secret. Do the dumb stuff you have to do. And do the stuff you'd much rather run away from because it feels like it could crush you it's so hard and scary.

Do it. And be done with it.

Wherever you go, there you are.
When you're going through hell, keep going.
This time next year it will all be different.

I Can Almost See It Now...

2010-10-03T23:59:00.001-04:00

What are you going to do with the space once the boys move into the new room?

The room that is currently their bedroom will stay a bedroom. A guest room maybe? Depends on whether or not the future Tween Dream bedroom sticks. I'm sure it'll be fine as a rec room no matter what, but they could get freaked out by the idea of being All The Way over on the other side of the house when it's time to sleep. Too new. Too strange. They're only 10 and 8...we haven't exactly arrived at the "Greg Brady moving into the attic" moment just yet.

But what is now the Toy Room. The pit of hell. That's getting turned into an office for me. Because my bedroom is where I sleep and the kitchen gets too easily cluttered and the deck...well, I like using the deck as my office but that's entirely weather dependent and hauling everything in and out multiple times a day is a hassle. So I'm giving myself an office. or something.

I need to think of a better name for it because plain old Office doesn't sound anything like an HQ for Total World Domination. Batcave is taken. Fortress of Solitude, while probably accurate, would be far too depressing. and cold. brrr. And according to an incomplete list on Wikipedia, Wonder Woman didn't even have a secret sanctuary. Oprah obviously had no input on Diana Prince's character arc over the years. Not that I'd go for a candlelit retreat with a chaise and a shelf full of Toni Morrison...but you know what I mean.

It'll have to evolve I guess. Because right now it's just the flingerie for 57 thousand things I have nowhere else to put. I have a hard time picturing what I want the space to look like when it becomes my space alone to claim. But I just realized it will be a place where I can hang my Lichtenstein prints that don't fit anywhere else in the house.

Reflection in Miror

This one is my favorite. You hardly ever see Lichtensteins with the women smiling. I used to have it and a couple others in my office when I did fundraising events at the domestic violence shelter. I made them into a series. But it always felt weird to hang them in the living room at home. Or even my bedroom. I love them and all but they're very loud. and large. Too much for full family consumption.

But they'll go perfect in a space that's just for me. I may be getting a vision for this space after all.
[tents fingers on lips] iiiinnnteresting.

A Revelation in Raw Fish

2010-10-02T10:27:00.000-04:00

My introduction to sushi happened when I was 23. California Roll, like you do. "Just put the whole thing in your mouth," my boyfriend told me. uh huh. shut up.

Anyway, adventurer that I am, I did. But I was never a fan of soy sauce. I was brand spankin' new to wasabi. Throw in the raw ginger and roasted seaweed... all piled on this unwieldy hunk of Krab and whateverthehell else is in a California Roll? gack. No more sushi for me thanks. No really, looks delish and all but me and my tempura carrot will be just fine. That's right, more for you! My loss! etc! Y'all have fun. *shudder*

For the longest time I turned my nose up at sushi with a sense of pride. I'll not succumb to your faddish food trends. I'm no lemming. It was the same with martinis (referred to around here as "big bowls of loudmouth soup") You keep your fancy fish and powerful vodka drinks, I'll be over here slurping my oysters and beer. Keeping it real.

But every so often I'd try sushi anyway. Just to see. And every time I was still pretty sure it was awful.
"Is it the raw fish?" everyone would assume. Not wanting seem like a scaredy cat, I would assure them, "No. Not that. I just don't like all the other crap that goes with." "Oh! Then try sashimi!" they'd insist. shrug. okay.

No. If I've got that much raw meat in my mouth...the protocol is NOT to chew. *ahem* No sashimi for me.

moving on. Then I tried tataki. Good tataki practically melts in your mouth. That's a goal with which I'm familiar. Things on the sushi scene began to look up.

And more friends would insist that I try this or that, promising I'd like it. So, I trusted them. Tried more. And actually did like it. but I could never remember the names of what it was because they were the experts, they were the orderers. I was just the tagalong trying new things; no confidence that these experiences could be repeated on my own.

I tried to pull that card again last night out with a gang of friends for my youngest sister Cindy Brady's birthday dinner. At a sushi place. Because she's always been way cooler in this regard than me. "I don't know what to get," I tried to claim. No one cared. If I wanted to eat then I had to pick something. Tataki. standard. I hesitated a moment and almost wimped out with the tempura. Could you imagine?

Snatching myself from the jaws of defeat I had some kind of lightbulb moment and picked the Earthquake Roll. I forget what's in it. Salmon I think? Krab? other stuff too. It was even from the "spicy" list. oooo! daring!

It was fantastic. I tried a piece of the Fuji Yama, the Great Neck, something else that was really citrusy...all of them were...great! To pull a line from the old dubbed Iron Chef judges, "The flavors exploded in my mouth!" I miss the old dubbed Iron Chef shows. Anyway, if I'd thought of it last night then I might have equated it to a Green Eggs and Ham revelation. Instead it was just nice to be part of the group and not feel so much like I was on the outside looking in.

It's weird when you run into a moment that crystallizes the concept that you're no longer who you used to be.

I'm a Driver; I'm a Winner

2010-09-30T23:30:00.001-04:00

A collossal mass of guilt, denial, procrastination and money has been chipped, chopped and sledgehammered away until all that's left is a thin slip of white paper with clear black words promising a driver's license in my mailbox next week. I felt a little like this as I left the DMV today:

Veronica Sawyer makes it out alive. Heathers.

Because oh my god bless america that was one excruciating process. But it's over now. yay! moving on.

My friend Audrey quieted my concerns about being perceived as scary and intimidating yesterday. Intense, she said. That was a better word. Scary or intimidating is a matter of perception. She said my intensity musters up fear in people who are uncomfortable with themselves. I found that to be an excellent point and embraced it instantly. Some people just...get you. That's a good feeling.

So, tra la laaa happy skippy zinging forward with everything else in the world. Except for the actual work of the garage remodel because there's some kind of typhoon happening around here but I can't do anything about the weather so I don't give a flying squirrel about that right now.

And my decorations person for the reunion, the one who never emailed me back? Emailed me tonight asking why *I* didn't email her back. But I DID email her back. All the way back last week. And if she claims she didn't get it like she claims she didn't get my text message canceling our meeting last month and was upset because she showed up anyway and had to pay a sitter even though everyone else I sent the text to got the message and it wasn't a huge problem? I don't know what to tell her. sorry? miscommunication is a bitch? I already ordered the decorations I wanted anyway but I didn't mean for her to feel slighted... It's confusing. The reunion is two weeks away. I don't have time for anymore confusing in my life. check your yahoo account, 'kay?

But my souvenirs came in yesterday...

I'm pretty stoked about those. I know, it's just a can coozie but I came up with that logo for the reunion and I like practical party favors, okay? And these are way less pricey than t-shirts. And if we started with a budget of absolute zero and have to sell 100 more tickets in the next 16 days to break even and avoid me stroking out then, trust me, we're going with economical favors. Wow, I'm a little defensive about that. heh.

[deep breath, tra la laaa, legal driver]

Okay, I'm good. So, yep. That's where we are.

paddlepaddlepaddle

Little Ol' Me?

2010-09-29T08:39:00.000-04:00

When people call me scary or intimidating I always want to take it as a compliment. Because that implies a degree of power, right? And being a powerful person is a good thing. right? It's certainly not because I look especially scary. I mean, the only fashion "looks" I can pull off are Beach Prep, Cocktail Party or maybe Naively Dressed Nice for Jury Duty. None of those seems all that scary at first glance.

In high school once, I tried on my sister's black leather jacket. The one with all the zippers that went perfect with her Doc Martens and multicolored hair. My father laughed in my face. It was confirmed in that moment that Halloween aside, Aggressively Rebellious is not a look I can maintain. So it isn't that I look scary or intimidating but I get pegged as scary more often than I know quite what to do with.

I have a hard time reconciling that assessment. Even Betty says I'm scary. or intimidating. maybe both. and I have to figure out how that's a good thing. And how I can use it to my advantage. Now, it comes in handy when dealing with my outlaws/former in-laws/X's parents/whatever you want to call them. And the occasional Assistant Principal. And obviously with the petri dish of pre-puberty that swirls around the neighbor kids. But otherwise? Socially? Do I come off as too standoffish?

This could be one of the reasons I don't get asked out. People I used to babysit for when I was a teenager would ask me, "Why's a girl like you available to babysit on a Saturday night?" I'd smile and shrug. "The boys must be intimidated by you," they'd say. I'd smile and shrug again. heh. Because it felt like kind of a bullshit compliment to me at the time. But I haven't stopped hearing it since.

On one hand, I'm "nice" but then the pendulum swings all the way over to the other side I get labeled as "scary." It's off-putting really and like I said, I don't know how to handle it. Like when my friend said I reminded him of a Venus Fly Trap. Implying fascinating but lethal and therefore kind of sexy. and, y'know...I don't want to shut down either side but I think I need to find the volume controls for both. Because it's very much less attractive when the lethal part outweighs the fascinating. I know this. I've been on the receiving end of a vibe where everything seems fine on the surface but you feel as if the person with whom you're interacting would just as soon backhand you across the room.

That to me smacks of unresolved rage issues, and...well...yeah, I got those. But I would hate for people to feel like that around me all the time. I should probably redeem that massage gift certificate I got for my birthday.

Keep Swimming

2010-09-27T23:33:00.001-04:00

I learned how to swim at the Y in Davenport, Iowa when I was 6 I think. I remember roll call. They always called out "Jean" because that was my name and when she signed me up, my mother must have been having one of her moments when she was rethinking calling me Silver. No one ever called me Jean, so it never registered when they'd call it to me during roll. There was always this "Jean? ... ... Jean?" Followed by a long pause when everyone would look at me and I would briefly land back on the planet from whatever daydreamy place I'd been. I'd snap-to with, "Oh! Me! That's me! I'm here!" The unspoken "duh" hung heavily in the air.

But anyway, at the very end of the weeks of swim class they tested us to see if we could swim in the deep end. I remember hanging on to the edge of the pool; the instructor was just a few feet away. Just out of reach. She called for me to swim to her. no problem. paddle paddle. Then she backed up. wha? paddlepaddle. She backed up some more. not fair! quit moving. paddlepaddlepaddle! She was right past my fingertips. And I was not pleased. She stayed *just* that distance away until I got all the way to the other side of the deep end. And she was all, "You did it! Great job!" And I was not the most proud beaming six year old girl you ever saw. I just remember thinking, "So what if I did it? You tricked me."

And it's been like that ever since.

That All By Myself feeling is tempered with seething surges of Look, You. This was not supposed to be that difficult. Or maybe it was supposed to be but good grief you should have told me that at the beginning because I didn't know I was going to have to open up the reserve tanks here and yeah, I got 'em and stuff but I would have appreciated a heads up of some kind. So, yay me or whatever but also...fuck you.

That's what life is, isn't it? Or parts of it anyway?

A neverending series of swim tests where just when you think you're THERE you still have a good distance to go. And you can stop if you want but you'll only be treading water because it's too deep to stand where you are. And you're still going to have to get there anyway. And treading water with a bad attitude because you're mad you're not there yet will only wear you out and make everything take three times as long. So you should just put your face in the water and move.

Or rather, I should. paddlepaddlepaddle

Self defeating

2010-09-27T02:12:00.000-04:00

My brain is all itchy. It's one of those itches that moves when you scratch where you think it was.

Left. No, down. Wait, up. dammit.

It's one of those itches that keeps me from anything coherent for long.

Too much. I don't like it.

It was a mild but stupid confusing day. weekend. whatever.

But Wait, There's More

2010-09-25T23:58:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure the Commonwealth is a high dollar hooker. Because if I have to pay someone an insane amount of money to get repeatedly fucked...that's the only logical explanation.

I spent hours. and hours. at the DMV yesterday. I called before I went to make sure I had all my paperwork in order. All my fines spelled out in surgical detail. I was dropped off at the agreed upon location. Blood money at the ready. unmarked bills. like you do.

I waited. People watched. There are some interesting looking people at the DMV. I guess they figure, "fuck it. it's the DMV. what the fuck does it matter?" And somehow the black and white striped Hamburgler tee with the high waisted black cargo shorts paired with pilled navy blue socks hiked up to there and playground blue crocs will do just fine. Could be a "fuck you" statement to The Man. I'd appreciate it if it were that. But it's probably an indication of a life no longer lived because that frayed, wilted home perm seems kind of like an everyday look for you and I'm sorry your life sucks so visibly and out loud. AND you have to spend all afternoon at the DMV on top of every other sucky thing it looks like you're dealing with. I feel your pain and stuff but honey, Kmart is right there, pick up a mirror on your way home.

And that high school chick who wore her dance team outfit to take the road test. Um, I know you're quite the dish when you're standing in front of geometry class but here, well, when you're parallel parking on an out of the way side street and the DMV dude asks if you want to test the shocks...just say no.

Anyway, people watching aside, I'm still sort of illegal. But only one kind right now. But they're still fucking with me because they tacked on a whole nother fine at the very end that nobody ever told me about and I kind of think they totally made it up because if I have to pay another $220 when that $160 (and many other hundreds of dollars) I already paid was supposed to take care of this very thing and the nice lady in the state capital told me so a few weeks ago and you're really nice too but it's Friday afternoon and you just counted out your drawer then made me pay an extra $90 for a year of vehicle registration but you only gave me 8 months worth plus you charged me for Special Interest license plates with a personalized message even though I just told you I didn't want those anymore I just want the plain old anonymous kind for now because I'm trying to be invisible on the streets of Pleasant Valley until all this shit is over and I know you heard me because we laughed and laughed about it but then you went on autopilot again and that fee was too much by a lot and...I don't trust you.

But whether she fucked me over because it was 4:30 on a Friday afternoon or whether I really do have to come up with that cash, I still have other surprise paperwork to fill out and phone calls to make before this is all done and over. god, it's like the worst scavenger hunt ever. Every time you think you're done there's another fucking riddle to solve. but it's the weekend so there's nothing I can do about it right now and that's just fine because after leaving the DMV yesterday afternoon I would have asked someone to shoot me but I'm pretty sure it felt like they just did. Ask Betty. I called her when I got home. I sounded shell shocked. because I was.

And now that I think of it the Commonwealth is probably more like a pimp than a whore in this situation because they get all the money and they just have drones do the grunt work and collect for them. ugh.

On a positive note...I got a couple of retweets that made me smile despite feeling like I just climbed out of a washer on Spin Cycle. Thank you Hippest Snippets and Dad Centric. Really. Truly bright moments in an otherwise helltastic day.

First World Insomnia

2010-09-24T10:23:00.000-04:00

"What can you do about it right now?"

Those words echoed in my head last night as I flipped about trying to find the perfect skin-to-covers ratio to keep me somewhere between volcanic and popsicle so I could fall asleep. And my head was too achy tired to even finish a sudoku puzzle, so I knew...there was nothing I could do about anything right then.

Reunion. Decorations. trivial first world problem and not even the most important business I need to take care of today. but it's the only thing I can control and I was having a moment. My vision for this reunion party, the vision I've been rolling around in my head for almost two years now...it's not like anything else I've seen. At least if Google image search is to be believed. Because when I say Beach Party or Deck Party or Oyster Roast or 20 Year Reunion or all of the above, there's a whole random smattering of crap that comes up and none of it looks like it does behind my eyes.

Last night I lay awake flipping through my mental rolodex, searching for reassurance that just because what I want doesn't seem to exist, it a doesn't mean it's a bad idea and I don't have to succumb to any kind of standardized version of anything if I can find a better way. And I found it. My interview at Studio Thirty Plus from a couple months go. TJ asked what advice I would have given to my 13 year old self or something close to that. I said: Trust your instincts. Just because your ideas are different than anyone else's doesn't mean they're bad.

Ah, foresight. Wait...hindsight? whatever. Sometimes I'm smarter than I think I am.

But here's the thing, I may be pissing someone off a little by trusting my instincts because my vision of Beach/Deck/Oyster Roast/Reunion Party doesn't exactly match what the party supply catalogs have to offer up for a beach theme and some people aren't what you'd call out-of-the-box thinkers ...but just trust me...it's going to be beautiful. Lots of twinkle lights, seashells, candles, school colors of course ...and if you heard me describe it then you might think the scheme sounds a little formal for a Deck Party Oyster Roast thing. But that's only when it's compared to the wacky plastic sunglasses and whimsical *cough* multicolored inflatable flip flops someone picked out and if this were a Lordy, Lordy! This Ol' Parrot Head's Turnin' Forty! kind of a party then I might be more inclined to stick with those choices. because I have a teeny tiny sadistic streak.

But it's NOT that kind of event we're having and when I said I wanted a relaxed and groovy vibe, the key word was "relaxed." Cases of multicolored, assorted, plastic novelty items do not make me think "relaxed." They make me think, "At least there's beer." But I don't know if I managed to communicate that in a diplomatic way when I said, "I think we're going in a different direction here. (Detailed description of centerpieces, etc.) Let me know if I'm missing something." because someone never emailed me back. And this thing is three weeks away and, um, fuck. So, I'll be trying to guiltlessly order the various and sundry items floating around in my head today so I don't lie awake half the night spinning my wheels about this again.

Because I have the final stage of operation Get Back on the Road today AND the garage remodel has begun and I know I'll be too exhausted to pull an all-nighter surfing Oriental Trading's most tasteful selections or cruising ebay for the best deal on twinkle lights.

On a Loop Repeating

2010-09-23T08:32:00.003-04:00

We are all projection screens
projecting scenes
on a loop repeating
old patterns
past wounds
shredding scars
open bleeding
just this once
every time

We are all tangled feeling
surface words smacking and stealing
rubber glue games hurling fear
minutes gone
days, years
it was only a second
you were just here
time gets lost
in the crossfire

We are all love, fear, hope, death
simple elements
the chatter scream is excess
days that end in why
fire trials
scorched earth
shaking breath
psyches burned
treading lightly on the lie

Blogtherapy

2010-09-22T08:22:00.000-04:00

I am only TWO different kinds of illegal right now. I say only two because this is reduced from the four or five different kinds of illegal I was about a month ago. Vehicular nonsense to which I have been referring. At any rate, by the end of the week this stormy period will be fully reduced from Catastrophic Damage to barely a blip on the radar if we're going by the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Scale standards. So that's encouraging.

Everything with the reunion is going swimmingly. My list of details is down to less than a page long and most of those items entail following up with people to whom I have delegated tasks and helping them achieve goals. Ticket sales spiked briefly last week via PayPal thankgod allowing us to purchase much needed supplies and all I need to do is figure out how to nudge more people into financial action without becoming the most obnoxious entity on facebook in the next three weeks. So, the reunion no longer feels like OHMYGODTHREEWEEKS! but more like [deep breath, squared shoulders] okay. three weeks.

And the blog. Good grief I've been so sporadic lately. I would have written last night but something totally unrelated caught my attention and threw off my train of thought about the PTA Open House and how my X and I went together which was only remarkable because the day before we exchanged some smiling/fang-baring banter during which he threatened to sell the house out from under me. heh.

But he can't do that because legally I'd have to sign off on the sale and he knows that but I don't think he knows *I* know that so I didn't bring it up because why escalate some trivial bickering into a fight of global thermonuclear proportions and push him to make good on the same idiotic threat he's been making for the past six years but won't ever follow through with because if he were going to then he would have done that by now and if he ever did then the consequences for him would be far more extensive than a diminished real estate portfolio and he may act all tough but he knows I'm the one who holds the cards here. So we let that one go fairly quickly. And the Open House was quite pleasant.

It's a dance we've become pretty good at. So, when people say, "but you must still care about him" I just smile politely and nod giving noncommittal answers because keeping your enemies closer does not exactly equal love but more of a shrewd negotiating skill and whatever I make that look like to you is part of it. Really though, most of the time it feels like I'm floating on a raft in shark infested waters as I bandage my wounds and build a bigger boat.

But we are still friends. when we don't talk about anything real.

huh. That took a turn I wasn't expecting. Anyway, enough with the blogtherapy for now...there's more pressing work to be done. showering for one thing. good god.

The Sequel was More Actiony

2010-09-20T23:59:00.005-04:00

I just finished The Girl Who Played with Fire (sequel to Dragon Tattoo). So, to say that I couldn't put it down...pretty much. Page turner...absolutely. I'll try to maybe give a more thorough review another time.

For now, let me just give you this assessment before I cart myself off to bleary eyed bed: I skipped the season premiere of House to tear through the last half of the book tonight. Did you hear me? House. Season Premiere. (I love you, DVR)

Anyway, I'll be getting The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (Book 3) tomorrow probably.

The Daunting Task of Details

2010-09-19T23:59:00.000-04:00

I really need to plan my grocery shopping better. It was so nice to not have to run by the store this afternoon to pick up ingredients for dinner. We had meatloaf, brown rice and peas and I didn't even have to leave the house. I used to be much better at buying groceries in bulk and planning out meals. I don't know exactly when this became a memory.

But for the longest time now it seems that if Tyler whatshisname, that dude on the Food channel who claims to be able to create a surprising gourmet meal from the random contents of your pantry, were to show up at my house one afternoon then I'd have to say, "Uh...okay. Can of tuna, tub of shortening, bottle of worcestershire...GO!" and then simultaneously die from laughing and embarrassment at having such a poorly stocked kitchen on cable television. That's definitely not how I'd like to make my national debut.

So, grocery shopping. Need to plan better. For being as organized as I am with reunion stuff (now) and getting this driving situation under control (finally), I approach most areas of my life with a general five-second-rule attitude. Can't see it from an airplane. Good enough. that type of thing. I hear the devil is in the details, you see. I'm not a religious person but I don't want to take any chances. I ~~shut my eyes behind a pillow with my ears plugged~~ watched the Exorcist once and ever since that nightmarish afternoon and subsequent month of insomnia, I made it my policy to avoid devil-related things. including details.

I may have to relax the ban on details however. Paying attention to them seems to be a growing theme lately and has worked out for the best in most cases. But attending to details in all areas of my life? Like dusting even? As you might imagine, I'm a bit apprehensive. This is new territory. As you know, I don't fear change but we're talking about undoing decades of programming here and that's a pretty daunting prospect.

We'll start small. Menu planning and grocery lists. But if furniture starts moving of its own accord then all bets are off. And I will never in a thousand years make pea soup.

Jets and Demolition: A Quiet Day at Home

2010-09-18T12:17:00.000-04:00

The Blue Angels air show is going on this weekend. Jets have been scraping through the sky all week long with afterburners shrieking to break the sound barrier and causing children all over town to cover their ears and duck inside their own kitchens as they pass. "What the heck, Mom! That sounds like it's gonna crash through the house!" I know kiddo. This happens every year.

We like going to the airshow. But we're skipping it this year. I just don't feel like parking 2 miles away from the airfield and spending $40 for two funnel cakes and lemonades when I can sit in my own backyard and have phone conversations interrupted every 4 minutes as fighter jets rage over my head. Ah, the sound of freedom. Seriously though, I'm just glad they're on our side.

And I don't care what your political affiliations or your thoughts on world peace happen to be and I'm certainly not trying to tell you how to feel, but if you're not slack jaw, toe curling, pit of your stomach awestruck by four or 5 jets rocketing at a 90 degree angle away from the earth in a death defying nose to tail to wingtip to wingtip jigsaw puzzle-like formation? Then you're dead inside.

I've tried to snap pictures as they fly over the house and circle back around to get to the airfield but they go too fast. It's like, once you hear them it's already too late to get a good shot. I did get one of a solo jet but it hardly captures the sound and fury careening over my house today. Eh.

So, aside from that I'm going to putter around and gather up more stuff for the DAV to cart away on Monday and then take out the other half what yesterday was 16' x 10' x 2' shelving in the garage in prep for the big remodel. Because Bob the Builder STILL hasn't shown up yet even though he said he was going to be here on Thursday afternoon or maybe Friday at the latest but he frailed and the shelves are going to have to be dismantled anyway and I may as well kill some time because I have a socket wrench set and some WD40 just sitting right here and our baseball game doesn't start until 4 and taking out the first 8 feet of shelving yesterday was pretty easy actually so why not.

Half of the shelving removed. Need to set all that other stuff out for the DAV before I take down the rest of it. obviously.

I would attempt to remove the garage doors but I don't want two gaping holes in the front of the house until godknowswhen and there's electricity involved. And if we've learned anything in the reading of this online diary then we know it's best that I keep a respectful distance from major electrical projects. But holy cow, the temptation to take stuff apart is almost overwhelming.

Anyway, that's what my day looks like. Boys will be gone tonight and I'm going to have to go out and get the sequel to Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, so I'll have something to occupy my time because I have zero social life and Saturday night TV sucks.

My official review of Dragon Tattoo is this: if you can hang tight through the first part, it really starts to pick up around Chapter 10 and actually becomes a real page-turner. By the end of the book you're hooked into the rest of the series. You would have been hard pressed to convince me of that during the first couple hundred pages because trying to get through even one page of that immensely tedious detail made my eyes glaze over repeatedly and want to huck the book across the room just to wake myself up... but that's how it turned out for me. Stick with it. See for yourself.

Hey, Next Big Thing? take a number

2010-09-16T23:57:00.001-04:00

I would love to laze around and speculate about what I could do next. Cast a psychic line out into the universe and see what bites. But there is no next right now. Right now there is only NOW. Well, now and a series of mini-nexts in the form of endlessly evolving To Do lists.

I know, Gah! How many times can she bring those up! right? Well, if you saw how many lists I made in a day then you would understand I'm being ex-ter-eeeeemely conservative with just one or two references to them per post. The lists are like a living part of me these days. Like, earlier this evening I even made a list of the things I actually got done today. I won't spell them all out for you here but I stopped the list at 20 things. There were more but writing them all down would have taken too long. and there was more stuff to do. I am not always this productive. This is me being in some weird cultpassion vortex of activity. And I'm still not medicated unless you count caffeine.

So anyway, what I was saying earlier is that I would love to day dream about the next big thing to come round the bend. But I'm so in the middle of the current big thing(s) that to cheat with sparkly mysterious horizons far, far off in an imaginary distance would be wrong. Must continue to clear the hurdles and cross the finish line of the race I'm currently running before I skip off to some other track event just because...oooo! I never tried polevaulting before! That would be irresponsible.

I do appreciate the suggestions though. See, I've had a few people excitedly offer up, "You know what you'd be great at...!" ideas recently. And I like those ideas. They're all really cool and good and things I kind of maybe considered at some point or another but for whatever reason haven't managed to hurl myself into pursuing yet. And I will look into them more seriously when I have some brain space not being taken up by spreadsheets and bank accounts and persistent (NOT stalkery thankyouverymuch) followup phone calls and myriad other tasks to cross of my list(s). And this time next year it will be readily evident how that all turned out.

But for now...I need to read the last few pages of Dragon Tattoo and slip into a semi-narcoleptic coma until tomorrow when I wake up and lace up the running shoes for another lap around the track.

Figuratively of course. I still wouldn't jog if you paid me money.

Thoughts for Wednesday

2010-09-15T08:21:00.000-04:00

Phase 27B/6 underway in the great Get Back on the Road campaign. Only one and a half more phases to go before I ~~have to~~ get to prostrate myself before the Commonwealth and hemorrhage cash all over the DMV to finalize this nonsense. It's a lot of cash. I prefer my mistakes be huge and costly. So that part could take smidge more than a minute. ::headdesk::

But nevermind about that part! It will be done! Et cetera! huzzah and stuff. [superhero stance. smile: *ting!*]

Anyway, I switched my browser over to Firefox a few weeks ago because that's what the Home and Uncool kids do these days and I swear to god the keystroke delays are driving me absolutely batty. Is this a Firefox thing or do I need to clean out my cookies or something? I'm open to suggestions. I would even consider another browser thingy. I'm adaptable like that. Change doesn't scare me in the least. But seriously, that sentence just took far too long to type and I have time sensitive shit I need to get done on the computer and with typos and stuff...? grrroan.

What else? [sucks air through teeth. makes ponderous scrunchy face. taps fingers on forehead]

I have nothing philosophical or funny to report. I haven't even tripped over anything recently. We could talk about the Fall TV lineup and how Big Brother is on tonight and I can't decide who I want to win now that Britney is out of the running. But nah. Until I finagle a way to get Showtime back in time for the Dexter season premier, the rest of the TV lineup means nothing to me. Although I will say that I'm happy to see Steve Buscemi playing a major role in Boardwalk Empire during HBO's Sunday offerings. Kudos, Steve. It's about damn time. I'm really glad you're not playing freaky homeless characters in wacky Adam Sandler movies anymore. ick.

Oh, oh, oh...I'm pages away from finishing The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo after reading intermittently for a month. This guy seriously needs a better editor. Lord have mercy, all the words. And the details are great and stuff but part of me wonders how crucial it is to describe every fucking detail of a cabin's interior. Is it really important that I know a woodburning stove is made of soapstone or the exact placement of a kitchen sink? really? I think not. Move it along, Stieg. chop, chop. What? Authenticity you say? Sure, whatever. Save that stuff for the set designer. That is my professional opinion.

That being said, I need to wrap this up because these items on my To Do lists aren't going to cross themselves off.

~~write blog post~~