One Eye Open

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.

I Need a Map

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.

As Real As I Make It

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

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.

bullshit and parties

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.

First Impression

He said I was nice.  Not just that.  He said I was "SO nice."  Like, literally with the "so" in ALL CAPS and everything.

I am doomed.

"nice"

fuck.

I mean, I AM nice.  Nice.  god that's a watery word.  but it's true.  First impression?  Nice. 

No wonder I never get asked out.

I swear, the more you get to know me I am super sarcastic and will happily offer to kill people for you and I am johnny on the spot when it comes to twisted innuendo.  I seriously almost choke on my tongue in polite company from not running with innuendo out loud.  But sometimes it springs forth before I can stop it...always fun.

But he doesn't know that.  We didn't ever even talk for more than a minute.  So he just thinks I'm nice.

And it's only not the worst thing in the world because...why?  I don't even know why right now.

At least he thinks I'm something?

fuck.