i am at (SERIOUSLY, everyone) http://writeonyo.typepad.com.  for REALS.  i don’t know what to do about your linky love to me.  change it?  keep it?  do what you will.  it might go back to writeonyo.com in a few days.  weeks.

SERIOUS.  no mean comments about how often i change my mind.  YOU.

all posts and comments for the santannas have been imported.  they can be found in the upper left corner at http://writeonyo.typepad.com.

A rosary was held on Wednesday for Bianca.  I was going to post about it, but it was too intimate, too raw, too painful.  Too beautifully sad.  The church was filled to the brim.

Her friends that spoke, her sisters, her mom, they showed such strength through their grief.  I was amazed at how grown up and eloquent the kids were.  Everyone has had to grow up in such a short amount of days.  Their universe has been changed forever.

We will be gathering again tomorrow at 3:00 PM, at Faith Chapel.  More information here.  A few pictures here.

Please keep her family in your thoughts and prayers. 

phone call.  hit by a car.

sixteen years old.
beautiful girl.  gone.

this does not happen to people i know.  this does not happen in real life.

big sister.  little sister.  daughter.  friend.  child.

beautiful girl.  gone.

beautiful family.  changed forever.  beautiful family.  full of love.  their laughter so easy to them.  to be in their house is to be surrounded by love.  the most sincerest of loves.  the joking, the teasing, the holding.  

sisters three.

beautiful girl.  gone.

daughter.  child.

gone in an instant.  a flash.  friday night.  on the way home from a football game.  gone.

this does not happen to people i know.  this does not happen in real life.  this is not real.  

i grieve for the family.  i ache for their loss.  so full of love.  i wish you peace.

please leave comments for the family.  a memorial for bianca will be held this week.  

beautiful girl.  gone.
come back.

in this post, from that blogger, in that email, from that corner, in that comment.

love.

i didn’t know what blogging was.  really.  at first it was an anonymous place for me to post.  for me to feel like a bigshot in my own little world.  i had things to say.  there were big things to say.  big words to write.

so i wrote them.  and i hit publish.  and my little circle commented.  this was before i knew about google reader, before i knew about women who blogged.  before i knew about the beauty of a stranger leaving a comment and becoming a fast and true friend.  before i knew about stats and high hit counts.

and now i do.

the comments and the posts i read (not even here, in the whole wide blogosphere) are so heartfelt and true. 

would we be so kind to strangers on the street?

would we let that person in our lane if we knew that they were a blogger next door?

these things, these truths, are so beautiful.  i haven’t met a fraction of you, and i want to hug all of you.

for your comments, and for your posts.  for the comments left on your posts.

it’s a big world.  and look at us.  it’s like passing notes in math class.

i should link to all of you, but i’m going sleepy now.

goodnight.

i share this fortune with all of you.

that fist i stay crumpled in for a day… a lone straw sipping mai tais the only sign of life in a dark cave.

the first hint of these two days of darkness?

those boobahs.

i have big boobahs.

i’m not bragging.  it’s a fact.  my mom has them, her sister, their mother.  i have them, and so does my sister.

i didn’t even have to dip my hands in holy water.

the boobahs.  every single time, every month.  oh, the ache.  they are a blessing and a curse.

someone needs to invent a premenstrual bra.

oh, the curse.

i invision a bra with faeries and their wings and potions.  and lambswool.  but the kind that breathes.  and does not sweat.  the kind with faeries’ wings all over, and feathers all over.  helium.  some sort of helium contraption.  and ropes and pulleys.  and bubbles.  a bubble machine.

with a sippy hat full of vodka.

but lightweight and soft.  and pink.

like an underwater symphony.

with O2.

a lightweight contraption for the boobahs.

so they are light.  and airy.

oh my god, like the twenty one balloons!!

i’m excited.

but.

dude.

we’ll be living together.  i won’t be able to get away with not shaving my legs for weeks.  what.  i said it.  weeks people.  you’re jealous.  who’s lookin’?  who’s been feelin’ them?  exactly.  you’re totally jealous.  shortest, most longest luxurious showers EV ER.  and i don’t have to shave.

not that he says he cares.  but i just ran my hand through…. i mean on.  i mean over.  uh…. and.

we’ll be in the same city.  the same freaking city.  the same zip code.  under the same roof.  all the time.  all the time, people! 

i started this blog, well, the latest version of it, when he was on his way over there to finish his degree.  i started it to distract me.  and it has. 

you have.

all of you.

and i couldn’t imagine the people i’ve met, the women who have commented, the osmosisister and other sister and other girls, and the ones across the pond (and that guy), the relationships that have formed… the intricacies that have grown.  oh man, the blogs i have forced my friends and family into (i created them, AH AH AH AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!).  and the ones i totally forgot to list here.  those who wish to remain anonymous…you ain’t listed here, dolls.

and i’m attached to all of you.  to all of this.  to my daily stats (march 19th, how good you were to me–and i didn’t even have to whore my link out in an email to aforementioned friends and family), to the amount of comments, to the searches that get you here, to the subscribers.  hello, i love you won’t you tell me your name.

and that girl, that girl who was so scared of long distance (and swore she would die from it–what, i can refer to myself in the third person).  the one who hates flying, but loves to fly.  the one who got through it.  and flew on planes.  six flights.  three cities. in eight months.  with one more flight and one more city within the month.  did i mention the moth attacks?  the ones with red beady eyes and briefcases?  wow.  we got through it.  one more month is nothing.  one more month and he’ll be home?  piece of cake.  one month is not three months.  one month is not four months.  one month is not ten months.

remember how i missed him?  oh, the angst!

and now…

the next phase…

moving in together. 

like, forever.

getting to school on time, getting to work on time, getting lunches made, dinners planned… oh shit.  there’s a deposit right there in that account.  and it has a comma in it.  and it like means i’m grown up.  that means we’re a family.

oh shit.  wait.  shave my legs?  sports center?  baseball season?  college basketball season?

oh… legs tangled in mine.  sweet face next to me.  that heart, his heart right here.  in the car.  in the kitchen.  doing dishes.  at the movies, with a bottle of wine, in the middle of the pillows, on the couch…

well. i will write.  i do write.  and i will pose questions.  i have this other little blog that i started i don’t even know how long ago.  i wanted to keep it sacred.  this other journey that i was going on.  something different from the eff bombs and jesus cristos posted about here. 

because we’re family.  us three.  and us seven.  and us fifty. 

if i had a blog for every subject i wanted to write about… well… i gues i’d have like, three blogs. 

========

i just went back to the beginning, when i knew he was leaving.  end of may, 2007.  he left june 15th, 2007.  it’s almost been a  year.  this year stretched out like a sentence before me. 

pain, hurt, missing, ache.

but now. 

now i’m here.

and we’re here.

and it really is okay.

it really was.

i wanted to be in this place now.  then.  and here we go again.

on going through hard times:  we always want to be at the end of it.  and when we’re at the end of it, we get to look back.  and we get to tell the people in the beginning of it…

“you’ll be through it soon enough.”  but when you’re at the beginning, when the pain is fresh and new and an open wound, an open sore that shrieks at every breath, that dies every night, you want to be at the end.

but you can’t.  you can’t be at the end until you go through it.

and when you’re in the beginning of it, the people telling you that “you will get through this and it will all be a blur”… they’re all idiots and don’t know anything.  and they are clearly being condescending and don’t know anything.

until you’re through it.

back to the shaving legs part…

I HAVEN’T SHAVED MY LEGS IN THREE DAYS AND I WON’T SHAVE THEM FOR ANOTHER MONTH!!

HAHAHAHA!!

okay, i was looking for the video with just vezzini’s laugh. 

happy earth day.

and happy 69th birthday, mom.  i love you forever.

so truthfully and honestly.  thank you so much.  i would hug all of you right now if i could. 

so lucky to share the love of books and sarcasm (and quite a few other things) with the man.  i’m flying out to see mr. man this week.  six fun filled days in the breadbasket.  or the south.  or the midwest.  the exact middle of the middle.  reading books and talking shit.  spending time in our separate bubbles in bookstores.  plus…. you know…. the other stuff.

we get to spend hours orbiting around each other.  real life lazing around about each other.  he will be an arm’s reach away for six days.  i will get to kiss him as much as i want.  whenever i want.  for six days.  i get to pick at him and poke him and pinch his ass.  for six nights i will have the priviledge of being annoyed by the snoring and the kicking (oh, and the heavy arms and the sweating!).  plus, he said he’d give his opinion on each person running for president.  wearing a bow tie and a pair of socks. 

and a smile, of course.  and he will take questions from the audience.  is it thursday yet? 

i got comments like “dinner for two?”, “all the important food groups, eh?”, and “that’s my kind of dinner.”  all from women of a certain age.  i’ll belong to that group.  i’m cool with it.

i like my vons.  the checkers are cheeky.

the checker today was new.  young.  gay.  adorable. 

“may i see your id?”  i held it out for him.  we played a sort of tug of war.  he tried grabbing it from me.  for some reason, it wasn’t registering for me to let go of the thing and let him look at it.

“can i… i just… your thumb is right over the year.”
“oh!  i’m sorry!”
“i’m not trying to memorize your address or anything.”
“yeah right, stalker.”
“it’s only stalking if you catch me in your yard.”
“HAHA!!”
“enjoy your bottle of wine!”

dammit.  cheeky checker.  knew i shoulda bought something to disguise it, like vegetables.

HUGE gross bug.  i screamed TWICE when it flew at me.  fucker.  roommate’s gone for the weekend.  i’m thinking of paying one of the neighbor kids to come over and get it for me.  is two  bucks good pay for bug killing?  what if they say no?  what if they make fun of my offer of two dollars?  (where’s my two dollars??!!!)  i’m prepared to be picked on for being afraid of a bug.  what if they show me the bug on their way out?  i will scream and cry.  what if that makes me the creepy neighbor?

no, it’s not a butterfly or moth.  although i get sick just considering that.  it’s a BUG.

this has happened before… me locking a bug in the bathroom.  the same kind of bug.  i’m mostly sure it’s the exact same bug.

i don’t like bugs.  in fact, i hate them.

but i’ll have to go to the bathroom eventually.  to powder my nose.

smelly mel will be available tomorrow.  can i hold out that long?  i can deal with no brushed teefs tonight.  crap.  should i go in with a broom swinging?  i’m afraid my running shoe has been taken hostage by the bug.  it was a good shoe. 

when did daddy longlegs’ wings get so big?  have they always been this big?  they’re huge. 

fuck.

oooo…. would work wife come over and get it for me?  i would ask smelly melly marie… but she’s out with the ladies tonight. 

sheisten.  i’m thirsty.  can’t… drink… any… water.

something’s knocking on the bathroom door.  i left the light on in there.

dammit.  this might call for some drinking, then broom flinging. 

rescue ranger… stop folding laundry and come over and kill a bug, please.

did i ever show you my bug killing suit?  there was a moth in the house.  or in the bathroom.  or in my room.  somewhere within an 18 mile radius of me.  no one was available.  i had to go in on my own.

here it is….

there really are no words for that. 

i have issues.  i’ve never denied that.  i embrace it.  and post them happily.

in direct contrast to my bright shiny outlook i forced on myself this morning….

1.)  the airline i’m flying on in the very near future declared chapter 11.

2.)  i was almost run off the road  by a stupid woman in a charcoal gray ford ranger who refused to let me in her lane when MY LANE WAS ENDING.  i was so offended and so angry and so outraged i decided to flip her off.  SHE had the gaul to LOOK at me while zooming past me, then LOOKED AWAY BEFORE SHE COULD SEE MY MIDDLE FINGER.  (i’m starting a national movement.  i’m going to have shirts made and bumper stickers made.  i’m going to change the world, one selfish lane hogger at a time.)

3.)  i finally got tired enough of people leaving their driver’s side doors open while arranging who knows what (six times in the past couple of months), that i honked at a guy this morning.  AFTER flipping off a woman.  HE looked at me.  AND closed his door.  when you get in the car on a narrow busy street, close your effing door.  i’m pretty sure there was a whole lotta incorrect grammar in that thar paragraph. 

4.)  at work this afternoon, i got snapped at by someone who really should know better.  i’ve never seen her crack a smile.  i think she’s the department bully.  be nice to me, or i’ll make all fields mandatory, bitch.

5.)  oh… did you know it’s tornado season in the midwest?  i don’t think about weather.  why would i think about weather?  what’s weather?  something that happens to everyone who doesn’t live in socal.  so why would i consider the weather when booking a flight?

6.)  and to add insult to injury….i’m locked out of my bathroom by a bug weilding my running shoe. 

7.)  mozilla is on strike, so i’m posting through explorer.  explorer don’t got spell check, and i am less than happy with a certain blogging service and refuse to learn where spel cheker iz.  i’d probably have to import a file.  bleh.

8.)  the shirts i ordered through cafepress?  and paid $45 extra to have overnight delivery??  not here.  nope.  don’t know where they are.  tomorrow’s the big game.  we have no shirts.  $142 lost in the mail somewhere.  don’t tell suze orman.

9.)  netflix isn’t getting my movies like they used to.  i think our mail person is watching my movies and returning them after she watches them.  doesn’t she know there’s a method? 

10.) oh…. AND… one of the books i’m reading… is going to be a lifetime movie this weekend.  let the record show that i reserved the book at the library before i knew it was going to be a lifetime movie. 

i have to go to the bathroom.  paula, when are you getting back from slovakia?  i wish someone was here, just so someone could listen to me whimper. 

DAMMIT.

ps–daniel day-lewis is the mother scratching bad ass of all bad asses.  he is bad asser than samuel l. jackson.  i’m watching “there will be blood”.  he could kill this bug with a stare… with that crooked stare he has… wow.  brilliant actor. 

that’s three days worth of three beautiful things right there.  happy friday, everyone =)

then he lightly punches me in the arm.  i chuckle to myself.  thinking it all quite funny.  dude…  you should read my blog.  i have a whole lotta stuff on this that my dad might not want up here.  much of it quite personal indeed.  i think of a shirt i saw recently “i post intimate things about my life online and i don’t know why”.  i’ve never posted my phone number, though.

guy in line behind me:  girl, tell your dad whatchoo just did.  i bet you’re grounded.
me, still chuckling
checker (to me):  you saved one dollar today.
guy in line behind me:  tell your dad you saved a dollar!

i chuckled all the way home.

i hate it when people tailgate me in traffic.  i can’t stop watching them in my rearview mirror, which makes driving in traffic all the more dangerous.  i hate it more when the offending tailgaters are ugly.  there.  i said it.  i don’t like ugly people in my rearview mirror.  i don’t like driving behind ugly cars, either.

i imagine a machine… a la inspector gadget.  i punch a flashing red button with my fist (it says WEEKEE! in response) and OUT pops a huge jolly cartoon mallet from the roof of my car.  the huge mallet arm extends toward the offending car, smashes it, grabs it with its claws, and flings it out of my way.

and the birds rejoice.

i miss you.  i miss you so incredibly much.  you’re two hours away.  you’re right there.  two hours away.

after everything… everything that was said and done… after the finality of it… i still miss you so much.

i wonder what you would say if you saw me.  would you run?  would you turn your head?  would you embrace me?

i imagine it… seeing you.  in a park.  in a library.  at the airport.  i imagine it and it breaks my heart.  i would embrace you.  i would tell you i love you.  and it breaks my heart.

we knew that last time.  we knew what was going on and we should have told you then.  but we didn’t know how to do it.  we didn’t know how to tell you that we knew dad was dying.  we didn’t know. 

you’re our mother.  you’re supposed to protect us.  to love us unconditionally.  these words, that threat, the pain and anguish that you have caused defies nature. 

it defies you. 

you know what’s right.

you were always there.  always. 

mother.  mom.  i love you.  i miss you.

more than usual right now.  is it stress levels that make me miss you more?  i would enter data and draw a graph to make sense of it if i thought it would make sense.  but it won’t.  it never will.  this void that is you.  this void that your presence used to fill.  this void that you carved out of the core of me.

what if i were to see you in a library?  full of that library smell.  between the shelves you taught me to love.  inside that strange peace that a library creates.  if i looked up and saw you.  what would i do?  would i reach out to you?  would you hold my gaze?  would you turn and run, fearing for your eternal soul?

i imagine it.  i imagine seeing you in an airport.  through the din and fog that travelers are, i would see you.  before that, i would feel you.  i would approach you.  i would embrace you.

i should be filled with anger and resentment.  it would make things easier if i could not like you.  sometimes i can’t believe it’s real.  my mother?  did what?  liars, all of you.  she did not.  this is some twisted twilight zone.  my mother would never…

there was a woman in my building when i worked downtown.  she looked like you.  carried herself the way you do.  smartly dressed in her power suit.  she had her hands, mom.  her smile broke my heart.  i would stand behind her in the elevator and have conversations with her in my head.  we would  meet for lunch.  and then she would get off the elevator and it was like you were leaving me all over again.

we knew that day.  we should have told you.  but we were so exhausted.  so emotionally drained.  did you know that we had been to three hospitals that day?  parking, walking into the hospital, asking for gilbert barron, only to have them tell us he wasn’t there?  three times that day we did that.  we walked into three hospitals and expected to see our dying dad.  in one single day.  and then we saw you.  and you looked like your husband was dying.  you looked like you wanted to tell us.  you looked like you were on the verge of saying something other than “how is the weather in san diego?”  but instead you lied to us.  straight to our faces.  while we knew the truth.  i don’t know why we didn’t tell you.  we were exhausted.  emotionally drained after months of looking for him, making phone calls, sending you flowers to sweeten the deal. 

and after that.  after all of that.  despite all of it.  i love you and wish i wasn’t writing this post to you. i remember walking out of the building with you.  your arm around my waist.  hugging us before we got back into the car.  i last hugged you three years ago.
 
a friend of mine and i have this conversation quite a bit.  what is worse?  your mom being dead?  or your mom refusing to see you, to ever have contact with you, to threaten restraining orders against you?  to cut her own children out of her life forever?  and walk the same earth.  the same time zone.  i still don’t know.  does it matter?

i imagine you, on my wedding day, watching me from far in the distance.  i see you in a grocery store, my womb full of child.  i see you in a park, while i push my kids on swings.  i see you in the distance, watching me.  i see you in an airport. 

oh, i see your face.

it’s been almost three years, mom.  three years since i saw your face.  three years since we talked.  three years.  he died that day, that day we saw you.  he died in a hospital not far away.  the day we saw you.

my heart aches for you.

====
coworkers who read this blog… hi there.  here is the inside of my brain.  please don’t freak out.

and then i thought you might love this one:

but then i saw this one:

and well… it screamed your name.

happy birthday… ummm… work wife‘s sister and osmosis‘ sister.  osmosister-in-law?

yes.  happy birthday, osmosister-in-law!!

]]> http://yo712.wordpress.com/2008/04/04/dear-jo/feed/ 3 writeonyo http://yo712.wordpress.com/2008/04/03/dear-nanoblopomo/ http://yo712.wordpress.com/2008/04/03/dear-nanoblopomo/#comments Fri, 04 Apr 2008 03:57:05 +0000 writeonyo http://writeonyo.com/2008/04/03/dear-nanoblopomo/ ]]> not today.  i have a headache.  there’s a movie in the hall closet on the top shelf.

i thought she was a beautiful character. i thought the author did a wonderful job of showing how Gwynn’s faith evolved. her basic beliefs didn’t change. she tried finding balance in the religion that was forced on her and the one she truly believed in. she tried finding balance. she embodied polar opposites… with her religion, with her fierce need for independence and her desperate need to belong.

yes, it was a dark story, and it ended sad, but she was a beautiful character, someone i could relate to.

we’re all trying to find balance within ourselves, with our friendships, relationships, families.

“receiving kindness is the only comfort for suffering. Giving kindness is the only method of forgetting suffering. The creed is of no concern, and the act may be so simple as to seem insignificant, such as the kindness of the sun drying my leggings, or of a hand offering cheese, or of a voice saying, ‘i will stay with you.’”

we are constantly evolving according to our decisions and challenges that the universe throws at us.  aren’t we all in a constant state of innocence?  walking the lines between responsibilities and relationships and selves?

“what if instead of original sin there is original grace?”
“do not be ignorant on any matters of which knowledge is available.  do not be afraid of the truth.”
“and what message would i have wanted from the stars that night when i wandered motherless for the first time in my life?”
on seeing Giannon the first time “i felt that he had at once, perhaps as recently as this morning, been a tree.”
“power does not willingly give up its place to truth.”
“i am old today.  and i am just born.  i am a bird, or a fox, or a bowl, or a knife.”
“for a man to recognize and reward integrity, he must first have it himself.”

where the eff bomb is my camera?

i am clearly skateboarding down mission beach boardwalk. which i did do. without my camera.if you want your own bloGwhore shirt, check them out here.

a few patient satisfaction scores and a few happily satisfied patient letters were quite nifty, thank you, wednesday.  oh, and the fact that it was only a three butterfly day made it quite alright indeed.

i’m even making it to the james tonight.  with my trusty dusty work wife, who i haven’t seen in ages.  i told her i look entirely different and i’ve turned purple.

ps–i almost said yes when the physician’s assistant asked me “you’re a daily analyst?”

i realize you are awake before the birds. i know the sun isn’t up when you leave your house. i know this because every time you open your screen door at o’dark thirty, i wake up. and it is still dark outside. and i’m pretty sure i’ve only had about two hours of sleep.  and i wonder how it is that you wake up so early?

i also realize you smoke a lot. i know this because of the hacking and coughing and horrible sounds that come out of you while standing outside of your front door. i also understand why you wouldn’t want to do this kind of coughing inside your own house.

but please, dear neighbor with the squeaky screen door who wakes up before god and everyone… my bedroom window is right in front of your front door. every time your screen door EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKS open and EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKS closed then BANG…well, i wake up like that time i swore someone was crawling on my roof the middle of the night. and i know that the sun is not out and that if you had cows, you would be milking them right then and there.

dear WD40:
i love you.

dear mikkimoto:
thank you for doing what i only threatened to do. thank you for applying WD40 to the screen door in broad daylight. i haven’t felt like such a badass since wendy and i washed a neighbor’s muddy car at 2am.

dear neighbor:
stop smoking.  and cough inside your house.

dear home depot:
i’ll be visiting you soon to see what kind of technology i can stealthily install on a screen door…so it whispers closed.

love,
yolanda

“COMING SOON! THE FIRST OMNISEXUAL BAR IN THE UNIVERSE!”

well, that was pretty presumptuous if i do say so myself. i mean.. the universe?

i walked into the dds office. checked in. read some details, sat in the chair (i’m giving you the cliff’s notes version. inside i was dying).

but assume that i am a cool customer at the dentist’s office.

dds goes off to check whatever it is that they check when they leave you alone for 17 minutes.

from my perch in the dentist’s office (in my perfect comfy chair, with my perfect flat screen tv and my happy remote control), i had a clear view of hillcrest…. of the ace hardware store, of the healthy back store, and a clear view of the “FIRST OMNISEXUAL BAR IN THE UNIVERSE”.

and then i started thinking. day dreaming. like, wishing i was NOT in the dentist’s chair getting drilled. and i thought…. what if some alien life form in its alien life form self in its alien life form flying saucer flew through hillcrest and took offense? assuming that this alien life form (aside from being able to travel who knows how many light years to get to hillcrest in the first place) was able to get to earth and read english. what would they think? what if they had truly been the first “OMNISEXUAL BAR IN THE UNIVERSE”? would this set off a chain reaction of Universal Bar Wars?

and so now we’re stuck in the middle of some war some war that we didn’t even think of when we decided that we would claim “THE FIRST OMNISEXUAL BAR IN THE UNIVERSE”?

all of this i thought to myself while sitting in the dentist chair. lead bib over my chest. plastic napkin laying on top. freaking out to myself. all alone, with the lead bib and my perfect beautiful view.

a few days later, English asked me if i’d heard of the new bar in hillcrest. i replied “you mean the first OMNISEXUAL BAR IN THE UNIVERSE?” she looked at me, shocked. how did you know?

then i had to tell her how i knew.

and the first words out of her mouth were “was this before or after they gave you the drugs?”

“before. why?”

Earth Hour is TODAY at 8pm local time. It all started in Sydney, Australia last year. This year they’re expecting many more cities to join them. There will be Chicago, Tel Aviv, Manila, Copenhagen, Melbourne, Brisbane and Toronto all turning off their lights for an hour in the name of fighting global warming. Some cities are having organized events during this hour. By candlelight, of course.

Sydney, the birthplace of Earth Hour, captured the imagination of the world in 2007, when its iconic harbor purposefully plunged into darkness. A year later, more than 24 cities across the globe have followed in Sydney’s footsteps taking a stand against climate change by joining the campaign. Check out the other buildings and landmarks that are “going dark”.

Sign up for Earth Hour (or just turn off your lights for one hour tonight) by visiting http://www.earthhour.org/sign-up and join the movement.

Ten Things To Do During Earth Hour

1. Gather family & friends for a night picnic
2. Dine in one of the many Earth Hour participating restaurants by candlelight
3. Organize a family night playing board games
4. Throw an Earth Hour street party with your neighbors
5. Arrange a house party lit by torches
6. Take the dog for a night walk
7. Hand write a letter to loved one by lantern
8. Sit in the dark and share stories
9. Read a book using a book light
10. Share a romantic night in with your loved one

i know we don’t talk much. i don’t ask you for anything. but… i’m breaking my silence today to ask you a question.

are you sure eve didn’t tempt adam with pizza and a beer?

don’t take this the wrong way or anything. i like apples okay. but if someone were to offer me an apple right now, i’d pass it up no problem. if someone were to offer me a slice of pizza and a beer? hand it over. i can sit in a room with a barrel full of apples. get me anywhere near a pizza with that gooey cheese and sauce? banished from eden indeed.

so maybe i could understand the whole thing a little bit better if adam had bitten into a succulent slice of gaetano’s best. but an apple? and don’t even get me started on jack in the box eggrolls.

an apple?

thanks for listening.
yolanda

so they’re adorable. and so much fun. they are effing perfect. they are so cool.

and i get to hang out with them whenever i want. i get to push them in the pool and tease them for having girlfriends and ruffle their hair and tell them i love them. i get to pinch their cheeks and compare heights. i get to beat them at video games (ALL the TIME!) and kiss them. i get to feed them junk food. i get to be that auntie in the crowd taking pictures of their christmas sing-a-longs.

i don’t know what the official stance is on going to with underage kids. i’ve seen plenty of underage kids at that place. so… we’ve taken Oldest One to hooters quite a few times. Youngest One (for whatever scheduling reasons) had never been with us to .

until a few weekends ago.

Nice Auntie (i’m Cool Auntie–their words not mine) picked both of them up and i met them at hooters. Youngest One was acting funny. his usual wit and banter wasn’t there. he looked at the ground a lot and was generally kind of sheepish. Oldest One explained “this is his first time!”

i responded to this by putting my arm around his shoulder, bringing him close for a short conversation, and told him “Youngest One… just try not to stare.” he nodded. wise and knowing.

i know, i know…. we’re taking them to and asking them not to look at all that is golden at this age (14 and 12, mind you). i didn’t say not to look. i basically told him not to get caught staring.

they both did me proud. the two of them together is the coolest thing. they speak their own language. they laugh at their own inside jokes. hysterically. Youngest One switched their soda cups while Oldest One was in the bathroom. he looked at us sternly and said “shhhh.” Oldest One came back and started to drink what was in front of him. Youngest One started laughing hysterically. Oldest One shook his head and switched the glasses back. apparently this happens all the time.

just a few minutes ago they were playing some car game (NOT grand theft auto… we have scruples). Oldest One was playing, Youngest One was watching. i was in the kitchen dinking with something or other. out of the corner of my ear (yes, ears have corners), i heard Youngest One say to Oldest One “what have i told you about picking up prostitutes?” and the first thing out of my mouth was “to do it all the time. WAIT! NO! DON’T… hey, you don’t know that word!”

they finish each other’s sentences. they argue. they laugh. they share, they fight. they’re witty and sarcastic and smart and so grown up. i’m reminded of how tiny they were when they were born. how small and cute and sweet and fresh smelling. i used to clip their fingernails when they slept. their little heads fit into the palm of my hand.

so tiny.

i got to spoil them with bikes and tents and soccer goals. and now they’re on their way to being young adults. and i get to help them. i get to hug them and tell them wise things. i get to laugh with them. i get to be the one that they come to when they want to talk or just hang out.

tres cool, n’est pas?

my boys. i love you.

ladies, i have found our running shirt. we just have to make them ourselves. as in cafepress.com.

i saw “so i can eat more chocolate cake” on the back of a shirt at the gym today. i assumed the front posed the question “why do i run?” and i was all YESSS…. RUN FOR CAKE. GENIUS! so i googled it and couldn’t find anything. SO, i made my own. then when i googled “cake images”, i got “the other white meat”.

we are SO on it.

oh, and ps– my left foot didn’t go numb today. AT ALL. not even a tingle. mamma wanted new shoes, but this will have to do.

a scoop of chocolate malted krunch ice cream.  on a cone.

and then an afternoon laying about poolside reading books.

dorks.

we caught the running bug. our cousin the rock star (who is a member of a FULL CONTACT women’s football team) suggested running a 5k. since then (a whopping entire DAY), smelly melly marie and i have discussed few other things. like what matching shirts we should get for race day. no joke. we’re getting matching shirts. and you’re going to want one.anyone up for a 5k this fall? nurse nell? atom eve?

anyone up for the mud run next june? registration for this year closed in january. but that leaves us over a year to prep and train and design race day t-shirts.

post script: i had this in draft form this afternoon. then i saw smelly melly marie’s own post titled “we’re not twins“, posted about the same time. is it plagiarism if you’re sharing the same brain? i told her i’d hang out with her if we didn’t talk the entire time. we’d still have no problem having a conversation, though.
]]> http://yo712.wordpress.com/2008/03/20/were-not-related/feed/ 2 writeonyo http://yo712.wordpress.com/2008/03/19/runn/ http://yo712.wordpress.com/2008/03/19/runn/#comments Thu, 20 Mar 2008 02:16:03 +0000 writeonyo http://yo712.wordpress.com/?p=165 ]]> i don’t know what the etiquette is on posting pictures from other bloggers that i’ve never met.  i’d be stoked if someone i didn’t know posted stuff from my blog.  as long as they linked back to me.

i came across this chick… omg, HILARIOUS if you have a chance to read.  she has her own running nemesis and everything.  she’s like, totally the real deal.

i need someone to wear this shirt and run in front of me.

really.

i cry foul.

let’s see you spin this.

this presidential speech he gave.

you sit silent. you claim ignorance. you have nothing to say. while i imagine you think the worst.

no one brought you these words? no one has called you? no one has texted you on this speech? no one has given you a summary? no one has jotted down any kind of notes?

no one has said, “oh fuuu-uuuuuck. hillary should see this and stat. NOW.” as in “holy fucking balls this guy is the next president unless we all get a handle on this?”

you’re running for the presidency, dear madam. of. the united states. of. america.

in the same state. at the exact moment.

(the good ol’ us of a)

i have read his words. in a simple google news feed summary.

and you couldn’t get this in a text? like, an hour after his speech or something?

i imagine you, sitting. head in your hands…thinking. knowing.

and you claimed ignorance to this?

“oh. shit.”

was what i would have said. which is what i did say. and i wasn’t even halfway listening to the speech. only that he had a speech. and it found me. through my channels of… well.. i have no channels. i just clicked “google news”. and then later on i went to the gym with the tvs. and there it just was.

and still. in my imagination. i imagine you…..and a special team of enforcements….imagining… that this speech never was.

your enforcement… this is your team….

and you say you didn’t hear his speech? you didn’t read any sort of text of his??

foul. i cry foul.

and i say grow a pair. this is the race for the presidency.

ps and all.

does anyone ever have the problem with their foot going TOTALLY numb when they’re on the treadmill?  my left foot (only my left foot) starts tingling around the 25 minute mark, and is completely numb by the 35 minute mark.  completely NUMB.  i’m an exaggerator by nature,  but i swear i’m not exaggerating.  i start getting afraid of my ankle breaking off without me knowing it around the 42 minute mark, and i’m done by the 45 minute mark.  it’s not brain surgery, it’s not like i’m running five miles in the snow uphill past camp 4 while being chased by people asking for data or anything.  i’m at a 5% incline and a 3.0 speed. at sea level.  whatever 3.0 means.  what does 3.0 mean?  is that mph?  my fitness gpa?

nurse nell suggested loosening my shoelaces.  and that got me through a few extra minutes.  but once i texted her from said treadmill thanking her for her geniusness (yes, i text while on the treadmill.  i’m not the only one), the tingles started.  and then it went numb.  like… numb.  can i say that enough?  as in, i couldn’t feel it.  i could feel that there was a bone attached somewhere under my legbone, but the majority of the feeling was a pile of warm mush stuffed in a shoe.

OOOOOO…do i need new shoes?  i have my eye on a fancy pair.  i perused the foot lockers (lady and otherwise, because i’m a LADY) yesterday waiting for smelly melly marie.  why is it that lady foot locker only ever has like, seven shoes and the rest of the store is full of aerodynamic boulder holders and teeny tiny shorts and shoelaces?  THEN i was all… road runner sports… which is right next to REI.  and then i came home last night and a freshy REI catalog was waiting for me.  and i saw all the TRAIL RUNNING shoes!  the colors!  the toughness!  the gleeeee!!  THEN i was all… i think we paid around 80 bones for these shoes you have right here.  THEN i was all, yeah, but i have like $17 in REI cash.  THEN i was all look at all that tread on the shoes you’re already wearing.  they’re almost brand new.  and you don’t really need a new pair of shoes.  then i was all SHUTUP and i gave me a wedgie.

but if it helps my foot NOT be numb, it’s for my own safety.  think about my safety!  i bet the hamster on crack who nearly launches himself off the elliptical machine has a pair of fancy shoes that don’t make his foot numb.

ps–can someone please tell me why the yogurt companies make yogurt containers so hard to get those last dollops of yogurt?  i’ve looked at the container from all angles.  the bottom is pushed UP.  why?  why won’t you let me scrape my spoon on the bottom of the yogurt container to get all of its goodness?  it’s ridiculous.  why can’t they make it spoon friendly?

dark darkness. given light through the constellations. my sky. your sky.

the moon
a nightlight
blaring
holding fast.

pure.
deep.

what’s this number mean? that’s your social security number.
where did my crayons go? finish this first.
will my insurance cover my four million dollar tooth extraction, subduction, and re-creation? no. you have to call your insurance company to find out about that.
but it’s four million dollars. it’s considered cosmetic.
what’s a dependent? your kids.
i have kids? no.
can i have some juice? not until you finish this.
what does rx stand for? prescription.
what’s hdhp? high definition health plan? no.
where do babies come from? mary alice makes them. but only in december.
i don’t wanna do this. can someone else do it for me? i’ll make phillipe do it. it’s due on tuesday at midnight.
but i wanna play outsiiiiiide!!!!! you can’t, not until this is finished.
i don’t like you! you’re not in charge of me!! say what you want, you still have to finish this.
i HATE you!

i stand in a huff, arms crossed over my chest. i won’t do this geometry. i WON’T.

so i got this book and realized that i would need to have a halfway decent review of it at the end of the month. but i couldn’t take notes IN the book. i couldn’t underline, i couldn’t write notes in the margins…. nothin’. so i went sticky note crazy. i told the leader of the pack that i had a libary book in my posession and she tells me she stopped reading libary books when someone told her that he read libary books in the bathroom. which makes sense, since ladies call the w.c. the libary.

inside flap two.

i just submitted my three book suggestions for april! i felt so growns up. (the handmaid’s tale, the road, and on mexican time)

oh, and the sun is back out again. there went our winter storm for the season.

i was going to post my favorite pictures of san diego in my favorite san diego time… spring. then something funny happened… a storm came through. i love pictures of sky and the green green ness of san diego in bloom. so i’ll post those pictures first.

colors colors colors. green. so green. pure. to appreciate this green, you would have to see sd in the burning brown heat of summer. this soft and pure green makes you feel like you’re in ireland. in a blurry ireland.

and then i came across some other pictures from some other time not so long ago. but that will be for another post. for now….

the storm…. she is a brewin’!!

yes, taking pictures while driving… it’s a recurring theme.

hahaha…. can you find the “seriously” sign?

brewin’…. breeeewwwwwinnnn’!!!

release the hounds!! after the magic pics of the sky… i bring you… the side of the house. AND HAIL!!!

HAIL!! can you see that? IT’S HAIL!!

HAIL!!! HAIL, PEOPLE!! HAIL!!! can you find the feet that need a pedicure?

okay… so someone walked in on me going to the bathroom. well…. not going to the bathroom. that would have been nice. poor soul… she saw the worst moment of the bathroom situation. you know… the part at the end?

my coworkers are funny. we’re a rowdy bunch. i love them, they’re my favorite coworkers ever. well, besides you. and you and you and you. and you over there. who am i kidding? i’m a coworker hussy. i love all of them. and you. huh… i love all of my coworkers, past and present.

so… a few days after the whole catching me with my pants around my ankles and my handful of a wad of tp up my wazoo (literally people, not figuratively here)… my coworkers decide that they’re quite a funny bunch. SOMEONE… who i can only imagine is lemon mermaid or nurse nell…maybe the doctor or english… they decide that “wouldn’t it be funny if yolanda sits down to “read the paper” and sees us watching her do the deed?”

[i just googled "going to the bathroom" and got this image. this will give you a hint on where we're going. not that you need it, because we've already been before. google also offered me this little niblet.]

so where was i? oh yes. coworkers are funny stuff. i’ve been meaning to post this for a while. for a long time. as in… a while. like, since it happened a month ago. okay…here’s the layout of the thing. our offices are located in what used to be the birthing wing of the hospital (as in babies coming out of vaginas). most offices already have bathrooms in them (and windows and space, but i won’t get into that here, not that i’m bitter). i’m in what used to be the perinatal room. where vaginas were looked at all day. i have a negative scope (the lightbox they put xrays on), a sink, a bookcase, and lots of papers and file cabinets. NO BATHROOM OF MY OWN. that’s cool. i didn’t want one anyway. really. no. i don’t want it. KEEP your silly bathroom to yourself. i’ll use the public one down the hall.

because i’m cool like that.

the bathroom has a sink, mirror, toilet (i’m just getting you used to the whole thing, okay?) shower (see? you don’t have a shower in your bathroom, do you?) with bench.

when you walk in, you see th–…wait, who are those yahoos?

and who’s that fancy lady with the camera…can you find the tape dispenser?

when you sit on the throne, you’re supposed to see this…

but when i went to the biffy that day, i stood, arms at the ready to pull my pantalones down and do the deed… and i saw this…

and i was in shock. i had to go SOOO BAD! i didn’t even laugh. i didn’t know what to think. i couldn’t think. what the eff bomb was going on? holy crap… look at the time they spent on this! they pieced together pages and pages of an image to make it big enough to put on a freaking SHOWER WALL!!

i HAD to pee! i had to go!! but i couldn’t. these guys. oh man… this was goooood.

apparently they went through a few takes. they took a few shots where they were looking directly at the camera. but it looked like they were looking at the camera. that spot they’re looking at here, the place where their eyes are glued to… they’re looking right at the squatter.

meeee.

beautiful work. job well done. perfectly executed. the timing was great, i was the only person who saw it. our boss might have gotten a few ethical complaints if anyone else had seen it. how would they time it? when should they put it up? someone asked when i usually went to “the library”. someone else suggested putting a diuretic in my coffee. isn’t coffee a diuretic already?

so where is this work of art now?

behind my office door, of course. staring at me every day. can you find the halloween stickers?

mary alice’s son, rescue ranger and his lady have chosen the long distance path. i’m sure they’ve heard about how it never works out. well… here are a few tips:

on communication
1. email, texts, phone calls, myspace, snail mail (the kind that requires an actual stamp and a mailbox)…. these are all going to be your best friends.
2. cell phone use…. this might save you a million dollars….
*if you’re not with the same phone plan, see what you can do to get on the same phone plan, or get the free anywhere minutes or whatever they’re called. buying out your current contract at $175 might seem expensive, but after getting the first $1000 phone bill, that $175 doesn’t look so bad. no, i am NOT exaggerating about $1000 phone bill. don’t tell phill. uhh… hi, phill. i’m totally kidding.
*find out what time your free minutes start and end. time difference sucks. but so does a $1000 phone bill. pay the extra $7 a month to have extended free talk time and unlimited texts. you’re going to go crazy with the minutes and the texts. even if you think you have a handle on it. you’ll thank me later.

on feeelings
3. it felt like he was dying. i’d never done long distance before. it felt like we were breaking up. it sucked, HARD.
4. realize that they’re not actually dying.
5. wow, that first day is hard. but you know what’s even harder? all this build up. serious. this build up right before they leave is THE WORST. all of these what ifs, the questions, the feelings, the build up… it’s the worst. it’s the hardest part. it does get better.
6. for me, it got easier as it went a long. i got into my own groove again. i hang out with my friends more. i joined a gym, i’m reading more books. i get to do what i want without even thinking about what someone else wants to do. “what? i can go see a chick flick or bruce willis movie whenever i want without negotiating??” YUP. phill grew a beard. i don’t shave my legs as often. i started a blog. and the first post in my blog was what i was going to do.
7. realize that you both have lives that are now separate, but intertwined. they won’t always be able to have that schmoopy doopy goofy googly conversation that you want to have. there might be people around. they might be out with their friends. yes, this sucks.
8. realize that school really does come first. you still have to get through school. there will be papers and tests. professors don’t care if you miss your girlfriend/boyfriend. they’re not going to feel sorry for you and give you that A. understand both sides of that… you still have to make time for studying. phill is writing papers and reading a million pages and studying (when he’s not playing an online pirate game). but i’d rather him study than fail. what would be the point of all this angst? great, he’s gone for a year to get his degree, but at the end of it, we talked too much on the phone and he didn’t get enough sleep and he failed all his classes? i’d be pissssed.
9. people are going to tell you that long distance never works out. they’re going to tell you that they did it and they broke up and their friend did it and they broke up and it never works out. there are people that do this all the time and it works out.
10. trust. there cannot be enough of this between you. if something’s bothering you, talk about it. in an email if you have to. not that i ever do. i’m way totally more mature than sending a whiny complainy email to my boyfriend whining about how much this sucks and how much i hate it.
11. you’re both in the same boat.
12. you’re not always going to have much to say to each other. just being on the phone and hearing the other person breathe is often times enough. gross, but true.

on other people
13. you might feel like an outsider… a fifth wheel. i get annoyed when i hang out with my coupled up friends. but i HAVE a boyfriend! he’s just not here.
14. consider walking around with a cardboard cutout of the other person.
15. reconsider walking around with a cardboard cutout of the other person.
16. it could be worse. it really could. think of other people who are more miserable than you are and remind yourself that it could be worse. not that i look for miserable people every day or anything or jump with glee when i think of someone worse off than me or anything. i just know that there are people who are going through long distance relationships who don’t have it as good as we do.

lastly
17. don’t DON’T play games. be honest. all the time. with yourself and with the other person. you’re both going through a rough time.
18. you’re going to learn so much about each other. stuff you never knew. you’re going to run out of things to say and you’re going to learn a lot about yourselves and each other.

phill and i seem to take turns on the amount that we miss each other. one day or days i’ll miss him unbearably, another day or days he’ll feel the same. this works out well for us. he reminds me that it’s not forever, that i’ll see him soon. and i get to do the same. it just works out that way.

you’re going to have good days and bad days. the whole thing is not going to be bad. i don’t wake up sad every day missing him. i’m not on the brink of tears every day or anything. the first few days were hard. and the days leading up to him leaving were hard. but it gets easier and a lot better. we’re going to look back on this in a year and it’ll be a blur.

it still sucks. but i wouldn’t have it any other way. i would rather be miserable with him than without him. gross.

so, good luck with everything.

so i will.

i love pizza. i love naps. i love the way you can tell a hot day is on its way by the smell of dew evaporating on a warm morning. i love the smell of new electronics…. batteries, vcrs, dvds, videogame consoles. i love being warm when it’s cold and cool when it’s hot. i love avocadosi love long lazy showers. i love long lazy sundays reading and drinking coffee and napping and reading some more. i love peaceful and content silences that only comes with familiarity and love. i love love. i love being held. i love grilled cheese sandwiches and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  i love being comforted. i love my comforter and pillows and flannel sheets. i love wine. i love truth. i love being there for a friend. i love the moment you realize that a friend will be there for you no matter what. i love acting like an idiot among friends. i love reindeer games. i love witty banter. i love sloppy kisses. i love peace. i love walking outside in the depth of night and being startled by the beauty of the sky. i love surprises. i love birthdays. i love sending cards for no reason. i love a good post. i love a good laugh. i love a good cry. i love confidence. i love generosity. i love the way the house smells when the dryer is drying. i love video games. i love hugs. i love studio diner. i love flip flops. i love loving and being loved. i love a fresh haircut and a full tank of gas and a newly oil changed car. i love my family and all of its extensions. the ones that live here, the ones that live in oklahoma, and the ones that currently reside in slovakia. i love a cool ocean breeze. i love late night conversations. i love the patio of nick’s at the beach. i love skirts. i love arrivals at the airport. i love kindness. i love beauty. i love feeling like a rockstar with my family during the holidays. i love going home.

write me a paragraph about love.

ahhh… spring.

much love.

i want to build something with my hands. i want to take an imageideathoughtfeeling in my brain and see it in the physical world. i want colors. i want shape. i want to feel it in my hands.

sometimes this feeling is overwhelming. most of the time it’s fleeting, this urge. this need. sometimes the image in my head is a building. other times it’s a painting or a book. i need to take this something that lives in my imagination and see it under the sun.

i woke up with a headache today. dreams of surf reports and incoming tides and grocery stores. i’ve been dreaming of grocery shopping a lot lately. did i tell you about the one where i went to the grocery store in my socks? i had to get eggs. the only eggs that were available were the big 36 egg packs. when i opened a box, all these little baby chicks flowed out of it. i tried catching them in my hands. they kept coming out of the box. little yellow blops of fur with tiny feet flowed out of the box. their fluff hanging in the air, their little feathers suspended as they rolled out of the box like a wave. and then i didn’t want anything to do with scrambled eggs or omelets or any of that anymore.

what was i saying?

oh.

dreams of surf reports. i slept through my alarm clock. woke up to the surf report. got to work late. parking lot is atrocious. really. big F2355s taking up three parking spots. other cars not pulling in all the way, making me drive serpentine through this obstacle course.

oh yeah.

oh, so bad mood today. i’m tired of thinking of protein and fiber. i’m tired of drinking 8 glasses of water a day. i went to the gym on monday and tuesday. a few observations:

gyms STINK. they smell like sweat. old socks. sweaty towels. B.O. and crotch.
it’s funny seeing all these people (myself included) runningwalkingsweating soooo fast–to nowhere. soooo fast. rows and rows of treadmills and ellipticals. men and women running up stairs that go nowhere.
we live in san diego. san diego, people. and we’re crammed into a gym running ourselves silly watching tv.
yep.
hamsters in wheels. instead of calling it a hamster wheel, i decided to call it a ferris wheel. i ran the ferris wheel yesterday. sounds mo’ bettah than a stinky gym next to stinky people (or is me stinky?) running stinkily toward the news and shows on tnt.

where was i going with this?

creation. i’m not talking babies or anything. a project. hmmm…. i have a few ideas for sketches. some ideas for painting. some framing ideas. some sewing ideas. quilts. my mom had a sewing room. she used to make sunday dresses for me and my sister. every sunday we had a new dress. lace. buttons. puffed sleeves. ribbons. flowers. beautiful dresses. her sewing room was yellow. piles and piles of fabric were all over the place. sometimes i would wake up to the sound of the machine. i fell asleep to it. we’d pick out colors. we’d go shopping for patterns. we would stand in that room and she would press patterns to our bodies, getting measurements. oh, the measurements! arm measurements, length, waist, stand still, hold this. i can feel her hands holding that thin, wrinkly brown paper to my back, smoothing it over my shoulders. i can hear her voice, muffled from holding pins between her lips. i can see all the sewing projects in different stages of completion. draped over chairs, over themselves, over the ironing board, hanging on the closet knobs. the carpet is full of pieces of trimmed fabric. little whisps. vivaldi plays in the background.

oh, mom.

nurse nell was just here. i hope she doesn’t mind me posting about this. her family suffered a loss recently. i remember that feeling. those feelings. i remember wanting to be out of it. or at least to know when the grief would stop choking me in the middle of the night. when i would be able to breathe without feeling like i was drowning. i wanted to know when. six weeks? six months? when would i not miss him so sharply.

there’s no time limit. i thought i saw him at a bus stop in claremont a few months ago. right across the street from where i was getting my car washed. the car wash i took his car to many years ago. i had forgotten to turn the radio off, so the antennae was left up. it went through the swish swishing brushes and soap. the antennae never went down without a fight after that. it was always a little crooked. i don’t remember if i told him about it. (“dad, i’m the one that broke the antennae.” i loved it when he drove. i always felt so safe. like a rockstar.) so i thought i saw him sitting at a bus stop. i sat on the bench across the street and watched him. i knew it wasn’t him. i let myself pretend for a minute. wouldn’t that be funny. my dad’s afterlife and he’s taking bus rides through claremont. he was wearing what he usually wore… a polo shirt, cargo shorts, a good pair of running shoes. sunglasses.

face to case.

crap. this wasn’t going to be this kind of post.

there should be a book. “grieving for dummies”. i suggested it to nurse nell. maybe we can start a book club on it.

what was i saying? oh… creation. yes.

****
post script: i googled “grieving for dummies“

because THIS sucks ass to ME. NOW. i hate it. i hate sleeping alone. i hate feeling like a single person. i hate not having dates on friday and saturday. i hate trying not to think of how much i miss him. i hate counting down the days until i see him (44 days). i hate it. i hate feeling like my life is on hold. i hate it. i hate trying to be optimistic. i hate trying not to be sad. i hate keeping all these feelings at bay, in a box, under another box, hidden in the closet.

i fucking hate it. i know it will be over soon, but i’m sick of hearing myself say that. i KNOW it will be over soon. i know the facts. i’ve immersed myself in the facts of it. i know it’s a short time. but fucking fuck. i hate it.

crap. here comes that stupid fucking ray of sunshine… go away. i want to be mad right now.

think back to when you first found out. that sucked more. remember that hurt and pain and sadness?
go AWAY.
and you didn’t know how this whole long distance thing was going to work? everyone you ever talked to told you how long distance never worked?
yeah.
and then people you work with told you how they did long distance for a year or more? and they’re still together?
yeah.
remember counting the months until he would be out of college? until he would be back for christmas?
hhhhhh…yes.
how many months was that? you don’t even know, do you. you have to count, don’t you.
shutup. NO. i remember….july, august… ummm….holy crap. ten months until he graduated from the time he left.
yeah, and how many months are left now?
well, the stupid summer schedule is fucked right now. we don’t know if he’s taking or how much spanish during the summer.
is that what you’re mad about?
apparently, yeah. because i want to slam a door in your face right now.
well, when will you see him next?
a month and a half.
and then after that?
probably a month.
and then after that?
probably… SHUT UP. this is the shit i’m tired of. i’m tired of weekends here and there and flights and all of it.
what’s the alternative?
he could NOT get his degree and be miserable the rest of his life. we would live like paupers. we could be miserably miserable without each other instead of happily miserable with each other.
would you rather any of those scenarios?
just the happily miserable part, i guess. and the “happily” level is usually very low.
sooo….. a few more months, even six more months at the most, TOPS. that’s still less than the ten you started out with.
i’m tired of trying to stay busy.
enjoy the selfishness of it. you. it’s all about you right now. probably the last time for the rest of your life. you don’t have anyone else’s schedule to work around right now. you don’t have drop offs and pickups. you don’t have to juggle stepmom life yet (which you need to post on, dude). you’re technically still in the research and planning phase of it. you don’t have endless hours of basketball and baseball and football. professional AND college. remember the college sports schedule? you get to stay busy. or be lazy. without even considering anyone else’s feelings or thoughts or wants or needs. this is you right now.
i like the me part.
see? you can go on road trips. you can sleep in. stay up late, go to bed early.
yeah, yeah.
go to the movies… whatever movie you want to.
oh, that’s nice.
take naps. workout whenever you want to.
yeah.
you get to BLOG whenever you want to. spend an entire day leaving comments and posting posts and finding widgets.
alright.
okay? are you better now?
no.
you’re still mad?
yes.
no you’re not.
can i have a hug?
yes. now suck it up. make a list of the things you want to do in the next six months. and fucking do them.
god, you’re a bitch.
so are you.
high five.

and i giggled some more. any other office that would have been bad….one of your coworkers running down the hall, yelling behind them that they were going to the hospital? what? whoa! do you need a ride? do you need me to call anyone? do you need me to put an appendage in a ziploc baggie with ice?

but no. when your office is located in what used to be the birthing wing of the hospital and your office has a negative scope and a sink and a paper towel dispenser and used to be a perinatal room…. asking someone if they’re okay when they say they’re going to the hospital….

well, that’s just funny.

   $35.99

+ $17.99

   $53.98

and

$53.98÷2 = $26.99

and

$35.99 – $26.99 = $9.00

i will be receiving a check for 9 whole dollars from smelly melly marie every 25th of the month.  for both of us to work out in the james.  such a deal, eh?
 

i’m not turning this into an eat your vegetables don’t talk to me about hamburgers and french fries blog. 

and it’s not dieting. making permanent healthy lifestyle changes.  katrina and i are meeting tonight to work on our fitness.  smelly melly marie and i are meeting tomorrow for more fitness.  then this weekend for a yoga or pilates thingie.  i’ll let you know how the yoga/pilates class goes.  i’ve never been.

oh, and ladies over here, i haven’t forgotten about you!

what words could i give her that she begged of me? what words, what things could i promise her….this me that is now, to the me that was then?

8 EAST!

oh, i was so carefree. and we never know it, do we? we never truly understand the freeness of bare toes on a dashboard. because that is what being free is. that’s why being free is being free. how many dashboards? how much wind has my hair been pulled through? how many windows have i sat passenger to, how many solo road trips have i captained…just being, to be. no questions asked. watching the california canvas flow by as i stretched myself, growing through the landscape, daring it to mold me?

what would i say to her? to me? what would i say to him? to you? to us?

what would i say if i were to come across us those many years ago…. those many years ago of street scene and campsites and road trips? of living rooms and bedrooms. of roommates and graduations.

we questioned. we wondered. we hoped. we dreamed. we planned. but did we plan for this? look at us. so different, and still so connected. settled here. settled. we never planned for this. but every decision we made took us one step closer to this. what would we say if we knew this of our lives? i know you would be happy. i know i could never imagine the safeness i feel. i wouldn’t be able to describe it to myself. imagine us, having a conversation with ourselves. just imagine that. me Now, taking to you Then. the things we would know!

ten years. ten. years. remember those campsites? those tents? the bonfires? the campfires? the road trips? the couches, the laughs, the jokes, the drinks, the dinners (so grown up), the adventures. on top of the slowly (fast!) spinning world. nothing could touch us. we had no one to answer to.

i dragged all of you there, willingly.

i sat in that dirt. in that dirt, and on those rocks. in that field. in that bathtub. i sat there and i contemplated everything. i lay there and i touched the stars that night. i was the center of the universe. i was one with it. and now it takes me a book to read about? to remind me that the universe is infinite and i am a small significant piece?

i didn’t have a plan. i had dirt under my nails. i had dirt in my shoes. i was untied. untethered.

free.

and i had no idea. and every idea.

what would i say to me then? i needed me, so bad, to come and sit next to myself. i wanted, needed me to tell me it was okay. that everything i had done, all connections i had severed, the tentative ones i had begun, that everything was for the right reason. i sat there, in another time, in another world. i sat there on the curb, and on those boulders, and in that bathtub, begging my future self to sit next to me. i wouldn’t have to say anything to me. just sit. just to know that i was there, somewhere in the future. what would one wear to that, anyway?

what would this me say to then me? without giving anything away? what would this me say to then me?

laying there around the campfire. sitting there, roasting our feast, drinking our celebration. all of us. what would happen if this me were to saunter in? would then we know this me? would we recognize me?

i know the things i would want to promise you. i know the truths i would want to instill upon you. i know the tools that you would need to get through all of this. but would i?

then me wanted to know that he was out there. then me wanted to know, to feel, to know, to believe that we were/are strong enough to leave my parents. i wanted to know, to know that i could stand on my own two wobbly feet.

what would now me say?

i would sit. i would climb up on those rocks.

silence. peaceful.

still.

i wouldn’t say anything. right now. this me of now. i crave the same energy the me of then had. i would want the simpleness of her, of me, to also comfort me.

i would sit next to her, in our jeans and hoodies. i would lay back on the dark sun-warmed boulders and i would look up at the stars. i would beg the stars to come out. to pull them out with my, our, energy.

and that would be enough.

what would me then say? would me then ask anything? knowing that the future was laying next to her, within us, creating the same energy? being the same energy?

i think me now would have me then speechless. both of us.

how peaceful.

i would want to tell her that everything is fine. i would want her to know that she will know such joy and sorrow. and that we are better for it. we are so much better for it. that this is life.

such sweet life.

and we would not want it any other way.

i would want to tell her that the one the one she is looking for, the one she knows is out there, really is there (here). orbiting in another universe that she hasn’t had the privilege of bumping into yet.

but she will.

(and i have)

most of all. most of all. i would tell her to breathe. i would tell her beg her, remind her to breathe in all of this. this rock that she sits on (which will be surrounded by fire several times in the years to come), the tree that she climbs, the friends that she has kept, the family that she adores, the traditions that she holds, that everything in her life

is so precious.

and i would tell her to breathe it all in. to take it in. to keep it. to savor it. to cherish it.

because she will call upon this memory. this single memory of being the center of the universe. and it will bring us peace.

and i do.

but i AM the application manager!

my uncle was describing how his son, adam, was renovating his house. here’s part of the conversation i had with him.

“his ex GIRLFRIEND is a MONster!” i thought maybe she was a raving bitch or something. he continued, “she bought a TOILET a WHOLE TOILET and came over and HOOKED EVERYTHING UP! pipes and EVERYTHING!! and it WORKS!!“

you know that high voice some women get when they’re telling one of their girlfriends about an injustice, a good shoe sale, something their boyfriend, husband, boss, sister did that they couldn’t believe?

my uncle john has a high voice. and so far i’ve only ever heard it when he describes a woman installing an entire toilet.

me myself and i started playing cake. short skirt, long jacket, rick james, symphony in c, comanche… the whole thing.

i tried ignoring them. i tried visualizing myself having a good day at work. then me was all “how do you visualize that? entering data on a good day versus a bad day? what does that look like when you visualize that?” i told me to shut up, but me thought herself pretty funny. meanwhile, myself danced with myself to cake, holding a glass full of (what i can only assume) booze, in her hand while waving her arms in the air. and she just didn’t care. i tried working with this cake theme. imagining me swimming to it, getting in a groove of sorts. but the cake part wasn’t working.

i thought about getting us up to blog, but then i started to fall asleep and i was all “hey, we’re starting to fall asleep!” and woke us all up again. Hillary and Obama and McCain were there, trying to look friendly and welcoming and trying to convey their best impression of the next president. Hillary, for some odd reason, was wearing a blue sequined cocktail dress that was too small. me sat in a dentist chair, listening to two dentists describe how exactly they were going to drill a titanium screw into our jaw while reaching in my purse and taking out all my money. my cousins were there, asking when i was going to have kids. the gray hair that i found on top of my head earlier in the day was wandering around making rude gestures to the ladies. dr. drew was on the couch with his band of rehabbing celebrities. i couldn’t hear what they were talking about (the cake music, remember?), but tears were involved. my uncle john was sitting at his computer trying to post to his blog, but the cake was getting to him, too. the people who found me through searching for stepmom blogs were there, wondering why they were reading about toyoter drivers being assholes and dreams about superman instead of finding the answers they needed. nine red netflix envelopes were fighting over how many i was going to have in my mailbox on thursday. the four at a time plan? three at a time? “no way can this chick live on two at a time, bro. it’s gonna be us, the four at a time plan.”

all of this noise was a din in my head as i was trying to fall asleep. i heard bits of every conversation (when cake wasn’t drowning it out). and i couldn’t sleep. i tried thinking about a bonfire in the outback of australia with the aborigines. then i thought better of it, what if i interrupted them in the middle of a prayer and ruined it? i tried visualizing me and phill on the cliffs of mohr, listening to the waves crash below us and feeling the ocean breeze on our faces. but we ended up laying on our backs eating doritos and making shapes out of clouds. background music being, of course, cake.

around 3am i’d had enough. i decided to crash my own party and send all the drunks home.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP! Hillary, your dress is way too small. that look is NOT working for you.” she got teary eyed and mumbled something about her feelings being hurt. obama and mccain rolled their eyes and took sips from their glasses of scotch. “cousins, i love you, but stop with the kids already. gray hair… put some CLOTHES on, for pete’s sake. like a black robe. and a black beanie. try to blend in. dentists, i love/hate you both. you made it through a very tough selection process in which five dentists were consulted. you won already. you’re getting my money. stop with the badgering already, would you? stepmoms, check the links to the right. there are a ton of stepmom blogs out there. i hope you find what you’re looking for.” everyone had stopped talking at this point. the only sound was cake in the background. people were leaving, picking up their purses and shoes.

“someone turn off that effing music, i am TRYING TO SLEEP!”

me pops her head up from behind the couch, clearly drunk and belligerent. “we can’t! it’s stuck on repeat! hahahaha!!!” and then she burped.

the last time i checked the clock before finally falling asleep, it was 4am. my data visualization worked, though. it’s been a good data day. i did no analyzation. none. no formulas, no reports, nothing.

realizing he’s wearing his sister’s sweater

it is my fear. it is my phobia. it is terrifying. no, i can’t explain it to you. no, i can’t tell you when it started or why or how or whatever. it just is. hey, nicole kidman is afraid of them. just ask her.

boyfriend and i had six (boyfriend’s daughter) over the christmas holiday. we three couldn’t stay at my house, i had a roommate and it just wouldn’t work out. so…. he and i slept in the guest bedroom…. the one… that is decorated…. covered…. smothered….. in BUTTERFLIES. all over. the walls, the ceiling, the walls, the everything, okay? EVERYTHING.

imagine, if you will…. imagine that you are afraid of spiders. and you have to sleep in a room that has cartoon spiders, spider posters, spider wall hangings, stuffed spiders hanging from the ceiling, a spider kite, a spider chrysalis… AAALLL OVER. or maybe, maybe if you’re afraid of clowns… imagine the clown faces, the clown shoes (or whatever it is that makes you afraid of clowns…. pfffttt… clowns…. what’s there to be afraid of clowns?) ….. AAAALLL OVER.

don’t believe me? well, here are some pics…. i’m sorry, i should have taken video. maybe i’ll do that this weekend or something. you can’t tell from the pictures where in the room… f*ck it, just look at all of it.

the view from my pillow toward the other end of the room.
my view from my pillow to the ceiling

butterflies hanging from the ceiling. next to a psychedellic poster, man.

another psychedellic poster, man,

no, your eyes don’t deceive you… that’s a string of butterfly lights. on the wall.

ceiling/wall

another hanging butterfly mobile

a fucking BUTTERFLY KITE as you walk in.

butterflies over the window

butterflies over the window

ceililing/wall

from pupa to chrysalis to FUCKING MONARCH butterfly

butterflies: pressed

“british butterflies and moths” on the ceiling

a stuffed butterfly from the ceiling

cute? no….

no, phill’s mom does not hate me. she just reeeeally loves butterflies. i was an adult about it and sucked it up. i ignored them, and for the most part, they ignored me.

what??

okay, this friend’s (we’ll call her sally) company is offering a great gym membership deal. there is no sign up fee, no initiation fee. just a monthly fee of $35. sally has a friend. we’ll call her molly. molly wants to join a gym. there is an “add on” option of $15. molly wants to be that add on to the membership.

of course, being the great friends that they are, sally said of course you can join my gym with me.

here’s where you come in, gentle readers.

sally believes that sally and molly should share the monthly $35 fee and molly should pay her add on fee of $15.

molly believes that she shouldn’t pay any of the monthly fee, just the $15 fee of her add on.

a short discussion went on, during which they both agreed to leave the situation alone for a while and drink more wine. both parties feel very strongly about their position.

please help.

and then i was the odd person out, standing by the table that was obviously big enough for all of us, but somehow shrank.

i wasn’t hurt or even mad. i thought to myself “how fucking rude. there’s obviously enough room for everyone. they have no manners.” i put my hand on my hip and stared at them not looking at me. “fucking rude.”

i was embarassed for them and their rudeness. grown adults, unable to be polite to someone they used to know. unable to be civil. unable to be decent human beings. rude. like ill-behaved toddlers hoarding all the crayons.

=====

the other night i woke up from a dream. my nose tickled. i was dreaming my dad was kissing my nose while i slept.

=====

phill says i have salvador dali dreams. the kinds of dreams with arms and legs showing up where there shouldn’t be, and clocks dripping off cliffs or castles floating in skies.

i have dreams about clouds. i used to be afraid of clouds, i blame “the nothing” in the never ending story for that. i was scared of the big fluffy clouds. like, i would run inside if i saw one coming for me.

i’ve had dreams of flying, but the underlying feeling in those dreams was fear of falling. i like my parachuting dreams the most.

in my first parachuting dream i was parachuting through clouds. thick clouds that slowed down my parachuting team (i don’t know who was with me, i just remember being with several people). one particular layer of clouds was so thick, we stopped and wobbled there like standing on a waterbed. we had to claw our way through the clouds, to rip through them. the cloud layer was like that layer of carpet padding. but in a beautiful way. we ripped through, and parachuted safely to the ground.

my last parachuting dream…. i was parachuting through hundreds of other parachuters. their parachutes were red and white. from my perch above them, they looked like red and white m&ms. they were all around me. above me, next to me, under me, it was a sea of parachuters. and they were all phill. and then the one phill caught up to me and we laughed at how there were all these parachuters (parachutists?) around us. the sun was setting. the ponds and lakes below were reflecting the sunset. we were falling from the sky, into the sky. i was surrounded by love, having this great time, floating through love.

how sweetly disgusting is that?

=====

anyone who’s known me for at least five minutes lately, you know i’m reading eat love pray. i’m in bali with liz now. she’s spending time with the medicine man, sharing her adventures with him, learning of his healing powers and meditation techniques.

seriously, i cannot tell you how much i love this book. the medicine man is simple and complex. he told her to “Worry about your craziness only–make you in peace.”

this is what i told my sister, paula slovakia, when she was going through her divorce. “you can’t understand crazy. to understand crazy, you have to go into a crazy place. you are not crazy, you are sane. you will never understand this level of crazy.” i learned that so completely in the spring and summer of 2005. a lot was going on during that time. i was trying to wrap my head around such craziness; actions from people who were not supposed to ever say or do the things they said and did. i had to let it go. as much as it hurt to try and let her go (i still have a few issues to work out), holding onto it, examining it, taking pictures of it (metaphorically speaking) and showing it to people was doing more harm than good.

so i like what this medicine man said. and it took reading it in someone else’s book, in someone else’s words, under someone else’s copywrite (eek) to remind myself that i have enough crazy (quirky?) of my own. and i’m letting voldemort go. for now. i’m letting all of that go. all of that bad energy, all of those words back and forth. i’m letting it go.

easier said than done. but it’s on my list of things to do before i turn (gasp!) 31. oh. my. 31.

=====

another thing i’m holding onto from this book is the four brothers meditation. i have trouble sleeping. getting to sleep, and staying to sleep. i wake up 20 minutes after i fall asleep. i swear it’s been hours and my alarm clock should go off any minute. nope. only 20 minutes. i miss phill, and i do not like being alone. yep. there, i said it. i don’t like being alone. i’ll leave the tv on, i’ll stay up late, so i’ll fall immediately to sleep with no tossing or turning. but basically, i miss my boyfriend and i don’t like being alone.

so back to this thing i’m holding onto. without giving much of it away (you have to read this book), you pray to these four brothers everyone was born with. they’re there to protect you. before you go to sleep (please please let me know if you’re going to sue me for infringement or plagiarism or whatever), you call on them before you go to sleep, saying “I am sleeping now, so you must stay awake and protect me.” the brothers will shield you through the night, stop demons and nightmares.

my heart did a funny thing when i read this. it held its tired sad head in its hands and felt relief. then i read it again. and i underlined it. and i marked the page. and i wrote it on the inside front cover. and i read it again.

so this talisman, i’m taking to bed with me. i am taking inner peace and my protectors.

goodnight to you all, and peace.

oh, and the 100th post i did… ummm….. it wasn’t my 100th post. it was like, my 80th post. blogger counted the 20 drafts i had draftily drafting in my post area. so, my bad.

in my early 20s my friends were either married or seriously dating. i had just gotten out of a serious relationship. the kind that makes you sick and stay up at night, the kind that you know is for forever, but the kind you know just will not last. you know the kind.

i could dedicate an entire blog to this. the lasting feeling of this blog would have been hilarious. because i’m on the other side of it. i mean, even through my broken dates and misplaced kisses (nose, upper arm, car window), the lasting impression was “hilarity”. oh, and broken heartedness. i’ll give you that.

the point is, without getting into the details, i went on a few dates. blind dates, friend dates, dates that shoulnd’t have been, desperate dates, lonely dates, dare dates, etc. and through every date, my first instinct was to run. i hated dates. i truly hated them. i hated first dates, work dates, happy hour dates, blind dates, friend dates, i hated all of them. mostly, and really, the only reason was,

i hated the word “date”.
the second reason was:
i was uncomfortable in my own skin.

so i took the word “date” out of the equation. i had friends. i had friends of friends. i had group dates. i had dates that weren’t dates. i had a few dates that were GAY, for lord’s sake. which is fine. honestly, i had so many bad dates, i went on the dates just to tell my friends how horrible and hilarious they were. i’m serious.

the point is, i didn’t care. i knew “dating” was important. dating was “getting me out there”.

then i got tired of dating. i mean really tired. i wasn’t getting anything out of it. the dates i went on weren’t getting anything out of it. i got tired of putting myself out there. i got tired of the endless first interview. blah blah blah nice dinner drink drink oh lord the phone call gotta go blah blah blah. crap.

and i stopped. i stopped dating for a long time. three years. i made time for my friends. i made time for my sister. i made time for my family, for my road trips, for solo camping trips, for work, for books, and yes, for drinking.

i took myself out of the game. then i started owning it. i went out with friends knowing that i was the single one. i went out with my friends and their husbands knowing that they were my family. they were who i was going home with. and there went the pressure. i was home. i was always home with this family of friends of which i had no pressure. i only had fun with. i went out to have fun. not to meet anyone.

the only reason i’m telling you this is to tell you of my friend jenn. no, more to the point, what i have to say to her.

dearest jenn–

what i’m saying… i’m saying this very seriously, jenn. your coupled friends are going to to move in together, they’re going to get engaged. your friends are going to have babies. your mom and aunts and grandmas are going to pressure you. you have to let it go. you have to let that pressure go. your friends are going to get divorced. your friends are going to get remarried. just because THEY are having babies and getting married and moving in and divorcing and remarrying, it doesn’t mean you have to.

you’re not going to grow old as an old rotting maid.

this is the cycle. this is the life that we are in. the singles, the marrieds, the coupled, the divorced….. if you want to categorize it that way.

be you. i know that’s cosmo crap. i know that’s some bullshit you’ve been reading already. i know everyone says that to you “just be yourself”. but goddamn it.

fuck it. be you. it’s going to be hard. you have to dig deep. and hold onto your center. find out what you like, what you enjoy. hold on to the things you can’t live without. be proud of yourself, of your accomplishments, of your close relationships. be it. live it. surround yourself with it.

fucking own it.

because when you find that man of yours, the one who is so grateful to find you and your perfectness, when you find him, you will have this beautiful life and strength to give him, to offer him, to share with him. and these things you demand from him. you’re not going to settle for some guy that wants to get laid. or the guy that lives with his mom.

nothing is textbook perfect. it is only individually perfect.

i found my man, the one who laughs at my burps, the one i get ice cream for at 10:00 at night. the one that does my taxes, the one that kisses me all the time just because. the one that wraps his arms around my soft middle in the dark of the night. the one who reaches out for me in the middle of the night, whispering he loves me in his sleep. the one who wakes up and comforts me when i have a bad dream. the one that holds me to sleep. you know.

the one.

my one.

and your perfect one is not in a book, he’s not in a movie. he’s not in a magazine. he’s the one, he’s the one you want to “everything” with.

and he’s out there. so just be patient. and do not settle.

love,
yolanda

i love you. yes, i mean you. and i know i should be playing the bad cop. and i am (somewhere downtown there is a me cop giving you what for in an interrogation room). but for now, our furious texts back and forth and finally the phone call (red wine by our side) is how it played out. i am not a bad cop. i’m the good lush cop. dammit. just don’t tell anyone.

i swear, i have a wall for you, to show you that this behavior is not cool. dammit. it’s right here. somewhere. in this closet or something. under my bed? in my trunk? frick.

i’m glad to hear from you.

asshole.

love.

ps–and don’t even think i ran to the computer and started this post after hearing your giggling excuses. because i was already here. you suck. i love you. dammit.

i need to feel that there are much larger things in the universe than getting my tooth pulled tomorrow (the coundown on the right is wrong). and there are. but maybe those things aren’t helpful in calming my nerves. i feel like tilda swinton’s character at the very end of michael clayton. i feel like my face could start shaking at any moment and i could drop dramatically to the ground. i wouldn’t be nominated for an oscar for it, though. can i just have a little mini break down?

it’s not just the tooth. but i don’t think the tooth is really helping any. my boyfriend is a million miles away, there are staff meetings, business travel, health insurance, global warming, software training, the world without us (read it), logins, oil change, carbon emissions, brake check, voldemort, who i’ve been ignoring. worse, i’ve let her come between me and my nephews, dispite my promises to be an adult about it. i haven’t seen the boys since before christmas. and i missed a birthday. then there are the ever present nurdles.

i haven’t found a dentist to install the titanium screw into my jaw, the $2,500 screw that will hold the $1,500 fake molar. scratch that. i have found a dentist, but i found a cheaper dentist, then i called the more expensive dentist and told him i found a cheaper dentist, then i drove by the cheap dentist’s office and i have realized that more money=a higher sense of security. duh. but i guess i had to figure it out myself. would you rather have a titanium screw drilled into your mouth while sitting in an overpriced fancy dentist’s office with a view of trees and grass? or in what looks like an old house in the middle of downtown santa ana? you’d save $600, but you’d be sitting in what used to be grandma’s bathroom getting a stainless steel tooth drilled into your mouth with something bought at sears. dramatic? me? no. so…. i gotta find a way to tell dr. expensive that i love him and don’t want to ever live without him and please drill a titanium screw in my jaw.

here’s how i’m seeing tomorrow go. i wake up at 5:30 am. can’t fall back asleep. drift off to sleep around 7:45, only to have my alarm go off 15 minutes later. take my nice little blue pill–valium, not viagra. sister picks me up late. i whimper to myself all the way to the dentist office, and collapse in a tilda swinton heap in the lobby. what if i’m so wound up i make myself nervous? what if i choke on my wommit while he’s pulling? what if he tells a joke and tries to be funny and i laugh and the shiny tool slips and slices my mouth open?? what if i got my dates mixed up and i’m worked up for a detraction that’s happening on tuesday instead of tomorrow? wow, holy lord almighty. i can’t even keep typing this i’m already freaking out. okay. soo…. onto other things.

perfectly and sweetly. and perfectly again… i do not worry about my relationship with phill. we are happily committed, truly and completely. he and i, with six, make three. i have my sisters. the one i was born with, and the ones i have adopted, and the ones that have adopted me. i have such great friends, and the warm boobely bosom of my family. nurdles be damned. life is fucking good. but still, there’s that tooth.

this, this post being my 100th post. here are my guts.

i heard that the national delurking (already calming down now) day was a little while ago. i’m gonna tell you a little secret:

i love mom blogs.

they are SO hilarious and touching and true. osmosister got me into them. not that she said, here you have to read these. i found ohthejoys through osmosister. i think i found bossy through a comment she left on ohthejoys. i might have found greek tragedy through nytimes.com? i think i found sweet salty through finding zen. wow, i really sound like a stalker. i hope i’m not pissing anyone off by posting your blogs here. and i hope i’m not scaring any of you. please let me know. i should also tell you that i get my daily fix through google reader. so i probably hardly ever show up in your sitemeter, but i chuckle daily with my cup o’ joe. and i forward some posts to a few friends as well. i don’t personally know any of you. and i really feel like a stalker with this delurking thing. i don’t usually comment, but i read 99% of all of your work. can one delurk through their own blog? i’m jealous of your high comment count, by the way. i admire all of you and your willingness and ability to bare your souls so sweetly and heartwrenchingly on a nearly daily basis. i swear i’m not a stalker. but yes, i am.

i recently found this blog…wow, i don’t even know where. i don’t google these blogs. i click on them through other blogs. you’re an awesome writer, clink. congrats to you and the ring.

i subscribe to two dad blogs. laid off dad (nytimes link, i think) and dad gone mad. have you two ever met? one of you yahoos mentioned bossy in one of your posts. it was like i was looking in a mirror looking at itself, looking a a blog. or something.

it takes balls to write about all the things you write about. all of you. i admire you for that. there are a few posts here that i’m proud of. but my soul hasn’t hung out in front of you nekked or anything. not very often.

another confession: i follow stepmom blogs. since i’m in the research and planning phase of being a stepmom (the career girl’s guide to becoming a stepmom is on my nightstand), these blogs offer insight, tangles, truths, dirty feelings, clean shiny feelings, relationship highs and lows, and… shock of all shocks… some stepmoms and biomos are friends. totally weird.

i googled stepmom blogs and hit the jackpot. she has a forum, a monthly stepmom profile, and has seen stepparenting from both a child and stepmom’s perspective. i especially like this post, which describes the stepkid shuffle. stepmoms are talking about it in her forum. i got a taste of this confusing behavior when phill and i had his daughter, six, over the christmas holiday. six asked me “did you know my mommy kissed my daddy? A LOT?” “yes, six. i know that. everyone knows that.” she looked at me, incredulous “how does everyone know that?” why would she be telling me this? a few days prior, we had officially come out to her as being together. but what’s her motive? why is she telling me that her dad, my boyfriend, has kissed someone else? i mean, i KNOW he’s kissed someone else. but man, it’s a punch in the gut coming from his daughter. i keep telling myself she’s six. she’s just six. she and i continued coloring and watching iCarly. but still…. man. that sucked. i am the adult, i am the adult. i know it’s going to happen again, she’s just six.

she was watching me put mousse in my hair one morning. “why are you putting that in your hair?”
“because it makes my curly hair not so frizzy.”
“my mom likes frizzy hair.”
“that’s cool. that’s nice. this keeps it from being reeeally big and huge.”
“my mom has really big and huge hair. and she likes it.”
“that’s nice, that’s cool.” i mean, what do you say to that?

i found simplicity who is the stepmom to lori’s kids and they are friends. kathy and jill are doing the stepmom/biomom friendship and blog thing over at the doughtie houses exchange. i read the wicked stepmom and the evil stepmother (who are neither wicked or evil). i haven’t found any biomom blogs. i mean, besides the biomom blogs that get along with the stepmom. i’ve found the stepmom blogs that bash the biomom, but no biomom blogs that bash the stepmom. hence, stepmothers are perfect. the. end.

of course, smelly and miller and workwife and osmosister you can find in the links to the right as upstanding members of my crew. smelly and miller, you gotsta step up.

and because mother earth is a woman, i introduce you to eco-chick herself. i found her through bossy? seriously, i can’t remember how i found all of you.

i need to feel my hair take root in the earth between blades of grass. i need to watch the clouds swirl, i need to feel small underneath them. i need to feel the earth rotate on its axis and watch the stars stand still; to dig my hands into the roots of this planet as we all spin through the universe together.

the sketch i did, it all makes sense now. the face is a calm center in the eye of the hurricane. i want to be that face, to feel everything swirling around me, to be that calm center.

a glass of wine while distracting myself with a post with the promise of a valium in a few hours hasn’t hurt either.

geez.

someone (name rhymes with schmolanda) spilled wine on the preprinted boarding passes. so i had to print another print out of my print outs of my flights tomorrow. lest they be denied. citing heavy levels of booziness. i’m going to a very important conference of nerds to be held in texas. which my ex work wife demanded me to paint red. and then we realized texas was already painted red. so i am going to paint it blue. i’m going to paint texas blue. BLUE.

but only if southwest will accept my boarding pass (notice the “A” seating, y’all? tres first class, n’est pas?), wine spills and all. i kept them on the kitchen counter so they’d be safe. it was either that, or stick them under my windshield wipers for safe keeping.

oh, the shame.

until yesterday.

when someone comes into the bathroom area, they try to open the stall. the lock usually sticks. there are a few seconds where you wonder, pants around your ankles, if the lock will hold. but it always does.

until yesterday.

i was finished with my business. i heard the bathroom door open. i saw feet under the stall door. i stood up, pants bunched around my knees, and was (well, there is no ladylike way to say this), wiping my ass. i was in FULL ASS WIPE MODE. back arched. arm in mid wipe. FULL ASS WIPE MODE. and the lock didn’t stick.

susanna pulled the stall door open while i was IN FULL ASS WIPE MODE. “oh!! i’m so sorry!!!” she said as she slammed the door shut. i chuckled and cringed, thinking of the image that was burned into her retinas for all eternity. “no, it’s okay. it happens.” she made small talk. “wow, what are all these lockers for out here?” i responded, “probably for the nurses who used to work here when it was a maternity ward.” um… yeah, this isn’t awkward.

i’m going to send out an email to announce next time i’m occupying the stall.

six: how old are you?
me: how old do you think i am?
six: i think you’re a teenager.
me (glowing with glee): why do you think that?
six: because you don’t have any kids.
me: great deduction. what if i told you i was as old as your dad?
six (eyes wide): but he’s 30!!
me: me too!
six: you’re an old lady.
me: way harsh, ty.

during the charger’s game.

me: hey look! it’s your boyfriend, LT!
six: he’s YOUR boyfriend.
me: alright.
six: wait, my DAD’S your boyfriend.
me: —

whoa, i’m a dad’s girlfriend!

this morning, around 7:07 am.

six: is there something you would like to say to me?
me: what would you like me to say to you?
six: happy birthday to me.
me: but your birthday was on wednesday.
six: yeah, but today’s my birthday party.
me: well, happy birthday party day.
six: thank you.

• A vast swath of the Pacific, twice the size of Texas, is full of a plastic stew that is entering the food chain.
• By weight, this swath of sea contains six times as much plastic as it does plankton.
• You could take your serum to a lab now, and they’d find at least 100 industrial chemicals that weren’t around in 1950.
• Most alarming, these chemicals may disrupt the endocrine system — the delicately balanced set of hormones and glands that affect virtually every organ and cell — by mimicking the female hormone estrogen.
• We now know that BPA causes prostate cancer in mice and rats, and abnormalities in the prostate’s stem cell, which is the cell implicated in human prostate cancer.
• Only 3 to 5 percent of plastics are recycled in any way
• It also doesn’t help that fresh-made plastic is far cheaper.
• Except for the small amount that’s been incinerated — and it’s a very small amount — every bit of plastic ever made still exists.
• The material’s molecular structure resists biodegradation. Instead, plastic crumbles into ever-tinier fragments as it’s exposed to sunlight and the elements. And none of these untold gazillions of fragments is disappearing anytime soon: Even when plastic is broken down to a single molecule, it remains too tough for biodegradation.
• In the face of public outrage over pictures of dolphins choking on “a family’s trusted companion,” the American Plastics Council takes a defensive stance, sounding not unlike the NRA: Plastics don’t pollute, people do.
• Oceanographer Curtis Ebbesmeyer, Ph.D., an expert on marine debris, agrees. “If you could fast-forward 10,000 years and do an archaeological dig — you’d find a little line of plastic,” he told The Seattle Times last April. “What happened to those people? Well, they ate their own plastic and disrupted their genetic structure and weren’t able to reproduce. They didn’t last very long because they killed themselves.”
  

Here I sit. In front of you. in a t-shirt and jeans. Barefoot. I sit here. I still have no words for you. I’m sorry gentle reader(s), for not posting. Life has been goodbusy lately. And I had a few drafts to post, but I didn’t save them. so, in absence of those drafts, I post about the most recent developments. Which is no development. No growth. Just name calling. Wound opening. Fang baring. Word throwing. “Oh yeah, well…!!”s, and lots of ‘em. I’m tempted to post the emails here. But there’s something wrong and bad about that. But again, she would have more of a voice with me posting the emails here. Whereas without posting them, I’m just talking about her behind her back. After talking about her to her face. In an email.

I don’t know what to do with her. I want her to go away. I want her to grow up and be the person I know she can be. I want her to stop being so nasty and evil. I want to stop playing into her mind games. I want to know why she is so nasty to me. I want to know how a 48 year old woman has reached this level of horrible nastiness and disgustingness. Because I don’t want to ever be there.

Blah. And so I sit. In front of you. With no words again.

When in all actuality, I have tons for you to read about and pictures to show you. Boyfriend and I came out to his 6 year old daughter. His baby’s mamma told her I was his secret girlfriend. The three of us played at the park. I pushed her on the swings. I tickled her until she swore she would pee. I took a picture of her asleep with a pirate patch flipped up on her forehead. She thought I was a teenager. I’ve been there for story time and bath time. I made cupcakes for her birthday. With sprinkles in the mix. I’ve been her lap, her hungry hungry hippo playmate, the hand she holds when she crosses the street. I’ve made her laugh until she farted. And I learned I don’t know how to put on a squirmy kids’ shoes.

Oh yeah, and I hung out with boyfriend. Which, PS, I don’t know how you moms do this thing with the kids and the spouse and attention and quiet time. The kid wakes up at 6am EVERY. MORNING. We’re adults, so we stay up until 11. Kid goes to bed at 730, whether we like it or not. Kids don’t have snooze buttons. Did you guys know that? We had an afternoon to ourselves last week. I went into work for a few hours. We had planned to—ahem—have some adult time. I just wanted to sleep. We had lunch instead. Boyfriend is good. It’s fun getting to know him again. I forgot how funny he is. He’s adorable.

So…. All is well. All is very well. Aside from the one who shall not be named. Maybe I should call her Voldemort. Yes. My evil sister Voldemort.

Happy Nude Rear!

PS–I can’t access blogging at work. So I hope this emailed blog thing works. I hope the paragraph spacing isn’t all funky chicken. I hate it when the spacing is off. It’s off, isn’t it. Dammit.

1) boyfriend is in town. well, not yet. but in less than 14 hours he will be. for THREE weeks! i will blog in this time. i’m jest sayin’, it won’t be your (ir)regularly scheduled program.
2) work has BLOCKED blogger.com! yes, they did! blocked it for reasons of “web communications”. this means i can’t post unless i use the email to blogger tool, which i might try. this means a large part of my sitemeter hits will be lower. everyone loves a high sitemeter count!
3) yep. that’s it. those are the only two reasons. i just thought i should tell you. AAAANNDDD…. while you’re at it…. go wish my work wife gia katrina a happy birthday. but you only have a few minutes left of december 17th to do it.
4) and most importantly, the fact that i’m blogging about how i’m NOT going to blog doesn’t mean anything. really. it probably means like seven blogs in one day.
5) yes, i did just link back to myself. FOUR TIMES.

peace out.

but then i got really scared, what if it was tooth cancer and i waited too long? what if i waited too long and the dentist told me “well, if you’d have seen me last month, we could have done something to save the jaw. now we have to remove the jaw and your liver. and your spleen.”

blah blah blah, x-rays, radars, tiny camera in mouth, hey, does this tooth happen to hurt? how long has it been hurting? six months, i lied. blah blah blah, the post looks like it’s too big for the root and it’s been pushing at your gum line, hairline fracture, we can save your leg, but the tooth needs to be pulled, here are some antibiotics.

tooth pulled? tears sprang. panic attack. images of old witches with missing teeth flashed in front of my face. i got the news in march. insurance questions, periodontist, endodontist consultations, a few meltdowns in dentist chairs later, frantic phone calls, emails to my sister and my other sister, reserving them for the tooth subtraction date. i finally made the appointment to have the tooth pulled.

and then i just called and cancelled it right now. i’m going to wait for after the first of the year. i thought the office was closed today. i called, planning on getting voicemail or some answering service.

eric, my favorite front desk guy, answered.

me: eric! what are you doing there! you said you guys were closed on fridays! you said you wouldn’t take me on friday because you were closed!
eric: i know, i know, i’m sorry. there was a special incident, emergency that happened and we had to come in.
me: you could have told me and i would have come in to have my tooth subtracted today! all i wanted was a friday.
eric: i’m sorry! (poor guy, i give him SO much crap. i love it.)
me: well, i’m calling to cancel my tooth detraction appointment for next week.
eric: what? you can’t do that.
me: yes, i’m going to wait until next year, like toward the end of january.
eric: what day was your original appointment?
me: the 16th. 14th. no! 13th.
eric: okay, i see you. what day works for you? the first of january? the second week of january?
me: (i look at my calendar) how ’bout the 24th?
eric: you don’t want to come in earlier?
me: i can’t, i’m taking some time off for the holidays.
eric: i see i see. how does 10am sound?
me: how ’bout the afternoon? i can come in to work, freak out all day and not get anything done, and then have the tooth subducted?
eric: well, we like to do the intense procedures early in the morning.
me: THE WHAT? THE INTENSE PROCEDURES??
eric: no, i mean…. it’s NOT an intense procedure. it’s NO big deal.
me: you JUST called it AN INTENSE PROCEDURE!! why would you DO that to me?! eric! you know how i get! listen to my voice! i have high voice right now!! my EYES are watering! i can’t feel my SPLEEN!!! can i have an epidural?! INTENSE PROCEDURE??!! what did you do!!
eric: it’s NOT a big deal.

i’m trying to calm down. trying to stop the high voice, trying to stop the shaking and panic attack from starting. i have work. to do. today.

eric: okay, we’ll see you at 10am on the 24th.
me: yeah, for my INTENSE PROCEDURE! thanks A LOT. you’ve RUINED christmas.
eric: oh, shut UP! you SUCK!
me (sarcastic): happy holidays!!

i love my dentist office.

I forgot to mention this little bit of family history in the making: Last night I was waiting for Adam (uncle john’s son) to bring Gabby (adam’s 6 year old daughter) to Chantel’s (adam’s wife) house (Chantel was working late). Gabby came in crying inconsolably. Her tooth had fallen off , had lost it in the car, and now she would not have a tooth to place under her pillow so that the tooth fairy would give her some money. We calmed her down and assured her that the tooth fairy would be pleased to bring some money. I read her a story and after I had finished she said that she wanted to pray. So she prayed that she hoped God would let the tooth fairy leave her some money.

“God will answer your prayer,” I said,, feeling like Jesus, all wise and good.

When Chantel arrived from work I gave her two dollars which she put under Gabby’s pillow.

but we didn’t.

i don’t think about this land very often. there, i said it. it’s in a land far far away. i drove through it once on my way to the east coast. i didn’t stay long enough to make memories of it. i think we stopped for gas. and there was no bank of america to be found, which i thought was weird.

i don’t think about them on an every day basis. not even on a weekly basis. brad pitt and harry connick have another celebrity cause. blah blah blah.

nothing has affected (effected) me more than this post by oh the joys.

and now i want to help. i want to paint houses. i want to plant gardens. more than that, i want to get my hands dirty in something that will have a lasting effect (affect? dammit.) on someone’s life.

this is going to happen again. another storm will hit. maybe worse than katrina. i don’t want to just help build a house, i don’t want to just paint a house, i want to restore someone’s faith in humanity.

it seems so far away. if something like that happened to san diego? i wouldn’t want to go back. but i would want to give hope to those people that needed to replant their roots in the same spot.

me: wow, i’ve already read over a hundred pages?
myself: my eyeballs are starting to hurt.
i: i bet it’s late.
me: i wonder what time it is.
myself: i say 9.
me looks over at the nightstand clock.
me: wow, it’s 1030.
i: told you it was late.
myself: we’re going to have a headache tomorrow.
i: and we’re going to wake up tired.
me: sshhh! go to sleep. i want to stay up and read.
i: no i don’t, i wants to go to sleep.
myself: me, just do what i says. you know how i gets.
me: i’m at a good part.
i: i bet me doesn’t put the book down for another hour.
myself: don’t encourage me. just ignore me. me’s ignoring us.

this morning

me: ooohhhhhh my heeaaaaad….
myself: (hits the snooze button, pulls blanket over our head)
i: (glares at me through slitted eyes) i told you. oh god, my head feels like poison.
me: (eyes closed) there’s a crowbar prying at the back of my brain.
myself: my eyeballs are on fire. hot fire. soo hot that my eyeballs feel cold. can eyeballs feel cold? why do my eyeballs feel cold?
i: someone put us out of my misery. i told me this was going to happen. did me listen?
me: stop talking. i can see the words throbbing our brain. our brain full of lava blood.
myself: we need excedrin. can we wear sunglasses in our office?
i: let’s take our pillow to work.
me: excedrin. coffee. water.
me, myself, and i: sleeeep.
i: i told us. i warned us. me never listens. will me listen next time?
silence.
me, myself, and i in unison: (sigh) nooo.

1. she was a bad driver
2. she never used her blinkers
3. she loved us. oh how she loved us
4. she sang to us
5. crazy silly songs about catalina matalina oopsy daisy donna wanna okopokoloko was her name.
6. she sewed
7. quilts
8. sunday dresses
9. for me and my sister
10. every sunday
11. she fixed everything with an ice cube or a popsicle
12. she loved us
13. she was a lady
14. she taught us manners
15. every part of me that is a lady is from her
16. she protected us
17. you didn’t mess with her
18. she never knew how much i admired her
19. but she does
20. every part of me that is strong is from her
21. she typed fast
22. she taught me how to make tortillas
23. she taught me what family was
24. she was so funny
25. she was so patient
26. she had a favorite
27. and that is fine
28. because she’s my favorite, too
29. she had this way about her…this way of speaking. she had this way of putting so much emotion into one word. she could say my name and i would know instantly that i should stop pulling my sister’s hair, or that she was proud of me, or that she wasn’t kidding when she counted to 3.
30. her hands soothed so much. her touch on my forehead, the way she brushed my hair, how she tucked me in at night. i have that touch with those i love. i feel the way they love that touch, how much they feel my love from my touch, and i learned it from her.
31. she loved the opera
32. and ballet
33. and classical music
34. i used to hate it
35. i miss her sewing room, so full of light and so many fabrics, always with the classical music
36. she wore opium
37. i see the bottle, but i can’t smell it
38. if i were to smell it right now, the memories would bring me to my knees
39. she loved my dad
40. so much
41. i never heard her call him by his name
42. he was always dad or honey, never ever gilbert
43. she made his lunch every morning
44. i remember so many mornings waking up next to her
45. the sheets so warm
46. we would just lay there, feet tangled, morning breaking
47. she was so safe
48. so safe
49. she made popsicles
50. she gave me so many things to pass down
51. one day, after a hard day of school, i cried into her shoulder. she told me then, “friends will come and go, but your sister will always be there.”
52. i didn’t believe her then.
53. but that is the strongest, truest thing she has ever taught me
54. she didn’t teach me to speak spanish
55. she called my history teacher a “fuck hole” after they had an argument about an assignment of mine when i was 16
56. i was never so proud to have her in my corner
57. she loved her sister and her family
58. she left us with that, our blanket
59. she married young
60. she protected her family
61. everything ballsy i have ever done or ever will do, is from her strength
62. she gave me my fair lady, brigadoon, the quiet man
63. oh, and she gave me my love of books
64. she read and read and read to us
65. she would ground us by taking away our books. while our friends were getting their phone taken away, their nights out with their friends, she would crush us by taking away our books
66. she was funny
67. she had her own living room, with the “special” furniture and glass table
68. and we didn’t cross that line
69. only to take pictures in our sunday dresses
70. she called me lally. i will always be hers. other people in my family call me that, but it’s never the same
71. i miss her so much
72. she broke my heart
73. i still love her
74. forever
75. she taught me how to tie my shoes
76. she gave me an infinite amount of memories that i can’t even think of right now, but that have shaped me into the woman i am today.
77. i was a surprise
78. at the ripe old age of 38
79. she stopped for a milkshake on the way to the hospital before delivering me
80. i will think of a thousand different things to tell you about her after i post this
81. i love her so
82. i would give anything to see her, just to see her, not even to say anything to her. just to see her reading a book in the sun.
83. i pretend to have conversations with her over the phone
84. i catch glimpses of her at the grocery store, i think of her when i hear someone whistling south pacific
85. oh, she could whistle so sweetly
86. she gave me my sister so i wouldn’t be lonely growing up
87. my sister has proven quite a valuable plaything/cohort/partner in crime
88. my mom was right about so many things
89. oh, how i love her
90. “if a a boy tells you he doesn’t deserve you, he is right.”
91. “also believe him if he tells you he is an asshole.”
92. she thought i was funny
93. and was always in my corner
94. i don’t know what i would say to her if i saw her
95. i would say nothing
96. i would hold her
97. i would thank her
98. and that would be enough for me
99. i smell her perfum now
100. oh, and i want to hold her

according to this website, i belong in the following places:

Eugene, Oregon The Emerald City
This Oregon city is home to the Hendricks Park Rhododendron Garden, famous all over the world for its beautiful blossoms (does that mean butterflies?).
Corvallis, Oregon Heart of the Willamette Valley
This Oregon city hosts “da Vinci Days,” a festival of unique events revolving around art, science and technology (nerd alert!).
Danbury, Connecticut Small-Town Charm Near the Big Apple
Zadoc Benedict began making beaver hats (wtf?) here in 1780, starting this Connecticut town’s important hat industry.
Cape Cod, Massachusetts Jewel of the New England Coast
This peninsula is home to the oldest public library in America: the Sturgis Library, established in 1644 (definitely my kinda town).
Providence, Rhode Island New England’s Best Kept Kept Secret
This Rhode Island spot is the home of the award-winning flaming sculpture WaterFire, installed on the three rivers of downtown.
Portland, Oregon City of Roses
This Oregon city has the nation’s largest forested municipal park, the aptly-named Forest Park
Boston, Massachusetts America’s Walking City
Here in “America’s Walking City,” you can stroll down to famous Franklin Park for the annual Kite Festival. kites!!!

you want water? what are you, hungover?
no, but i started that 64 oz of water a day thing and when i don’t have it …. i…. i like…. craave it.
you mean you get thirsty?
yes! that’s the word! thank you!

i know why i spend $50 on bras at victoria’s secret.
oh yeah?
(she thrusts her chest out at me. i look)
yeah, the left one there just–what is it doing? is it sideways?
i know, right?!
you’re definitely boobtarded today.

okay…. i’m a jokester. i’ll admit that. i’ve never stolen a carrot cake, though. i’ve unplugged mouses and changed word’s autocorrect, but i’ve never stolen a carrot cake.

still on a conference call.

she walks behind my desk, intent on finding a carrot cake. she pushes at my chair, pushing me away from my desk while i’m on a conference call taking notes, intent on finding a carrot cake.

i don’t have your carrot cake.

sure you don’t.

(more firm, holding back the eff bomb) i don’t have your carrot cake.

she starts looking through my cabinets, “well, this one’s locked.”

i start getting pissed.

i. don’t. haaaaave. your (stupid fucking) carrot. cake.

people do this a lot…. i’m on the phone, they come in and sit down and start talking. while the phone is to my ear. other people come in, sit down, start talking to each other, while i’m trying to have a conversation. they’ll talk to me, while i’m on the phone. I’M ON THE PHONE. do you think i’m faking? i don’t get it. i really don’t get it. i know it’s me, i’m rarely serious at work. i keep the door closed a lot. i need to work on my serious face.

i’m still on the conference call, and some people are talking about their weekend. i think our convo would have been funnier.

ps–carrot cake was found. someone else hid it in their office. the carrot cake caper.

work wife and i were in a meeting today. we’re usually pretty professional. aside from the time i suggested we name our group the patient satisfaction super heroes. and that we should have utility belts. work wife didn’t even laugh at that. work wife. giggles mcgee herself. kept a straight face.

i was actually pretty pleased in today’s meeting. usually in these meetings, i bring numbers and charts, and we discuss stuff like staffing issues and — should i be saying all of this online? anyway, we discuss other stuff that doesn’t really have to do with data data data. 10101101001010. but not today. i came armed with my utility belt full of data and handouts and colored charts and percentile ranks and EVERYTHING. i was a genius.

until work wife showed up (late. well, you did). i was in data mode. i was explaining ranks and percentile ranks and i don’t even know what. i didn’t even look up when work wife disturbed my meeting. she sits down,

so what’s all this? this doesn’t even make any sense.
work wife, please be quiet and take me seriously.
yeah, but if there are 11, how is this 17? why is 23 on this page if the top is 11?
it’s a percentile rank.
so what’s the percentage?
right next to it.
but that says mean.
yes.
i’m sooo confused.
me too.
we should just pick a number and be it.
i pick 11.
why isn’t there a 100 on here?
i think we should be a million.
ooo… look at all the colors.
i KNOW!
it’s all wrong.
please take me seriously.

and then i couldn’t look at her! i got distracted with her giggle giggle giggle! it was just the four of us in this meeting. the top cheese wasn’t present. which is probably why we weren’t paying attention in class.

i picked up a pile of paper at one point and everyone stopped talking. i got scared and looked up. they were all looking at me for… what? an answer? another pile of colorful data out of my utility belt? i put the piece of paper down and put my confused, serious, thinking face on. they went on to other things.

and NOW i have a pile of work to do. i have numbers to provide and explain, and i think i like this data thing.

as long as work wife takes me seriously. she does feel sorry for me, though. i’ll take that in a pinch.

anywhoogle, we have about a hundred bones in the pot right now. we were debating on having a holiday party with our department. i won’t mention the thanksgiving extravaganza that just went down last week. INSANE. but i’m not mentioning it. tables and chairs lined the halls, the conference room was like a banquet hall. this is me not mentioning it. i think there were more vendors than people in our department. i’m NOT mentioning it.

anyway, so someone wanted to do that again for christmas. i said nay. a few other people said nay. someone else suggested donating it to charity. jan, our resident moral compass suggested donating flocks of chicks to several families. there are about 20 chicks in a flock. with our pot, we could donate to about three families. jan’s face lit up when she talked about it. i was in.

so English suggested that we tell our company newsletter about it. not for credit, but to inspire other people to do the same. i happen to know someone who knows someone.

i sent work wife an email, telling her what we were doing. her response: Are you being serious!! Hahahahha!

so i had to blog it. because it’s not true unless someone blogs about it.

i found baby pictures, pictures of mel and i in our sunday dresses, a picture of me riding my bike for the very first time, and… my dad in his own mandals circa 1984. or 1925. embarassing then, sentimental now.

i discovered notecards, slivers of papers, essays (to kill a mockingbird! a separate peace! huck finn!), notes passed between friends, rough drafts, a short story that brought tears to my english teacher’s eys, final copies redlined, the memories! it all sits next to me, in a clear plastic container, like a time vault. our annual creative writing publication, my yearbooks, yellowed notes, doodles, my french vocabulary book, w.h. auden, emerson, thoreau…. right here. dated 1994, 95, 93, i think there’s a ’90 in there.

i hope you enjoy this little tidbit. more to follow.

so, here it is, my first of several published works, in the 1995 coronado high school canvass literary and fine arts magazine (seriously, that’s what it was called)….i present to you…

untitled
i walk down the cold, dark hall
i see the door.
i feel the dread of what the room represents.
i want to turn back,
but i am pushed by the crowd
to open the door.
i enter the room.
people have been here before me.
i can feel the despair they felt.
their fear hangs thick in the air.
the door closes with a deep finality
that echoes in my head.
i watch and count the seconds
until the door is opened.
i am trapped.
there is no way out.
the torture begins.
i try to resist.
i try to keep my eyes open,
but i can’t help falling asleep
in history class.

my favorite season is here, along with my favorite weather. cold. the soft flannel sheets kind of cold. the sweaters kind of cold. the retire your flip flops for a couple of months cold. the only cold we get over here in socal.

and i love it.

thanksgiving is here, and i won’t be in my favorite neck of the woods (no offense, d). san francisco is where i give thanks. it’s my time to visit the barrons. my time with them is sacred. they are family. they are family. they’re witty and sharp and kind and know everything. they are bosom.

san francisco has the kind of deep cold we never see ’round these parts. it’s the mittens and beanies cold. and the bosom is so warm in contrast. they are me. they are walks down an old street. they are coffee in a familiar neighborhood. they are drives prepared with full tanks, bottles of spring water, trail mix, and a pillow for the backseat.

with them, i am rockstar. i am niece. i am cousin. they ask, they prod, they wonder, and all is safe.

they are questions.
they are answers.
they are allowing.
they are trusting.
they are warm.
they are home.

INGREDIENTS
20 large fresh mushrooms, stems removed
3 tablespoons Italian-style salad dressing
1 cup crabmeat
3/4 cup bread crumbs
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup minced onion
1 teaspoon lemon juice

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Spray a cookie sheet with non-stick cooking spray.
In a shallow bowl, marinate mushrooms in Italian dressing for 20 minutes. Drain well.
In a small mixing bowl, combine crabmeat, 1/2 cup of breadcrumbs, eggs, mayonnaise, onions, and lemon juice. Fill the mushroom caps with the mixture. Arrange the mushrooms on the prepared baking sheet. Top with remaining breadcrumbs. *i sprinkle mozarella on top, too.
Bake for 15 minutes.

easypeasy!

i tweaked the recipe for to accomodate 25 people at work. i am NOT making 76 mushrooms. hopefully the baddies will like my mushrooms and come to the goodies side. maybe i’ll get a smile out of one of them in a hallway. yes, i’m kissing ass. as an experiment. i’ll forever be known as mushroom girl. or food poisoning girl.

here’s my recipe. as my mamma passed down to me from generations and generations of perfecting.

INGREDIENTS
3 tablespoons butter, melted
24 fresh mushrooms
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons minced green onions
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup diced cooked crabmeat
1/2 cup soft bread crumbs
1 egg, beaten
1/2 teaspoon dried dill weed
3/4 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
1/4 cup dry white wine

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Prepare a 9×13 inch baking dish with 3 tablespoons butter.
Remove stems from mushrooms. Set aside caps. Finely chop stems.
Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the chopped stems and green onions and cook until soft, about 3 minutes. Remove saucepan from heat. Stir in lemon juice, crabmeat, soft bread crumbs, egg, dill weed and 1/4 cup Monterey Jack cheese.
Thoroughly blend the mixture.
Place mushroom caps in the buttered pan, and stir until caps are coated with the butter.
Arrange caps cavity side up, and stuff cavities generously with the green onion and crabmeat mixture. Top with remaining Monterey Jack cheese. Pour wine into the pan around the mushrooms.
Bake uncovered in the preheated oven 15 to 20 minutes, until cheese is melted and lightly browned.

Serve warm with bottles and bottles of wine and good company. Turkey optional.

2 emailed 1 to defend 3. 3 called 1. 1 said busy, asked to call back later. 3 said no. point made.

1 emailed 2 back. 2 crushed by 1. 2 blogged. 2 felt a little better.

3 emailed 1 asking for copy of email to boy. 1 did not respond. 2 and 3 discuss 1 over lunch. 2 and 3 decide, after years and years of this behavior, that 1 can not be reasoned with. 3 decides to send an email to 1 anyway, knowing the possible consequences.

1 emailed 3 saying email to boy was admittedly “really bad” and 1 would not send to 3. 1 said “tell him I am the crazy sister that you have no control over and that I am prone to psychotic outbursts.”

melissa wrote, melissa described, melissa stood her ground, stood up for herself to her own sister. she stood up for me so perfectly and beautifully.

2 is pleased and protected.

hot silent tears roll down my face as i type this. and i am temporarilly calmed. your apologies are sarcastic swords. your only defense is fire and pain. you bring up the past like it’s yours to play with. you bring it up when you know you’re wrong. you bring it up and you bring it up and you bring it up. you bring it up, not to discuss or inquire or heal. you bring up this thing, this weight, this pain and confusion like a punchline. you bring it up like it’s yours. you bring it up like it means nothing, and you bring it up because it means so much.

i have no words for you. you don’t listen. you twist. you pull, you fabricate, you blame. you divert, you deflect. you do not accept responsibility, you do not understand reality. explaining anything to you is like having a conversation with someone under water. i run out of air trying to get a word out. i drown trying to talk to you. your face flares with hatred and indignation. i choke on my own angry tears. i can’t get through the iron look on your face. i know that behind it is your own fear and pain, and i know it drives the firey snakes out of your mouth.

yes. i call you crazy. to your face. behind your back. because it’s the simplest and easiest way to describe you. it’s the easiest way to dismiss you. you call yourself crazy because it gives you an excuse to lash out this way.

i don’t stand up to you. when you’re wrong, i dismiss it. i let it go. conceeding to you is easier than trying to explain my side. (although hanging up on you is the shortest way to send you over the edge). these fights we have exhaust me. you don’t live in reality. visiting this dark and dangerous land of yours, this world where rules don’t apply is exhausting and threatens my sanity. these beasts and these cliffs and monsters you’ve taken years to create, this world of black clouds and dry cold winds. i can’t stand up to you in your world. gravity does not apply. love does not live here. words are twisted into arrows and shot back at me. the roads of lies crumble under my feet to reveal edges of cliffs. vines of thorns pull at my legs. your beasts fly overhead and breathe fire on me as you watch. i do not dare try to understand you, for fear that i will one day understand your world.

you chop my heart to bits every time.

your words, this pain you spread isn’t supposed to hurt if i dismiss you as crazy.

i would have stopped talking to you eons ago if it weren’t for them. i would have taken them years ago if i could.

you do not understand basic human dignity. and you do not understand being a sister.

i will never be you. i will never be you.

i would excommunicate you, as you so quickly and sarcastically suggested. i would, if it weren’t for them. knowing they live in your world breaks my heart, and is the only reason we have had any relationship in the past 14 years.

i will never be you. i will never be you.

you know what those words mean. you know how painful it all was. i’m only reminded of it when you throw it in my face. i’m reminded of all of it. all of it comes flooding back. by my own sister. so casual you treat it. so swift and heavy the blow.

so many years you could have been there for us. and you weren’t. you haven’t. and you never will be. our own sister. our big sister. the one who is supposed to protect us. that is the most painful of all.

i will never be you. i will never be you.

i walked around the corner, absentmindedly looking out the window to see how dark it was at 4:45. stupid time change. i thought to myself “you should look where you’re going. someone might be pushing a patient in a wheelchair. someone might be walking with a needle in their hand and accidentally stick you in the stomach with it. and no one’s going to believe you at first, because you always cry wolf.”

this converstation with myself took place within 7 seconds. i rounded another corner, and out jumped English. not with a loud BOO or anything, but enough to make me scream like a girl and bend over in a fit of giggles. for drama’s sake, i laid on the ground in a heap, just so she would feel sorry for scaring me.

English jokingly sang in her sing song english voice “code bluuuue…. code bluuuuuue!”, then “code greeeeen, code greeeeen!” and i called her a code green, yelling up at her from my lumped, giggling heap. i didn’t think anything of it, because how threatening and serious does it sound when English yells anything in that accent? not very.

i don’t know if you know this, but everyone in this hallway is a nurse or a doctor. i think there are about 12 nurses that have offices here in our department. one came out of her office, what is it? what’s wrong? is she okay? what happened? another one came around the corner, code blue? code blue? code blue where?

i’m fine, i’m fine, nothing to see here. this happens all the time.

English left a few minutes later. “by the way, yo, you scream like a little girl.”

so i stole all her pens.

sooo… i don’t watch it. but i like catching a glimpse every once in a while. i like watching the wife look at her husband, almost counting to 50 out loud, pursing her lips instead. i love how he looks at the interviewer silently begging for help with his eyes.

in last night’s episode (which was probably a rerun). they had taken ALL 8 CHILDREN to the dentist. AT. THE. SAME. TIME. i’m no mom. i don’t have to choose between career and kids. i don’t have to budget my time (i should, but i don’t). but wouldn’t it be easier to take them separately? or maybe it would be easier all at once.

my point is, the main attraction of last night’s show was the complete and utter meltdown one of the girls had in the dentist chair. she wouldn’t keep her mouth open. the poor dentist was trying to count her teeth, trying to squeeze the mirror tool in her mouth, trying to floss. the kid was screaming bloody murder. the mom was holding her hand, touching her face, stroking her hair, singing to her, asking her about Disneyland. in between screams, the little girl would answer her mom, then go back to screaming. i mean, SCREAMING.

my shoulders were tensing up. my jaw was clenching. then i realized, this scream fest is my entire inner monologue when i’m in the chair. this is my inner child! i am paralyzed with fear in that chair. i work myself into a frenzy the day of my appointment. seriously, i would rather have a pelvic exam than go to the dentist. not even kidding. i close my eyes so i don’t see the shiny tools. my hands go numb from clenching them. the dentist is always nice and friendly. i think he exhausts himself sometimes coming up with jokes. serious, it’s like the dentist show. he had the lidocaine qtip soaking my gum once, prepping it for the novocaine shot. he took it out of my mouth and i looked at him all scared. “i swallowed some.” he replied, “oh well, now you’re gonna die.” and i felt better. if you’re ever in the area, you should go see him. i’d name him here, but i’d hate for anyone to google him and get this blog. there is absolutely no reason at all for this fear of the dentist. i try to listen to the tv they tilt in front of my face to distract me (everyone gets their own flat screen tv). i choke/chuckle at his jokes. i try to convince the hygienist (with my eyebrows) that no, i’m not a republican, the dentist is saying that because i can’t defend myself. by the time i stand up, i’m exhausted. my teeth are clean and i need to sleep for a day. i don’t get a toy at the end of my appointment, but i get to pick on the staff a little bit.

so this girl is screaming, just having the worst time ever. then something magical happens…someone brings her pink blankie. her mom lays it over her chest, puts a corner in her hand…. and the screaming stops. she opens her mouth. the dentist can finish her work. not another peep came out of that little girl once she had her blankie. it was like moses came down and stopped niagra falls from falling. like if the middle east turned into bend, oregon with a snap of a finger. like when god said light and there was. like when ralph and sam the wolf and sheepdog are in the middle of their day and the red whistle blows and they stop beating each other up. like if in the middle of a sentence dubya started talking like he passed fingerpainting in kindergarten. MAGIC, i’m telling you.

i started thinking how wonderful it would be if i could have my blankie with me. i would lay back, and have my fluffy comforter over me. i might even fall asleep, that’s how comfortable i would be. yep, i’ll open my mouth. novocaine gun? bring it on. yes, you can pull that tooth. root canal? whatever, buddy. my mouth is your canvass. me and my inner child have our blankie.

i heard you have to blog on one subject for a month. one subject? do rants count as subjects? can i spend a month ranting? the rules are pretty vague, so i guess i could spend a month ranting. i haven’t officially signed up for this, but i think i might.

my subject that i will concentrate on is “quantity AND quality”. where i will blog daily about something that has weight, merit, truth, depth. and does not include pictures of lip gloss or the word “fart”.

can i start tomorrow? i’m on it. i think this is great. i’m on it. i challenge Miller and Work Wife. i’m not challenging you because you never blog. and i understand why you’re not blogging daily. even though you kind of already do.

check. i’m on it. quality and quantity. got it.

i got a hit this morning after midnight from a googler searching for “prius assholes”.

i went to vons. i had to get necessities. toilet paper and baby formula. it was going to be a quick in and out. 6 minutes MAX. i pick the quick lane. no old ladies rifling through indexed envelopes, no crazed mom fighting with four kids over who got what candy bar if any and you just wait till your father comes home jimmy put that soda back!

’cause it’s been a long day. it’s been a crazy week already. and i just left the dds who told me i might have to spend between oh…. $2,000 or $5,000 dollars. well, which is it, buddy? 2 grand or 5 grand?

i’m in line with my lactaid milk and loaf of bread. wait, i mean toilet paper and baby formula. i’m behind this girl that is maaaaaaybe 22. she has about five things on the conveyor belt. the checker looks like trevor clarke, but with a fatter nose. he and cute chick are flirting uncomfortably. she asked him to double check the price on her two boxes of pretzels. he says, and i’m not joking here “oh, the club price won’t be in effect until i hit the maaaaagic button and wave my magic waaaand,” and then he did a little jig.

i looked heavenward.

he pressed the magic button and nothing happened. he pulled up the receipt. he called the manager. she came over. manager went to check the pretzel aisle.

my ice cream was melting. i had almost finished my us weekly. wait, i mean the formula and toile–FINE, i had a bottle of wine and a snickers bar, okay? but it was still ONLY TWO ITEMS.

the people behind me had emptied their cart onto the conveyor belt behind me. the pretzel chick in front of me stage whispered to trevor, “i’m that chick in line that everyone hates.” only she didn’t look at me. trevor did. i looked away.

he looked at the people behind me “there’s no one in line over here,” and pointed to the chick next door, filing her nails and doing her taxes.

they say, “no, that’s okay, we already have our stuff unpacked.”

“iiiiii’ll go,” i huff. i grab my wine and snickers bar and make an exit. (my huff is here, and i’m leaving in it!)

trevor says, in a very snotty, very 12 year old girl way that made it seven syllables…

“ssssooo-rrr-yyyyy-yy.”

only he didn’t mean it. not one teeny bit. i bet they made fun of my dinner. oh yeah, well i had chinese food waiting in the car.

i’m a lady.

i got in line two, showed my id, paid, and was there to hear the manager come back and say, “looks like someone left an old price on the pretzels. void the whole transaction and give her a voucher. void. yes. code 014.”

i’ll void your voucher code 014.

this whole conversation was in that distracted half assed way that you don’t even realize you’re saying out loud.

work wife: i think you need to cut my hair.
me: when?
work wife: sometime this week.
me: is this your way of saying you wanna make cupcakes?
work wife (examining split ends): yes. but i decided that i’m not coming in on wednesday. if i can’t dress up, i say fook work, plus, i worked on saturday.
me: i think i need a hair cut, too. i think i want bangs.

work wife looks up from her split locks.

NO, you do NOT want bangs.

why?

because people with curly hair should never have bangs.

but they look really cute on katie. does she still have bangs? i don’t think she has bangs anymore.

no, you will be a MESS. you cannot EVER have bangs.

i’ll blow dry them every day. (okay, who am i kidding? i will never have katie holmes’ bangs. i will never spend three hours getting my bangs to do that. i used to spend soo much time in front of the mirror before school, drying and re-wetting my bangs. they never fell right. i wished for the days that i would have the guts to grow my bangs out and just have long straight hair. my inner child is throwing a tantrum.)

no, you will NOT. no matter how much blow drying or how much straight ironong you do, your bangs will never be perfect. they will always be off. TRUST me, i had bangs once and it was the most horrible 6 months of my ENTIRE. LIFE.

katie, anderson, brian… stay out with your horror stories. stay away. go sell evil somewhere else. there is good in this tragedy. there is lots of good.

stop telling us how lucky we were/are. stop telling us how close we came. we know. we were there. we ARE here.

go away. fly away in your plane with your blankets and laptops. go breathe your fresh air in new york.

go away. we will be fine. all of us.

wait… not you matt. you can visit our city. waaaaait!! come back!!

(although, this morning was the first time i heard anything about the middle east… no suicide bombings, no new threats this week…. i mean, until this morning…. condoleeza’s face was even a happy sight. seeing her angry face was reassuring…i could get other news besides the local fires)

but i don’t like smoke and ash filled sky. i don’t like it. it scares me and makes me sad.

imagine my glee when i left the office this afternoon and saw this:

yes, i did encounter this on my way home, but look how blue that sky is!!

yesterday on the way to paula’s house (west of where these pictures were taken), i took a picture of this sky below. newscasters are describing the sunsets as beautiful. it’s not.

okay, i will admit that the last picture there is kind of beautiful. keep in mind that these pictures were taken after the first couple of days, after the major ash was dissipating. dissapating? going away.

miller over here posted a few blogs about the fires. i’m too tired to do it myself, so check out her homework.

while we’re posting pics and all, here are some flowers some guy sent me.

and lots of this. tons of it. slathered on my face.

2. What was the first thought that went through your head when you met?
he is SOO obnoxious. i can totally be louder.

3. Do you remember what you or they were wearing?
maybe he was wearing a sweater? i might have been wearing a sweater. it was cold. long sleeves? definitely pants.

4. Where was the first time you kissed this person?
dan’s house. friday november 24, 2006. it might have been closer to saturday, though.

5. How did they ask you out (or you ask them out)?
we had a phone relationship for the first few months. i dared him to meet me in portland for thanksgiving.

6. Where did you go for your first date?
sushi in portland.

7. How long did you know this person before you became a couple?
i knew OF him for a few years before we became a couple. a few months after we started talking, he made it official.

8. Has this person ever proposed to you?
several times. we have agreed to live in sin forever and ever.

9. Do you and this person have kids together?
Nope. but i have an illegitimate un step daughter.

10. Have you ever broken the law with this person?
yeah, but, who hasn’t?

11. When was the first time you realized that you loved this person?
after a million tiny moments that piled on each other.

12. Who said I love you first?
he did. i was going to tell you the story, but i like it, so it’s ours.

whoa whoa whoa…. what happened to 13 through 15?

16. What is the best thing this person ever gave you?
a safety net. hands. hugs. sweet banter. a team mate. confidante. good times. a bond.

16a. what is the best thing this person ever took from you?
my love. not that he took it.

17. What is the most expensive thing this person bought for you?
a house.

18. What is the one thing this person does that gets on your nerves?
i can’t think of anything because i haven’t seen him in a long time. i know there’s something. but it’s something stupid.

19. What is the one thing you do that gets on their nerves?
i ask him what i want to order. i tell him to order for me because i can’t make up my mind. we’ll sit there in the restaurant, me pouting, saying “melissa would order for me!” he hates it. he won’ do it. that’s the most annoying thing.

20. Where do you see each other 15 years from now?
in the same state for more than six months.

i was hanging out with superman. we were in his airplane hangar that he called home. it overlooked the huge mountain by my house. it was night time, we were hanging out in his patio area in front of the hangar. big boulders, asteroids started coming down and hitting the mountain, starting fires. i was like, supe! supe! ya gotta get out there! we gotta help them! he’s standing there, drinking a cup of coffee all calm like and says “i loaned my cape out. i can’t fly without my cape.” loaned your cape out? what kinda super hero loans their cape out? we watch the boulder/astroids. one flies past my head.

so we went back inside the hangar. he’s like “okay, try to fly. you can fly if you reeeally want to.” i was like cool, yeah, i’ll try it! i start running around the hangar with a hand on my hip and my fist in the air, taking flying leaps, but not succeeding. he’s cheering me on, run faster! run faster! so i did. if i could….. just…. run….. faster. i gritted my teeth. i ran faster. i squeezed my fist harder in the air. i channeled more energy into my legs. i willllled them to propel me into the air.

i stopped, exhausted, and looked over at him.

he was doubled over giggling at me, at my attempts to fly. i looked at him.

“superman, you’re a dick.”

and then i woke up.

see… he is a betting man. not really for money, but for bragging rights. his team beat your team, you’re a loser, you owe me beer for a week kind of thing.

he called me early last week saying that he and his friend mark were (drunkly) thinking about making a bet. if cal went undefeated for the whole football season, mark would have to get a tattoo of the cal bear on his shoulder. if some other team won something else, boyfriend would have to get a tattoo of the st. louis cardinal on his shoulder. i chuckled. hahaha. that’s funny. we hung up.

next day i started thinking…. a red bird on his shoulder. he would never see the stupid bird. I would see it. a stupid red bird, laughing at me for. ev. er.

i called him back (i did mention the long distance thing, right?). “you’re never going to see the bird. i’m going to see the bird every morning, every day forever. why am i the one being punished? i don’t want to see the stupid bird every day! call off the bet. no way. get out of it.”

“but wouldn’t it be funny to see the cal bear on mark’s shoulder?”

“i’ll tell you what… if you lose this bet and get a tattoo of a stupid red bird on your shoulder… i’m getting the yankees logo tattooed on the back of my neck.” harsher words were never spoken between us.

whoa. silence there. he hung up on me!

he called back “okay, haha. that was funny. mark and i haven’t bet anything yet.”

“bet whatever you want. you get a stupid bird tattoo and i’m getting the yankees.”

as you may or may not know, cal lost this weekend to the oregon beavers. boyfriend assured me that the bet was changed to a cardinal’s hat for a year. i’m like, fine. you’ll be in oklahoma until like, what, may? july? i can live with that.

we started talking about christmas today. he’s flying out here for winter break. he mentioned having to go shopping for the cardinals hat. i asked him if he would be wearing the hat while he’s in california.

“well, yeah. i can’t welch on a bet.”

“you’re going to wear that stupid hat while you’re in california?”

“baby, it’s the bet, that’s what the bet is. for a year.”

i’m going shopping tomorrow for a yankees hat. at least it’s not a tatoo.

here is the latest im between work wife and i.

work wife says (1:48 PM):I LOVE WATERMELON!
Frazzled Girl Genius (me) says (1:48 PM):it’s HERE!!!
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:48 PM):the watermelon slash grape soda combo is fabooo
work wife says (1:48 PM):hahahhahahahahh I loveeee it
work wife says (1:48 PM):I have to pee
work wife says (1:48 PM):brb
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):i haven’t tried it with the watermelon slash grape soda slash *sugar wafer combo
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):but i will right now.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):hold please
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):hmmmmm
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):adds a touch of sophistication.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):the fruitiness seems a bit childish, but once you add the sugar wafer…. i feel like a grown up.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:49 PM):with grease on my lips.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:50 PM):strangely satisfying.
work wife says (1:53 PM):hahhahaha I lovvvvvvvve you
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:54 PM):come over.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:54 PM):try some combos
work wife says (1:55 PM):I will later my love.
work wife says (1:55 PM):sugar wafer sounds fabulous
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:55 PM):that’s what you’ve been using.
work wife says (1:55 PM):I am wearing water melon righ tnow
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:55 PM):are you really?!
work wife says (1:55 PM):oh right
work wife says (1:55 PM):yes
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:55 PM):from bath and body works?
work wife says (1:55 PM):it comes in a can
work wife says (1:55 PM):nope
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:55 PM):what. a can.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:55 PM):oh.
Frazzled Girl Genius says (1:55 PM):you mean dainty tin, right?
work wife says (1:55 PM):oral labs liprageous gloss
work wife says (1:55 PM):hahahhahahahhaha
work wife says (1:55 PM):oral labs
work wife says (1:55 PM):that’s funny
work wife says (1:56 PM):a dainty tin yes

i was going to be artistic and post a picture of lip gloss here, but this is my heaven. this google page is my heaven.

*apparently the sugar wafer lip gloss is only available through ebay or amazon.com marketplace. soo… the only place to get this combo is in my office. please, appointments only.

this post was spawned after an evening out with someone who lectured me on my beliefs. she stood her ground and believed i should change my stance. she was 22. i was 28.

I feel I should speak on this subject. I haven’t spoken on this subject and it is what makes me who I am. This is my being, my jokes, my broken hearts, my laughing out louds. It took a long time for me to check that Atheist box on my myspace profile. I didn’t do it out of spite or out of spontenaity. I. Do. Not. Believe. In. God. I don’t. I believe in evolution. I believe in learning, in knowledge. I believe in giving myself entirely to someone, to my friends, to my family. I believe in accountability for one’s actions. I believe in doing one thing and expecting the same in return. I do not. I do NOT believe in lying to someone, lying to your face and confessing to a man behind a screen once a week and all of a sudden being forgiven for a sin you will never know I commit. I’ve done horrible things to you in the name of a good time, in the name of selfishness and greed. And you–you–know about all of it.

I believe in accountability. I believe that I am responsible to you, and you are responsible to me. I believe that if you tell me one thing, you’d better fucking stand behind it. I will stand behind what I tell you, what I do with all of my being. I’d like to believe that there is one grand being behind all of this. I’d like to leave my relationships up to one imaginary, ghostly person to decide. One person who I have never seen. I’d love to believe in that. I do mock you. I do. The same way you mock people like me; in the way I stand on this side of the road and you stand on the other side.

I believe that I make my dreams, I am my loves, I am my responsibilities, I am my truths, my accountabilities, my friends, my family. I am my life. My life and yours. I am responsible for me, and I am responsible for you. I will never tell you that god made me do it. I will never blame god for anything that I stood up and did. Some of you will read this and blow it off. You’ll blow all of this off because you know how religious I grew up, how strict. How “godly” I lived and this is my way of rebelling. If you believe there is a god, then you will know that he had this “plan” for me. God made me responsible for myself. If there is a god, and if you believe in him, this is how he made me.

I have no excuses for me. I am me. I love, I hate, I fuck, I laugh, oh, I cry, I bleed, I hug, I torture, I walk, I learn, I help, I live, I embrace. I do not blame or excuse god or myself for anything. I’d love to believe in fantasies, in the easy way. But fuck that. There is no easy way. You do it. You make it. I believe that greatness happens to someone who makes it for themselves and those we love. You tell me god is all around. You tell me you feel him, that you see him in your life, in your being, you pray to him. I say good for you. That works for you. I respect you for your passion and belief.

This is what I believe. I believe you make your god. You make your truths, your loves, your life, your responsibilities and accountabilities. You make it. I make it. I’ve made it. Don’t lecture me. This is what I believe. This god you feel around you, I see it every day in my life, in my friends I would die for, the people I live for. Is that god?

gross.

oh, but so good. stupid garlic, you dirty dirty WHORE.

goofey the vampire slayer? got anyone you can’t get rid of? spike. where’s spike? i’ll make out with him and kill him.

wanna come over and hang out?

ugh. i can’t GET RID OF THIS SMELL. and this smell is ME.

hey, what’s that? it smells like alkeeyyyhall kills it. hhhmmmm… come over here you little big gulp of wine.

me neither. but in the off chance that you see these cheese fries before you, and you see those tiny slivers of garlic on the plate, and they taste so good in your mouth….

don’t eat a bunch of it just because someone dares you to eat it. you will wake up choking on a mouth packed full of garlic shit paste. and i’m sure i will wake up next to a pizza in the morning. i mean you will wake up with the pizza thing.

mmmmm…. piiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaa…. with garlic. and peperoni….

NO! just say no. like that tanqueray guy says… something blah blah blah schmoderationblah blah?

ohhhh, garlique….how i love theeeeee…..

ron’s a jovial guy. i think it’s the marketing in him. orange is the same way, but worse.

ron: yolanda!! how’s the data coming!
me: good, data is good.
ron: have you met the ceo?
me: i’ve heard something about him, hi.
ron: yolanda’s the data analyst.
ceo: ahhh… the data guru!
me: yep, i’m the data person.
ron: i have to tell you how much we love those drg reports. and how excited we are to see the new ones.
ceo: yes. data makes me very excited. call me sick, but i get excited about data.
me: yeah. data.

i was half asleep, groggy, slow. i’m not having a good hair day. hopefully this just added to my data guru authenticity. i can imagine their conversation on the way back to their office.

ceo: she seems really smart, very into her work.
ron: yes, a bit quirky, but very smart.
ceo: not much for conversation.
ron: no. but those reports!

later on in the afternoon, i heard peggy across the hall leave her office.

me: peggy!! come do my reports!
peggy: no!! is it that time of the month already?
me: haha! a data joke! you’re funny, i like you.
peggy: i’ll trade you the 15 charts in my office.
me: no!

me: so when you log in–
her: i see all the information i need
me: no, you have to do a search based on–
her: the email that laura sent me
me: no, the identification number at the top of this form.
her: so if i don’t see an identification number i don’t need to do anything?
me: no. if someone tells you to follow up–
her: that’s when i close it.
me: (ugh) yes.

her: i didn’t get my password, i never got my password. where does my password come from? did you send me this email? how do i follow up on this? why did laura send me this email?
me: you should have received your password, i’ll reset it right now.
her: so i’ll get an email from you.
me: no. it’ll come from the system administration email address.
her: so what do i do with this? (holds out a print out of basic information) why did laura send me this email?
me: laura didn’t send you the email. the system was notifying you that an event had been entered.
her: so what do i do with this? how do i follow up on this? (still holding the print out of basic information with two hands, at my eye level)
me: you don’t do anything with it unless someone tells you to follow up on it. i’m just giving you access to everything, in case someone asks you to follow up on anything (i start deleting her access, forget ease of use for me or my bosses).
her: ooohhhh… so you’re sending me my number?
me: (what?) yes, your number is on its way.

did NO ONE pay attention during training?

i have an angry side. few people know this fact, fewer people have seen it. words i don’t even know exist pour from my mouth like a symphony of fire. sometimes i get on my tiptoes. my finger waves from clenched fist like a gnarled wand in a witch’s hand. my jugular veins pound with blood, my neck threatening to explode, taking my head with it; my mouth still spewing what i believe is right while sitting neckless on the ground.

coming down from my crimson perch of rage is like waking up after crying yourself to sleep. it’s an exhausted hiccoughy feeling. the kind that needs a nap and a grilled cheese sandwich, a blankie and a story.

see? wow. like this post. i was full of injustices to rant about. what happened? i got lost in the words. this was only a preface.

life, it moves on. oooo…. something shiny.

this past friday was one of my most favorite weather days in a looong time. the air was crisp, it had rained. the clouds were gray and puffy and made the sky that much bluer with their contrast. i woke up late. i got coffee. i watched the news. i read a book and dozed. i picked up my jeans from my sister’s office. not that i went pantsless in her office. ever. what?! i didn’t!

then i went to get my oil changed.

i’ve taken my car to the same econolube or whatever in clairemont since i bought it last year. every time the price is different. i’ve never left without spending less than $8,000. the first time i was there they quoted me a price of $450,000 to flush the radiator, new air filters, transmission tweak, your basic 60k mile checkup. i bought it with 59k miles on it. i figured my dealer had done all that, it being a honda and all. i was pissed at the dealer and pissed at the lube place. so i said just give me the air filters and the oil.

next time i went, i was prepared to spend about $40,000 for the whole tune up shebang. $32. $32? for the transmission tweak and the flux capacitor caps? really? cool. you got a deal. what happened to the $40,000? i’m definitely getting screwed.

i went back this friday, not remembering the hassle i go through every time. $32 for an oil change, that’s all it would be. that’s all i would stand for. i had my transmission transmitted, my flux capacitor light wasn’t lit. i was on a roll. 32 bones. 32 bones. i love my car. la la la.

i wait, i wait. i read my book, i drink my iced tea.

“yolanda?”

“that’s me!”

he takes me over to my car. the hood is up, the air filters are sitting pretty on the engine. caps are off, tubes are exposed. do i need a mask for this? gloves? a dosimeter? please don’t sell me more air filters.

“okay, what we have here is your engine. it looks like from your records that you had the transmission blah blah last time you were here.”

“transmission? i thought i had the radiator replaced.”

“no, your radiator was never replaced.”

“oh.”

“your coolant is very low, your windshield wiper fluid needs to be flushed and replaced, your air filters are fine, and you should probably have your fuel injection flushed.”

all i’m hearing is cha-ching cha-ching cha-chings in my head. it’s hard to hear what he’s saying. my bullshit meter is overloading.

“you see, when the germans invaded canada in 1963…”

what? the who did what?

“…and made the canadians kidnap japanese via underground tunnels, the japanese brought their car design expertise to canada. that’s where they invented the fuel filter. later models of the civic, which you have, don’t have fuel filters. they have fuel injectors. which need to be replaced.”

“now, according to your records, you get your oil changed about once every 9,000 miles (it’s true). what we can do to help you is give you synthetic oil. it’s more expensive, about $6,700, but it will get you to 6,000 miles instead of the 3,000 miles. synthetic oil is better. it’s made from baby sea lions.”

“just give me a dollar amount. how much for everything and how much for the cheap oil.”

“you’re making me feel bad. i like to explain things to people, where their parts come from, how it all works.”

“that’s nice, but just give me the total.”

he brings up a computer screen. “this is how much the coolant flush will cost. this is how much the fuel injection clean will be. this is how much the flux capacitor cap is. this is how much the synthetic oil will be, and this is for us to purify your windshield wiper fluid. this is your total.” he points to a number that looks something like $36,000.

“no. no way. no way am i paying $36,000 today. give me a total for the fuel injection thingie and the cheap oil.”

he chuckles. punches more numbers, deletes some lines. $20,009. i feel like i’m back in sam’s office at pacific honda. holding out my pay stubs, promising my first born, telling him he wasn’t going to get more than $15,000 as a down payment for a car that cost $13,000.

“now here’s your total. but if you’re going to get anything done today, i highly recommend the synthetic oil and the coolant flush.”

“alright. give me a total for the fancy oil and the coolant flush.”

punches more numbers. i’m mad. i hate getting this done. i forget every time how much i hate getting this done. i feel like i’m being taken advantage of every time. waitaminute….only deloreans have flux capacitors. good thing i didn’t fall for that one. god, will he charge me to remove the banana from the tailpipe? are there holes in the muffler from a dancing unicorn? what if i don’t get the windshield wiper fluid flushed out and replaced? boyfriend is definitely taking it in next time. even if he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, he has a penis and maybe they won’t bullshit him. oh, penis.

“$123,000.”

“done.”

once it’s finished i get my keys. the mechanic hollers at me from across the garage, “come back in 6,000 miles!!”

“no way! i have baby sea lion oil! i’ll be back in 12,000 miles!”

it’s like driving a new car, every time i get my oil changed. i love driving it. i love the clean car smell. i love an un dusty dashboard, clean windows. i forget about the hassle of getting an oil change. i can see the clean sky and thick clouds. i feel grown up and responsible.

my sister says i don’t need the fancy oil. my cousin says i don’t ever need anything they tell me i need. my boyfriend and sister both agree that the other stuff needs to get done.

and that’s how i spent a yolandaful friday.

wine place: local sd wine bar. trendy, new, great food, great wine flights.
john and martha: husband and wife. co-own the wine place.
mario: my coworker. 55-ish. married with one son in college and the other in high school.

i don’t know how mario met martha and john. mario introduced me to the wine place early last year. he introduced me as his girlfriend, as a joke, to martha. she’s given me the stink eye ever since. no, it’s not imagined. every time i show up with mario, she has to mention his wife. she either gives me the stink eye or ignores me completely. i mean, completely. she won’t say hi to me when we walk in, won’t say goodbye when we leave. UNLESS mario is not with our group. in which case she will ask about him at least 20 times during our stay, and call his cell phone from my cell phone at least three times during our stay. while i’m eating. with my friends.

there was one time a bunch of us (and mario) went to the wine place. my then roommate was with us. during the evening, i went to the bar to get a refill. martha asked me how my boyfriend was. i was single at the time. i looked at her and asked “what boyfriend?”, she said “the guy you’re with. mario said he was your boyfriend.” i replied “oh, he’s not my boyfriend. he’s my roommate!” her face turned to stone. i realized mario had given me an in with martha. “well, he clearly said he was your boyfriend.” dammit. she was being nice to me. and i fooked it all up.

there are many reasons the wine place isn’t a weekly or even monthly outing. parking at the wine place is difficult, to say the least. i once circled seven times and gave up for another watering hole. all of us live at least 25 minutes away from the wine place. quite a drive any other night, not to mention after–ahem–a hearty dinner?

yesterday was the first time mario had been there since i think october of last year. i had been there several times since, every time they asked where mario was, asked how work was, and were generally nice people. aside from the irritatingness.

we walk in. mario gets the “NORM!” welcome complete with hugs and kisses and rose petals thrown at his feet. they hand him babies to kiss and virgins to deflower. i resign myself to the bar where i am poured a nice glass. mario gets the tour of the place from martha. i’m thinking, great, i’m the third wheel. this is lame. oh well, i’ll just stand here at the bar. martha tells mario that she has some people she’d like him to meet. they’re sitting at a table near the fireplace. there’s room for about four people comfortably. she squishes two more chairs in. there are three men at the table, about 40 years old. mario asks where i want to sit. it’s a nice night, i say outside. martha has other ideas.

“yolanda, i’d like you and mario to sit here.”

we’re led to the table. there are three seats available. i head toward the two empty chairs next to each other. she grabs my elbow.

“no no. mario will sit there, i would like you to sit here.”

what are we, five? are we playing duck duck goose?

i sit down with my glass of wine. not interested in making small talk with strangers. a glass of wine with no forced conversation after a long day is all i had in mind. i don’t want to be witty, i don’t want to listen to small talk. hey, my keen shoes are really cute, i think to myself.

guy 1 is to my left, guy 2 is to my right. martha sat me right between them. they’re magoos. probably nice people, but small talk is definitely on the menu.

guy 1: so, are you an anesthesiologist, too?
me: a what?
guy 1: martha said mario was an anesthesiologist.
he’s an anesthesiologist? i try to remember. i’ve never seen him with a surgical mask.
me (remembering): oh! anesthesiologist. no. i’m not an anesthesiologist.
guy 1 and guy 2 laugh.
me: i’m a neurologist. my parents are very proud. (yes, i really did say that.)
laughs all around. i’m already bored.

guy 1 pulls out his phone. some kind of blackberry. he starts pressing buttons and tells everyone how much he likes it. i’m reeeeally bored now. martha grabbed mario and they headed outside to the patio. wait! i call to mario in my head. waaaaait! don’t leave me here with these guys! an idea starts forming in my head. was martha setting me up? was she getting me out of mario’s hair so i wouldn’t be “tempted”? i sit back in my chair. seething, wondering what to do. i have a boyfriend. i just want to drink my wine in peace. i don’t need to play the dating game. i don’t want to play the dating game. did i really used to do this? feign interest and laugh at things i didn’t think were funny? no wonder bf is bf. i hated him when i first met him.

i turn my head to the blackberry show.

guy 1: it’s in color. look at that screen. it’s all in color.
guy 2: does it have a camera?
guy 1: yeah, and it’s a phone.
guy 2 and 3 (who has just sit down): oooooh.
guy 1: i just downloaded the coolest app today.
inner yo: cool, tetris?
guy 1 (pressing buttons): google maps. have you heard of google?
inner yo: you can’t be serious. martha is setting you up. you are on a date.
other inner yo: no way. i have a boyfriend. no way am i on a date with three guys.
guy 1: i can see where we are. look, it’s a map of where we are. right there, on my phone. i can go to sattelite pictures. look, the actual street. i can see streets in london. anywhere in the world. on my phone.
inner yo: definitely set you up.
other inner yo: fuck.

i keep glancing outside. mario will come back.

guy 1 launches into what is clearly a jeff story. it’s his version of the hiking through barcelona story from friends. this guy has told this story a million times before. somewhere on this planet there are three people who have memorized this story and can recite it behind his back.

something about the navy. something about taking off in a plane. i am not sitting through this. can i spill something on me and go to the bathroom? i look outside. mario and martha are back! i get up, i don’t say goodbye, i don’t say nice to meet you. i get my glass of wine and i go outside. because i don’t need to apologize. because i have a boyfriend and i am not in the game. because i’m 30 and don’t have to sit through crap i don’t want to sit through. martha gives me the stinkeye as i stand next to mario. then she looks away. was that a glance of disgust?

martha to mario: how’s lola? where’s lola? you two should come in on monday. (to me) put it on his calendar, would you? (i used to have access to his calendar. not anymore, though. i don’t share this with martha. i doubt she cares.) have you met his wife lola? do you know mario’s married?

i’m kidding about the last part. i told mario the next time we went there i would wear a ring. a fucking ring on my fucking wedding finger. maybe then she would be nice.

he said, yeah right. i’ll tell her i bought you the ring!

i’ve decided to do the boyfriend test when he’s in town. maybe she’ll offer us virgins to deflower. maybe she’ll be nicer to me. maybe she won’t mention mario 87 times. or maybe she’ll ignore me completely. maybe she’ll flirt with my boyfriend. i think first the ring test, then the boyfriend test.

there’s the one i was born with. the one i saw at birthdays and christmases and weekends and school plays. anniversaries, just becauses, reunions, and thanksgivings. sleep-overs, backyards, beach gang time, movies, and when my mom just “needed a break”. the one i came back to and held me.

there’s the one that we don’t speak of. the one with meetings and prunings, group discussions about children’s discipline. the one that shunned birthdays and thanksgivings and school plays (shun is too gentle a word). the one that demanded time and money and the death of your soul, the death of independent thought and the crushing of independent worth. the one that claimed family but would leave you in the cold and the dark. the one that amputated families.

then there’s the one i made for myself without realizing it. the one with shoulders and hands and arms. the unconditional kind that i didn’t think was possible. the one of people that aren’t required by last name or family tree to be there, but choose to be there. every day. the one i go to to laugh, to cry, to vent, to drink, to love and be loved. the one i don’t have to remember to bring a gift to. the just because one. the one i would fight for. the one i fight with. i don’t fight with my other families. this family will be there no matter what. this is the one that is there after a fight, for a fight, that is always in my corner. the one that tells me how it is, even when i don’t want to hear it. the one that tells me when i’m crazy or when i’m right.

you are

better than and not in the sorry for way.
better than the most you could ever dream of.
better than the thing you most fear.
better than that which you dread.
as good as the greatest you could never imagine.

you are

as perfect as the dreams you will realize.
as comforting as the fireside s’mores.

as strong as i don’t pity you.
as strong as the foundation you built and stand on.

you are

the flesh that you think you’re dying in.
and the muscles, power, beauty, raw power
the bones, the strength, the grit and love.

you are.

in no particular order, my top five most memorable nights.
solo camping trip/blair witch girls only camping trip (that should be a blog all its own with a little help from this one)
my name in lights
(this list is already boring me)
september 10
wendy dinner
pizza and godzilla night

soooo… there you have it. my top five most memorable nights. which isn’t even the funnest nights or sweetest nights or craziest nights. i don’t do well under pressure. work wife, i hope you’re happy.

at starbucks:
your name?
yolanda.
excuse me?
rachel.
RITA! REDUCED FAT TURKEY BACON SANDWICH FOR RITA!!!

with printing company:
wanda?
no, yolanda.
rhonda?
yyyooolllaaannnddaaa.

tech support:
can i have your full name?
yolanda barron.
joanna?
yyyooolllaaaaannnddaaaa.
okay, and your last name was dabarron or dobarron?

cast of characters:
workwife~self explanatory
yeb~self explanatory
don~overzealous marketing director who believes rabbits appear out of thin air instead of a well-placed hidden nook in the hat. too busy to make rabbits appear out of thin air as promised and instead finds young, charming, brilliant, beautiful women (workwife and me) to find ways to actually create rabbits out of thin air. come to think of it, i would like to see don’s face when he saw a rabbit pop out of a hat. i bet he would jump in his seat and clap his hands, his eyes beaming with astonishment.
harris~hospital ceo
goofey~mr. universe in his own head. workwife’s work husband.

workwife says:
so
workwife says:
don wants to hold a pep rally
yeb says:
shut UP
yeb says:
that’s ridiculous. a pep rally? is he serious?
yeb says:
he’s deranged.
yeb says:
delusional.
yeb says:
who’s going to be our mascot?
yeb says:
he’ll make you be the mascot.
workwife says:
no.
workwife says:
I’m the head cheerleader
yeb says:
yep
workwife says:
duh
yeb says:
AND the mascot.
workwife says:
hahahhaaha okay fine!
workwife says:
I’ll be the effing mascot
yeb says:
good.
yeb says:
a PEP rally?
workwife says:
the alvarado armadillos!
yeb says:
he’s not serious.
workwife says:
go team
yeb says:
HAHAHAHAA!!!
workwife says:
HE IS SERIOUS
workwife says:
he wanted to have one.
workwife says:
in the lobby
workwife says:
for the people who won
yeb says:
WHAT?
workwife says:
and he wanted everyone to be there.
workwife says:
he’s all.. but… I don’t know if it will happen. harris was kind of luke warm on it.
workwife says:
oy
yeb says:
like this?
workwife says:
hahahhahah YES
workwife says:
you are so funny
workwife says:
send that to goofey
workwife says:
hahahhaha

i always knew she had ballz. convincing her of this fact has been a struggle. today, this morning, she realized how big her ballz were. she stood up for herself. she confronted a situation that a woman with no ballz would have ignored. she demanded answers, demanded respect, demanded the truth. she got all of it, like the lady she is.

and i couldn’t be more proud of her.

the story started waaayy before we even heard about the broken ‘gina. like two weeks before, when bumble had her baby.

i’m not big on doing stuff after work unless it means buying wine and peanuts (a story for another post), getting target drunk (i took an aa test and it told me i was not a targeholic, for anyone who’s worried), getting contact highs, or doing laundry. what would we talk about? work wife and i have never been pregnant or given birth. we didn’t know what the current opinion was on diapers vs — is there a vs? see? we just didn’t know. how long would we be there? would i miss my show? did bumble even want us there? was she inviting us to be nice but hoped we wouldn’t show up loud and obnoxious and break lamps and drop things? was she even inviting us? i didn’t know she gave birth until mini gia asked two days after the fact. bumble had been pregnant or been trying to get pregnant for almost two years. which in itself should have been enough (besides the fact that we love bumble and she’s our friend) to drag our sorry selfish lazy asses to ib.

work wife called bumble on thursday, a week and a few days after she gave birth. no answer. no response, no text, no email, nothing. what, did bumble have more important things to do besides talk to us all day? was she like, trying to keep an entire human alive and nurture it or something? talk about selfish.

i go home, i settle in (running shorts, tank top, and a.c.), and laze about. i get a phone call from an odd number, ignore it, and it left voicemail. someone i hardly ever talk to, but who is the mother figure for the hr department. the top of the phone tree regarding anything that bumble had ever gone through during the past few years. i called her back, talked to mama bear.  the first thing she said was “bumble’s fine, bumble’s in the hospital, do you have mini gia’s phone number? call bumble, she wants to talk to you.”

sheisten. she was in the hospital and i was skipping hand in hand with work wife down the hot path toward hell. we had front row seats to whatever shows they put on there.

here are the highlights to my conversation with bumble:

4th degree tear while giving birth
stitched up wrong
two areas became one
massive bleeding in all areas crotch related
stitched back up (by same doctor, by the way)
if infected, will have to have stitches removed and area left open for four to six weeks

each of those words should hit your chest like an ACME anvil.

that sealed the deal. work wife and i were definitely going to hell. we’re complaining about wanting to go to the pool and watch tv and laze about while bumble had her ‘gina in a sling. we promised to show up the next day after work. as a team. because we couldn’t see a broken ‘gina or hear the horror of it all without the other one.

friday after work i went to this new wine place. tres cute. good wine, good company. i had enough time to go home, change, pick up work wife, and drive to balboa hospital to see bumble.

it helped that i was a little tipsy

her ‘gina was