Me (having just come home from work): "Have you ever really listened to "American Pie?" If you really listen to the lyrics that song really makes no sense."
James (playing World of Warcraft): "You've mentioned that before."
Me: "It was playing on the radio on my way home. That song can start right as I am leaving work and I can get almost all the way home before it ends."
James: "You've mentioned that before too."
Me: "I'm probably going to mention this every time I hear it on my way home because every time it is going to take up the majority of my commute and I'm still going to wonder where in the Hell he is going with it."
James: "Good to know."
Of course, he died not long after that exchange so he has been spared of having to listen to me wonder yet again where Don McLean was going with "American Pie." My dad, who was a fan of the song, died before I ever really listened to the lyrics, so he was spared of ever having to have this conversation with me. That would have been a good conversation. Dad probably would have just made a bunch of stuff up and I probably would have seen his point and believed him. Being the gullible Daddy's girl that I was, I pretty much believed anything he said that made sense. (This is probably why it's a good thing I don't have kids. Although it would be fun to mess with their heads).
Several months ago, "American Pie" came on the radio while I was volunteering. Volunteer Guy grew up listening to this sort of music so he was familiar with it. I asked if he had ever really listened to it, mentioning of course that if you really listen to it, it really doesn't make sense. (New person to have this conversation with. Yes!!) This led to a dissection of the song and what the various lines were alleged to stand for. Then we had to Google rye to clarify "drinking whiskey and rye" as we both knew alcohol is made from grains, but associate rye with bread. This led to me asking what the chief economic industry in Montana is. (He's from Montana). He thought it was tourism, thanks to Glacier National Park. I thought it was sheep, thanks to all the Montana sheep jokes. It's agriculture and tourism.
I'm not really sure where I am going with this or why I felt compelled to write about it at all, other than to preserve the memory of that conversation with James as I can picture it so clearly. I was standing just inside the office; he was sitting where I sit now. It does seem a bit fitting, however, to not really have a point in a post about a song that to me makes no sense at all.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Juvenile antics
One day when I was 10 or so my friend and I got this great idea to prank call someone. We decided we would find someone in the phone book whose name sounded like it would belong to an old lady and one of us would call and using a baby voice would ask if she was our grandma. This entertained us for a few phone calls until one of her parents came home and we had to find something else to do. Of course, we never did find our grandma, but my friend did find someone who was willing to be a surrogate.
In high school, another friend and I were bored one night and decided to come up with a survey and call people pretending to be telemarketers. Our survey had about 10 questions and "do you have a toaster?" was asked several times. We thought it was funny. Some of our callers figured out it was us, some went along with us, and some just got annoyed and hung up.
Nowadays, it isn't as easy to make prank calls with technology being what it is and all. Caller ID, blocked number rejection and *69 have really taken the fun out of things. But last night I was introduced to something even more fun and equally juvenile.
One of the co-founders of the fun Meetup group (MU-T) posted a "mystery event" and dinner for last night. Intrigued (and no longer "grounded" since I filed my taxes), I signed up for it. All I knew was that I needed to meet on the steps of one of the branches of the library at 5:00 with $5.00 for supplies and the names and addresses of five family members or friends. Knowing that MU-T makes cards, I figured that is what we were going to be doing. I was wrong.
There ended up only being 3 of us for this event. MU-T, myself and another girl who I had not met before but who I thought was pretty cool. We left the library and went about a block north to a little card shop that is very much in line with the "Keep Portland Weird" theme. (I should have looked to see if they had the "Keep Vancouver Normal" bumper sticker. I need to get one of those). MU-T tends to wear novelty t-shirts to our more athletic events and I pointed out one that I thought he would like. We looked those over and I pointed out a couple I thought were funny, in particular the one that said "If you don't talk to your cat about catnip, who will?" (that still cracks me up. And I don't even have a cat), which gave him some insight into my sense of humor-and that I actually have one. We did have a mission to complete at this store, which was that each of us was to buy 3 random, creative and/or funny postcards.
After we left the store, we went to a little restaurant across the street from the library. Once seated, we were told to get out our address lists and hand them to the person sitting next to us. New Girl got my list; I got MU-T's. From the list of names, we were to pick three to address and send the post cards we picked out to. The list I got from MU-T only had 3 names on it: a college friend and her husband, his ex-wife and the other co-founder of the Meetup group, MU-D, who I have mentioned in previous blog posts.
It was a fun exercise in creative writing. We were allowed to ask questions about the people on the list so we could personalize our messages. My brother and my friend are going to know I am somehow behind their postcards. I would love to be a fly on the wall when my mother gets hers. I told New Girl I could see it going down like this: "I got the strangest post card in the mail the other day from someone pretending to be Jerry Springer. I always thought it was the KKK Grand Wizard, not the Grand Wizard of the KKK." We also got to pick which post cards were going to which of our people, so I picked out the beat up, thumbs up Jerry Springer card to go to my mom. My brother is getting the one with a baby standing between sleeping polar bears and my friend is getting one with a girl sitting in front of two zombies. I told MU-T that I thought it was telling he chose the post card with the radiator shaped cow on it for me to send to his ex-wife.
As we were filling out our cards, I asked MU-T for more information about MU-D. (A-I will have more time to blog when he gets my post card and I get kicked out of the group). I don't know him that well and they have been friends for about 6 years now. I ended up with some insight about both of them that I found interesting and intriguing. Some of what I learned about the two of them if I would have been asked do you think this is more like MU-T or MU-D, I would have gotten backwards. I also learned that MU-D has told MU-T my story so he knows about James. I have actually wondered about that. And I learned that MU-D was quite impressed with me when he first met me. Not attracted-but impressed with what I had been through and the strength I possessed. MU-T had a hard time finding the right way to say what he was trying to convey-I think he may have been trying to choose his words carefully with a newcomer at the table-so at first I wasn't really sure what to make of what he was trying to tell me but I could tell it was meant to be a good thing.
After we finished with our cards and had a good laugh over what we all wrote on them, we headed out. New Girl was parked nearby and we said our good-byes to her and kept walking towards the garage where I was parked. As we were walking MU-T told me he had definitely enjoyed getting to know me better during the event. I told him I was thinking he wouldn't let me come to anymore of his events (hello, insecure much?) but he said that now he would probably invite me to more. That was nice to hear. I told him that I am a lot more open now and a big part of that was because after James died, I just stopped giving a shit. I told him the way I see it, I can't lose anymore than what I have already lost. I have to admit, trying not to care so much what others think is more than a little freeing and something I have definitely taken from James.
I have been so down and stressed out lately and today I woke up feeling a lot better. Who would have guessed that all I needed to cheer me up was a night of juvenile antics? (And a nice hug).
In high school, another friend and I were bored one night and decided to come up with a survey and call people pretending to be telemarketers. Our survey had about 10 questions and "do you have a toaster?" was asked several times. We thought it was funny. Some of our callers figured out it was us, some went along with us, and some just got annoyed and hung up.
Nowadays, it isn't as easy to make prank calls with technology being what it is and all. Caller ID, blocked number rejection and *69 have really taken the fun out of things. But last night I was introduced to something even more fun and equally juvenile.
One of the co-founders of the fun Meetup group (MU-T) posted a "mystery event" and dinner for last night. Intrigued (and no longer "grounded" since I filed my taxes), I signed up for it. All I knew was that I needed to meet on the steps of one of the branches of the library at 5:00 with $5.00 for supplies and the names and addresses of five family members or friends. Knowing that MU-T makes cards, I figured that is what we were going to be doing. I was wrong.
There ended up only being 3 of us for this event. MU-T, myself and another girl who I had not met before but who I thought was pretty cool. We left the library and went about a block north to a little card shop that is very much in line with the "Keep Portland Weird" theme. (I should have looked to see if they had the "Keep Vancouver Normal" bumper sticker. I need to get one of those). MU-T tends to wear novelty t-shirts to our more athletic events and I pointed out one that I thought he would like. We looked those over and I pointed out a couple I thought were funny, in particular the one that said "If you don't talk to your cat about catnip, who will?" (that still cracks me up. And I don't even have a cat), which gave him some insight into my sense of humor-and that I actually have one. We did have a mission to complete at this store, which was that each of us was to buy 3 random, creative and/or funny postcards.
After we left the store, we went to a little restaurant across the street from the library. Once seated, we were told to get out our address lists and hand them to the person sitting next to us. New Girl got my list; I got MU-T's. From the list of names, we were to pick three to address and send the post cards we picked out to. The list I got from MU-T only had 3 names on it: a college friend and her husband, his ex-wife and the other co-founder of the Meetup group, MU-D, who I have mentioned in previous blog posts.
It was a fun exercise in creative writing. We were allowed to ask questions about the people on the list so we could personalize our messages. My brother and my friend are going to know I am somehow behind their postcards. I would love to be a fly on the wall when my mother gets hers. I told New Girl I could see it going down like this: "I got the strangest post card in the mail the other day from someone pretending to be Jerry Springer. I always thought it was the KKK Grand Wizard, not the Grand Wizard of the KKK." We also got to pick which post cards were going to which of our people, so I picked out the beat up, thumbs up Jerry Springer card to go to my mom. My brother is getting the one with a baby standing between sleeping polar bears and my friend is getting one with a girl sitting in front of two zombies. I told MU-T that I thought it was telling he chose the post card with the radiator shaped cow on it for me to send to his ex-wife.
As we were filling out our cards, I asked MU-T for more information about MU-D. (A-I will have more time to blog when he gets my post card and I get kicked out of the group). I don't know him that well and they have been friends for about 6 years now. I ended up with some insight about both of them that I found interesting and intriguing. Some of what I learned about the two of them if I would have been asked do you think this is more like MU-T or MU-D, I would have gotten backwards. I also learned that MU-D has told MU-T my story so he knows about James. I have actually wondered about that. And I learned that MU-D was quite impressed with me when he first met me. Not attracted-but impressed with what I had been through and the strength I possessed. MU-T had a hard time finding the right way to say what he was trying to convey-I think he may have been trying to choose his words carefully with a newcomer at the table-so at first I wasn't really sure what to make of what he was trying to tell me but I could tell it was meant to be a good thing.
After we finished with our cards and had a good laugh over what we all wrote on them, we headed out. New Girl was parked nearby and we said our good-byes to her and kept walking towards the garage where I was parked. As we were walking MU-T told me he had definitely enjoyed getting to know me better during the event. I told him I was thinking he wouldn't let me come to anymore of his events (hello, insecure much?) but he said that now he would probably invite me to more. That was nice to hear. I told him that I am a lot more open now and a big part of that was because after James died, I just stopped giving a shit. I told him the way I see it, I can't lose anymore than what I have already lost. I have to admit, trying not to care so much what others think is more than a little freeing and something I have definitely taken from James.
I have been so down and stressed out lately and today I woke up feeling a lot better. Who would have guessed that all I needed to cheer me up was a night of juvenile antics? (And a nice hug).
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Girl vs the Smoke Detector
A while back, I came home to the lovely sound of one of the smoke detectors chirping. "Please, Lord," I thought, "don't let it be the one in the bedroom." The master bedroom has a vaulted ceiling and the smoke detector is at the top of the vault. After changing the battery in the detector downstairs and then the battery in the detector in the upstairs hallway, I discovered the culprit was the one here in the office. (I also discovered there is one here in the office). As we moved into the house in October 2005, I knew the day would come that the battery in the bedroom smoke detector would have to be changed.
The dreaded day came yesterday. After work I stopped at the YMCA for a swim. I always rinse off in their shower but take a real shower when I get home to get the chlorine out of my hair. Because I get home about an hour later on days I swim than I would if I came straight home from work, I bring the dog's dishes upstairs so they can eat their dinner while I am in the shower. (Because they have proven time and again they can't be trusted, they get locked in the bedroom while I am in the shower). When I set Charlie's dish down, I heard a noise like I had hit their (metal) dishes together, which I thought was odd. As I got into the shower, I thought "Oh please God, no." But the beep came again and again. And I knew from my experience with painting the bedroom that I am not tall enough to reach the smoke detector.
Nonetheless, after my shower, I went out to the garage and drug the ladder upstairs and got it set up, knocking it into the ceiling fan in the process, which I had not thought to turn off. I am pretty sure it now needs to be replaced. I got it to stop making the really loud noise, but I thought I could smell rubber burning and I don't remember it shaking quite that much so I turned it off. This is kind of unfortunate as I find it is too quiet with it turned off and I sleep better (which isn't saying much) with it on.
I got up on the ladder as far as I was comfortable with and then climbed two rungs higher-to the last rung below the yellow warning sticker saying "DO NOT CLIMB ABOVE THIS RUNG" and sure enough, I could not reach the smoke detector. So, I posted the following to my Facebook page: "Home improvement tip of the day: running the ladder into the ceiling fan is not good for the fan. So now not only is the smoke alarm chirping because even on the ladder I'm still too short to reach it, I need a new ceiling fan. I'm going to go cry now." And that is exactly what I did; I went and laid down on my bed and cried. And then I went and sat of the top step and cried.
I tried to call the friend who lives closest to me to see if I could borrow her significant other. She didn't answer. I tried to call my good friend to see if her husband (James' best friend) could come help me. She didn't answer. I called my co-worker who also lives nearby. She was at dinner with her son and her husband was fishing, otherwise they would have come to help me. I went and rang the neighbor's doorbell. I could hear they were home (with six kids in a small house and both cars in the driveway it's a little hard to pretend you aren't home), but they didn't answer. I called my boss; he was out for a walk. I was sobbing harder with each call I made. I called James' best friend directly. He said he'd come help me and about 40 minutes later, the problem was solved. It was about two hours later that I finally stopped crying (although the Braves giving up 10 runs in the 4th inning was almost enough to make me start up again). The pool at the Y was over-chlorinated yesterday-all those tears did at least get the burning from that out of my eyes.
Since James died, I have taken apart a 52" TV to replace the projector lamp, painted the upstairs bathroom, hallway and our bedroom, took apart the sliding glass door to replace the lock, changed a car battery, disposed of three dead mice (without freaking out) and dealt with the disposal of a dead possum. All that went right out the window thanks to not being able to perform the simplest of tasks for myself. With each call I made, I felt more alone. At one point, I decided I would just sleep downstairs until the battery died. Then I realized I could hear it down there too. So I decided to just sell the house and move into one where I can reach everything. I thought about setting off the security alarm so the fire department would respond and fix it for me. (Men in uniform really would be worth the fine). I thought about calling Handyman Matters-a handyman company we used for a couple of things when we first moved in. I wanted to call Volunteer Guy because he's tall. (It's probably a good thing I don't have his number). I have never felt so helpless in my life although once again I have managed to provide comic relief to several people.
I haven't tried the ceiling fan yet today to see if I was smelling burning rubber or just imagining it. But in trying to fix it last night, I decided it is really ugly and I want a new one. I guess for my next trick, I will be learning how to install a ceiling fan. Maybe doing that successfully will make me feel better about being too short to complete a simple task for myself.
The dreaded day came yesterday. After work I stopped at the YMCA for a swim. I always rinse off in their shower but take a real shower when I get home to get the chlorine out of my hair. Because I get home about an hour later on days I swim than I would if I came straight home from work, I bring the dog's dishes upstairs so they can eat their dinner while I am in the shower. (Because they have proven time and again they can't be trusted, they get locked in the bedroom while I am in the shower). When I set Charlie's dish down, I heard a noise like I had hit their (metal) dishes together, which I thought was odd. As I got into the shower, I thought "Oh please God, no." But the beep came again and again. And I knew from my experience with painting the bedroom that I am not tall enough to reach the smoke detector.
Nonetheless, after my shower, I went out to the garage and drug the ladder upstairs and got it set up, knocking it into the ceiling fan in the process, which I had not thought to turn off. I am pretty sure it now needs to be replaced. I got it to stop making the really loud noise, but I thought I could smell rubber burning and I don't remember it shaking quite that much so I turned it off. This is kind of unfortunate as I find it is too quiet with it turned off and I sleep better (which isn't saying much) with it on.
I got up on the ladder as far as I was comfortable with and then climbed two rungs higher-to the last rung below the yellow warning sticker saying "DO NOT CLIMB ABOVE THIS RUNG" and sure enough, I could not reach the smoke detector. So, I posted the following to my Facebook page: "Home improvement tip of the day: running the ladder into the ceiling fan is not good for the fan. So now not only is the smoke alarm chirping because even on the ladder I'm still too short to reach it, I need a new ceiling fan. I'm going to go cry now." And that is exactly what I did; I went and laid down on my bed and cried. And then I went and sat of the top step and cried.
I tried to call the friend who lives closest to me to see if I could borrow her significant other. She didn't answer. I tried to call my good friend to see if her husband (James' best friend) could come help me. She didn't answer. I called my co-worker who also lives nearby. She was at dinner with her son and her husband was fishing, otherwise they would have come to help me. I went and rang the neighbor's doorbell. I could hear they were home (with six kids in a small house and both cars in the driveway it's a little hard to pretend you aren't home), but they didn't answer. I called my boss; he was out for a walk. I was sobbing harder with each call I made. I called James' best friend directly. He said he'd come help me and about 40 minutes later, the problem was solved. It was about two hours later that I finally stopped crying (although the Braves giving up 10 runs in the 4th inning was almost enough to make me start up again). The pool at the Y was over-chlorinated yesterday-all those tears did at least get the burning from that out of my eyes.
Since James died, I have taken apart a 52" TV to replace the projector lamp, painted the upstairs bathroom, hallway and our bedroom, took apart the sliding glass door to replace the lock, changed a car battery, disposed of three dead mice (without freaking out) and dealt with the disposal of a dead possum. All that went right out the window thanks to not being able to perform the simplest of tasks for myself. With each call I made, I felt more alone. At one point, I decided I would just sleep downstairs until the battery died. Then I realized I could hear it down there too. So I decided to just sell the house and move into one where I can reach everything. I thought about setting off the security alarm so the fire department would respond and fix it for me. (Men in uniform really would be worth the fine). I thought about calling Handyman Matters-a handyman company we used for a couple of things when we first moved in. I wanted to call Volunteer Guy because he's tall. (It's probably a good thing I don't have his number). I have never felt so helpless in my life although once again I have managed to provide comic relief to several people.
I haven't tried the ceiling fan yet today to see if I was smelling burning rubber or just imagining it. But in trying to fix it last night, I decided it is really ugly and I want a new one. I guess for my next trick, I will be learning how to install a ceiling fan. Maybe doing that successfully will make me feel better about being too short to complete a simple task for myself.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Get out of my head George Michael
"I feel so unsure as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor..."
George Michael's song "Careless Whisper" is about a guy who cheats on his woman. (The video is very cheesy and very '80's). I haven't cheated on or with anyone but I have had that line running through my head since Friday night. It is Sunday. Do you know how many times the same line can run through your head in 48 hours? A lot.
Friday after work I went to a happy hour event with the fun Meetup group. One of the guys there asked if any of us were going to another event being held later that evening, which was dancing to a live band. None of us had anything better to do so we decided to go. I think one of the girls decided to go because she has a thing for one of the guys, who is not interested. (I thought it was the other way around. I have been set straight).
We got there about an hour before the band was supposed to start, had some food (despite having just come from happy hour, where we ate, we were surprisingly hungry), and just chatted while waiting for the band to start. They ended up starting late as they decided to wait to start playing until after the Blazer game. When they finally started playing, the first thing Girl did was drag Boy onto the dance floor. (This was when I learned the truth about the situation). After the song was mercifully over (the band was not good) and they came back to the table, he extended his hand to another girl in the group to go dance with him. She declined so he extended his hand to me. I am not a dancer but I figured "what the hay? I'm here." I offered my hand and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.
There are things that I know I miss and there are things I know I have forgotten, but I realized I had forgotten what it felt like to hold a man's hand, even briefly. It was a bit of a startlingly realization that I am still trying to process (with the help of George Michael apparently). It wasn't something I realized I missed-after 8 years, James and I didn't hold hands that often anymore but I always felt loved and so protected when he would reach for it. I miss that feeling of protection-of knowing someone always had my back and that someone was looking out for me. Lord knows I needed it given that whole unobservant thing I've got going on.
We didn't dance long. I'm not really sure what the band was attempting to play-always a sign of a good group-but it wasn't really dance music. Plus I discovered they had shuffleboard, so I asked if we could do that instead. So he went and got a couple of others from the group, who beat us.
I didn't stay much longer than that. I did have to get home to let the dogs out and I didn't have the option of numbing the pain of the band with alcohol. (Said to me at Widmer Brewery on Saturday by Cute Meetup Guy #1: "Wait, you don't drink but you're here for a brewery tour?" My reply: "Yep." CMG #1: "Okay." He's pretty laid back. Me: "I really don't want to work on my taxes and I thought the historical and scientific aspects would be interesting." Because I am so not a geek. CMG #1 (nodding): "I can see that." Because he's so not a geek either).
I did feel a little bad when I left on Friday night. I was hugging the people I like good-bye and Boy thanked me for almost dancing with him. I said I was sorry but the music was just too awful (they made bad karaoke sound good) and thanked him for playing shuffleboard with me. We're both signed up for a night of country dancing in a couple of weeks. (Despite not being a dancer, I have been wanting to do that off and on for a few years now-usually when I get on a country music kick. I knew how to do it-sort of-in college). Girl will be there too. Maybe I'll make up for our abbreviated dance with a real one then. And hopefully, George Michael will be out of my head by then.
George Michael's song "Careless Whisper" is about a guy who cheats on his woman. (The video is very cheesy and very '80's). I haven't cheated on or with anyone but I have had that line running through my head since Friday night. It is Sunday. Do you know how many times the same line can run through your head in 48 hours? A lot.
Friday after work I went to a happy hour event with the fun Meetup group. One of the guys there asked if any of us were going to another event being held later that evening, which was dancing to a live band. None of us had anything better to do so we decided to go. I think one of the girls decided to go because she has a thing for one of the guys, who is not interested. (I thought it was the other way around. I have been set straight).
We got there about an hour before the band was supposed to start, had some food (despite having just come from happy hour, where we ate, we were surprisingly hungry), and just chatted while waiting for the band to start. They ended up starting late as they decided to wait to start playing until after the Blazer game. When they finally started playing, the first thing Girl did was drag Boy onto the dance floor. (This was when I learned the truth about the situation). After the song was mercifully over (the band was not good) and they came back to the table, he extended his hand to another girl in the group to go dance with him. She declined so he extended his hand to me. I am not a dancer but I figured "what the hay? I'm here." I offered my hand and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.
There are things that I know I miss and there are things I know I have forgotten, but I realized I had forgotten what it felt like to hold a man's hand, even briefly. It was a bit of a startlingly realization that I am still trying to process (with the help of George Michael apparently). It wasn't something I realized I missed-after 8 years, James and I didn't hold hands that often anymore but I always felt loved and so protected when he would reach for it. I miss that feeling of protection-of knowing someone always had my back and that someone was looking out for me. Lord knows I needed it given that whole unobservant thing I've got going on.
We didn't dance long. I'm not really sure what the band was attempting to play-always a sign of a good group-but it wasn't really dance music. Plus I discovered they had shuffleboard, so I asked if we could do that instead. So he went and got a couple of others from the group, who beat us.
I didn't stay much longer than that. I did have to get home to let the dogs out and I didn't have the option of numbing the pain of the band with alcohol. (Said to me at Widmer Brewery on Saturday by Cute Meetup Guy #1: "Wait, you don't drink but you're here for a brewery tour?" My reply: "Yep." CMG #1: "Okay." He's pretty laid back. Me: "I really don't want to work on my taxes and I thought the historical and scientific aspects would be interesting." Because I am so not a geek. CMG #1 (nodding): "I can see that." Because he's so not a geek either).
I did feel a little bad when I left on Friday night. I was hugging the people I like good-bye and Boy thanked me for almost dancing with him. I said I was sorry but the music was just too awful (they made bad karaoke sound good) and thanked him for playing shuffleboard with me. We're both signed up for a night of country dancing in a couple of weeks. (Despite not being a dancer, I have been wanting to do that off and on for a few years now-usually when I get on a country music kick. I knew how to do it-sort of-in college). Girl will be there too. Maybe I'll make up for our abbreviated dance with a real one then. And hopefully, George Michael will be out of my head by then.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
First Kiss
A few months ago, someone started a thread on the widow/er board about their first "new life" kiss. Several others responded with their experiences; a couple of members (aka "the morality police") complained about people not keeping anything sacred and revealing too much information on the message boards (insert eye roll). I remember thinking at the time that when that day came for me, James would have been gone for at least two years and while I am not normally one to kiss and tell, after that amount of time, the entire world was going to know I got a little action.
I have wondered about how my first "new life" kiss would go down. Would it be an awkward one at the end of a first date? Would it follow a playful moment while goofing off with a male friend with whom there is an attraction? (Note to self: this would be more likely if there was a male friend with whom there is an attraction in the picture). Would it be after I have had a few dates with a guy? Would it be in a parking lot in the rain (I do live in the NW, after all)? Yeah, I have given this some thought. And yes, I have imagined kissing guys I know in these various scenarios.
My first kiss ever was when I was 12. He was a classmate of mine who lived down the street-and who apparently used to climb up on our porch roof to watch me sleep. (That was creepy then too). He was the classmate I was going to marry in the 3rd grade until the school principal found out my class was planning a mass wedding and put a stop to it. He was my boyfriend at various times in the 4th through 6th grades, though he did two-time me in the 4th grade. The kiss was in my backyard and was a very quick one that it turns out was witnessed by my brother. I was sitting on "Big Bertha," my hand-me-down three speed bike with the really thick seat. After that I was convinced he was going to want to do more and I broke up with him.
My first "French kiss" was the night of Senior Skip Day. After going to my first period class, I skipped the rest of the day and went to Silverwood with two of my male classmates. Most of our class spent the night camped out in the parking lot of the school-a school tradition. I ended up in a van with one of the guys I went to Silverwood with and ended up making out with him. When he tried to kiss me again a bit later, I again thought he was going to want to do more and pretended I was asleep.
My freshman year of college, I was kissed for the first time on the dance floor. It was my sorority pledge dance. My date was from the AKL fraternity. The song was "Crazy for You," by Madonna. We were in the town of Troy and made out all the way back to Moscow. That song still brings a smile to my face. I wonder what happened to him?
My first kiss with James was on a cold night in January 2000. Looking at a calendar, it would have been the 7th and our 3rd date. Our first date was 12/31/99 and he thought it would be too cliche to kiss me at midnight so he gave me a hug instead as we watched fireworks from the balcony of the apartment we were at. Our second date was 8 hours after the first one ended when we went and saw "Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo." We talked a couple of times during the week and decided to hang out on Friday night. Wondering if-and hoping-he would kiss me, I spent all day Friday applying lip balm so my lips would be nice and soft.
At the end of the night he walked me to my car. I had a 1993 Toyota Tercel at the time. It was so cold out and I started the car to warm it up while we said good-bye. He had told me that his friend had told him if he didn't kiss me soon I was going to end up as just another friend and asked if that was what he wanted. He didn't, so after giving me a couple of hugs, he kissed me goodnight. Let's just say when we finished kissing, my car was plenty warm! I miss kissing him. I miss how he would take a break from playing his games to go and get a Pepsi or a snack and give me quick kiss on the way to the kitchen as I worked on whatever crafty thing I was doing. I miss how he would trap me in the kitchen and give me kiss after kiss until I couldn't help but laugh. And I miss the last kiss of the day followed by "good night Honeybunch." As I sit here now and listen to what should have been the recessional song at our wedding-"Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer-I am grateful I have such a clear memory of our first kiss and hope that time does not take that away from me.
As for my first "new life" kiss, well, I hope that happens while I am still young enough to remember it!
I have wondered about how my first "new life" kiss would go down. Would it be an awkward one at the end of a first date? Would it follow a playful moment while goofing off with a male friend with whom there is an attraction? (Note to self: this would be more likely if there was a male friend with whom there is an attraction in the picture). Would it be after I have had a few dates with a guy? Would it be in a parking lot in the rain (I do live in the NW, after all)? Yeah, I have given this some thought. And yes, I have imagined kissing guys I know in these various scenarios.
My first kiss ever was when I was 12. He was a classmate of mine who lived down the street-and who apparently used to climb up on our porch roof to watch me sleep. (That was creepy then too). He was the classmate I was going to marry in the 3rd grade until the school principal found out my class was planning a mass wedding and put a stop to it. He was my boyfriend at various times in the 4th through 6th grades, though he did two-time me in the 4th grade. The kiss was in my backyard and was a very quick one that it turns out was witnessed by my brother. I was sitting on "Big Bertha," my hand-me-down three speed bike with the really thick seat. After that I was convinced he was going to want to do more and I broke up with him.
My first "French kiss" was the night of Senior Skip Day. After going to my first period class, I skipped the rest of the day and went to Silverwood with two of my male classmates. Most of our class spent the night camped out in the parking lot of the school-a school tradition. I ended up in a van with one of the guys I went to Silverwood with and ended up making out with him. When he tried to kiss me again a bit later, I again thought he was going to want to do more and pretended I was asleep.
My freshman year of college, I was kissed for the first time on the dance floor. It was my sorority pledge dance. My date was from the AKL fraternity. The song was "Crazy for You," by Madonna. We were in the town of Troy and made out all the way back to Moscow. That song still brings a smile to my face. I wonder what happened to him?
My first kiss with James was on a cold night in January 2000. Looking at a calendar, it would have been the 7th and our 3rd date. Our first date was 12/31/99 and he thought it would be too cliche to kiss me at midnight so he gave me a hug instead as we watched fireworks from the balcony of the apartment we were at. Our second date was 8 hours after the first one ended when we went and saw "Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo." We talked a couple of times during the week and decided to hang out on Friday night. Wondering if-and hoping-he would kiss me, I spent all day Friday applying lip balm so my lips would be nice and soft.
At the end of the night he walked me to my car. I had a 1993 Toyota Tercel at the time. It was so cold out and I started the car to warm it up while we said good-bye. He had told me that his friend had told him if he didn't kiss me soon I was going to end up as just another friend and asked if that was what he wanted. He didn't, so after giving me a couple of hugs, he kissed me goodnight. Let's just say when we finished kissing, my car was plenty warm! I miss kissing him. I miss how he would take a break from playing his games to go and get a Pepsi or a snack and give me quick kiss on the way to the kitchen as I worked on whatever crafty thing I was doing. I miss how he would trap me in the kitchen and give me kiss after kiss until I couldn't help but laugh. And I miss the last kiss of the day followed by "good night Honeybunch." As I sit here now and listen to what should have been the recessional song at our wedding-"Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer-I am grateful I have such a clear memory of our first kiss and hope that time does not take that away from me.
As for my first "new life" kiss, well, I hope that happens while I am still young enough to remember it!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Making Decisions
Prior to his death, James and I were trying to figure out if there was any way we could afford to buy a rental property to rent out to his mom and step-dad. We ultimately realized we just couldn't do it. Around that time, I promised James if anything ever happened to him, I would take care of his mother. Little did I know, he would die about a month or so later. His mom is not in a good situation and up until recently I was not in the right frame of mind to deal with that on top of just trying to function enough to get through everyday life. But despite not doing anything about it, I have really been struggling with the guilt of not fulfilling my promise to James.
I am now in the process of buying a house in California that she will rent. To say I am overwhelmed is an understatement. For the sake of my sanity, she is under the impression someone else is doing this for her. And while I have what I feel are valid reasons for needing it to be this way, I feel bad that another family and I are lying to the rest of the family (all 5 of them). (The other family member is a Godsend). I haven't told my family because I feel bad that I am helping my mother-in-law when my own mother lives in a trailer.
I am stressed out because there are so many things that could go wrong with this-emotionally and financially. While my gut and heart are telling me it is the right thing to do and it is not a decision I made lightly, I am still scared. I have been in tears everyday for the last two weeks, and I won't be surprised if I break out into hives again.
I feel lost and alone and like I have taken a huge leap with no net to catch me. Other than the family member helping me with this, I have no one to talk to. She is very pro-real estate, which she gets from her real estate mogul father, so to her this is really no big deal. But it is to me. And it hit me why yesterday. I am 36 years old and this is the first huge decision I have made without having someone to talk it over with.
I have had to make decisions before, obviously. When I was 18, I had to decide whether to stay somewhat close to home and go to the University of Idaho, accept a scholarship to Eastern New Mexico University, go live with my mom and attend Fresno State or do what I really wanted to do, which was go live with my grandma and attend UNLV. I ultimately chose to stay with my friends and went to the University of Idaho. And although it was my choice in the end, I had my dad to help me weigh the pros and cons.
My senior year of college, I bought my first non-junker car. Again, I made the decision I wanted the car, but I had a guy friend go with me to ask all the right questions that boys just know to ask (especially this one-he's a car enthusiast), and to test drive it with me to make sure it was okay. And again, my dad was there to make sure this is what I really wanted (and to co-sign on the loan).
For the first 30 years of my life, whenever I had to make a big decision, I had my dad to bounce it off of. And from the time I was 26 until I was 34, I never made a decision without input from James-because decisions I made no longer affected just me. They affected us-first just James and I and then James, myself and the dogs. I miss having the male point of view and I miss having someone to bounce things off of. What I miss the most is being a part of something that is bigger than myself. While I am a strong, capable, intelligent (most days) woman, this is new, foreign and scary territory to me. And this is not a minor decision-I am buying a house in another state. In addition to the emotional stress, there is the financial burden (which I can afford, but it is still a risk), and there are tax implications as I will now have rental income to contend with and will have to file a California return. (If they try to tell me my non-resident return for 2010 tells them I left the state then and I magically owe taxes for previous years, I swear I am going to go down there and bitch-slap someone). While other things I have done on my own have left me feeling empowered this is having the opposite effect on me. I feel small, withdrawn and very insecure. I feel like a little four-eyed, brace face, fat girl and I just want to run away. My instincts are telling me I am doing the right thing and this is going to work out just fine, but emotionally I'm a wreck. I just want someone who understands to talk to. But I don't have that anymore and since I am more than likely going to be just me for a very long time, I need to learn how to make decisions entirely on my own, which feels weird to say at my age.
And since I apparently wasn't stressed out enough, my mother-in-law is in the hospital with complications due to diabetes.
I am now in the process of buying a house in California that she will rent. To say I am overwhelmed is an understatement. For the sake of my sanity, she is under the impression someone else is doing this for her. And while I have what I feel are valid reasons for needing it to be this way, I feel bad that another family and I are lying to the rest of the family (all 5 of them). (The other family member is a Godsend). I haven't told my family because I feel bad that I am helping my mother-in-law when my own mother lives in a trailer.
I am stressed out because there are so many things that could go wrong with this-emotionally and financially. While my gut and heart are telling me it is the right thing to do and it is not a decision I made lightly, I am still scared. I have been in tears everyday for the last two weeks, and I won't be surprised if I break out into hives again.
I feel lost and alone and like I have taken a huge leap with no net to catch me. Other than the family member helping me with this, I have no one to talk to. She is very pro-real estate, which she gets from her real estate mogul father, so to her this is really no big deal. But it is to me. And it hit me why yesterday. I am 36 years old and this is the first huge decision I have made without having someone to talk it over with.
I have had to make decisions before, obviously. When I was 18, I had to decide whether to stay somewhat close to home and go to the University of Idaho, accept a scholarship to Eastern New Mexico University, go live with my mom and attend Fresno State or do what I really wanted to do, which was go live with my grandma and attend UNLV. I ultimately chose to stay with my friends and went to the University of Idaho. And although it was my choice in the end, I had my dad to help me weigh the pros and cons.
My senior year of college, I bought my first non-junker car. Again, I made the decision I wanted the car, but I had a guy friend go with me to ask all the right questions that boys just know to ask (especially this one-he's a car enthusiast), and to test drive it with me to make sure it was okay. And again, my dad was there to make sure this is what I really wanted (and to co-sign on the loan).
For the first 30 years of my life, whenever I had to make a big decision, I had my dad to bounce it off of. And from the time I was 26 until I was 34, I never made a decision without input from James-because decisions I made no longer affected just me. They affected us-first just James and I and then James, myself and the dogs. I miss having the male point of view and I miss having someone to bounce things off of. What I miss the most is being a part of something that is bigger than myself. While I am a strong, capable, intelligent (most days) woman, this is new, foreign and scary territory to me. And this is not a minor decision-I am buying a house in another state. In addition to the emotional stress, there is the financial burden (which I can afford, but it is still a risk), and there are tax implications as I will now have rental income to contend with and will have to file a California return. (If they try to tell me my non-resident return for 2010 tells them I left the state then and I magically owe taxes for previous years, I swear I am going to go down there and bitch-slap someone). While other things I have done on my own have left me feeling empowered this is having the opposite effect on me. I feel small, withdrawn and very insecure. I feel like a little four-eyed, brace face, fat girl and I just want to run away. My instincts are telling me I am doing the right thing and this is going to work out just fine, but emotionally I'm a wreck. I just want someone who understands to talk to. But I don't have that anymore and since I am more than likely going to be just me for a very long time, I need to learn how to make decisions entirely on my own, which feels weird to say at my age.
And since I apparently wasn't stressed out enough, my mother-in-law is in the hospital with complications due to diabetes.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
A needle in a haystack. Or: I can't believe I just did that.
At the Meetup event on Tuesday, one of my friends asked if any of us had a springform pan she could borrow. It so happens that I have two of them. The plan was that I would bring it to the event we were both planning to attend on Friday night.
After staying out too late on Tuesday and Thursday, I was dragging on Friday (which might be the understatement of the year). Around 3:00, I called her to let her know I was going to be near her place on Saturday and asked if I could drop off the pan then. She said that was fine and I told her I would be there between 4:00 and 4:30.
I got there yesterday a little before 4:30. She lives in a secured building and I was able to get into the building when someone else was buzzed in. She came down to the lobby to meet me and we just stood there and chit-chatted for a few minutes as I had a little bit of time to kill. Someone in her building was having a couples baby shower so there was a lot of activity in the lobby as guests arrived for that. We were only half paying attention to them as we discussed the proper way to toast coconut. (My useful suggestion: can't you just buy it that way? I don't bake with coconut a lot. She was making a cheesecake, which turned out delicious, and which is why she needed the pan).
And then he walked in. Our eyes met. I have never seen him before but he kept looking our way. I smiled tightly at him-I didn't want him to see the braces. He turned back one last time as he got on the elevator.
"Do we know him?" my friend asked, sounding confused.
"Nope."
"Should we know him?"
"Yep. Let me put it to you like this: on one hand, I'm thinking I should go to mini golf like I'm supposed to. On the other hand, I'm seriously thinking about crashing a baby shower," I said as I held out my arms to represent sides of a scale. (I went to mini golf).
I have been thinking since last night I really want to know who he is. So earlier this evening I did something out of character for me. I posted an ad on the missed connections section of Craigslist. I gave the intersection of the apartment building and said he was there for a party and I was the brunette in the green coat talking to my friend. I said he looked at us like he knew us and I want to meet him. I figure the worst that can happen-and the most likely scenario-is I will never get a response (well, actually the worst that can happen is that he is a psycho serial killer). But I definitely would get no response if I didn't put anything out there. And at least this way I can say I tried.
After staying out too late on Tuesday and Thursday, I was dragging on Friday (which might be the understatement of the year). Around 3:00, I called her to let her know I was going to be near her place on Saturday and asked if I could drop off the pan then. She said that was fine and I told her I would be there between 4:00 and 4:30.
I got there yesterday a little before 4:30. She lives in a secured building and I was able to get into the building when someone else was buzzed in. She came down to the lobby to meet me and we just stood there and chit-chatted for a few minutes as I had a little bit of time to kill. Someone in her building was having a couples baby shower so there was a lot of activity in the lobby as guests arrived for that. We were only half paying attention to them as we discussed the proper way to toast coconut. (My useful suggestion: can't you just buy it that way? I don't bake with coconut a lot. She was making a cheesecake, which turned out delicious, and which is why she needed the pan).
And then he walked in. Our eyes met. I have never seen him before but he kept looking our way. I smiled tightly at him-I didn't want him to see the braces. He turned back one last time as he got on the elevator.
"Do we know him?" my friend asked, sounding confused.
"Nope."
"Should we know him?"
"Yep. Let me put it to you like this: on one hand, I'm thinking I should go to mini golf like I'm supposed to. On the other hand, I'm seriously thinking about crashing a baby shower," I said as I held out my arms to represent sides of a scale. (I went to mini golf).
I have been thinking since last night I really want to know who he is. So earlier this evening I did something out of character for me. I posted an ad on the missed connections section of Craigslist. I gave the intersection of the apartment building and said he was there for a party and I was the brunette in the green coat talking to my friend. I said he looked at us like he knew us and I want to meet him. I figure the worst that can happen-and the most likely scenario-is I will never get a response (well, actually the worst that can happen is that he is a psycho serial killer). But I definitely would get no response if I didn't put anything out there. And at least this way I can say I tried.
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