Category: Uncategorized

You know,

I’m pretty fond of saying there are no do-overs.  And I mean that in the ‘this life is not a dress rehearsal, this is all there is’ sense.  But for Management Bestows You One Wish Day, hey you, I’m giving you a do-over on that if you want!

SH*T

OK, so I’ve lost most of the blogs from June in my abrupt eviction, posts about life and love and passion and heart failure and cancer and all sorts of deep stuff that I’m not normally good about sharing.  SH*T SH!T SH$T.  But on the bright side, my page looks nice, so I’m pleased with that part.

Sigh.

Anyway.

Here’s to a new beginning, and thanks to The Dog for putting back what he could and sprucing up the place…he’s a good man.

remind me, ok?

Remind me not get married again, ok?  I’m absolutely cool with shacking up long-term with my loverboy a la Kurt and Goldie, but no more legal nonsense.  Just love for love’s sake sounds good to me. 

I have my final divorce judgment document right in front of me…have been waiting for it to appear, have known it was said and done for a while now, was just waiting for my copy to stick in a file.   I don’t really feel sad about it, because I’ve done the sad thing quite enough, thoroughly, off and on for much of 2007. 

I feel………………………….a little lost maybe, as it’s hard when we don’t know what life is going to dole out for us next, and matters of the heart are anything but predictable—if they were, I would’ve married Eric Medford in the first grade and have been done with it all, since I had him pegged at age 6 to be my groom, knew what color our house would be, how many kids and pets we’d have…of course, we’d have been divorced by high school when he went through his Samantha Foxx “Naughty Girls Need Love Too” phase.

It feels a little unsteady and weird now is all.  I’m hopeful that good things are in the works, but that’s sort of out of my hands.  I can envision good stuff and be a good person, but of course I can’t magically make anything happen (or I’d have been bunking nightly with Glenn Danzig since 1993 if that were the case).

In the unsteady weirdness of all, I know what I want, so if I get to pick and choose, it’s pretty simple: the Kurt to my Goldie will actually like me for me (not who I used to be or who he wishes I’d become someday but just me), will have a job with a paycheck, will obey basic hygiene disciplines at least 4 out of 7 days a week, will know that laughter is key to coping, will understand how to use the washing machine and make use of said device as needed, and last but not least, will like music as much as I do so there’s no bitching about what I’m listening to at any given moment…and if he has kids, that would just be a super sweet bonus.  Really that’s about it, so I hope the Universe is paying attention, but I’m in no rush.  I’m just layin’ it all out there…a little lost, but hangin’ in there, thanks.

Funnest Thing Ever!

Saturday, I had a little shindig at the hacienda, a potluck with family & friends.  The “bonus” at this gathering was a planned food fight.  I’d really thought it through, laying out rules for what foods were throwable, where the fight would occur, what to wear, and how folks could observe the fight without getting food flung at them.  Early on, Minime and her friends tried to start early without any rules and someone got beaned in the eye with a taco–”that’s why I said no throwing hard shell tacos! Go rinse the salsa out of her eye!”

When it was time for the event, we pulled a table and chairs out into the yard and put bowls of “safe” food on the tabletop: rice, pasta, Jello.  The scenario we’d worked out was Thanksgiving Dinner at Grandma’s House and what would happen when Grandma left the room.  We’re all seated ’round the table, I’m telling the story of Thanksgiving dinner to my rapt food-fighting audience and I suddenly fling Jello into the face o’ my dear friend Annie Oakley and it was on!

I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to pee.  I had cold rice in my ear and purple Jello inside my shirt and I was laughing and shrieking and flinging pasta around like a poop-flinging monkey in the zoo.   It was so fun, so much funner than I ever would’ve imagined!  I haven’t laughed like that in years!

I didn’t anticipate just how nasty we’d all be, so food-covered that we had to be sprayed with the garden hose before we could go in the house to change.  It was fantastic!  We had to stand in the yard and comb the rice out of our hair—I’m sure the neighbors thought we had some sort of mutated lice infestation.

Good times!  I’m now pondering the next get-together, considering a luau theme complete with making our own volcano, but I’m open to suggestions!

Missed Connections

I’ve always wanted to be a missed connection.  You know, on craigslist, the Missed Connections section.  I read the missed connections page several times a week for the fun of it.

 

The posts are often hopeful: “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen as you carried your bagel to your car this morning.  Your gorgeous smile is still on my mind.  Please love me.”  Some of the posts are just plain shy, the Internet their only means of reaching out: “I saw you looking at me at Malaprop’s but I was embarrassed and looked away.  I’m no good at this kind of stuff.  I wish I had said something witty or cool or anything at all.”

 

What would someone write about me? “I was behind you in line at the post office.  I liked the way your hair looked like you’d just rolled out of bed even though it was 4 PM. And the way your clothes looked a lot like pajamas.”  Maybe someone would spot me in traffic, window down, belting out tunes: “I never knew someone could be that far off key.  Email me and promise not to sing around me. Ever.”  Where else do I go, what do I do to end up in the Missed Connections column? “When you pushed all the other muffins aside in the bin at Earth Fare to get the biggest one for yourself, I knew you were the woman for me.  Let me buy you a dozen pumpkin chocolate chip muffins on our first date.”

 

I’ve thought about posting there myself if I were bold enough.  I’ve imagined a few posts I would write: “I was behind you at the Orange Peel.  You smelled like soap and freshly mowed grass and when I got shoved into your back, I really wanted to just hang on.”  Or “I liked how there was nothing in your grocery cart but beer and dark chocolate. Marry me.”  Possibly, “I liked your inferno red Dodge Charger R/T.  I want to drive it really, really fast.  I hope you’ll let me do that while you sit quietly elsewhere and read a book.” 

More realistically, it would read something like, “Our connection is not a missed one, but a pretty freakin’ real one that I never saw coming, so wtf??  WTF??!!Now what?  Carpe diem, man.” 

 

But I wouldn’t, I couldn’t! It would feel like the whole world would be able to somehow see me through the screen, too mortifying.  I’ll keep on reading, but I won’t be posting.