Friday, March 30, 2007

My Left Foot

It's official: I am an old lady.

Why do I know this? Because I have old lady toe. You know what I'm talking about. You've seen these toes on grayed hair, thick ankled women all over the world. The big toe that defiantly sports a yellowy-tinted, ragged-edged, malformed nail, peering its ugly head up at anyone who happens to look down and see it squished into an orthopedic sandal.

Well, at least I have the good grace not to wear an orthopedic sandal and force my fugly toe to the world. I figure it's enough that I have to look at it every morning and every night. But when lose all sense of propriety and buy those orthopedic sandals, steer clear. It'll be a sign that I've given up on life.

I haven't given up yet, but apparently my left foot has. Let's just hope that spirit doesn't spread to the rest of my body.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Welcome To The Club

Tuesday night was my last night of class. My classmate and I have been invited to be my instructor's first initiates into the Risting Tradition (not the first initiates; his first initiates). We're the first to successfully complete the course, and we're both pretty proud of that.

And so is he.

My initiation will be first, because I called dibs on the first full moon after class. When our instructor sat us down to tell us what we'd need to bring, I joked "Should I start taking my clothes off now?" We laughed, and he told us not to worry; we could wear whatever we wanted. Ritual wear is encouraged, but jeans and jacket is acceptable as well. Seeing as I'm a jeans kind of girl, it will be jeans. (Plus, since I just lost $20K, I don't exactly have money for ritual wear, now do I?)

Once our fears about having to be skyclad were erased, we both became a bit unnerved at other things he said the ritual might involve. No drinking of blood or things like that. No, we are going to have to find our way to him in the dark of night, at a deserted park. We will have clues, and he will wait three hours for us, and no longer.

He said he might have the ritual go on until 2 a.m., which will be awful for me because I have to work the next day. I think my worst fear and largest aggravation in life is not getting enough sleep. So when I heard he would purposefully make the ritual go on as long as he felt like it, I found myself getting irritated.

Other than the sleep part, though, I think I can handle it. But can the Risting Tradition handle me?

I guess we'll find out soon enough.

It Is Finished

Today, I closed escrow on my cottage.


I haven't talked about it, because my one superstition is the great and powerful jinx. I truly believe I jinx myself, or rather my good fortune, by talking about things. It has proved to be true over and over again.

My Risting instructor doesn't believe in jinxing, but he does believe I bring stuff on myself. I didn't quite understand his explanation, but it has something to do with the way I channel my energy and hope in such a way that it becomes chaotic and then, poof, it's all gone.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe I'm right.

All I know is I didn't breathe a word of it, and it actually happened.

In January, I had a reading from Carrie, a woman in whose readings I've come to trust. She told me I would sell the place in March. When people asked me about my reading, I shared everything but that precious piece. I kept it to myself, because of my overwhelming fear of jinxing myself.

On a long distance call to Idaho to share the good news with Todd, he asked me how I felt about it. I said sad and relieved. He then asked me which was the predominant feeling. I said relief. He said then that means I did the right thing.

The whole cottage diabolic was a $20,000 mistake. Actually, $20,013.22, if you count the Cobb Salad from Claim Jumper and glass of wine I had to celebrate my loss. After all, it's much better to wine than whine, doncha think?

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Brian Delp

When I first heard the news that Brian Delp had died, my first thought was that the news agencies weren't giving us the whole story. And a week later, I received confirmation that my initial thought was correct: Brian Delp committed suicide.

His death saddened me. His music filled my high school years (and I know that dates me). I played Boston over and over and over again on my portable record player. When my brother and I sunned ourselves on the rickety wooden deck that overlooked our backyard, Boston was one of the records we played.

When I went into the Army and was in Basic or AIT (those months just sort of blend together), my brother went to a Day On The Green without me. Boston was the headlining group. He bought a T-shirt, which he wore and wore and wore (like young men do). When he realized how much I had wished I had been able to go to that concert, he gave me the shirt, now ragged from wear.

I still have that shirt. It's worn and wrinkled and riddled with holes from years of washing, and yet I hold on to it, because it reminds me of summer days and a time when my brother and I actually got along.

I know Boston hasn't had a hit in years and years, but in my mind they still ruled the world of rock.

Good-bye Brian. Even though your music will go on forever in my mind, your presence on this earth will be missed.

The Non-Event

Yesterday was supposed to be a huge day for me. GIGANTIC. It was the day I was hoping would happen for months.

But, this being my life and all, I thought "Hmmm...something is going to go wrong. Let's try to head it off." So I contacted the person involved several times. "Is it going to happen? What time is my appointment? What do I need to bring?"

These questions were never really answered, until four hours before my supposed appointment. And of course, one important thing I was supposed to bring was not available BECAUSE I WASN'T NOTIFIED IN ENOUGH TIME to get it.

So. The Big Event was a non-event.

And so I continue to wait.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Booty Call

Yesterday, I was accidentally hit with a booty call. It kind of hurt, and I said "Ow" out loud. Hunky heard and asked if I was okay. I said yes, and added that I didn't think a booty call should hurt.

The booty call in question isn't the old fashioned kind. No, it's actually Bonny Doon's Boutielle Call, a Syrah Port we got at Cost Plus World Market. however, hunky thinks I need an old fashioned kind of booty call...and maybe he's right.

Pour me a glass of Boutielle Call and we'll talk.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Daylight, what?

Today is my least favorite day of the year...the day daylight savings time begins. Why is it my least favorite? Because I lose an hour of damn sleep, and I don't get it back again until October. And for a girl who needs her beauty rest,

I am always cranky on the first day after turning the clocks forward. Today was no exception. However, the way I approached it was...I knew it was going to be a sucky day, so I prepared ahead of time.

I knew that Todd would be leaving on a jet airplane, so I planned to have a Pamela day. I haven't had one of those since August. In preparation, I made an appointment for a massage...something I haven't had in over a year. I planned to take a nice, long bath afterwards, lounging in bubbles while reading The Chili Queen. I had two movies to choose from for my evening.

The best laid plans...

I dropped hunky off at the airport, and thought "Hey, while I'm out I should run a few errands, so I don't have to do a dang thing after my massage." I got some groceries and other essentials, then I went home.

When I put the key in the door, I heard a man's voice. I froze. I thought someone had broken into the house. Then I heard the man's voice again, this time what he said was very clear "Well, Pamela's home, so I should get off the phone."

Yep. It was Todd.

I saw my alone time go up in a poof of smoke.

He was mad at me for not having my phone on while I was out and about. There was some mishap with the plane, so he ended up rescheduling for tomorrow. And, of course, when he called me, I was no where to be found.

Of course he wanted to do things with me, and I hated being a wench, but I just had to do it in order to preserve my sanity (or what little I have left). When he started going on about lunch, I said "You know, I have that massage appointment scheduled, and I was really looking forward to my first day alone in a month."

Thankfully, he didn't whine. Instead, he dialed up a girl friend (or girlfriend? I'm not sure which), and they went out for a pricey brunch at Rapscallions. I was mildly disappointed, but only because I haven't been there for brunch, and I understand it's quite the taste treat. I was actually more happy than disappointed, because now I could attack my pleasurable afternoon guilt-free.

I went for my massage, and even though I had made sure to schedule with a female, a male came into the waiting room, calling out my name and holding my chart. I really did not want a male's hands on me, and even though I know it's not in a sexual way or anything, the thought of having a male massage therapist catching glimpses of my cellulite and jelly rolls just made me squiggy. I was about to just go with it, though, until I thought "Uh uh. This is your day."

I went up to the young man and said, "Um, hi...are you going to be my massage therapist?" He said yes. I said "No offense, but I had asked for a female." He said no problem, and went to the front desk, and after some back and forth, they found a female massage therapist to take care of me.

I was a little embarrassed about the whole thing, but decided not to let it get in the way. I'm glad I spoke up, because the woman assigned to me gave the best massage ever. My back feels wonderful. She wasn't able to get out all the knots, though, but seriously, I spent a year accumulating those knots, and didn't expect she could massage them all away in 50 minutes.

When I got home, I drew a bath, using my special "Pamela Day" bath stuff. I had a book and water nearby, and about 15 minutes after getting into the tub, Todd came home. To his credit, he only came up to say "Hello," and skedaddled into his office so I could have some more alone time.

However, even though he's been pretty understanding, he is here, and well, there's just no ignoring him. Next weekend, I don't get any alone time either, so I'll have to wait two weeks before I get another weekend alone.

Another? I sound like I get them all the time...and I just don't. I thought this contract in Idaho would give me lots of time alone, but he's been home every weekend since he's been on this contract.

What does a girl need to do to get a little alone time? Do I have to wait until October, when I turn the clocks back an hour, and use that extra hour to sneak in some alone time...somewhere?

The way my life is, the answer is probably yes. Nothing ever goes as planned...