Friday morning, I left to go visit my dad for the weekend to celebrate my birthday. This was my first birthday since my mom's death. I knew it would feel incomplete. My dad knew it would feel incomplete. But - we celebrated, anyway.
We got through Friday night by watching a movie I rented: the remake of Pelham 1-2-3. I never saw the original, but I have to say this version was entertaining. If there's one thing John Travolta can do, it's play crazy well.
Saturday was my birthday. I woke up feeling some trepidation - but my dad and I had plans for the morning to keep us busy. We went to the flea market, then off to my favorite store (Half Price Books, where I got a great deal on a tarot deck), and then to lunch. So far, so good.
We went home, and it was time for gifts and pie. I knew opening my gifts would be difficult, because the gifts were things my mom ordered from catalogs for me when she was bedridden. In other words, the gifts were from her, but she wasn't there to celebrate with me.
All the gifts touched me, but two stood out: a copper wall hanging of a pentacle next to a moon, and the Jessica Galbreth's Enchanted Oracle. My mom picked these out of my favorite "witchy" catalog without any hints from me at all. My mom was so supportive of my alternative life path - much more so than she was when I was following the independent fundamentalist Baptist path I was on when I was in my 20's. In fact, after I became born again, she told me I was not allowed to talk about God and stuff in her house. I think it relieved her greatly when I chose a different path later in life.
After my dad and I shed a few tears, we put "House of Wax" (from the clearance rack at Half Price Books) into the DVD player. Nothing can get rid of tears faster than Paris Hilton in a shriek fest. Again, this is a movie to which I hadn't seen the original, but as scary movies go, this one was good - and of course, pretty gory and quite frightening - at least to me.
It was difficult to say good-bye to my dad this afternoon. He started to cry when I left - and he hadn't done that since I was 17-years-old and on my way to boot camp. I know he must feel so alone there, surrounded by so much that reminds him of my mom. After all, he met her when he was 18 years old, and had been with her ever since.
And so the first celebration has come and gone without my mom. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't complete. However, I still felt her love and that certainly helped more than it hurt.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 09, 2009
So Fresh To God
My mom died a month ago. I have so much sadness inside regarding that, and I'm not even sure how to express it. One saying that keeps running around in my head is this:
"I love these little people; and it is not a slight thing, when they, who are so fresh from God, love us." Charles Dickens
What grabs me is the "so fresh from God" part. That certainly describes the gift of birth - but what about death? "So fresh to God" is more apropos there. I feel that she is now fresh to God; it's as if I can still feel her here, and yet feel her gone as well.
Soon I will no longer feel her here. I look at some of the things I use in my daily life. Just today I used a notepad which she had put in my stocking last year. I just finished a bottle of water from a case she had bought for me before she went into the hospital. One day soon, those things will all be gone and I'll no longer have much tangible evidence of her existence - only memories.
I can remember sitting with her that last night at the hospital. I held one of her hands, and my dad held the other. Every once in awhile she would come out of her morphine stupor and say "Oh Pam" or "Oh John." Sometimes she would simply wake up and say "I love you." I can remember her voice, heavy with drugs. But will I remember it in a month? In a year? I hope so, because my greatest fear is that I'll begin to forget those things that were so clearly a part of her: her voice. Her eyes. Her laugh.
I don't want to forget. I want to hold on for dear life.
"I love these little people; and it is not a slight thing, when they, who are so fresh from God, love us." Charles Dickens
What grabs me is the "so fresh from God" part. That certainly describes the gift of birth - but what about death? "So fresh to God" is more apropos there. I feel that she is now fresh to God; it's as if I can still feel her here, and yet feel her gone as well.
Soon I will no longer feel her here. I look at some of the things I use in my daily life. Just today I used a notepad which she had put in my stocking last year. I just finished a bottle of water from a case she had bought for me before she went into the hospital. One day soon, those things will all be gone and I'll no longer have much tangible evidence of her existence - only memories.
I can remember sitting with her that last night at the hospital. I held one of her hands, and my dad held the other. Every once in awhile she would come out of her morphine stupor and say "Oh Pam" or "Oh John." Sometimes she would simply wake up and say "I love you." I can remember her voice, heavy with drugs. But will I remember it in a month? In a year? I hope so, because my greatest fear is that I'll begin to forget those things that were so clearly a part of her: her voice. Her eyes. Her laugh.
I don't want to forget. I want to hold on for dear life.
Friday, October 30, 2009
He isn't who he says he is...
Before my mom died, I actually went out on two dates with the same guy. Go figure - me. Out. Not once, but twice.
The guy is someone I met via my favorite-and-not-so-favorite matchmaking site. He is a top blogger, and seemed kind of into me. And in all honesty, probably way more into me than I was into him.
On paper he seemed great. His blogs are funny and insightful. He seemed genuine. And nice. When we moved our email conversations to the phone, I still found him to be interesting. And genuine. But... not as funny as his blogs. And in fact, kind of not funny at all.
He had this annoying habit of asking me a question, and interrupting me before I could finish my response. He also admitted that his driver's license had been suspended because of two DUIs. But, I decided to overlook all that (he changed his lifestyle - he promised not to talk over me when we met) and meet him anyway.
Our first meeting was nice. I didn't think he was as good-looking as his photos, but he was nice. Well-dressed. Pleasant. I enjoyed our talk - or at least I enjoyed it when he didn't interrupt me or talk over me. I do admit I got a bit annoyed that he interrupted me so often.
I felt weird just leaving him there when I left. He waited for his dad to pick him up. I fluctuated between thinking I should have offered to take him home to thinking it was kind of sad that a 49-year-old guy had to wait for his dad to pick him up.
He told me he definitely wanted to see me again. And since it wasn't a bad date, other than the lack of sparks, I decided to give it another try. The next time we met was for dinner, a movie, and then drinks afterward. Drinks? Yeah...I know. But that was the plan.
He was all dressed up - a tie and a leather jacket. He looked good. But once again he interrupted me frequently - and I found myself getting irritated. I remember saying "Please let me finish, and then ask me your questions!" But...he just couldn't help himself. He would talk over me and ask me questions that had nothing to do with the original question I was answering in the first place. It was driving me bananas. Plus...he wasn't funny. Where was the guy that was so witty in his blogs?
Well, then my mom died and he sent me an email asking me to call him. I didn't feel like talking, so I didn't call. He emailed me again a few days later and asked me to call him. WTF? Was his dialing finger broke? It kind of ended after that, but it was probably dead long before that last email.
It's weird to read his blogs now. So many woman want him. And he wants so many of those women. And his blogs are so funny and insightful...but they aren't like him at all. Or are they? Was he just not like that with me? I dunno...
But I had to laugh when I read his latest blog written to a specific woman talking about his fantasy date. It would involve picking her up and going for a drive and making out in the car. Last I heard, he wouldn't have his license for another five months. I hope whoever she is doesn't mind making out in the car with dad in the driver's seat.
The guy is someone I met via my favorite-and-not-so-favorite matchmaking site. He is a top blogger, and seemed kind of into me. And in all honesty, probably way more into me than I was into him.
On paper he seemed great. His blogs are funny and insightful. He seemed genuine. And nice. When we moved our email conversations to the phone, I still found him to be interesting. And genuine. But... not as funny as his blogs. And in fact, kind of not funny at all.
He had this annoying habit of asking me a question, and interrupting me before I could finish my response. He also admitted that his driver's license had been suspended because of two DUIs. But, I decided to overlook all that (he changed his lifestyle - he promised not to talk over me when we met) and meet him anyway.
Our first meeting was nice. I didn't think he was as good-looking as his photos, but he was nice. Well-dressed. Pleasant. I enjoyed our talk - or at least I enjoyed it when he didn't interrupt me or talk over me. I do admit I got a bit annoyed that he interrupted me so often.
I felt weird just leaving him there when I left. He waited for his dad to pick him up. I fluctuated between thinking I should have offered to take him home to thinking it was kind of sad that a 49-year-old guy had to wait for his dad to pick him up.
He told me he definitely wanted to see me again. And since it wasn't a bad date, other than the lack of sparks, I decided to give it another try. The next time we met was for dinner, a movie, and then drinks afterward. Drinks? Yeah...I know. But that was the plan.
He was all dressed up - a tie and a leather jacket. He looked good. But once again he interrupted me frequently - and I found myself getting irritated. I remember saying "Please let me finish, and then ask me your questions!" But...he just couldn't help himself. He would talk over me and ask me questions that had nothing to do with the original question I was answering in the first place. It was driving me bananas. Plus...he wasn't funny. Where was the guy that was so witty in his blogs?
Well, then my mom died and he sent me an email asking me to call him. I didn't feel like talking, so I didn't call. He emailed me again a few days later and asked me to call him. WTF? Was his dialing finger broke? It kind of ended after that, but it was probably dead long before that last email.
It's weird to read his blogs now. So many woman want him. And he wants so many of those women. And his blogs are so funny and insightful...but they aren't like him at all. Or are they? Was he just not like that with me? I dunno...
But I had to laugh when I read his latest blog written to a specific woman talking about his fantasy date. It would involve picking her up and going for a drive and making out in the car. Last I heard, he wouldn't have his license for another five months. I hope whoever she is doesn't mind making out in the car with dad in the driver's seat.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Two Weeks Ago Today
Two weeks ago today I arrived at the hospital a half an hour too late.
Two weeks ago today, I stood outside my mom's hospital door, waiting for the doctor.
Two weeks ago today, I listened as he told me what I already knew in my heart.
Two weeks ago today, I sat by my mom's lifeless body and cried.
Two weeks ago today, I waited for my dad to arrive.
Two weeks ago today was the first time I ever saw my dad break down and cry.
Two weeks ago today, my dad and I held on to each other for support.
Two weeks ago today I felt lost and confused.
Two weeks ago today I thought I'd never be happy again.
Two weeks ago today I finally understood why people get married and have children.
Two weeks ago today, I realized my mom understood why long, long ago.
Two weeks ago today, I made the hardest phone calls ever in my life.
Two weeks ago today, I thought I'd never get through the night.
Two weeks ago today, I was awaken by the sound of my dad's voice, and I realized he was talking to my mom and my heart broke for him.
Two weeks ago today, I knew how alone my mom felt at age 16 when she lost her own mom.
Two weeks ago today, my world completely changed and it will never be the same again.
I miss you, mom.
Two weeks ago today, I stood outside my mom's hospital door, waiting for the doctor.
Two weeks ago today, I listened as he told me what I already knew in my heart.
Two weeks ago today, I sat by my mom's lifeless body and cried.
Two weeks ago today, I waited for my dad to arrive.
Two weeks ago today was the first time I ever saw my dad break down and cry.
Two weeks ago today, my dad and I held on to each other for support.
Two weeks ago today I felt lost and confused.
Two weeks ago today I thought I'd never be happy again.
Two weeks ago today I finally understood why people get married and have children.
Two weeks ago today, I realized my mom understood why long, long ago.
Two weeks ago today, I made the hardest phone calls ever in my life.
Two weeks ago today, I thought I'd never get through the night.
Two weeks ago today, I was awaken by the sound of my dad's voice, and I realized he was talking to my mom and my heart broke for him.
Two weeks ago today, I knew how alone my mom felt at age 16 when she lost her own mom.
Two weeks ago today, my world completely changed and it will never be the same again.
I miss you, mom.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
It's About Damn Time
...or is it?
This is a comment I made in response to what I read as a flirtatious remark from an old boss of mine. We've kept in touch on and off through the years. Recently when I was going through old emails, I realized I hadn't responded to his last one sent a few months ago. So, I wrote a response and updated him on my life, which included an update on my love life: barren.
When I worked with my old boss, he was married and I was with Todd. My boss was happy in his relationship, I was, well, relatively happy with mine. There was no flirting. No crushing. We were just co-workers. But...
I will admit to just liking him. As a person. I found him to be smart. And funny. And he had his head screwed on straight. He didn't get caught up in office politics or gossip. He was a good husband. He was also a mentor of sorts to me. However, I had no romantic feelings for him at the time, and I imagine it was also the same on his end. However...
When we spoke on the phone in December or January and I discovered he was divorced, I remember thinking "Hmmm...." Nothing much more than that. Just "Hmmmm..." Maybe the statement tickled some sort of thought of possibility, but that was about it. Then...
I received his reply yesterday. He wrote, "Sorry to hear about Todd. But I'm sure you'll have no difficulty finding new romantic interests. Heck if I wasn't 100s of miles away..."
Ah...HA! Or was it Ah HA? I don't know...but I do know that I wanted to proceed carefully. How should I let someone I once worked for know that I, too, might be interested. Or was that what he was saying?
Finally, I sent off a reply. I addressed other things in his email, first, and then replied to the above comment thusly: "Why John Smith (name changed to protect the innocent), are you flirting with me? It's about damn time."
I haven't heard back. I'm wondering if I should have just left it at the question, and not put in the "it's about damn time" comment. See...perhaps that part made him think I was crushing on him way back when. And that might make him feel uncomfortable - thinking that I had wanted him to make moves when he was still married. Which I didn't. But you know...a lot can be read into a comment. And I do seem to make many comments that people can read into...when really, I didn't mean anything by them.
What will happen next? He's in Roseville for now, which is only a two-hour drive away. But we're both broke - so much different than our days of working together, when we both made pretty good money. Ah...the good old days...
I dunno, though. I'm ready for more good days. And who knows what today's email might bring...
This is a comment I made in response to what I read as a flirtatious remark from an old boss of mine. We've kept in touch on and off through the years. Recently when I was going through old emails, I realized I hadn't responded to his last one sent a few months ago. So, I wrote a response and updated him on my life, which included an update on my love life: barren.
When I worked with my old boss, he was married and I was with Todd. My boss was happy in his relationship, I was, well, relatively happy with mine. There was no flirting. No crushing. We were just co-workers. But...
I will admit to just liking him. As a person. I found him to be smart. And funny. And he had his head screwed on straight. He didn't get caught up in office politics or gossip. He was a good husband. He was also a mentor of sorts to me. However, I had no romantic feelings for him at the time, and I imagine it was also the same on his end. However...
When we spoke on the phone in December or January and I discovered he was divorced, I remember thinking "Hmmm...." Nothing much more than that. Just "Hmmmm..." Maybe the statement tickled some sort of thought of possibility, but that was about it. Then...
I received his reply yesterday. He wrote, "Sorry to hear about Todd. But I'm sure you'll have no difficulty finding new romantic interests. Heck if I wasn't 100s of miles away..."
Ah...HA! Or was it Ah HA? I don't know...but I do know that I wanted to proceed carefully. How should I let someone I once worked for know that I, too, might be interested. Or was that what he was saying?
Finally, I sent off a reply. I addressed other things in his email, first, and then replied to the above comment thusly: "Why John Smith (name changed to protect the innocent), are you flirting with me? It's about damn time."
I haven't heard back. I'm wondering if I should have just left it at the question, and not put in the "it's about damn time" comment. See...perhaps that part made him think I was crushing on him way back when. And that might make him feel uncomfortable - thinking that I had wanted him to make moves when he was still married. Which I didn't. But you know...a lot can be read into a comment. And I do seem to make many comments that people can read into...when really, I didn't mean anything by them.
What will happen next? He's in Roseville for now, which is only a two-hour drive away. But we're both broke - so much different than our days of working together, when we both made pretty good money. Ah...the good old days...
I dunno, though. I'm ready for more good days. And who knows what today's email might bring...
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Observations from the Ellipitical
I hate wearing those little ear pod things when I'm working out at the gym. So, when I'm on the elliptical, it's just me, the overhead sound system and my thoughts. Since I'm not the kind of girl to keep my thoughts to myself, here they are:
1) I saw Turtle working out. He looked a tad bit thinner - but just a tad. I scanned the gym for Vince, E, and Drama, but no luck. I guess Turtle was there on his own.
2) The song One Week by Barenaked Ladies has one of my most favorite lines ever: Okay, I don't make films, but if I did they'd have a Samurai.
3) Speaking of songs, I don't know how I'd get by without a little help from my friends. Last week was a doozy of a week - I ended up sending out an SOS to all my friends, and all but one replied. Without their love, help, and encouragement, I'm not sure how I would have picked myself up from the floor.
4) I Will Survive. This is a karaoke staple, and one of my Cupidian friends attempted it on Saturday at Spiro's. Unfortunately, it is also one of those songs that a) you have to have a certain type of voice in order to carry it off well and b) you think you know it, but when you're up on stage, not so much. So when my friend stumbled over the words, I got up to help her out. However, as I'm tone deaf at best, I performed the song instead of singing it - and as a result, people high-fived me as I walked back to the table. "You sing good!" Um, no. But I certainly can dazzle the crowd with enough performance art so that they are fooled into thinking I do.
5) After reliving Saturday night's Gloria Gaynor impression in my head, I realized that I am a survivor. I hate using that word, but I can't think of another word that applies here. What other word describes someone who was bullied every day of school, yet never quit? A girl who just kept going back, no matter what, knowing that one day it would all be over and behind her? Or how about the woman who fought off the guy who broke into her apartment, with the intention of raping her? I think the word "survivor" does apply - even if it's somewhat cliche and overused.
6) "Panama" is probably not the best song to be lip-syncing along with while some blonde hunky guy is staring at you. After mouthing "Ah, you reach down, between my legs, ease the seat back," I looked up and saw Blondie's mouth drop open, and he almost fell off the lower back machine. Oh well...not my fault he's easily turned on. Maybe he should wait to take his Cialis until after he leaves the gym.
7) Speaking of Cialis, the old guys at the gym love me.
8) It's a good idea to keep your keys with you, because when you place them on the public Key Board, it's really easy to take someone else's keys instead of yours. And when you accidentally (on purpose?) take the good looking fitness sales guy's keys and he catches you, joking with him eases the embarrassment.
1) I saw Turtle working out. He looked a tad bit thinner - but just a tad. I scanned the gym for Vince, E, and Drama, but no luck. I guess Turtle was there on his own.
2) The song One Week by Barenaked Ladies has one of my most favorite lines ever: Okay, I don't make films, but if I did they'd have a Samurai.
3) Speaking of songs, I don't know how I'd get by without a little help from my friends. Last week was a doozy of a week - I ended up sending out an SOS to all my friends, and all but one replied. Without their love, help, and encouragement, I'm not sure how I would have picked myself up from the floor.
4) I Will Survive. This is a karaoke staple, and one of my Cupidian friends attempted it on Saturday at Spiro's. Unfortunately, it is also one of those songs that a) you have to have a certain type of voice in order to carry it off well and b) you think you know it, but when you're up on stage, not so much. So when my friend stumbled over the words, I got up to help her out. However, as I'm tone deaf at best, I performed the song instead of singing it - and as a result, people high-fived me as I walked back to the table. "You sing good!" Um, no. But I certainly can dazzle the crowd with enough performance art so that they are fooled into thinking I do.
5) After reliving Saturday night's Gloria Gaynor impression in my head, I realized that I am a survivor. I hate using that word, but I can't think of another word that applies here. What other word describes someone who was bullied every day of school, yet never quit? A girl who just kept going back, no matter what, knowing that one day it would all be over and behind her? Or how about the woman who fought off the guy who broke into her apartment, with the intention of raping her? I think the word "survivor" does apply - even if it's somewhat cliche and overused.
6) "Panama" is probably not the best song to be lip-syncing along with while some blonde hunky guy is staring at you. After mouthing "Ah, you reach down, between my legs, ease the seat back," I looked up and saw Blondie's mouth drop open, and he almost fell off the lower back machine. Oh well...not my fault he's easily turned on. Maybe he should wait to take his Cialis until after he leaves the gym.
7) Speaking of Cialis, the old guys at the gym love me.
8) It's a good idea to keep your keys with you, because when you place them on the public Key Board, it's really easy to take someone else's keys instead of yours. And when you accidentally (on purpose?) take the good looking fitness sales guy's keys and he catches you, joking with him eases the embarrassment.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Shattered
"How many times can I break till I shatter?" That's a question I've been asking myself for years. I can even remember one of the first cracks - in one of our favorite restaurants on B Street in Hayward. It happened while we were enjoying a meal, and the words that came out of his mouth cracked my heart almost instantly. "You're not..." this. "You're not..." that.
It became a pattern I learned to hate - meals in public places often turned into a litany of unwanted information - I heard over and over again why I wasn't a good girlfriend.
So why did I stay? Maybe because I also received flowers with note cards attached which stated how important I was to him. How much I was loved. How his life would be empty without me. So many contradictions - my heart would crack, and then be fixed with the Super Glue of sweet words.
In my mind's eye, I could see my heart - every crack, chip and dent. I knew it was fragile, but wasn't prepared for the shattering break that came yesterday. He's getting married. To her.
Sure, sure...she proposed to him - just like his first wife did. I guess this is the magic trick - the one I could not ever master. Making him feel wanted and loved and desired. I gave it my best - but I didn't propose. He proposed to me, about four years after we started dating, then he spent the next six years running away from me.
I honestly thought we'd end up getting it right. After all, he often told me that one of his greatest hopes was that we would. Did he lie again? Intentionally mislead me? I do wonder, as these comments were made all the while he was pursuing her. Or allowing her to pursue him - whichever scenario suits him at the time.
I sit in this mess surrounding me, a pile of rubble that used to be my heart. I had so much hope. I loved him - love him - so much. He never understood that. Never "got" it. Was it a communication failure on my part? Was it that I didn't love him enough? And what was last week all about?
I don't really have to ask that question, because I know the answer. Once again he was feeling me out - ensuring that his safety net was still in place.
I'm tired of being his safety net. I quit.
I'm in dire need of some Super Glue. I am bound and determined that, though shattered, my heart can be put back together. Sure, it won't be the same as before, but it will be mine. I am, and always will be, the sum of my parts. Beautiful, dented, cracked, and used. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Friday Five
1) I used to work out in the morning, but night sweats and a sick cat have been keeping me up nights. Translation: by the time morning rolls around, I'm too tired to get to the gym. So, I've turned to evening work outs. Tonight (or should I say last night?) was the latest I arrived at the gym: after ten p.m. I was surprised to find it pretty busy. On the plus side: the two guys who normally hog the ab machines were gone.
2) Does having a beer after coming home negate any calories spent? If yes, does the fact that it was a light beer change anything?
3) This week was movie week. I saw Julie & Julia, (500 Days of) Summer, Adventureland and I Love You, Man. Ratings: Excellent, excellent, okay, and cute (with extra bonus points for being a Paul Rudd movie). Favorite line from I Love You, Man: "You've been Rushified!" Adventureland was a bit of a disappointment, in that it was clearly marketed as a comedy, but it wasn't actually funny. At all.
4) Dr. Atkins would turn around in his grave to find out I succumbed to a bag of movie popcorn, slathered in a buttery-like substance. He probably wouldn't be happy about the beer, either.
5) I found a Christmas card with money in it. I promptly took it down to the Silver Legacy, and bought a ticket to see Joel McHale on September 5th. While there, I put a dollar in the Wheel of Fortune penny slot machine, and won $1.70. I quit while I was ahead. I bet the casino hates me now.
2) Does having a beer after coming home negate any calories spent? If yes, does the fact that it was a light beer change anything?
3) This week was movie week. I saw Julie & Julia, (500 Days of) Summer, Adventureland and I Love You, Man. Ratings: Excellent, excellent, okay, and cute (with extra bonus points for being a Paul Rudd movie). Favorite line from I Love You, Man: "You've been Rushified!" Adventureland was a bit of a disappointment, in that it was clearly marketed as a comedy, but it wasn't actually funny. At all.
4) Dr. Atkins would turn around in his grave to find out I succumbed to a bag of movie popcorn, slathered in a buttery-like substance. He probably wouldn't be happy about the beer, either.
5) I found a Christmas card with money in it. I promptly took it down to the Silver Legacy, and bought a ticket to see Joel McHale on September 5th. While there, I put a dollar in the Wheel of Fortune penny slot machine, and won $1.70. I quit while I was ahead. I bet the casino hates me now.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
There's One In Every Group
The other night, a bunch of my friends and I were at GSR for Ladies' Night. After a drink or two, the band started playing dance music, so we got up to dance. Now...one of my pet peeves has to do with guys and dancing. We women don't mind dancing with one another, and in fact we enjoy it. And the guys will just sit at the bar and watch, but not ask us to dance. But there's always some asshole who waits until we get up on the dance floor, then sidles up to us and boogies in the center, as if he is a big stud and we're all part of his harem.
I hate it. It drives me freakin' crazy. And so of course it happened the other night - some doofus who didn't have the balls to ask us to dance jumped in between us during a song, and started dancing. I turned my back on him, and so did my friend Carmen. My friend Tammy, who is probably one of the sweetest women I'll ever meet, felt sorry for the guy and danced with him. After the dance, she invited him back to the table.
As I mentioned before, the guy was an asshole. So, he made some lame excuse about going to the bar to get a whisky (and of course didn't offer to buy anyone at the table a drink, including Tammy who was sweet enough to invite him over). After he left, I said "Oh my gawd" and Tammy started to laugh. She said, "I know what you're going to say!"
"What, that I hate guys like that?"
"Yeah. As soon as he came up to us, the first thing I thought was 'Oh PJammy is going to be so mad!' My instinct was to protect him from your wrath!"
I said, "Tammy, you are just so nice. You always do the right thing." And then I realized that really, all my friends there were nice. "Suz, you're really a good hostess. And Joni, everyone who meets you falls in love with you. And Colleen is so motherly...." I stopped. "Oh fuck!"
Tammy said, "What's wrong?"
"I just realized that I'm the bitch in the group. Every group has one...and I'm it, aren't I?"
Now remember, these are nice women, so they all used different words. "No, you're not a bitch...you're just confidant." "You're strong!" "You're blunt!" Oh yes, all sorts of different words for "bitch" were used...it was nice of them to try, however there was no disguising it - I am the bitch of the group.
I am not sure I'm happy about that, but the reality is that every group does have one. In this case, I'm it.
I hate it. It drives me freakin' crazy. And so of course it happened the other night - some doofus who didn't have the balls to ask us to dance jumped in between us during a song, and started dancing. I turned my back on him, and so did my friend Carmen. My friend Tammy, who is probably one of the sweetest women I'll ever meet, felt sorry for the guy and danced with him. After the dance, she invited him back to the table.
As I mentioned before, the guy was an asshole. So, he made some lame excuse about going to the bar to get a whisky (and of course didn't offer to buy anyone at the table a drink, including Tammy who was sweet enough to invite him over). After he left, I said "Oh my gawd" and Tammy started to laugh. She said, "I know what you're going to say!"
"What, that I hate guys like that?"
"Yeah. As soon as he came up to us, the first thing I thought was 'Oh PJammy is going to be so mad!' My instinct was to protect him from your wrath!"
I said, "Tammy, you are just so nice. You always do the right thing." And then I realized that really, all my friends there were nice. "Suz, you're really a good hostess. And Joni, everyone who meets you falls in love with you. And Colleen is so motherly...." I stopped. "Oh fuck!"
Tammy said, "What's wrong?"
"I just realized that I'm the bitch in the group. Every group has one...and I'm it, aren't I?"
Now remember, these are nice women, so they all used different words. "No, you're not a bitch...you're just confidant." "You're strong!" "You're blunt!" Oh yes, all sorts of different words for "bitch" were used...it was nice of them to try, however there was no disguising it - I am the bitch of the group.
I am not sure I'm happy about that, but the reality is that every group does have one. In this case, I'm it.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Faux Sex with the Ex
Your ex really isn't your ex until you have sex...isn't that right? I swear I heard that somewhere before...maybe just in my own head. But, it's kind of true, right? Almost every woman I've ever talked to has had sex with her ex.
Now I'm one of them.
Well, kind of. Let me explain... Hunky's new girlfriend doesn't want him to have female friends. Of course, that includes me. We still occasionally chat online, but basically we no longer talk on the phone, and emails are few and far between. As he was my best friend for eleven years, it's kind of odd not to talk to him any more.
Two weeks ago, he called me when he was in the car on his way to an appointment. He didn't have much to say - just wanted to let me know he was thinking of me and hoping all was well. We chatted until he arrived at his destination. Surprisingly, he called me again when he left his appointment. We talked some more, and I almost invited him over for tea, but something stopped me.
I visited my parents that weekend, and when my mom asked if I'd heard from Hunky, I told her the story. Then I added that I almost invited him over for tea, since he was near my place, but didn't. She asked me why I didn't, and I said I wasn't sure - maybe I just wasn't sure it was appropriate.
I thought about my conversation with my mom, and the next time I had reason to email Hunky, I told him that I had almost invited him over for tea. Then I said that if ever wanted to catch up in person, he was welcome to come on over. And Hunky being Hunky, he actually did email me to let me know he'd be in my neighborhood again; was the invitation still open?
It was, and today was the day. I worked this morning at a temp job, and had not eaten so I was famished by the time I got home. I made lunch for us both, as it turned out he had not eaten yet, either.
Over lunch, we talked. It turned out he and Girlfriend had an argument last night, and it continued on this morning. We talked about that, and one thing led to another led to another and at some point it came out that he was still attracted to me physically. Or sexually. Or both.
Next thing I knew, we were naked. Well, I was naked; he was half naked. And then we had faux sex, which in my definition is sex without vaginal penetration. Because, let's face it - if naked body parts and orgasms abound, it's sex. Maybe not real sex, but it's sex.
Afterward, he asked me if I felt guilty. Nope. Not one freakin' bit. It would have been different if I knew Girlfriend and felt some sort of loyalty to her. But I don't know her. And, it would be different if she allowed us to be friends. But she doesn't. So...no guilt here. Only the afterglow of pleasure.
Of course, there is one more thing - and that is that it was simply sex with the ex. It's not going to turn into a huge romance. He's not going to leave Girlfriend for me. It's simply sex - and that's something I'll have to figure out if I'm okay with.
I think I am, but you know it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind.
Now I'm one of them.
Well, kind of. Let me explain... Hunky's new girlfriend doesn't want him to have female friends. Of course, that includes me. We still occasionally chat online, but basically we no longer talk on the phone, and emails are few and far between. As he was my best friend for eleven years, it's kind of odd not to talk to him any more.
Two weeks ago, he called me when he was in the car on his way to an appointment. He didn't have much to say - just wanted to let me know he was thinking of me and hoping all was well. We chatted until he arrived at his destination. Surprisingly, he called me again when he left his appointment. We talked some more, and I almost invited him over for tea, but something stopped me.
I visited my parents that weekend, and when my mom asked if I'd heard from Hunky, I told her the story. Then I added that I almost invited him over for tea, since he was near my place, but didn't. She asked me why I didn't, and I said I wasn't sure - maybe I just wasn't sure it was appropriate.
I thought about my conversation with my mom, and the next time I had reason to email Hunky, I told him that I had almost invited him over for tea. Then I said that if ever wanted to catch up in person, he was welcome to come on over. And Hunky being Hunky, he actually did email me to let me know he'd be in my neighborhood again; was the invitation still open?
It was, and today was the day. I worked this morning at a temp job, and had not eaten so I was famished by the time I got home. I made lunch for us both, as it turned out he had not eaten yet, either.
Over lunch, we talked. It turned out he and Girlfriend had an argument last night, and it continued on this morning. We talked about that, and one thing led to another led to another and at some point it came out that he was still attracted to me physically. Or sexually. Or both.
Next thing I knew, we were naked. Well, I was naked; he was half naked. And then we had faux sex, which in my definition is sex without vaginal penetration. Because, let's face it - if naked body parts and orgasms abound, it's sex. Maybe not real sex, but it's sex.
Afterward, he asked me if I felt guilty. Nope. Not one freakin' bit. It would have been different if I knew Girlfriend and felt some sort of loyalty to her. But I don't know her. And, it would be different if she allowed us to be friends. But she doesn't. So...no guilt here. Only the afterglow of pleasure.
Of course, there is one more thing - and that is that it was simply sex with the ex. It's not going to turn into a huge romance. He's not going to leave Girlfriend for me. It's simply sex - and that's something I'll have to figure out if I'm okay with.
I think I am, but you know it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Just call me "Marci"
One of the best temp jobs I ever had was through OfficeTeam, so when I was laid off in December, the first thing I did was sign myself back up with them. Last week they called and asked me if I would would work a short-term temp job this week. I jumped at the chance to get back to the top of their list, so I said yes.
The job is as an order taker (you know how I love taking orders...) at a convention in town at the Peppermill. But, I was warned that I was only an alternate. So, I was to show up this morning at 7, go through training and then wait around for two hours to see if I was needed. I hate to admit this: I was hoping I wouldn't be needed. Not because I didn't want to work - no I want to work. It's because this little piddly two-day job will screw up my unemployment. And as someone who hates dealing with those numbnuts, I was hoping I would get sent home.
But, Marci S. did not show up for work, so I was given her name tag and put to work taking orders. It was okay, but slow. So. Very. Slow. There were eight of us, and as we pretty much spent most of the day waiting around for people to give us orders, I am quite surprised they kept all of us there until quitting time.
As I wanted to work, I smiled at just about anyone who walked by the table. "Please sit down and give me some orders" I silently urged them. One guy saw me smile, and sat down. "Hello....Marci. Wait. Is your name really even Marci?" I laughed. "What makes you think it might not be?" "Oh, I go to enough of these things to know that someone always ends up with someone else's name tag."
Now, everyone at the table had the correct name tag but me. How he pegged me as wearing the fake one, I'll never know - unless it's just as simple as I don't look like a Marci. Anyway, we chatted a bit - he was there to talk to the Big Man at the booth, who actually wasn't there when he came by. But, for the rest of the day, he chatted me up on and off as he kept hoping to meet The Big Man at the booth.
I'll tell you, though, this guy wasn't the only person who liked Marci. As I mentioned, we were not busy at all. So, it came as no surprise when one of the booth guys came up to us and said that he wouldn't need all of us tomorrow. He told the woman sitting next to me that he would not be needing her, and then he pointed at me "But you! You I need. Can you come back tomorrow?"
Dammit. Yes, yes I can.
I'm not really sure how I was picked over the woman next to me. The only thing I can think of is that while wearing the mantle of Marci, I did a pretty good job. I didn't eat any of their samples. I didn't stray away from my station. I smiled encouragingly at people, hoping they'd come sit at my desk so I could take their orders. So, it turns out this Marci girl is a pretty good worker. And apparently fairly well-liked.
But she sure is going to screw up next week's unemployment claim.
The job is as an order taker (you know how I love taking orders...) at a convention in town at the Peppermill. But, I was warned that I was only an alternate. So, I was to show up this morning at 7, go through training and then wait around for two hours to see if I was needed. I hate to admit this: I was hoping I wouldn't be needed. Not because I didn't want to work - no I want to work. It's because this little piddly two-day job will screw up my unemployment. And as someone who hates dealing with those numbnuts, I was hoping I would get sent home.
But, Marci S. did not show up for work, so I was given her name tag and put to work taking orders. It was okay, but slow. So. Very. Slow. There were eight of us, and as we pretty much spent most of the day waiting around for people to give us orders, I am quite surprised they kept all of us there until quitting time.
As I wanted to work, I smiled at just about anyone who walked by the table. "Please sit down and give me some orders" I silently urged them. One guy saw me smile, and sat down. "Hello....Marci. Wait. Is your name really even Marci?" I laughed. "What makes you think it might not be?" "Oh, I go to enough of these things to know that someone always ends up with someone else's name tag."
Now, everyone at the table had the correct name tag but me. How he pegged me as wearing the fake one, I'll never know - unless it's just as simple as I don't look like a Marci. Anyway, we chatted a bit - he was there to talk to the Big Man at the booth, who actually wasn't there when he came by. But, for the rest of the day, he chatted me up on and off as he kept hoping to meet The Big Man at the booth.
I'll tell you, though, this guy wasn't the only person who liked Marci. As I mentioned, we were not busy at all. So, it came as no surprise when one of the booth guys came up to us and said that he wouldn't need all of us tomorrow. He told the woman sitting next to me that he would not be needing her, and then he pointed at me "But you! You I need. Can you come back tomorrow?"
Dammit. Yes, yes I can.
I'm not really sure how I was picked over the woman next to me. The only thing I can think of is that while wearing the mantle of Marci, I did a pretty good job. I didn't eat any of their samples. I didn't stray away from my station. I smiled encouragingly at people, hoping they'd come sit at my desk so I could take their orders. So, it turns out this Marci girl is a pretty good worker. And apparently fairly well-liked.
But she sure is going to screw up next week's unemployment claim.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Lizard or Redhead
When Chris Costa took his third set break of the night, a guy came up behind me, put his arms on my waist, leaned into me and with his lips almost on the back of my neck he said, "So is it a lizard or a redhead?" Um. Huh?
I must have made oogly eyes at my friend Carmen, because she raised her eyebrows and looked at me. I asked the guy to repeat himself. "Is it lizard skin or a redhead?" He kept his hands on me, and his mouth was so close to my neck while he spoke that the words almost felt like kisses. Then he said, "Please push my lips away from your neck."
I didn't move, because I was still puzzling out the question. Lizard skin or redhead? Okay, I get the redhead thing - I have red hair. But...lizard skin? What was lizard skin? Was he asking me if my dress was supposed to be lizard skin? Or was my skin lizard like? I dunno, because while I was thinking about what it was that he was asking me, he pulled away.
He told me I was sexy, and then walked away to join his friends - an odd conglomeration of men. One old black guy, one middle-aged black guy, and a very blond, very young surfer dude.
My friend Carmen quizzed me. I told her I had no idea what he said to me - he was obviously buzzed. We made a couple of jokes about it, and then started talking about our regular girl stuff. We could see them all staring at us while we talked, and could tell they were going to make another move - we rolled our eyes and waited for it.
Sure enough, all three sauntered over to the table. Mr. Lizard approached me and said "I'm sorry about kissing your neck." Now, the thing is, he didn't kiss my neck. But apparently there was some sort of bet thing going on, and not wanting him to lose (because I'm nice that way), I said "No problem! Kiss away." His eyes lit up, and he approached me from behind again. Then I felt it - his lips on my neck. He kissed me three times, and I could see Surfer Dude talking to my friend Carmen. I could tell she was giving him a hard time, but couldn't hear what she was saying.
Mr. Lizard invited me to join him at Nikki Beach. He said there was music and dancing and he was sure I'd enjoy it. I told him there was music and dancing where I was, so I was going to stay put. He tried to entice me with his beer (yep. His beer - it would have been much more enticing had he offered to buy me my own). I smiled sweetly (well I tried, anyway), thanked him, and said that Carmen and I were enjoying the music here so we were staying. He said okay, but if I changed my mind he would be there waiting for me.
When they finally left, I asked Carmen about Surfer Dude. She said she had asked Surfer Dude what was going on. He said "Mr. Lizard is trying to get your friend's panties wet." She said "What, is she fucking 15-years-old? It takes more than a kiss on the neck to do that! Haven't you guys learned anything? Don't you have any game?" She said Surfer Dude laughed, but backed away.
And it was obvious that none of them had any game. Oh they tried, God bless 'em, they tried. What he didn't know, though, was he couldn't have done anything to get my panties wet, because I wasn't wearing any.
Just call me Britney. Now I must go - I hear K-Fed calling my name.
I must have made oogly eyes at my friend Carmen, because she raised her eyebrows and looked at me. I asked the guy to repeat himself. "Is it lizard skin or a redhead?" He kept his hands on me, and his mouth was so close to my neck while he spoke that the words almost felt like kisses. Then he said, "Please push my lips away from your neck."
I didn't move, because I was still puzzling out the question. Lizard skin or redhead? Okay, I get the redhead thing - I have red hair. But...lizard skin? What was lizard skin? Was he asking me if my dress was supposed to be lizard skin? Or was my skin lizard like? I dunno, because while I was thinking about what it was that he was asking me, he pulled away.
He told me I was sexy, and then walked away to join his friends - an odd conglomeration of men. One old black guy, one middle-aged black guy, and a very blond, very young surfer dude.
My friend Carmen quizzed me. I told her I had no idea what he said to me - he was obviously buzzed. We made a couple of jokes about it, and then started talking about our regular girl stuff. We could see them all staring at us while we talked, and could tell they were going to make another move - we rolled our eyes and waited for it.
Sure enough, all three sauntered over to the table. Mr. Lizard approached me and said "I'm sorry about kissing your neck." Now, the thing is, he didn't kiss my neck. But apparently there was some sort of bet thing going on, and not wanting him to lose (because I'm nice that way), I said "No problem! Kiss away." His eyes lit up, and he approached me from behind again. Then I felt it - his lips on my neck. He kissed me three times, and I could see Surfer Dude talking to my friend Carmen. I could tell she was giving him a hard time, but couldn't hear what she was saying.
Mr. Lizard invited me to join him at Nikki Beach. He said there was music and dancing and he was sure I'd enjoy it. I told him there was music and dancing where I was, so I was going to stay put. He tried to entice me with his beer (yep. His beer - it would have been much more enticing had he offered to buy me my own). I smiled sweetly (well I tried, anyway), thanked him, and said that Carmen and I were enjoying the music here so we were staying. He said okay, but if I changed my mind he would be there waiting for me.
When they finally left, I asked Carmen about Surfer Dude. She said she had asked Surfer Dude what was going on. He said "Mr. Lizard is trying to get your friend's panties wet." She said "What, is she fucking 15-years-old? It takes more than a kiss on the neck to do that! Haven't you guys learned anything? Don't you have any game?" She said Surfer Dude laughed, but backed away.
And it was obvious that none of them had any game. Oh they tried, God bless 'em, they tried. What he didn't know, though, was he couldn't have done anything to get my panties wet, because I wasn't wearing any.
Just call me Britney. Now I must go - I hear K-Fed calling my name.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I am Cougar, Hear me Roar
Ever since this Cougar thing has been featured in magazines and on TV, I have to fend of 28-year-olds like crazy. Their emails are all very pointed, and are frequently crude. However, I do admit that there is this one guy from another site who contacts me regularly, and I do keep writing back. I think I keep writing because he seems kind of naive and friendly and lost. These qualities make him endearing to me.
This particular young man lives in Carson City. He recently moved back after being away for a few years, and wants friends. The thing is, he's shy. Or he says he is shy. I find myself believing him, though, because as a fellow shy person, I recognize the syndrome.
In today's email, he asked me if I was at the Nugget in Carson last week. I told him that I was and then asked him if he saw me. He said that he had, or at least, he was pretty sure it was me. He said "I only saw half of your face, but your boots were damn sexy." I told him he saw someone else - that I was wearing tennis shoes. He said "Uh uh - I don't think so." I laughed. He had me.
So, now that he knows I wear sexy boots in the evenings, he is being bolder with me than he has ever been before. He still hasn't asked me out - but I can tell he's working his way up to it. He is just having trouble actually asking the question - he keeps dancing around it.
I could make it easier for him and guide him to the question. I'm not, though. My purpose isn't to torture him - I'm really just trying to figure out how to respond to him when he actually does ask. Do I really want to go out with a 28-year-old guy? Or is it really such a big deal? I mean, he definitely has the Cougar-expectation: he's said enough to me for me to glean at least that much.
Am I a Cougar? I guess I could say "yes" and find out.
This particular young man lives in Carson City. He recently moved back after being away for a few years, and wants friends. The thing is, he's shy. Or he says he is shy. I find myself believing him, though, because as a fellow shy person, I recognize the syndrome.
In today's email, he asked me if I was at the Nugget in Carson last week. I told him that I was and then asked him if he saw me. He said that he had, or at least, he was pretty sure it was me. He said "I only saw half of your face, but your boots were damn sexy." I told him he saw someone else - that I was wearing tennis shoes. He said "Uh uh - I don't think so." I laughed. He had me.
So, now that he knows I wear sexy boots in the evenings, he is being bolder with me than he has ever been before. He still hasn't asked me out - but I can tell he's working his way up to it. He is just having trouble actually asking the question - he keeps dancing around it.
I could make it easier for him and guide him to the question. I'm not, though. My purpose isn't to torture him - I'm really just trying to figure out how to respond to him when he actually does ask. Do I really want to go out with a 28-year-old guy? Or is it really such a big deal? I mean, he definitely has the Cougar-expectation: he's said enough to me for me to glean at least that much.
Am I a Cougar? I guess I could say "yes" and find out.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Dead Man Flirting
Graveyard dirt. Believe it or not, it's a key ingredient in many spells. Unfortunately, graveyard dirt isn't easy to come by. You can purchase it in stores, but who knows if it really came from a graveyard? And, if you've been to a cemetery recently, you know that most graves are covered with grass, so digging up dirt would be a desecration of sorts.
Another little known fact: to be used effectively, graveyard dirt must be obtained ethically. That is, with full consent of the deceased. It helps to aid the Goddess Oya in this endeavor - and there is a way to do that as well.
I've had need for graveyard dirt on several occasions recently. I decided it was time to do a little research so I could stock my cabinet with this much needed and hard-to-come-by resource.
I thought of the perfect graveyard, in my hometown of Fremont. There is a little cemetery not far from Ohlone College. When I was a kid, we often walked our dog there, and spent time honoring those long since gone. Some of the graves date back to the early 1800's, and we assumed there were no family members left to visit. So, we'd visit instead.
This weekend was the perfect time. I helped my dad at the flea market (conveniently held at Ohlone), and after I was able to excuse myself, I went to CVS to get the last needed requirement: wine. See, Oya likes her gift of nine pennies to be doused in wine - specifically, red wine (that's my kind of Goddess!). I grabbed a four-pack of Merlot, checked out, and drove back to the cemetery.
At the entrance, I called to Oya. I let her know I had pennies and wine for her and asked to to allow me entrance. Before I could finish, I swear I heard Oya say "What are you waiting for! Give me my pennies." So, I did. Then I left the wine at the foot of the stairs. I heard her say, "Don't cap the wine!" I made sure to keep it open, because I certainly did not want to piss her off.
The next step was to talk to the spirits. I let them know why I was there, and told them a bit about my history and what I planned to do with the graveyard dirt. This is the part that can literally take hours. I was hoping it wouldn't, as I had to get back to my parents' house to check on my mom.
I walked around, and visited graves. I spent a lot of time with those who were veterans, hoping that our mutual connection of service would grant me permission. I sensed that a former Corporal in the Army wanted to grant me permission, but his wife did not want him to. I walked around some more. Some clearly told me to move on. Others were eerily silent.
I saw one grave that someone had clearly been at recently, and not in a good way. I talked to the pair (sisters, it looked like), and apologized for the state someone left their graves in. I looked around for a garbage can so I could clean up, but none was found. I moved on.
I visited grave after grave. I talked to many, and didn't make much of a connection. Finally, I asked Oya for help. "Oya! I'm having trouble locating a helpful spirit here. Is there somewhere I should be looking at specifically?" Oya answered me with the help of a squirrel. I saw him poised at the edge of a gravestone, and then he ran. I wasn't sure which grave to check out, the one he started at or the one he ended at. I decided to check them all out.
I talked to all those spirits in the immediate vicinity of the squirrel sighting. The only one who engaged with me was one Richard "Dick" Valencia. He died in 1999, at the age of 74. His wife had not yet joined him, but her name was already engraved on the headstone next to his.
I told him what type of spells I wanted to use the graveyard dirt in: Protection, Love and Banishment spells. He said "I can help you with protection and maybe banishment. But, girlie, I can help you more with sex than I can with love." He was joking with me - and I so did not expect that. We "conversed" for a while, and he continually flirted with me. I asked him if his wife would mind if I took dirt from his grave, and he said "Who cares? I want you to have it." So, I took two handfuls of dirt and left him nine dimes in return.
After leaving the nine dimes, he was delighted. He said, "Take more dirt!" I told him I'd only feel comfortable taking another handful, and that's what I took. He told me he liked my red hair. I thanked him. We talked for a few more minutes, but since I had the dirt and had left the dimes, it was time for me to go. Before I left, I kissed his gravestone. I swear I felt him blush.
He escorted me part of the way out. When I felt he was no longer with me, I said good-bye and thank you to Oya, and left. I knew, though, when I got home I'd have to check the Internet to see if I could find out any information about him.
Tonight I checked, and I found him easily. It turns out his nickname was "Muscles" and he was apparently really well liked. I could tell that, though, from his spirit. He headed "The Big Dick Golf Tournament" in the Bay Area, and was an avid sportsman, hence his ability to readily admit the dirt from his grave could aid with protection. And, I do imagine that his sportsman-like physique probably did make him a big hit with the ladies, so perhaps he wasn't joking when he said he could help me with sex magic.
Either way, as read about him on the 'Net, I felt him next to me again. He didn't say anything, though, he just seemed to delight in reading his obituary. Plus, he seemed to just enjoy my company.
It's kind of sad that the only guy enjoying my company this weekend is a dead man, but I'll tell you, I'll take what I can get. After all, a compliment is a compliment, no matter who it comes from.
Thank you, Muscles. It was nice talking to you.
Another little known fact: to be used effectively, graveyard dirt must be obtained ethically. That is, with full consent of the deceased. It helps to aid the Goddess Oya in this endeavor - and there is a way to do that as well.
I've had need for graveyard dirt on several occasions recently. I decided it was time to do a little research so I could stock my cabinet with this much needed and hard-to-come-by resource.
I thought of the perfect graveyard, in my hometown of Fremont. There is a little cemetery not far from Ohlone College. When I was a kid, we often walked our dog there, and spent time honoring those long since gone. Some of the graves date back to the early 1800's, and we assumed there were no family members left to visit. So, we'd visit instead.
This weekend was the perfect time. I helped my dad at the flea market (conveniently held at Ohlone), and after I was able to excuse myself, I went to CVS to get the last needed requirement: wine. See, Oya likes her gift of nine pennies to be doused in wine - specifically, red wine (that's my kind of Goddess!). I grabbed a four-pack of Merlot, checked out, and drove back to the cemetery.
At the entrance, I called to Oya. I let her know I had pennies and wine for her and asked to to allow me entrance. Before I could finish, I swear I heard Oya say "What are you waiting for! Give me my pennies." So, I did. Then I left the wine at the foot of the stairs. I heard her say, "Don't cap the wine!" I made sure to keep it open, because I certainly did not want to piss her off.
The next step was to talk to the spirits. I let them know why I was there, and told them a bit about my history and what I planned to do with the graveyard dirt. This is the part that can literally take hours. I was hoping it wouldn't, as I had to get back to my parents' house to check on my mom.
I walked around, and visited graves. I spent a lot of time with those who were veterans, hoping that our mutual connection of service would grant me permission. I sensed that a former Corporal in the Army wanted to grant me permission, but his wife did not want him to. I walked around some more. Some clearly told me to move on. Others were eerily silent.
I saw one grave that someone had clearly been at recently, and not in a good way. I talked to the pair (sisters, it looked like), and apologized for the state someone left their graves in. I looked around for a garbage can so I could clean up, but none was found. I moved on.
I visited grave after grave. I talked to many, and didn't make much of a connection. Finally, I asked Oya for help. "Oya! I'm having trouble locating a helpful spirit here. Is there somewhere I should be looking at specifically?" Oya answered me with the help of a squirrel. I saw him poised at the edge of a gravestone, and then he ran. I wasn't sure which grave to check out, the one he started at or the one he ended at. I decided to check them all out.
I talked to all those spirits in the immediate vicinity of the squirrel sighting. The only one who engaged with me was one Richard "Dick" Valencia. He died in 1999, at the age of 74. His wife had not yet joined him, but her name was already engraved on the headstone next to his.
I told him what type of spells I wanted to use the graveyard dirt in: Protection, Love and Banishment spells. He said "I can help you with protection and maybe banishment. But, girlie, I can help you more with sex than I can with love." He was joking with me - and I so did not expect that. We "conversed" for a while, and he continually flirted with me. I asked him if his wife would mind if I took dirt from his grave, and he said "Who cares? I want you to have it." So, I took two handfuls of dirt and left him nine dimes in return.
After leaving the nine dimes, he was delighted. He said, "Take more dirt!" I told him I'd only feel comfortable taking another handful, and that's what I took. He told me he liked my red hair. I thanked him. We talked for a few more minutes, but since I had the dirt and had left the dimes, it was time for me to go. Before I left, I kissed his gravestone. I swear I felt him blush.
He escorted me part of the way out. When I felt he was no longer with me, I said good-bye and thank you to Oya, and left. I knew, though, when I got home I'd have to check the Internet to see if I could find out any information about him.
Tonight I checked, and I found him easily. It turns out his nickname was "Muscles" and he was apparently really well liked. I could tell that, though, from his spirit. He headed "The Big Dick Golf Tournament" in the Bay Area, and was an avid sportsman, hence his ability to readily admit the dirt from his grave could aid with protection. And, I do imagine that his sportsman-like physique probably did make him a big hit with the ladies, so perhaps he wasn't joking when he said he could help me with sex magic.
Either way, as read about him on the 'Net, I felt him next to me again. He didn't say anything, though, he just seemed to delight in reading his obituary. Plus, he seemed to just enjoy my company.
It's kind of sad that the only guy enjoying my company this weekend is a dead man, but I'll tell you, I'll take what I can get. After all, a compliment is a compliment, no matter who it comes from.
Thank you, Muscles. It was nice talking to you.
Friday, August 07, 2009
One Thing
Even though I know
I don't want to know
Yeah, I guess I know
I just hate how it sounds
--Finger Eleven, "One Thing"
I don't want to know
Yeah, I guess I know
I just hate how it sounds
--Finger Eleven, "One Thing"
True Sight. It's both a blessing and a curse. It's the one power I have that I have been using since I was a little girl. I have almost always (almost) been able to tell when someone is lying. I also know when something is being hidden. And, I quite frequently know the story behind the story, without ever being told.
When I decided to move out of Hunky's place and into my own home, we both thought it would be a good thing for our relationship. The original plan was to just start dating again, with the hope that since we weren't living under the same roof, we would be better able to start mending our relationship.
But, I knew he was dating other women. He didn't talk about it, but also wouldn't deny it if I asked. I knew his routine inside and out, so when something was different, I knew. I would know if he threw a play party at his house. Or if he went out on a simple date. I knew the differences, and I didn't want to know - yet at the same time, was glad I knew so I could deal with it emotionally.
At the end, I knew that it was over before he would even admit it - both to himself and me. I was his safety net, knew his foibles and eccentricities, yet loved him anyway. He could not be sure that would be the case with his new girl, so he held on to me "just in case." But I knew...and he knew I knew...and eventually admitted it and we parted ways for good.
With the exception of other witches who are good with Arte of Glamoury or Abjuration, I just know things about people. It's not a psychic ability, as I don't see the future or the past. I just know things, like someone's history or why they are the way they are. I know when a guy is interested in me, but afraid to make another step. I know when a guy is not interested enough to make the next step, even if he says he is. I know when a guy is lying to me (again, most of the time - there have been a few exceptions). I do not make it a habit to call people on this stuff, unless there is some reason for me to so. Most of the time, I just take the knowledge and use it to make my next move, whatever that might be.
Lately, I've made a few mistakes with men. Errors in judgment...maybe. However, in the exit interviews I've conducted with my psyche, I realize that I knew. Of course I knew. I was just testing my boundaries and my newly found freedom. Perhaps I was also exercising a little wildness. Or allowing myself to experience new things by picking the right people to do that with, still knowing in my bones that these were just play dates, and nothing to hang my hopes on.
The thing is, while I just know things, I don't know what to do next. How best to proceed. My magical mentor suggested a few things...and I'm pondering those as well. Yes, the gift of True Sight is both a blessing and a curse - but it doesn't help me predict the future, so my next move is still a mystery to me.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Love is a Challenge
Loving anyone is challenging. The love brings us to places we might not have thought we were strong enough to handle - and sometimes to places we were hoping to avoid.
Loving someone with a disability is extremely challenging - I should know because I did it for over ten years. My ex-boyfriend (life partner, live-in significant other - take your pick) was not neuro-typical. He has Asperger's Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism. Because he is high functioning, it was often easy for me to forget he had a disability. It was at those times I forgot that it became an issue.
I haven't written much about this before, because I didn't want to come off as a martyr or as a show off. However, I am starting to realize that loving someone with a disability has helped form me and change me in many positive ways. Unfortunately, it also showed me my limitations, and my failures.
I knew what I was getting into - he told me about his disability on our first date. I researched it, and felt I would be able to handle it. And, most of the time I handled it well. However, there were times I handled it poorly and I often wonder if that didn't help to kill the relationship.
While one might not normally think that a relationship with someone who has a disability could be advantageous, in this instance is was. People with autism don't tend to lie; their brain doesn't process information in the same way as a neuro-typical brain, and so when asked a question, they will often just come out with the truth. Of course, a lot of time that truth is not filtered, so if you are asking someone with autism a question (i.e. "Am I fat?") be prepared for a completely honest answer.
So, when our relationship was on the rocks, if I asked a straightforward question (are you dating someone else), I would get an honest response. One I could trust to be true.
Navigating the dating waters now is kind of tricky for me. I have come across liars aplenty. Thank goodness I have a pretty good b-s meter, but still... some lies get past me without being noticed right away. When this happens, I miss the honesty I had in my long-term relationship. But if I were to be really honest, there are things I don't miss as well.
I don't miss dealing with the OCD and the over-analyzing. I don't miss the times of lethargy - when he simply couldn't move or take care of himself, so I had to step in and do it all - (even sometimes encourage him into the shower). I don't miss the germ phobia and the sleepless nights. Nor do I miss the fact that we never went to any of the fun things around Reno together because he could not be in a crowd - so, no Artown events, Street Vibrations, Hot August Nights. If I wanted to do any of those things, I would have to do them on my own.
For the first time in over ten years, I feel like I have a life. I didn't realize how suffocating and small my world used to be until our relationship ended. Don't get me wrong - I didn't want our relationship to end. But end it did, and as the saying goes: When God closes a door, another one opens.
This particular open door has led me to good friends, fun activities, and a great period of growth. But I don't ever want to forget that my relationship was also a period of growth and self-awareness. I certainly would not be who I am today had it not been for the challenges that the relationship provided me. For that, I am grateful.
Loving someone with a disability is extremely challenging - I should know because I did it for over ten years. My ex-boyfriend (life partner, live-in significant other - take your pick) was not neuro-typical. He has Asperger's Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism. Because he is high functioning, it was often easy for me to forget he had a disability. It was at those times I forgot that it became an issue.
I haven't written much about this before, because I didn't want to come off as a martyr or as a show off. However, I am starting to realize that loving someone with a disability has helped form me and change me in many positive ways. Unfortunately, it also showed me my limitations, and my failures.
I knew what I was getting into - he told me about his disability on our first date. I researched it, and felt I would be able to handle it. And, most of the time I handled it well. However, there were times I handled it poorly and I often wonder if that didn't help to kill the relationship.
While one might not normally think that a relationship with someone who has a disability could be advantageous, in this instance is was. People with autism don't tend to lie; their brain doesn't process information in the same way as a neuro-typical brain, and so when asked a question, they will often just come out with the truth. Of course, a lot of time that truth is not filtered, so if you are asking someone with autism a question (i.e. "Am I fat?") be prepared for a completely honest answer.
So, when our relationship was on the rocks, if I asked a straightforward question (are you dating someone else), I would get an honest response. One I could trust to be true.
Navigating the dating waters now is kind of tricky for me. I have come across liars aplenty. Thank goodness I have a pretty good b-s meter, but still... some lies get past me without being noticed right away. When this happens, I miss the honesty I had in my long-term relationship. But if I were to be really honest, there are things I don't miss as well.
I don't miss dealing with the OCD and the over-analyzing. I don't miss the times of lethargy - when he simply couldn't move or take care of himself, so I had to step in and do it all - (even sometimes encourage him into the shower). I don't miss the germ phobia and the sleepless nights. Nor do I miss the fact that we never went to any of the fun things around Reno together because he could not be in a crowd - so, no Artown events, Street Vibrations, Hot August Nights. If I wanted to do any of those things, I would have to do them on my own.
For the first time in over ten years, I feel like I have a life. I didn't realize how suffocating and small my world used to be until our relationship ended. Don't get me wrong - I didn't want our relationship to end. But end it did, and as the saying goes: When God closes a door, another one opens.
This particular open door has led me to good friends, fun activities, and a great period of growth. But I don't ever want to forget that my relationship was also a period of growth and self-awareness. I certainly would not be who I am today had it not been for the challenges that the relationship provided me. For that, I am grateful.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Longest Day
MIdsummer - even before I publicly acknowledged that I am a witch, this was my favorite day of the year. The day the sun stays with us the longest - I dunno why - has always been a magical day for me.
I can remember when I was a kid laying on my neighbor's lawn (they had the best lawn), staring at the sky and watching the clouds. My brother, friends and I would shout out what we saw up above - summer was so magical then. We could stay out late. Ride our bikes all over the neighborhood. Run through the sprinkler, and then make mud pies in the gutter - and we were free until mom called us back inside after the sun went down.
Summer seemed like an endless present of sunny days, bathing suits, and watermelon. On very special days, my mom would drop us off at the theater, where we would see a double-feature. On other special days, she'd drop us off at the Lagoon, and we'd spend all day splashing in the muddy water. The rest of the time, we hung out with the neighborhood kids, playing games, roller skating, dressing up - whatever, really - it didn't matter, because we didn't have to go to school.
Summer isn't as magical to me now as it was then, with the exception of midsummer. On this day, I can feel the magic of yesteryear as clearly now as I did when I was eight years old. I can still feel the sticky sweat on my forehead, taste the refreshing sweetness of a cold Coke on a red hot day, and hear the sounds of the neighborhood kids chanting "Red Rover, Red Rover..." It's as if no time has past - but of course, it has. Lots of it, in fact.
We held our ritual outdoors and burned an effigy of the Sun God. We toasted the sun with wine and feasted on hot dogs, salads, and chocolate cake. And as the sun made its way down, we sat around the fire and talked about our future, together and apart. We were united underneath the sun of the longest day, and magic surrounded us.
I hope I never lose my fascination with midsummer, for it's the one day of the year I can count on in which the veil is lifted and I am once again eight-years-old, with no cares in the world whatsoever. I see fairies and shooting stars and clouds shaped like bunnies. I feel love and joy and complete freedom...that is, until mom calls me back home to face the reality that is the mundane, everyday world of home life.
I can remember when I was a kid laying on my neighbor's lawn (they had the best lawn), staring at the sky and watching the clouds. My brother, friends and I would shout out what we saw up above - summer was so magical then. We could stay out late. Ride our bikes all over the neighborhood. Run through the sprinkler, and then make mud pies in the gutter - and we were free until mom called us back inside after the sun went down.
Summer seemed like an endless present of sunny days, bathing suits, and watermelon. On very special days, my mom would drop us off at the theater, where we would see a double-feature. On other special days, she'd drop us off at the Lagoon, and we'd spend all day splashing in the muddy water. The rest of the time, we hung out with the neighborhood kids, playing games, roller skating, dressing up - whatever, really - it didn't matter, because we didn't have to go to school.
Summer isn't as magical to me now as it was then, with the exception of midsummer. On this day, I can feel the magic of yesteryear as clearly now as I did when I was eight years old. I can still feel the sticky sweat on my forehead, taste the refreshing sweetness of a cold Coke on a red hot day, and hear the sounds of the neighborhood kids chanting "Red Rover, Red Rover..." It's as if no time has past - but of course, it has. Lots of it, in fact.
We held our ritual outdoors and burned an effigy of the Sun God. We toasted the sun with wine and feasted on hot dogs, salads, and chocolate cake. And as the sun made its way down, we sat around the fire and talked about our future, together and apart. We were united underneath the sun of the longest day, and magic surrounded us.
I hope I never lose my fascination with midsummer, for it's the one day of the year I can count on in which the veil is lifted and I am once again eight-years-old, with no cares in the world whatsoever. I see fairies and shooting stars and clouds shaped like bunnies. I feel love and joy and complete freedom...that is, until mom calls me back home to face the reality that is the mundane, everyday world of home life.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Strange, but True
Tonight I was out with my girlfriends, and I ended up driving one of them home. On the way, she said that the evening was another bust - another night in which she didn't meet anyone who flipped her switch. Another lonely night...
It took a minute for this to sink in. Why? Because she's the one most of the single guys I've met ask me about. "Hey, PJammy, what about your friend? Is she seeing someone? Is she free?" And here she was, expressing some of the same things I've thought time and time again... "Why not me?"
In all honesty, I don't expect to meet anyone on our dancing nights. I look at it as girls' night out, and don't even entertain the idea that I might meet someone. Still...when we do other things together, I think "Maybe tonight?" And in that vein, I pay a little extra attention to what I put on - clothing, lipstick, jewelery.
So, when one of the "pretty" girls says she's disappointed that she didn't meet anyone and she's lonely and wants someone, I realize that at our core - our heart - we are the same. We want the same things: love, security, a big hug, some tender and not-so-tender kisses, and, well, a little, ahem, something extra.
One could say that we went home alone tonight. And in the literal sense, that's true. But actually, we both went home together, our hearts in harmony and our desires mutual. The pretty girl and the not-so-pretty girl are one and the same in this quest for love. For now we have each other - but it's not enough so we continue to hope. And dream. And wish. And if we're lucky, our wishes will come true.
It took a minute for this to sink in. Why? Because she's the one most of the single guys I've met ask me about. "Hey, PJammy, what about your friend? Is she seeing someone? Is she free?" And here she was, expressing some of the same things I've thought time and time again... "Why not me?"
In all honesty, I don't expect to meet anyone on our dancing nights. I look at it as girls' night out, and don't even entertain the idea that I might meet someone. Still...when we do other things together, I think "Maybe tonight?" And in that vein, I pay a little extra attention to what I put on - clothing, lipstick, jewelery.
So, when one of the "pretty" girls says she's disappointed that she didn't meet anyone and she's lonely and wants someone, I realize that at our core - our heart - we are the same. We want the same things: love, security, a big hug, some tender and not-so-tender kisses, and, well, a little, ahem, something extra.
One could say that we went home alone tonight. And in the literal sense, that's true. But actually, we both went home together, our hearts in harmony and our desires mutual. The pretty girl and the not-so-pretty girl are one and the same in this quest for love. For now we have each other - but it's not enough so we continue to hope. And dream. And wish. And if we're lucky, our wishes will come true.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Go Out...Tonight?
After announcing financial difficulties, my horoscope ended with this: Tonight: go out and have a good time! And when I read my horoscope while drinking my coffee, I nodded and said "Yes, Astro, I am going out tonight!"
But the day wore on. And on. And on. And except for a bright spot in the morning, the day just didn't end. And neither did the rain. So when the girls started backing out of tonight's plans one-by-one, I actually started to feel some relief. A night indoors. Yay...I think.
I was ambivalent about it. In reality, I didn't want to make an effort. It was just that kind of day - the kind of day that left me wanting to put on my sweat pants and stay at home. But when I called my friend Ms. C to see if she was also going to give up on tonight's planned outing, she said no.
After three phone conversations, it was decided that she was going to go to the movies with L. That was perfect! She had company, and I could stay at home, curled up under a blanket. I went into the kitchen to scrounge up some food. Shortly after a tiny bit of success, the phone rang again. Ms. C said, "Hey! It turns out that all L. really wants is some popcorn and chocolate, and I have that here. So, we are going to watch a movie at my place. You in?"
And I was. In like Flint. See, when I went into the kitchen, I fully expected that I would have to turn on the light, as it had to be dark out, right? Wrong. It was still light outside. Would this day never end?
I brushed my stumps, put on my shoes and left for Ms. C's house. We talked and got the snacks ready. L. arrived with her dog, Buddy, who is now officially my new boyfriend. We talked, and then we sat down to watch Mildred Pierce, surrounded by popcorn, chocolate, stuffed mushrooms and dogs.
After the movie, I left because I have an early day tomorrow (oops...I probably should be in bed. Dang it!). I checked email and saw my horoscope still in there. I hadn't deleted it. I opened it up to see if there was some reason I hadn't. And the last portion of the 'scope stood out like a hooker in a bridal shop: Tonight: go out and have a good time!
I can't believe I had forgotten that part of my horoscope. And yet, going out was the perfect antidote to a draggy day. Good friends. Good food. Good movie. Good dogs. And sweat pants. I am pretty sure I enjoyed all of that more than I would have our original plan. In fact, I know I did.
But the day wore on. And on. And on. And except for a bright spot in the morning, the day just didn't end. And neither did the rain. So when the girls started backing out of tonight's plans one-by-one, I actually started to feel some relief. A night indoors. Yay...I think.
I was ambivalent about it. In reality, I didn't want to make an effort. It was just that kind of day - the kind of day that left me wanting to put on my sweat pants and stay at home. But when I called my friend Ms. C to see if she was also going to give up on tonight's planned outing, she said no.
After three phone conversations, it was decided that she was going to go to the movies with L. That was perfect! She had company, and I could stay at home, curled up under a blanket. I went into the kitchen to scrounge up some food. Shortly after a tiny bit of success, the phone rang again. Ms. C said, "Hey! It turns out that all L. really wants is some popcorn and chocolate, and I have that here. So, we are going to watch a movie at my place. You in?"
And I was. In like Flint. See, when I went into the kitchen, I fully expected that I would have to turn on the light, as it had to be dark out, right? Wrong. It was still light outside. Would this day never end?
I brushed my stumps, put on my shoes and left for Ms. C's house. We talked and got the snacks ready. L. arrived with her dog, Buddy, who is now officially my new boyfriend. We talked, and then we sat down to watch Mildred Pierce, surrounded by popcorn, chocolate, stuffed mushrooms and dogs.
After the movie, I left because I have an early day tomorrow (oops...I probably should be in bed. Dang it!). I checked email and saw my horoscope still in there. I hadn't deleted it. I opened it up to see if there was some reason I hadn't. And the last portion of the 'scope stood out like a hooker in a bridal shop: Tonight: go out and have a good time!
I can't believe I had forgotten that part of my horoscope. And yet, going out was the perfect antidote to a draggy day. Good friends. Good food. Good movie. Good dogs. And sweat pants. I am pretty sure I enjoyed all of that more than I would have our original plan. In fact, I know I did.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Sweet Home Alabama
When the girls and I go out dancing. there is one song that always gets us up on the dance floor: Sweet Home Alabama. It's one of "our" songs. Our other no fail song is "The Joker (Space Cowboy)."
I think it's cool that we all rock out to the same song, although I know our reasons for loving the song are all different. For me, the song always takes me back to Aschaffenburg, Germany - my first duty station. I was in a room with four other girls, and one of my roomies hailed from Mobile, Alabama.
Her name was Mary, and she was supposed to be my "sponsor" when I first arrived. She wasn't happy with that assignment, so she often pawned off her duties to someone else. I thought she hated me - in the end, she turned out to be my best friend.
Mary was a bit of a partier, and rarely did a Friday or Saturday night go by without her leaving the barracks to go to the Enlisted or NCO club. She used to take a long time getting ready, and spent most of that time blaring music on her stereo. "Sweet Home Alabama" was one of the first songs she played after her shower - it was the song to get her in the mood to go out.
When she decided she liked me enough to start including me in her forrays out to the club, I was excited beyond belief. After our showers, we headed straight to our room to finish getting ready. As soon as we had finished blow drying our hair, she'd put "Sweet Home Alabama" on the stereo and turn that baby up high. As we rocked to the beat, she would sip wine (I didn't like it back then - yeah, really I didn't) and I would go through my meager collection of civilian clothes to find something feminine to wear.
The music promised a night of fun and excitement. And the promise was almost always kept. Once at the club, we'd dance and have a good time. She always found someone to make out with. I always found someone to dance with. And when we got home, the music still pulsating in our soul, she'd whip out the forbidden cooking paraphernalia she hid, and make us macaroni & cheese and peas with white sauce. Over this early morning meal, we'd rehash the night's activities and giggle until the need for sleep overrode the need to talk.
'Til this day, the song "Sweet Home Alabama" always feels like home - while it may be Mary's actual home, it's most definitely my spiritual one.
I think it's cool that we all rock out to the same song, although I know our reasons for loving the song are all different. For me, the song always takes me back to Aschaffenburg, Germany - my first duty station. I was in a room with four other girls, and one of my roomies hailed from Mobile, Alabama.
Her name was Mary, and she was supposed to be my "sponsor" when I first arrived. She wasn't happy with that assignment, so she often pawned off her duties to someone else. I thought she hated me - in the end, she turned out to be my best friend.
Mary was a bit of a partier, and rarely did a Friday or Saturday night go by without her leaving the barracks to go to the Enlisted or NCO club. She used to take a long time getting ready, and spent most of that time blaring music on her stereo. "Sweet Home Alabama" was one of the first songs she played after her shower - it was the song to get her in the mood to go out.
When she decided she liked me enough to start including me in her forrays out to the club, I was excited beyond belief. After our showers, we headed straight to our room to finish getting ready. As soon as we had finished blow drying our hair, she'd put "Sweet Home Alabama" on the stereo and turn that baby up high. As we rocked to the beat, she would sip wine (I didn't like it back then - yeah, really I didn't) and I would go through my meager collection of civilian clothes to find something feminine to wear.
The music promised a night of fun and excitement. And the promise was almost always kept. Once at the club, we'd dance and have a good time. She always found someone to make out with. I always found someone to dance with. And when we got home, the music still pulsating in our soul, she'd whip out the forbidden cooking paraphernalia she hid, and make us macaroni & cheese and peas with white sauce. Over this early morning meal, we'd rehash the night's activities and giggle until the need for sleep overrode the need to talk.
'Til this day, the song "Sweet Home Alabama" always feels like home - while it may be Mary's actual home, it's most definitely my spiritual one.
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