Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Tales From The Kitchen & Anza Observatory

Funny how one thing always leads to another and suddenly you're planning an adventure and wondering how you ended up here at 4am (or how you're even still awake).

Tonight I tried to bake for the holidays. I had a plan; I was going to light a nice fire in the fireplace, don my festive, red "Naughty or Nice?" apron (I think I've worn it twice in the decade I've owned it), play Christmas music while drinking hot chocolate & Kahlua, and bake at least three kinds of cookies if it killed me. Sounds like a real Norman Rockwell evening, doesn't it? Well that's what I was going for. Those Hollywood moments don't create themselves ya know.

Apparently the cookies (or the Universe) saw it as a challenge. How many monkey wrenches does it take to screw up a Rockwell-inspired evening?

7:00pm. I light the fire, press Play for the Rat Pack, don said apron, make hot chocolate, and proceed to pull ingredients from cupboards. Hey wait... where did all my butter go? I swear there were three sticks in here!

Wrench 1 from Universe: No butter.
Counterfire: Close glass doors on fireplace, press Pause on Rat Pack, remove apron, don coat, head to store for butter.

Forty minutes later I have TWO POUNDS of butter (heh, let's see the Universe get past that one!) and a can of whipped cream for the hot chocolate (extra points!). I hang up the coat, poke the fire back to life, press Play on the Rat Pack, re-engage the apron, re-heat my hot chocolate (add whipped cream! woo!) and proceed to dump ingredients into a bowl.

Oh crap... that's ALL the brown sugar I have left? At least it's enough for this batch but... ::rummaging through pantry:: Darnit, I guess that WAS the backup. Hmmm.

Wrench 2 from Universe: No brown sugar.
Counterfire: I'll just make the things that don't require it tonight.

I continue making chocolate chip cookies. The fire is really going now (I can hear it in the other room even if I can't see it), the oven is hot, the chinchillas are all staring at me from the breakfast nook like I've been abducted by aliens and replaced by a domesticated replica, which is fine with them as long as the replica intends to give them treats. I taste the cookie dough because God knows a quarter of it will never make it into the oven the way I do it, and...

WTF? It tastes weird. Not horrible, but weird. Maybe it's just my imagination? Nope, definitely tastes odd. I go over the ingredients and decide it's either the gluten-free flour I bought at the organic grocery store or the eggs which I now see are expired because they're organic eggs and since I don't eat eggs unless they're in something they rarely get used fast enough. Arg. Okay, well, I'll take my chances that it's the flour, not salmonella, and maybe the icky taste will cook out.

Wrench 3 from Universe: Bad batter.
Counterfire: I'm baking it anyway so sod off.

While the first batch is in the oven, I decide to start mixing the Sand Tarts (read: sugar cookies with almond extract) that my grandmother makes. The dough has to sit in the frig overnight, and does not require brown sugar, so this is probably a good thing to embark on next. I start blending the butter and sugar in another bowl.

15 minutes later: the bell rings but the icky taste has not cooked out. Grrr.

Maybe I can donate these somewhere - like the post office. Make a nice gesture AND get rid of icky cookies AND don't waste all those ingredients. Sounds like a win-win. Except the cookies practically fall to pieces as I remove them from the cookie sheets.

Oh yes, gluten doesn't just taste good, it also holds things together so when you use gluten-free flour, guess what? (I have no idea how I knew that, but I did. Probably that Home Ec class back in 9th grade.) I glare at the expensive gluten-free flour that will probably be in the trash if I can't find another use for it aside from baking. (Okay, not really, I'd more likely give it away on Craigslist first.)

As a last resort, I ask the roommate to try a cookie (which crumbles like the Republican Party as he tries to pick it up). I figure if a guy will eat them, then a post office should have no problem disposing of my mistake (one way or another). He says they aren't bad, but they don't taste like my normal cookies, which means others will notice the weird taste too. CRAP.

Open trash can - insert cookies.

It is now 8:30pm. Score: Universe 1, Traci 0.

I decide I'm going to Vons (a "real" grocery store as opposed to the smaller local one I went to for the butter) and I will try again this whole cookie fiasco when I get back. I'm a late-night person - I can bake until 2am!

I actually consult all the recipes I've pulled out and make a list this time. Yay for thinking ahead! I remove the apron, turn off the music, close the fireplace doors, don the coat, and go to Vons. I spend SIXTY DOLLARS on ingredients. Okay, maybe Peppermint Schnapps and Baileys don't count as ingredients, but one of them is certainly going into SOMETHING I'm making when I get home.

10:00pm. I return with (among other things) brown sugar, new eggs, and attitude. I stoke the fire and put the apron back on but skip the music. I finish mixing the Sand Tarts and get the dough into the frig. I wipe down the counters - three times because Gods, where does all that dirt come from? It's like the counters just make it fresh themselves. I clean the bowl and measuring cups I used so they're ready again. I clean the cookie sheets. Then I clean the sink because it's porcelain and anything aluminum (like the bowl and sheets) makes horrid marks all over it wherever it touches.

11:30pm. I decide to just check email and say hi on IM to the boyfriend before continuing, and you know what happens next...

That's it. I surrender. After 4 hours I have NOTHING to show for my baking efforts. Not ONE cookie. I'm too tired to face the kitchen again so I will live to bake another day (like tomorrow). I decide to just surf the net a bit and go to bed.

Except then I see my mother's CDs sitting by the desk. I had promised I would load them all onto iTunes and send her the files so she doesn't have to deal with it. The CDs have been there at least two months now. I decide since I'm sending her a box of stuff for her birthday, and I've just reformatted the Mac and not yet restored my own iTunes, this is the best time to do it. So I load a CD and grab my book (which I had intended to read by the fire while the cookies were in the oven... HA!!).

I'm currently reading Malcolm Gladwell's What The Dog Saw. It's a great book and I really enjoy Gladwell's writing style. He's talking about late bloomers vs. precocity... comparing prodigies to people that become successful later in life. One of the stories relates the difference of how two authors became famous. One took 18 years and 30 trips to Haiti before he had a bestseller. The other was in his 20s (I think) and took one trip to Ukraine (3 days) to inspire the book that made him rich. I realize I am more like the Haiti guy (the late bloomer), where I need to gather lots of experiences before I can write about them.

In thinking about this, I realize one of the good things about being unemployed is I have LOTS of time to go experience things. (And isn't that how Jen Lancaster wrote her first book as well?) The bad part is I haven't been taking near enough advantage of my freedom. I've been on quite a few trips in the past several months, which has been awesome, but they haven't really been explorations I would want to write about. They've provided very little new experience. So I get to thinking about taking a trip just for experience, but it cant be too far away as the money is running low.

The BF has mentioned before a place about 2 hours from here called Idyllwild. Unfortunately it's a place he went to with a former girlfriend (ew), but if I can get over that it sounds like a cool artist community up in the trees. Perfect for new experiences, yes?

So I pull up the map to Idyllwild and print it out, then go about finding out what's there that I shouldn't miss. I'm already thinking I'm going TOMORROW (I mean, why wait?) except I have cookies to bake. Damn the bad luck. And Thursday is Christmas Eve, Friday is Christmas. And I AM looking forward to them this year even though I feel like a total hypocrite celebrating a Christian holiday when I am so NOT that (except it's really a Pagan holiday that was warped by the Christians, so that makes me feel a LITTLE better). Hmmm. Guess this will have to be Saturday or Sunday.

Nevertheless, one click leads to another and I end up at a web site for Anza Observatory. I'm thinking AWESOME - you gotta love anywhere that wants to watch the stars watching us. Except the more I poke around this site, the more I find out that it's just a guy in a house out in the middle of nowhere AND now he's moved because society has encroached on his little hideaway and polluted the sky with light. ::SIGH::

The good thing is, he has built a page with the pictures of comparisons of star sizes that I've wanted to put together for a couple years. It's not quite as polished as I'd make it, but it works. Awesome! Now I can share it! And here it is:

You may have received this (in part or whole) in email before, but it's always amazing to me to see how small we are in this big ol' Universe. And how TOTALLY insignificant that makes cookies in the scope of things. And I have to wonder how in the world the Universe has time to screw with me over kitchen antics when there's ALL THAT OUT THERE.

Incidentally, and totally off the subject, I also discovered this organization from one of my mom's CDs called Metamusic - Gaia:

From their "About Us" page: "The Monroe Institute provides experiential education programs facilitating the personal exploration of human consciousness ... The Monroe Institute also serves as the core of a research affiliation investigating the evolution of human consciousness and making related information available to the public. The Institute is devoted to the premise that focused consciousness contains definitive solutions to the major issues of human experience and a greater understanding of such consciousness can be achieved through coordinated research efforts using an interdisciplinary approach."

I find this stuff fascinating and lately I've been pointed to a lot of info on brainwave research and such. Wonder where THAT'S going.

So I guess that's finally all I have to say for tonight. Now it's 6am and I have yet to sleep - AGAIN. You gotta write when it strikes I guess.

Have an awesome Wednesday. :)

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Blonde Moment

"You grow up the day you have the first real yourself."

- Ethel Barrymore.

People driving next to me must think I'm schizophrenic. I often think something or see something that makes me bust out laughing and I'm in the car all by myself.

The other night I was driving home. I had stopped at Panera to grab some soup for dinner and they were just about to close. After grabbing my brown bag I decided I wanted coffee too and went back to the counter to pay. The dude said "Don't worry about it..." so I got a free coffee. AWESOMENESS. The only thing better than coffee is FREE coffee. Panera has really good coffee too - I mix the decaf with the hazelnut and OMG. Heaven!

So I'm driving home with free coffee in one hand and the wheel in the other thinking life is pretty darn happenin' right now. The cell phone was sitting on my lap and it rang. And I shit you not, I look at it and think, "Crap, if I answer it I won't have a hand to drive with! How will I answer the phone?!" As if NOT answering the phone was simply not an option. A nanosecond later I realized the absurdity of what I was thinking and totally laughed at myself. Then I put the coffee in the cup holder and answered the phone. (Not that that was the right thing to do either because really talking and driving is probably not that great.)

Even after hanging up, I started laughing again at how stereotype Hollywood my thoughts had been. You see them joke about these things in the movies and wonder, "Who DOES that kind of thing?!" Apparently I do. In a blonde moment. Oh well. This wasn't the first time I've cracked myself up. I sure hope it doesn't mean I'm GROWN up tho as the quote above would indicate!

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Winter Stories: Get Your Mug O' Hot Chocolate & Cozy Up

Story #1
I don't know who the architect was of the condo I live in, or if it was even that person that made this decision, but somewhere someone in the early 80s thought it would be a good idea to use radiant heat in my place instead of a conventional furnace. Normally I would be thrilled - who wouldn't love walking on warm floors in bare feet in the colder months? Except this genius decided to put the radiant heat in the CEILING, not the floor, even though the floor is tile and therefore would definitely benefit from some heat. Newsflash in Thermodynamics Einstein: Heat rises.
Needless to say, I do not use the provided heating system in my house. The downstairs unit may take care of upstairs, but upstairs would definitely only be keeping the spiders warm in the attic, and those little bastards don't pay rent.
Last year I purchased a couple space heaters from and they worked out pretty well. Even with three of them cranking they're not too bad on my power bill and they keep the areas I occupy warm enough.
One of the heaters did a great job heating the room, but the thermostat never seemed to work properly so it just kept heating and heating unless you were there to turn it on and off yourself. This was only annoying when I needed to leave the house for long periods; then I would have to choose whether I wanted to return to a freezer, or South America with Spunky (the iguana) sprawled out on his shelf sporting zinc on his nose and a margarita in hand.
This year, being unemployed, I decided I cannot afford to have a faulty thermostat helping SDG&E raid my bank account, so I kept watch for the same type of heater on craigslist. I finally found one for only $25 (I spent $40 on the first one; retail was like $80+ USD) and went to grab it. It looks exactly like the old one with a few extra scuffs. At home tonight I plugged it in and set the thermostat just as the gorgeous surfer dude showed me (amazing I even remembered how, I was so entranced by his steel blue eyes). It heated up past what I had set it at, then the temp number started blinking. I felt above the heater - still very hot. Hmmm. I waited a bit. I felt again. Still felt like heat coming out. I'm thinking darnit, this one doesn't work either! Maybe this is some faulty thing with all of these Honeywell models.
I sat playing with it awhile longer. Eventually I figured out that when the temp blinks, it has turned itself off to cool down, however, it doesn't feel like it because the metal grate above the heating element takes a long time to really cool off. Oh. Ok, my bad. So it IS working properly. Well yay for that.
I watched it do its thing for about 10 minutes, then I got to thinking. I wonder if I made a mistake with the old one and just didn't set it properly? Only one way to find out. I drag the old one upstairs and repeat the test process. Turns out it works perfectly! Now who's the dumbass about heating? ::sigh::
So anyone need an extra space heater? I mean seriously - when it gets down to 63°F, down blankets and wool socks just aren't enough!
Story #2
Last Saturday I attended a class on Brain State & Consciousness offered by Teri Mahaney at a new age store in Oceanside. It was a great class, but that was the third time I'd forgotten to bring something to write notes in. The Jeep hauls around enough "just in case" items to make any Girl Scout leader fall over with pride (no, I was never one of them), but paper is not among these items unless you count the deposit envelopes in the console, or the Starbucks contraband napkins in the glove compartment.
After the class I was determined to remedy this oversight, so I decided to stop by Barnes & Noble to buy a really cool notebook I'd seen that was on clearance (yes it was $7 - hell no, a $3 spiral bound from the drug store will not satisfy a Mac-toting, Starbucks-drinking, Whole Foods-shopping Snob Like Me).
Have I mentioned how DANGEROUS it is to let me loose in Barnes & Noble?
As I headed to the car consoling my wallet, I noticed Santa Claus sitting in the cafe reading a book. No, seriously, it was him. Round cheeks, big belly, white hair/beard, glasses, Reebok sneakers. If it wasn't him, I'll bet the dude never wears red lest he be accosted by small children everywhere he goes.
I made it to the car to leave, but my silly child-brain was poking me and giggling the entire way about how cool would it be to sit in B&N and read next to Santa Claus? (How old am I?) Even tho I had no intention whatsoever of speaking to him or saying anything about what I was thinking, the idea was just too much to resist. So I went back in with my books and sat down to read there. He even had THE PLATE WITH COOKIE CRUMBS NEXT TO HIM. C'mon! It was HIM!
I tried to sneak a peek at what he was reading but I couldn't see the title without looking like an idiot. I must've read for about an hour, or as long as it took to finish my latte anyhow. He eventually put down his book, took a snooze (I'm serious) for about 10 minutes, then got up and left in his sleigh. Ok, maybe it wasn't a sleigh, but I'll bet he had reindeer stuffed in the trunk. No, really.
I had such a nice time reading the other day tho that I went back tonight after picking up the heater just to be out of the house for awhile. I was looking for Augusten Burroughs' new book, You Better Not Cry. I thought it would be just like his previous publications - a regular size memoir - but it turns out these were just Christmas stories in a smaller, more compact read.
And read I did. In fact, I sat there and read the ENTIRE book in three hours. Straight through with one break for coffee. Which is good because then I didn't spend money buying the book (sorry Augusten!) but it was very funny in his normal morbid kind of way - MUCH better than his last full-length book, A Wolf At The Table. That one just made me cringe the entire way through and I hope never to read something that depressing again. You Better Not Cry was good though. It made me laugh out loud several times, to the point I was trying to suppress it so people didn't stare.
Lovely - there was a point to tell you that story, but I've been interrupted in writing it so many times I forget the point now. So I guess you'll just have to take it for what it's worth.
Ok, I remembered. Sort of. While in B&N, I also decided to pick up two classic children's stories for my Godnephew for Christmas. One was Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, and the other was Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are. I remembered having read these stories maybe once or twice as a kid, but I did not remember what each story was about. I only knew they were classics, and certainly every kid should have the classics in his library, even if he's only 2 years old. I was being a good Godmother, right?
I get home with these books and decide I should read them to refresh my memory. I wish I had done this in the store now. First I open The Giving Tree. In my adult life I've heard over and over what a great spiritual message it sends, or perhaps it was supposed to have a really good moral to the story. I can't really remember, so I dive in.
It's about this tree that loves a little boy. And the little boy asks for things from the tree constantly - all through his growing up years. And the tree always gives him what he wants... all the way to the end when the boy is an old man and just wants a place to sit and the tree can only offer the stump the boy has turned it into as a place to rest.
And then the book ended.
Wait, WHAT?
Where is the awesome moral? The spiritual message? Isn't there at least some GRATITUDE? The tree gives and gives and gives, and the kid takes and takes and takes - even chops it down to build a boat for his own selfish purposes - and never gives ANYTHING back to the tree? Doesn't even plant a new one? What is he, the CEO of a logging company? WTF??!! HE CHOPPED DOWN A TREE and was completely selfish and THIS is a great book that has become a classic? Ok, well it says he loved the tree, but I have a hard time believing asking more and more of something and never giving anything back is a good example of love. Or perhaps that's the exact message. But I don't see how a kid would get that message out of the book. It was hard for ME to salvage that from the story!
To me, this book says he only loved the tree for what it could give him. That is not Love in my world. Love is shared. Love is a two way street. A mutual thing. You take, but you also GIVE. The tree was the only one doing any giving here. I've read Silverstein's other books - A Light In The Attic was one of my favorites as a kid and I had several of his other works. He's probably the only poetry besides Dr. Suess that I've ever enjoyed, but THIS... maybe I'm missing the point, but this is a SUCKY story. Chopping down trees is sacrilege in my book (all puns intended) to begin with. Besides, the picture of Shel on the back cover would give a kid nightmares. What editor picked THAT photo? Dumbass. This book is SOOO going back.
Ok, so that one wasn't what I thought it would be. Surely Sendak's work - which is now a major motion picture - is better. I crack this one open.
Max, the main character, backtalks his mother and gets sent to his room without supper. But instead of being remorseful and thinking about how crappy he treated his elder, or the story supporting respect for your parents, the kid grows a forest in his imagination, travels to "where the wild things are," becomes their king, treats them shitty the same way he felt he was treated, finally gets bored, goes home, and finds that his mother (presumably) has left his dinner in his room for him.
Wait, WHAT?! WHAT??!!
The kid acts like a total brat and gets punished for it, then spreads the negativity to imaginary creatures, and comes home to be REWARDED??! Are you KIDDING me?
Ok, MAYBE forgiveness is the message here? But that would mean it's forgiveness on his parent's part, and what of his being a brat in the first place? Shouldn't the lesson be NOT to be a 'tard to begin with? Forgiveness is such a stretch, and again, how is a CHILD supposed to get that out of this story? My ADULT brain had to really dig around for that one.
What is WRONG with these authors? And HOW - pray tell - have THESE particular books become such "classics?" I can only think that they are popular because people my age who had them as kids saw nothing wrong with how the characters acted because they were a bunch of spoiled brats themselves, and to a worm in horseradish, the world IS horseradish (as quoted recently in a MUCH better book for bigger, more intelligent kids: What The Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell - I HEART HIM!!).
And THAT, my friends, is exactly what's wrong with the world today. Nothing but brats born in the 60s turning into bigger, older brats and seeing nothing wrong with their bratty behavior because they have NO respect for their elders. At the risk of sounding just like my grandparents, what is this world coming to?!
Both of these books are going back. No wonder I don't remember them from when I was a kid. Their messages suck. If anyone has a better explanation of what I'm missing that others must be getting from these stories, PLEASE PLEASE enlighten me.
Story #3
Today was trash day in our neighborhood. I'm always grateful for the G-man on Wednesdays because I never want to take for granted the fact that I don't have to deal with the trash I create beyond getting it out of my house to the curb. What a blessing! I think too many of us don't often think about where it goes after that, or the people it takes to get it there. Or that we should really be making a much bigger effort to send less of it wherever it ends up. But that's another blog...
I personally have it down to less than one kitchen-size bag of trash per week, except for when I clean the chinchilla cages and I have a second bag full of their nasty peed-on cage substrate, which is all biodegradable anyway. The roommate has added a bit more to my weekly refuse, but mostly we are less trashy than most of my neighbors. And I mean that literally when I talk about the asshole with the two always-screaming children and mufflerless Harley under my bedroom window.
When I moved in and realized I had to buy my own rubbish bin, I bought a 42-gallon wheeled thing that I knew I would never fill in a week, but figured bigger is always better for those few occasions when not everything fits, right?
The first time I left it on the curb on trash day I got it back with a terse note that they would not empty anything larger than a 32-gallon can. Oops. Sorry guys. I took the 42-gallon back to Home Depot and got the smaller can. Everyone was happy.
Today though, the garbage man not only took stuff, he left us all a present. Apparently Waste Management got a new contract, or new truck, or something because everyone in my little condo complex received a brand new GIGANTIC plastic city-owned trash bin. This thing is the size of Kansas. Even bigger than the original 42-gallon one they were so upset about. I guess the trucks have stronger back muscles than The Man.
Unfortunately fitting this monster in my garage has been a challenge. It's only a one-car garage and with all my daughter's stuff packed up in boxes in there, there's not much room left for things besides the washer/dryer and the Jeep.
Now that it's 3am and my brain is getting fuzzy, I don't know why this is news, but it did make me laugh earlier trying to fit it in the garage. I swear the Jeep actually glared at it because the only place for it is right in front of its nose. I tried along the side but squeezing the car between that and the other wall was just too much maneuvering. The Condo Association won't let us keep cans outside where anyone can see them - not even on the back patio (not that I would want it there anyway), but seriously, where do they think we have room for these things? Why wasn't I consulted? Oh yeah, maybe if I'd go to the Condo Assoc. meetings I would know. :)
Okay, time for bed. I just discovered I have other blog entries I haven't even finished from awhile back, but there's no way I'm staying awake for that. I'm not even going to proofread this. Ooooo - living dangerously!

Monday, November 02, 2009

Knowing Just Enough To Be Dangerous

"Nothing is so dangerous to the progress of the human mind than to assume that our views of science are ultimate; that there are no mysteries in Nature, that our triumphs are complete, and that there are no new worlds to conquer."

-Humphry Davy

Saturday, October 31, 2009

The Long Arm of the DEA

I love this joke... it literally made me laugh out loud. :)

DEA officer stops at a ranch in Texas, and talks with an old rancher. He tells the rancher, "I need to inspect your ranch for illegally grown drugs." The rancher says, "Okay, but do not go in that field over there," as he points out the location.

The DEA officer verbally explodes saying, "Mister, I have the authority of the Federal Government with me." Reaching into his rear pants pocket, he removes his badge and proudly displays it to the rancher. "See this badge? This badge means I am allowed to go wherever I wish.... on ANY land. No questions asked or answers given. Have I made myself clear? Do you understand?"

The rancher nods politely, apologizes, and goes about his chores.

A short time later, the old rancher hears loud screams and sees the DEA officer running for his life chased by the rancher's big Santa Gertrudis bull. With every step the bull is gaining ground on the officer, and it seems likely that he'll get gored before he reaches safety. The officer is clearly terrified. The rancher throws down his tools, runs to the fence and yells at the top of his lungs... "Your badge... show him your BADGE!"

Monday, October 26, 2009

I Broke Facebook With Thoughts

The other day my friend Ray posted a video on his Facebook page of Carl Sagan explaining the fourth dimension. You should watch it before reading the rest of this post (only 7 minutes):

I LOVE Sagan's analogy because it makes it so easy to understand the idea of why we have trouble seeing/experiencing other dimensions. (And listening to him talk just cracks me up.) The video started all kinds of quantum wanderings in my head. I intended to blog about my mental musings, but Mark gave me the perfect opportunity to post them first on Facebook by making his status read: [Insert Profound Thought Here]. I obliged with what was forming in my head, and accordingly he replied with his own thoughts and questions.

The odd part is that after I submitted my second long post in response to his counterpoints, Facebook lost the entire thread. It wouldn't let me post any more comments and even the ones that appeared previously are not viewable. I had no trouble viewing or posting on anyone else's page, but this particular conversation was OVER. I dunno if I blew Facebook's brain or the aliens were like, "Oh no you didn't!" but the entire discussion is gone.

However... smart pirates have backups. :) Yarrrr. Internet gremlins be damned! Since I was going to blog about it anyway, I was saving the convo elsewhere, so the following is the discussion we were having...


Me: Ok... if Carl Sagan can hold up a clear plastic cube and create a shadow of it on paper thus illustrating how 3D becomes 2D; then he shows us a clear plastic 3D representation of a tesseract and says that's like a shadow of 4D becoming 3D; and if the 3rd dimension is defined as the directions of back/forth, up/down, side/side, and the fourth dimension is measured as adding the element of time to the 3D directions, then considering all that should the element added to 3D to create 4D actually NOT be time, but "within/without" instead (I mean look at how the "shadow" of a tesseract looks - one cube within another), and if so, how do we measure "within/without?" By an emotional scale? Is that profound enough for you?

Him: I don't believe time was considered one of the dimensions in a tesseract, however. It's four spatial dimensions that it represents. The questions is, if there are more than three spatial dimensions, how many objects that are four dimensional (+) intersect our three dimensions and defy explanation by their behavior because we are unaware of the activities taking place in the other spatial dimension for them?

Me: That's what I'm saying - time SHOULDNT be considered in measuring or describing a tesseract (because what is describing something in our world besides measuring it?). Time is always considered in measuring distance (distance = the time it takes to get from A to B, yes?) and MATHEMATIC tesseracts involve measurements of distance through the spatial relationships of one cube to another. If the distances of the vertices are not all equal then it's not a tesseract but some other poly-shape, right? So time is involved in some way through the measurement of distance when describing that particular form mathematically. But since (as Ray said) time is only a human thing then it only exists in the dimension WE live in - the 3rd dimension, yes? Generally, we cannot extract ourselves from the use of time/distance as a measurement of our world. Just like a 2D creature could not imagine up/down as a direction in their world. So in order to properly describe a form that lives in a dimension outside of our own, should we not remove time as a means of measurement? (Oh yes, I want to delete math from the equation - what a surprise. haha) Perhaps things in the fourth dimension are measured on some kind of emotional relation scale and what WE see as a tesseract here in this dimension is only a 3D representation of it just like a drawing of a cube is a 2D representation of the real cube in 3D. The trouble for us is comprehending how to measure or describe a form without a scale we're familiar with. Even when we say "on an emotional scale, how do you feel?" we tend towards numbers (like 1 being I feel icky and 10 being I feel great) because distance and numbers and time is what we use to measure and describe the 3rd dimension. I think this is why yogis can do what we would consider "magic" - their relational thinking involves different kinds of spacial relationships - they do not bind themselves to the means of measurement of the 3rd dimension like most of the rest of us do. It's all in how you THINK about it. Your perspective. Hence, my idea of measuring with emotions, not math. Geez, I'm not even sure I understand all that now. haha

You know what's really sad is that spell check on FB can't recognize the words "mathematics" or "tesseract." (Or "vertices" for that matter.) You'd think this site was built by 20-somethings... oh wait...

Him: I forgot how integrally time figures into distance equations... yeah. Without the time it takes to get "there," "here" and "there" have no meaning since you are everywhere all at once.

Me: And to answer your second question about how many objects intersect our three dimensions and defy explanation by their behavior... I'd guess somewhere just under 7 billion and counting. :)

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Top Ten Clues You Are Over 40

1. You are no longer faking your inability to open a jar just to win points by making The Man feel all manly.

2. The Man actually IS a man, not just a Guy.

3. You feel like a pedophile when you receive Abercrombie's email ads with the hairless, naked boy-chest plastered across your screen. You also wonder if it's wrong to still like/wear their clothes.

4. You go to a concert and wish the kids around you would shut up and listen already.

5. You think of other concert-goers as "kids."

6. You cheat on the eye exam at DMV by casually walking up to the eye chart while waiting for your number to be called and memorizing the letters. (And think how lucky you are that you can remember that many letters!)

7. Retail clerks call you "M'am" instead of "Miss" to get your attention. You, of course, ignore them unless they walk over and get in your face because there is NO WAY "M'am" could be referring to you.

8. No one cards you anymore for anything, even if the sign says they card everyone under 80.

9. You receive a blank stare from the Starbucks barista when you make a joke about the Reagan Administration.

10. You no longer leave your clothes in piles on the floor - one for clean and one for dirty... oh wait...

(Yes, I wrote those. And no, leaving piles of clothes on the floor is not me. That would be the bf.)

Thursday, October 22, 2009

California Is So Grateful!

My Jeep has always had personalized license plates. I think they make it feel special and cared for compared to cars with only a standard issue tag, and they give it bragging rights in the parking lots. (Yes, my imagination runneth over.)

In New Jersey my license plate said LEEZARD because that's what I call my trusty vehicle. (There's that whole iguana & gecko thing I have going on too.) I mean the Jeep IS green and if I ever got brave enough to take it off road, I'm sure it would love crawling up on rocks to sun itself. (I'm not scared to go off road, I'm scared to rip the transmission from the axles and be sans transportation!)

I had several possible plate combinations picked out months before I left for California. When the time came to register it, none of them felt right. I ended up going with FZY LOGC because it means a couple things to me: 1) The chinnies needed their turn to be represented on the license plate and fuzzy logic could imply chinnie logic since they're so fuzzy and all; 2) I love physics and even tho fuzzy logic is technically a math concept, it's used in physics; 3) I love irony and I thought it more than a little ironic that I would pick something math-related since I am so allergic to math.

Unfortunately the FZY LOGC plate has not thrilled me. It still doesn't feel right and being in the Home State of Silicon Valley, I've already had a couple enginerds ask me about it as if I actually UNDERSTOOD what fuzzy logic is... then I've had to hang my head and admit that I suck at math. They always look so disappointed.

I started thinking something along the lines of gratitude might be a better fit, especially since I have the Cafe Gratitude sticker on the back to ask anyone checking out my rear, "What are you grateful for?"

I went to the DMV's web site where they conveniently have a program to type in your license plate to see if it's available. These are the things I typed in:


Apparently California is the most grateful state EVAR. Not one of those combinations was available. Of course, we are also the most populated state I think, so if I cared a whit about math, statistics (or perhaps fuzzy logic) would probably have saved me the wasted time and explained why I most likely wouldn't get the plate I want.

To be fair, TH4NKFL and GR4TEFL were available but considering the font Cali uses I'm just not convinced I'd get the message across. Still thinking about it. Maybe I should just go with LEEZARD again. (ACK!!! Except I just checked that and someone has my plate now! Should've grabbed it when it was available. :( )

(Incidentally, URAWSUM and IMAWSUM are both taken. How AWSUM would it be to see both of those at a stoplight together? LOL)

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Victorias Secret FAIL

A few months ago I went on a mission to replace some seriously aging bras. I must've spent at least $200 on enough plain, daily-wear, no-lace-involved unmentionables to last a little more than a week without having to do laundry.

Victoria's Secret has been a good brand in the past. I have some items that have been in service for over five years. Altho I rarely buy anything that's not on sale there, it is generally expensive enough - even with a discount - to make one expect a higher quality than something you would get at say... Walmart. If the adage "you get what you pay for" is true, then I purchased lingerie that should last AT LEAST a year or two, hopefully much more since I am not particularly hard on my clothes.

Here's the big but(t) in this story...

These only-a-couple-months-old bras are actually made with an element of evil. I'm convinced somewhere along the factory line, my unassuming underwear were sent into a dark cavernous space, where they were shown a film instructing them how to unravel and tangle, stretch and deteriorate, and generally collaborate with the machine to wreak havoc on the psyche of the owner. Much like certain members of the GOP.

Every one of my "new" garments have had the underwires at least poke through the lining, if not entirely remove themselves from their sewn compartments during cleaning. In addition, the straps wrap themselves around each other in such a decadent fabric grind they could make the Playboy channel blush. They emerge from the washer wound up so tight even a sailor would be left scratching his head over the knots. Of course this watery dance stretches said straps to their limits, effectively making me shorten them more each time I wear them lest they fall all over my shoulders in their exhaustion. Further, ANY other type of material that may be in the gentle cycle with them causes the fabric to pill and the elastic to unravel at the edges, making them look more like Goodwill material than anything from an "upscale" establishment.

This is not a matter of overuse and too-frequent cleaning due to lack of volume. I'll bet I could actually go three weeks without doing laundry and still be wearing fresh booby gear every day, altho in that case they would not always match my outfit, which is one of my charming idiosyncrasies. My point is, these newcomers are not the only bras I have, nor are they the only ones I wear, so on average I'd say each one gets to surf the suds maybe once every two weeks. They enjoy a very posh life for lingerie - I'll bet the JC Penney bras would kill to be in their drawers.

If you Google "Victoria's Secret complaints" you will find I am not the only unsatisfied customer with these issues. The company's response has been that every bra's tag says "Hand Wash Only" and women do not heed this warning, so the company is resolving themselves of all responsibility. Please. This is the biggest political cop out I've ever heard. First of all, I've been buying VS products for years and never have I hand-washed any of them. The ones I have from five years ago still look new. The new ones look five years old already. Only in the last six months have I had an issue with them falling apart and tangling up, which tells me they probably changed their manufacturer to an under-18 sweatshop in a third world country. Secondly, we do not live in 1950. What modern woman with access to a washing machine actually chooses to dunk her drawers in the sink? If you are doing this, you have too much time on your hands and I will gladly provide you with a kitchen to clean right after you bake me an apple pie. You think those pouty peddling Brazilian brats have dishpan hands from cleaning the lacy scraps of cloth they model? Give me a freakin' break.

I've considered gathering up the offensive garments and taking them back from whence they came; my receipt is dated June 9. I haven't decided yet whether it's worth dealing with a snooty, black-clad 20-something trailing Dream Angels vapor that thinks she has authority along with that key to the register.

Caveat Emptor I suppose. Vicky's new secret is that she ain't what she used to be.


In other news... it occurred to me that when you are little they tell you if you are lost to stop running around and stay in one place until someone finds you. That does not work the same way with a job hunt.

Monday, October 19, 2009

A Fruity Story

Yesterday - we're talking 24 HOURS AGO - I bought a quart of strawberries and a bag of grapes at Henry's. Both are organically grown because I'm like that. Both looked equally fresh because they probably were. I used the strawberries to garnish a raw foods dessert I made to take to a massage party last night. (Chocomole, totally awesome cuz it's from a totally awesome person, and it never fails to wow every guest at the gathering. Take copies of the recipe with you. Trust me on this.) I left both the extra strawberries and the bag of grapes on my counter overnight because I'm not partial to cold fruit and I don't have problems with pests that raid my kitchen (aside from my roommate).

This morning I go to cut up the remainder of the strawberries and they are COMPLETELY grey and fuzzy. I don't mean just a little part that you can cut out, I had to THROW THEM OUT. And I despise wasting food. WTF? The grapes sitting on the counter right next to them were fine. Not even a trace of science experiment. I wonder if I had stuck a camera in front of the berries overnight if I could've watched them grow a beard like a time-lapse movie without the acceleration.

This is not the first time I've seen this here in San Diego. The trouble is, it doesn't happen every time and you never know when it will strike. Some fruit I've left out on my counter for days with no trouble. Others commit suicide overnight. I can't figure it out. I mean sure, you never know when the things you buy actually arrived at the store so perhaps they were already old, but they felt firm and didn't seem to show any signs of severe decay. It is the weirdest thing.

At least I still have grapes. (Thank you Fruity Gods.) I will pair them with peaches in the blender and add some Agave nectar and see how that dance goes. Grapes and strawberries straight up are a much tastier smoothie though. I swear I'm going to do this raw food thing eventually. I got a recipe for a fruit dip type thing from a great guy I met at the last massage party. It goes like this (in his unedited words) for anyone that wants to try it:

The recipe is simple, all is real and raw, not from a can, I get the young coconuts a the asian stores call 99 Ranch Market, a case of 9 young coconuts is about $7.00, so here we go, to make a small amount you can do it with milk and meat from one coconut, hand full of raw cashews ( keep adding till gets thick ), small dash of sea salt, blend, try it, then add 1/4tsp or a bit more of raw agave nectar ( keep adding till gets sweet enough for you, and don't forget to add some love too, and thats it.

You drizzle that over fruit - he had cut up apples at the party - and it was delish. Oh, and when he says blend it, he means with one of the Super Blenders like a VitaMix or a BlendTec. I haven't purchased one yet, but I see it in my very near future. (If you're looking to get one, check eBay. There's been some good deals on nearly-new BlendTecs there recently.)

I guess eating raw requires more than sweet desserts tho. That's the part I'm not as excited to try - veges and such. Sounds like a WHOLE lotta salads and green shakes. Salad is all fine and good, but I'm not an iguana (despite Spunky's opinion).

Well anyway, that's my story for today.

Spunky, my fruity iguana.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

She Sees You When You're Sneaking

Stomach: I need a snack.

Brain: Eat something healthy. There's apples - have one of those.

Stomach: Ok. But only if we put the butterscotch caramel on them that we were thinking about the other day when we bought the apples.

Brain: No. That's not healthy.

Stomach: Well YOU were the one thinking about it.

Brain: Yes, but it's not healthy.

Stomach: Screw that. Hey Arm - get the caramel out of the frig.

::Arm goes digging for caramel in frig::

Brain: There's organic peanut butter in here. That's much healthier. Put that on the apples instead.

Stomach: NO WAY!

Brain: Jason Mraz would eat peanut butter instead of caramel.

Stomach: Pffffttt. You're just trying to trick me! He can't be a nutritional saint 100% of the time.

Brain: How do you ever expect to lose those extra five pounds if you eat caramel instead of peanut butter?

Stomach: It's OCTOBER. Apples and caramel go together in October.

Brain: That's a crappy excuse.

Stomach: Will be when *I'm* done with it.

Brian: hardee har har. Eat the peanut butter.

Stomach: No.

Brain: Karma is a bitch. You've met her before.

Stomach: I promise to stop eating sugar tomorrow.

"...and that's how I got here. How did YOU end up in this handbasket?" I asked.


The Truth of one's soul is silent, important only to oneself. For my Truths are not necessarily your Truths, so silent it will be until in silence our truths will meet and we laugh to find that they are only reflections of one another.


Wednesday, October 07, 2009

The Atheist's Nightmare

OMG - I am SOOOO laughing at this:


In other news, it was quiet at the house today because the roommate was out working and I was aware that I had the place to myself. I think my place was aware of it too. Funny how everything looks exactly the same, but the air is completely different depending on who is breathing in it. I haven't felt the serenity here since the roommate moved in seven months ago. It's not his fault - he's just being him and he's not the spiritual animal I am. My bad for choosing someone so unlike me. However, I didn't realize how far into a corner I'd pushed my inner wisdom. I felt a bit like a boiled frog hopping out of the pot.

Anytime you open yourself back up to the Cosmos after a will-full separation it's like a reunion of old friends rushing at each other with hugs and love and joy. In re-joy-ning the Universe tho, the usual tumble of human words and emotion is replaced by an entanglement of thoughts, and boy I had them in spades.

There is a chair in my living room that I totally overpaid for because it has so much character I just had to have it at any price. It's huge (I can sit in it cross-legged comfortably) and looks like something from a Hollywood-esque funky cool coffee shop. It's got dark wood, brass nails, and leopard print fabric. Oh yes it does. (I totally admit I have a chair fetish. Read here about my $10 chair. Ironically, the $10 chair sits opposite the overpriced chair, so it's like some sort of karmic chair-balancing weirdness.) When I found my leopard chair, I pictured myself meditating in it every day. It's a great chair. :) I wanted it in my bedroom for the privacy factor, but it wouldn't fit so it's in the living room. Unfortunately I'm never comfortable in the living room when the roommate is home because his bedroom is right next to it and there's either loud music or his presence invading the space, so the best seat in the house is neglected and the "living" room has become the dead, unused room instead. But not today. I settled into the down-filled cushions and opened my head to the downpour of thoughts that have been somewhat-impatiently waiting for me to look their way. My iguana stared at me and I stared off into space. For hours. Seriously. Every so often I looked over at the lizard and went, "WHAT?!"

Right on the top of the heap was what I should be doing next as gainful employment. It's not like I haven't been thinking about this for six months, but I keep coming up blank: I have no clue what I want to be when I grow up. I've read enough to know I'm not the only one with this problem, but I'm at an impasse. Everything I find fun in small doses I picture turning into a chore if I'm forced to do it 40 hours a week. I can't stand the thought of going back to a job that I dread showing up for, yet I need to pay the bills and I still have not won the lottery - damn the bad luck. I haven't had one response in a month of serious filling out of online applications. (Why doesn't ANYONE give you a name/number to follow up with?! We are WAY too automated these days.) Not a call, not an email, not even a "get lost." Of course, these are all large companies I've been applying to and monoliths like that move at the speed of tree growth. Many of the jobs I'm a perfect fit for and I can't understand why I haven't at least gotten an interview, but when I stop pretending to be blind, I know what's going on.

I've been dancing around this idea of making Reiki my primary job for... well, for years. I think my Higher Self is tired of waiting for me to pull my head out of the sand. Perhaps I am unconsciously rejecting other options in favor of the direction I know I should be going. I know how to market myself, but I hate doing it. I know I'm worthy of being paid for the service, but I hate accepting it. I know I have a decent gift in being able to move chi around and through and between, but I'm scared to grab onto that and run with it. Trust me, I have 100 excuses I tell myself whenever it comes up. Even so, I know somewhere in the recesses of my brain I need to stop effing around and take a stab at this. The Universe has taken care of every detail to allow me to do this. It's like this big open door and I'm standing there going "maybe I should just do this other thing before walking through there." I can be so dumb!

I even bought a massage table recently. Found a practically new one of a well-known brand for next to nothing. It's been sitting in the hallway for a couple weeks, as nonplussed as my chair for the lack of love it's receiving. I have all the tools. I have all the knowledge. The Knowing part of me screams "JUST DO IT." The rest of me sounds like the mean kids in school: "People will laugh. It's not a real job. You don't know enough yet. Your family will think you're even more of a freak than they already do."

About 6:00 tonight the alarm on my phone went off reminding me that I jotted down a business networking event at a local metaphysical store just in case I managed to grow a pair. I hemmed and hawed about whether I wanted to go, and in the end I put on my damn shoes and forced myself to walk out the door (huh - at least I walked through ONE door today!). I drove to Oceanside telling myself, "I am completely scared and totally unprepared but isn't that how most grand adventures start? Besides, this is the least logical action to take and walking the road less traveled has worked for me before. Look at New Jersey. And San Diego. I've been standing immobile for too long so I need to move in SOME direction even if it's the wrong one."

By the time I got there I had bullied myself into believing I was going to shake everyone's hand at that event and at least introduce myself even if I didn't have cards to hand out or a plan of any sort. I was going to start this new career path NOW dammit. No more excuses! I mean it's not like these people were going to eat me like trolls. Besides, I brought cookies that I'd baked earlier with me so I could distract them. Even trolls cannot resist the chocolate chip deliciousness.

I pulled into the parking lot and the store was dark and closed, and not a networking event to be found. Hmmm. I felt such a wave of relief it was ridiculous. Truly, what is my deal with the social phobias? I'm fine with people one on one, but gather a couple together, especially ones I don't know, and I'm a mess. I suppose I should at least give myself some credit for going.

I KNOW this is what I should be doing. I am just afraid I will succeed I guess. Sometimes it really sucks to know yourself so well.

Monday, October 05, 2009

Ignite San Diego

I came across this idea today through a former colleague on LinkedIn. Amazing what kind of info comes out of the nooks and crannies of the Net. Anyway, check it out...

What a cool idea! You get five minutes on stage in front of a crowd to cover practically any topic you want, you get a slide presentation (probably made by you I imagine) that changes every 15 seconds whether you like it or not, so you have to time your talk accordingly. It's like Toastmasters for Generation Y.

You'd think five minutes isn't a long time, but once you're in front of a crowd with pressure to talk about something for that long, trust me, it's a LOOOONNNG time. Unless you're one of those people that LOVES attention and can't shut up, then perhaps it would be not enough time. Either way tho, what an interesting way to spread information! Especially because you get 20 pictures (correct me if I'm wrong because we all know I suck at math) and if pictures are worth a thousand words, then no matter how fast you talk, you just got an extra 20,000 words in!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Automatic Wisdom

Recently I received an email newsletter from Mark Morford, who is one of my journalistic heroes. It was mostly an update on his new book, which is not out yet because he didn't pick ME to be the project manager on it even tho I offered to do it FOR FREE (and he actually laments the fact that he picked the wrong people to publish it in his newsletter - not that his requiem had anything to do with me personally as I'm quite sure he still has no clue who I am, but I DID offer and I WOULD'VE been kick ass), but that's neither here nor there.

In the newsletter he has links to his web site of course, but I've seen that before. What I hadn't seen was his new yoga web site (yes I did just type "toga" by mistake - too funny) so I went to check it out. Generally I hate pages that play music without asking first, but the initial song on this site was soothing and peaceful so I couldn't complain. I wrote him email to ask what the title is. While I'm not really sure if he'll send me the answer (but I hope so), I was pleased to get the following autoresponse with all the flavor that is inherently Morford:

It is entirely possible that you are made of divine light and cosmic dust and that all your memories and all your plans and all your masks are merely drinking games the gods play to keep themselves entertained and you enthralled while you try and figure out how to evolve toward the next transformation. Or maybe not.

Drinking games the Gods play. This is why I think he's awesome.

Of course the imp in me is totally tempted to keep sending emails to see if there are different responses or the same one each time. I would have to collect them all if they were different. I'm sure that would endear me to him right away. LOL


HA!! And just like that I got an answer! The song is by Moby, the title is Everloving. Ironically, just a few weeks ago I was in Texas at a friend's house and I raided their CD collection. Much of what I loaded to my iTunes was Moby because I'd like to know his music better and as the Gods would have it, Everloving was one of the songs! Woo! I love when the Universe plans ahead. :)

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Nature is MOCKING ME

Actually written Monday or Tuesday I think...

This weekend held a lot of fun, but it was also a tough one because circumstances (and some truly asinine voices that won't shut up in my head) prompted me to initiate one of those "serious" talks with the boyfriend about what's on the horizon of the path we're walking. I'm not one of those stereotype girls that pushes for a white picket fence, but I know how I feel and after being together a year, I'm pretty sure it would NOT suck to spend the rest of my life with this guy. On the surface you'd think he felt the same. He has certainly professed his love in many awesome ways. However, behind the scenes there were a lot of comments and innuendos flying in both directions and I finally got tired of second guessing his intentions, despite my attempts to live only in the Now. Sometimes a girl just wants to know, ya know? Besides, games should be regulated to cards and boards and fields. In real life I prefer the Truth. All the time.

Unfortunately it turns out our thoughts on the future differed (which I knew before, but all his teasing made me wonder if things had changed because they certainly have on my end). This makes me sad (which I don't feel entitled to), but no less in love with him (or him with me he says). Still haven't figured out how much of a problem my feelings are going to be when we finally hit the apparent fork in the road (altho I have a good idea from past experience, and what if they don't make enough organic chocolate for this one?). Right This Minute I decided to cross that bridge when it comes up and not spend the rest of the hike moping about it. You miss out on too much good stuff if you're looking down at your feet sulking. Then again, a left at Albuquerque is sometimes the only bypass around Hell, crappy as the road is for lack of maintenance. (No, that is not a crack at Arizona altho the temp is about the same.)

Normally, when I'm feeling a bit off I look to nature to provide some clues as to which track might be the happiest one but this morning I admit I skipped out on meditation in favor of getting some work done. I haven't found anyone at the power company yet that will let me pay the bill with love and cuddles dammit. Ditto for Chrysler Financial - they prefer to have the government suck their... well, anyway... Perhaps the Gods took offense to my lack of attention, or the Universe is just not one to be ignored. Or maybe the mean voices in my head that are beating the crap out of my Ego manifested this to make sure I wrote it down, as writing is a form of meditation for me afterall.

The weather has been cooler these past several days so I had the sliding door open behind me. I heard a persistent tapping sound outside on the balcony. When I finally got curious enough to turn around and look, I saw a small brown bird sitting on the only twelve inches of railing visible from my chair. He was alternating looking in my window and smashing something against the wood. "Hi Birdie! What doin?" I asked. I love when the feathered ones come to visit. He looked at me in between every bash, as if to say, "Are you watching?"

"What's he smashing?" I wondered like every dumb blonde ever to lean over and peer at the monster to see if it's really dead. Cue the horror movie music.

I stood up for a closer look, and I swear he turned deliberately to show me what he had in his beak. The bastard.


And apparently it was still half-alive because then I noticed the wings flutter after every pounding against his little green head. Can you hear the screams? Oh wait, maybe that's those stupid voices.

Since I was up, I moved toward the door to shoo the bird away thinking maybe it will drop the dragonfly in fright, but hell no. Instead he looked right at me, arched his neck and swallowed the damn thing whole. Well fuck me. Who knew birds could double as snakes? I haven't seen a performance like that since I owned boa constrictors. Of course he flew off once his meal was safe and his point made. I'll bet he's the jerk pooping all over my balcony too.

To the Gods I say: Thank you Captain Obvious. That makes me feel SO much better about Life when I see my own totem being mercilessly pummeled then eaten in one big defiant gulp. Perfect way to start my day. I need to go hug my iguana (Lizard is my other dominant totem).

Of course my head raced through all the things this could symbolize: I'm beating my head against a wall and should really just accept that the relationship will end and let it go. I should become the bird and fly away free with a full belly (you are what you eat, right?). It's just the food chain - the dragonfly served a purpose as nourishment for the bird - coincidence - meant nothing. Yeah right. Maybe I'll just become a regular Walmart customer while I'm at it.

Either way the opportunity to rise above the scene did not improve the cacophony in my head. I get a big fat F on that test. I know in the end it just is what it is - neither good or bad. That'd be fine if I wasn't human. Damn the bad luck.


There is actually more to this blog entry but I find one of the reasons I haven't been posting like I should is because I get stuck in editing over and over and adding too much then never finishing what I wrote. So that's a good stopping place and there it is. I need to start writing happier/funnier blogs tho. I notice lately everything I bother writing about and posting is the crap that goes on in between all the awesome stuff. Arg.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

I am in Texas visiting my friend, M, who is also Godmother to my daughter. We've known each other since high school and are great friends. M has a toddler that will be baptized tomorrow and she has asked me to be her son's Godmother. The difference here is that Katy (my daughter) was never officially baptized or christened - M's Godmother title is more an acknowledgement of our friendship and a definition of her role in my daughter's life rather than the more traditional mantle she's asking me to accept (not that my asking her was any less sincere!).

M grew up Catholic (her husband is a non-practicing Episcopalian) but has since sort of renounced the church after some less-than-stellar experiences with the people involved. My own beliefs fall far, far away from any organized religion, and most particularly the one she is recovering from.

The way I understand it, a traditional Godmother is responsible for making sure the child grows up with knowledge of (or following) the parents' beliefs if the parents are - for whatever reason (usually death) - unable to do that themselves. I chose M as Katy's Godmother because we grew up with very similar family values and I knew that even if our beliefs fell on opposite sides of the fence, she would most importantly try to instill the good values and manners we were raised with in my daughter. She has proved on many occasions to be a valuable backup voice in guiding Katy through some childhood issues, so these are no small shoes to fill despite her size 5 feet!

I was curious to know why she chose me tho since she knows how I feel about Catholicism, and I'm thinking she and her husband are probably viewing my role from a more classic perspective. She replied, "You have the kind of connection with nature and God that we're looking for." (If she read my blog, she might add "Despite that previous link.") This really blew me away. For one thing, it feels like a huge confirmation of a bond to the Universe that I strive for in everything I do, but often feel like I fall short on (as if we're not all entwined with the Divine, but you get my drift). For a second thing, to have my beliefs accepted so unconditionally in such an official way (even if it's not laid out for everyone else to see) means a lot to me. It had more of an impact than she probably intended because defending myself against people who just don't get it (or dont accept it) has unfortunately become the rule, so to have someone ask me to be something important in their (and their son's) life BECAUSE of what I believe is a strangely foreign concept in my head, albeit a good one.

I asked her to expand on her statement so I was sure we were on the same page and she gave specific examples that on several of our hikes in days long past, I've taken tobacco along to offer the Earth in gratitude (a Native American ritual others have laughed at or called me "weird" for - honestly I was impressed she even remembered that as I try to keep it on the down low after so much ridicule from others); she has noted (apparently) that wild animals seem to have an affinity for my presence; and she cited my ability to remember specific trees in a forest on different outings (they are like people to me, they all look different and some personalities stand out). In her opinion (and her husband's), I suppose that adds up to the correct formula for being at a certain spiritual peace with our planet and All. Which is cool!

Anyway, I wasn't writing this to boast, I'm giving background because of the neatest thing that happened today. We were in the backyard this afternoon - M was on poop patrol and I was playing ball with the dog to tire him out. We came across a frog that was investigating (probably more like terrorizing) a major ant population way out at the end of the yard by a small gathering of trees. I haven't seen a frog in ages so I stood there talking to him for a minute, and watching him use his hind leg to fling the ants off his eyes when they got too annoying. He was really cute - about the size of my palm. Not really out of the ordinary, right? Just Mr. Toad out there being himself and a crazy girl making conversation with Nature (out loud since no one was watching).

The weird part is that much later this evening, I took the dog out again to pee and when we came back in, our amphibious buddy hopped right into the house under the dog's feet! At first I thought the dog had tracked a leaf or something in so I bent down to pick it up, but when it hopped away I realized it was my greenish-brown friend from way down in the back of the yard! Must've taken him all day to come up to the patio and wait by the door (it's a big yard).

I shooed him back outside quickly (with apologies) cuz I was afraid the dog (who is a large German Shepherd) or one of the many people now in the house (including two toddlers) would trample him if he panicked. Wildlife moves fast when spooked, which results in the humans getting spooked, then the energy level spikes out of control and bad things happen. Lucky for us tho, he turned around and hopped right back out the door in front of my hands. I regretted not following him outside tho. I mean he DID spend all that time coming up there to say hi! What a crappy way to treat a guest! I didn't mean to be rude. I wished I'd gotten a picture of him.

I poked my head back out a bit later, but it was too dark to see if he was still around. Oh well. He probably had froggier things to do. I made the joke to M's mother-in-law that maybe I should've kissed him and he would've turned into a prince. (Except I already found a prince that I like a lot - that's a whole 'nother blog tho!)

Tonight after we all retired to our respective rooms I looked up frog medicine because part of my beliefs is that when animals hop into your path like that, you need to hear their message. Jamie Sams' Medicine Cards gives a good basis to start understanding Mother Nature's missives. I knew frogs meant cleansing (they bring the rain to cleanse the Earth), but I did not remember that "...all water rites belong to Frog, including initiations by water." Well isn't that interesting since baptisms are exactly that, aren't they?

Once I read that, I realized he wasn't here to visit me, he came to bless the event. (How conceited do I feel now?! Sheesh. :( ) I can't wait to pass the message on to M tomorrow tho. Makes me feel a lot better too about participating in a ceremony I couldn't really relate to until now. I just love how things like that get explained even when I'm not asking a question directly. Divine alchemy is awesome.

I clicked on a couple more Google results about frogs (what did we EVER do without Google?!), and found more amusing tidbits that appealed to the ever-present child in me. One link offered this:

Frog is also strongly associated with magic and transformation. Beginning life as an egg, it becomes a polliwog, then a frog. It is thus a reminder to us that life is a miracle of change and transformation.

This message is particularly embodied in the story of the Frog Prince. In the Scottish version of this story, a queen who was ill could only be healed by a drink from the well of true water. When each of her three daughters tried to get this water, a monstrous frog refused to allow them access unless they agreed to marry him. The youngest daughter agreed and was able to heal her mother. She also later discovered that her unattractive bridegroom was actually a prince.

M's husband's family has strong Scottish genes, as do I, so this really caught my attention. I'm familiar with the tale of the Frog Prince, but I didn't know it was of Scottish origin. (And of course everything we read on the Interwebs is absolutely the truth! haha) I did another Google search to see if I could find the whole story in its native format, but got sidetracked by the Wikipedia entry about it. From that entry I clicked another link that explains that the Brothers Grimm adapted their frog fable from "The Well of the World's End," which, when you read what THAT is by clicking here, you'll realize is actually the origins of the Cinderella story (and what is my most favoritest fairy tale evar? You got THAT right!).

I thought the relation to Cinderella was even quirkier because before I came to Texas, I asked M what would be an appropriate gift for her son on this occasion. She suggested a biblical story. I was like "HAVE YOU MET ME? Where would I find such a thing? In the fiction section of Barnes & Noble?" I could hear her amused sigh two states away, and she said she was sure I could find something, and when I did, would I please write a dedication in the front. I already knew what to get actually - Neale Donald Walsh wrote a great book called The Little Soul and the Sun, which bridges the gap between our beliefs quite nicely, so that's what I bought. On the title page I wrote a brief note and signed it "Your Fairy Godmother" because by jove, I've always been partial to the Fey, and if I get to be a Godmother I want to be a magical one! (And HELLO... favoritest story includes Godmother of the Fairy sort!)

So what is the moral of this lengthy yarn? For one, everything is tied together no matter what we believe, and sometimes even more so BECAUSE of what we believe. For two, everything eventually comes full circle. And really, how awesome is the perspective when you make it all the way around the entire twisted sphere and a bigger picture comes into focus?

Let's just hope I don't accidentally turn anyone into a toad tomorrow at the ceremony.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Freedom comes not from an absence of challenges, but from knowing that you can successfully handle any challenge that arises.

- Ralph Marston

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

And For The Girls...

Women would be amazed if they knew what men desire about them. Yes, of course, they want to see women naked and supine and melting, but male desire is far more readily stimulated by what the oblique glance discovers: the parted lips, the micron of eyelash which the mascara brush missed, the changing angle and shadow of cleavage, the bra-strap alternately displayed and covered up, the ripe-camembert plumpness at the edge of hips. There is, inside every adult man, a relentless Peeping Tom, a perennial 14-year-old boy, still amazed by the phenomenon of women on display, flagging their sexuality, their availability, with every square inch of visible flesh, clothing, make-up and curve.


We desire the personality that we discern in the walk, the clothes, the laugh … We look, and sigh, and wish to do certain things to her, first urgently, then luxuriantly, and keep doing it indefinitely; but we also hunger to have her do certain things to us, unimaginable though it may seem – we want her to want us. We don’t just want her surrender, like a slave captured in battle; we want her approbation, her adoration; we want to enchant her to desire us back. For, no matter how humble we feel before the dizzying fact of female beauty, men are just as narcissistic as women.

- John Walsh from Desire: What Really Turns Us On

This all sounds very flowery and nice, but I think he missed the basics of mens' desires: 4-inch stiletto heels, scraps of cloth that pass as clothing even if the temp is below freezing, a lack of lingerie under your skirt, a "Hall Pass," and to be left alone during The Game!

Monday, August 03, 2009

For The Boys

The amazing thing is this: 90% of a woman’s emotional problems stem from feeling unloved. So don’t stand back and analyze her, like a doctor diagnosing a patient, or like a therapist questioning a client. Give her your love - the same love that is motivating your questioning - immediately and unmistakably. Walk over to her, look deeply into her eyes, hold her and stroke her, tell her how much you love her, smile, hum her favorite song and dance with her, and chances are, her emotional problem will evaporate. She may still have some situation to deal with, and you may be able to help her with that, but the emotional aspect will be converted to love.

It is a very rare occasion when your analysis of her mood relieves her of it. Most often, your analysis and attempts to fix her will just piss her off more. Ask her if she would rather you gave her love or analyzed her when she is upset. It’s so easy to give her love; it’s what both of you really want anyway. But as a man you are more likely to try to fix her. That’s exactly not what she wants, and exactly what will make the situation worse, most of the time.

- David Deida, The Way of the Superior Man


Things I'm thankful for today:

1. Someone in my life who is amazingly good at the very thing quoted above.
2. The washer and dryer in my garage.
3. Awesome photographers.
4. Green.
5. Happiness.
6. Socks right out of the dryer.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Drop A Pebble

I'm not much for poetry, but there are a few verses that are my favorites. I had this poem posted on my web site for years, but the web site is gone now and I haven't put anything in its place, so I figured it was time to share the poem here. Hope you enjoy!

Drop A Pebble

Drop a pebble in the water:
just a splash, and it is gone;
But there's half-a-hundred ripples
Circling on and on and on,
Spreading, spreading from the center,
flowing on out to the sea.
And there is no way of telling
where the end is going to be.

Drop a pebble in the water:
in a minute you forget,
But there's little waves a-flowing,
and there's ripples circling yet,
And those little waves a-flowing
to a great big wave have grown;
You've disturbed a mighty river
just by dropping in a stone.

Drop an unkind word, or careless:
in a minute it is gone;
But there's half-a-hundred ripples
circling on and on and on.
They keep spreading, spreading, spreading
from the center as they go,
And there is no way to stop them,
once you've started them to flow.

Drop an unkind word, or careless:
in a minute you forget;
But there's little waves a-flowing,
and there's ripples circling yet,
And perhaps in some sad heart
a mighty wave of tears you've stirred,
And disturbed a life was happy
ere you dropped that unkind word.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness:
just a flash and it is gone;
But there's half-a-hundred ripples
circling on and on and on,
Bearing hope and joy and comfort
on each splashing, dashing wave
Till you wouldn't believe the volume
of the one kind word you gave.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness:
in a minute you forget;
But there's gladness still a-swelling,
and there's joy circling yet,
And you've rolled a wave of comfort
whose sweet music can be heard
Over miles and miles of water
just by dropping one kind word.

~James W. Foley

Friday, July 24, 2009


My sister posted this on her Facebook and I think it's SO cool it had to be re-posted here. This is nothing short of BRILLIANT. I wish I'd thought of it myself, but lemme tell ya, if that day ever comes for me, I am SO TOTALLY stealing that idea and improving on it. Do you think fire jugglers would be too much? I mean, let's face it. There's no way I'm marrying someone "normal" anyway. And at least then when my family talks about what a circus my life is, they will be absolutely correct! Bonus!

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

I Want To Live Like I Know What I'm Leaving

I’ve never experienced more often than in San Diego, that sudden, surreal sense of complete wonderment like you get when you’re having a lucid dream and you are unexpectedly aware that you’re dreaming even as you do it. You’re just existing along in an other-dimensionly state, then it’s like, “Wait… what? I’m where? Oh wow!” It’s a very weird feeling – like you’re not sure what to believe is real or part of your imagination. Of course, really, it’s ALL part of your imagination, but that abrupt insight that perhaps NONE of this is real – awake or asleep, no matter which direction you look - will shake your psyche up, sometimes gently and sometimes not. I’ll bet it’s similar to waking up from a coma (not that I have any wish to have a personal point of comparison on that one!).

The thing I’m talking about happens when I’m entirely awake – well, in as much as life is “an awake dream.” It sneaks up on me and pounces… I’m just doing something mundane (usually driving) and suddenly I’m all “OMG, I LIVE in California. [Like this is news to me.] I LIVE here. Like EVERY DAY. And I’m HAPPY.” I don’t know how else to describe it besides some kind of spiritual awakening. Maybe it’s the happy part that shocks me the most. I don’t think I’ve ever been so consistently happy, but then I’ve also never had so much time to do whatever the hell I want either. I’m a little afraid that will change when I have to go back to work, but I’m not considering that right now at any length.

Making it doubly odd (to me at least) is that these thoughts sometimes come in the middle of a day where I feel I’ve accomplished nothing, and I’m getting a bit depressed over some trivial matters. I’m headed down an ugly spiral when all Thought pauses on a step, then an updraft like this hits me and deposits me with a rude thunk at the top of the staircase. I sit there rubbing my third eye like I’ve just been poked awake by the Gods. Hmmm. What was it I was busy getting upset about? Oh, nevermind.

It’s not the fact of my geographical location that puts me in awe (well, a little, because energies are different in different places and this just happens to be a place I jive with), it’s that I’m actually DOING something that once seemed almost impossible – certainly I had no plan and no assured funding when I set out on this path, but here I am and I’m still surviving. (And ever, ever so slowly chipping away at the debt I made getting here.)

Moving here started as a radical idea (so was New Jersey so apparently radical ideas work for me) and I’ve brought it to reality and I’m doing it. I’m still not quite sure how, but it's happening. I’m still here. No one has knocked down my door and said YOU MUST STOP THIS RIGHT NOW. Kind of like when you first move out of your parents’ house and suddenly realize if you want to eat ice cream for breakfast, no one is going to invade the kitchen and say, “No you can’t.” Or even “No you shouldn’t.” (And hell yeah – that’s why I still eat ice cream or brownies or cake or pancakes [oh wait...] for breakfast sometimes!)

I know I’m successful like this in plenty of smaller ways – often even – but moving somewhere and LIVING there and not needing anyone else’s help (at age 40 you’d think this would be normal, but I suppose I never got over that) is still sometimes a shock. Like hey, I actually CAN do this and I’m not going to die! Awesome!

I’m not sure how long living in California has been a dream even – certainly it’s not one of those life-long things because I only really started thinking about it a couple years ago. Or maybe I’m wrong; when my mother and I traveled to San Francisco when I was in 6th grade, I knew there was something special about this state even back then because it’s one of those memories I recall often and clearly. But I don’t remember craving living here (or at least knowing if I moved again, California would be the goal) until a few years back.

The smallest things usually set off the feeling. Noticing how many cars have surf-related stickers on the back. Or driving along The 5 (local lingo for Interstate 5) and seeing the vast expanse of ocean off to the side. Sitting in a coffee shop I’ve read about in a blog or hearing of something happening in LA and knowing I'm close enough that if I wanted to attend, it's an option. Weird!

I’ve often thought of these feelings as being like living in a movie. Maybe that’s why they have such an impact on me. I mean don’t we all really want to live a Hollywood life 24 hours a day deep down? Hollywood makes everything so flawless and the story almost always has a happy ending, right? Who doesn’t want that?

Well I haven’t reached some of the happy endings I’ve had normal “conscious” dreams about yet, but I’m working on them. Trouble with those is that when they don’t come to fruition in the timeline I plan, it causes stress or worry unless I can convince myself enough that stress and worry are futile and if I’m not getting what I expected, then the timing just isn’t right yet. (It’s one thing to know this in your head, quite another to convince your heart.)

But these unconscious dream-goals – are they really dreams or are they a sudden awareness, that hey – you are right where you are meant to be in that moment? But aren’t we always right where we’re meant to be in any given moment? I mean the Universe works perfectly, so why wouldn’t we be? What makes SOME of those most seemingly insignificant moments so powerful while the events that you’ve consciously worked for don’t elicit the same reaction?

Whatever it is, I’m glad they happen.

I’m actually sitting in the car outside the grocery store typing this in a very cramped, uncomfortable position because for once I have the computer with me when good blog material crystalized in my head. Ironically, I spent four hours prior to now in two different coffee shops trying to get inspired to write something. All I got was severely caffeinated. What a thing. Maybe I should haul the Mac around with me more often cuz I never lack for thoughts to share, it’s just that the ideas seem to evaporate when I’m within easy reach of the keyboard. The car, the shower, the toilet (oh yes) are when I get inspired. Imagine. But there’s nowhere to record the thoughts when you’re stuck in such places and they slip back into the ether like so many drops of rain in the Pacific.

Fortunately this time I was prepared so I’m glad to be sharing this, however, I’d better go get my groceries before the store closes or before they send the cops over to check out what the chick in a parking lot is doing on the computer. Surely it’s porn! Or witchcraft! Or worse! People are so suspicious of anything outside “the norm.” Pity. That’s usually where all the good stuff happens.

Soundtrack: Awakening by Switchfoot

Monday, July 20, 2009

What's For Breakfast

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"

"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"

"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully.

"It's the same thing," he said.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

She's Like So Whatever

Have you ever done something you knew was going to come back around and slap your karma silly but you didn’t regret it one single little bit? I’m not normally prone to drama, but once in awhile it comes looking for me.
My landlady – who is AWESOME – gave me two huge silk trees a couple weeks ago because they didn’t sell at her garage sale and she didn’t want to deal with hauling them to Goodwill. (She only lives a half mile up the road from me.) She knows I’m a craigspert (i.e., expert with so she offered them to me if I wanted to sell them, and she didn’t even want a share of the money! This is not the first time she’s practically given me the rent this way. Like I said – total sweetheart. <3
When she dropped them off, they had price tags that said $60 crossed out and marked down to $50. I can’t believe no one bought them for that price. They were both in excellent shape and not even dusty, and given their size and quality, a designer would charge upwards of $150 each for them. I put them on craigslist for $80 each including delivery and today they sold. Yay! I had to drive 45 minutes to Mira Mesa to drop them off, but it was worth the gas to make the $160. Pure profit is a beautiful thing.
Turns out the lady that bought them only lives 2 miles from my – dare I say – boyfriend. You see, our relationship (like everything else in my life) is not easily pigeonholed by conventional terms. This male friend and I have been seeing a lot of each other (A LOT) over the last several months, and the mutual respect and love has carved a groove a little deeper than either one of us intended. Even so, we have both agreed that our long-term goals do not mesh precisely; therefore we have not made any commitment to each other. I accept that and I understand the reasons why, even tho my hormones sometimes commit mutiny.
He’s the one that started the name-calling tho. I thought perhaps “girlfriend” was just a convenient adjective to describe me to his buddies since I am his friend and I am a girl and humans are territorial creatures, but he’s stated it means more to him, and his actions match his words. He seemed pleased when I started referring to him as my boyfriend, so no trouble there. My heart ran away with that even while my brain was shaking its finger saying, “You know this doesn’t change anything; he’s still not thinking marriage. He’s made that clear.” My Cinderella complex was like, “Yeah yeah, whatever. Shut up. Can’t you see I’m busy swimming in this romance here?”
This is why men and women are generally not best friends outside of romance, because eventually one gets too keen on the other and it ruins the whole thing. Damn the bad luck of owning the boobs, cuz it’s usually that one which falls first. ::sigh::
Up until now, when he’s chosen to spend an evening with someone else, I’ve just swallowed my emotions and reminded myself I have no claims on him. It’s been easy because he’s not spending multiple evenings with anyone serious and he’s certainly not an ass about it or anything. If anyone has been an ass, it’s been me because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut about my own isolated incidents (which mostly happen because I feel like they should, since I know this won’t last forever). Some might say that’s passive aggressive, but really it’s just me being dreadful at keeping secrets. I hate secrets because they make me paranoid.
I know there will come a day when he will find the right girl and I will have to let go and it will suck hard (except for the pints of Haagen-Dazs), but until then I’m having a really good time. Live in the moment, right? Appreciate what is NOW. I totally get that. I try really hard to walk my talk. He’s not breaking any promises, so it’s up to me to be an adult about it and keep myself in check. I’m just enjoying it while it lasts. I keep deciding it’s worth the pending heartache.
Do you see the big BUT(T) coming?
A woman he used to date from across the pond arrived Tuesday to visit for a month. I know that Europeans vacation for much longer than Americans do, so I don’t find the timeline suspect. I also know she’s not staying in his guest room (or a hotel if you get my drift), but again – I have no claims so I can’t complain. What bothers me is that suddenly I’ve gone from “girlfriend” and primary companion to secret (??!) dinner date after the Mon/Thurs workout, and the sleepover ritual has been terminated until further notice. He was even checking his watch after we ate. It’s like he got married overnight. (And no, he did NOT. God, I hope I’m not THAT blind.)
When I asked what the deal was, he said his foreign friend was not mature enough (emotionally) to understand our relationship. (Read: he didn’t tell her what he was doing.)
Christ, haven’t I been here, done that? What did I miss the last 10 times around? How am I here again?
That’s rhetorical.
I admitted I was jealous, and told him calmly and rationally about all my icky thoughts on the situation; how I felt very excluded even on a regular friend level. I am not this shut out when his family visits, or even when he has parties attended by State-side ex-girlfriends. He stuck with the “she wouldn’t understand” (read: approve) story. The Inside Voice said fuck her – she needs to grow up.
Instead I said, “Then why are you still friends with her? People that didn’t get Mark’s and my openness didn’t hang around long. If you can’t run with the big dogs, then stay on the porch.”
THEN out my mouth came “Fuck her, she needs to grow up.” (Because THAT was so mature. And yes, Jess, I see the irony.)
Points to him for letting that go.
He went on to say she’s way more into him than he is into her. It sounds lame, but it’s something he’s expressed before outside of these circumstances and it’s been my own experience with him, so why would I think he’s lying? She IS a friend, which is why she’s staying at his house. They have a history, and he and I aren’t exclusive. Just because he likes her too doesn’t mean he likes me any less, so case closed.
My own logic does nothing to assuage my stinging emotions.
To support his claim, he explained he’s not that into her because she’s gained weight. Knowing how freaky he is about his own weight and his penchant for trophy women, I have to assume this is also true, but neither does this lessen my jealousy. What IS it with the stupid human emotions?? I should know better.
To preserve the scrap of dignity I was clinging to, I asked him not to come over again until she’s gone home. (I have some decisions to make between now and then anyway.) Which means we won’t see each other at all for a month – not even for the party he’s throwing, which he did invite me to even tho she will still be there. I have truly warred with myself on whether I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face, or whether I’m just enforcing my boundaries. Just when you think you’ve got all the grey areas covered, the Universe makes a greyer one.
I relented on IM/email, so we will remain in contact for as long as I can stand sitting on my Ego. This is weird in so many ways after spending almost every day together for so long. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth (which my friends Ben and Jerry are going to help fix).
So I told you all that so I could tell you what I don’t regret…
Todaaaaayyyyy I told him on IM that I sold the trees because we like to share our craigslist triumphs. I also told him I was delivering them 2 miles from his house, to which he replied, “Why don’t you drop by for a game of pool?” (He just bought a new pool table and he’s been having fun seeing how much he can screw up his game just so I can keep up. What a doll. :) I dunno if he really thought I would or not, but hey, he offered and I MISS him and it’s only been a handful of days. And then the ‘tude kicks in and I decide perhaps the balls on the pool table aren’t the only ones that need to be dug out of the pockets. I mean seriously. How old are we?
(HA – quick note here: A ladybug just flew in, buzzed my head, and landed on the wall in front of me. It’s been dark out for awhile; I was under the impression that ladybugs are not generally nocturnal, so I take this as a sign. I Google “ladybug medicine” and I get this page, which is weird in its own right because the title is “Follow the Dragonfly.” HELLO. Universe is texting me again. Except it’s not limited to 160 characters since it’s all Infinite and stuff. Haha
In summary, ladybug represents energies of renewal and regeneration. It teaches us to release worry and “let go and let God.” Shows us how to stop harming ourselves. And lastly says to get out of our own way and allow Great Spirit to enter.
::sigh:: Crap. Ok, I suck.
I don’t know how atheists can believe there is NOTHING [even if it is an advanced version of our own selves] watching from some other dimension we haven’t even dreamed of yet.
Moving on…)
So I deliver the trees, collect almost $200 and pass go. This is the part I’m sure karma will swing back on me for, but perhaps I also learned a valuable lesson already. Afterall, isn’t that what we’re here for? To provide each other with learning opportunities?
First let me say, his take on the following was that his ladyfriend avoided confronting me, like some kind of mouse. Could be true – certainly he knows her and I don’t, and it’s always amazing how a group of people may all witness the same event but come away with different versions of what happened. Another girl he was fooling around with when we first started hanging out was also very mousy when I finally located my pride and put myself in front of her to say hi at a party, so it’s not an unreasonable conclusion. We do tend to pick the same type of people over and over in our lives. But his view is not at all what I experienced.
When I asked him tonight how much trouble he was in, he said none. He could be blowing it off to avoid any further bullshit from me (which is entirely understandable; I’m not exactly being reasonable over this). His answer gave me some perspective on why I may have experienced it the way I did. (As in my personal history skewing my perception, much like how we see light refracted through a prism.)
Perhaps my version only took place in my own head (well, of course it did, but you know what I mean), but I’m learning to trust my sixth sense and a lot of it was hitting that radar, not the standard five. We’ll never know since the other two parties wouldn’t be inclined to talk about it (nor would at least one party be capable of self-examination to that depth from what I’ve heard), but it’s food for thought. This must be how people end up in the nuthouse.
Anyway… here’s what * I * saw happen.
He had given me a key to his house, so I used it. Loudly. I walked in and yelled jokingly, “Ok, put your clothes on and let’s play some pool.” No response. The house was weirdly quiet. Hmm. Maybe he knew they were leaving which is why he extended the invite. Oh well. It’s not like I made a special trip. We do play pranks on each other. If I was interrupting anything I figured I would’ve heard something immediately, so that wasn’t it.
But there’s rustling coming from the garage. I go check it out and he’s putting the arcade back together. Oh good, he just didn’t hear me and we get to play afterall. He looks only slightly surprised to see me.
After greetings, we set up a game. I’m racking up balls and he’s checking his cue stick when his ladyfriend appears at the top of the stairs. He tries to introduce me as his friend that helped him change all his furniture thru craigslist (which is entirely true :) but I can see she’s not buying it and his words seem to fade at the end of his sentence. I’m amazed that he sounds not like his normal cocky self, but more like a little boy trying to avoid trouble. Who is this guy? I know he’s told me he hasn’t always been as confident as he is nowadays, but wow. I almost feel guilty for coming over. Almost.
She barely glances at me and mumbles some acknowledgment with an accent I can’t help but find charming, which of course sends my Ego into a whirlwind of conflict. (Fuck charming – but it was charming – I said fuck charming! I’m not ready to let go of my jealousy!)
I try a dry “nice to meet you,” which garners not just NO response, but the true meaning of DEAD AIR becomes crystal clear to me at that moment.
She keeps staring at him and doesn’t look at me again. The silence is beginning to stretch.
There are people I know, and others that have been described to me as “being able to suck all the fun right out of a room just with their presence,” but this is the Dyson of uncomfortable vacuums. For a split second I am paralyzed as if we’ve been caught doing something naughty (not even close – we’re at opposite ends of the table). I think I was actually holding my breath. Then suddenly I find the whole thing terribly amusing and I have to beat down a laugh.
It looks like he is in a lot of trouble (or perhaps we woke her up? But I doubt it). I had to rethink whether the words I heard in my head were actually spoken by her, and honestly I don’t think they were, but they came across loud and clear and even in her accent, which I had only heard in one mumbled sentence two seconds ago. I heard “Why is she here?” You know – in that clenched teeth tone, but only inside my head.
The lack of sound now feels like a lead weight infusing itself into every particle in the room and dropping effectively to the floor. No one said anything. This could all be just me, I dunno, but it was absolutely surreal. I always joke about “thinking things really loudly” but in this case, it might be the truth.
I think he’s lucky to be alive because I wasn’t real sure looks couldn’t kill right then. She seemed to be totally staring him down. He was kinda all deer-in-the-headlights, which was odd because normally he’s quite brash in a fantastic way. I was surprised by the continued non-conversation.
After a very long pause she pretty much just turned and went back in his bedroom without another word. No goodbye or anything. I didn’t see her again for the rest of the time I was there.
We played three or four games, during which he must’ve lost his mind - he invited me to stay for lunch and to go to the beach with them after. (Black’s Beach – which is clothing optional. Because that wouldn’t make things more uncomfortable AT ALL. That is the impetuous guy I’m familiar with, although I did not hear a true teasing challenge in his voice like normal. Maybe it just lacked the flirty part. He sounded tired. Maybe he didn’t sleep well. Who knows.)
Ya know, he has the most powerful motorcycle on the market and he likes to get all dangerously fast on it, but I wasn’t taking his DEATH WISH so seriously.
On the way home, my Ego was really having a field day of evil thoughts about what I could’ve said.
“Oh, nice to meet you – you’re not nearly as fat as he described.”
“Oh, nice to meet you - do you mind if I come up and get my toothbrush? I left it in his bathroom.” (True fact.)
“Oh, nice to meet you – do you have trouble with the cats laying on you all night too?”
I know I sound psycho, but I'm much meaner in my head than I ever would be in the real world. The chances of me expressing those thoughts unless seriously provoked was nonexistant. Just the fact that I went to his house was out of the norm for me. I am usually the mouse. But like I said, I don’t regret it a bit.
Anyway, reviewing her non-response I can see why he may think that she was simply avoiding confronting me. However, I also have intimate knowledge of the nature of women and even those that are demure and keep their mouths shut are usually seething underneath, so I’m equally as sure that even if she never did show her anger, it wasn’t like it didn’t exist.
But again, perhaps that’s just me. My experience with this type of confrontation has always been angry, so I acknowledge that may be the sole reason I felt all that. Our worlds really do only happen in our own heads afterall, which is why everyone has a different experience of the same event.
I’m glad I gathered the guts to go, even if it was for the wrong reasons and creates entries on my karmic record. I figure at the very least, if a big dose of reality is getting spread around, I’m sure as hell not going to be the only one without a knife. One of these days I hope to evolve tho and not get into or feel this kind of pain over such silly emotional matters.
If you make a comment, please don't "take sides."
Soundtrack: Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne