Dated

Reluctantly, I went on a date Monday night. That's right... a date. I met the guy five weeks ago at my class reunion social. He wasn't a former class mate, he just happened to be there that night. He had asked me out several times over the course of those five weeks, but our work schedules were conflicting, and honestly, I just didn't feel up to dating.

This guy is handsome. He owns his own business. He appears to have manners, and I hadn't sensed any mental instability... so what was the problem? Well, the good and bad thing about being single in your late thirties is that you have had enough time and experience to figure out what you want, and what you don't want. And, you probably have a lot of responsibilities that force you to use your time more wisely. I was busy with two projects as well as my own job. Getting a good night's sleep was much more attractive to me than going out to dinner!

Having seen C.F. recently, I was very aware of what I wanted; just as much as I was aware of what I couldn't have. I guess I'm just not a big dater, and definitely not a "serial" dater. Growing tired of the rejection, the texts and phone calls from this gentleman had slowed significantly, so I certainly hadn't expected him to ask me out that day, nor truly ever again.

I was tired from a stressful work day, planning to work out, but really wanting a nap! But, for some reason, I started having little silent conversations with myself that included statements such as: "don't let your life pass you by," "you really should get out a little more," "he seems harmless," "sushi!" and "live a little today, nap a lot tomorrow." You can talk to yourself, but if you start arguing with yourself, I think that qualifies you for some sort of mental illness treatment; so I thought it best to just go on a date with the guy.

We actually had a really good time! We went to a great sushi place out of town; enjoying great food and good conversation. He was a "perfect gentleman." Considering he lives about two hours away from me, and will be working out of state for probably a month... a second date isn't likely anytime soon. And considering I was reluctant to go out on even one date, that works perfectly for me! No need to worry about the relationship stuff!

Lesson learned, I guess. As long as everyone is on the same page, and nobody's getting drugged or murdered, going on a date with someone without any further intentions or mapped out futures, is okay (and might actually be fun).

Hodge-Podge Montage

Either my life really has been exciting, or (more likely) I'm just easily fascinated and hyper-sensitive to virtually anything! I have to choose between a half-dozen epic blogs, or a simple hodge-podge montage of the latest goings-on. Out of respect for whomever might actually read my blog, I'll choose the latter.

So here it goes:

Thursday, I had my first review at work. Originally scheduled for the 25th, the advancement of my review did raise my level of concern from none, to a little. One of my co-workers was supposed to have her review in my new slot, but she had to prepare for her visit with the coroner. Yeah, I work for a place that sends people to a coroner, that actually return alive. I thought the CEO and I would simply go into her office and shut the door, so I headed in there, only to have her say, "Let's go down to Erv's office."

Uh-oh.

Thinking the need for a "secret location" might imply impending doom, my concern level temporarily elevated to "a little more." But for some reason, once we sat down, I came to my senses and realized that the only two things that could require concern would be lack of incoming funding to keep me on staff, or maybe the woman's abrasive demeanor that I assist at times. Knowing that signs for incoming funding were looking positive, and that said woman's abrasiveness is apparent to everyone, maybe even especially the CEO... I sat back, relaxed, and took my last swig of coffee before giving my full attention to my rarely critical critic. Documentation on my review included the phrases: "extremely talented, passion for the welfare of others, incredible creative writing skills, fast-learner, consistently enthusiastic, positive attitude, exceeds expectations, completes tasks on time, excellent communicator." For a moment, I thought she might write "second only to Jesus." I appreciated her comments, and, for the most part, could agree... but I still have not evolved into a person who takes compliments well. Such an odd phenomenon to me! Although they weren't my words, I felt like a braggart. It was time for my standby tactics... deflection!

"I certainly appreciate that, thank you. But I must say, that without you giving me these great opportunities, I could not have accomplished all that I have." This was true. And, in my mind, necessary to say. Gratitude may have gone out of style in our "modern" society, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna give it up!

After our mutual ego-fluffing session, the discussion turned to retention. Ahhhh. The CEO and woman in charge of the financials of the organization have always been forthcoming about the funding challenges of the non-profit sector and have made it clear to me that my job is only guaranteed through the end of the fiscal year: September 30th.

Discussion of the status of existing funding sources, and pending funding sources, was then followed by the pivotal statement,

"What you are doing for us is critical to our mission."

Critical. Excellent! However, the emphasis on "you" eluded to the fact that someone on staff was doing things that were not critical. I suspect this person/position might be the one that appears to be training for the "Facebook Marathon," or writing a mystery novel titled, "What Time is She Supposed to Show Up For Work?" All the while I've worked there, I have prudently chosen to mind my own business regarding these behaviors. They are a tight knit group of 5 great woman, who were certainly content with the way things were before I arrived. Despite her unprofessional behavior, I truly like this woman; but I have secretly pondered how jaded I would feel if my job were cut instead of hers if funding weren't available for both, because honestly, she takes her job for granted. Easier for her to do, because she is married, and, therefore, is not the sole source of income for her household. Me, I'm just one of those people who likes to do my very best, no matter what the task. I simply find it more enjoyable. Add to that the tramautization of 10 months of unemployment-fueled financial doom... and you get a guarantee that I am going to bust my ass at work!

But how awkward will it be, if she loses her job after 6 years, and I get to keep mine after 6 months?

Things got even more interesting when the CEO announced her intentions to groom her current manager of finances to eventually take her position. Interesting because... she is the sister-in-law of the woman who might get the axe while I stay on.

And that's that on the work front. Moving on, albeit randomly...

Today was my cousin's birthday. Initially we weren't supposed to celebrate until Sunday, but my aunt sent me a text message asking to go to lunch for his birthday. Lunch?! Hooray! I didn't eat breakfast! I'm starving! We had a gloriously gluttonous lunch, complete with "Brownie Blasts." My once empty stomach was now uncomfortable bursting. I love self-torture.

After we ate, we happened upon a hot pink "Garage Sale" sign, and soon found ourselves on some sort of impromptu treasure hunt! It was getting to be late in the afternoon, which, according to my aunt, meant the "good stuff" was probably already gone; and for the most part she was right. But... at about the third stop, in the "rich people's neighborhood" I happened upon some items I actually wanted! I found an old weathered barrel, similar to, but smaller than the one I sweet-talked my mother out of and turned into an interesting planter; and two antique wooden folding chairs whose tone and tatteredness lent just the right amount of character that thrills coveters of all things old. Since the chairs had the right vibe about them, and, I'm inviting people over after my art show in less than three weeks, I couldn't have been happier! I scored all three items for a mere $7! Nice!

After returning home with my treasures, I briefly entertained the thought of travelling to see a "Loverboy" concert. Yep, I said "Loverboy." I had no idea they were playing (or even still alive) until I heard a radio interview on my way to work in the morning. I'm admittedly a fan of some of their take-you-right-back to the 80's songs, but my main desire was to satisfy the curiosity as to whether the lead singer was going to wear those infamous red leather pants onstage. However, my curiosity wasn't strong enough to motivate me to endure the tedious task of finding someone else who would actually want to go, nor the humiliation of ridicule from those who did not want to.

What did I do instead? Hold on to your shorts... I scraped paint from what must have been some blind man's previous attempt at painting the trim off of my garage windows. Oh, and I had a near two hour "teleconference" with an old boss and good friend of mine, covering such crucial topics as: how her relationship with the older man was going, her rollerblade marathon, my romantic life (or lack thereof), some bizarre story of her friend selling her underwear to a stranger for $200 in Vegas ten years ago, and whether or not our cats were clinically "fat."

Currently, I'm curled up on the couch watching "Whale Wars." A rather exciting episode, as they have rammed the factory ship and damaged their hull. Oh yeah! My weekend is off to a wild, wild start!

Wrapped up in my consuming work deadlines, and dizzied with elevated barometric pressure for a week straight, I failed to think of weekend plans! I'm sitting with Chester at 1 p.m. tomorrow... having a late afternoon barbecue for my cousin's birthday on Sunday... but what about Saturday night? I think I ought to look into that!

Devastation!

Laurens De Groot on "Whale Wars" just said he's going to spend some quality time with his girlfriend when they arrive to port. Doesn't he know that I am his girlfriend? Men. Such confused creatures they are. (wink)

So... I guess that's the it of it for now... but I sense serious Saturday randomness on the horizon. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Composure

Last night's battiness led to an interesting day for me. I had forgotten to set my regular alarm clock that sits atop my dresser. Luckily, my cell phone alarm was set for 6:05 a.m. Only trouble with my cell phone alarm is that I don't have to get out of bed to hit the snooze, and my cell phone snoozes 14 minutes longer than my regular alarm clock does. That extra 14 minutes allowed me to enter some bizarre dream sequence... and sleep much later than I had intended.

"Son of a bitch!" That's how my morning began. I had not packed a lunch. I had no idea what I was wearing. And for a moment, I had no idea where I was! The last thing I wanted to do after missing a day of work was be late! Showering, making coffee, and zipping through the house in varied states of undressed panic... a brief moment of clarity came over me. "Get it together!" "It's not that big of deal!" I'm always the first to arrive, and usually the last to leave the office, so no one would even know if I was a few minutes late.

Arriving slightly tardy, yet entirely undetected, I was surprised to find not one pile of urgency upon my desk. The room seemed dark; the air, heavy. The weight of my eyelids seemed to increase immediately. Was I going to make it through the day?

The catering service that monopolizes the venue I am holding an event at in two weeks still has not returned my calls. 98% of the invitees for this event still have not RSVP'd and the intern who has offered her assistance in securing another venue for a September event still has not come forward, or even shown up, with one smidgen of information. My event planning experience tells me this is all adding up to disaster but I'm choosing to retain my composure. I can't force the caterer to conduct his business in a professional manner, can't force people to RSVP, and can't force this intern to fulfill her volunteered obligations. I'll just be quietly appalled and keep doing my job.

Needing a break from the office monotony, I decided to go to the credit union and order more checks on my lunch break. No sooner had I turned right out of the office parking lot, I saw a car hit a man on a bike as it was pulling out of the next lot! What the hell? "I don't have time for this" I thought. I was starving. It was hot. And I quickly became disgusted with my initial response of utter inconvenience to the situation. I stopped my car right away and put on the hazards so the fallen man would not get run over by some other lunch-bound don't-have-time-for-this cubicle dweller. I was a witness, whether I liked it or not, and there was a man who had been thrown to the pavement who was not moving.

The man who struck the cyclist, a white man with white hair in a white shirt with a tie on gestured me to call 9-1-1. There was some funny connection with 9-1-1 on my cell phone. Lots of ringing, a click, then more ringing. Was 9-1-1 not taking calls today? The white man with white hair in the white shirt and tie had an interesting demeanor: composed panic. He kept touching the black man, in the black t-shirt, wearing black sunglasses, lying motionless on the black pavement next to his slightly crumpled dark blue bike, as if he wanted to help him... but he didn't seem to know how. The fire truck and ambulance came from opposite directions and met bumper to bumper to the left of the man, shielding him from traffic. Moments later two police cars arrived. One black and one white. Visually, the accident scene became very profound to me. I was craving a camera of some sort to permanently record the details my odd little mind would certainly fail to remember when I later found time to process what I had seen. Where was my notebook? My pen? I had not simply witnessed an accident... I was witnessing the literal and metaphorical timeless "black and white" racial controversy!

The paramedics interaction with the fallen black man in a black t-shirt lying motionless on the black pavement was focused on his well-being. I couldn't help but feel the questions of concern were more of professional obligation than true human concern. The crowd of responders had grown to a gathering of about ten people. Uniforms black, and uniforms white. Once the police arrived, the heavy outdoor air filled with a quiet awkwardness for me. One officer, a black man, paid no attention to the motionless man on the ground, greeting firefighters and paramedics with "the pound" and a chuckling grin. Another (white) officer walked right over to the man and said, "You know you aren't supposed to ride your bike on the sidewalk. And you were riding in the wrong direction." The third policeman, a stout and homely white man in a black uniform didn't even approach the man. He walked right up to me.

"Did you see it happen?"

"Yes I did. The man couldn't have been driving his car that fast out of the parking lot because the man on the bike merely toppled over his handlebars. I'm assuming the trees to the right made it impossible for him to see the bicycle coming." I reported.

"Well he's not supposed to ride his bike on the sidewalk and that man was looking the way he should be to turn left. You know what this is about (he gestures to imply money). You know he's going to be disabled now... it's all about the (again gesturing to imply money)."

Really? Couldn't it simply be about a man that was riding his bike, albeit on the sidewalk, and a man who was pulling out of a parking lot, both with their vision of the other obscured by some trees that were simply growing there; resulting in an accident?

Some ten hours later, my feelings aren't quite settled. There were so many dynamics... so many stories within the story. Like his bent-wheeled bike being parked half on the sidewalk and half in the driveway... just waiting to be struck again... as he was taken away to the hospital in an ambulance. Then the almost paper-rock-scissors approach two officers took towards who would take the man's bicycle to the hospital for the wounded man. For several minutes, I thought they might just leave it there!

Not having a camera, nor pen and paper to record my accidental experience left me feeling irresponsible, neglectful, and as if I were to suffer a permanent loss for not having these items. So after work, I went out to a huge everything-you-need-in-one-place store and caught a 49 cent sale on composition books. I bought ten! The blessed curse of possibly undiagnosed A.D.D. and rampant creative anxiety is a never-ending whirlwind of thoughts sporadically entering and exiting your brain... some of them silly; some of them brilliant. Yet all of them lost when they are not captured on paper. My only remaining task is to purchase a technologically-current camera, something I have involuntarily postponed for the sake of financial responsibility. If only I knew my job was secure! Waiting for that news has been making me bananas! I've been salivating over the thought of a more competent camera for over a year now! And a tripod! Enlarged prints... covering my walls with coveted frame-frozen moments of time! Composing. Composite. Compositions... composure.

Batman? Batwoman!

After my day of inactivity and intermittent napping, it was no surprise that falling asleep at a "normal" hour was impossible. I laid in bed watching "Law and Order" reruns... and was just about asleep at quarter to one.

Suddenly, I heard odd high-pitched, almost scratching like noises, and my big-boned beastie cat jumped up from the bed. Not again!! I didn't have to look. The light of the t.v. helped cast the shadow of bat wings on my bedroom wall.

Luckily, it flew out of my room fairly quickly. Maybe it just wanted to let me know it had come to visit. Unfortunately, I have no door on my bedroom as I did not put it back up when I took it down to paint, so simply closing the door and going to sleep was not an option. So, I called my brother... again.

Still up, he came over within minutes, as if he was taking this bat removal thing as serious as an emergency responder. Because I just went through this some three days ago, and this bat appeared to be significantly smaller, I was less bothered by it. But, sleeping while a cat's hunting instincts have been triggered by a mammal circling overhead isn't plausible.

Initially, we found the bat dangling from a plant hanging in the living room. An easy find since the cat was perched on the coffee table staring at it. My brother, with the now official bat hunting bed sheet, attempted a quick and easy capture. Thinking he had everything "under control" I opened the door to go upstairs and make sure there weren't any open windows.

And here comes the bat.

Ducking from the swoop, I pulled my almost healed neck muscles. Damn't! Damn bats! Where the blazes are these things coming from? And why? One of my email buddies rambled on about the devil, spiders, bats, and portals... okay, pal. I know the vampire thing is pretty trendy right now with the movie "Twilight" and some coming soon t.v. show "Vampire Diaries," but I care not to participate in any blood-sucking fantasies. I just want some peace of mind and a good night's sleep!

After my brother successfully removed the bat, we explored my house for any signs of entry. Nothing has changed here. And I've lived here, bat free, for two years. We couldn't find any obvious places they would be coming in from.

"Maybe they like the smell of fresh paint," my brother theorized.

Looks like I'll be arriving at work with dark circles this morning...

Tortured Soul

Holy crap am I bored!

This has been one of the most torturous days of my life! Mentally I feel ready to take on the world. Physically, I'm a hopeless, homebound, blob of pain. Stuck with stupid t.v. as my sole source of entertainment for the day, I feel less intelligent. A good book from the library would have saved my soul.

Surely I will feel better in the morning. Regardless of how well I actually feel, I am going into work. Spending the day in the house again would cause me to seek out the highest possible window to jump out of. It feels like days have passed since I interacted with the outside world! Funny what an involuntary day of rest does to the mind and spirit.

No Pain... No Gain?

It's Tuesday morning. Instead of sitting at my desk in the office, I'm laid up on the couch! My valiant attempt to train for the upcoming 5K has left me handicapped and couch-ridden. I heard a couple "pops" during my aerobic workout last night but thought nothing of them. That's what I get for not thinking.

My neck and back muscles are so tight that I'm barely mobile. Turning my head to the right brings me the most discomfort. Perhaps I'd better approach my training a little less aggressively!

Spirited delusions of grandeur had me believing I could dive into a daily workout regimen and make this 5K-in-3 weeks happen without fail. The inspiration from my workout even spilled over into my other life dreams and led to rainstorm-inspired ramblings with an ink pen in an old spiral notebook. I felt like writing all night! However, I forced myself to go to bed, foolishly thinking I was going to be physically capable of working.

Instead of solving our community's problems in an office chair, I'm simply draped with a comforting blanket, listless and struggling to decide if I should watch "Price Is Right" or "Judge David Young." And I think that is what hurts the most.

Curiosity Killed the...

A dear, dear friend of 20 years and I have managed to sporadically keep in touch while she has been living a few hundred miles away. Just as I have, she endured the sudden shit-out-of-luckness that results from sudden job loss; and a few comically failed relationships. Although I always know where our friendship stands, sometimes, I have no blasted idea how she is doing, as she tends to "disappear" for months at a time.

True to form, I haven't heard from her in about four weeks.

Early this evening, I surprisingly found an email from her in my inbox. It read:

"Hey you. Will be in touch this week. Been crazy this way. Going to be moving out of my roomates...I had a bad accident with her stove. Didn't go over to well.

Love and thinking of ya."

"I HAD A BAD ACCIDENT WITH HER STOVE?!" That has to be the most hilariously intriguing sentence I have read in my entire life! My mind is whirling with visions! What kind of "accident" does one have with a stove that leads to an apparent eviction? I'm guessing it's much more serious than the time we were too drunk to realize we had put the frozen pizza and the cardboard in my oven in a desperate attempt to satisfy our late night hunger ten years ago. Hell, there wasn't even enough smoke to set off the detector. Couldn't be pizza rolls left at 450 degrees for eight hours. My friend Wendy did that once. Not only did she live to tell about it, she didn't get kicked out of the house she shared with Sara.

I'm dying to know! The curiosity is killing me! And knowing it could be weeks, MONTHS, before I hear the end of this brain-baffling tale is simply torture!

Just Do It?

"Just Do It."

Most of us familiarize that phrase with Nike ads geared toward the athletic, coined in commercials featuring muscular bodies with sweat that somehow appears sexy, performing feats such as running up steep inclines or pole vaulting a bazillion feet in the air. Me? My face turns red before I begin to sweat, and I couldn't tell you confidently that I have ever felt sexy while sweating. I also couldn't tell you that I've pole vaulted recently, nor ran anywhere... except maybe the bathroom when I had a touch of food poisoning a few months ago.

My work and life schedules collided, leaving my lofty plans of transforming into a 5K runner terribly off-track. You see, I'm in charge of a community-wide event that involves three days of athletics. Last year, over 4,000 people participated. For the past two months I have been actively recruiting people to join our cause and commit to at least one event. Originally, I had opted to join the 3 man golf scramble team, and shoot for the moon (or an emergency hospital visit) by running my first ever 5K. But somewhere between painting two residences simultaneously, and a cake-eating marathon over my birthday... the only thing that was running was time, and it was running out!

So here it is, three weeks before the commencement of the events, and I've managed a meager two consecutive 30 minute workouts. I googled "how long does it take to train for a 5K" and found a website that had an article titled something like "From the Couch to 5K." Really? How did they know I was on the couch earlier, longing for a nap? According to the article, in a mere 9 weeks, if you follow their training schedule, you'll be a successful 5K runner. Great! Too bad I only have three!

Refusing to give up too easily, I decided that instead of focusing on the six weeks I was lacking, I would focus on the time that I do have. After cheer leading over 40 people for two months, it was time to root myself on. I may not have a religious, or rigorous, exercise plan, but I have stayed in reasonably good, and sometimes even great, shape the majority of my life. Worst case scenario, I'll run the One Mile, and I'll still be able to claim it to be my very first official running event. An achievement.

Wasn't I just saying I felt I was missing something?

I've roped my brother, and a good friend into a gym date tomorrow after work. My gym clothes are ready. And so am I.

I think...

Day of Rest or Lack of Direction?

It's Sunday, the "Day of Rest." Rest, I certainly have. But now what?

Dangerous heat and humidity, along with pending rain tomorrow, forced me to change plans. My initial intentions were to continue painting my house even if it were only a small section or two. I'd go shopping for a new door for the back of the garage, but I don't have my paycheck yet. It's too hot to sit in the sun, too late to find a patch of sand to call my own at the beach. My house is clean. The laundry is done.

So what's a girl to do?

Ah, that nagging question. The ceramics studio is being remodelled, so it isn't open until the middle of September. My teach-yourself Spanish audio book can't be checked out on another extension again. The piano hasn't been fixed yet and neither has my laptop. That darn thing called "money" has been getting in my way! Although I have been gainfully employed since the middle of March, the position I accepted came with one catch: it was only guaranteed until September 30th. So, I haven't truly escaped the financial prison of unemployment quite yet. There have been signs that funding for my position will be coming through, but until it is official, I have to keep my purse strings tight. That means no new camera to take my photography to the next level, no piano repair for a proper instrument to practice on, no inspiring trips to Italy...

I've made it this far, and I won't stop pushing forward. I suppose I'll have to find just a little more patience within me to wait out official word of my future financial stability. It's just that feeling that I'm wasting time that bothers me...

"Wild" Weekend

Usually when people say they had a "wild weekend" stories involving loud music, booze, and nudity follow that intro. My wild weekend was quite the opposite: it was literally wild!

Late Friday afternoon, after painting two sections of my garage in barely bearable heat, I got into the shower to wash off the paint and sweat before going out to dinner. I turned on the water, stepped in the shower, closed the curtain, and... saw a huge spider scurry swiftly up the curtain! A "normal" response would be to find something to kill it with. I thought it more important to run through the house wet and naked to find my camera and photograph the eight-legged beast! The photo does not do it justice. This spider was one of the biggest I have seen in "real life." A lover of all creatures great and small, I don't typically condone killing anything; not even an ant. However, if something "violates my person" or poses a legitimate threat to my existence, I will consider the kill. (Read mosquitoes!) I tried to send this spider swimming down the drain when I returned to my shower, but he overpowered the current and scampered back up the shower curtain, only this time he was on the other side. Short on time, I chose to shower anyway, all the while just knowing that spider was crawling up my leg, or burrowed into my back.

About five minutes passed between the arrival of my dinner date and the beginning of my "You would not believe the size of this frickin' spider that's in my shower!" story. My "date" and I have known each other for ten years, and I know he does not like spiders at all. I thought he would freak out and refuse to be in my house, but he marched right into the bathroom and demanded I tell him where it was. He grabbed it with a wad of toilet paper and nearly lost the battle as the stubborn spider was fighting to the death! Finally, he flung him into the toilet, and flushed him to his watery grave. I'm not gonna lie... the first time I had to sit on the toilet later that evening, I suspected he might bite my rear!

Fast forward to Saturday.

After sitting with Chester and taking a nap, I settled onto the couch to watch the movie "Ratatouille" on t.v. About a half hour into the movie, I saw a large, dark shadow fly past the corner of my eye. Thinking nothing of it, I continued watching the movie. Soon after, my 15 year-old cat with dementia started leaping all about the dining room and jumped on top of the table. When I stood up to investigate, I was dive-bombed by a giant bat! What the hell!? I quickly tossed the throw blanket I had been curled up with on top of my head and began running around the house like a frantic Muslim woman! I opened both my front doors, hoping it would fly out, but the bat seemed to be mesmerized by the rotation of the ceiling fan and chose to swoop at me in circles instead of going back outside. After apparently growing bored of it's circular flight pattern, it then flew in and out of every room on the lower level of my house. I called up my spider hunter from the night before and listened to him laugh hysterically at my squealing. He lives 25 miles away and was at his friend's house, so driving back over for yet another rescue of the damsel in distress was out of the question.

"Call your brother and tell him to get his ass over then and get that bat." He said.

Ugh. I've lived most of my live proudly not needing a man around. This would make two nights in a row! Granted, I would have survived my scary spider situation just fine and it was coincidence that I had a man coming over to take me to dinner and therefore present to kill the spider. I did go to the garage to get a broom, trying to talk myself into feeling confident that I could remove the bat myself. But, with the door open for over a half an hour now, I had to either act fast, or face the possibility that my house would now be filled with mosquitoes that would feast on my body while I slept; sucking every last drop of blood out of my body. Humbled, I went next door, blanket still atop my head, broom in hand, and fetched my brother.

By this time, the bat had affixed itself to the dining room wall. What a curious site that is! How they can just stick there like that is fascinating, and creepy, at the same time. Without his wingspan, he looked less intimidating, and almost cute. Using a broom and bed sheet, my brother managed to get him off the wall and into a lampshade. We unplugged the lap and took it outside where the bat crawled out and flew away... almost right back into my house!

Yes, folks, that's as wild as I got this weekend! I suppose I have to admit that those concurrent events made me realize that having someone around to help you isn't so bad after all. I remember wondering how late I would have to stay up before the bat finally found the door and flew out. Maybe cohabitation with a man wouldn't be that bad. Maybe it would even be nice! In the meantime, I'll simply have to be grateful that my brother is staying next door and wasn't as chicken as his little sister when it comes to bat removal.

Out With The Old... In With The Familiar

I'm forcing myself to stay up late in hopes of catching this Perseid meteor shower lighting up the sky. How I would love to have that camera I dream of. One that would be capable of capturing such a potentially glorious show. But alas, I am simply left with wishful thinking amongst an overdrawn checking account and overcast skies.

I was on "vacation" from the 3rd to the 11th. Though most would have booked a trip to some exotic paradise, I "chose" to spend my time remodelling another rental for my now regular client. Considering I have lofty dreams, an as-yet unsecured job, and the leftover financial burn from nearly a year of unemployment; working while on a paid vacation seemed the responsible thing to do. The work becomes tedious, yes, but bringing new life to those old apartments provides me with a very inspirational and satisfying sense of being. Like a drunk who can't drink enough; I sought out even more "pleasure" by simultaneously overhauling the exterior of my own home. Perhaps the paint fumes created my manic state, or, perhaps, it was my detest of cranberry shutters... All I know is that most "normal" people wouldn't return home after painting for 7 hours on a hot, muggy day and start painting their own house. Let alone paint until midnight, with a light hanging from a nail on a rickety old wooden ladder!

Thankfully, I came to my senses on Thursday. Well, if I am being completely honest, the threat of rain forced me into a more sane state of mind. It was time to vacation on my vacation. But what would I do? In typical Mona fashion, I had ignored myself. I had made no plans! Before I could settle into a state of disgust, I received a chance response to a chance email sent to my former chance encounter, C.F.

He was nearby.

As life would have it... I was free, and he was as free as he was going to be. I left in the night on an adventure that was one like I hadn't taken since my care-free irresponsible 20's. As I roared down the highway with my barely-there muffler, I began to feel more and more alive. As the yellow dashes disappeared under my bumper, so did that nagging sense of lack I had been lying awake in bed with just days before.

The romance of spontaneity was quickly clouded with hilarity as I realized I had torn my jean pocket on that very nail I hung a light on to paint in the night while passing the pile of ladders in my dark garage. I bought super glue at the gas station and nearly glued my ass to my pants in the parking lot! Thank God for that burning sensation industrial strength adhesive gives when it touches the skin! And that was just the beginning of my adventurous antics! Brilliant me decided to take a 32 ounce travel mug of Mint Sun Tea on the road. Just as I was finding myself lost in a very dangerous looking part of town, I was also finding myself in serious need of peeing! Perfect timing to not know where the hell you are going, and being a lone, woman traveller. Add to that having to turn around on the toll road, of course, paying more tolls; asking the most "safe" looking gentlemen where the street I needed to be on was, only to have another man pull up next to me and tell me to follow him... and you have a lone woman traveller, about to piss her pants, all the while hoping she isn't being led off to a dark alley to be bludgeoned in her super glued and soon to be tinkled in jeans!

Would I get there? Alive and in dry pants?

Desperation was setting in. Frustration was setting in. My would have been 15 minutes early arrival had now become an hour late circling of the city. I tried to call the hotel to tell him I was somewhere nearby, but I had written the number down wrong. I finally came to my senses and found a parking garage. I dumped the car that wouldn't show me the way for a cab that could drop me off at the door of the hotel, allowing me to reach a bathroom, and C.F. , in a more expedient manner. A nice Indian taxi driver recognized the "I have no fuckin' clue what I'm doing and where I'm going" look on my face and waved me to his cab from two lanes over.

Once I found the bathroom, I had to search for the elevators. The hotel was very swank. Relief that I would soon be at his door quickly dissipated when I realized there was no 13th floor... which was where his room should have been, according to his message. Shit! I got off the elevator and headed to the courtesy phone in the hall.

"Is there a room 1301?" I asked.

"No."

"Well can you please connect me with C.F.'s room please?"

Finally. Finally I was at his door.

We spent the next few hours talking. We talked about anything and everything, in a sense of familiarity we hadn't had when we met so many months ago. This wayward journey was one I was glad to have taken. There are people in this world that we share connections with. Connections that are so powerful we cannot begin to understand them, and maybe we aren't supposed to.

I was alive in that moment. In that evening. And although the past several months of my life have been very fulfilling; although so many things are happening for me that I had once given up hope for... I had to let go of the old habit of never holding on to me. C.F. was familiar to me, but this relaxed and rejuvenating feeling I had with him was so very very new. There were no "what ifs" or "why can't we's." There was just us and that very moment in time... in this life.

Although he had asked to share breakfast, I left quietly under the darkness of a stormy Saturday morning as he slept peacefully. My goodbye scrawled on a hotel note pad, I returned to the highway; returned to my life, only not quite as I knew it.

I spent my Saturday afternoon with Chester, as I usually do. Only this time, I daydreamed of the night before while Chester napped in his chair. I went to the beach on Sunday and became reacquainted with the joy I feel when waves crash against my skin. And Monday... Monday I replaced what was left of my old rusty muffler so I could enjoy the comfortable quietness of a cared for car once again.

What You Bargained For...

I used to date this guy who said, amongst many other things, that he'd help me paint my house.

Well he's not around anymore (Mr. "Nice" Guy), and I've been doing the majority of the scraping, sanding, taping, priming; and painting by myself. My back is killing me, and no matter how many hours I work, no matter how many nights I paint in the dark under dim light from the street... it's just never done! My liver is about to fail from overdosing on ibuprofen so I can sleep at night. My once pink toenail polish is now dotted with three different colors of paint. There is paint in my hair and paint on my skin. I have more ladders outside then you would find in a hardware store. There is a sliver in my palm. I feared for my life as I was about 25 feet off the ground on a shaky extension ladder... praying someone would call 9-1-1 if I plummeted to my death. Hoping they would also clean the blood splatters off before my paint job was ruined!

Now I don't feel so bad for letting him get in my pants. His offer to help was a pretty powerful negotiating tool. This is some seriously hard work! However, since he didn't come through on his end of the "bargain," I think I'm going to sue.

Putting Zee Foot in Zee Mouth!

Tonight was our "Raku" firing for our ceramic pieces. It's a no-frills Japanese method involving metal trash cans, crumpled newspaper and lighter fluid. Because I was away at a work conference, I had to join the beginners group for their firing tonight; a group of people I had not met before. Us creative "weirdos" have an instantaneous bond. Kind of like computer geeks, musicians, compulsive shoppers... you know... you just "get" each other. It's a very casual outdoor evening, with a pot luck of tasty creative cuisine, and intriguing chit-chat. Feeling right at home, I was being my usual idiot self.

So there I was, cooling my fresh-from-the-fire bowl, when I overheard a distinctively French accent. I looked up from my smoldering clay to examine the source of this melodic voice; only to see a somewhat attractive man. Hmmm. Monsieur Cute Guy. In standard dipshit form, I proceeded to ask where he was from.

"Here." He replied in zee Frenchest of French accents.

Yeah right. Half the men from this town can't even speak proper English, let alone pull off a convincing French accent. Explaining further, he said he travelled quite a bit while he was living in France and that was why he didn't specify his prior residence.

"What brought you here?" I asked curiously. I mean, really, I've been to France. The hell if I'd turn my back on that beautiful architecture to live in the armpit of America!

"My wife." He replied tersely.

Nice. I hit on the married French guy with a wife two feet away. Pretty smooth, Mona, pretty smooth.