Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid?

After much personal contemplation, and a complete surrender to the constant threats of my married co-workers setting me up... I decided to give dating a conscious effort. Some five weeks after posting my humiliating online dating profile... I have committed to my first date; which takes place this evening around seven.

Out of curiosity and a lack of urgent business to handle at work, I searched "what to wear on a first date." I randomly selected an article that gave some seemingly sound advice until I came across this statement:

"Men have definite feelings about and reactions to make-up, and if your face looks noticeably different, he will become frightened and disoriented."

What?!

Do men really, truly, become frightened and disoriented from the sight of lipgloss? The frosty blue eye shadow of the 70's and Tammy Faye Baker's eyelashes... frighten even me... but reading this makes me a little nervous! I'd hate to think my decision to wear light brown instead of dark brown eye shadow might be the cause of rampant male psychosis.

If I called my ex-boyfriends and asked, "Did you become frightened and disoriented when I wore the pink blush instead of peach? Is that why our relationship fell apart?" I think THAT would be entirely more frightening.

And Snow it Goes...

Unfortunately, the bad winter storms brought us more than just a lot of snow... they also brought us bad news. Despite the surgeon's impression that the nodes he saw during mother's mastectomy appeared normal, the pathology reports indicate there are more cancer cells that need to be removed. She must now undergo an additional surgery the first week of January. She is still having trouble with her blood pressure after last week's surgery, so I am very concerned about her having more anesthesia so soon after. But, we also can't risk allowing the cancer to grow and spread...

Over the weekend, I got the house cleaned and the bills paid. I was actually starting to feel a little less anxious and stressed. "I can do this," I thought. Until Monday came. Cancer is just an ugly little monster. It destroys the body, and constantly invades the mind. Just as I get to feeling strong enough to be strong for my mother, and strong for the family; just as I start to feel confident I can control the urge to cry at the most minute of things... I feel my insides constrict and the all of the air disappears from my lungs.

Why can't it just go away? Why can't we all just get back to simply living and loving? Why couldn't we have gotten news that they got it all? Why can't I get this out of my head? Why am I such a wuss?

Your friends don't know what to say to you and you don't know what to say to them. Family and friends are concerned and want to know the latest news... but sometimes you are just so sick of reliving it every time you give the report that you just want to scream! You don't feel like talking to anybody but you don't want to be alone either. You just want to talk about "normal," happy things... but you don't want to seem like a heartless, self-absorbed bitch either. You're angry. Sad. Scared. This is how crazy cancer makes you feel... .and you don't even have it! How the hell does my MOM feel?! I can't even imagine; and she will never truly tell.

Cancer Sucks

So mom's got cancer. For the second time. I can hardly begin to verbally recreate the onslaught of emotion that transpired over the last three weeks, so I'm settling for a juvenile summation: it sucks.



Monday, we took her for surgery. Because she previously endured extensive radiation with cancer bout #1, she had no choice but to have a mastectomy to combat the spread of disease. I will never never forget how I felt that morning. Seeing her so very vulnerable. Not wanting to fall apart. Drowning in the what-ifs cancer and surgery fill your brain with. Her surgery went well and for a moment I had high hopes that this was going to be as easy as cancer could possibly be. However, the next morning, her blood pressure plummeted to 66/40 and did not stabilize despite intravenous fluids and medication.



Today, she is awaiting lab results to determine whether her blood pressure issues are related to the surgery, or if she has an underlying heart condition that had gone undetected. There is a family history of heart disease and she has had high blood pressure most of her life... so the potential for difficulty is there. Obviously, I'm hoping it's simply the cancer we have to deal with.



Even though I've been down this road with her before, some 15 years ago, this time lends a sense of heaviness on the soul I just can't seem to shake. The twelve hour days at the hospital... the silent worrying... the uncertainty... the struggle to keep the tears from falling in front of her... and the never-ending "whys." Why her? Why now? Why cancer? Why does she have to go through it again!?



Keeping the family together, and keeping myself together was nothing short of exhausting. Thankfully, she got cleared for release, and I was able to get her home right before the roads here became too dangerous to travel. It seems as the proverbial storm calms... the literal winter one comes roaring through!

I was happy to make homemade lasagna tonight for my mother and brother to celebrate her homecoming. I set a nice table, lit the candles and Christmas lights, and let holiday music quietly fill the room. She isn't out of the woods yet, by any means, but she is home. And although we all know she is sick... at least for tonight she was just simply loved.

"And Then The Elephant Started To Tip Over..."

After work today, I went on mission "Perfect Christmas." A week ago, I had decided treating myself to a little Christmas decoration splurge was well-warranted. The last couple years had been a struggle, I hadn't treated myself to much at all, Christmas lights bring me a sense of peace, and, well, mom's got cancer and I'd like this Christmas to be special. My last stop was Hobby Lobby. I was wheeling my bright blue, strangely small cart stuffed with a small tree, a large wreath, garland, and ceramic Cardinal ornaments down the gift bag aisle when I head a loud thud followed by the sound of glass breaking. Another loud thud. More glass. Thud. Glass. Glass-thud-glass-glass-thud-thud-thud-GLASS!!!

Obviously something very bad had happened. And, obviously, many many things had broken. I knew this without moving my feet, or my little blue cart, from my shock-imposed position in the holiday department. I was afraid to look! A long stretch of silence implied that it just might be safe to peer around the corner and a little giggle snuck out of me when I thought of how much it would suck to be the person that took out $400 dollars worth of red and green trinkets imported from China.

"Oh my God! Are you okay mam?!" a frantic voice called out.

Okay. I had to look. It was my duty as a human... just in case they needed me to stop the bleeding, or, administer CPR or something... Thankfully, the woman who was impersonating the bull in the China shop was uninjured; but the same could not be said of an entire "end cap" display full of glass items and some giant cement-like animals that seemed to have nothing to do with Christmas.

After seeing a half-dozen people had come to her aid, complete with the store manager frantically zooming towards her with a wheelchair, I thought it best to leave the scene of the accident and get the hell out of there. As I headed to the check-out, I overheard her explain what had caused the mass destruction:

"I really liked this dog and I went to pick it up but it was too heavy. Then, the elephant started to tip over and I tried to catch it. I lost my balance and fell back into the shelves..."

It seems those damn elephants are everywhere!

Over the weekend, my mother's sister was unexpectedly in town. I had just left Chester's and was en route to retrieve my Saturday cheeseburger when I got the call that she was here. I didn't know if she knew and I didn't feel it was my place to tell her that mom has cancer again... so there was the elephant; right there in my cell phone.

My brother, mother, aunt and I went to dinner together. We spent two hours engaging in nonsensical conversation, covering topics such as: freakishly large fish caught in fresh water, clowns with lots of pockets, and childhood memories of vomit. Oh, and the usual "how ya been"s and "what are your plans for Thanksgiving." The elephant had come to dinner with us.

After dinner, my mother and brother got out of the car and went inside. I stood with the car door open about to ask what time my cousin was getting out of work and I saw the reflection of the elephant in my aunt's eyes. How is it that such a cumbersome beast can be so blasted sneaky?

A last minute decision led to a short trip out of town to visit my cousin and see his not-so-new place I hadn't visited yet. The nonsensical conversation resumed as my aunt and I travelled down the highway. But when she pulled into the parking space, she didn't turn off the car. She started telling a story. No wait, she was repeating a conversation she had recently. The elephant. It was right there on the console.

She told me she knew. I asked her if my cousin knew. Then we went into his apartment. Shockingly, more nonsensical conversation transpired. The elephant was back and I was left wondering if the travelling circus could use another performer. My cousin flipped through television channels, my aunt showed pictures of her grandchildren...

I couldn't stand it anymore.

"I know you know. It's okay to talk about it."

"About what? The giant elephant in the room?!" He replied.

I Had A Dream!

Oh did I have a dream last night!

Somehow, somewhere, I had encountered 6 handsome men with dark hair who were apparently friends. They all had slightly different features, hairstyles, clothing, and eye color... but all of them were handsome and in good to great physical shape. This half-dozen collection of cuties were not only smitten with me, they were competing against each other for my attention and affection!

Yes!

During my delicious dream, I scanned the gathering of gentleman, trying to pick which one I liked the best; which one I would ride off into the sunset with. At one point, they all sat, legs crossed, in a circle, as if they were gathered around a campfire. They battled wits and charming glances while the now circular-patterned scanning of these handsome fellows became almost dizzying. One man in particular had these icy blue eyes and a hint of badness to his persona... I was taking one last look to affirm my decision when...

Something woke me up!!!!! Bullshit!

In real life, I've been pondering a few things: travelling overseas, taking regular "Sunday Drives," and yes, dating. This time change thing (and leftover Halloween candy) has created a semi-paranoia that I'll simply eat and sleep myself to death! My ankle is still bruised and swollen, but I made an executive decision to workout anyway. If I do spring for a European adventure, I'm NOT buying two seats!

Twisted

It's the first of November! What? What happened? Did someone hit the "fast forward" button on my life? Am I so old that the days do indeed fly by?

Last night's trick or treating was basically a bust. We had a couple families with kids move into the neighborhood in recent months, so I foolishly expected a greater number of ghouls and goblins. Not only did I buy too many bags of candy the first time, I even picked up another bag that afternoon. I think maybe ten kids came to the door.

What happened to trick or treating? Has it been phased out by H1N1, child predators and the recession?

We had to turn the clocks back last night and I can say that having the sun actually shine when I am getting up was simply fabulous! If I've got sunshine on my side, morning is something I enthusiastically embrace; but days on end of doom and gloom, with the sun barely peeking out of the clouds when I pull into the parking lot at work... put a damper on my levels of motivation.

So excited to see the sun, I started to plan all of the great outdoor things I was going to do today: feed the birds, rake the leaves, walk to the park to feed the ducks, and clean out my flowerbeds. I managed to get the birds fed, but, I then twisted my left ankle prett'near 360 degrees on my way up the steps. The initial pain was almost unbearable! Now, two hours later, I'm on my couch, foot propped up on a pillow and body hopped up on some ibuprofen.

Not knowing the right way to handle this twisted situation, I'm reluctantly "taking it easy." Watching "Bewitched" on T.V. was not on my "I can't wait to do" list today. Pffft!

New Man In My Life

So I have a new man in my life... and he's staying at my house now and again. This is "Homme. Inachevé," my very first attempt at human sculpture. Because my work schedule no longer allowed me to enjoy my self-taught exploration in "Advanced Independent Study" on Monday afternoons, I decided I would sign up for a Tuesday night "Sculpting the Human Form" course with a rather odd-ballish, yet talented, local sculptor. Although his teaching methods could use some polishing, I'm glad that I elected to expand my horizons. My "man" is still very much a work in progress... just as my life is.

I must have temporarily lost my mind (again) when I agreed to take on another remodel job for my now four-time hiring client. Now that I'm lucky enough to have full-time hours, finding time to get this project done has been more of a pain in the ass then taping off a room. As usual, her handyman guy has failed to finish his work... well this time he has failed to show up at all; so I have been forced to alter the project plans and will be working until the very last possible minute on Wednesday night. The tenant moves in on Thursday. So help me... if I even consider taking on another side job before the end of the year, someone please punch me in the face and toss me into inpatient psychotherapy!

Having my own laundry-list of tasks (including laundry) to complete at my own home, I feel as though I'm cheating on myself by spending what little time I do have sprucing up some place else. I've also been fortunate enough to have been offered a 12-month extension, full time hours, and a raise I worked hard to earn at my "regular" job. This isn't the time to screw up by putting all of my energy into a temporary side gig! And honestly... I'd like to spend a day doing nothing, if I so choose!

Maybe if I had a little more time to spend with this new "man" in my life, or, perhaps a real one (gasp), I might feel less fragmented, and more... fulfilled.

But... Her Worth...

It's the busiest month of the year at work; so busy, that no one is allowed to take vacation during October. And I have committed to another remodel in my "spare" time that has a non-negotiable completion date of October 14th.

Before going to bed last night, I knew I was facing at least four straight hours of meetings first thing. So I went to bed early. Made sense to me. Unfortunately, my body didn't give a shit and decided I would think waking up at 2 a.m. would be a lot of fun. After two and half hours of misery, I drove off in the darkness to the "nearest" 24 hour pharmacy in search of relief... which happens to be clear across town.

I was able to sneak in about one hour of rest before my alarm clock began screaming at me. Fuck. I needed antibiotics; I desperately needed sleep, and had no groceries for lunch... let alone time for breakfast. My chances of having a "good" day were obsolete.

Since I somehow survived my meeting marathon without swearing at anyone, or falling asleep face first in a pile of papers I pretended to take notes on... I decided to do the right thing and get some damned groceries after work. Like most, I'm hyper aware of my finances and still brimming with a little paranoia that they might disappear in the night like the now-mythological "stable" job, so I've limited myself to bare necessities and eliminated "luxuries." Luxuries like things that aren't on sale, or name brand items.

Because I refuse to waste food (and money), I had to buy more syrup for the box of never-ending pancake mix I bought a few weeks ago. I found myself tired, miserable, and dizzy in the syrup aisle... trying to solve the riddle of what bottle to buy. And then, I realized that what I was really searching for was just a drop of simple joy. The simple joy that we find in sometimes the oddest of things... like a bottle of syrup.

When I was a little, and very impressionable, girl... Mrs. Butterworth fascinated me. I admit it, for a brief time in my life, I really believed that she could talk. I remember sitting at the breakfast table staring at "her," wondering what it took to get her to acknowledge me. Obviously, I'm easily amused; but I'm also easily able to find happiness in the simplest of things. So I made an executive decision, and decided that the fond childhood memory of Mrs. Butterworth giving me the silent treatment was well worth the extra 80 cents and I put her in my cart.

I've already gotten my 80 cents worth... When I got home, I was compelled to take her picture, look up the article revealing her mysterious first name, and find one of the old commercials that made me believe in her in the first place on Youtube. Wouldn't you know, her first name is "Joy." You see, it wasn't her price tag... but her worth, that was most important.

http://www.myfoxdc.com/dpp/news/dpgo_mrs_butterworths_first_name_revealed_lwf_20091002_3838749

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFQTuIstI6w&feature=related

Breaking the Silence

My sweet Chester's son and his wife are up visiting from Florida, so they asked if I would come by this evening at 5 to sit with Chester while they went to dinner. I was rather pleased to see him sitting up, his blue eyes brighter than days past.

I turned on the Tigers game and got him a bowl of his beloved M & M's...

"Are you warm enough Chet?"

"Yes."

What?! Chester hasn't uttered a word in over two months, despite my continued efforts. We watched a terrible first inning as I tossed M & M's into Chester's mouth. One thing Chester hasn't lost is his love of candy!

"How many M & M's can you eat, Chester?"

"How many do you have?" He asked.

This guy is not only talking... he's cracking jokes!!

Yes!

Another One Bites The Dust!

What an interesting weekend!

Thursday night I found myself juggling phone calls; an odd experience for my "boring" soul. I was catching up with friends when I received a call on the other line from an old co-worker and friend I hadn't seen in four years or more. I wasn't able to answer right away, and at first I thought she was calling to tell me someone died! I had to call back!

"Did you know Kristin is getting married this weekend?" she asked.

"WHAT?! No I didn't. I had heard she was engaged."

Kristin is almost 40, but lives the life of a wild, irresponsible 21 year-old. She has an incredibly entertaining personality, however, because she spends the majority of her spare time in local watering holes, we haven't been in touch for four years. Of all the people I know, she would be near the bottom of my "Will Get Married" list. And now... well now she's married!

I had no idea what to expect at the reception. I was pleasantly surprised to see many people life had led me to forget. Even though as we get older, our priorities and choices of social activities may change... I don't think our fondness of others truly does. In the end, I was glad to have gone and reconnect with people if only for the afternoon.

But, I was left wondering, "If SHE is willing to "tie the knot," how can I expect to escape it?!"

Egads!

Creative. Thinking. Problem. Solving.

Ah-ha!

I don't have this maniacal brain for nothin'!!!

Compelled by a tortuous, continued state of pondering... I had to find a solution to making the best of my circumstances. A solution to my creative woes.

The window to my soul.

A window!

A simple opening to the magical world outside.

That's all I need!

I have this 1,300+ square feet of house all to myself, and in two years, have yet to find my ideal studio space. A space dedicated solely to appeasing the beast inside. The beast that writes. Draws. Paints. Sculpts. Dreams.

I was on the right track when I had it upstairs; away from the hub-bub of life that lie below... but something was amiss. So almost a year ago, I moved everything downstairs. In the middle of the night, of course. I had a better chance at seeing nature; finding inspiration; or so I thought. But the window of the door was behind me, and the windows in front of me bore a view to the side of the house next door. Needless to say, all my work space does there is collect laundry and mail.

Frustrated and philosophically driven.... I went upstairs and finally acknowledged the literal barrier to my creative freedom. A wall. The room is perfect. The light is perfect. But... I need a larger window so I may enjoy a view of the sky full of stars and snow; the flight of a bird; an angry cloud full of raging lightning.

A window. So simple! I'm going to place a semi-educated guess that my so-desired studio space project will cost at most $500. I need to cut a hole in the house, buy and install a window; build an L-shaped work surface, organize my art supplies, and find a cheery paint color.

Done. At least in my mind it is. And that might mean I can finally go to sleep now...

Do You Know Where You're Going To?

"And do you like the things that life's been showing you... where are you going to? Do you know?"

My little "hiatus" is winding down, and as usual, I'm feeling like I didn't spend my time as wisely as I should have. I needed rest; and I rested. I needed to work on painting the house; and paint I did, albeit just a little in two days. Is my constant need to do-do-do some neurotic, haunting, psychological glitch, or simply a voice of reason I should be paying more attention to?

And so I wonder: do I know where I'm going to? Does anyone truly know where they are going to?

Many people that I know, especially C.F., seem to be hyper-focused, cool-cucumber types, that never appear to ponder the direction in which their lives are going. This year (and a lot of hard work) has taken me to new heights... destinations that weren't necessarily on my itinerary. I'm finally achieving many life goals, although maybe a little too many at a time to truly appreciate my personal success. And yet... I'm still feeling that there is more; so much more I need to do.

Last night, I chose to retire to my bedroom early, and searched for something intellectually stimulating to watch on the T.V. As you all know, this isn't an easy task. Reluctantly, I chose to watch a movie about Georgia O'Keeffe on Lifetime. I try to avoid making a habit of watching Lifetime for fear that I'll wake up to a house full of cats and a closet stocked with elastic waistband pants. But, Ms. Georgia O'Keeffe was an artist, and more importantly, a rather spirited woman who seemingly remained respectfully committed to her need to create. And so I watched...

As usual, the storyline and acting left a little to be desired; however, I found myself enthralled with Georgia's life. At one point in the film, she had written to her lover/husband something similar to "although I will miss you terribly, I have come to realize that to do what I need to do, I must be alone." I found myself pondering her thoughts and finding them to be oddly the same as my own. She also said that she had all of these visions and thoughts in her head and she just had to get them out. Ah. I can completely relate to that!

I'm not claiming to be as amazing, nor as monumental in the world of art as Ms. Georgia; but I will confidently say that I am blessed/cursed with the same brain function. As a young girl, I was immersed in my creative kingdom; drawing, painting, writing, dancing, acting, and "singing."And I was happy.

Along the way, without familial support, and throughout school systems obsessed with academics; I became lost. After following the advice of a counselor, some dear friends, and the driving force of my being... I slowly reconnected with that creature inside me and began creating again. Wouldn't you know it, I'm happy again.

I have now achieved official "author" status via published articles and a 100% success rate with grant writing. I've ticked another item off my "bucket list" and have a couple pieces in an art show currently. But there has to be more! However, where I live... where I am bound to the financial ties of my home, is not truly conducive to any true success as an artist. A writer? Yes. Thanks to technology, one can write anywhere. I'm taking a sculpting class to enhance my skills in ceramics and I'm writing fairly regularly... but is that enough? Is it too much? Is accepting full time hours at my job to find my financial freedom in order to pursue these things more seriously in the future... cheating me of the present? Where do you draw the proverbial line? Am I supposed to have some sort of plan? Is that what "successful" people do?

Do you know?

Mandatory Hiatus

I've gone and done it now! I worked so many long hours pulling together our team for the community-wide competition (part of my work project), that I was "forced" to take three days off. "If I see you before Monday, you are going to be in big trouble," my boss said with a smile.

A normal response would be one of excitement... mine... mine was one of resistance. I really wanted to get the event photographs together and send them off to all of our team mates; which would have led to more emails, press releases, post-event planning... and alas, more long days. Had I not been extremely exhausted from our two-day conference out of town, I might have fought harder, but in hindsight, I'm glad to have my mandatory hiatus.

I earned it!

On the way back from our conference, we got a call from one of the girls that had somehow beat us back to the office. It seems the highly competitive grant I conceptualized in the first few weeks I worked there, was awarded to our organization! Not only is it super cool that we got such a prestigious grant, it's super cool that I now get to keep my job! What a ride this year has been!

Tuesday night was the first night of my "Sculpting the Human Form" class. I was so frickin' exhausted from the weekend of competitions, the art show, and the conference, that I strongly considered "skipping." Not only was I tired, I knew there would be a nude model! Could I behave myself? Would I behave myself? Is it a woman? A man?

As it turns out, our model is a man wearing nothing but flesh-colored high cut briefs. Surprisingly, I kept my giggles to myself, even when I was forced to sculpt his buttocks! Ha! And let me just tell you, that if you ever want a flattering sculpture of your ass... I'm your girl. I can make a mighty fine ass out of wheatstone clay! I'll be taking my camera to the next class just to prove it!

Wednesday... Wednesday was a napping marathon; one my body needed desperately. I had finally come down from the stress and anxiety of months of solitary planning for work, combined with the uncertainty of funding for my future employment and a back full of torn muscles from a tug-of-war tournament. I was giving Rumpelstiltskin a run for his money!

Today... I slept in until 9:30 and made myself blueberry pancakes that I ate in bed. After becoming fed up with my state of sloth... I went outside and primed part of the last side of my house to be painted. I'm so very close to finishing this mammoth project, but so very very over it! Can't I just be done already!?

When I came in for a break, I was mindlessly searching the Internet. One of my exes came up in conversation a few weeks ago, so I Googled his name... only to find out he may have fled the country in lieu of litigation against himself and his company for "ponzi-like" schemes!! I always knew that guy was a schmuck! I had met him several years ago during a bout of weight-gain induced self-esteem loss from a back injury that forced me to drop out of college temporarily. At first, I thought he walked on water... and then I found out he just simply walked on people. He was obsessed with money and constantly trying to convince me that my way of life was for fools; that working for him was the only path to my financial salvation. I was drowning in tuition debt at the time, and gave some consideration to joining his company... but when I wasn't satisfied with his weak explanation of what exactly it was that they did, I thought better of it. And boy am I glad I did!! I stuck around for a few years trying to make him a better person (I'm so glad I broke myself of that idiotic habit) and stayed in touch with him sporadically until just a few years ago. Oddly enough, I remembered his birthday this year, and almost called him. Now, after reading posts that he may have fled the country, I'm curious as to whether or not he still has the same phone number, but I'm not going to risk being investigated by the feds just to appease this curiosity. This comes as no surprise, considering he wouldn't even donate a mere $5 to my fundraising efforts years ago. He was a shitty tipper too! Tricking people out of millions seems right up his alley.

I suppose I'll have to spend tomorrow working on my house. Either that, or I'll have to go shopping for new knee length boots. I might even have to meet a good friend for lunch too. Saturday, I'll be reunited with Chester, whom I've been on a mandatory hiatus from due to the holiday weekend, and then our big three-day competitions. Sunday? Who knows.

The Truth Shall Set You Free

As I grow older (and hopefully wiser), I can't help finding cliches a little funny. What a timeless testament of the stubborn state of mind we have in our younger days. Cliches used to annoy me! I found them to be a thoughtless, cheesy way to trick people into thinking things weren't as bad as they seemed.

And now? Now I realize why these statements have withstood the test of time... they're true! I also realize that my acceptance of their validity, combined with my need to profess such validity, makes me a genuine "old person!" For years I have made the following declaration: "You know you're 'old' when you find yourself giving someone else the very same advice you didn't listen to when you were young."

What provoked this blog is that I stumbled across "evidence" that my ex is indeed seeing the woman that his friend's girlfriend felt compelled to tell me about. (It's also raining, which means I can't paint my house and have nothing better to do at the moment.) Not lacking in intelligence, it was obvious to me that I had been traded in; just as the girl he had dated before me, and the girl before her. He was a serial dater. An eager to commit, yet afraid of commitment guy. A mess, you could say, and none of that bothered me a bit. What I found irritating, and, quite frankly, sad, is that at 41 years old, this guy just couldn't admit it.

Far from perfect, I'm a very understanding person. Things change. People change. People want different things. People don't know what they want... and on and on it goes. But why do people confine themselves to tangled webs of untruth? Did he really believe I didn't know? Did he actually believe that the little stories he concocted would somehow transform reality and change the facts? He could have saved himself two weeks of excuses and months of awkward hellos in the hallways if he had just simply told the truth. But considering he did the same exact thing to the two women he dated before me, I suspect he finds some type of unhealthy reward in the drama that results from his overlapping of women. In fact, his "m.o." with me v.s. the girl before me, was almost exactly replicated in the me v.s. the girl after. His wooing is practically scripted, and creepily repetitive.

Regardless of my discovery of who he (un) truly was, our life goals were so very different that a long-term relationship had little chance to be successful. It was fun when it was what he told me it was, what I thought it was. And if he had had the courage to tell me the truth when he should have, I may have still had fond, untainted, memories of him.

I won't say that I have never bended, twisted, manipulated, or recreated the truth in my own life. My confused late teens and early twenties seemed to demand that you do so. I'm not really sure when this revelation occurred; when I discovered that the truth was the quickest end to most any situation. But since that discovery, it is a very rare occurrence for me to deviate from the instant escape that honesty provides.

The truth. It really does set you free. It sets you free of those internal expectations to be super-human... perfect. Speaking the truth means you have peace of mind, courage, and respect; that you may have even... made a mistake. (GASP!) Truth is the one-stop, direct way to resolution, a kind of conversation convenience store; whereas lies require a never-ending creation of cover-ups and fear of exposure. Not only is telling the truth the "right" thing to do, the reward is instantaneous... which means our American instant-gratification-seeking nature should embrace truth. Masses of people should be crowding the city streets shouting:

"I cheated on my SATs!"

"I only married my husband because I was afraid of being alone!"

"Homeless people mean nothing to me, I just like the attention I get when it looks like I care about them!"

"My socks haven't been washed in three days!"

"This isn't really my hair, it's a toupe!"

Okay, maybe mass public confessionals would be a little disturbing. However, I think a little more truth in everyone's lives would truly be...

liberating.

Laws of Physics

Who knew that complicated physics class I took several years ago would haunt me, perhaps as long as my student loan balance!?!?

"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Remember that one?

As I've worked tirelessly beautifying the exterior of my home, it appears the interior has gone to hell! There is a step-ladder with a small chunk of earth stuck to one leg leaned up against my dining room table, a fistful of hot mustard and soy packets strewn about my coffee table, my laundry room has laundry in it all right... in baskets, in piles, and probably the dryer; and I think there may be a blue bra on my bathroom vanity.

Remedying this situation won't be as exhausting as it seems and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to get to it right now. My sun-kissed-and-mildly-burned skin is dotted with paint and primer and my back is killing me but I only have one day left! I hate starting the work week with a messy house! But, if I use up what little energy I have left... will I have any hope of surviving another Labor Day Weekend labor-a-thon outside? Ah the conundrum.

My fabulous brother finished scraping and wire-brushing the side of the house, and I got 3/4 of the back scraped and primed. By the end of the day tomorrow, I may very well have all of the major painting done! All that will remain will be the tedious detail work of window trim, shutters, doors and stairs.

I missed the sales on my door and shutters! Days of paint-fume inhalation led me to mistakenly believe today was Saturday. Instead of hitting Lowe's and Menard's, I had to settle for a brief trip to ACO simply for more painter's tape. There are more doors on sale now, and surely there will be more sales on shutters. I think I'm gonna be okay. (I'll go shopping tomorrow.)

That's it for boring babble tonight...

Labor Day (Night and) Weekend!

Ah another "holiday" weekend. Labor Day weekend is when people pack up and go camping, boating and sailing for the last time... the grand finale of a fun-filled summer. At least that's what I hear!

I've spent mine priming siding, painting siding, painting trim, painting spiders, scraping paint off of windows... and my new talent: patching concrete. One of the three different guys that said they would cut my old iron railings off of my front steps finally showed up around noon today. I seriously would have baked a cake and bought party hats to celebrate their removal if I knew he was actually going to show up to do it today! Even though my front steps are white with primer and dotted with concrete patch... not having those tired, older-than-me black iron railings attached to my newly spruced up house makes an amazing difference.

The sun against the white primer and paint was blinding, and the heat combined with the inability to remain hydrated led to my falling off the ladder twice. Deciding it was time for a break, before I had a bone break... I stopped at the garage sale my neighbor was having. They had two great Adirondack style lawn chairs for $4 a piece! And... they match my trim color almost exactly!!! Yessssssss! Score! The guy manning the cash box said, "Oh you're that girl that has been doing all of that work to your house all by yourself with no man around." "Yeah. In hindsight, I should have gotten married for the summer." I replied in jest.


Not afraid of hard work, I'm actually rather proud that I have done 95% of it completely on my own. This is my first time doing exterior painting, and aside from trying to gently coax a bazillion spiders out of my eaves, I have enjoyed it. Doing it yourself, especially as a female, lends a sense of incredible pride. My goal is to finish by the end of the holiday weekend... if I don't fall off the ladder again, that is.

Tomorrow, I'll be off to the hardware stores. My shopping list includes a 32 inch door to replace the one on the back of my garage. The existing one is beyond salvation, and after painting all that surrounds it, it has become, perhaps, the ugliest door I have ever seen! I'll also be picking up three pairs of shutters for the upper level windows; although I have no clue how the hell I'll get up there to hang them. Then I'll be picking up two little necessities: a mat for the garage right outside the door, so I can quit tracking in dirt and debris, and a new thistle feeder to replace the one that was broken when the feeder hook tipped over this morning.

Up until a second ago, I was being tormented by a very loud cricket chirping in the kitchen. It seemed that this noisy bugger was behind my stove, but he hopped out into my vision and I have since scooped him into a cup and escorted him outside. My hope for a good night's sleep has been restored.

Shamefully, I can't recall a single Labor Day Weekend since turning 15, that I haven't worked. I made a very poor attempt at scheduling one day at the beach to break up my remodelling marathon... but considering the nearing change of weather, and my mildly obsessive need to "finish what you start," completing as much as I can around my house has to be the right thing to do. Right?

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.

What You Wish For...

Be careful of that! Whilst finding many of my own very wishes coming true... I find myself buried in them! Buried in cliches as well! "When it rains it pours" is certainly ringing loud and true for me; negatively and positively.

My laptop croaked. Then the loaner croaked.

I had no job. Three jobs. Two jobs. 15 hours a week. 20 hours a week. 32 hours a week. Then 30 hours a week. Now I've been offered 40 hours a week, I still care for Chester and my remodelling job is dragging on because of a sub-contractor. The first grant I wrote was awarded, which is great for the resume, but bad in the sense that delays in the awarding process mean my deadlines will be extremely difficult to reach. I am getting sent to many conferences which award continuing education credits; again good for the resume, but bad for the deadlines!

I feel like I'm running after everything! Including after my own shoes! I have no milk, no eggs, no butter, and no time to go to the store. I have a tote bag full of mail and not a single over-priced stamp. I have my primer and paint for my own remodel job: the garage. Yet, I have not a single moment (that doesn't involve rain) to get back to it!

And the boys. Oh those silly boys. A couple boys have been attempting to court me, but again, I have no time! And when I find time, I'm going to have to decide if I want to allow this said courting first! I must confess that regardless of any potential futures with any said boys, knowing that there may still be options after you have neared even closer to 40 is something I'm very grateful for!

Unfortunately, either a cup of Earl Grey tea, or some overnight anxiety kept me up until almost 4 a.m. which made getting up at 5:30 a.m. not so pleasant. Couple my lack of sleep with congestion, sneezing, itchy ears and an irritated throat (allergies?) and I'm ready to tie a white T-shirt to a stick and wave it wildly to and fro!

Oh it has rained. And has it poured! And I am: drowning!

Behind... Behind!

Yowza! It's been quite some time since I've verbally harassed the world wide web. I'd apologize... but I suspect some of you out there are rather grateful for the resulting silence! I'm so behind... that I'm even behind on my behind! Maintenance of it, that is. In essence of time, and celebration of laziness, I have decided to use bullets to update you on the goings-on of Mona:

• I chose to celebrate the 4th by cooking dinner for my mother (she had to work) and lighting off lame grocery store fireworks that offered more laughter than explosive delight.
• In case you didn't know... yeah, I'm single again.
• I had a birthday. The big 3-8. And, for the first time in a very long time, I actually enjoyed my birthday.
• My job is still going well, however, if grant funding does not come through in September... it's back to the unemployment lines!
• "Act Like A Lady. Think Like A Man" by Steve Harvey was given to me as a gift from my boss. I think they want me to find a husband more than I do!
• The elderly man I care for has been declining in health.
• An article I wrote for our organization was published in a local magazine.
• My personal laptop had an unfortunate meeting with a glass of ice water, courtesy of my dementia-riddled cat.
• The loaner laptop I have has a chronic illness of some sort (hence the lack of blogging).
• I'm doing another remodel, and decided that it would be a good time to scrape and repaint my garage. NOT!
• My immediate family and I are becoming closer since my brother moved back.
• This is the first year of my life that I can remember my father wishing me a Happy Birthday.

Basically... I'm at a crossroads. There are many things before me, and I'm trying to decide where to direct my energies. It's a good thing. Just too difficult to express in one blog after a twelve hour work day while watching "America's Got Talent" on tv. In fact, I almost considered starting an entirely new blog with a slightly different focus, but my computer problems are preventing me from doing much of anything that involves the internet reliably.

So once I've caught up with my behind... I'll try to provide a more ass-tronomically profound blog. Stay tuned.