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.