What weighs more...

...honesty or loneliness?

 

the key is on a chain around my neck....

(I couldn't get in to edit or add to the previous entry.)

I have been using imagery to pull myself back together, thanks to my Mr. X.  It really is helping.  My grief is coming to the point of settling down to liveability.  I don't know why I needed this to get to a level place where I can accept that she has excluded me fom her life completely and that she is as unreachable as a corpse, but it does put it in terms I can understand.  Whatever bit of spirit that blended us has gone on. 

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I was thinking yesterday about what it was like in college.  For months on end I was in an isolated environment, seeing the same people, doing more or less the same thing, never straying far from the campus.  Then one day, I went with my off-campus friends to a grocery store.  It was like Disney World.  I scoped the cans on the shelves and reacted, "Look at all the pretty colors!"  It was as though I had never been in a store before.  I was in culture shock.  I couldn't even zero in on any particular thing because there was so much to look at.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEFGHIJKLMONPQRSTUVWXYZABCDEF

Reflectivity is so much more chic (that's pronounced 'sheik' not 'chick', y'all) in the UK than it is here.  The public service workers, cops, crossing guards... all have coats with wide reflective strips and they look rather dapper in their bright, bright greens and yellows.  Americans are so very vain.  They'd rather be hit by cars then look like a beacon.  Just goes to show you yet again that older cultures are smarter than us.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Have a lovely Memorial Day weekend.

 

 

Latchkey child to Mama Internet

I check in on the journals of my co-workers and some of their friends. They are gamers and Trekkies and Potteranians.  They speak a separate language sometimes.  I just enjoy it.  I don't worry about what they are referring, too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I was in the kennel last night and most of the dogs were "obedience school attendees."  That is, someone may have attempted to teach them and they got a certificate for showing up, but no diploma. Reminder to self: Take scrub top to hospital.  Favorite pink shirt looks bad with black paw marks.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When the ladies at the library plan a craft, they make one example to show the kids.  They are in the habit of "not making it too good."  That's for the sake of the kids who will stress about making it look the same -- something they may not be capable of.  But Carol (See "Highway of Saints" entry) is among everything else, quite artistic.  Yesterday she brought an aquatic scene to Pat (the storytime lady) that I swear was "too good."  She just looked at me and sort of sighed a shrug.  Pat looked at me like "Shut up."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

So I was shelving the videos yesterday and I was thinking that there is such a difference between the way lesbians used to be portrayed in movies and they way they are seen today.

In old movies, the lesbian characters are feminine but cold and uptight. Tightly-wrapped.  Wool-suited.  Unsmiling.  Wealthy. "Smart women in sensible shoes." Sometimes they are dominating, Germanic, sleek.  Often, they have to die for the plot to resolve.

Even in the 80s, new and old met in the characters of the lovers in the film "Desert Hearts."  A young, wild, sexy woman and a stuffy professor....

Nowadays, they are cute or gorgeous, blonde and/or sexy and appealing.  To wit: the cast of The 'L' Word. (Nobody, no group of people is that good-looking. Not in real life. Give me a break!)

Seen what I mean?

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

One of the best gifts I ever got is "The Original Bed Buddy Sinus Pack."  It's one the most thoughtful and useful things I have ever owned.  It's a kidney-shaped bean bag that you heat in the microwave and can apply to your head or neck (or refrigerate to use over your eyes).  It's a godsend for my sinus problems.  I'm trying to rectify the 4-day long headache in my neck right now.  I wanna to be a happy camper at the BBQ at Cristy's Mom's house... Oi, gawd... three hours from now.

 

 

ibid.

4:37 a.m.

So I thought the doctor and her family would sleep in today. England is five hours ahead of us. I waited until 9 and they had already been gone quite a while. Knickers! I wish I'd asked the doctor to call when she got up. It's not like I could sleep, anyway. The dog is okay. It's the dog-sitter who needs reassurance.

I checked him at midnight and he actually did look better. The inflammation is lessening. I could actually see both of his eyes. To me, that was a good sign. I elected not to give him a second dose of medicine because he was showing improvement. Now I'm wondering if I should have. The thing is that he as so lethargic after the first round that it worried me what another dose would do.

It turned out the muzzle was completely unnecessary. He stood patiently for the first shot while I searched through his fur to find some skin! (lol) Almost immediately, he retreated under a dining room table and I crawled onto the cold tile and under the table to give him the second injection.

Now that I'm sure he's going to be okay, I just want to know if he needs the second shot. In a case where recovery is imminent, it's better to err on the side of caution. The dogs own natural defenses will probably do the job eventually. Let's give some credit to the wonder of our design....

9:07 a.m.

I called the doctor around ... 7 a.m. our time, I think. Message: The dog is fine but please call home. I am thinking I will call back and amend the message to "The dog is okay and the house-sitter is going to pull through, too. No need to call. Have a lovely evening." I don't want to trouble her. She's having enough... travelling with her family. I travel well. I know that if someone is paying, I just go along and don't kvetch.

The last time I was taken along to Europe, I got to take time on my own. I went to Portobello Road. I'd love to go back there sometime when I can spend the day. It's everything they say it is in the song from "Bedknobs and Broomsticks."

Portobello Road,

Portobello Road,

place where the wonders of ages are stowed,

anything and everything a chap can unload

is sold off the barrow on the Portobello Road....

There are so many wondrous things to see in a place like London. I'd love to go back sometime, go to the museums. I castled out the first time we went. The second time I went was to chaperone my step-sister back to the US from a school trip so our folks could visit Normandy alone. The third time was the Christmas after the kids' father died. But I did FINALLY get to go to the Musee d'Orsay. Saw Whistler's Mother and Olympia. I was content. The Louvre is just across a bridge, walking distance from the "Musee" but honestly, I have no desire to ogle Mona Lisa. If I had the time to see everything else, I'd go. Maybe, someday....

My step-sister has been to Europe now... is it five times? And she is going back again this year. It's a rough life.

 

 

 

 

5/28/05

I woke up and let the dogs out.  I fed the dogs and let them out again.  I took a bathe and ate and let the dogs out again.  I went to work.  I got back here at one and let the dogs out two or three more times.  I went back to work until 5:30.  At 5:30 I went to the animal hospital and did about two hours of TLC.  I was beat.  I was so glad to get back to the doctor's house.

I decided I would walk the dogs. I started out and I noticed that the black shepherd, Thor, was wiping at his eyes.  I thought maybe it was no-see-ums, so I just kept walking.  I brought the dogs home.

I decided to retire, but I walked back out to check the dogs and saw that the skin around Thor's eyes were swollen.  The hospital phone roster on the doctor's fridge is ancient.  I called C.  She said, "Call the doctor."

Well, geez... the doctor is in Europe and its five hours later there.  So I am waking up some Brits, the doctor and her husband around 2 a.m. (GULP!)

OK... she tells me what to get at the hospital and I go.  I get to the hospital and she calls and instructs me in the proper dosing and what to do if the meds don't work.

I come back home.  I remember the doctor telling me years ago that an mL and a cc are the same measure, but this is too important to botch, so I call Cristy again to verify the fact. 

The doctor advised me to bring a muzzle for Thor... but he didn't need it.  He stood for the first injection and laid down under a table through the second injection.  Such a good dog.

My alarm clock is set for midnight so I can check on his progress and I have instructions on what to do if he gets worse, including how to pay the emergency clinic.

I think everything is going to be all right.  I sure hope so. 

If it isn't, I'm gonna need some Coca-cola in a couple of hours.  I'm whipped. 

 

3318

what to do

I am frustrated and chagrined.  I haven't heard back from the GM at the newspaper I applied to last Friday.  I don't think it looks good.  So I am considering other options.  Among them: 1. bank teller, 2. author -- more pulp stuff... hell, if Nora Roberts can sell and resell her drivel, I can do it!, 3. a third job, 4.  open to suggestions.

On the plus side, it's lovely to be in a house with a bathtub and clean water to bathe in.  To me, that is LUXURY. The only way it could be better is if it was one of those big honkin' spa tubs.

It's pretty peaceful here.  The pets are all content.  It's inspiring me to get back to cleaning out my own place.   It's hard to do.  Pack-rat-itis is a disease there isn't any real cure for.  The funny thing is that I know people who have it much worse than I do!

maybe

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative

88%

Existentialist

75%

Postmodernist

69%

Idealist

63%

Modernist

50%

Materialist

38%

Fundamentalist

31%

Romanticist

25%
What is Your World View? (updated)
created with QuizFarm.com

a useful thing to know

 

So this morning, I’m out in the backyard with the dogs.

The doctor had left me a note saying that she would give me a dollar a minute for poop-scooping the backyard.

I won’t ask that.  I AM a PROFESSIONAL, after all.

I will scoop her yard for free.  I know that she will help my pets when I need her.

 

Anyway…

I’m out in the backyard and my nose is feeling snotty.  No tissue in my pocket.  I use, instead, the gift of one of my few boyfriends ever.  Alan was the better one.

He taught me “the country blow.”

That might sound dirty, but the truth is "the country blow" is useful is odd outdoor situations.

 

Anyway, Alan taught me how to evacuate my nasal passages without soiling my hands or needing a receptacle.  

 

You just grab the tip of your nose and turn it away from the nostril you wish to clear, then push all your wind into that nostril.  “Woosh!”  Done.  A clean getaway.

 

What did I teach Alan?  Hehehehe….   That’s private.

 

From the doctor’s house #1:

So here I am, in a strange bed (that’s bloody hard).  Just outside the door, there is the heavy breathing of two German Shepherds and a fluffy cat.

 

Fortunately, this house is not alien to me.  I used to clean it for the bargain price of  $10 an hour.  I was doing the doctor a favor.  It was a very long favor.  I finally burnt out on it.  I started going instead to help my step-mother.  It wasn’t long before I wore out there, too.

 

Now I’m in the large master bedroom.  There is a skylight and the rain is beating upon it.  My humble (but steadfast) trailer is quieter in the rain.

 

There are three sets of sliding glass doors to this room.  All have the curtains drawn back to show the yard, which is fenced in, though it wasn’t when I cleaned here.  I’ve probably gained 20 pounds since I stopped cleaning and stepped away from regular duties at the animal hospital.

 

You’d think that working at an animal hospital would be pleasant and fun, but in reality, it’s very hard work… if you’re doing it right.  For years I have told myself I might as well resign once and for all.  Then I go to the kennel on a Saturday night and see the dogs and cats (and occasional other animals) and I am enamored all over again.  Sucked back into the vortex!

 

I’ve given myself an extra half-hour of wake-up time (30 minutes less sleep) to adjust for caring for the dogs, bathing, eating and running over to see my cat in the morning.

 

I will bring her over tomorrow night and set her up in this room.  Private digs.  Big time!

I just hope the other critters can keep themselves in check.  The dogs are good and the cat is very cool, but my cat is all I’ve got.

 

I bet, however, that Melissa or Cristy will be all too glad to hook me up with a homeless cat if anything does happen…. 

 

After all, employee discounts and vet services at cost are a good way to keep people around….  If I have no pet, there’s no hook!

 

In other news, Lisa is as happy as a clam with the hottie she met in the bar last Saturday.  All I can say is “God damn!”

close, nearby

I will be house-sitting at the vet's home for two and a half weeks.  Entries may be sparse.  It's cool.  You can write to me at Virage65@aol.com.  I'll be checking my mail.

explanatory

   

'You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,' said Alice.
'Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called Jabberwocky?'

'Lets hear it,' said Humpty Dumpty.

'I can explain all the poems that ever were invented - and a good many that haven't been invented just yet.'

This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse:

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe

'That's enough to begin with,' Humpty Dumpty interrupted: 'there are plenty of hard words there. Brillig means four o'clock in the afternoon - the time when you begin broiling things for dinner.

'That'll do very well,' said Alice: 'and slithy?'

'Well, slithy means 'lithe and slimy'. 'Lithe' is the same as 'active'. You see, its like a portmanteau - there are two meanings packed up into one word.'

'I see it now,' Alice remarked thoughtfully: 'and what are toves ?'

'Well', toves are something like badgers - they're something like lizards - and they're something like corkscrews.' 'They must be very curious-looking creatures.'

'They are that,' said Humpty Dumpty; 'also they make their nests under sun-dials - also they live on cheese.'

'And what's to gyre and to gimble?' 'To gyre is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To gimble is to make holes like a gimlet.'

And the wabe is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?' said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity. 'Of course it is. It's called wabe you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it - 'And a long way beyond it on each side,' Alice added.

'Exactly so. Well then, mimsy is 'flimsy and miserable' (there's another portmanteau for you). And a borogove is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round - something like a live mop.'

'And then mome raths?' said Alice. 'I'm afraid I'm giving you a great deal of trouble.' 'Well, a rath is a sort of green pig: but mome I'm not certain about. I think it's short for 'from home' - meaning that they'd lost their way, you know.'

'And what does outgrabe mean?' 'Well, outgribing is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you'll hear it done, maybe - down in the wood yonder - and, when you've once heard it, you'll be quite content. Who's been repeating all that hard stuff to you?'

'I read it in a book,' said Alice

 http://journals.aol.com/judithheartsong/newbeginning/entries/1448

bleep and glue

At the library, working with that difficult woman, I often think of the truth of the old "I'm rubber, you're glue.  Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks on you" taunt.

I'm watching the film "What the bleep do we know?"  It's several scientists discussing quantum physics, punctuated by a string of illustrative vignettes starring Marlee Matlin.

The old taunt has truth because a trace of what you say reflects back on you when you say it.  If you say negative things about someone, a trace of what you say sticks in the head of the person you say it to.  They may then  see you with that negative aspect.

It makes sense when you see the portion of the film where words changed the physical structure of water.  What are we after all, if not water?

I'm thinking that perhaps as I struggle to loathe that co-worker less, I loathe myself less.

I had a friend in college, Ivan, who insisted that we are all the same.  It is and isn't true.  Billions and billions of things color our worlds.  Our individual perception and choices make us who we are constantly becoming.

I remember when I was a little kid, my cousin Jenny noticed that my stomach expanded as I breathed.  She told me I was breathing wrong, that your chest was supposed to fill.  Well, it turns out that she was wrong, but the damage was done... because I wanted to belong.  I didn't want to be a freak.

More than 30 years later, I can liken it to sitting in the bar Saturday night, watching people dance... not getting up and dancing myself.

If I dance in my living room its because its fun and I want the exercise, I want to feel and express the music.  If I step onto the dance floor, I'm on display.  It's not fun anymore.

The irony is... if I sit it out I'm perceived as a stick in the mud, if I dance then I'm judged for that.  It's inspiration enough to stay out of bars.

But I read “Tuesdays with Morrie.”  And I was thinking… maybe I should....  After all… we gotta die, we might as well dance… in public… even if we suck at it.

Maybe this doesn't make sense.  Quantum physics isn't simple.  It's very like Zen Buddhism.   What isn't and what is exist simultaneously on many planes.

 

I like one of the final statements of the film... "If you study science long enough and seriously enough and dig deeply enough, if you don't come out feeling whacko about it, you haven't understood a thing."

 

http://whatthebleep.com/

Un-chain my e-mail

I don't usually forward chain mail.  I do however, like to pass along things that are fun.  I always have at least one friend who will respond.  The others...  I don't know what their problem is.  Life's too short to be taken seriously.  Here is the response to a questionnaire from one of my favorite correspondents:

Okay, I'll take a whack at this...

Your name: Chris

Where did we meet: Unity College

Take a stab at my middle name: Uh...Ellen (Note: Not.)

Do I believe in God: Of some sort, yes, tho not necessarily with a capital "G"

How long have you known me: Since 1985, more or less

Do I smoke: Hell no

What was your first impression of me upon meeting: You were kinda shy, but only up to a point. Maybe a bit out of the loop socially, definitely not glib.

Color of my eyes: Hazel to blue (brown)

Do I have any siblings: Yes

What's one of my favorite things to do: Walk, talk to neighboring bovines (the college was next to a dairy)

Do you remember one of the first things I said to you: "Are you praying?"

What's my favorite type of music: Well, this was 1985, and what I remember is women's music and reggae

What is the best feature about me: Your amazing brains and huge heart

Am I shy or outgoing: Shy until you find a comfort level, then look out

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules: More rebel than rule queen

What's your favorite memory of me: Not a specific memory, per se, but a sense of presence, most strongly associated with a chat we had in your dorm room one night early on in my 1st term at Unity.

Any special talents: Writing and mediation

Would you consider me a friend: Absolutely, even if I haven't seen you for, like, ever

If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be: Underwood. No, really, I have no idea.

If you and I were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing would I bring? A blank journal, but really - who plans on being stranded on a desert island? I don't even plan to get stranded at the airport.

"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction." -- Blaise Pascal, theologian

So... learn anything new about me?

 

3290

brushfire hot

Ninety degrees plus inside my abode at 5:37 p.m.

All day long its been hot, an edgy-kind of hot, a heat that slices through you.  The kind of hot that burns and fills the sky with grey for days on end.

It's not an ordinary hot.  It's not August hot.  It's more.  It's like fever trying to get inside you. 

The heat is ominous.  I prefer days of flood.  Even the last hurricane passed more easily than the season of brushfires.

The days of brushfire are a real drag.  Dark as snow days (with a greater lack of visibility), but hot like the moment before you burn your skin.

I'm praying for rain.

 

 

 

the smart car

http://zapworld.com/

These cute and sensible cars are already big in Europe where gas costs a fortune.

 

Vivian Vance

So I find myself dispersing romantic advice to another lesbian tonight.  Again.

Always the best friend role.

Well, dogs! 

At least I'm helping people succeed.

Is it time for me to get another cat?

My bad

I coulda, shoulda, woulda...

picked up more of my humble home so that inquisitive dates may visit

gone to visit my family in town

mowed the dead grass

perused want ads and put in resumes

INSTEAD...

I slept until after 2 or 3

then got up, got cleaned and dressed

went out and supported the economy at the locksmith, the pet store, BJs Wholesale Club and Tropical Smoothie Cafe.

Then I stopped at the animal hospital to pick up my check and to see Cristy, who I was - and still am missing - 

it was brief, but I had a fix....

I can't help it.  I wasn't asleep enough to miss her saying "Goodnight, Jeano," and kissing my forehead this morning sometime after 1 a.m.  I was snug on her magic couch and curled beneath her faux bear fur blankee.

I think I was out cold about half a minute later.

I did wake up about 4 or 5 hours later and schlepp into the guest room.  It's so good to have another home to feel loved in.

Cristy and Derek are generous and big-hearted.

OMG!

http://www.viceking.net/bubblewrap.swf/bubblewrap1.swf

Stress relief!  Enjoy!

Thanks, Utah!

something of a surprise

You already know from previous entries that I rarely drink and will only do so when I will not have to drive in the same night.

Last night, because it was the season finale of "Deadwood" on HBO, we elected to do it up.  The "F" word was the word of the night, but it quickly became too frequent, so we changed the word to "c***s****r."

The drink was Jagermeister and Red Bull.  C had asked Geoff for Goldschlager, but he bought one syllable too many.  I was growing numb, in my jaw, in my hands, in my arse.  If not for the Red Bull, I'm sure I would have been out like a light.  (Well that and the idea that I had slept almost all day.)

What's surprising is that I woke up feeling pretty good!

I don't know if it can solely be attributed to the caffeinated drink loaded with B vitamins, or also has roots in the Tylenol I took beforehand and the water I drank during AND the lovely dinner I had when I first went over to Cs around 7 or 8.

Writing this reminds me about reading NJ Little Bear's journal.  He is trying to loose weight, but then he goes out drinking and not just lightly.  I want to slap him.  Duh!

I just haven't told him because I don't think it's my place to be the boss of him. 

Alcohol is caloric, friends.  Please take notice and be advised.

Dunno what to call this entry

http://journals.aol.com/hohumlala/relentlesslyblinkingcursor/entries/847

armload of links

relentlessly blinking cursor........

Judith HeartSong

Josh Liller's Homepage

Captain Joe's Star Log

Amusing Things that Patrons Do and Say in the Library Environment

Paisley Skys

A Familiar Story Called Life, A Path We All Walk Only At Different Times...

My Big Fat Geek Life

All Things Just Keep Getting.. Stranger

Bloglines | Pollysci's Blogs

Rosie O'Donnell

The Journal Jar

~A DOUBLE BLESSING!~

Just say no to socialist liberals!

Gino's Thoughts...

Golden Child, Superstar!

STARLIGHTER

jentyler.com

A Lesbians Life

Funny Ha-Ha, or Funny Strange?

The inner brains of a Lezbo...

Dave Barry's Blog

The Soundtrack of My Life

Aunt Dubby's Ugly Green Couch

Messages...

Journey to Peace

Looking beyond the Cracked Window...

Musings of a Modern Witch

Demidyke

THE DREAM

Mortimer's Cafe

Dribble by Chuck Ferris

The Penis Pages

Point & Counterpoint

By The Way...

Something Awful - The Internet Makes You Stupid

Journal Favorites and Friends

The Writer's Almanac

A Prairie Home Companion with Garrison Keillor

The Internet Movie Database (IMDb)

The Huffington Post | The Front Page

Google Image Search

Yesterday

Yesterday started around 7 a.m. and ended around 2 a.m. today.

I went to work and it was very quiet.  A few kids came in the library, and I, disoriented by having had Friday off (and Thank God for that -- tell you why later) was wondering why.  (Hours later, I realized it was Saturday.)

I left work and drove into the county seat.  I stopped at my father's house for a peanut butter sandwich because I was hungry.  I said Hello to my Dad, step-mom and brother.

The I went to the "old downtown" section of the city.  The Lyric theater is at least 80 years old. That is where C's daughter as well as the Dr's daughters were going to be performing.

I found C's family, Sandy (her mother), Jesse (her sister), Carol (her mother-in-law), Bill (her mother-in-laws significant other), Derek (her husband), Lisa (her closest local friend), and Geoff (I am not sure how to describe Geoff.  He is a handsome, clean, funny, short, long-haired, pink-cheeked, probably straight, young man.)

The doctor was out in the lobby, too.  Her two daughters were also in the performance.  Her older daughter is very petite.  She must be 11, maybe 12 now, but she is short and very thin,  She has almost-white blond hair.  This little girl is a diva.  There's no other word for her.  She is cold and calculating and full of herself.

Her younger daughter is the product of her union with her second husband, a neurotic, bug-eyed man.  This little girl is more about love and concern.  She is sort of plump and can appear empty-headed, but she actually is smart, observant.  She can do math in  her head at the age of 8.  That trumps me at that age.

The only reason I can figure that the doctor and her husband are together I can guess at is that he makes her laugh... when she isn't chagrined by his goofiness.  (You never see her rolling her eyes.  She keeps everything inside.  It's very rare to see her do anything emotion-based.  She is as still as a stone on the outside.  That's not to say that she can't crack a good joke now and then, because she does... and often on herself.)

So I sat through this three-hour performance which was actually pretty damn good, in my estimation.  There were kids from about age 3 or 4 to women perhaps in their 50s in the show.  And there was one young man. 

I sat an watched the show and cheered all the dancers.  It was great!

C's daughter was adorable and perfect.  She is so precocious. 

Then we finally left the theater.  C was calling me to go to her house, but I had other plans.

I checked my phone for a call from "Library Lisa."

Sure enough, it was there.  SO I drove up to the bar we go to and found her, looking intently into the eyes of a woman she just met.

Lisa bought me a soda and we chitter-chatted briefly.  Then I gazed around the bar via the mirrored dance floor wall and scoped out a place to sit near someone interesting.  I left Lisa to flirt with her new friend.

After awhile of sitting and watching the few people dancing, Lisa came over and asked if I wanted to join them outside for a joint.  I politely refused.

Lisa disappeared... for over an hour.  The drag show started at 11:30ish. 

After an act or two, I left the bar and tore off my wristband.  I was driving away when I heard Lisa's whistle.  She came over to my car and asked me to stay longer because her new squeeze was leaving, too.

So I parked and went back in and we chatted for a bit.

Lisa's very nice.  We compare and contrast nicely. 

She works with her hands, I work with my head. 

 She drinks and smokes, I'm Ms. Clean. (I do drink lightly every rare now and then.  And Sunday nights at Cristy's.) 

We both love women.  She likes petite, attractive, physically flexible, feminine women.  I love women with heart and soul and wit, whatever size or package they come in.

She is very direct and smoothly so.  She is better than me, by far, at approaching strangers.

We do have an ex-girlfriend in common.  (That was E., aka "Liz.")

I like hanging out with her more and more each time we hang out.  I guess I'm just getting used to her.  It's good to have a gay pal without sexual tension. 

Although fooling around with her might be a pleasing experience, I think it's better to have a friend.  Besides, we vary in that she is capable of superficial relationships.  I don't think I am.  I wish I was more like her.  I'd have more to talk about.

So we parted and she drove to her brother's nearby house to sleep. I drove all the way home and she called me right after I settled into bed to see that I was home safe.

And that was my Saturday.

 

3222

quit the muttering

This is the book I am listening to this morning.

Whatever you believe, the Harry Potter books use the elements of great literature to move, inspire and uplift.

Moreover, they are loaded with religious themes and are primarily about the triumph of love over death.

They are not evil.

People who say they are demonic are ignorant.

Amen.

Librarian's bane

The attractive lady in this picture is the source of one of my greatest headaches.  Do you recognize her?  Do you know why I cringe at the sight of her?

This is a test.  It is only a test.

a dream recalled

This morning I woke from a dream.  That in itself is unusual because I do not remember dreaming these days.  It makes me think that I don't dream even though everyone does.

I dreamt I was at a patio restaurant with people whom I thought might be my parents.  We were sitting at this outside table and everyone was dressed nicely.  I had on long sleeves and we were talking.

Then from a door in a building abutting the patio, V walked out.  She was gorgeous and had lost much weight.  She sat down at a table in front of me with another woman.

I noticed her but just stayed where I was.  After a while passed, she was suddenly standing behind me to say Hello and it was almost more than I could deal with.  When she went back to her table, I asked my company if we didn't mind moving because I was about to lose my mind.

We moved to the far end of the place and continued though I was stirred up.  After another while, se was back before, trying to give me something that I left at her house before she cut me loose.

She was radiant as always and really wanted me to have whatever it was back.  I guess I took it.  I don't know the dialogue that went on.  I just know that the dream had colors.  The object is her hand was pink and the sun seemed to shine through her.

She went back to the woman waiting at her table.  I knew she was happy and doing just fine without me.

Then I woke.

 

One of the last things I thought before I went to bed last night was "Why do you allow yourself to be tormented over someone who hurt you so badly?"

The answer is that I just can't help it.  I can't turn off my heart.

She doesn't want you.  She doesn't need you.    She doesn't love you. 

You need to move on!

 

3154

Uncle Dad

I grew up (ages 13 to 30) in a rural neighbor hood.  Most of the homes were on five-acre lots and almost all of my neighbors were brothers and sisters.  Dad bought the property from the ex-wife of one of the brothers.

The dirt road is Smith Avenue.  Guess who lived there?

These people were true salt-of-the-earth old-time rednecks.  The man who lived on the property in front of our house, abutting our pond was Donovan.

He was a very tall, lanky man.  He was an old fisherman.  He had two daughters.  His wife, Dot, is a short, concise, tolerant woman.  She had to be.

Donovan was the family member who I had the most contact with.  I'd walk my dog down the long driveway and he'd be out in the yard puttering, usually bare-chested. He'd call over to me in greeting.  Something like "Dalking the wog?"

He was my buddy.  He'd even stand on the levee between the small pond he built and the larger pond and holler to me as I canoed around.

Donovan eventually died.  After a few years, Dot married her deceased sister's husband from California.  It made sense to them to bond together against loneliness. The husband of her youngest daughter gave him the appellation "Uncle Dad."

That's all.

I am grateful for the time I spent on Smith Avenue.  It taught me how to relate to people on their plane of existence. 

And I loved going barefoot, too.

Highway of Saints

I left work today and went home to feed my cat and pick up some books in French that I got for my little sister, then got back onto US 1 to go to Dad's.

About 4 miles up the road, I notice traffic is going slow and I scan to see what's going on and I see my friend/co-worker from the library, waving traffic to the left and beyond her a woman sitting on the shoulder of the road. 

An SUV had plowed into the rear of a sedan.  The sedans rear end ended in the back seat.  It was definitely DAMAGE!

This is Carol.  She is the library's "Homework Helper."  She is a Montessori teacher, a mother of two.  She and her husband are very community-minded.  She is my kind of person.  She is smart and so full of thought that I christened her "Segues Without Warning" because her mind always seems to churn on three tracks at once.  I truly love her.

I drove on with a nod to her. It was covered.  There would be nothing for me to do. I saw the sheriff and fire truck coming up in my rear view mirror.  It made perfect sense to me that she would be there, she would be the one out of a hundred who would stop, give aid, give witness, give herself.

She is what "good" is.  All day long.

Relentless Lunch

I went to C's house today for lunch.  I used to have Tuesday off every week and had the chance to hang out with her.  Now they like to stagger me around, keep me guessing.

So anyway... I went to her house... a token moment since we couldn't hang out or even IM all day.  I went over and she fixed some food and we gabbed a little.

We were sitting on her couch and I noticed her.  She's beautiful.  Her hair is thick and dark, her skin is olive, her lips had a rich color on them.  I'm thinking, "I know she didn't get all dolled up for me...."

C is a music-aholic and has music on at the house almost all of the time.  The intro to songs play and C will say, "I LOVE this song!"  I won't even know what the song is until I hear more, but she knows it and loves it.

The other day I was sitting on that same couch with C's best friend, Lisa, and C's 8-year-old daughter, *M*.  Lisa is a very talkative wag.  She told *M* that her mother is an angel and that her wings are actually folded up in her breasts... which are ... voluptuous, to put it mildly.

C came around the corner and *M* asked her mother if she had wings hidden in her breasts.  C just looked at Lisa with that "What on earth have you been telling my kid now?" look.

As a breast aficionada, it made perfect sense to me.  ;o>

3

Judi Heartsong will be happy just because I named this entry "3."

 

I have been in love three times in my life... so far.

The first love was a woman in college who was always involved with someone else.  She knows about it.  In fact, we talked about it via e-mail in just the past few months. She was the one who would stop by my dorm room to make out.  It was three years before we slept together.  The friendship, the time, that made it rich and comfortable and sweet.

The second woman was Molly.  She was a smart, beautiful, blue-eyed blonde (natural, even).  She was from Ohio.  I met her at the summer camp in Maine where I was the head canoeing instructor.   She was sweet and smart.  We were sitting on the beam of the canoe hut listening to the calls of loons and watching moonbeams when I told her I was gay.  She responded, "That's what I was hoping you would say," and put her arms around me.  She married a man a few years later and moved back to her home town.

And then there was V.  We started talking after she responded to my ad in the Yahoo! Personals.  Her words sparkled as much as her eyes. The night we kissed the light of Venus streamed across the ocean onto us. She cupped my heart in her hands. I was willing to put up with anything to be with her. I would have done anything for her.  I did the most horrible thing for her.  I let her go.

They say three is a mystical number.  Maybe it's the number of toads....

Gawd, I hope so.

3108

Everyone knows its Wendy.

Who is this woman?

I'm about to find out.

I met a woman online.  I relented and gave her a link to this blog.

She told me last night she was all the way down to the February entries and wasn't scared off yet.

Maybe she'll want to meet some day.  She'll know a lot about me.  I'll know so little about her.

Is this journal my "chick magnet?"

I wouldn't think so.

So Wendy is the first person I've written about before really knowing her.  I wonder if I will get that privilege.

We all have problems.

I was just reading Josh's journal about his woes in trying to get money for college.  Here's a young man with the brains to do what he wants to do but not the co-signer.  It hurts me to not see him getting out of here, away from the library and into the life he deserves to be able to make for himself.  If I had money, I'd co-sign for him in a heartbeat.  Then I'd own his skinny ass!  (Evil laugh.) 

No, all kidding aside, he deserves a chance.  His mother is putting his sister through school and his "DNA donor" is no help to him.  It's a shame that there is so much to get in the way of one's full potential.

I think there are people out there who got where they need to be through hard work or good luck, or some combination of the two.  There are some people who have been handed everything.  In fact, there are a lot of them here where I live.  I see kids out shopping who have more money to fritter away than I have to buy groceries with each month.  Some have more money than I make each month.

Josh works at a different library branch.  He wears comfy Hawaiian shirts (and he looks good in them) and drives a truck that usually runs.  He doesn't want to attend the local community college and I do not blame him.  For all its talk and new buildings, it's... never mind, I'm not going there.  I'm sure there are good teachers there and people achieving success....  Done.

I work with a woman, a single mother, whose two college student sons have all kinds of problems.  Today she had to leave because one of them was sick.  Scary sick.  The boys father is another bum who doesn't help them.

My father makes a very good salary and has a lot of prestige.  My manic-depressive ex-millionaire step-mother spends his money and berates him for not making more.  He tells me when I see him that he is glad I am there because I am the only person who hugs him.  It's so hard to go there and hear that.

I have a friend whose marriage is wearing down. Ain't nothing I can do but be there for her when it happens and hope that it doesn't happen.

I serve older people at the library who have lost their children.  I listen when they talk about them.  I marvel when they don't.

I love some of the patrons at the library.  Especially the old couple that comes together.  The woman is in much the same shape that my mother was in.  Wheelchair, difficulty talking, use of one hand.  Her doddering husband is gentle and supportive.  I look at her and see an angel within.

Some of us are attended by angels.  Some of us are attended by darker forces.  And some of us are closer to Heaven from the inside out.  She is.

We always look at each other nervously when he comes in alone.  I can never ask.  Luckily, last time he volunteered that she was in the hospital but was okay.

The day he returns her books and says she's gone, I'll probably have to go home for the rest of the day.

This couple, these partners... that's beauty and love and wealth, and all the fame you might really ever need.

When I was younger and even more shy and more emotional, writing to my friends, kept me alive.  I lived for the sparse and brief letters... quite literally.  They helped me hang on.

What do I live for now?

To see how my step-sister turns out, to give my Dad a reason to hold it together, to visit with my friends on the weekend, to hope for some chance at a meaningful love... no matter how long it lasts.

I caught a glimpse of that last year.  Maybe this year, I can do better.

 

a reminder

Have you done a breast self-exam lately?

Have you had your doctor check your blemishes? pap smear?

Men can check their testes, too.  And get the rectal exam... it beats dying!

Cancer is insidious.  It is a thief of time and a breaker of hearts.

If you don't know how to self-exam, find out.  Don't just wear the trendy bracelet.  Get checked.  Do it for the people who love you.

http://www.cancersociety.com/

http://www.pueblo.gsa.gov/cic_text/health/skin-cancer/skin2a.gif&imgrefurl=http://www.pueblo.gsa.gov/cic_text/health/skin

http://www.4woman.gov/mens/men.cfm?page=425&mtitle=Testicular%20Cancer

http://cancer.gov/cancerinformation

http://www.merck.com/mrkshared/mmanual/section18/sec18.jsp

http://www.mayoclinic.com/findinformation

http://www.lifestyledoctor.uk.com/cancer.htm

 

This entry is dedicated to friends at two local health departments (especially P.W.)

bread ends

I have nothing against bread ends.  There's nothing in the crust of bread that isn't in the inside.  It's all the same.  It's just that I consider the end at the top of the bag to be a barrier, a guardian to the freshness of the other pieces.  I know full well that the slightest bacteria on my hand and the very air cause the bread to deteriorate, but still I appreciate the bread caps sacrifice.  And by the time I get to the other end, the one down at the bottom...  well, it's time to buy fresh bread.

I know somewhere fields of rye and wheat and carroway are crying.  Tough cookies!

here's one for the cat

My little companion leans warm against me.  She was at first chagrined when she realized that the new bed was much smaller.  She doesn't have her own side anymore.  Still she christened our new resting place my dropping a lizard on my leg Friday night.

I tolerated her when C bullied me into taking her but now I can't decide which of her virtues I wish to extol and what it is I love best about her. 

Primarily, I think it is her very presence that helps me.  Rita Mae Brown suggested that all writer's should have cats because cats remind us about what's important.

Well, cats keep you from desolate loneliness while also offering the added feature of not needing to be walked.

Cats come and sit in the middle of what you are doing to remind you that whatever you're doing is not the only thing in the world.

Animals have virtues.  They want to be fed and loved.  I don't want anything much different from anyone who takes me on. 

You can't blame them for their behaviors because they act on instinct and learned behavior.  I always thought that it would be great to be as good of a person as my pets are.  It's something to strive for.  Let's explore it.

Pets:

* are happy to see you when you get home, unless you've not been kind

* let you know what they want if you listen right

* are happy to be fed, petted and played with

* come when you call (when they want to)

* don't care if you smell bad, are overweight or have a bad hairdo and yellow teeth -- you turn on the indoor sun and make food and water appear!  You're a god!

* warn you of strange things in the yard and in some cases will be ready to defend you

* gently attend you like guardian spirits

* are a continuous source of laughter

* give you something to love and care about

want to add to this list?  Do feel free!

 

2995 (How cool is that?)

Sunday in Task Valley

I am lifted by the response from Judi Heartsong to my essay entry. 

Sometimes it's hard to know whether to just follow exactly what I'm thinking or to try to use everything my teachers gave me to make ideas flow with a minimum of waste and a maximum of grammar.

Picture it.  I'm on the floor of my trailer, on a new air mattress, computer on my hip, cat resting nearby on some papers.  The sounds around me are a table fan and the dull thuds of car doors closing at the church that abuts this property.  I look up through the windows to squares and rectangles of a white sky.  I can only hope they fulfill their promise of rain.  The grass in the yard disheartens me when it shrivels and burns. However I have very cheap rent and don't think about complaining about my morale to the landlord.

There are things I need to do today.  Laundry, of course, because I have the time.  Fill more bags with the stuff of my old life is the bigger task.  I tote the baggage of life with both of my parents.  I don't need it.  In fact, having things you never see or use yet have to drag with you is an enormous, wasteful burden.  When they are replaced by empty space, I will have room to fill the space with people instead.  People are the key to lifting me.  They are wealth.

And then, there is my father.  Miserable in the home he shares with the step-family.  I used to go there more often but now I stay home much more.  The effects of this are two-fold.  Dad is even happier to see me when I arrive and I have a new level of peace from not being constantly sucked into the whirling vortex of turmoil.

A third effect is that I have been losing weight.  Part of the reason is that I am not getting as much home-cooking.  The other causes are my unhappiness, my need for fewer calories since I am not always travelling the county and the fact that I can't afford a whole lot of food, anyway.

The young woman I dated for a very short time earlier this year called me a "water addict."  As much as I enjoy water, I think she may be right.  Ironically, I have to note that she must have had 100 pounds or more on me.  Heck, even V could don the seatbelts in my Saturn.  Drinking more water might do her a world of good.  I don't mean that cruelly. 

Also, there are more than ten DVDs and five books waiting for my attention.  There's no way I will get to many of them.  I keep renewing the how-to DVDs I took out last month.

A new sound draws my ear.  Rain pulling down closed awnings and falling to the ground.  Apparently it sprinkled silently, lightly, sparsely.

I want big rain.  Fat droplets.  I want to see my "lawn" waking up, needly leaves of grass stretching back into soft blades.  The last time I mowed, I left the "wildflowers" standing.  Pink, yellow, white and red-orange posies.  Downright feminine of me but there is little other interest to my yard.  The coarse sand beneath the grass is all too willing to take over if given enough of a chance.

The incentive I need for cleaning is the reversal of loneliness.  I am moving my old life out, slowly.

 

an interesting blurb from The Huffington Post:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/theblog/archive/quincy-jones/-god-will-walk-out-of-the.html

Pulp trash with big words for your pleasure

 

The levee was loaded with gongoozlers when they pulled him from the drink.  They pushed against each other to ogle the scene.  A hum hovered above the crowd like a swarm of bees lost in a mytacistic trance, with staccato titters of excited women and children punctuating the air.  Nobody knew why he was in the water, except me, and I wasn't about to tell that I dragged him there myself.

 

I had been minding my own business when I overheard him tell how he illicitly obtained Toulouse-Lautrec's "La Dompteuse devant le tribunal" from an old Nazi's estate.  The heating vents in the palatial manor house echoed with the slightest sound and proved to be pipelines into every going-on.  The original, they say, is in Buffalo, New York.  I heard him say that the original was in his bathroom.  I'd worked for the pig for five years, putting up with the jeers and come-ons of the unctuous snake because he was at least willing to pay more than the others for my services.

 

I wasn't sure who he was talking to, but I expect he was trying to seduce another neophyte gold-digger.  What the women didn't realize was that the old boy had been around, and around.  He played them right back.  He'd done everything.  He danced naked in the rain at Woodstock and marched in the  protests.  He'd parachuted, bungied, rode elephants, climbed mountains, taken the waters at Baden-Baden,  been everywhere and done just about anyone who was anyone.  He had all the privilege of wealth but little of the headache of worldwide recognition and I almost liked him for who he used to be.

 

Only the uber-rich knew him intimately, but when he followed me to my broken down Jeep and laid his hands on my breasts, I fought him.  It was fortuitous that I'd left a pipe wrench on the front seat.  My moon is ascendant in Mars.  Nobody messes with me.  No oracle in her right mind would advise even trying.  Apparently, he only consulted with his penis.  That was his last mistake.  I don't just look butch.  The arms I've built from years of manual labor aren't just for show.

 

I watched from the hill and inside my melancholy started to lift.  My heart was racing, adrenaline made me heart beat in tarantella-time.  Who knew that being evil could be such a rush?

 

I'd cringed at his bombastic sermons on the righteousness of Republican thought.  He plowed through every article about the first family, even adoxographies about the first ladies' dogs.  I knew that he kept me around for fantasy.  I knew when he watched me sweating on his roof or mucking out the stable that I was flesh for fantasy.   It's feasible that the pineapple he offered guests as a sign of his hospitality was a prop in his daydreams and irreverent apodyopsis of virtually everyone.  Lord knows, I myself had dreams about licking juice off the backbone of the lady veterinarian who came to the stables.

 

The scene was farcical as cops and rescue workers buzzed the scene like bees around their queen.  He may have been a millionaire, but really, he was nobody.  His gravestone would soon rest beside his mother's on the estate.  I'd done the world a favor with the runcation of another callow scumbag. 

 

Sure, what I'd done was barbarous, but had somehow lifted me from the abyss of drudgery and depression I'd been in since she dumped me.

 

Suddenly, I just wanted to go home, get cleaned up, honk on my bassoon and check the journal of the artist who'd brought "La Dompteuse..." to my attention prior to hearing the old kumquat prattle about it.   An arduous glee overtook me as I removed the work from his bathroom and replaced it with a three-color pencil sketch of an armadillo I'd found in storage in the basement.  The frame was the right size to cover the walls where the older work had scratched into the flat ecru paint.  The dusky gray went well with the dark marble counters lining the sinks.  (I could have chosen another sketch of an aardvark, but we don't see many of them in Florida.)  No one would be the wiser. 

 

 

 

(Thanks plittle)

Link here to discover the essay contest (in which this is an entry) and the artist who originated it!:

http://journals.aol.com/judithheartsong/newbeginning/entries/1440 or click on the word "journal" in the essay.

It's all show.

So I'm scanning through the DVDs available at the library and I come across Cirque du Soleil.  Well you know what? I don't like Cirque du Soleil.  Acrobats in weird costumes presenting vignettes set to music.  Seen it.  Done.  What offends me is that they charge exorbitant prices for the show; $155-$200 is an average, I think.  Ha! 

I can get into the nearest gay bar and see strangely dressed people doing odd things for $5 on a weekend night.  Hell, I can go anywhere and people-watch for the cost of the gas to get there....

(sigh)

...the same love that made me laugh...

recommended reading

I have just begun Anna Quindlen's tiny new book called "Being Perfect."  I'm on page 15 and already in love with this essay. 

$12.95 US dollars (plus tax) or free to borrow from your local library.

I want to be as clear, concise, thoughtful and brilliant as Anna Quindlen when I grow up.  When I get some spending money I'm gonna get a copy for my step-sister.  She's in college.

 

Copyright 2005 by Anna Quindlen

Published by Random House

ISBN 0-375-50549-0

 

I saw the sign

On my way back from tooling around Palm Beach County, five hours, $24, four shirts, a seven-layer burrito and an order of cinnamon twists later, I saw a sign.

The sign said "You can't serve God in an advisory capacity." 

Bravo!

Go, Joe!

Another friendly acquaintance via the library system is a guy named "Joe."  He's witty and fun.  Why is an old lesbian hanging out with young straight boys?  Well, technically, I'm not "hanging out" with them, but I do consider them friends.  Joe remarked in his journal http://www.livejournal.com/users/7ofbastard/ about a t-shirt he saw.  Today I thought of a quote that might befit a tacky t-shirt:

You can't lick lesbians.

Oh, wait... yes, you can.

Ok, I know...  but they sell other lesbian shirts at the mall so why the hell not?

Ok, that's my naughty and un-PC remark for the day.

your home computer

The beauty if having a home computer is that you can lay around in the buff submitting job applications on your day off.  (Kind of makes me wish I had a fax.)

I have some advice in regards to servers.

Yahoo! is a good mail server but is very unresponsive to human questions.  I have a hard time trusting them after an issue I had with my account information including my credit card number.  I never got a human response from them that ever meant anything. 

I still use Yahoo! but for excellence in customer service, I choose AOL.  You can ask for help any time of the day or night and get a live person.  They follow up on you, too, if you don't get what you need. 

Microsoft has also proven itself helpful.

So my advice is to use Yahoo! for superficial chat and do your serious business through a server dedicated to quality customer service.

AOL's journals are easier to use than livejournal.  I am just now checking out Blogger as well but it seems also unforgiving.  With AOL Journals you can go right in and edit or even delete your entries with ease.

Ya' gotta like that.

Please note: I Google.

2881

reversi and rye toast

Yes, yes, again with the reversi philosphy.

If you're new here, just scroll back and you'll see that reversi (aka Othello) is an on-going topic.

I have been playing the game for more than 10 years, but only regularly online since January. 

I still play against "beginners" because I still get beat by "beginners."  I am still observing strategies.  It's amusing that there are so many ways to gain advantage.  Sometimes the winner practically covers the board.  Now and then the winner finishes the game long before the board is covered.  Odd patterns of black and white occur in the playing.

I'm no mathematician so I can't discuss the formulaic equations that explain the game. I only know that you have to outflank your opponent and try to cover the sides and corners before your rival does.

You can't really tell where the turning point is in this game because things change so quickly.

I have won games without having many pieces on the edges.  And I have had games where I won leaving 5 or fewer pieces of the opponent's color showing.

Tonight I'm not doing well.  It's times like these that keep you in the beginner's ranks.  The truth is that most of the intermediate players don't do much better.

I figured out some useful strategics early on but I still have things to learn.  On an Othello box, it says "A minute to learn, a lifetime to master."  It's true.  Reversi is Checkers and Chess and military tactics all in one.

I still wonder about who the other players are and wish I could talk to them beyond the phrases provided by the game, things like ":-), Hello, nice move and Sorry, I have to go now."  I am grateful that they also have It's your turn and Are you still there?

The game has lessons to teach if you can only draw the inferences.  More later, I'm sure.

(breakfast for dinner tonight, thus, the toast)

a friend?

So I have this "friend" from way back in middle school.  She was always a flake.  She always annoyed me somewhat.  After I moved away, we kept in touch sparingly. 

More than ten years pass...

Before my mother died, she told me that she was marrying a wealthy man and that she was going to fly me out to be at her wedding.  The day arrived and I had gotten some clothes together to be presentable.  No one ever showed.  We got on the phone and I asked her if she was sure about this guy.  Something happened.  She hung up.

A long time passed and she called to explain that the guy was a con man and told me another number of ills....

nearly another decade passes...

Suddenly, this year, she calls to chat, leaving a message on my answering machine.  I don't respond.

She calls again.  And again.  And again.  And again.

She calls my father's house.

She calls here, again and again.  Sometimes six times in a row.

I don't want to talk to her.  I have nothing to say.  I have nothing to give her.  I don't answer.

How can I answer the phone and tell her?  How can I say I don't want her in my life?  I don't exist in the past.  I am fortunate not to dwell in the hard times of my youth.  She always says I am her best friend.  That's sad.  And I am distrustful of someone so desperate to communicate after so long.

I'm thinking she wants something from me.

It hasn't been like me to reject someone cold like this.  The chill in my persona is a concern.  I've never been the type to unplug my heart...  but I guess that's what I am becoming.  I think it's healthy to try to avoid unhealthiness. 

The woman who can't take a hint is a small speck of a distant past I'd rather forget.  I don't have the heart to tell her, knowing it will hurt, but if her dunning continues... I may have to.  It's bordering on harrassment now.

I'd like to hear what other people think of my situation.  Tell me I'm a cold-hearted bitch or that I'm entitled to live as I see fit.  I'm open to advice.

teabags and fortune cookies

Years ago, visiting Cambridge, Massachusetts, I saw a quote: "If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there."  It apparently was from the tag on a teabag, undoubtedly from Salada, which is known for the quotes on it's tags.  The company had corporate offices in Boston, and very impressive iron doors that depicted the harvest of tea, including elephants carrying boxes.

Anyway, the quote became one of my favorites and only added to an old obsession with blurbs of wisdom. 

C. has some fortunes from cookies on her memoboard at the animal hospital.  They are there because I added a comment to the fortunes, something smart-alecky to each.  I enjoy a good fortune.  It's fun to contemplate the ramifications of the fortune.  Sometimes the fortunes are fun.  Sometimes they are dull.  The good ones make you consider them for a moment.

In the links to this journal is something called "Sari's Cookies."  A teacher at Unity College in Maine has collected over a thousand bits of wisdom on her site.  Check it out.

What's your favorite fortune, favorite quote?

2835

Hey, you....

Good morning (afternoon, evening)

I just wanted to thank you for checking in.

Having an audience yet still being anonymous...

it's a very good thing.

a male muse?

So I finally get to re-wax the top of my car and I'm wiping it clean and thinking how odd it is that Josh is like a male muse.

He asked me why I don't use live journal for blogging instead of AOL.  Maybe because my ego isn't that big?  Maybe because AOL just presented itself easily.  I got a livejournal account so that I could respond to Josh's journal.  I am trying to envision what it might be like to be a double-blogger.  I could start it and not tell anyone else... except maybe Josh... and that way I could slit my proverbial wrists and just say exactly everything on my mind. No censoring, just no last names. It's appealing.  I think about journaling throughout the day anyway.  I could go back and unedit some of the things I said.  I wonder just how down and dirty I could get!?

I think I would have to get a second account.  God knows who might be following me through the grapevine of Josh's friends. There's no way to know for sure if the library didn't discriminate aginst me because I am gay. The main reason, however, seems to be the poor vision of the little colonel. The truth is though, that the person they hired for the job I applied for is very smart and has a degree in English from Boston University.  Working at the library is sort of a step down for her.  The pay isn't that great.  Three of five women who work at my branch, however, are former school teachers....

I'm going to give the double-blogging idea some more thought.

The thing about this blogging is that I write things I might never say if not asked.  Even though you are hearing what lurks inside of me, you are not meeting me as a whole person.  I talk depressed and neurotic, but in life I am actually sort of happy-go-lucky (outside of work) and generally balanced, some would say more so than most.

I have been called passive-aggressive.  Honey, that's just another way of saying "raised Southern." 

 

getting it on is getting lost

The library's copy of the book "The Guide to Getting It On" seems to have feet.  Most every morning we find it somewhere else in the stacks.  Maureen, one of my co-workers reported finding it in the cooking section and then subsequently in the mystery section.  I find that ironic... they wanna get cooking but how to do it is a mystery to them. 

Of course, we are talking about kids who are not mature enough to come to the desk and check the book out. There's no rule against it, and when you are at the age where you may start to experiment, you might as well have some kind of clue about what to do. 

I do think that they like to look at the book together sometimes.  I do sometimes hear giggling in the stacks in the after-school hours. 

I realize that there are taboos and strictures placed upon kids.  I think they are all bogus and that we do not serve children by sheltering them from reality.  Perhaps restriction of information is really an excuse to be lazy in their upbringing, to avoid having to teach them responsibility in a responsible manner.

When I was a child, there was a book covered in brown paper on our bookshelf.  It was one that a Baptist preacher had given my mother before she married.  It was a little red book that discussed sex.  I remember that on one of the frontispages was: "You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free."

My father told me, a few years ago, that he wouldn't have minded us looking at that book, but that book did disappear.  Perhaps my mother saw me looking at it, or maybe my sister did.  Or maybe my sister had it tucked away in her room for reference.

No, kids shouldn't be having sex until they are mature enough to handle it, but they do, anyway.  They ought to know how to avoid pregnancy and disease. 

Maureen recently found the book in the sports section!

υπερήφανος για να είναι λεσβία

Today my father came to take me to the radiator shop to pick up my car.  We tooled out onto the highway and there was a program on NPR (National Public Radio) about the Christian right battling against gay marriage.  It was an interesting show and I was interested in it.  My father reached over and turned it off.  He was frustrated.  He didn't want to hear about it.  "Those people (the imperious, self-righteous, so-called Christian right) are so stupid," he said.  

Your perspective changes when your child is gay.  He's concerned about me being happy and not being alone.  (The details of how this might be accomplished are another story.)

I could have asked to hear the story but instead I was listening to what my father wasn't saying, which was "I want you to be happy.  I don't want the world to be against you."

I am not concerned with the fight.  I give money each month to a powerful pro-gay organization, We may not have equal protection under law in my lifetime. I think people are doing the best they can to do what they feel is right.  I respect other people's right to think I'm going to burn in Hell for all eternity.  It bothers my Dad, though, that they aren't working for something more "Christian," like comforting the sick....

And my step-mother is so fired up about the Democratic Women's Club, she decided that I am going to be her liason to the gay crowd.  She never asked, she just volunteered me.  When I told her I had neither the desire nor the energy for what she wants, she just said, "Yes, you do!  Doing this will energize you!  Come on!  We're going to change the world!"

Did I ever tell you that she's an old hippy?  She marched with Tom Hayden at the Chicago protests and dance naked in the rain at Woodstock.  She has never confessed to the nakedness, but she has implied it.

And then tonight I was at Cristy's and she was watching the Penn & Teller's "Bullshit."  It was all about what a traditional family is.  They said that there are more non-traditional families than there are traditional.  That's believable.  They had a lesbian couple with kids, a married couple with kids and the two parents both have a lover inluded in the family, then they had some young guy who was arguing that the nuclear unit of man and woman is essential to society and then they hada man who claimed he could make gay men straight.

I would love to hear about people who left homosexuality and truly became heterosexual.

Sometimes I wish I could change because I am lonely!  But you should see the men who hit on me in the library.  No thanks. 

http://babelfish.altavista.com/tr (translation engine - though the title doesn't retranslate clearly.)

2774-6

melodrama and maple cookies

The origins of the word "bodacious" are sketchy.

Some say that it refers to Queen Boudicaea (also spelled Boudicca) who fought the Romans with her lesser known husband around 611 a.d.)  It would be a fitting tribute to a woman made of steel.  She led her people, the Iceni, and their allies in one of the better known revolts against the Romans who tried to claim East Anglia (in the southeastern region of England.)

The word is also said to be a Southern invention, some derivative of bold and audacious.  It was popularized a while back in the film "An Officer and a Gentleman" when David Keith directs Richard Gere to check out the "bodacious ta-tas" on Debra Winger and her friend.

Personally, I like to imagine that someone magnificent has been immortalized.

 

Today, while sitting at the circulation desk, a patron said "it's always something, right?  Do you remember Roseanne Rosanadana?"

Actually, I do.  Gilda Radner was something else.  I remember watching her one-woman Broadway show, "Gilda Live" (1980) on TV.  I actually think of that quite often. It was the first time I'd seen a one-woman comedy performance.  I particularly recall "The Judy Miller Show."  It's a young girl in a Brownie outfit fantasizing in her room.  She flees with an imaginary boyfriend... and does an advertisement for graham crackers....  She really made me laugh.  Her spoof of Nadia Comaneci (sp?) was culturally timely, too.

Whenever anyone mentions "if it's not one thing, it's another.  It's always something,"  I think about a cousin, Melanie, that I never met.  She died from kidney failure when I was young.  This was before Saturday Night Live appeared on television.  She was the oldest daughter of my Uncle Charlie and Aunt Ruth's brood of nine.  A year or two ago, Michelle Rose, their youngest, also died from kidney failure, even though she has received one of her brothers' kidneys. My cousins told me that Melanie used to say, "Promises, promises, that's all I get."  Maybe that seems sad to you, but my cousins laugh from their hearts when they remember her.

I made a side-trip to Uncle Charlie's in Pennsylvania several years ago on my way home from Allison's Lubavitcher wedding in Brooklyn.  The cousins brought their kids over because I was there.  The last time I counted the offspring of the offspring I lost count.  I do know that you have to step over them to get from room to room when you go to visit and they all come over.  And there were so many that I had to keep going from room to room to take them all in.

It makes up for me not breeding.  The family line is not going to die out anytime soon!

So why is this ramble called "melodrama and maple cookies?"  Well... I'm watching a movie called "Indigo."  It's about psychic children.  It's not improbable that I had a touch of that myself once.  I wonder if some of the people I feel close to now were "special" themselves....

And I bought some maple cookies today when I went to Dad's to get a ride home from the shop where I dropped off my car this evening.  Haven't opened them yet, but their rich, sugary goodness is calling me.

Earlier today, however, I made a date with some strawberry ice cream when I ran out of time for a snarf during lunch.  I got to IMing with my California girl and lost all track....  Luckily, I noticed just in time get back to work.

So that's my story tonight.  I leave you with a line from "Indigo": 

"Explanations kill mystery."

 

 

 

Call me Reverend

In the process of cleaning, I found my ordination certificate.  That's right!  I am an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church.  You can be, too.  Instantly.

http://ulc.org/

I knew about this through people at the newspaper before I met E.  The day we met, she showed me the card in her wallet that proved she was a minister.  That was one of several clues that she was a prevaricator and it was one of the ones that set my mind against trusting her.

So I myself "got ordained.

If you go to the site you will see the following:

You can become a legally ordained minister, instantly, online, at this website. The Universal Life Church is totally non-denominational, interfaith and welcomes all religions. After you fill out the ordination form, you will receive a pop-up instant credential, which serves as your receipt of your ordination. Print it immediately.

As a ULC (Universal Life Church) minister, you can officiate one wedding ceremony or you can make weddings, funerals, baptisms, house blessings, etc. your business. You can even start your own ministry. The Universal Life Church is interfaith and non-denominational....

It continues, telling you how to get "Ministry in a Box" and a "Monastery Credential Package."

Becoming a minister is free.  Getting the bells and whistles will cost you.

"We believe you, we believe in you, we accept you - we offer our hand to you to share respect, wealth, power and influence in the world through the power of God as you believe; your beliefs count in the ULC.

We ask only that you promote the freedom of religion and do that which is right. It is up to the individual to determine what is right as long as it does not infringe on the rights of others and is within the law. That is as close to the Golden Rule as one can come."

What I want to know is where is the site that confers free degrees on you.  I'd like something like that so I can get paid more....

Oh, by the way, they also offer a Dr. of Metaphysics certificate.

And if you need someone to marry or baptize you... call me!

2732

Charlie Brown's teacher

Waa waa waa

waa waa waa

waa waa waa waa waa

Yes, ma'am.

rain...

It's raining, it's pouring

The Old Man is snoring

He went to bed

bumped his head

and couldn't get up in the morning

Rain, rain, go away

Come again another day

Little Johnny wants to play

 

I just don't know the origin of this silly verse my mother taught me, but it came to mind with the rain this morning.

I do know the origin of "Ring around the rosies."  It was explained to a crowd of tourists on a London tour bus.  I'd never thought about it before.

Ring around the rosies (lesions of disease)

A pocketful of posies (herbs for medicine)

Ashes, ashes (the bodies have to be burnt, or alternately, this is sneezing, which was another symptom of the plague)

We all fall down (the plague is killing everyone, regardless of station)

What's amazing is we are talking about a rhyme from 1347-50.

What other popular folklore has been so long-lived?  And this survived as a children's rhyme?

Five or six-hundred years is a long-time.  The Guttenberg Bible came along about 100 years later.

Wanna see pages of the Guttenberg? http://www.csfneb.org/omaha/links.htm

One link says that it has seven more books than the current Bible.  Hmmm.  One suspects someone threw out the baby with the bath water....

5/3/2 double aught 5

You know what I love about writing on a computer?  The opportunity to wipe everything clean and start again, along with the miracle of being instantly published.

This morning I am trying to pep myself into going to work again.  The little colonel will be back on Thursday.  The workplace has been so pleasant and relaxed since she's been gone.  One of our co-workers was saying all of her stress has lifted, and another pointed out that we have been able to do our jobs without being constantly distracted from them.

You'd think two days of dazed relaxation would renew me for the fray, but instead I find myself so tired of what's going on that I can hardly stand to go.  It is not a healthy work environment to be questioned every moment and watched like a fat fieldmouse by a hungry raptor.  And the woman never stops talking!  Though she is actually a wonderful person (when she isn't making us collectively miserable), her voice slices through you like a pitted, rusty knife... ALL DAY LONG.

You know, when she started we would have staff meetings on Thursday mornings, but those meetings stopped... probably because they don't want our opinions anymore.

I can't feel too bad about what happened earlier when I was denied an interview because the same thing happened to someone who has been with the library for 10 years now.

It isn't us!  They send you to workshops praising things like diversity and then they want to hire automatons, yes men/women... clones of the establishment.

I may have said this already but it was only seeing my co-workers yesterday that gave me the strength to go in the building and back to work. Today, I'm going to need them again.