Alligator Tastes Like Chewy Chicken

November 12, 2009 at 7:33 am | In fun & frolicking | 27 Comments

Sunday I went to a new restaurant opening thanks to Double B who was the craftsman artist behind the interior of the restaurant. It is gorgeous inside and if you live in Seattle, you should definitely go check it out when it officially opens.

The opening included small plates of menu items for tasting and an open bar. I don’t know about you but I firmly believe two of the most magical words in the English language when put together are OPEN and BAR. So of course, I got a little drunk.

My sister’s friend J was there and since she and I are both single, we were checking out the eye candy in the room. Maybe it was my booze goggles but there seemed to be a higher percentage of attractive men in the room than I generally experience in Seattle. While J ogled the pretty boy bartender, I scoped the scene for stocky dudes with shaved heads and/or facial hair. The thing to note is when scamming with a girlfriend it is very important that you have different taste in guys because otherwise? It will not be pretty.

One of Double B’s friends had sold his car and bought a boat called the Morning Wood. So of course when I met him I had to say, “So I hear you have morning wood?” because I am classy like that. He was impervious to my charms. But some other guy came over and apparently was looking down my dress while we talked about restaurants. I didn’t realize he was checking out my rack until later when someone pointed it out. He gave me his card and wrote his wife’s blog url on it and told me to call him anytime so we could go have dinner. Later I was told they have an open marriage but still. . . really? The things I get myself into when tipsy.

Sizzle Fact #46: I am an obnoxious flirt when I am drunk.

I want the entire latte, not just the foam.

November 11, 2009 at 7:05 am | In light bulb moments, living out loud, processing | 21 Comments

I’ve been getting home after 8pm almost every day for over a week which means I either don’t eat dinner or eat it around 9pm and then fall into bed to get not enough sleep. I am tired to my bones. Between pulling off a fundraiser at work (successfully, I might add) and having multiple issues crop up at the building along with two open apartments, to say I’ve been slammed is an understatement.

So that’s my main excuse for not writing.

My secondary excuse is more emotion-based. Like I said, I was feeling punchy. I even went so far as to write a list entitled: “People I Want To Punch In the Face”. There were eight people on the original list along with the reason(s) why I wanted to cause them harm. It was rather cathartic. A week has passed and I don’t feel as full of rage but at the same time something shifted in me. I just feel D.O.N.E. with the bullshit. Maybe I say this all the time (do I say this all the time?) but I mean it. A switch was flipped and I am on a rampage. The kind that doesn’t lay down and let you walk all over her, treat her like shit, blow sunshine up her ass, take her for granted or be an asshole all over her for the 100th time. Time’s up! I’m walking! Later!

It’s a weird feeling but a good one I think…once I get underneath the spazzing and uncomfortableness of this newfound self-confidence. I’ve always been good at faking self-esteem but lately I am not actually faking it. I just have it. And boundaries and a backbone to boot. I’m not running around being mean to people. Quite the contrary. I’m owning what I want and need and not settling for mediocrity. It’s totally bad ass. If you’re not doing this already, I highly recommend it.

Let’s start a revolution.

“Find a cure/Find a cure for my life/Put a price/Put a price on my soul/Build a wall/Build a fortress around my heart/Oh my god/Oh you think I’m in control/Oh my god/Oh you think it’s all for fun/Is this fun for you?” -Oh My God, Ida Maria

Sign me up for that, please.

November 10, 2009 at 6:50 am | In living out loud, love, processing | 21 Comments

Who wouldn’t want to get an email that said this?

“You are an incredibly smart and strong woman. You are making amazing strides in putting yourself first…and more and more remembering and KNOWING that you are worthy of a man who will communicate WELL, make you laugh, is smart as shit and mostly ADORE you for who you are, quirks and all…even when you make mistakes. And the right ONE will NOT make you feel SMALL…but because of how they love you, will make you feel like you are POWERFUL in your perfect imperfection. And they will always, even when they fuck up, come back to what matters most…you and he and a  loving trusting partnership full of integrity.”

It’s easy to settle for less when you feel like less. So I keep on working at feeling like more.

Thanks Jenny Two Times for the reminder.

 

Outrun Sorrow

November 5, 2009 at 7:13 am | In family, my neurosis, processing | 38 Comments

I don’t know how she did it. How she survived losing the love of her life. Not once but twice. First to the bottle, then to cancer. Maybe three times even- to blindness then booze then illness. The sequence does not matter really but that it all happened.

Before the elephant in the room came to live with us, life was happier. We laughed a lot and had family adventures; we ate meals together at the same table and played board games; we did chores and went to the drive in and got ice cream cones. We got tucked in tight and kissed good night. The house was filled with love. My parents made that for us. Their love made our family.

We all experienced the same situation- my Mom, sister and I- but in entirely different ways. My Mom has asked me when I am going to be past all this. I believe her intentions come from a place of worry and concern because she’s my Mom and she hates to see me unhappy or in pain and maybe she wishes she could take it all away and make it better. Maybe she feels guilt too because she was the grown up and I was the kid. My Mom and I are close and I love her fiercely but there are certain things she and I have never been able to talk out even when we’ve tried. We are a lot alike even if she might deny it. I see myself now as a version of her when she was my age minus certain life circumstances. This complicates our communication. I don’t talk a lot about my Mom here because, well, she is alive and she reads my blog. Frankly, it’s easier to talk about someone who is not living. No rebuttal, you know?

So how does a person survive watching the man she loves stop choosing life? That’s the thing that I can’t figure out. After bouncing from one grief coping mechanism to the next, how do you come to peace? I suppose I wonder this because I can’t fathom it. Either allowing myself to love someone that deeply or watching the man I love leave. Maybe in our own way we all tried to save him. At age 38 or age 16 or age 13, we all tried to love him enough to fix him. And almost 18 years later we still have pieces of it to sort out. Isn’t that a big part of why we’re all in therapy?

How do you watch your partner take up space in the home you created but no longer participate in life? How do you talk to a drunk, depressed, passive aggressive? How do you take care of your kids, the mortgage, the bills, your full time job with him passed out in the chair and still manage to make dinner? I’m a grown up now and I think about how hard that must have been for my Mom. All those pressures. All that heartache. All those choices to make with no help.

She did the best she could.

I’ve spent my whole life afraid that I might find the kind of love my parents had and that it would turn out the way their love story did. A man lying in a bed breathing his last breaths way across town as two teenagers cry in their childhood home knowing that the woman driving frantically to get to him would not make it in time to say good-bye.

Maybe that wasn’t the end. But it’s what has stayed with me. And I’m trying to make my peace with it.

“Because you thought that you could outrun sorrow/Take your own advice/Thunder and lightening gets you rain/Run an airtight mission, a Cousteau expedition/To find a diamond at the bottom of the drain/A diamond at the bottom of the drain …” -Magpie to the Morning, Neko Case

Time Out

November 2, 2009 at 7:04 am | In everyday frustrations, my neurosis, processing, vent | Comments Off

While everyone seems to be signing up for the write-every-single-day NaBloPoMo, I have decided to do the opposite. And I never was much of a rebel.

I’ve found myself far too angsty, angry, pent up, depressed, irritable and sad as of late and when I come here, I can’t seem to give voice to it. I feel a pressure to post for everyone BUT me. I feel like I can’t talk about the things that are weighing on me in a public forum. Why yes, I do have boundaries and halloween09 015sometimes I actually do keep my mouth shut.

See? Even that sounded bitchy. I can’t seem to escape it.

I blame an emotional growth spurt. At least, I hope to hell that’s what’s going on with me and not that I’ve turned into an asshole. I’m going to get my head on straight and I’m not going to write until I have something of consequence to say. Not until the feeling like I am drowning subsides. Not until I stop wanting to punch the world in the face.

Last Minute Whim

October 30, 2009 at 6:54 am | In fun & frolicking | 40 Comments

So I was going to dress up as an owl but time got the best of me and I wasn’t able to make my costume. Then at work some of us decided WEDNESDAY (two days notice, mind you) that we should all come to work as female singers from the 1980’s.

Guess who I picked?

Your only hint: Think short hair.

Continue reading Last Minute Whim…

A Smattering

October 28, 2009 at 8:40 am | In float my boat | 28 Comments

I’ve been inspired by my BlogHer roomies (and good pals!) to share my happy. And to make it into bullets thanks to another friend. Here goes nothing everything:

What about you?

I *Think* I Might Have a Problem

October 27, 2009 at 5:41 am | In body image, float my boat | 66 Comments

But I can’t decide which is the bigger issue.

1) The fact that I keep taking self-portraits in public restrooms.

Or

2) The fact that I went from owning zero belts to owning six.

Exhibit A

Red Belt

Red Belt

Exhibit B

Silver & Gold Belt

Exhibit C

White Belt

White Belt

Okay so Exhibit B was taken in my own apartment bathroom. What is with me and the hand-on-hip pose? Also, I seem to want to wear heels or boots* all the time. WHO AM I?!

Hmm, I think I like her.

*I ordered new boots to replace the first ones that did not fit but they are on back order. Do I have bad boot karma or something?

If you’d like to read about my weekend adventure with Kaply, go visit her here.

Locked

October 26, 2009 at 6:20 am | In everyday frustrations, the super | 17 Comments

It’s Sunday night and I’m settling in after a long day. I’ve just put on my pajamas and am making some butternut squash soup. Already I’d changed light bulbs, cleaned, did a walk through, scheduled appointments for repairs, did a lease signing with a new tenant, and vacuumed. I’ve attempted to thwart an electrical problem in one apartment to no avail.

So, of course, it would follow that the moment my bra comes off my phone would ring. It’s one of my tenants sounding rather desperate because he’s locked out of his apartment. As in, his doorknob will not turn.

I hang up the phone, turn down the soup, throw on presentable clothing and make my way with screwdriver in hand wondering how in the hell I am going to be able to fix this one. I act on gut instinct, not training. I use logic and sometimes, trusty MacGyver-like skills involving paper clips, gum and duct tape. I learned the duct tape thing from my Dad, actually. He’d duct tape anything that was broken.

He and his friend are standing there forlornly when I reach his floor. Upon inspection it seems the turning mechanism on the old knob is definitely stuck. I unscrew the panel thinking maybe we can lift the thing off and thus remedy the problem until a locksmith can come out the next day. But the panel was stuck on with the old lock that didn’t even have a key. Some of the apartment doors have original door knobs that contain the original lock in the same panel but with a new deadbolt lock installed right above. What happens is that over time the interior turning mechanism gets jammed meaning you can unlock the deadbolt but you can’t get the handle to turn and open the door.

Can you tell I don’t really know that much about locksmithing?

We decided we were desperate enough to get a hammer and wail at it hoping to knock it free. I let the tenant have first dibs to get his frustration out. On his second hit the door opened without even busting the knob off. Hallelujah! Now we’re in the apartment but uh oops, the knob still won’t turn even from the inside. I tried not to panic and joked, “Well if we’re stuck in here, I hope you have food cuz I haven’t had any dinner.” We managed to remove the panel from the inside and he grabbed some trusty duct tape to seal down the offending mechanism. He instructed us to always tape vertically, not horizontally. Know why? Because of Watergate.

That’s what he said. No foolin’.

Anticipate

October 23, 2009 at 6:54 am | In my neurosis, processing | 30 Comments

In my last session with my therapist she said, “Those are just feelings; it is not an emergency.”

Excuse me?

So now not only are feelings not facts (thanks, Kaply) but they are also not an emergency. Hrmph. This is. . . weird. I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around these new concepts. Do you mean other people are existing in the world and not letting their emotions rule their lives? Who are these people? I’ll tell you who they are: They are robots. Plain and simple.

Okay so obviously I’m joking. I have to joke or else I will lose my everlovingmind. This week is slamming me with opportunities for personal growth. The kind where I make hard decisions to stand up for myself, to look deep into what it is I believe I deserve and then. . . use my own voice to speak up about it. Does telling people what you want come easily to you? Because for all my opinions and pockets of confidence, when it comes to love I have the hardest time telling someone what I want and need. I could say something derogatory about how it’s no wonder I am single but that’s not very nice. And I need to be nice to myself. Why is it so difficult?

I am having trouble with the deserving part of all this. There is this story I have told myself for years and years. It’s about a girl who gives and gives and gives and people like her so she keeps giving because clearly that’s the measure of her worth. She gives outwardly but not inwardly. She only knows herself as a giver and to stay in her comfort zone, she continually seeks out receivers. She gives so much that one day she comes up empty because no one taught her how to replenish that which she  gave away.

I do not like this story.

So I am writing a new one.

I know that it is incredibly freeing to speak up about what you are feeling. To give voice to what you hold deep inside you. I think many people live their entire lives pushing emotions down or away and then wonder why they are unhappy or unfulfilled. I will not be one of those people.

“We don’t say everything that we could/So that we can say later/Oh, you misunderstood/I hold my cards up/Close to my chest/I say what I have to/And I hold back the rest/Cause someone you don’t know/Is someone you don’t know/Get a firm grip, girl/Before you let go/For every hand extended/Another lies in wait/Keep your eye on that one/Anticipate/If there’s anything I’ve learned/All these years on my own/It’s how to find my own way there/And how to find my own way back home…” -Anticipate, Ani DiFranco

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