It's a lot further than it looks, Larry

Single-serving friends are human highlight reels.  In a single meeting, any one is interesting, as they search a lifetime for those incidents that convey the image they hope to present.  The highs and lows are offered up as representational antecdotes; for that brief meeting, the lag between those moments does not exist - life exists in leaps between peaks and valleys.  An entire story unfolds in cliff notes with no history and no future. I am well versed in this art form.

I had lunch with my ex-husband today (yesterday).  It was the first time I had seen him since he signed the divorce papers.  The past 18 months of someone I had known intimately for nearly a decade were reduced to a single hour-long serving. My reel was playing as well.  The conversation, point by point went almost exactly as I had predicted - though my foot landed in my mouth on a few occassions.  It was a pleasant conversation with a pleasant person.  Only after lunch did we begin to chat with even the slightest nod to reality. 

Some of you may be aware that I am a bit of a smart-ass.  It's almost unstoppable - the mouth moves much faster than the brain.  Making every attempt to be as polite and supportive as possible, I still let rip a couple of times, not the least of which was, upon him asking if we could stay in touch, responding that I was not interested because "If you got out of prison, would you want to keep in touch with your cellmate, or just forget it ever happened?"  This was followed quickly by a knock on the title to his last EP (which I assumed was a reference to me) and derision for one of the better songs on that effort. None of this meant with malice - just a mind that thinks in inappropriate analogies, especially when trying to keep things light.

Most see me as an open book, and I tend to agree - albeit with many passages distilled to sound bites and [this page is intentionally left blank].  Rough drafts are in heirogliphics.  Considering my spelling skills, this is almost inevitable.  My skill with summation tends to be lacking, and the song referenced above exposed and hurt me in ways I could not express at the time.  I am a very private person in many regards, and the bitchy sound bites given often bely a much different sentiment.  Only after I have come to terms with things in my head am I able to speak with any real meaning on a chapter of my life.

My ex-husband was a musican and a performer - an inherantly public persona.  I remember the day I filled for divorce, commenting to a friend "Well, at least he has some good material for the next song."  Finally hearing the results of that, almost a year ago was painful.  Though anticipated, it felt like a second betrayal, as the veracity of the situation was compromised for that of the melody.  My worst nightmare at the time was to walk into Old Navy and hear "that song" overhead; for the first time in my life, I wished absolute failure for another.  

My issue was not simply hearing my ex sing his skewed version, but to hear an exhuberant chior clapping along in the background, knowing full well that many people I knew and had considered friends were there in full support.  At the time it was difficult to not see it as a slap in the face - now publicly and collectively.  What had been my life was gone, and I was no more than a footnote in a story told to attentive fans as they screamed back to the stage.  He had the same life and the same circles that I had left, yet I had not found my place. Now I had digital verification that the gap had been filled in the lives of all the people involved; my presence all but forgotten by a circle with whom I once passed night after night after night.

Fast forward. Today, it is a different story.  I drove home with his CD in my car.   I listened to it all the way back home to Austin.   There is some good music in there, and I found myself singing along and smiling to some of the older, well known tunes.  That same song was on the CD I took home with me.  Somewhere in the past few months, I finally feel at peace with all of it. 

Coincidentally, Thursday night a friend asked me how I had changed in the last three years.  Considering the last three years, the opposite would be a better question: how have I NOT changed in that time?  "I want" is a phrase I can now complete without absolute defference to others.  I do not need to change from one group to the next - searching for a way that I can be needed by them.  My interests are my own.  My decisions, my mistakes, my victories - all stem from the same source.  

This "change" was a recurring theme through the lunch, as we both professed  metamorphasis.  I know I have, and am so grateful.  I hope he has as well.  The bitterness from the divorce has faded - in a way, it's difficult to reconcile that period of my life with the person I am today.  I dealt with my ex and others honestly during that portion of my life, but those actions would now be a complete denial of myself; they exist in a language I cannot quite comprehend - the child that has willingly abandonded her native tounge.

I do not know if I will stay in touch with my ex, though I am more open to the idea now.  I married a man who had all the makings of a wonderful, caring, loving human being.  There is a wonderful man there, and seeing him today reminded me of that.  I hope the actions he now takes in his life help him to live as one.  I hope he creates for himself a life in which he is not just proud of the accolades from others, but of the path he has chosen to earn them, and the work that he has created.

It is nice to feel hope again for some one I once championed so enthusiastically.

Close chapter; fade to black.

Everybody's a critic

Including me today. :)

I'm becoming a regular at the Saxon Pub - particularly on Monday nights.  Went there tonight with an old friend I am just getting back in touch with - my fault we lost contact.  Once you go long enough, it becomes almost embarrassing to respond to the emailed updates.  I'm still hanging my head in shame and taking my licks, but things look back on track. 

Mondays at the Saxon typically consist of Matt the Electrician and Bob Schnieder.  Matt is a new pleasure for me; I've fawned over Bob since the Ugly Americans in '96. 

Bob Schnieder is a beatiful creature - an alpha male from whom it is difficult to avert your eyes.  Wonderful performer, charismatic, always seeming to have such a good time that he doesn't give a damn what is happening around him (as long as it doesn't distract from his music).  At this performance, I was lucky enough to be seated front and center - nothing between me and a full frontal of Bob but a bit of air space.  I was a happy camper.

That is the closest I've ever been while he performed.  Bob was dressed in a flowing white shirt, open at the neck.  His hair is extremely short, and I noticed something new as I watched him sing - he has a tendancy to roll his lips over his teeth and hold his mouth in a perpetually bemused expression, with the corners pinched back into his cheeks.  His eyes seemed slightly out of tune with the rest of him - focused on a punchline in the upper left quadrent of the venue.  It seemed vaguely familiar, and halfway through the set, it hit me - Bob looks like Steven Segal.  Seriously.  Watch an interview of Segal, then go watch Bob perform live.  You will not be able to un-see it.

This is disturbing.  At first, I couldn't reconcile the two - how could my college sex god possibly channel a sub-par martial arts action hero (and I do use that term loosely)?  Steven Segal is an El Camino of the male world - undoubtedly (overly) fuelled by testosterone, but not something a lady would ever consider taking for a joy ride.

After contemplating this dilema for the remainder of the set, there is only one possible conclusion - and it means I'm about to type a sentence I never deemed possible. However, considering the complete god-like package the Bob is blessed to occupy, there is no escaping it. 

I've been wrong all along.  Steven Segal is one sexy mother fucker.

I've made my bed

And now I lay in it.  Of course, grammatically I may have chosen the wrong verb.  Would you expect any less at this point?

I am single.  And yes, it is by choice.  I think truely, for anyone it is by choice.  I normally don't put anything "real" in my blogs - random crap that makes me laugh.

Tonight I went to a wedding.  A wonderful wedding between two wonderful people I am just getting to know - Trent and Erica.  It was the first secular wedding I have attended.  It was officiated by the main Mr. Sinus Theater guy, with his surfer outfit topped by a scarf containing the zelda symbols.  Rock on.  Every moment was beautiful, I met the ultimate dirty librarian, and had an absolute blast start to finish.  I am currently buzzing my ass off. 

I guess I don't know what feels so real about today.  Seeing two people come together for the right reasons.  Seeing two of my friends, who have an unconventional marriage, but are two of the best matched people I've met.  Seeing other couples coming together...right now, I am intentionally single.  In the past, I've always wanted to be connected to someone else.  Now, simply saying "hey, this is me..." it is all that I have - and it's a terrifying proposition.  Thankfully, since I've taken this stance, I've gotten some of the best friends I could imagine.  In the past few months, I've finally actually made friends - people who will be in my life regardless of what choices I make in relationships.  People who are around me because they choose me, just like I choose them.  At 28 years old, I've never had that before.  I wouldn't trade that for the world.

On a night spent celebrating couples, a part of me misses being paired off - knowing that I belong to something greater than myself.  And it is a bit lonely to come home alone from that, I won't deny it.  But I'm so greatful that I now have the friends I do.  That no matter what, I have the people I need around me.

To those of you that are there regardless of sexual attraction, potential for action, or comfort on any level, but just because - thank you.  You are the reason I love this town, and you are the reason I wake up happy every morning.

My drunk ass should delete this when I sober up.

do dee do

I think I lost a major section of my mind at some point early in my life.  It was the part tasked with organization.  I have many, many fabulous qualities (if you don't believe me, I'll be happy to send you a presentation, titled "Why Christie is Better than Everyone Else: An Ilustrated Novel in Three Parts").  However, I can't seem to accomplish certain things.  Ever.

1. Finding my keys.  The moment I walk in the door (and sometimes before this), they are gone.  I get in my car, sit down, and have to look for them to start it - when I just used the same keys to unlock the door.  I have found them in the door, in the freezer, in suitcases, on the floor in closets....When heading out, I give as much time to finding the keys as to getting groomed.

2. Cleaning.  Never, ever come upstairs at my place.  I will not expand on this because, if I don't want you to see it, I certainly don't want to describe it.  Suffice to say that me having a two story home is a very, very good thing.

3. Paying bills on time.  If it weren't for auto-pay, I'd be reconnecting electricity, phone, DSL, and trying to get out of forclosure continuously.  Pre-online banking, I saw debt collectors as friendly reminders.

4. Returning things I bought but don't want.  If I don't get a purchase right the first time, tough.  I'm still keeping it.

5. Taking out the trash.  If it don't smell, dont' move it.

6. Getting the mail.  See: paying bills.  The post office emptied my mailbox and put a "vacant" notice in it at the last place I lived.  I had to call to resume delivery.  Never did.

7. Doing anything I find boring.  Which is exactly why I'm typing this now.  I have laundry to do.  I should be cleaning.  I am not.  Instead, I am writing about it.  And sending emails to people on MySpace I've never met.  I've sent 5 so far...all to bloggers I've read.

*sigh*

This is extremely pathetic.  Do they have treatment programs for this?

Holy crap, I have a bed

Since June 16th, I have been camping in my own condo.  I started with a 1/2 inch pad and a sleeping bag.  Upgraded that to a (leaky) air mattress.  Upgraded again to a (less leaky) airmattress.   90 percent of my stuff is now in storage, but at least it's in the same zip code.

All of my underwear is in my closet.  Every article of clothing I own is in one location. Today, I have a desk to set my laptop on instead of a pantry door and two saw horses.  I have an actual chair to go with the desk.  It is possible for me to be indoors and comfortably seated AT THE SAME TIME. And most importantly, I have a bed.

Sure, the bed sits directly on the concrete subfloor in a room outlined in carpet tacs. And my downstairs is devoid of furniture. There are still gapping holes where appliances once lived. Guests are still served from a poorly-iced cooler while sitting in fold-out chairs on the balcony. My tooth brush and toothpaste rest on a bed of popcorn ceiling leavings. The second bedroom is still affectionatly dubbed "the killing room" in honor of the black plastic that lines the walls and floors.  I could wrap up a body and no one would be the wiser.

I believe this brings a new bottom-end to the definition of "low maintenance woman". 3 pieces of furniture (desk, chair, bed) and it's like I won the lottery.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go lay down.

Because damn it, I have a bed.

Here there be tygers

I'm known as a rather fearless individual.  I love the rush that comes with new experiences - especially if they are fool-hearty in some way.  I have held venemous snakes, given speeches in front of hundreds of people, jumped out of airplanes, bungee jumped, canoed while surrounded by geese, and even disobayed the 5-second rule.  Being afraid of something pisses me off - and I'll often jump right in simply because I refuse to be controlled by anything, most especially my own irrational paranoia.

Despite all this, there are at least three things I've had a hard time facing: parrallel parking, driving a big truck, and slimy looking bugs heading straight at me.  This week I've faced all three. 

I parrallel parked for the first time Wednesday, and despite feeling foolish for having to start over twice, finally made it.  Mission accomplished - could do it again.  My downstairs balcony over looks a dry creek filled with asian jasmine - a roaches paradise.  They make me squeal like a girl.  I'm now armed with Raid, but still duck and cover.  Today, I rented a moving truck (and not the little one) to pick up my flooring.  I drove it from south to north austin - and even turned left across traffic. Both hands were firmly planted in the 10 and 2 position.

If there is anything that can get me to quit smoking, I believe driving one of those things could do it.  I was petrified the whole time, and no sort of distraction was acceptable.  I could have thrown up at any moment - the only thing that stopped me was it meant my eyes would have been off of the road.  I hit 2 curbs, got honked at 3 times, and almost took out the gas station pump.  Miraculously, I, and all pedestrians, survived.  But the truck won.  Fear unconquered.

I move my furniture in two weeks.  I own four things that I am not capable of lifting and carrying downstairs by myself.  Regardless, a large truck is involved.  I've already googled for movers.

Son, you're a man now

I've joined the club.  About 3 weeks ago I began my (now constant) treks to Home Depot to get supplies to work on my condo.  Initially it was overwhelming, and I felt like an idiot.  I needed to rip up the carpet, but couldn't find the tools.  When I asked for an exact-o knife I was told they didn't carry them.  Found out I was REALLY looking for a box cutter and/or utility knife.  Now I know the lingo.

I just got back to the condo with everything I need to finish prepping for the floors on Friday - not just paint and spackle, but concrete patcher, floor leveling compound, sand paper, and power tool accessories. While shopping, I actually said to one of the orange-aproned experts "I have a right-angle grinder and am looking for a wire brush to finish scraping the vinyl adhesive off of the concrete.  Is this the attachment you'd recommend?".  He said yes (major victory) but cautioned me that some of the sub-floor may come up in the process.  Not to worry - I already have experience in mixing concrete and spot-fixing. No more head-pats for me.

Watch out world.  I have a compound miter saw and I'm not afraid to use it.

Thus I give up the spear

For the past two weeks I have been in a dance of sorts with some local residents. There is a monumental nest of yellow jackets in the stone wall that faces my home, and at any given time, there are up to 20 of these massive creatures swarming around and diving at the larger occupants of the complex.

There is one that is different.  On a metal post just outside my door sat the largest yellow jacket in existance.  His abdomen is almost as large as my thumb. You can hear him land. From a distance. He stands sentinal on the post, shifting positons only to make sure he has a clear line of site to the nearest threat - or what passes as a threat in a yellow jacket's mind.  I have lived in terror of this beast since I moved in. As long as the sun is up, he is stationed there - watching and waiting. I almost felt the need to make offerings to him - something to ensure safe passage from home to car.

I made my stand this morning.  Realizing that I am a) a human and b) capable of buying excellent poisons, I decided it was time for my little gaurd to meet his maker.  First I took a few pictures - proof of the worthiness of my advesary.  I slunk (bravely) around with my camera, wishing I had a more powerful zoom.  With a couple of decent photos, I went back in and grabbed the Raid.  One quick shot and it was over - he flew off drunkenly - presumably to die.

And now the real drama begins.  What I had viewed as a malevonent stare may have been much more benign.  The other, lesser yellow jackets are now out in droves, as if celebrating that their witch is finally dead.  There is no longer one passive yellow jacket sitting on my post.  4-5 rise and fall at any given time. Instead of slinking (again, bravely) by the original, I'm now dashing in terror down a hallway, eyes darting  in every direction.  Either I killed their fearless leader and they are now engaged in a turf war, or they seek revenge on my act of vengence.  I only hope their memories are short. 

You have arrived

I closed on the condo!  I'm officially a home owner again - this time, to the sheet rock in.  No lawn work.  Yay!

I closed at 2:30 on Friday the 1th of June and was in the process of destruction that night.  10ish days later, the downstairs is trashed, the kitchen looks ransaked, and the sliding glass door is covered in ceiling texture.  Well, come to think of it, everything I own is covered in celing texture.  The sliding glass door's was just sprayed on.

Here are some pics of the whole process. 

First off, meet Ed.  Hi Ed.  Ed is the biggest reason my entire place is as destroyed as it is right now (this is a good thing).  Ed takes as much (if not more) glee in taking a saw and sledgehammer to a wall as I do.  We like Ed.

Prior to Ed's arrival, I had stripped the texture off the ceilings and pulled up most of the carpet.  I'm not the neatest person in the world - and, since everything is getting replaced, I didn't see much point in being careful.  This increases the fun factor exponentially.  This is the top of my fridge - and every surface of every thing in my home screams "Christmas in Kansas".

After hours of fun, the living room now looks like this:

Notice the heel in the middle of the floor?  I'm a delicate flower.

The kitchen lost a row of cabinets blocking the pass-through and a pantry.  It has gained a slinky-like outlet dangling from the middle of the ceiling.  Ed did the honors on ripping out the wall cabinets - laughing maniacally the entire time.  I was there to "catch" the cabinets if they fell.  We swapped off on the pantry destruction.  Pulling off the facade was the best - though sledge hammering the wall/shelves was a close second.  I hurt for 2 days after this.

Sean came by and helped with probably the most daunting task - taking a sledge hammer (I love that word!) to the mortared in tile in the entry way - it involved breaking up the tile, the morter, and the 1 inch of concrete underneath.  Sean knocked it out in an hour.

I hauled it all out to the dumpster using the drawer from a clear plastic tub - 15 trips and ages of whining.  Still one bucket of it in the entryway.  A momento.

Last photo.  I'm already staying in the condo - theoretically so I can work at any random moment.  In truth, it's so I can enjoy being down in this area.  I'm back into enjoying live music, Alamo Draft House down the street...sorry.  You all have heard all this before...

So, since renovation is on and furniture is not here, I'm camping.  Really.  Camping pad, sleeping bag.  Wireless internet though!

Bed comes in about 1 month. 

There are more photos here:

http://s80.photobucket.com/albums/j173/nytexan21/Condo Destruction/

 

As a side note -

I had a trip to Dallas the Monday after I closed on the condo. Since my car was in the shop, I had a rental - and ended up with the GPS system on the car.  Driving between Dallas and Austin is a rather straight-forward experience "North/South on 35".  This time, I left to get there in the middle of the afternoon. No bunnies died in the creation of this experience.

Despite pulling me away from the condo, I was looking forward to this trip more than usual.  I had plans to meet up with an old high school friend, the work I was heading up for is probably my favorite part of my job, and since I work in construction, I was about to meet up with 10 people who could build a house from scratch.  With Weeknd of Destruction (I) behind me, I had a desperate need to get some answers to my home improvement questions.  Had an excellent time re-meeting Micheal, the work went well, and my questions were answered. Of course, by the time my last day had arrived, I was dying to get home.

As I hopped in the car, I looked over at the GPS (Neverlost in the Hertz world). I've used it frequently when I've been on the road, and am always amused by the slightly-snotty-not-quite-British-calming (narcoleptic) voice that announces the exact same things every drive, with the exact same lack of inflection:

"Right turn in.....1...point....1....miles." 

"Keep..to the........left."

"Right turn in........point.......5..miles."

Curves, turns, straights, continues...marking every point of progress on the road.  Somehow, the idea of hearing this called out on my way home seemed appealing.  I type in my address and started off.

The drive from Dallas to Waco to Austin is longer than the drive in the other direction.  Counting it down turn by turn, lane by lane, makes it even longer.  Each new road announcement made me smile - as did watching the distance shrink (and seeing my actual time far outpace the projected trip time).  Finally, I reach my home street and take the right turn that puts me feet away from my door, and to the moment I'd been counting down to with Ms. NeverLost for the past 198.4 miles.  She says to me:

"Approaching destination on the left."

"You have arrived."

 

 

 

 

Yes.  I listened to GPS lady talk over my music periodically for the past 3.25 hours just know I'd made it home.  4th or 5th trip to Dallas in as many weeks.  Gotta have something to do, right?

Why my parents think I need looked after

I'm commuting to Dallas frequently these days.  And, due to my less-than-positive feelings about the city, I put the drive off as long as possible.  I needed to be in Dallas today at 8 AM, so I decided to get up at 3:30 in the morning for the drive.  This is a bad idea for an insomniac.

I decided to make my Tuesday evening a short one so I could get plenty of sleep.  Met up with a friend at Starbucks for some games and had a decaf latte.  I think the caffine was left in - I couldn't sleep.  So, rather than stay awake all night and drive at 3:30, at 12:30 I decided to make the trip.  I popped a pillow and blanket into my car, intending to sleep at the office.  Corporate camping.

Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out that way.  First, I killed a rabbit.  Heard the squish and everything.  Next, at about 2 AM I stopped for gas.  I set the pump, started the gas, and went inside for a drink.  I came out to see that my tank was full, but the auto-shutoff hadn't kicked in.  Gasoline was spewing everywhere - my car was doused.  I waded through the puddle and shut off the pump, wondering what the heck the impact of 6 gallons of gas on the outside of my car would be.  With 2 AM mentality, I decided it would be fine, replaced the pump and drove on.

I think the combination of caffine crash, gasoline fumes from my shoes, and the late hour kicked in a few minutes later.  I'd change lanes to avoid cars, only to realize it was oncoming traffic on the opposite side of the highway. Despite being only 45 minutes from my office, it seemed like a good idea to pull into a rest stop and sleep a bit.

My car has seats that recline into a bed, and this was my first chance to use them.  I slept about an hour, then woke up BAKING.  I turned on the car and put the A/C on max, and fell back asleep. 

Did you know that the CRV battery can power the A/C for 1 hour and 4 minutes?  Me either.  Now we all do.  I woke up to a "tick tick tick" noise.  Battery dead at 5:05 AM. 

I went car to car to find someone with jumper cables.  No luck.  However, many truckers valiently offered me a ride to Dallas.  So, at least I knew I could get TOO work.  The maintenance guy at the stop indicated that his replacement would be there in an hour and had jumper cables, so, rather than calling a service, I decided to go ahead and change for work and wait.  I grabbed my clothes and went to the lady's room - where I managed to change clothes without touching anything.

For those that don't see me often, I've been shrinking slowly but steadily over the past couple of years.  Unfortunately, I did NOT take this into consideration when selecting my clothes for the trip.  I pulled my skirt on, zipped up...and watched it sag back down to a less-than-ladylike position.  After some experimentation, I found that if I pooched out my stomach and kept my legs slightly askew, it would stay up without me holding on.  Properly dressed, I returned to the rest stop lot and started harrassing the new arrivals for jumper cables.  I missed a few, as my waddle inhibited my speed.

Finally, I find someone with jumper cables.  He politely pulls up and grabs the cables.  As the sparks fly, I start to wonder if those 6 gallons of gas on the car are going to create a problem.  Too late to say anything - and all works well.  My car starts on the first turn.  Finally, I'm off to the office.

I get in, waddle upstairs, and spend 10 minutes looking for a manual stapler to fasten my skirt in the proper position.  Finally sealed into my clothes, I start prepping for my meeting...only to realize it starts at 9, not 8, and I had a whole extra hour to play.

Hence this blog.

Lessons learned?

1. Decaffinated coffee is made in the same pot as caffinated coffee.
2. Calendars only help if you read them.
3. Gas smells nice after 15 minutes of inhalation.
4. Bunny squishing is icky.
5. Gas will take the bunny right off your car.
6. CRV seat/beds are comfortable.
7. People at rest stops at 5 AM are friendly unless they have children.  In which case, they think YOU are scary.
8. Contrary to popular belief, it's easier for a woman to get assistance if all her clothes stay ON.
9. 2.5 hours is plenty of sleep if you humiliate yourself.
10. Despite fabulous parents, I ended up at least 1 part moron.

Edit: I was never driving into oncoming traffic - the reflection of the lights on the road just confused me.

 

So many things, so little time

Ack!!!! Where to begin??? It's been an incredible couple of weeks - with several things converging at once. Not even sure where to line up to reach the end. It's Saturday night, and I cut my evening short to come home and get to work - if things go as I hope....well, I'll get to that later. I'm going anti-social for a bit - and if things go well, I'll be forced into it for quite some time. Hopefully I'll be back on here glowing in a couple of weeks. We shall see.

Happy happy joy joy. Saturday night, home alone, and more excited than I've ever been.

Puppy dogs and rainbows

I've never been much of a pet person.  I had animals growing up, but they were more my sister's than mine.  I had reptiles, but how attached can you get to a snake or lizard?  You're a warm rock and source of crickets/mice - affection is minimal.

The first pet I had that really changed that was Ali - the "stupid cute" dog on my front page.  My ex-husband and I had two dogs - Gidget, adopted from my father, and Ali, a puppy we got when we went to "just look".  All the other puppies were tiny, pointless lumps.  Ali ran up to me, untied my shoelaces, then attacked the other shoe.  I went to the ATM and came home with my first real pet.

Ali and Gidget did not get along.  Gidget is cranky - Ali is...clueless.  I think I'm the only person with a real appreciation for Ali - nothing phases her.  And she's not trainable - just happy.  Blindly, blissfully, eternally happy.  She'd greet me at the door when I came home as if it were the most exciting thing that had ever happened.  Re-entering the room elicited the same response.  Storms terrified her - there were many nights I'd have to stay up with this quivering little thing, holding her as she climbed over me, trying to get away from the thunder. 

Well, things happen - I got divorced and, due to my travel schedule, couldnt' keep the dogs.  They didn't eat when boarded, and travel meant boarding them over half the time.  It seemed cruel, so I planned to put them up for adoption.  That was one of the most difficult decisions I'd ever made - but I couldn't just up and quit my job at that point, so the dogs needed a new home.  I waivered on the decision for months, before finally deciding to do it. 

My dad agreed to look after them until they found a new home.  His wife fell in love, and my puppies now belong to my dad and his wife.  Since I'm back in Dallas every month, I see them fairly often.  Up until this visit, they didn't seem to care when I came by - rather than cuddle up, they wanted to play chase and catch.  Instead of climbing all over me, they'd run off with each other.

This visit was different.  My dad had moved back to the house I grew up in.  When I walked in, Ali is doing "running man" against the sliding glass door.  I go out and sit down with my girls - knealling on the floor, forhead to forhead with Gidget.  She slides up against my chest and leans in, cuddled up.  Ali climbs between the two of us into my lap (pissing off Gidget), and settles in.  I sat out there for at least half an hour with a double armful of puppies, just holding my babies.  I went back in with wet cheeks - yes, I choked up over my dogs (and Ali obligingly helped clean me back up).

My dad and his wife love the dogs, so I'm not going to try to take them back.  Also, I still travel enough that it wouldn't work out.  But it's made me decide beyond any doubt that it's time for a change.  The travel disrupts my life too much.  I can't have the kind of attachments - to people or to pets - that I want if I keep taking off.  It's not just the dogs - I stall on my flights more and more - leaving on red-eyes, or driving at 3:30 in the morning to avoid leaving Austin.  I'm in the town I love, with people I adore.  It's time to find a way to settle down and nest into the area.  Once that's accomplished, according to dad, he MAY be willing to part with the puppies.  I look forward to building a good home for them.

Edit:  Due to some questions I got..."nest" does not mean white picket fence, married, with kids.  Just being able to join a volleyball team would work.  Oh, and get furniture.

To Do List

1. Complete a marathon.
2. Sing and play guitar in front of 50 people.
3. Write a book (preferably a good one).
4. Run my own business.
5. Teach philosphy at a university.
6. Open a restaurant/pastry shop/coffee/wine bar.
7. Hike the Inca trail.
8. Eat sushi in Japan.
9. Ski in the Alps.
10. Party in Rio.
11. Sky dive in Scotland.
12. Catch a frilled dragon in Australia.
13. Scuba dive with sharks.
14. Stay in a high-roller suite in Vegas.
15. Visit a kibbutz.
16. Build a house that I designed.
17. Throw a boat party for my friends for no apparent reason.
18. Drive a car at over 200 mph.
19. Pet a lion.
20. Do 100 push-ups.
21. Join a volley-ball team.
22. Join a soccer team.
23. Compete in a GIPF tournament.
24. Go to a nude beach.
25. Go to a strip club.
26. Jump a fence on a horse.
27. Decorate my home in photos of everything/everyone I love.
28. Get my PhD.
29. Have meaningful discussions on the intersections of philosophy, science, politics, and sociology.
30. Swim in the Dead Sea.

Yay condo!

So, I'm buying a condo. I shouldn't say that yet. I just had the inspection on a condo I really, really, really want to buy, but I'm holding back on saying "yes, I'm buying it" until I've reviewed all the HOA fun. For those that know me, you know this is total bs - I'm buying a condo.
Here are some pics of the new place - the whole thing will be gutted, and I can't wait to start. Nothing is more fun than ripping a place to shreds and then rebuilding it - how often do you get to sledge hammer a wall????

Plans at this point: rip out all flooring before I move in and repaint entire place. New floors - potentially bamboo? - reface kitchen cabinets - new appliances - tin ceiling tile backsplash - poured concrete countertops? - remove door to 2nd bedroom upstairs, potentially entire half wall and replace with railing - remove closet from 2nd bedroom to create study - sky chairs and sky table on downstairs balcony - hamock in large upstairs balcony - reading loungers for master bedroom balcony - pedestal sinks in both bathrooms - replace vanity storage with shelving...
I'm gonna have to live there for years....

Ryan should be credited with finding the place - he met someone at a party who's parents just "happened" to be selling a condo EXACTLY where I wanted to live. I owe him a car. Or a commission. Or something.

Wislawa Szymborska

I've gone off my memory kick and on to poetry.  A friend recommended Wislawa Szymbroska to me this morning.  She's a Polish poet and the following was translated by Joanna Maria Trzeciak:

A "Thank You" Note

There is much I owe
to those I do not love.
The relief in accepting
they are closer to another.
Joy that I am not
the wolf to their sheep.
My peace be with them
for with them I am free,
and this, love can neither give,
nor know how to take.
I don't wait for them
from window to door.
Almost as patient
as a sun dial,
I understand
what love does not understand.
I forgive
what love would never have forgiven.
Between rendezvous and letter
no eternity passes,
only a few days or weeks.
My trips with them always turn out well.
Concerts are heard.
Cathedrals are toured.
Landscapes are distinct.
And when seven rivers and mountains
come between us,
they are rivers and mountains
well known from any map.
It is thanks to them
that I live in three dimensions,
in a non-lyrical and non-rhetorical space,
with a shifting, thus real, horizon.
They don't even know
how much they carry in their empty hands.

"I don't owe them anything",
love would have said
on this open topic.

Words

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When a secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."

From The Body by Stephen King

I read that for the first time in grade school, and it has always stuck with me.

The things that are hard to say, for me so often come down to images - moments you picture clearly, succinct and unchanged. You can tell a story, describe the events that led to it, but none of that ever conveys the moment as it was or, failing that, as you feel it.

I spend most of my interactions on fluff - as most of us do, I'm sure. Practial facts, quick jokes, how's the weather?, glad to hear the kids are doing well. I have no desire to be the open wound, or bare my soul to passing acquaintances. However, I seem to have distinct difficulty in moving past the talk of the practical and mundane, to those things that lie behind those moments. How do you make that transition? How do you move past the surface?

Ack. Too many words - already diminished.

Pork Roll and Scrapple

I'm on the road again (insert Willie Nelson here).

This time in Jersey. Everytime I go to a newish city and have some time on my hands, I like to try out some of the local stuff...cuban food in Florida, cornholing in Ohio (no, not that kind...), blues in St. Louis.

Here in Red Bank, I went to a breakfast meeting with some co-workers and asked about the local "flavor". Do NOT under any circumstances do this. Breakfast food, if good, spreads quickly to the rest of the nation.

On the menu were two "new to me" items - Pork Rolls and Scrapple. Of course I tried both.
A Pork Roll is to canadian bacon what velvetta is to chedder - salty, squishy, and processed.
And scrapple?

Learning that it was made from "pig parts" just lead me to believe it was hot-dogesque. When the side dish arrives, I see a grayish slab, about the size of an 8 oz. steak. Cutting through it was like slicing jello...and "texture issues" doesn't even being to describe the gastric experience. Think meat "flavored" porriage that looks like reconsititued cigarette ashes. Two cups of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and more pork roll later, I can still taste it. The "pig parts" in a hot dog are apparently the premium selection - what's left becomes scrapple. How this EVER made it to a menu and didn't remain someone's dirtly little secret is beyond me.

Local flavor sampled and discarded. On the flip side, I'm seeing TONS of snow (made some snow angels in the parking lot - got some funny looks while at it), and got a new mustang convertable for my rental car. Fun car - looking forward to trying one again when it is above 40 degrees!

To infinity...and beyond!

So, I'm in another hotel room in another city, stalling on work again. If I sleep tonight, I will be surprised. 2 quadruple lattes in 2 hours will do that to you.

So why the hell am I typing this? Because I am the master of procrastination. If I cannot find a way to stall to the last minute, I will make up some new, pressing issue. A lifetime of practice has made me quite proficient at this. So, the "pressing issue" of the moment is simply looking back at the last year. I warn you now - even I'm not gonna bother to read this, so you all might as well stop here.

This time last year, I was married. Well, technically I was married. I filed for divorce on December 8th of 2004, ostensibly because my husband had a girlfriend. In truth, that was simply an easy way out. I don't believe "cheating" is a deal-breaker, I think it's a sign that someone in the relationship is not getting what they need, and a decision needs to be made - either fix the problem and get over it, decide that the problem isn't fixable and move on, or pretend it never happened. In the case of my marriage, "fixing it" was a non-issue. Things had devolved so far by that point, that there was nothing to fix. My ex cheated, I believe, because he wanted out, but, because he was financially stable with me and a bit of a chicken-shit, chose the easy way out. He knew it would work - after 4 years of marriage, 2 years of "suspicion" and suggesting a seperation over the summer, I'd told him that if I ever found him cheating it was over. Marriage failed, divorce finalized, case closed, right? I'm not finding that it's that easy, however.

Don't get me wrong - I don't regret the decision. I'd been unhappy in the marriage pretty much from the start. Rehashing the details is pointless I suppose - from my perspective, the general feeling is that I married a fun, happy-go-lucky guy who was passionate about his career. I stayed married to a fun, happy-go-lucky guy who was passionate about his career, but at some point "career" became "entire life". I'm not refering to a workaholic - I'm refering to someone for whom anything outside of the realm of his chosen career didn't even enter his mind. Empathy towards his family during a tough times was non-existant - he didn't even stay to see his mom get married, and would miss ANYTHING for work. All his friendships, interactions, etc. revolved around the pursuit of his goal - and I think his world was so focused in on that, that he never even realized that other people didn't want to spend all their time on it - not that he was being selfish, but for him, nothing really existed outside of the self. I accepted that, since to stay married successfully and spend time with him I didn't see any other choice, and didn't bother figuring out what my dream was.

I believed marriage is forever. I would have stuck through, despite feeling like I was the "effort" part of the marriage - the sole breadwinner, caretaker, cook, maid, bond builder, etc...but once the vows were broken, that was it. It wasn't until after I'd left that I realized they were broken long before the cheating - there was no real marriage there outside of a piece of paper for about 2 years.

I don't have any animosity towards my ex - I just don't think much of him as a person. If I met him today, I'd probably be annoyed by him and his glad-handing ways and move on. That probably sounds awful, especially after knowing someone for so many years, but I really didn't even like the guy I divorced. Looking back, our level of compatibility is so low, it's amazing we got past the first date. I wonder how much of that is simply the present coloring the past, and how much of that is simply finally recognizing how blind I had been.

So what's the hard part, huh? After the divorce, I finally moved back to a town I never wanted to leave, I was able to keep my same job but transition to working from home (well, hotel rooms), my income is more than enough to support my lifestyle, I have an amazing boyfriend who I'm happy to say is also my best friend, I've started learning guitar, I'm getting back into the cake decorating, I've picked up and dropped countless hobbies this year...but the fact remains that I spent 5 years of my life letting my life revolve around someone else. Not intentionally, but the crisis-mode hit with his family 30 days into the marriage and never really let up, and his "career" became the majority of my social time. I chose a career path based on my ability to support 2 people and a non-profitable business. And then it all ended, and I was left with a MUCH smaller group of friends, a house I don't want, a car I didn't pick out, a job that means nothing to me but a paycheck, and no idea what I actually want out of life - because for 5 years, I didn't even ask that question.

What I have gained is huge - had I stayed married, who knows how many years I would have continued to be the responsible half of a person, without any idea of why I was going through the everyday motions (other than, of course, to support someone else's dream). But I am feeling the lack of my own dream intensely at times. I am glad I am no longer driven by the need to provide for someone else, but now I siimply do not know what drives me. It's a bit of an empty spot to be in.

I am grateful that I now have the opportunity to figure that out. Maybe one of these days, one of the shiny objects I pick up and discard so quickly will stay with me, and I'll have my driving force back. Until then, I'm just drifting - and that's not something I've ever been comfortable with.

Aughhh...I don't even know if this makes any sense at all. 2005 was an amzing year for me - a year of great highs and lows, amazing freedom, and really learning about what I want and care about in other people. I've developed relationships I don't think I was capable of before - and with people I'm honored to have in my life. I hope that 2006 will be a year where I settle in to a world where I can find a reason for my actions within myself - a justification of personal satisfaction. I don't know if that means acceptance of my current employment, a career change, getting back in an office, going back to school, or what. For now, I'll continue to change my mind on a day-to-day basis, and just see what happens. I look forward to decisions being based on something other than a whim.