Dream-Doorbell Cocktails

Bizarre dream last night. I was out with some of my Palo Alto guy friends and saw this attractive blonde on the street. She was going door to door, all dressed for a party. We asked her if she was lost, and she said no, that she made a practice of going to the doors of strangers and asking if she could come in for a drink. They almost always said yes, and it saved her on cocktail money.

At first I was offended at the very idea, but then we hung out with her more and she was so fun and full of joie de vivre that we all were soon in her thrall. She was up for anything, including jumping into a game of soccer in her high heels to score the winning goal. Her name was Christy, and she was seemingly good at everything.

I went to a party with Christy later, and we were playing and having a great time, when I saw a dark haired man staring at us. I assumed that he was staring at her, but after a time he approached me. He was looking at me! Before I left, I kissed him and told him how to find me later.

There was more to it, but it was pretty vivid, and I felt very caught up in that wild energy. Fun!

Planet Los Angeles

Got back a couple of days ago from a vacation to Southern California, where I was attending to a long overdue visit to my good friend Eliz. She's got a cute little apartment just a few blocks from the beach in Santa Monica.

I will admit that due to my aversion to thronging crowds I had avoided going anywhere near LA for a long time. While I seem well suited to the city rhythms of San Francisco and Quebec, something about the frenetic, jerky movements of Los Angeles never did sit well with me. I lived in a terrifying neighborhood in Tujunga (near Glendale) for a formative year when I was twenty, and I knew it just wasn't for me. Lots of great stories came out of it, but mostly the kind that are scary as hell in the moment but hilarious later.

I might not have left if I had lived in Santa Monica. It is much more chill. If I could hang out and walk along the beach in the mornings and go to the farmers' market and pick around at the Main Street shops and never set foot in LA proper, that would be okay. During my stay I did a ton of walking. And talking. It was like moving therapy. Eliz and I had a ton of catching up to do, and we sorted out a few things for ourselves along the way.

I wouldn't want to have to do the dating scene there, however. That hasn't changed. There is something fundamentally flaky about single people in Los Angeles in particular. I was at a cocktail event on Saturday night and, from the outside, watched people mingle. I am so much more used to being on a deep, sincere level with the people I know well. It was a lot more work to have conversations on the surface of things with strangers. Of course, with a drink or two to loosen my tongue I managed just fine, but I wasn't looking for love or anything else, so my social needs were pretty simple.

We went to see Depeche Mode on Monday night, and they were awesome. The visual effects were stunning, mesmerizing. Of course, we were lucky to have seen them at all since a rash of shows had been canceled the previous week due to singer David Gahan's illness. The set was clearly designed to give him several breaks, but that was fine. When we were on out way out of the Hollywood Bowl at the end of the show, we saw a couple in a heated argument, and the woman gave the man what looked like a bone-jarring left hook to the kisser. It was pretty messed up, but I will admit with no pride that I was gawking until Eliz grabbed my sleeve and pulled me along.

The next day it was time to go home, so I had to face down the horrors of LAX. I was doing my best to be relaxed and patient with the super-long lines. But holy hell. I am pretty sure that you see the worst in people when they travel. Everyone seemed hostile and pressed and there were just so MANY of them. Overwhelming.

I feel like I just got back from a strange planet. Planet Los Angeles. The people there look like the rest of us. Wait. No, they don't. They are certainly thinner and tanner and wear very expensive ripped jeans that under ordinary circumstances would look like they were fished out of a dumpster. Those clothes are casually, meticulously distressed by professionals and cost more than my car. I can't really criticize because I have nothing approximating a personal style. The whole affair made me want to cruise over to the Patagonia outlet and stock up on practical, semi-sporty clothes that only need to be accessorized with a ponytail and running shoes.

I can't complain, though. I had a good time and got to see LA from an adult perspective. In some ways it was just as I remembered it. In others it surprised me and gave me a glimpse of why people put up with so much traffic on the 405. There is fun to be had there, and if it isn't fun, there is always Dr. Kush.

In Case of Emergency

Dude, what is up? Has the whole world gone crazy or what? I'm stressed. My friends are stressed. My family is stressed. People don't have jobs that need them, and it is getting just nuts.

I swear, if I were not the strongest woman alive, I don't know what I would do.

I don't know if I am being semi-successful at adjusting to the sad new truths in my life, or if I am becoming numb, or if there is some siren song of future happiness just out of my range of hearing. I am beset on all sides by trouble, and I seem to be doing ok, considering the circumstances.

I want so badly to have something witty or even comforting to say. I wish I could just wrap my arms around everyone and hide us all from the world until this blows over. I want to cook everyone dinner and give everyone wine and try and find the humor in all of it. If you don't laugh, you cry, right?

Well Played, Palo Alto

Image Credit: pork buns at the Three Seasons restaurant, Palo Alto

It is really strange that I have not been to Palo Alto for years, and this year I have gone to visit people there twice. I went to Gunn High School for Freshman and part of Sophomore year before moving back to Ohio. Then when I came back in 1987 I hung out with Audrey up there and dated a guy named Paul. Paul and his friends went to Paly (Palo Alto High School) a few years ahead of me. Many of my most beloved friends to this day were from that social group. Paul and I broke up after not very long, but I kept the friends, like any smart person would.

If I were a superhero, making fulfilling and lasting friendships would be my superpower. That might not seem as impressive as being bulletproof or stronger than a locomotive, but I would argue that it is a power that is useful more often. And being around my friends does make me feel pretty invincible.

Palo Alto isn't quite as I remember in some ways. It is certainly more populated with money than I remember. But then again, I was just some punk kid roaming around its streets with my punk boyfriend the last time I spent any appreciable time there. Seeing it as an adult is a little bit different. People that still live there tell me it just isn't the same. It certainly is well-manicured.

Seeing my friends is always a major treat, and I braved driving snow in the Sierras both ways to make this recent trip. I had to chain up my car and everything, which is a bit of a pain in the ass. It was totally worth it to gather together and laugh and have cocktails. I was on a lychee kick and had a couple of lychee martinis. That put the Christmas cheer in my cheeks for sure.

Of course, going to a dinner party in Palo Alto meant running into Paul, and as Fate would have it I ended up sitting across the table from him and his wife and son. It was a little awkward, but tacitly amusing. I don't think either one of us was expressley comfortable with the seating arrangements, but we got on amiably enough.

I stayed with my friend Ben while I was down there, which was much more genial than staying at a hotel, especially because he didn't mind me tinkering around in his kitchen. That is probably because he is a bachelor and relishes having a home-cooked meal or two. We had a good time, especially considering we are both sensitive people who tire of the crowd scene at roughly the same rate. When not partying, I had time to sleep in and read a book and generally relax.

I made some memories that are going to carry me through the next semester, I hope. The only thing I dislike about being in school full time is the fact that I have to turn down social invitations. School doesn't start again until January 26th, so I should be able to have some small measure of fun prior to that.

Bedside Manner and Other Useful Things

I got a very nice compliment from one of my fellow students today. She overheard me when I was doing my practical midterm (which involved elaborate role play) and said that she thought I had a great bedside manner. That was super nice of her to say. I really respect her opinion, so I will savor that comment.

That would be one of the applications in life where having the gift of gab comes in handy. I don't have any difficulty talking to patients, even about complex medical things. In a clinical setting, I find it very easy to speak to strangers, so long as I am the one wearing the scrubs. All that theatre background works to my advantage.

I am the most extroverted introvert I know. In certain situations I can be very shy. Most people who know me only superficially would never believe that. But I have my secrets and am a very private person in some respects. I have funny quirks about my social life, and it takes a lot for most people to breach my outer wall.

But I have a very open face. I always remind people of their niece for some reason. Or their favorite outspoken cousin. It is actually a little funny to watch what happens when people underestimate me because I look so soft and cuddly. I do have a spine under all of that, which people find out when they try to test me. Most folks don't try twice, because when provoked or hurt I can have a volcanic temper.

Luckily, I don't really stay angry for long. In most cases I am very forgiving, with only a few rare exceptions.

I think I may manage to be a good nurse after all. I was surprised to see how broad the scope of nursing is, both in the spectrum of what you need to know and be responsible for, and in the latitude for actually being caring to people and advocating for them. It is pretty interesting how much better I am fitting into this than I thought at first.

Anyway, that is the randomness for today. I still have 2 more midterms. I thought I had one today, but it is next Thursday instead. That's fine, but I will be so glad when next week is over all the same. Then I get to write a paper, whee!

Happy Birthday Keith!

Today is my dear friend Keith's birthday. This is him in 1984. Today he is 39 and even cuter.

Happy Birthday, dude. I wish I could take you out for a pint today. You deserve all the good things in life.

Poetry-You've got me

I've got your back, man.
I'm your number one fan.
Just call me if you need a friend.
You've got me.

Don't be lonely; you aren't alone.
Don't be sad; you aren't alone.
Don't be scared; you aren't alone.
You've got me.

If you need a helping hand,
If you need a girl for a wing man,
If you need a beer to cry in,
You've got me.

If you're tired, lean on me.
If you're bored, play with me.
If you're hurting, embrace me.
You've got me.

9-13-08



Image: Statue of a wounded Amazon, 1st–2nd century A.D.
Roman copy of a Greek bronze statue, ca. 450–425 B.C.
Marble (Pentelic); H. 80 1/4 in. (203.84 cm)
Gift of John D. Rockefeller, Jr., 1932 (32.11.4)

This is a first

Usually I am cursed with a memory for the birthdays of all of my exes, even if I no longer celebrate with them in any way. For the first time in over 15 years, I completely forgot Iceberg's birthday. It was a few days ago. I guess he won't mind since we are estranged these days, but I was stunned a moment ago when I realized it had passed by totally unnoticed by me.

Granted, I have had a horribly busy week that isn't even over yet, but even so. I guess it is a good thing that I was using my brain for the scheduled activities at home and school. But it usually goes without saying that Iceberg was, up to now, pretty memorable. My love/hate relationship with him lasted a pretty long time.

I doubt he lurks around my blog anymore, but I still feel bad that I forgot. So there you have it, John T. If you are looking, I did eventually remember. It isn't like the old days when I would splash out on elaborate gifts for you, but considering how much is on my plate these days, it will have to do. I won't be e-mailing you, so this is your lot this year.

I wonder if your tailor remembered to send you a card. Lord knows your relationship with your tailor was more important to you than I was. You used to laugh about it. Yes, I know how hard it is to find a good tailor. Point taken.

Anyway, Happy Belated Birthday.

Well played, San Francisco

"When you tell people you are a hedonist, people just think you are some kind of pervert, but really, it is primarily about placing a priority on your own enjoyment." -Ted Thomaidis, while sitting on a bar stool next to me at Bourbon and Branch.

I couldn't have said it any better myself, Ted. Brilliant insight, as usual. And brilliant, I might say INSPIRED cocktails. That Elderflower is a revelation. The cucumber gimlet was fucking rad, too. What was the third one? The Aviation? I remember it was good but things were fuzzy by then.

Dinner at Fish&Farm was great, and I loved that raw oyster with the granita, yum. The chilled corn soup amuse buche was so intense it made my palate leap with longing. I had the duo of lamb and Ted had the fish & chips. I had to know any place Ted would take me would cook their pommes frittes in duck fat. That sazarac almost put me out cold, but it was outstanding. The rye was surprisingly good. It turns out that I do like whiskey, it is bourbon I'm not crazy about. Great company, and I don't know when I have laughed so hard for so long. My sides ached. I love that we drank enough to be at the "I love you, man!" stage. It leant itself to some earnest mutual appreciation.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Before all that drinking, there was more drinking with John at lunch. We went to Cafe Metropol and I had some Grey Goose L'orange cosmopolitans (2) and a nice cappuccino with lunch. We talked about everything and nothing, and generally enjoyed each other's company. Then we went into Teuscher Chocolates and got some gianduja truffles (my absolute favorite of all time) and champagne truffles. These we took with us to the bar at the St. Francis and ate them with some champagne. Decadence is its own reward, plain and simple.

After treating myself to a breakfast crepe at Honey Honey, I had a nice, easy drive home today. I'm only a little head-achey and tired, but I daresay I am blissed out. Hedonism like that makes me happy. I did all the fun things I like to do that break no laws or marital agreements. It was, in essence, a whole day and evening of pleasures at table. As you may know, that is pure heaven for me. Sharing a well-crafted meal and clinking glasses with a good friend whom I trust and adore (this applies to both John and Ted) is my number one recipe for a perfect time. I am so fucking fortunate to have both of them in my life. It makes me feel pretty special to have such amazing friends. They are my wealth. I am truly blessed.

I am spiritually realigned. I can face anything now. I have been emotionally petted and stroked, expertly fed, socially lubricated and ego-lifted. I could probably dead lift a car right now. I feel strong and funny and sweet and loving and beautiful (!) and capable.

Now I am finally ready for school to start. I am fortified.

Nesting

Check out my cosmic egg, people.

Things are going to change, big time. After an extremely long quasi-gestation, I have this: an egg. Rather than a live birth of my new world, it is going to come in stages. I'm looking at the next few years as a time to nest and keep this egg warm until it hatches.

The original cosmic egg was thought to contain many varied things. Multiple cultures have used this symbol in their beginning-of-the-world mythos. Some eggs contain sea serpents, gods and goddesses, and light. In some cases, the bottom half of the shell became the earth, and the top the heavens or the sky.

Mine contains a Nursing degree and a new career where I will make more cash and use my brain in new and interesting ways. As a bonus, all the things I am about to learn will doubtless be incorporated into whatever art I will make along the way or after I am done. It might be safe to say that I will be a largely new person once this is complete.

In honor of this change, I am putting a plan together to enhance my health and well-being. My life is going to be pretty structured, and it is going to take some pretty strict time management. I am building exercise and healthy eating into my schedule, as well as what little free time I have for family and friends, and maybe the occasional bit of contemplative solitude. I am going to take care of myself to the best of my ability. While I may be up for the occasional cocktail, more than likely I will be in hermetic aceticism, at least until my summer break in May. Better still to bring me coffee. I am going to need it.

I will likely still blog as a way to let people know what is going on with me, and you will still be able to e-mail me, etc. Please drop me a line from time to time to remind me that I am doing this for very sound reasons. Remind me about my cosmic egg if I get discouraged or overwhelmed. There are bound to be some unexpected things in that egg along with what I anticipate. I'm looking forward to seeing what they are.

Reality: Overrated?

I like fiction more than real life most of the time.

I like getting so into fiction that I can just live there. I like reading it, and I love writing it. Now, that isn't to say that I like LYING, because I think that there are some incredibly true things in fiction. Things are condensed to their essence and, to a degree, simpler.

Maybe fiction is the wrong word. Imagination may be a better expression of the concept I am kicking around, here. I have been thinking about my erstwhile romances and other relationships of old lately with fresh perspective. Some of the people I dismissed out of hand seem more interesting now, whereas people I was over the moon for leave me scratching my head. Why did I cry so hard when that guy cut me loose? Why didn't I take that one seriously or realize that they actually really liked me? It is odd. Makes me feel a little lame.

Of course, I married Tony, who I both did and didn't take seriously in turns over the years. I suppose that makes sense. I always wanted to take him seriously but for some reason I resisted doing so for a long time. In retrospect that was probably a good thing because it forced us to develop a strong friendship that was based on actually liking each other's company.

Although I suppose I earned my "Fickle Fairy" nickname. I was a bit flighty, and ran from committment much of the time. Incidentally, the guy that nicknamed me that broke up with me before I even realized we were dating. I was like "Wait? What do you mean it is over? We were dating? I thought we were just hanging out."

Clearly, my perception of what is going on around me is skewed. I already know that I just don't seem to react to the world in the same way that others do. I have to chalk that up to my imagination running away with me, rather than a lack of observation skills. I fill in the blanks with whatever embroidered bit of poetry suits me. Thus my relationships with people take on a mythic quality, based on who they are as people and the ideals and qualities I attach to them, usually to their benefit.

I wonder if that is hard for people to live up to. If I make an epic hero out of you in my mind, how easy is it to let me down? If I paint you a villain, how do I ever forgive your actual transgressions?

In literature that seems to work out okay, but in real life it is a bit messier. Maybe it is good for the egos of my friends that I hold them in such high esteem. I seem to forget that they are people, though. They are larger than life to me. I love them, though, whether that is based in reality or not. The love is real.

In my mind, most people are like characters. If a person is of particular significance to me, they inhabit an almost physical space inside me. I lovingly flesh them out in my imagination. If it is someone new, I am insatiably curious about them, adding each new thing I learn about them to my mental picture.

I try to be accurate, but I have been known to either soft-focus people or be utterly wrong about them. I have to say it is pretty jarring to have the real person turn out crueler, or weaker, or less brave than I expect they will be. I want to think the best of people, and hope they see the good in the way I see them.

The opposite is also true. The villains of my life are equally built up, resting on the foundations of what are basically just flawed or twisted people. But I guess it is easier to see them as their acts of wrongdoing than to have empathy for what made them the way they are. I can slay a dragon, but real, nuanced people are another matter. I might have to forgive them to a degree, and sometimes I am reluctant to do that.

So, if you are in my life and I apparently like you, then you shine radiantly to me. You have a halo-like glow that sets you above mere mortals. You matter more. You get to reside in my artisic and imaginative heart. I hope you like it there. I try to make it just a little better than the real world.

Always missing someone

It is no coincidence that my ultimate vision of heaven is a long, sumptuously set dinner table with all of my loved ones sitting around it. Everyone eats, drinks wine, talks, sings, and generally frolics in an unending banquet of lovely conversation and amusements. Paradise.

Because that will totally never happen in real life.

I have moved around, my friends and family have scattered to to point where we are literally spread all over the world. Not even a school reunion would get everyone in one place. I had one very bitter person tell me, upon leaving my acquaintance, that she thought there was some flaw in my character that made my friends move as far from me as possible. That was totally mean of her to say, and I know I am not the center of the universe so that isn't even possible.

I'm actually really proud of the varied journeys of my far flung friends and family. They are people going places. I get around a little myself. But unless I come into enormous wealth, I can't get to New Zealand, China, Alliance, New York, Boston, Seattle, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, San Jose, and Boulder this year. I have people I love in all those places, and those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

Everywhere I go, I always miss someone. I just want to pull the strings and gather everyone a little closer today. I'm really blessed with a lot of love in my life, it just seems as far away as it really is today. Then again, I don't even spend enough time with my friends and family that are actually in town. Go figure.

Need more of this

Photo Caption: Kari's wedding (her new hubby John in the background)

Laughter and tears of joy. I need WAY more of this in my life right now. I'll take the laugh lines and everything.

Don't have much to say about it, but it is a great photo and reminds me of how overcome with emotion I was at Kari and John's happiness. Seriously, I'm weeping in almost all of the photos. But so happy.

Of course, being on the beach on the north shore of Oahu didn't hurt either for calming my psyche. Something about the softness of the perfumed air there that unravels the knots in my noggin. Even making the wedding cake in such humid conditions didn't dampen my fun, although schlepping the cake down the road about gave me fits. Once the cake was set up on the table and I could relax, it was all good.

Good memories of that weekend. Lots of love and lots of tequila with cinnamon dredged orange slices. For a cynical old crab-apple, I really do love weddings. Maybe, like my mother, I really am a romantic at heart.

Why I love my friends so much

Doesn't this picture say it all? That's Will and I, circa 1988 or so at a party in Santa Cruz. It wasn't a a date or anything, we were and are still just good friends, albeit with heavy flirting. He was spinning my chair until I got SO dizzy. We were cracking up. I don't even have my eyes open, but this is one of my favorite photos of myself. Good, good times.

I think I am going to sort through my old photos and do a series here of either old friend photos, or just pics of me laughing my head off. I have quite a few.

So, obviously I have been on an emotional roller coaster the last few weeks. I was feeling very isolated and sad and not so lovable. In the last week or two, my peeps have been coming out of the woodwork to show me some love, so here's my open letter of thanks. I fucking love every one of you guys. Big time.

Will: We will start with him since I'm using his pic today. Will's a total dude. He's a great combination of smartass and sweetie. He e-mailed me a few days ago, just shooting the shit with me. He always makes me laugh. He reminded me that my loopy antics and affectionate nature are part of my charm. And he's a new parent, so his non-sleeping time is at a premium.

Colin: The other bookend to Will, Colin saw my gloomy blog posts and sent me a hilarious note full of funny links, videos, and even a photoshopped picture of himself in drag, with the admonition to "Smile, darnit!" He's good at making me smile.

Kari: Kari's the goods. She reminded me that I have always needed a little drawing out, but that I am really only a "wannabe hermit", and my social nature generally wins the day. She makes me feel good when she admires all the nutty artistic things I do. Being praised for my creativity always makes me smile. She knows all about being a Type A alpha girl, and how being a "moody bitch", while funny, isn't exactly good for harmony at home. Happy=Better, right?

Audrey: Audrey talked me off the ledge gently but firmly when I was hitting the nadir of my self-loathing this week. She pointed out that I was beating myself up over how I "should" feel and how I "should" act, and if I didn't remove that word from my vocabulary that instant, she was gonna let me have it. Without her love and concern I doubt I would have made it this week. She pretty much took a hold of me and told me, in a very loving way, to get a fucking grip and stop obsessing over stuff I can't change. Oh, and to lighten up and try to have a litte more fun, especially with the Mister in my house. She loves me and she says so.

Tony: Yes, Tony is my friend as well as my spouse. Most people know that we were actually friends for years before I woke up and decided I wanted a nice man to marry. Luckily, he was stalking me at the time. Hee hee. He told me that if I am having insomnia and even he's deep asleep, he wants me to wake him up so I won't feel so lonely. I don't know why that had not occured to me. I never give him enough credit. He's a peach. He also did a lot of daddy time last weekend with Little A so that I could go out and take an improv workshop and go to the gym.

Chris: She gets appropriately outraged on my behalf when I tell her all the loopy things that go on with Little A's legal woes. That and even though she is totally busy with a schedule that puts mine to shame, she makes time to swap funny parenting stories with me. She's going to be my dance teacher as soon as that place sets up her dang classes!

Keith: Just came back into my life by total random chance (I generally don't believe in coincidence at all) after 25 years apart and has been a total doll to me. He reminded me that I always was a bit of a klutz, but that it has always been sorta cute what a spaz I am. The word that always comes up when I think of him is "lovely". He's a lovely person.

Kathleen: She understands. She gets it. She will get a cocktail with me next week if I have to drag her by the hair. She knows about balancing art with the "day job" and how it sucks that we have to do that. She knows that even when I am flailing about, I will still offer my shoulder for her to lean on. In fact, it snaps me out of it a little to be of use to someone else. Plus, she likes it when I make cake.

Kelley: My brother from another mother. Kel's got the stuff. I want every good thing in the universe for him. He puts up with my antics and also helps me understand some of what goes on with Little A, since that is his field of expertise. I almost never pick his brain on the child psychology thing with him as much as tease him mercilessly about why he is single when he is so damn sexy. He's a cutie, but so much more than that he is brilliant and possessed of a dry wit. We talk about Freud and Jung and have good natured discussions about writing.

Ted: God, I have a lot of dude friends, don't I? Ted is so supportive of me cussing a blue streak. I don't know anyone else who would cheer me on when I am being so repulsively crass. He's a good friend to me and especially to Tony. He's promised to take Tony out and ladle Black Bush into him until he is nice and pliable again. I'm gonna make sure those two get some golf course time soon. Then after we'll work together on whatever dinner strikes our fancy. When Ted and I cook together there is a sure chance that something awsome will come out of it. Ted roasts the brined chickens in my personal version of heaven.

John P: We always have good talks. He gets the whole adoption thing. I love his smarty-pants humor and the fact that he just gets me without a lot of seeming effort. We simply must end up in the same city very soon for drinks and dinner.

Public Service Announcement

Hey Gang! Guess what? It is time for a public service announcement from the Stacie User Manual!

Yay!

Today's lesson: Stacie doesn't behave.

The sooner you learn this the better. If we are going to be friends you need to learn to delight in my subversive nature and funny little ways. I say audacious things and delight in blasphemy. I give the finger to authority on a daily basis. I flirt openly with my friends, despite being married myself and the fact that most of them are also married. If you have a poker up your bum about it, you probably won't stick around long. If you try to put me under your thumb and make me play nice and be demure and respectable, we are going to have a problem.

So, why should you put up with that? Sounds like a pain in the ass, right?

I'll tell you why. Because once you are in my inner circle and I am quite certain I love you, I will do ANYTHING for you. I'll make you soup when you are sick, hold you against my soft body when you are grieving, and rail against anyone who comes at you with all my might with no regard for myself. I will sit up with you until the wee hours of the night and think of all the ways we can rend petty revenge on your boss, your ex, and your personal trainer. I will think up more and more elaborate schemes while ladling you with beer until you are laughing again.

I will tell you with total honesty and no hesitation all the little reasons why I love you, and why everyone else should too. I will derisively mock anyone who doesn't think you are fabulous.

If you are reading this and I call you "friend", then you are the following:

1. Gorgeous
2. Talented
3. Sexy
4. Funny
5. Smart
6. Witty
7. Honest
8. Loving
9. Kind
10. Smart-assed

I have excellent taste in people, and I don't put up with bullshit for one second. If you are mine, then I am yours. I'm in your corner, your boon companion, your bodyguard and your playmate. If that means you have to try to refrain from rolling your eyes when I joke that I wanna put my tongue in your ear, well isn't that a small price to pay? And on my bad days when I feel broken, tell me that there are good, good reasons that you love me, too. Soon I will curl up next to you and be back to plotting, whispering in your ear all the adventures we can have, and feel ready to have some fun.

That is all.

Chien Perdu

Oh, dude. Bad dreams all around last night. Little A woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, and it took Tony a while to convince her that there were no monsters in her room.


Then we all got back to sleep, and I had a nightmare that I was out walking Ember by the Truckee river, and someone threw a ball beside her. She ran after it and fell in the river and was swept away while I ran along the bank trying to get her. It was awful. I woke up all upset to find her mink-soft little body right where it belonged, next to me and very warm in sleep.

I gathered her up in my arms and stroked her while my heart hammered. She sleepily gave my face a little lick and wagged her tail.

When Ember came home with us, she was a tiny little thing, and very much still a baby in many respects. At the time, she massaged my mothering need and also helped heal the loss of my beloved Heidi, who had passed away just months before. She was so soft and cuddly, I had no trouble bonding with her.

When I came home from my trip on Sunday, I got a hug and a peck on the cheek from my husband, an ecstatic, leaping, smiling greeting from Little A, and an absolutely crying hysterical reception from Ember, who would not be content until I picked her up and held her against my body. She must have bounced her long body on those stubby back legs for two full minutes while I put my stuff down. It was really funny and only a little annoying and very sweet.

Dreaming that I lost her was horrible. She's my baby in some ways. It really drew my attention that I have an enduring fear of losing those I love. After losing my Grandparents, my brother, and my dog Heidi in the last 7 years, that isn't that surprising. Add to that the multiple losses that we don't even talk about: all those babies we tried to conceive and couldn't, the one time I was just sure I was pregnant and then I wasn't, and the friends that I have fallen out with in the last few years, it is no wonder I stopped talking to God and everyone else.

Funny that I should actually make my living by talking to people. All day. But I am talking to people about themselves, their problems. I'm the fix-it gal. I'm the one they come to when they are sick or suicidal and need assistance. I'm the one they chalk up either as an angelic presence of helpfulness, or as the very personification of the bureaucratic mess that is the VA. I talk to dying people, angry people, mentally ill people, and people that otherwise would be lost in the cracks of this world. I get alternately thanked profusely and berated with long looping strings of profanity. I'm a blank screen onto which they project themselves. In other words, I'm not real to them.

I talk to my pen. I talk to my manuscripts. I talk to my poetry. I talk in soft touches to my dog. But people, not so much. Oh, sure, I prattle on into my phone, but everyone is usually so busy that to take the time to actually deeply talk seems the provenance of old friends that already know much of the back story.

But I have gotten a few things back. Some old friends have come back to me and that is really nice, even if I don't feel nearly as fun as I used to be. It must be entertaining to watch me fall down or something. I never was very graceful.

I did have a pretty deep conversation the other day and found out how out of practice I am at it. My throat closed up a couple of times when I tried to say things that the other person especially needed me to say with the kind of grace I lend to my poetry. I needed to be fluid, and instead I got all twisted in knots trying to protect what felt like a sucking chest wound. It is pretty wounding to my ego that there was just no way for me to keep my cool and I was as awkward and stilted as I was when I was 15. How frustrating. I feel so lame.

I ended up talking about how my brother died and just bitterly weeping over it. Afterward I just felt cracked open and eviscerated for about 24 hours, as evidenced by the previous blog post. It makes sense that I would retreat to being nonverbal, curling around the body of my dachshund like a bizarre semicolon in my bed. My restless hands find acceptance there. It is one of the few things in my life that isn't hopelessly complicated.

Sacred or Profane?

I'm a combination of prodigy and late bloomer. When I was super young, I had a natural talent for some things, particularly in the realms of spirituality/sixth sense. My gaze had a way of unnerving people with something to hide. Some grownups found me to be unaccountably creepy even when I was being cheerful. Unlike my cousins, you were more likely to find me with my nose in a book than outside playing softball. If I did go outside, I was just as likely to be talking to a tree as another person.

For a while, the way I was different mattered to some people, either in that I had some spark of wisdom about me or I was totally crazy. Or both. For a few years, I was about as disconnected from everyday reality as it gets, all without the expense or legal troubles that accompany those who take drugs. It was wonderful and miserable at the same time. I was like one of those crazy Hindu savants on a good day, and on the bad days, well, yeah, not so much. As you might gather, it kinda depended on whether I was in an accepting environment or not. Much of the time I felt genuinely haunted, as much as a person can resemble the haunted Tower of London on the inside. I had some accomodating friends who took care of me essentially. While I am grateful to them, it has rendered those friendships unbalanced, perhaps for life.

On a few occasions, I delved into my natural inclination for Eastern thought and New Age hoodoo and really got somewhere with it. I managed to become both more grounded and more profoundly connected to whatever force animates me. I got a little full of myself, perhaps, but at least I had perspective. Whatever spiritual forces were at work on me had some meaning and I felt more at ease with it. I meditated. I came up with some framework for how my head worked. I started to act (be?) more "normal". I learned how to shut the door on those clamoring spectres and tried to get on with my life albeit with a late start.

Cut to today.

When I went back to school for my nursing program prerequisites, I didn't know I would have such a knack for Biology. Go figure, I'm now doing as well at science stuff as I used to do well with other more creative things. My lab reports amuse as well as inform. I get a real kick out of doing things you can actually PROVE.

But something has happened to me in the intervening years vis a vis my spirituality. I was already agnostically leaning, but something has happned to make me utterly disconnect. Not in a haughty, "I'm a scientist now, therefore athiest." kind of way, but in ways that make me almost as uncomfortable as being too connected did.

I feel like at least one turning point came to me in the Anatomy lab. I had really worried about how seeing and handling the cadaver was going to affect me. However, unlike some of the other students, I took to it with ease. Some of them thought I was creepy because I was willing to be in there with him for long periods by myself. There I was, back to being unintentionally creepy, for totally different reasons. Or maybe the same ones?

You know what was comforting? There was this dead man, and there was no LIFE in him at all. While I had feared that I would find some remnant of who he was clinging to him, there was nothing, only the facts of his biology. He had a stent in one of the arteries of his liver. The first time I held his heart in my hands, I felt really grateful to him. Here was a guy who had given his body so that I and countless others could learn something. That's awesome. We were all really respectful of him.

But as I have moved into a place in my life where I have been under a lot of stress, having even a pinch of simple faith would be handy right about now. And I lack it in a way that feels like an estrangement not only from my old friends but from God/Goddess as well. My mother keeps telling me to pray, but I feel like I did such a good job of closing that door, that now I find myself outside it, dying to get in but terrified to knock.

I'll forge ahead, regardless, even if it isn't very good for me to be as coldly scientific as it was to be floridly spiritual. I also don't want to look back on my past and see nothing but pathology there. As such, I find I just have to not talk about it, or not talk to people who frame their view of me with the timber torn from my temple.

Maybe that longing goes away in time. Maybe if I spend more time in the presence of the empirical, the logical, my yearning for a place in the mystical will fade. I fear that it won't, mostly because other things or people I have longed for are still with me.

Somewhere outside that fear is likely where the truth lies. I'd hate to be the world's most uneasy athiest, because to deny that God exists is a lie I don't dare tell myself. I know for a fact that there is something out there, outside the permissions of my consciousness. Just because I can't hear it speaking to me anymore doesn't mean it doesn't whisper, hoping I will strain to listen.

The Wayback Machine

Dang it Sherman, what the hell do you think you are doing? In that old cartoon, wasn't it Professor Peabody that was traveling back in time? He did it on purpose, but hijinks certainly ensued.

I think there is some kind of collective nostalgia going on in my peer group. Don't get me wrong, I think it is wonderful. I have had the chance to reconnect with people I haven't seen hide nor hair of since the 1980's and early 1990's. I love having old friends, and I keep as many as I can. I'm lucky that they put up with me.

They seem to pop in out of nowhere, either by chance or because they deliberately sought me out in a case or two. Maybe they are all watching that show "My Name is Earl" and figure we have some as yet unresolved karma. Maybe I am just in a vortex of people that should never have been separated and cosmic forces are conspiring to bring us back together. Maybe we should be forming some kind of super group?

We are all older and wiser(?) and fatter and balder and sassier. Some of us are more confident and sexier and more accomplished than our previous party hound selves. I like the new us a great deal, because I always liked the old us, and it is such a good feeling when you can pick up the ball and run with it without missing a beat.

Besides being self-conscious about the width of my heinie and my general lack of a giant pile of cash to bed down in, I worry about some of the people who have NOT showed up yet, as if the ones that DO show up are harbingers of the ones I would rather just stayed away.

A few of my old lovers have popped in on me in the last few years, and it gives me the willies. I did end up having a heartfelt exchange with one high school boyfriend with whom I had a particularly acrimonious falling out. We actually exchanged a volley of emails that, while initially uncomfortable, ended up yielding to a far deeper understanding between us. It was healing in the deepest sense of the word. After 22 years, we are finally friends again.

Taking heart in that reunion, I went looking for one of my most beloved high school friends with whom I had fallen out of touch. It didn't go nearly so well. I found her to be hostile to me in a way I really didn't expect. It seems that in the intervening 20 or so years, she had decided that I, for lack of a better word, suck. She even lit into me ruthlessly for dating a boy she herself had an unrequited crush on. She was actually still REALLY mad about it. The whole encounter left me shell shocked and deeply saddened. Now when I think of her, all those happy, warm memories of our friendship is end-punctuated with "But now she thinks I'm an ass."

Luckily for me, I am still friends with that boy. He helped me have a laugh about it.

There are only a few people left that might accompany the sound of the other shoe dropping. Shall I name names, in hopes of warding them off? I think it might be cathartic, at least.

1. Paul: Good god, Paul and I had a hideous breakup. I was SOOOOOO young and naive. I am still mortally embarrassed at the way I behaved when he unceremoniously dumped me, and how self-destructive I was for a while after that. We still have a lot of friends in common. I'm pretty sure they are my friends in my own right by now, but it is one awkward subject that we don't broach too often: that they met me when I was dating their friend. I got some damn fine friends out of that relationship, so he was at least that useful. My dog didn't like him. I should have listened.

2. Marc: He cheated on me when we were supposedly thinking of getting married. I still owe him a kick in the stones, although I lack the verve to seek him out to deliver it. It just seems so pointless, since I thank my lucky stars that I married Tony instead of him. (Not that the choice was laid out that way at the time). Oh man did I dodge a bullet, there.

3. Mark F. He would never seek me out. He was my mom's boyfriend and we lived with him for a few years. He was a bad, bad man. Abusive and petty. I googled him a couple of years ago and found he had gotten into some trouble for corporate malfeasance and had been censured by the IEC. Bastard. He could get a whole blog post of his own if he weren't so worthless. He uttered the most hurtful thing I have ever heard in my life when I was about 12, and I am still living with the feelings that produced. No amount of therapy has been able to erase what said in a fit of pique and probably never thought of again. That and he abused my mother. Nobody messes with my mother, yo. Don't mess.

There, now that is nice and gloomy, isn't it? I'm just going to make the sign to ward off the evil eye and enjoy the rest of my day. Lucky for me, the people who have showed up are people who want to talk to me because they actually LIKE me!

I love my friends. They are what makes me wealthy, sure enough.

Lost weekend in San Francisco

I know I said I was going to write about this earlier in the week, but a profound bout of the flu has taken the smart ass right out of me. Since I really seem to like the list format, here are my impressions of the San Francisco Writers' Conference that I attended last weekend and my quasi-adventures in the City.

1. I want to give San Francisco the best oral of its life. Always good to start with a bang, eh? What can I say? I wouldn't go to a writers' conference if it was in Topeka or Columbus. When I got into my hotel (the Mark Hopkins, yay!) the first thing I did was shuck off my luggage and walk down to get a latte. There is just something about the San Francisco mojo. I was gripped by the strong urge to fall to the ground and kiss the sidewalk. Although I honor the other places I have lived in my life as needed steps in my journey, San Francisco will always be my special favorite, and the only city where I really feel in my element. I spent as much time as I could eschewing cab rides in favor of treacherously steep walks, even while sweating with fever. There is just something in the foggy air there that makes me pregnant with libidinous creativity. I just wanted to make out with strangers. Not that I would do it, but I had the big love for my fellow man.

2. I need better luggage. Staying in a REALLY nice hotel will really make you notice how banged up your luggage has become. I would never have noticed that my bag isn't all that great by taking it to my mother's house. Tucked on the luggage stand in the closet of my hotel room, it stood out. I'm not at all label conscious, but now I salivate over fantastic suitcases as if they were traveler porn.

3. 40 poems in 40 days. Since I didn't have a manuscript that was in any shape to pitch to agents, I took classes that focused more on craft. That is where the 40 days of poetry came from. I'm trying to pry open my creative psyche after slamming it shut in the fall. It is going okay so far. It is interesting to see the kind of poetry I write when I am not in the mood. I wrote one about Britney Spears on the first day. *shudder*

4. I'm still not the "cool" kid. I still don't have a clue how to pick a table when I go to lunch with hundreds of other people. It felt really awkward in a way that didn't really get better when I added alcohol. Add to that the Mercury Retrograde (more below), and I was really below par on my communication skills. I did meet some amazing writers. I really hope I will get to read their books one day. I also met some people even more misanthropic than myself.

5. Mercury Retrogrades suck ass. If my newspaper horoscope says I'm likely to get hit by a falling piano, I wouldn't let that stop me from leaving the house. But I believe in Mercury Retrogrades. The idea is that Mercury is the planet that rules communication, so when it retrogrades, wires invariably get crossed if not outright short-circuited. I have never had so many social plans go up in smoke. As a result, I had some good phone conversations, but trying to see my friends face-to-face was just impossible.

6. I wasn't my usual gregarious self due to the flu. There were long stretches where I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I sat in the back of my classes and sucked cough drops. I felt all funny and self-conscious, and to be honest, rather sorry for myself. Then I was feeling self-conscious about my "rejected writer" thing, because I worried that other people would worry that it was catching. Putting it mildly, I was better off sweating it out in my lavish marble bathtub than reading at the open mics. I read anyway, and got nice (and useful) feedback. At least I think it was nice, I was coughing too hard to hear most of it.

7. I got a new idea. In order to write this next idea, I need to compile some expertise or understanding of the works of Dante (the Divine Comedy) and firefighters. I think firefighters might be hard to write well about, since portrayals of them in movies tend to lack depth. But it occurred to me on the drive home that my protagonist (a man this time!) needs to have that for a job. I also need to watch the Showtime series "Dead Like Me" and a few pre-biblical references to make sure I'm not re-treading someone else's idea.

8. I got a new book. Writing the Breakout Novel by Don Maass. I heard this guy speak and had to run downstairs to buy his book on the spot. I was not alone in doing so. I also bought the companion workbook. I really feel that I need to work on the craft of writing in a more disciplined way. I want to dig deeper and get better at this. This guy's talk was what triggered my new idea. I may work on the other things I have on the back burner, but I want to see what I can do starting from scratch with a new perspective. I almost feel like I need to start with short stories before I work up to novel level again.

9. Dim Sum rules. Can't get it in Reno. I walked into Chinatown and found the place with zero white people in it and ordered up some bliss in dumpling form. The patrons and staff were all looking at me like I'd lost my way. My server asked me if I wanted a fork, and even though I said no thanks, she brought me one anyway. I refused to use it. Everyone was starting without trying to look like it to see if I would pick the fork up. No dice. It might have been the only fork the restaurant had, like in a glass case in the back on the wall. The sign next to it saying "In case of Caucasian, break glass."

10. I saw my old lover's apartment.
By some strange twist of fate, my mother is renting an apartment (for a short term) in the apartment complex where Iceberg lived when I was dating him, about 14 years ago. It gave me strange flashbacks. Not long ago I could have called him and had a laugh about it, but we have had a falling out. Therefore the memory infusion was as annoying as having a splinter under your fingernail.

Define Success

What the heck is success, anyway? If I look at my life from one angle, I feel like I am doing great. Tip things to the side a little and I topple off the mountain and find myself wallowing at the nadir of the achievement scale.

If you look at the American Dream, it is all about getting enough money to say "fuck you" to your boss or your ex or whomever you would like to bid permanent goodbye to, so long as you are so rich that they regret ever holding your down.

An alternate to the pile of cash is the smokin' hot ass. If you get the big makeover so that your old lovers all kick themselves for dumping you, then you have got something pretty special.

I'm not rich, but things are a little better than they were. I'm not hot and young and skinny, but I am not without my charms in the looks department. I do have some good things. Since I did a whole post on what I need, why not do one on the things I have?

1. Friends. I have lost a few, or had to redefine a few in the last couple of years. But I have very good friends whom I adore. I am wealthy in the friends arena.

2. Family. I have a big family that is really supportive and interested in my new little girl. Not everyone in my family is easy to get along with, but I run with a pretty fierce pack. They taught me how to roar.

3. Husband. We are nearing our 13th anniversary. Tony is still my best friend, and he is one hell of a good dad. We have a funny little romance after all these years.

4. Job. Oh man, do I ever bitch about my job. But the honest truth is that I have been there a while and I have a lot of vacation time on the books, even after taking almost a month off when A moved in.

5. A little girl to love. A rocks my socks. I adore her completely. We have our challenges, but she's a tough little kid. I want good things for her, and I may be uniquely suited to teach her to survive what's ahead.

6. A brain. I might not be the smartest person I know, but I do pretty well. I need to keep going with school, because getting good grades helps my self-image.

7. Strength. I persevere. That's my thing. Even if some things make me panic at first, I can usually suck it up and press on. How British of me.

8. Artistic. I'm a little wobbly on this one right now. But writing helps me be who I am.

Considering where I came from and some of the things I have been through in my life, these are some pretty damn good things. I'm trying to define my success by my functionality as much as anything else. That I am not a raving lunatic drooling into my strait-jacket is going to have to be good enough some days. There are other ways, mentioned above, that I would like to succeed. I'd love to be bikini-ready and lolling about on a pile of Benjamins. Wouldn't anyone? I might have to settle for, you know, mostly sane.

Comparing myself to other people will just bring me down. I'm lucky my friends are motivated and talented and brilliant, because it keeps me striving. But as much as I would like to have the body of one and the brains of another, I'm not a franken-girl. I am me, exactly the way I am supposed to be. Some days that is pretty good stuff.