I always play the one year ago game. I think back to where I was one year ago, what I was doing, thinking and who I was dating. Last October 1 I made a promise to myself to start over. I had just been dumped. Again. Same guy, second dumping. I returned my hair to ultra glossy light blonde. A cliche, but I needed updating and freshness. Plus that whole more fun thing, was something I needed. Desperately. That relationship was NOT fun. I changed my phone number. A practical necessity following Katrina's destruction of the cell phone towers, I had no way of calling out. But in reality a true new beginning. An 813 number. The final promise was to not take him back. I didn't. It took several more weeks to finally make that clear. It was only then that Magoo came into my life. That confirmed my theory that you need to close, even slam if necessary, one door before another can open.
Yet that day was still hard. I stood resolved in the cell phone store in the mall. But the salesman could tell my angst. He presumed it mistakenly for being a storm victim, given my old phone number. But that is how downtrodden I must have appeared.
Looking back on it, I think what made it the worst kind of break up but one of the easiest was acknowledging what was wrong. He never loved me. Never even pretended to. I just presumed he did and wanted him to. He made no representations as to loving me. In fact it was clearly obvious he did not. I am sure everyone knew that. Just not me. Finally, recognizing that made it simple to move on. Yet, the worst part was reviewing my own paaaa-thetic behavior over the past year. As if the fact that he dumped me twice was not enough. Why did I take him back? Another six months of torture? Sign me up. While we are at it anyone know where I can buy a one way ticket to Guantamo.
No sleepovers on school nights. He was too busy. No e-mails at work. He was too worried about his job. Never met any of my friends. Hear that. Not a one. Our evenings out, and I am even just talking dinner, were few and far between. We never went to a bar, club, show, anything together. Never. I saw too many movies, most of them on his couch. Not something I would chose to do. Too boring. Often times days would pass with no phone calls. He could not even bother to remove himself from his busy schedule of TV watching, golf playing and laundry to break up with me.
It was Saturday afternoon. I was looking to see what "our" plans were. He told me not to count on him. What? Repeat that? Don't count on you. I thought we decided to do something together. I thought we were dating. "Well...", he began, "I actually do not think we should do anything together....again.". Oh. Silence. So that is where this was going. Good thing I made other plans for Saturday night. That is every Saturday night.... forever. Who just walks away from a relationship like that?
Well at least that was what I thought. What I did not process was that he was never really there. Walking away was simply a small skip for him. He was never invested. All it took for him was one phone call. Like he wanted to cancel the sweater he ordered from J Crew.
Despite this, I decide a week long break is what we needed. Remember, torture? Guantanmo is nice this time of year. He agreed. Come Friday, I asked him when we can discuss "us". Again, he has no time to do that. "I suppose I could fit you in before the Michigan game, say 10 a.m." Fuck no. Finally, finally I became the smarter girl. Heeeello! That was a pretty good sign, not only of his intentions but also that I should stop eating shit with a spoon as if it were mint chocolate chip ice cream. Yum, double scoop please. That was not happening, any longer. Ass munch. We were done. So I let him know it. Insert a fair amount of fuck you's, ass holes and motherfucker. I yell when I am mad. I also have a mouth like a sailor. At last, I finally grew a pair and stood up for myself. At least I could go out with a bang, since I had been a chicken shit for an entire year. Dealing with his whatever issues.
Few tears were shed. I lost a boyfriend, which always breaks your heart. But only to a degree. Especially when your heart should not have been in line of fire to begin with. I was pathetic and sad. Recapping it later, all I can explain was that I was stupid. Girls do stupid things. It was stupid. I have no other adjective. I just have time, one year does wonders for perspective. Thats why I play the game.
Labels: Last Life
Sunday means one last meal and atoning for my sins. Prayers that I am sealed in the book of life. So that there is a future and more means. Saturday means baking a cake, a yoga class and football. Tonight means a wine tasting with my man. This afternoon means filing documents with the Court. Lunch time meant gorging myself on Chinese food. This morning meant a review with Junior Partner. Last night meant a dream about New Orleans daiquiris. Which means that is all I crave. Yeah, fruity, sugar filled alcoholic drinks consumed through a straw. How is that for sinful? They are damn good and I mean it.
Labels: Everyday Life
I was mad because there were plans. I wanted to know what our status was. I look forward with great anticipation to our time together. To your e-mails and phone calls. There was a noticeable absence, understandably so. But the one I did get was bereft of an explanation or any information I could use to determine when I would see you again. I also rely on you. You are my partner. But you did not seem to be filling that role and you were not communicating your position in that role.
Another 10 minutes wasted on the phone where we yelled. Bill that at a .2. I know you cannot quit your job and that you like spending time with me. Well duh, double duh. That is sooooooooo not the point. Couldn't we have spent the total of the past 20 minutes being more productive? (make that a .4). Clearly we could have used the time to tell me exactly what you had to do, how long it would take and the status of our plans. How can you not understand that? It is not about the job or about liking me. It is about managing it and saying it properly. Again, how do you not understand that? Even when I say, "it is about managing it", you do not understand. Oh. My. God. I needed a gun with two bullets.
I KNOW you are stressed out. I KNOW this sucks and I cause you ten fold stress. But it breaks my heart and it made me cry.
This is what kills me.........the e-mail and the phone calls were dead ringers for G. Right down to the whispered tones. This was the EXACT shit he pulled. No explanations. Just brief messages of business. It fucking hurts. For a whole ton of reasons. None of which, is that this is what he did when he was getting ready to break up with me. Created distance with no explanation.
I am sorry that you have to bear that. It is not your fault, necessarily. I just wanted some more details and a lot less G. I asked for an one minute e-mail instead of a 10 second one. No more. I understand everything else.
I say this because I truly love you. I know you cherish me as well. This is not meant to break us up or destroy us. I just want things to be perfect. I love you and know you love me.
Now get back to work!
I just adore this. I want to eat it with a big spoon in a heaping gobble. I want to scream it from the roof top. I could spend all day knee deep sinking in it. I want to write down every feeling, idea, emotion. Good, moody, and wonderful.
I love it like the blankness of a fresh legal pad. It is a joy to write that first sentence. Crisp, clean.
Like the taste of vinegar in balsmaic dressing on a crunchy salad. Coated over the carrots, mushrooms and onions. Thrown together with blue cheese, walnuts and pears.
Like the smell of fresh flowers at a bar mitzvah or wedding. The boldness and volume are so pungent it is amazing.
Like the moans that emit from Ginger's belly when I arrive home from work everyday. As if her longing was uncontrollable and she has so much to share.
Like extra globs of cream cheese smothering a perfectly toasted warm bagel. Gloriousness in my mouth.
Like the feeling of being naked on newly washed sheets cooled from the blasts of 68 degree air conditioning. Comfort and bliss know no mercy.
Like diving head first into a swimming pool. The rush of the water on your head is so calming and complete.
Like seeing *that* name appear on your caller id, in your in-box and in a text message. Hearts stop beating and a smile is all you can do.
Like putting on those ass slimming, hip hugging perfect pair of over the top expensive jeans and feeling damn awesome. Heels, a top, dangling earrings are no match for the jeans.
Like that perfect combination of a back scratch, a back rub and a back massage. It hits all the key points, is relaxing and brings you to the comfort point.
Like gettting dressed for an evening out. The excitment, anticipation and prep time are all enough. Showering, clothing, make up and accessories. Perfume, pre-drinks and loud ass booty shaking music.
Like Thai food. I will lick the bowl. In public.
Like cracking open the newest Elle magazine to drop into your mail box. Fashion ads, beautiful people and window shopping all between the glossy covers.
Like plucking that perfect piece of eyebrow hair. Getting it is just as rewarding it as exterminating it. Success all around.
Like running my hands through my baby sister's chocolate brown un-dyed hair. It is so thick, loucious and soft, God knew what he was doing.
Like a cool glass of Pinot Grigio. So tasty and tangy. Benefit - a good buzz.
Like looking in the mirror and feeling beatutiful. Flaws, imperfections and all. Knowing that all of this is out there to love. For the loving. To adore.
A warm fuzzy feeling. Goodness and cleanliness. A fresh towel and my lovers arms engulf me after the steamy shower. The erasure from the shampoo and soap. Washing off the old, the frustrations. Impurities stripped away. Love ensues. New clean love. Plans of the future, movements, and furniture. Discards and give aways. Removal. Renewal. The towel is gone and a new love is found. Crisp sheets. The warm fuzzy feeling is duplicated, replicated, removed and returned. The cleanliness is erased. The dirt following is comfort food to cling to your ribs through the day. A scent different from Dove. A glance, a touch, clothing. Warmth from a new source.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
She prefers being alone. A good bone, some heavy petting and the Food Network. Wait was that supposed to go in my likes?
She goes by The Ging, Ginger Beans, Ju-Ju Beans, Ge-Ga, Ru-Ru and Lady Bug.
Her sophisticated palate likes to enjoy such delicacies as chicken bones, dog poo, her ho-ha, grass, bread, cheese, turkey, sausage, pretzels, cereal, ice cream... Just don't give her apples, she spits them out.
The axiom that a dog will not soil where they sleep is not true. It means cleaning towels or bedding and a dog. It does not mean they will not do it.
Her alter-ego is Dirty Paw Magee. He turns her porcelain white boots into a muddy mess. He is not allowed in the house.
She can stand and walk on her hind legs for several minutes. She looks like a circus ballerina, but it is done to give her optimal height for food stealing.
She will urinate on all surfaces of the house, at all times. This includes the bed, during intercourse. Mid-coital she has jumped on the bed and urinated. Not kinky. A mood killer and dirty. Magoo stayed with me and I sprung for new sheets. With think she may be religious.
Her nose is adorable, soft and stubby. It makes the most horrible ruckus. Her snoring will rock your world.
Squirrels are her enemy. Lucky for them she has never caught one.
She loves her daddy, Magoo. She can hear him coming for miles and whines when he leaves her. He loves her right back, kisses and Ginger hugs.
We think she is the evil leader of the dog underworld. Dogs either bark at her or introduce themselves via ass-sniffs. She ignores all. As leader she is not to address them in public.
She had a growth removed and a teeth cleaning in one shot. She came home drugged with a satellite dish necklace. Within hours she broke the satellite in half. Human hands could not have achieved that task.
Her ears are what is good with this earth. They are soft, smooth and long. They stand on attention when she is alert, excited or there are cookies present.
The couch, futon and dirty laundry piles are hers for the taking. Sleeping, peeing or resting, any and all of it.
Every morning she scooches her little belly across the floor. It is her morning routine. She needs it like I need coffee.
Touch her paws and death to you and your loved ones. Consider yourself warned.
Night time involves a Ginger-fying ritual. Blankets, towels and clothes are moved to the just right position. If they are not just so, the process continues. Time is not of the essence, Ginger-fying must go on.
A good scratch above the head is her go-to spot. Do it and become her friend for life.
As an aside - I was just sent this link via e-mail from E. Looks sufficiently random but on point to a certain four legged friend. http://www.petapotty.com/home.html
The only thing I want to do right now involves a long sleeve extra thin cotton t-shirt from the Gap, soft sleep pants from Anthropologie, two extra cool pillows, my down comforter and my bubee's hand knit blanket, on my bed. My sick-y attire. I want to alternate between sleep, reading Kitchen Confidential, Elle Magazine and tv watching, last nights missed episode of Studio 60. I was sleeping then too. I am sick, but nothing that a good 12 hours of rest won't cure. My father believes 3 fingers of scotch and good snooze under 5 blankets will cure anything. I tend to agree, maybe less the scotch, I think I would vomit all over my white Ralph Lauren bedding. My head feels like a pressure cooker, my body feels like a school bus ran over it and the snot is never ending.
Labels: Everyday Life
Football, I really enjoy watching and New Orleans is my dear city. Close to my heart and beautiful. Football is back in New Orleans. In fact it is back at the Super Dome. The dreaded site of bodies, babies, rapes, murders and waste. All of it a human waste. The Super Dome saw some of the worst we had to offer as a country and by far the worst New Orleans had to suffer through after the storm. Its re-opening is just the opposite. A celebration of life and a celebration of that dear city.
The Saints, formerly known as the 'aints, for their poor performance season after season, will never be known that way again. They have sold out tickets for the rest of this season, something they have never done. Impossible to imagine given the size of that stadium and the relatively few people that have remained or returned to New Orleans this past year. A true testament to the fact that they are the 'aints no more.
I had been to the Super Dome only three times. Twice to graduate; BA and JD and once to a Tulane football home game. Clearly the building is more than just an enormous football stadium, it is a huge representation of all to come. I lived in New Orleans for seven years. That is my city. When I graduated and was set to move back to Florida the next morning, my friend, a New Orleans native, paid me a wonderful compliment, and told me I was, "A true New Orleans lady". Nothing stood out more to me than those words. It warmed my heart. This was one year before Katrina, another New Orleans lady. A lady that ruined the city. It seemed like it's glory had been lost. The only info I have are the news updates and reports from friends. Sadly, I cannot comment since, I have not been back since the storm. I feel awful guilt about it, Jewish guilt, it is the worst kind. I had a plane ticket and reservations for February, pre-Mardi Gras, but there was a death in the family and the trip was cancelled. I have since re-booked and plan to ring in the New Year there. There is nothing I can do undo the past so I just look forward to the future trip and know how meaningful it will be to me.
To so many New Orleans was just a steamy hot bed of alcohol and beads. Known for food and music. All of that is true, 150% true. But it is so much more. It is daiquiris on the fly watching the ships go by. It is sushi at Rock 'n Sake in the Warehouse district followed by Gallery Hopping. It is one afternoon of manicures at Belladonna's, coffee and internet searching at Rue de La Course, shopping at Hemline and beer at the Bulldog, all on one block of Magazine Street. There was the CC's in Mid-City, tree lined and cozy and the one uptown filled with students and laptops. Exercising in Audubon Park with the cyclists, runners, babies and thai chi classes. The rambling mansions on St. Charles, Whole Food goodies, Dos Jefes cigar bar. Funny words, Tchopitoulas, Po-boys and Domilises that connotate good times, good people and good places. It is live local music every night of the week at the Maple Leaf, Le Bon Ton and Tips. The juiciest hamburgers at Port of Call, all night grilled cheese sandwiches at Camilla Grill and the addictive bread sticks at Reginnellis. Fine dining was abundant from the Brennan's restaurants and the famous chefs they trained, Emeril and Paul Prudhomee (the originator of the dirty martini). It was the smaller joints that stood out the most, Jacqu-imo's, Dick and Jenny's, Clancy's and 210. Food rules the town but drinks and music are never far behind. There is a cultural feeling and vibe in the city.
One I hope is not lost and one I know will always remain. Louisianans are known for being loyal to their state. It is said that the uniqueness of it all makes it impossible to leave. This creates ties to the city that will help it grow, from it's own people. I hope to see this when I return in December. It has also made me wish to return there, permanently. Magoo and I have discussed it. This is something we will look into when we are there. This is one New Orleans lady that is Proud to call it Home and that 'aint so bad.
I will miss this summer and I will miss a great many things about summer, in general. It was really my first summer with Magoo. We entertained with BBQ's and friends. We traveled to Vermont to experience their summer, oh so wonderful and not so humid. There was the beach, bathing suits and sun burns. Flip-flops, tank tops and dresses. Thunderstorms (the serious kind, we do it right here) and sunshine (ditto).
Yet, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I look forward to the fall. I want it to get here bad. The last time I remember looking forward to fall was in junior high. My best friend, AliQ, and I spent hours flipping through Seventeen magazine studying the latest fall "fashions". We were looking to see what we needed to buy at 5-7-9 or Burdines, to be worn on the first day of school. Make that the first week of school. You needed enough clothes to make it through a whole five days. I remember she even wrote me a letter one summer, while I was away, and let me know that vests were back in and her mom just bought her one. I wanted one of those desperately and a black hat, remember this was 1992.
For now I look forward to the fall for different reasons. Cleary it is no longer about school starting. In Florida the seasons do not change per se, but there is a difference. We are off Hurricane Watch. The humidity is not mind blowing stifling. Football season has started. I usually regret the start of fall and miss all the things I did not get to do during the summer. It is October and I do not have the tan I wanted (you don't usually go to the beach much after that as a native Floridian). This year, that sentiment is not there. I look forward to gords, pumpkins, tweeds, closed toed flats and cooler crisper temps. Obviously there are no leave changes, fires or even sweaters yet. After all, it is still 87 degrees. But in our hearts it is fall and I am excited. Starbucks and Publix are offering the trappings of fall, in the form of gingerbread lattes and imported Northern leaves shaped into wreaths. As soon as it turns October, Magoo and I are getting pumpkins to carve. I am also secretly purchasing all the Halloween decorations splayed across the CVS. I want to decorate the house. Make it fall festive. Even if we are still in shorts and tees.
I think the longing I feel for the fall is a need to push all the unease from the past few months away. If it means a change of seasons and a new wardrobe, then that seems easy enough. I want to get past the bickering and discussions. We cannot even have sex without getting into a conversation. I want to enjoy my job again or even find a new one. The summer meant fruitless searches and bad billing. I want to REALLY lose those ten pounds. I am on my way, but I am frustrated and want to see instant results. I want to be more comfortable and happy. All of those factors contribute, plus more good, truly good friends here and more free time to enjoy them. I am seriously taking steps towards those goals. Plus, recognizing them is the first step, right? I think I am on the way. I sure know that fall is on the way.
S's date went well. He has not called. So much for my playing match maker. I am over it and I feel like shit.
I forgot my friend E's birthday on 9.14. She forgave me, via blackberry from London, where she is on vacay. I sent her beeeaaaautiful flowers to arrive at her office, when she returns from her trip on Tuesday. She bought me a cute Furla clutch for mine, that arrived on time. There was a phone call and a card. I have an un-sent one ready for her sitting on my coffee table. I feel like shit.
I did not call my father on Monday to check on him after his colonoscopy. Neither did my sister. I feel like shit (no pun intended, seriously none). I think my sister feels like shit too.
My friend B sent me flowers to cheer me up from the rough week I had. How friggin nice of her? I wish I could be a friend like that. She too is on vacay in London. Which only made me feel shittier. She could go away and still do something nice, but I forget someone's birthday. Shitty.
It is the Jewish New Year. Maybe it is time to take inventory of the shit and do a deep cleaning. A colonic. This can be my new year's resolution. I am Jewish, so I am lucky, I get two. This one will be to try to erase the shit from this week and this year. I can see how much of it I can clean out by the calendar new year.
I will call my grandparents more, my bubbee in Montreal and my grandpa in Miami.
I will start tennis lessons at the Davis Island club, Monday nights, one hour.
I will take cooking classes, go to wine tastings and performances on a monthly basis. After all, it is Tampa and I do work. More then that is a lot.
I will take caution with my words toward Magoo.
I will go back to billing 40 hours a week. 15 straight weeks at 30 hours or less is no way to keep my job.
Yes that is correct five dogs. Only one I own. Three followed me home two nights ago. One we are pet-sitting for a friend.
The three stray dogs tore my heart out. It seems that some cruel soul dropped them off in my neighborhood with hopes that someone would adopt them. They are freakin' adorable, well-trained and mild mannered. Two mini-schnauzers and a matching mutt. Clearly came from a home, obviously not street dogs. The worst part was that I could do nothing for them. All animal services in the tri-county area are closed at night, unless you have an abused or injured animal. Thankfully, these were neither. Unthankfully, I was stuck. I have a 1000 square foot condo, that already contains one dog and a Magoo. (Plus, I finally sprang for the maid service, who diligently made my house sparkle just that morning). I know no one who has the space or even a yard to house three dogs overnight, at least until the animal services opened. So the ultimate decision came to let them continue to wander the neighborhood, so that one of the more tony homeowners would adopt/care for them. This plan seems to have worked. Last night, on the way home from yoga, I spotted a Found Dog sign. It listed the three dogs. I hope and pray they find a wonderful home.
As for the last dog of the five. Chase. Magoo and I agreed to dog-sit him while his owners are overseas in Iraq and at a funeral, respectively. Really, how could we say no? He is an enormous ball of puppy energy. To the extent that at 2 am he was bouncing against the inside of his crate. Wholly unacceptable. It even drove Ginger out of the room. Chase, is a sweet DAR dog. Thankfully he will be gone by Sunday. There is only so much dog I can take.
Now for the Ging, we are stuck with her. This includes her frequent urination habit. Maybe this one was her registering her annoyance at Chase. But please, why does she need to pee in her own bed? I guess the only response is, that it is better than her peeing in my bed. Which she has done.
Labels: Everyday Life
This little object controls my life. Those mercifully unfamiliar with it, this is a digital dictaphone. New, fancy and 21st century. It still creates the same drone as the tape versions. Especially since, the more I put into it, the more work I have to do, but the better I look. It is that whole billing thing again. I look better when there are more hours billed, a courtesy of the dictaphone. I honestly carry it with me where ever I go. In a city where blackberries are scarce and we have car radios so i-pods are not a necessity, this is my electronic device of choice. People driving by me probably wonder what I am doing when they see me holding it and talking into it. But I do and I will do it anywhere. It captures everything, the testimony of the man who is a liar and swore he never injured his back before. The medical records of someone's erectile disfunction, carpal tunnel syndrome, lumbar sprain, urological difficulties and physiological trauma. A review of surveillance of the severely injured women who is grocery shopping for 12 bottles of wine. My conversations with opposing counsel who just threatened me with litigation. Oooh I am scared. Guess what buddy? That is what we do, litigate. That is what we do and it is all captured on that small handheld device.
The funny thing is that I became a lawyer because I love to talk. I talk a lot and I talk fast. Yet I have come to hate to talk. I would rather sit in my office and read and type. I do not want to talk into it. When I look at that device, I sometimes feel ill. Maybe because of the power and control it has over me. I think quite clearly it represents a lot more then just that.....but this is not the time or place for such ramblings. For now my disdain for the device will have to do. We (well, those of us that know who we are) have all been there.On a related topic, I recently received this e-mail. All of it holds true. Most of it is sadly funny.
My friend PDV once told me to be careful what you ask for in a relationship, because it might not actually be what you want. (see, below on PDV). Once you say the words out loud, you tend to realize how silly they are. You also tend to realize that those words may not be the true problem, it may be something else that is bothering you. So just be careful.
She was dead on. I do it all the time and instantly regret my decision to speak up. It usually is just saying the sentences out loud that makes me realize that I do not truly mean it and that I am being silly, for lack of any better word. Yet, I still do it. I did it last night. Magoo HELPS me around the house, all the time, without asking. He does the dishes, the laundry, walks Ginger, goes to the grocery store, make coffee and one thousand tiny little other things. Yet, I decided this was not what I needed. While this was nice, I decided that this was all perfunctory and necessary. He was helping himself too, after all. They were his dishes and his dog also. Plus, these are all things I can do on my own, without a man. If he were not here they would continue to get done by me. I have a man around to send me flowers and do thoughtful things for me. So I said that. Oops. Regretted it instantly. Could I be more of a bitch? Um, let me see, nope. He does all of those things listed above, without asking and without question. To him they are thoughtful. No doubt, they are not romantic. But they are beyond helpful and do make my life 147% easier. Now isn't that thoughtful?
I probably should have thought more about my topic of choice and opted for a conversation about romance. Instead of going the route I chose. But in my defense (there was a lot of thought, just not the proper kind) I felt that if he was going to exert effort, I would prefer it to be of the romantic kind and not the domestic kind. I did not want to hear that he spent two hours doing laundry and to him that was enough. Because I do not need my laundry done. I need someone who is thoughtful about me and what I want. That person would then know that I needed those things and also know that dishes and dogs are not what I need washed. I would prefer my trash to sit out if it meant thoughtful and romantic time together. Though a thoughful gesture could still involve cleaning, like taking my car to be washed when you know it is dirty. It does not always have to be grand (expensive) gestures either. Like buying the Last Kiss CD you know I have mentioned 39 times. It is something to show that you are actually paying attention to me, for me, and who I am. Not what you think I am. Not what you think I need. Actually think about ME.
So, I shared all of that. I think my convoluted message was heard - all relationships can always use more romance, especially at the expense of an un-made bed. I think I also heard my own message. I KNOW I need to really take PDV's advice to heart and think before I speak.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
Once upon a time there was a small tadpole. His friends teased him and called him Magoo, mostly because he could not see very well but also because it rhymed with shoe. And you see, small tadpoles often times need to wear shoes as they learn to become frogs and hop around. This tadpole, we will also call him Magoo, had a great deal of difficulty with the whole hopping thing, he kept losing his shoe when he would attempt to hop. So his friends, rather then making fun of him and calling him shoe (which arguably is not funny, but just random) opted for Magoo.
Well one day Magoo and his friends, tadpole #1, tadpole #2 and tadpole #3, got into a wee bit of trouble. As we all know snakes are the number one enemy of the tadpole. The tadpole quad had been warned on many occasion, by their lovely froggy mommies, never to go near the side of the pond where the big lily pads are, as it is where the snakes are buried. However, given the diligence of the froggy mommas and their thus far watchful eye over their brood, the tadpoles did not even know what a lily pad was or for that matter a snake. So be as they are, the tadpoles hopped (except for magoo, as you know the history there) over to the area with the lily pads. This was clearly the best spot in the pond to play leap frog. As they commented the same to each other "the pads are the biggest and strongest over here, this is the best place to play leap frog. No wonder our mothers did not want us over here - they want to kill all that is fun!".
Yet soon enough, without fail, the big ugly horrific slimy snake started to slither over. The tadpoles were oblivious to this event as they were so thoroughly enjoying themselves. Before you know it though tadpole #3 was inches away from the snakes big ugly jaws. Only Magoo himself saw what was happening. However, due to geography and timing the only way that tadpole #3 was going to survive in this world and make it as a frog was if someone saved him and that someone had to be Magoo. Wouldn't you know it, Magoo leaped over (shoes and all) and pushed #3 out of the way while boinking slimy snake on the head. After a dazed 5 seconds passed, all 4 tadpoles cheered Magoo. He rescued a member of their brethren and conquered his shoe hopping problem all in one afternoon. Before the slimy snake could come to again, all 4 poles hopped off toward the safe end of the pond and their mommies. None of them ever returned to the big lily pads after that, as they most definitely learned their lessons. More so, Magoo learned how to hop as a proper frog without his shoes falling off. Now he is called Jesus (pronounced Je-sues).
This is my dear friend. I had the pleasure of spending time with her on Sunday night. She is a brilliant women, a doctor too. She is kind, caring and understanding. If I could pay her enough, I would force her to move here, to be my doctor and take care of my future kids (and myself). She is just that good. Plus, then I would have a true friend here. It was wonderful to see her and spend time with her. I always feel like I learn so much from her. She knows me well too, that knowing from spending your formative high school years together. That is irreplaceable and so very important.
Mappy, was an original member of two Jews and a Hindu. You do the math. That was the same time she ignored the US History teacher's questions as to why she was tardy (she was always tardy) and responded, "I brought quiche". Who would not love a girl that bring quiche to class, at 10 am, and blatantly defies authority. So goes our friendship. Mr. Jurado's physics class, never there. Ms. Berger's fourth period, seriously went 1/3 of the time. We dined at every establishment within a 10 mile radius of PHS. Damn if that hurt us. She will dance on a table and drink you under one. Do not be fooled by the tiny bites of food she takes or her tiny stature. She is the whole package.
While it seems these memories are high school based, nothing could be farther from the truth. Through undergrad, law school, med school, residency and jobs, over 1000 miles apart and sometimes time zones (we love the CST) we have kept in touch. Friday nights, while getting ready were usually our time. She has been that beautiful, wonderful supportive Mappy Hindu we love. She too will find someone who appreciates those wonderful qualities. Someone, she can bring quiche to. Good luck, P.
I always had a journal, yet it ended when I became an "adult". And by adult I mean when I graduted with the JD and was forced into the real world. I stopped journaling then. I think a number of factors are to blame for the demise of the journal. One of the bigger ones was that I did not necessarily have the life I previously had, the one that warranted reflection. I was just a drone in a job. I was also trying to make a life for myself in a new city. I needed new friends, new relationships and a new perspective. While all of this seems to warrant reflection, I think I was too caught up in it to honestly feel anything. I remember not even feeling sad or concerned. I was just feeling and trying to breathe. I was certainly not writing.
Now maybe with time and being more settled I realized I needed more. I also have been a lawyer for two years and the drone has set in. I found a nice relationship that has given me the comfort and time to really reflect.
All of this is how I got here. To be honest, I did not even know this world existed until a few short weeks ago. A testament to my existence being consumed with legal theories, New Orleans and the above situation. I was not using the internet like I am today. This world came to light at a time when I needed it the most. Again, this is how I got here. This is my journal. I can breathe during the day, when the drone is at its worst. I can use it to reflect, as I had done in the past. I can capture all those stories, that I have always loved to tell, and truly share them.
My good friend, S, has a first date tomorrow night. We (seriously all of us) are excited about this date. To the extent that we had to convince her to be excited as well. Now she is. I know she is and I know it is genuine. I think this can be a great guy for her, everything she wants but was never able to find. This has the potential to change her as a person (it seems that it is already happening) and to change her into a person in a relationship.
It makes me lust after that first date excitement as well. It also makes me lust after changes. I have enough excitement for her and enough love for Magoo, so that is not the kind of change I mean. The change I mean is that I honestly can see the commitment now. We were in a baaad place the last few weeks. Tons and tons of conversations, discussions and resentment. Now I can actually see good, make that, great things. We went through it for a reason and it made us stronger. While this may seem premature, to me it only took a few good days to recollect the relationship that was there. It made us better for that exact reason. Not only are we in a good place, but it is heart warming how fast we can get there so quickly from the bad place. It is equally as exciting. This is the change that is awesome. This change brings excitment for me. It is not the first date jitters excitment, it is better.
I miss him, I really do. I saw someone who I thought was him and my heart skipped a beat. I thought he made it back early and came to join us. While it was not him, the idea that I could miss him and hope for him to be there was un-real. How welcome and wonderful, especially after all we have been through. I realize how petty and silly all the other bull shit is, but how I let it become us and define our relationship. I need not do that. I need to remember this feeling.
I woke up this morning feeling the emptyiness. It was quiet, but not welcome or peaceful. I was missing then too.
What I do not miss are the assholes who take football too seriously. Yes, yes I know it is Florida and for that matter it is truly Florida football. That is capital F as in the University of. I have no aminosity per se. I am minding my own business, so much so that I am standing outside on the phone with my sister who is in Oregon. We are discussing her male drama. While I am wearing a Miami t-shirt, what is important is three fold; (1) Miami lost, really beyond that who cares, (2) Florida had not yet played, who was to say they would win and (3) they were not playing each other, have not played in two years and will not play for several more years unless by the grace of god they meet in the BCS Championship game. So that being said, a 4 foot 11 inch chick walked by me and said, "fuck Miami". What the f? The only reasonable response to that was, "fuck you". And that was how the evening went. When actually in the end, it was really fuck Florida. They fucking won. How about that F for you?
I just want to revel in my own grumpiness. I am grumpy and I need to sit in my own grumpy stew. I need to get to that perfect grumpy point. Otherwise, it is not a good grumpy and it may need to last longer or be repeated later. Isn't it better to just let it be now, who wants it repeated later?
Labels: Mr. Magoo
1. I listen to country music.
2. I hate tomatoes, except in salsa and ketchup. Otherwise I could vomit from them. I once told a friend the same. His family made their fortune in tomato farming.
3. I have to put on chapstick after I brush my teeth, before I go to bed and before I go to work. I prefer cherry Chapstick brand and Bag Balm.
4. I have an excellent sense of direction. This holds true a majority of the time, and is especially true in a new city.
5. I believe there is a perfect chocolate chip cookie, it is not too hard or soft and does not include double chocolate. I also believe there is a perfect apple that is nothing if it is not extremely hard.
6. I have bad stomach issues that means I can pass gas at any time of day.
7. I use to floss, but have not in about two years.
8. I have not had sex in three days.
9. I dislike milk. I actually crave orange juice when eating chocolate especially brownies and cookies.
10. I will make a deuce at work, see #6.
11. I only wear underwear when exercising, even then it is not a guarantee.
12. I always spell believe incorrectly (thank god for spell check).
13. I do not like cake, especially birthday cake. No, I am not a communist. Yes, I obviously still eat desserts, see #5 and #9.
14. It takes me a good few seconds to figure out left from right.
I need you to listen to me. I am serious about this. It is a big freaking deal to me. I need you not only to hear the words but truly listen. Do not interject what you think I am saying. Do not always assume there is some personal attack aimed directly at you. Chances are they are not. That is until I realize you are not listening and you are assuming. It is not just that you can hear the English language, but that you process what I am saying. Stop before you get defensive. Stop and think. Am I really attacking you? Would I really be saying that? Or even better, did I just say the same thing and you were too busy taking offense and running defense to even hear it? You need to listen, you need to think and you need to pause. It is the sign of a patient person. It will also make the whole ordeal easier. Do not assume I am attacking you and it will no longer feel like I am attacking you. It will no longer turn a conversation into an argument. It will no longer make me feel like I am constantly being opposed. I need you to listen to this, to me.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
Fucking A, I have a mess of an apartment. The dirt level is insane. To a normal person, it would not be bothersome. But Type A cannot handle it. Everywhere I turn I see something that could be cleaned. I am going to have to spend the night away from it otherwise I will scream. I need a merry, merry maid stat. Why I struggle with the decision to hire one is beyond me (aside from the fact that I do not think that they will do as good of a job as I would, the ridicoulsness being I do not have the time to do any job). If I could hire someone to handle the rest of the mess that life causes I would gladly hand over $60. Yet, I struggle with this decision, when it is just that easy. Amazing what we sweat over. Can someone come in to edit my documents, research assignments and reports? Clean up my inbox? Can I pay somone to take off those last 10 pounds? Pay all my bills? Have my teeth cleaned for me? This is an easy one.
To continue with the dirt theme of the day. I just walked into the bathroom after lunch, carrying my purse and a large cup of soda and ice. My bag got caught on the door handle of the bathroom, caused me to trip and fall forward. My cup flew across the room spraying the entire bathroom with diet coke and ice. Talk about a mess. One that I had to clean up too.
Labels: Everyday Life
Ginger will honestly put anything in her mouth. Typically this includes left over chicken wings from construction sites, but it can include any garbage, dog shit and tonight my boob. I was sitting here, mouth level, when she licked my boob. My best guess is the salty, perfume scent attracted her, but it does create a lot better imagery than that. Ginger, Anne, boob. Nice huh? While Ginger will put anything in her mouth, I will let anything come out of mine. At times there does not appear to be a filter. I will constantly criticize (at this point it is just critcism, the propsenity to chat/gossip is left for later). I cannot stop "pointing out" Magoo's issues. It is terribly unfair. Am I perfect? Asbolutely not. Am I stubborn? Hell yeah. Will I point out anything for the sake of it? Double that, hell yeah. It is horrifically unfair. Set aside the hypocrisy, but I would be unhappy to be with someone who was my spitting image. Diversity is key and in reality lends itself to less strife. It is just when I am unhappy I will take it out on the closest target. At this time, that target is Magoo. If all goes well that someone will be Magoo for a lot longer The irony is that the pointing out these "issues" will hopefully not push him away. Again, someone that was my double would NEVER handle these pointings outs (as I would not be able to). However, his easy going nature makes it possible to accept my criticsm and ignore it for what it is not. It is not meant to be anything. Truly it is nothing. It is my own tiredness relfecting on the nearest target, the one that is the most comfortable, the one that is most like my cozy bed. He presents that bed like feeling of being an easy, close target. Yet tonight his tiredness sent him to our bed. I will not blame myself, per se. I will just accept that one gets tired, understanding is a lesson he can teach me. For now I will let Ginger lick my boob, afterall it is Friday night, I have had some cockpails and a girl needs some action.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
Packing my Kate Spade black and white tote for work this morning alerted me to the realization of the events of the past year. There was a giant hole in my kitchen ceiling. Water leaked through from my upstairs neighbors' washing machine. The repairman, from the warranty company, forgot to re-attach the hose to the machine and water poured out for two days, before it found its way to my ceiling pouring through the lights in my kitchen. Luckily, into my sink. Truly no better place for a leak. My neighbor, the plumber and R were over. All to inspect and monitor the damage. The plumber could do no more than stop the leak. We needed a full on construction team to restore and repair (mold aside). Not to mention multiple insurance companies; his, hers and mine. Standing there, in the midst of my broken kitchen, with a broken relationship, that would later require adjusters, repairmen and construction, I witnessed a touching moment. My neighbors live-in girlfriend returned home and saw the conglomerate of people that had been amassed. With no words, just a gesture she swept her hand over his for a brief moment. They exchanged another knowing glance and continued to discuss the washing machine-kitchen-ceiling fiasco. Seeing them, understanding what they were knowing, made me understand and know what I had was not right. Given that the ceiling could not be repaired at that moment and knowing that there was only one thing can fix most issues, R and I headed to Nordstrom. I purchased the black and white tote. I bought it because I felt it could handle anything, given its size, color and water-proof interior (I had enough water recently). I knew it could handle all of my needs. I also knew that I did not have a meaningful exchange and that this relationship was NOT handling all my needs. Instead I had a giant hole in my ceiling and one my relationship too. I knew what I needed to do, $110, did not seem to be a lot of money considering what the tote had to offer.
Labels: Last Life