I am looking for someone, who can take as much as I give,
Give back as much as I need,
And still have the will to live.
I am intense,
I am in need,
I am in pain,
I am in love.
I feel forsaken, like the things I gave away.
(c) Indigo Girls (1989).
A few weeks back Magoo treated himself to a Saturday full of errands which included a trip to the Generic Pet Store. For my life I cannot remember which location has Pet Smart and which has the Pet Savers. To me there is no difference because I cannot also remember which carries Ginger's food and which does not. And I inevitably chose wrong when it comes to that time. To me it is like the color of my toothbrush. I just don't know. There are details of my life that I can never for the life of me remember. Ever. I have a penchant for detail and can tell you that Donna Martin wore a black tube top with a white flower on the first day of school but never in my whole life will I know the color of my toothbrush or which pet store is in which location. So at Generic Strip Mall Pet Store, Magoo purchased a retractable leash for Ginger. He was all hyped up and gung-ho about this development of his progression as a pet owner. He had broached the subject with me a number of times and I dismissed it. We were a family of standard leashes. Quiet, easy, complacent leashes in lovely shades that match the collars. This retractable business was too much for me to consider so I pushed it aside much like his suggestions that I remove my shoes from the front door area. I hear it and I decide it does not jibe with the essence of me so I do nothing about it. Well when you put Magoo alone in Generic Pet Store and hand him a Visa he does what he can. Because lord knows that this tactic WILL WORK TO REMOVE MY SHOES. But I am just saying - I can be bribed. So he bought us the retractable leash and attached it to Ginger's collar and it has been a miserable struggle for me ever since that moment. He poked fun at me and my inability to multi-task while walking the dog. The bag, the bag filled with poop, the retraction mechanism, and quite often the cell phone and of course just plain walking - which often times is one of the biggest challenges. Well I cannot master all these things. And the leash gives me serious anxiety. I cannot control it properly, she is either choking on it or roaming freely through my neighbors bedroom it is just that long. I can never get the mechanism to catch and in seconds she is 199 feet ahead of me eating yesterday's garbage. It is just a mess.
This evening I took her out for her nightly constitutional and at the same time was on the phone with Magoo. This I blame on him. Being in Philadelphia means that I HAVE TO talk on the phone to him while walking the dog. She inevitably made her way around and around a tree while he and I are discussing whether Philadelphia really is dirty and how he could get lost and wind up in New Jersey. I managed to notice that she had some how made two circles around the tree as the leash has that much slack. With my semi-free hand I "unwrapped" her leash trying to undo her circles but only created another one and somehow also a knot. And at this point she still had enough leash to wander aimlessly through the neighbors yard. I say shit very loudly - as now there was a beagle tied to my neighbors tree. I urgently hung up with Magoo, or really just cursed a lot and dropped my phone on the concrete, and again try to reign her in. No luck - there are now two knots. She was gently pulling and trying her best to get into the flower beds. So I do what only seems rational - I sit down on the sidewalk and try to undo the circles and knots to make sure she does no more damage. This must have looked totally normal - who wouldn't feel safe seeing a girl in running shorts sitting on the sidewalk outside their home at 10:30 on a Thursday night? I recognize this and make another well planned move - I take off Ginger's leash. She sees this as any poorly trained dog would - as freedom and she starts to run. I run too, which is not something I do ever or well and especially not in flip-flops. Luckily she sees home as a good destination and I whole heartily agree. I opened the door, grabbed the spare leash, strapped her in, and headed back to the tree. I am getting girlfriend points here, right? I seriously contemplated letting the leash stay there and walking her in the complete opposite direction pretending this NEVER HAPPENED. But, 1) how do I explain to Magoo that his prized leash is tied in knots to a neighbors tree; and 2) what would the neighbors think? So we proceeded back to the tree to untie the knots. This was a smidge easier as there was not a stubborn dog attached to one end pulling on it. But it was still abhorrently difficult as it was night and there are about 73 knots. There was also a friendly neighbor type watching. "How'd ya get so many knots in there?" Now that is the kind of support I am looking for - right to the point and annoying. I ignore him and slowly and mechanically undo every single knot thinking that Magoo better appreciate me rescuing his leash. Because I know that I am NEVER using the damned thing again. We walked the rest of the block with the spare leash all blissful and normal like old times. No thinking involved and the Beagle kept at a normal distance. And when I got home I left my shoes at the front door. That's just how I am.
Labels: Everyday Life, Mr. Magoo
We don't believe people who say they don't fight and we don't believe that an absence of fighting is a good thing. Should've added that to My Believe. Sure there are horrific fights and really the content is what matters in general anyway. Small fights over the garbage or big fights of infidelity, clearly not the same and clearly the fighting is not the issue. But we bicker, we pick, I nag, condescend and leave the dishes next to the sink. What we have really come to blows about though - the washing machine and dryer. No, not doing laundry. The actual machines. Because there is no issue over doing laundry. Magoo is on top of that. On top. Seriously. Is that shirt dirty? I think I saw a stain. No really it is soiled. He is on it like flies to honey or whatever the expression is. It is not a question of getting it done or even getting it folded. Though there have been conversations about proper sorting. Towels don't go with clothes. Ever. Sorry they just don't. And only once was there some tie-dying going on. But for the majority of the time that is his domain. Yet we have managed to duke it out over the machines going several rounds and counting. Primarily because of his love and need to clean every article of clothing regardless of dirt level or length of wear. In this world apparently you need machines and you need them NOW. Or else the laundry monsters will come get you and hold you hostage for ransom doled out in Tide bottles.
When Magoo moved in with me in November my stackable was on its last legs. It worked fine for a gal who did laundry in months that began with August and who had access to her parents machine, the dry cleaner, and her boyfriend's machines (his were sold in the move, as they did not fit in the condo and no, we did not know we were moving.) But stackable last leg lassie was not good enough for the laundry King. We first imported a donated used machine, promised not to be on its last leg. It took us a solid day of moving and arranging to get the thing in requiring removal of trim, paint and probably my head at some point. Since I know Magoo wanted to kill me on quite possibly seven different occasions and I quite nearly attended my Holiday party alone. Well, we are not electricians and we had no warranty. Not only was the machine no more effective than my last leg but she spilled water. Everywhere. For days. Even after we stopped using it. Which led to a whole 'nother round of controversy in laundry central regarding costs of diagnosing and fixing versus purchasing a total new one. Let's say we fought. And let's say we did that on several occasions, maybe even once standing on the steps of Ceviche. Let's just say that and move on.
In the mean time laundry was NOT GETTING DONE AND SMALL BABIES WERE DYING AS A RESULT. So we finally agreed to a new machine and we finally found one that fit in the small space, given that the damage to the walls had already been done and we had some room to work. To insure that no more babies died, we spent a Saturday at the laundromat. I thought he would be happy. A plethora of machines all lined up to be used at the same time. He was not happy. The laundry King likes to rule his domain and not share or let others see his collection of white undershirts. He was none too pleased - which is entirely my fault and I take full blame for considering a laundromat as his personal slice of heaven. Again I apologize for this particular fight. After laundering the necessaries we returned home and anxiously awaited delivery of our now 3rd machine.
We enjoyed her for several months. She lived with us blissfully unaware that she would be abandoned in April despite Magoo praying and swearing to her nightly. When we looked for homes we made sure there were washer/dryers or at least hook ups and we judged the greatness of a house on whether there was a Magoo Room - you all know it as a laundry room. We found that in this house. An entire space (enough for him to lay a cot in) devoted to the machines. Unfortunately there were no machines. Which meant, yet again, we had to find some. Knowing this history both our parents offered them up as house warming gifts. Which was uber-generous and so welcomed because I could not handle a single more conversation about washing machines. But of course the money for the machine did not mean that the conversation was over, it meant the conversation was just beginning. Hours on end on the Internet researching machines, which meant precious time away from my blogs and such and of course several trips to such fantastic places like LOWES! and HOME DEPOT! Front load, high efficiency, warranties, noise, whether the machine would give you a hand job while feeding you chocolate. We looked into all of this, 17 different times. And discussed it repeatedly. We found ourselves, again, in the aisles of Sears, having another "discussion" about a washing machine. Who knows what we "discussed". Let's just say the salesman knows our views on fighting. We do it in public apparently. After all that was said and done, which was a lot, trust me, we agreed on the purchase of what now becomes our fourth machine, in a mere six months.
You can see our choice below - though careful, it is not for the young or naive, as Magoo counts this as soft core porn....
And that, I can only hope, marks the end of the discussion about such appliances. No more fighting. At least about clean clothes and such machines. Now we can properly devote our energy to other super very important things - like sorting and folding.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
I climbed into bed on top of a groggy man. He was half asleep, with an ESPN Magazine resting on his chest. Tired from a long day, allergy medications, and an alarm set to sound at 5:30. He mumbles I love you's. Half coherently. I ask him for one specific reason why. He complies with a sweet response and demands 10 kisses. I comply. Then I climb back off and head to the showers. Dropping my clothes to the ground on the way into the bathroom. I flip on the light and turn the faucets, only to be greeted by every ones worst nightmare. A cockroach, in the corner, near the toilet. I do what every Florida girl does, I scream. In 2.5 seconds, a sleepy Magoo comes running in. No further words are exchanged. I jump into the shower, closing the curtain for apparent safety. As if the that will protect me from the bug. He reaches for toilet paper, grabs the sucker, flushes him down the toilet, and stumbles back to bed. And that is the reason why I love him.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
…. Labor Day weekend; the start of the holiday, the end of summer. Technically. The calendar said it was time to start school, roll out the tweeds, boots, and oranges and tuck away the swim suits, beach towels, pinks and flip-flops. But it was Florida and we had months of sun to enjoy, even if white pants were forbidden. There was still humidity to contend with. With the air conditioning cranked down to simulate cooler temps and in a nod to the impending fall, we cozied in. Sharing space next to each other, we sat crossed legged at the coffee table. Able to do so as the dog had been dropped off that afternoon, at Fuzzie Buddies, in anticipation of the holiday trip set to begin the next morning. Otherwise, food at that level was perfect for her grasp and guaranteed to be gone in an instant. So we relished the holiday away from the jaws of a 30 pound beagle and set out three types of cheeses, apple and pear slices, dates and nuts accompanied by chicken finger slices. You insisted on them as their smell always permeates the Publix parking lot and draws you in. Normally abiding by the rules of the diet, this time though, you gave in, using the holiday as an excuse for gluttony.
There we sat, splitting a bottle of red and a movie we chose for the occasion. To me, nothing says the end of summer like The Big Chill. You had never seen it and it was on a list of such movies. A movie about friends on an unexpected holiday. I had seen it a dozen and a half times and memorized the soundtrack. It is really the music that makes that movie. Well, maybe not, maybe it is the acting and the actors. Or that compelling story line. Reminds me of my friends of the past and what I want from friends in the future. Well, minus the suicide and the adultery. But a compelling story and it draws me in no matter how many times viewed. Such a classically good movie, makes it impossible to pick one aspect that makes that stands out. It was chosen for all those reasons and more. I wanted to see those scenes through your eyes, seeing it for the first time. Which creates a new imagery and ideas. Sharing those with someone and learning their innocence. The essence of fall is present in that movie; the changing temperatures, the multi-colored leaves and football. That Michigan football game, is fall regardless of the state or decade. The outdated running shoes and hair do’s transcend the 1980’s and still today portray an spirit of fall. Those emotions tumble together into the first days of school, a slight crisp in the air, browns showcased on the cover of Vogue, new TV shows and football Saturdays. All kept me entertained with the memories of such. Smiling contently from those ideas and from the warmth of the wine, cheese and my company.
At the same time it all brought me to tears. During I Heard it Through the Grapevine, a small whimper of a cry forms. Tiny drops I was able to keep private. Even hidden by a smile and a few seconds of singing along with their performance. But by the end of the number, I sobbed and held my face in my hands. My chest heaved and loud sobs emanated from my throat. You looked over fearful you missed something to cause my convulsions. But this was not something; this was the moment of it all. We’d created a strong sense of peace and contentment. So thoroughly at ease that I enjoy myself so much I tear up. That perfect place captured with a perfect scene, and not the scripted one portrayed on the T.V. It was this scene, this moment with our knees touching, holding hands, laughing at the movie. I wanted to live in that and wear around me like a warm blanket used on cool days next to fire places. I feel at home in the emotion and that moment, where tears form without knowledge. Just pure bliss. The kind that gives goose bumps, belly aches, and heart palpitations. The kind made for T.V. and longed for in our best dreams. I had all of that in my hands during that moment and it made me smile and weep all at once. Letting me create a present perfect memory of a new type of Labor Day. The temps were dropping, the time would change and we would fall forward, but that night I wanted to sit in those last days of summer and enjoy the emotional holiday before the vacation began the next morning. Before we moved away from summer.....
They way you held onto my leg tight when we broke.
The way you pretended it was you who had to go to bathroom to save me the embarrassment.
The way you said you were learning.
The way you call me your everything.
The way you turn around, wink and mime I love yous.
The way you call me gorgeous porgeous.
The way it was too much, 45 was too much.
The way you Google better ways to give foot massages.
The way you tell me I am the love of your life.
The way you so patiently deal with me, my moods, my anxiety, my smell, my everything. Because you, you are my everything.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
A few weeks into our courtship, Magoo came over on a Saturday afternoon and asked me an important and topical question, "What do you want to do for Valentine's Day?" I blinked up at him as he leaned against the counter of my kitchen. "I called around to all sorts of restaurants and they are all booked solid," he continued, "instead I thought I would make us dinner." I remained silent as he pulled me into him. "So, what do you want me to make? I will do anything to your heart's delight" In that moment I was so touched that I even had a Valentine, let alone one who went through the effort to pick up the phone and attempt to get a reservation, somewhere, anywhere.
"Hot dogs."
"Hot dogs?"
It just popped out of my mouth. But I love them. Love love love them. And I never eat them outside of the months of June, July and August at BBQ's and baseball games. We had several more weeks until summer and I could so go for some meaty goodness in the middle of February.
"Yeah, that's all I want, hot dogs, please."
To me it was enough that he wanted to be my Valentine and offered to cook me a nice dinner. It was not about where we were or how much we spent, but the time and effort spent together. Isn't it about sharing the love and expressing your appreciation for your loved one? I always thought V-Day, was about that idea, even as a single gal. So even as a new couple, I knew I would be insanely happy with just a foot long, a bun and my hon. Plus we eat out all the time, at some of the best places, so we didn't need an excuse to go out and sit with the amateurs paying too much money for a crowded meal. I wanted couch time and hot dogs, which felt gourmet because of the heart that was in it.
That night I brought over PBR to enjoy with our cuisine of dogs, beans, and french fries. He picked up some gooey brownie goodness from a local bakery. We sat on the floor and enjoyed our romantic evening; holding hands, watching TV, walking the dog and retiring to bed. Uh yeah we did that too. It was the most wonderful Valentine's Day I have ever had. So relaxed and warm. Our bellies full and not because we thought they should be but because we enjoyed the meal and the time. We loved the plan so much we are doing it again this year. Hope your day is filled with beef, beans, and warmth.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
In the week before Valentines, Magoo and I decided to embark on a little game of love. Love-Love that is. Tennis. I have been trying to take lessons for months. It has been a series of events that prevented me from actually making it to the class offered on Monday nights. I decided, instead, we were up for some love action. Back and forth. Me him. Him me. The ooomph of the shot. Hitting hard and attempting to place a winner. Trying our best to be good sports. We did not keep score. That wouldn't be fair. The game of love is in reality not fair. It is not meant to be balanced and equal. One person wanting more with the other left holding their feelings. One feeling abused and used as if the weight was on their racket, having to defend and hold each shot. Each with different skills and needs. Plus there are no losers. At least there shouldn't be. We may not be able to achieve a perfect equilibrium, we can still hope there is no loss. That we are given a reward for our efforts and angst, even if it does not mean we actually win all the time. But simply that we are not losers and we are not left with a loss. In the end, no one should be considered one or even made to be one. That is not the goal or the reason we agree to play. It is never the idea when we step on the court. While it may be dicey in the middle; tempers flaring, openly angry, raised voices, and aggressive shots, when all is said and done it is still a game. One meant to be played and enjoyed. With heart, sole, and passion. With sweat and tears. With the aches and pains of breaks; the game, our hearts and wrists and ankles. Because it is still Love. But is it really about tennis any more?
Labels: Mr. Magoo
I made both of us do this because I thought it was cute and a way to introduce him a bit. And because I think he is adorable and his answers are too.
Magoo:
A - Available/Single? No
B - Best Friend? Chris or Michael
C- Cake or Pie? Pumpkin pie
D - Drink Of Choice? Mountain Dew
E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? Toothbrush
F - Favorite Color? Yellow
G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Bears
H - Hometown? Davie, FL
I - Indulgence? Multiple showers and clean clothes
J - January Or February? January
K - Kids & Their Names? None
L - Life Is Incomplete Without? Without my boo boo
M - Marriage Date? I don't understand
N- Number Of Siblings? 2
O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples
P - Phobias/Fears? Plane crash, snakes, not being able to support myself (family)
Q - Favorite Quote?
R - Reason to Smile - love of my boo boo
S - Season? Summer
T - Tag Four People? What?
U - Unknown Fact About Me? I sometimes don't like being funny
V - Vegetable you don't like? radish
W - Worst Habit? Interrupting people
X - X-rays You've Had Recently.. teeth
Y - Your Favorite Food? Turkey sandwich
Z - Zodiac Sign? cancer
e.b.:
A - Available/Single? Nope
B - Best Friend? Magoo
C- Cake or Pie? Apple Pie
D - Drink Of Choice? Tropicana OJ
E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? Deodorant
F - Favorite Color? Pink
G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Bears - Haribo
H - Hometown? Miami, Fla
I - Indulgence? Candy, candy, candy
J - January Or February? February - I love that it has fewer days and the whole leap year thing
K - Kids & Their Names? Not yet baby, not yet
L - Life Is Incomplete Without? MTV
M - Marriage Date? Not yet baby, not yet
N- Number Of Siblings? 1 - mi hermana
O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples - Green and unreasonably hard
P - Phobias/Fears? Loss and rejection
Q - Favorite Quote? "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming woo hoo what a ride!"
R - Reason to Smile - Magoo's devotion and Ginger's belly
S - Season? Fall
T - Tag Four People? Not gonna do it - feel free to do your own though
U - Unknown Fact About Me? I am afraid of escalators. I hesitate before I get on and cannot stand on the same step as someone else.
V - Vegetable you don't like? tomato - does it count? It's just really gross.
W - Worst Habit? picking my nails
X - X-rays You've Had Recently:Teeth
Y - Your Favorite Food? Mac and cheese, at this moment.
Z - Zodiac Sign? Aries - stubborn and more stubborn
I got this quiz from my Daily Candy e-mail. I love their weekend planner on Thursday, it always puts me in a good mood for the weekend. I have had the quiz open all day and have been able to answer a few at a time. I will brag and say I am at 18 at this point. Which has taken me 9 hours to get to. I think I am close on a few, but they claim it is the wrong answer. But what do they know? Plus there is no answer key and I was so the girl who looked in the back of the book for the right answers to the math problems and a believer that Google has the answer to anything. So I am frustrated - if y'all get them, send your answers back to me.Not like Britney and Kevin, but the word I would use to describe my life one year ago. Playing this game, I would say it was a sleep deprived anxiety induced heart palpitations chaotic. I had my one year, "I am a lawyer" review at work. And I had not idea what to expect, I had never been reviewed, at least not openly and to my face. And don't particularly like criticism. I feared the harshness of the words would lead to tears which would lead to embarrassment. Earlier that week I was at lunch with a new friend, when he offered a dinner and a plan for Saturday night. But I was planning on a trip to L.A., a real vacation. Not a day for laundry or one at the beach. This was vacation. Whole multiple days off from work basking in the glory of sunshiney movie stars. Two days before that transcontinental Delta flight, I learned my 93 year old grandfather had taken a turn for the worse. Flights off. We are on alert and Mom flew immediately to Montreal to be with the family. Instead of vacation, I could accept the dinner date extended earlier.
This was my first dinner, my first let's call it real date, with Magoo. Under the crazy pretense of a relative on his death bed. That Saturday night we dined, laughed, cried, and closed down the restaurant. I revealed in the first breath of the date that I hated basketball. He displayed his dismal sense of direction. Five days later I accepted a second date. In the interim, I also accepted an offer presented via IM at work, "Anyone want a beagle?". The message came through on a Tuesday morning, that a six year old beagle was up for adoption. This was how and when I came to meet Ginger. I lay awake those first few nights in a constant state of anxiety. Worried I would not be able to handle the responsibility of another creature. Worried she would commit the P trifecta; pee, poop and puke. But like all parents, you adjust and deal. 'Cuz yeah they all happen. I also stressed that he would not be a dog person and I just blew something by quickly adopting a dog in a matter of minutes. Then, I rationalized that I did not want to be with someone in the end who didn't like dogs. I had dogs in my future, so if you too wanted to be in the future, you too must love dogs. Just like the movie. Seemed simple but stress can play cruel tricks on your psyche and your heart. Mine raced and pounded out of my chest every night for a week. Pure sleep deprived chaos.
Date two. He learned via e-mail that there has been an addition to the family. Instead of flowers or candy he showed up at the door with a dog toy, a squeaky basketball. A present for her and a joke for me. Clever. I love clever especially in gift giving, it shows smarts and heart. And he had me at the squeak. Again, we close the place down while downing five too many classes of Sangria. Small plates of tapas and not so small talk. This was the real deal. After the chairs had been stacked on the tables and the staff swept the floor around us, we return to what is now our home to walk the dog together arm and arm, buzzed from the wine. Within the next week, my grandfather passes away. That la la la L.A. vacation turned into a week long trip to snow bound Montreal. Not the glam trip planned, but a necessary family event and a fact of life. He lived a hearty loving life, to an age we can all hope for, in good health for a majority of those years, accompanied down the road of life by his wife of fifty some odd years. A celebration of his life and not a mourning. All the time, awaiting for me at home was a new man, who diligently dog sat a dog he barely knew for a girl he may have liked.
Many sleepless night were had during those four weeks. The review was less than stellar, causing more panic and a fresh set of tears, both in an out of the office. I swore to Magoo life was not always this way. He made it through that time, including crying at that first dinner and urine on his carpet (Ginger's, not mine). And here we are one year later. Ginger still pees and I have a pesky review right around the corner. Somethings never change. We move on and in together. Holding and helping each other through it all. At least that is the idea. Since there is always going to be something chaotic. But we have each other and maybe that is where the chaos lives. We just learn to manage and control. Wheel and deal. Whine and dine. Coping is what draws us together and the chaos finds a home on the couch cushions next to the pillows and the hand knit throw. It lives there dormant and cozy. Controlled by the balance, waiting to appear again when the timing is not right. We just hope there are less tears.
Labels: Friends/Family, Last Life, Mr. Magoo
Ginger, I am sad. I say this out loud in my head as we wander around the house, doing pretend cleaning. She looking for missing scraps of food left behind. I am pretending because I am paying someone to do it tomorrow, but for now it keeps my hands busy. I strip down and put on his Simpson's boxers and the t-shirt left on the bed. Wearing them makes me feel girly and comforted. Men's clothing with a faint scent of his deodorant. When I am sad I eat candy. The sourer the better. When it makes your cheeks crinkle and your tongue sore. It is not a part of the diet. Fourteen hundred calories gets eaten up quickly with sugary candy. But he is not here to tell me not to. I love when he tells me not to. I look up at him and smirk. Pretending I hate being told what to do. But in reality I love it. I love the assertiveness and the control. And knowing he is right. Because later I will bitch about my thighs and wonder why I can't lose weight. So I listen when he says no. I just wish he would say it more often. I tell him that and he says, "shut the fuck up." Which I adore and maybe that is why he says it. The power of fuck. I can sense those words and his true favorite command, "pet my head" as I move around here. I hear the echo of his personality left here; his orange juice class on the coffee table and his flip-flops at the door. Gone but a few hours and we have a few days to go, but there is an absence. I know he is not just out for an errand, it is more. There was a plane ride and a last goodbye at the airport. He hates that I called a last goodbye. As if it were ominous and ending. I was dramatic, but it is the lonely I hate. That and all the work I have to do. Coming home to the quiet when you have been worked to death is gross. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and eat candy. The stores are stacked with the pinks and reds of Valentines. The whole bag full until my teeth hurt and my stomach is swollen. With the sugar in me, I will text him hearts and smiles. Damn Cupid. And pretend I didn't just consume 27 million calories in conversation hearts.
I have to call you and when I do there is a silence, a pause, and a gap. The distance, as they say, is palpable. Maybe we do bad phone. We have not really had to master that skill. Fortunately. Maybe it is the holiday hub bub. Yours. We have no hub and the bub was put on a plane already. So it is just me and I am flying solo over here. Is it resentment because I said I would stay here? Are they giving you slack for that decision? You mention it briefly, saying she should understand that I should be there. But that is it, nothing more and no more insight. So I am left guessing and grasping. I turn into a wild suspect. Crazy voices in my head. Looking for words inside yours. Meaning in the gaps. You joke that there were women, roadies. But I can't tell if it is a joke. Because of the distance I begin to assume it is not. At least not a very funny one. I feel like my ideas and conversation are rebuffed with one liners and those bad jokes, second to, "I don't knows" and immediately followed with "gotta run". Since there always is something and it is worth running to. Or maybe I am worth running away from. See, see how far it has gone; there is running. That is what happens when you are gone and I am alone. And my friends live in my head. I guess I am not really alone after all, they are here with me. Spewing crazy ideas, but they are here. Yet I have grown used to the non-alone. Rather quickly. I am not talking about the good times alone. This, this is alone. In a big rambling house with two dogs. And rain. I go to the gym and begin to think of myself as single. Not just because I am alone, but because I feel alone. The distance wears me down as I press on the treadmill. I feel it in my bones as I pump the stationary bike. Not just the physical but the absence of us and a feeling that you are here. It no longer feels like a you and me. It is you and then me. Sometimes you versus me. Certainly not a we. The we is the girls and I. And they keep poor company. They don't laugh at my stories and they refuse to hold my hand, angering that I am even touching their paws. Both are picky with their paws. I am left along holding my own. Reflecting back to what I said, if I did something wrong, who she is, or if I can detect when it will end. Because it will end. You will grow tired and it no longer will be okay. At least that is what I rationalize as I tuck myself in and turn off the light. A good night to me, my loneliness, and my friends - the crazy voices in my head.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
I didn't win this, and I didn't win in November either. My mother has phenomenal luck at random drawings; recently snagging a $450 Furla bag in an online contest. At her lunch hour she entered her e-mail and three weeks later the UPS man delivered the package to her door. This was not the first time such luck smiled down on her. Though we share the same eye color and skin tone, she did not pass on her winning streak gene.
I do feel like a winner though. And isn't that what counts? I have a wonderful partner who is eager to please, a rock of support, willing to jam out in the car to Styx (....Thank You Very Much Mr. Roboto, Nah, Nah, Nah, Nah, Nah, Secret, Secret.....), and takes my bitchy moods one after the other. Last night we celebrated Chanukah and this morning Christmas. We dined on latkes and stuffed cabbage and he participated while the rest of the family and friends lit the candles and said the blessings. We agreed to one gift that night, in celebration of the Jewish holiday. Adorably, he got excited and asked to open all the rest. Like a kid at Christmas - literally. Even awaking at 3 a.m. to say, "Merry Christmas". I secretly hoped the rest of the gift exchange could wait to proper morning. And it did. So this morning over fruit, scones, and cider we sat on the floor, in our sleepwear, and pretended to be kids. Simulating Christmas on the wrong day, when it is 81 degrees outside. But it was the memory and the moment that counted, not what the calendar and thermometer dictated. We eagerly waited for each to open their gifts, taking turns one by one. I insisted it was done this way, so we can devote time to watch the other's expression as the present was revealed. It was all very sweet and it mattered not what was actually in the gift. Those boxes could have been empty or filled with small inexpensive trinkets. What mattered was there was someone to share it with. To show excitement to. Hoping they love it as much as you them. To have shopped for and planned for. Smiling while placing the credit card down, knowing they will just love the gift. To make new traditions, welcomed together with the old traditions, and to start the memory making process. Talk about being a winner.
Speaking of winning, how do you feel about the new do? Is it a winner? Feel free to share the good, the bad, and the ugly. I want to give thanks to a winner in my book, my superstar designer.
Labels: Friends/Family, Mr. Magoo
It is when we are shopping together in sync that I know it is right. There are no issues or confusion. Maybe you just let me get my way, so that things flow easily. But you are happy doing that, you like to please me and you like me to be happy. So it is not a sacrifice to follow my lead and meet my wants. We move together, perhaps at my insistence. But I don't know it, so I am happy. To me it is perfection. I smile contently thinking to myself how impressively easy and wonderful it really is. I call you, from the other end of the store and ask your opinion of the boots. Knowing you will say the right thing, just wanting an opinion anyway. Wanting to see your expression and smile. I want to make the decision together. Even though my mind was made up and I was going to buy them. But you knew that also. Maybe a girlfriend would be better suited. But you are there and you will always make me feel pretty. And special. Telling me they look sexy and "not like a hooker". My words, not yours. I help with a sweater selection, pants that fit and a new tee, where latte was was spilled on the first. I don't mind the spill, but I know it concerns you, so I agree to a new shirt. I try to understand you, the way you do for me. Meeting my needs with a smile. It is comfortable, how I would have wanted it. How I would hope for. We share food. Easily deciding. I try hard not to push my wants onto you. I don't want to take advantage of the fact that you will always say "yes." I ask you to decide, to insure you get a voice and a want. I worry you will resent it all and one day pack it all up. Later, I say that between tears. Fear that I am too much and you ask too little, for yourself. But you smile along and agree to what makes me happy. Assuring me that is not how it is all. Still I worry that I am too in charge, too much and too bold. That you are too scared and too accommodating.
Afterwards, I am full, my button pressing into my belly and the gas begins to fill my stomach. You laugh when I roll down the window in preparation for a duck noise. Loud and stinky. "Oops, please forgive me," and you do. Smile, smirk, and comment that it is a smelly one. But I don't care, because it is said in good humor and because I know you don't care.
Following our errands, the long list near complete, we crash on the couch. Giggling together at Elf. This is my kind of movie. I can't handle much more. You know it and let me yell, laugh and point at the screen. Just like the first night, that time with Kicking and Screaming. Letting me rewind or pause when I have to use the bathroom. Again. And again. And again.
Sometimes we fall out of sync. I think you know it is time to leave. I think you know that was supposed to be the last drink. Cocktails and hunger prevail. I get antsy and irritable. You think I know that the broken appliance is important. You think I understand your requests and that we really need to address the problem. Today, not later. You think I don't respond properly or timely. When we are out of sync we are ugly. We stand on steps of restaurants, patrons politely give us space, and move away. We use hushed whispers to mask our annoyance. Tears are covered by the dark lighting of our seats. It is not nice. Not at all.
By morning, it is dog walking, toast, Paula Deen and computers. A wireless connection to make our personal connection easier and smoother. We spend the entire morning together. In our house. Our first weekend, relaxed. I use the treadmill and you handle tech support. We share coffee and use of the remote. There are roses. My favorites; a mixture of reds, peaches, pinks and white. It is not for the tears, it is for the year. One has passed since we were first introduced, "oh our friend will be meeting us soon, he went to law school with us." That night, all five of us sitting outside Bellas waiting for our name to be called. To steal from Sex and the City, "life happens when you are waiting for a table".
To continue to celebrate us, it is Happy Feet and three bags of candy. We are never this gluttonous, but it feels good and healthy. This time there is less laughter. Those Mexican penguins cracked you up. But it is scary and depressing. Not my kind of movie. You let me cover my eyes, bury my head, and tell me when it is over. You fill me in when I have to use the bathroom. I planned for a European Cafe, small plates, wine and hot cocoa. I planned for cold. It was 80 degrees and closed. We walked, enjoying the lights on the water, and the glorious hotel. Sneaking a peek at another's wedding. We stumble onto an English pub. Very cute, with a great view. European with outdoor seating and crazy good food.
"You know they took a spoonful of easy mac and deep fried it, right?"
"Yes. And I am so okay with that."
I am brazen and the wind has picked up. We are on the water. I chose a coffee cocktail, with Jameson. We both decide it is disgusting, I wrinkle my nose and swallow hard. It could have used some cream, but that's not me. Generally I am good with whiskey. It does the job and leaves me warm and tingly inside. Just like the whole weekend. Warm and tingly. We walk back to the car, arm and arm, in sync.
Labels: Everyday Life, Mr. Magoo
As a teenage high schooler, my friend Amy Weiss had a picture of fresh flowers on her top her desk. Brilliant, a framed pic of flowers she received once. I always loved that idea. It was years before I actually got flowers; I was a slight high school dating dud.....it took awhile before I got boy flowers. My parents weren't the dance recital or graduation flower types either. So, I adore fresh flowers, especially sent to my door or delivered down the hall to my office. They send such a lovely message. I am thinking of you, I am thinking to send beauty, and I am thinking you will love these. The smell, the color and the fresh nature of them brought to your home. I am not really that picky - flowers and I am golden. I just want to eat them up, smell them, smile at them and stare at them. So why not take a picture, put it in a frame and have them with you forever. Sure, the smell is gone, but the image will bring that back for you. Bring the whole package back for you; the person who sent them, the magic of the moment and the aroma of the feeling at the time. So smart. A powerful pic.
These flowers were sent from a special person at a special time. Hey, flowers are always special. I'll take 'em any day, any time, any form. Roses, carnations, sunflowers, tulips, lilacs. You name it, I'll gladly accept it and vase it. So not picky on this one. They all equally bring joy. Tons of joy. Just because of that doesn't mean that they aren't meaningful. The picture helps capture that. I can continue to remember that person, that day and the blooms. I still smile looking at them, I am smiling now. See why I like them so much, they have that kinda power over me.
Labels: Everyday Life, Mr. Magoo
I’ve Jdated. In fact I started the night I found my boyfriend on the site. I knew where that was going, rather quickly. It really looked like I was going to need to start dating, since it seemed he already was. I had no problem signing myself up. I am not risk adverse when it comes to these kinds of goals. How on earth are you going to meet someone in your velour pants watching Sex and the City on your couch? At least online dating lets you do all those things at the same time. You gotta put yourself out there to get a result. It is impossible any other way. No whining without at least the effort. At least that is how I looked at it. I had a ridiculously positive attitude. Especially for someone you had been cheated and lied to. Plus, now that I was a member I could catch my future boyfriends setting up their profiles faster. Ha!
My first contact came from a neurologist who had done his residency in New Orleans. My background caught his attention. He reported as a 35 year old with a new house, office based practice and an interest in cycling. I agreed to a Wednesday night steak dinner after several e-mails were exchanged. The calamari was excellent, drenched in a sweet and sour sauce. It wasn’t his appearance or demeanor, but the lie. My job offers me the ease to do some quick fact checking. In reality it is open to all thru the world wide web. A look at the licensing web site revealed this doctor was at least 42, if not older. Give me a break. You know people are going to breeze past a 40 plus guy, so you changed your age. But what you forget was that women hate liars. HATE. There is nothing at all worse. To us it says there are 97 other things you may be lying about. It says that you are willing to compromise your morals. Or worse, you don't have any. It says that you will do this again in the future and that time it may be about that affair with your secretary. It begs questions. What was your plan if this was to become serious anyway? Reconstruct your identity to become a 35 year old? Erase seven years of your life? He called, e-mailed and messaged numerous times after our dinner. I responded to one in a sentence, “Don’t appreciate being lied to”. His response was also brief “I understand”. Do you though? Why risk lying, if you knew it could harm you in the end? It was clear, he had no desire to be dating for real, that much was obvious. He was not in it for the long haul since he was willing to lie, over taking a true risk and showing his age. You risk people rejecting you for being over 40, but those are not peoople you want anyway. If you put yourself out there you better put your whole honest self out there. Otherwise there is no true risk. Yes the cold hard facts are risky, but it is honest and it will get you the farthest. He needed to take that risk, the reward would have been sweeter.
I took that risk. Put myself on the damn website. Chatted it up with the good doctor. Sat through dinner and drinks. All for nothing, in the end. But isn’t that risk? You are never guaranteed a reward. But fuckin’ A you will never, I repeat never, get a reward by doing nothing. There is no way you can find that man and make your dreams come true without the risk. It is just that simple. Economists and investors know the maxim well. The higher the risk, the greater the reward. We can play it safe and keep ourselves in a savings account, earning little income. Little risk, little reward. Where does that leave you? Time to go balls out and dump your shares into stocks. Get the best return for your money and you could end up wealthy and wise. Junk bonds are for fools who play loose and fast. Quick returns may not give you lasting results. There is a symmetry. We all know those people who are too risky with their behaviors they too get nowhere. After all there is a certain calculus to the risk-reward equation. I remained on that web site for several more months with a handful more quasi-terrible dates. None were horrific, no one else lied, to the best of my knowledge. The liars, cheaters and one armed bandits are all out there and take weeding out. But that is the risk you take in dating in general, I don’t think the online world is at all unique. It is just a convenient mechanism.
There is risk in taking the time to create a profile, in responding to e-mails, in getting to know a perfect stranger and agreeing to a meeting. All is risky. But is it really? We do that all day long. There is such a huge potential for a reward it is awe inspiring. Finally meeting that one person, makes it all worth it, you stop even looking at it that way. So I re-evaluated. Rather than look to the risk, I looked at the potential for reward. Rather than look to what I may lose, I looked to all I had to gain. Then I realized, in reality there was nothing to lose at all. What, so you spent some time getting to know another person? Time spent having to explain yourself, your past, dreams and goals? Well that is time well spent also, it helps you understand yourself and your needs. There is no pride here, these people don’t know you. It is impossible to be embarrassed in front of strangers. You will never see them again and they aren’t worth your respect and time if they think otherwise. In reality there is nothing to lose. All this risk talk should be for nothing. It should all be reward focused.
Several months later I took another risk. I met a boy at a bar through a friend. I knew a handful of morsels about him and I liked him. I googled and e-mailed him. I risked pride, but rationalized that I had nothing to lose. Save for some time drafting an e-mail. What 10 minutes? If there was no response, he was not worth it anyway. He responded, we lunched and now he is my Magoo. Risks can be so rewarding. Just take them.
I love this man. Maybe it is the new red dye in my hair, but I am feeling like a wild child. I just love those words; wild child. Emotions all over the place. Wild says to me crazy, but in a good, fun loving, embracing life kind of crazy. Not cat lady, jump off a building, muttering to myself crazy. A good cry the kind with heaving chest and shortness of breath, pounding my fists on him, and harsh words all helped. I meant what I said and will not accept anything less. They were not fighting words, they were the truth. I need those things from you. They way I asked, please don't disregard as crazy, that kind of bad crazy. I mean it. I know it hurts you, but keeping it in me is frustrating. Airing it out has to be good for us. I don't doubt our future, I know that we can work. We will be good, we can listen and communicate. We yell, sob, pause and then process. The silence kills me, but it is the words registering. Then we make up; a tentative hand, hugs and kisses and a long embrace. It is how people interact and how people grow. Liars, are those who say they don't argue. I call bull shit. No one is perfect. So how can a relationship be perfect? It is impossible. Down right impossible. How else is progress made? How do you get here without the bold emotion? Now I am at peace. I am exhausted from the emotional outpouring. My eyes sting, my head pounds, I am tired. But it has left me with a happy warm feeling as well. I want to move into bed, with a comforter, clean sheets and him. Hand to hand, head to head, leg to leg. That kind of warmth, that kind of peace.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
I dreamt last night that I was being courted away from Magoo. The details are fuzzy. I was at a hotel and being seduced by Rhett Freeland, a real person I went to high school with. I had a major crush on him in early high school. I am certain he never knew. I would even drive by his house, for unknown reasons. What would I have done if I actually saw him? Ahhh the mind of a teenage girl. No clue where he came from in my dreamworld either. I saw him a few years ago after law school at the bar exam. So I know he is an attorney in South Florida, that is it. Like I said we were never friends and he rarely paid attention to my existence.
But he was there in my dream telling me everything would be better with him. He didn't know Magoo per se or even anything about our relationship. He just wanted to court me in a self-ish, I am so good looking way. We were building up to having sex, through flirting, touching and talking. Those early moments in new relationships where everything was new and fun. There was excitement. Hey, it was flattering, I had a huge crush on him. But on top of that there was guilt. I felt awful. I kept thinking about Magoo and how I betrayed him. I even rehearsed a break up speech.
Then I realized how people do it, I began to justify to myself why it was okay. Seriously, that must be how people maintain extra-marital affairs. I told myself that I needed to see how this felt with Rhett, as a way to best judge what I wanted from Magoo and I. That I was doing this for the betterment of us. That there were issues in our relationship and maybe a relationship with Rhett would not have these same issues. It all felt new, fresh and good. So it had to be right?
Then reality, oh and guilt, all seeped through. God who thinks that cheating is going to help a relationship? I was on my way to convincing myself of such. Irony doesn't even cover that. Even in the delirium of the dream, I had these rational thoughts. Then the reality, Rhett probably does not want to date me, this is probably just a chase for him. Even if we did start a relationship, there are issues that we would have too, ones that don't rear their heads until several months into the relationship. Things you don't know about a person early on. Don't you love how self doubt plagues you, even in your dreams, when you are courted by a sexy man?
And I was there torn. I was on an elevator heading toward Rhett, probably for some sex, but that is the last thing I remember. I woke up. Really disturbed. So many things raced through my mind. Would I have cheated on him? In my dreams? In reality? Do I want to? Or was this just a manifestation of how I am supposed to handle those problem issues in my relationship. In that I am NOT supposed to cheat. Ones that have been weighing on me recently. Knowing how bad I felt for cheating and recognizing it as an unrealistic option, for 97 different reasons. Seeing how awful I felt and thinking about how it would hurt him, I know I am meant to stick it out and deal with these issues in a healthy mature way. Not by cheating. Like we all know, that if you have to cheat, there are serious issues in your present relationship. Either deal with them or get out. You are doing no one good by staying and cheating.
It gave me a peak into the mind of an adulterer. How people cheat. Which is something I know Magoo has zero tolerance for, not that we all don't or shouldn't. But it really showed me how people get there and stay there for that matter. In some ways one stray move is easy to see, but a relationship and consistent contact is harder to justify. Yet, I saw myself doing it. I foresaw a relationship with this Rhett character, at least until I got the courage to dump Magoo. I doubt the guilt ever disappears, you just learn to suppress it and push it down, further and further. Like not thinking about what goes on in Iraq on a daily basis or how you need to get your teeth cleaned. It is easy as humans to chose to ignore things, especially those you don't want to see. Those things would be your affect on a human life and on your relationship. That has to be how affairs last for years. You become numb and then find it easy to live with the decision. You no longer consider guilt as a real emotion. All of those important signs and feelings suppressed. Those ideals you know exist, are buried, making it impossible to be rational or see the true story. That to me, is why it should not even be entered into in the first place. A loss of self and values coupled with the loss of relationship.
Labels: Dreams, Mr. Magoo, Perspective
Shortly after the last post, I got this picture via text, from Magoo. He is BUSY at work. No I am serious he is. Now that makes the blahs be gone. It's not a bad representation of him to boot.
Labels: Mr. Magoo
There was the ex. She came right before me, like seriously a few weeks, if that. I knew about her early on and even had a moment of panic one morning when I thought things were different. I just had one moment when I processed everything and tried to really look at things clearly. I grew REALLY concerned that this was a Sanjay type situation. Where I am just a replacement. A space to fill and a warm body, literally. So I panicked and confronted him. He swore it was nothing even close to that serious between them. There was nothing to really "get over" and since this was going so well it was not even a question. I believed him, since this seemed reasonable. I too had the same response about my most recent relationship. Those were my feelings, so I knew he mirrored them.
Yet, there was still unanswered questions. He had a giant big old box, of Tampons on the shelf in his closet. He had shampoo and cream rinse, for color protected hair in his shower.He had straightening product in the bathroom. He even had one of those disgusting pillows you attach to your shower to lean your head against while taking a bath. Finally, there was the grossest, tackiest piece of jewelry, an ankle bracelet probably, that looked like it came from Claire's, left in the bottom drawer of his night stand. I found that when I was looking for a heating pad. I asked, a long while ago, about the shampoo and told it was his sisters, left over from when she came to visit. But this made no sense. Who brings an entire normal sized bottle of Pantene when they travel? I know she was not there for more then a night or two. She is 35 and has three young boys. She was not on vacation or an extended stay. It also does not explain the tampons or bath pillow. No one travels with that crap. SoI knew they were hers. And he was lying to me.
Two weeks ago, after several classes of wine, two beers and no dinner I got the true story out of him. I didn't even ask. I had long ago dismissed my concerns. After being re-assured that one panicked morning and trusting him, I stopped thinking about it. It really was nothing to be concerned about since we had progressed even further since that initial conversation in February. She had lived with him. The version I got, was it was for one month and she was still engaged to the person that she is now married to. She left him to go to Paris, never returned his calls and is now supposedly married and living in Tallahassee. They do not talk, out of respect for me. Not something I ever asked him to do.
The story actually clarified all the questions from above. Yet, I chose to keep my trap shut and not say that I already knew and suspected that to be the case. Or even point out that this was not the version I got when I actually asked about it in February. I know he knew that already. It was good that it came out. I could care less if they ever talk, she is married and he cares about me enough that occasional conversations are not a big deal. After all, I spoke to G just last week at Temple. There is nothing significant about it. Again, my feelings were supposed to be a mirror of his. However, this morning she came up again. But she was not mentioned. I just know that he was talking about her and therefore had talked to her. And even worse it was done in the context of questioning me.
"What route are taking to Tallahassee? Is it really the most direct one? Have you thought about this?"
"I am not sure what you are asking? What highway are we taking? Or are you asking to help me out and plan our trip?"
"Well I was just talking to someone in Tallahassee and she said that the way you wanted to go would take five hours and there is a way to go that would only take four"
"Oh, who were you talking to?"
"Just someone who lives there"
"I see."
"Well, don't you think there could be other routes that take less time then going in 75? "
If we were in the same room I would have thrown my papers at his head while simultaneously kicking him in the gut and screaming my head off.
Since I am at work, I draw my breath in sharply and begin. "I do not know why you even question me on this. I have just spent 20 minutes on Mapquest printing out five directions, one from work to Tallahassee, one from our hotel in Tallahassee to the restaurant, one from our hotel in Tally to our hotel in Pensacola, one from our hotel to the church and one from the hotel to the airport. Looking at the direction on 75, it is 240 miles or by their estimate, going 60 mph, it is 4 hours and eight minutes. We all know no one drives 60 mph. Not to mention that I have done that drive 57 times having lived in New Orleans for seven years, so I know it will never take five hours. Now have I thought about it more then that? No, actually I have not considered that state road 19 offers an alternate route that does not take us into the middle of the state and through Gainesville, which is out of our way, like 75 does. Nor have I even driven on 19 before as an attempt to see if it is actually any shorter. Nor have I thought that 19 is a state road with two lanes and a 50 mph speed limit. There are no rest stops or motor assistance. There are no restaurants or gas stations. Nor have I considered that for us to get to 19 we have to go out of our way, or to get to our hotel in Tallahassee from 19, we have to go out of our way, or even that from where we sit in Tampa we are directly on the on-ramp to 75. But I have not really thought about it. So do you now want to tell me who told you it takes 5 hours to get to Tallahassee or whether we have considered alternate routes?"
He knows it is best to hang up quickly. Or my shoe may have made it through the speaker of the phone to the 15th floor of his office building.
Before getting off the phone, he did happen to compliment me and say that he trusted my sense of directions. Well, buddy, if that were the case, why then did you open this whole can of worms?
