Put a Little Love in Your Heart

Last year several fantastic people I know had their hearts broken by someone that they loved and trusted. In several cases I sadly watched and supported. In others, I only heard about the stories after-the-fact. And in one...I lived it. In each of these situations the pain was all too raw and real. Surprisingly though, most of us have come out on the other side with a renewed appreciation for the person we are, and a much better understanding of the person we want to share our time with. And in all cases, there has been a fair amount of wine and laughter as we've discussed the brutal reality of the who, the what, the where, and the why...the why the hell did all this happen.

It is, and will be, a little expected that we all carry some animosity and suspicion around this "little thing called love". No surprise that a heart can heal, but it rarely completely mends. At least it doesn't alone.

It is with great joy then, that I get to recall the amazing weekend I recently had. My little sister got married. My little sister got married. My little sister got married...in JAMAICA. I certainly will not taint her day by recanting the mess her first husband left her with. Instead, I will relish in the phenomenal life her last husband is sharing with her. They are pretty damn awesome together. 

It was a beautiful day, with beautiful people, on a beautiful beach. I loved every minute of it, and I am so grateful that I was there to experience it. My sister probably doesn't realize, but this wedding was a gift to me. It reminded me that the mistakes we make with one person don't have to be repeated. It proved that there is a better person out there than one might expect. And it gave me the chance to happily and lazily spend 4 days with someone that I travel well with, laugh with, and simply enjoy being with. There is a strange comfort that comes with happiness. But we will save that story for another day...

Most importantly, I shared the day with my fabulous rockstar parents - the Drinking Diva and Party Gary - and some awesome new friends. 

Congratulations Elizabeth and Jason! You both deserve a lifetime.

The Beast Within

This is an Iona posting. If you don't love the Iona Pig, then I suggest you move on. I also highly suggest that you learn to love Iona, if you have any plans of me liking you. Yes, that includes the inevitable times when she is mean and bites you in the hand. You must still love, to be liked. 

Recently several friends and I participated in the local SPCA Dog Walk. I've done this event before, but never took Iona with me. Let's face it, my dog is spastic. My dog is also 11 years-old, a cancer survivor, and has bad hips. A walk amongst several thousand people and their dogs has just never seemed like a good idea. But then my "Bad Idea Bear" not only spoke to me, he built her a wagon...and all reason was lost. 


When most people see Iona they think she looks like a stuffed docile teddy bear. This facade usually remains until she does something awesome like violently charge a dog twelve times her size, or face-plant onto the concrete after sky-diving from the safety of her little red wagon. 

She is mine though, and I love her dearly. The way to this girl's heart is certainly through her dog...and perhaps a gnome or two thrown in for good measure. Oh, I like unicorns too. And pirates. Hmmmm...let's not forget about rubber ducks either...

Guardian Angel

It's been a few weeks now, so I feel like I can post this without getting too much flack from those that love me. Trust me, I know that I deserve all the flack you want to instill upon me. Perhaps a hug would also do...
 _____________________________________________________________________
It is Monday, March 15th and I am drafting this post about a revelation I had last evening. I am not certain when I will actually set this message free, because I know it will deeply worry some people. Therefore, I need to put some distance between the event and the knowledge of it. Right now it is a little too raw for me, and I think I would be uncomfortable if someone asked me about. Maybe in a few days, a week...whenever you are reading this...I will have come to terms. 

I was in Virginia last night. I met a friend for dinner in Greensboro and then decided to hear him play at an open mic event in Martinsville, VA. I knew it was going to be a challenge on a school night, but he seemed worth the lack of sleep I knew would be inevitable. I wanted to hang out with interesting people that evening, and he and his friends seemed like the right crowd.


He is an outstanding drummer and I truly had a lot of fun watching and listening to him play. We then hung out for a couple hours afterward...literally just driving around and talking. I felt like I was back in high school as there was such an innocence about spending time together with someone in that capacity. Nothing more, nothing less; just talking and enjoying the company of another.

I left around 2.30a...way, way later than I had intended. I was tired, a bit wired, and completely sober. I thought I was doing okay driving alone on the dark roads, when the sheer exhaustion just hit me shortly after 3a. I convinced myself to keep driving until 3.30a, and then stop somewhere for gas and a short walk. I opened up the sunroof, cranked the music, and kept going at a nice steady clip of about 90 MPH. This is the way I love to drive, and I felt damn good about it. Drive on.

It was about 3.17a when I must have fallen asleep. Not just a "snap your head back, eyes shut for a second" catnap, but a full-blown fast asleep while driving moment. I woke up as my car was entering a steep embankment and bouncing across the grass towards the guardrail. Snap awake, eyes open, loud noises, damn, damn, damn...Instinct kicks in. Faster pussycat. Yank steering wheel and veer from the rail immediatley on my right and back the opposite direction, Large sign inches in front of me. Grassy mound ahead of me and now the car begins to tilt. Damn, damn, damn. Pay attention pussycat. Pay some freaking attention. Snap back.

I honestly and terrifyingly thought my poor VW was going to flip. Grass, guardrail, sign, hill, metal. Grass, guardrail, sign, hill, metal. Road, where the freaking hell is the road???????? Control. Find the control pussycat. Get. Your. Shit. Together. Now.

Everything happened so fast. It was loud, and visual, and nauseating. As I finally came back onto the freeway, I literally threw the car in park and just sat and breathed. Perhaps hyperventilating is the better word. There were no lights or other cars anywhere in sight. I was certain I had hit the guardrail, as the noise was still reverberating in my head. I thought I should have a flat tire.  I could smell my brakes and the awful stench of rubber. I didn't think me or the car could drive. But we did. Drive pussycat. Drive to safety and figure out how f'd up you really are.


I don't know why I didn't just get out of the car there to inspect the damage. "Miss Instant Gratification" should have done so. I just needed to drive away from that spot. NOW. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding and I was on the brink of tears. I could have been on four blown tires and I would have kept going.


My first thought? WTF am I going to tell Allstate? I had JUST gotten my vehicle back the week before after having side-swiped a parked Escalade and incurring $5000 worth of repairs. This damage was going to be on the same freaking side they JUST FIXED. Damn it, I am an idiot and now Allstate is going to know it.


As I pulled into the nearest gas station I contemplated who I could call. Who would want to hear from me at this ungodly hour if I were going to truly be stranded? Do I have any friends that would drive to Virginia to get me?


I walked around to the passenger side of the car to look at the mess I had made. I just stared. Shock and awe overtook me. I stood there under the bright fluorescent lights for what seemed like an hour. Then I cried. A shocking and sudden force of tears just rolled down my face. Stare. Cry. Moan. Hold it together pussycat.

There was not one scratch on my car. Not one freaking scratch. I had managed to narrowly miss the guardrail completely. I don't know how. I don't know the hell that was true. I could still HEAR myself, FEEL myself, SEE myself hit that damn guardrail. I could still feel the car try and flip. Apart from the massive amounts of grass and dirt I found in my wheel wells and stuck in my grill, you wouldn't know that I had just gone through the single most frightening moment of my life.


Something or someone is trying to tell me something. Slow down. Wake up. Reassess. Prioritize. Too many risks; not enough self-preservation. Second chances rarely roll into thirds.


Every time that singular moment of waking up pops into my head, I get cold. My heart starts pounding and I feel fear. Guardian Angel...you are screaming...and I hear you loud and clear. Pull it together pussycat.

The Writing on the Wall

Yesterday was all about disclosure...whether on the Facebook wall or on my wrist. Yep, I finally succumbed to my desire to ink my skin. I'd considered it for awhile, and now just seemed right. This is my year for doing things my way, the right way, at the right time...

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed". It's the first line of The Gunslinger, the first volume of the epic journey that Roland Deschain travels in the Dark Tower series. The book made a lasting impression on me the first time I read it, and that one line has continued to spin inside my head. There was simply no question that this was what needed to be on me.

In The Gunslinger, (as in Browning's poem, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came"), there is a feeling of anxious meaninglessness coupled with an anxiety that nothing is stable or reliable.

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed". In the middle of an empty landscape filled with empty people, the Gunslinger has a purpose. He has direction. He is the last of his kind, and his mission gives him substance and holds his narrative world together. He is the glue at the center of things.
 
(I stole that perfectly worded interpretation from a Strange Horizon's blogger named David Higgins.)

So onto the fun stuff...my dear friends were there with me yesterday to help me endure the pain and to share in the moment. The postable quotes came fast and furious, and so we divided them up amongst the three of us. Here are just a few of the remarkable ones...there are many more that we didn't/couldn't post and so many others that we couldn't remember once the laughter and tears stopped.

• Carl: "Spontaneity should be something you can sleep off."
• Sean (my cute tattoo artist): "Those are dating rules to live by...open sores are never good."  
• Sean: "Don't worry about the shaking. I know the difference between voluntary and involuntary. Just stop thinking about it, or you'll shake more. And besides, I'm holding you down."
• Me: "I want to tell all the people, 'I am not a cutter'! Damn, I look like I spent some time in the ER after a fight with a razor blade."
• Brad: "Did you just feel the gay go by?" Me: "Oh yeah, I just felt the gay."
• Brad: "Was that the weight of her ass that just made your fork settle on the plate?"
• Me: "He's young. When he leaves me messages, he tells me to 'holla'." Brad: "Sweetie, you ain't no hollaback girl." 
• Carl: "Lordy, lol. I thought that was just between us and all of Glenwood South."
• Carl: "I just came into a cupcake inheritance. And it is good."
• Carl: "I feel so old."
• Me: Hahahaha...BTW, spellcheck wants hahahaha to be 'Haitians'.

And so I have direction. I have purpose. I have some anxious meaninglessness. I have a swollen and sore wrist. I also have a reminder of my purpose visually available to me at all times. And...I have written public documentation of the entertaining journey that got me there. 

Party of One, PLEASE!

So my intention today...no wait that was yesterday...was to start a Match Monday posting. Yeah, I am on match.com. Let my pride take the tremendous hit it deserves NOW. BAMN. Smack it, I am online dating.

I think I'm attractive. I know I am educated. I realize I have a fabulous job and a good life. I believe I am in good shape and am healthy. So.....yeah. I'm 37. Yep, not 27, but 37. And 37 turning into 38 in just a couple months. 

I met my first husband in a bar, so it seems right that I not repeat that one again. Yeah, we were married 15 years... but I expect that dating at 52 is even harder. I should probably try other avenues; hence the online dating thing.

I have always said that I love getting older. I am so much more confident and fabulous and with it and just plain more together, year-over-year. I like myself more at almost 38 than I ever did in any of those 20s. I do actually turn heads and get picked up on. BUT, there is that freaking damn NUMBER. You need to input that number into match.com and I am too proud to lie. I should lie. I might need to lie. Boys kind of freak when they learn that I am the almost 38. If I don't look it...why is it not a good thing? I am too young to be a cougar and I am not classically a MILF. So I am simply what...? Too old? Too young? Arghh.

So, I did not start Match Monday. That will have to wait until the calendar turns again next week. In the meantime, I was distracted by the census. Yes, I said the census. There is something about the archaic nature of "The Census must count every person living in the United States on April 1, 2010". Why archaic? BECAUSE THEY SENT IT IN THE MAIL AND IT HAS STANDARDIZED TEST BUBBLES. Actually it has boxes, but you get the point. MAIL!!! NOT INTERNET.


In 2010, the Census is not done online. it is mailed, (did they not hear the news about the USPS possibly needing to cut back hours or go bankrupt?????). Nothing online. And it is possible that you can add up to 12 people in your household. Now I love the census even more. Somehow, this mundane and ancient thing has made my day, There are those out there that get to fill out this amazing box-filled piece of paper for 12 people!!!!!! I am envious. I only get to do so for one. Me. One. Uno. It. Only I live here. Hmmmmmmm.....that is a good thing. It is okay to be one. 


Party of one. Add a corgi...still party of one. Eh, who cares? Party of one. 
I like my one box.

A Little DIY in the DNA

Once upon a time it was the Year of the House. A rigorous twelve months focused around renovate, rebuild and repair. Then came the Interval of Me, (otherwise known as the Age of Bernie).  A painful nine-month process of personal redefinition and recovery. My own restoration took less time than the structural, so it seemed appropriate recently to refocus some of my concentration on the walls around me. Literally. 

For the past year I have had significant moments of annoyance over the molding gaps that exist between the living and dining room areas. If you recall, there used to be a substantial separation there, until we decided to take down that pesky little wall. For some idiotic reason, the picture and crown is slightly different on either side. And even more idiotic, we didn't check that before pulling the wall down. So, the moldings are still different and I was becoming more and more frustrated with how to solve this perplexing problem. 

We had already added some molding caps that made the disparity less obvious, but there were still some wide-open spaces that just made me perceive the rooms weren't "finished". And if you know me, then you know that this was making my OCD tilt hard.

Now the obvious thing might be to pull out some power tools and finish the job. Well, I've been instructed not to use such tools that could easily maim me or cause further damage to the House. And rightly so, I might add. I like to be able to do things myself and do them well...and when that doesn't happen I can get easily frustrated. And frustrated with sharp power tools seems like a really bad idea. Particularly when there is no one else around to aim them at. 

So, I took a different route and found something less dangerous. I found stickers. To be more precise, I located a company that takes fabulous art and transposes it onto heavy vinyl adhesive pieces. You cut and apply them in any pattern that you want...and I wanted a pattern that hid gaps. Let's just call this magical. Magic that required a ladder, some grumbling, a helpful corgi, (it would only have been better if she had thumbs...and less fur...and didn't step on sticky things with said fur), and some creativity and patience. YES, I SAID IT! I USED CREATIVITY AND PATIENCE. BITE ME ALL YOU HATERS, I DO HAVE SOME :)

More importantly I now have art with a purpose. And I did it all by myself...without hurting anyone, or anything.

The Invisibility Test

For the most part, I've been on a steady upward climb in 2010. Not to say that some weeks haven't been met by a rock slide or in some cases a complete tumble backwards, but I've always managed to dust off and go again. Most days I feel pretty freaking awesome.

So why then go invisible to the masses? Why delete the blog? Stop the notes? Avoid questions? Stop answering emails? Selfishness, of course. Pure, unapologetic selfishness. It needed to be all about me, baby. 

I love my family, adore my friends, appreciate the unknown readers, respect the lurkers, and value my coworkers, extended family, and new recruits. I also welcome any and all comments, as they keep me energized. Some of the notes and emails I've received from people have literally kept me pushing forward another day, or made me contemplate the goodness that exists in my life. And from many of you...I've realized how lucky I am to have you as a part of my place...as nothing is as inspiring to me as mutual motivation. For that I thank you.

But things all aren't pretty, are they? For the manipulative, my writing was a way to locate my weak spots. To exploit the turmoil that I was going through and feed off of it. For some it was a way to find out what and where Michael was, and to interpret things about our relationship that just weren't there. This isn't a "Where's Michael" game. If you want to know what's happening with him, then ask him. If he answers, then he wants to talk. If he doesn't, then let it be. Because this my friends, is all about me. Yes, he is and will continue to be a big part of it...and yes, I will someday write about the dirt in a cathartic fashion. But don't misconstrue; these are my words, and my life. 

Let's throw some stuff on the table again, just so the playing field is even. Michael and I have been officially separated since July 2009 and are planning to file for divorce in July 2010  (thanks NC for your mandatory one-year waiting period). There were months last year that sucked harder than anything either of us have done before, and hopefully we will individually never endure pain like that again. Some things you forgive, but you never, never, never forget. 

We are friends now and talk often. There are weeks that we see a lot of each other and get along swimmingly. Other weeks we keep our distance and just play nice in the sandbox when necessary. I think I can say for both of us though, that this is a good place for us to be. We have separately moved on with our lives; yet expect the other person to always be a piece of it. No longer the heart or the core; but perhaps a limb.

So there you have it. My invisibility cloak is off. If you want to know about me, my life, and what the heck I am choosing to do with it...then this is your place. If you have other nefarious intentions, then by all means keep reading and judge away. Just know that you'll have better results by going straight to the source. Take your own cloak off, and go to the source. This one is all about me.

Dog Days are Over

Well, I can finally say it...I AM BACK. Back with a vengeance. Back with compassion. Back with conviction.

"Happiness, it hurts like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it will kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming so you better run." - Florence and the Machine

Stay tuned, as I have some stories to tell. Some funny, some sad, and all real. The transition is never-ending, but I am learning that the happiness is deserved.

What do You Call IT?

IT is not an arbitrary quest. IT is not something I came upon lightly. IT is my level-setting and IT has a name. IT is called a reset of my inner compass.

I started reading this amazing book about a week ago and I found myself reflecting on all the errors I have recently made with my personal life. Not detrimental ones mind you, but simply things that are deterring me from my true path. I won't divulge the name of the book here, because unless you are a woman and newly single, you may scoff at it a bit. With that said, if you ARE in fact female, dating, and finding it a tad frustrating, please let me know and I will happily share.

The book deals mostly with the decisions we make and the reasons behind them. It provides great and simple clarity around why we succumb to temptation and how to avoid those that don't lead us to the highest and greater good. While there are several portions that resonated with me, there was one in particular that hit home. Hard. Like bricks.

Allow me a bit of paraphrasing please..."What you're missing is an inner compass when it comes to people: a reference point for how you live that you don't violate, no matter what."

"Your inner compass should contain all of the information you need in order to make a good dating judgment call. That way, you don't give away your heart, soul, and body to the wrong sort of person, setting yourself up for emotional devastation."

"...set that compass on due north."

Ah yes, it is so much simpler to just give into the nonsense that guided the dating of my 20s. For good or bad, I am no longer in that generation or in that mindset. So, consider this a proper reset. A positioning of my inner compass, and pointed straight to the North Star. If you happen to come upon me, be prepared, because I certainly am.

What Am I?

I had a realization shortly after the Christmas holiday where I had to do some level-setting. At the time I didn't know what to properly "call it", but we'll get back to that momentarily.

I will finally openly acknowledge that I had recently started dating and had found it both exciting and terribly challenging. Seriously, I had not been on a date with someone in about 17 years. So being me, I jumped into pseudo-relationships with a couple men in the hopes of figuring it out. While delightful, I was soon to discover the limitations.

Let's set the stage. There I was...standing at RDU with massive amounts of holiday luggage. One bag was filled almost entirely with meat. Yes, I said meat. My parents gifted all of us children with a fabulous assortment of pork chops, pork roasts and sausage. (My dad won a pig in a raffle.) I was also granted a couple random packages of rib-eye and ground beef. (My parents bought a quarter of a cow.) That's how we do it in Wisconsin. Add some incredible canned salsa from my sister-in-law and some bottles of wine, and I had some crazy TSA- monitored baggage. But I regress.

There I stood, hauling heavy freaking bags off the conveyor belt by myself. Then I drove myself home. Once home, all the boys started calling. I had a pseudo-boyfriend, a man patiently waiting in the wings, and a husband. (A husband I might add that I adore immensely and remain fabulous friends with.) And so goes my epiphany. I HAVE ALL THESE DAMN MEN IN MY LIFE and I am still dragging my own meat home. We're calling this done. Something is going to change, and change NOW.

So what am I? For months, Facebook has deemed me "complicated", match.com calls me "currently separated", eharmony.com says I am "ineligible", and in the eyes of God, numerous friends and family, and the state of North Carolina, I am "married". So who is right?

I am right.

I am single. I am recovering. I am healthy. I am independent. I am self-aware. I am confident. I am smart. I am strong. I am fabulous. I am a lover of relationships. I am also...I am also deserving of a man that wants and will be there to carry my meat.

That is who I am.

Ring it In. Ring it In.

Ah, the end. The end of the year known as 2009. The end of the year my life flipped itself upside down and I somehow ended somewhat right-side up again. The end of the year I became stronger, thinner, wiser, sadder, and certainly more certain. Certain of what I want, need, and how to get it.

A dear man in my life often reminds me that there is truthfully no difference in the days of 12/31 and 1/1. No great momentous thing happens that should cause me to think or act differently from one to the next. Since both paper and principle dictate that he is smarter than me, I am often prone to agreeing with him. Just not this time.

The flipping over of the year may be purely symbolic, but that alone marks its power. My spinning instructor this afternoon said, "What you are doing on the first day of the year, will represent what you do all year long". Well, then my 2010 should be quite grand. Perhaps the people will be different at some point, but the concepts should remain the same.

I am ending this first day of what will be a good and glorious year...with smart, sexy, and snappy dialogue set against a kick-ass soundtrack. Not my soundtrack...but that of Tarantino and Pulp Fiction. Let it be a sign that IFC knows me well enough to provide all that needs to be symbolic in my time of need.

"Warm, warm...disco." Happy ending 2009. Ring a ding-ding.