This is a joke. There is a punchline. I hope you laugh.
Last year a high school crush found me on Facebook and we decided to try and live the rest of our lives together. It didn't work out. While I was being in this relationship I felt that songs on the radio were sending me messages. When I was in the throes of being in love it was Billy Joel's For The Longest Time. That's the one that stands out the most. When things turned bad, I would hear Adelle's version of the Bob Dylan ballad Feel Your Love, and sing it to me in solidarity with myself.
Earlier this week I considered downloading some new songs to my IPhone. There's a song by Cece Peniston that I adore. It's called Keep On Walkin. It's a song I could never remember the name of and didn't know who sang it so never had a copy. I downloaded it a couple days ago. Ironically, the ex texted me and emailed me a couple days ago, too. He was just letting me know that the relationship he ran to when I left him was over now. Information I didn't want. A contact I didn't want. I'm a fast learner, and one of the things I learned fastest was that talking to this dude is a waste of time, only serves to anger and upset me and never changes anything.
They lyrics to the Cece Peniston song include the following:
I thought I told you it was over
Why are you confused?
Made your choice and now I'm voicing
My opinion to you
You can just Go!
Walk On
keep On
Keep on Walkin
I aint talkin to ya
Keep on walkin, keep on walkin
So I finally realized yesterday that part of my reason for calling out this song and putting it on the repeat was to dismiss this unwanted intrusion. It always upsets me when I hear from that guy. I had him blocked on my other phone, but apparently that didn't carry over to this one. And I admit, a part of me wants to hear from a version of him that has finally taken responsibility for his part in what didn't work so that we could transcend it and maybe be together. That is a throwback to that flaw I mentioned in the You Are NOT My Enemy post from earlier this week; the flaw of believing in people's evloved selves contrary to the hypothesis that a leopard doesn't change its spots.
So I'm listening to this jam, rockin out with Cece when I arrive home the night before last and even though I have my headphones on, I can hear my roommates street rap blasting out of the speakers in the living room. I stick my head in singing my R&B jam. We laugh and my roomie invites me to a chocolate cake shot.
"Yah!" I am enthusiastic. Vanilla vodka and Frangelico are the shot, followed up by a slice of lemon dipped in brown sugar. And the shots are pretty amazing cause they really taste like chocolate cake.
So the next day, after work, I'm still suffering slightly and decide that I must have a bacon cheeseburger before I go to karaoke. It's going to be a rough week from the look of things.
Since karaoke is in the village, I decide to find a place for dinner down there. There's a spot on 14th Street called The Crooked Knife that I've wanted to try for a while, so I stop in and get my burger.
When the burger arrives it's Fat. With a capital "F". I peer around its sides trying to decide how to conquer it. It has lettuce and tomato and onion and I add my mayo and catsup concoction making a fat, sloppy mess of wonderfullness. I pick it up, still wondering what the best way to get the biggest bite in my mouth is. I decide a halfway-through-the-burger-on-a-45-degree-angle is my best shot and I swan dive into that patty.
I raise my eyes and see some patrons staring wide-eyed at me. "Food isn't pretty," I say. And then I realize my mouth is full. So I smile.
I really want a burger now. This comedy stuff makes me hungry.
The moral of the story is that overcoming pain and difficult situations makes you hungry. Wait. No. I mean, it frees you up to find the joy in the mundane. Badumching.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Don't Walk Through the Park at Night
Oak leaves stirred lazily in a warm, summer night breeze under the yellow glow of a streetlamp.
Shadows shifted within the stone walls surrounding the neighborhood park. A group of punks, their thick forms taking shape as two lovers walk by, toss profanity sprinkled challenges of bravado at each other. The sour smell of weed spreads into the air.
The punks stop talking and watch the couple. The couple travels down a path and then up a rise to a secluded tree with a view that looks out over the Hudson River at the George Washington Bridge and the Palisades of New Jersey. The embrace and talk softly, hiding in the darkness that the large oak provides.
"Well ain't this sweet and cozy." A nasaly, accented voice intrudes on their intimacy. The couple says nothing, just turns their heads to see where the voice is coming from.
A group of four males, thick, some fat, some muscular, stands in a pack, blocking any retreat of the couple.
"How about we join in?" says the nasaly voice. The rest of the pack giggles.
The one doing the taunting is short and broad, with a flat nose and pinched eyes that sit close together at the top of his nose. He makes an obscene gyration with his hips.
"We really don't want any trouble," says one of the lovers. "It's probably best if you just turn around and walk away."
The group guffaws. "Hahaha. Oh, we're not afraid. We think it'd be more fun to stay and play. How 'bout you step aside and let me hug your friend."
The other lover turns to face flat nose. No words are spoken, but flat nose's eyes fly open from what he's seeing. "M-m-m=maybe you're right." he stammers. "Maybe we got somethin' better to do."
He turns to leave but it's too late. The friend grabs him by the shoulder, immobilizing him. The lover steps away from the friend and the tree and freezes the rest of the group with a stare.
The friend has now stepped up to flat nose. The friend opens wide eyes aflame with a searing red glow just seconds before sinking sharp fangs into the shoulder of flat nose. A sigh is forced out of the punk. His knees buckle and the friend catches him and lowers him to the ground to feed.
The lover has singled out the fattest member of the group and clamped a claw onto his shoulder. Releasing the other two punks from their hypnotic paralysis, the lover says simply, "Run." The punks don't have to be told twice.
The lover pushes the fat punks head aside and eyes flare red as the lover readies to strike.
There is the sound of screeching tires and a loud thump as a body is stuck by a car.
Leaves on an oak tree rustle lazily, the only sound in the park now.
Don't walk alone in the park at night.
Shadows shifted within the stone walls surrounding the neighborhood park. A group of punks, their thick forms taking shape as two lovers walk by, toss profanity sprinkled challenges of bravado at each other. The sour smell of weed spreads into the air.
The punks stop talking and watch the couple. The couple travels down a path and then up a rise to a secluded tree with a view that looks out over the Hudson River at the George Washington Bridge and the Palisades of New Jersey. The embrace and talk softly, hiding in the darkness that the large oak provides.
"Well ain't this sweet and cozy." A nasaly, accented voice intrudes on their intimacy. The couple says nothing, just turns their heads to see where the voice is coming from.
A group of four males, thick, some fat, some muscular, stands in a pack, blocking any retreat of the couple.
"How about we join in?" says the nasaly voice. The rest of the pack giggles.
The one doing the taunting is short and broad, with a flat nose and pinched eyes that sit close together at the top of his nose. He makes an obscene gyration with his hips.
"We really don't want any trouble," says one of the lovers. "It's probably best if you just turn around and walk away."
The group guffaws. "Hahaha. Oh, we're not afraid. We think it'd be more fun to stay and play. How 'bout you step aside and let me hug your friend."
The other lover turns to face flat nose. No words are spoken, but flat nose's eyes fly open from what he's seeing. "M-m-m=maybe you're right." he stammers. "Maybe we got somethin' better to do."
He turns to leave but it's too late. The friend grabs him by the shoulder, immobilizing him. The lover steps away from the friend and the tree and freezes the rest of the group with a stare.
The friend has now stepped up to flat nose. The friend opens wide eyes aflame with a searing red glow just seconds before sinking sharp fangs into the shoulder of flat nose. A sigh is forced out of the punk. His knees buckle and the friend catches him and lowers him to the ground to feed.
The lover has singled out the fattest member of the group and clamped a claw onto his shoulder. Releasing the other two punks from their hypnotic paralysis, the lover says simply, "Run." The punks don't have to be told twice.
The lover pushes the fat punks head aside and eyes flare red as the lover readies to strike.
There is the sound of screeching tires and a loud thump as a body is stuck by a car.
Leaves on an oak tree rustle lazily, the only sound in the park now.
Don't walk alone in the park at night.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Spins
BAhahahaha. It's not what you think. I know, the title of this post has you strolling down collegiate memory lane, one foot on the floor, bucket by the bed, and the whole ceiling acting like a turbo jet engine on speed.
If that were the case I could drink some gatorade and have a bacon sandwich and be on my way to recovery until the next self-induced spell.
This, however, is Miniere's disease, a fluid imbalance in the inner ear. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Good times. Just look left, or right, or up, or down, or sit, or stand or be lying still. Dizzy. Anytime, anyway. Unpredictable. An Adventure.
That was what I was gonna write about but now I'm bored with that. It does remind me of the time, however, on new Year's Eve 2000 when I, my daughter and her friend were rear ended by a big asshole in a white mercedes or beamer or some other equally pretentious ride. I didn't know it when it happened but I had knocked my head into the window. It happened on a Saturday night. By Wednesday i was so dizzy I had a friend take me to the emergency room. I forgot I had been in an accident (that should have been my first clue) so when the snide ER Doc asked if I had had any recent head trauma I couldn't remember any.
BAHahahahahahahah. Life is funny.
Turns out I had suffered a closed brain injury. Took a long time for me to become aware of the word-recall loss, and it having have happened over ten years ago, I believe I have had a, mostly, full recovery, but it took a long time.
I used it as an excuse for a long time, too. Except, looking back, it wasn't an excuse, it was an explanation.
Now when I have word recall issues it's just age and fatigue. Because I stay up too late playing, you guessed! Angry Birds.
I might be ready to give up on the pissed off avian game though. I don't like these levels I've been seeing. I revert to a three year old when I don't like them, "This is stooopid". I fight through to conquer it. I will not, however, be enticed to raise my score to three star level. Some part of me believes that 'they' know I am snubbing them because this level is creatively inferior. I don't think I like the fat birds, either. They do have a lot of bang for the ... well ...bang, but I'd rather have a bunch of those little black bomb birds any day, any level. They're so much more functional.
BAhahahahaha.
Okay. Enough with the maniacal laughter. Even though I still want to be Cat Woman. The Julie Newmar version. How on earth did she get her waist so tiny? Of course, Eartha Kitt had the best purrrrrr. These comments are open for debate, BTW.
And speaking of wanting to be fictional characters, do you know what else i realized? I will tell you. I know the suspense is killing. You know when 'they' ask "what historical person, living or dead, would you have dinner with?" Well, I can never come up with an answer and yesterday I figured out why: because I don't want to have dinner with Liza Minelli. I want to BE Liza Minelli. and Johnny Depp. And Isabella Rosselini. Not Johnny Carson, though. I just want to be on his show. I was devastated when he died. Part of my dream was being on his show. How could he die before I had my fifteen minutes?!?! Honestly. The colossal audacity.
Today, however, I get to be me, and that's going to be more than good enough. I'm rather enjoying myself. Spins and all.
If that were the case I could drink some gatorade and have a bacon sandwich and be on my way to recovery until the next self-induced spell.
This, however, is Miniere's disease, a fluid imbalance in the inner ear. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Good times. Just look left, or right, or up, or down, or sit, or stand or be lying still. Dizzy. Anytime, anyway. Unpredictable. An Adventure.
That was what I was gonna write about but now I'm bored with that. It does remind me of the time, however, on new Year's Eve 2000 when I, my daughter and her friend were rear ended by a big asshole in a white mercedes or beamer or some other equally pretentious ride. I didn't know it when it happened but I had knocked my head into the window. It happened on a Saturday night. By Wednesday i was so dizzy I had a friend take me to the emergency room. I forgot I had been in an accident (that should have been my first clue) so when the snide ER Doc asked if I had had any recent head trauma I couldn't remember any.
BAHahahahahahahah. Life is funny.
Turns out I had suffered a closed brain injury. Took a long time for me to become aware of the word-recall loss, and it having have happened over ten years ago, I believe I have had a, mostly, full recovery, but it took a long time.
I used it as an excuse for a long time, too. Except, looking back, it wasn't an excuse, it was an explanation.
Now when I have word recall issues it's just age and fatigue. Because I stay up too late playing, you guessed! Angry Birds.
I might be ready to give up on the pissed off avian game though. I don't like these levels I've been seeing. I revert to a three year old when I don't like them, "This is stooopid". I fight through to conquer it. I will not, however, be enticed to raise my score to three star level. Some part of me believes that 'they' know I am snubbing them because this level is creatively inferior. I don't think I like the fat birds, either. They do have a lot of bang for the ... well ...bang, but I'd rather have a bunch of those little black bomb birds any day, any level. They're so much more functional.
BAhahahahaha.
Okay. Enough with the maniacal laughter. Even though I still want to be Cat Woman. The Julie Newmar version. How on earth did she get her waist so tiny? Of course, Eartha Kitt had the best purrrrrr. These comments are open for debate, BTW.
And speaking of wanting to be fictional characters, do you know what else i realized? I will tell you. I know the suspense is killing. You know when 'they' ask "what historical person, living or dead, would you have dinner with?" Well, I can never come up with an answer and yesterday I figured out why: because I don't want to have dinner with Liza Minelli. I want to BE Liza Minelli. and Johnny Depp. And Isabella Rosselini. Not Johnny Carson, though. I just want to be on his show. I was devastated when he died. Part of my dream was being on his show. How could he die before I had my fifteen minutes?!?! Honestly. The colossal audacity.
Today, however, I get to be me, and that's going to be more than good enough. I'm rather enjoying myself. Spins and all.
Monday, August 27, 2012
No, You are NOT my Enemy
I am doing this against my will. I would much rather indulge my addiction to Angry Birds than try and dig into the bowels of my soul and articulate some gleaming pearls of wisdom for you all, my friends. I guess the guilt is getting to me, too. I am getting paid, right now, and for not really doing anything, so since I'm not a professional gamer, I guess I should look busy.
Also, I went to a Buddhist prayer meeting yesterday and in addition to being given the message of 'the Truth of Impermanence", the message to not be lazy was reinforced. I've been hearing it a lot lately and it just does not jive with my new philosophy of giving up on any dreams I might have had in my youth and indulging the inclination to play games on my phone. Wait, though. Playing Angry Birds isn't really being lazy. That game takes some strategy! "Especially at the higher levels," she whined.
I could take on the exercise of writing for a half hour every day. I don't know if I can commit, but if I do, and you are a faithful reader, I make no promises about quality or content.
OK. So today's topic, Enemies. Don't blame me. It's not my idea. I found it on a creative writing site. It's the word of the day.
Enemies. When I think of enemies I think of battles and big war campaigns; countries throwing big and bloody to assuage some power hungry man's insatiable appetite. I don't think of the people I know personally. If I have an issue with someone, I don't think of them as my enemy, I just think of them as a shitty person, or irritating or infuriating. The term 'enemy' never comes to mind, somehow.
I wonder if that is because on some level I want all people to be my friend. Oh, dear. Now, that's a profound discovery.
The 'new's has been full to overflowing lately with hateful statements made by politicians. 'Certainly, Mother of Bug, you don't want those people to be your friends," you say? Well, no, not in their current hateful state of unconsciousness and ignorance. However, here is an unfortunate trait I possess over which I seemingly have no control: I have the misguided belief that if only people could change into their evolved soul we could all dance happily around the Maypole together, me with my pastel streamer in hand, you with yours.
Sadly, that ain't the way it is, is it Virginia? This ain't Kansas and people are assholes. So now, do I consider these ignorant incarnations my 'enemies'? Nope. That word still doesn't stick.
Perhaps it is because in order to consider someone your enemy, you must consider them your equal. Perhaps it's arrogance that doesn't allow me to consider people who aren't like-minded evolved enough to be my enemy.
Could be, who knows...."Somethin's comin, I don't know, what it is , but it is, Gonna be GREAT!". Sorry. Sometimes I burst into spontaneous song. We all should, you know. It would make great friends of many who would be enemies.
All I do know is that if I were a victim on Law and Order and they were going around asking people "Did she have any enemies" the only honest response would have to be "None that she was aware of..." Being unnaturally paranoid, I often think people don't like me, but I never think of us involved in a Super Hero, Marvel Comics kind of ongoing conflict (where, of course, I would be the Super Hero and they would be the Nemisis. Although, being a nemisis does sound like an awful lot of fun; all of that evil laughing and destroying people who anger you and purring and wearing cat suits. OMG, ok, batman purists, I know Catwoman wasn't his nemesis. This is my fantasy, OK?!).
Or maybe I don't consciously apply the 'enemy' label to anyone because I really, really, really don't like conflict. I'm not afraid of it, but it can make me very uncomfortable, in a sweaty, shaky, heart palpitating kind of way.
If we disagree, I will not consider you my enemy. If you do me wrong, I will not consider you my enemy. Anyone who sees my Facebook responses to some political commentary knows that I am not afraid to speak my mind. I may label you and make provocative statements. Adamantly. But I will never consider you my enemy. Apparently, you don't qualify.
Also, I went to a Buddhist prayer meeting yesterday and in addition to being given the message of 'the Truth of Impermanence", the message to not be lazy was reinforced. I've been hearing it a lot lately and it just does not jive with my new philosophy of giving up on any dreams I might have had in my youth and indulging the inclination to play games on my phone. Wait, though. Playing Angry Birds isn't really being lazy. That game takes some strategy! "Especially at the higher levels," she whined.
I could take on the exercise of writing for a half hour every day. I don't know if I can commit, but if I do, and you are a faithful reader, I make no promises about quality or content.
OK. So today's topic, Enemies. Don't blame me. It's not my idea. I found it on a creative writing site. It's the word of the day.
Enemies. When I think of enemies I think of battles and big war campaigns; countries throwing big and bloody to assuage some power hungry man's insatiable appetite. I don't think of the people I know personally. If I have an issue with someone, I don't think of them as my enemy, I just think of them as a shitty person, or irritating or infuriating. The term 'enemy' never comes to mind, somehow.
I wonder if that is because on some level I want all people to be my friend. Oh, dear. Now, that's a profound discovery.
The 'new's has been full to overflowing lately with hateful statements made by politicians. 'Certainly, Mother of Bug, you don't want those people to be your friends," you say? Well, no, not in their current hateful state of unconsciousness and ignorance. However, here is an unfortunate trait I possess over which I seemingly have no control: I have the misguided belief that if only people could change into their evolved soul we could all dance happily around the Maypole together, me with my pastel streamer in hand, you with yours.
Sadly, that ain't the way it is, is it Virginia? This ain't Kansas and people are assholes. So now, do I consider these ignorant incarnations my 'enemies'? Nope. That word still doesn't stick.
Perhaps it is because in order to consider someone your enemy, you must consider them your equal. Perhaps it's arrogance that doesn't allow me to consider people who aren't like-minded evolved enough to be my enemy.
Could be, who knows...."Somethin's comin, I don't know, what it is , but it is, Gonna be GREAT!". Sorry. Sometimes I burst into spontaneous song. We all should, you know. It would make great friends of many who would be enemies.
All I do know is that if I were a victim on Law and Order and they were going around asking people "Did she have any enemies" the only honest response would have to be "None that she was aware of..." Being unnaturally paranoid, I often think people don't like me, but I never think of us involved in a Super Hero, Marvel Comics kind of ongoing conflict (where, of course, I would be the Super Hero and they would be the Nemisis. Although, being a nemisis does sound like an awful lot of fun; all of that evil laughing and destroying people who anger you and purring and wearing cat suits. OMG, ok, batman purists, I know Catwoman wasn't his nemesis. This is my fantasy, OK?!).
Or maybe I don't consciously apply the 'enemy' label to anyone because I really, really, really don't like conflict. I'm not afraid of it, but it can make me very uncomfortable, in a sweaty, shaky, heart palpitating kind of way.
If we disagree, I will not consider you my enemy. If you do me wrong, I will not consider you my enemy. Anyone who sees my Facebook responses to some political commentary knows that I am not afraid to speak my mind. I may label you and make provocative statements. Adamantly. But I will never consider you my enemy. Apparently, you don't qualify.
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