Well, here we are again my friends. 1:30 am and I'm still up and tickin'.

My best friend Sandy just bought her first home. A cute little town home in Bloomington that she invited me to walk thru with her, to get my opinion. The plan is to move a little at a time and do some small touch-up projects before she moves in late July.

My youngest brother and his wife just bought their first home in Edina. The house is adorable. Or it will be when he finishes demolishing it and gets it put back together. It's in an older neighborhood - which means plenty of real trees and the houses are all different. Thank god, because if they had moved into a cookie cutter development with no trees, I'd have to lie and say I loved the place even if I didn't. This means there will almost certainly be small children in the near future.

My second younger brother has finally asked his longtime girlfriend to marry him, and they are both moving to the Twin Cities to work and be closer to the family. After being away for the last decade, it will be odd to have Mikey back in the same zip code. They were both here for a few days last week to look for an apartment, but the one they both liked was snapped up before they could make an offer. So, they've sent me to check out a couple potential places for them, two yesterday and one tomorrow morning. (P.S.  You should see the size of the rock he put on her finger!! Yowza!)

My oldest niece is graduating from high school in a couple days. Holy crap, Batman! She decided to go to St. Olaf in Northfield, MN, which is a private university that costs a mint and is about 40 minutes south-ish of the Twin Cities. Far enough away that she can't commute from home, but near enough for weekends.

This means that in a few more months, my younger niece will be essentially an only child. We all think not having her bossy older sister around all the time will be good for her. Not that they aren't close, but somehow I think in their case absence might actually make the heart grow fonder. As with most siblings, antagonistic may best describe their current relationship. That's certainly how it was growing up with my brothers, anyway. Also, her 15th birthday was on Tuesday. Very soon, she'll be driving! Double Holy Crap, Batman!

Sandy and I went to a couple of the shows in the Tony Kushner festival at The Guthrie over the last few weeks. The first was "Caroline, Or Change." That one is a musical set in the 60's around the time Kennedy was assasinated and deals with the various attitudes and perspectives of people dealing with the Civil Rights Movement. The heroine is Caroline, and black maid to a semi-wealthy Jewish family in Louisiana, who has three kids of her own and no husband. Without going in to the intricacies of the plot, I can tell you that this is a really, really good show. If you like 60's music, in all its forms, you'd love it, too.

The second we went to last Sunday - "The Intelligent Homosexuals Guide to Capitalism and Socialism, With a Key to the Scriptures." It almost sounds like it should be a comedy, and while there are some funny parts, it's mostly pretty intensely serious. It surrounds a seriously dysfunctional family whose 87-year-old patriarch has already tried to commit suicide once a year ago, and is contemplating trying again. The family has gathered together to try to convince him otherwise, and to maybe iron out some of their own personal differences. There are so many layers to this family drama that I can't even begin to untangle them here. Hell, the show is almost four hours long and has two intermissions. Some of the basic themes:

Parent/Child dynamics - i.e. Who is the 'favorite' & why?

Suicide & Assisted Suicide - When is it appropriate?

Homosexuality - Is spending $30,000 (that you borrowed from your sister) on a 20 year old male prostitute after 26 years of a mostly commited relationship, and then asking your husband who you've cheated on to maybe consider letting the kid live with you both a way to save your marriage?

Communism - the patriarch is a card-carrying member of the Communist Party, but only because he believes to his core in worker's rights to an equal share in the profits derived from the work of their hands.

See what I mean? I can think of at least half a dozen other subplots that might rate a mention here, but I don't want to give the game away if you might someday see this show. I love that I got to see it opening night. This show is so brand new that Tony hadn't even finished writing it until about three weeks ago. Wicked cool, that.

Did I like this show? I can't say I left the theatre whistling a happy tune, no, but it's not that kind of show. Since I'm still mulling it all over nearly a week later, I guess it accomplished the goal that any show strives for. To be unforgettable.

Oh, and if you think you've maybe heard the name Tony Kushner before, it may be that it's because he won an Oscar for "Angels in America." I think he may have won a Tony Award for the original theatrical version, as well, but I can't remember for sure.

Next weekend, I'm going to dog/house sit for a friend of mine from work who is going out of town. Yeah! I love dogs. I want a dog. Can't have a dog. Don't want to move unless I'm moving out of state, and wouldn't want the hassle of moving a pet, anyway.

How ironic would that be, to have all three of my brothes finally living in the state, and then move away myself? Really, I guess the bigger irony is that I have two brothers here that I only see every couple months.

It's almost 2:30 am, and I'm starting to lose focus a little. Time for bed.

Night. 

Jinx 

It happened again.

In almost exactly the same spot.

I was driving to work, listening to the pledge drive on public radio, cruising down the highway at 70 mph in the diamond lane (don't give me that look, it was 11:50 am, well past rush hour, sheesh), and minding the traffic. I'm good at multi-tasking like that.

It's a beautiful day. The kind that might, maybe, (but not really), make suffering through a long winter worth it.

To my immediate right is a flat-bed semi loaded 30 feet high with ginormous haybales. The really, truly big ones, people, that could feed an entire herd of cows for a week, that kind of ginormous. I spend a few seconds marveling at the sheer ginormity of the hay bales, and thinking, "Gee, I haven't seen that on this stretch of highway before. Cool!"

Once safely past this semi, there is another one in the far right lane about 15 car lengths ahead. And I think, "Sweet, there's two of 'em! Must be the hay left over from harvest last fall," and then check my rearview mirror like the good driver that I am. And just that fast, in literally the blink of an eye, there is a huge dust cloud directly ahead, under the same god-damned bridge that I nearly got squished under a few months ago.

I DROVE THROUGH A HAY BALE TODAY!!!!

Meanwhile, there are half a dozen other cars taking up valuable roadway in the other four lanes, all trying to decide which part of the massive dust cloud will be the safest to drive through. And I know, they're all saying the same thing I am. "FUCK!!!" Or maybe, "SHIT!!!" But hopefully not actually doing the latter. They are all having varying degrees of success at their split-second decision making processes, and leaving me with only one option.

Slow the fuck down, as fast as Ford Escort-ly possible, while hoping to hell and gone that there isn't someone stupid enough to stop inside that dust cloud, or that there isn't something sharp enough to pop car tires inside a hay bale.

Holy crap, people!

I didn't stop shaking for over an hour. I made it to work on time, there is nothing wrong with my car. Not even a scratch that I could see. No one got hurt. Except maybe the farmer who lost a whole bale of hay ($$$), and the poor drivers who had to stop and figure out what the hell to do with a hay bale in the middle of I-35W south.  

What a way to start the day, right?

Wicked.

Jinx 

OK, so here's the latest.

Remember how I mentioned that I would start going to people's houses as the design consultant? I sort of threw that in quick, so you can be forgiven if, like driving thru a small town in a convertible, blink, and you miss it.

I did my homework. I put together a little flyer, as requested, stating what my services would cost, and what I would do for that fee. Easy, right? Once I got past the numbing fear, it only took me a half hour.

So, when I went to work today, I was prepared. Handed it off to my boss for proof reading before having it copied onto the pretty paper for presentation to the public. Butterflies in the stomach. An anticipation of a slight easing of money problems and the ability to get some experience under my belt at the same time. All very good things, yes?

Well, what is the appropriate response to being told, second hand from the owner by my showroom manager, "Never mind. Our Corporate Office has decided that we have liability issues, and you can't go to people's houses representing the company."

What was I supposed to say? By 4 pm, I already had three different people who needed my help and have scheduled appointments to go to two of them to see their spaces.

I'm going to be "allowed" to go to the ones I've already scheduled, but no more.

God fucking damn it!!!

This is the second time they've done this to me.

Last year, they wanted me to become the drapery designer, because I have degrees in both textiles and design. I spent all of Valentine's Day last year in a seminar learning about window blinds. I'll admit, that one day of education has come in handy, and even so, knowledge is never wasted. But still, what the fuck?!!???

I swear that my boss has it in for me. How do I not take this personally?

What should I do?

Do I keep my head down, and just keep going, in light of recent catastrophes?

Or do I call him on his bull shit, and ask him why I shouldn't be allowed to make a little extra cash while actually using the degree I went to college to get?

Would being a brass-balled bitch get me anything? Should I throw a tantrum? Should I mention that this is the second fucking time this has happened? Do I continue to do it anyway, and hope I don't get caught?

It's really hard to argue with "Corporate Regulations." You can sling that legal jargon all.      day.      long. Doesn't make it right.

And it's certainly not fair. It's not fair.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Life's not fair.

Screw you.

I don't like being yanked around like this. I lost 5 friends in one fucking day, don't kid yourself about that bit of truth. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. This is why it's inadvisable to love actors, traveling salesmen, and soldiers.

Five people, gone as surely as the sun will rise in the morning, even if you can't see it behind the gray clouds of a rainy spring storm. Five people, whose loss was only slightly balanced by the thought of new opportunities that I was all set to grab hold of and run with.

Well, it's late. I need to get a good night's sleep, because I have a design appointment tomorrow evening after work.

Hard not to feel a little bitter, you know? A little resentful. A little rage, actually.

Screwed, anyway.

Again.

Jinx 

Anyone who's heard the news lately knows how bad the economy is. Our politicians are up in arms in favor of or rabidly against the anti-recession legislation being put forth to save our asses. "Stormy Weather" is the theme song every night on MPR during Marketplace Money. Groceries cost more. Gas costs more. And no one is making more to make up the difference. 
 
Well, yesterday one third of the people I work with every day were laid off with no warning. That's 5 people I love who are now searching for a job in this ridiculous economy.

Claudia, a 51 year old black woman - enough said, right? I love her to death, and I worry. I got to hug her good-bye, and I gave her one of my personal business cards with my phone number on it. Whether by accident or design, I later found that card laying on a table, abandoned. Can't blame her for being honest, I guess, if she left it behind on purpose. Still, I think she's fabulous and I will miss her.  

Kim, a 41 year old wife and mother of two teenagers - Of all the people who got laid off, she's the one I'm most surprised about. She was really good at her job, and I suspect the only reason she got picked over the person I think should have gone was that prize trip to Miami I mentioned a month ago. This other person was given the trip (for unknown reasons), which happens next week, and obviously the bosses couldn't lay off someone being sent on an all-expenses-paid company vacation the week before they were scheduled to go. I worry about her family. How do you feed a 15 year old boy on one salary? I will miss her. She is fun and smart and responsible, and she made working there easier.    

Randy, a 45 year old CFO-turned-stock-guy who was already laid off once last summer and has been looking ever since for a new job. You've already heard a little about that, and can maybe guess what this means to me. I got to hug him good-bye, too. In the end, there was nothing there but honest affection, but I liked him a lot.   

Cindy, one of the girls I actually went to design school with who has been working as a waitress part time to pay her bills. I was sort of surprised that they picked her over the other showroom assistant, since she had been there the longest of the three of us and was promoted last year to the posistion of "Supervisor." Admittedly a title with absolutely no power and no extra money attached to it, but still, she wasn't near as scatter-brained as the other girl. I suppose what got her was her overall attitude. If there was something bad to say about the company, she'd be the one to say it. Moral of the story - be careful what you say, right?  

And Justina, a very good friend of mine who is 26 and just bought her first home last fall. I helped her move in and painted her bathroom. I called her last night after I got home from work to check on her. I know from personal experience the exact cocktail of emotions she's been dealing with, and figured after spending all day talking to other people and trying to pretend she was OK, the real emotions would hit after dark. They always do for me, anyway. We talked for 20 minutes or so, and I didn't say much. I never know what to say, really. Words aren't much comfort when what you want is to scream and hit something, or be doing something to make it all better.  
 
Just so you know, my job is safe. They made sure we all knew that after the fall-out. I made the cut because I am literally indispensible, I guess. Sound arrogant? Well, I'm still right. Or I'd be gone. Back where I was two years ago, only worse, because WTF? You cannot decorate a foreclosure, you know?
 
Anyway, I thought you'd like to know about the single worst day I've had for months. This is as real as real gets, my friends.

What does this all mean for me?

I will be working even harder than I was before, because I have to take up the slack for two, maybe three other people on a given day. I will begin giving design advice outside the office, so that's good news. A little kick in the pants is usually what it takes to get me motivated. This feels more like a kick to the heart, but you get the idea. And, as a company restructuring thing, I will now get two days off in a row. Sweet. I don't mind working weekends, but I never get anything real done when I only have one day off to relax before I have to be back at it again. So now Sunday and Monday will be my weekend, instead of Sunday and Thursday. 

I'm supposed to be working on putting a design proposal together today to hand in to my boss tomorrow, and I'll get to it here in awhile. I'm thinking to start simply. Color consutations, general advice, space planning, a little home staging for resale, that kind of thing. A lot of people want advice when they're in the showroom, but it is always easier when you can actually visit a home or space to see what they need. Why I've waited until now to start doing this, I can't say. Fear, most likely. But no more. 

Risk and reward. Take the good with the bad, because that's life. So, feeling a little bruised, a little savaged, a little wary, all I can do is be grateful for what I have, mourne for what is lost forever, and try to hold on until things improve. 

There's a sign of things good to come right outside my window. My open window, mind you. The tree across the street is in full bud. Spring green leaves, so light they're almost yellow. Tightly curled, lacy-edged bundles of chlorofyl and life. I love spring. Would I love it so much if it weren't attached to the end of a long winter? Yeah, I think I might. 

Tonight, I have plans with my friend Sandy to go out to dinner and to a play at The Guthrie. 

Caroline, or Change

April 18 - June 21, 2009 (Opening April 24)

Wurtele Thrust Stage

book and lyrics by Tony Kushner
music by Jeanine Tesori
directed by Marcela Lorca

Featuring a virtuosic score by Jeanine Tesori (Thoroughly Modern Millie), this musical bends blues, gospel, klezmer and traditional Jewish melodies, creating a breathtaking medium for Kushner's provocative and personal story.

 

So, that's my plans for the immediate future. I have to go check on my laundry in the basement, make sure the dryer hasn't eaten any of my clothes.

 

And get to work.

 

Jinx

I promised J I would start writing about the good stuff that happens, at least as often as I have to get the crap off my chest.

What's been good lately?

I had a date on Saturday night. Yes, J, you heard that right. An actual, honest-to-goodness date.

How did that happen, you ask? I honestly don't know.

About a month ago, one of our warehouse stock guys, Tim, was fired. I wrote to you about him a while ago, about that night I went w/ him and Justina to The Green Mill bar, remember? Anyway, he was immediately replaced by a new guy, Randy, who was clearly too good for this job. (At least to me, anyway). He's Hispanic, early to mid 40s, I'd guess, warm brandy-colored eyes, and almost exactly my own height of 5'4", possibly a little shorter. And he managed to organize our warehouse into an easy to navigate space, rather than the random hodge-podge of stuff that it had been for the last 10 years. Right there, I knew he wasn't just a stock guy.   

I got the impression, admittedly it was at the back of my mind and not something I ever really gave much thought to, that this job was just temporary for Randy. And who can blame him, really? It's a warehouse stock job, after all. Check in merchandise, load it up for members to take home, etc. Pretty basic manual labor with a paycheck to match it.

Now, you know me. I don't make friends easily. I'm not like normal girls. I don't simper, I don't flirt just for the fun of it, I don't chatter incessantly, and I don't share personal details just to have something to say. The average American male is not familiar with how to relate to a woman who doesn't do all the talking, I'm guessing.

So, I haven't done much talking to Randy since he started working there. I didn't really know anything about him, other than his name (and I still don't know what his last name is...), until Saturday.

In my quest to infect the world with my love of Laurell K Hamilton's "Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter" series, I will occasionally loan them out to people I think would be inerested. One of the other stock guys has gotten that virus, thanks to me, and we were discussing it on Friday. Randy just happened to be there at the time, and asked me if I was a fan of the "Underworld" movies, also about vampires and werewolves and such. He had a burned copy of "Underworld 3: Rise of the Lycans" that he just handed to me to take home and watch. Poof, just like that, we had something in common.

Action movies. Who knew? I watch action movies for the testosterone, the explosions, the violence, the occasional romance that goes with the story. I am a sucker for a ripped alpha male with deadly fists, an innate sense of honor, and handy with a variety of weapons. I can't say what Randy's excuse is. Guys must like these movies for many of the same reasons, although they probably don't see them as erotica like I do.

So on Saturday, after I watched Underworld 3, we had something to talk about for a few minutes. Randy mentioned that he rents a lot of movies from Redbox, that he had just bought a new plasma TV, and had a kick-ass Bose Surround Sound system. 

What possessed me to say, "I would be up for a movie night," is beyond me. I pretty much opened the gambit, almost invited myself over to his house, and I can't figure it out. I wasn't interested before that. Not even on my radar screen.

He jumped right in and said, "Sure, how about 6:30?"

Holy crap! That was the weirdest thing that's happened to me in months. It was so easy. Too easy?

Maybe my problem is I can't for the life of me figure out what he sees in me. If anything. Or even if I want him to see anything worth acting on, you know?

Anyway, I went to his apartment (and it isn't lost on me that this first date was at a guy's place, and not in a restaurant or movie theater), with no idea what to expect. At that point, it felt like a date, sort of. Maybe?

And I do so well with confusion, right?

Well, nothing to do but brazen it out and see where it leads, I figured.

After asking my opinion on what kind of pizza I preferred (as if it mattered!), he bought a take & bake Papa Murphy's pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and took me to the liquor store to pick out a bottle of wine (Yellowtail Cabernet Sauvignon, mmmm) for dinner. Sweet. I got to ride in his new car, even. We then spent the next few hours watching "Transporter 3" and "The Punisher." And laughed. And talked. And argued. What we talked about wasn't all that important, really. Not even a lot of the typical getting-to-know-you crap that's supposed to be the main topic of conversation.  

The whole time, I have these Questions swirling through my head. What does he expect? Is this just friends watching a couple action movies on his new TV? Is this a date, and will he want to kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me? Do I want to kiss him? Should I just ask him? Would he be impressed by such a question? What would I want the answer to be? And since I still don't know what I wanted the answer to be, I didn't ask him what it was all about.

I'm usually really good at reading people. But sexual signals escape me. Maybe because I haven't had too many aimed in my direction, so I have no basis for comparison? Either that, or I'm just naturally clueless.  

Still, I was brave. I took a couple risks. Instead of spending the evening on a whole other sofa, I sat right next to him on the love seat (which incidentally had the better view of the new TV, anyway). On a love seat, mind you. No separation, no easy distance. Pretty much hip-to-hip all night. Good for me!

And when the movies were over, he started flipping channels on television and landed on "The Scorpion King." I never liked that movie. The Rock just isn't an actor. I could tell Randy was getting tired. Yawning, just a little. I told him he could kick me out any time he wanted. And instead, he did something you used to do, J. He stretched out on the love seat, put his legs over mine, and promptly fell asleep. I haven't been that close to anyone in a long, long time. Much less a man.

If I were a normal girl, I would have been a little irritated that my date decided to take a nap on me. Literally, on me. But again, not a normal girl. It was charming, to be trusted like that, and unexpected. And then I spent the next couple hours watching The Rock not act, and wondering what would happen when Randy finally woke up.  

And before you ask, no he didn't kiss me. And I didn't kiss him. But it was still nice. And I'm still not sure, days later, what it all meant. 

What a dilemma. And as weird as it was, it has been lovely, absolutely lovely, to just have the possibility to think over for that last week.

And we've had more conversations. It turns out that Randy has a long string of degrees. With the word Masters in the title. And an equally impressive resume'. He used to be a CFO (that's Chief Financial Officer!!!), and is a victim of this god-awful recession we're going through. So I was right. He's just passing through.

So, right there, I'm more likely to clam up emotionally. If I know ahead of time that he's likely to just disappear one day (and good for him, when it finally happens), then I can't very well invest much in him. Experience tells me that when people walk away from me, they do it right and it's forever. Maybe that's bull shit, but I can't help feeling that way. 

And then there's basic physical attraction. While it isn't fair to compare one guy to another, I must admit that Randy has never gotten my engines running quite the way Justin did. I still get a little bit hot when I think about the fireman. And that's what I want from a relationship. I deserve it. But that means I need to do a little more practicing for when the fireworks really begin. I don't want to be caught miles behind the curve when he does finally show up, whoever he is. In the meantime, I intend to try to make a really good friend.

So there you go, J. Something good. Told you so.

Jinx   

Peace.

Always, I seach for peace. I very rarely find it, because I refuse to accept it, most of the time.

It's 12:30 am, after midnight once again, and I can't make my mind quiet down into a state conducive to peace and rest.

Why do I let life's nonsense get to me? If I don't like something, why do I put up with it? If I do like something, why don't I do more of it? If I'm interested in something, why don't I try it?

What is this feeling squeezing my chest like a vise, closing on a giant, empty abyss?

I swear, sometimes I feel like there's nothing there inside me, no normal human emotional core, just a trapped panicky feeling that I imagine feels like to be a wild animal, trapped behind bars in a zoo. 

And other times, there's so much emotion that I just can't hold it all in.

Have you ever watched a nature program, where they rehabilitate a wild animal from an injury or trauma, and then try to release it back to the wild? Sometimes, when that cage door opens, the animal refuses to leave. The fear of the unknown is greater than the hatred of the prison.

I got an e-mail today, from my mother. She asks me how I am. Says she doesn't hear much from me, but talks to my brothers more often. Well, duh.

What does she expect? She spent my entire childhood ignoring me in favor of my brothers. Comparing me to my friends, my cousins, telling me in so many ways that I just wasn't as important as they were. Maybe she didn't mean to make me feel that way, but I don't know how to fix it now.

I remember one day in 9th or 10th grade, when I just couldn't face going to school, for whatever reason. I remember the absolute blackness of my mood that day. I pretended to have a headache, because only the most debilitating illness was ever an excuse for skipping school. (As it should be, of course.) I don't know what I thought would happen. Whether just not going to school for a day would make things better, or what. To say I wasn't popular in junior high, well, let's just say I come honestly by my invisibility complex.

Whatever was going on, whether real or imagined, or just the godawful images scrolling through my head constantly, I don't recall. But I needed a day to myself. A day to be coddled and taken care of and seen for who I was. How to describe the aching need to be held and loved and accepted. 

I spent most of the day, curled up on the couch in my pajamas, reading. Somehow, in books, it always turns out all right. People care about each other. Talk to each other. I needed that escape like I needed air, back then. 

By early afternoon, I'm sure my mother knew I wasn't really sick. And to her credit, she did try to talk to me. She asked what was wrong. But she asked, sitting all the way across the room, with her voice pitched in that way all mothers have of making you feel like you've done something wrong, and that you should be ashamed of yourself. 

Even if I had the words to explain, and I'm not sure I did, I physically could not talk. There was no way I could say anything to her. I remember sitting in the corner of the couch, trying not to cry, pulling my knees into my chest, and staring at my lap. We probably sat in that living room for 20 minutes, saying nothing, while she tried to silence me into saying something. Instead of comfort and understanding, I got a confrontation and a lecture. Albeit a mostly silent one.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong," she said. True, I guess. If you're talking to another adult, that is.

I may have been smart, and probably seemed pretty mature for my age, but I was still a child. She probably saw it as merely growing pains, the natural progression of adolescence where a daughter starts to rebel against her parents. But she lost a much bigger battle that day than she will ever know. Because she gave up. She never tried again.   

Over the years, instead of teaching me to talk about my feelings and making a space where I could feel safe doing just that, she'll write letters telling me that I could do better. A couple I've just thrown away, without even looking at them. I cannot bear the guilt. 

I still long for the type of family who touches easily. Who reaches out and connects physically and emotionally. But it won't ever happen. It's just not natural for them. Hugging is awkward. Kissing nonexistent. Words just as scarce. I needed it. I still do. But I can't count on them to get it. And I can't figure out how to find it elsewhere. Being touched by other people casually still feels weird to me. I'm sure my body language communicates that, probably screams how uncomfortable that makes me, even as I revel in it.  

I have to wonder if I would even know that such a family was possible, if I hadn't met J. Who touches naturally. Who touched me, as if I mattered. Who has crossed an ocean, more than once, to make sure I knew that was true. I cling to that, on days like this. 

And I still have to think of something to say to my mother.

                                .....???????

Now, on a random side note - I watched the movie "Wimbledon" tonight, on hulu.com. And was shocked to see that one of the main characters was J's actor friend Nikolai Coster-Waldau! Huh. Who knew? Man, is he gorgeous. Too bad his show didn't get picked up for a second season. Is he doing anything new? I figure if anyone would know, it would be you, J. Didn't you spend New Year's Eve at his house? Or some other party, or other?

I figure if I ask about another man, I'll get a response, if for no other reason than jealousy...

Jinx 

Can you really ever go back again?

This has been an.... interesting week.

I never really expected facebook to be that useful an invention. Mostly I just don't get the point of seeing what people you don't even know, & sometimes don't even like all that much, are doing at any given moment. Or in taking quizzes to determine which superhero you most resemble or whether you're a good kisser or not.

However, last week, I got pinged by an old friend whom I haven't laid eyes on for more than a decade. It's inevitable to lose touch with people. Life just gets in the way, you know? It's only the really special ones you hang onto for dear life. (And I'm coming for you next, boy-o, don't think I won't).

Amber and I were pretty good friends for most of junior high and all of high school. After some schedule exchanging, we decided to meet at The Tea Garden in Uptown last Sunday afternoon. Two hours flew by while we caught up over tea and cookies, and discovered that we actually still like each other. It's nerve wracking, isn't it? It could so easily have gone the other way.

She told me she mentioned that we were going to be meeting to a few friends of hers from work, and had told them that I was one of the main reasons she made it through junior high and high school without going insane. God, that's sweet. I had no idea I was that important to anyone! But then, I've never claimed to be less than truly self-absorbed. And then there's the whole memory-loss part of my childhood and adolescence. I have literally blocked most of it out. As weird as it sounds though, I think she played a pretty major role in my sanity, too, come to think of it.

Sunday was also the first really gorgeous day we've had for months here. I didn't even have to wear a jacket while we took a walk, because we couldn't take up the table anymore, and didn't want to be done with the afternoon, yet. We got ice cream cones at Sebastian Joe's, and I managed to drip a homemade peach sugar cone all over my Betty Boop T-shirt. I looked like a twelve year old with my wildly curling, out-of-control, wind-blown hair and sticky fingers. No wonder I still get carded everywhere I go. 

Three hours we spent together. Amazing. We talked about jobs and high school and people we knew and people we'd met since and places we'd lived and neighbors and pets and religion and politics and so much else I can't remember it all. 

It was a lovely afternoon, and I hope I don't blow it, so we can repeat it or something similar very soon. The Fates only hand out second chances every once in awhile, being stingy wenches. But then, creation is hard work, and not to be squandered on the unaware. 

So, let me tell you about another strange twist of fate that happened today. 

I wouldn't have called Sean a boyfriend, other than the fact that he is a boy and he was a friend, and a very good friend, at that. I loved Sean, more than I loved my brothers, which honestly wasn't very hard to do at the time, admittedly. I was never attracted to Sean, not physically. But emotionally, he was my lodestone. He was smart, self-deprecating, slightly goofy, with a beautiful voice and a kind heart.

We only became really good friends when I was a senior in high school, and then during college since we spent most of those years in the same schools. He introduced me to Chinese Food, where I discovered that my Chinese Zodiac is the dragon, and he ordered my first entree for me. Moo-Goo-Gai-Pan. After that, he let me choose for myself whenever we went out.

We went to movies, we hung out in dorm rooms and at his apartment, we went out to dinner, just the kind of stuff you do. I've never been very good at personal relationships. I guess it's because I learned early not to share personal details, either because I believed nobody really cared what I thought or felt, or because it was much too personal and could be used against me. Anyway, Sean knew me better than most people, although not everything. I couldn't say how perceptive he was, if he knew or guessed what lay beneath the surface, or if he was ever interested in more from me than just friendship, because he didn't say.

So it was pretty devastating to me, when in the middle of my senior year, I never even got the chance to give Sean his Christmas present (nothing major, just silly stuff), because he stopped returning my phone calls after the holidays that year. I didn't know why, I still don't. It's been a decade, and that abandonment still hurts.

The last time I saw him, I was wearing my cap & gown, and on my way up to the podium to get my BS diploma. He was sitting with some friends, watching the procession, and the last thing he said to me was, "I didn't know you were graduating."

And I said, "How would you know if you don't return any of my phone calls?" and that was it, because the line moved and I had to go on.

I can't tell you how many times over the last ten years I have wondered about Sean. Where he was. What he was doing. What would I do if I ever saw him again? I've imagined seeing him driving by on the highway. Walking down the street. Browsing in a book store. Waiting in line to see a movie. What would I say? How would he act? Would he be happy to see me? Would he remember me?

I tried to find him, once. I even called his grandparent's house, to see if they had his phone number. His grandmother couldn't give it to me, because he'd broken off contact with them, too. Maybe you realize how much courage that phone call took, or maybe you don't.

So when I saw him today, while I was running a random errand getting ready for the party I'm throwing at work on Saturday, after having tea with Amber only this last Sunday, it threw me for a loop.

We exchanged cards, so now I have his phone number. We talked for ten minutes, give or take, about nothing in particular, mostly about him, as it happens. He still wears glasses, he has less hair, is still skinny as a rail, and is the manager of an Office Max, which he doesn't really want to do, but can't afford to quit, what with the economy as it is. His car is falling apart, and sounds more like a death trap than a road-legal converyance, which is pretty much the same way it was ten years ago. He lives in South Minneapolis, in a pretty rough neighborhood as he describes it. He'd rather live in Uptown, my neighborhood, but can never find anything he likes before his lease needs to be re-signed. He took part in a karaoke contest, and came in 4th, which made him really mad, I guess, since he said that twice. He played bingo recently, and lost at that, too.

What can I say here that sounds positive?

How strange that I spent the whole day after leaving the store saying, "Oh My God!" everywhere I went. I couldn't stop being just incredulous. After all this time, there he was. Just "POOF" - right out of the blue. And he hasn't changed all that much. Everything I just said could have been something that happened to him way back when. Other than the manager part, that is. But since he doesn't really like being the manager, it falls into the depressing category along with everything else.

What, exactly, are the Fates playing at here? Are they tying up loose ends for me? Literally? (They are weavers, after all, cosmic textile artists, if you will).

Are they sending me angels? Or messages? Or is it just a twisted cosmic game of chutes and ladders?

It feels like a message of some kind. A warning? Maybe.

Wow. What a day.

Seriously. This whole day has felt slightly surreal, ever since. I don't know what to think. Do I call him? Do I wait for him to call me? Does he want me to call? Do I want to call him?

Where does this chance meeting lead? I'm no more attracted to him now than I was ten years ago, and clearly the years have given me a perspective that I just didn't have back then. No matter what, friends is all we'd ever be.

But what kind of friends? I can't see him being as important as he once was. Maybe it's just that trust is a major issue for me, and my heart couldn't take another beating like the one I got last time we parted. But it's not like I have so many friends I can afford to just walk away without finding out what a new friendship might look like.

Decisions, decisions. And if I've learned nothing from my favorite characters and authors, it's that I have to be the one to make my own choices, good or bad. I cannot leave these things to others to decide for me.

Well, it is now nearly 1:30 am on the first day of Spring, 2009. Ahhh, made it through another winter. Can I handle another one? Whatever the answer is to that question, is for another day. I have to go to bed now. Busy, busy few days ahead. 

Nighty-Night.

Jinx

What does it take to create a god?

I just finished reading (last night) the book "Acheron" by Sherrilyn Kenyon. It is the latest in a series of books dealing in many aspects of the paranormal. They are genre romances alive with characters ranging from gods & goddesses from various pantheons, to demons and all types of were-creatures. Maybe you've guessed by now that I truly dig that shit.

Anyway, Acheron is one of the recurring characters in the books, and his story has been coming along for years now. In this particular mythology, Acheron is the cursed Atlantean God of Destruction & Ultimate Fate who was sent to Earth by his goddess mother, Appolymi, to be born to a human mother 11,000 years ago (give or take a decade), to protect him from the other Atlantean gods and goddesses who wanted to kill him to avoid their prophesied demise at his hand.

He sounds like such a cheerful soul, don't you think? Well, perhaps not cheerful, exactly. Not with his past, anyway. To find out what that entails, exactly, you should read the book. It's a long one, and horrific, I'll warn you, but in the end it's a romance, and therefore closes with at least a temporary happy ending.

But I only mention the book and the character it's about to lead me to a discussion that I've been thinking about for awhile.

What, exactly, creates a god?

Is it a chicken/egg question? 

Which comes first? The god? Or the worshipper?

Most people who know about such things seem to agree that a god can only be killed when the last person (or should I say mortal human?) who believe and worship them either dies or ceases to believe. The concensus is that a god only exists so long as there is belief.

So the question remains, where does such belief begin?

Do we choose to believe, as humans? Or is it an innate and fundamental need to cleave to a belief in a higher power? Or maybe there are gods and goddesses, and it is only right that we shoud accord them respect and allegiance?

And still I wonder, which came first?

At this point in my education, I can only surmise that humanity's creative nature is at fault. Because as humans we can do nothing other than create a world in which it is bearble to live in, unlike the rest of the animal world where mere survival is enough, we had to make up reasons for why we are here and where we came from.

Many of those legends are beautiful, many more extremely violent, but all of them relate to eachother in that they begin with an explanation of light and dark. The eternal struggle between good and evil as experienced by the culture telling the story.

Pantheistic religions, such as the Greek version, are mostly set up along the lines of a normal human monarchy. There is the Supreme Being, the mother &/or father of all lesser gods under them, much like a king or queen. Their power is ultimate and final, mostly, and they are omiscient, though not always benevolent with that knowledge.

And now the question arises, how did they become the leader of the gods? Who granted them that power, that right? Was it us? Or something more powerful?

Since the beginning of remembered time, there have been gods. Systems of belief to explain the confusing, and often magical, world we inhabit. I would wager a guess that there have been thousands of gods and goddesses, many worshipped far longer than most of the religions in the world today, from every corner of the globe. All specially designed for that tiny community, and being adapted to fit whenever circumstances changed.  

Are they dead and gone, simply because there is no longer anyone left alive to believe in them? Can gods die? Can gods be killed by another god? Some legends say yes. Some say only by special magical weapons created for just that purpose. Some say no, gods are immortal and cannot be killed, but become more or less powerful depending on the number and strength of the human contingent who worship them.

Thousands of years ago, people believed that the gods could easily walk among us, desiring nothing so much as mingling with, protecting, and supporting us in our many human endeavors, even against other gods with conflicting goals. Kitchen gods to feed a family. Nature gods to create a bountiful harvest. Fertility gods to create a fruitful union. Gods of love, birth, death, creation, destruction, desire, jealousy, spite, war - if humans could feel it or touch it, they imbued it with the sacred.

But which came first?

Did the first gods, rife with the power of the natural world, walk among the first humans and inspire belief? Or did the first humans, with that spark of creativity and thirst for knowledge that they could never hope to assuage on their own, begin that conversation?

And then, of course, I wonder if our human belief in a higher power will save us from ourselves. Since we crawled out of the sea and breathed the free air eons ago, we have unceasingly walked toward the creation of our own doom. Too smart, and too stubborn, to know when not to use the knowledge we gain, unless it is thoroughly tempered with the conscience and moral code imparted by the spiritual.

My curiosity about the spiritual hasn't really gained me any insights other than more questions, and a rather flexible and permissive understanding of how the world works. For the most part, I let people believe what they want, even if I think they're idiots for it.

I have taken as my own the tenet described at the top of my blog, though I find it exceedingly difficult to follow most days. "And it harm none, do as ye will." Though it sounds simple, this law is more powerful, and limiting, than the Golden Rule, which states "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Think about it. The Golden Rule is a permission slip to do absolutely anything you want to another person or being, so long as you would be all right if they turned around and did the same to you. Now, I know what you're thinking. Who would ever agree to let someone else torture them, emotionally or physically? 

Well, the truth is, the average human being is pretty cruel and selfish. The ambitious hunt for power is at the root of most souls. And I'm pretty sure that if they knew the suffering would be temporary, even should it last for decades, if they knew that at the end of it they would be granted their most secret wish, some people would do anything, survive anything they needed to achieve that end.

This is the definition of a soldier, is it not? They strap on their armor in defense of the worst their enemies can throw at them, but would go in to battle unprotected regardless, knowing that even the best defense isn't always enough. And equally determined to find a way to breach their enemy's no doubt wickedly awesome offensive tactics. They are willing to risk everything to achieve their goals. And yeah, that kind of courage, confidence and stubborness is inherently sexy. We are hardwired to respect that mindset.

Or at least, I am. Maybe I've mentioned this before, though I don't understand it... Because at the same time, I find all the reasons for going to war incomprehensible.

A soldier will march into the fray in the name of god, country, freedom, protection, idealism, as they have since war was invented, and unquestioningly follow orders. I have no patience with blind faith. My ability to question the universe is my most favored personal trait. So there it is, an inner war between my own belief in the need to fight for what I believe in, and my belief that war is never the answer.   

And yeah, there is a god of war, and he is probably laughing his ass off, right about now. Or hers, for that matter. The god of war is as likely to be female as male, after all. Sometimes I swear women are more bloodthirsty than men, anyway. Perhaps you've heard that many Native American tribes gave their captives to the women to torture because they were more creative at it. Cry or scream, and it earned you a truly hard death because they had no respect for the weak. Sometimes, if you could endure the pain and fear without showing it, they would let you go or adopt you into the tribe as an equal.

Personally, I don't think I'd be very good at torture. From either end.

But that's neither here nor there for this conversation.

What creates a god?

An unanswerable question, because it all depends on what you believe. One answer is as true as another, because there is no way to prove the veracity of one theory over the other.

What cannot be tested, must be evaluated in the heart. What is true must be judged by the individual.

There is only one answer to the unanswerable.

Yours.

Jinx 

It's snowing, again. A lot. Probably 6 to 9 inches between now and midnight.

But I'll be OK. I got up and went to the library to pick up all the books I had on reserve before I even had breakfast. So, as soon as I'm done writing here, I have hours and hours worth of entertainment that fits perfectly into a snowy day.

The weather guys predicted the snow would start falling at about 10 am, but I made it home at about 11:30, and not a flake in the sky. Of course, I did some dishes and made coffee and some french toast, and when I sat down to eat @ 12:30, there was at least a half inch on the ground already.

Fucking winter.

I'm going to have to brush my car off tomorrow. Pleh...

In other news, I finally got paid my $500 bonus! Yeah!! It is already safely deposited in the bank. And partially spent. But it will come in handy. Let's hear it for being reliable!

Last week was my Dad's 70th birthday, and because we're pretty sure he won't be around to have a 75th or 80th, what with his continually failing health, we decided this was the year to have a big party.

We invited, or I should say, my mother invited, a whole passel of friends and family to come surprise him at the Holiday Inn. It was a challenge for her to keep it a secret, since they're both retired and don't have set schedules where they're predictably not in the house together.

We decided on a "Life's Journey" Theme, and hung up maps of all the states and cities he's been to (well, maybe not all of them, since it turns out he's been to an awful lot of places in 70 years). We also hung up a map of the United States and had all the guests write something on it, kind of like a guest book.

The biggest challenge was figuring out how to get him to the hotel without giving the game away.

I suggested slipping him a mickey, and yelling Surprise! when he woke up already at the party wearing an Evel Kneivel jump suit and rainbow clown wig. Or, maybe, put him in the car wearing a blindfold, then make him drive. He'd be so worried about not hitting anything he'd forget to wonder where they were going or why.

But the idea of having an out of town friend call to meet for a drink on the spur of the moment won out. Boring, perhaps, but effective.

Now, it came to pass that he was so clueless about our party plans that he and the boys planned to go to Lake Pepin (that's not really a lake, just a really wide spot on the Mississippi River), where he wanted to take his ice boat off for the winter. (Yeah, yeah, I know I mentioned the blizzard we're currently experiencing, thus negating the fact of winter's end and making this sound ridiculous, but federal safety regulation says all ice houses, etc. have to be off the lakes by end of February). What's an ice boat, you ask? It's sort of a cross between a sail boat, scaffolding, and a sled. It looks like a vaguely skeletal boat-shaped configuration of metal tubing with a sail on top of ice skates. You can get going really fast out there on those open expanses of ice. Unlike a normal boat, however, should it accidentally hit open water, it won't float. I have no personal experience with riding in one, because I have never been invited to join them on an outing. I'm not even sure I'd go, if they did, what with my innate fear (dare I say Phobia?) of ice-covered lakes and such.

Anyway, all three boys went with Dad to get the boat off the lake and keep him occupied while myself and the sisters-in law decorated at the hotel. Mike (the doctor) gave the excuse of being in town for an interview at a local hospital to explain his presence in MN, rather than at home in Michigan. Once his girlfriend Sarah finishes her residency in June, they plan on relocating closer to MN. So, this made a pretty effective red herring.

Too effective, as it turns out.

The party was scheduled to go from 5 pm to about 8 pm, give or take. The boys sent Dad on his way out of Pepin, WI at about 3 pm, which gave him plenty of time to get home in time to have Mom shuffle him back out the door for drinks with my ex-aunt Ruth (who is still part of the family, regardless, because we love her). Since Dad didn't yet know about drinks at 5 pm with Ruth, whose job it was to call and invite my parents before she had "other plans," thus creating a sense of urgency, he didn't even get home until 5 pm!!

So here we all are at the hotel, a room full of friends and family wondering when we're all going to yell "Surprise!!" I called Mom a couple times to see what the heck was going on.

45 minutes later, they finally showed up, and it was definitely a surprise. He still had no idea. How we managed that little trick, I will never know. But it was a good party.

We stayed later after most people went home to sit in the bar and watch our cousins do a little karaoke. Somehow, I got roped into doing a song with my cousin Barb (who's about 10 years older than me). At first, she wanted to do "Mustang Sally." I was a little worried about that one, because I don't really know the words or how they go together. But, we lucked out there because someone else was already doing that song. So, instead we decided to do "Last Train to Clarksville" by The Monkees. Pretty easy, I figured. If The Monkees didn't actually have to sing it, neither did I.

But that wench, when it was finally our turn, spent most of the song with her microphone pointed at the floor. WTF!?! Now, I'm over most of my stage fright. I don't think I'd ever do karaoke on my own as an entertainment choice, but if other friends are there and are willing to let me work up the courage, or do it with me, then sure. But that was just wrong. It was her idea, her song choice, and I was just along for the ride. Right? But I ended up driving that wagon. Thankfully, I can carry a tune and didn't embarrass myself overmuch. But it was irritating, anyway. If I was going to have to sing the whole song myself, I wish I'd been able to pick out one that was more my style. 

Of course, if I'd been forced to choose a song to sing, I don't know what it would have been. So, in the end, it might as well have been a song that had maybe three actual verses and was on the lower end of the vocal spectrum. I may be a soprano, but I haven't done much singing in awhile, and I would hate to have my voice break on the upper ranges. Ouch.

So, that's pretty much what I've been up to in recent days.

I actually enjoyed the time I spent with my family this past weekend. That doesn't happen very often anymore. So, blessings found everywhere.

Jinx

An upstairs neighbor is having a party. It's breaking up now, at about 1:30 in the morning.

They sound like a herd of elephants trooping up and down the stairs. Drunk elephants. Drunk elephants with squeaky little girl voices....? Except for the guys, of course. They just sound drunk.

Don't get me wrong, now. I don't care how much noise they make. Obviously, I am still up, too, and they have no idea I can hear almost every word they say as they stomp up and down the stairs. Drunk people are funny.

Personally, I don't like being drunk much. The loss of control bothers me. But it's OK once in awhile, when it's safe.

However, I love the warm, fuzzy feeling of being just slightly buzzed. Just enough alcohol to turn my cheeks bright pink and make me giggle like someone plugged me into a nitrous oxide machine.

So, I would probably be one of the drunken elephants with the squeaky girly voices if I had any idea who was having a party tonight. Doesn't get much safer than being able to walk down one flight of stairs to your own bed, after all.

Elvis: "I Just Can't Help Falling in Love With You," blasting from the neighbor's apartment as the door opens to let out more revelers.

Appropriate for a Valentine's Day party, I guess.

What would I put in a personal favorites Valentine's mix tape, I wonder?

Let's see. I may not be able to remember band names, or song names, even, but I can give it a shot.

1. Holding Out For a Hero - Bonnie Tyler
2. I Want You to Want Me - Cheap Trick
3. Desperado - The Eagles
4. Annie's Song - John Denver
5. It's Raining Men - The Weather Girls
6. Find Me Somebody to Love - Queen
7. Moon River - Henry Mancini
8. All of Me - Willie Nelson
9. Living on a Prayer - Bon Jovi
10. The Search is Over - Survivor
11. Islands in the Stream - Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton
12. Everything I Do - Bryan Adams
13. Return to Me - Dean Martin
14. As Time Goes By - Whoever

Amazing, how many songs there are in the world, isn't it? But so many of them were considered and didn't make the list for one reason or another. Mostly they just don't touch me. After the first four songs up there, the order is completely random and by no means complete. There are probably dozens of songs that should be on it, but that I can't remember right now. But those four are all songs I consistently listen to more than once at a time. Eclectic? Weird? Definitely.

Maybe some other night when it isn't after 2 a.m., I'll analyze what all those songs have in common, other than their romantic theme.

For now, though, I'll just wish everyone a very Happy Valentine's Day.

Jinx