I'm getting the mother of all headaches, though it isn't here quite yet. Just threatening, an ache that spreads from the shoulders to the neck to up over the ears, and will soon be sitting right behind my eyes. Ouch...

It is Memorial Day weekend, and it was very, very sloooowwww at work today. This may be contributing to my headache, because it is never a good thing when I get bored. Especially at work. Gives me too much time to think about what the hell I'm doing.

The sheer tension of boredom is stressful. And its not like there's anywhere to hide the fact that there isn't anything to do. Pretty wide open, in the showroom. I much prefer being busy, with lots going on and something challenging to work on.

Tomorrow, being the Saturday of a Holiday Weekend, promises to be blindingly boring as well. After all, we can't even count on there being a sale to lure prospective buyers, because we don't ever have sales. You can't normally take less than wholesale cost for merchandise, and the markup is where retailers get their sales prices, so we never have sales. So basically, why go shopping on a holiday weekend in there isn't a sale?

I plan on going shopping this Monday. I need an outfit for my brother's wedding in July. I'm really glad I'm not going to be in this wedding, like I was last summer. The whole thing promises to be way cheaper. The damn bridesmaids dress was over $200. I can probably get my outfit, book my hotel room and swing the gift for about that this time.

Man, I'm tired. I need to go to bed. My head is just about ready to pop off my neck.

Night.

Jinx  

I forgot to tell you about the Method Man Yes Ladder!

The best way to make sure your girl will say yes when you pop the big question of the night is to get her trained to say "yes" to little things early. People like to say yes to things. For some reason, it makes us feel good to say yes. And it is a known psyhcological fact that each successive positive response builds on that good feeling until you feel like the other person is your best friend.

So, if you can get your quarry to say "yes," she has a cat, "yes," she likes the Stones, "yes," she is creative, witty, talented... you have a much better chance of hearing "yes, yes, YES!" much later in the evening.

How ridiculous that it actually works.

The Yes Ladder can be used during any and all of the Seven Steps, but due to its potency is best used often, but carefully. You don't want the girl to start agreeing with just anything, after all.   

Jinx

Every once in awhile I read a book that truly surprises me. That is so different, with such a unique perspective on the world that I just can't bear to leave it behind. Most books don't usually have that kind of impact. They're just stories, some good, some bad, but their impact is minimal.

I just finished reading a book by Naomi Neale called Method Man. I picked it up in my last over-zealous, greedy raid on one of the libraries I frequent. (yes, I said one of) I picked it up because the cover is interesting. Just a man in a bar, dressed in a blindingly white shirt and black satin jacket, offering a pink Cosmopolitan and his phone number to the woman on the other side of the book jacket. All you can see of his face are his sinfully kissable lips, and the hand reaching toward you is relaxed, tempting, manicured. All this from a drawing of a man, not even a photograph. I pick up books for all sorts of reasons. Title, cover, color, subject, but I don't always choose to keep them and bring them home with me. But this one, something about it said it would be special.

Holy crap, I enjoyed this book. It made me laugh, a LOT. Supposedly just another romance novel, a vice to which I have been addicted unashmedly since I was in Junior High. I did not really agree with the ending, because in my opinion the wrong guy gets the girl. But at the same time, there simply wasn't any other way for the book to end, because the wrong guy was definitely not the right guy for the female protagonist. But he sure struck a few chords with me.

Let me tell you about A.J. Daye. He is a play boy. Tall, blond hair, blue eyes, muscled, the kind a guy gets from hours at the gym, and with a killer sense of party boy fashion and style. In a word - FUN! The main character, Rebecca, is just celebrating her recent divorce from a five year marriage with a bunch of her girlfriends when this handsome, well-built brother (AJ) of one of said girlfriends hits on her at the bar. AJ and Rebecca have known each other for years, and she knows he isn't serious, merely trying to cheer her up by being his normal, charming, smarmy self.

While her girlfriends are insisting that Rebecca should be and therefore is miserable and fears she is doomed to die a lonely old woman, and succeeding in making it so by their constant commiserating and smug comments, AJ is the only one who tells her she doesn't have to be sad about her divorce if she doesn't want to be. He offers to show her the town, let her tag along with him as he makes the rounds of all of New York City's hottest nightclubs as his wingman. He offers to teach her what he calls The Method, or more accurately, how to spot a man using The Method on her.

What is The Method, you ask? I am firmly convinced that this is the sole reason Naomi wrote this book. The romance was secondary to telling women about, no, warning women about The Method. This, ladies, is a modern cautionary tale that will keep you laughing, and cringing possibly, when you read just how very effective The Method actually is. You will even find yourself helplessly sucked in, even when you know what's really happening. I was. Even now, I am half in love with AJ Daye. He is a character in a million, not to be duplicated.

The Method: A Seven Step Process To...

Step One: Identify the Target
The 10 second Rule applies here. Once you see your quarry, you have 10 seconds to make your move or you risk psyching yourself out of the game and losing the moment.

Step Two: Make Your Opening Gambit
It is helpful to have a conversation starter here. An object of unusual clothing (AJ once uses a tiny little bowler hat, the kind you might see on a monkey grinder, and also a feather boa borrowed from a passing drag queen. Of course, he's had a lot of practice at this, boys, so choose your own very carefully). Ask a question that requires a thoughtful or startled response. Perhaps throw in a 'sult (an insult) couched in such terms that make it plain you're not really interested and are therefore not a threat. This will cause your quarry to let down her guard. For instance, call the girl clumsy for nearly toppling off her chair after she's had a few drinks. Or tell her she's only an eight (on the hotness scale), and you would only go for a nine or ten, or maybe a high eight. But only if something better didn't come around. If you can pull that off with aplomb and say that with a straight face, you're in like Flynn, as they say. It may also help to establish a set time limit. Mention friends who are expecting you back shortly, even if there aren't any.

Step Three: Show You're A Value Added Attraction
Mention, humbly, subtely, any volunteer work (you may or may not actually do). Toss out the fact that you're a doctor/lawyer/peace activist/skin diver. Whatever you think will make you the most attractive in that moment. Truth here is irrelevant, because we're not looking for a long-term commitment, just playing the game. Rebecca is nearly picked up by an artist with a Tarot deck who tells her fortune. This one got me, too, I must confess. AJ calls this kind of thing Chick Crack, because we literally cannot resist it when guys show their "spiritual" side. The scene where he exposes his rival pick-up artist and rescues Rebecca from his clutches is hilarious. 

Step Four: Establish Similarities
Make it clear that though your differences may be many, at heart you are the same. AJ, using Rebecca as his wingman, asks his quarry and Rebecca a couple simple questions. Favorite color, favorite shape, and to pick a number between one and ten. Rebecca picks green and circles. Quarry picks orange and triangles. Circles are boring and safe, green is naive and common. Orange is passionate and daring, triangles are sharp and edgy. Which girl do you want to be? But it doesn't matter what the answers are. A good Method Man can spin them to his advantage. AJ confesses that he, too, is a triangle man and snags his quarry. 

Step Five: Isolate the Target From The Outside World
Get them alone. Like a lion cutting their prey from the safety of the herd, a woman alone is more likely to be persuaded that she wants to be alone with you than one surrounded by her nay-saying friends.

Step Six: Establish an Intimate Connection
Not that! Not yet, anyway. No, we're talking slow dances, light touches, hand-holding, intimate conversations, perhaps even a few deep kisses, depending on your location and your quarry. Compliments to soothe battered egos from earlier 'sults. Make it obvious that you prefer her company to anyone else's.

Step Seven: Remove the Target to a Seduction Location
By now, she's as ready as you are to answer the question, "My place or yours?" Of course, sometimes a convenient bathroom stall will do the trick. Rebecca once catches AJ in the women's bathroom with one of his conquests. She analyzes her emotions, and rules out jealousy in favor of amusement. She isn't attracted to AJ, so seeing him in a clinch with some random bimbo only makes her laugh. I was jealous, though.          

For half the book, it isn't really clear who Rebecca will end up with at the end of the story because we're all having so much fun watching AJ teach her The Method. Evidence the fact that I finished reading at quarter to minight, and it is now almost 2 am, and I'm still giggling over this book.

Her actual romance is a sort of an afterthought to the rest of the book, as I've mentioned. In the end, you're happy she gets her man, but you don't want to let go of AJ. He's a riot. Any woman would be nuts to turn down a one-night-stand with him, because he's clearly in the game for more than his own base, carnal pleasures. Whoever he chooses, she's guaranteed to get as much from him as he does from her, even if he won't ever call the next day.

Man, I do love a good story.

Jinx

Today I am going to my neice's Confirmation (she's Lutheran).

Actually, this neice is also my Goddaughter.

This is ironic, for so many reasons.

Maddy is a Believer. She has told me so on many occassions, and I struggle with that.

I want to change her mind, make her see things the way I do, educate her about all the reasons organized religion and Christianity just doesn't work.

I want to, and every once in awhile I slip and let some of my prejudices escape over into her world. I try not to let that happen too often, though.

Because as strong as my aversion is to the religion I was raised in, my belief in everyone's right to choose their own spiritual path is just as strong. She has the right to believe what she wants, to worship where her heart leads. Spirituality and religion are very personal subjects with truths that can only be found within the individual. 

Still, I am her Godmother. More like a "fairy" Godmother now, I suppose. I was there, a believer myself, when she was baptized into the Christian faith. I made a vow before the god I believed in to guide her in her faith, her journey o her spiritual path. Back then, I was complacent in my beliefs. I had only begun to think about my own relationship with the divine. The idea that I had a choice of any kind hadn't even occurred to me, yet. So a vow made then, before god and family, was a powerful thing.

But in the end, my own confusion and resentment about my faith has led me down a path wholly unfamiliar to the rest of my family, and is certainly not even remotely close to the faith my Maddy believes in. How can I teach her about faith and belief and spirituality when my own is so tangled? I don't know why, but every discussion of the faith I was raised in always seems to set my teeth on edge and puts derision and scorn in my voice that I cannot hide.

I believe that she has a right to her beliefs, it is her choice alone. But I want that choice well-tempered in reality and truth. Too many believe blindly in their respective religions, because that's what people close to them have told them is true. It matters not what the belief might be, Jewish, Muslim, Catholic, Hindu, Zen, Buddhism, what have you, to be born into a faith is to be brainwashed. These religions all say they welcome questions and the chance to prove their veracity, but they don't really mean it. Much safer to have the unquestioning obedience of the masses, and what better way to assure that the faithful remain so forever is to start young. Grab the minds and hearts of the children, and most will die of old age never once having wondered if what they "believe" is the truth.

Right now, my religion is one big question mark. I know what I don't believe. I know what I want to believe. But my own pragmatism and, dare I confess it, pessimism, keeps me from wholeheartedly accepting that religion of any kind is real.

I find beauty in the nature religions of paganism, like the Wicca and Druid paths. The balance of the masculine and the feminine, the bend toward nature and care of the Earth, the rituals tied to the seasons. These are basics, almost. The rituals of most modern religions are tied intimately to their pagan origins, though most people never realize just how close the relationship really is. Christians in particular cling to the fear they've been taught of anything "not Christian." The word witch is almost synonymous with the word devil, though true Wiccans don't even believe in the Devil, or in Hell. Their faith does not allow for the ultimate destruction and eternal suffering of the human soul. And yet, my own realistic nature continually tells me that god/goddess doesn't really exist and are merely a human construct to explain our own lives.    

Why I can be so eloquent when writing about what I believe, and yet fail utterly to explain when I talk to people eludes me. 

Well, it's almost time to go, and I need to finish getting ready. Must be gorgeous if I have to go sit in church for an afternoon. 

Jinx  

Not sure I really have all that much to say tonight. It's well after midnight, heading inexorably toward 1 am, but tomorrow is my day off, so what the hell. Right?

Lately, perhaps you've noticed, I've been curiously unable to examine anything deeply. To really dig into what bothers me. Is it that I don't want to scratch too hard at a healing wound? It itches unbearably, but I know better than to pick and start the bleeding all over again. Or maybe, and this is more likely, the wound is merely covered with a band-aid, and I know that ripping the sticky tape off is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Even though it needs to be done, fresh air & sunlight is always better when healing an open wound.

That's a pretty good analogy. Wish I'd thought of it...

What has me bleeding tonight?

Loneliness.

I never minded being alone before.

I've spent most of my life living with other people.

First my family, which is where most people start. Nothing wrong with that.

Then, in the dorms at college. There's nothing quite like sharing a 12 x 12 foot space with a complete stranger for 9 months, is there? My roommate stopped talking to me entirely for the whole second half of the year. Hard to say why, exactly, since she stopped talking to me. Probably I annoyed her by being around all the time. I was never much of a joiner, always more of a home body. And I was never very good at the "girly-sharing" stuff. Whatever the reason, we were both glad to see the back of the other at the end of the year.

And then there were the six years I spent with T & the dogs. Honestly, the only reason I stayed living with her as long as I did was those dogs. They were my babies. I turned them into mostly civilized pets, instead of the neurotic, mostly ignored, part-time pets she'd turned them into before I moved in. Six years. I let her walk all over me. It would take hours to list all the stupid crap I let her pull while I lived with her.

Calling me after midnight to come give her a ride home because she'd drunk too much and I'd made the mistake of telling her I'd rather go get her than have her drive home drunk. Never mind that I'd been being polite, the kind of thing you say when you think its just going to be once. But not all the time. It annoys the hell out of me when perfectly sane people can't learn to drink responsibly. If you know you have your car and you need to drive home, STOP DRINKING. I am not your Sober Cab! And it is more than a little obnoxious when the phone rings at 1 am, and its your drunk ass rooommate and her drunk-ass neighbor friend too smashed to drive home. And they're both older than you.

And being lectured about being messy when her room and the office were a continual miasma of clothes, and she rarely stirred herself to sweep or dust or mop or clean the bathroom.

And the constant construction zones. And tools disappearing from MY tool box because she could never find hers. There was a circular saw in the middle of the office floor for three years. Three YEARS! And the only reason the damn thing moved is because WE DID. To fucking Eagan. Have I mentioned how much I hate the suburbs? Why did I move to Eagan with her? One, my dogs needed me. Or, I needed my dogs. Two, I was still in school getting my design degree, and didn't have time to look for an apartment. Three, no money to pay security deposit plus rent for both current and new apartment. Had to save up for that.

I hated Eagan. I reaaallllyyyy hated the house she bought. I had the worst initial reaction I've ever had to a building just driving up to the door of that house when she wanted me to look it over with her. It still makes me shudder to think about it. I spent most of that year living in the basement.

Now, of course, I live in my own apartment. I love my place. Yes, its a little cluttered with knick-knacks and books and pictures and candles, but its mine. Every single thing has a memory, a reason to be there. My reason. I love being able to shut the doors on the rest of the world. Love being able to leave the dishes pile up for a week. Love knowing that even when I can't find something, it is where I left it, and I will find it eventually.

But all this brings me back to my original point.

Loneliness.

I was never lonely before. I enjoyed being alone. Having the house to myself was always a luxury to be cherished, reveled in, even. You know the feeling of finally being free of all other people. The quiet. The ability to play the music you want to listen to, watch the TV shows you want to watch, talk to yourself without fear of being laughed at. The feeling fades somewhat after living alone for awhile. You get used to it being that way all the time.

I am not saying I'd like another roommate. Nope. No way. I'm pretty sure I would hate having a roommate fairly quickly.

But still, there is this restless need for something I didn't need before.

I told J, during some silly conversation we were having while doing the dishes one night, that I'd been taking care of myself for the last 32 years. I meant it to illustrate that I don't need anyone to make decisions for me or run my life. I'm proud of the fact that I stand on my own two feet, most of the time. But with one quiet comment, and I'm not even sure exactly what he said, he made me feel like I'd failed at or been left out of something important. Someting like, "That's too bad."

What he meant, of course, was that he thinks I'm special, and I deserve to have had someone to watch over me and do the little things that people who care for you do every day.

But I can't afford to feel the lack of that in my life. What good does it do me to miss or need something that I can't have? I have one person in this world I can depend on to do the things I need done for myself. And that's me. Admittedly, I don't always make the best, most caring choices, but usually I mean well. And maybe I'm missing huge signals from the universe that point toward that one special person who is meant for me, who will do all those thoughtful little things that make a strong relationship, but I must be flying blind. Or maybe he is. 

I won't lie and say I wouldn't love to have someone take care of me, for even just a day. Or a lifetime. I would. Oh, I would. 

But it would make me crazy to pity myself because I don't have that in my life. I value my indepence, my strong mind, my creativity. Someday, if the goddess decrees it or the universe has it planned, I will know love. 

In the meantime, I have friends who feel sorry for me because I am alone. Because I have had to learn how to take care of myself for 32 years. Who ache for me because I don't have someone to make me coffee in the morning, to fix my car, to read to me at night before bed, to discuss the news with over dinner, to teach me the power of touch. But who must leave me behind, anyway, because fate and logistics have denied the possibility. Leave me feeling the solitude as I haven't before.

I know how to be alone. I'm good at it. I work at it. I excel at it, like any good master at her craft. I don't know how to make myself be OK with it, again, though.

Damn it.

Jinx  

So, I didn't go to Rochester for Mother's Day. Nope. I stayed home, slept late, did my laundry, read most of a book, went for a long walk, watched Moonlight (when will Mick finally give in and sleep with Beth, for crying out loud?), reserved my tickets for the Star Wars exhibit at the Science Museum, and am now considering calling my mother.

What causes this devil inside me? Probably just some childish urge to be defiant, cause unneccesary pain just to see if I can get a rise out of parents. Most likely.

Hang on a minute while I get my phone. We'll just see how the conversation goes, shall we? Shouldn't take very long. Never does, then we'll be good for another month.

So my mom answers the phone, which I expected. It is Mother's Day after all. 10 minutes of talking about weddings and brothers (like how my youngest brother Kip and his wife Becky bicker constantly) and how the dogs weren't getting along and shed all over the furniture. She even asked about J, and what we did while he was here. Then my dad came in, and said sure he'd like to say hi, even though he didn't think he had anything to say to me (this is almost verbatim). And he asked about J, too, though he actually said "whats-his-name." What the hell. Any chance I get to brag about J is a good thing, I figure.

And now I'm done for another month.

Now it's almost 8:30 pm. I've got my windows wide open letting in all the delicious fresh, cool air. I'll start shivering here in a few minutes, but until then the luxury of open windows stays.

I mentioned going for a long walk this afternoon. Guess where I went. Couldn't help myself. What can I say? The boy made me hot.

But I also discovered that there are a lot of attractive men in my neighborhood. Something about the weather today had them out in droves, all sweaty from running and biking. Yummy. Sometimes people watching is a treat, you know? This one guy had this chest that just begged to be touched... And the sweetest ass...

Well, anyway, that's what I did with my day.

Jinx

Drippy, drippy day.

Mother's Day tomorrow, and I still haven't decided if I'm going down to visit for the day. My brothers and my neices will be there, but who knows when they'll all decide to go home. Despite it being Mother's Day, there really wouldn't be any point in being there by myself. Talking to them is mostly painful even when there's other people around.

Still, I haven't seen them since Easter, and haven't talked to them since J was here. And I would like to see my girls. They're so busy, I hardly ever see them. So it would be nice to visit for an afternoon, I guess.

Way to be apathetic, right?

Well, if I do decide to go down to Rochester, it's going to cost me a bundle just in gas alone. I mean, come on. $3.65 a gallon?!??! One of the guys at work thinks the oil companies are just gouging us as much as they can before the election in November. As theories go, anything with a hint of a conspiracy about it oftem smacks of reality when talking about the government. That's why everybody liked The X-Files so much.

All I know is, I can't really afford to take random trips that far without a damn good reason. I just need to decide if Mother's Day is a good enough reason. And that sounds even more callous in my head than it does here, so I'll probably be going. What does it say about me that I'm actually leaning more towards the "probably" than the "definitely?"

Did I mention that it has been a very drippy day? And not the good kind with lots of thunder and wind and general climactic drama that makes a killer storm. No, just drippy. Drizzly. Gray. And not even particularly heavy rain. Just enough to make the roads wet. Ppppfffttt... The weather is as apathetic about this holiday as I am, I guess.

I want the sparkly bits. Make life glitter, like its supposed to.

Bored, now. Must do something fun.

Jinx

There's no real reason I should be feeling so unsettled and anxious, but I do. Which is frustrating, because I've come to count on being able to dissect my own emotions and lay them out on the table.

Sometimes the need to write is a physical ache that I can't ignore, like now, even when I'm not sure what it is my psyche wants me to say. I always think that if I just type long enough, let it all bubble like a stew in a cauldron, talk nonsense if I have to, that something important will rise to the surface and let me rest.

There's this thing at work now. We have this outside consulting company coming in to, well, consult on how we can all do our jobs better, how we can be a better team, and ultimately make satisfied and loyal customers.

The problem, of course, is that I have never been a good corporate bunny. We did a couple little group "exercises" in our weekly meeting today to illustrate the importance of employee satisfaction on gaining and maintaining customer loyalty. As in, "A Happy Employee Makes a Happy Customer" kind of bullshit. And I say bullshit because this little exercise is only the first in a long line of exercises and other new changes and responsibilities that will be expected of all of us.

What the owner doesn't seem to realize is that we don't go to work for the fun of it. We go to work because we need the money. The god's honest truth is if the economy weren't so piss-poor and jobs hard to come by, we'd all probably work somewhere else. And I would for damn sure work somewhere else if they paid me what I'm worth. This isn't the type of job you keep because you "believe" in it, like social work or teaching or the Peace Corps, and don't really care about the money. And no matter how much extra work we put in, how good our customer service is, we still get paid the same regardless. I don't get one extra dime by being a better employee, don't get more than a week paid vacation, have no sick days that I don't then have to make up on my next day off. It's frustrating. I'm anticipating a raise of some sort in June or July, but there's no clear idea how much it will be for. And then there's the vacation home in Florida the owner is building that he has to pay for, so the raise I'm expecting will probably reflect his cash-poor balance sheet, no?  

Also today, it was announced that a couple people were being sent to Summit, in Puerto Rico. Summit is basically a really posh reward trip for employees who've given exceptional service over the course of several months. Now, I have no argument with the people who were chosen to go. I'm happy for them. The problem is, it feels like a competition that I have almost no chance to win because of the nature of my job itself. In order to win the trip, there has to be a written record of the exceptional service you provide. The only way to get written proof of a good job or a satisfied member is to have it come directly from the members themselves, and they don't write that kind of stuff down, you know? And what fool actually says, "Would you mind writing an e-mail to my boss?" I'm sure there must be some out there who do just that. But not me. I'm to damn busy doing my job to be a sycophant.

Anyway, I guess my point is, it would be nice to be recognized for the fabulous job I do, to be rewarded with a fabulous trip to a tropical island, without having to be a suck-up to do it.

So there, isn't that enough to be unsettled and anxious about?

Now, if someone were to ask me straight out how things were going, I'm the type to say, "they're fine." And while I'm staring them in the face, I believe it, because I would rather be fine than tell anyone that I'm not fine. I would rather keep my issues and problems to myself and work them out on my own than invite someone in to fix them, because honestly if I can't fix it on my own it probably is good enough broken.

Oh crap.

See what happens when you just start typing? The most amazing bits of psychic garbage just come tumbling out.

FUCK!!

Do I really do that to myself? Live with problems that I can't fix because I can't bear to let anyone help?  

Yes, yes I do.

There's that lack of trust issue again. But I don't know how to change that. I don't know how to learn to trust when I am constantly proved right in my belief that the vast majority of the human race is untrustworthy. It takes about a month to develop a habit, and twice that long to break a bad one, right? Well how long do you suppose it takes a heart to learn how to open? What needs to happen to make that stick?

I've spent my life building emotional walls, shoring them up, making them thicker, stronger, higher, safer, and aching for someone to break them down. But I don't think it's going to happen. That kind of thing only happens in the best novels, the most heart-rending movies.

Most of the time I'm all right with being alone. I've said this before, I think. Recently.

But I am tired of wondering what the point of all this is. There must be a reason, and end game of some kind, why I started writing this. Or maybe this is the reason. A life-long habit of recording my inner-most thoughts and feelings.

I just don't have the courage to ask the people I care about what it is they like about me. What do they see in me that I don't? Or don't like about me, which most people will admit is the scarier of the two. Few enjoy inviting criticism.

So many reasons to be unsettled. Too much introspection breeds discontent, I think.

I'm afraid to want too much. Don't expect anything, don't get disappointed.

And sometimes you get slapped with disappointment like a blow from behind. I didn't even know I wanted to go on that trip to Puerto Rico. (Duh, who wouldn't?) Still, I didn't expect anything from myself, and I got disappointed, anyway.

Go figure.

Jinx    

What do you do when eating out a really, really expensive restaurant, and your boss is footing the bill? You're surrounded by all the people you work with every other day of the week, laughing, drinking, and eating. And eating. And drinking. A lot.

How do you put on the brakes?

Here's the deal. We earned this dinner. And I mean EARNED it. As the Serivce Staff, we sold a little over $1 million of merchandise for the month of March. Our boss said in January that if we ever sold a mil in one month, he'd treat us to dinner at a really good restaurant. So we did. And we're looking to be over that million again. Yeah for us! Too bad we don't work on commission, right?

Anyway, tonight was our prize. I purposely didn't eat that much today, knowing I would probably overdo it at dinner, because how do you turn down free food? Free alcohol? Free food and alcohol? My dilemma is simple.

I know eating that much is going to hurt, we all know it. And yet, in the name of celebration and getting every single penny we deserve out of that cheap-ass owner we work for, we all ate waaaaaayyyyyyy more than is humanly necessary or healthy. Is there a person on this planet who could look at all that fabulous food and say, No, I think I'll just have a salad?

My friend Kim and I ordered salmon and filet mignon, and split them. That way, we get to have a little of both. Yummy. One of the stock guys ordered the 28 oz lobster tail and a 40 oz rib-eye steak. That's about 70 oz, over 4 lbs!!!! of pure protein!!!! Holy Crap (literally). I didn't eat anywhere near that amount of meat, and I'm still paying the price for it.

And then there's the people who always seem to get just a little too toasted, like they don't know when to shut themselves off (and no smirking J. You know the only reason I got that smashed was that you were there, and I felt safe. I'll not be doing that again). I don't particularly like feeling out of control and dizzy when I'm around large groups or strangers. But other people obviously do, and it's always the same ones. Somebody shoot me if I ever start slurring my words and hugging random men I don't know. Or at least make me drink water for the rest of the night.

It was a really good party, I will admit. The wait staff at Manny's is wonderful. They were funny, attentive, fast, and did I mention funny? Our receptionist, who recently turned vegan (as in not just vegetarian, but completely vegan), asked for cucumber water. The waiter had never heard of that before, but said sure he could put some cucumber slices in water for her. He came back a minute later with a glass with a whole cucumber in it! See? Funny. That set the tone for the rest of the night, and we cut slices so everyone could have cucumber in their water glass. You should try it as a substitute for lemon. It's very refreshing.

Still, now I'm slowly digesting a too large meal, and it's fast approaching midnight. Can't you hear my stomach creaking? It's a different sound than the rumbles you get when you're hungry, more like a squeaky door being forced open. And bloody uncomfortable....

On top of all that, it's that time of month again, and I hate the fucking thing. What kind of stupid cosmic joke is this anyway? Cramps, bloating, bleeding, and for what? I don't even really want kids. When I imagine having kids, its always the same thing. I get tired just thinking about all the hassle that goes along with them. But I still have had to deal with the most unreliable, uncomfortable, unpredictable, often painful, period on the planet. Seriously, how did evolution figure this would be the best way to procreate the species?

Thankfully, I don't suffer the mood swings generally associated with PMS. I have never felt homicidal, nor suicidal, but I have fantasized about early-onset menopause. To just be done with this, forever. Who cares about hot flashes? If that's the worst thing that happens, I think I can live with that.

My mother tried to tell me this was a Good Thing when I first got it in 5th grade, but I didn't believe her then, either.

Does wanting to get rid of my period forever count as being homicidal? It's sort of like having a bad, stalker-ish ex-boyfriend. He's always coming around, causing stomach aches and mood swings, and he's guaranteed to make you bleed, emotionally if not physically. Be nice if I could get a restraing order.

I think I'm going to go take a couple aspirin and go to bed. 

Night!

Jinx   

It has not escaped my notice that the most likely reason I have so few real friends is the unerring tendency of most people I gain some measure of affection for to disappear.

This week, it's Amanda. Yeah, that Amanda. The one with the abusive boyfriend and the two kids, who took the bus all the way from Fridley to Bloomington every day. (In commuter speak, that's about two hours one way). Now, if it was me and I had to take the bus to get to work, I would have found a job much closer to home. I even mentioned this to her a couple times, not because I wanted to see her go, but because it was pure common sense and I often cannot keep myself from stating the obvious.

Last week, Thursday, her mother was in a serious car accident. She called in to work to say she wouldn't come in on Friday, which was fine. You do what you have to do for family. And because she doesn't work on weekends, she had until Monday to sort things out. I called her Sunday afternoon to check on her, see how she was doing, how her mother was doing. She was still a little sniffly, probably spent the whole day crying off and on, because Amanda is like that. Her emotions are pretty close to the surface, most of the time. She told me she had to pick her mother up at the hospital at 2 pm on Monday, which is right in the middle of the work day. Very, very inconvenient, considering the killer commute.  

She did not say she was planning on quitting. She talked about calling our manager to discuss whether she should come in early or late, or at all. And it would have been fine if she had done just that. But she didn't. She called the manager and left some weird message saying how grateful she was for everything, blah, blah, blah. 

So in effect, she gave up. She just quit. I can't say I was surprised. Everybody has their tipping point, and having your mother nearly killed in an auto accident getting hit by a drunk driver is a pretty strong shove over the cliff. Not to say the two events are related, really, just that the one puts the other in a whole new perspective. Also, it's been about a month since Addy was fired, and they were pretty good friends. Kind of like their reason for working there was each other. 

Back to my original point, however, this was about how hard it is for me, and probably a lot of other people, to maintain or begin close friendships when you keep losing people to the vagaries of life. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a good relationship, everybody knows this. Sometimes it's impossible to do even with the person you share your home with, much less with someone who lives 20 miles, or 3000, miles away.

I liked Amanda. She was sweet and funny and she tried really hard. I hope her life treats her better in the future, and that someday she learns how to treat herself with the same respect she shows everyone else. 

Spring has finally begun here in central Minnesota. The trees are slowly sprouting buds of the most beautiful light green. Grass is beginning to carpet lawns and hillsides. I even saw one lonely little dandylion on my walk today, a proud blaze of yellow in a sea of tiny delicate purple crocus. It rained most of yesterday, but today the sun shone bright even though it was still just a mite chilly. 

Glorious. 

Why do I always feel better in the spring? Is it just the influx of more light, more sunshine even when it's cloudy? Or is it the return of LIFE to the world? Or maybe the promise of warmth? The promise that very soon I won't have to bring a jacket and gloves and a hat every time I walk out the door? Well, I suppose I actually abandoned the scarf, gloves and hat several weeks ago, in sheer defiance of this never-ending winter. Whatever the reason, spring is my favorite time of year. 

What trick of fate has made me so content to be alone most of the time? Yes, there are times I wish I had more people to call on in times of stir-craziness, but most of the time I'm all right by myself. I used to think it would be nice to have a companion to walk with, but now I'm pretty sure I'd just get annoyed. No matter who I'm with, I always end up falling behind, mostly because I'm slow. Even when I tell myself to walk faster, I always end up spending more time looking at things than focusing on the point of the walk, which is exercise. 

Add another person to the mix and maybe they'd serve to keep me on task, or maybe they'd just get annoyed with me. 

This stream of consciouness thing is a little odd. Nothings really connecting to itself, even in my head, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway. See what shakes loose, you know?

J should be getting home to DK soon. I hope he had a good trip. He has to be back at work in a couple days, doing I don't know what. Starts filming a movie soon, as an afterlife gameshow beautician in a movie with some Danish comedian called The Duck, and I still vote for Sean Connery's lost library over a cave any day. J will know what that means.

My co-worker Kim and I were on the Saturday lunch schedule this week. This time it was my grand idea that we went with, and we were a HUGE hit. Being spring, everyone is hungry for veggies, right? Well, what's better than shish-kabobs and a pasta salad? With a peanut-butter chocolate chip cookie bar for dessert? Yummy. And everyone else thought so, too. Yeah for us! We make a fabulous team. She's got this husband who knows how to grill, see, so I made the pasta salad with more veggies in it than pasta and the bars, and she did all the putzy work of putting the kabobs together. Of course, all my victories must be tempered by something, which means I spent nearly the entire afternoon with this old lady who smelled vaguely like fish and couldn't see and wouldn't let me go. This is Saturday, the busiest day of the week when the whole point is to be circulating so Everyone gets help, right? I mean, she was nice enough, and all, but being old doesn't mean you get to be selfish does it?

I suppose age does bring with it a certain sense of entitlement...

I made myself a very large whiskey sour when I got home from work, which at first reminded me strongly of the ones Dominic at the 90s makes until I added a little more sour. But don't worry, I still managed to walk a straight line when I went out for my walk. I may have been slightly gigglier than normal, but thankfully I am mostly a happy, and quick, drunk. By the time I actually went outside, I was fine. Certainly by the time I got home at 7. Then I filled my water bottle, and sat down to watch Numb3rs and Moonlight. Disappointingly, Mick keeps his clothes on this week. Too bad. He's got a great chest. Nothing compared to Cash (I must remember to find out what his real name is...) on Men in Trees, of course, but he's a god, so there's that to consider.

Now what would make me go from whiskey to discussing men's chests in one paragraph, I wonder? J would certainly have something to say about that...

Well, now that I'm rambling, I believe I will find myself something better to do. Night!

Jinx