I bitch, therefore I blog

You don't seem angry, but I do

2005-01-02T21:23:00.000-06:00

I haven't felt much like blogging in the past few days, and today is no exception. The general overtone today has been bittersweet, somber, and quietly sad.

Today we went to visit the old family friend I mentioned here, being that he was finally moved from United Hospital in St. Paul to the local hospital only minutes from home. He is finally being allowed visitors, since his pain management appears to be under control and he's gained some strength.

He let his tears flow freely upon seeing us, and I did the same. I've seen cancer patients firsthand before, but I was still shocked at how weak and frail he was. He didn't look like the same vibrant man I laughed with six months ago. He was sad to the core.

To see someone that is normally so upbeat and full of life look so breakable and lost is beyond my vocabulary.

They hope to begin chemo later this week, and perform more tests to try to determine the origin of his cancer - the primary cancer is still unknown as the cancer is so widespread.

His 42nd birthday was last week. I keep thinking he's too damn young for this. He has four kids that are too damn young to be dealing with this.

Fucking cancer.

I've never been good at faith, and today I'm more than angry at the one dealing the cards.

First post of the year

2005-01-01T18:42:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking of moving to TypePad, being that there are a lot more features that I would definitely use and like, and it's more powerful. (not as powerful as Movable Type, mind you, but a lot less complicated)

They offer a free 30-day trial, and I may try it out. Sigh. I dunno. Anyone have any experience with TypePad? Is it worth it??

Chalk it up to bad luck

2004-12-30T13:32:00.000-06:00

Ever have one of those days that starts off bad, and seems to just spiral from there?

Yeah.

This is one of those days.

Let me start at the beginning. This morning, 7 a.m., I wake up in a hot sweat, dog panting at my side. I sit up in bed, nightclothes sticking to my skin like molasses, sheets damp and warm, and the vague memory of pushing buttons on the electric heater in the middle of the night.

Apparently, instead of setting it for a mere hour, I set it for at least five, so it was still running, making the room feel like a tropical jungle in the middle of a heat wave.

(You may be wondering why we have to use an electric space heater to begin with - simply because our house is rather old, and whoever built it didn't think about things such as heating the entire west side of the house - which includes the bedrooms and bathroom. Believe me, it gets quite chilly in the middle of winter.)

Continuing on, I went to let the dog out for his usual morning bathroom break. As usual, he flew enthusiastically out the door, but instead of running down the three steps onto the sidewalk and then the yard, his feet hit the concrete steps, all legs sprawled out in different directions, and he fell, sliding down the stairs to the sidewalk, with a look that clearly read, "what the hell?".

Now, most people would think, "Gosh. It's the middle of winter, I'll bet the steps are slippery". But alas, I am not most people. Oh no. Instead, I panicked, envisioning the dog with a broken hip or leg, and flew out after him.

So there I am, rushing out the door with the intention of rescuing my dear dog, when I feel my feet slip out from under me. My butt hits the side of the step and I slide right on down identically like the dog. At that point, I think he realized what was going on, and knew that if he stayed there I'd end up right on top of him. Luckily he moved before I slid right into him.

Apparently, freezing rain has hit us here in western Wisconsin, covering the ground in a thin layer of slick ice.

Good news is I wasn't hurt beyond a little bruising, and the dog also appears to be fine. The bad news: as I landed I happened to look up and see none other than the town cop car stopped directly in front of our house.

What was going through my mind was, "he didn't see me fall, he didn't see me fall, please please tell me he didn't see me fall". You see, our town police officer is young, charming, and very handsome.

He got out and yelled, "Ma'am, are you okay??", dark eyebrows raised in concern.

Oh my god. He saw me fall. Oh. my. god.

I started to stand, praying the neighbors didn't see me as well, a blush starting to creep up my neck.

Then the realization hit me that I looked like a white trash stereotype, hair a wild mess, white tank top, boxer shorts, and not an ounce of make-up.

Smooth, Jinny, smooth.

I managed a small smile and a polite, "I'm fine, thanks" and retreated to the house, my pride now wounded even more than my ass.

Unfortunately, my bad day doesn't end there. I went on to begin my usual morning routine: take a shower, brush my hair, teeth, etc. I found the batteries in my electric toothbrush were dead, and instead of just using it like a regular toothbrush, I tore the house apart looking for a new one.

Honestly, the thought just didn't occur to me.

Then, after getting the daughter up and leaving her alone for a mere five minutes, I returned to find she discovered the bottle containing husbands foot powder. (Men's feet are a disgusting thing, but that's a whole other post)

Not only did she discover it, she also covered our dog and the floor in it.

So, I spent my morning sweeping and vacuuming the floor, giving the dog a bath, and nursing my bruised ass.

And it's only noon.

I think I'm going to take a nap. Nothing can go wrong while I take a nap, right?

Right?

Devastating

2004-12-29T17:38:00.000-06:00

With the tsunami death toll up to 77,000 people, I find it hard to find anything to write about that doesn't seem completely trivial in comparison.

Imagine having to search through morgues to locate your family members.

How heartbreaking.

[Update: the death toll has now risen to 114,000, and some 5 million people lack access to food, clean water, shelter, and health care.]

Tossing words into the wind

2004-12-28T23:56:00.000-06:00

Most of the time I feel like I'm on the outside looking in, watching my life unfold like a movie. There are so many things that really move me, but I can never seem to find the words to put it down on paper. When I bother to describe any revelation, poetic thought, or deep emotion, I'm completely content to let these words of description rot away, disappear in my head, or turn to stone - whatever they deserve in the end. The same goes for art - I'll work carelessly on a sketch, decide it wasn't as I had planned, and toss it into the garbage.

This is why I could never be a writer, or an artist. There's just something I lack, something critical.

Of course, sometimes I do try to write some of it. Sometimes a drawing turns out to be more than I had expected. Here and there I manage to put my heart into it, and sometimes I even see myself shine through, and I am pleased.

But mostly the sketches I draw feel cold to me. My words feel weak. As sterile as a VCR manual - so distant from the real truth of me. But I'm beginning to realize perhaps my words really aren't so cold. Perhaps it's just impossible for them to feel warm in the shadow of what they seek to describe.

But then there are those moments when I catch a glimpse of the passion I have and never even try to express - and I compare it to what I've written. It's then I see all my words for the sad joke that they are.

Shop till ya drop

2004-12-27T16:34:00.000-06:00

After months of searching for the perfect gifts, after hours spent in the kitchen baking Christmas cookies, after the troublesome task of hanging Christmas lights and finding the perfect tree, it's all over. So much preparation for a holiday that has seemingly flew by.

Overall, this Christmas was a positive one. Husband gave me a beautiful ring and I even got my new crockpot. I think the most meaningful gift was given to me by my grandfather; a beautiful walnut clock handcrafted by him. He made one for all of us older grandchildren, saying he fought tooth and nail to complete them this year because next year he may not be able to. (I just hate it when he talks like that.) This clock is something I'm sure I'll treasure for a lifetime.

Today my mother, sis, daughter and I hit the stores for some post-christmas shopping. I haven't been shopping with my mother in years, so it was a nice afternoon for a change. Sis and I got a chance to do some bonding, which is very nice since we're not terribly close. (A twelve year age difference will do that, I suppose). She's eleven, and just entering puberty. It's an awkward time for her, with her face sprinkled with red dots and her chest beginning to swell. She's a sweet girl, and I commented to my mother that she's transitioning nicely.

While in the car I noticed how much my mother is aging. Her hair is still long and blonde, but it's not the shiny golden blonde it was twenty years ago. It's gotten duller in time, and her eyes now have fine wrinkles forming at the creases. Even her face shape seems to be changing, and she no longer has those long, tan, shapely legs I had admired for so long. But no matter how old she gets, I'll always see her as the bright-eyed vibrant woman who raised me. She's beautiful even now, and I suspect I'll always see her that way.

We stopped at Burger King to eat and let the kids play - where we caught up on family news and gossip and discussed current events - everything from the war in Iraq to the tsunami that has killed thousands. At one point, a couple teenage boys entered the room and one of them kept giving me the eye. My mother took that opportunity to tease me until I blushed, and we giggled like schoolgirls until they left. We went on to visit a pet store, where I literally had to be dragged away from the puppies. Oh, how they tug at my heartstrings! Damn them for their big hopeful eyes and wagging tails! Thankfully, they were priced way too high for my humble checkbook, so I wasn't in danger of bringing home a new family member to our already full house.

For the first time in a long time my day was filled with fun and laughter. I can't tell you how long it's been since I've gotten to enjoy myself with friends that also happen to be family. I wish we could do this more often.

In-law recap

2004-12-24T10:02:00.000-06:00

My time with the mother-in-law has almost come to a close. It didn't go as horribly as I originally thought it would. However, I had to bite my tongue a few times (successfully, I might add), particularly when she complained dozens of time on how much she dislikes our dog/my hair/our wrapping paper/the food at the restaurant/her hotel room. She called mere minutes ago, asking if we'd like to join her for breakfast. Frankly, I'm not sure I could stomach another meal with her if she's as impossible to please as she was last night. Luckily, the little one was still sleeping, so that was our excuse for saying no.

Honest to god, I've never met anyone like this woman. I feel I'm always trying for her approval, and I always seem to come out shorthanded. The woman exasperates me. A day or two with her is a true test of my restraint and patience.

Her boyfriend, on the other hand, is a very nice man, old fashioned in the 'finish-your-plate-before-you-leave-the-table' kind of way, and yet younger than her in actual age. He's down to earth and very sensible - it's my hope that some of his personality will rub off on her.

Anyway, in a couple hours we'll say goodbye and she'll be off to spend the rest of Christmas at her boyfriends' parents. We'll be going to my folks later in the afternoon to watch the packer/viking game, have dinner, and to open presents. Christmas day will be spent at my Aunt's with the rest of the family - so I doubt I'll have any time for blogging until after Christmas.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Reflection

2004-12-23T14:02:00.000-06:00

Bushels of fun

2004-12-22T00:47:00.000-06:00

My mother-in-law will be arriving here from Green Bay tomorrow. So naturally I've been cleaning house like a madwoman. I plan on having every inch of this house dirt and dog-hair free by the time she gets here.

My mother-in-law is an interesting woman. I've always found her to be very social and unreserved; quick to share any details or events surrounding her. (key words in that sentence: surrounding her) To be perfectly honest, I've never really liked her - for many reasons. The first time I met her she didn't speak a word to me and barely acknowledged my presence. When seeing our daughter for the first time in months, she barely gives her a second glance. I've always found it surprising that she has no interest in her own granddaughter, which is enough for the protective mother side of me to kick into gear.

There's a lot of other things, too. Things that are deep-rooted in my husbands childhood that I won't get into on here.

Anyway, the last time she was here I was determined to try to develop some sort of relationship with her. Despite the way in which she has always regarded me, I was determined to be the bigger person. I made small talk with her. I laughed at her jokes. I made every effort to remain genuine and sincere. I tried my best to make her feel comfortable in my home.

And I plan on continuing with that behavior. I just hope to see a glimmer of acknowledgement on her part, some sort of sign that tells me this isn't just a waste of time and effort. Something.

Truth is, I find myself a little jealous of the relationship my husband has with my parents. There's no doubt in my mind they love him like a son, and I want a unique bond like that with my in-laws.

I know that's unlikely in my case, but I'll settle for just a simple friendship at this point.

Cats vs. dogs

2004-12-20T18:25:00.000-06:00

Early this morning I was awakened by the sound of one of our kittens clawing at the bedroom door. Screech screeeeech screeeeeeeeeeeeeech - Which was soon followed by a whiny meow, increasing in sound and length with each passing second. Which is why I caved and let the kitty in, receiving a look from the dog that clearly read "traitor!".

I should probably clarify something here. I'm not what you would call a "cat person". I find cats to be rude, lazy, and even a little arrogant. And I've owned many cats, so this opinion wasn't one that was quickly made. How we came to have kittens despite my general dislike for cats is simple; I took pity on a stray that ended up on our doorstep, foolishly unaware she was pregnant.

In our house there's no mistaking which species is the more revered; the dog is allowed to sleep in bed with me while the cats are not. The dog can have tablescraps while the cats can only have dry cat food. The dog has countless toys and receives treats while the cats do not. Etc. etc. etc.

However, the running joke of our household is that I secretly love cats, but put up a facade of disdain for the species. And since I let the kitten in the bedroom last night, I haven't heard the end of it.

Of course, it could be that I woke this morning with the kitten sharing my pillow, purring like mad and occasionally licking my face. And hubby was there to witness it.

Incriminating evidence, indeed.

Regardless of how it looked, I really don't like cats. Not even a chubby little kitten that whines at my door at 3 a.m., no matter how content I looked sleeping next to a purr machine with gorgeous green eyes.

I swear.

Really.

Changes are shifting

2004-12-17T01:21:00.000-06:00

I've made a few changes, if anyone has noticed.

For one, the background picture is different. Is it an improvement? I have no idea...I just know I was growing tired of the previous one.

Two: I've added a blogroll to the sidebar. I encourage any of you with time on your hands to go check out these other much more interesting blogs. (trust me, you'll be glad you did)

And three: In addition to the blog links, there is now a link to my Amazon.com wishlist and also a Paypal Donate button. So if any of you kind souls would like to, oh I don't know, buy me a Christmas present or make an extravagant cash donation, you can now do so.

[insert sound of hysterical laughter here]

Yeah yeah, I know. A girl can dream, can't she?

Like weeds in a garden

2004-12-15T18:52:00.000-06:00

A close family friend, and also my previous supervisor and confidant, was recently diagnosed with cancer. His kidney was removed and he recently underwent exploratory surgery to see the extent of the disease. The news isn't good, and in the doctor's words, the cancer has spread "like weeds in a garden".

Weeds in a garden. I can't seem to get those words out of my head.

He's always been good friends with my family, my mother in particular, and because of that I've known him since I was a young child. He gave me my first real job, going out on a limb for me - the youngest applicant with no training or experience. He molded me into a hard working, knowledgeable, efficient employee that no one else believed in. I recall him coming in the office many times and pulling me aside to tell me I should be laughing more. "And while you're at it, use that voice of yours," he'd say grinning, "you have such a beautiful voice, but you never use it!".

And each and every time "The Joker" by the Steve Miller Band came on the radio, he would force me to sing along with him, regardless of workplace etiquette.

Of course, that was five years ago, before the company had their cut backs and sliced and diced our department. Since then, I only see him at various parties or the occasional get-together at the bar. He's the one that's always buying a round of drinks, laughing and making jokes. I really can't picture not having him at a party.

That's not to say he comes without faults; I always found him to be a little on the sexist side and I never agreed with the year-long affair he had with another woman. But I think part of me doesn't blame him for that, just his penis.

Anyhow, he has cancer in his stomach, diaphragm, around where his kidney was removed, and surrounding his intestines. The surgeon estimates he's had it for a year and likened it to cement, unable to be removed.

One thing is clear, chemotherapy or radiation will not save his life, only prolong it. This is terminal.

Sigh. I'm really bumming about this. My friend is dying, and it's unstoppable. I feel terrible for him and his loved ones, I know how much stress a terminal illness puts on a family.

And what a crappy time of year for this to happen.

Don't you know you're a shooting star?

2004-12-13T23:48:00.000-06:00

Any of you happen to catch the meteor shower tonight?

It sounds rather romantic, doesn't it? Watching the star-scattered sky for the glow of debris from a comet - it almost sounds magical. In truth, a meteor shower has such potential for a romantic evening, especially for a geek like me.

And while I watched the shower wearing a red satin chemise (topped by a heavy coat), there was no romance. I did, however, sit on our cold concrete steps, slippers adorning my feet and a mug of hot cider in my cold hands, occasionally gazing into the brown eyes of a very sweet and adorable boy.

And by sweet and adorable boy, I mean my faithful sidekick Ollie, all 40 pounds of him, complete with his dog collar and matching holiday-inspired bandana, tail wagging with every glance his way.

Sigh. I shouldn't complain, but I can't shake the fact I feel my needs aren't being met. I find myself wanting intimacy and attention so badly I feel I must be imitating the behavior of an attention-starved puppy. I find myself becoming resentful of hubby and his damn night shifts, leaving me to sit alone at home on another cold night, the bed feeling so empty and big I'm afraid it will swallow me up.

But I guess as long as there are bills to pay I have no right to complain. For now, at least.

Somethings not right

2004-12-12T00:13:00.000-06:00

In the pit of my stomach, in me, something isn't right.

It's Saturday night and I find myself sitting on the sofa in the quiet dark at midnight, feeling lost and abandoned, while hubby is sound asleep in bed snoring carelessly under our down comforter.

And while he is off in dreamland, I'm crouched over this laptop, chugging down Kool-aid like there's no tomorrow, with nothing but worry in my feeble mind and silence bearing down on me like an anvil.

I feel like I'm carrying a huge bag on my back, like Santa, only my bag is bursting at the seams with worries about everything from finances to my marriage, instead of Christmas dreams and jolly little trinkets.

Won't somebody take this load off my tired shoulders??

My apologies, gentle reader. I don't like posting when I feel like this, for tomorrow I'll review this and immediately want to delete it.

Sigh. I feel like I'm watching myself crumble, slowly and silently.

I want to rub the sand between my fingers before there's nothing left.

Tampon run

2004-12-09T20:47:00.000-06:00

A few months ago, I ran into an old friend from high school. I left her with my number and told her to call if she ever wanted to get together to catch up.

I hadn't heard from her until tonight. "The Valley Motel" read on the caller ID, and in the first "hello" I knew it was her. She sounded upset, explaining that her, her hubby, and her young child were evicted from their home and were living in the local motel. She went on to say she was on her period, with no tampons or pads, or any money to buy either of them.

And that's how I ended up driving a box of tampons to a motel for an old friend, the roads slick and shiny black from the unrelenting rain. She met me in the parking lot, brown eyes misty like the weather, and we chatted long enough for the cold rain to give us shivers.

I'm not sure I understand the circumstances of their eviction, and I suppose it doesn't matter. I do know that her husband was arrested in relation to it, but even that doesn't matter. What does matter is I saw an old friend tonight with fear and uncertainty written on her face, and I wish I could erase it.

I urged her to call me anytime, and made it clear if it got to the point where they had nowhere to live that hubby and I would be there to help somehow.

I slipped her a twenty when we said goodbye, and I urged her to call me again, sometime when we could get together. I have the sneaking suspicion her husband is a bit on the controlling side, so I'm really not sure if I'll hear from her again.

I asked her if he treats her good and she said, "yes", but I know all too well that a simple "yes" gets easy to say with enough practice.

I'm worried about her.

I hope she calls.

Copycat

2004-12-08T21:32:00.000-06:00

Everyone else seems to be doing it, so I am too. I present you with: my virtual model.

While it's not a perfect replica (the face certainly isn't a mirror image of mine), it does give the general idea of body type.

And yeah, this is the closest I'll get to showing my underwear on the net. So there.

Perverts. :P

What's so civil about war anyway?

2004-12-08T17:47:00.000-06:00

About a month ago I attended a lecture series on the Holocaust, given by an attorney by the name of Timothy J. Scott. If you're from the area and ever have a chance to hear this man speak, I highly recommend it. The lecture I attended lasted about five hours, and I found it utterly fascinating.

Since then, I've been doing a lot of reading on the subject, not only on the Holocaust and Nazi's, but also war atrocities and massacres in general. It's left me nearly speechless.

Auschwitz. Dachau. The Rape of Nanking, also known as "the forgotten holocaust of WWII". Daejon. The Armenian Genocide. Millions of people dead, many brutally slaughtered, mutilated, and murdered. The horror stories are endless. The pictures are sickening. The thought is terrifying.

And what's really sad is there are countless stories concerning this subject for nearly every country. No one is innocent but the victims themselves.

Think this is just ancient history? Think I'm an obsessive ranting loon? Think again.

Take a look at Sudan, where thousands of people have died and millions are homeless. This is a place in the midst of a civil war, with militias being blamed for ethnic cleansing, rape, and pillaging.

And it's happening right now. Year 2004.

Genocide.

Be thankful you're not one of them, struggling against the inhumanities of your fellow man, fighting for your right to live.

And if you're like me, you find yourself angry and ashamed to be a part of the same human race as these monsters.

Yeah

2004-12-04T16:16:00.000-06:00

Today I realized just how much I've changed in the last few years.

For instance, five years ago, when asked what I'd like for Christmas, I would have said lingerie or diamond earrings.

Now, however, what I truly yearn for is a garage door opener and a new crockpot.

June Cleaver + Kurt Cobain

2004-12-02T17:05:00.000-06:00

Finally. This is the first time I've gotten a chance to sit and relax all day. I've been on a baking frenzy, running around the kitchen in my fluffy purple slippers, flour everywhere including on me. I'm gearing up for Christmas, since deciding Lexi's Christmas gifts to family this year will be tins filled with homemade cookies, which she will help make. I can't believe I never thought of this before, what a great way for a three year old to get a sense of the spirit of giving, rather than helping pick out some random gift in a store. So I'm trying out new recipes that even I can't mess up.

My morning started off decent enough, got Lexi up by 8:30 so we could make a run to the grocery store for baking supplies. By the time we left the store, the snow was flying. We got halfway home before I realized I'd forgotten to get molasses, and since I can't make gingerbread men or big soft ginger cookies without that ingredient, we turned around and went back to the store.

As we were leaving for the second time in 10 minutes, I heard a familiar voice say my name. I turned around to discover Brian, the blonde geeky boy that I graduated with. (I've mentioned him before, which can be found here.) I was shocked to see him, and almost didn't recognize him. He seemed to have gotten taller, and...wider. (which I'm sure I have too. Wider, I mean. Sigh.) We exchanged pleasantries, asking and answering the usual questions one asks when seeing someone for the first time in five years. He said he's been living in Florida, but came back here to care for his grandmother again, who has taken another turn for the worse. He asked how long I've been married to the hubby as a strange expression came over his face. I was surprised to find I could still read his expressions, knowing full well he was thinking to himself, "I can't believe she married him." I gave him my number and told him I hoped we could get together and catch up. There's a lot of ground to cover after five years, eh? He put it in his pocket and smiled sheepishly. We said our goodbyes, but before I turned to go, I said to him, "I can still read your face, even after five years." His eyebrows raised in challenge and I told him I knew he wouldn't call, but hoped he would nonetheless.

He smiled and that was it.

Sigh.

I do hope he does. It's been so long since I've ran into an old friend. Even if he frowns upon my romantic choices.

I do have to chuckle over the fact he seemed surprised hubby and I are still together. We truly are opposites, hubby and I, so it doesn't surprise me that someone would think that. Even in high school, we were an unlikely couple. He was the grunge rocker, guitar playing, slacker type while I was more of a goody two shoes. Truthfully, I found his self confidence absolutely mesmerizing and to this day it's my favorite trait of his.

I've heard theories that we are attracted to those with qualities that we ourselves lack. It certainly applies to hubby and me; I'm the grounded, responsible one while he's the flighty, spontaneous one.

Like today, while I was busy baking, hubby gave me a June Cleaver reference and I rebutted with a Kurt Cobain one.

The only question is, what does that make our daughter? Just what do you get when you mix June Cleaver and Kurt Cobain? Ground hamburger??

Take back that sad word

2004-11-29T04:45:00.000-06:00

Before my grandmother got divorced, she lived in a large house in the outskirts of North Branch, MN. Her home was a two-story, 1970's style bark brown house with an upper deck overlooking the yard and driveway. The backyard was a big rolling hill, with apple trees scattered all the way down. At the bottom of that hill was an old run down shed and about 15-20 rabbit cages that she used for breeding. To the right of that was her garden, a massive vegetable plot that would overflow with tomatoes, lettuce, and strawberries that were as red as wounds. Her yard made the house lovely.

As a child, going there was one of the few favorite things I had. We spent many Christmas Eve's and holidays there. On those rare occasions where the entire family got together, it was amazing. Warmth radiated from the kitchen, the air would be fresh with the smell of pumpkin pie or turkey. A huge billowing Christmas tree always sat in the front window, covered in tinsel. The sound of family laughing and children giggling carried throughout the house. Really, what can be better?

Her house was where us kids would set up waterslides down that big hill, and where we learned how to handle rabbits and pick carrots. It's where we would sled in the winter, and run with the dogs and harass the cats.

I remember my grandmother had an old black lab mix, and he was beautiful. Wise old eyes, face sprinkled with gray hairs. He had a wonderful gentle kindness that charmed me instantly. Perhaps his gentleness was because of his age, or perhaps it was just his nature. Whatever it was, his death devastated me as a young child. Maybe he was the reason I fell in love with Oliver, our black lab mix, the second I saw him. Whenever I think of that house, I think of that dog.

After his death, my grandmother got another dog, a black cocker spaniel named Ruff, goofy and awkward, with a tail that never stopped wagging.

I fell in love with him too. He died just this last year, after old age stole his hearing, and an incompetent driver backed into him. He survived the accident, with severe hip and leg problems, and soon was put to sleep.

Since him, my grandmother has said she cannot handle getting another dog. She says the goodbyes are too hard on a gentle soul like hers.

My childhood dog died this year, at the ripe age of fourteen. She was a little black pomeranian/poodle, docile in her old age. I was there when she was put to sleep on a cold stainless steel table. I witnessed her last breath and saw her brown eyes when they closed for the last time. I said my goodbyes to her, and my heart still aches.

The decision to get Oliver wasn't an easy one. I was against getting another dog for quite awhile, and even after bringing him home I wasn't sure. But then something started to happen. I started to notice things about him, like how he was able to sense my moods, knowing when to wiggle his forty pound body next to me and plop his head in my lap, or knowing when I was upset and when to keep his distance. And now he sleeps in bed with me, his sleek body lined up next to mine, head sharing my pillow.

My nights are a lot less lonely now, and I'm much more content. And more importantly, he's helped bring something new to my life, a wonderful bond that only him and I share.

And even knowing that someday our goodbye will come, somehow I know it's still worth it. Even for a gentle soul like mine.

Let it snow...

2004-11-27T08:15:00.001-06:00

So here I am, 8 a.m. on Saturday morning, sitting alone on the couch admiring our christmas tree (which we got yesterday) and gazing out the window at the falling snow, while sipping hot cocoa complete with marshmallows and a cinnamon stick.

I am completely and utterly content right now. I love getting up before anyone else and enjoying a few quiet moments alone. I feel more relaxed right now than I have in weeks.

Sigh. I absolutely love the christmas season, unlike Thanksgiving. I think I'm the only person that thinks Thanksgiving is a pathetic waste of a holiday, serving no purpose but an excuse to make and eat a huge dinner and get a day off of work (and of course to celebrate the exploitation of the Native Americans, but I digress-that's a whole other post.)

Anyways, I'm going to go and enjoy a few more moments of silence and relaxation, before the sound of a screaming and running three year old fills the house.

I hope you all have a lovely day.

No pain, no gain

2004-11-24T09:30:00.000-06:00

I'm pretty sure I have an abscessed tooth. So life kinda sucks right now.

The pain started yesterday, and when I woke up this morning it wasn't any better. So the very first thing I did was grabbed the phone and called every single dentist in the area. The earliest I can get in is on December 1st.

Of course, I'm on the call list but I've been on their call list before and have never gotten called in earlier than my appointment date.

Anyways. The pain isn't horrible. It doesn't disturb my sleep. It's not sensitive to hot or cold. It is, however, extremely sensitive to pressure. Like say, the pressure caused when chewing food, or even any time my tongue touches it. It throbs unless I take pain killers.

Basically, I think I can live with it for a week. Assuming it doesn't get worse, in that case I'll be whipping out the big guns; leftover pain killers from after giving birth and from my wisdom teeth removal: codeine, vicodin, and whatever else I can find in the medicine cabinet.

On the plus side, most people worry about eating too much for Thanksgiving dinner and gaining weight. Considering that every time I eat, I end up with blinding, throbbing pain radiating from my jaw, I don't think I'll need to worry about eating too much of my holiday dinner.

I guess that's one way to diet.

Not with a bang, but with a whimper

2004-11-23T14:09:00.000-06:00

I didn't blog much last weekend because I was a little upset.

I lost my first patient on Friday.

She was an end stage bone cancer patient named Flossie. After just a week I had gotten quite close to her. She was completely deaf, but I think we had a special understanding with one another. I picked up on her clues quite quickly; Licking her lips meant she was thirsty, closing her eyes meant "no", "yes" was a weak nod, tapping her fingers meant she was hungry, a light kick of her foot meant more pain killers, etc.

On Thursday she was hurting so much that any simple movement had her yelling out in pain. It's very difficult seeing someone like that.

I fed her when she couldn't feed herself. I held her while she cried. I rubbed her shoulders. She gripped my hand when the pain was really bad. I can still see her wet blue eyes, flinching as a wave of pain washed over her. And I can see her small smile when the pain subsided.

On Friday it was all over. I suppose I'm somewhat thankful that she's gone and not in pain anymore, but my heart is still sore. I miss her.

Today was my last day of class. I said goodbye to all the patients and I miss them already. Even the crabby old man on the east wing that always yelled obscenities at me, and the lady on south whose toileting habits were worse than a two year old.

And when I think of Flossie, I don't feel sad. I feel grateful and humbled to be a part of the last days of her life. And I hope I brought her at least a small bit of comfort.

Once I get my practical nurse license, I think I want to work in home hospice care, which is caring for patients with terminal illnesses, mostly with life expectancies of 6 months or less.

But that won't be for another year, and we all know how much I change my mind. Sigh.

Fighting, flowers, and vaseline

2004-11-21T18:26:00.000-06:00

That's pretty much what my weekend consisted of.

Hubby has been in a mood lately. A grouchy, don't-look-at-him-the-wrong-way kind of mood. Which is a little frustrating when I've been looking forward to spending some time with him after a long busy week.

But, he apologized and bought me flowers so I won't hold too big of a grudge.

While hubby and I were working hard at getting the christmas lights untangled, our darling daughter got into the bathroom and into the vaseline. She then covered the dog in it, and even after three baths his fur is still greasy.

Kids. Gotta love 'em.

Anyways. More time for blogging once my damn classes end. Only two more days, yayy!

And a partridge in a pear tree

2004-11-16T17:53:00.000-06:00

Like anywhere you are, you either have good days or bad days.

Today I got spit on, crapped on, and hit on. I took care of six patients with MRSA, handled three catheters, two uncircumcised penises, and one massive decubitus ulcer.

Oh, joy.

When working with old folks, you tend to start off thinking they are docile, sweet, cute, or good mannered. Which is why it's so surprising when the adorable older gentleman you took care of the day before suddenly tries to smack you with his crutch. You stand there in shock as he growls at you, "you're worthless, you bitch!" You think of the day before, when he was smiling gratefully and sharing the story of his life with you. And you wonder what the hell you did to offend him.

The answer of course, is nothing. Moodiness is caused by many things: dementia, medication, frustration, etc. The logical part of you knows all this. But the sensitive part doesn't.

The trick is learning not to take it personally. Learning to ignore it. Remembering that how we see these people now is not who they are. When we see a cranky old man, we aren't seeing the eight wonderful children he raised with his wife of fifty years, or the farm he worked day after day to feed his family, or his volunteer work at his local church. What we see is a cruel side effect of life. What we see is the darkness of growing older, of losing all that's familiar, of preparing stubbornly for the last stages of life.

I really don't know if this line of work is right for me, but I am developing quite a backbone because of it. It's hard, and it definitely takes a very patient person to make a career of it.

And if you think I'm just being dramatic, chew on this: our class started off with twenty students, and now we're down to eight.

Either laugh or cry

2004-11-13T09:11:00.000-06:00

My clinical rotations have started and I have no idea if I like it or not.

Working in a nursing home is hard. You see people at their absolute worst, like crying in pain from severe arthritis or bent over a toilet, defecating in embarrassment, or mourning the loss of their recently deceased roommate.

And like yesterday, if you're like me, you find yourself in the bathroom with tears rolling down your cheeks after seeing the woman with dementia wandering the halls, desperately searching for her husband who died years ago. You hear the panic in her voice as she asks you, "please help me find my husband. I'm lost" and you nearly lose it.

One thing I'm learning is you have to take things in stride. You have to either laugh or cry. And god knows you can't fall apart in front of a patient.

But it is hard seeing these people that are eighty or ninety years old with Alzheimers. You have some that are only in the first stages of the disease, which is tolerable, but then you have the ones that can no longer communicate at all. Those are the ones that stare blankly at the wall. The ones whose minds are gone. The ones that don't even remember how to speak or eat.

It's heartbreaking. But it really puts your own petty problems into perspective. And for the entire time you're caring for these people, you put their problems and complaints way above your own. At least that's what I do.

I have a classmate that couldn't wait to tell me how disgusting it was to have to bring her patients to the bathroom. She confessed to me she thought it was absolutely vile. And I've seen how she cares for them, talking to them like they are children, rushing them with impatience, and even scolding them. And I hate hate hate it. I want to smack her in the head with her stethoscope.

Granted, no one wants the job of helping someone go to the bathroom, but what you have to remember is the patient doesn't want it any more than you do. The majority of them will get embarrassed, apologize, and thank you gratefully for your help. I've been caring for these people no differently than I would want my own mother cared for. And showing disgust over their bodily functions does not fall under that category. You have to be discreet, gentle, kind, and empathetic. No matter what.

My classmate told me the way she keeps herself unaffected from the ugliness of this job is by viewing them as objects, not as people, which is the absolute worst advice I think I've ever heard. I may have to fight back my tears when hearing the man with only one leg tell me how lonely he his, but I never want to be one of those people that sees him as a job, a hassle, an inconvenience.

I'll take being a whiny crybaby over that any day.

I need a hug

2004-11-11T15:20:00.000-06:00

I had a shitty day.

And I find myself re-thinking this whole going back to school thing.

And I'm contemplating quitting.

And it's all I can do to fight back the tears right now.

Because I'm realizing I have no idea what I really want to do in life. I have no idea what I'll be good at, or what I'll enjoy doing.

I'm frightened, frustrated, and frankly, I'm tired of being me.

untitled

2004-11-10T14:58:00.000-06:00

I've always felt like sort of a medical disaster.

I've never had a broken bone, but I bruise easily. I have a heart murmur. Cuts take a long time to heal. Ear infections are very common with me. I've gotten strep throat more than I can count. I require at least eight hours of sleep a night just to function. Luckily, I have no allergies, so I guess I lucked out there.

When I was younger, I was sent to numerous doctors regarding my lymph nodes. Several doctors and many tests later concluded there was nothing wrong with me; my lymph glands were not abnormally swollen as suspected, but naturally larger than most people's. Of course that was after prematurely telling my mother of the possibility of cancer, turning my life into a sudden uproar.

When I became pregnant, I worried continuously about complications. The pregnancy started off beautifully. Morning sickness? None. Discomfort? Nada. I felt completely normal, except for a growing belly and an obvious hormonal shift. Once month 8 came around, it became another story. My blood pressure got higher and higher. I was ordered to immediate bedrest, and after a week of that I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia. I was induced immediately, to prevent possible kidney and liver damage, and seizures.

Lexi was born only 3 weeks early, but with a complication of her own. Luckily, she was as healthy as she could be under the circumstances. I, however, developed a case of anemia from loss of blood while recovering from a nasty 3rd degree tear.

Since then, I've been fairly healthy. Aside from the occasional ear infection or cold, I've been in tip top shape.

However, I have a bad feeling my health is doomed to get worse as I get older. Diabetes run in my family, as do Alzheimers disease, arthritis, miscellaneous heart problems, gout, and high blood pressure. Since going back to school, I've become more aware of the illnesses and diseases that affect people, particularly the elderly, and I gotta say it's left me terrified. Don't get me wrong, I love learning about the body, I think it's fascinating that the small intestine is 20 feet long, and I find the human brain utterly miraculous. But I've also learned of all the intricacies of the body, and how easily and quickly things can go wrong. I find myself questioning my own mortality and I'm becoming completely fearful of losing those that are dear to me.

And I really gotta wonder if this is the right field of work for me. Can I handle losing patients to death, to something I can't control?

School, study, parenting, and repeat

2004-11-04T16:30:00.000-06:00

I've been rather busy lately. Yes, too busy even for blogging.

Shocking, I know.

Going back to school is sure an adjustment for me. After my eight-hour class I come home, get Lexi from the sitters, and try to study and do homework (which consists of 200 page-a-day reading). I spend at least three hours after class just reading and doing various assignments, and by that time I have to get supper started, then feed the family. And before I know it I have to get Lexi ready for bed and by that time I'm freaking exhausted.

Freaking. Exhausted.

And next week will be no different. But the week after that is when my clinical rotations start, and I'll be doing 10 hour days working with elderly in a nursing home.

If I think I'm tired now, I have a feeling I haven't seen anything yet.

Anyways, I expect I'll be blogging more this weekend. Right now there's a medical textbook that's calling my name and an exam that needs studying for.

Ta-ta for now.

[on a side note: I hope all of you voted Nov. 2nd. I'm not particularly pleased with the election (in fact, I'm leaning towards being downright disappointed), but America has spoken. Whether I agree with it or not.]

Happy halloween

2004-10-31T20:31:00.000-06:00

Why I love Halloween. Ain't she cute?

And maybe I don't have a choice...

2004-10-30T16:18:00.000-05:00

I stumbled across this, and couldn't help but laugh.

Doctor, doctor, gimme the news

2004-10-29T17:12:00.000-05:00

So, I had my yearly physical and pelvic exam today. With a male doctor, which I was less than thrilled about.

The woman dressed as a big carrot at the reception desk should have been my first clue of a bad omen. (I realize she was dressed up for Halloween, but still)

My nurse was Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, complete with Toto. She did the usual blood pressure/family history routine, told me to get into a gown, and left me to wait for the doctor. Which is fine. Expected, even.

However, I nearly ran back out to get her once the doctor walked in the room.

I shit you not, he was dressed as the grim reaper. Not really how you want to see your doctor when he's about to be looking up your gown.

With medical instruments.

And KY jelly.

Yeah.

And, for all you physicians or gynecologists out there, don't ever, while giving a pelvic exam, say "Huh. How about that."

Because that tends to freak your patient out a little. Also, detailing your patients cervix to her is a no-no. Trust me, we really don't want to know.

And, when feeling your patients uterus and ovaries, it is not acceptable to smile down at them. Especially when dressed as the grim reaper with a spotlight shining directly between your patients legs, acting as a backlight to your whole "death" persona. And you should never, ever say with enthusiasm "everything looks good darlin'!" while performing a breast exam. I don't care how nice you think you're being, it just doesn't work.

Also, while testing a person's reflexes, giggling at their jumping leg is a little annoying. Doing it again and outright laughing is just plain stupid.

Of course, just to make sure my torture wasn't complete, I was sent to the lab for a glucose test, where The Devil Himself drew my blood. I really wish I could tell you that's just a bad metaphor, but he was literally the Devil. Horns, tail, with a pointy needle (instead of the pitch fork) poking me repeatedly. All that.

The whole experience was like something out of a bad comedy.

On the plus side, I have a year's worth prescription for birth control pills, and the knowledge I'm healthy as a horse.

(assuming the glucose test is normal, of course)

Oh, and while leaving the clinic, I witnessed a young man being arrested. For what, I don't know.

Honestly, I can't help but feel I'm in the middle of the Twilight Zone today. Nothing feels normal.

Ye olde mailbag

2004-10-28T15:09:00.000-05:00

Well, I figured it's time to empty the old mail bag. I do a lot of chatting on MSN chat, and I've been getting a lot of people emailing me wanting me to add them to my msn messenger. I thought it might be interesting to share some of these emails with you, my faithful readers. (That's right. All three of you.)

First of all, the following excerpts are precisely what makes me decide a person is not worth my time, as per my explanations:

"my msn is [edited for anonymity] Is it possible to tell my your MSN? I luv u with all my hart." Yeah. Don't declare your love for me without ever speaking to me before. Seriously.

"HOLA PRESIOSA SOLO ME GUSTARIA TENER ALGUNA BUENA CONBERSASION, CON TIGOCREO QUE ERES UNA MUJER MUY ATRACTIVA Y ME AGRADAS, ME GUSTARIA PODER PLATICAR CON TIGO , PARA PODER TRATAR DE CONOSERTE, MI NOMBRE ES ALEXIS" Sticking to a language I speak would be nice. Because I have no fucking clue what any of that means.

"hye what ever ur name is .may u plz introduce ur self to me and tell me the time uget online plz" As a general rule, if you can't spell the word "hi", then you're talking to the wrong girl. Oh yeah, referring to me as "whatever your name is" is not going to gain my respect.

"ha ah ha. U so funay. talk to me, i sweap off yu feat" Um, yeah. Learn how to spell. Please.

"hi" Hi? Hi?? You took the time to email me, and all you can say is, "hi"? No introduction, no conclusion, just "hi"?? Good lord. Next, please.

"i'm brian. I have a 10 inch cock. hit me up if interested." What can I say, The Leaning Tower of Brian doesn't spark my interest one bit. Sorry to break it to you Brian, but I do have a vibrator when I need it, so I really have no use for you.

"I want to see ur cam pls. I like girlz" First of all, nobody see's my cam. Unless you're really special, and even then it might not happen. Oh, and I'm glad to hear you like girls, as opposed to, say, goats. Or microwave ovens.

"r u single?" Darling. Take a quick look at my profile again. You know. That thing that you had to click on to email me in the first place? Yeah, that. Read it. Know it. Feel it.

"Hey. I saw you chatting in the Lobby, and I think you're a real sweetheart. I'm a lesbian and I know you're married, but I just wanted to say I find you charming." Okay, there's absolutely nothing wrong with this one. I just wanted to brag that I got hit on by a girl. Go me! Equal Opportunity Hussy!

I'm a little shocked that I've gotten so many messages like these. When did I become someone people wanted to talk to? Is it my modesty, my wit, my humility? More importantly, does this require the resignation of my geek badge?

Because I really like my geek badge. It totally matches my eyes.

Get a job, sha-na-na-na

2004-10-28T00:07:00.000-05:00

I've been asked about work, or rather, my former job.

I've never revealed where I worked on here, out of fear of someone I know discovering this blog. I keep this blog completely secret from everyone I know, including my husband. Sure, I've mentioned it to him before, and with enough snooping he could easily find it, but he's never expressed even the slightest interest in it. Which I guess is fine with me.

Anyways, seeing as I no longer work there and have no intention of returning, I don't see why I should keep it a secret. That being said, I present you with: The Shithole.

I worked at the Molding plant as a quality inspector. After surviving two big layoffs, I finally got hit with the third. I had the unfortunate experience of seeing most of my coworkers sliced and diced, along with my own boss and many other members of top management in my department.

After that, our department was passed from one new supervisor to another, none of which knew the first thing about running our department, much less evaluating our job performance. Us minions ran the department ourselves, without any of the credit, and I went two years without a single raise. I watched as the company foolishly let all the little guys go so they could keep the highest paid people, and then wondered why the profits were less than favorable and why the quality of work was declining. I watched as they tried to fill their empty spaces with people from neighboring plants, resulting in overworked employees packing on the overtime. I've watched them refuse to negotiate pricing with some of our top customers, a stupid and critical mistake. I've watched them strip us of our benefits and incentives. I've even put up with the pay cuts and mandatory hour reductions.

The company is top-heavy, their sales representatives are mediocre at best, and the management could be better done with a group of monkeys. To say I'm now a bitter ex-employee is an understatement.

My husband thinks I'm a little crazy for deciding to get into a different field of work after investing five years at that job. And he's partly right, I was well trained for my job in QC, I'm able to read all types of micrometers and calipers, roll gauges and indicators. I can use optical comparators, toolscopes, and CMM's with ease. I've had extensive training in blueprint reading, geometric dimensioning and tolerancing, statistical process control, and hell, even problem solving. Numbers were my forte. I was a whiz with a spreadsheet. I had a beautiful filing system.

I was the youngest in my department, and within three years I had more responsibilities than most of my coworkers. I was also the lowest paid. After my original supervisor was terminated he was replaced by a sexist, slimy manager, worthy of two-faced-politician status. I was young and female, so it's no wonder I ended up with all the work and no reward. I was too young to be taken seriously in meetings, and too girly to be given respect by my older male colleagues. Rather than being known as "Jinny", I was known as "little bitty pretty one", and gawked over by my two closest male coworkers. I never made a fuss over sexual harassment or discrimination, but I certainly could have.

While I'm sure I could find another job in that field, I don't want to. I'm sure not every company is like ours, but I don't care, I want out.

I'm better than that, dammit.

Since my husband works there, I do hope the company will change for the better. But for the people that have been screwed over like me, I hope the company gets fucked in the ass. Hard.

The blah blah blah's

2004-10-27T10:52:00.000-05:00

This season change is taking it's toll on me. I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning. I don't wanna do anything. I don't want to eat (anything healthy, that is), I don't want to leave the house, to cook, or even to write. If I could, I'd lay in bed or sit on the couch all day eating my favorite comfort foods like chocolate marshmallow ice cream or deep fried mushrooms and watch re-runs of The Golden Girls and Roseanne.

Of course, there is always another possibility: I'm just plain depressed. Whatever it is, if anyone has a cure for the "I don't wanna's", this girl would pay top dollar for it.

Or, if anyone would like to be the first to make me smile all day, you know where to find me.

Seasonal moods

2004-10-26T10:48:00.000-05:00

Last night was a lovely night. I let the dog out before bed and sat on the concrete steps, listening to the leaves rustling in the grass, and I looked at the moon. It was big and bright, shining through the silver clouds, no stars visible. But as I always say, the stars are for the romantics anyway, not a realist like me.

Lately I've been feeling completely lost. Like the ladybugs that are alive with the warm fall weather, meandering through the air with no destination. Just zig zagging and bumping through this big unruly world. Surviving.

Or, like the autumn leaves hanging from the trees with a weak grasp, until a burst of wind finally pulls them from their hold to fall to the earth, their fates unknown and unimportant. I feel like the dried up leaves I raked this morning, once green and healthy, but now dull and tired, tossed aside, like an old tire. Destined to be forgotten.

That's my girl

2004-10-25T16:35:00.000-05:00

Some nights you're breathing fire, some nights you're carved in ice

2004-10-22T15:02:00.001-05:00

My sex life seems to be the topic of conversation lately.

To be honest, I have very little sex to report. Yeah. It's been that long.

Truthfully, I miss the steamy romps in the kitchen or living room floor, or even a quick fuck in the shower. Lately, sex occurs only in the bedroom and only at night. I want to be spontaneous. I want my man to be unable to keep his hands off me. I want passion.

At night in bed, I'll watch him sleep, listening to the sound of his breath, his lips slightly opened, chest rising and falling. He never reaches out for me anymore and his arms never wrap around me like they used to. It's in the early morning that I sit awake in the sour disquiet of the hour and allow the tears to silently fall. I miss him.

I apologize for my dark mood. My thoughts right now are sporadic and jumpy. My head aches and my back hurts. I feel worn out.

What I need right now is a nice massage.

Is there a medic in the house?

2004-10-22T00:14:00.000-05:00

Something painful happened to me in the shower mere moments ago.

I undressed, hopped in the tub, and proceeded to wash my hair. I began working my hair into a creamy lather (as per directions) and that's when it happened. I felt a movement behind me, and just as I was turning around, I felt claws sink into my skin.

That's right. Claws. Apparently our cat snuck into the bathroom without my knowing it, and then into the running shower. And to make her presence truly felt, she clawed her way up my naked back.

And not only that, but she was angry. Clearly, she had no idea why water was raining mercilessly down on her and why she couldn't get a firm grip on my wet naked skin.

The angry red gashes on my back and legs I can certainly live with. However, I did not anticipate what happened next.

She then scratched her way down the front of me, using mostly her back claws, and raced like hell out of the shower.

Yeah.

There is now a two inch gash on my left breast. Right across my nipple.

Ouch.

And that's not the worst of it. In her wild flurry and my panic, shampoo had gotten into my eyes, so now I was bleeding from the breast, back, and legs, and to top it all off, I was temporarily blind.

And, in case you're wondering, shampoo and hot water stings like hell on fresh cuts.

Truth be told, I never dreamed my nipple would meet the wrath of an angry wet kitty. Damn.

Just a small town girl

2004-10-21T18:44:00.000-05:00

I went for a long walk tonight around the "new" part of town. I can't believe how much this little town is growing; roads are being formed left and right and the town homes are popping up like dandelions. I counted ten city lots for sale and at least seven roads that never existed before.

Our little railroad and mining town of under 800 people is really beginning to grow, which is a little saddening. Most city folks would say bigger is better, but I'm a small town girl at heart. I like the fact that a simple trip to the grocery store will result in me seeing numerous people I know. I even hate highways, I prefer the winding scenic backroads instead. I like seeing the deer graze as the sun sets, and I like not being afraid of my car being vandalized while it's parked along the street. I like walking into the town bar and seeing the regulars laughing and strangers getting to know each other. I like knowing I can take a walk late after dark without worry. I like not having to care about rush hour.

Most of my classmates from high school left this town long ago. I don't know why I've never had the urge to leave. I guess I feel like I belong here. It's a reflection of me, simple and un-complicated, slow paced and easy going. There's no rushing here, not like in the city. Just a small town with hints of big city mentality trying to smuggle its way in.

Of course, there's always another side to the coin. Because this is such a small town, rumors fly fast. When I was hit by a drunk driver, (Dude, don't drink and drive. Seriously.) I think half the town knew before my family even did.

It can be exasperating and annoying here, but it can also be comforting. I'd still choose it over the big apple any day.

On dying

2004-10-20T15:53:00.000-05:00

Cracking, splitting open, withering away.

At night in the green glow of my alarm clock, I'll stare at my hands, my arms, and imagine my strength rotting away under the surface. I imagine what disease or old age is like, and how it feels to watch your body melt away.

I always make a point of seeing the beauty in everyday, but I find it hard to see the beauty in falling apart, physically or emotionally or mentally. All the failings of flesh, emotions, and the mind. We are all aware it's only natural, our bodies can only grow weaker, more feeble, more fragile with time.

I imagine with enough pain or time, it would become easy to accept. Despite all the hard times, fatigue gives appreciation. Pain makes you aware, and from that comes gratitude for when the pain isn't there. That's the comedy of plight.

Light and dark. That's the beauty, the beauty in the horror of falling apart.

It's been six months since Sara passed. And even now, her strength in life still amazes me. And I miss her terribly.

I don't take any death lightly anymore. Animal, human, stranger, it's all the same to me. They are reminders that our time here is limited, and to hold your loved ones near. There's nothing in the world more important.

Ch-ch-changes

2004-10-20T00:42:00.000-05:00

I'm trying out a new template, so if anyone notices any bugs or glitches, please let me know by mailing me here.

I'm not sure if I'm happy with it. I might change the font and/or other minor details, but for now I guess it's good enough.

Just plain tired

2004-10-19T01:08:00.000-05:00

There comes a point when you feel you're being judged, be it physically or emotionally, or personally.

There was a time when I refused to show my picture online, and I'm close to going back to that. Letting strangers view your picture can leave you feeling vulnerable. And the bottom line is this: looks always fade in the end. Skin gets wrinkly and droopy, the body gets old and tired, and what you're left with is what's inside that old faded shell.

What you're left with is You.

And what you are is a mixture of a lot of things. How do you react under pressure, under tragedy? How are you to others, even when they're unkind to you? Are you unique, or just another sheep in the crowd? What sets you apart from the person next to you in line at the grocery store? Who do you love, what do you need? What do you want? Do you dare to dream? Are you comfortable with silence, with being alone? Are you brave enough to dance carelessly in a room full of critical strangers? Are you happy with what you've become? Are you courageous enough to stand up for the underdog, can you rise above the crowd?

I wish I could ask people these questions. We live in a world so impersonal, and I long to have intimacy, even with a stranger. I want to walk into a bar or library or store, and ask someone these questions and get an honest answer. I want to break down all walls and defenses and see people for who they are.

We are what we achieve. We are what we surround ourselves with. We are what we love. We are what we learn. And sometimes, we just are.

I want to tell people to never settle for less. That settling is an insult to the soul, and we should rage against it.

Then it dawns on me how hypocritical that is of me, and I wind up lost with an aching heart, rambling at 1 a.m. on a blog that no one reads.

Surprise: I do have standards

2004-10-18T22:04:00.000-05:00

After four martini's, I have come to a conclusion: the selfish people of the world have eaten all the good people, and that is why I can't find anyone of substance to talk to during my day.

Seriously, finding someone that can carry on an intelligent conversation is a job in itself. And what a shame that is.

I know I can be a bit of a tease or a shameless flirt at times, but I'm an excellent listener and a wonderful friend. I'm far from being eye candy and I wish more people would treat me like it.

Dammit. If people could take me seriously at least once, they'd see I'm a very independent woman with a really big heart.

I guess what I'm saying is this: you gotta have at least an ounce of charm, some wit, and a whole lot of respect to get my attention.

Is that really too much to ask for?

I still got it

2004-10-17T11:49:00.000-05:00

So last night I got all hussied up for a party thrown by a former co-worker, who I'll call Davin. And not just any co-worker. The man was one of the highest paid engineers in our particular plant, and also one of the most attractive, according to the majority of the females there.

He's older than me, late 30's or early 40's, dark hair, clean-cut beard, big blue eyes, and what I call a Santa Clause nose. He wore a black coat, jeans, and a cowboy hat. Normally I'm not a fan of cowboy hats, but he could definitely pull it off.

Anyways, it was a good party, despite the cold. He had a huge bonfire, lots of food, and plenty of booze. What more do you need, hey? (To give you an idea of how big the fire was, they were burning two old sofas. At once.)

And, I managed to find myself in Davin's bedroom, which my former co-workers are going to be green with envy once they find out.

In my defense, it sounds much worse than it is; he gave me a quick tour of his house when I asked to use his bathroom. But hey, it's not everyday I find myself in the bedroom of an older, attractive man. And sometimes, a girls gotta brag, yanno?

All in all, it was a good evening. Hubby laughed a lot, and so did I. He was in a good mood and I was happy and maybe slightly flirtatious.

And the way I figure it, what's good for the social life is good for the soul.

To the man at the gas pump:

2004-10-16T16:24:00.000-05:00

Why yes, my legs do in fact go all the way up.

Thank you for your interest and keen observations.

Regards,
Jinny

So I had a sex dream last night. But don't get too excited.

2004-10-14T10:59:00.000-05:00

Most women my age would dream of people like Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp, or hell, even the cute boy in line at the grocery store.

Oh no. Not me. I'm not that fortunate.

Instead, I had a sex dream about Louie Anderson.

That's right, Louie Anderson.

Hello? I mean, really, wtf?? A doughnut has more sex appeal than he does. I'm scared, people, I'm scared for my sanity.

It's no wonder my sex life is in a lull right now. Really, who wants to put out with thoughts of Louie Anderson in their head?

Frankly, only a spoon can remove that image from my brain. Ick.

My love and tears

2004-10-12T15:59:00.000-05:00

It's easy to spot a couple in love, and after watching my cousin and her wheelchair-bound boyfriend, I can't figure out why I didn't see their obvious happiness before.

I want to tell them, "You are very fortunate to have each other", but it would be taken as a compliment of them and their worth of each other. That's not why I would say it. I would say it meaning that any person is fortunate to have the love and friendship they have. And that I envy them for the trust they share.

They no doubt lay asleep together as I sit awake and alone thinking these things. I never know if the tears are for their beauty and my love of them both, or for my ugliness and love of everything.

Why I shouldn't drink

2004-10-10T10:15:00.000-05:00

Friday night I was dragged to the local bar for a party thrown for my mom by her coworkers. She found another job after 22 years at her current one, so they decided a big send off would be appropriate.

In my defense, I didn't want to go. I was perfectly content to sit at home in front of the tv. Or read a book. Or sit at the computer. Or a million other things I can't think of right now. But hubby convinced me to go along.

It started off innocent enough. A few drinks, a lot of laughs, a little music. And hey, I didn't pay for a single drink.

And that was my problem.

People were buying me drinks left and right. Before I even finished one, there was another waiting. Let me tell you, that's a good way to get hammered.

And hammered I was.

A few of us decided to leave Ward's Bar, and head off to Woodhill Lodge. I have no memory of how I got there. All I remember next was seeing a bunch of old friends from high school, and from then on I was dancing my ass off.

And I just know I made an idiot of myself.

I have no idea what time I got home. I'm told one of hubbies friends dragged me home, where I spent the next half hour puking in the bathroom. I probably would have fallen asleep on the bathroom floor if I was allowed.

And let me tell you, I woke up in the morning with the single worst hangover I have ever had. Splitting headache. Bed spins. Nausea all damn day. I looked like hell, and I felt like hell.

And the worst part is I just know I made a fool of myself, so in addition to nursing a hangover, I've been nursing a bruised ego as well.

The template search

2004-10-07T13:32:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to find a new template for this blog all morning.

I've searched high and low, but I can't seem to find anything I'm satisfied with. Either the colors aren't right, or I don't like the style. Or I don't like the title that's already on the graphics, or I don't like the set-up, or colors, or blah blah blah.

Surely you can see my dilemma.

And if it weren't for my ignorance, I'd just make my own, but I have no idea where to start. I have minimal knowledge in CSS and HTML, so I'm kinda stuck with what I have for now. It's just frustrating because I have so many ideas and nowhere to channel them.

Sigh.

My mementos

2004-10-06T17:38:00.000-05:00

Every year for my daughter's birthday, I write her a nice long letter, seal it in an envelope, and pack it away in a keepsake box that I keep in my closet. It's become my tradition. The letters aren't anything terribly profound, mostly they contain lessons learned, my observations of her growing up, and my hopes for her future. Our future.

Someday, when she's an adult, I'll give all these letters to her so she can add them to her own keepsake box, or memory bank.

There's not many things I keep private, but that box in my closet is strictly mine. It's where I keep the little pieces of myself. My first love letter. Pressed flowers from my prom corsage. A lock of waist-long hair from when I cut it off at chin level. My cats collar and tags. The last picture taken of me and Sara before she passed. The green velvet box that held my wedding ring when my husband first proposed. Newspaper clippings from when Andy committed suicide. The pay stub from my first job at the local Pizzeria. A picture of my mother when she was my age, with the Colorado mountains in the background and me on her hip, goofy grin and all. A wisdom tooth. The hospital bracelet during my stay in the maternity ward. The wake notices for every funeral I've attended. My senior yearbook. The necklace from my first boyfriend. Birthday cards. Etc., etc., etc.

I've been accused of being a sentimental pack-rat, and I'm forced to agree. There's just something about pulling out an old box of memories from time to time that I really enjoy. It makes me wistful, bittersweet, thankful, yadda yadda yadda.

If you're a sentimental dork like me, I'm sure you understand.

A picture is worth a thousand words

2004-10-03T21:32:00.000-05:00

I love vintage photography.

I'm not sure what it is that I love about it; if it's the history behind it, or if it's the subjects themselves. I particularly like portraits. There's something lovely and truthful about an unsmiling face, as was the norm in 1800-1900 photography.

I'm a collector, or so I fancy myself. I do have quite a few old photographs, most at least 100 years old, thanks to eBay and various antique shops. I see so many questions in these photos: Who were they? What kind of lives did they have? Why are these pictures in my hands and not their descendants? My questions are never-ending.

The picture below is by far my favorite one. It's not as old as many in my humble collection, but there's something I really like about it. Perhaps it's the small smile on the woman's face, or her eyes looking into the camera, or the overall quality. Whatever it is, I think she's lovely.

I look at this picture and I can almost see her in motion. I can picture her laughing, a drink in her hand, her black dress lightly brushing the ground. I can picture her walk, a gentle sway easy in nature. I can see her turn, slowly raising a hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. I can see her blink.

I'll never know who she was, that much I'm sure of. But this is why I love these photos; there's an unknown story behind each one. When most people would see them as just an anonymous old picture, I see a mystery. I see personality. I see history.

And I see life.

What a lazy Sunday afternoon produces

2004-10-03T15:23:00.000-05:00

I really love art. I just wish it came more natural for me. Sigh.

Better than 'America's Funniest Home Videos'

2004-09-30T22:13:00.000-05:00

Normally I try to stay away from politics as much as possible on here.

After all, there are countless blogs out there dedicated to just that. And I'm pretty certain about who I'll be voting for, although I refuse to say who on here. (Politics are dicey. And I don't need hate mail, thank you very much.)

However, I do believe it's immensely important to stay informed, especially with the election coming up, so it's no wonder I sat down tonight to watch the presidential debate.

As serious and important as debates are, I couldn't help but find this one a little humorous. Alright, I couldn't hold back my giggling while watching Bush appear unable to understand the fact that no one was going to applaud during his many, many pauses. And I was actually surprised to find Kerry unflustered and speaking in measured, calm tones.

If you missed it, here's a recap: Bush was full of ums and ahs while Kerry ran rhetorical circles around him.

Honestly, I felt like I was watching an election runoff for the junior high office treasurer.

What made me laugh:

Kerry: "When we went in (to Iraq), there were three countries: Great Britain, Australia, and the United States. That's not a "Grand Coalition"; we can do better."

Bush: "Well, actually he forgot Poland."

And a couple highlights:

Bush's line: "I know how the world works."

Well, thank goodness for that.

Kerry's line: "I'm gonna do it in four years."

Heh. Do it all night long, baby.

A day in the life...

2004-09-29T17:31:00.000-05:00

8:32 a.m. I'm awake in bed, having been jerked from my slumber by the dog barking at my feet. All I can remember from my dream is an old house, Victorian era, complete with ornate carvings and complex molding. Crystal chandelier in the foyer, wooden banister with a curving staircase. I pause on that for a moment, and then all is gone.

8:52 a.m. I'm in the kitchen, beginning my duties. To the table for breakfast, Special K with skim milk for me and Trix for Lexi. Lexi's eyes are on the TV - Nickelodeon channel? Not sure. Dora the Explorer is on, "vamanos!", Lexi exclaims with enthusiasm. I chuckle to myself, thinking my daughter probably knows more Spanish than I do. Dora and Boots are yelling "Swiper no swiping, Swiper no swiping, Swiper no swiping!" and I wonder why she doesn't just whip out a tire iron and take care of his thieving ass once and for all.

9:13 a.m. I fire up the computer, check my email, and surf the web for the latest news. I'm feeling inspired, so I try to finish the poem for my critiquing group. I come up with the last bit:

"You talked
in tongues, shuddered and seized, transformed
before me, the alchemy of sex.
The orange moon was an open eye, black-veiled
by pines and sparrows. I clasped the warm blanket
of your back, and returned your gaze, quietly counting
the hanging stars."

And I am pleased.

10:03 a.m. I begin cleaning, starting with the messiest room in the house; the kitchen. Dishes have been left on countertops, on the stovetop, in the sink. Bits of food still stick to their surfaces. I cave and let the dog lick them clean. His eyes smile at me.

10:05-10:31 a.m. I plunge my hands into the soapy water, and begin my least favorite task. By the time I'm done, my fingertips are like prunes. I finally decide to get dressed and realize with displeasure most of my clothes are dirty, thusly deciding today is now laundry day. I search for some clean clothes, settling on a pair of tight black stretch pants and a blue babydoll tee instead of my regular jeans. I get the hamper out and start sorting the colors/whites for the eager washing machine.

11:32 a.m. The dog is a black blur as he races to the door to greet my husband. Lexi soon follows, as do I.

12:00 p.m. "Brrrrrrrrrrm", the gentle purr of my car, while driving to the grocery store. I sing loudly and without guilt to the radio. I'm happy to find a parking space right in front, and I take it greedily. While looking for cookies 'n cream ice cream, a young boy runs into me, nearly knocking me into the glass door that contains the frozen foods. His mother apologizes repeatedly. I wink at the boy as I tell his mother not to worry.

12:14 p.m. The cashier makes small talk with me, as a butch-type girl bags my groceries and flashes me a shy smile. I smile back as I'm handed my receipt and tell them both to have a good day.

12:26 p.m. After dragging the groceries inside, I'm appalled to find dirty dishes already adorning the countertop. I peek in the living room at the culprit and consider voicing my disturbance. But, knowing all too well some fights just aren't worth fighting, I continue with unpacking the groceries.

12:35 p.m. Lunch time. I heat up some leftovers from the night before and take little pleasure in the faces I receive because of it. I tell hubby, "tough, it was good enough for you last night, it's good enough for you now." He sticks his tongue out at me and I giggle in spite of myself.

12:52 p.m. Time to workout. I leave Lexi to hubby's care, and retreat to the bedroom for some sweaty "me-time". I return 45 minutes later to take over my parental duties. Hubby kisses me goodnight and heads off to bed. I bring out the play-doh, and have more fun with it than Lexi does. I wish I were a kid again.

2:15 p.m. Nap time for the rugrat. I sit my ass at the computer, talk to my imaginary friends, and happily stay there until I hear the dryer buzz.

5:21 p.m. Lexi is awake and playing in her room. I let her watch cartoons as I mop the floors, pondering my worth as a woman. Surely life is more than cleaning, isn't it?

6:02 p.m. Hubby saunters out, looking sleepy, but alert. He announces he couldn't sleep, and plops onto the couch. I start supper, garlic chicken with pasta and breadsticks, and soon the comforting smell of baking chicken and Italian garlic fills the house. I contemplate making apple pie for dessert.

8:00 p.m. The hour of the beer. A Killians Irish Red, to be specific. I start another poem, but my heart isn't in it.

9:00 p.m. I foolishly switch to whiskey and diet Coke, tuck the girl in for a restful night of slumber, and return to the couch to watch reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond". I contemplate staying up late or crashing early, tumbling into REM sleep and finding myself back in that Victorian house. I imagine the men in that house smoking cigars, the air blue with smoke, and the women in pearls and long dresses, their voices laughing. They would say, "Hey! She's back! Join us for a scotch, won't you, dear?"

And I would, of course.

Josie's suggestion

2004-09-28T16:18:00.000-05:00

Someone recently asked me why I don't post any of the pictures I take, since I say I like photography so much. They suggested that when my words fail me, I may as well post a photo here instead.

So here goes.

Where's the cake?!

2004-09-27T16:37:00.000-05:00

My little girl turns 3 today. Happy birthday, sweetheart :)

To my husband

2004-09-23T22:13:00.000-05:00

I know you've been trying hard to quit smoking, and I applaud you for it. I know you work hard for all that we have. I know life stresses you out like it does everyone else.

But there's something I think you should know.

Just like you need your friends, and a life outside of this house, there's a few things I need.

You see, a girl needs to feel wanted. Needed. Loved.

A girl needs affection and some occasional gratitude.

A girl needs to feel sexy. She needs to feel special.

She needs your attention.

Because you see, this girl that cleans your house, and cooks your food, and does your laundry, and takes wonderful care of your daughter, has one little thing missing.

You.

You see, this girl is lonely. She misses your company. Your friendship. Your hand on hers.

So maybe you can remember that the next time she accidentally burns your supper, or when you catch her looking at you and can't figure out why. And maybe you can remember just why you married her in the first place.

And then, just maybe, you can try a little harder to keep her.

Sigh

2004-09-23T16:24:00.000-05:00

Usually I feel that I live this life to humble my spirit. Despite my awe, sometimes things are so sedentary, tame and bloodless that I feel I must be living this life to prove my patience.

Parenting 101

2004-09-20T15:09:00.000-05:00

One thing I've learned is that no matter what you do as a parent, your child is going to throw a fit at some point. It's expected. It's normal.

After all, a three-year-old can't say, "Mother, I disagree with your decision and would like the freedom to make my own."

Oh no. Instead they just fucking bite you.

Panic attack

2004-09-17T09:38:00.000-05:00

So yeah. It finally hit me, like a semi.

I start school in a matter of days. Days. I was reading through my textbooks in advance, and that's when it happened. I saw a picture of a nurse inserting a catheter tube into a mans penis.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

Honest to god, that image just never entered my head. In the perfect little world in my mind, handling peoples genitalia just never occurred to me.

I mean, what am I thinking?? I'm an idiot. That's all it is. I'm an idiot.

And now I'm scared silly because I'm wondering what else is expected of me that I don't think I can do. And worse, what if I just plain suck at nursing?

I'm picturing patients cringing at the mere sight of me. "Oh, here comes that nurse," one of them will whisper. There will be jokes about Nurse Hatchet. Children will run and hide. The men will protect their genitals with their food trays. Salad forks will become weapons.

(And yes, I'm completely aware that I'm over-reacting. Bite me.)

I just know I don't want to be stuck working at crappy factory jobs the rest of my life, but I'm horrified at the possibility it's all I'll be good at. I think that's what it comes down to, I'm afraid to fail at this, because I know what it will mean.

And not only that, but I want a job that's rewarding. Something to help build my confidence and help me break out of this shell I've put myself in. And now I'm scared I won't find that. I imagine it would be easy to lose sight of the reward when you're bogged down with cranky patients, urine, blood samples, and cocky doctors with unreadable handwriting.

And I have no idea if I'm getting into the right field of work. There's a great big knot of doubt in the pit of my stomach, and it's starting to ache.

Update: My classes have been delayed until November. Which I'm not too happy about, since my plans are postponed yet again, but eh, what can you do? It just goes to prove life doesn't always happen the way you think it will.

New neighbors

2004-09-16T13:47:00.000-05:00

Our neighbor recently had a stroke, and now she's incapable of caring for herself, so her grandson is moving into her house while she's away living with caregivers.

Which I supposed it's nice, considering she's not being forced to sell her home and all the memories that accompany it.

However, her grandson is no stranger to me.

I graduated with him. He was always rebellious and kind of a smart ass, and I remember him clearly.

Very clearly, in fact. I recall him in junior high, teasing me incessantly. I remember him stealing my notebooks. I remember ending up in detention because of him. I remember him pouring white-out on my new shirt on school picture day. I remember him in high school slamming my locker door shut just as I opened it. I remember him making faces at me every time I passed him in the hallway. I remember him tripping me while on my way to the front of the class to deliver a speech. I remember him calling me Ginger, which I hated, for years. I remember him snapping my bra in gym class. Oh yes, I remember him well.

The little punk.

I saw him for the first time in five years yesterday. I was immediately turned back into an awkward teenager, afraid he would notice me looking out the window at him.

So there I was, crouched down like a suspicious nosy neighbor, face practically pressed against the window screen, when my daughter enters the room and loudly says, "Mamma! What are you doing?". And of course, as my luck would have it, he turned to look towards our house. Panic washed through me as I dropped to the floor, smacking my chin on the window pane on the way down. I hope to god he didn't see me.

Christ.

Normally, I would probably go and say hello. After all, it's a small town and all my neighbors are on a first name basis with each other, but dang. Suddenly I'm back in high school, too afraid to even let him see me looking at him.

I'm back to feeling like the shy little girl that's afraid of the bully. Except now I live right next to him. Ugh.

Reconnecting

2004-09-14T16:09:00.000-05:00

Ironically, I accomplished a lot this weekend by not accomplishing anything.

Since being laid off, this was the first weekend in a long time that I've had any time off with hubby and the rest of my family. And even though we've had a ton of everyday things to do: yardwork, errands, cleaning, etc., we never actually did any of it.

Instead we reconnected. Went to a movie. Went bowling. Went out to eat for dinner. Took a walk. Made love. Accomplished a lot of little things we've been missing out on that a lot of people take for granted.

And I'm telling you, I couldn't be more happy to be laid off right now.

We spent yesterday traveling to various cemeteries taking pictures of my families headstones. Sounds morbid, I know, but I've been working on researching my family history and I keep thinking of how nice it will be for my daughter to have all the information she can about her roots. And now, she'll have all that - complete with pictures.

And plus, the amateur photographer in me loves taking pictures of old churches and graveyards. There's something so serene and peaceful about old cemeteries, and my camera can't resist it

Goodbye job, hello world

2004-09-08T18:00:00.000-05:00

I've been bouncing around all day between being pissed off, relieved, sad, scared, and hopeful. And it's not just because of PMS.

I was laid off this morning.

And that's all fine and dandy. I've been expecting it for awhile now; I'm not blind, I've seen how slow work has been.

It's the way I was laid off thats been eating at me.

My supervisor (who is a short balding middle aged man with a gigantic ass, which come on, that can't be just coincidental) brought me and my coworkers to our usual meeting in the conference room and annouced it to everyone. Which ticked me off a little because I'm the only one out of all of them affected. I mean, hello? It seems like common courtesy to me that when you lay someone off, you do it privately and one-on-one rather than in front of all their coworkers. And then I had to sit through the rest of the meeting, while they discussed business as usual.

And it's not a huge deal, I know. But it's a matter of principle.

And it's not even what's bugging me so much. It's the way he said it, with such disregard and lack of sympathy. What if I was someone who needed this job to pay the bills? What if this job was all I had? How would I feel then?

More importantly, how can he sleep at night after being such an openly gigantic prick?

And I know I've been expecting the layoff, and kind of relying on it with school coming up and all, but still. Principles. All about the priciples.

But, whatever. What's done is done. Tomorrow is my last day. I'll go in, empty out my desk, say my goodbyes, and finish out the rest of the day with vacation pay. And I won't look back.

Joie De Vive

2004-09-05T07:33:00.000-05:00

Do you ever miss something so bad you almost ache for it?

At one point, I had family living in Louisiana and spent some time in Lafayette, right in the heart of Cajun Country. I miss it terribly.

If you've never been to Louisiana, I highly recommend it. I haven't been there in years, but it's a place I'll always be fond of. Perhaps it's the memories of my late grandfather that have me so wistful and connected to the place, or maybe it's simply the place itself.

If you're not familiar with Lafayette, it's a lovely town nestled among forests, prairies, marshes and cypress swamplands, not far from the Gulf of Mexico. It's a city known for its Cajun and Zydeco music, beautiful gardens, marshlands and habitat, and of course its Cajun and Creole cuisine. I even love the language; the Cajuns being the largest French-speaking minority in the U.S.

From my experience, the people were all warm and wonderfully hospitable. They live simple, but rich lives, somehow transforming the atmosphere into instant comfort. There, alcohol, music, butter, cream, and big piles of fried seafood are the norm. In Cajun country, they work hard, play harder, and eat much - meals like gumbo, crawfish etouffee, seafood fricasse, sauce piquante, jambalaya, and macquechoux. Tobasco sauce is everywhere.

Lately the singular beauty of the bayous and swamps, alligators, cranes and herons, and even the sugarcane fields, haunt me. There's nothing like seeing the sun melt in the west, as rich and warm as molten gold, coaxing the marshes and swamps into a dim, hushed peace.

I miss it something awful.

Without a doubt, the surroundings are lovely and the Cajuns have a blend of mystery, love, pride, and tradition that I admire greatly.

But it's the simplicity there - the Joie De Vive, that I miss the most.

Negative energy?

2004-09-02T16:43:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me that maybe this blog focuses too much on the negative or the dark side of things. I know I come here to rant about work, or family, or whatever else is bugging me, and while it's my blog and if I want to bitch I have every right to, I don't want to give the wrong impression of myself.

If there's one thing I've learned, with the light comes the dark. It's the bad times that make the good times that much better. Life without darkness is not a life, but a farce. Our time here is limited, and the hard things in life are critical to our development as human beings. It teaches us humility, compassion, and a whole plethora of other equally important qualities.

I'm generally a very easy going person, but at times I can become a perfectionist, and anything less than perfect can magnify itself, if only in my eyes. Like perfection, an impossible expectation is for one to be positive in all aspects of life all of the time. If you knew me closely you would see I put forth a lot of effort to be as positive as I can be. In a lot of ways, I'm the rock in this household. Hubby comes to me for reassurance so often that I have to remain positive and firm; there's just no other option.

So the next time I bitch about life or money, or work and how much it sucks, please don't get me wrong. I'm happy for what I've been blessed with, but sometimes even the rock has to release its hold from the ground and do a little venting, even if the only way to do that is through a measly blog.

I've often wondered if anyone even reads this. I never started this with the expectation of anyone taking an interest in it; it's mostly just for me. I always assumed my problems and writings were rather ordinary and typical at best.

And from a distance, the ordinary never seems worth the while.

What's wrong with everyone?

2004-08-31T15:29:00.000-05:00

I'm in the mood to rant.

Boredom has sent me to chat rooms, and after seeing how many married men are willing to cheat on their wives, I'm more than discouraged. I bet within fifteen minutes of being in a chat room, I could find at least five men that are more than willing to meet up for some, as one man put it, "discreet passion". Probably more. It just amazes me.

I mean, my sex life isn't always fabulous or passionate, but for christ sake, you don't see me cruising chat rooms looking for an affair. And now I'm wondering if all men are like this, or if it's just a handful.

Another thing that I'm pissed about is something that happened this morning.

I took our dog outside for a bathroom break, like I always do, and there was a dog in our yard beyond our fence. It's not often this town has stray dogs, so I was a little curious about her. She was a beautiful rottweiler, not quite adult size, and immediately friendly and trusting. She had no collar, no tags. Oliver (our dog) loved her immediately; he's always liked other dogs, and we've considered adopting another simply because of that.

And then I heard a mans voice calling for her from behind the building by our house. She glanced away and then looked back at me, her expressive eyes telling me she didn't want to leave. I put my hand through the fence and she licked my fingers. I waited for the man to appear, preparing to make small talk about his dog.

It was then I saw the old red Ford truck appear. The road behind our house isn't used often, so you get used to being suspicious of vehicles you don't normally see, and this was one of those. A younger male got out of the passenger side and called for her to come. She ran away.

And that's when the driver got out of the truck and chased after her, yelling and cursing. She stopped and he managed to grab her, slipping on a choke collar as he did.

And I'll never forget what happened next. He pulled so hard on her collar that he was dragging her. "Stupid motherfucking dog, when I say come, COME, you piece of shit!" Her feet and legs were dragging on the grass.

I said "Excuse me!" to the driver, hoping to distract him from pulling on her so hard. He didn't even look at me.

He shoved her into the truck and I saw his arm raise. I shut my eyes as he brought it down, knowing exactly what he was hitting.

And without thinking, I crossed the yard to the truck, yelling "Stop! Please!". I could hear the muffled sound of his yelling voice.

They sped off, the back of their truck filled with pallets that I assume were from the building they were parked at. The truck had Wisconsin plates, but I didn't catch the numbers.

Without a doubt, what I witnessed was nothing short of animal abuse. And I'm thinking they were up to something more.

Truthfully, I've been thinking about that dog all day, and it's making me sick.

I've always told my husband I think something must have happened to Oliver with his previous owners, for when you scold him he flinches, lowers his head, and backs away instinctively, as if preparing to be smacked. The shelter where we got him said he was found as a stray, but it's obvious he hadn't been one for long. He was perfectly housebroken, well behaved, and has a good disposition overall. I just wonder what history he has, what stories he could tell me. Was he abused at one point?

The thought that there are more people out there, abusing animals and children, just makes me sick.

I mean, god. What the fuck is wrong with people today?

This just isn't acceptable. It's 2004 and there's still abusers and child molesters and robbers walking the streets. It's intolerable.

And I can find no excuse for them. Burn them all.

Breaking the cycle

2004-08-30T17:25:00.000-05:00

When I was little, after moving back to Wisconsin from Colorado, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents house. My parents both worked different shifts, so to spare on babysitter expenses I was sent to live part-time with them.

My grandfather has always been the family favorite. He's the one you go to for advice. And, by a lot of standards, he has accomplished a lot in his life. Since his retirement, his passion (along with carpentry) is making grandfather clocks. For as long as I can remember, people have been bringing him clocks to fix. He has a knack for gears, and repairing what you or I would deem not worthy.

Before his retirement, he owned his own ice cream shop, and before that a jewelry store, and before that a car dealership. His business skills are something I envy. He's always had a strong interest in geology, and before long he was acquiring rocks of all kinds, cutting them in half or quarters, and I was always amazed at the crystals inside.

I have a diamond ring and an emerald ring designed by him. They are possessions I plan on having for life, not because of vanity, but because of remembrance and love.

My grandmother is quite opposite from him. She comes from a family that's a little...different. She's a very opinionated, strong woman. To put it simply, she's fearless. She will speak her mind, no matter the cost. Tact is not something she was blessed with. One might say she has no compassion for another persons' feelings, and it's true that I've never seen her show remorse for a hurtful statement.

As a young girl, she was devastating to me. I could never live up to her expectations. She had the notion that girls were to be proper and clean and sugary sweet and nothing short of perfect. I was criticized on my physical and personality attributes constantly. My earliest memory is of her telling me I was fat, and no one would like me because of it.

I was no older than 5.

I have no idea what possesses a person to tell a child something like that, but I'm betting she was verbally abused as a child. They say that stuff goes in cycles.

At any rate, by adolescence I had a rather warped vision of myself. I had a low self-esteem, a poor self-image, and a sense that I couldn't accomplish anything. I believe that's the reason I was never involved in school or social activities, or why I never went to college after graduation, or the reason I never pushed myself for something "better". I simply didn't have the confidence. I didn't know how to flourish. And that made it easy to settle.

And yeah, it would be easy (and maybe even justified) to point my fingers at the person I think is responsible. But truthfully, it's me who is responsible for the person I become. There are countless people who have had terrible childhoods, experiences I can't even imagine, and they turn out to be respectable, healthy, decent adults. They choose to break the cycle.

Thusly, I've chosen to be the person I want to be.

You're now looking at a student of Wisconsin Indianhead Technical College, enrolled in a Basic Nursing course. It's a baby step, I know, but nursing was always something I've wanted to get into and I've finally taken the first step. Gotta start somewhere, right?

So I'm thanking my grandmother for my late start. She made me realize the hard way that I have something deep inside me I never thought I had:

Determination, self-worth, and even a back bone to go with it.

The butterflies

2004-08-27T06:54:00.000-05:00

So after work this afternoon, I get to go here for a meeting and testing.

I'm already nervous. Ugh.

Who said suppression was out of style?

2004-08-26T10:47:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting at work thinking, "Geez. I leave for a week and everything goes to shit."

I mean, god damn. What a mess.

You couldn't cut the tension here even with a chainsaw.

I'm sure that sounds like an exaggeration. And yeah, all I really do is sit in my cubicle and try my best to look busy and cooperative, which isn't overly stressful. But everyone is on edge lately. Grumpy. Bossy. Tired. Us minions make faces at the supervisors the second their backs are turned. There's a tack on the floor outside my cubicle and I'm waiting with anticipation for a bigshot to get it stuck in his shoe.

And right now I'm sitting in amazement, for an engineer walked by, spilled his coffee all over the fucking floor, and kept walking without a second glance. WTF? I want to grab his tie, yank his face down into the brown puddle and teach his overpaid ass to never make me clean up another mess of his as long as I live, so help me god.

But the thing is, it's perfect symbolism for what the management is like in our company. They make a mess and we clean it up.

If you knew the bullshit going on here right now, you'd wonder why someone hasn't tried to sabotage it yet. It took working here to fully understand why some people do just that. I guess the temptation sometimes is just too much.

The only lesson I've learned from working here is: If you disagree with your supervisor or manager, keep your mouth shut. Got a suggestion? Keep it to yourself. Want to justify yourself? Don't bother. Think you deserve a raise? Think again.

They want followers here. People to do the dirty work with a tight tongue. God forbid you have an idea of your own.

I can't wait to get out of here.

A blessing and a curse

2004-08-23T17:48:00.000-05:00

So, I mentioned in the last post that we went camping last week. Which was both good and bad. While I was finally given a break from work and adult duties, taken far from home to spend my time in the beautiful northwoods, and given the chance to do nothing but the things I love, it all turned out to be a curse in disguise.

We left on Sunday morning, the day pops-in-law finally moved out. The clouds parted. The Gods smiled. Even the angels themselves were singing.

Beautiful.

And the week continued as such. Lazy days. Sunshine. Nights by the warm glow of a campfire. Waking up to nothing but birds singing. A constant feeling of peace. Not a worry in sight.

Until we got home.

And that's when I learned how funny life is. One minute, everything makes sense. You're buckled in your seat, tray in its upright and proper position, and you, perfectly on course, your destination in sight and practically within arms reach.

And that's when life sneaks up on you and pulls its little tricks. Kicks the back of your seat. Whines in your ear. Gives you enough turbulence to turn your calm stomach into a knot of worry.

How predictably unpredictable. And yet perfectly fitting.

What I came home to was not the picture of peace I had in mind when I left. Instead I came home to a dead cat, a job I may not have much longer, co-workers who have been fired, classes I registered for that are completely full, and a pile of bills on the counter demanding my immediate attention.

Oh, joy.

And while, its not the end of the world by any means, it's put a lot of my plans completely off course. I was relying on my classes to get me out of the senseless job I have now, but now that's delayed by at least three months. It will be a miracle if I'm not laid off by then.

And now, I'm more stressed out than I was even before my vacation.

Last week

2004-08-23T15:18:00.000-05:00

My entire time last week was spent camping, hiking, swimming, and jetskiing up at Minong. I'd love to post a bunch of pictures, but I can't seem to figure out how to post more than one at a time.

Anyways, I'll write more later. All I can say right now is thank god for much needed vacations.

Insane in the membrane

2004-08-08T11:56:00.000-05:00

I haven't been in the mood for writing lately. Mainly because I'm slowly going insane.

My father-in-law has been living with us for the last 2 ½ months and he's driving me crazy. I've become completely irrational and I'm bordering on neurotic. Seriously. Just ask my husband.

And it's not that I don't like him. I do. He's a nice guy. But he's not the greatest person to live with. He's been living with us rent-free, helps himself to our food, and doesn't clean up around the house. On top of that, we've been paying for his storage garage and miscellaneous other items.

Not to mention I'm just plain tired of cleaning up after another person.

A person that plugged up our toilet so badly that we had to take the entire thing out of the bathroom.

A person that let our two year old daughter play outside alone.

A person that nearly lost our new dog.

A person that help put up our fence, while he was drunk, resulting in obviously crooked posts and poor workmanship in general.

A person that has worn butt-prints into our den's futon. Seriously.

A person that by the end of Saturday and Sunday has left a 24-pack worth of empty beer cans strewn about the kitchen counter.

A person that scuffed up my new kitchen floor, and then tried to scrape it off with his pocket knife, the end result being worse than if he had done nothing.

A person that checks our mail everyday and stashes it with his junk, resulting in bills that we never see until a month later when he says, "Oh yeah, I forgot to give you this" .

A person whose favorite saying is, "Get 'er done!". (Really, it was funny the first 12 times, but now it's just annoying.)

And that's not all. The other day when I came home from work, my daughter was hanging halfway out our porch screen. While he was supposed to be babysitting.

So you see, when one has to live with things like this on a daily basis, it's bound to make you a little nutty. Or crabby. Or in my case, insane.

And the fact that he constantly watches CMT is making me a little annoyed.

But that's not nearly as bad as accidentally seeing him in nothing but his underwear. Because now that image is burned into my brain and has left me permanently scarred.

Or, when he suggested I should sell my car after hearing me bitch about the bills that are now overdue because he failed to give them to us.

Or the fact that when he's drunk he becomes obnoxious and rude, and no one wants to be around him.

Or how when he's drunk, he says nothing but sexual jokes which makes me more than uncomfortable.

Or because he asked if we would post-pone our vacation to help him move into his new apartment.

Argh. To say I'm stressed out would be an understatement.

But honestly, if I have to walk into a house that looks like a bomb hit it while hearing "Get 'er done!" one more time, I'm going to poke my eyes out with an ice pick and rip my ears clear off my head.

But don't worry. I'll post pictures.

Greatness

2004-08-02T17:32:00.000-05:00

I have two cousins that are absolutely beautiful. Effortlessly thin. Perfect hair. Tall. Tan. Gorgeous. Flawless skin. Magazine-worthy, made-for-bikini bodies. And not only are they blessed with excellent genes, but they have magnetic personalities. Popular. Always wanted. Loved. Worshipped, even.

And then there's me.

I've always felt like the ugly duckling in the family. Not that I'm grotesque or anything, but next to them I'm not exactly jaw-dropping. I'm 5'2". Average weight. Curvy. Hair that's been known to work against me even to my best efforts. The occasional pimple. My quick-to-sunburn-but-impossible-to-tan, easy-to-bruise, overly-sensitive skin. And my personality? Quiet. Shy. Easy-going. The word "wallflower" comes to mind.

My cousins were the girls who always had dates, the girls with the confident smiles, the girls that never ate lunch alone, the kind that got invited to every single party.

And who was I? I was the girl in the background. The studious one. The one you'd go to if you needed class notes. I was the one with the mysterious smile. The girl who read history books for fun. The girl that took Physics without needing the credit. The geek, without the standard geek appearance.

And now my recently divorced grandma is taking one of my "terribly stressed-out" gorgeous cousins to Vegas. Completely free of charge.

Really, I can see how a single, young grocery cashier can be so stressed out to warrant a free vacation then say, a married woman with a young toddler at home who works 6 days a week and has selflessly given up her privacy and part of her home to her father-in-law since he became jobless and homeless regardless of the fact he's driving her crazy, because, dammit, that's what family does.

It's times like these I have to remind myself that I'm also the girl who never forgets a birthday. I'm the girl who does the dishes after Thanksgiving dinner so the chefs in the family can have a break. I'm the girl who volunteers to sit at the kiddie-table, the one that plays with the kids more than their own parents do. I'm the one willing to give the cranky Alzheimer-ridden great-grandmother a hug and kiss, regardless of the fact she doesn't recognize any of us anymore.

I've always held on to the belief that you reap what you sow. That what comes around goes around.

And while my cousins get vacations and parties and popularity, I have a wonderful husband and baby girl waiting for me at the end of the day.

Sure, they may have the freedom to switch colleges and majors whenever they please or date a different guy every week, but they come home to an empty house each night and still rely on other people to pay their bills. And while their homes may be filled with hip furniture and stylish decor paid for by their trusty credit cards, mine is filled with comfort and most of all, warmth.

People will say it's because they are too sophisticated and smart to focus on just one thing, that those kind of people are too restless to settle. And that they are destined for greatness.

One thing I know is I'm not destined for greatness; I've already been blessed with that. And so have they, they just can't see it with all the clouds in their eyes.

And that may be the only difference between them and me that's worth recognizing.

Conversations at 3 a.m.

2004-08-01T06:08:00.000-05:00

Coworker: "I love coffee."

Me: "MmmHmm."

Coworker: "Have I ever told you that you talk like summer and walk like rain?"

Me: "..."

Coworker: "I guess not."

Me: "..."

Coworker: "What??"

Me: "What does that even mean?"

Coworker: (shrugs) "Who knows."

Me: "..."

Coworker: "What???"

Me: "You're a bit of an odd one."

Coworker: "How do you think I got hired here?"

Me: "Good point."

Coworker: (smirking)

Me: "Hey wait...I work here!"

Coworker: (smirking more)

Me: "Easy there, Cowboy."

Coworker: (grinning)

Me: "Now what?"

Coworker: "You know what they say. Save a horse, ride a cowboy."

Me: "..."

"Jesus. I don't get paid nearly enough."

Coworker: "Neither does the horse."

Me: "How many cups of coffee have you had?"

Coworker: "Only five."

Me: "That's it. I'm cutting off your coffee supply."

Coworker: "That's okay. I've got No Doze"

Me: "The Midnight Snack of Champions."

Coworker: "Exactly."

Me: "God help us all."

Mail order husbands

2004-07-31T17:48:00.000-05:00

So, I was listening to KQRS this morning and they mentioned this web site for mail order husbands. They were obviously getting a kick out of it, so naturally I had to go see what the fuss was all about.

I read the following descriptions and just about wet myself:

"I'm definitely a classic romantic. I like a candlelight dinner, some quiet background music, and a couple hits of ether. I prefer a woman that has insurance and a car would be great as I need to make the occassional trip to Mexico to pick up "souvenirs"."

Or the guy from Romania saying: "I am looking for someone who can hold my attention, keep up with me, and who knows how to dress a wound".

Now tell me that isn't funny.

Meeting Madness

2004-07-29T20:41:00.000-05:00

Today at work, while sitting between two VPs (whose suits are probably worth more than my paycheck) I did two things. One: I compiled a list. I wrote down words or phrases used repeatedly that I have never, ever used in a sentence or spoken out loud. "instigate" "paradigm shift" "manipulation of proximity" "logistics of personal diplomacy" "positive external trending" "low volume accumulation" and so on.

And two: I watched some of the top management in our company eat their doughnuts and complimentary pastries carefully, concluding that there are two types of people: Those that eat their pastries in a timely fashion like normal folks, and those that find it necessary to poke at them with their forks every 3.42 nanoseconds, while carrying on a staredown as if the doughnut is an enemy about to sprout legs and whip out an AK47, then proceeding to pick off pieces crumb by crumb, as if actually chewing the food would cause a global disaster and end mankind altogether.

It took everything I had not to scream, "for god sakes, EAT THE FUCKING DOUGHNUT!", while cramming it maliciously into their face.

I mean, really, how hard is it?

It's sugary. It's sweet. It's edible. What's the problem??

Where I'll be this weekend

2004-07-28T18:23:00.000-05:00

When I'm not working this weekend or trying to catch up on sleep, I'll be here.

Yesiree, it's fair time in my neck of the woods. Though personally, I could easily skip all the rides and entertainment and go straight for the Demolition Derby.

If I had a junky old car, I'd totally enter to be a driver. I mean, I get to smash into other cars in front of a cheering crowd? In hopes of being the last remaining, in which I recieve a trophy and cold hard cash?

What's not to love?

FYI: Don't try this at home

2004-07-27T21:22:00.000-05:00

Picture it: it's a lovely summer evening, the sun is setting and a cool breeze is blowing gently through the window. You're in the kitchen, relaxingly cooking one of your favorite meals: Chicken Marsala. You think to yourself how lovely a glass of wine would be, and oh look, there's some Marsala sitting conveniently on your countertop. You grab a wine glass and pour yourself some, thinking to yourself, "Hey. It can't possibly be that bad."

Uh, yeah. It can.

For those of you that are too smart, sophisticated and cultured to try such a thing, let me explain what Marsala tastes like. Not to sound disgusting here, but really, how else can I say it?

Ass juice. It tastes like ass juice.

Ass juice in a fancy little wine glass. How on earth a meal as delicious as Chicken Marsala can be made from something so vile is really beyond me.

(NOTE: that's not meant to imply I've actually tasted ass juice. I'm simply using my keen sense of imagination while trying to convey how really horrible it tastes. Work with me, people.)

So the next time you hear me saying I'm making Chicken Marsala, please, for my sake, stop by with a nice bottle of Merlot or a harmless Chardonnay.

And while you're at it, bring along some wit and a charm I can't resist.

Seafoam-Green

2004-07-27T13:06:00.000-05:00

I was never really popular with the boys. Oh sure, I had my share of boyfriends, but I was never the most sought-after girl. Awhile after the situation with J, I became interested in a boy a few years younger than me. Now, when you're that young, a few years makes a huge difference. I was about to learn another important life lesson.

For the sake of anonymity, I'll call him Shawn. Shawn was, by most standards, cute and friendly, and very social. He was one of few people I knew that could strike up a conversation with anyone. He was always polite; he never failed to open doors for me, or offered to carry my bag, and he wouldn't even think of using harsh language with me. He was the first boy who ever treated me like that.

So naturally I was smitten.

Within months we started hanging out after school. There was an old brick building behind the town library that we would sneak into to talk and flirt. It was a small building nearly the size of a shack, painted seafoam-green and completely empty inside, with the exception of a few planks of wood we used for sitting on since the floor was covered with grime. It was in that small enclosure he first brushed my arm, causing goosebumps and a blush to rise on my skin. It was where I noticed how blue his eyes could be, and how curly his eyelashes were. When he smiled, his eyes smiled too. It was there we would share Doritos and apples picked from the nearby tree. His transportation was a bicycle the same shade of green as that building. I began to look for that color everywhere. I saw it in my sleep.

Soon we began "going out". It was the first and only relationship I was ever in that was purely emotional. Sexuality wasn't an issue, we never held hands or kissed. For the first time I was with a boy that didn't pressure me in any way.

Of course, maybe that's just because he was younger and had yet to reach the "maturity" of the boys my age. At any rate, I was sold.

But he wasn't.

It was crushing when he broke up with me. I didn't see it coming. I was blindsided.

And when I saw him the next day, it only confused me more.

"Whatcha doin' Jinster?" he asked, circling me on his bike, a smile on his face.

I was dumbfounded. Didn't he know I was crushed?

"Nuthin'"

"What's wrong? What happened?"

God. Did he have to ask?? I wondered if all boys were this clueless.

I didn't speak.

"Is it about yesterday?"

I turned and saw him, blue eyes crinkled with concern, worry in his voice, and I had to look away.

"Don't do this. You know it doesn't really change anything."

Huh? It changed everything! How could he not see that?

"Talk to me. C'mon."

"Why," I asked angrily, "don't you like me anymore?"

"But I do," he insisted.

"You dumped me!" I exclaimed, tears now forming in my eyes.

He looked away and was silent, a stricken look on his face.

"I'm just not ready."

"Not ready? For what?"

He sighed, "a relationship."

I didn't know what to say. It dawned on me I was the first girl he was ever involved with. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind.

Then, he melted my heart.

"You know I think you're beautiful, don't you?" he asked quietly, a blush spreading on his cheeks. His voice faded to a whisper, "and I don't just mean on the outside."

I stepped closer to him, studying his face. The air was thick and the sun was setting. His face was golden as he looked at the ground.

"No, I didn't know that," I said, my voice quiet. He looked at me then, our faces now inches away. I wanted to kiss him then, and he knew it. The look of conflict and fear on his face said it all.

I realized it wouldn't be fair to kiss him then, or to continue in a relationship he wasn't ready for, even though I had strong feelings for him. I owed him the same respect I should have been given when I was with J; he just wasn't ready, at least not now and not with me.

The last thing I remember about that day is watching him ride off into the dusk, his seafoam-green bicycle fading into the evening.

I never did tell him I loved him.

And now, if I were to make a painting of first love, it would be seafoam-green and would have curly eyelashes with blue eyes.

J

2004-07-25T21:57:00.000-05:00

By the time I was a freshman in high school, I became more and more interested in boys. After a well-known senior on the football and wrestling team showed an interest in me, I was on a mission. Most people would describe me as shy, so I don't know how I managed to approach a senior and ask him for his phone number, but I did it. And called him that very night. Before long he was giving me rides to school in the mornings, although we never declared ourselves as a couple. I was fine with him seeing other girls, because that meant I could flirt with other boys. No problems, eh? After all, I was much too young to be committed, and I was just beginning to date boys. But it wasn't long before I saw a different side to the popular senior, who I'll simply call J.

J was a large guy, tall and big enough to be declared heavyweight on the wrestling team. He was friendly and quick with a joke. He dressed preppy and was a part of the in-crowd that I never quite fit into. But being a freshman dating a senior gave me more respect than most of my peers, who were putting up with initiations and pranks, even though the school had rules against it. I'm not sure how my mother felt about my seeing him, and I can't recall if I was honest about his age or not. Probably not.

Long story short, I began going to his house after school, where we'd make out. It was a confusing time, I felt pressured to go further and further with him, and once I talked to him about it. He told me to trust him, and being so young and naive, I did just that. I should have known better. I knew I didn't love him and he didn't love me. It was all too casual. It simply didn't feel right. But, stupidly, I did it anyway.

When I lost my virginity, my self-esteem hit an all time low. Every time I had sex with him after that, a part of me faded away. My innocence was gone.

We drove out to the lake one night because I was upset about an argument I had with my mother, and he said he'd make me feel better. It was when he kept trying to kiss me even though I told him to stop that I began to get scared. He said he was just trying to make me feel good. "You're just trying to make yourself feel good!" I countered, becoming angry with his attitude. He was silent.

I thought that would be it, I thought he understood I was in no mood for making out. But it wasn't.

He leaned over and tried to unbutton my shirt. I pushed his hand away and told him to take me home. I was getting pissed.

"Not 'till we're done," he said, looking at me sternly, a firm hand now over my breast. It was then the panic washed over me.

"I'm not in the mood, goddammit, now stop it! You're scaring me!" My voice was shaky.

My hand went instinctively to the door handle, pulled on it, but the door was locked. I reached to unlock the door, but he grabbed my wrist, easily encircling it with his large hand.

"You're only hurting yourself," he growled, "stop fighting it."

And when he crawled over me I knew I was pinned. He had an easy 90-pound (or more) advantage over me. I closed my eyes, my fear paralyzing my body and my panic nearly suffocating me. All I allow myself to remember after that is feeling nauseous.

I never spoke of what happened for years. I kept my distance from J after that, and tried not to show my fear.

I saw J again last year, while hubby and I, with a few co-workers, stopped at the bar for a few drinks. He made small talk and sounded cheerful, but he didn't look me in the eye.

I often wonder if he ever thinks of that night 9 years ago and if he has any remorse.

Looking Back

2004-07-24T13:28:00.000-05:00

Brian was the shy blonde boy that lived down the street from me. He was generally quiet, a good student, kind of a geek and not terribly good looking; he was balding by the time he was 16 and had a bad case of eczema. He'd already started his own business while still in high school, building and fixing computers, and by age 17 had timeshares in condo's in Florida. We were never very close, but we spent many evenings talking or working on school projects, spilling over books in the corner of his parents' small kitchen. Whenever his friends planned trips to the Science Museum, he would always invite me.

"So...do you think you'll want to go?" he'd ask, eyes hopeful.

"Um, I dunno. I think I might be busy that day" I'd reply, trying to be nice.

"Oh...Well, we're going to get dinner afterwards and I thought maybe we could go together. Of course, I'll pay so you don't have to worry about that."

"Ahh, I really wish I could..."

"Oh...Well maybe some other time."

I don't know why I never went out with him. In school, we would always pair up whenever we could for projects; we worked well together. We would eat and share lunch often. It was tradition for us to go trick-or-treating every Halloween. Each year, we would stop by the park after it got too late and he'd push me on the swing. We'd do that for hours, talking and sharing secrets well into the evening. Perhaps Brian misread my feelings for him; it was obvious to everyone including me that he was falling fast. I warned myself to tread lightly. This was dangerous ground.

As much as I wanted, I just couldn't like him that way in return. I noticed the way he looked at me when he thought I couldn't see, the way he would watch for me at school, the rose he gave me for Valentine's Day in the middle of Algebra class. The way he beamed when I hugged him for the first time. He was a sweetheart, but I wasn't feeling what he was feeling. The mere thought of kissing him was an unpleasant one; I simply wasn't attracted to him like that.

On graduation he wrote in my yearbook, "See you at the 5 year reunion! Wink, wink."

My reunion was last week, and I didn't go. But, for some reason, despite all my other former classmates, he's the only person I'm even remotely curious about.

I wonder if it's because I haven't had an admirer since him, or if I simply miss his friendship. Or both.