Not that I've ever lacked in the humility department, but boy when those reminders hit you, they can hit you pretty hard.
I have a crush on a nice man. He's handsome and charismatic. That's most of what I know about him, but it's enough for a crush. I've had a history of being ... let's say above average with the pick-ups. I can hit on a fella. I can catch him off guard, flatter him, and be charming. I know who I am, and am comfortable in my skin.
Not tonight, friends! It was a flashback to junior high. I'm surprised I was able to maintain eye contact, it was so terrible. I went to see him in a show. He did well, and I congratulated him and quickly morphed into Awkward Annie. (Oh she's real.) When I finally spit out the date question, he was quick to say yes. I think it was the eye shadow. I got these pretty peepers from my grandparents. Thank gawd they were there to back me up tonight, because there wasn't much else going for me, unless you dig the bumbling sheepish type.
No hubris here, but I do have a date. So there's that.
Tuesday, April 09, 2013
Thursday, November 01, 2012
2 steps forward....
So. I decided to go back to school to become a therapist. And then I didn't. In part, the excitement waned. In part, my resolve waned. And in part, I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
I started digging a little more and found a video online about what it's really like to become a marriage & family therapist. It was not pretty. So I need to do some more recon with those I know who are actually in the field. There are other factors boring enough that I won't get into them here, but for now I'm semi-comfortable with where I am.
And on the even scarier side, if this isn't my calling, what is? Where is it? How on earth do I find it? I am SEWWW jealous of those who just know what they want to do. Following a passion, even in a scary, challenging way, is still a journey with a lot of excitement and fuel. I spin my wheels a lot. But don't want to complain - too much to appreciate.
On to the real reason for this post. I'm becoming that wise, witchy woman I always feared/admired, one step at a time. I read about a concoction that helps ward off colds when you feel one coming on. It's a cup of cold water, a tablespoon of organic apple cider vinegar, a teaspoon of honey, and 1/10 of a teaspoon of cayenne pepper. Sounds like a good boost for almost any occasion, so I decided to try it tonight. I can feel things moving around in there, but am not uncomfortable. I'm impatient to see how I feel in the morning.
In the meantime, I can't help but think of all those stereotypical movie scenes where someone has an ailment, and ole' Aunt So-and-so or granny or that kooky neighbor says in a gruff voice, "Here, drink this." You can tell it smells awful and looks weird, but the person always drinks it, and something amazing always happens. (Remember in the Neverending Story? Maybe Harry Potter? Cocktail? It's everywhere, man.)
And now I have my own brew. It's not a calling, but I'll take a quirk. Just wait until I go grey. I'm going to be SO interesting.
I started digging a little more and found a video online about what it's really like to become a marriage & family therapist. It was not pretty. So I need to do some more recon with those I know who are actually in the field. There are other factors boring enough that I won't get into them here, but for now I'm semi-comfortable with where I am.
And on the even scarier side, if this isn't my calling, what is? Where is it? How on earth do I find it? I am SEWWW jealous of those who just know what they want to do. Following a passion, even in a scary, challenging way, is still a journey with a lot of excitement and fuel. I spin my wheels a lot. But don't want to complain - too much to appreciate.
On to the real reason for this post. I'm becoming that wise, witchy woman I always feared/admired, one step at a time. I read about a concoction that helps ward off colds when you feel one coming on. It's a cup of cold water, a tablespoon of organic apple cider vinegar, a teaspoon of honey, and 1/10 of a teaspoon of cayenne pepper. Sounds like a good boost for almost any occasion, so I decided to try it tonight. I can feel things moving around in there, but am not uncomfortable. I'm impatient to see how I feel in the morning.
In the meantime, I can't help but think of all those stereotypical movie scenes where someone has an ailment, and ole' Aunt So-and-so or granny or that kooky neighbor says in a gruff voice, "Here, drink this." You can tell it smells awful and looks weird, but the person always drinks it, and something amazing always happens. (Remember in the Neverending Story? Maybe Harry Potter? Cocktail? It's everywhere, man.)
And now I have my own brew. It's not a calling, but I'll take a quirk. Just wait until I go grey. I'm going to be SO interesting.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Good Grandma Time
What a lovely weekend. There was a baby shower back in Pekin, so I got to see lots of family, chase around lots of toddlers, and eat lots of good food. All that was a delight, but the best part was hanging out with Grandma. She and I are both more sentimental with Grandpa gone, and thinking about him all the time. Of course, I benefit from a zillion distractions back here in Chicago. She's there in their wonderful home, surrounded by the rooms and cabinets he built. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else, but ... you get it.
She wanted to go home from the shower fairly early last night, but then we stayed up and talked for over 2 hours. It was mostly family stories. Some funny, some sad. It was especially sad hearing about my brothers. She's said to me many times how proud she is of how my mom and dad handled us kids in the divorce. It wasn't until years later that I realized that it affected my brothers very differently than me. She talked about us saying goodbye to Dad at her place when he had to head back home, and Geno just crying and crying. She would take him into the house for a little while before sending us back to Mom's. I remember that being hard, too, but I was only thinking of myself at the time, not the boys.
Then I think about how Dom doesn't actually remember living with Dad when we were little. No wonder his take on things is so different! We talked about him for a bit, and then I called him on my drive back home and we had a nice long talk, too. Not about this stuff in particular, but real stuff. He seems happy, and I'm happy for him.
I came home earlier than I wanted to so I could finish my week's work for this terrible accounting class. I shouldn't say it's terrible, but I am woefully unqualified to take it. There should be a prereq. Guess what? There is a prereq starting next session. I got in just under the gun thinking I was really making out a winner. Turns out I only burned myself. So I'm going to drop it or withdraw. I know it's the right thing to do, but I hate this quitting feeling. Yuck yuck yuck.
Lately when I start to wallow like that, I think about friends who are struggling with real things - fertility issues, family loss, new life, new marriage, etc. It provides some pretty great perspective. Who cares if I quit a class? Who cares if I have a W on my transcript? It's not worth the stress.
So. Wine and bed. And maybe Buffy for some good distraction. 'Night.
She wanted to go home from the shower fairly early last night, but then we stayed up and talked for over 2 hours. It was mostly family stories. Some funny, some sad. It was especially sad hearing about my brothers. She's said to me many times how proud she is of how my mom and dad handled us kids in the divorce. It wasn't until years later that I realized that it affected my brothers very differently than me. She talked about us saying goodbye to Dad at her place when he had to head back home, and Geno just crying and crying. She would take him into the house for a little while before sending us back to Mom's. I remember that being hard, too, but I was only thinking of myself at the time, not the boys.
Then I think about how Dom doesn't actually remember living with Dad when we were little. No wonder his take on things is so different! We talked about him for a bit, and then I called him on my drive back home and we had a nice long talk, too. Not about this stuff in particular, but real stuff. He seems happy, and I'm happy for him.
I came home earlier than I wanted to so I could finish my week's work for this terrible accounting class. I shouldn't say it's terrible, but I am woefully unqualified to take it. There should be a prereq. Guess what? There is a prereq starting next session. I got in just under the gun thinking I was really making out a winner. Turns out I only burned myself. So I'm going to drop it or withdraw. I know it's the right thing to do, but I hate this quitting feeling. Yuck yuck yuck.
Lately when I start to wallow like that, I think about friends who are struggling with real things - fertility issues, family loss, new life, new marriage, etc. It provides some pretty great perspective. Who cares if I quit a class? Who cares if I have a W on my transcript? It's not worth the stress.
So. Wine and bed. And maybe Buffy for some good distraction. 'Night.
Saturday, September 08, 2012
Sunday, July 01, 2012
Which sounds better, hypocritical agnostic, or agnostic hypocrite?
I wish you could have come to church with me this morning. (I know.) The priests at this church are so darn good. The best line from this morning's homily was "Jesus never loses his peripheral vision." Nice one.
It was the story of the dude with the dying daughter, and Jesus came to help out. On the walk there, an outcast of a woman grabbed at his clothes because she wanted to be healed. Jesus stopped, healed her, spoke with her, then went and performed his miracle on the daughter.
Part of the focus of the homily, though, was the juxtaposition between the father - probably a well known guy in town - and this woman, who had been sick and shunned for over a decade. The priest compared her to the woman under the overpass, unseen by so many, who lives on the curb. The priest said that this story isn't about those people, though; it's about Jesus (as the Gospel stories usually are. Snort.) The father, who is used to being seen, had to wait while Jesus spoke to this unknown woman. The father was noted in the gospel by name. The woman was nameless. But Jesus sees everyone, said the priest. He never loses his peripheral vision.
And the homily continued with a focus on how we should follow that lead. How grace and happiness comes to us through serving, showing kindness to others, etc. And this is why I love this place. Just because I'm agnostic doesn't mean I can't take lessons away from the Bible. ALSO - oh jeez I almost forgot about this - he talked about seeing God's grace in others, etc., and said we can't ignore or push away others... and he specifically mentioned Muslims, illegal aliens, and our enemies. We have to seek God's love in and through them.
I love this. I'm not exactly "seeking God's love," but I'm seeking humanity. Commonalities. Grace, too. Everybody has it, but with some folks you have to dig more. I know, I'm throwing up a little bit, too, but these are my feelings.
There's this bit in The Preacher's Wife where they talk about coming to church to fill up every week. As if we have a gas tank where we need to replenish our resources in order to do good, see good, remember what's good, etc. This is what church should be, and what it never was for me growing up. After I grew up (snort again), moved out one my own, etc., I found that going to my parents' house and Grandma's house did this for me. It became my guiding church, refilling me on remembering life's real priorities.
And what I posted the other night about my new friend - that wasn't just a refill. That was a major overflow. It was amazing.
This morning was a lovely refill.
It was the story of the dude with the dying daughter, and Jesus came to help out. On the walk there, an outcast of a woman grabbed at his clothes because she wanted to be healed. Jesus stopped, healed her, spoke with her, then went and performed his miracle on the daughter.
Part of the focus of the homily, though, was the juxtaposition between the father - probably a well known guy in town - and this woman, who had been sick and shunned for over a decade. The priest compared her to the woman under the overpass, unseen by so many, who lives on the curb. The priest said that this story isn't about those people, though; it's about Jesus (as the Gospel stories usually are. Snort.) The father, who is used to being seen, had to wait while Jesus spoke to this unknown woman. The father was noted in the gospel by name. The woman was nameless. But Jesus sees everyone, said the priest. He never loses his peripheral vision.
And the homily continued with a focus on how we should follow that lead. How grace and happiness comes to us through serving, showing kindness to others, etc. And this is why I love this place. Just because I'm agnostic doesn't mean I can't take lessons away from the Bible. ALSO - oh jeez I almost forgot about this - he talked about seeing God's grace in others, etc., and said we can't ignore or push away others... and he specifically mentioned Muslims, illegal aliens, and our enemies. We have to seek God's love in and through them.
I love this. I'm not exactly "seeking God's love," but I'm seeking humanity. Commonalities. Grace, too. Everybody has it, but with some folks you have to dig more. I know, I'm throwing up a little bit, too, but these are my feelings.
There's this bit in The Preacher's Wife where they talk about coming to church to fill up every week. As if we have a gas tank where we need to replenish our resources in order to do good, see good, remember what's good, etc. This is what church should be, and what it never was for me growing up. After I grew up (snort again), moved out one my own, etc., I found that going to my parents' house and Grandma's house did this for me. It became my guiding church, refilling me on remembering life's real priorities.
And what I posted the other night about my new friend - that wasn't just a refill. That was a major overflow. It was amazing.
This morning was a lovely refill.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Rejuvinating
I don't want to forget anything about this past weekend because it was so damn revitalizing. I went to DC. I had some cool stuff happen that was work-related, but I want to focus on the more personal stuff first.
Friday night I saw The Normal Heart, written by Larry Kramer. You should look him up. The play was beyond moving, and I was affected. I'm still thinking about it and how it is changing how I spend my time and how I approach certain life issues. I'm a better person for having seen it. Really.
My darling Kurt brought me backstage and introduced me to some cast and crew members. I found myself utterly star struck upon meeting Patrick Breen, and acted quite the fool gushing over him. No regrets there. He was splendid.
Another cast member met was Jon - a sweet and brief encounter. I was informed that Jon is the kindest of the cast, and I soon learned this firsthand. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Saturday was brunch with a dear old friend in Dupont, then a stint in the American History Museum (where I learned more about gay rights in history), and back to the theater for The Music Man. It was more charming than I remembered, and it warmed my heart. I had a lovely theater companion in the comp seat next to mine as well - bonus.
After both shows Kurt and I went back to his place to catch up, gossip, and generally enjoy life. It was good and fun and easy.
Sunday: slept in, lollygagged the early afternoon away, and spent the rest of the day at the pool at Traci's. Her husband's buddy (womanizer, but nice enough dude) gave me a ride back to my hotel and paid me some extra attention. I kept it super platonic, but extra attention is what it is - and it feels nice.
Monday was tough on my ego, so Kurt and I went out for drinks, dinner and drinks, and then more drinks. Jon joined us, and we hit it off like gangbusters. Here's the thing. I'm lucky to have found several really strong friendships, but as you age, new strong friendships are rare. This was one of those instant kindred spirit connections. Someone who you respect, who validates the qualities you love about yourself. I can't properly express how good this made me feel. This is the feeling I don't want to lose. And the fact that it was mutual made it that much dearer. My last text from him was, "... And let's be real friends. Please." He lives in California, so I might not see this person again, but it might not matter because his effect on me by being a friend to me in just that one night was so important. I know that sounds like I was in a bad place and needed a certain kind of friend, but that's not how this started.
Don't get me wrong. I can't imagine having stronger or more loving or more unconditional friendships than those I have with Kurt, Steph, and Emily. It ain't gonna happen. But for some reason this instant connection with this sweet man swept me off my feet, and apparently I needed it. I found myself spouting dating advice while simultaneously thinking, "you need to take your own advice, woman!" Everything made sense that night, and I was so confident and content.
Now that I think of it, this was reminiscent of when Uncle Bill came to DC for a trip and we had breakfast together. I don't remember what we talked about, and we didn't get to visit for too long, but we had conversations about life. I walked away from that breakfast feeling so good about who I am, who I choose to be, and the life opportunities that were there before me. This was the same feeling. I'm not sure what about this encounter prompted it, but I'm so grateful for it and I so don't want it to go away!
The next work day was much better, and I went home on a happy note, still on an emotional high from my night out with those swell fellas. I was airsick and carsick, but couldn't stop smiling from my lovely, real-life-filled weekend. I'm trying to stay on a roll of positive thinking, easy confidence, optimism, and faith. It waned a bit tonight when I hung out with Geno. He's sad and lonely, and I don't know that I am helpful. I want to be, but each person has to find their own way, and I don't know what his will be. That was a bit of a downer, because in some ways he's so proactive, while in others I can see him spinning his wheels.
Just writing this post has already been immensely helpful. I hope I can look back time and again and resurrect that feeling, that perspective. It's the perfect medicine. For everything.
Friday night I saw The Normal Heart, written by Larry Kramer. You should look him up. The play was beyond moving, and I was affected. I'm still thinking about it and how it is changing how I spend my time and how I approach certain life issues. I'm a better person for having seen it. Really.
My darling Kurt brought me backstage and introduced me to some cast and crew members. I found myself utterly star struck upon meeting Patrick Breen, and acted quite the fool gushing over him. No regrets there. He was splendid.
Another cast member met was Jon - a sweet and brief encounter. I was informed that Jon is the kindest of the cast, and I soon learned this firsthand. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Saturday was brunch with a dear old friend in Dupont, then a stint in the American History Museum (where I learned more about gay rights in history), and back to the theater for The Music Man. It was more charming than I remembered, and it warmed my heart. I had a lovely theater companion in the comp seat next to mine as well - bonus.
After both shows Kurt and I went back to his place to catch up, gossip, and generally enjoy life. It was good and fun and easy.
Sunday: slept in, lollygagged the early afternoon away, and spent the rest of the day at the pool at Traci's. Her husband's buddy (womanizer, but nice enough dude) gave me a ride back to my hotel and paid me some extra attention. I kept it super platonic, but extra attention is what it is - and it feels nice.
Monday was tough on my ego, so Kurt and I went out for drinks, dinner and drinks, and then more drinks. Jon joined us, and we hit it off like gangbusters. Here's the thing. I'm lucky to have found several really strong friendships, but as you age, new strong friendships are rare. This was one of those instant kindred spirit connections. Someone who you respect, who validates the qualities you love about yourself. I can't properly express how good this made me feel. This is the feeling I don't want to lose. And the fact that it was mutual made it that much dearer. My last text from him was, "... And let's be real friends. Please." He lives in California, so I might not see this person again, but it might not matter because his effect on me by being a friend to me in just that one night was so important. I know that sounds like I was in a bad place and needed a certain kind of friend, but that's not how this started.
Don't get me wrong. I can't imagine having stronger or more loving or more unconditional friendships than those I have with Kurt, Steph, and Emily. It ain't gonna happen. But for some reason this instant connection with this sweet man swept me off my feet, and apparently I needed it. I found myself spouting dating advice while simultaneously thinking, "you need to take your own advice, woman!" Everything made sense that night, and I was so confident and content.
Now that I think of it, this was reminiscent of when Uncle Bill came to DC for a trip and we had breakfast together. I don't remember what we talked about, and we didn't get to visit for too long, but we had conversations about life. I walked away from that breakfast feeling so good about who I am, who I choose to be, and the life opportunities that were there before me. This was the same feeling. I'm not sure what about this encounter prompted it, but I'm so grateful for it and I so don't want it to go away!
The next work day was much better, and I went home on a happy note, still on an emotional high from my night out with those swell fellas. I was airsick and carsick, but couldn't stop smiling from my lovely, real-life-filled weekend. I'm trying to stay on a roll of positive thinking, easy confidence, optimism, and faith. It waned a bit tonight when I hung out with Geno. He's sad and lonely, and I don't know that I am helpful. I want to be, but each person has to find their own way, and I don't know what his will be. That was a bit of a downer, because in some ways he's so proactive, while in others I can see him spinning his wheels.
Just writing this post has already been immensely helpful. I hope I can look back time and again and resurrect that feeling, that perspective. It's the perfect medicine. For everything.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Invasion
Since I am the center of the universe in this blog, everyone here knows that I cannot abide the house centipede. It freaks me out more than any other household bug. It's not the most logical nemesis. After all, they eat other bugs and practically never bite people. It's the appearance that gets me. They have so many legs that move so quickly they essentially flow. Stop. No. Stop.
Anyway. It's bed time here, and I noticed that there was a tiny tan-colored something next to my pillow, on the sheet. Kinda looks like a bug leg. I picked it up, held it under the light, and yes. It was a tiny bug let. I'm not as squeamish as I used to be, so I tossed it in the trash. No biggie. But then I remembered tucking my arm under my pillow the night before and feeling something hard, like a little piece of dried leaf or a tiny pebble. Maybe there's another bug leg under there. I'd better check, I told myself. So I lifted the pillow (not even dramatically, I swear), and there was a huge, smothered house centipede, with its legs all curled in, so you know it's dead.
I had slept on it. For how many days? I don't know! I touched it. I killed it. I touched it, and then I woke up and put my contacts in with those hands!
After I gave the body a proper burial, I started to notice how far around the bed some of the little legs had spread. Some of them were as thin as whiskers, so I'm not sure if they were leg parts or something else, but they were the same color.
It was a war zone. The dead were scattered everywhere. Could there have been more than one? No, I tell myself. Absolutely not. There's nothing for them to feed on here. I only get those roly-poly bugs, and nothing else.
As I attempted to pick up all of the pieces, I thought about the poor bug's family. Would they be appreciative of the care I was giving to these remains? And more importantly, have I seen too many Disney movies about bugs?
My sheets are changed, but jeez. Not the best news before bed.
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