Just like me

It's just like me to already be off track. Of course I have plenty of excuses. One of them being that I fell and busted my ass yesterday while helping D move my cedar chest into his truck.

So after I did my running around errands all I wanted to do was rest my sore muscles. Which is exactly what I did with my Mommy. We watched Julie and Julia a very charming movie and ate soup. It was nice. Then D came home and gave me a muscle relaxer and I was asleep by 83o.

Anyway, here are two little ones.

We(D and I) are like a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.

I am a spider monkey with Tourette's .

Brillant Idea

Scrap of Paper Mondays- I have lots of ideas for stories I want to write or blog about or some just dreams. I write most of them as I go through the day on whatever surface is available; little scraps of paper. Every Monday I am going to gather the scraps of paper and blog about it. Hopefully it will provide us both with a much needed laugh. (Though remember my track record for procrastination so maybe don't get too set on the whole Monday thing.)

Interrupted

I interrupt this blog post that was going to contain - haunted hotel stories, me learning something about myself, Santa Bar Crawl and more to report on our dog.

Chance our lovable rescue brendal pitt-boxer mix just tripped me as I was walking across the living room with my laptop. (I am having a hard time constructing sentences right now. I keep wondering if they are run-ons.(is run-ons even a word? See what I mean.) Damn trying to learn grammar- always getting in my way. I'll be happy when it becomes second nature; like the way you arrive home from work not really remembering how you got there.) I had the open laptop balanced in my arms it was playing Jack Johnson Rodeo Clowns. I took two steps towards the couch trying to lift the cords from the back and keep them from tripping me. Apparently my computers cords and I had come in between Chance and his beloved green ball. The cord began to hit him in the head and stopped me short as I was walking. Though he could have easily taken a step back and solve the problem he refused to move as I proceeded to trip and try to balance the computer. It was then that I realized he was all tangled up and getting whacked in the head. "Chance buddy move!" I said loudly, not quite a yell but a firm command. Still he stood there looking at his ball but squinting his eyes as the cord continued to whack him. Finally I caught my balance and was able to pull the cords up and over his head allowing me to take the remaining two steps to the couch. Crazy damn (that is a loving damn) dog. He still didn't move, finally after a minute he grabbed his ball and brought it to me dripping with dog drool.

"I am not throwing that thing." I say to him. He then pulled out the doggie charm. He pouted and looked as sad as one of those dogs in the Sarah Maclaughin videos where they are dogs are abused and abandoned. Head down, puppy eyes up, ears flat back. I'm telling you, if they gave Oscars to dogs he would have just won. "Pathetic!" I said to him. I swear he smiled at me; smiled. Crazy crafty dog. I love him.

Now I am going to snuggle on the couch with my boys and watch a movie. It's relax and cook Sunday-my favorite day.

And, yes I did indeed throw the ball.

i did it

My blackberry is on fire and I need glasses now but I freakin did it... Go me! Goodnight blogland I must sleep.

Ashtray

Tomorrow supposedly I could spend all night at a bar in Norfolk and not smell like one. I will have to see for myself- I'm hopetical!

divorced

It was my fault too. At the end I knew how to push his buttons. I would be passive aggressive and watch him explode hoping this time it would be bad enough so I could leave.

books

Could blogs be modern days books? Are less books being written because people can be "published" online?

grown up

I don't think I will feel like a grown up until I know what's for dinner. I work, I own a house a car, I pay taxes, I vote, I should feel grown up. Nope. I think it comes down to my Mom always knowing what was for dinner. Like it's some great grown up mystery. She never asked anyone else. Never the "I don't know what do you want?" game. She just knew... Because she was grown up was my guess. It was probably because she had no one to ask she was it-the end of the line. Maybe it was because she was a mom. Since I don't see myself as a mom or alone I guess I'll never grow up.

Birth control

Can they hurry up with the male form already? Seriously, if they can make a pill to keep it hard surely they can make one to have it shoot blanks.

Sick

The good thing about being sick is it will help me lose those Thanksgiving pounds.

String cheese

I'm pretty positive it tastes beTter if you rip it apart instead of just eating it whole.

Obessed

I obsess about pictures of myself. So much so that often I won't look at pictures of me for fear that I will spot something I don't like. For example one time I had this wonderful pic of me and two of my best girl friends. We are all smiling we all look cute we are obviously having fun-great photo. Then I spot it..the flaw. For some reason I noticed that my under arms looked yellow. That was it picture went down. Not only that but I checked my under arms in every other pic I had ever taken. I stood in the mirror for hours examining my under arms. I changed my deodrant. Crazy. I never look at anyone elses arm pits (except for 6 months after that photo) probably no one looked at mine. Still will not let a camera see that angle. Obsessed.

Kids

I don't really want any. That doesn't make me a monster yet so many people look at me that way when I tell them that.

Sleeves

The other day it was chilly in the house so I put on a sweater over my long sleeved shirt. I instantly grabbed and held my sleeve in my fist as I pushed my arm through the sweater sleeve to keep my shirt sleeve from bunching up and being uncomfortable.

It made me think of all the times as a child my parents had me hold my sleeve in my fist as they dressed me in tiny coats and sweaters. It struck me as very thoughtful as it was hard to get me to do it and it was only for my comfort not a necessity.
Thanks Mom and Dad.

Poser

Sometimes I feel like a poser. I have all these things that I am interested in; writing, photography, dance, baking...but I'm not really good at any of them and I never finish anything. I'm a jack of all trades but a master of none. Though I do have fun and I guess that's what really matters.

Christmas

I was trying to come up with a list of reasons I hate Christmas and all I could think of was things I like. The lights, choosing gifts, wrapping gifts, Christmas trees, cookies I could keep going. Then I thought that Christmas is like a huge party that everyone is preparing for so we can all commiserate together and that is what I really like about Christmas.

Baking

There are so many little baking gadgets that help make baking easier like the nice wire racks I have. I love to bake cookies and cakes and cool them on the racks. Then I remember my Mom teaching me to fold over the oven mit to let air flow underneath pans and I wonder if using racks is cheating.

Facebook

Sometimes a status update will pop up in my head it's slightly alarming. Facebook has changed the way I think.

Thankful

In honor of Thanksgiving here is 10 things I am thankful for:

1. The way my nose normally works allowing me to breath through it as well as smell things thus allowing food to have taste.

2. Yummy food- tasty and flavorful such as bread, sushi, bread, honey crisp apples,chocolate, D's shrimp tacos, bread.

3. Coffee it smells good, it tastes good, it feels good going down, it makes me hyper and happy!

4. My awesome friends-they make life better and laugh at my jokes.

5. Dogs- they make you feel like a rockstar when you ccome home all excited and bouncy even if you smell or look bad.

6. My family they are wonderful and laugh at my jokes.

7. Books- I read everyday and it's a great escape, especially when I stay awake long enough to read more than one sentence.

8. Sundays with D- my favorite time of the week. We have a beer and cook together then we eat and pick apart the meal-it's fabulous!

9. D- he makes me laugh everyday!

10. Finally learning not to ask lose lose questions. Like the other day I almost asked Drew if I he could tell I've gained weight. If he says no I would call him a liar I know I have. If he says yes Ill be hurt. Lose lose-keepmouth shut.

Number 17

So here it is 620pm on Nov 30th and I have only posted 13 out of 30 blogs, typical for me. Not only am I 17 blogs shy but I am sick in a strange town alone in a hotel with no internet connection. I am blogging from my blackberry. I'm going to attempt to blog 17 times before tomorrow. Warning the following 16 blogs are not going to be well edited if at all. And yes in true A fashion this one is going to count.

Pug puppy

Well I have made it through the first parts of the Mid Atlantic Pug Rescue requirements.

Application completed .

References called and Thank you very much for selling me so well.

Phone interview, went very well. I love that pug lady. I want to squeeze her and hug her.

Now I am waiting for word about the home inspection. Then I hope to be getting a puppy. I have it narrowed to two at the moment. Both little girls, one fawn, one black.

I hope I get one soon. D promised we would do a Christmas Card this year and I want the little girl in the picture. I know I am a dork.

Dear Nor'easter

Dear Nor'easter,



I am glad you are finally gone and everyone can begin to pick up the pieces. I finally have my internet access back after two long days. You were kind of fun though, the day that D and I drove around to take pictures of your damage and stomp in puddles.



-A

Sleeves

Not on schedule..

Totally off schedule, but I am going to try my best to keep going. Not do the whole I ate a piece of candy now I should scrap the diet and eat a pizza, tacos, cheese, bread, and chocolate ice cream thing. I'm going to keep going and see how I do.

There is a nor'easter hitting us right now and D and I are going to bundle on the couch, sip coffee (well I will sip coffee D will probably have a Coke or juice) and watch movies. We already drove through flooded sheets watching as cars were floating and people were out taking pictures up to their thighs in water. I love this type of weather strangely enough and always secretly wish that it will last longer and cause more damage (not harming anyone of course) than they predicted. It is somehow exciting. Is that wrong?

It's not easy being green

I somehow broke my coffee pot about a month ago. I don't know what happened but it is the third coffee pot to go down like this. I fill it with water, add the filter then coffee, press on and wait and wait and wait. No coffee. So I hit the on button a few times. On on on on on ON! No go. Then I unplug the pot and plug it back in On on on on. Nothing. "Another one bites the dust!" I say to D.

I pull out my handy dandy french press. "Well this is supposed to make better coffee anyway, so it will be fine." Only that requires me to boil water then add the water and wait at least four minutes which seems like a lifetime. After a few tries I get the method down pat. My favorite part is using the digital thermometer to ensure the proper temperature. I pride myself on being green since I don't use filters in the french press.

Then I realize that I use about a gallon of water rinsing the grounds out each morning and maybe it would be better if I just got a new coffee pot. Or maybe I am lazy and want to just push a button. But I do like the ritual of boiling the water and waiting for the perfect temp. I just need a new method of rinsing the ground out so I can actually be green and not just pretend.

Lucky me

You know doing this 30 posts in 30 days thing during the month of my birth has made me realize what a lucky girl I am.

Today I spent the day with my Mom celebrating my birthday. She took me to lunch, bought me gifts; two books (0ne about baking with chocolate that she insisted I must have), a dough scooper, and spring forms pans (I am very much on a baking kick right now). Oh and she also let me use her library card to check out a book on cd I've been wanting.

It was a great day, not just because of the all the spoiling, but because I got to spend some quality time with the Moms and it was a gorgeous day.

When I read over my previous blogs I think-Geez it's like birthweek instead of birthday.

Lucky me.

Sunday

Sundays are never long enough. After a busy morning of errands to run D and I took Chance for a walk. Then I went to class, got out at 5:30, went home, ate the gumbo D made for dinner and sat on the couch to relax before I began writing. Next thing I know D is waking me, "Honey, it's time for bed." What??

Fun

Tonight were going to party like it's my birthday. There shall be wine and cheese and bread and fire and fun. Yeah me.

lovely

My first day as 32 was quite lovely. Special coffee and Christmas cake, swing dance lessons, tapas, so many Birthday wishes. It is a good start. But I still don't like the sound of 32.

It's my birthday!

When I was a kid there was a Pumping Station beside the trailer where I lived. One of those small white brick buildings that the city maintains. I never knew what actually went on inside the station-all the neighborhood kids guessed it was so all of our toilets could flush at one time without causing an explosion.

I just knew it had a very long cement driveway that was perfect for riding bikes, roller skating, drawing with chalk, playing four square, it also was home base during hide and seek. Since it was beside my home all the kids would come over and play.

One day when I was about 9 a friend and I were on the station driveway. Our arms linked over each others shoulders, she had a skate on her left foot and I had a skate on my right foot. We only had one pair of skates between us and this was the best and most fun solution we could come up with.

Somehow during our skating adventure we started discussing time. I told her that if we just closed our eyes and snapped our fingers we would instantly be older. Not just a second older but cool older.- staying up past midnight older, wearing make-up older, driving a car older, kissing a boy older.

We snapped and snapped and snapped til our fingers were sore and the street lights came on and we had to go home, disappointed that time had let us down.

Now here I am 32 and I am pretty sure it was due to all that snapping.

Park it

"GO ALREADY! I'M TRYING TO PARK!" is what you would hear if you are inside the car with me and I am trying to parallel park and another car is behind me.

I don't know why. Maybe it's because I can't do one smooth parking motion but instead reverse and forward about ten times, check my mirrors, still not in the spot so I pull out and start all over again. Unless of course there is now a new car behind me. In which case I will speed off cursing like a sailor.

"For the love of Christ! Can't a girl just park a car without an audience?"

Forget a busy street with sidewalk cafes where people can watch my hideous attempt. Not going to happen. If there is not a spot at the end of the line where I can just pull in, I will drive around and around. If I am lucky enough to be driving with someone who is not parallel parking disabled I yell "Chinese fire drill!" and make them park the car.

D knows this routine already and just drives to any location where parallel parking is required. But D wasn't with me tonight and I had to parallel park and lets just say my Mom would have washed my mouth out with soap. (Sorry Mom but there was a huge line of cars behind me.)

I did manage to park to car though, after only 3 attempts and sweaty pits to show for it. Thank goodness it's fall and I could wear a sweater jacket.

Spare tire

I got dressed for the gym yesterday- I put on my black strecthy capri pants, (the ones with the paint mark on the butt because I wore them once while painting and backed into a wall but they are my favorite workout pants so I refuse to throw them out and instead have prepared a come back should anyway poke fun of me at the gym) my sports bra, my fluorescent orange workout shirt and jacket, laced up my shoes, put my hair in a pony tail.

It's the closest I have come to a work out in over a week. That's right last week I thought up an excuse every single day.

Monday- it's my day off!
Tues- I have class.
Wed- I tried to give blood, didn't have enough iron, but still ate the cookies.
Thurs-It's yucky outside and I should work on my writing.
Fri- Masquerade, Family dinner, help a friend make poison apples for Halloween.
Sat- It's Halloween.
Sun-The only day I have to relax with D (somehow he made it to the gym, I needed to straighten the house.)

That brought me back to Mon- It's my day off. Aha! So I started to see the pattern and I started to feel the fat bulging over my skinny jeans. Would anyone look at me and call me fat? Not without a kick to the shin. Do I know that I am more squishy than just a few months ago. Absolutely! I have fought this up and down battle my whole life.

So I made plans with a friend to run last night. It's harder to stand up a friend-though I have done it. No, I got in my car and I drove over to my friends. About half way there I had a hard time steering the car. I was almost there so I kept going. When I parked and got out-flat tire.

Freaking flat tire- pretty soon I'll have a spare tire!

NaBloPoMo

Alright, I'm going to give this years National Blog Post Month a shot; 30 Blogs in 30 days. What will I have to talk about every day? I have no clue, but it seems like a fun challenge. So here goes.

Last night D made some fabulous Brunswick stew and I decided to try my hand at bread knots that my step mom makes every year for Christmas. I was pretty amazed with myself. They came out soft on the inside and beautiful brown on the outside. All I could say was, "I can't believe I made good bread!" over and over. Which sounded more like "Wa ant leve wa ma goo bed" since my mouth was full of bread each time I said it. I was also able to make a huge batch of brown and serve rolls. Nothing crazy happened for once.

Well, besides leaving a wooden spoon in the mixer while it was running and
having it break in half and bend one of my mixer attachments shooting half of the spoon across the kitchen. Making D duck saying, "What the heck was that?"

"Sorry honey I turned to look at the recipe and the spoon broke"

"Ok. New rule. No leaving spoons in the mixer."

"Good one honey."

Then he helped me check the dough for splinters. Kneading dough is super fabulous. I don't know why anyone would want to use a bread machine, then the machine gets to do the fun part. I even gave D a shot at kneading though he didn't like the flour all over his hands I did see him smile while punching the dough.

Sunday

Sometimes I have to make myself breathe. Not the inhalation of oxygen breathe. But the realize what I am doing and relax breathe.

Like standing in my kitchen on a Sunday planning out a schedule of cleaning and chores and then it hits me it's Sunday... Relax already.

Late

Reasons that I am late in the morning. (Besides stopping to write silly blogs.) I do things like:

Step 1Take my hair tie out of my hair.

Step 2 fix my hair.

Step 3 proceed to spend 5 minutes looking for the hair tie. "I just sat you down!" look around look around "Where the hell did the damn thing go!" look around look around.

Might as well sip some coffee. Presto!! Hair tie under my cup of coffee. Guess I took a sip between step 1 and 2. Ahhhh! And now I'm really late.

Widespread Panic

D and I went to the Widespread Panic with Allman Brothers concert Wed. night. We went with his brother Stephen and sister in law Lo. Just hanging with them is always a fabulous time, so I was very excited.

It was a nice night, though chilly. The bands were a bit too heavy on the jam sessions for my taste, I like some lyrics to wrap my mind around. But I had a nice beer buzz and good company and so I was enjoying the evening.

The wonderful thing about concerts is even if the music is not as great as you hoped there are always tons of people to watch. Trust me, a hippie jam band provides more people to watch than you can shake a stick at (whatever that means). (Oh and Cheryl I saw your boyfriend a million times over and I so wished you were there to see him.)

So I am standing on the lawn, large beer in my right hand, slowly moving to the music. My eyes scanning the crowd and enjoying the show. Right in front of us are a little group of hippies. In particular two hippies that were jamming out. I'll call them Hippie one and Hippie two. Hippie one was a cute petite girl with long blond dreads wearing a baby doll paisley shirt over baggy jeans. Hippie two is a tall lanky boy with an Afro of blond curls sticking out from his hippie beanie, wearing a tie die t-shirt.

They were swaying to the beat, arms flailing, bending at the waist and back up again. (Think Elaine from Seinfield on Ecstasy). I am enjoying watching them and thinking they must have strong abs. Then Hippie two comes over to us, a cup in his right hand, he steps close enough that I can smell the fruitiness of his drink.

"Hey man, take a sip of this man, it's great," slurs Hippie two.

"No thanks," I reply

"No really. It's awesome. You have to try it. It's..uh let me find out what it is."

Then Hippie two walks over to consult Hippie one. Hippie one whispers in Hippie two's ear for quite a while. Hippie two tilts his head back and laughs. Then he walks back to me.

"Ok," Hippie two giggles

"Ok man, it's crazy but just trust me. It's Redbull and vodka and rum and Coke. It sounds bad but really it's awesome. Try some."

"No thanks really, I am drinking beer," I say

"Come on just take a sip, just take a sip man."

"No thanks."

"Come on. There's no acid in it I swear man," Hippie two laughs.

"No thanks," I say laughing.

Hippie two then proceeds to try and get everyone in my group to take a sip.

"There is no acid in here I swear. I swear."

No one is budging of course and Hippie two finally gives up and walks back to Hippie one. They take turns drinking from the cup and laughing. While our little group keeps mocking...

"There's no acid in it. I swear man."

Huh?

Me- Honey, I think I am going to ask for a flamethrower for Christmas.

D- A flamethrower!? (giving me the- you are insane look)

Me- Yeah, so I can make creme brulee.

D- (laughing) You mean a blow torch.

Me- What's the difference?

D- (still laughing) A flame thrower is a huge machine gun type weapon that shoots flames and causes explosions.

Me- Well that should make a great creme brulee

A's thought for the day

So apparently some people in this world say they are going to do something and damn if they don't actually do it, right when they said they would. That is mind boggling to me, especially since my path to accomplishment is much longer.

I came upon this discovery yesterday while visiting a friend. I was in his bedroom (he is gay and so it was perfectly acceptable) and I noticed all the decor around his room. He enjoys music so there were musical notes on the walls. There were pictures, recent pictures, in frames. There were colorful items hanging beautifully in all the right spots. It was amazing. He hasn't lived there for very long, almost a year. How is that all possible? Is it just because he is gay? Possibly, but I don't think so.

Here is my path to accomplishment. Think of wonderful idea to accomplish. Think about idea some more. Tell someone that I am thinking of an idea. Listen to their suggestions. Re-think about idea based on what that person said. Tell another person the new version of idea. Listen to their suggestions. Think again about idea. Decide it is time to plan how to actually accomplish idea. Tell people I am planning on completeing idea. Think about idea plan some more. Finally start to complete the idea, stop when half way finished. Show people the partially completed idea. Discuss how wonderful it will be when finished. Then maybe I will finish it. Maybe.

The fact that some people skip that whole process and just complete the idea from the start. Amazing. I am going to think about that some more.

That's why.. Part Two.

Calm restored we continue to paddle towards the tiny green signs. We paddle at a leisurely pace, looking out towards Ocracoke Island, racing each other, bumping kayaks, having a great time. We start to get close to some fisherman that are standing in the water. They are pretty far out and the water is about to their thighs. We paddle close to them and say hello. It's about that time we come upon the sand bars. The water is so shallow we are unable to paddle the boats and have to climb out and walk across the sand bars pulling our kayaks behind.

"You want me to get out of the kayak?" I ask D.

"Yes love, we won't be able to make it over the sand bar unless we get out." D replies.

"Uh. I didn't plan on getting out."

"Well you kind of have to. Look it's no problem honey, the water is at our calves."

"Calves?"

"Yes, calves. Come one get out, I'll hold your boat."

D holds the boat and I climb out. Luckily I still have on my flip flops so I don't feel the slimy seaweed that is everywhere (this would have been a very different story without those flip flops, slimy yuck on my feet? No thank you.) waving back and forth as the tide comes in and out. I take a few steps and get more comfortable with the fact that I am hundreds of yards away from the shore and the water is up to only my calves.

"Oh this isn't so bad." I say

"Were you scared?"

"Yes, walking when I can't see my feet freaks me out."

"Alright, well there is nothing in this water but minnows. See them?"

Suddenly music from jaws is playing in my head.

"Minnows?" I ask.

"Minnows." D replies.

"Oh I see them!"

Music stops.

"Minnows are cute."

"Honey, you are a goofball." D laughs

"Well they are."

We continue on like this for a while, the sand bar is large and as we pull the kayaks across it I feel the sun beating on my shoulders. Once we reach the end of the sand bar D holds my kayak again as I jump in. He pushes me off into deeper water. I use the push to take off and get a lead on D knowing he will catch up in seconds.

"Now we need to aim our bows more toward the shore because we are getting close to where the ferries turn." D says.

Newsflash freak out. I start paddling like crazy again, my sights set for the shore. The beer has relaxed me enough that I turn and see D point for the shore. I keep paddling paddling my arms starting to ache but I am too determined to slow down.

"Honey that's good. You can rest," D shouts.

I turn my boat towards his and paddle up next to him.

"I'm getting better at this!"

"Good love. Want to take a break?"

I hesitate because I know that means I have to get out of the kayak again.

"Chips, beer, sunblock?" D tempts me.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." I reply

We paddle the short distance to shore. Eat chips, drink our last beer, apply sunblock. We are laughing having a good time. We then consider how much farther we have to go versus how long it took us to get this far. Decide the wind is too strong for us to make it around the point, much less all the way to the beach where everyone is relaxing. We naively think the wind at our backs will make our return trip easier.

Refreshed and ready to go I jump in the kayak. No fear at this point. I start paddling back across when I notice that my kayak keeps turning towards the shore, when I want it to turn away from the shore. D hasn't mentioned it so I assume it's just me as I often have trouble keeping my kayak straight. I have to stick my oar in on the left side of the kayak and hold it there to make my boat turn left then paddle paddle stick paddle paddle stick. It's only been a few hundred yards and already I am exhausted.

"Are you having a hard time keeping your boat straight?" D yells to ask.

"Yes. Why? Are you?" I reply

"Yes. It must be the current."

"What should I do?"

"Just keep doing what your doing."

Paddle paddle stick. Paddle paddle stick. For a long time. The ferry terminal seems like a speck that is not getting any closer.

"It's the wind. It's pushing our boats around." D tells me.

"What should I do?"

"Just keep doing what you're doing. That's the only way to keep the boat straight."

"Stupid wind! I thought you were my friend!" I raise my fist in the air.

Paddle paddle stick. Paddle paddle stick for what seems like an eternity. Finally we reach the sand bar. This time the water is even more shallow. We cross a couple of small sand bars by simply pushing off the ground with our hands til we reach deep water again. This only works for a short time when we are back to pulling the boats behind us. We walk for a while. Now the wind is catching the boat and knocking it into our legs every so often. My flip flops are rubbing my big toes raw. The tiny speck of the ferry terminal is not getting any closer.

The fishermen that we passed earlier out still out and we finally get to them.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of having a boat?" The older fat one asks me.

"Hmm." I chuckle.

Doesn't that defeat the purpose of .... your face. Damn it. Why can't I ever come up with a good come back?

D is too far away to hear the smart ass fisherman so I just keep walking and walking and walking. Finally we get to deeper water I have never been so happy to jump in the kayak.

This is where D goes from average guy to the wonderful great guy that I love.

We are paddling along. Our spirits lifting because we have turned directions and the wind is helping us now. But we are still exhausted and ready to get back to the boat ramp. We manage to cross the ferry channel no problem no ferries in sight. There are however quite a few boats driving past heading towards the boat ramp.

"Keep your bow pointed toward the wave, other wise it could flip you over." D says.

"Okay love." I reply

I manage to turn my boat towards the waves and the bow pops over them. It's fun actually the kayak rocking back and forth. But in order for me to keep my bow towards the waves I have to stay still. This does not make for good progress when a boat is passing every few seconds.

"Honey, you can't stop for every boat." D says.

"Well that's what I like to do."

D keeps paddling like a pro. Riding the waves on his way in towards the boat ramp.

I panic as he gets farther ahead.

"Honey come on just paddle it will be fine, the wake is not that big." D says.

"Okay."

I start to paddle, when I see 3 boats heading our way. I start to freak out thinking of D's words. "..or else you'll flip over."

I see myself flipping out of the kayak. The wake starts crashing against my boat, it's rocking me side to side. D is pretty far ahead now, thinking that I am keeping up with him.

"Honey! Honey! HONEY?!!!" I start to scream hysterically.

D hears me and turns around.

"Honey, just paddle!" D yells back to me.

"But I'LL FLIP OVER!! I scream in that 'come help me tone'.

"Honey the water is only two feet deep. You can just stand up!"

Now at this point if I were not me I would want to smack me.

"BUT HONEYYY!!" I say still worked up.

"Honey, you can see the bottom. If you flip over, just stand up." D says

His reassurance calms me and I paddle the rest of the way in to the boat ramp. At the end I actually start to have fun and kind of like the wake. I realize what a nutcase I am and can't believe D didn't lose his patience with me.

We make it to the boat ramp. Load the boats on his truck. We start to talk at the same time.

"I'm sorry I freaked out." I say

"Want some ice cream?" D says.

This just in

Ever have those moments of clarity where some little (or possibly big depending.. it could reach down to your very core and change your entire world or it may just fleet across the big screen of your brain) strange part of yourself sudenly makes sense? It may even be more then makes sense, it may be a part that shows itself, something you didn't know existed let alone that it was affecting every part of you and how you react in say.. relationships. ("Hi. I'm a strange part of you. I've always been here. You just didn't know it. Now that you know about me your life will be easier".) (the word 'revelation' as defined by A.)

One of those moments just flashed across my screen. Only it was more like a movie trailer that leads into a movie of me that I forgot existed and now I see that movie from a different light. Roll Camera 2. Take- who the hell knows.


I was in the kitchen pulling apart some chicken legs to make chicken salad for dinner. I was making a plan in my head; I'll finish the chicken legs so they can cool. Go take a nice long shower- it's hard to concentrate on writing all sweaty. Then write until maybe 4 and start making dinner. Then D will be home, we'll eat dinner and have a glass of wine. Leave out some cheese and wine for Janelle to munch before I give her a massage. Then we will get ready to go dancing. Oh dancing, hope a lot of people show up. Can't wait. This has been a nice day. Took Chance for a walk. Got some stuff done around the house. This being home alone on a weekday isn't so bad. I have not felt guilty once today for having a nice day by myself.

This is where the movie screen flashed.

Holy Shit! I like to be alone sometimes. I like to be alone, but only when I know that the alone time is coming to an end. I'm having fun because I know that D will be home around 5 and I have all day to myself. It's not alone I don't like. It's the not knowing when alone will end. No wonder I can get clinging sometimes. Jesus christ.

I see the Camera 2 flash back.

"When are you coming over?" I say to D.

"I don't know let me see how I feel," D replies.

"Ok, just shoot me a text." I say, trying so hard to play it cool but inside. (See how you feel? What does that mean? Could be an hour? Could be two days? Whatever. I just need to know.)


In the movie I see myself try to occupy myself for a few minutes. Then I become uneasy with the unknown alone. I pace around the house not able to concentrate on any task. What if I start something and then he wants to come over? Or what if someone else calls? I know I'll call Cheryl and then see what she is doing.

I call Cheryl and feel better. We are going to meet for a drink at Schucks at 9.

Okay I have time to read my book, drink a glass of wine-that will save me buying one drink at the bar. Then take a bath, listen to music, straighten my hair. Oh what am I going to wear?


See when I experienced that on Camera 1, I felt so guilty for wanting to know when I would see D. I thought I was some crazy clingy girl. But really I just wanted to know when I would see someone I care about. (not that I didn't want to see you honey. i'm making a point here)

I don't like open ended alone time. One hour-great. One week-awesome. Just give me some time frame so I can plan out my self entertainment, or the need for it.

This brings up other questions for me. Does the fact that I don't like open ended alone time make me weak? Are the people out there that love solitude stronger? Is the fact that I love to be around people more than I like to be alone sad? Was I born with this need to be around people? Or was I taught this other people dependence? Is this some passive aggressive way of loathing myself? Or is this normal?

I don't think I loathe myself. I like my alone time. I like to complete projects by myself. I talk to myself often and I think I'm pretty cool. Kind of dorky. But kind of funny too. I make myself laugh. What more can one ask for really? Maybe the fact that I know what makes me happy makes me stronger? I get joy from being around other people. Therefore I seek them out and make plans.

So at any rate, there is my revelation movie moment. I know what I like. Now I just need to ask for it.

That's why..

D and I just came back from our family vacation in Hatteras. Well when I say, our family, I mean his family, but I absolutely love his family. The crew included D's Dad and wonderful girlfriend Lynn, her daughter, D's older brother and sister, all the spouses, a gaggle of cute kids and two puppies. The house was bustling and we all kept joking that this is what it would be like to live in a commune. We absolutely had a blast and can't wait to do it again.

During one of many lazy days on the beach D's sister and I went for a stroll. As big sisters often do she inquired about her baby brother's relationship, it went something like this.

"So how are you and my brother doing?"

"Great!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, you're brother is a great guy."

"Tell me more."

I think I throw out some adjectives like "Caring, loving, funny." Which of course are all true, but I think this little tale paints a better picture.

It's the next to last day on vacation and D and I have yet to take the kayaks out for a ride. We decide the surf on the ocean side is way too rough to make it out without taking on water and flipping. We instead drive around the island to the sound side. We find a boat ramp and unload the kayaks. We apply gobs of sunblock on each other, fasten our life jackets and off we go.

"Let's go around the point and kayak down to where everyone is relaxing on the beach," I say.

"Alright let's give it a go." D replies.

First of all let me give you all a little back ground on me and my ability to swim. Lets just say it's slightly above nil, but lower than adequate. If forced I could doggie paddle for quite a while, but not without panic setting in, making my palms sweat (if that's possible in the water) and my heart feeling like it's going to explode. But like my other fears (heights, rats biting my toes, and spiders) I am making an effort to over come them (well at least the heights part, rats and spiders please keep your distance and I'll try not to shriek and swing brooms at you.)

OK so where was I? Oh Yes.

Me = sucks at swimming (and as you'll see, judging the depth of water).

D= former lifeguard/possibly part fish.

So here we are paddling out across the sound towards the point. All is well, we are paddling against the wind but we are going at a steady rate and having a good time. We get to the channel where the ferries are crossing.

"Honey, just hold back a minute and let those ferries pass and then we'll go across." D says.

"Okay, hand me a beer." (I know, brilliant right? But it's vacation.)

Beer cracked, and half gulped.

"Alright love, see that channel marker over there?"

"The really tiny green sign?"

"Yes. Aim your bow at that marker."

"Okay. Like shooting a gun right?"

"Yes, now let's hurry before another ferry comes."

This is the point where my imagination fires into overdrive. I see headlines in papers.

Girl kayaking while on vacation crushed by Ferry. Witnesses say,"The Captain kept blowing the horn she just wouldn't move!"

My brain now in freak out mode, I lean forward (I'm convinced this gives me more power) and paddle like the Dickens. I imagine smoke coming off the water. I try to glance back at D (but honestly I don't like to turn around for fear of flipping the kayak) don't see him, decided to keep paddling as if my life depends on it. Finally after what seems like years I hear.

"Honey, you can slow down now."

"Are you sure?" paddle paddle paddle for extra measure.

"Honey, I'm sure."

"Whoa!! Did you see me? I was like a speed demon!"

"You were great love." chuckle chuckle.

"I know. That was awesome."

Now at this point we have not even paddled a mile, but my arms are a little fatigued. I look over at D and he is paddling effortlessly. The stubborn part of me says, I got this. I work out all the time! Oh and I have beer. Sip Sip.

(due to poor time management you will have to come back tomorrow for the exciting conclusion)

In a robe

This morning after kissing D goodbye, I was sipping my coffee and checking my email (alright facebook) when D comes running back in the house, "Love, you're blocking me."

Since I was sipping my coffee and checking my face book in my birthday suit (I apologize(not really) to family members who didn't realize I even had a birthday suit, much less that I often wear it.) I ran and slipped on my beautiful black and red silky robe. I jogged out to the drive way, knowing D was already running late, and was jumping into my car when I noticed our down stairs neighbor had his car hood up. D bellowed, "Just pull back and then in front of me so I can give him a jump."

What was meant to be a 30 second foray outside in my robe turned into helping with the 'jumping' process. "Love, will you hold the cables up in the middle so they reach?" "I can do that." But then they little truck that D drives to work decided it's engine was not capable of saving another. It did a little choke choke cough and the neighbors engine would not turn over.

Then D pulls out the big gun, specifically his huge Dodge RAM 1500 V8. The neighbor and I laughed at the size of the battery, the engine was so loud we could not hear each other. Instead we did this mime point, hands apart for 'freaking huge', head back chuckle.

Well the Dodge being the beast that it is, would not fit in the space between the neighbors car and the porch. So there I was in my black and red silky robe that is not known for staying closed, pushing the neighbors car back so D could jump it with The Beast. I felt a little vulnerable watching that I wasn't giving anyone a show, but I also felt like I was in some strange artsy photo shoot of girls in robes working on cars.

It took only seconds for the neighbor's car to spring to life. I hightailed it back inside, after a kiss from D, "Have a good day, sexy!" I love that robe.

Sick is good..

So at any rate, this week I found that being sick once in a while is a good thing. Though, you could not have convinced me of that Monday, while I was the color of the porcelain I was peering into, praying to any God that would listen to "Please make it stop!" Then the next day as I could not fathom why anyone on earth would eat anything, ever. But two days later when I was finally able to smell food and then actually eat food, it was such a wonderful feeling and I did indeed jump for joy... "I feel better!" clap clap kick. (ask D it's true) Plus as a bonus I lost 3lbs. Maybe that little virus knew I have a beach vacation coming up and what girl doesn't want to lose some weight before braving the beach clad in bikini? Thank you icky virus you made me appreciate my normally functioning stomach.

Seriously

Someone stole the pretty red millions bells right off our front porch. I left for work Sat morning and the two hanging flowers that we call 'the girls' were there. A few hours later D texts me

"Did you move the girls?"

"Why would I move the girls?"

"I think someone stole them!"

I didn't really believe him until I got home and saw for myself they were gone.

Seriously people, buy your own damn flowers!

coffee

Is it strange that I get excited at night as I prepare my coffee pot for the morning? I always think "Mmm.. in the morning I get to drink coffee."

sometimes

Sometimes, I say the dorkiest things. Two seconds after leaving my lips and I am already embarrassed. Depending on the company I may press lips together turning them white and hoping no one noticed. Or like tonight I may call myself out (hoping to distract my company).


Tonight D and I after long days at work, went out to have drinks with friends. A celebration for a friend who just got the news he was accepted into Wintertur. On the ride to the bar we decide we are not going to stay long because we are both tired.

After dinner a couple of drinks, and lots of fabulous conversation, I look at my phone and realize... IT'S AFTER 9! Ahh because we wanted to take a bath, relax and go to bed early. 9 is past my bedtime. Well, at least most nights. We make our excuses to friends and scurry to the car.



Once home D is drawing a bath. I walk in and play with his hair as he is leaning over swirling the warm water with his arm. "I am so tired," he moans. "I think we should have stayed home." "I don't think so," I respond. My fingers making his hair into a spiky mess. "Sleep may fuel our bodies, but those moments with friends fuel our soul," I try to clarify. Then I hear the words repeated in my head. "That was really corny wasn't it?" I giggle, my cheeks flushing. "Yes, but that's one of the reasons I love you," he says as he splashes me.

retro

my procrastination does not allow for posts to be timely. just be glad there is something new to read. and if the timeline doesn't match up... well who says that it has to?

ink blot

I was at the gym this morning doing my normal weight lifting work out. As I went to wipe my sweat of the seat I realized it looked like an ink blot. It did this each time I moved machines. So what did I see in my sweaty ink blots?

Coffee. Two people dancing. Mountains. Steaming bread.

I shall listen to my sweat.

shower

I sometimes worry that my back is not quite as clean as the rest of me.

Blog more

It's hard to dance like no one is watching when you know someone is watching. But I've never had a hard time dancing however in front of whomever. It's writing that has my tongue. I realized that I have been coming up with lots of ideas to blog, but then I don't follow through, scared of how I sound to others. Then I was jogging this morning (yeah me) and it hit me. Anyone who is reading this (all 3 of you) wants to hear the crazy thoughts in my brain or they wouldn't read it. So here is my attempt to force my own hand. I Shall blog at least twice a week. Don't look.

Birds on the roof

spread

i could spread myself farther.

Ice cream

I am sitting on my balcony enjoying the late evening sunshine and cool breeze, listening to the children play in the street. When I hear the familiar jingle of the ice cream man's tune, luring the children.

I am immediately transported to my childhood and I have the feeling I should be running inside screaming "Ice Cream Man!" and hoping my Mom will give me money, or helping my baby brother raid our piggy banks. "Hurry up or we'll miss him!" I must have said those words a hundred times.

I can hear the change clanging on the metal window counter. I can feel the ice cream man's patient stare as I slowly drag each penny to one side "1 2 3 4 5", how happy he must have been the year I learned to count by twos then fives.

I'm staring at the ice cream truck lost in my reverie when my gaze focuses on a large sign above the pictures of ice creams: NOW ACCEPTING MOST MAJOR CREDIT CARDS. The ice cream man accepts credit cards? I notice the children mostly standing with their parents. Pointing to which ice cream they want their parents sliding their plastic card.

I am saddened. There is nothing learned in this experience for them. There are no hard choices. "Well I can get one twin pop, two pieces of gum and candy teeth and share. Or I can get one screwball."( I always shared, but I would often make sure my half of the twin pop was bigger, because I was older, of course.) Or the excitement of finally having enough money to buy the coveted Mickey Mouse or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bars. There is no need to open a lemonade stand to raise money. No doing odd chores for a dime. "Just hand me the plastic Mom I can get whatever I want and then not appreciate it."

Call me old fashioned but I would prefer the sign said; NOW ACCEPTING PENNIES.

thick

sometimes i wish i were thicker.

Thank you Kate Winslet

I saw the movie The Reader the other night with a girlfriend. Since I don't watch TV much, I had no clue what the movie was about. NOT a light little chick flick. No giggles or tears of joy even.

One positive thing did come from the movie. Kate Winslet exposes her breasts, many times. If Kate Winslet does not have perfect perky breasts. Then I can hardly be expected to. So I say.. Thank you Kate Winslet. You did a superb acting job, and it's so nice to see a natural woman in the lime light.

love

"I have nothin but love for you, baby!", I wonder if he really truly means that.

The black man walking down the street. The extremely happy and satisfied looking black man in movies that says "I have nothin but love for you, baby," to other people, any people, all people.

If that is really true, then that man is much wiser than he appears. Because the type of love he is talking about is the type of love that makes you extremely happy and satisfied.

Time for new tires...

So, apparently I need new tires. D has told me this at least a dozen times. In fact for the past year D has been searching high and low for tires that will fit my car. These would be free tires of course, one of the perks of his job.

I would have to own one of the two cars in the world with freaky sized low profile tires. (Can't anyone in a new Tiburon just crash already? Well don't get hurt, but you know, help a girl out.) They may be nice to look at, but boy are the expensive to replace.

And so as I am driving down the high way hearing a high pitched buzzing sound and feeling my car vibrate... I decided to cure this the way I do most things, by turning the radio up really loud. Problem solved.

Well known stranger

The other day a friend asked "Is it hard to have a boyfriend after you have been married?"



I found it hard to respond as I thought of the time and the road from the end of marriage to here. The range of emotions I felt from that moment to this.... hurt, pensive, angry, scared, wavering, bargaining, realizing, angry, determined, ruthless, guilty, disbelieving, relieved, mourning, confused, hopeful, sad, empty, regretful, disappointed, bitter, infuriated, glad, indignant, guarded, careless, elated, wary, rash, doubting, relaxed, scoffing, unsure, hesitant, courageous, strong, ambivalent, excited, joyful, resolute, hopetical, capricious, certain, trusting, happy, bold, content, versed, open, indecisive, delighted, appreciative, free.... some of these lasted months, others fleeting.

Most days I don't even think of him. When I do, it is hard to believe that someone I once knew so intimately is now a stranger.

So at any rate the answer is ... not anymore.

Early morning workout..

So as hard as it is to force myself out of my nice warm cozy bed at 5:20 a.m., the arguments I have myself. You can workout after work. You went to bed an hour late last night you should really get more sleep. Is that a headache coming on? Surely sleep would be better than working out. Finally this worked You like your jeans to fit right? And you know you will be too tired to workout after work.

Ugh! Damn me!

As hard as that was to do today (since I have not worked out in the morning in weeks now). Being able to say at 7:00 a.m. I already worked out today! I already worked out today! It was completely worth that horrible cold push to the gym.

And yes I am feeling all smug when I ask- What you did this morning?

(But don't worry, next I am thinking Alright, I only have to do that every other day for the rest of my life!)

Why I like Super bowl..

I can scream obscenities, in fact it's encouraged.

Cold beer and horrible for you but yummy food.

Commercials.

d can cook too

egg drop soup...YUM!

norfolk from my car

foggy day

a can cook.....

thai chicken lettuce wraps with hot and cold sesame noodles














and make a mess.

norfolk from my car

.

Removal

For Cheryl

My phone rings at 5:30 a.m. My friend’s tearful voice. "He's not going to make it Andrea." "What?" I reply sleepily. "Sorry to wake you." "Who cares? What happened?" "I don't know,” she sobs. “They just called me and said to come to the hospital his heart is failing."

I slide on my jeans as she tells me details, -I walk down the hall and turn on my roommate Marco's bedroom light. He wakes with a start and then sees my face as I point to the phone and mouth "Cheryl.” I pad to the kitchen so Marco can dress and I listen to her sobbing recanting of dialysis and infection and how she thought she was going to be able to talk to her Dad the other night, but when she arrived at the hospital he was back on the vent and no one in her family had told her. Marco walks into the kitchen, watching my face for some clue of what is going on. Cheryl and I say "I love you girl" to each other and I hand the phone to Marco. He works at the hospital where Cheryl's Dad is now dying. After listening to Cheryl, he hangs up the phone looking stunned. His eyes follow a tear as it rolls down my cheek. "She said not to come," I whisper. "We are going," he replies. "I know," I begin to cry and call my boyfriend Drew. “Give me five minutes,” he says. “I'm coming."






The three of us are walking to our cars in the rain. It is the end of September and our first Nor’easter of the season. We caravan to the hospital, -following each other’s brake lights down the dark wet streets. We walk quietly down the corridors, Marco leading the way, showing his id badge, allowing us access where we would normally have none. I hold Drew's hand and squeeze it hard and he squeezes back, our silent way of saying I love you. As we round the corner of the sixth floor we see Cheryl. She lets out a little moan. We surround her in a group hug. It is the only way we know to comfort our friend, to let her know that we are here. The smell of the hospital is cloying and thick, the staff quickly walking by avoiding our gazes. Still in shock we keep repeating, "I thought he was getting better?" I don't know what comfort you can truly give a friend who is losing their Dad. I don’t know any words to dull the pain. I just know, if I lost my Dad, I wouldn't want to be alone.



More than a month earlier Cheryl’s Dad fell asleep behind the wheel and collided with a tree . This wasn’t an old sick man. This wasn't a long time coming, not that it would make it easier, but it might. This was a relatively young man with more life to live; only he won't.



The three of us spend an hour sitting with our friend. We hold her while she cries and try to make her laugh when the crying slows. There is a wave of emotion ebbing and flowing, the wave causing Cheryl’s body to shake, my head to throb, signaling to Drew to grip my hand even tighter. Sometimes the rain hitting the windows is the only sound we hear -I worry that her Mom is driving in this mess. Cheryl walks away to talk to her paternal relatives, relatives that don’t make her feel comfortable, relatives that look down at her because of her education and her unused womb, relatives that scoff because art and writing poetry are her chosen babies. I picture her Dad behind the doors of the ICU, where only family can enter. “He’s hooked up to so many tubes Andrea. There are just so many tubes.” She tells me she hates going in that room. She says that he looks like he is in so much pain that he doesn’t even look like her Dad anymore. I imagine the ventilator, and the sound of air being forced loudly in and out of lungs, the unnatural rise and fall of chest and belly. IV needles in hands. Pulse ox on finger tips, g tube in belly, catheter in penis. Her Dad covered in a jungle of wires and tubes, keeping him from her, the beeping of machines and the long silence when she speaks to him and he doesn’t, can’t respond. All of this technology invading her Dad, changing her Dad, but not saving him. They are making the decision to take him off the vent and I hear her crying loudly. “Are they being mean to her?” I ask Marco as he walks back with pain reliever from the pharmacy where he works. I am feeling very protective of my friend and I am ready to run to her side and say, “Leave her alone!”

“No, they are just talking,” Marco replies. I settle down when Cheryl’s Mom arrives at the hospital. No longer Charlie's wife she has come to comfort her children. Cheryl’s Mom gives Cheryl a hug and instantly they are both crying, sobbing incomprehensible words to each other. After long minutes they break apart and I am now hugging Cheryl’s Mom. It is a good Mommy hug, the kind I get from my Mom anytime I need one. “I am so glad you all are here for her.” “I am glad you’re here too.”

Drew, Marco and I take turns hugging Cheryl and saying “I love you.” I let her know that her childhood friend Kara is on the way before we say goodbye. “Drive safe,” she commands. “You know I’m going to say that for a while now, don’t you?”



I walk back out into the rain. Cheryl’s Mom is by her side and I can return to work with a clean conscience, almost. I would love to say as a nurse I am racing off to save another life, but I’m not. I work at a medical spa. If you have wrinkles, or thin lips, or unwanted hair, you call me. Driving down the highway, my left hand on the wheel, my right hand holding the coffee I made while waiting for Drew, I sip it slowly, hoping each sip will wake me and this will all be one of my crazy dreams. I don’t want to hear the DJ drivel so I turn off the radio, but then I am alone with my thoughts. I can’t believe you’re leaving your friend just so some lady won’t have to shave her pubic hair. What the hell kind of friend are you? But her Mom is there. I’m sure Kara is almost there. What can you do anyway? You can hold her hand. You can give her hugs and tissues. You can cry with her. You can make her laugh; you’re good at making her laugh. These are things her mother and Kara are now handling, you have to go to work. But pubic hair, really, is it that important?

There is nothing like death to make every other activity seem shallow and trivial. That feeling is amplified by the fact that my job is purely for aesthetic purposes. Cheryl is losing her Dad today and I am driving farther and farther away. It’s raining buckets and my windows are fogging up, mirroring how I feel inside. My shirt is wet, and my eyes are wet, and my heart is wet. The constant swish of the wipers is pissing me off. I need to yell so I yell. “Fucking God Damn Pubic Hair!”



I am getting close to my exit and I compose myself, because that is what a professional hard working girl does. She doesn’t come to work balling, dropping her baggage on the front desk for everyone else to see. So I wipe my eyes and straighten my hair. Finish my coffee. I take a deep breath and unlock the front door. It is my job to open the office. I turn on the lights and the fountain, push play for the mood music and adjust the thermostat. My patient arrives; I force a smile and ask her, “How are you doing?” I don’t really listen to hear her reply, just smile and nod, thinking, “I can’t believe she is worried about her hair when people are dying.” I know that I do the same thing everyday, going on about my day doing frivolous things like checking my Facebook or wondering where the couch is going to go when I move in with my boyfriend, all while people are mourning people they love.

This morning, though, my hypocrisy doesn’t matter because today the person dying is my best friend’s Dad. Cheryl is never going to hear his voice again. She is never going to see him smile again. She can’t call him for advice. She won’t ever again pick up the phone and hear him say, “Cheryl, promise me you will buy a lotto ticket!” Where will she go for Thanksgiving when she doesn’t fit in with the rest of her family? She won’t ride in style on the back of his Harley to lunch. None of those things will ever happen again. Her Dad will be dead.

Her Dad will be dead and this stupid bitch is at my office to get her pubic hair shaped into a triangle so it won’t be in the way when her husband goes down on her. What the fuck are you doing here? I scream in my head. But my patient doesn’t know that. She asks me, “How are you doing?” I’m just great, my friends Dad is dying and instead of being with her I am here lasering you. Maybe if you weren’t so shallow I wouldn’t be here today. Maybe if there weren’t millions of people like you, this industry wouldn’t exist and all the money it takes to fuel the world’s vanity could be used to save my friend’s Dad. “Oh fine,” I reply, trying to make it sound believable. I breathe out, not realizing I had been holding my breath. I remind myself that it’s not really her fault my friend is losing her Dad. But in my heart, in some illogical way, I believe that it is.





There are all kinds of women who come into get their pubic hair removed. Some are tired of shaving and having painful ingrown hairs. Some just want that little edge that sticks out of the bathing suit removed. Some are doing it for purely aesthetic and sexual purposes. This woman falls into the latter category. They are always easy to spot because they either remove every stitch of hair or the hair they leave is immaculately shaved into a design, with perfectly even crisp edges. As I smooth the ultrasound gel on her skin, like frosting a cake, I say to her in the most pleasant voice I can conjure, “I’m going to apply a cold gel to your skin to keep your skin cool while the laser heats up your hair. The laser may feel like a pin prick or snap of a rubber band. ” I explain that the laser uses thermal heat energy, which is attracted to melanin, the color in her hair; it travels down the hair follicle and cauterizes the blood supply. That she will have to come back four more times because only about 20 percent of hair is connected to the blood supply at any given time. I normally become a sort of friend with my patients after seeing them so many times. I try to focus on the person I am working on and not the act of lasering, but today I can’t manage that connection.

I hand her protective eyewear. I access her skin type and adjust the laser settings, choosing the proper jules and milliseconds, calibrating the diode laser and its minuscule microchips to the exact fluence needed to destroy her hair and not her skin. The new lasers are so easy to use it takes almost no brainpower. I could do this in my sleep. I slide my protective glasses down from the top of my head to cover my eyes. The glasses provide a barrier between me and the intimate area I am about to laser. I can see and touch any person’s private areas as long as I have on the glasses, the protective coating on the lens shielding more than just my retinas. I lose myself in the rhythm of gliding the laser flush against her skin, smoothing a pattern in the gel as the beam covers an area the size of my thumb nail. Listening to the beep of the laser, watching for her face to grimace or her thigh to tense to know when to pause and give her a break. Seeing her skin begin to redden I say, “You may begin to smell burning hair. That is normal.” The smell of burning hair reaches my nostrils. The old lasers would have caused her hair to crackle as it singed, then pop out of the follicle. New technology affords her more comfort. I can’t help but thinking how I’m sure this laser costs more than the ventilator being removed from Cheryl’s Dad. I see my patient clinch her teeth. “You’re doing great,” I say, trying to soothe her. “I’m almost done.”



When the treatment is over and my patient has gone, paying a hefty fee for the pain I just inflicted upon her, I look out the window and see the rain is still coming down. I check the appointment book and I have one more patient to take care of later in the day. I pace around, and then fold towels, the soft white cotton sticking to my dry, over-washed hands. The clock is ticking so slowly. I text Kara and ask, “What’s going on?” “They just took him off the vent,” she writes back, and I wait. Looking out the window at my desk, I see the patterns the rain makes on the surface of puddles in the parking lot. Leaves are hanging low with the weight of rain, then springing up as the rain slides off. It’s going to flood, I tell myself.



Cheryl told me her Dad left when she was small and it is only in recent years that she became closer to him, going to movies and lunches together. Often times riding to lunch on the back of her Dad’s Harley was the highlight of her day. She would always bring one friend with her to Thanksgiving at her Dad’s. “I have one ticket,” she would say, and seeing her Dad was the grand prize. He came and met us all out for drinks one night and she was so excited to see him, to have him meet her friends. They were finally starting to connect again, after things had soured months before. I can still hear the pain in Cheryl’s voice as she told me that her Dad coming to see her perform her spoken word poetry was less about seeing her but more an excuse to hit on her friend. The words she writes are so intimate, such a part of her that I cannot separate Cheryl from poetry in my mind. You missed your chance Pops, I think, her only recourse to write more.

Her Dad is slipping from living man, to memories and words on a page, while I wait for three o’clock and my next patient. I hate this place more and more every minute. I hate my job and its shallow roots. I hate the fact that I make more money removing hair then I could ever make at the hospital saving lives. I hate myself for choosing money over fulfillment.

I worked at the Children’s Hospital for one year. I was in orthopedics, helping the children with broken bones, with spina bifida and scoliosis. I changed dressings and removed sutures from wounds extending all the way down their little spines. I put on casts and assisted the doctor in setting broken bones. I calmed parents and held crying children. I made a difference and for one year I could not pay my mortgage and my bills. My need to be finically independent was greater than my need for fulfillment and when a friend offered me a job making more money, I took it. I told myself I could be satisfied making women more beautiful and self-assured while having my independence too. Making women more beautiful is the easy part; fixing their self-esteem is like filling a black hole. There is the occasional patient whose life is dramatically changed by my job. One patient told me that for five years she set the alarm clock to wake her before her husband, so she could shave her face without him knowing. Imagining her being woken by kisses from her husband instead of an alarm reminding her she is not feminine is wonderful. But there are few patients like her. Mostly women are insecure or vain and looking for a quick fix to feel better. This is not why I got into nursing.

I methodically pull off the balls of lint that are scattered across my uniform, rolling them in my fingers before watching them float slowly into the trash. My phone dings with a text message from Cheryl. “He’s gone.” My heart sinks further. All I want to do is hug my friend and instead I’m waiting for a patient. A patient that doesn’t need surgery or medicine, a patient that wants the skin on her neck to be tighter, one hour with the radio frequency laser and her jowls won’t sag as much.

Just then the phone rings. It’s my patient canceling her appointment. She doesn’t think it is worth it to drive in this rain.



It’s almost three o’clock. I call my boss to see if I can close the office early. I scramble to shut everything down and I call Kara for an update. We are all meeting at Cheryl’s. Can I pick up some spiced rum because Cheryl wants to make apple cider? It is just like Cheryl to still be planning even in the midst of tragedy.

I stop at home to get a change of clothes, brownie mix, and pain reliever. I go to the liquor store and to 7-11. The rain is still pouring down as I park my car and walk the block to Cheryl’s apartment. My arms full, the rain drenching my pants, a gust of wind blows back the hood on my jacket, wetting my face and hair. I almost drop the rum as I reach to ring the bell. I climb the three flights of stairs, water dripping onto the floor and as I step inside. I say to Cheryl, “Your Dad has a sense of humor. I was walking down the street when all of a sudden this gust of wind blew back my hood and soaked me.” For a moment I fear it may have been too soon to jest, but she laughs and comes to give me a hug. “You’re wet,” she says. Marco chimes in with, “You better march your wet butt back down stairs and get the apple juice!” “You have got to be out of your mind,” I kid back with him. Cheryl hands me a change of clothes and Marco and Kara head downstairs to smoke and get the apple juice. I change and then help Cheryl dig out the ingredients for the cider. I don’t know what to say to her, so I fill the kitchen with mindless chatter as the cider fills the air with the smell of fall.



The moment Cheryl’s Dad died, the hospital’s PA system played a nursery song, meaning a baby had been born. They played it twice because twins were born. We kid with Cheryl that it took two babies to fill her Dad’s spot. She smiles and continues to watch the cider bubble. I wonder if this is any comfort to her, but am too afraid to ask.

The friends keep coming and we all pack into her tiny apartment, pulling out snacks, sipping drinks, watching TV. Marco, Kara, and I take turns snuggling up next to Cheryl on the couch. She holds our hands and stares into nothing, talking infrequently. It is dinnertime and everyone is hungry, but no one can decide what we should eat. That’s normally Cheryl’s job. The ideas circle the room before Kara finally says, “Pizza, that’s easiest.” I bake the brownies as we wait for the pizza. It arrives and we are all nurses, making sure Cheryl is eating; eat pizza Cheryl, eat brownies Cheryl, drink cider Cheryl. It makes no sense that we all feel the need to feed the grieving when they have no strength to even swallow. But the belly is the only spot we can help fill. We can’t fill the hole in the heart, or the empty spaces in the mind, but the belly we can fill. I try not to cross the line, that blurry line between helping a friend feel better and helping myself to feel better by trying. Her silence is deafening and I say to her, “We are not here to keep the sadness from coming out, we are here to catch it when it does.” But of course it can’t come out yet. It is buried under shock.

Before the end of the night every available spot on her couch is taken and the floor is covered with Cheryl’s friends, her self-chosen family. Jamie is snuggled next to Kara who is holding Cheryl’s left hand while I am holding Cheryl’s right hand. Drew’s hand rests on my thigh as his shoulder is resting against Marco’s shoulder, and there are more friends on the floor, all of us somehow connected. Watching as we support each other supporting Cheryl, I feel lucky that we have such a strong group of friends. Then I am reminded how often I take that connection for granted. That connection of people helping other people, that I once found so special, I decided to make it my career. How did you lose that? I squeeze Cheryl’s hand harder and rub her leg, hoping this small act will remind her she is loved.




“The last thing I did with him was watch Batman, and it sucked,” Cheryl had said as we were snuggled on the couch together. Those words keep echoing in my head as I try to go to sleep. I curl up under the covers with the lights on, reading a book, trying to read myself to sleep. I get as far as one chapter when I feel Drew take the book, turn off the light, and climb into bed spooning me. I finally drift off. I wake at 2 a.m. to use the bathroom and I am overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness. I think of Cheryl and I wonder if she is sleeping. I think of the pain she must be feeling. Then I think of my Dad, and how devastated I would be if he were to die. I selfishly feel thankful that it was not my dad, and immediately my cheeks burn with shame. Tears are rolling down my flushed cheeks as I climb back into bed and feel Drew’s warmth under the sheets, his arm reaching out to pull me closer.

“Batman,” I replay over and over. “I don’t want my last memory of my Dad to be a Batman.” I try to remember the last memory I have of my Dad. It was sitting around the table with him, drinking coffee and talking. It didn’t suck and again I am thankful. But that isn’t enough. I know that people die everyday. But there is something about a death so close, so big, that under the covers in the middle of the night it has me in a panic. You don’t want to fill your days working in an industry you don’t admire. You don’t want to feed the neurosis of women. You want more time with family and friends, for yourself, time to share with your Dad.

Sometimes I don’t call my Dad because I have nothing impressive to tell him. I know that he will love me no matter what I am doing, but I don’t. There are so many things I want to do with my Dad. I want more good memories. I have more questions to ask him. I have many things to tell him. I want to just stop this rat race and do all those things, but that’s not how it works, at least that’s not how I know it to work. How will I pay my bills if I leave this job I loathe? I will have to give up my comfy lifestyle. Though with all that my new job has afforded me, what have I been losing? What is there that I can never get back? Thoughts swirl in my mind, keeping me awake: you are like your Dad. You are silly and kind, you are loving and thoughtful. You are sloppy and a procrastinator. You are not that vain, you don’t even like to wear makeup, but somehow you are selling it to other women.

Tears are rolling down my cheeks into my ears as I try and fail to remember a Halloween with my Dad. He and my Mom divorced when I was 5, but I can’t ever remember a time when I didn’t know he was there for me. I think of the time he drove up to help me when I left my husband. He just hugged me and helped me get the job done, and as we loaded the final boxes and I was sitting in his car starring at my former home he played Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.” We sang it out together while he hit the steering wheel to the beat. It was exactly what I needed to hear and I remember thinking, how did he know that I needed that? My nose begins to run as all the memories flood my mind. I reach for a tissue and I think, tomorrow when I get off from work, I’m going to hug Cheryl so hard because I do know something about that sort of loss. I think of my dad as he carried boxes and didn’t ask questions as I cried and cried and cry.




Thanks to my friend Jesse Scaccia for editing.
Check out his blog at http://jessescaccia.blogspot.com/

D's Happy Chicken Pot Pie

This is why I love when D cooks...it's yummy and happy.