Stick it to me

Frivolous goodies, mostly for me, me, me: $310

Food and gas money: $25

Getting to spend all day on a road trip to Edinburgh, IN to eat, shop and hang out with the Pinkies: Priceless

One of the Pinkies invited me to a botox party. My first reaction was that I'm going, for sure, just to see what it's really like. Wine, hors d'oeuvres and injections? I've gotta see this for myself. Pinkie T and Pinkie K want the special sauce for their faces. They have the same "elevens" that I have on my forehead -- from giving the stink eye -- and mouth -- we won't go into what those are from here.

I'm not so interested in having the doc do anything to my face -- I like it the way it is -- but another procedure intrigues me. You can get injections in the underarms to stop excessive sweating. Now, I am a delicate flower and all, but this weekend it started getting hell hot here and it's sweathog season, if you know what I mean. I think all I have to do is say that I am "dissatisfied with my ability to perform my current work activities," and/or that I feel "emotionally damaged or injured" due to my sweaty nastiness. Oh, and fork over a wad of cash, of course. I can do that. I'm sure my friends will thank me.

Thanks and goodbye

I received a typically dramatic message from an ex-friend a couple of days ago. Actually, I didn't receive it; a third party got it and passed it along to me. Ah, drama. Around the same time, I found in my wallet a forgotten gift card this person had given me when she was all about me. The message asked about a DVD she'd loaned me back in the day. This afternoon, I dropped the DVD off on her porch and then drove to the mall. I spent the Body Shop gift card in about 10 seconds flat. Lotions and such are a weakness of mine. Now I smell sweet (or sweeter) -- of vanilla and white musk. Mmm.

So, now it's all over, I suppose. It was a wild ride with this person, and I probably got out just in time -- before the real damage came. I want to send this thought for her out into the ether: I hope that you are taking care of yourself and the people around you. Interesting is the best way I can describe knowing you -- you taught me a lot about friendship and some lessons about myself. Thanks for everything you gave me, tangible and otherwise. You should know that I'm doing great and you were wrong. (Oh, and I guess you forgot I still have your house key...)

What a woman wants

I took my lady out last night. After everything she's been through lately, and knowing everything that is to come, smart girl deserved a night to remember. Plus, earlier that day, I'd been given a gift of attention and approval by a person near and dear to me that made my heart feel warm and full, and I wanted to spread the love around.

First, I set the scene at Proof. Swanky, arty, but not too stuffy. Everywhere you look, there's funky artwork, gorgeous lighting, and couples holding hands and cuddling. I raved over her outfit when she arrived until she blushed. We sat outside, and I began to wine and dine her -- anything her little heart desired.

She was so cute, grinning and looking away to the side in slight embarrassment as I catered to her tastes. Would she like to try a new wine or one she'd tried and loved? An appetizer? A salad, perhaps? After she made her selections, I listened to her talk about her nutty day, her current troubles and her fears about moving to NY. Was it the right thing? Would she end up coming back? I assured her that everything would work out brilliantly for her. How could they not, since she's so smart and accomplished and driven? I told her a silly story about my day to lighten her mood and got her giggling. I had to tell her that she looked so beautiful in the candlelight, with her eyes flashing and hair shining like gold. Her flashing eyes melted and she leaned in toward me even closer. She raised her wine glass again and again, looking at me over the rim when she thought I wouldn't notice.

When I paid the check, she thanked me over and over. I told her it was entirely my pleasure and I'd been looking forward to our evening together for some time. Nothing about it had disappointed, I said. In fact, it couldn't have been more perfect, but it wasn't over yet.

After dinner, I walked her through the art gallery, pointing out pieces I thought she'd particularly be interested in, asking her what she thought of the turkey wearing a wig or the photos of transgendered folks. I hung on her every word, encouraging her to describe her reactions in detail. A bit tipsy, she brushed against me again and again, giggling more and more. After we rearranged the roomful of big, red plastic penguins to our liking, I suggested a stroll down the street to clear our heads of the lingering wine fog. She instantly agreed. We walked and talked, and I told her what my nickname for her was. She slowed and came to a stop. I could see the pleasure wash over her features. I knew at that moment that she would come home with me if I asked, but I broke eye contact and steered her toward her car. I saw her safely off with a lingering hug and a caution to drive carefully. I knew we'd be seeing each other again soon and there was no need to rush. Damn, I'm a great boyfriend.

He? She?

At dinner with a good friend tonight, I mentioned that the little old lady at Walgreen's that sells me my smokitos on my way to work was distraught the other day. After the patron in front of me left, she looked into my eyes and asked me if she could ask me a question. Uh, she just did, but I said she could ask another. She needed to know whether the person who just left was a man or a woman. I hadn't seen the face, just the back. And I heard the voice, which was British and a bit high. There was definitely ambiguity there -- no giveaway feminine sway of the hips or straighforward masculine stride. I told her as positively as I could that I believed a lady had just left the building. She was clearly skeptical, but I'd done all I could. So, tonight, I just ran across this site. I took the quiz, and apparently I have a bit of a knack for identifying the correct sex of guys who look like women and women who look like women. Yay, me. Who knew? The site says the average score is 60 percent. I got 92 percent (missed one, and I was sure I had that one, too, damn it). Sooooo...next time you need to know: He? She? Call me. I'm on it.

Too confident?

Maybe I won't save the world -- at least at the halfway house. After discussing more details of my experience there with friends and my other half, now I'm questioning my confident attitude about the situation. For instance, at one point, I was sitting in a small, isolated room with four men with the door closed. When one of the teachers came to check on me, it was discovered that the door had locked from the inside, that is, the teacher couldn't open the door from the outside. Some interesting looks were exchanged between myself and the men at that moment. Who knows what they were thinking.

So ... if something were to happen, I could have opened the door, if I could have reached it, but nobody from outside could get in without being let in. At the time, I was so overwhelmed with everything and, yes, feeling confident, that I didn't give it as much thought as I perhaps should have. I don't like questioning my confidence, but I also don't want to put myself in dangerous situations unnecessarily or make others worry about my safety. It touches me that they care so much, though.

Another comment this week from a friend about number 6 -- I think I'm beautiful -- on my list of 100 things also made me think about my confident attitude and how it might be offputting. One good friend had said earlier that it didn't bother them and they agreed that it was true, but I should be prepared to get some negative responses to such a statement. So this second friend said it was a bit frightening. I assured her that I don't feel that way 100 percent of the time. Maybe 99 percent or so. I've just reached a point in life where I know I've got it going on. Why shouldn't I feel that way? If I feel beautiful and other people tell me that I am, I should think that I'm not, or lie and say I don't think I am? Or is this particular area special? Is it okay for me to say that I'm intelligent but not that I'm beautiful?

For me, self-confidence is very attractive in both men and women. I want to be around people who know their minds and speak them freely. Who will be themselves, not worrying too much what others think. Who aren't afraid to try new experiences, show true emotion, get close to people and make mistakes, or have the confidence to make outrageous jokes that make me laugh and groan at the same time. Nothing else is as fun. Nothing else makes a person beautiful from the inside out. I guess it's always impossible to know for sure how you come across to people, but at least when you're self-confident, you don't give it too much thought -- you're too busy doing your own thing.

Saving the world

I started a new volunteer assignment last night, and it went great. I don't tend to worry too much about going into new situations. Some women might be nervous about volunteering at a mens' halfway house, but I knew it would work out. I hadn't given safety a second thought, but it was so cute how the two men running the class were so protective of me. I ended up working separately from the full class with two men who were putting all their effort into their work. Since it was my first time there, I wasn't sure if I'd be observing or actually thrown into the mix. It turned out to be the latter. I made it up as I went along, and I must say I did a pretty good job. There were some funny moments when guys kept coming in to "ask the teacher a question." They were on a mission to get a look at me. Ah well, I'm used to that wherever I go. ;)

I'm looking forward to doing more preparation for my future sessions there; I can tell that it'll be worth it for the students and it's already rewarding for me.

I love my mom

Especially when we get into phone conversations like this.

Mom: So I'm going to get together with some of my friends. They've decided they want to make jewelry. I'll try, but I don't know how to do it. I'll probably make some tacky pieces that I can send you. Maybe you'll wear them.

Me: Uh, okay. Sounds like fun. You should definitely do it.

Mom: Now, you, you're so talented, you have made some beautiful jewelry. I wish I were talented like you.

Me: Oh, now, you're the talented one. I'm sure it'll turn out great.

Mom: I remember when you made some beautiful earrings with beads and feathers...

Me: I never made any jewelry with feathers!

Mom: They were big, and they had feathers...

Me: I never made any jewelry with feathers! [pacing]

Mom: Oh, I thought they had feathers, and with the beads, they were so pretty!

Me: No feathers! [furiously yanking hair from head]

Mom: Those feathers...

Me: Mom! NO feathers! I know you gave me a Native American name, but I have not ever, and will not ever, make nor wear feather earrings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets or headdresses! [both pacing and yanking]

Mom: Oh, well, but...

Me: No.

Mom: Well.

Me: Yeah.

18 again

I don't know if it was started by thinking about my college days on Friday, but I had the funniest feeling this past weekend, as I floated from place to place. That's what it felt like, floating. No, I'm not running a fever. When I was 18, I was constantly running, from classes to the library to my multiple jobs to parties and get-togethers and every damned thing. It was like I never touched down. And everything I did was for myself -- just what I wanted, when I wanted it. Eighteen-year-olds can be very selfish, no? Friday, I was considering an invitation to go to dinner with a big group of friends, but I just wasn't feeling it, so I waited to commit. Sure enough, I got a last-minute invite to play poker and hang with Twinkie. It turned out great -- a whole new group of fun people and good Texas Hold 'Em. All night, my other friends were texting me -- I'm not too good at texting (I hardly ever do it) -- and it was too fun sending crazy, mixed-up stuff back and forth. I felt so social. ;) Saturday, I bought myself a new outfit, something I haven't done for a shamefully long time. With my new green top, new jeans, and awesome green leather heels, I headed out with other friends to see Alejandro Escovedo (for the second time, I adore him), Ralph Stanley (for the first time, and it was amazing -- everyone was in awe when he did Oh, Death a cappella), and discovered a new favorite, The Yonder Mountain String Band. I got completely lost in the live music. I felt so young again, almost carefree.

Sunday, I rested. Did my own solo thing all day, which is always the best. Oh well, now it's back to mid-life.

PTSD

I'm losing control of my body functions. First, the hysterical-laughing-while-friend-falls-humiliating-herself-in-front-of-fifty-people, and then laughing-even-harder-all-day-just-thinking-about-it, and now this.

A couple of months ago, I experienced something so vile, so mind-bending, that I didn't even realize the damage done to my psyche at the time. Now, I can see clearly what has been done to me, and I've self-diagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You see, I keep reliving this event, and every time I do, my visceral reaction gets worse and worse.

Here's what happened. I was sitting with several other folks, chatting, when I noticed that one of them had something happening in the nasal region. Okay, it was a booger, and quite visible to me. As this person talked, the booger became more and more visually prominent, and I found myself unable to look away. My chest tightened as the greenish-whitish substance succumbed to the force of gravity, showing its massive size. I felt fear. Real fear.

The booger sufferer was gradually realizing what I was all-too-aware of. Something had to be done, but what? What? I regret to inform you that after some face-wiggling and swipes with the hand, this -- object -- was suddenly closer to the mouth than the nose. And then ... as I watched in terror and the rest of the world fell away, the mucusy blob disappeared into the mouth forever. I now know that I went into a state of semi-shock, as my limbs went cold and numb and my brain froze up. My gorge rose a little, but I was able to force the urge to puke down. I was finally able to look away and try to immediately begin the process of erasing the memory.

But it wouldn't go. It's been lurking there in the recesses of my brain. Yesterday, I made the mistake of recalling this event and attempting to recount it to a friend. As she listened, open-mouthed, I tried over and over to get the words out, "it went...it went... it..." Each time I tried to describe the final descent, I doubled over as my stomach cramped and I gagged. Real gagging, I mean. I began to wish that I would just go ahead and vomit, to end the spasms. It was horrific. Not realizing how close I was, she rubbed my back and soothed me. I finally was able to whisper the words, "it went in his mouth." Once it was out, I felt a bit better, but oh, the horror, the horror.

Today, I tried to tell someone else the story of the two events in an attempt to understand what was happening to me. As you might expect, it did not go well. The half-puking urge returned, and I began to half-laugh as well, at which time I went into a choking/coughing fit that tore the hell out of my throat.

So, I've learned my lesson. Obviously, I must never tell this story verbally again. Typing this, I must tell you, dear reader, that my throat is swelling and my stomach is churning, but it's a little easier than trying to speak it aloud. I'm staying near the bathroom, just in case I finally hurl, though. My fervent wish today is that, knowing what I know about the dangers of reliving this event, I can now begin the healing process and that no one I love ever goes through what I've gone through.

Dance Party 1987

On the way to work this morning, I heard an earworm -- ya know, a song that cycles through your brain all day long, whether you like it or not, mercilessly. It's a ridiculous song, called, ahem, Da Butt. Oh yeah.

Walked in this place surprised to see
A big girl gettin' busy, just rockin' to the go-go beat
The way she shook her booty sho' looked good to me
I said, 'Come here, big girl, won't you rock my world
Show that dance to me.' She was...

Not only can I not get that sucker out of my head, it's taken me back to my freshman year in college. I don't even think I've heard the song since then, until today. I don't think about that time of my life that often anymore -- honestly, a lot of it is pretty much a blur. But I cannot forget how we were ate up with the song at all the campus parties that year. It'd play probably four or five times a night and my girlfriends and I acted like (bigger) fools every time. Of course, you have to have a partner to do the dance right. That song was the PERFECT ice-breaker, if you know what I mean. You pick a guy -- hell, yes, he'll dance with you for this one, are you kidding? -- and then you get to know him pretty well, pretty fast...And I did. Oh man, I can see him now, he was so beautiful.

Doin' the butt. Hey pretty, pretty
When you get that notion, put your backfield in motion, hey
Doin' the butt. Hey sexy, sexy
Ain't nothing wrong,
if you wanna do the butt all night long
(Hey yeah-ee yeah. Yeah-ee, Yeah-ee, Yeah-ee Yeah)
Ow, what you gonna do about it (Yeah-ee yeah. Yeah-ee)
Shake it! (Yeah-ee, Yeah-ee Yeah)

Then when the dance floor was completely packed, everyone was grinding away, and the sweat was pouring down our faces (and other parts), came the even more goofy part -- audience participation -- sing it with me, now, don't be shy:

Tanya got a big ol' butt (oh yeah?)
Theresa got a big ol' butt (oh yeah?)
Irene got a big ol' butt (oh yeah?)
Melissa got a big ol' butt now
And Sonya got a big ol' butt (oh yeah?)
And Shirley got a big ol' butt (oh yeah?)
Ol' Tammy got a bubble butt (oh yeah?)
Little Keisha got a big ol' butt, now, gimme the butt!

Yes, it's all coming back to me now. Wow!

Life lessons

Why does this combination sometimes seem like such a good idea? Some life lessons are so hard to learn.

Road trip

Last night's wild full moon craziness never came to fruition for me. The David Mead show was okay and I got to see smart girl and meet some new people, but I can't say much else about it. Maybe next month???

I attended the Reds/Phillies game today, but I couldn't be expected to maintain 100 percent sports concentration through the whole game. I amused myself by rating the mustaches of the inhabitants of my section. Yes, I am a big, big mustache fan. There were some real beauties. Full ones, smooth ones, salt-and-pepper ones, full mustache/beard combos, even a fully waxed one. Food for thought through 10 innings. A few of the ladies had some nice ones, too, and the baby in front of me was sporting a chocolate mustache through most of the game, as well. If only my subjects knew what I was thinking...

Part of the ritual when attending games in Cincy is to go to Jungle Jim's. This store is an experience -- they don't have everything, but darned near it. The fun of it is picking out new weird stuff to try. I always find something in the "exotic meats" department. I wanted to get the bone-in rattlesnake, which looked like a giant over-ripe banana. But at $100, it wasn't going to happen. Brought home the kangaroo medallions instead. I also found some Yali pears from China, a feijoa, which I'd never heard of before (it smells heavenly), and some strange British inventions -- they never let me down in the weirdness department. One little jar is called Bloater Paste and the other is a tuna/mayonnaise concoction. There seems to be some skepticism about whether I'll actually consume these items, but I will, oh I will. I'm not scared.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

Look up

It's a full moon tonight. I know that it's not actually a cause of madness, violence, heightened fertility or birth rates. Still, it's beautiful (if the clouds will get out of the way tonight) and starts the mind racing in an illogical way. Could the moon and I make something happen tonight? Will I act a fool? Could I turn into a werewolf? Or dance under the light of the moon?

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

Does it happen to everyone? It seems so. The only question is when. Close friends I've known for 15 years and who've been married for eight, are splitting. Two little kids and a third party involved. The judgments, tears and pain are in full force. I can't stand to watch/hear them go through it all, after being part of them growing up together and all the good times. My step-sister is going through a similar situation. Two little kids and a mother who now won't speak to her because she disapproves of how she's handling her life. How a 39-year-old woman is handling her own life. How can people who love each other be so judgmental and cut each other out of their lives, just when the need for support is greatest? Smart girl and her husband are separated and thinking that a move to another state might fix things. You take your problems with you, though, and then add new ones.

You can never know what goes on between two people behind closed doors, and trying to figure out what might have led to a final split is a waste of time. One thing I have learned in the last year, in a number of ways, is that judging has no place in the equation. Being there to listen is the best you can do, I think. Of course, that can be tricky when you love both parties.

I was talking to my mother about all this, and she gave me a word of warning, "Be careful, divorce is catching." She may be right.

Payback's a Bitch

There once was a girl who laughed at her friend when she tripped and fell in the street in front of a large group of people. She laughed and laughed and laughed until her sides hurt. She was still laughing the next day, in fact. Oh, it was soooooo funny. A couple of days later, she was feeling sassy in her cute outfit: hot heels, new skirt, tight top and jacket. During the work day, she and her friends went outside for a quick break. It was a cool, blustery day ... in a flash, the wind whipped her cute skirt up and there were her thong and goods on display for her friends and a couple of lucky passers-by to see. Who's laughing now?? Uh, that would be everybody.

I have no control over it. Doctors have told me that when I feel it, the best thing to do is just release it. Otherwise, I could die.

What IS that irresistible impulse to laugh when a friend is in the middle of a humiliating experience? So, today, my friend and I were walking through a very crowded street. Suddenly, she veered toward the curb to try to pass these slowpokes and then went into a spectacular fall. First, a windmilling of the arms and wobbling back and forth for several seconds -- I thought she was going to save it -- and then about a three-quarter turn all the way down, a bounce off the curb, and a final landing on her ass. I was amazed at the intricacy of the movements. And only about 50 people saw the whole show.

OMG, I could NOT stop from laughing as I was pulling her up -- and every time I thought of it for the rest of the afternoon, I started up again (at my desk, in the parking garage elevator), which was embarrassing for me (not as embarrassing as the initial incident for her, of course.) I'm laughing my ass off right now!

She didn't hurt herself, just her pride, but she shook it off pretty well (this kind of thing happens quite often with her, actually). She didn't say she was upset; I worried that I made it worse, though. So, is it a good friend who will laugh at (with) you when you make a fool of yourself like that or is it a good friend who refrains??

Sisters are doing it

What would you call a group of do-gooding women who get together on a weeknight to sew, crochet and knit teddy bears and blankets for a children's camp charity? Grandmas?

What would you call them if they were all young, drank too much wine and got raunchy, cut all the patterns out wrong, had to keep unraveling the yarn because it was all wonky, and had several bleeding emergencies? The Golden Girls, naturally. Hey, it's the thought that counts, right? We may get one three-legged bear and a holey blanket out of this yet -- oh no, we're not giving up. We'll help those kids if it's the last thing we do -- while drinking wine. Just take the advice of one GG's real grandma -- don't stand there holding your hoo-hah waiting for us to get it done.

Bye, Derby 2006

After a long week at work, I was so ready for Derby festivities to get going. I even worked Friday morning, then finally took off for the Oaks. Even though I only had one winner, hanging out with my friends in the sun all day, and making new ones (temporary friends, anyway) made the week disappear. Could it get better? Yes, it could. I went home, kicked off my heels (and threw off my hat) and went over to my friends' house in my pajamas, where they fed me tacos and let me hang out in the hot tub. Those foot massage jets are simply heaven.

Saturday, I baked a killer chocolate cake, loaded up the car, and headed out to meet up with Twinkie and her friends for an all-day Derby party. There's nothing like a chilled-out group that makes you feel welcome when you show up for the first time, especially when you're a weirdo like me. They even had a giant bonfire to top the night off.

To top the weekend off, I spent part of today in bed, eating cookies and reading. More heaven.

I like web sites that tell me I'm smart

So I heard you kick ass at music trivia. Got 'em all scared down at Tuesday Night Trivia at the local watering hole? Yer so cool. You should try What's That Song? Let the site pick an artist and play 10 songs for you to identify, or pick your favorite band. Addictive personalities may want to stay away.

A little do-gooding

"It's for your own good." I've actually had these words spoken to me in past days more than once. Then, I received advice on how to address a situation with a friend, with an eye toward what could be done "for her own good." Is it ironic that it gave me a not-so-comfortable feeling? Of course, I want to do something that qualifies as "good" for her, but do I get to decide what that is? If given the option, she might say, "hell no." The thing of it is that so often, in these "do good" situations, what you're going to do, from the outside, is likely to look like doing what is going to work best for yourself.

It's one thing for a parent or guardian to decide and act on what is best for a child; it's their job to use judgment where the child lacks it. But who am I to decide what is best for another adult, what they can handle, and who are they to decide what is best for me? Whose judgment is dominant? (Well, that's more of a rhetorical question. Mine, of course, who are we kidding?) Are we really talking about manipulation here? The cynic in me says human action is driven by self-interest. But being a cynic, I also believe that the world can be a better place, if people open their eyes a bit to what's really important and how they're affecting others. Maybe on a good day, that self-interest coincides with what is best for another, and everyone wins. I suspect that happens much less often than we tell ourselves it does.

For me, being told that someone is going to or wants to do something for my own good gets my hackles up, which tells me that I ought not put myself on the other side of the equation. But it's human nature to believe that we understand what's going on, how a scenario should play out, and what's best for others. Real life is messy (that's what makes it beautiful and worth diving into every day!) and I guess the key is working toward truly putting others' best interests before my own, with the blinders off.

Thanks for getting me through

Some things that are turning me on:

Imogen Heap's Goodnight and Go (on repeat for days)

Dog Judo

Planning my vacation ... and the next one and the next one...

Derby Week 2006 and hat shopping

Women with Big Eyes

Grumpy Old Bookman

Footballers' Wives (soooooo trashy)

You can't make it up (Even though some of it is made up.)

Ricky (Even though those Flanimals books are lame, I still want to go out for beers with this guy before I die.)

Baby Got Book

Cosmos at The Back Door (mm, and cheap, cheap, cheap!)

Wrap it up?

Recently, several people have shared stories with me of their or acquaintances/friends/whatever's sexual escapades. I'm always willing to be a good listener when this is the topic, for as long as it takes, and these stories didn't disappoint, but one disturbing fact was included in each one. No protection. Some of the participants apparently had made other anti-procreation arrangements, but I couldn't help but think about what another friend told me awhile back: that one in four people have an STD.

(She also told me that a certain part of our town has a MUCH higher percentage rate going, and it's so well-known that it's affecting those folks' ability to get any action, but I'm afraid to say which part because it would most certainly lead to me getting my butt kicked. But I digress.)

I went to check out some numbers, and my friend probably wasn't too far off. One in four may have genital herpes, but 90 percent don't know it. Half the population will get an STD by age 25, and more than half will have one at some point in their lives.

One friend, after telling me about her partner's many conquests, said with a straight face that she didn't worry because she knew he was picky. Really, it's not my business and I'm no doctor, so there's nothing I can do beyond worry and hope that if it turns out that anything needs to be treated, the appropriate professional will be consulted. The punchline: He was terrible in bed. Ain't that a kick in the head?