Mystery Karen

Last Friday (Dec 19) I posted a photo summarizing a mysterious present left on my desk from "Karen."  Everything I say is true.  The Karen in our department was out that day.  A Karen used to work for me, but hasn't in a year.  And the gift was kinda thoughtful - but a little strange.

On Dec 22 when we returned in office, I asked department Karen whether she had left the gift.  She definitely stated no, although if it was good - she'd take credit.  I told her it wasn't worth the new found glory.  Not because receiving a gift has to be some elaborate value, but it's spooky and for someone who doesn't realize that, there's no need.

Today, December 24 - Christmas Eve, I walked past one of my employees desks to find this.  To my knowledge, Alex & I are the only special recipients of Karen's magical secret gift giving.  Which isn't to say I'm not appreciative of her second unknowing gift she gave - the ability to write about this.

Still fucking strange to me, but it got me thinking about the few other times people have left things on my desk anonymously.

A few years into my job, someone left the most beautiful plumeria flowers on my desk.  A couple days later, another couple of buds.  And then they stopped and no one ever fessed up.  So back then I decided it was a confused lover leaving his words through flowers program on the wrong desk.  And then he became tempestuous with "Brandi" when she didn't thank him for the love.  And then he broke up with her, always destined to hold a grudge.
     That or someone was inappropriately obsessed* and decided to relinquish their love for me.  *Sadly that also has happened to me.
     I tried to find out who it was - I even left sticky notes next to the flowers asking for this Cyrano to come forth.  nada.

Then a few years after that, I was been promoted to manager and had recently changed desks.  I found the following drawing left upon thy chair.  So back then I decided another person secretly found out how much I dug Star Trek and stayed up ALLLL night creating this for me.  It is completely hand drawn with no signature.
     Again I left a sticky note asking for mystery artist to come hither and show thy-selves.  But zilch.  I don't get it!?  Like I'm cautiously flattered but also realistic.  Being nice can be interpreted in the worst of ways and ain't nobody got time for that.
     So I keep my pleasant distance, thank them back and leave my life at that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 So for anyone reading, has this happened to you OR am I oddly lucky?  If this HAS happened to you too, I'm very interested in understanding your rationale.  Please leave a comment cuz that would be fun.

The 7 Stages of Loniness

I go through the same stages of loneliness each time Travis is away.

1. Anticipation
2. Sadness
3. Encouraged
4. Productive
5. Longing
6. Acceptance
7. Repeat

Mum's the Guilt

Friday nights are often reserved for ordering take out, especially when Travis is home, because it's fun and I don't have to think anymore.  Work has been extremely challenging for a number of uninteresting reasons, since Christmas is near and the office is winding down.  We ordered thai and both got a dish called Kai Ga-tiam, or garlic "beef" with rice.  Trav finished his and I ate just over half, setting the rest under a side table.  We started watching Elf: Buddy's Musical Christmas and I grabbed all the things needed to finish wrapping a couple presents.

Because we live to please MyFitnessPal (not really but it is working!) we planned on going to the gym before Trav's 11pm show.  He & Leroy napped for a spell while I finished the packages, and we were ready to go around 9pm.

Now I am totally aware of a personal shortcoming, which is often forgetting to put something away.  It can be paper, food, a brush, magazines, bills, etc.  You name 75 things and I've left a good portion of those out.  It's an affliction that's been with me since I can remember and tonight we caught up.

In the commotion of mind, getting ready for the gym, and my shortcoming, I completely forgot to put away the garlic/onion "beef."  We went to the gym for 40 minutes and in true fashion, I recalled my error the SECOND we walked through the door.  Without fail I snap remember the moment panic swells; why can't that kick in before I leave?  But puppy greeted us in the usual sweet way he does. Happy to see us, waggy tail, hoppy, picking up toys, the works.  Maybe he just slept, maybe he didn't realize, I told myself.  But as I looked toward the table I saw the box pulled from under it.

fuck. He had eaten the remaining rice, some broccoli, some "beef," and some peripheral garlic.  There was still food left in the container, including much of the sauce.  but fuck.  Leroy eats appropriate non-dog food, such as carrots, blueberries and brown rice - so it's no surprise he went for what he did.  He doesn't eat a lot of that, but supplemental additions to his kibble.  He loves it and gives him different vitamins maybe not normally found in his daily diet.  With this though, I know garlic & onions aren't good for dogs, so Travis began looking up possible symptoms while I called the vet emergency line.

I explained what happened.  The guy was calm and said it being cooked was likely less an issue than raw, given the small amount he ate, and more likely scenario is he'll have an pupset tummy.  We could bring him in for a shot to induce vomiting, but only within the next hour before things started passing.  The pupset tummy would likely show up within 12-24 hours, but other symptoms maybe not for a few days.

Now all I can think is what have I done to our boy.

I continued with questions about permanent damage outside the vomiting, and he said there are a few possible side effects, but the vet would have to investigate.  Throughout the conversation he never felt we should bring him in unless we wanted to.  My mind ran over everything, including what if something is wrong and I don't take him in... Then it's my fault.  But he & Travis both felt Leroy would be ok, so I desperately asked those feelings to step aside.  I got the number to poison control in case we had more specific questions and the call ended.

I sorta just sat there, processing the information and trying to read Leroy in case there were symptoms I was missing.  He was perfect though, just wanted pets, tummy rubs, & to play with his ropey toy.  I mean that's awesome deep down, but even that can't eliminate the feeling you've let the two most important boys in your life down.  I am half responsible for this little fuzzy creature that I love beyond words and I made a mistake.  It could have been an awfully worse mistake - it wasn't, but it could have been.  Have I become too careless since he's such a smart boy?  In the end, we decided against the shot and to monitor him.

I'm not one to dismiss my errors easily, so naturally the mountain of guilt that arose felt like the weight of 1000 judges reminding me of my failure.  I started crying.  Not uncontrollable, not inconsolable, but the kind that steady streams out when your entire body has no other means of releasing emotions.  Instead of formulating sentences, you can cry and get the same relief.

Let me just tell you, Travis is kind and amazing.  He calms me.  He insisted Leroy would be ok and went over similar facts the tech did.  He pointed out Leroy's playful attitude, hugging him saying does this look like a boy who isn't feeling well?  I smiled and said no... sniff... He reminded me to not be so hard on myself, to which of course I argue it was my carelessness that could have really hurt him.  He came back saying it was an accident and he's ok, so it should remind both of us to make sure we pick up anything puppy enticing.  I got major hugs and felt a little better.

I monitored him the entire night, even falling asleep holding his little puppy paw.

As I complete this entry, almost 24 hours later, he never threw up.  He never showed any signs of indigestion or unhappyness.  We went for a walk, even to the puppy park for an hour... everything seems to be right in the world of Leroy.  The only remnant that actually put a smile on my face, was finding a rice grain in his beard.  That happens to Travis too. :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This will likely be the closest thing to parenthood I get.  And I made a mistake, but Leroy won't slam a door in my face when he's 16 because of it.  So I can't imagine going through this routine time and time again with a humanoid, the ups and downs of errors that will ring through my brain asking whether this will mess him up for life.  I don't know how I could handle that, knowing the feeling I just went through.  There are other reasons I don't want to have kids, but this cycle is certainly a big check in the negative box.  I now being scared isn't a reason to never do something, but it does make you think...

Hey Asshole

A few Wednesdays back, Travis, Leroy and I went to dinner with some friends and their pup, whom we haven't seen in several years.  It was a place that serves tasty food & beer, including my favorite foamy goodness that's aged in whiskey barrels.  I say it's my favorite yet can never remember the name, although there is a C somewhere.  Leroy and Beckett got along smashingly and us ladies gabbed while the men gabbed too.  Two tough guys were getting wasted and chatting up this pretty thing, telling tales of this guy named Charlie who had a killer boat.  It was a really awesome, relaxing evening.  Until it wasn't.

Because of the dogs, we sat on the restaurant's patio, that butts up (butts) to a busy main street.  So picture it.  You step through the metal flanked committee and have an open walkway towards the inside restaurant.  On either side are rows of tables that line the walls.  The outer seats are matched with chairs, while the inner is a solid, thick, wooden bench.  We're at our 4 top in the back and to the left, with only one other table further inlet.  My back is to it, while I face our friend Claire.  I had set my phone on this other table because no one was there while we were eating and I wanted to keep my chipped & cracked device ketchup free.  I didn't really move away from that position the entire night.

We finished dinner and let the dogs non-obnoxiously play on the bench, pretty engaged between them and laughing.  I grabbed my phone from the table to take some photos, but it was too dark.  Leroy noticed some pretty birds leaving the restaurant.  He trotted on the bench to greet them, while they commented on his lovely, giant ears and groovy Star Wars sweater.  I put the phone down where it had previously floated on its metal moat, so I could be a responsible puppy parent while they were engaged.

Whether this guy had been scoping out the joint from the sidewalk or simply got a hair up his butt (butt) I'll never know.

But (butt) fuck that guy.

Per the security cam footage, he walked past the metal flanking gates, onto the patio, and inside to the restaurant.  He grabbed a menu and came back outside, sitting where else, but at the table my back was too - and where my phone was.  He threw his bag over my phone the second he planted his tush in the seat, not more than 2 feet from me.  He stupidly fumbled around with the menu, thinking he's being all slick by "pondering" what he would order.  The nerve.  I mean yes, my lack of awareness too, but dude, the nerve.

About 5 seconds later, slick was gone.

About 5 minutes later, we got up to leave.  5. minutes.

We started looking around, under the chairs, my friend in her purse, every place the phone SHOULD have been.  It's a very unnatural feeling missing something you know you had.  You repeatedly pat your pockets, shove your hands in your coat, check your shoes, your hair.  I started looking at Mr. & Mr. Hit-on, wondering if they somehow they snagged it.  I scanned every face still there, hoping for a sign of guilt.  But nothing.  Everyone was in their own conversation, completely oblivious to our peril.  sad face.

After driving a couple rounds to see if he was still around, we gave up and went home. Shut off service, blocked it, changed passwords for the few apps I had running, and remotely detonated it.  After handling all the security stuff though, my emotions began.  As I took mental inventory, it became clear how many photos weren't backed up, the numbers I lost, and the personal notes I always need that were gone.  Can't get that back-ever.  It's just a material thing, but it's still my material thing I didn't give permission this asshole could take.  I don't like feeling someone has photos of my Leroy and my veggies.  Notes about presents and journal ideas.  Offering written gibberish that is up to me to decide when or if I'll share.  It's invasive and violating, and it was just a fucking phone!  I can't imagine a home invasion or being car jacked.  I learned the next day by taking the steps I did, it should have been very difficult for any schmuck to access the items I was worried about - which is nice and comforting.  But still.

But the phone wasn't pristine, it was chipped & cracked and I hope he sliced his wrist or cut his nose doing blow.  Because once it's dead in the water, naturally the only thing he can do is blow. All I can do is laugh.

So because baddies & potential baddies I'm sure read journals, don't be an asshole. And don't hack shit. And don't steal stuff.  It's easier being kind.

besos.

Tell You Thursday: Keeping Hope Alive

It's that time of year when I realize I should have completed my gift making months ago, should have written down all the shit I need to do, and should not keep track of how many days till 24 hours of A Christmas Story because I want to watch now!

But at this point, life makes it a cyclical habit that's hard to break.

It's also the time of year where me and my most special girlfriends from high school get together for a holiday gift exchange and night of debauchery, as if we never missed a day of each others' faces.  This fierce group of 6 has managed to exercise our holiday right almost every year since 1999.  But don't totally picture one-night stands, don't totally think limitless booze, and don't totally speculate a lot of opinions.  Not quite but sort of.

We've been comrades and foes, criers and huggers, drink buyers when relationships soared and failed, and even a few that swapped.  Seen girls kiss boys and girls kiss girls, girl steals boy and boy splits town.  Through parents reading journals and being chased by cops, threatening to run away to Seattle and scrounging for Whopper money.  College and trips abroad, marriage and divorce, careers and start-overs, a couple of kids but most of us with pups, money and not so much money.  Naked runs on a private beach and piercings that have long been removed.  Brilliant tattoo choices and some not so much.  Denial of drug use and abandoned houses, generator parties and part time jobs.  Outdoor sleepovers where we spent all night figuring it out... together.  Always, together.  And laughs, laughs and more laughs I wish I heard more often.

Seriously, this is a set friendships spanning 15-20+ years, where without saying, we are still there for the best and worst of each others' lives. Long conversations using our parents phone have transitioned to facebook chats and rambling text messages, but we still love each other.  We appreciate each other more than the day we graduated and that's fucking tops.  This will never change because growing up in a desert town forces that existence upon you, whether you ask for it or not.  There is a bond between people that is rarely dissolved, albeit windy at times.  I would never exchange these ladies for anything in the world.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gathering of the ladies changes location year to year.  Often it's what works best timing wise, other years someone has moved into a new place.  2012 hosting was bequeathed upon us because it was the first Christmas in our new home.  Sweet & junk, but yes of course!

After the formalities of re-stoking the catch up fires, we pour drinks and eat snacks and talk stories of what's been happening.  Then the opening and stealing of the gifts begins.  This is where gentle claws come out to play for a spell.  It can take anywhere from 30-60 minutes of us cackling between the choosing, drink & smoke breaks.  But anyone who's been to a gift exchange between a great group of friends, knows what an awesome time you have.

A few hours into hanging out this particular year, the idea of getting into a little trouble was appealing.  Not raise hell trouble but our classed up version of it.  Us doing something that usually results in a "I can't believe/remember that happened..." as we recount & relaugh at our forever memories.

Not sure why the idea struck me, but I suggested we visit Bob Hope's house because they put up this ancient nativity scene every year.  Maybe it was to share the Christmassey mood or simply a mini-activity before doing something else.  Either way, I enjoy it for non-religious reasons and thought they would too.  It has white & blue lights that project strange shadows and oversees the neighborhood like a tall, plasticine governor should.  We designated a driver, piled in shoulder to shoulder, and headed off for how ever long it took.

We circled before parking in their little mini-driveway that is on the edge of the property (look here - we parked about 10 feet in front of the red bows.)  Silly me for thinking we would just stare & make jokes.  Silly me for thinking it's fine to pull up in front of a very high profile house around midnight as if it was our own crib.  Silly me.

Nope, they wanted more action.  Never in a destructive way though - never.  Just in a we're having fun way and someone has an idea that leads to another idea, and eventually we're like I can't believe we did that. and so on.  To also note, at the time I don't think anyone actually lived there, but it's Bob Hope's fucking house so tom foolery eventually gets noticed.

Two of these lovely ladies decided they needed a close up view of the manger and started climbing the fence.  If you look at the daytime photo, it doesn't seem that tall.  But turns out does require a strong finger foot hold and a heave ho.  They struggle for a few minutes but eventually make it and we're all laughing.  However, internally I'm like fuck-fuck-fuck this place is being watched.  It's a nice neighborhood where I'm sure they don't take kindly to even cute girls laughing and walking the fence this late.  So they're up there holding baby jesus and riding the donkey and yelling back to us at what they see over the walls.  They are taking photos and then disappear for a hot minute while my other friends light a smoke.

I finally can't shut my inner mum up, so I urge them we should leave before something bad happens.  Surprisingly I think we all felt it and everyone mostly obliged. :)  I let out a deep breath of releif, sat in the car while they scurried down, thinking in a minute we'll be driving off to the next adventure.  Sigh, ok good we're all in the car.

That's when a neighborhood security patrol car pulled up.  fuck.

By no means were we drunk, but drinks were had.  There's neighborhood patrol because it's a ritzy hood.  But I thought it's fine - they can really do anything cuz they're rent a cops.

Two younger gentlemen rolled down their windows and we mimicked, before asking what we were up to.  I was somewhat familiar with the local backstory and was with it enough to answer straight.  I said my friends were visiting from out of town and I wanted to show them the beautiful manger, because it had always meant so much to me at Christmas.  How happy I was someone still put it up, without the Hope's living there.  Play it up Brandi, but not too much I thought.

Well my charming personality and general cuteness of our car must have won them over, because they smiled, suggested it was time to leave and to have a nice night.  Then they drove away and that's when I saw who had employed those nice young men.




COPS. Yes, COPS.  FUCKING REAL DEAL, ARREST OUR ASSES COPS DROVE AWAY with the same politeness as they pulled up with.  And not just fancy neighborhood cops, like the city cops that ALWAYS WRITE TICKETS AND LOOK FOR SHIT TO BE WRONG.  But by the grace of Hope's Nose, they let us go without so much as 30 seconds worth of discussion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We had a bonding moment that lasted through our hangover breakfast the next morning and then we parted ways.  Hugging and savoring the last 24 hours that will tide us over till next year.

I love you bitches.

Three Names; Two Cards

The three kids who live across the street continually remind me they aren't all rotten.

Tonight when I got home, an unassuming gift had been left at our door.  Two cards were tucked neatly into a package of cookies, wrapped with a purple bow.  I had no idea who would have left such a gesture, so I read on.


The first was a happy birthday note card
(I got a wee bit misty because SWEETNESS & CUTE)

The second was this

(Queue bucket of full on tears because I can't believe how thoughtful these kids are.)

  

I was so overcome with happiness I cried.  I cried like one of those people that cries at mega sweet shit; unbeknownst to me I was even capable of that.  I eagerly showed Travis who had a huge smile on his face too.  Feeling everything so instantly was weird, because I'm not one who normally gets emotional about or around kids.  But seriously, can I hug them for all the times?

Thank you Paige, Palmer & Rebecca for sweetly ringing in my birthday eve...

We heart you.

Tell You Thursday: The Monkees Gave Me Head

November 20, 1968.
46 years ago.

The United States and their breadth of screaming teeny-boppers were not prepared for what would be unleashed upon them.

Head.  The psychotropic movie starring The Monkees, who at the time were tripping with the likes of The Beatles and Frank Zappa.  Head.  The movie difficult to describe by normal standards.
Head.  The movie where the bodies of The Monkees die, sing, trip, solve, and die once again.

It certainly fits the space of free love / experimental / turned-on 1960s.  However, at that time the majority of The Monkees audience was anything but open.

I discovered it watching TV late one night, because a movie called Head is gonna catch your eye.  I had seconds when they showed Psyche-Out.  dude.  Both have hippie Jack Nicholson.  Both should be seen.

But this entry isn't about the movies, it's about the most basic of personality questions, "Who is my favorite band."  Asked by friends and Travis, and for the last 18 years, the answer has been The Monkees.  And here are the responses I get.

1. They didn't even play their own instruments.
      - Ah mon frare, they weren't allowed on the first album, but did on everything else.
2. Didn't that one guys' mom invent White-out?
     - yep.
3. Why do you like The Monkees (sarcastic tone implied?)
     - don't know, just do.
4. no response, just face confusion.
    - lame on you.

Last Tell You Thursday I wrote a story involving music and my tattoo artist.  I realized then that psychedelic music has always lived in me, I just didn't know it for the first 14 years of my life.  And traditionally, The Monkees aren't considered part of that scene, say like Jefferson Airplane or The 13th Floor Elevators.  But they were deeply ingrained and relevant, despite the clean image the record companies wanted.  They were eventually given the freedom to make the music they wanted, play & arrange how they saw best, and collaborate with friends like Carol King and Neil Diamond.  They rule something fierce.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In high school, I received an offer from Columbia House: 12 CDs for the price of one.  I scanned a paper mailer for the ones I wanted.  I have no idea what else I got, but their Greatest Hits album struck me.  I remember siting at my desk, sunlight pouring through the window, when I thought "I used to watch their TV show and kinda like that one song, I'll give it a shot."

That was it - I was hooked from the moment the mailer ripped open.  Nothing had musically impacted me like that before and I kinda didn't know what to do.  I replayed it over and over again, figuring out how to save my allowance to buy another album.  I searched thrift store album shelves, hoping for a lucky score.  And to this day, I honestly don't know why it fucking spoke everything to me.   It just did.  I quickly trashed their radio hits for the off-album tunes that helped shape my mind.  The Monkees led my path down a phycadelia rabbit hole, up to the 70s, into the gutter of punk, down the street to rap, and a sky full of a bajillion other songs I never realized I was missing.  It was like getting a continual fix, one CD or LP at a time.

I urge you if you've never given them a second thought past Daydream Believer, please check out some of my top songs, in both experimental and just awesomely supreme: Porpoise Song, As We Go Along, Goin' Down, and The Mike Nesmith songs.

This is my thing and some of the reasons why I answer why I do.  There's others, but they're mine.  I just hope everyone gets a moment like that at least once in their life.

It's a beautiful trip, where ever you go.

Tell You Thursday: A Drawing For Your Thoughts

C'mon, you can tell me.  We all have at least one, so don't pretend you're oblivious to what I'm talking about.

there, there... it's ok.  it stops me too...

Music is all around us and it's fucking beautiful.  Birds, cars, water, tunes, chewing, walking, showers, crickets,book page turning - all sounds that can, to someone, be invigorating.  And because of it, on more than one occasion, I've stopped breathing by the flood of memories that overtook me.  It's that powerful.  That's when music finally talks back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an early Saturday morning in August this past year; I was driving back from Las Vegas.  The sky was cloudy & windy, allowing the windows a break from their thanksless job.  The air blowing past my face and muh hand, dangling through an atmosphere where very few cars could disturb me.  I was on the road a couple hours when the two Pandora stations that had been streaming since yesterday, were played out: The Misfits & The Shirelles.  Both are fantastic, but I'd had enough head-banging & head-bopping for the morning.  I scrolled through my other presets and perked up when I found the Psychedelic Garage station I created months ago.  I forgot what songs rotated through, but greens were The Byrds and it was perfect.  I absentmindedly sang the words I knew and mumbled the ones I didn't, laughing.

A couple more songs and a commercial played before The Doors, The End inched up in volume.  Without fail, it happens every time.  That's when I played the role of driver while my mind reenacted one night 15 seasons in my past.

I saw Palmdale through 19 or 20 year old eyes, driving to my tattoo artists' home around 8pm.  He was at least 10 years my senior, cute and just me knowing him made all the bitches jealous.  But it wasn't just his face, he was nice and artistic and liked me.  The kind of dude that said the right things and for the people that mattered, was never insincere.  The type of dude that would always be too cool for the Antelope Valley.  He just was and his home complimented that.  It was always dark inside, even in the scorching desert sun.  I never knew whether that was because the windows were covered with paper or the curtains were permanently stained with cig smoke & whiskey.  I'm sure on any given day it could be either.

I stood, a kid, facing his door when it opened with a smile and a 90s button up flannel.  A hazy waft of hippie incense levitated around him.  At every turn, twisted drawings, posters, prints, books, crows, a thousand things all strewn in a perfectly messed way.  Yellowed stacks of paper & tattoo magazines his friends were in, should have screamed hoarder.  But it didn't, which is bananas.  I can't explain it.

There was never any funny business between us as we never explored that path.  But I felt so grown up around him.  Like he and I were having real conversations, not just gossip about the weekend.  Maybe that was me being 20, but maybe not.  I do know he was one of only a few fellas, besides Travis, to ever made me think.  I only realize that now by writing this entry.

So we're hanging out & junk when he asked whether I minded some music.  Duh... I told him to pick whatever.  I dig many genres, but have always held a gigantor fascination for the 60s, especially psychedelia.  My favorite band is The Monkees, with about a 1000 others right below.  He could have chosen anything from punk to psychobilly to classical to jazz, so how stoked was I when he picked The Doors, The Doors.  He commented how you have to be in the right mood for it.  I agreed, but confessed to never having heard the entire album before.  He laughed and triumphantly declared with his wiry body then it was the perfect night to experience it!  He bent over the old player, carefully placing the needle at track one.  I remember thinking what precision for such a crappy player & scratched up record.  He grabbed a cigarette and lit numerous candles with his smoke.

The record blew through side 1 before I realized just how free our conversation was.  It was playing but background noise.  At the beginning of side 2, he asked if I was up for something.  Unless it's boning, yes, I was up for something.  He asked if he could draw a freehand design against my back piece because most people (erm I'm sure ladies) told him no.  It had only been about 6 months since he finished two large dragons and the ink addiction was still fresh.  I said absolutely!  How cool was this gonna be!  I have always been a dudes chick, especially then; In my mind it was nothing to be topless in my non-boyfriends home.

He grabbed his script of choice, a sharpie, and I took off my tshirt & bra.  I was facing away from him the whole time, but stood there momentarily not knowing what I should do.  I didn't want him to touch me sexy like, but I knew he had to touch me in some way.  He gently took my shoulders and angled me against the candlelight.  As if scripted, the last song of side 2 started as he began.  The End.  I had never heard it before, I mean really heard it, so I closed my eyes and let the beginning notes dance.  I stood there vulnerable, while Jim began his declarations and dude drew his imaginations.  The underlying lull of the organ keeping me upright.

He'd pause occasionally to evaluate the vision.  The End continued.  I was able to follow every movement of the pen, up and down my back, through my shoulders, entwined into my neck.  I knew he'd make something singularly incredible.  The guitars continued; the Oedipus moaned.  He worked swiftly as the song jabbered on through the rise and fall of Jim's emotions, eventually stalling the needle.  In fact, it was the only song I heard in the entire 45 minutes span.  I'd never taken part of something so supreme.  And snap like that, it was over.  We dare not move in the hopes of savoring what we'd just experienced. No more drawing, no more music, no more atmosphere.  I suddenly became aware of how cold I was.  In the same way the soft crescendo swelled, it pulled out even faster.  I looked around knowing nothing had changed, yet everything seemed ordinary.

And while I only briefly saw the end illusion, and can recall no part of it today, it will remain perfectly imprisoned in my skin forever.

That was the last night I ever spent with him and I'm glad.  I walked back to my car a fucking lady.

Aren't memories glorious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't like cliches yet I think about "I'll never forget that night."  That certainly holds true for now, which is partly why I write this journal.  I was scared for so long to fail against some unmeasurable bar, but honestly I just want to remember.  Remember my life, remember all the fun & heartache, friends & donuts - before we all become someone else's memory.

Our Gentle Acquaintance

I have never written a short type story like this, nor have I typed my words without stopping, let alone without editing before posting.  But these are my words as the rain sings.


Around midnight, Halloween's night, the rain plummeted down upon the soil.  It struck suddenly, without word, long after the children's screams and feet have been laid to rest.  A few lucky souls are out amongst the heathens, at parties or somesuch, but I am home, alone, with only a puppy and an acquaintance as my friend.

I've opened the door to scathe sounds of water dropping amongst the earth, trees, roofopts, yet hopefully not through mine above.  To a town as parched as ours, you welcome this long distance friend into your home.  Even splashed across your laptop, as I see him now.

I stepped outside to really test how fierce he'd come.  Pretty heavily, I murmured. awesome.  I watched in silence, hugging puppy Leroy.  Both of us alone. waiting for it to stop, like so many times before.  When suddenly we heard a clatter.  A racket, coming from next door.  Low, angried barks from one spouse to another.  I struggled to hear what they were fixing.  Heads bobbing, desperately trying to sort the issue our friend sprang upon them.

my tea is ready.  my puppy is curious.

I nervously look upon our ceiling once more.  "Was that spot there?"  yes, it's ok.  "Did that mark preceed our friends arrival?"  Hopefully...

I silence anything else around us.  The heater warms my back, while the cool hands of our friend gently pat my face.  I take a sip of tea, happy I rushed to make it.

I stare out into the yard, dim lights from the other house faintly glows into my eyes.  I think about Travis, knowing how sad he'll be he's missed this.  The old women behind us is stirring.  I imagine her hair in soft curlers, dirty silk nightgown, cursing in Polish.  She always forgets we've met, but I'm sad to see her move.  I think about my car and it's charger, fighting our friend for electricity.  I hope it's ok; he's never been alone with them before.

I understand why people buy expensive sleep machines to capture this moment.  The lull, the appeal, is quite dramatically soothing.

I don't want it to end.  I don't want it to end.  I don't want it to end.

When Your Number May Be Up

I'm currently sitting on our bed hearing the lull of Sunday traffic.  Puppy at the foot, watching the world outside, hoping the tree gently rustles and he can bark at a squirrel.  I'm drinking hot green tea that our favorite person Mod, who co-owns one of our favorite restaurants, sources from a secret underground gremlin.  The sliding door is cracked and the shutters pulled open, so I can look out into our sunny backyard.  The vision I see, however, is what it will become, not how it sits today.  The new and improved Clark outdoor space!!  It will be inviting and private and mentally beautiful to be contained in.  We've been working hard for this vision to become a reality by next summer.  To enjoy this plot of land with my husband, my puppy, and our friends.  But those plans may be put on hold soon.

So I sit here and write, where I'm most comfortable and secluded.  For now.

I don't ever talk publicly about the company I work for.  And if you know, don't mention it.  In part, because who cares.  Also, I haven't been all that happy working here so no satisfaction for you.  You won't get any boring tales of bullshit because I promise, it's not that interesting.  But I do have a tops work ethic so I continue to go above and beyond what's expected of me.  It kinda messes with me being so committed to something you don't enjoy.  No joke though, it does become harder and harder when the motivation was laid to rest alongside what little remaining enjoyment I got out of it.  But I can't change who I am and that's what life gives you sometimes.  So I put up with it, but believe me, I peek over the fence - daydreaming of what more I can give myself and the world.

Around March of this year I had an inkling I would be laid off by December.  There was no basis for it, I just did.  I tossed it aside and figured it stemmed from my desire for career growth.  Strangely, I always felt untouchable because essentially there is no one else who does what I do.  And if someone were to take over, they certainly would not to the level of precision I dedicate.  People come to me and my team because we're trustworthy and get shit done.  There is no question about our strength and my leadership.  So obviously, that means job security {rolls eyes now.}  Naive, but onward.

Here we are now, several months later, where that trashed idea of mine has been yanked from the recycle bin.  In a nutshell, said company has been planning layoffs for a while.  Maybe the populous knows, maybe not.  But unfortunately it's nothing new, which means we're all sadly used to it.  Any element of family that once existed, is gone.  The common personal slogan round the water cooler is "It's not a matter of if, but when."  How encouraging is that to have invisible hellion's all screaming their chant when you walk among the halls.  I've advanced through previous rounds, never knowing how close I did or didn't come.  But I had to sit, watching my immediate boss be canned for reason X, Y, or Z.  It's fucking hard to keep starting over with someone new, when every person who ever directly stood up to see you grow is gone.  HR will say it's never personal, but it sure as fuck feels like it.  I joked with colleague once it must have been me.  Like I was a curse, a catalyst to the end of those executives' careers.  That notion sits with me and is a burden I won't shed for sometime.

The creative, stifled side of me would actually be relieved.  I'm done with the politics, wrinkle-inducing stress, and stupid decisions that make any job unhealthy.  I used to believe all places were like this, so I should suck it up.  Nope.  I was just too blind to see how bad things were.  That's changed now - it doesn't have to be the hand you're stuck with.  Taking time to start my own thing has been knocking at my impulses for a few years.  The concept drives me wild!  How goddamn exciting and scary, but exciting!  Work has never been an excuse for why I haven't tried before, but an undisclosed perk was self-doubt for my own ventures.  I'm burning that, okay, because that's lame.  I will never discount the tremendous amount of knowledge I've gained here.  I give props to myself for being a good student, because I am the most confident I've ever been in knowing I can start a business.  Be an entrepreneur, at what ever scale.  Simply being free, I could dedicate the brute force effort needed to see it through.  And it feels good knowing both the success and failure would fall on me.  I don't want to spin my wheels anymore for someone else's Billion dollar machine.  Fuck that.  My eyes are open now and it's easier to distance myself from the security.

Gah. the security.  The grown-uppy side of me is getting anxious and has indexed everything I'd lose.  The stability (err um instability), set salary, the retirement (not what I've contributed but future growth,) the health benefits and the silly perks that come with any job.  I'd also miss a few swell people.  If push comes to shove and I'm called in, I know they'll be plenty of tears and curse words.  It's always harder when you're asked to leave rather than on your own terms.  But with Travis back to work, some of these concerns are lessened.  That's a tick mark in the happy column.  And I will never dismiss how the job afforded us the opportunity to purchase a home and enjoy some niceties from time to time.  A few trips, a few nice dinners, but at what cost?  Me.  I'm the cost.  I've always paid a significant price to do those things.  And I was ok with doing that for a certain period of time, I'm just in a different head space now.

And maybe my own thing isn't the answer.  Maybe the answer is another version of my current job, in a more healthy environment.  Or maybe the answer is something new altogether.  Either way, that will come in due time as I honestly don't know which way the pendulum will swing.  Creative and Security are both equal partners right now.  So I sit and wait.

Tell You Thursday: Birthday Moot

Travis, my bearded half, is 40 today.  40, 40, 40.  gawd, how could I say those horrific number words.  I hope as society we realize there are way more important things than being hung up on the image our bodies will somehow miraculously shrivel and be inexpressibly different, once the earth spins another tick on its axis post your second of birth.  Seriously, it's no fucking big whoop.  There's no giant Tardis replica in the driveway and he hasn't ordered another handmade guitar.  And he still thinks I'm tops, so youngin's, keep your panties on.

His birthday got me thinking back through my own.  Although, I'm a December, which others who share in this know there isn't as much hoopla because Christmas is soon.  I don't care.  Birthdays are not an end all, be all, event for me.  I don't have wild & crazy tales, I don't go on trips or check off activities from an invisible list of stupid ideas.  I've had only one proper party, and I've never been a "birthday month" or even a "birthday week" kinda bird.  It feels groovy to be alive, and I dig other people being happy I live, but ultimately it's just another day.  Like as long as people enjoy me the other 364 (sometimes 365) days per year, I'm content.

But I do think it's interesting to reflect upon your life, especially when every living thing shares at least this similarity.  I thought I'd talk about my experiences from a perspective of not caring, in the hopes you'll share more about yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• Birthdays through age 9, would be visits to Disneyland.  One particular year, my parents arranged for several characters to surprise visit us while we were eating breakfast.  Back then, it was held within a restaurant near the square (off to the right and through golden doors, if you know the park.)  Now, I believe it's used for daily, large group birthday celebrations.  But at this time, it was very limited with special pancakes, which were always my favourite.  The waiters sang while the characters clapped and in the end, they gave me a special rubberized birthday Mickey.  I don't have it anymore.

• 10 or 11: I was heavily into New Kids on the Block.  There, I said it.  I asked for stickers and trading cards (when you could buy them at all kinds of stores) and bedsheets and their 12" doll incarnations.  I played with them a ton until I didn't.  And c'mon, we all choose silly things in our past when they mean the most, so I'm not embarrassed... just a little humbled.

• 13: I had my first sleepover party.  Because 13!!!  I know I had a good time but the biggest wow moment happened around midnight.  Me and 5 or 6 of my friends were up late talking about boys.  We were drinking tasty hot chocolate, sitting in my parents dining room which was next to the living room, where the back door led to the garage.  Mid-laugh was when we ALL heard a large number of boxes fall over in said garage.  There was no denying the sound because everyone has heard cardboard when it topples.  We stopped and looked at each other like WTF.  I knew my dog was out there so maybe, just maybe, she was chasing something.  I don't know how, but I mustered up the courage to declare I would investigate.  I also insisted everyone come with me in case it was a monster/baddie/demon, etc, that only the power of cackling girls could defeat.  We went outside and you'll never guess what we found.  nothing.  ABSOLUTELY, 100% ZIP, NADA, NOTHING!  The garage was exactly the same as it was during daylight.  No boxes had fallen over, no critters running about, the dog had sleepily opened her eyes, it was as if we all had the same momentary hearing hallucination... spooky shit huh.

• 14 or 15: my parents forgot my birthday until I came home from school.

• High school years... I don't remember because I was enjoying pleasing, mind-altering activities with my bestest friends.  Which is kinda like a party all the time, so there.

• 19 or 20: My boyfriend took me to Olive Garden.  Not because I enjoyed it and not even by his own decision.  He only took me because I asked him to.  Our relationship was downgrading significantly.  We weren't communicating well and he was spending more time with his friends, than me.  So I thought if we could do something coupley for my birthday, just spend an evening together, that would help us feel right again.  I half-hardheartedly chose Olive Garden only because in the Antelope Valley, that was kinda schmancy.  I didn't care where, I just wanted to spend time getting back to what I thought us, was.  Instead, he buried his face with some college homework. The only time we spoke, outside of ordering, was when I asked him to stop studying for a few minutes.  He declined because it was more important he pass his test the next day.  I cried into my fettuccine.  The only reason I didn't leave is because we drove together and I couldn't bring myself to leave him there.

• 20-22: I was drinking a lot and don't remember.  Although, I do know it wasn't nearly as fun as when I was altering in high school.  bummer.

• 23: My first birthday with Travis.  He gave me an "A Christmas Story" lunchbox, complete with thermos.  I still use it today because I dig me some lunchboxes.

• Dirty 30 Indeed. Watch out now.  Spent that Thursday working from home and taking care of Travis.  He had been released from the hospital a couple weeks prior, after going through major disc surgery for his low back.  My girlfriends' 30ths, were fun-filled weekend celebrations.  To which each were awesome and a half.  But I didn't care about that.  Travis' quality of life was way more important than getting debaterous and yelling "Dirty 30... woooooooo!" to strangers and waking up with a righteous hangover.

• 34: This is in a few months, so I can only speculate.  But I hope to FINALLY get my birthday cake that is shaped like another food.  I'm obsessed with this notion and refuse to give myself one for above reasons.  If there will be presents exchanged for my birthday, I want someone to offer because they want to, not because I've begged.  I've asked for this little slice of smile since I've known the birthday boy.  And to his credit, he did try one year from a bakery we heart.  However, because it's close to xmas, they couldn't do it.  Gee whiz, huh.  But Travis, ehem... I'd settle for one in November or January.  ;-)

An outsider looking in may say how sad some of these were.  But I don't.  I mean yes, some blow pretty hard, but these could have happened on any day of the year.  We just remember it more because we're conditioned to reminisce upon at minimum, one day that is kinda for ourselves.

Tell You Thursday: Don't Worry, It Smells Like Fajitas.

I've been taking birth control pills since I was 15.  I originally got them when my first real relationship went high school serious.  In fact, I told my mom over the phone I should look into it while she and my dad were away on vacation.  ...probably not the best choice because WHAT a conversation when they got home.  Even though the thought of taking daily hormones still freaks me out, and it's a pain in the ass with the having to remember, I wouldn't do anything else.  I've compared several available methods and for me, the dailyness was a minor inconvenience compared to the benefits.  So I deal.

The pill helps make a more sexually responsible adult out of you.  It just does.  I also know it's used to stabilize other medical conditions, so that's cool.  And I think it's an important, amazing assistant we have access to for strengthening women's health.  But the pill does come with more responsibility than simply making a mental note to spit-swallow it everyday.  There is a health accountability that actually increases preventative screenings.  The yearly girly test I call it.  The fine doctor you choose inspects all the lady things to make sure they are in tip-top working order.  Your inside cells and your outside boobs. Both, muy importante.

Whether you're taking the pill or not, ladies please get annual pap smears.  It's a really important, easy thing you can do that helps keep one type of cancer off your list.  Although fuck I hate that name.  It sounds like some rejected cream cheese you'd find at the back of a bagel shop.  hrmph, medical community, get on that.  The process goes, while you're in the carnival stirrups, they gather cells from your cervix to test for abnormalities that could highlight pre-cancerous changes.  These changes are caused by the over 150 types of HPV virus' that are present in oodles of women.  While most varieties are harmless and will be fought off by your own cell army, about 12 are creepy lurkers.  They gradually corrupt the good cells by turning them nasty.  When untreated, will lead to cervical cancer.  But the great news - it's a slow grower, so wiping them out when first diagnosed is totally doable.  As long as you visit your doc MD.  See!  easy peasy.

If you're on the pill, you must have this test once a year in order to get your prescription.  If you're not, I think you get it once every few years.  Which I guess you and your doctor would figure out the best schedule for your body.  But personally, I don't understand why the US doesn't offer more preventative screenings for younger people.  The paps, the mamms, the colons etc... We would be such a healthier bunch of birds.  But I digress; This post isn't about the politics - just know I think the policy blows.

The first 7 years were all smiley face letters, until the 8th where I got a phone call instead.  I was about 23 and that phone call was the start of my long history with the abnormality ghost.  I call it a ghost because it's not visible to the naked eye, but can be just as scary.  The doctor said the test showed irregular results, but I needn't worry because many factors can affect them.  See the HPV link, as well as stress or even having sex close to test day.  She also said given my young age and no known family history of cervical cancer, it wasn't of concern yet.  But she wanted to monitor the changes so I needed to go every 6 months.  This back and forth returned normal, abnormal, kinda more abnormal, normal, normal, back to abnormal, etc for many years.  In the beginning  I was worried but that eventually led to apathy.  Just another test that was inconclusive, so who cares right?  My body is just going through some things, so give it space okay?  And like she'd let me know if I should see a specialist...  Three years ago is when that conversation happened.

That 8th test came back as being positive for "High-grade squamous intraepithelial lesions (HSILs.)"  SEXY!  There is a scale within that too, from moderate to severe to like honey, let's get you prepped for surgery.  Mine was a mix of CIN 1 mild dysplasia (dysplasia is the changing of your cells) with like high grade something else, which meant the cells were considering cancer in a couple years, but hadn't booked any tickets yet.  Doc referred me to a highly regarded OBGYN, who I guess is awesome at both babies and girly parts.

I went in and discussed the previous diagnosis.  She suggested being re-tested by her to confirm those findings.  Sure, why not.  This isn't kids stuff so I better fucking know what I'm dealing with instead of speculating.  There was poking and prodding and spurts of intense uncomfortableness, looking and scraping and writing.  A few weeks later, Travis and I were called to her office, which by doctors standards is never "I just wanted to see your pretty face."  She confirmed the re-test came back positive yet again.

In order to know how "severe" your dysplasia is, and whether or not you have pre-cancer or actual cancer, you need a biopsy.  Doc discussed several options but based on my diagnosis, recommended the most common procedure, the LEEP.

Here's the definition from Planned Parenthood:

 

I know you're excited, huh. I mean who isn't lining up for a thin electrical wire to carve away your insides...while you're awake... gulp.  Doc felt confident it would successfully get the baddies and assured me it wouldn't hurt, as there are no real nerves in the lady cave.  If there aren't nerves, then why do certain things feel so good?

The day arrived and I was uber anxious.  Travis had been working really hard on a job but would totally be there to hold my hand.  We go in, do the song and dance with reviewing the procedure and wrangling the gown.  If I could have puked I would have.  Not because I was worried about the outcome, it was the pain I read about online which completely contradicted the doctor.  Refrain ye from yer NO's... I take the internet plethora of nonsense with a grain of salt {raspberry.}  The doc is saying one thing, the internet says another, and yer brain is screaming "HEY! Your fleshy tissue will be burned with electricity without anesthesia!!!" You kinda can't think of anything else.

So I'm there, watching these old fangledy looking machines hum to life while the ladies put things on steel tables.  I think this office is unique.  Everything feels like it's been touched by the vintage charm-meister, but with a modern efficiency.  I not surprisingly dig it.  The doc and nurse's face were so just another day.  For them it is. For me, holy hell what the shit.  I was squeezing Travis' hand and keeping it together when the nurse lobbed a zinger across the room.  She turned to me with a smile and said, "I promise, it won't hurt... It'll smell like fajitas." time stop.  What?!  Fucking fajitas?  My burning insides you're comparing to a popular sizzling meat dish?  This is how you choose to put me at ease?  I turned to Travis looking for a mental acknowledgment of weirdness, which we shared.  I turned back to the nurse and told her I was a vegetarian...

Turns out they were right about one thing.  It felt uncomfortable, a little warm, but never hurt.  ever.  It did not, however, thankfully smell like fajitas.  EVER.  I hope she only used that analogy with me.  It was a crampy, but uneventul 20 minutes of zzzzz zzzz zzzzapping.  Then it was over.  I felt strangely disappointed for all the things I thought would happen, because all that worrying then was for nothing.  sick, huh.  I slowly sat up and readjusted my awareness.  There was the post-op congratulations for being a good patient (I was frozen as to not want anything extra licked off,) list of after care instructions and whether I had any questions.  Those subsequent minutes were a blur.  I'm sure I asked when the results would be available and maybe Travis had some... but for now it was rest and wait.

I didn't tell anyone about it, including my parents.  No one needed to unnecessarily worry or have me try and briefly explain what had been happening.  In actuality, it was more the latter.  It's a lot to dump on someone.  So I took my few days off work, watched TV, had a single girlfriend come over and waited.

The follow ups went smoothly and the results came back as expected.  Nasty cells were indeed nasty but only pre-cancerous, and they had been eliminated.  Not sure if that's the only area of your body where doctors know when something will turn to cancer.  But oh happy day I'm thankful they can!  For the period of time before knowing the results, I wasn't over analyzing or focused on the worst outcome - I was proud of that.  However, given it was years before being diagnosed, it's hard not to think about that slim chance.  But it wasn't, and I don't, and all tests have been perfect thus far.

Today I had my 3rd anniversary pap test since the procedure.  The appointment was routine, in/out and over with.  In 10 days I'll either be filing another smiley face letter or breaking out the skillet...

KEEP UP WITH YOUR HEALTH!

Tell You Thursday: 13 year Rememberance

Most people over the age of 20 probably remember what happened 13 years ago today in New York City.  It was a horrific, senseless event that left a world in shambles.  But this is neither an emotional plea nor some patriotic post - either way, don't get your flags in a bunch.

~~~~~~~~~~

That morning I was on my way to work with a vanpool of colleagues.  It was 6 or 7am something, I had just fallen asleep to KRTH 101, the station the driver mostly listened to.  I woke up to murmurs of confusion and a discussion of the "Twin Towers," by both the morning DJs and the immediate people around me.  I had no idea what they were talking about, let alone picturing something crashing into them.  I was the youngest on the van by at least 20 years.  They were kind and tried explaining the building, the history, and why this was such a catastrophic event.  I understood the concept, but had no frame of reference to understand the magnitude.  A plane hitting something sounded like an accident, so other than it being a disaster, I wasn't understanding the air of chaos.  I felt it but couldn't wrap my head around it.  I had never been to NYC, never knew anyone who had, never watched documentaries on the city, never heard of the building, never knew that type of violence, etc.  How can you be frightened by something you know nothing about?

To give context, at the time, domestic or worldly affairs didn't interest me.  It wasn't a concern or focus - I was 20 and still mostly thought about toys, boys and what I was doing that weekend.  It seems absurd now to think how sheltered and partially uneducated that brain version was.  Not saying it was right or wrong, just saying.  Today I am a much different person; I understand politics and take a pretty decent interest in worthy news.  But then, not so much.

When we arrived at work, the chaos had grown to panic.  People everywhere looking up into the sky, pointing, running across streets, wondering aimlessly, cars honking, streets jammed, and a sense of mayhem was everywhere.  I'd never seen anything like it then or since.  The vibe was thick and slow like molasses.  I won't say what I did during this time because then you'd know what I do now and I don't talk about that.  But for the next year plus some change, I felt the disruption daily from colleagues.  With their questions, their panic, their anxiety, their trepidation, their ideas - day in, day out.  It never stopped and I was overwhelmed.  I started resenting the phone, the internet, interactions with people in general because I couldn't help anyone.  Everyone wanted a simple answer to a revolving question.  I became fiercely bitter by everything post because these people were making me react to something I didn't grasp.  I retreated.

It took quite some time to emerge from that nasty cocoon, but over that next year, I was heavily educated by my organization on preparedness.  And let me tell you a positive for those who skoff at practicing safety drills.  Because the Twin Towers were diligent in their building safety efforts, thousands more lives were saved that day because they did what they were taught.  I found some comparison study between the 1993 attacks and 2001 - kinda interesting. 

But it's not to say I lack compassion.   Quest the opposite - I have complete and utter sympathy for the families affected by the ones who lost their lives by the planes, in the planes, surrounding buildings, first responders, the animals, and all the terrible health effects we are still discovering now.  Because only a couple people accepted that fate, it's not fair the others were taken short.

~~~~~~~~~~

Today, 13 years later,  I still fall back into this numb existence regarding the event.  It certainly affects me more today than it ever did then, because I'm more mature.  More experienced to see the affects actions have on a society.  And I understand the impact.  But I cannot mentally share the same level of grief as I've seen others bear over the years, whether they were at ground zero, near it, in NYC proper or in Los Angeles.  I just wish them peace.

~~~~~~~~~~

Today, I woke up knowing it was anniversary 13.  I also woke up excited I was getting a haircut.  I thirdly also decided to take Leroy to the Batcave hike.  I planned these things not because I lack empathy, but because life continues.  People who have passed still want loved ones to be happy.  To laugh, to experience, to celebrate the life they shared together instead of dwell on what cannot be changed.  However each of us gets to the final stage.

Going to the Batcave had no significance other than spending alone time with pups in a cool place.  There were only a few people there because it's a Thursday, so it was us amongst the rocks.  We met some very silly dogs and ran though the cave countless times.  That is what makes me happy today.


Remember something lovely about a person you miss today.
Put a smile on your face and a strangers, by doing something kind today.

But dudes - our time is short, so don't waste it being a miserable jerk today... or any day.  {see above two points}

  

What I didn't tell you, Installment 2.

5 months ago I started a series of entries titled What I Didn't Tell You, because sir, my mind never stops making notes.  If we could project artistically how my noodle categorizes and tacks them for future thought, it'd be the equivelant of a 30 minute sitcom.  Random words, strewn together in a chaotic organized mess, where only I know what they mean but is a relentless beast knocking on every door until I've either forgotten or achieved.

I re-read the first one and they were a little better than I gave myself credit for.  That's pretty cool!  Again, the rules are:

• I save them because I don't think they're worded just right or a cop is coming and I have to put my phone down (occasionally, only at stoplights) or I'm too tired to hit the button
• I may have posted the exact or some form of said tweet
• I present them in the exact way I saved it, typos or non-sense and all

And now, Installment 2.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. Recycling old stuff I look at once every 10 years. I don't want to move this shit anymore (April 25, 2014. 9:24am) 
2. I saw a lady with like 48 hot (April 25, 2014. 4:03pm)
3. I wouldn't eat sushi this far north of the wall. (April 25, 2014. 4:19pm)
4. The wind is blowing through my earrings so much, it sounds like a ghost is whistling in my ears. (April 29, 2014. 12:47pm)
5. The one spot dedicated to electric car charging is filled with a dick-head who doesn't share. To you sir, I flick my backwards hand up under my chin (May 12, 2014. 5:07pm)
6. Brought booze is better than bought booze. #CheapBastard (May 13 2014. 9:43pm)
7. I looked up someone on twitter I shouldn't have. She'll never know, but I know and now you know. (May 15, 2014. 1:20pm)
8. Tonight of nights, I won't take it personally Leroy went to lay down in another room. The house is hottest where I am. And no. (May 15, 2014. 9:53pm)
9. There's no sexy way to remove a hair that's fallen down your blouse. (May 16, 2014. 3:51pm)
10. The only show I had tix to but forgot to go was Anthrax & Slayer. I was out with @thatguytravis, we drove by the club, and I said oh shite! (May 25, 2014. 9:30pm)
11. Hall & Boats (May 26, 2014. 3:53pm)
12. 2 yrs ago, when @thatguytravis would finish intros to @TOCPod this late, it would give me anxiety cuz the neighbors were dicks. (June 1, 2014. 11:45pm)
13. No one told me I've been speaking a (June 2, 2014. 12:38pm)
14. I wonder how many times inmates fart on officers when they're getting searched. #gassy (June 3, 2014. 12:47am)
15. I Love You, Johnny Cakes. (May 5, 2014. 5:56pm)
16. (in reply to) @DarcyStaniforth DID YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WE LOVE Henry & Glenn Forever??! They did a live readings in LA and our friend Eric was (June 18, 2014. 7:28pm)
17. Because it's a #Clarkacation (June 23, 2014. 11:01am)
18. #LadyVacation or not, it's hard for me to sit, relax & not feel guilty for doing so. But forcing it seems counter-productive. #pondery (June 26, 2014. 7:52pm)
19. If the only photographs of me were from my eyes upward, I'd win all the prizes. (July 1, 2014. 6:33pm)
20. Puppy's on fly patrol and he's got (August 2, 2014. 11:42am)
21. (this one is close to my heart, but not funny) Anyone who abuses animals is fucking scum. I want to inflict 10x the pain they caused & throw 1000 darts at their horrid flesh till they die     I think humans are the only species to willingly inflict harm upon another. Atrocious filth. Support organizations who help stop this behavior and jeezus, if you see something - say something. Help those who can't say so. (August 10, 2014. 12:05pm)
22. Great vegan dip recipe! 2 parts coconut yogurt, 2 parts veganaise, 1 part (August 18, 2014. 7:13pm)
23. Reason no 7812 I love Leroy. By not moving, he let's me know the sound in my head was the 'exploding head syndrome' acting up vs 'some shit is doing down' (September 2, 2014. 11:33pm)
24. Leroy had a stick stuck in his beard, he ran to chase a squirrel, the stick dropped, he went back to pick it up, then presumed his chase. (11 hours ago)

A Foundational Discovery, Part 1: The Backstory

Travis and I purchased our first place 2 years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Going out each weekend with our realtor, we saw almost 40 houses before two great places jumped.  Benefit of a buyers market.  The first had charm with a beautiful yard in our desired neighborhood, but it was barely steps bigger than our apartment and over budget.  The second was spacious with a large kitchen, on a quiet street in our second choice neighborhood, but only had two bedrooms and the back yard was junk.

We originally chose the first house because of #1 A.OK. location, but when that couples realtor insulted us by saying "their offer doesn't stand a chance," we said well fuck you and your small... square feet*.  The second home accepted our offer right away, even with an under-asking price and all closing costs paid.  That's right bitches!  I can negotiate!!!   * That couple got theirs: that same realtor called 30 days later, wondering if we were still interested because they were dropping the price because no offers had come in.  HA!

house 1

house 2

We knew cosmetic elements were needed inside - paint, curtains, art, the Clarks' touch, etc.  The floors are in great shape, walls solid and everything is well constructed.  It's just the kitchen cabinets and bathroom counters wouldn't be the finishes we'd choose today.  But again, nothing was wrong and those changes will come later.  My focus was the yard.

During this time, my mother in law offered to help us plant, tidy and reinvigorate the outside living space that had been dutifully neglected.  She had many years of experience and at one point, studied to be a geologist!  I credit her with giving me two things I totally dig: foliage and Travis.  awww... gross.  I fell for both though, hard.  After her tips & tricks, I set out on my own.  You'd find me in the front / back every weekend, trying to keep up with the green Jones'.  Today, I can truthfully say, I've been working in that yard for more time than I care to think about.  And I'm done.

The last 12 months, I've fought a 100-foot rage tree which housed 20 pound seed pods, spawned two giant rage logs, got poked numerous times by one nasty, bitter old mediterranean palm, chopped 4 misguided & diseased queen palms, unearthed AND moved thousands of pounds of white sparkle rocks (with thousands more to go,) destroyed weed city in the back lawn, had the front lawn die, manually trimmed all 9 of our old timey awesome Camellias plants, busted up oodles of strange bricks, removed the spikiest succulent cactus' one could imagine, found random painted blue objects buried in the dirt, had all 5 rose bushes kink out because of something, plus about 100 other things.  And after all this, it still feels like I've done nothing.  Like I look at the yard and think WTF Brandi, it still looks like junk.  That stinks.

Then there's the detached garage.  It's had numerous bouts of termites, mold within the walls, the back wall is half missing, and we continually snip hundreds of vines growing up from our neighbors ground, each who have fould their way into the rafters.  mother fu...

But there are positives my friend!  I LEARNED so much.  I'm talking ginormous amounts of information.  About time management, the care of plants, growing habits, organic vitamins, herbs, bulbs, sun influencials, mulch, scale, layout and thinking I may go to school for landscape design one day.  That's a pretty rad, unexpected outcome!  Do I wish I could have gained this knowledge not having been through all the above - YES - but a couple years of pain is the springboard to a lifetime of knowledge!  Plus, when I can sit back and peek at the things thriving, I am way proud.

limes

zucchini and mega hot peppers

I have become so invested, almost obsessive, in this vision to better our home.  I think about it all the time; I want to talk ideas all the time.  I want to be the envy of the neighborhood instead of the gentle eye sore.  But it's not a fleeting hobby, it's about enhancing the time Travis, Leroy and I can spend together that pushes me.  Spending time outdoors, which Leroy loves, or indoors in a comfortable space - I don't want to feel beholden to the dirt by spending hours each weekend, working towards an unknown game plan.  I am slowly learning to let go of feeling I must do everything myself or be some sort of failure.

I don't want to resent it; I want to enjoy it.  So I had an idea...