FLATTENED

Ever since I got back from New York I've been feeling a little fatigued. I thought it was just a looooong case of jet lag. Then Tuesday afternoon I started to feel really bad. Like really fast. I left work early and became aware on the drive home that perhaps I hadn't left early enough. I barely made it in the door and then I collapsed on my bed. My body was in so much pain I could barely walk down the hall to the bathroom to get the thermometer.

My temperature went up and up and when it got up over 102, approaching 103, I called my friend Christina and made confirmed that she had promised to take Molly and Pete if anything ever happened to me. She offered to take me to the hospital but having already called them I said no. They would only make me wait in chairs and the best I could expect would be a hook up to a bag of saline. Unless I can get Demoral I'm not going.

Many people called and I told them how sick I was. They all wanted to bring me something but I just wanted my mommy. I'm a terrible sick person. I'm mean and unreasonable and the only person I feel completely comfortable being that way around is my mom. She's so lucky.

Yesterday morning it was clear that my temperature was still raging so I started taking aspirin - the miracle drug. I felt well enough to get completely stressed out about pending unemployment and the fact that I could barely make it to the bathroom, much less the computer to send out resumes, made death start to feel like a really viable option. Then the aspirin kicked in and I got some sleep.

I drank some fluids.

I ate some yogurt.

But I couldn't manage the energy to make some tea. I was too tired to deal with fire.

A. called in the afternoon and wanted to bring me soup. I told him to call me back in a few hours because by then I would know if I felt good enough to allow someone in the house. I took some more aspirin, dragged myself into the shower and took another nap. When he called at 8 o'clock I had been dreaming about food and requested some motzah ball soup. He showed up an hour later with that and more, you know, just in case I felt like eating. I was able to get down about a cup of soup and I had the energy of a wet rag.

But he made me tea.

Put me back in bed.

Did the dishes.

Held my hand.

Told me I looked gorgeous even when I'm sick.

And went home.

Even though he's not "the one," he is most definitely one in a million. I am still laid low by this foul virus, but I have a couple quarts of motzah ball soup which should last a couple days, and a turkey sandwich in case I ever feel like eating solid food again.

BROKEN OR LONELY?

Today when I checked in to see what Sheila's been up to I was delighted to find links to the Demystifying Divas, four women who pick a topic each week and then opine about it on their blogs. I'm too lazy to link, but Sheila has done so and it would behoove you to go read what they've all written about this week's topic: Is it better to have a broken heart or a lonely heart. Not great options but still interesting to think about. While you're at it read what Sheila wrote on her "Salieri" link. I love her self awareness and her willingness to share all of herself in what she writes. It doesn't hurt that she's a kickass writer.

I've done broken and lonely, and for me it has mostly been a choice, e.g. the broken heart after falling for R., but then I knew what I was getting into so it was basically running onto the sword. I guess, in retrospect, I don't really count it except when we're together and I want to push his buttons and I bring out the "You broke my heart!" speech which I deliver with great drama and gravitas and occasionally a tear. There were lonely heart years after that ended, but that was also a choice. I was certainly out there dating it up on the internet and let me say that nothing will make your heart more lonely than going out with that many guys and discovering that there's not only no attraction, there's no connection either.

It was like the universe was beaming down a message to me via each bad date, "You are meant to be alone go forth and rejoice in that aloneness with great relief." Isn't it funny how my messages from the universe are kind of like dialogue from some old movie about the bible? Clearly I didn't have to be alone there were definitely options via the internet, but going there would've probably landed me on medication in a suburb of Temecula with two kids and a husband that I had to get really drunk to want to fuck, much less talk to.

And that would be a really lonely heart.

When I think about it my heart has been truly broken once. Broken in the sense that it wasn't about a wounded ego. When Gary died at the age of 30 it broke my heart to lose him. My heart still hurts from the missing of him. When I was at Allison's last week I was sitting on her couch Friday night, the 13th, having a wonderful, meandering, tea sipping conversation when I realized that it had been 12 years to the day since he died.

And my broken heart ached.

I don't think you can have a broken heart if you've only ever had a lonely heart. A lonely heart is a heart that hasn't loved. That's why it's lonely and why it can't be broken. When your heart is broken it feels like you might not survive. And part of you doesn't want to. But once your heart is broken and you do survive then I think it's easier to go for it. What I end up with a lot now is a bruised ego and some heartache, but it's not anything that I can't shake off. And you know that saying, it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Well, it's not bullshit. I would rather have all those experiences and memories of loving Gary - the good and the bad, than not have had the experience at all.

I'd rather have a battered, broken heart that survived the experience and knows it can, than a heart that is lonely.

But I didn't really know that until right now.

YOU'LL BE SORRY

I have so much to write about my time in New York, but today has been filled with tedious busy work and now my brain is fried so I will share my New York stories very soon when I can actually conjure the words.

But, very quickly, the last day there Allison and I went to Central Park per my request - I really, really love that park - and she took amazing pictures with her digital camera that she had just gotten repaired. I had forgotten my camera though I did have my SX-70 so I did some manipulated polaroids. We went to Strawberry Fields so I could get a shot of the word IMAGINE tiled into the center of a circle of benches in memory of John Lennon who was killed close by in front of his building. I had no idea that there would be people sitting around playing Lennon songs and singing and praying. I mean seriously! And they were. Very. Serious.

It was hard not to giggle.

As we wandered on into the park toward the most beautiful lake upon which you can row and ride in a gondola, we were drawn to the sound of drums. I might guffaw at the John Lennonites, but there was a time when I myself would dance around the drum circles in memory of Jerry Garcia down at Venice Beach. I also once participated in a full moon drum circle at the African drumming center in West L.A. Can you say "In over her head?" Um, yeah. So anyway, we wandered up to a group of men playing drums and doing call and response in a scene right out of Cuba. Only we were in Central Park. It was awesome!!

After standing there wiggling my butt to the drums complete with white chick overbite we went to check out the boats on the lake. It took me a while to notice, but eventually it became oddly clear that something was a bit off. In every boat that we saw there were women rowing men around the lake. This brought to mind a metaphor I have used to describe every dysfunctional and just plain wrong relationship I've ever had. To explain how they went so horribly wrong I have always said, "It was like I made the picnic, rented the boat and rowed his ass around the lake. It sets a bad precedent."

And here it was manifest before my eyes!!

It was all I could do not to stand on the bridge and scream, "Stop it! Give him the oars right now!"

You're going to be sorry!

S'UP BROOKLYN

I got to Allison's house late last night. It was a full day of flying on almost no sleep. A. had spent the night to take me to the airport early and he wasn't feeling well so we didn't get to bed until late. And then, per usual, I didn't sleep because I was scared I wouldn't wake up in time to leave. Consequently I was dozing in the Denver airport on my three hour layover and it was only the fact that my book kept falling on the floor and waking me up that kept me alert enough to make the flight to NYC.

Of course I don't sleep on planes. Don't know why, it just won't happen.

I was so thrilled to finally meet Allison who has been one of my "I tell everything to" best friends for the last 4 years. But until last night we had only connected via e-mail or the phone. So when I got here we had to stay up and drink tea and chat until about 1 a.m. and then I passed out. I woke up early this morning because it really doesn't matter where I am, I'm still going to wake with the dawn.

Ali made me a cup of tea and left for work at 8a.m. and I swear I was going to get up and try my luck at getting myself into the city. She got me a metrocard and everything. My friend Stephanie was planning her day around me coming to visit her. But I went back to sleep and just couldn't wake up. I kept opening my eyes and looking at the clock, 9:30, 10:30, 11:30. And I kept going back to sleep. I had some really wild dreams about shoot outs from helicopters around the Statue of Liberty and I was swimming in the water off my friend Marcia's dock which was attached to her house at the end of a long pier.

So you can see why I didn't want to get up.

But I finally did at 12:30 and then it took me another hour and a half to motivate myself into the shower and get dressed. At 2:00 I finally called Stephanie and we decided that tomorrow would be better. I set off to discover Allison's neighborhood - I think it's called Greenpoint, because there's a lot of signs on the businesses that say "Greenpoint". I also wandered over to Williamsburg.

Along the way, there and back, I heard people speaking in Polish, Hebrew, French, Italian, Spanish and English with an Australian accent.

I saw lots of people walking no less than 5 German Shepherds. Apparently that is a popular breed here. I saw lots of other people with dogs as well. The biggest difference between Los Angeles and Brooklyn is that here people have their dogs on leashes and in LA they carry them in their purses.

I saw lots and lots of health food stores all prominently featuring Myoplex. I'm not kidding when I say lots, I mean like two on every block.

I am fascinated by the grates that open up in the sidewalk revealing ramps and stairs that go under the buildings. We don't have anything like that where I live, and I live in an urban/city area much like this, where commercial properties and residential properties line the streets.

Everytime I walked past a small tree planted in a square of dirt on the sidewalk I would silently say to myself, "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn." At least for the first couple of miles and then I started to annoy myself. It's easy to imagine Frannie and her mother walking down the street here at the turn of the century.

I could tell when I left the predominantly Polish neighborhood that Allison lives in and wandered through Williamsburg and down into a neighborhood where people were speaking Spanish and I saw some pretty good looking guacamole being eaten at a sidewalk restaurant serving "California style" tacos and Mexican food. It's interesting how one mile changes the language of the signs in the windows.

I was oggled and hissed at by numerous men on the street. This does not happen to me in Los Angeles. It has always happened to me in New York. I remember walking downt he street in Manhattan and being throw by the continuous commentary of men I walked by. It's not threatening or offensive, well I guess it could be considered offensive if I stopped to give it any rhythm, but it is very very weird.

I think that it doesn't happen so much in LA because no one is walking around. Everyone is driving, and as I mentioned before I pay no attention to people honking or attempting to run me down, so maybe it is happening, but I'm pointedly ignoring it. I like the walking here. I like the community. I like all the little stores and the churches and the kids playing in the park. It's all very alive.

And exhausting.

After all that walking I'm really tired again so I stopped at the market to get stuff to make for dinner because I don't think I can go out and walk anymore today.

There will be more walking tomorrow only it will be in Manhattan.

Till then.

SHINING A LIGHT

Last week I found a wonderful website written by a wonderful light who illuminates life in the most lovely and profound ways. He only recently started writing on his site, so I am savoring his posts like a really delicious piece of chocolate. I read the current post and then I go back and read the older posts. It's interesting to me that when I'm going through the archives - randomly - I will often land on a story that I needed to hear/read in that particular moment.

Funny how that happens.

Today's post was about another lovely light - Vicki - as evidenced by her photo. It occured to me as I read the story about her photo shoot that if we are willing to let light in we can all be illuminated. So many of the stories that Trevor writes are all about that quality of lightness in times that feel very dark. I am aware that I have a choice about my perspective on things and my perception of reality in any given moment.

When I looked at Vicki's photo all I could see was grace and beauty and light - she is timeless, captured in that moment. I'm passing the light along so you can see too.

LATE LIKE THE RABBIT

I am feeling very much like that rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. The one who was late. I feel like I have so much to do and not enough time to do it in. Much of this is becaues of my propensity to overbook my days. In spite of that feeling however, I am getting things accomplished. For instance I completed the re-write on my script and sent it off to L. on Friday. I am very much looking forward to her notes and hoping that another page one rewrite will not be required. Tweaking I could handle, and in fact would welcome because I can feel that it's not quite there yet. It could be better but I'm needing guidance to get it there.

A page one rewrite would put me over the edge.

But that's getting ahead of myself. After mailing off the script I went and met my wonderful friend A.D. for snacks and beverages at the bar at Border Grill and then we walked up the street to Burke Williams where she treated me to a spa facial. I am dragging out the celebrating of the birthday to new heights. Afterwards I was not quite in my body - margarita and massage will do that to me - so I called A. and went and met him for coffee. We had plans for Saturday night but I wanted to hang with him prior for a minute to get back in our rhythm.

The whole "I want six kids and I would never marry you" conversation had been digested and processed and I realized that the fun we are having is much more the grand affair kind of fun and not the let's commit to each other and do the day to day dance. There are a number of things that made me realize this, not the least of which is that although I am falling for him, it's not in the way that precludes me being interested in other men, or possessive of him in that jealous dog way that I sometimes have.

So although I called him in the midst of the madness that is the end of the workday on Friday he came and met me and fed me and we laughed and hung out much longer than either of us anticipated which meant that I got home a lot later than I thought I would to prepare for the garage sale that was happening on Saturday. And I had a birthday party to go to at 10pm. So at that point I was about 2 hours behind.

And then when I stayed at the party until 2:30 a.m. things got progressively more and more behind as the weekend progressed which necessitated the flaking on certain activities. So while I did do the garage sale at the crack of ass on Saturday, I did not drive up to Malibu for Alexander's second party - a party I heard was fabulous, but when you're functioning on four hours of sleep and you've spent the morning saying $2 over and over again to strangers who are picking through your stuff, the idea of hanging out with a bunch of people and their kids, even with a glass of tequila in your hand, sounds like a challenge.

Then there was the cleaning of the house because L.E. is coming to stay while I'm in NYC - did I mention that I'm leaving on Wednesday and I haven't got all the stuff I need for the trip, but you know I've still got some time. The house really needed cleaning too. At 3pm it was abundantly clear that I had too much planned for Sunday, e.g. Goddess Temple, visit Diana, take Nana out for mother's day, grocery shop, so I called Teefah and told her I wouldn't be making it to the Goddess Temple most likely as that required my presence in Huntington Beach at 11:30.

A. got to my house late - he's always 30 minutes late - and I was still in my bathrobe because we hadn't yet decided what we were doing and I wanted to pick the right outfit. Plus, I was freaking exhausted. Thankfully his friend Darren, the guy with the super groovy loft 'o fun, called and said that they were going to watch Steve Zisou and then there was a party. Yay! Jeans and a t-shirt and laying around watching a movie with the option to go hang with the artsy creative types after. At this point I was really into playing it by ear.

Of course once we got to Darren's there were such interesting, genuinely nice people, and such a chill environment I ended up being "what's next" and we walked through the abandoned streets of downtown L.A. to a warehouse where there was an art show and then next door to the Bedlam Warehouse for a party. Both places were fun with that 21st century boho crowd, but just way too much cigarette smoke. Smoking has been so verboten in clubs and restaurants here for so long that I forgot what it's like to have the stench permeate your hair and your clothes. Sadly I was wearing suede which still stinks as of this morning. Gah.

Lots of fun people watching. Sara the naked angel from Darren's house was at the party channeling Theda Bara. She's not a particularly pretty girl, but she's one of those people that you can't help but stare at. The chubby bald man who was also naked the last time I saw him was also there although this time he was wearing a black jumpsuit and what looked like ear muffs on the top of his head. I was hanging with Holly, a darling redheaded artist who was wearing a white vintage victorian dress and is dating Darren - stook me up on the roof where I gratefully inhaled fresh air and hung out with the friendliest people.

It was refreshing both the people and the air but I was hit with a wave of exhaustion and inquired as to the time - 2:30 a.m. I announced that I had to leave. Right now. Because that feeling of being late for all that I had to do the next day was pervasive. Thankfully A. was on the same page and we headed home and I had weird dreams all night, a restless sleep that lasted until 10a.m. at which time he had to leave and I attempted to get up and get a move on. It took me three hours to get it together. I skipped visiting Diana and went to Nana's and took a nap on her couch. She slept too so I guess it was okay. In fact I think she was relieved that I was hip to her routine.

After we had dinner I drove back to L.A., finished some laundry, returned some phone calls and decided to blow off grocery shopping. A. called about 11pm to tell me how much he liked being with me the night before. I dittoed on the sentiment and chatted a bit longer before I began to feel coherence slipping away.

Woke up this morning feeling about 1 day behind which isn't good because I'm leaving in less than 48 hours.

I'm just feeling so late.

GOT WORK?

I'm back on that bubble of not knowing if I'll be employed after the end of this month. It's not the first time I've been here and every time I've been in this position before I've always ended up flowing into the next job. The difference this time is that I know what I want to do and I'm actually doing it, e.g. writing drama for television. I'm not writing it for anyone in particular, nor am I getting paid, but it will be a great writing sample once I've finally gotten it all down on the page. I'm 3/4 of the way through the rewrite and it's coming albeit slowly. When I started writing everyday a year ago I became aware that when I write down the things I want to accomplish they have subsequently been accomplished.

So I'm writing down what I'd like the next job to be - not the specific job itself but the qualities of the experience. I want to write and participate creatively at a job where I work with great people and I get to move around. This sitting on my ass all day is really contributing to the wagon I'm draggin'. I would like my days to be filled with work that holds my attention and challenges me in the very best way, and doesn't feel like work at all so that when I get up in the morning I'm happy and excited that I get to go back and do it again. Even when it's hard. And for this work I will be abundantly compensated both financially and creatively. And if this work involves writing for television well woohoo and hallelujah.

Although I'm still freaking out and feeling a tremendous amount of anxiety about what's going to happen, at least I'm not hyperventilating as much. And my appetite is gone which is way better than stress eating. Way better. Because it sucks to be stressed out and to also not be able to get your jeans zipped without shutting down your circulation. I'm sleeping pretty well all things considered probably because I'm working out to help blow off all the anxiety that's rolling around inside me. And because I have my friends Valium and Ambien sitting by my bed should I need them.

I'm keeping the faith, but it's hard not to think about the fact that I'm so upside down financially that I'm one of those people you read about in those ominous articles about middle class Americans who lose their jobs and then collapse in a pile of debt and end up in a homeless shelter.

Or on a corner with a cardboard sign that says "Got work."

SPEECHLESS

So A. comes back from Israel last week. He calls me right when he gets home because he wants to see me. I had plans Tuesday night and he was carless having dropped his car off on consignment prior to leaving. I had dinner with my friend and then took my leftovers to his house afterwards. He was very jetlagged from the 20 hours of flying and the 10 hour time difference. So I guess that's why he forgot to edit out the photos of the chick he hooked up with while he was there. Because as he's showing me the slide show of his parents house, his brothers and their families, the trip to Egypt, the people he recorded a song with for his brother's wedding, there were also pictures of this woman. In bed. Naked.

He freaked out, "Are you okay? Nothing happened. She was an unemotional person."

Um, whatever. She's also unattractive and you're not my boyfriend. This was the silent response in my head. I was aware however, that I was completely unphased by it although if she had been a hot chick I think I would've been. Because I'm shallow like that. I think I just assumed that he would hook up with someone when he was traveling because that's who he is.

But then.

The next two days are a total disconnect. I call him on Thursday to touch base thinking that he's back in the mire of work that he was freaking out about leaving, only to find that he's on his way to the ballet. And he made me ask who he was going with. If you make me ask it makes me think that you are hiding something. When I finally asked he said, "With my friend Emma." And that combined with the disconnect and what felt like deceptiveness pissed me off. So I very tersely told him that I'd let him go.

Yeah, so Friday he wants to have a "discussion" so that we can "figure things out" and in that discussion he told me that what he wants more than anything is to get married and have six children. Now he had told me this before he left, but I thought he was kidding. Not about the getting married and having a family bit - but the six kids part. What ride in fantasyland are you on to think about starting to have six kids when you're in your mid 40s? Not that I begrudge him that - he's middle eastern and I think that it's kind of the norm in those cultures for old men to have young children.

And I don't want six children. I don't even want one if I have to gestate it. I'd take gift with purchase kids, or I would adopt children, but I don't want to do pregnancy and labor. I'm too old and I'm already losing the battle against gravity. And if I did have kids I don't think I'd want them with A. While I completely enjoy him and really, really like him, his lifestyle doesn't really lend itself to parenting and I think that whoever ends up having his six kids will be tending the litter alone because he's a workaholic who doesn't seem to have the knack of balancing even a good night's sleep with all that he does.

But what pissed me off, or more honestly hurt me, was that he told me that I wanted the whole enchilada with him and that he would never marry me. Um, dude after three weeks of you giving me the full on rush, I was just settling into the idea that I really do like hanging with you, but I was also fully aware that it had literally only been weeks. I am a fickle female who tends to get bored after a few months with the same old same old - but I was willing to see where it might go. And marriage was never even on my radar. I was still having fun.

Now I'm just bummed out and exhausted.

And after his pre-emptive strike on Friday night, I don't know if I even want to see him again. I think that was the male version of the "freak out."

It's funny, usually I get there first.

THE DARK SIDE

I don't have time to write a freshie today so I'm going to cheat and post an e-mail exchange between my friend M. and I. We share a love of cheesy reality TV which means that last night was a virtual smorgasborg of televised velveeta which prompted her to send me this missive:

WAIT! WHAT?

First Michele is voted off Model island and then Constantine??????????? A shocking week to be sure.

Michele with all her breakdown ("I'm going to wind up in a Looney bin") weirdness was so much more interesting than the black chick. What's her name? Kenya? Kendra? Whatever. I don't like her. She's a boring bitch. And now she's apparently a boring fat bitch. Michele was interesting. There was the constant trepidation as to whether or not she would completely crack. There was the constant wonder as to when she would get a root touch-up! Have I mentioned how much I really hate the gawky, bad-skinned, rude, goofball thing...what's her name? The one with the lips. I fucking hate her. I'm afraid she is going to win, too. I think the final three will be the Goofball, Naima, and um...the mousey one.

Moving on. Okay I know you hated Constantine but were you surprised he was voted off over the pig-faced Scott Savol?! I WAS!!!!!!!! I mean Constantine has tons of women fans. But then America is very fat now so I guess all the fatties voted for Scott. Jeese. We have Rueben. Isn't that enough? I can't help but think that Constantine will get signed immediately. Scott needs to go. I seriously can't stand him anymore. I also can't stand Carrie. However the final will probably come down to Carrie and Bo. Carrie is just so...so nothing. There is nothing remotely unique about her. She is any blond. She is Generic Plain Wrap Girl.

Voting off Constantine should mean more votes for Bo. Let the Rockers unite. But Simon is right. Bo (and Constantine) went over to the cheesy side. How can other rockers take him seriously now? We shall see. As the Idol turns...

And I in turn responded:


DUDE!
Seriously.

I wanted the girls to push Britney (stripper name, porno face, loud mouthed, rude bitch) off the golf cart as the lions chased them back into the compound (like that totally happened). She's beyond annoying and she reminds me of L**** - I need all the attention, all the time - F****. Keenyah will go next I do believe because although she takes rocking photos she's not following the Top Model binge and purge diet. It's fine to hork down those carbs girl, you just got to throw'em back up so that Tyra and her mama can come and yell at you with love. I think the final three will be Naima - who ultimately won't win because she's been identified as the "boring" one like Nicole, or was that Noelle? from last season. Kahlen - the mousy one who looks like Cheryl Tiegs and has no personality but can take good photos and run like a Springbok in high heels, and Christina who should be taking much better pictures from here on out, now that she's learned the kleenex under the upper lip trick. Note to self, must try that the next time photo op arises.

Next to go will be Britney, followed by Keenya. Or vice versa.

As for Idol, well I stopped watching after they voted off Nadia Turner - assholes. I was surprised to hear that Constantine was voted off, but also wondering if it isn't somehow rigged because you know his band - something something Betty - was signed last week by the same record company that signed William Hung. And I'm wondering if Constantine is going to be conflicted now because his American Idol contract stipulates that he has to tour with these bozos for a year. I think if you you have to do that if you make it into the top 12, or ten, or whatever, which is why that cute gay boy with the fedora whose name I've already forgotten wanted out. Personally I'm rooting for Scott Savol because at this point I think he's the guy that America truly deserves for their idol - a bald, fat, domestic abuser who looks like a scary serial killer and talks to God like he was raised in the ghetto and never learned proper English.

But can we talk host action?

How about Janice sticking her tongue down Tyra's throat to illustrate passion. And THEN she knocked her to the floor and her dress went up over her bony ass necessitating blurriness! Is it because she doesn't wear underpants or was there cellulite that we shouldn't see. And how about Nigel "Maybe I can get in on this action," Barker. God he's hot. Like a grilled cheese sandwich. I love Janice too! I cannot wait to see her on the Surreal Life going toe to toe, or tongue to tongue, with Omarosa!!!

And Paula clutching her pearls and holding back sobs as Constantine is voted off and WHY GOD WHY? HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN? Because it just does Paula. It just does.

Although I'm fighting it the upcoming Kevin and Britney is drawing me in like a moth to a bug zapper hanging from the trailer in a Louisiana swamp.

I'm going over to the dark side I can totally tell.

EMBRACING THE LAME

Sheila posted today about people who posture when commenting on other people’s blogs. I haven’t experienced that because I don’t have comments, posturing by total strangers would be just one more reason why I don’t want comments. Not that I ever write stuff that people could posture on. Or would that be over? There are people who blog who amaze and awe me with their level of knowledge and their passion for the subjects that they love. Sheila loves American history and Cary Grant and Humphrey Bogart and theatre and Ireland and she writes amazingly about all of those things, but what I love best is diary Friday when she shares a diary entry that she wrote when she in her early teens. Her voice then, as now is so much her very own. She has a keen eye for detail and context and a wonderful sense of self.

Today at the end of the post on “posturing commenters” which was really a reference to a post written by another person that I didn’t have time to read because, oh yeah! I’m supposed to be writing, she mentioned that this same guy had brought up the concept of embracing the lame. The lame being those things that you love that society would consider you lame for loving. Society being I’m not sure who exactly, but you know who I’m talking about, it’s basically that same group of people from high school who were the social arbiters of cool, which therefore made them the force that identified what is not cool, e.g. what is lame. They’re the group that James Spader hung out with in those John Hughes films, only now they’re grown up lemmings instead of adolescent ones.

They are the same people that populate parties where all the beautiful people are, parties that in my experience are so completely boring because everyone is so busy being cool they aren’t having any fun. They are so worried about what people are saying about them that they don’t say or do anything real. They are the people who like to make others feel less than so that they might feel better about themselves. They are the Paris Hilton’s of the world dancing on top of the bar with no underwear on because “that’s hot.”

You know who you are.

In any case there are so many things that I love that these people would consider lame, uncool and just plain gauche and if you love stuff like this we should party. And when I say love, I mean LOVE, without irony, because it makes you happy! Not because it’s hip to like old Aerosmith t-shirts now that they sell them at Kitson.

Stuff like:

Disco and all the fabulous polyester fashion that went with it, including roller disco at Flippers!

Kaptain Crunch cereal.

Lava lamps and incense.

Tom Jones who was my first human crush. I would just stand and squeal during his TV variety show when I was a very small child. Before him it was all about Mighty Mouse.

Banana Rama, Boy George, Duran Duran, etc.

Mirrored sunglasses!

Chef Boy-R-Dee spaghettios/Kraft macaroni and cheese and Swanson TV dinners, and this is mostly in theory because I haven’t actually ingested any of these things in a really long time, but the memory makes me really happy.

Pong.

Backgammon.

Shirley Temple – the drink and the movies.

Romance novels – the bodice rippers which feature Fabio type guys on the cover and have the most awesome euphemisms for all kinds of sexual activities. And excellent villains.

Neil Diamond – Hot August Night.

Lynrd Skynrd – Freebird

Cowboys and rodeos

Chinese martial arts movies.

The Renaissance Pleasure Faire

Monopoly, Sorry, Uno, Life

Spirograph

Ice skating competitions with Dick Buttons as the commentator.

Hoola Hoops and slinkys

Mad libs

Polished rocks

Lip smackers roll on lipgloss – favorite flavor? Bubblegum.

DUDE! LEARN TO DRIVE

Yesterday I was driving to the doctor's office and as I drove I was thinking about the rewrite I'm doing. Because I'm pretty much always thinking about it no matter what I'm doing. As I crossed the intersection heading toward the freeway a white Prius driving next to me signaled that it wanted to get into my lane then proceeded to do so. I slowed to allow the driver to move into the lane in front of me and though to myself, "Wow, that guy's pretty confident, what if I was one of those assholes who speed up on purpose? He would've hit me!"

As we turned the corner and headed toward the onramp I went back to thinking about my script. Once on the freeway I'm cruising along and I become vaguely aware that the guy in the Prius is in the lane on the right waving frantically at me. Since that lane exits to Highland I figured he just wanted to get over again so I slowed to let him get in front of me, but now I'm thinking, "Whoa dude, do you just have no idea where you're at or do you seriously not know how to drive?" I'm also thinking that he was pretty cute from the brief glance I had before I stepped on the brakes to allow him into my lane.

I'm heading toward the exit and I hear "beep, beep, beep," coming up on my left and now I'm thinking he must be totally out of state because people just don't pull up and say thank you for letting me get in front of you on L.A. freeways. I look over smiling and waving and all of a sudden I recognize the guy! It's my friend Ray!! And he's laughing his ass off. I roll down my window and the following exchange takes place at 70 m.p.h. on the 101 South.

Ray: Hey dumbshit!
Me: Oh my God! What are you doing driving a Prius?
Ray: I cut you off twice trying to get your attention!
Me: Call me!

And I zoomed down the offramp. I got home later on to a message from Ray on my answering machine that said that he'd basically been following me since I left work. He'd cut me off twice, almost hit me, tried to call me on my cell phone (it's always off) and was driving the whole way down the freeway honking and waving and trying to get my attention.

And I just thought he was some guy who didn't know how to drive.

SMILE

This weekend was a loooooong one, but in a good way. I was just really tired by the time it was over and my day off on Monday that was supposed to be a vacation day turned into a sick day when I woke up at 5am with a sore throat and a headache and was unable to get up and much at all.

I took A. to the airport on Saturday where he flew away around midnight for the next two and half weeks. The airport, especially the International terminal, has gotten very tense. He had really big suitcases and I wanted to drop him off right in front because with his back injury it’s not a good thing to shlep heavy very far. I tried to pull up right in front and this cop was screaming at me so I rolled down my window and screamed back, “Hold up officer! I need to drop off this guy and some very, very heavy luggage, where do you suggest I do that?” Thank God he wasn’t a complete ass and he directed me into the lovely length of empty curb right in front of the terminal and then stopped traffic so I could drive across to the parking structure. I blew him kisses as I drove past because as long as I get my own way, I’m a real pleasure to deal with. Hung with A. for an hour until he had to go board his flight. Neither one of us do that whole kissy face and tears goodbye, because it’s just a couple of weeks and he’s totally coming back. Right?

Sunday morning I got up after a few hours sleep and went down to pick up Ms. Cecilia who is five for our movie date. We were supposed to go see Robots, but Cathy who’d bagged on her in the first place slipped in and took her to see it first. So I got Ice Princess. Leisa and my darling Mia, who is six, came and met us there. Mia started out sitting next to me and then when she became aware of the bag of gummy bears that Cecelia had she moved to my lap and whispered, “Does Cecelia have some candy over there?” Candy is one of Mia’s primary food groups. Cecelia being the very sweet girl that she is said, “Yes, would you like to share? Here you go.” And Mia moved over to sit in the same seat with Cecelia so as to better share the giant bag of sugar. Leisa and I quite liked the movie, we both got misty at the end, and Cecelia announced that she’s going to be a professional figure skater. And a veterinarian.

After the movie we went to McDonald’s, also part of our special day out. Mia ordered a McFlurry which Leisa and I chowed on while she was playing on the habitrail that they have set up for children on the patio. Can you say YUM! After Leisa and Mia took off for their pre-arranged ice skating date with friends Cece and I fed the birds and laughed at all the fighting that was going on over our fries. She decided that she wanted to stop by the rink and see what the whole ice skating thing was all about so we did, because I am completely indulgent with other people’s children. She was quite taken with the little girls in their outfits doing their wobbly turns and left the rink totally sure that she would be committed to ice skating so her parents should buy her some boots and blades immediately.

Next we hit the mall because the Children’s Place is having a sale and it’s my favorite store. Like I wish they made the clothes in my size. Now I had asked Cece several times if she needed to use the bathroom because I am aware that 5 year olds have small bladders, but she kept saying no. So when we got to the mall and she said she had to go potty and the one in the mall was crowded I decided we should hurry up and get to a department store where the bathrooms are cleaner anyway.

We were riding up on the escalator and all of a sudden Cece shrieks, “I’m going to pee my pants.” Her face was contorted in such a way that I knew this wasn’t a warning, we were pretty much at DefCon Five. When she started screaming, “It’s happening, it’s happening,” all I could do was tell her to keep moving, my reasoning being that if you move quickly enough there will be no puddle. Thank God the ladies room was clearly visible at the top of the escalator and Cece was able to walk while squeezing her little legs together.

Once we got in the bathroom the tears started and the self castigation. Her, not me. I got her underpants off and put her on the pot and told her to go ahead and finish and she wailed that she was bad and I told her, “Nah, it happens to everyone. It happens to me all the time.” “Really,” she sobbed, “Yeah, because I get busy and I don’t take the time to stop and go and all of a sudden I’m ready to pee my pants. So I have to run really fast and sometimes I don’t quite make it. It’s no big thing.” “But my shoes are all wet.” “Yeah, but they’re Tevas and they’re made to get wet so we’re just going to wash them in the sink and rinse your panties out and I’ll put them in my purse and we’ll tie your sweater around your waist so that little wet spot doesn’t show on your skirt.

“I want to go home.”
“Okay.”

So I got her all cleaned up and put back together and the tears stopped and we wandered around the store trying to find our way out. I wondered aloud if we should go check out the carousel since it was right there when we walked out the door. She moseyed along because all those painted horses were very pretty after all. I asked if she wanted to go for a ride. She didn’t know. Well, how about if we go down to the Children’s Place so I can see if they have that twirly skirt I wanted to get you and you can think about it and if you want to ride we’ll go on our way back.

So we did.

And she got two pairs of sunglasses – fabulous, two very cute dresses on sale, and a fabulous blouse that I truly covet. I thought about trying on the size 12 because some of these little girls are quite chubby so you never know, but the arms were too short. We left the mall, stopping to ride that carousel and get some candy, before I took her home.

The whole day was so much fun but I was completely exhausted from the emotional roller coaster. It amazes me how resilient children are if you only distract them from whatever is bumming them out with a little shopping therapy. I let her touch absolutely everything on those carts that they have in malls now. She was particularly fascinated by the cart 'o piercings and luckily for us there was a woman standing there with piercings galore so that I could explain to her exactly what the little dumbells with rhinestones on them were for. As we were leaving the mall Cecelia was walking along saying, “Hi! How are you today?” to everyone at her level which basically covered people sitting down or riding in strollers. We passed one elderly woman who was being pushed in a wheelchair and Cecelia went right up to her with a big smile, “Hi there!” and I wish I’d had a camera to take a picture of how that woman’s face lit up. Cecelia had just made her whole day. I was so proud to be in the company of someone who was spreading the joy and making people smile.

That night I was just about to fall asleep when A. called to say “Hi,” and to let me know that he had arrived and just hearing his voice made me smile. I'm happy I know him too.

DENIED AND FRUSTRATED

I have attempted to post on this pukafka site everyday this week and I have been denied. And it's not like last week when I just couldn't get the damn thing to open. Oh no. It's only after I have written clear, coherent paragraphs of brilliance and pressed the post buttont that I get the "something's broken" message.

I need to start writing everything in a word doc and then copying and pasting so I don't lose all those jewels of wisdom, but I am inherently lazy and eternally optimistic that shit will work like it's supposed to. Of course at this point that's also the definition of crazy, you know when you keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.

So yesterday I was writing all about how knowing what the biggest major weakness in my script is just makes me more frustrated because this isn't something I can "figure out" - I have no idea what's driving my main character. That's a pretty important thing to know, and since I'm writing a drama it can't just be the old "I want to be happy" routine.

It's interesting because that has always been my stock answer when asked that age old question, "What do you want?" Or else I go visit fantasyland and want to win the lottery. Or maybe I go concret and want to be out of debt and able to buy a house and car and have health insurance. At various times in my life I have wanted different things. When I was in 7th grade all I wanted was for Paul Butler to like me. When I was eleven all I wanted was a horse. When I want something I tend to want it obssessively and I am aware that this gets in my way, or at least it has. Especially back in the days when all I wanted was to get high.

Last year I was doing some work with Joann and Martha - the very wise women who are my teachers - I cannot bullshit them and we got on the subject of "what do I want" and in the midst of all the tears and snot what came out was, "I want someone to love me so my life can start." And that felt so real and true that I started to cry harder. I mean golly that certainly puts the locus of control outside myself doesn't it?

And maybe that's why my main character is pretty much just reacting to all the drama in her life. Because she's waiting too. Unfortunately that's not much to drive the story on. Last night I put in a request with my subconsciouse to give me a clue, drop me a line, but then I laid there wakefully awaiting some kind of sign. I walked the lot, which is what D. does when he's cogitating a question like this.

I have faith that it will come, but I don't have the patience because I'd really like to finish this and move on to the next thing. It's all I can do not to put my head through my computer screen and if I press "post" and get that broken message again, I might just do that.

AS IT SHOULD BE

It seems I cannot escape the news coverage of the Pope's death. Or more specifically pictures of the Pope's dead body on tour. I am not Catholic and upon hearing that the poor man was finally making his transition I only felt gratitude that he would be released from what has been quite a painful existence. One which he suffered with great dignity. And I guess that's why he was the Pope because I would have been whinging and bitching and just generally being cranky.

Pope John Paul II, who I have just come to find out was born with a completely different name when he came into this world as a baby boy, held ideas that are quite different than mine about how life is, and what God is, but I think he did a really good job of being the figurehead for a religion that is clinging to the past. He did it with integrity and I always felt the love from him, even when he was saying stuff I didn't agree with.

Even when he was speaking out against the war in Iraq - a stand I totally agreed with - he still did it from a place of love. I like to think that when he died he was feeling all kinds of love, not only from all the people who were around him, taking care of him, but also from his God, because, you know that was pretty much his primary relationship. His most intimate relationship. I think it would be kind of lonely being the Pope because everyone reveres you, and is sort of in awe of you. It's hard to imagine the Pope hanging out playing poker and sipping whiskey with his pals.

I don't know if the Pope is allowed pals.

But it's kind of grossing me out that they're carrying his dead body around and people are lining up to go in and look at it. Like I said, I'm not Catholic, but it just seems kind of undignified and invasive. It's his body. He's done using it. He's not there anymore. Why remember him like that?

Even though I'm not Catholic I would rather remember him like this. Because he was the Pope for a long time and he had a vital life and it seems like those are the memories and images worth keeping. Even if you don't agree with someone, or understand what they believe, to see the positive is as it should be.

TOO POOPED TO POST

So my birthday celebratin' has been just wunnerful. I have eaten too much and not slept enough, and remember a while back when I wrote that A. wasn't that into me so why did he continue to e-mail and call? Well, over the last couple weeks it's become very clear that he IS that into me and I totally reciprocate and because I am too pooped to write a whole post, and I have to get my taxes done and to my accountant I'm just going to copy and past an e-mail update I sent to my darling Allison, although it's edited because I tell her absolutely everything and it's not all for public consumption.


Allison - this has never happened to me before. I have always liked sex, but this is really strange. You know how when you're with someone and you go out and you know you're going to go home and have sex? Or you get together to go out and you kiss and then it turns into making out and you end up having sex before you go out? But as far as sex there's always a beginning, a middle and an end?

This isn't like that.

This is like mating season at the zoo.

But with a LOT of conversation and hanging out. I think maybe it's because A. is doing treatment with a Chinese doctor for his ulcer and as part of the treatment he's not supposed to ejaculate. In fact, he's probably not supposed to have sex or delve into arousal at all. But he totally is and it's like what I imagine having sex with Sting must be like. And I'm like a dude in that once I get off I want to roll over and go to sleep, but because of the fact that he's not goal oriented when he touches me we get sucked in over and over. And it's okay for me not to finish because he doesn't and I have to say that just having sex is more fun when there's no pressure to get off. And because there's no pressure I end up getting off all the time.

Like five times yesterday.

And that was after staying up until four in the morning going to various and random parties.

I was out every night last week celebrating the birthday. A. showed up at the all girl chickfest dinner on Thursday with flowers and stayed until we were done, after which I followed him to his house and we danced to Sade singing Smooth Operator on vinyl and then we had lots of sex.

Friday I went home and got my tax stuff in order - that is the one thing that I must complete today - and then went with R. to the Arts and Crafts exhibit at LACMA. I gave him the Parker book which he loved and also tiled a six bottle wine rack that I've been carrying around in my trunk forever. I used earthtone tiles with one single red one and grouted it with gray. It was pretty cool although it wasn't prefect. None of my projects ever really are, but it's the thought that counts. We walked to the museum and then to dinner and we talked and talked. I told him it was really hard for me to see him with Lori when we went to the museum the week before and that no matter who else I love I will always love him. He said he felt that same way and that there was nothing going on between he and Lori which is good because she drinks A LOT. And Saturday night at his party if I'd had to listen to her say one more time, "I'm a mom," I would've slapped her. Thank God I wasn't standing there when she told A. that she wanted to leave, but the sex was so good.

I am totally falling for A. and there is definitely something going on between us, but I get very jealous when I think about R. with anyone else. Because I'm just like that. I was talking to A. about it because he's concerned about R. feeling weird about he and I and he said, "so you still have feelings for him." I said, yes, but not rational feelings. They just are what they are and it's easier if I just feel them and know they're not reality based, they're ego based. I think he got it.

So back to Saturday - A. called and said he'd been invited by some friends to a bbq and did I want to go before R's party. Sure. So I packed my party dress and put on bbq clothes and he picked me up and we went out to the valley for an hour or so, then we changed and went to R's party, got there about 9pm. Stayed until midnight and then went to this party that A's friend Fernando told him about. Fernando is from South America and he's one of those absolutely beautiful, sexual creatures that women go nuts for, until they know better. Which isn't to say that he's not lovely, and probably a great one night stand, but he's a playah.

So we get to this abandoned building in downtown L.A. and we're on the list as Fernando's guests and we go to the top of the stairs and we have to sign releases in case we're on camera. I just sign because what the heck, but in briefly perusing it I see that I am at Dr. Susan Block's institute. Now this is a woman that I occasionally catch when channel surfing, on cable access. I was actually pretty delighted to be at one of her wingdings, although it was so contrived there was nothing sexy about it. It felt like everyone was trying too hard to be all free and sexual and shit. It was actually kind of pathetic. But there was this one girl who was dancing in this long skirt with no top on and a mohawk and she was wearing black gloves and I swear I thought she had NO HANDS! I was completely mesmerized and a little freaked out, but then I saw that she had gloves on. A. and I had fun people watching and making up stories about what everyone did for their day job.

Then we went to his friend Darren's loft, also in downtown, in a building that A. had done all the electrical work in - that was cool to see - he does huge jobs, like high rises and office buildings. So we walk into this loft space and it's like walking into a weird sex/nightclub - only without the creepy sex vibe. Darren is a little guy who apparently has a ton of money because he had this huge computer and it's at what looked like a control center and he can project the screen on to the one wall that's not floor to ceiling windows. Which is behind the stage that is in his living room. When we arrived there was a short, chubby naked man with a crew cut wearing these wings made from pleated organza that had sticks at the ends which extended out from the arms so that the wings could be made to flutter. This girl Sara was also naked and dancing around with the wings. A couple other people were laying on Darren's bed which is a round platform that hangs from the ceiling and another girl in a platinum wig was laying in a vibrating massage chair which she was enjoying so much that her wig was askew.

I shot some very cool pictures with A's camera of the people with the wings. It got to be about 2:30 (we sprung ahead) and I had to take a little nap. When I sat up this woman in a fishnet body stocking was jumping on a trampoline and then Darren attached this nylon tube to the ceiling so that people could get in and move around for photographs. Next he put up the stripper pole which fishnet girl played on. While this felt less contrived it reminded me a lot of the olden days doing drugs and playing with all kinds of toys that my insanely wealthy druggy friends had. Only these people don't do drugs. They're just into being "sexual," but it didn't really feel like that to me. Maybe I was just too tired.

Or I'm just old and jaded and rather than seeing them as free and sexual I see them more as lost and looking for distraction. Or maybe they're just in their 20s? In any case, it's fun once in a while, but I was giving him shit because he commented that at R's party if you didn't want to talk about stereos or cars there wasn't much else going on in the way of conversation, and after we left Darren's I said, "well if you didn't want to talk about sex toys or do provocative naked modern dance, these people weren't offering up a lot in the way of real connection either, although it was definitely entertaining. It was a party and for some reason unless the gathering is intimate it's hard to make a connection - whether your subject is cars or sex toys.

We got home about 4am and even though we were both exhausted guess what we ended up doing again? He went and met his friend for coffee at 10am and then came back and although we got up and attempted to get going we never got out of the house and before we knew it it was like 5pm and we hadn't really eaten. He had to take me home so we went and had an early dinner and then he came in and we laid down for a little bit.

And then we did it again!!!! And by now we're both hurting. The only thing I can liken it to is an insanely good meal and you're so full you're in pain, but you can't stop nibbling. And then there's all the conversation about everything. I don't know if it's the English as a second language thing, but he is in the habit of, and come to think of it always has done this since I met him, he is always telling me what he likes about me: I like that you don't stay angry, I like that I can tell you anything, I like that you laugh at yourself. It's like a positive self esteem workshop. I have never met a man who is so into communicating so openly and I am liking that, among so many other things, about him.

He does all these little things that I love like he put on this CD yesterday morning that was all trumpet music from the 60s and he stood there and folded his laundry naked while I nibbled on a bran muffin and laid on the couch reading with the sun coming in through all the windows. And then he put on this song that was a prayer - in Spanish - and was really beautiful - and he came over and kissed me.

And we ended up doing it again.

And I think, wonder, ponder - can this last? I've been in lots of relationships and I love sex, but it's never been like this before. He tells me all the time, "We are awesome together!" and we're both more than a little blown away I think.

It's a good thing I'm too exhausted to think very much about it because I could freak myself right out.

And he's leaving Saturday for Israel and will be gone for 2 1/2 weeks and I'm thinking I'm going to miss him. A lot. But as I sit her I'm also really aware that vajeena needs a rest.

GETTING SOME ZZZZZZZZS

First of all I just have to express my extreme frustration with Blogger. I have been trying to get on here to write for the last two days and it wouldn't load. I tried lots of times and it just wouldn't let me on. Of course I have the patience and attention span of a gnat, but I also feel that if the window doesn't open within 30 seconds it's probably not going to. Aaaarrrrgggh! I hate being denied.

On a positive note I got ten hours of sleep last night and nine hours the night before. Why? Well, because I went and saw the doctor and got my prescriptions renewed for my good friends Ambien and Valium. I take a half of each pill right before I lay me down to sleep and, even though I still wake up two to three times a night, I am able to go back to sleep and my eyes don't pop open until 7am. This is an awesome experience because I hate being awake and alone when it's dark out and too early to call my friends on the east coast. They're not even up at 6am, and if they are they're busy getting ready to go to work. They don't have time to chat with a loony insomniac.

All this sleep has made a huge difference in my level of productivity, although not so much in my ability to focus. So far I have gotten my Driver's license renewed, something that I, of course waited until the last minute to do as it expires tomorrow. I could've renewed by mail, but I cannot walk around with that picture of me looking like I'm hearing voices one day longer. I put on make up and got my hair cut and colored, not for the license picture but because I'm marking one more trip around the sun, it just worked out that my hair was cute for the picture taking. Of course, I may still look crazy because I'm not that photogenic and the woman at the DMV was no Annie Leibowitz, but if I was going to pay for it anyway I figured why not give it a shot. I'll know if a week if all the time and effort was worth it.

I also completed most of the work on Rs. gift for his birthday. As with everything else I do it's been fits and spurts, but ta-da! it's almost done and that's good because his birthday is day after tomorrow. Mine is tomorrow and so I've been feted nightly at all my favorite restaurants with all my favorite people. On Monday my neighbor and dear friend Cheryl went up to that local neighborhood restaurant we can walk to with the intention of taking each other out for dinner since her birthday was last Friday. When we got there we ran into Robert, my new friend that I met there and he bought us dinner! How cool is that?

Last night I went to Rocca with Sheila who is a peach and had amazing Italian food. Not the kind you usually think of when you think Italian, but the rustic kind. We started with the fonduta which was a crostini topped with black truffles upon which you dollop melted cheese. She had Lactaid Ultra with her which is a good thing because I would've been fetal before dinner was done. Next we shared the Ricotta gnocchi with ox tail ragu. This is one of my favorite things becuase the gnocchi melts in your mouth as opposed to landing in your stomach like a pasta bomb. For our mail course we ordered some of the pig that they roasted which was served with a basil mint pesto and a green apple comfit. Yum! Dessert was a chocolate souffle with a Nutella center. The whole entire evening was delicious right down to the company.

Tonight I'm going to Melisse, a four star French restaurant with my best friend Christina. This is my favorite place in LA - the food is phenomenal, a real experience, so hopefully Blogger will let me on tomorrow so I can write about it.

And hopefully I will find some time in all my celebratin' to get my taxes done. If I get that done, I think I will reward my productivity with a weekend that it completely off the hook.

THE TASTE OF CHAGRIN

I am feeling like a horrible person right this minute. Sick to the pit of my I've been a bad girl stomach. I am an asshole. Or at least I behaved like one. Mea fucking culpa.

It all started back at the beginning of February when I ordered a Directv DVR with tivo for the living room. A very nice guy named Juan came to install it. He brought a ladder but never used it to go up to the dish. I am A/V stupid. I was completely traumatized by the remote when I first switched from cable to Directv last year. And that is why when I attempted to record a movie the first night with my new gadget I figured it had to be something I did wrong that prevented me from being able to tape on one channel and watch another. I thought perhaps I needed a Tivo lesson or something.

One of my friends came over who is very good with gadgets and determined that I was getting no signal from the second satellite line. So me being an asshole, I immediately decided that Juan had to have done something wrong. I called Directv and their Tech department tried to walk me through all the possible ways to fix it while sitting on your ass in front of the TV. None of them worked. They said they'd have to send someone out to fix it. I said okay, but you know the vendor that you use for installs? They keep sending people who don't know what they're doing so could you ask them to send a senior guy? Please don't send the same guy it really bugs me that I have to make the time to deal with service again.

Of course Juan was waiting for me when I got home. Only his head was shaved and he didn't indicate that he was the guy who did the original install and it took me a while to figure out that it was him, but once I did I was just completely mortified. The mortification intensified when he determined that there was nothing wrong with the lines - they both work fine. The problem it seems is that the box is broken. My new gadget broke within hours of him installing it.

It was a brand new box - who would think that it would break immediately? Not me!

I went right to Juan screwed up and then I called Directv and told on him.

I am such an asshole.

And now I have to write a letter to Directv and send a copy to Juan's employer apologizing for casting aspersions on his abilities.

And apologize for being an asshole about everything.

I AM NOT CRAZY

So A. called and in talking to him over a couple of nights I realized that he is "that into me." We saw each other last night and that confirmed that everything I thought I felt was real. Sometimes I wonder if I make stuff up. Or if I'm crazy.

Now the fact that I'm not crazy doesn't guarantee a happy ending. Not at all, but it certainly makes the present a lot more fun. I think that what is unsettling is the feeling of knowing someone, there's a familiarity in place that is disconcerting, because I don't really know him at all. Yet.

I don't know his quirks. I don't know how he does his life on a day to day basis.

But I do know him.

BE PREPARED

It's the Girl Scout motto.

And it's the positive message I'm taking from the horrible nightmare that is the Terri Schiavo case. I was talking to my mother a few days ago about this because she is in the midst of "getting her affairs in order," bless her, not because there's anything wrong, but because with the Parkinson's diagnosis for Bob and a second marriage late in life, it's a good thing to do so your family doesn't suffer. I told her to be sure to specify that in the case of a persistent vegetative state there would be no gastric feeding tube. She told me that her friend Shall had just had her dad unhooked when he went south during an illness. I pointed out that unplugging only ends your life if you're on a ventilator. If you are in a persistent vegetative state, like Terri Schiavo is your autonomic nervous system will still function enabling your reflexes to work so that you will grimace and moan and do all the stuff that Terri is featured doing on that horrifying video tape that the media loves to play over and over and over again.

However, the lights aren't on and no one is home. I take solace in the fact that this poor woman has no idea what's happening to her, or that the video of her lolling head and rolling eyes has been seen by people all over the world. I told my mom that if she did that to me I would come back and haunt her for the rest of her days as soon as I was finally able to die.

President Bush said this today, "It is wise to always err on the side of life," but forgot to add "unless you're a black man sitting on death row in the state of Texas," which killed more people under his watch than any other governor. People who may have been innocent but were refused new trials.

What Terri is doing is not living. She is existing. I cannot imagine having a family member in this situation, but I know that I do not want anyone to be forced to exist when they have no brainwaves. The brain is dead. The spirit is gone. Their Terri is gone. Her body will exist as long as they feed it. That the United States government got involved is both terrifying and outrageous. That the president cut short one of his many vacations to sign legislation that may allow the feeding tube to be reinserted is arrogant and not what the President of this country should be concerning himself with.

Her husband is vilified for refusing to divorce her and allow her care to revert to her family. He has refused truly disgusting offers of millions of dollars to do so. He wants to make sure that she is allowed to die - the with dignity part is way past moot what with that video and the "Christian" hullabaloo. He has not gotten on with his life, though divorcing Terri and doing so would definitely have been the easiest thing to do. He is concerned that her parents are not making rational decisions evidenced by her father's statement that he would have amputations performed to do so. He is concerned that their "medical expert opinion" that Terri was misdiagnosed comes from doctors who are not neurologists and who give this opinion after seeing that damn video.

What about brain scans and EEGs? Why don't they do one of those and bring in some Independant Medical Examiners? If she's got no brain waves now, 20 years after her brain damage, I think it's safe to say that it's never going to happen. It's sad that there are doctors in this world who will tell people what they want to hear instead of the truth.

It's sad what Michael Schiavo is going through to allow his wife to die. It's sad what Terri's family is going through holding on to hope where there isn't any and being misled by people who would use their tragedy to further their moral/political agendas. It's sad that this president and this congress would intervene in a citizen's life in such an intrusive and "big brother" way.

It's all just so sad.

But if a few more people decide to get be prepared by making a living will and so prevent their families from being in this position then at least some good will come out of all this sad.

I have a living will, but it's in a safety deposit box that is who knows where. Certainly not Wells Fargo who bought First Intersate and then moved it without advising me. So I'm going to write my instructions down and have a friend witness it and keep it on the refrigerator.

Just in case.

I'M FREE FALLIN'

I'm re-writing myself and it's getting really hard. I am so critical that I feel paralyzed. It's like those stunt planes that you see when they go into a stall and start doing a spiral toward earth. It's completely silent and the plane seems to be gliding - this is a controlled stall - toward certain catastrophe and at the last minute the pilot starts the engine and pulls up on the stick thingy and the plane swoops back up toward heaven.

So in this scenario? I'm the pilot and the plane is in freefall and I'm staring at the approaching ground and I'm not sure I can find the on switch for the engine. In fact it feels like maybe the engine fell off the plane.

All I can do is hope that tomorrow I find the switch and pull back on the stick thingy and get a little altitude.

I just hope that there's gas in the tank.