And Oh, BTW

1. Just to clarify, I wasn't riding my bike when I wrote of the traffic scare. I don't ride in the winter, into fall maybe as long as the conditions are favorable, but not winter. Biting winds, snow, and ice aside, I just don't have the gumption to fight those elements and a-hole drivers. Being a pedestrian is trying enough.

2. I think I must have Spidey sense when it comes to cat puke. I hardly ever step in it, which of course means I've just sealed my fate and I will suddenly start finding all the puke with my feet first.

3. Buttah is the more prolific puker. Just thought you'd like to know.

4. The here-to-fore missing partner to the other pair of leg warmers has been located. I wasn't overly concerned as I had a pretty good idea where it was hiding, it was more a matter of getting down to the bottom of the hampered laundry. Still, happy dance ensues.

5. Mom asked, "how's your social life . . . going?"

6. I do not recall ever, ever before hearing that question from her before. And speaking of, it's going . . . slow. Which is fine as there is other stuff going on now filling up the days. By night, I'm pretty spent. Still, I'm doing the meet-ups, have had some pretty dandy ones of late and a few prospective dandy ones on tap.

7. I signed on to a number of groups, only a few of which have fairly regular activities planned. Schedule, dollars, and location dictate which activity I can manage participation. None (so far) have netted any dating prospects, but then I'm avoiding the singles meet-ups, or rather I have avoided them. I may be ready for those sooner rather than too much later.

8. And speaking of, I'm not much for the what are you looking for? conversation, revelation. I mean, I know in terms of qualities in a woman that appeal to me and I know the conversation must be had, but . . .

9. Anyhoo . . . Buttah puked on my bed a couple weeks ago. That was a first and hopefully a last, though I won't bet on it. And yes, I saw the puke before I felt the puke. And speaking of Buttah, my wake-up call was mister bumble buns knocking over the remnants of the night-capping beverage.

10. End of random update.

And oh, by the way, the pic of my leg feels like a first, but I don't think it is. Maybe.

A Thought

Losing one glove

is certainly painful,

but nothing

compared to the pain,

of losing one,

throwing away the other,

and finding

the first one again.

Piet Hein, poet and scientist (1905-1996)

Which is one of the reasons I have so many single socks. Oh, I know the other part of the pair is gone, I just don't believe the sock partner departed. But, I also know that I must come to terms with that and either do away with the remaining sock or find something useful for it to do.

Which brings me to leg warmers. My leg warmers to be more precise. I have two pair. I've had them for some time now. One pair has gone and gotten itself separated from her partner. I'm fairly certain the separation is on a trial basis. Or at least I hope so, I rather like them together. I think they make a perfect pair.


The second pair is a quandary. One of the two is perfectly fine. She stays in the up position through-out the day, requiring very little in the way of adjustment. She is stoic, that one. The other is not. Somehow, somewhere along the way she's lost her elasticity. Or rather, some of her elasticity. I pull her up over the knee and before I know it she's puddling down around the ankle. Outside of that little quirk she's perfectly fine.

What to do with the one leg and one (now) ankle warmer? I've grown quite fond of them as a pair and I like them well enough individually as well. Quandary.

One thing I do know for sure, no decision will be made until I am sure, absolutely certain that the other pair will come back together, or rather has come back together.

One other thing I know for sure, the one warm(er) and one cold(er) leg sensation is rather odd.

Special, Special Day*

Mostly I like my job. Not like as in it fulfills any burning desires (except of course earning bux to pay bills). But it is an ok job, usually. If I had to put a finger on what I like most it would be that there is variety. I am charged with a number of different tasks for the (now) two (soon to be three) companies owned by Mister Eff.

The various responsibilities make for full, sometimes hectic, and frustrating days.

If I had to put a finger on what I like least, that would be people. Not all the people, but those who do things that defy logic, my logic anyway. Like the person who received a fax from me had a question or concern about the data in said fax. Instead of call ME like the cover letter asked, he called my colleague in NY who hadn't seen the fax, knew nothing of the fax, nor any of the information outlined in said fax. The fax was to correct a Soc. Sec. number for one of the employees. I had the employee print the WRONG number and the CORRECT number as ask that the records be adjusted to reflect same. I'd asked for a new W-2 for this employee. I got a call from my colleague, who reported that payroll service rep didn't SEE any difference. When I called him he repeated that to me . . "I don't SEE any difference."

He read the number to me: 355-xx-xxxx (wrong number) 335-xx-xxxx (correct number) and said, "maybe it's me, but I don't see any difference."

Yes, I told him it was him...3 5 5 versus 3 3 5. Oh, he says.

Or the people (vendors) who call seeking payment on an outstanding / past due invoice. I ask for the invoice number in question and they say, "oh, wait, hold on, let me look. that. up." Look it UP? You called me, and you don't have it there IN FRONT OF YOU???? I have to WAIT while you fumble and bumble around your computer (which is always moving "sooooooo slow today for some reason") of course to find an invoice you called me about? Oh, joy.

Most days stuff like that doesn't bother me overmuch. After so many years I've grown accustomed to certain . . . types. But, today . . . on this most special day, I got a bit miffed.

A little late, I know . . . but go appreciate a squirrel. Then again, it's never too late to appreciate a squirrel.

*according to them.

DAGNABBIT

Driver A was in the right lane of a two lane roadway, travel in both lanes, west-bound. Driver B was in the left lane 1/4 car length behind driver A. *I* was standing on the median between the service drive and the 2 lane west-bound traffic, waiting for traffic to clear so I could continue crossing the street(s).

It is just beyond 5:00 p.m. so traffic is heavy and near the intersection where I'm waiting to cross the street stands a Montess*rri school, parents and care-givers double parked retrieving youngsters, buckling in youngsters, admonishing youngsters, bribing youngsters to get in the freakin' car. It is a rather congested intersection at just past 5:00 p.m. I know better than to come this way, but I was taking this different route home and had forgotten.

Driver A and driver B ride along (I pick them up two blocks away) nearly side-by-side, with driver B fading behind ever so often. As they get closer to the intersection where I am waiting to cross the street(s) and where all the double-parked, blinkin' flippin' youngster activity is going on, something strikes me. I don't know what but before I could could think about what I see driver A veer to her left, prepping to make a left turn from the RIGHT lane. She nearly clipped driver B who veered to her left, right toward where I was standing on the median between the service drive and two lanes of west-bound traffic they were traveling.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! That would be me.

Horns blaring, middle fingers raised, traffic stalled, Montess*rri youngsters, parents, and caregivers paused to take note of possible horror.

I've been hit before, it hurt like a sum-bitch. And like THAT time, I was holding food in my hand, well, in a bag. Though, unlike that time it wasn't fried chicken from the colonel. It was 3 lbs. of ground beef and six cans of cat food.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. What flashed was that I was likely going to lose the ground beef and maybe a couple of the cans. Not to mention being laid up for a while. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Hi-ever, I didn't get hit this time. Thankfully, driver b had just enough distance between her and A and possessed enough skill and instinct to avoid being hit and hitting someone namely, ME.

Thanks much to driver B and her skills.

Driver A can go suck it.

image cred

BLAST

Judging from my hair, it had to be the 80s. It had to be after Michael and might have been before Danielle, but it was definitely the 80s. I wish I could tell you I'd gotten caught in the rain that day and that's why my hair appears a big, poufy, matty mess. Buuut, that might not necessarily be the case. My hair was often a big, poufy matty looking mess. Unless I was braiding it, I had not a clue about my hair. I toyed with the idea of cutting it all off then, and in fact, I did, once. My husband had a conniption.

The more I think about it, this HAD to be before Danielle.

A woman I worked with back in those days was always taking pictures. Problem was, she was usually very slow to get them developed. As a result, many of the pics she snapped were rarely seen by the subjects.

We haven't seen each other in over twenty years and haven't (until recently) spoken in nearly as long. She contacted me some weeks ago and we played catch-up. She said then she was working on a project related to the photos from that time. Today is my first look at many of the photos. Today is my first look at the photo shown above.

Looking at some of the photos, it's amazing how many of the names came fluttering back to my mind, folks I hadn't thought about in years; Donald, Pat, Beverly, Earlene, Wanda, John, Mac, Ted, James, Suporn, Allena, Ann, Georgette, even Paulette H. Paulette's nickname was Hard n Nasty, which was a play on her last name and a description of her personality (mean, yes I know) and of course Nora, the photographer.

Even more amazing than how my mind called up most of the names and attached them to the right faces was THAT waist, THOSE hips. Oh Mah Goodness...

PEACE

he was killed April 4, 1968. he was 39 and if he were alive today, he would have just celebrated his 81st birthday.

most of what i know about martin luther king, jr. i read or saw on television after his death. i was seven when he was killed. i hadn't heard much about him prior to that fateful day in april. he was busy leading his crusades and while news of some of that filtered through via adult conversations, i was much too young to take much notice. that day in april changed what i heard, saw and my relationship with the information.

the whole of 1968 was hot. my parents were in the midst of making up to break up moves only to break up for good in 1968/9. after dr. king's death parts of chicago went up in flames and more, the outside volatility surpassing the inside for a time.

my most vivid memory of that time, outside the images of the burned out buildings, debris strewn about the streets, and the televised images of police beating back the rioters is that of my older brother standing side-by-side with me, facing a full-length mirror we had in our foyer.

i remember him taunting me, "i can go outside because i'm white and you're black!" i remember my mother slapping the taste out of his mouth and telling him, "fool, you just as black as she is!"

it feels weird to say happy mlk day, when here in 2010 there are still debates as to whether or not the election of our current president signals a post-racial america, where the race of our current president is even a topic of conversation or more disturbingly, a point of contention. it is my belief that we won't be beyond race (gender, or class) issues in this country, at least not in my lifetime. i cling to some hope that i'm proven wrong.

i am happy that he lived, that he dedicated and gave his life for the advancement of people, for equality, for . . . peace. i am sad that after all his words and work, and the words and works of so many others (before and after) that we are still fighting for the ideals on which this country reportedly built. . .

. . . liberty and justice for ALL

Six Points

Weekend Wordsmiths prompt from a couple of weeks ago. Any resemblance to any creatures large or small is purely coincidental.

Six points. That's all that separated my sweety, Grace from victory. Six lousy points. That Grace wound up on the wrong side of the six points is surprising in and of itself, but more to the point is that Grace being on the wrong side of six points doesn't bode well for me and the evening's plans. Well, my plans. Instead of the victory dance (read: sex) I was tuning up for, there will be angry recitations of the flow of the game gone wrong. Grace will review each move, each strategy. She will obsess over the loss, she will gnaw and pick like a dog with a bone. She will not be cajoled, she will not be wooed. There will be heat, but not in the way I desired.

Six. Lousy. Points.

Grace hardly ever loses, for this I am grateful. She is the most competitive person I know, the most competitive person I've ever met. Grace accepts challenges to play a game she'd never played. Upon accepting a challenge to play a game formerly foreign to her games repertoire, she studies and practices until she acquires (in her view) the skills of a seasoned veteran. It seems to work for as I say, she hardly every loses. Grace expects to win every game played and her sore losing is nothing compared to her boisterous winning. And while her public victory lap is a bit embarrassing, the private one is most welcomed.

I don't know what happened tonight, but I will. I will hear over and over, ad nauseum just where the tide turned. Grace will refuse to let it go, she will keep me awake with her, she will ask me to quiz her, practice with her, she will complain that her opponent cheated, she will deride herself for being too tentative, for playing it safe. She'll continue deep into the night until she is too exhausted to keep her mouth shut or her eyes open.

When I think of the night I could have, should have just scream . . .

SIX LOUSY POINTS!!!

Best Laid Plans

There was an event last weekend that I really want to talk about, and I will. Buuuut, my head has been mush much of the week. What with temperatures well below freezing (except for today) long, tedious days of proofing our annual catalog, along with my usual tasks, putting out some teeny fires, and so on and so on and so on . . . it has been an early to bed, too early to wake, thrash around for an hour or two, slam back to sleep, only to slog myself awake with just enough time to shower, dress to make it to work on time kind of week. Holding to the one drink minimum has been a test. Truly. I passed but I'm wondering, if I forego any drinks for the next couple days, could I double up on Saturday?

This evening I thought would be the evening. I thought tonight I'd be able to put into words the event, the fun, the, the . . . well, words are failing me because while searching for energy and inspiration I fumbled upon this little home decor idea . . . And it's giving me the heebie jeebies, the willy nillys, the itchy witchies . . . gotta go.

Could Be Worse

No amount of cat crack could entice either of my boys to take up the cause, but prehaps it was just as well, given the work-out factor and all. Shoveling snow first thing, as a before work activity is not my favored way to ring in the day, but it had to be done. It is, as they say, what it is.



Still, it could have been worse, they were predicted upwards closer to 12 inches, I think we wound up with half that, if that. We're not out of the woods yet, more snow is on the way as well as colder temperatures . . . nothing like the Dakotas though. Damn, that's beyond cold.

If it has to snow, I hope it does so overnight. I'd rather shovel in the morning than during the day, or later in the evening. Except of course, I'd rather it not snow over this night as 1. my shoulders are still a tad sore over this morning's shoveling and 2. I have an early morning appointment to braid some hair.

Speaking of which, I should be in bed and as soon as I finish my (one drink) wink eb, I'll be off.

Toodles.

Writing

Happy 2010! I'm curious, are you saying, twenty-ten, two-thousand ten, or something else? Are you still writing (or typing) 2009? I've slipped once, oh ok, maybe twice. I have to write (or type) the date multiple times during the course of an average work-day (especially at the beginning of the year when I am one of a few charged with proofing the catalog we publish annually) so it doesn't take too long to get acclimated. I'm pretty much well into two-thousand ten.

As for resolutions, know that I'm still endeavoring to shrink (more). I am in need of some motivational brio if you were, in that regard as I dumped the walking group (at least for a now) having nothing at all to do with the cold weather, though admittedly, that does factor into my work-out attitude. There are other areas of my life that were / are in need of re-shaping and some of that began last year as well. Those starts remain active, some of which I may have talked about here (or was that only in my head)? At any rate, know that I'm resolved to keep on keepin' on. I am, as noted in my bio a "work in progress." Process, progress.

Part of that work is to focus on writing and other artistic endeavors. Beyond this blog and my personal (actual pen / paper) journal, I'm feeling a drive to not only create, but to share said creations. To that end, I participated in a writing workshop in November with these amazing folks. (If you have time, money, books--give, 'tis a worthy cause). I also joined a couple of writing focused groups and a local visual arts group. One of said writing groups will meet-up tonight. We were given 3 prompts* and we could choose to write about one or all to share, get feedback. I'm anxious and nervous. This is my offering for tonight:

The First Time


Though not planned, it wasn’t a complete surprise. IT was the culmination of weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds of flirty conversation, highly charged innuendo and in-between some real getting-to-know-you chatter. Some weeks after we met on-line, hundreds of email, text message, and telephonic exchanges later we decided it was time to meet in real life, real time, face-to-face.


Some small talk crackled with nervous energy peppered the ride from the airport back to her home. Stopping at a convenience store for chewing gum was a maneuver to mask the nervousness that had filled the car to the point of near suffocation, I am sure. Some of the tension was indeed relieved with that stop, allowing that time and space for each of us to breathe, to settle.


A short time later, we arrive at her home where she had prepared a snack and wine chilled. We sat, ate and drank a bit, and engaged in more conversation. Talking, not a problem from day one. However, there was no flirting, no innuendo, but real talking. Real, getting-to-know-you exchange of ideas, thoughts, and even some dreams . . . still, it was clear there was a little bit of fear, a bit of apprehension.


Her query couched as a challenge of sorts, "you’ve never even kissed a woman" said it all.
Though not planned, it wasn’t a complete surprise. ‘Well, there isn’t any time like the present’, was my reply. Despite the spark of excitement, the initial move in was tentative; the merest melding of lips, the softest of touches, lightest of tastes . . . kind of a test.


She leaned into me and I into her in a way to suggest we’d been moving together for a long time. Our verbal compatibility translated almost immediately to our non-verbal engagement. Still, there was a slow build, a constant checking in, a need to know that all was well, all systems go. But once status clarified, the kiss, or rather a series of deep-to-light and back to deep again, kisses resumed.


We touched, hands to hands, hands to face, lips to lips, lips to nose, ears, and fingers. Not to mention, tongue-to-tongue, a tasting that exceeded all expectations. Damn the wine! Damn the chips and dip! Bring on more of that vanilla, tinged with a hint of cinnamon spicy sweetness, that are the flavors I associated with her. She was the richest dessert, the most coveted treat.


Though not planned, it wasn’t a complete surprise that on that first time meeting, we would kiss, touch; hand to hand, lips-to-lips, and before all was said and done, heart-to-heart.

*The prompts: 1.Sit in a public place and listen to the sounds. What feelings do they elicit?
2. Describe your first kiss. 3. Talk about some weird/strange family member

At least two of us wrote about first kisses and oddly enough, not first kisses, but first woman-to-woman kisses. But given the name of the group is Queer Writing Group, not odd at all, I guess.

Five Hundred and Seventy

In lieu of looking back or ahead, let's just look at now, shall we? Or in other words, random shit.

• I was soooo wrong about the point of the "anxious to talk" lunch with mom.
• Odd, when I mentioned it to daughter (welcome back to her, btw) she hit the nail squarely on the head.
• The question, "are you particular about dating preferences?" came after the soup, before the chips.
• My daughter went on a trip for a week, giving me (a little) taste of what it will feel like to live alone--with two cats and a dog, except that when I am the only human, there won't be so many pets. Maybe.
• When it is soooo cold, cold(er) doesn't feel colder, it just feels cold.
• I like love chitlins, but I won't buy or prepare them, ever again. Thankfully, a co-worker shared his with me this year (well, last).
• I'll be 50 years old this year. 1. WoW And 2. I've decided (among other things) I'm done fuddin around with my hair, except of course for keeping it closely cropped.

At least, that is how I feel today.