They Say It’s Good For The Soul

I have a confession to make. I? Made a mistake.

Yes, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. It’s a fact, tho. I have a habit of running the oppostie direction of public opinion: I can’t count the number of good movies that tanked because the General Public hated them, or the wasted hours watching some stupid event or going to lousy restaurants because “everybody loves it!” That’s the only explanation I have for the proliferation of Olive Gardens around the state. I love their breadsticks and salad, but when they stopped serving their humongo cheesecake and went to teeny little slices, they lost me.

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A 900 Number I Am Not

Many years ago when I was naive and (sorta) innocent, I got an obscene phone call. It wasn’t your ordinary heavy-breathing kind of thing, though. It was an apologetic(!) young guy who said his friends had told him that he could randomly call a phone number and probably get phone sex out of it. Well, yeah, THAT sounds reasonable, right?

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Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve

I watched the Muppet Christmas Movie tonight, which is basically a rewrite of “It’s A Wonderful Life.” I know I’m about to get hate mail here, but I have always hated that movie. Why? Cuz on Monday morning when George goes back to work? He’s still gonna have money missing from that bank that HE has to pay back, while the ol’ grouch gets away scott free. I have never had the courage to speak those words aloud, but Dave at Sheldon comics pushed me off the ledge last week.

Dave is my hero.

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This ‘N That

Some days are JUST like this.

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Others, like this:

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A Lot of days, this is me spiritually:

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Today I confessed to the diabolical plan Redbird and I put into action. OK, she just suggested it. I DID it. The person I told laughed and laughed, cuz just yesterday he told me, “You know, I totally see what you mean when you say she’s a control freak.” I was vindicated, and there was much rejoicing. Yayyy! I moved the AAT to a much more blatant spot today. We’ll see if it works better. The AAT makes me feel like this:

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MWAHAHAHAHA!!!! *BEEP*

This is the kind of friends I have here:

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It’s not all bad.

Then there are days like this:

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But in the end, we all hope this is how it all works out:

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And that? would be enough for me.

Happy Love Thursday, a couple of hours early.

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Things I Didn’t Say, Volume 4 (I think)

“DO. NOT. SING.” Also, “OMG, somebody turn off his mic!!”

“If you play that guitar any harder, it WILL start screaming.”

“Boy, you think a lot of yourself, huh.”

“Hmm. Tell me, have you ever actually HEARD yourself play?” Also, “…and you STILL don’t know why they didn’t let you play in the other church?”

“Can’t… stay… awake… speaking voice… SOOOO… DULLLLL… zzzzzzzz”

“HONESTLY. If you want to pray for one specific thing, why open it up for EVERYBODY IN THE ROOM to pray the IDENTICAL PRAYER? There are only so many ways to say, ‘Bring us a pastor.'”

“AAAUGGGHHHHH!!! That’s my frikkin’ NEKKID LEG, cat!” Ok, I admit it. I SAID this one. Several times…

“Blah, blah, blah.”

“Oh, just shut up.”

*****

Now, look.  No comments about joyful noises and all that, ok? If you have ANY KIND of musical discernment, you would have been thinking the same things. TRUST me.  After all, I am allowed to have an opinion. As for the rest of the TIDS, my patience runs out sometimes. There are those around me who love to hear themselves talk, and frankly, it’s tiresome. ‘Poke out your eardrums with a stick’ tiresome.

I wasn’t born to be social, much. Apparently.

I am a really mean person inside, with a low tolerance for stupidity. (That’s not news, I know.) Every now and then it bubbles up and spills over, and people get their panties in a wad, but for the most part, I try to keep my mouth shut. I think that’s one of the things that frustrates me most, the shutting of the mouth. It feels like I’m lying like a rug.

Every river needs an outlet of some sort, but I find that if I try to make a comment to someone I trust, they chastise me or look at me like I’ve lost my mind, when they are-by-golly thinking the same thing. I can’t be myself, because they have let me know through silence or wrist-slapping that I’m not ok. I hate that, too. I’d like to have somebody to sit down over burgers worth and just DISH, ya know?  Somebody who will laugh at the same things instead of making me feel like a heel for wanting to laugh in the first place, or try to get me to see another point of view. Nobody’s trying to see MY POV…

And I stay here why? I seriously do not know. I only know the things I can’t say out loud to anyone, not even here, the depth of the sense of failure, anguish, loneliness, and hopelessness that slathers my every waking breath. If anybody who claims to love me knew or even cared, they’d have me locked up for my own safety.

Other than that, everything’s great! It’s a wonderful day!

WOOT!

Later…

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Happy Birthday, Mama

Today my mother would have been 73 years old, had she made it this far. When I was a kid, I used to wonder why she never seemed to be bothered by my cuts and scrapes and falls and such. It bothered me until I realized I’m a raging hypochondriac of sorts, so no wonder. Maybe I became that as a way to get her attention. I dunno. I’m screwed up on so many levels, there’s no way to really pinpoint a cause.

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One Singular Sensation…

I bought my plane ticket today! I am NY bound the end of this month. I am actually a little excited, if for no other reason than it is NOT IN GEORGIA. I know the truth about this trip: my friend is a bit of an exaggerator, and even tho he SAYS he’ll introduce me to the people whom he SAYS want to hear my music, that doesn’t mean it’s what it sounds like. Then again, maybe it is, and I am being pessimistic for nothing. Either way I’ll probably see a show on Saturday, then be back home Sunday afternoon. Those darned kittens are too small to be left alone for longer, or I’d stay an extra day.

Ivy had her babymaker taken out yesterday, and she’s home and sleepy. Poor widdle baby, wobbling all over the house, seeing if she missed anything important. I found one of the babies running through every room this morning, rubbing full-body up against everything he could. I guess there are so many smells he felt the need to cover some up with his own. Either that or he was really itchy. It was so cute..he’s only about 6″ long, so it’s not like it was an easy job to cover all that territory.

You know, the neighbor/owner still hasn’t shown the slightest interest in the mama or her babies. I think people like that should be shot. The death of Eight Belles this weekend was fodder for a regional radio show on Monday, the Rick and Bubba Show. I love those guys. Really, I do, but they seem to have forgotten that the heart of a nation can be judged by its treatment of those in slavery to it. That goes for the American worker, struggling to feed his family, and it goes for the innocent, both human and animal, who are dependent on adult humans for their survival. Make no mistake: we are all slaves here, if only to our own way of life.

When we make sport of death, exploit workers, kill fetuses for our own convenience, abuse the elderly, and neglect, exploit, and abuse animals, we are showing our true heart as a country. We complain about the murders in Darfur and the deaths at the hands of terrorists, but it never occurs to us as a nation that leaving an animal tied up or caged to starve to death because we can’t provide for them or don’t have “time” for them is just as evil, just as wicked. It makes me sick. It makes me weep at night to be so helpless, to not have the money to save them all and punish their abusers. It makes me want to cage people who denigrate PETA and the ASPCA, tie them to trees with no food or water for days on end in the summer sun, set them free to be hunted in the woods for sport. Maybe if a few rich entitled princes were locked in basements of foreclosed homes to starve to death, somebody would get the point.

*stepping off my soapbox*

Later.

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Melange

Stuff happens. When you teach, stuff happens. The classroom is not a perfect little world where there are no variables, no threats. It should be safe, yes, but even that has its limits, simply because kids trip or drop things on their toes or whatever. But basically, nobody is perfect, no matter how much they are expected to be.

Unfortunately, we aren’t allowed to duct tape the little darlings in their chairs, and when we go on trips with them, we aren’t allowed to tag ’em with an rf device to keep ’em under surveillance. Go figure. Yet when they pull some monumentally stupid stunt, like jumping on a hotel bed at 4am and falling into a plate glass window, it’s our fault.

Let me also say that it really sucks when the school bullies are the ones in power. When his principal told him to send two misbehaving boys 200 miles home on a greyhound bus by themselves, a teacher I know refused to do it. There was sooo much wrong with that order that he just couldn’t follow it, and he made the boys his shadows for the rest of the trip instead. Guess what? He was reprimanded for not following instructions. His principal became one of the highest paid administrators in the whole state, and Guy was officially called on the carpet for protecting his students’ safety. Unfortunately it looks like the whole system is infested with bullies now. I wonder how long it will take for the state BOE to decide there’s a problem with a county that has a 50% turnover rate?

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A while back I briefly wrote about being completely sold out to Stargate. I’ve added the lolcats to the lexicon now. Yesterday I was checking out damage to a houseplant leaf, wondering if I had bugs. When I realized what caused it, I said out loud, “that’s a kitteh nom right there.”

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Cherry Cordial Hershey’s Kisses are icky.

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So is chocolate-cherry diet Dr. Pepper.

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I own 3 winter coats. We haven’t had a coat-worthy winter in 4 years or more. The last time I wore one of them was when I went to Washington, D.C., which was January of 2005. I miss winter. (Yes, I am aware that I am stupid, and that snow is cold. Thanks.)

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Hey! When I move, I’ll get to watch Boston Legal without having to buy the DVDs! YAY me!! I’ll also be able to work pretty much anywhere I want, without having to worry about running into one of the people I want to murder in cold blood. I’m thinking that’s a good thing. I figure Applebees would be unhappy with me for soiling their new upholstery with type A+, ya know?

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I’m kidding of course. Murder is too easy for these people. I need to just let God have ’em. ‘Cept I’m a bit of a Jonah, and would be ticked when Ninevah repented. Geez.

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I seriously need therapy.

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There’s a volunteer fire dept. near here that bought a new fire truck a while back. Twenty-eight of its firefighters were arrested recently for multiple counts of arson. They offered as their defense, on television no less, “we just wanted to try out the new truck.”

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I guess that’s about it. I would like to ask advice, though, if you have it. I have to figure out how to move 7 cats at once to a whole other state. I am guessing this will not be a pleasant experience, since they will have to be crated the whole time. Any suggestions? If it were only 1, I could have a litterbox in the truck. No problem. But 7? Yikes!

Later, chil’ren.

-Me

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Those Ruby Slippers Ain’t Cheap

I just spent the last two days in what will become my new hometown, and I just hafta say, I’d be an idiot if I don’t go.

The friend I visited organized and helped cook a dinner Tuesday night with some of his friends and my new acquaintances. They declared me cool. Whew! We spent the better part of yesterday afternoon and all of today house-hunting, which left me a bit frustrated. You must understand. I am a flower child trapped in a practical middle-class body, a woman who just wants to do her thing and be happy rather than be controlled by “the man.” I was born to older parents whose work ethic didn’t make it past the placental barrier, unfortunately, but was instead replaced my a tremendously overpowering guilt mechanism that would make a Jewish mother blush with pity. I have it in my head that there is a “normal” lifestyle for a hetero female that includes motherhood, homemade bread and a minivan, and anything less is an abomination. I don’t really BELIEVE that, mind you, but there IS part of me that looks down on the flower child for not living up to the standard. I was reminded several times in the last 2 days that I am an idiot. Oh, wait… I meant, that I am perfectly normal for thinking that way, and also perfectly wonderful just as I am, pyrex mastery or not.

Yeah, that.

The question of moving to the new town is not “if,” but “how.” See, I have been blessed to be mortgage-free for ten years now, and car payment-free for three. Add to that a zero balance on all my credit cards, and you may begin to understand my dilemma. I am facing a mortgage without a full-time, paid-by-someone-else job, and frankly, I am scared out of my wits. I think I might have mentioned once or five times that I am pretty much alone here, and if I fail, I have no safety net. Naturally, I don’t want to fail. The flower child in me has been trained to be practical and responsible and all adult and stuff, so I want to make SURE, absoLUTEly sure, that I don’t get in over my head. Housing in the new place is inflated. I found several perfect homes for sale within my price range, but they were all in the neighboring town. I have had my fill of commuting nearly 20 miles every day for the past ten years. I don’t wanna. I DO want to live in WonderfulNewHometown (WNH), but I iz skeered uv da repo man.

I have been assured that I will have NO trouble filling a piano studio, and that I can even raise my rates, since the mindset there is that the more expensive a teacher is, the better she must be. I totally earn that distinction (heh), so I won’t feel guilty setting the bar pretty high. There are some other options for me, too: WNH has a transit system – small air-conditioned buses – and li’l ol’ me got the bright idea of being a driver. How stinkin’ fun is THAT? My dad prized his commercial driver’s license, so it’s in my blood. “How do you know you can do that?” you may ask. Shhh. Don’t tell anybody, but I have driven a school bus and a 45-passenger charter bus before. I KNOWWWWW, huh?? You wouldn’t have guessed that. Admit it. Anyway, my buddy of 20 years made it a point to put me behind the wheel and show me controls and such every time we took a trip on a charter (sans passengers aboard, natch), so I do have a clue already. I can tell you the benefit of having a tag axle and I can jump start a bus with a pickup truck. Been there, got the grease stains. I can explain how a bus kneels and I know how to replace a fuel filter. Did that, too.

So, guess what I did. Go on, guess! If you said, “stopped a bus and quizzed a driver,” you would be correct! I found out that not only do they always need drivers, but they will TRAIN me for the CDL! How much better could that get? The pay isn’t stellar, but it beats slinging burgers. Remind me sometime to tell you how burger-slinging worked out for me in my previous lifetime. You’ll come drive me to my CDL classes.

As I was getting ready to leave this afternoon, my pal reminded me of a few points. One, I need this. I need to let go of the ghosts and the baggage and the unreasonably high expectations I have of myself. Two, I am wonderful. He said that without being provoked, and he meant it. He wasn’t just being polite. I’ve known him for more years than I care to admit, and I believe he is sincere in his praise. Aww, shucks. 🙂 Three, even though I don’t technically have that safety net, I am not alone. If I were to fail, I have people back in the town I am so anxious to leave who would catch me and do anything they could to help. He also said that I already have people in WNH who feel the same way. He reminded me of his roommate’s offer the night before to come stay anytime I need a bed, no need to call, and to stay as LONG as I need. “He meant that.”

I know he meant it, and that’s what would make me an idiot to stay here and rot.

As I drove the 175 miles back to this house, I had a hard time saying “home.” My babies were waiting at the door, hungry and happy to see me, but all I wanted to do was pick them up and click my heels.

“There’s no place like WNH.” “There’s no place like Alabama.” “There’s no place like…”

Home.

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It’s A Small, Small World

Yesterday I mentioned that I think about a lot of useless things. I didn’t mean to insinuate that I am terribly bothered by those thoughts. I figure if it’s in my head, I have a little bit of control over it. The ones that bother me are the little items I never see coming until they’ve left me curled in a corner, sucking my thumb and whimpering.

Two weeks from Tuesday will mark the tenth anniversary of my mother’s passing. That in itself is a little stressful, simply because she was my last close relative on this earth. I do have a half brother, but we aren’t really in contact. My dad died 24 years ago, so mom was it for me. I usually get edgy this time of year without really knowing why, until the day gets close enough for me to remember. That day was today.

Tonight I was sitting in the lobby of a local tech school, waiting to go in and play piano for a soloist at a dinner meeting of some sort. A lady came up and said my name and asked if I remembered her, which I didn’t. “I was your mom’s nurse,” she said, and suddenly my mother was alive in a hospital bed in the corner of her bedroom, and I was standing in the doorway asking a different hospice nurse how long she had left. I know that sounds harsh, but you had to be in my head at the time to know I was only wishing for her release, not her loss. Anyway, I thanked this woman, and apologized for not saying thank you enough when they were caring for her. “We all have to grow up,” she said. “We understand that.”

Hm. It’s not the first time I have heard that from some of my mother’s friends, the accusation that I was immature and much younger than the calendar claimed. I suppose my lack of social skills and the fact that HELLO, my ONLY CONNECTION to this life was DYING could have been seen as immature. I rather thought I was simply ill-prepared to face such a death, and that I survived it at all was an accomplishment. I intended to be 5 minutes behind her, and I still don’t know what made me stay.

The funny thing is that I have a friend now that I met almost 20 years ago, and he misses the girl he started working with then. He said as recently as last week that he wants her back, that he misses her. I miss her, too, but I realized tonight that while she may be in there somewhere, she has been pretty beaten up. She has spent 20 years being told she’s not good enough, not pretty enough, too smart, intimidating, mean, weak, lazy, and not really wanted where she was. She’s been punished for standing up for herself and for truth, and every time somebody reminds her who they thought she SHOULD have been, she takes another hit. Maybe by telling me such things they think they’re saying I’ve made progress. The friend who fell in love with a 22-year-old girl who laughed without bitterness would argue otherwise.

It’s funny how we aren’t really conscious of how we are being shaped by our experiences. One day we wake up and realize we don’t like crowds anymore, or we don’t trust people enough to tell them anything substantial about ourselves. We want to, but then we remember just how many times we’ve been shut down, and just… don’t. I want to believe I can start over. I do. Today, I am just not sure.

Anyway. Later…

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