A Room of One's Own

This could get problematic

I just can't seem to get to sleep. I know I need to, but my brain is still going 150 MPH and is showing no signs of slowing. I've even put on the iTunes playlist built to chill me out with no effect. So, I'm going to the kitchen and pouring a very small nip of whiskey, as my mom taught me to do, and will be unloading in about 2 minutes. Please hold... (insert music in Coach from Cheers style here)

Okay, here's what I have:

1) I can tell you your perfect posture. Try this: Raise your arms completely straight above your head, palms facing each other. Slowing bring them down until they are parallel to the floor, palms to the ceiling. Turn your hands palm down and slowly lower them to your side. Viola! Uncomfortable as hell, no? I don't care if I'm a hunchback at 65. I like slouching over my laptop.

2) I think I will be adding Joan Armatrading's Willow to my Sunday morning Church playlist. It has nothing to do with God or church but I'll bitch slap anyone who tries to tell me that that song doesn't carry a spiritual experience with it. No, I'm serious.

3) Dude, don't going around throwing apologies at people for your totally reprehensible treatment of them 15 years ago through other people. Christ on a cracker. What gives?

4) I'd like Emily to come out and stay a few days and let me spoil her rotten. I am feeling this overwhelming need to love her and take of her. I would cook her huge amounts of food. There would be wine and writing. Writing and wine. And we'd crank call people...

5) A friend at work with keeps saying that he doesn't wait to be invited to the meeting. He just shows up. Well, that's great my friend. Now, how do I get to finding out where the meeting I need to crash is being held?

6) My master bath mirror faces the wall where my bed is. I know for certain this is fucking up my feng shui. What I am not certain about is if I care.

7) I have 16 pages of something written. I have no idea what it is or what to do with it. But it fills 16 pages. I've not gone back and read a single word I've written so far. Maybe it's framework. Maybe it's total crap. No clue. But I do know it keeps growing and I like it being there. And I like Willie Nelson singing Stardust. Maybe that should have had it's own number?

8) My parents have the sweetest Jack Russell. She was supposed to be mine. She's not. It still pisses me off.

9) The Mayor of Scottsdale has this painting/print/something of a poem by Alberto Rios that hangs in her office. I think it may have been done for her office specifically and I don't think there is another. It is so beautiful and Alberto Rios is so amazing that I try to figure out ways to have it. If it turns up missing, you never read this.

That's it. That's all I got. I think I can sleep now. This stuff is at least out there and off my chest. And, all this slouching is making me want to lay down.

My new favorite word

Bear with me here. I'm gonna ramble. I kind of need to.

I had a sort of summit meeting a few weeks ago for work to discuss our group's role in our company. We are seen as the inconsequential money suckers. We're fluff. They say we're not what drives mega million dollar profits. Oh, but we are. You see our company ads. I just checked out one community's marketing site. They're not selling land or houses. There selling us.

My boss's counterpart at this particular community recommended a book to me that I'm reading and intrigued by. It's called Bowling Alone. I picked it up as this guy is one of my favorite people. Ever.

It talks about social capital and how we've become a disconnected society. We commute and hour back to our house where we open the garage, close it again and live in that world alone. It has also introduced me to my new favorite word: reciprocity. It's like the Golden Rule on steroids.

I will be the first to admit that up until the last year or so, I've never been much of a joiner. I was never a member of clubs or organizations or a sorority. Bunco was my worst nightmare. I get apathy. I am certain that I was crowned Miss Apathy 2005 -2006. I have no proof, really, but it would be a well deserved crowning.

I didn't sleep very well last night as I'm still trying to figure out some things: namely, why the hell did I bit off more than I could chew and and how do I keep myself from hating my job and having it consume me alive? I found a good answer about 30 minutes ago reading Molly's blog. It's social capital. I needed it. Bad. I was completely isolated and knew I needed some kind of engagement.

Here's where the answer came in. I bit off more than I could chew because, quite frankly, I had no idea what I was doing and I hadn't realized how much engagement I actually did have. This blog is a huge form of social capital and reciprocity for me. It led me to Welby and it led Molly to me. Reciprocity. Then it led Molly to Welby. Reciprocity. It put a little gift at my feet not long ago and, though I'm still just staring at it, I know it's there and it feels good. You see where I'm going here. What I need to do is figure out where I want reciprocity to come from and where I want it to go to. 

I'm just in love with this idea. It's kind of like that overwhelming feeling you have after watching Pay it Forward. It makes sense in the same way Robert's "culture of generosity" made perfect sense.

Idle hands, not so idle mind

The worst thing for me to ever be is bored. It is just dangerous. All kinds of hell breaks loose. Just ask my mom. She’ll tell you stories of horrific childhood activities that were a result of boredom. My co-workers fear a slow workday and me in the office. My brain gets going and I have a very active imagination.

Friday night, after the sick kid finally went to bed, I had a good amount of time on my hands and absolutely nothing to do. Good times. So, I’m playing on my computer and for some reason unknown to me, I end up taking an online IQ test. I have been tested twice before in my life. I wondered if maybe a combination of motherhood, my job, and a silly amount of liquor consumed in the last ten years of my life has changed anything.

First, what kind of freak am I that I really enjoyed taking the test? I love word problems! I spent a good part of last summer annoying my co-worker but getting the “Mind Puzzle of the Day” in 30 seconds. It freaked them out and they would get mad at me. Ooops. Second, did I mention that I had two glasses of wine? They email you the results. That was the longest 30 seconds of my life. So, drumroll please, my IQ is 142 under the influence. I’m wicked smart! I have the email to prove it.

I’m telling this to my best friend, who has a 137 IQ (yeah, we could take over the world) last night and the conversation turns to John Mayer and Jessica Simpson. It’s a very hostile subject for me as you may remember that John is in deep shit with me and I have shifted much of my lusting energy to Michael Buble. We still don’t get the seemingly smart man with the dumb girl with big boobs. It makes no sense to me at all and it pains the smart chicks. Why? Oh, because I can’t wrap a bra around my 142 IQ and make it look good under a shirt. If I could, I would so win!

But here’s where the fun part comes in. Women can buy a pair of Ds like Jessica Simpson. I, personally, would never want them. You can’t buy a 142 IQ. So, Jessica can put that in her pipe and smoke it. And my brain does not require 8 hour support, won’t sag, and only distracts people in conversations when I use words like loquacious. You can’t buy 142. And you can embroider that on a Gawd damn throw pillow!

My interest in dating

I finally pinpointed what causes my need to date. Generally, I am busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. I am have a slew of committee and civic work. I try to convince legislators that voting for stupid shit is, well, stupid. I maintain two blogs. I work over 40 hours a week and raise a child. I have plenty to do. But, I feel the overwhelming need for a love life of some kind. Figured out why this week.

I'm not a needy person. I don't need someone to validate my existence. I don't need someone to give me self esteem. I'm not looking for someone to replace something that I lost or to fill a void that won't let me feel complete until it's filled. I don't need any of that crap. I want someone to remind me that I'm a girl.

I work in a very male dominated industry and for clientele that are used to working with other middle aged men. I have spent my whole week pounding my fist, insisting on answers, demanding action, fighting for invitations to meetings I need to be in, defending my team and going toe to toe with people who I am sure I have very much pissed off at this point with my reluctancy to budge. I will not be walked on, plowed over or disregarded. I fight fair but I fight hard.

One of my managers told me last week that what he likes about having me as a boss is that I "manage like a man." Meaning: I don't put up with crap, call it like I see it and refuse to micro manage. I hired these guys because they are smart and know their stuff. I'll let them do what they need to do and if they need my help, they'll let me know. Otherwise, I stay out of it. He had said that he's glad I don't mom them.

We did that color analysis a few months ago and I was a "blue/green" if you have any idea what that means. If you don't it, means that I am at first very sensitve, harmonious, giving, romantic, a dreamer and then second demanding, analytical, abrupt and inquisitive. Odd combination. At work, I am all the second part. My assistant told me she could never imagine me crying. I can't be the sensitive kind at work because I would be eaten alive. So, I have to manage like a man. Keep the other part tucked away.

By the time Friday rolls around, I'm done. I need to feel like a girl again. I need to bake. I need to feel pretty. I need to let someone else makes some decisions. I need that recognition that I don't have a Y chromosome.

Just a few

I wish I had just a few answers. Unfortunately, I don't think I know the right questions. If I do know them, I'm not asking them. I do have one question, though. And, I'd really like an answer. When did life get so damn complicated?

Is it when we grow up that this happens? Do we leave innocence behind and trade it in for so called knowledge? I like to consider myself a smart woman. I make sound decisions. I am strong in my convictions. I am absolutely concrete in who I am and I make NO apologies for it. I have nothing to apologize for.

Is it responsibility? I am just sitting here unwinding after a very long day and listening to music. I'm always amazed at how music affects my life almost more than books. I love words. I love others words but there is something about music that can put you right back into one place and attach a memory more firmly than anything else. I just got thrown back someplace and there was little complication then. I just went. Is it fear of ramifications? Which then begs the question of why we fear we have so much to lose? It's life. That's the only thing I want to fear losing. Mine or someone else's. Other than that, everything seems pretty inconsequential.

Things I'll pay for, things I won't

I have realized that there is a fine line there. Unfortunately my line make absolutely no sense at all. But, then again, who would expect it to? As I washed my car this morning, I thought more about what falls into which category.

I will not be washing my car myself again. It's clean, but it looks like pure crap. Granted, I had some help from a three year old. I can't only blame so many streaks on that or the 90 degree weather that slicked the water right of my dark gray car. So, I will be going down to the family car wash from now on and shelling out whatever it costs to have someone else make it look pretty. What ever the cost is, I'll pay.

Now, food on the other hand, that's where I make no sense at all. Yesterday, I made a pie for Easter dinner. You simple cannot have pecan pie without whipped cream. But, I refuse to pay for whipped cream that some factory has cranked out. That's just bad practice. Not that cost is a factor at all, though a pint of heavy whipping cream is, indeed, cheaper than Cool Whip. But no, I will go through the effort to make it homemade. I'm like that with just about anything food related.

It's kind of fun realizing what you don't have to feel an inkling of guilt having someone else do. What's even better is the realization that you do something yourself out of the sheer joy of doing it.

Will the real me please stand up

In January, I took a whole day off to get my name changed back. It took all day. I had to go to the court and get certified copies of my divorce decree saying the judge would let me be me again. Cost $18. Then I had to take the document to Social Security to get my name changed with the government. Okay. Done. Yeah, I never got my card. I am certain it was stolen and someone out there is pretending to be me and I will only have comfirmation of this when the IRS comes to arrest me for tax ivasion.

I call Social Security. My paperwork is longer at the office but it was process, so technically, I'm me again. Only I can't prove it. I could go down to the DVM and get a drivers license to bring to them to show them I'm me. Except, the DVM now shows me as me and my drivers license shows me as the previous married version of me. I can't get a new driver license without the Social Security Card that I need the driver license to get. Oh boy.

Now, I can go to the court, spend another hour or two there and spend another $18 on another certified copy of my divorce decree and then take it to the DVM and give it to them and have them give me a new drivers license to take down to the Social Security office for the new card. Or I could just move to Mexico and say screw it.

Basically, I'm looking at another day off just to do all of this stuff again. I am NOT a happy camper. Somewhere, someone is laughing at me. If it's you, kiss my ass.

Random memory flood

I am trying to get through the 31 Days of Oscar, which has now extended to 35 days I think. I'm watching Tootsie. I forgot just how funny this movie is. It's just classic.

I also just got to the point where they play "It Might Be You." I had one of those moments where a memory becomes strangely clear. I remember my mom listening to this song and it seems it was always on when she took us to swim team practice. I felt exactly like I was back in that huge car with an 8 track player that also played "Summer Breeze" very frequently. I could see us driving down 59th Avenue to GCC. I can remember how it would just be getting dark because it was getting to be winter and the smell of the chlorine.

It's strange how many little details of our lives are totally forgotten until something so odd and rando brings it all back. I mean, I can recall exactly what they locker room at GCC looked and smelt like. Exactly.

Question of the day

Generally, premartial sex is sex that you have before marriage. What if you have no intention of marrying the person? Would that then be something else? Nonmarital sex? I'm no longer married. In the event that I actually have sex again in my lifetime, should I consider that postmarital sex?

I was just wondering. Any thoughts?

Art imitates life

The last five minutes of my favorite show summed up life for me tonight.

The first 45 minutes or so didn't necessarily drag but you know there something more and that's what you want delivered. And there I am. I was waiting for that big glorious something to happen. It always does and you have to know it's coming. And it did.

It occurred to me that, for me at least, life is like that. We spend a good amount of time getting frustrated with everything going on around us and things beyond our control. We get annoyed. We great aggravated. We want things to just move on. We're done. But we never throw in the towel because we know the big glorious something is out there. We don't know what it is but we know we want it. And now.

I sat on my couch watching that last five minutes. I screamed, then I cheered, then I laughed, then I cried. All in five minutes. That's where life leads us. Big glorious somethings with frustration in between. That five minutes was worth it. My five minutes are going to come. It will make all the current frustrations worth it. I just have faith like that. Call me a crazy, optimistic idealist. I'm okay with that.