March 3rd’s Been Good To me

Um…hello?  Check, check…testing 1, 2, 3.  Yup.  Still here.  In a wild swing out of routine, I’ve not been posting every day for a variety of reasons.  March 3^rd has been very, very good to me.  Especially the last three March 3rds.  Two years ago, on March 1^st, I moved out of the home that my ex-partner and I owned together.  She kept the house, I kept my share of the equity to start over.  I just needed to go.  Over the course of March 1, 2, and 3, a friend of mine, and someone I dated briefly several years ago came to help me.  Well, as is often the case with lesbians, she helped me in more ways than one and helped remind me that I was still desirable, lovable, and worthy.  She arrived as healer in a very difficult time when I wasn’t sure I could do it all on my own, questioned whether anyone would ever care about me again, or that I was indeed the generally pretty decent person I once believed myself to be.  Without strings—just caring and compassion.  She left me on the 3^rd, feeling human again.

Fast forward one year.  On March 3^rd, after trying to live with the aftermath of the ex who wouldn’t leave me alone, I signed a lease at a new place in a new area.  Had to jump through some pretty major hoops, but that day, I was able to sleep with both eyes closed.  I stopped gripping the 9 iron as I slept.  I still had a lot of things to deal with, as moving is an expensive and logistical nightmare, but I got through it and now feel as though this is my home.  As both a Cancer and an introvert, home is where I pull my good juju.  My life has improved four-fold.  I’m healthier, happier, exercise more, eat better, and have a circle of quality friends in my life.  My children are more relaxed, feel safe, and, are, as J-Man reminds me often, taller than they were a year ago.

So, March 3^rd rolled around here yesterday.  As preface to this day, over the course of the past few months, I’ve been seeking a new job.  The next step.  The next big challenge.  Don’t get me wrong, the firm I’ve been with these last nearly four years is a fine one and has offered me incredible opportunity to grow and stretch and learn.  But, it’s time to go.  The job I took is no longer the job I have.  The phone rang mid-afternoon and the caller made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.  I took the call in what I call my “2^nd office” in the parking lot of the building next to mine, slowly thanked him and concluded my call using my best professional voice, then raised my hands in the air, and leaped into the air repeatedly yelling, “Yeah….yes!  Yee-haw!”  I ignored the looks of passers-by, smiled to myself and walked back into my office to finish my day.

Yes, March 3^rd and me—we’re real tight.

Rotten Bastards

When I started this blog I had hoped to impart some of my political opinions, but decided that there was a vast wasteland full of political commentators in blogland as it was and most of them were going to be far more eloquent than I, or at least far more verbose. It’s probably no surprise that I’m just about as liberal as I can be. But, I also have a couple of things I swing pretty conservatively on. But, today is a day I have to vent.  And, I only bring one solution.

I get pretty sick to my stomach when I read things like SF Mayor Gavin Newsom’s alcohol-fueled affair with his friend’s wife (both of whom were on the City payroll, I believe) last year. But, Gavin does some good stuff and has had some successes in a city where the problems of homelessness, affordability, and a decaying infrastructure are pretty serious. He’s a champion of gay rights and takes bold steps to make things right for the large segment of his constituency who then and now do not share equal marriage rights with straight people. Then I read about that hack in Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick, who sounds to be about the most corrupt politician since Tammany Hall days. His city lies in financial ruin and he’s dipping his pen in company ink and his courting tool of choice is city-paid text messages. It looks like once that case is laid out for the world to see there will be far more nefarious news. Dumb ass. Is it just inherent that if you are a politician you are going to also be corrupted in one form or fashion?

After about year five of Bush’s reign, I gave up trying to make any change during his reign of incompetence. Sure, I’d bitch and I’d vote, but what else was left? He and his cronies have pretty much sewn up any avenue for the American people to truly understand or do anything about the damage he has caused them in the areas of civil liberties and personal, unobstructed freedoms we are Constitutionally entitled to all supposedly done in the name of “protecting us from terrorism.” I am still stunned that after the first four years, people could actually vote for him again. Now, he’s a worn-out, tired-out, failure of a president who is going to be leaving us in not only a serious recession, but also in the midst of a war we neither afford in terms of our world political position, its cost in human lives, nor its actual financial costs. Our country’s debt is increasingly owned by foreign countries, our monetary unit is losing strength, and his ilk still deny the reality of global warming by keeping rules and regulations “business friendly.” Kyoto? We don’t need no stinkin’ Kyoto Accord! What has he done for us? Not a damn thing at my house, that’s for sure.

As I paid my grocery bill today, I wondered how I’m going to make these dollars I make stretch far enough to keep us safe, clothed, warm, and fed. I then filled up my gas tank. I pictured the day that the lines at the gas station would not be too long because no one can afford to fill up anymore. Of course, we haven’t invested in viable public transportation in most our cities, including mine, so get out the bicycle—hey, maybe that would solve the obesity problem our country—and, hey, the healthcare crisis too – if everyone is on their bike, they’ll be in better shape and won’t need to go to the doctor. That will cut pollution, force us to take jobs closer to our homes, and spur the economy. So, we can expect a new bicycle for every tax paying citizen instead of that ridiculous tax rebate he’s got coming our way. Right? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear this great idea in Bush’s next press conference. It’s as half-assed as all the rest of his ideas.

I’ve needed a laugh and well, I got one. Actually, I’ve had a couple since yesterday. The first was when I discovered Martini Cartwheels – brief glimpses inside the mind of a smart-ass, and now this from Hapless Tigger.

Diebold Accidentally Leaks Results Of 2008 Election Early

Something New: Magical Samantha

Check out the bloggers participating in Robin’s blog project. In my continuing saga of Something….

1. Something old
2. Something new
3. Something borrowed
4. Something blue

What’s new? What’s fresh? What’s happenin’? Well, most of my life is an endless sea of sameness, punctuated by teenage hormones. I get up, go to the gym, walk the dogs, come home, wake the kids, drive them to school, go to work, come home, make dinner, sign mounds of parental permission or acknowledgment forms, clean up after they clean up, and blog. Sometimes I work at odd hours.

Something new came into my life in September, that something being Magical Samantha. This is totally something new. I feel passion again—that’s nice—but if I were to be honest with myself, I feel passion a lot. Sometimes just in my head. And, passion has never been an issue. I could feel passion for someone briefly, or for a while. I’ve experienced a lot of passion. And, I’ve always loved the chase. The build up. Closing the deal. It’s not quite selling insurance, as I used to do in one iteration of my life, but it is like getting the bonus for top sales performance.

Something new…having someone who is committed to dating. Getting to know one another. Taking the time it needs to see if it’s a fit. Bumping up against those things we bump up against that either makes us throw the baby out with the bathwater, or—perhaps—stick around to work through it.

At my age, I’m not easy (well, except in that one special way). I have a life. I have priorities. I have things I don’t want to deal with—like people who refuse to deal with their own traumas and insidiously spread the collateral damage. The people I date may not want to deal with my confused family situation, teenagers, my suburban lifestyle (puuulleeez…it’s temporary, really), or the demands of my job. I bring my own issues with me—some dealt with, some I’m still working on.

Magical Samantha is a determined monkey—her mom’s words, not mine. She is thoughtful and measured in dealing with discord, or the potential thereof. It totally deflates my defensiveness. When she listens to me in full, without trying to come up with her response before I’ve uttered a full thought, it builds trust. When she respectfully replies, it builds rapport. I listen in ways I never have. I reply in the same thoughtful manner. Committed to taking this to a level where I’ve never been. I’m grown up now, somehow. And, I like it. It feels pretty damned good.

It’s not perfect, nope. We’re different people who have reached the mid point of our lives. What’s new is that I love that about her. I love that she is who she is and the way she treats me. I love that she is sticking around. And, most of all, I love that she’s making me a better person (Maria – that one’s for you). Oh, and I love the fact she’s so hot and I want to jump her bones—but that’s nothing new, is it?

What City Am I?

I’ve lived a lot of places – on both coasts, in the middle, up north, and down south. Lived in Germany for seven years all told, plus two more as a baby. Well, some might say Texas doesn’t count as south, but look down, is that south or north? I’m just sayin’. I lived in West Texas and in San Antonio. Bought my first house in San Antonio in my early 20s. House payment was $500 a month and the interest rates were hovering in the 11% range. Remember it primarily for the scorpions in the house and the rattlers in the back yard. And, for it being the stupidest years of my life. And, for a time, the poorest.

There is the constant push-pull of my desire for city life versus something less city-like. My dream is to live at the ocean’s edge and pray the tsunami will pass me by. But, I get rankled in my increasingly curmudgeonly way over how little to do there is here in Sacramento for the middle-aged woman who doesn’t go to bars and would rather rent a DVD than go to the movies. We’re big enough to have incredibly high crime, but not get the steady flow of fabulous artists and entertainers showing up at our venues, nor for our regional theatres to really pop. Most small venue shows start at 10 pm, long after I’ve faded for the night. We have no MoMa equivalent, but do have a tired, old regional art museum where you get whiplash trying to view part of their collection in this one giant room with 30 foot ceilings and art stacked up all the way up. They’re trying to fix that, but, not so far.

I don’t drink coffee. Coffee shops are out. There are few affordable restaurants that will meet my decidedly European-influenced palate. They are seldom in my budget. I’m not a shopper, so I don’t shop for fun.

I’m annoyed by the throngs of people, yet, I constantly find ways to connect with them. I like having a five minute drive to the grocery, Hollywood Video, and only a few more for the other conveniences in my life. I long for quiet nights with skies full of brightly shining stars undiffused by the city lights.

On the plus side, I love to poke around historic places and this area is rife with them. I’ve hardly made a dent. One of the things about having the kids in California schools is they all studied California in 5^th grade, so I got to learn about it too. I have this informal goal of seeing all the Spanish Catholic missions built in the early days of White settlers and have knocked through a few.

I’m not into the mountains or the cold and snow. I don’t ski. Nor do I really want to, though Magical Sam just about has me talked into trying cross country skiing.

I love to ride horses as long as they’re good for barrel racing, which was one of the most fun things I’ve ever tried.

So, what City would I be exactly? Hmmm?

You Are Austin

A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll. You’re totally weird and very proud of it. Artistic and freaky, you still seem to fit in… in your own strange way.Famous Austin residents: Lance Armstrong, Sandra Bullock, Andy Roddick

What American City Are You?

Eureka! Some Pharma I Can Get Jiggy With

Thanks, Bubake!

 

DAMNITOL
Take 2 and the rest of the world can go to hell for up to 8 full hours.

EMPTYNESTROGEN
Suppository that eliminates melancholy and loneliness by reminding you of how awful they were as teenagers and how you couldn’t wait till they moved out!

ST. MOMMA’S WORT
Plant extract that treats mom’s depression by rendering preschoolers unconscious for up to two days.

PEPTOBIMBO
Liquid silicone drink for single women. Two full cups swallowed before an evening out increases breast size, decreases intelligence, and prevents conception.

DUMBEROL
When taken with Peptobimbo, can cause dangerously low IQ, resulting in enjoyment of country music and pickup trucks.

FLIPITOR
Increases life expectancy of commuters by controlling road rage and the urge to flip off other drivers.

MENICILLIN
Potent anti-boy-otic for older women. Increases resistance to such lethal lines as, “You make me want to be a better person. “

BUYAGRA
Injectable stimulant taken prior to shopping. Increases potency, duration, and credit limit of spending spree.

JACKASSPIRIN
Relieves headache caused by a man who can’t remember your birthday, anniversary, phone number, or to lift the toilet seat

ANTI-TALKSIDENT
A spray carried in a purse or wallet to be used on anyone too eager to share their life stories with total strangers in elevators.

NAGAMENT
When administered to a boyfriend or husband, provides the same irritation level as nagging him, without opening your mouth.

My Little Runaway

I’ve been in my new house for almost a year. I like it. It’s functional, it’s big enough for a bunch of noisy kids whose mom needs a break from them when the occasion calls for it, and the neighborhood is blissfully quiet for the most part.

So, tonight, I had to attend a meeting in between having a part time kid with me who had a bit of an attitude which required a couple calls to her mom. The meeting was about forming a neighborhood watch on my street and the one abutting mine. Six people showed up, representing five households in a 70 household area. In the driving rain.

Today, I got a comment from a reader who observed that I seem to have some pretty full days and how did I manage to find time to blog in there somewhere too? Well, some days, it’s tough. I’ve got a sick kid with a science project looming, a kid who is now in tutoring—because Lord knows we wouldn’t want any child left behind (don’t get me started) and a kid who is mad at the world. I’m chalking that last one up to normal development and not some new sociopathic tendency. My job sucks the life out of me most days, I’m stretching my budget every way but loose to make ends meet, and my dogs won’t stop talking.

I want to run away.

But, that’s not an option.

What I see coming is taking on yet another responsibility I don’t have time for because it’s important.

Then, I look at this and remember why I do it.

Middle-Aged Passions

Magical Samantha made comment on Sunday how she was a little jealous about me continuing to carry on my myriad passionate affairs – concerned perhaps that I would not have time for her.

Well, I can see her concern. It’s a mighty heady place, this life of mine with the perfect mattress, a fully operational HMW, and a stainless still extra capacity garbage can, right? How could it possibly get better? I challenged her to show me how I could possibly improve upon such perfection.

She decided that perhaps it was time the inanimate objects in my life were made aware of her claim. She made the following counter-statement:

Magical Samantha was planning to leave Tuesday afternoon to head back to Berkeley and her kitty and all those things on her list to complete while on school break. Somehow, she lingered well into today…don’t know what her motivation, no, not at all. She’s a very good teacher, apparently–I think I’ve learned that interpersonal relationships are vastly superior to those with inanimate objects. I have indeed forgotten all about the garbage can.

I’m not grinning slyly, nope, not me.

Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted… unbidden… it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us… passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace… but we would be hollow… Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we’d be truly dead. ~ Joss Whedon

Where Am I And What Am I Doing Here?

Saturday morning I had an appointment to breakfast with a friend of mine I met through my volunteer work with the Collie Rescue. We try to get together every few months, but something always comes up. I think it’s been about a year since our last meal together. After a mis-fire last weekend, we settled on early morning Saturday. I got up extra early so I could indulge my obsessions, like read my morning blogs and write a little. Things didn’t go as planned and I procrastinated as the clock ticked past when I needed to get ready. I’m getting pretty good at this procrastination thing. I wasn’t worried, I’d even left my wallet and sunglasses and keys in the car so I’d be ready to go-go on time. I still needed to fill the tank before I went and had hoped to wash the car and perhaps even run to the grocery store.

Instead, bed-head and all, I sat before the computer, lost in blogs and returning e-mails until I needed to go. The list of things I’d get done got shorter by the second.

Land speed showering and I was out the door. I factored in wait time at the pump and was sure I’d make it on time. I got the coveted first in line spot at the gas station and rolled up to the pump and reached for my wallet on the seat, where I leave normally leave it. No wallet. Shit. I search high and low, under the seats, in the between seat storage container, between the seats, and no wallet. Shit. So, I race like the wind back home and run into the house searching like a maniac as the minutes are ticking by. No wallet.

I look in the dish where I leave such things in the kitchen. I look on the counters, on my desk, in my bathroom. No wallet. I hate being late. Shit.

Then, for some reason, I remembered that I—am a lesbian.

And, touched my hand to my back pocket.

Mystery solved.

I suffer from short term memory loss. It runs in my family… At least I think it does… Where are they? ~ Finding Nemo

Burn, Baby, Burn

Some of my fellow early rising bloggers know I get up early by the comments I leave before the sun has risen. I start my day at 5 am. The dogs go for a long walk and the pull me along for the ride. Without my sister here to cajole me, I’ve been getting a little lax in the length of the walk. Action had to be taken. So, I joined the neighborhood gym. One week slipped by, then two weeks, and I still hadn’t heard from the personal trainer I was assured would help me wing my way back to the fit form I once had.

It was easy to procrastinate, I’ve been practicing. Finally, I had to get moving. Today, I had my first appointment with the personal trainer. I drove the four blocks to the gym to meet him. His name is Caesar. He took me through the workout and showed me what I needed to do. I am very sore…every muscle is on fire. But, it’s oddly satisfying. I guess that’s what happens when the only physical stimulation you’ve had in a while is that of the more conventional exercise variety. I told him my goal was to be able to hold myself up with my arms for an exceptionally long period of time in a prone position, and not on my back. I might have modified that goal had the Ballerina been around to convince me that on my back was really a good thing.

So, the only thing is, I somehow have to fit an hour a day, four days a week, into my routine. I’ve decided to give up work…no, that won’t work. Make that sleep. Without anyone to cuddle up with, there really isn’t any reason to be lollygagging in bed for more than five or six hours anyway.

I may not be able to move any body parts tomorrow, so if I don’t post, you’ll know I’ve scored some muscle relaxers and a martini.

Even in a country like the USA where fitness has become an obsession, most people exercising do not seem to think it illogical to drive automobiles to gyms while doing their best to avoid walking. ~ Dave Wilson

Heavy Sigh

It’s hard to believe the last of a relationship can be marked by something as simple as shipping $8.62 of stuff back to the owner.  Toothbrush, check.  Jammies, check.  Socks and undies, check.  Shampoo and other hair things, check.  The package arrived safely and one last conversation took place.  I’ve discovered that I need more than a weekend a month or so.  And, I’ve finally figured out that hasn’t worked, despite the other party being quite wonderful.  Chapter closed.

Take a second out to think about this: in your life you search and search for the right person for you. Every time you break up with someone you get one step closer to that person. You should look at moving on as getting closer to meeting the one. ~ Ian Philpot