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.

Gone Missing? Nah.

I thought I’d found the perfect hobby two years ago when I started, it was free. Right, free, I thought yesterday, as I paid two blogging bills. This redesign/move/move thing with the website has been one royal pain in the ass. Yesterday, mid-day, I gave up as I prepared the kidlings for a week long visit to DisneyWorld with their other family. I found a designer who will just “fix it now.” Well, not exactly now, but maybe in a week or so, once she gets my check. I’m just glad I’m not a starving 21-year-old with only a can of beer, a box of Saltines, and some dog food in the house and 10 days until payday as I was at one point in my life—I can hire her to save my life. Anyway, I can be found at both www.hahnathome.com (unfinished site) or http://hahnathome.wordpress.com/ . You can update your bookmarks with the normal site address if you would like.

Thanks to Paul at Jestertunes who did try to help, along with several other folks. What they didn’t understand is that they would say things like, “You should just be able to…” and “Just type in your…” First of all, yes, I should, but have you met me? And second of all unless you tell me exactly what to type and exactly where to type it, I’m lost. Have you seen a CSS stylesheet? Paul was shooting me instructions and it wasn’t working. Turns out I was missing a file. Who knew?

Okay, it’s not all bad. WordPress is very pretty. I love the open-source idea. But, jeez, you have to be a rocket scientist to figure that stuff out. I bought the book and guess what? They actually want you to READ the entire thing.

At least I have my content there. My blogroll is updated. I put in my Cast of Characters.

One thing that was a lot of fun was to read through my archives as I was doing all of this. It’s pretty wild how it started out one way and ended up another. Several of my family members don’t read it anymore – too startling. Me. My life. Startling. Colleagues who used to read diligently, not so much anymore. They probably get enough of me in the real world without having to know even my decidedly edited thoughts.

When I looked through my blogroll I counted how lucky I am. I’ve met some great people here online. Some of them have even found each other in a bigger way. I’ve met some and talk to some on the phone. Then, I got to thinking, what hobby gives one so much pleasure for only $.75 a day? Can’t think of one other.

Stalking The Wild Lesbian

Uncle Doreen is nuts. As you may have noticed from her Sex Driver’s Manual.

I met Doreen right after I started living with my former partner. We met online (how else?) Both looking for friends in a new place. I had moved up from the Bay Area and found a job working for another giant insurance company after a heady and wonderful ride on the dot.com express. We talked on the phone one night and laughed our asses off for an hour. We agreed to meet for sushi. My girlfriend was going to be out of town on business for a couple days, so I thought that would be a good time to have dinner out with D. We lived in a townhouse at the time—the way to get to the house was to park in the lot and walk down a very long sidewalk to the front door.

My girlfriend said only, “I don’t want her in the house while I’m gone. She can’t come in!” It being a relatively new relationship, I said, “Sure,” and called D. to firm up plans. The day arrived and I could see her coming down the walk. I quickly ran out, like a kid sneaking off to meet someone she’s not allowed to see, and coolly said, “Okay, let’s go…all locked up,” or some such nonsense. I wasn’t going to piss off the girlfriend—somehow, I knew on a very profound level that was something I did not want to do. We can call that foreshadowing, kids.

We went to sushi and the rest is history. She’s still with me but the girlfriend isn’t. We laugh about our first meeting and the fact I was so rude and didn’t invite her in, but hey. Love. It makes you do stupid things. I know other kinds of love, like friendship—that kind that hangs in there for a whole different set of reasons through thick and thin.

Tonight, Uncle D. came over for dinner. I made a dish to die for. Yeah. Me. Orzo, feta cheese, fresh basil, tomatoes, green onions, and shrimp baked every so perfectly. We laughed some more and decided we need to take a stalking vacation—most of our insane reasoning being one of those cases where it would be better to have been here.

I’ve located the address for Kristy McNichol (man, she was a cutie), Fannie Flagg (I need to find out who her girlfriend was when she started ‘keeping company’ with Rita Mae Brown), and Queen Latifah (Uncle D.’s Dreamgirl). We’ll try to fit in Jodi Foster too, but I hear she’s a bit sensitive on the stalking subject. It’s a long trip, but, hey, they’ll be glad to see us, right?

Dead Letter Office

I’m never sending out Christmas cards again.

Why, you ask?

I can’t deal with another one coming back stamped, “Deceased, Return to Sender.” Two out of three years now.

I spoke with her, a much older lover both brief and long ago—a Dutch woman of great kindness with a bawdy laugh and eyes sparkling with mischief, about a year ago. This past year, so busy—burglary, court dates, breakup, summer solitude, rebirth. I tried to call her a couple of months ago to resume my four or five times per year visits to her home a couple hours from here to help her fix things, cut and trim and mow things, and then have her laugh with me as we sat on the back patio. I’d always take her out to eat each time I visited—she loved her some seafood! I had no number—a cell phone change and the burglar conspired together to remove any possibility of locating it easily. I promised myself I’d track it down and call around the time I missed her birthday. I sent her a Christmas card having finally found an address, asking her to call me—sending her photos of the family and telling her I missed her.

She had an interesting life. Not the least of which was living “out” in San Francisco in the 1950s and 1960s. Blazing trails. She was funny. She never told me her real age. It became a joke between us. She shaved between 15 and 5 years off of it the entire time I knew her, even when she was “busted” by making some reference or another to something that was clearly of my mother’s generation.

I don’t know what happened. How lame am I for not knowing all these months? I just learned through an online search she died last January, not long after I spoke with her last. Her sister and only relative’s phone number was in that stolen address book, which just brought up all the rage again.

Dankjewel Betty – girl, I’m tipping my Port glass to you – thanks for the fine, sweet memories. Ik begrijp het niet– Ik zal u mijn vriend missen.

Debbie Listman of Teleflora-It Sucks

by Uncle Doreen

Sung to the tune of San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your) Hair by Scott McKenzie

If you use Teleflora
Beware your flowers will not get there
If you use Teleflora
Their customer service will not care

For those who use Teleflora
Order orchids, carnations will be there
When you use Teleflora
Gentle people start to pull out their hair

All across the nation such an aggravation
People in commotion
There’s a whole corporation with no good explanation
People in commotion screwing your emotions

For those who use Teleflora

You are flushing money down the drain
If twice you use Teleflora
Then honey, you’re just insane

If you use Teleflora
Beware your flowers will not get there…

One Thing Leads To Another

In brief, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with our friends Mellie & Dave, Dave’s folks, and Uncle Doreen.  The food and company was fantastic.  Mel has a nice little tradition where everyone has to bring an item with them that they are willing to part with, but has meaning to them.  When each person selects something that speaks to them, the donator tells the story behind the item.  Tonight, I came home with a small vial of lavender and myrrh that Mellie got when she used to belong to a woman’s drum circle.  Very cool.  I felt very fem-centric in that moment.  It was a visit to remember, for many reasons.  I thank them kindly for their friendship and hospitality.  Oh, and for the leftovers!

Don’t forget, as the month comes to an end, to go vote for two very talented writers, Wishful Writer and Starr Ann Chronicles at BlogInterviewer. 

I don’t have time to read crap.  I don’t feel any compulsion to finish a book if it’s bad.  I don’t read blogs that are badly written.  I will totally read and re-visit blogs written about people I hold no common ground with, if it’s well-written.  They can even be Republicans.  When I do find a talented writer, I love to sing their praises (albeit in an totally off-key way) and today’s case is no different.

When I first started exploring blogs before I had a blog on my own, I ran across a Sacramento blog called A Gag Reflex.  I read a chapter and was absolutely riveted.  But, being the bone-head I am sometimes, I didn’t bookmark it and spent weeks trying to find it again.  Was it, “Ball Gag,” “Gag Me With A Spoon,” “Gaggles of Geese?”  I couldn’t remember.  Finally, I remembered!  I bookmarked it and read on…I couldn’t stop.  I was sneaking chapters in between meetings and while on conference calls.  When it ended, I kept saying to myself, “This needs to be a book.”  Check it out and let me know what you think!

“Finally, after 13 years of searching… I found the man who was rumored to be my father- and asked him to take a DNA Test… while I blogged about it.  Then, before I could edit my spelling… a whole bunch of incredible readers actually started reading it… and reading it… and reading it. Next thing you know I’ve got a lit agent and a little book deal… not that it’s been easy mind you.  This blog documents the search for my identity… and the discovery of my sanity. Join me as I battle personal demons and sort through a wack-ass legacy…left to me by my dead, drug addict, and much loved con-artist Mother.”

Great news—Cori’s blog will be published in book form by Seal Press in the Fall of 2008.  Don’t wait until she’s published, go take a look now.

Cori is also a talented jewelry designer.  She asked me to let you know about her new site—so I’m here to tell you.  You need cool jewelry for your girlfriend this holiday season.  The place to get it is at Cori’s Etsy.   Seriously, they are hot!  And, what the hell, it’s always good to pump some money into women-owned businesses, eh? 

Thanksgiving 2007

I’m not a big believer in most holidays. I do, however, believe in the time off from work that often comes from them. I’m just as excited to have an extra day off as I was when I was 15 and we had a school day off. It’s t-i-m-e, baby. Something of which I have so little, and crave so much.

This one marks the beginning of the time I start redrawing commuter routes to begin the annual avoidance of many major streets and thoroughfares as the city wraps itself in a one, long, manic shopping spree. It means the rains will be coming soon and the cold has arrived, so I won’t be able to walk around my patio barefoot for a while. I will wake in darkness and fall asleep in darkness. Soon, I’ll fire up the furnace and wait for that funny smell caused by disuse to briefly waft through the air.

I think of Thanksgivings past, which tend, as I’ve gotten older, to blur into one sentimental ball of memory–playing with cousins, deftly snagging the drumstick and gizzard, and getting to break the wishbone as was my Grandmother-given right as oldest grandchild.

Since leaving home at 17, I have spent but one Thanksgiving home with my family of origin. In between, I’ve shared meals with friends and lovers, and now, with children—my family of choice in whatever place I find myself.

And, while still pissed off that we continue to perpetuate the history of the conquerors in our celebration of this particular holiday, I will indeed give thanks tomorrow. Thanks for all the opportunities, love, and lessons I’ve received from both my family of origin and my family of choice these past 46 Thanksgivings.

Hope yours is as abundant.

Honor the sacred.
Honor the Earth, our Mother.
Honor the Elders.
Honor all with whom we
share the Earth:
Four-leggeds, two-leggeds,
winged ones,
Swimmers, crawlers,
plant and rock people.
Walk in balance and beauty.

~ Native American Elder

HAH Guest Stars

Despite being a really shy person (seriously, stop laughing), there’s always been a part of me that wanted to be a performer.  I always imagined myself being like Jennifer Beals (or her dance stand-in) in Flashdance (but in baggy shorts and a t-shirt) or one of the kids in FAME, all lithe and limber and stuff, who could have danced and sang my way through puberty. That aside, I’m a mean chair dancer to this very day, as long as I’m sitting on it and not doing acrobatic kick-steps all around it.

For years, I spent time fantasizing about what it would be like to be an actor in NYC during the 30s and 40s being part of the old radio programs.  Back when AMC (American Movie Classics) was AMC and not a repository for rejected Lifetime for Women movies and actually played classic films, they also ran an original series about the people who worked in such a station, called Remember WENN.  That was my fantasy—to be doing what they were doing—and there it was, right there, on television for me to watch—no good reason for me to actually do it myself.  Or My Favorite Year, where the young scriptwriter on a Sid Caesar-esque early TV show who gets to hang out with the Erroll Flynn-ish bad boy, Alan Swann, and keep him out of trouble until show time.  That would suit me just fine—being a writer or radio performer involved in show business without actually having to have people see me in person!

I never went the drama route in high school—just too shy.  Never caught on to playing a musical instrument (piano teacher suggested I find another hobby and guitar teacher said come back when I could focus—which I never could).  Quit chorus in grade school to play softball.  In fact, I made very decisive and key decisions throughout my life to absolutely not be a performer. 

Until I worked for a major insurance company in Omaha (hmm, wonder what company that could have been?) and I was asked to participate in the filming of a training video.  I jumped at the chance—here was my opportunity to be a star.  So, they patted makeup on me, set me in a chair, put a phone next to my ear and had me read my script—up went the lights and… “Action”—um…oh, oh—my entire face started twitching; cheeks, lips, eyelids, mouth—I couldn’t even speak, my vocal chords were paralyzed.  I started perspiring heavily and felt faint—like the either going to pass out or puke kind of faint.  The lights blinded me and I began to see stars—I needed air, I just needed some freakin’ air.   I put the phone down, stood up and walked away, desperately trying to regain use of the muscles in my face, and find my voice, gladly leaving fame and fortune behind forever.  It was just a silly old pipe dream anyway.

But, today?  Today, I got to be the star I always wanted to be.  And, it was all thanks to my pardners over at  Starr Ann Chronicles, the best durned little cowgirl serial this side of Zorro.  I was cowgirl for the day as the new neighbor of Starr Ann and Margo Moon’s Happy Hands ranch (check out the actual true picture of me a few years ago riding Rusty—hey, get your mind out of the gutter, Rusty is a horse).   Even better, I am an absolutely AMAZING character there and can do ANYTHING, including cook well.  All the girls love me and I throw fabulous parties.  I am so digging my new fantasy life. 

And, while you’re there, please vote for the magnifico Margo at Blog Interviewer, she’s in the Top 10 and edging up and just needs a little more help to win those fabulous prizes.  You can vote from work and home every single day…I know, you can’t wait to get over there.  Neither can I!

HAH, Professional Photographer

A request came to me today from a certain enchanting siren for a camera photo.  It seemed like an urgent request.  So, I found myself today, standing in our break room with no one around desperately trying to take a picture of myself with my camera phone.  I have a camera phone, but there is generally no need to have a camera phone.  I’d be fine with a rotary dial cell phone with a really long cord if they made them.  The simpler, the better.

First, I had to figure out that you couldn’t take a picture of yourself without turning the camera towards you, which means the screen can’t be seen.  The results were pretty interesting.  I was making faces, I was swinging the camera around wildly, and trying to figure out how to save the damn thing once I got one that didn’t make me look like someone in one of those damned funhouse mirrors. I was keeping an ear cocked to make sure no one saw me doing this because man, would that have been embarrassing—I’m shy, you know. 

The things I’m compelled to do…well, it was fun…and now I know how to use the camera. 

Guess who I get to meet on Thursday?  One of my favorite local bloggers, Beancounters.  Turns out we work a very short distance from each other so we’re going to go grab a beverage together.  Gotta’ love that.  She knows what I look like, but I don’t know what she looks like because she’s…ssshhh…anonymous.   Anyway, it should be fun.  Hear that Radio Matthew?  When are we going to do the Dew?   

Uncle Doreen is arriving soon to see Notorious B.E.N., so I have to go…hold your seats…cook.  Again.  That’s three times this week.  I checked and have no fever. The bank balance says it’s no more dinners out this week—break out the Rolaids.  Tomorrow after school, J-Man’s cross country team meets in a neighboring county.  I’m going to do my damndest to get there and see him for myself.  And, so it goes…

People assume you can’t be shy and be on television. They’re wrong.  ~Diane Sawyer

Like Christmas

Well, well…I love it when Amazon delivers.  There I am, all excited the package was brought into my office today and I eagerly ripped it open, thinking only, “Colbie Callait” CD!   So, I yank the stuff out of the box…fully forgetting that I also ordered, The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica featuring a piece written by the author of The Starr Ann Chronicles.  Oops.  Probably should wait to open such things when the assistant isn’t looking or until I get home…heh…heh.  My recovery was graceful…I flipped the book over and slammed it back into the box, throwing Colbie on top of it.  And, I was thinking, in that moment, how lucky the book was—doin’ a little flippin’ with Colbie on top.

Heather, we can stalk her together, k?  Heather, we should probably stalk her together.  Um, ya’ know, Heather, we could always stalk Colbie together.

Margo – ya’ done good, girl—money well spent.  Go buy…here.

If there’s a book you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.  ~Toni Morrison