Pants of doom

In school I *hated* poetry. It drove me nuts that there was no right answer yet they seemed to expect one from you. I could never pinpoint why I liked something or why I didn’t; it just was. Trust me; that answer never worked on any essay question. There’re so many things in life that don’t have an answer. Some things you just have to accept as is. People are like that. You can’t change them, and they are never all wrong or right. Yet for some reason it’s as if you are supposed to see others as one or another.

I tend to see people as the good and overlook the bad. This isn’t necessarily a good thing as it tends to bite you in the ass at a later date. There are also people that can point out flaws in any person from 400 yards away like some kind of judgmental sniper. You tend to wonder if that person will ever be happy with anyone let alone themselves. After all, they do have to look at themselves in the mirror everyday. Then there are the rare people that see your faults and accept them as the whole. They see what you hide and embrace it. I want to know how they do that, and thank them for it.

So today I was in the mall. Normally I love the mall and people watching because I enjoy making up stories about all the people that I see. Unfortunately I couldn’t enjoy myself because I was on a mission. I had to buy some dress pants. God I hate trying on clothes. If you’re one of those perfectly shaped people stop reading right here as nothing I am going to say will make any sense; It’ll all be over your head. Now if you stopped reading we can talk about you. Because really, who is perfectly shaped? What the hell would that be? Aerodynamically you should be a walking triangle with a point for the front of your body; that would be perfectly shaped. Anyway, that wasn’t my point. My point is that I had to run what I like to refer to as “the gauntlet”, or the dressing rooms.

I want to find the person that designs dress pants and ring their scrawny neck. I want them to have to go through this process of trying on pants after pants only to find out they’re still too small. I want them to have to carry an armload of the same color of pants around a busy department store. I want them to inhale and suck in with all their might only to find out that “loose fitting” is anything but. Then and only then, do I want them to head to their little drafting table. How hard would it be to stop designing for models the size of a designer lamp and start doing it for real people that have *gasp* curves.

So there I was cursing myself out and looking in the mirror at my ass. I couldn’t miss it thanks to the three mirrors in there specially designed for me to *have* to look at it. Of course it didn’t help that one limb was always forced to hold the “door” closed because of the broken lock as to not display all my secrets to passersby.

To be honest I was *not* happy. In fact, I’m sure that if that horrible woman hadn’t kept knocking on my shingle of a door to ask if everything was alright, I probably would have been crying. Why you ask? Well because I remember how things were. I remember enjoying shopping for clothes. I remember when I fit into a pair of fucking pants without using the Jaws of Life. I was mentally beating the crap outta myself. No one can say anything worse to you than what women seem to say to themselves at times like these. You might say I’m being melodramatic. Not really, I was looking at the personification of all that was wrong with my life. It was just another thing.

Then suddenly I realized what I was doing. Here I was worried about some of the more unpleasant things that people have said to me, and that I had said in my own mind. No, I’m not perfect. God, I’m *so* not perfect. And you know what? So what. It isn’t me. I’m more than the sum of what I see under bad lighting and poorly fitting pants. I realized that frankly I don’t give a fuck what those people who can only see the bad think. I don’t want them in my life anyway. I realized that by getting upset and berating myself, I was only making myself into the kind of person that I hate. I don’t judge others that way so why would I do it to myself?

So this is me... If you don’t like it I can’t worry about it. I need to worry about who I see everyday in the mirror not what. Was this epiphany enough to make me stop looking at myself in a negative light entirely? Well no of course not. But I did walk out of that dressing room with a pair of pants. I’m tired of this place I keep trying to aspire to be closed off into like a caged lab rat just to fit into someone else’s version of beauty. I am just me. And one day I will have the courage to show you who that is.

“The absence of flaw in beauty is itself a flaw.” -- Havelock Ellis

Pupdate

Oh to be a dog. This little puppy of mine has no shame. She is still scared of men for the most part, but has no fear in walking right up to a woman and rolling over in hopes of a tummy rub. Wouldn’t it be great if life was like that? I would try that, but I’m sure I’d end up getting arrested. She also discovered something that could be useful later in life. She can swim. She has a strange fascination with leafs, and so when she saw one floating in the pool she thought nothing of pouncing on it. Imagine her surprise when she came up sputtering. That leaf actually got the best of her. So she frantically swam back to the side of the pool.

She wouldn’t let me help her out. Apparently it was my fault. How you ask? I have no idea, but just from the scathing look she flashed me I knew that somehow someway it was all my fault.

She forgave me when I slipped her a treat. As I have said before, I’m not above basic bribery. Again something I could be arrested for if given other circumstances. Wouldn’t it be great if we all could forgive as easily?

Here is a picture of her after a bath, but it should give you an idea of what she looked like... that or you can just as easily picture a drowned rat:

“All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible.” -- William Faulkner

My poor toe...

Where does coordination go when you're sleeping? I don’t know about you, but when I wake up I look like a robot that has lost all directional control. I’m amazed I have yet to kill myself in the shower or that I can even find the shower. I am like a toddler that has lost her way. You would almost think that I was sleep walking to my local bar for a pint of vodka. That and my IQ is non-existent. I will answer the phone and have a full conversation and not remember one single thing about it. Later people will ask me a question about the elephants in tutus that I was talking about when they called, and I'll have to feign that I have a clue of what they are saying. It’s the same feeling you get when someone tells you the *real* lyrics to songs you have been singing wrong for years.

The color of money

There are several phrases that when first spoken sound good or intelligent. They sound like something you can get behind until that is you actually sit down to think about them. One phrase that comes to mind is, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” That sounds rather simplistic and it could be true, unless of course a pact with enemy #2 would be like making a deal with the devil. But the phrase that I’m thinking about now and gets tossed around by people who think it sounds idealistic is, “Money can’t buy you happiness.” Sure at first glance this sounds realistic because the things that *do* have real meaning in life tend to be relationships and emotions. However, when you really look at it, this phrase is inherently flawed and is utter crap. In fact the first people that will say this phrase are those with money. The bottom line is that you could have all of the things that people strive for and be miserable if you don’t have enough money to survive. Money may not be able to *buy* you happiness, but without it you will surely buy yourself a heap load of misery. Now before you get your britches in a bunch and hit that comment button to point out where I have gone wrong listen to the rest of this post.

Not to long ago I had everything. I had friends, a decent relationship with family, health, and love. What I didn’t have was money. Now I’m not talking about enough money to buy you alla the geeky toys you drool over at the department store. I’m talking about the kind of broke where words like eviction, bill collectors, reposition, and overdue balance; become part of your everyday vocabulary. I’m talking about when you have to sell your plasma for something to eat for the next few days, lie to family to get a few dollars, have no place to call home, bounce from friend to friend looking for a place to sleep, and find all the places in town that might serve some kind of free food. I’ve done all of these things, I have been the person that is hated because they are a walking breathing drain and burden to all that they know. I wasn’t the kind of person you would have wanted to know. I didn’t really even want to know me. Even with the best of relationships you are miserable. It is a feeling like none other. You do things that make you cringe and you have little in your life to take pride in; it changes you. You are drowning while walking, and the weight of your worry is like an elephant sitting on your back.

Eventually I had to almost sell my soul for a loan to find an apartment in the worst area of town. It doesn’t end there. No, now my girlfriend at the time and I had to decide what bills to pay and what to put off. What bills can go one more month? You make sacrifices like shutting off the gas so you can have electric. Who really needs heat or hot water in winter? Eventually those things that are important like friends and relationships become so strained that they snap and desegregate into the pit you have dug for yourself.

At this time I knew a man that was in his 70s. He worked 50 hours a week at Burger King and had wild silver hair and the most amazing sky blue eyes you’d ever see. He was homeless. He couldn’t get a bank account without an address, so every time he cashed his check he would either be hit up or jumped for his money by others that were just as desperate. I don’t think this man would agree that money couldn’t buy him at least some relief from his current troubles.

I say all this because today someone I was walking with saw me give a homeless man some money. They started in on how this man was lazy or that he would just go and buy beer with it. Well my response was that it is none of my business what this man chooses to spend this money on. He is an adult. What *is* my business is to give that man the opportunity to buy something that for a moment will bring him joy. I didn’t care if he bought food or tossed the money out a window. That’s not the point. What right would I have to judge him or dictate what he does with what he is given? I am not in his shoes.

The ironic thing is something I have said before many times. The people that really can’t afford to give often are the ones that give the most simply because they understand. I’ve seen homeless people pool their money or give it to another. What I don’t see often are people driving around in cars designed to show off their money with their hand stretched out the window to the woman selling papers. Am I better than these people, god no far from it. The thing is that I have been there and I know what it is like to live in a daily struggle. I was never even as far as them so I don’t even know what they have to live like. The people who gave me hope and inspired me were those that had so little yet they were giving and were courageous for just getting up in the morning.

So today I sit here again deciding what bills I will pay and what can be put off. I don’t have the same pressure or weight on me but its memory is never far from my thoughts. I have to force myself to have hope and to continue to dig myself out. After all, my actions were a large part of me being there in the first place. Like I said yesterday, I am learning to again wish upon a star. I’m living in yet a different place and am working to move on. I still have a road to travel, but it’s nothing like where I was. But I also choose never to forget that experience even though I hated it, and didn’t care for who I was at the time. I’m totally different today than I was then, and I don’t think it would be fair to those I hurt at that time to forget.

My point today is that the next time you are driving around town and see someone that is selling papers at an intersection, think of what you would do if your life suddenly changed. Most of us are a pay check away from being there. So why not part with the few dollars that will make little difference to you but every difference to them. Most importantly look them in the eye. They are there; they are a person that deserves that respect. Whatever you do don’t pretend as if you don’t see them or judge them for their life’s choices. You haven’t earned that right, none of us have. I would just love for people that have money to understand how powerful it is and how very lucky they are. Take a step back and be thankful for all that’s around you. You might feel a loss at a relationship that brings you pain or stressed over something or other, but at least you have a home to shelter yourself in and Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer.

“One must be poor to know the luxury of giving.” -- George Eliot

I wish I may...

When I was younger I used to make wish on a star every single night. They weren’t huge wishes like to win the lotto, but rather something small and secret. I remember wishing for something like the ability to make someone laugh the next day. I know that sounds odd for someone to wish for something like that, but I always thought that a wish should be something meaningful but not so large as it would be impossible for them all to come true. Doable dreams. And what do you know? About 90% of the time the wishes would come true.

For about a year I spent at least one night a week in a comedy club attempting to do stand-up; it was always fun and lent itself well to those little unspoken nightly wishes. I had confidence, I had motivation, and I had the energy to reach out and grab whatever it was I was looking for. Being busy wasn’t a chore; it just was how things were. But for several reasons things changed, and I stopped making those nightly wishes. Now, I’m not saying that those things aren’t still a part of me, just that life changes you, sometimes for the better, but it’s still a change. I wonder how much some of that correlates with me not looking up.

Around October I was feeling lonely for whatever reason. I’m sure we all have those times. So for the first time in what must have been 6 years I looked up and made a wish. I wished for a change and for the chance to make someone laugh. There’s nothing that feels quite the same as doing that. Well I did end up getting sucked back into an online world I had taken a break from for a few years and posting some silly story. I had always had an addiction to online fiction partly because I’m cheap and partly because the library is rather lacking in lesbian fiction. Its weird how life changes, I went from a tad lonely to being sucked into friendships and creativity.

I guess my rather long winded point was to let you know that if you have the chance maybe you too should look up and wish for something small and secret. You may have a walking dream in your arms, or you may have that empty ache that can occur at 3 am, but we all could use a bit of hope. That’s really what it is about, hope. Do I think that the stars have the power to change my life? No. But I do believe that when you choose to open yourself up to the possibilities life can change you. So I'll be out there tonight, I have a few things I'd love to wish for.

Pup-date: The little mongrel has now learned to jump on the bed and couch. I’m not one of those people that insist their dog not ever know the feel of furniture, but I do think I should get first dibs on where to sit. Anyway, she has these little sporadic bursts of energy that leave you wondering if she was on speed. I used to be safe if I just ducked and waited for the blur to settle down. Now, I’m in the path of the tornado. She will launch herself off the recliner right onto me and the couch. This would be endearing if she didn’t always have the remarkable ability to land right on places of my body that object. But for the most part it’s great because when she wants a nap she just climbs on up like a cat and sets up camp on what ever part of my body she deems acceptable. She seems to be a breast girl… that’s my baby!

“Hope is a waking dream.” -- Aristotle

Who do you think you are?

It’s always about the little things; they’re what matters most in life. Often I think people forget about them. They look past them in hopes to find something huge. There really isn’t a big billboard that people will use to show you they care. No, they will show you in the things that often get overlooked. Let me give you a few examples of what I’m talking about:

There is a woman that oftentimes bakes things for people who live hundreds of miles away just so the person can enjoy them and smile. There are people who seem to always say the most important thing at the time you need it most. There are those that will drop you a line to say hello, or to let you know they appreciated something you said. They make you smile, or let you bitch. You hear their voice as they tell you goodnight, and hear their laugh when you say something amusing. It’s the fact that they remember the little things you mentioned, and nonsense stories you told. They think beyond themselves and are careful of how they say things. These are the things that seem to help them find a place in your heart and life. They are friends, family, and lovers. Regardless, they understand that it’s those little things that make all the difference in the world.

I wonder why more people don’t seem to understand this? I mean I’ve found this quality rare in people so I wonder why that is. Why do people seem to live in some kind of tunnel where they can’t see the people around them or the affect they have. Don’t they understand that their life will inevitably affect someone else’s? This makes no sense. I don’t understand how they can park in the handicapped spots, hold up lines without a care, insult you without a backwards glance, or forget that you too might need someone to listen once in a while too.

I guess I am trying to figure out how to tell the person that doesn’t think before they talk to me that it does bother me. I also have to find a way to tell those that remember the little things, and make me feel like a valuable person, that I appreciate it. So, if you have a chance today to find a way to say the things you need to, what are you waiting for? Everyday I see this couple here on Xanga, who don’t ever let a day pass without a post saying these things. It really is an inspiring sight. I have no idea what stops me from telling people that their late night words are special, but maybe it’s time I did.

Pup-date: I think that Velcro must be made in part with puppy hair. I mean the stuff sticks to you like nothing else and this pup can just walk by a bush and be covered in leaves. She ends up looking like the swamp thing. I guess it doesn’t help that she follows behind you and digs little holes everywhere she goes. At least she doesn’t mind the bath afterwards… though why after she takes it she has to go romping through my clean clothes pile I haven’t gotten around to folding yet is beyond me. That will show me for being so lazy with my chores.

“The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.” --- Socrates

Puppy of Doom

Oy, today has just turned out to be one of those days. The kind of day where you’re sure someone out there hates you and has been plotting against you. Now, you may think I’m exaggerating or being a wimp, but I bet by the time I’m done telling this story you all will want to come over and give me a cookie or something. Now, while telling this story you may feel as if you want to laugh, go ahead. I’m sure in about a month I will find this whole episode incredibly amusing.

Okay I woke up late, not really surprising seeing as though I stayed up ridiculously late yet again last night. After a few snoozes I eventually tossed the alarm across the room, but it wouldn’t stop the freaking thing from going off. I even tried the whole head under a pillow thing, but even that couldn’t stop that noise. So without any other choices I drug myself out of bed and stumbled to the puppy’s cage and then we made it outside without any major catastrophe, which is surprising considering that my puppy is a magnet for havoc.

Then I left the puppy to romp around while I took a shower. She made the mistake once of trying to follow me into the shower… she won’t make that mistake again. The look on her face when she realized that it was raining in just one spot of the room was too funny. She didn’t appreciate me laughing and pointing at her so she ate a roll of toilet paper and strung it across my whole place, but I digress. Anyway I was merrily singing badly in my shower while putting the shampoo in, when there was a knock on my door. You’d think I’d just let that go, but I can’t. I also have a hard time letting a phone ring unanswered. So I grabbed a towel, prayed the soap wouldn’t drift into my eyes, and went to answer the door. By the way, they really should make towels bigger, but that’s just me.

At the door was the woman that does the welcome wagon stuff for the neighborhood. She just wanted to give me a flyer for the spring potluck. You’d think that wouldn’t sound so bad, but I went to one of those things once and I found out that the average age of those attending was 65. If that wasn’t bad enough one man kept pinching my cheeks, and I don’t mean the ones on my face. So you can see how excited I was to be standing there at my door soapy and in a towel getting a flyer for one of these things.

Just as I was about to say goodbye to this woman, of course that’s after she went yammering on forever, the little havoc doggie ran through my legs and out the door. Crap. Now there’s a fairly busy street not too far away, and the puppy hasn’t learned that cars are bad yet. So of course I had to run after her. Now to her this was just a larger version of the “catch me if you can” game. To me it wasn’t that much fun, and I was muttering things to the doggie that the ASPCA wouldn’t be too fond of. She thought it was a hoot to have me trailing after her desperately clutching my towel in a pathetic attempt to avoid showing the whole neighborhood all my goodies. Just as I was close enough to grab her she would scamper off barking with her butt wiggling. Evil creature.

This went on for about a half hour with me promising treats I didn’t have while I had only one eye open. The other would probably never open again just for the fact that it had a ton of soap in it. And I was also now limping because I stepped on a piece of glass from a bottle. I was beginning to think I was going to have to go back to my place, get dressed, and maybe find a big net or something when I heard it. From behind me I hear a “whooo”. Now, I have begun to like hearing “whoo” from a friend that does it when she is happy, but this wasn’t that kind of "whoo". This was the kind that occurs behind you in traffic just before you start to curse and pray that you didn’t miss a payment of your car insurance. Yes, that’s right, it was a cop. Shit.

Thankfully after convincing the man that I wasn’t drunk, he decided to help me catch the puppy of doom. I don’t really blame him for thinking I might be drunk. I mean I only had the one eye open, I was wearing only a towel, I was limping, and at this point I was finding it difficult to speak without cursing. But the barking puppy having the time of her life tipped him off to what was really going on. Eventually we ended up catching her, and yes I even thought of taking my towel off and using it as something to toss over her to catch her, but with the cop there I didn’t think it would be wise. Anyway, he ended up herding her over to me where I could scoop her up.

So I thanked him and headed back to my place but he stopped me. Can you believe he wanted to give me a ticket? A freaking *ticket*! So now I have to go to court to explain to a judge why I was wandering around the streets of Tucson half nekkid. Oh for crying out loud! That pissed me off. Then I limped back to my place only to find out that guess what? That’s right, I locked myself out!! Fuck. Now I had to wander around looking for a hide-a-key that I didn’t quite remember where I hid it. That does me a lot of good.

So eventually I ended up back inside and the puppy wanted to play. Um… fat chance you little mongrel, you’re lucky I love you so much. That puppy is so not getting any treats tonight. Heck, she’s lucky I don’t put her little cute butt up on Ebay. That cute face of hers will save her every time. Man, I’m a sucker for a brown eyed girl.

“Some days you're the dog - some days you're the hydrant.” -- Unknown

Furball

In random puppy news: The puppy is having an identity crisis; she thinks she’s a cat. I swear the other day I heard her say, “Meow”. It’s not just that. She plays with her paws more than anything, likes to sleep on the back of the couch, and likes to sit on the desk so she can see what alla the “tipity taping” is about. The poor thing has to try about six times to make it onto the couch in the first place. I feel a little guilty about laughing when she flops back onto the ground, but her little butt wiggle, determined face, and warble is just too cute. Now if only I can find my wallet… I just know that little critter nabbed it, and I’m sure that little innocent face is anything but.

“The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.” -- Sophocles