Thursday, February 26, 2009
I know my mother raised me right, because I hated her when I was a teenager and now she's my best friend.**
Ah, there's that term again. Best friend.
What exactly does it mean?
JMS and I had the most interesting conversation this morning about best friends. When I was a kid, I had a slew of them (not kidding, probably had 6 or 7 halves of those BFF hearts necklaces), while in high school the number dived to 4. The older I get, the less best friends I have. Here's what I do have...
Rachel and Raina- every time someone asks me who my best friend is, I have to say, "Other than my sisters?". They are the ones who know me inside and out. Know where I came from, know what my dreams have been since I have been able to convey them (and they know the ones I can't put into words), they know where I embellish a story, and they know when I say "don't tell anyone" it means anyone other that the other sister and Mother. There is a divine amount of trust and security that binds us all together. They're my sisters, a title I think goes far beyond 'best friend'.
Then there is Jennifer Lazarini. I called her my best friend when I lived in Memphis. This is a girl who's lifestyle is as far removed from mine as possible- and though we may only talk once a year, each conversation seems to have no time lapse. When we first met, I was married and living in domesticated bliss and she was a total wild child. Then I got divorced and slipped on my party shoes, and she married the guy I got into a bar fight with. She is the first person outside of my family that I asked to be a bridesmaid after I got engaged the second time. She said, "Of course, who is this guy?" Then when the relationship ended I called to tell her her services were no longer needed and she said, "No problem, who was that guy?" I'd do anything in this world for her and confident she would do the same.
Rizzo. Hands down I'd say he is my best friend now- but I think it's a title I have to give him because no one would understand the relationship we have if it wasn't defined that way. If I say "oh, we're just friends" it sounds like we're keeping things on the down low. So I've title him that way, but I'll be honest- we have a great friendship, and I couldn't imagine my life without him, but I'm not going to call him when my uterus explodes or I find a great pair of shoes on sale.
Vicki French. Oh Vic... we met when she started dating Rizzo (it only lasted for a few weeks) and I truly believe that they got together for the sole purpose of us finding each other. At the time, Rizzo was living with me so Vicki was at my house pretty much every day. I loved her from the first moment I met her. It's hard not to, actually. It always surprises me when someone says they don't like her (I automatically think they are jealous and laugh at them) because she is picture perfect in beauty, she has the kindest soul and the sweetest heart. Even though I'm 5'2 and she's 5'8, I'm constantly feeling the need to protect her and take car of her. I'd destroy someone in .2 seconds for even looking at her cross. She is one of the most important people in my life and it's so odd, because even when I (used to :)) do something so despicably awful, she'd give me a hug and say "I love you. You're still beautiful to me." Best friend doesn't seem like enough of a title for her. I'd say she's like my sisters in that way, but 'sister' is a title only Raina and Rachel will ever have. So where does that leave Vicki?
Then there is the amazing JMS. She's another one it would be easy to call my best friend, but that isn't enough! I've known her the shortest time, but I know her. We're completely different in the main aspects of our lives, but somehow those things only add to the dimensions of our friendship. I talk to her every day and most time she knows things about me before anyone else. There are no taboo subjects between us. We get that the other one is essentially crazy and fundamentally dorky and we have good clean fun together. Most of the time I feel like I'm in high school when we hang out and I love that we become total girls when we're together. I'm waiting for the day when we get to have a slumber party and paint our fingernails and try out different make-up and experiment with off-the-wall hair styles. But she's also the first adult friendship I've had. As my life grows and lightens she is my confident in very real, very life changing events. It's so odd, because nothing the other one does really impact our independent futures, but I hope to heaven that I will be around her long enough to see the amazing and beautiful twists and turns her life will take.
Then I've got the "girls" (most of the time, this term refers to my boobs, but not today). They are the everyday girls that I can call for a drink or go visit out of state and generally with whom I pass the time. They are dear, dear friends- but not even close to best.
So where does that leave me? Am I getting too old for the term "best friend"?
Personally, I don't think it's a bad trade for what I get instead.
**This post was going to be about something pertaining to Mother, but I went off on a tangent. It's what happens when I don't control myself! I had to change the title and everything. Oh well, looks like I'll post "My Parents Are Gross" tomorrow...
You're horribly fascinated by that, aren't you?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Next time, baby! Next time you'll get 'em!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Having a nightmare that was even worse minutes after I get back to sleep? Check.
and I’m a bad, bad friend.
Apparently a Knoxville native reads my blog, because someone went into the bar where Rizzo works and recognized him from my 'girlfriend search post'. Oh dear.
Since he was on the extreme side of upset, he wouldn’t answer my phone calls. So I came up with a song to serenade him with until he decided to forgive me. It worked… I don’t know if it was so I would not ever sing to him again or if it was just time to give in.
This is what I came up with:
You can’t be mad at me forever,
No, you can’t be mad at me forever-
Cause I don’t play the flute
Or wear a man’s suit
And I’m super, super, super, duper cute.
You can’t be mad at me forever,
No you can’t be made at me forever-
Cause I said that I was wrong
and I wrote this awesome song
And you’ll want to talk to me before too long
He loves me desperately, so I knew he’d come along eventually.
That and I’m fairly certain he remembers that I bought him a present for his birthday- and I only buy people the best gifts for their birthday.
My mother called me this morning at work while she was playing around on Facebook. She asked me if she could join the group “Jewish World Order” even if she wasn’t Jewish...
I guess she can, right?
Translator by birth:
My cousin mentioned on one of her Facebook 25 things note that her favorite movie was Can’t Buy Me Love.
I commented “and that makes you a prostitute."
My sister had to explain to the cousin that I didn’t think she was a prostitute, Bobby thought Cindy was one. Jeez, if it’s one of your favorites, you should know that quote as well as you know the African Anteater Ritual! My favorite quote from that movie is where Ronald finally tracks Cindy down, and he's so close to tears it hurts, and he says, "Nerds, jocks. My side, your side. It's all bullshit. Its hard enough just trying to be yourself."
Oh Patrick, how I still love you...
*I’m in love these things that can be bought:
1. My wingtip heels (I forgot how comfortable they are!)
2. The absence of peeling polish on my nails.
3. Rereading Twilight.
4. Cold pizza.
5. Hot chocolate.
*Because I'm enjoying them all at this very moment!
Friday, February 20, 2009
I had an absolute blast...The children are adorable and so polite! Kiddo was showing me all his race cars and I might have been a little too enthusiastic about it- When I asked to see yet another one he very politely said, "Um, I think I'm going to put them back in my room, please." It's probably for the best; they were really cool cars and I might have tried to klepto a few of them.
After the kids went to bed, we watched Practical Magic which I have never seen before. I loved it!
I dropped into bed as soon as I arrived home- wore my self out, I guess. I had a dream the night before last that was really very strange. Now it's a reoccurring dream. I didn't wake up screaming this time, but I still woke up at dawn and couldn't go back to sleep. Which turned out for the best because this morning's sunrise was unbelievable! The sky was electric pink and there was a slight mist hanging over the Lake Loudon. It was a dreamland. I considered running for my camera, but there was no force in the world that could have pulled me away from the view even for a second.
My blah yesterday turned out really well, and apparently it's still going strong.
JMS came up with a new challenge for the Knox Writing Club, but now I'm finding myself at a loss for what to write. Sigh.
My poopy (not a typo) dog's 12th birthday is coming up around the corner. I am at a loss for what to get him... I know he likes food, toys and biting runners- but what kind of present do you get for the dog that has everything???
*For those of you who need a good laugh this morning, ask JMS about getting a fingernail stuck in her ear.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
I love going to Atlanta, especially because 3/8 of my immediate family live there. My car, on the other hand, absolutely despises Atlanta. I can understand why it feels this way- it will generally get hit (3 times so far) by an uncaring visitor from another house who doesn't believe in putting the car in reverse in order to escape from parallel parking. Or perhaps a resident dog is abhorrent of the color silver and believes his civic dog duty is to lift its leg against the hue of my car's paint. But this one is by far the best... Someone tried to jimmy my gas door open in order to siphon gas. Unfortunately, the gas door doesn't open without being asked to from inside the car (there's a handy little button I always confuse with the trunk opener) and so these Gas-less Wonders tried to pry it open. If I had known siphoning was a problem, I would have left the door open! I'd rather loose the quarter tank I arrived with to be taken than have to replaced the door.
So now I have a spectacular ding on my bumper (I haven't had time to fix since my previous ATL visit) and my gas door doesn't close. My car is a white trash wonderland...
But now for the actual visit!
On Friday night (Mr. Bear was already crib-sleeping) my sister and I celebrated my arrival with a bottle of champagne! I do love champagne- except when I drink it in my favorite hole-in-the-wall bar and the High Life connoisseurs make fun of me. When the champagne was despairingly empty, we moved on to a bottle of Korean red wine that was a gift from her stylist. It tasted like Welch's Grape Juice. It wasn't horrible, or even bad- it just wasn't what my palate was expecting. C'est la vie, oui?
For Valentine's Day, Sister gave her Husband the wonderful gift of acquiescence. He has wanted to start bike riding for some time, but Sister thinks helmets are tres lame and therefore has always voted 'nay' for such a hobby. For Valentines day, she bought two bikes, a bike rack and a bike seat for Mr. Bear. The three of us are now arguing this point: I think Mr. Bear needs a chariot (it's actually called that- a biking apparatus that sits low to the ground behind the bike) in case the parents take a spill (he'll be close to the ground, therefore less likely to hurt himself). The parents bought a bike seat because the chariot would take up too much room and its hard to navigate. I'm still having issues with them. I'll get over it when that sweet little baby is, oh- I don't know- 35?
Sister received two tickets to Flight of the Conchords for Valentine's. I'm making my jealous face right now, can you tell? See it? I'm still sporting it... I might take a picture and post it later.
Sister and I are going to buy our tickets for the 70th anniversary of Gone With the Wind at the Fox Theatre! GWTW is one of my favorite books of all time, and surprisingly enough, one of my favorite movies! Random Trivia: Mamie beats out Scarlett 9 out of 10 times as the most popular name from GWTW for southern babies. Why? Every mother answered the same: Mamie was the (physically, emotionally, and mentally) strongest character in the novel. Most of those surveyed said strongest in any book they've read.
Valentine's Day night Mr. Bear and I partied (played games) to the break of dawn (8:30P). There was one toy I wasn't sure about, but he, in all of his 7 month infinite wisdom, showed me the ropes. Dear Lord I love him more than any thing else in this world!
I arrived back home late on Sunday night and began moving all belongings from my room to the guest room so my windows can be replaced. Sigh.
No poetry today, folks. I still have memory of Mr. Bear's baby smell, and that's enough beauty for me today.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thank you, my darling! The rest of you should follow suite and amaze me! I will say pleasant things about you...
Now for the serious.
I have been bothered by something for the past couple of days, and I really shouldn't be... I follow a blog that is a daily celebration of my friend's family and life. It's day-to-day things, but the way she lives and reacts is so beautiful. I noticed and questioned why she took one of her quotes off her blog. She told me that some people got the wrong impression of how she feels towards her family (the quote was funny and flippant).
There are so many different forms of expression that to be stuck in one is no kind of expression at all! Who says you can't be multi-faceted? My love for my family does not extinguish my humor, and because I've had blessings does not mean I have not had tragedies.
I might have that out of my system now.
Here is the poem I mentioned yesterday:
Glory is found in fields
other than fertility.
I’ll not bend for husband & brother
or suckle Horus at my breast.
My vagina is more
than a passage way for men.
Praise Isis her honor,
it is not mine.
Normally with such a poem, I would preface as to not offend the masses. But now I'm not because I'm feeling childish, and I don't have to preface it because it's mine and not yours and you're not the boss of me...
Most people have an inner-child... mine is definitely an outie. I think there is a necessary release of inhibitions, consequences and coolness- being cool is the antitheses of childhood. When I go around my office building trying to get people choreographed into a Jets/Sharks like rumble, it isn't cool- but it makes me feel good.
I'm exhausted now, so I'm going to sit back and daydream away the hours.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
My life has been a little crazy this week. Last night I finished a school paper on the Dynastic and Sumerian civilizations and their concepts of kingship.
My brain works on a funny little level, free association is only the tip of my mental iceberg- so while coming across different religious themes and aspect- I had the urge to revisit the Bhagavad Gita. I have not read the entire Mahabharata in three or four years, and the Bhagavad Gita always appealed to me. Once the urge hit, I was unable to drift to sleep until I read a few passages. The strength of the story and characters, and of course the allegory always amaze me!
It reminded me of a time many years ago that I had the opportunity to hear the original sanskrit versus sung the way they were intended, and that I had once desperately planned to travel to India. Where did that ferocity go? I haven't thought about India in too many years, but suddenly, here it is again.
I guess some dreams really are old friends.
Speaking of friends... do I have an out there that would provide me lodging during visit to India? I'll bring cupcakes and smiles.
On a separate but equal note, I was turned on to a new photographer. This man, I would let take my picture. Sometimes I daydream that I am a photographer. But alas, I can see the beauty in the world, but I can not capture it!
If you are reading this, and you are a photographer, please send me some pictures or your website link. I love to look at beautiful things...
I wrote a poem last night, and though it is not a happy one, I fell in love with it anyway. It is, of course, in the 8th volume of my journal, but I'll post it tomorrow and maybe someone out there that will find it as therapeutic as I do, or at least see the strength in my fragile subject.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I have to admit I am a romance novel junkie. They are such easy reads, slide into the dream of two characters who, with such little conflict it's almost comical, end up with each other. My favorite part about these types of books is that the two people know they are supposed to be with each other. There is never a male protagonist who thinks, yeah- she's just like the other ones, but I'm getting old so I'll settle. My life is as far from a romance novel as possible. So the one exception to my rule of reading is romance novels.
I love a good mystery/thriller/suspense novel as well- unfortunately, I can't read it for pleasure. I generally guess who it is before the 6th chapter. Good detective skills? No. A writer can -9 out of 10 times- guess where another writer is going. I've only been stumped once.
A couple of days ago I started reading a suspense novel called Trickster by a Scottish writer. The book's main focus is Canadian-Indian heritage. For the first time in ages I read a book for the story. The night I finished it, I just sat down and cried.
Like most Americans, I am a mixed breed of several different countries. The most prominent is the Italian side of me- my grandmother is full blooded and I spent most of my childhood with her. But she always noted that where now its "cool" to have different ancestral blood, it wasn't always the case. My grandmother made it a point to tell us about the trials most immigrants faced in the "New Country" because she married a German/Irish/Choctaw. My father was an American mix- he had it all. The most prominent of his heritage was Chickamogee Cherokee.
Maybe I had such a strong reaction to this book and the cruel treatment of the Canadian Indians because it is another part of who my family is and ,by short extension, who I am.
So I read this book that thankfully ended well and I realized that I had just "pleasure read" my way to tears. It woke in me all these memories of my childhood and ancestral past that have since been clouded by my joy of over priced handbags and other accessories.
Therapy comes in many forms. Mine is, without a doubt, poetry. So after giving myself a night of sorrow, I started writing.
I follow the path of so many before me
down to the river, past the stump of
No chants now- only folded hands. Tears
make trails down my face as they fall
toward the ground to create a map of my
grandfather's land. Years ago he told tales
of his father and his father's father. My
grandfather was Buffalo King. He would say
Listen to the wind. It tells stories of days before
we were born to cherish and pass down.