Today I had an appointment with troublesome, tattletaler T. We had an appointment to talk about a class he wanted me to teach. Serious stuff. Right on time he sauntered over to my desk and started in:
“How’s the four-eyed, ferret-faced, fat fukc you call friend?”
I was shocked but…when an innocent smile flashed across his face, instantly I knew he was out for blood. I barely know him, but he’s on my side. Truthfully, there are no sides. I could care less, however, where I stand is duly noted. He doesn’t forget. Neither do I. Neither will I.
“Fun-ny,” I replied “Great use of alliteration, by the way. You should teach English instead of Science. Now, about that class you want me to teach…”
He laughed, “not giving in to the battle, huh?”
Battle. I thought I should invite him to the next show. For a viscious second I wanted him to point out the FEFFFFF so there wouldn’t be any doubts. But, as soon as the invitation was on the tip of my tongue and practically on my lips I swallowed it.
Not only do I already have a Knight in shining armor, I’m learning to pick my battles and I really don’t need to trouble me.
That’s the thing about saying things. You may mean them at the time. You may not. You may want to say them only to impress someone else. You never know who is lurking, reading between the lines, eavesdropping on you, or you, or you. Yesterday, I was surprised by an author who read my “review” and decided to comment back. I’m honored, flattered, stunned. But, here’s the thing. Being called out made me reread my own words to make sure I wasn’t being a FEFFFFF.
When does someone go from being All There to Losing It? What are the signs? Is there anything to be done? Alone on Saturday night I watched a biography on Marilyn Monroe. In the beginning all I felt was sadness for her, the actress. It was awful that every role she took typecast her as the dumb blond. She wanted to break out of stupid; she wanted to be taken seriously. The figures on her figure kept her just the bombshell actress. Then I felt sadness for her, the person. No one noticed her downward spiral as something cerebral; they all saw it as something celebrity. Acting up. Acting out. When she died it was an apparent “accidental” suicide. Accidental or intentional, when is suicide something to shrug off? Couldn’t anyone help her? Didn’t anyone see the signs?
We never really know what people think of us until there’s a fly on the wall. A coworker of mine was staying in town for the holidays. Super nerved up because his wife’s family had never met his family, he was looking for distractions, “something different”, something to do that would ease the distress. Think Country family meets City family. He was most worried about Urban brother-in-law. I suggested dinner and a show. Then, for the first time in a while, suggested a band. “They are playing right down the street from you guys. I don’t know if you would care for the music, but your wife would…maybe the taste runs in the family,” is what I said.
Then it came time to chose contacts. I wear glasses in the bedroom and when I’m sick (for those of you keeping track). “You want to be noticed” Doc intones, matter-of-factually. I do? He’s nearing 70. What does he know? It’s plastic on my eyeball. I’ve always worn colors to cover what I considered freakish not to be stylish. I’ve always wanted my eyes to blend in, not stand out. Yet, here he is,showcasing Elizabeth Taylor violet. Umm…errr…that’s not what I had in mind. Not really. Hide freak (not Show off freak) is my motto.
New year resolutions. Who makes them? For the longest time I saved my (im)possible good intentions for my Birth Day. To me, that was my new year, my personal day to kick my own ass. I didn’t like January 1st promises. Just the thought of making resolutions on that particular day always seemed to spell failure, as if they could be jinxed from the very start. And they all sounded the same: exercising, flossing, drinking more water, drinking less beer, whatever. It always sounded so rote, so ridiculous. Butbutbut…there is something about wiping the slate clean, starting over. I like the idea of going into that confessional of promises and being able to come out brand new. To begin again.
In this blog saturated world it is incredibly easy to develop a complex, whether you are a reader or a writer. With so many on-line blatherings to read from I know I find myself asking not only, “why do you read me?” but, “how did you find me in the first place?” Throw in statistical capabilities and that only adds fuel to the inquisitive yet insecure fire. Like slugs to beer, surely this is our downfall and doom. It’s like we are contestants in a popularity contest – it all comes down to the numbers. It’s a source of sheer fascination when you think, no, you absolutely 
This year I sent out gifts and cards like never, ever before. I sent to people not on my list. I have no idea why. I guess it’s a simple as I saw something, it made me think of you, so I sent it your way. I would wonder how these OutOfTheBlue presents would be received. Would they even be received? I couldn’t help but wonder. I couldn’t help but care. I had no idea. Like messages in bottles I sent out my goodwill not knowing how anything would end up. I’m insecure so of course I wondered. Like a shipwrecked sailor I wanted my bottles to not only arrive somewhere safely, but I wanted their messages to be taken seriously because I was serious…Here’s what I know now:
Last night J & I brought saucy kielbasa and Riley’s famous Muddy Buddy’s to R & C’s non-holiday party. You can’t get any simpler than those two dishes to literally throw together. He chopped, I poured. We took turns stirring. Simple as that. For both dishes. We make a good team.
I am positively giddy with life right now. I am this close to finishing my 
Is there anybody out there? ‘Cause I know three someones who need dates…and I just met someone else who is perpetually lonely. So, make that four someones looking for somebody. How does this happen? What’s wrong with them that causes them to be decidedly single when they have decided they don’t want to be? Because that’s what they have also decided – something must be wrong with them. To be in your 30’s and single with no marriage or even a partner to speak of in sight. They all want to know, “how did you meet your spouse? How’d you get to be so lucky?” (as if the answer wasn’t so obvious with my brains, beauty and bank account). They all want pearls of wisdom when all I have to give them are rocks of nothing. Solid chunks of I-Have-No-Freakin’-Clue. All those philosophies about meeting people are true: you have to love yourself before someone else can love you…stop looking and love will find you…blah blah blah. Could it be as simple as Right Time/Right Place? More like, Right Time/Right Place/Right Face & Patience. Seriously. I wasn’t wanting, neither was he. We were magnets pushing each other away until one of us got turned around.
~*LunaSea*~ 