Category: Good

Wasted on the Way

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Somewhere along the way I decided I wasn’t going to play the game anymore. Except, somewhere along the way I forgot to tell you. Consider this the open letter of I’m telling you now. I’m wasted enough to stop waiting.

I’m through with the games. We have been lying to each other for a while now. We play ping pong with promises. Bounce one to me and I’ll volley one back. But, really, they’re all lies. I have no intention of calling you. I have no intention of helping you out. The game is at the give up point and I’ve given all that I can. Now I’m just pretending. Now I’m just acting stupid because I can’t tell you how I really feel. Until now. I went from being your biggest fan favorite to feeling like the biggest fallout failure.

You used me to get somewhere else. That’s okay as long as you got where you needed to go. That’s only because I got something out of it, too. But now I’m done. There were too many other people involved and I can’t justify dragging them into this any longer. If there’s any dragging to be done it’ll be done by me – dragging my tail between my legs and admitting I was stupidstupidstupid.

Kisa has heard the rant. Time has heard the rant. I think everyone has heard the rant. The rant has turned me into a raving lunatic. Pass me the bottle. I want to poison myself enough to puke out everything vile, everything I thought I believed in. I need to get wasted to make you go away.

What You Owe Me

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What you owe me is an apology. An apology for being so fukcing insensitive. An apology for thinking we are close enough for that elbow-in-the-ribs-just kidding-hardy-har-har sh!t. Didn’t you notice the silence that followed? The slow, drawn out, dripping with barely contained sarcasm when he replied, “riiiighhht….” Was the tension thick enough or did you move right through it oblivious (as usual)?
This is a public rant so filled with anger you might want to turn your heads. Someone touch a nerve you ask? Not hardly. This wound is so raw, so tired of people poking at it, never giving it time to heal that it has bled dry. Nothing left to give. It gets tiring, always making excuses, pretending to be brazen and beyond it all. Well, not anymore.
DINK. Dual Income No Kids. Also stands for Didn’t I Not Know? Here’s what you don’t know. I’ll break it down for you:
Dual Income – yes because neither one of us is in it for the money we need both incomes to live the life we want. Neither of us has the luxury of being a stay at home anythings. Dual income because we love the work we do. Wouldn’t change a thing even though it means working for nuts and peanuts.

No Kids – Here’s where I gnash teeth and spit nails because you have no clue what you are talking about. Did you ever consider this: Clinically infertile. Barren. Irrevocable damaged goods. WhatE-v-e-r you want to call it. No natural born killers kids. No. Maybe there was a kid and now he’s gone and nothing can replace him? One shot deal. Adoption is a laughable gesture. Who in their right mind wants to hand over a kid to someone who has lost a mind; been to the funny farm? Has a shrink on speed dial? Has tried to commit suicide more than once? Has mental moments on an almost daily basis? Give me a fukcing break.
There comes a time when you know something just wasn’t meant to be. Seriously. You don’t pine away. You don’t cry over spilt sperm. You pick your azz up and carry on. Last but not least, you don’t take too kindly to the nickname dink.
So, back to what you owe me. Dink.

Lost Without It

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Me without my right hand ring is like not having a right hand at all. Friday night seemed normal enough. Nothing out of the ordinary. Exchanged texts with a friend and laughed about his upcoming gigs. Worked out. Took a cold bath but washed my hair standing over the tub, bent under the faucet. Later, I read a chapter in bed, a cool sheet draped over my knees. Coming into the home stretch of a really good book I got sleepy. When kisa came to bed I curled around his hip, grateful for the sleep that was coming fast & easy.

I couldn’t tell you what made me notice; what made me panic, but all of a sudden I felt my thumb ring was gone. For nearly 7 years this silver band with cod worn smooth swimming clockwise has not left my right hand. It’s my symbolic home away from home and suddenly it was missing. A strip of pale white skin marked where the ring should have been. Wide awake with panic I jumped out of bed. Kisa frantically asking “what? What? What’s wrong?” but I couldn’t answer him. It all seemed too stupid. This piece of metal was an extension of my, myself & moi. How could I explain that without it I was completely lost? Even now I don’t expect anyone to understand this whatsoever.

Like a madwoman I retraced my steps. Back to where I lifted. Did I fling it off mid tricep kickback? Wouldn’t I feel something like that? Back to where I undressed for the bath…back to the…bath. Oh no. With dread I remembered standing over the drain, my soapy hands scrubbing my scalp, the force of water when I rinsed (Why did we have to have such great, rushing water pressure?!), the open drain….I pictured the ring slipping off oh so easily and sliding down the drain to be lost forever. It was the only logical explanation. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. That had to be it. Kisa lured me back to bed and with the sulk of a child I went.

By 4:30am I was awake again and crawling around the living room on my hands and knees searching under the couch and in the folds of the fabric. I pictured calling my sister and asking her for the phone number to the shop where I got the ring 7 years earlier. I was getting desperate enough to have another one shipped to me although in my heart of hearts I knew it wouldn’t be the same. Not finding anything downstairs I was drawn back to the bath. Hypnotized by the thought of the ring going down the drain I tested my theory…with my wedding ring. My $1,000+ wedding ring. Holding it tightly I tried to push it down the drain and discovered…it wouldn’t fit. There was hope my ring of fishes didn’t fit either. 

In the end it was tangled in a tank top I had taken off earlier. Somehow it had lodged itself in the built-in bra and didn’t come loose even after I shook the shirt. I think Kisa was relieved I was happy again. I was happy I found my sanity.

Could Have Stayed

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Week Two of the FarmI could have stayed at the farm all day. Today, I introduced myself to Liz. She’s always eating something from a bowl when I come in (well, she’s two for two so far)…I guess if I lived on a honest-to-goodness working CSA farm, I too, would be munching on something several times a day! I let her know we wanted to donate next week’s share to the homeless shelter.

The week was an interesting mix: beets, turnips, green onions, green garlic, summer squash, kolrabi (I need to check the spelling on that one), and there was even broccoli! For greens we were allowed one head of romaine, one bag of a mix of arugula, mustard greens, kale, etc; one huge bag of spinach…I bring my own recycle bags and by the time I went through “my” share they were filled to the gills.

The u-pick selection was awesome: flowers (I didn’t), herbs (got a little oregano and thyme), and and and strawberries! A huge quart! I washed and froze half of them. Tonight I’ll surprise Kisa with fresh strawberries on his icecream. Yummy!

The sun felt nice on my shoulders. Sky blue overhead. I spotted a lone cloud in the shape of a heart. Kids ran in and out of the rows of peas (not ready yet), screetching. Mothers looked under leaves for strawberries while fathers whistled for loose dogs. Sitting in the bed of thyme I inhaled an Italian kitchen and a future stew. Recipes ran through my head.  I could have stayed all day.

Way Nicer Everything

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When we checked into the Long Beach motel the first thing I noticed were the signs everywhere alerting us to the fact that the management doesn’t care about our belongings. “Not responsible for lost or stolen personal items” was posted in at least three different places in our room. It made me think the maids had sticky fingers, a habit of “accidentally” walking away with things. This was the hotel “management’s” way of shrugging it off. The attitude didn’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling about being a guest. Neither did their attitude about their treadmill, but that’s another blog. It’s ironic that this is where we left behind our camera charger & cell phone charger. Like they said (more than once): not responsible!

Then, there was something about the Mission Valley hotel in San Diego that rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was the broken phone when we first arrived. Maybe it was the lack of elbow room. But, but, but I’m betting it was the rude sign we encountered in the bathroom. I don’t know why I couldn’t see this as humorous. Instead of getting a chuckle out of it I felt accosted, confronted, accused of something I wouldn’t even think of doing. Sarcasm was in the ink of that sign.

Rude

When we finally got to Ontario we discovered way nicer everything. Larger pool with lax hours of operations (when we asked, the desk manager said it closed “around 10pm..ish”). Free breakfast. Nice huge room with flat screen tv. Way bigger bathroom. More luxurious toiletries. Best of all. No rude signs. Nothing warning us the maids steal. Nothing asking us not to, either.

Aquarium on the Hill

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In awe

I like the tucked away adventures. Everyone knows the Bronx Zoo, Sea World, Disney, Grand Canyon… Those are the things people expect you to visit while you are visiting. Locals and I’veBeenTheres will add their two cents, “Oh! Ya gotta go see blahblahblah.” I perk up whenever I hear the word “aquarium.” Doesn’t take much to get me there. Doesn’t matter how big (or small) it is, I’m there. While visiting a friend in D.C. I heard of an aquarium in a basement. We went.
Such was the case in Long Beach and La Jolla. My aunt urged us to see Birch Aquarium & swore we wouldn’t be disappointed. We weren’t.

I admit we arrived a little late. 90 minutes before closing. I worried that wouldn’t be enough time & promised myself I wouldn’t spend too much time in from of the leafies…if they had them. A little background: Birch Aquarium has been around since 1905 and have chosen the butterfly fish as its endearing mascot. One side of the aquarium is dedicated to ever changing, ever thought provoking educational exhibits. When we went the showcase was how species hide (Can you spot the…?) and the tragic effects of global warming on coral reefs. Really devastating to see. The other half of the aquarium is dedicated to permanent displays like the Tide Pool Plaza, an area they allows the young (and young at heart, like me) to touch creatures. It was closed by the time we got there. Most spectacular (of course) is the great hall of fishes with the grand finale being a 70,000 gallon tank complete with kelp forest. It truly is beautiful.

One of the oddest displays was a tank with two eels, a pacific lobster and some kind of crab. I couldn’t tell the species of crab because it was dead. Dead! The eels were minding their own business, looking grim while the lobster…munched on the crab. It was in part fascinating because I had forgotten how complex nature could be, how violent – survival of the fittest and all that. But, here’s the other thing I couldn’t get out of my head: the display was eating the display! Woops. We stood and stared. Mesmerized by the lobster’s untiring efforts to break open the armor of the crab carcass.

Finally, it was closing time and Kisa and I reluctantly moved towards the exits. I bought a shirt to remember the experience. As we were getting in our car a woman stopped us, “Is this the aquarium?” she leaned out of her minivan to ask. “yes, but they are closing” I replied, “come back tomorrow because it’s worth every second.”

Tallest SeahorseIMG_2449IMG_2410

May We Be Excused

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Sometimes, and it doesn’t matter how old you are, you feel like a kid at the adults’ table. At least, that’s what it felt like to me when Kisa and I finally escaped to explore San Diego by ourselves. We were leaving that afternoon to visit La Jolla, Ontario & Upland but wanted to get in a little time in SD before we said goodbye. As the song goes, who knows when we would pass this way again?

My aunt and uncle had raved about the harbor tour they had taken the day before (“best thing we ever did” they vowed) and suddenly it was all I wanted to do, too. I had boat envy. I wanted to be on the water in the worst way. So, we picked a tour and went. We opted for the deluxe version – two hours, both sides of the harbor. It turned out to be a sparkling fantabulous day – like the day before and the day before and the day before. Thanks to Tom, we reached the marina in plenty of time to park, buy tickets, use the restrooms and find front row seats in the bow. It felt like running away.

For two hours we toured San Diego’s harbor, north and south. At times I could barely hear the guide over the wind in my hair and fellow passengers around me. I didn’t mind missing out on the spiel. To me, it started to drone anyway. Instead I enjoyed the military ships, the brown pelicans, hefty sea lions, fellow boaters speeding by, splashing green water, white foam spray and dazzling sunshine.

Maybe You Should Drive

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The name of a Barenaked Ladies album (my favorite as a matter of fact)…or what Kisa heard the night of the wedding. Both, actually.

Kisa had been king driver since day one. He got us from Vegas to Long Beach; from Long Beach to San Diego; from our hotel to anywhere we wanted to go. All without complaint. All without a single utterance of “maybe you should drive.” He drew the line at mall chauffeuring, though. He got us there but refused to sit in a parking lot. It was our last full day in Diego, after all. He wasn’t about to wander a mall no different from the ones we have at home. “Call me when you need a pick-up” he cheerfully offered as we piled out of the car. “Okay.” I was equally as cheerful even though I knew my last day in Diego was going to be spent shopping (I’ve come to the conclusion if you’ve seen one Michaels, you’ve seen them all).

Later that evening Kisa confided to me that he’d had enough of driving. He was looking forward to cutting back on chaffeuring and cutting loose at the wedding. How many times had the groom told him he had a special beer for him? I wasn’t confident it would work out. In a family of drinkers sober drivers are really hard to come by.
Somehow we managed to hitch a ride with an aunt. No driving for kisa. So far so good. Maybe he would get to enjoy himself after all. I know what you are thinking. What about you? Couldn’t you drive? For those of you who don’t know me I don’t drink a drop and get behind the wheel of a car. Ever. Not one sip. Kisa is too kind to deny me a glass of wine at my cousin’s wedding. Having me escort was out of the question.

So, back to the party. The reception was raging. People dancing. People laughing. The music was rocking. We were having a great time. Kisa was on his third or fourth beer of the night. A drop compared to what others can put away. There we were, staring at the black harbor, enjoying the gentle rocking of yachts in the marina. A full glass of beer in Kisa’s hand. We had come out for a breath of fresh air. All of a sudden he feels a tap on his shoulder…”Say,” says a voice, “are you driving us back? Hint, hint.” I could feel Kisa’s defeat as he exclaimed “yeah, sure” and dumped out his full beer. I felt awful (as I was working on wine #2). As word spread “Drink up! J’s driving us home!” people began to approach Kisa to confirm. Each time he responded his speech became more slurred and giggly. He was just messing with them, but it was funny to see their eyes grow wide. You could almost hear their brains working, “is he really okay to drive?”

Of course he was. Kisa always drives.

Polar Bear Antics

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Bucket head

There are times when I visit a zoo, aquarium, wild life park, or some other place where wild animals are caged and occasionally question whether or not the animals are truly happy. If they could converse would they tell me they are content? I can’t think about it too much because it might lead to me doing something rash like trying to unlock gates or smuggle animals out. I don’t know what I would do with a wild boar or black bear, but I would want them free. I know that most places that keep otherwise untamed animals on display are doing it for more than revenue. I realize they are promoting advocacy, encouraging education, even preserving some near extinct species. [Is it possible that the Polar Bear is headed that way? It’s more than possible and impossibly sad to think about.] I learned of more than one animal that no longer existed in the wild, yet was alive and well in captivity. It’s a chance for us ho-hum humans to get up close to spectacular creatures without the Hemingway safari or silly hats.

If anyone were to ask me what my favorite part of the San Diego zoo was I would have to say, without a shadow of a doubt, the polar bear. The zoo boasts of three polar bears but we only saw one. I’m convinced we saw Tatqiq. From the moment we stood in front of her giant tank I knew she was happy. She had plenty of space to swim; plenty of toys to play with (my favorite part was when she put the bucket on her head); plenty of land to roam; even salmon to munch on. I didn’t worry about cramped quarters or abuse. She seemed to even have a smile on her face. We watched her play until she ambled on shore, had a bite to eat and then flopped to the ground for a nap. I could almost hear her snore.

So. Instead of trying to smuggle animals out, in the case of the polar bear, maybe I should be trying to smuggle them in!

Coming at ya

Tom Took Me There

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Tom Took Me There or Which Way to the Zoo?

Balboa Park

Our TomTom is great. Plug in an address and turn by turn, mile by mile, Tom will get you where you want to go. It’s a combination of listening to what he says, watching his display screen and computing what comes up ahead. The line I heard over and over while in California was “ahead keep left; then stay on the left lane.” We heard that a lot. Basically, it was Tom reminding us to stay on 5 every time a new highway was introduced. Or something like that.
We used Tom everywhere we went and only once did he steer us wrong…errr…but really he was right. We wanted the San Diego zoo. We asked Tom for directions to the zoo. Simple enough. He gave us options for “zoo management offices” and something called a wild animal park. Well, in the zoo pamphlet I had picked up from the hotel it mentioned this wild animal park. Thinking it was a section of the zoo (like the wild safari is a part of Six Flags) I told Kisa “pick that one.” We certainly didn’t want to visit the management offices (unless it was run by a bunch of cute monkeys). Tom calculated the miles as my family piled into the car (Kisa was chauffeur for 90% of all outings, I should add. More on that later…). Soon we were off, passing wineries, ostrich farms, palm tree nurseries, fruit orchards, lots of interesting things. 30 minutes later Tom announced, “you have reached your destination” as we paid for parking.
Once we started walking around we realized we weren’t at the right place. The wild animal park was part of the zoo but in a completely different location. Something wasn’t right. Sooo…Back in the car we went; traveled the 30 minutes back to where we started and eventually, finally, found the right zoo. Monkeys and all.

 
Stalker

Surfing the Words of Others

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I wanted to title this blog, “write something damn you!” But, I decided that was a little harsh…You see, I have friends who blog. WordPress people. When I added them to my blogsurfer I thought, “cool. a new and different way to keep in touch. awesome.” Not so awesome. Only a few people actually write with regularity. I get bored. So, I started the hunt for new and interesting people. That in itself has a curse attached. I found Frogshake. Added the blog to my “list.” Soon after the words stopped coming. Same with someone else. And someone else. Huh. Started (again!) searching for other words; other people with interesting things to say. Added them to the surf. The words rolled to a stop. Flat calm seas. Again. What, exactly, is going on? Am I cursing the blogging universe by wanting to read them on a regular basis?  

I like words. I like them even better when they are strung together in thought-provoking, insightful, even funny sentences. Best is when they are from people I adore. John Mayer is good with words. I’d read him more often if he gave up the silly singing career and devoted his time to putting pen to paper…like that’s gonna happen! That’s not to say I don’t enjoy his music or his lyrics…he’s just good with the words no matter how he gets them out.

So. Here’s a request. Tell me your favorite blogs. Do you have one I haven’t read? Where do you go for words? I know someone who stalks a weasel. But, what else is there? Email me. call me. text me. comment me. write on my wall. whatever. You will be doing me a huge favor. I won’t add them to the surf or the roll, though. I wouldn’t want to jinx anything!

ps~ a word on my links, speaking of blogs… You may have noticed a change in favorites. Yes, this was deliberate.
Sometimes, you outgrow a life. Sometimes you just grow up. I think I did a little of both.

Lost One of the Nine

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On the way from Long Beach, California to San Diego I gave up one of my nine lives. I was going to call this blog I Hate Penske Trucks but decided against slamming an innocent company when really, it’s their reckless drivers I should be blaming.
We were somewhere between here and there and traffic was heavy. Kisa was driving (of course). Tom was his copilot and I served as a hood ornament for all my uselessness. There we were, in the farthest left lane (in other words, what should have been the fastest), when all of a sudden we came upon a Penske truck. Traveling in our lane. Hazards on. Going at least 15 mph slower than everyone else. For awhile Kisa hung out behind Penske, careful not to tailgate. But, no matter how hard he tried he continuously crept close to Penske. Too close for me. Until finally I, the backseat driver that I am, blurted out, “go around him!” Moving over one lane didn’t offer us much comfort. To the right of us, behind us and directly in front were three large 18-wheelers all chugging along at a comfortable 80mph. We felt like a HHR sandwich. Penske (still flashing hazards) sped up and continued to hang to the left of us. We were surrounded by size on all sides. And going 80 miles an hour.
That’s when it happened. Without warning Penske started to drift into our lane. We couldn’t speed up, slow down or move over to accommodate this moving truck that seemed determined to move into our lane. Kisa leaned on the horn. I yelled. Penske swerved, sped up and somehow got in front of us, then on the other side of us. The driver waving frantically “sorry, sorry!” Sorry my azz. You just made me give up a life!
It’s not Penske’s fault but I will always growl when I see one of their trucks!

For Smiley with thanks!

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When it comes to friendship age has no consequence. Color has no connection. Gender shouldn’t be a guiding factor. These are the rules I try to live by when it comes to friends. Simple as that.

Last Friday such a friend came to East Greenbush, N.Y. with me. It was a reckless adventure. No real address. Didn’t know what to expect. No real plan other than to hear great music. We had 90 minutes there and back to talktalktalk and believe me, we did. When we got to the restaurant it looked as though we had found Funky town. Weird mix of bikers, bouncy houses and a bizarre cover band. Definitely not what I bargained for. With a shrug we went inside the restaurant to eat. Clean eating be damned, I was sick of salads and ordered a bad burger and lemonade – unheard of for me. Sometime later I realized we hadn’t seen or heard the music we came for. Confused I sent a text to a friend. A knowledgeable, computer-ready, cool friend who looked up where we were supposed to be…right where we were sitting. How bizarre. Thanks, Bri. Even though you confirmed our confused state, you rock.

In the end we found our music and figured it all out. It was an adventure to remember. We met cool people, heard great music – the music we came for, saw five towns worth of fireworks, and decided “fireworks are a lot like parades…a lot of anticipation with little payoff.” Despite all that, I was glad she was with me for the adventure. Doing this trip alone would have tapped my ability to unhinge my security of self. So, thanks.

ps~ S~ this is the pic that made me think of you…how could I NOT take a pic?!

Kobe Pizza

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We won

It’s hard to be a Laker fan around my husband. Especially during the finals. Especially when it’s the do or die game for Kobe and the gang. Unfortunately for Jason’s aunt she’s not only a Laker fan, she had to watch the Celtics demolish the Lakers…in front of Kisa. She was a good sport, though. She didn’t have to be – it was her house. She could have kicked us out. Instead, she donned her Red Sox gear and yelled at the tv almost as loud as her nephew. Whenever the Celtics scored she yelled, “Go Red Sox!” cracking everyone up. But, that didn’t last long. As soon as it was obvious the Lakers were giving up the fight she was cursing Kobe instead. We had pizza and alcohol and the Lakers for dinner. I can’t say much for the Lakers, but when it comes to food Californians are different. Californians are cool about their cuisine. Their pizza comes on whole wheat crust with a fresh, lovely green, healthy salad on the side. Yummy.

The Celtics had the Lakers for dinner, but I had something better. I will miss California pizza!

Seaweed Queen

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 SeaWeedQueen

I have always been a seaweed queen. When I was a child I would crouch down over tidal pools, push the algae aside and watch for minnows. I was never afraid of the slime green vegetation. When the tide moved in it was fun to watch the long, dark, bumpy strands of seaweed sway along the shore. To me, it was a forest of brown dancing under the waves. Mermaids hair as they hid among the rocks just out of reach. On luckier days after hurricanes giant strings of leafy kelp would wash up onto the beach and suddenly my friends and I had skirts from the sea. Wet and slimy, wrapped around our bodies and staining our clothes. We were queens of the ocean come ashore to live in landlocked exile. My imagination took me to an underwater world that continues to fascinate me to this day.
When I grew older (and bolder) I learned seaweed was actually edible and began drying it as a kind of vegetarian beef jerky. Adding it to my diet of raw periwinkles and mussels, crab apples, sour clover, and blackberries I ate like royalty foraging all day long.

I’ve since stopped watching for mermaids. I no longer wear kelp for fashion. I’ve lost the taste for the salty sea. But, I will always, always be a seaweed queen.