This is so hard.
I miss him.
I mean, knew I would but I didn't think it would be like this.
But it is.
It makes me feel like a fucking girl, damn it!
Damn you, Abernethy!
Damn you and your blue eyes!
And your pretty eye lashes!
And that balding head of yours that I've become so terribly fond of!
Fucker!
Le sigh.
I've only missed two other people like this in my life.
12 weeks to go.
Jesus Christ on a rubber crutch! I'll probably be making hair dolls of him by then.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
How did I get to this place again? This state of fear? This fear of loss? Here's goood ol' Desire bringing Despair in tow behind her once again to dance all over my heart.
Once upon a time I believed in the goodness of people. I believed that people were, for the most part, honest and considerate. I labeled myself as "good", someone who would never hurt another and who would never be dishonest. I believed in true love. I believed that things were "meant to be". I was optimistic and the world was beautiful and full of opportunity.
Then human nature reared it's ugly head and I became aware of the fallible nature of humanity. I became deceitful and hurtful to someone and he became deceitful and hurtful to me. We went round and round like this for a number of years. Finally, at the end, we were both left tired and damaged. I carried away with me an underlying mistrust of humankind. A lack of faith in the individual's ability to be honest and faithful. My faith, my hope, and my optimism were poisoned. Tainted with cynicism, mistrust, and fear. It hurt so much and I was so empty.
I never wanted to risk hurting like that again. So up until this past December I'd been dating or "seeing" people with whom I knew that I would never have a long term, stable relationship. Men that weren't available to that type of committment. That way, I couldn't hurt them and they couldn't hurt me.
But in December, I met Colin. I talked to him via email and AOL for a couple a' weeks before we met for dinner. And I stressed over and over that I was done "dating" and that I was just looking for a friend. At dinner that night, as we were conversing and I was looking across the table into his beautiful blue eyes, I felt things clicking. And later, after dinner, when he opened and closed my car door for me, it was there again. But I panicked. I wasn't ready for the click. I feared too much. And so I latched onto the fact that he is a bit shorter than I as an excuse for not dating him.
We remained friends, seeing each other about once a week. But we became friends who, one night after drinks, had a sexual encounter. And then friends who occassionally cuddled. On Valentine's Day, we hung out watching movies, since neither one of us had a Special Someone. It was late when the movies were done and so I crashed at his place. I stressed that I didn't want to have sex. That I knew that sex, in the past, had been my opiate...a way of feeling better about myself and things for a moment. I refused to use him and to allow myself to continue this behavior. And he honored my request, never pressuring me, always respecting me. He just asked to hold me. And so we slept that night side by side in his bed, arms around each other, feeling safe and cared for.
The next morning he told me I was beautiful and that he loved waking up next to me. The sincerity in his eyes and in his voice made me pause in wonder. He then asked me to go to brunch with him...to spend the afternoon with him. I said I couldn't possibly because I needed to brush my teeth and shower and needed to go home to do that. He made me stay in bed and he went down the street to Family Dollar and bought me a toothbrush, my own towel, and shampoo. And it hit me, "Wow. This guy really likes me. He's sincere. He's a good man. He's honest. He's hardworking. He appears to care for me. Why am I not dating him?"
I was slowly chewing on this idea throughout the week and that Friday his ex-girlfriend asked him if she could crash at his place on her way to New York. They had remained friends, so of course, he said yes and then called me to let me know. I told him, "Why are you telling me? It's your house!" He invited me over to meet her and so I went. Long story short, I found myself extremely jealous and very confused. "Why am I feeling so jealous? It's my friend, Colin. My friend, nothing more." Yeah, well...there was something more.
And so it's May and I've been officially boyfriend/girlfriend with Colin since February 19th. And it's been wonderful. I've never been looked after and taken care of the way he cares for me. It's amazing. He's amazing.
If you remember, I began this post with questions of how I came to a place of fear once more. A couple of years after my painful breakup and here I am in a new relationship with a very considerate, caring, compassionate, responsible, loving, passionate, and beautiful soul. Shouldn't everything be all right with the world? Shouldn't I have complete and unfettered trust and faith in this new person who obviously loves me very much? Shouldn't nymphs, faeries, satyrs, and woodland creatures be running around throwing flower petals at us as we dance in the forest holding hands? One would think so if one had been raised on Disney cartoons and feel-good 80's movies. :)
Well, Colin has just accepted a new job as executive sous chef for a restaurant outside of DC. He's been sent to Cincinnati to train for three months. Yup. That's right. He'll be living there for three months. And I am afraid. I'm afraid of losing him. Because I love him very, very much.
Tonight he went out after work with his co-workers for a drink. I was worried because he hadn't called me or text messaged me as he normally does at all all day long. After about 11PM, horrible thoughts started pouring through my head. That he was hurt or sick. And then that he was out getting drunk and screwing some girl. That he would meet someone and forget about me.
The thing is that Colin has never done anything to mislead or deceive me. He's been nothing but beautifully direct and sincere the entire course of our friendship and romantic relationship.
The unsightly reality is this: I have lost my faith in the inherent goodness of people. I mistrust the motives of everyone. And the deceitful, treacherous, and hurtful things I endured and the ones I inflicted are currently tainting and limiting my trust for Colin.
And I'm furious! Why should he have to pay for a crime I committed? It's so hurtful for him for me to doubt him! Why should I have to continue to pay for crimes committed long ago?
I need to center...refocus. I need to remember that one day, inevitably, he will no longer be in my life. Either the relationship will go sour due to something he does or something I do, or we'll stay together until one of us dies. Either way one day we'll part. Everything is temporary. Impermanent. Fleeting. I need to remember to trust him until he gives me reason to do so no longer. I need to remember that pain is inevitable. Loss is inevitable. And nothing I do, no preparation I make, and no amount of fear harbored in my heart will prevent me from experiencing the pain of loss.
Once upon a time I believed in the goodness of people. I believed that people were, for the most part, honest and considerate. I labeled myself as "good", someone who would never hurt another and who would never be dishonest. I believed in true love. I believed that things were "meant to be". I was optimistic and the world was beautiful and full of opportunity.
Then human nature reared it's ugly head and I became aware of the fallible nature of humanity. I became deceitful and hurtful to someone and he became deceitful and hurtful to me. We went round and round like this for a number of years. Finally, at the end, we were both left tired and damaged. I carried away with me an underlying mistrust of humankind. A lack of faith in the individual's ability to be honest and faithful. My faith, my hope, and my optimism were poisoned. Tainted with cynicism, mistrust, and fear. It hurt so much and I was so empty.
I never wanted to risk hurting like that again. So up until this past December I'd been dating or "seeing" people with whom I knew that I would never have a long term, stable relationship. Men that weren't available to that type of committment. That way, I couldn't hurt them and they couldn't hurt me.
But in December, I met Colin. I talked to him via email and AOL for a couple a' weeks before we met for dinner. And I stressed over and over that I was done "dating" and that I was just looking for a friend. At dinner that night, as we were conversing and I was looking across the table into his beautiful blue eyes, I felt things clicking. And later, after dinner, when he opened and closed my car door for me, it was there again. But I panicked. I wasn't ready for the click. I feared too much. And so I latched onto the fact that he is a bit shorter than I as an excuse for not dating him.
We remained friends, seeing each other about once a week. But we became friends who, one night after drinks, had a sexual encounter. And then friends who occassionally cuddled. On Valentine's Day, we hung out watching movies, since neither one of us had a Special Someone. It was late when the movies were done and so I crashed at his place. I stressed that I didn't want to have sex. That I knew that sex, in the past, had been my opiate...a way of feeling better about myself and things for a moment. I refused to use him and to allow myself to continue this behavior. And he honored my request, never pressuring me, always respecting me. He just asked to hold me. And so we slept that night side by side in his bed, arms around each other, feeling safe and cared for.
The next morning he told me I was beautiful and that he loved waking up next to me. The sincerity in his eyes and in his voice made me pause in wonder. He then asked me to go to brunch with him...to spend the afternoon with him. I said I couldn't possibly because I needed to brush my teeth and shower and needed to go home to do that. He made me stay in bed and he went down the street to Family Dollar and bought me a toothbrush, my own towel, and shampoo. And it hit me, "Wow. This guy really likes me. He's sincere. He's a good man. He's honest. He's hardworking. He appears to care for me. Why am I not dating him?"
I was slowly chewing on this idea throughout the week and that Friday his ex-girlfriend asked him if she could crash at his place on her way to New York. They had remained friends, so of course, he said yes and then called me to let me know. I told him, "Why are you telling me? It's your house!" He invited me over to meet her and so I went. Long story short, I found myself extremely jealous and very confused. "Why am I feeling so jealous? It's my friend, Colin. My friend, nothing more." Yeah, well...there was something more.
And so it's May and I've been officially boyfriend/girlfriend with Colin since February 19th. And it's been wonderful. I've never been looked after and taken care of the way he cares for me. It's amazing. He's amazing.
If you remember, I began this post with questions of how I came to a place of fear once more. A couple of years after my painful breakup and here I am in a new relationship with a very considerate, caring, compassionate, responsible, loving, passionate, and beautiful soul. Shouldn't everything be all right with the world? Shouldn't I have complete and unfettered trust and faith in this new person who obviously loves me very much? Shouldn't nymphs, faeries, satyrs, and woodland creatures be running around throwing flower petals at us as we dance in the forest holding hands? One would think so if one had been raised on Disney cartoons and feel-good 80's movies. :)
Well, Colin has just accepted a new job as executive sous chef for a restaurant outside of DC. He's been sent to Cincinnati to train for three months. Yup. That's right. He'll be living there for three months. And I am afraid. I'm afraid of losing him. Because I love him very, very much.
Tonight he went out after work with his co-workers for a drink. I was worried because he hadn't called me or text messaged me as he normally does at all all day long. After about 11PM, horrible thoughts started pouring through my head. That he was hurt or sick. And then that he was out getting drunk and screwing some girl. That he would meet someone and forget about me.
The thing is that Colin has never done anything to mislead or deceive me. He's been nothing but beautifully direct and sincere the entire course of our friendship and romantic relationship.
The unsightly reality is this: I have lost my faith in the inherent goodness of people. I mistrust the motives of everyone. And the deceitful, treacherous, and hurtful things I endured and the ones I inflicted are currently tainting and limiting my trust for Colin.
And I'm furious! Why should he have to pay for a crime I committed? It's so hurtful for him for me to doubt him! Why should I have to continue to pay for crimes committed long ago?
I need to center...refocus. I need to remember that one day, inevitably, he will no longer be in my life. Either the relationship will go sour due to something he does or something I do, or we'll stay together until one of us dies. Either way one day we'll part. Everything is temporary. Impermanent. Fleeting. I need to remember to trust him until he gives me reason to do so no longer. I need to remember that pain is inevitable. Loss is inevitable. And nothing I do, no preparation I make, and no amount of fear harbored in my heart will prevent me from experiencing the pain of loss.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
In response to the question posed in the comment on the last post,
Shinedown is a band that's "making it". They're the guys who wrote the song .45 and who do the new cover of Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd. If that still doesn't ring any bells go to the website and check out the media section.
Shinedown is a band that's "making it". They're the guys who wrote the song .45 and who do the new cover of Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd. If that still doesn't ring any bells go to the website and check out the media section.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
I saw Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy last night and it was great! I'll be so excited to see the rest of the films as they come out! I thought casting for Zaphon Beeblebrox and for Slartibartfast was perfect! And Mos Def really shines as Ford Prefect.
My favorite part, for those of you who've read the books, involves two missiles that become, after Arthur engages the Improbability Drive, a pot of petunias and a sperm whale. The poor little whale had a short time to come to terms with it's existance while falling through space toward the ground. "What's this stuff whooshing past me? I think I'll call it wind! And what's that big round thing getting closer and closer? Big...round....ound...I think I'll call it Ground! I wonder if it'll be friends with me. Hello, Ground! Would you be my friend?" SPLAT!!!!
Everybody go see it, if you've read it or not. Our kind of people really like this kind of movie.
My favorite part, for those of you who've read the books, involves two missiles that become, after Arthur engages the Improbability Drive, a pot of petunias and a sperm whale. The poor little whale had a short time to come to terms with it's existance while falling through space toward the ground. "What's this stuff whooshing past me? I think I'll call it wind! And what's that big round thing getting closer and closer? Big...round....ound...I think I'll call it Ground! I wonder if it'll be friends with me. Hello, Ground! Would you be my friend?" SPLAT!!!!
Everybody go see it, if you've read it or not. Our kind of people really like this kind of movie.
Friday, May 06, 2005
The Sand! The Sun! The Water! My panties!!!!
On February 2, 2005, we arrived at Grand Cayman, largest isle of the Cayman Islands. We took a little boat from our cruise ship into shore, flagged down a big yellow taxi van, and went to Seven Mile Beach, the largest beach on the island. The taxi driver was dark skinned and spoke with the accent of the islands. He kept up friendly conversation, pointing out interesting shops and dining locations, calling our attention to the hurricane damage, all the while driving on the left side of the road. (Damn British.)
He left us at the beach and agreed to return in two hours. It was about 10:00 am and I was sitting with my family in the whitest, finest sand I've ever laid eyes or foot on. Instead of a mass of sea shells near the water line, there was bleached white dead coral pieces. (I brought a couple small pieces home. It's illegal, but what the fuck. It's not like I killed the fucking coral myself.) A few minutes later, I was swimming in the warm and incredibly clear waters of the Carribean Sea. In water up to my chin, I could still clearly see my toes. There were not waves to speak of really. Just a slight roll to the sheet of glassy water every now and then. It was amazing and so beautiful. I just wanted to stay there forever. I'd quit my job and start driving a taxi or something.
A bit later, I tried to coax Meg into letting me take her in the ocean. When she got off of the lounge chair, she started saying, "The sand!" and lifting her feet to shake the sand off of her little swimming shoes. She then looked up at the sun and screamed, "The sun!" and shielded her face from the sun against my leg. Once we made it to the water and the first mini wave hopped up and got her legs and bottom wet she screamed, "The water! My panties!" and started grouching. I decided it was best to take her back to her mother. She's such a priss and has no idea that it's okay to get dirty every once and awhile. As Wayne says, "She's such a little girl!"
We enjoyed the beach for a couple of hours then caught our cab back to the dock, where we boarded a glass bottom boat. We drove past a couple of ship wrecks and saw some amazingly colored fish, including a Parrot Fish. We learned that the beaches are made up of 70% Parrot Fish poop which is why they're so soft and powdery. :) So I was playing in poop earlier. Cool.
After our tour we looked in some of the shops. We learned about Big Black Dick who was an infamous pirate that made his home on Grand Cayman way back when. I bought a shot glass, t-shirt, and three bottles of Tortuga Rum and then it was time to go back to the boat.
Does she want a Mexican?
On February 3 we arrived in Cozumel, Mexico. The first thing that stuck me as I walked out on deck was the perfect turquoise blue of the ocean. It was electric blue and gleaming with millions of diamonds of sunlight reflecting from it's surface. I was still for a moment...just watching. Just enjoying the view, the beauty of which I knew would be impossible to capture, with words or photograph. So I just soaked it into my mind.
The ship was docked at Puerta Maya so we just walked off the boat, down the pier, and onto shore. Puerta Maya was very touristy. It felt more like Florida than another country. You could drink the bottled water here and eat the food with no worries. We walked past a few shops, and my brother stated that things were more "expensive" here and suggested that we go farther in, to the shopping district. So we hopped a cab and communicated in broken Spanish where we wanted to go. About five minutes later we were in the heart of Cozumel in the shopping district.
Once I stepped foot out of the cab, I knew for sure that I was in another country. Everyone we saw was Mexican. We were the only gringos in evidence. Everyone was dark-skinned, with dark hair, dark eyes, and on average, about 5 feet and 5 inches tall. At first being surrounded by people speaking Spanish was...odd and uncomfortable. About an hour into the day, I didn't really even notice anymore. And I was starting to remember words from my high school Spanish class. Oh if only we hadn't tortured Senora Stevenson so much, perhaps I could hold a conversation with some sexy young Mexican in his native tongue!!!
Anyway, shopping in the US is typically a laid back experience. You enter a store and browse a bit. You may or may not be approached by someone offering to help you find what you're looking for. If you are approached and you don't need their help, you turn them away and that's that. They leave you alone. All of the prices are listed on each and every item. There's no guessing or negotiation. Nope. It's simple and straightforward. Shopping in Mexico is no like this.
The moment we started walking toward the main street of shops, shop owners and workers were popping their heads out of their doors and saying things like, "Senorita! Senorita! I got what shu need here! Come see!" "Looking is free, senorita!" "Hey! Bonita! Come see! Looking is free!" "Senorita! I got nice silver here! Look pretty on you!" "Cuban cigar for your man friends in US, no? Come see!"
They would call out to us, they would yell out their wares, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in English. If uninterested we would just smile and shake our heads no in the begining. By the end of the day we were ignoring them all together. If we were interested, then it was another matter. Once we went into the shop door, we were opening ourselves up to extremely pushy sales people.
I looked in several silver shops for some new jewelry. The main thing on my list was a new necklace as the jade and silver necklace I wore constantly for years, had finally broken. I fell in love with a silver and amythyst choker and decided that I must have it. The shopkeeper had been following me around discussing the virtues of each piece of jewelry in broken English. I asked him the cost of the choker and amythyst charm. The choker was $30...reasonable. Comparable to what I might pay in the US. (Which means that he was making a huge profit on it.) But for the charm he wanted $120! I laughed at him, laid the jewelry down, thanked him for his time, and marched out of the shop. He chased me out into the street, "Senorita! We can discuss price! Come back!" I turned around and went back in. I told him that I was a poor tourist and didn't have that much money to spend...that I had spent it all of the cost of my cruise to get here. He went to $100 for the whole thing. I shook my head and asked for $50. He went to $60. I kept pushing for $50. He wouldn't budge, nor would I. I bid him good day and left.
Basically every shopping exchange involved haggling. My sis agreed to the first price stated for a few things and you could see the look of shock and pleasure, like they'd gotten a good joke over on her, beaming from the faces of the sales people. I bought some maracas for kicks, a Cuban cigar, a pair of silver hoop earrings, and finally, the silver and amythyst necklace. I caved and paid $60. :)
Wayne and I enjoyed the shopping experience a bit more than everyone else, because we were partaking of the $1 Coronas! At any given time, walking down the street, we each had two beers in our hands. God, I love Mexico!
One of the shopkeeps who was about 5'1 came up to me as I was just walking down the street and put his arm around me. I stopped, a bit shocked, and said, "Hi! Can I help you?" He looked over at his buddies who were still lurking in the doorway of their shop and said, "Just my size!" Had I been facing him, his face would've been right there with my bossoms.
Another guy working a kiosk-type thing in the middle of the market place asked Rose, "Is she your seester? Does she have a husband? Does she have a boyfriend? Does she want a Mexican?"
At the end of the shopping experience we all gathered at a resturant for a few minutes. As I walked in a twenty-something quite attractive Mexican man followed the through, saying, "Hey lady! Hey baby! Where are shu going? Talk to me, senorita! Hey lady!" I smiled at him and said I had to meet up with my family. I saw him staring at my chest like he'd found a giant treasure trove of Mayan gold. Rose laughed and started plotting to whore me out, wondering how many pesos I'd fetch. :)
After shopping we went to a beach called Nachi Cocom. The sand was much like the sand at the Fort Lauderdale beaches, the waves were comparable as well. The beach had a full bar and a swimming pool that any beach goer could use if they didn't want to swim in the ocean. There was a kiosk at which you could rent jet skis or kayaks for a reasonable fee. And some of the dancers from our crusie ship were there, dancing on the beach, and looking particularly attractive in their bikinis and speedos. Especially Andres from Brazil! In his yellow speedos. :)
So we lounged around on the beach, swam a bit, lounged a bit. Saw a nude sunbathing attractive young lady. Cheryl got into the ocean deeper than she's ever been before. I was very proud of her. She's a little terrified of water since she can't swim. (That must be where Meg gets it from.) After a bit, we caught a cab back to Puerta Maya. Wayne and I hadn't finished our tasty alcoholic beverages and thought we were going to have to throw them away for the cab ride, but no siree! There is no such thing as an open container law in Mexico! And no seat belt laws either! Wooo hooo! Drunk driving in paradise!
So we made it back to the boat safe and sound. After dinner, we went back out for a bit more shopping and then got back on board before she left port. It would've sucked to get stuck in Cozumel by myself. But I suppose this post would've been more interesting too. Hmmm...
The next day was just a day at sea on the boat as we returned to Tampa. It was quite windy so no one really sat outside that much. We enjoyed our last fancy dinner together, saw the last Vegas show, packed our bags and went to bed. We made sure that we smoked our Cuban cigars the next morning so as not to get stuck with a huge ass fine by customs. Sorry guys! No cigars for you!) Honestly...I know I'm no expert on cigars, but the cuban didn't seem that special to me at all. I don't know. I think people get all excited about them just because they're banned in the US.
Anyway, we arrived at Tampa on February 5th, said our goodbyes to the WV Garris clan, and hopped on our plane back to snowy Baltimore.
THE END
On February 2, 2005, we arrived at Grand Cayman, largest isle of the Cayman Islands. We took a little boat from our cruise ship into shore, flagged down a big yellow taxi van, and went to Seven Mile Beach, the largest beach on the island. The taxi driver was dark skinned and spoke with the accent of the islands. He kept up friendly conversation, pointing out interesting shops and dining locations, calling our attention to the hurricane damage, all the while driving on the left side of the road. (Damn British.)
He left us at the beach and agreed to return in two hours. It was about 10:00 am and I was sitting with my family in the whitest, finest sand I've ever laid eyes or foot on. Instead of a mass of sea shells near the water line, there was bleached white dead coral pieces. (I brought a couple small pieces home. It's illegal, but what the fuck. It's not like I killed the fucking coral myself.) A few minutes later, I was swimming in the warm and incredibly clear waters of the Carribean Sea. In water up to my chin, I could still clearly see my toes. There were not waves to speak of really. Just a slight roll to the sheet of glassy water every now and then. It was amazing and so beautiful. I just wanted to stay there forever. I'd quit my job and start driving a taxi or something.
A bit later, I tried to coax Meg into letting me take her in the ocean. When she got off of the lounge chair, she started saying, "The sand!" and lifting her feet to shake the sand off of her little swimming shoes. She then looked up at the sun and screamed, "The sun!" and shielded her face from the sun against my leg. Once we made it to the water and the first mini wave hopped up and got her legs and bottom wet she screamed, "The water! My panties!" and started grouching. I decided it was best to take her back to her mother. She's such a priss and has no idea that it's okay to get dirty every once and awhile. As Wayne says, "She's such a little girl!"
We enjoyed the beach for a couple of hours then caught our cab back to the dock, where we boarded a glass bottom boat. We drove past a couple of ship wrecks and saw some amazingly colored fish, including a Parrot Fish. We learned that the beaches are made up of 70% Parrot Fish poop which is why they're so soft and powdery. :) So I was playing in poop earlier. Cool.
After our tour we looked in some of the shops. We learned about Big Black Dick who was an infamous pirate that made his home on Grand Cayman way back when. I bought a shot glass, t-shirt, and three bottles of Tortuga Rum and then it was time to go back to the boat.
Does she want a Mexican?
On February 3 we arrived in Cozumel, Mexico. The first thing that stuck me as I walked out on deck was the perfect turquoise blue of the ocean. It was electric blue and gleaming with millions of diamonds of sunlight reflecting from it's surface. I was still for a moment...just watching. Just enjoying the view, the beauty of which I knew would be impossible to capture, with words or photograph. So I just soaked it into my mind.
The ship was docked at Puerta Maya so we just walked off the boat, down the pier, and onto shore. Puerta Maya was very touristy. It felt more like Florida than another country. You could drink the bottled water here and eat the food with no worries. We walked past a few shops, and my brother stated that things were more "expensive" here and suggested that we go farther in, to the shopping district. So we hopped a cab and communicated in broken Spanish where we wanted to go. About five minutes later we were in the heart of Cozumel in the shopping district.
Once I stepped foot out of the cab, I knew for sure that I was in another country. Everyone we saw was Mexican. We were the only gringos in evidence. Everyone was dark-skinned, with dark hair, dark eyes, and on average, about 5 feet and 5 inches tall. At first being surrounded by people speaking Spanish was...odd and uncomfortable. About an hour into the day, I didn't really even notice anymore. And I was starting to remember words from my high school Spanish class. Oh if only we hadn't tortured Senora Stevenson so much, perhaps I could hold a conversation with some sexy young Mexican in his native tongue!!!
Anyway, shopping in the US is typically a laid back experience. You enter a store and browse a bit. You may or may not be approached by someone offering to help you find what you're looking for. If you are approached and you don't need their help, you turn them away and that's that. They leave you alone. All of the prices are listed on each and every item. There's no guessing or negotiation. Nope. It's simple and straightforward. Shopping in Mexico is no like this.
The moment we started walking toward the main street of shops, shop owners and workers were popping their heads out of their doors and saying things like, "Senorita! Senorita! I got what shu need here! Come see!" "Looking is free, senorita!" "Hey! Bonita! Come see! Looking is free!" "Senorita! I got nice silver here! Look pretty on you!" "Cuban cigar for your man friends in US, no? Come see!"
They would call out to us, they would yell out their wares, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in English. If uninterested we would just smile and shake our heads no in the begining. By the end of the day we were ignoring them all together. If we were interested, then it was another matter. Once we went into the shop door, we were opening ourselves up to extremely pushy sales people.
I looked in several silver shops for some new jewelry. The main thing on my list was a new necklace as the jade and silver necklace I wore constantly for years, had finally broken. I fell in love with a silver and amythyst choker and decided that I must have it. The shopkeeper had been following me around discussing the virtues of each piece of jewelry in broken English. I asked him the cost of the choker and amythyst charm. The choker was $30...reasonable. Comparable to what I might pay in the US. (Which means that he was making a huge profit on it.) But for the charm he wanted $120! I laughed at him, laid the jewelry down, thanked him for his time, and marched out of the shop. He chased me out into the street, "Senorita! We can discuss price! Come back!" I turned around and went back in. I told him that I was a poor tourist and didn't have that much money to spend...that I had spent it all of the cost of my cruise to get here. He went to $100 for the whole thing. I shook my head and asked for $50. He went to $60. I kept pushing for $50. He wouldn't budge, nor would I. I bid him good day and left.
Basically every shopping exchange involved haggling. My sis agreed to the first price stated for a few things and you could see the look of shock and pleasure, like they'd gotten a good joke over on her, beaming from the faces of the sales people. I bought some maracas for kicks, a Cuban cigar, a pair of silver hoop earrings, and finally, the silver and amythyst necklace. I caved and paid $60. :)
Wayne and I enjoyed the shopping experience a bit more than everyone else, because we were partaking of the $1 Coronas! At any given time, walking down the street, we each had two beers in our hands. God, I love Mexico!
One of the shopkeeps who was about 5'1 came up to me as I was just walking down the street and put his arm around me. I stopped, a bit shocked, and said, "Hi! Can I help you?" He looked over at his buddies who were still lurking in the doorway of their shop and said, "Just my size!" Had I been facing him, his face would've been right there with my bossoms.
Another guy working a kiosk-type thing in the middle of the market place asked Rose, "Is she your seester? Does she have a husband? Does she have a boyfriend? Does she want a Mexican?"
At the end of the shopping experience we all gathered at a resturant for a few minutes. As I walked in a twenty-something quite attractive Mexican man followed the through, saying, "Hey lady! Hey baby! Where are shu going? Talk to me, senorita! Hey lady!" I smiled at him and said I had to meet up with my family. I saw him staring at my chest like he'd found a giant treasure trove of Mayan gold. Rose laughed and started plotting to whore me out, wondering how many pesos I'd fetch. :)
After shopping we went to a beach called Nachi Cocom. The sand was much like the sand at the Fort Lauderdale beaches, the waves were comparable as well. The beach had a full bar and a swimming pool that any beach goer could use if they didn't want to swim in the ocean. There was a kiosk at which you could rent jet skis or kayaks for a reasonable fee. And some of the dancers from our crusie ship were there, dancing on the beach, and looking particularly attractive in their bikinis and speedos. Especially Andres from Brazil! In his yellow speedos. :)
So we lounged around on the beach, swam a bit, lounged a bit. Saw a nude sunbathing attractive young lady. Cheryl got into the ocean deeper than she's ever been before. I was very proud of her. She's a little terrified of water since she can't swim. (That must be where Meg gets it from.) After a bit, we caught a cab back to Puerta Maya. Wayne and I hadn't finished our tasty alcoholic beverages and thought we were going to have to throw them away for the cab ride, but no siree! There is no such thing as an open container law in Mexico! And no seat belt laws either! Wooo hooo! Drunk driving in paradise!
So we made it back to the boat safe and sound. After dinner, we went back out for a bit more shopping and then got back on board before she left port. It would've sucked to get stuck in Cozumel by myself. But I suppose this post would've been more interesting too. Hmmm...
The next day was just a day at sea on the boat as we returned to Tampa. It was quite windy so no one really sat outside that much. We enjoyed our last fancy dinner together, saw the last Vegas show, packed our bags and went to bed. We made sure that we smoked our Cuban cigars the next morning so as not to get stuck with a huge ass fine by customs. Sorry guys! No cigars for you!) Honestly...I know I'm no expert on cigars, but the cuban didn't seem that special to me at all. I don't know. I think people get all excited about them just because they're banned in the US.
Anyway, we arrived at Tampa on February 5th, said our goodbyes to the WV Garris clan, and hopped on our plane back to snowy Baltimore.
THE END
Monday, April 25, 2005
I close my eyes.
We were there on a spring day with the sun and the green and the bees. There was nothing malicious anywhere. It was just quiet and smiling. Occasionally the sun would hide behind the clouds and the wind would make me shiver.
Once the chill held on after the cloud had passed. There was sun on my face, but I felt no warmth. Something tugged at me then. A gnawing inside my chest pulling me, urging me to see, but I refused to look. I just closed my eyes.
In my head I was a little girl in dirt stained play clothes with strawberry jam smudged on my shirt. I was a little girl with stringy blond hair in disarray with her small hands over her ears, eyes closed, and screaming, “La la la la la la! I can’t hear you!!!” as loud as she could scream. The chill passed and I felt the warm of sunlight on my face.
“Sweetie?” you said.
And I opened my eyes.
We were there on a spring day with the sun and the green and the bees. There was nothing malicious anywhere. It was just quiet and smiling. Occasionally the sun would hide behind the clouds and the wind would make me shiver.
Once the chill held on after the cloud had passed. There was sun on my face, but I felt no warmth. Something tugged at me then. A gnawing inside my chest pulling me, urging me to see, but I refused to look. I just closed my eyes.
In my head I was a little girl in dirt stained play clothes with strawberry jam smudged on my shirt. I was a little girl with stringy blond hair in disarray with her small hands over her ears, eyes closed, and screaming, “La la la la la la! I can’t hear you!!!” as loud as she could scream. The chill passed and I felt the warm of sunlight on my face.
“Sweetie?” you said.
And I opened my eyes.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Alright, well I’m not dead. I apologize for the silence but I’ve been either terribly busy to too blah to write anything. But, finally, here I am.
First things first, I plan to tell you about my cruise. Then I’ll fill you in on the recent happenings here in Bmore. I have a lot to say about the cruise, so it’ll probably come in installments. Here’s the first bit.
The Cruise That Almost Wasn’t
Since before I left West Virginia, my brother, sister, sister-in-law, and I had been planning to go on a cruise to the Caribbean. Flights and cruise packages were paid for by the end of November. Bags were packed by Friday, January 28th…and were nearly unpacked as Megan came down with a stomach virus and it looked as though Wayne and Cheryl would be unable to go. But my little girl recovered control of her digestive functions the next evening and that little branch of the Garris family set out to the airport in Charleston.
They arrived at Yeager airport to find that their flight had been delayed two hours due to snow. After the two-hour wait, they boarded, waited another hour, and then the flight was canceled due to snow and unsafe landing conditions in Atlanta, GA. Okay…so no major worries yet. Rose and I weren’t slated to leave until Sunday, January 30th anyway so they could afford the delay. But I was worried. What if they couldn’t get a flight on the 30th?
Leavin’ on a Jet Plane
Sunday morning came quickly. (Much like my date the night before. Okay…strike that. I didn’t have a date the night before.) And it came covered with snow!!! About four inches to be exact! I looked out the window and thought to myself, “Oh this is lovely! Now our flight needs to get delayed and no one will be able to go!”
Getting to BWI proved to be no problem, however, as my friend Colin had volunteered himself and his Subaru Imprezza 2.5 RS as transportation. Armed with all-wheel-drive we arrived at the airport in record time in spite of my poor directions and the white mess on the roads. We said our heartfelt words of thanks to Colin and hurried inside the airport to find out flight delayed only by 20 minutes! Hurray! It seemed that we would see palm trees yet that day!
Now that I knew for certain I would be flying to Tampa my nerves started tingling with anxiety. I had never been on a plane before! “What if we crash and die?”, I worried, “Oh well…I’ve had a good run. And if I die I won’t have to worry about repaying my college loans.”
About an hour later, I found myself squeezing down the narrow walkway of Southwest Flight 369, the first jet I had ever set foot on. It was much smaller than I anticipated and much more uncomfortable. Rose and I were unable to find seats together, so she sat next to a young black couple and I took the seat directly behind her, next to a forty-something caucasian husband an wife who looked like they’d just stumbled off the set of an 80’s television show. The wife was nervously biting her fingernails, her entire boy quivering with anxiety, as her husband murmured soothing words of reassurance to her.
I too was somewhat nervous, especially when the captain announced that the plane would need to be de-iced before we could take off. So I whipped open my sister’s book, The Most Evil Men and Women in History, and began reading to distract myself. After approximately 15 minutes and the story of Agrippa the Younger, I heard something splash against the right wall of the jet and looked up to find an orange liquid being hosed over the side of the plane. After about 15 more minutes and the story of Lizzie Borden, the aircraft began moving into position on the runway and the captain announced that we would soon be taking off. I put down the book and double checked my seat belt and waited, hands clutching my purse a little more tightly than necessary.
We began moving forward, the scenery rolling by slowly at first, 20, 30, 40 mph. And then we were traveling 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 mph, things whipping past the window, and the passengers bouncing in their seats. The engines roaring in my ears, we moved faster and faster until I felt the lift, felt the plane leave the earth, felt myself forced back into my seat a bit. We moved upward bit by bit and then leveled off. “Ding! This is your captain speaking. Thank you for flying Southwest airlines…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
Before long I was served peanuts, Ritz Crackers, and Sprite. I munched, read, gazed at the tops of the clouds out the window for a moment, and then took a wee nap during the two-hour flight to Tampa. Rose woke me as we neared our destination and handed me some gum. I began chomping as the plane began its descent, and I understood why she had given me the gum. My ears began popping with a minor bit of pain, but that was the last thing on my mind. I was peeping out the window, across the 80s couple, and admiring the beautiful, sparkling blue waters of Tampa Bay. And watching the land grow nearer and nearer. My anxiety spiked just before the landing. We were low, very close to the ground with buildings and things flying by the window. The landing gear touched the earth and the passengers bounced in unison. We touched again. Bounce. Touch. Bounce. Touch and then we were rolling down the runway, breaking hard, and rolling to a stop.
Tampa
Rose and I gathered our carry-ons and headed off the plane toward the luggage terminals. Our luggage arrived in tact and upon checking our cell phones, we learned that the Charleston branch of the Garris family had finally boarded a plane and would be arriving in Tampa in a couple of hours. Whatever dark cloud had been hovering over the start of our trip appeared to be dissipating. Or so it seemed. :)
The Insufferable Wench
Burnsy was there at the airport waiting for us and greeted us with a warm smile and a bear hug. We hopped in his car, rolled down the windows, and let the 70 some degree wind blow through our hair. Since the rest of the Garris clan wouldn’t be arriving till dinner, we decided to grab some lunch and go meet Krisi, whom I now refer to as Sean’s Insufferable Wench.
We picked up Wendy’s and headed to the cute little house that was Krisi and her children’s home. Upon stepping inside we were met with the strong smell of cat piss and the sound of children playing. Jacob greeted us warmly, as energetic wee ones are wont to do, and his mother was polite, but didn’t seem thrilled by our visit. The baby just stared. We made polite conversation and ate while trying not to breathe through our noses. After lunch we sat on the couch and talked a bit. I colored with Jacob and was deeply disturbed by the fact that he wanted to make everyone in the coloring book bleed by coloring them red. Sean began complaining of stomach pain and nausea. Krisi finally made her way to Sean’s computer and ignored everyone, including her children, for the remainder of the visit. Wayne called to say they had arrived and were taking a taxi to the Howard Johnson. Krisi whined a bit about Sean taking his computer, so he left it. She then took us outside to gloat over the new van that he had bought for her. We oohhed and aaahhed as she expected, said our goodbyes, and then piled in Sean’s car.
On the drive to the Howard Johnson to meet my family, Sean asked me what I thought of Krisi. I asked him if he wanted the truth or a sugar-coated, easier to swallow pill. He opted for the truth. I informed him that Krisi struck me as whiney, self-centered, bitchy, and lazy. I also told him that I didn’t think she was all that hot and couldn’t understand why he’d had his panties in a wad over her. And I told him to get a paternity test.
At the end of that pleasant conversation, we found ourselves at the Howard Johnson and were reunited with the kinfolk for the first time since Christmas. We discussed the series of unfortunate events that nearly prevented the trip and made our way to collect the rest of the cruise gang, Cheryl’s sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and brother in their hotel rooms.
We have angered the Poo Gods!
Once all were together we headed to the steakhouse next door to have dinner. On the walk there, I noted the three strip clubs across the street, and a demolished hotel room wall with yellow caution tape sectioning off the area. During dinner, Raymond (Cheryl’s brother), shared his account of how he had been reclining peacefully in his bed the night before watching television, when he heard a loud noise and felt the bed, the walls, and everything begin to rattle and shake. The TV jumped, the lights flickered, and he thought for sure that he had scheduled his vacation on the eve of the Apocalypse. But the vibrations stopped and he stepped outside his hotel room to look around and found that a few doors down, just around the corner of the building, someone had driven their vehicle into the wall of the hotel. Luckily no one was injured.
Wayne wondered if the accident had somehow affected the plumbing in the hotel, as just moments before Rose, Sean, and I arrived, the toilet had exploded water all over the walls and floor of their bathroom. Raymond announced in a very solemn tone, “We have angered the Poo Gods! We have not talked enough about Poo! We must make an offering to them so that their wrath will not be provoked once more!” We laughed and wondered what else would go wrong on our vacation.
The Unhappy Little Pancreas
I noticed that Burnsy was looking quite uncomfortable and hadn’t even touched the steak dinner that he’d ordered. He complained of stomach troubles, so we thought it best we head back to his apartment so that he could rest. We said goodbye to the Garris clan and went to the home of the Sean.
Well, typical of Sean, the TV was bigger than the sofa. There was no bed, just an air mattress and a futon mattress. He was in the process of moving and everything was in a general state of disarray. Since we were all tired we went straight to bed. Rose and I opted for the futon as Sean was obviously ill and in pain and would benefit from the comfort of the air mattress. I advised Sean to see a doctor first thing in the morning. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the towel that I was using as a pillow.
At about midnight I woke to Sean shaking me. He was clutching his belly, his face contorted in pain, as he reported his decision to go to the hospital. Bewildered and confused from sleep, I sat for a minute not comprehending what he was telling me. I watched him gather his wallet and phone, and then clarity set in and I offered to take him. He said, “No, no. I’m sure it’s nothing major and I’ll be back by morning. I’m just going to the ER of the hospital down the road here. About 4 miles. You sleep. I’ll call you to let you know what’s going on. See you in the morning.”
I did as I was told and went back to sleep, but I kept waking and checking the time. As the early hours of the morning crept by, my worry increased. I called his cell phone at about 4am and then at 6am. Finally he called me back at about 8:30am and told me that he has been diagnosed with Pancreatitis and would be in the hospital for a few days. I wanted to visit him before I left, but he requested that I leave him alone with his pain medication and the sweet, sweet oblivion that it induced. I honored his request.
Rose and I showered, gathered our things, and caught a Yellow Cab to the Port of Tampa. Our cab driver’s name was Don, a 50-something longhaired hippy complete with ponytail and purple silk shirt, who answered my questions about his job and his typical customers with a large degree of amusement. He looked at me to make sure I wasn’t taking notes and accused me of being a columnist.
The Poo Gods strike again!
We met up with the Garris/Cummings clan at the Port to learn that strip clubs, demolished walls, and exploding toilets were only the beginnings of the charm of the Tampa Ho Jo. Indeed, Cheryl’s brother-in-law witnessed a drug deal while doing laundry, watched a woman attempt to pedal her flesh for money, and the sewer outside of Wayne, Cheryl, and Meg’s hotel room began seeping out human waste in the early morning hours, leaving a large pool of shite outside their door. Luckily they were able to get around it and were not forced to walk through it.
The Inspiration
Finally, after much stress and strange happenings, we had arrived at the Port of Tampa and boarded our Carnival Cruise ship, the Inspiration. (I still can’t get Peter Cetera’s voice out of my head whenever I think of it.) We entered through a room called the Grand Spectrum, and was it ever grand. The Grand Spectrum consisted of seven floors with a brass and glass elevator in the center, fantastic and fanciful wall ornaments, bright blue patterned carpet, a one flight ornate brass and blue stained glass staircase just below the elevator, a curved dark stone bar just below the stairs, with a piano and string duet just off to the right, and the room crowned with a gigantic skylight that spanned nearly the entire ceiling. I had entered another world. I felt like I had stepped onto the set of the Titantic, except it was a Titantic whose décor had been influenced by someone on an acid trip.
Our cabins weren’t quite ready, so we made our way to one of the many buffet style cafeterias, the Brasserie Bar & Grill, to get some lunch. The Brasserie, like the rest of the ship, had bright carpet, and odd futuristic, acid-tripish ornaments on the ceilings and walls. These particular ones were large purple spider web like tubes that wound their way all over the ceiling. After heaping my plate full of food I looked around for a place to pay and then realized that I didn’t have to. All of my meals were included in the cost of the cruise, so I could go back a billion times and never be charged. Neato! Cruises are so geared toward fat people!
After lunch Rose and I found our cabin, U-183. The U stood for Upper deck, which was deck 6, which meant that we were six decks from the bottom of the ship. Interesting, isn’t it? After unpacking and getting settled in U-183, we went to the mandatory lifeboat drill with the rest of the clan. We sat though a short demonstration of what to do if we were in danger of sinking, the proper way to wear a life vest, and where and how to board the lifeboats. Meg was full of questions throughout the drill. Now you try explaining to an innocent three-year-old child that in case the boat starts to sink, we have to wear these orange things, and get in these white boats so that we won’t drown. Yeah.
Once the drill was over, we found ourselves with a bit of time on our hands before the formal dinner at 5:45pm. So Rose and I walked about the ship and wound up exploring about half of it before dinner. There were 14 decks total, three of which were off limits to passengers as they were engine rooms and cargo holds and such. Four decks held nothing but sleeping cabins. The remaining six decks held a photo gallery where you could view and purchase pictures taken of you by Carnival photographers during your stay, two formal dinning rooms, a large play area for the children, a library, a piano bar, a mini mall, a casino, a sushi bar, a café, two dance clubs, two small themed bars, a karaoke lounge, a live performance theater/stage, a kid’s swimming pool, and two adult swimming pools (one with a slide), three outdoor Jacuzzis, a pizzeria, three poolside bars, a poolside stage, a beauty salon, a gym, a spa, a jogging track, and several sundecks for sunbathers. In short, the ship was ginormous!
Dining with Isabel and Richie
Dinner was quite a pleasant experience. Our whole Garris/Cummings crew was seated at the same table and we had a lovely view of the ocean and the fading tip of Florida from the window to the right of the table. Our waiters introduced themselves to us that evening. Isabel was a thirty-something boisterous, bald, black man from Honduras who had the most fantastic accent. The man who introduced himself as Richie was in his late twenties, was very quick, always smiling, struggled a bit with the English language, and was from Thailand. He said that he would tell us his real name, but expected that we would never be able to pronounce it properly, and stated that he was quite fond of the name Richie.
That night, and all week long, we enjoyed the world of fine dining and were looked after by our two very efficient waiters. I ordered things I couldn’t pronounce and I ate things that I still have no clue as to what they were. I ate some fabulous food on that trip and was pampered at dinner like never before. As I sat down each night Isabel or Richie would lay my napkin in my lap. If I got breadcrumbs on the table or dropped a morsel of my food, they were there to sweep it up with a napkin. I didn’t have to think about what silverware to use as they provided it for me and took it away the moment I indicated that I was done. A few nights, the waiters paused in their duties to gather in the middle of the dining room and sang to us all. It was awesome!
One night Richie had a few moments to talk with us and shared a bit of his story. He left Thailand to work on the Carnival Cruise line and he sends a portion of his paycheck home to his parents. Soon however, he will be marrying and the money will go to his wife and the family they will build. He seemed incredibly thankful for the opportunity to work there and appeared to love his job.
Actually, everyone on the ship appeared to love his or her job. Even the maids. Which got me to thinking that maybe I should go to work on a cruise ship. Traveling from port to port constantly. Working along side people from all over the world. How fun and interesting would that be?
Karaoke, Sponge Bob, & the King of the World
But I digress. Back to the story. After dinner, Raymond, Wayne, Cheryl, and I went to the Candlelight Lounge to listen karaoke. Of course, it was amusing as hell. Wayne and I were going to perform but couldn’t agree on a song. Alas, Carnival Cruise lines karaoke bar never witnessed our glory.
After the karaoke, Wayne and Cheryl went back to their cabin and Raymond and I decided to explore the ship’s bars and nightclubs. We made our way, first, to the Avant Garde Lounge where we were met with 30, 40, and 50 somethings grooving to Top 40 and oldies played by a Mexican cover band. It was pretty damn boring if not somewhat depressing, so we finished our drink and walked toward the Rock & Roll Disco in hopes of finding a younger crowd and more interesting antics. We found both. The crowd there was mostly in their 20s and 30s or slightly younger. The DJ was cranking out dance music and hip-hop favorites and the young attractive whores and boys were grinding all over each other. We perused the crowd for possible love connections and both agreed that our cruise ship did not seem to be a love boat. At least not for us. So we just started drinking heavily and laughing at the people dancing.
One dude, who had to be in his 40s, was dressed in a bright yellow Sponge Bob Squarepants t-shirt with bright red flannel pajama-looking pants that had little yellow Sponge Bobs all over them. He was drunk and he was dancing. This was bad for Sponge Bob, as we called him, but good for us. Initially, Sponge Bob was dancing all by himself, but then he wiggled his was up to some 20 something hottie and attempted to dance with her. The girl humored him for a few seconds and then danced over to the other side of the room with her friends. Sponge Bob was rejected about four times in the manner, but he kept on dancing, baby! His face was blood red, he was breathing terribly hard, and alternating between biting his tongue and making those stupid open-mouthed dancing faces, all the while shaking his groove thing as hard as it would shake. Raymond and I were wondering which would happen first: if Sponge Bob would pass out from drunkenness or collapse from exhaustion and possible heart attack.
At about 2:30am the alcohol began kicking my ass and we decided to leave the wonder of the Rock & Roll disco to go back to our cabins. On the way there I had an impulsive desire to see the front of the boat. Well…we sort of got lost because we were a wee bit tipsy and wound up at the back of the boat. Front. Back. Well at least there was water I could look at!!
We stepped out onto the deck and instantly my hair was beating me in my face and I clutched my shawl around me so that I wouldn’t lose it. I walked to the railing and looked down at the black waters churning below as the boat cut through them. And then I yelled, “I’m the King of the World! I am the King of the Motha’ Fuckin’ World!!!” And then I made Raymond yell it once. After some drunken conversation, giggling, and stumbling, we made our ways back to our cabins and passed out.
A Day at Sea
I awoke the next morning to the sounds of Rose getting ready for breakfast. I groggily asked her what time it was and learned that it was 8:00am. She asked me if I wanted to come to breakfast and I became suddenly aware of my intense desire to urinate. I sat up and the room started moving. I gripped the wall and steadied myself on my way to relieve my bladder. While I was sitting on the toilet, enjoying that wonderful feeling of relief one gets from peeing when you really gotta go, I put my hands over my face waiting for my senses to steady themselves. I lowered my hands. “Wow!” I said, “I must’ve gotten really wasted last night! I’m still drunk! I feel like the room’s moving to the right and then to the left and to the right and then the left. Oh god, it won’t stop!”
Rose started laughing and I finished in the rest room and stumbled back to my bed. I looked at her sitting on her bed, with an amused smile on her face, putting on her make up. “What?” I asked. “Well, the room IS moving to the right and then to the left and to the right. We’re at sea, Chris.” God I felt, like a dumb ass!
I was hung over, however, as the sunlight pouring in through the glass walls of the cafeteria stung my eyes and the smell of eggs and bacon plus the movement of the ship made me feel a wee bit nauseous. I sat down with Meg and Cheryl and waited for Rose to bring me some water and bread. I ate croissants with butted and salt and drank about 5 glasses of water. Word to the wise: DO NOT get drunk your first night on the cruise ship! The hang over is a bitch!
After drinking all that water, I felt somewhat better so I headed up to the pool to sunbathe. I found a spot on the upper deck where the sun was beating down on me perfectly, and the wind blew constantly. Everywhere I looked, I could see only the ocean surrounding us. The air smelled like the sea. And I laid in the sun for hours just enjoying the peacefulness of it all.
That evening we attended the Captain’s Dinner, which was the super formal night in the dining room. Some men wore tuxedos, some nice dress shirts and ties; some ladies wore evening gowns, or the traditional little black dress. I opted for the little black dress. Everyone looked great and it was fun to get all dressed up and swanky-like.
After dinner we attended the first Las Vegas style singing and dancing show, entitled El Nuevo Caribe. The theater/stage was quite large and beautiful, with huge gold and green sequined curtains hanging from the stage and soft cushioned brocade stadium seating in the same colors. The lights dimmed, the curtain parted, and a live mini-orchestra played as the singers sang and the dancers danced and the acrobats tumbled. It was an awesome show complete with intricate, flashy, and revealing costumes for the performers, rotating portions of the stage, fog machines, lighting effects, and a creepy Jamaican sounding narrator who kept saying, “El Nuevo Caribe!!!” and laughing maniacally. There was something for everyone. Men could enjoy the scantily clad female dancers and the women could enjoy the scantily clad and well toned male dancers. Rose and I were particularly fond of Andres from Brazil. Andres! Grrrr!!!
For the rest of the trip, if someone said they weren’t feeling well or they were tired or something wasn’t going according to plan I said, “You know what it is don’t you? It’s the Curse of El Nuevo Caribe!!!!!!” Hey…it was funny at the time.
First things first, I plan to tell you about my cruise. Then I’ll fill you in on the recent happenings here in Bmore. I have a lot to say about the cruise, so it’ll probably come in installments. Here’s the first bit.
The Cruise That Almost Wasn’t
Since before I left West Virginia, my brother, sister, sister-in-law, and I had been planning to go on a cruise to the Caribbean. Flights and cruise packages were paid for by the end of November. Bags were packed by Friday, January 28th…and were nearly unpacked as Megan came down with a stomach virus and it looked as though Wayne and Cheryl would be unable to go. But my little girl recovered control of her digestive functions the next evening and that little branch of the Garris family set out to the airport in Charleston.
They arrived at Yeager airport to find that their flight had been delayed two hours due to snow. After the two-hour wait, they boarded, waited another hour, and then the flight was canceled due to snow and unsafe landing conditions in Atlanta, GA. Okay…so no major worries yet. Rose and I weren’t slated to leave until Sunday, January 30th anyway so they could afford the delay. But I was worried. What if they couldn’t get a flight on the 30th?
Leavin’ on a Jet Plane
Sunday morning came quickly. (Much like my date the night before. Okay…strike that. I didn’t have a date the night before.) And it came covered with snow!!! About four inches to be exact! I looked out the window and thought to myself, “Oh this is lovely! Now our flight needs to get delayed and no one will be able to go!”
Getting to BWI proved to be no problem, however, as my friend Colin had volunteered himself and his Subaru Imprezza 2.5 RS as transportation. Armed with all-wheel-drive we arrived at the airport in record time in spite of my poor directions and the white mess on the roads. We said our heartfelt words of thanks to Colin and hurried inside the airport to find out flight delayed only by 20 minutes! Hurray! It seemed that we would see palm trees yet that day!
Now that I knew for certain I would be flying to Tampa my nerves started tingling with anxiety. I had never been on a plane before! “What if we crash and die?”, I worried, “Oh well…I’ve had a good run. And if I die I won’t have to worry about repaying my college loans.”
About an hour later, I found myself squeezing down the narrow walkway of Southwest Flight 369, the first jet I had ever set foot on. It was much smaller than I anticipated and much more uncomfortable. Rose and I were unable to find seats together, so she sat next to a young black couple and I took the seat directly behind her, next to a forty-something caucasian husband an wife who looked like they’d just stumbled off the set of an 80’s television show. The wife was nervously biting her fingernails, her entire boy quivering with anxiety, as her husband murmured soothing words of reassurance to her.
I too was somewhat nervous, especially when the captain announced that the plane would need to be de-iced before we could take off. So I whipped open my sister’s book, The Most Evil Men and Women in History, and began reading to distract myself. After approximately 15 minutes and the story of Agrippa the Younger, I heard something splash against the right wall of the jet and looked up to find an orange liquid being hosed over the side of the plane. After about 15 more minutes and the story of Lizzie Borden, the aircraft began moving into position on the runway and the captain announced that we would soon be taking off. I put down the book and double checked my seat belt and waited, hands clutching my purse a little more tightly than necessary.
We began moving forward, the scenery rolling by slowly at first, 20, 30, 40 mph. And then we were traveling 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 mph, things whipping past the window, and the passengers bouncing in their seats. The engines roaring in my ears, we moved faster and faster until I felt the lift, felt the plane leave the earth, felt myself forced back into my seat a bit. We moved upward bit by bit and then leveled off. “Ding! This is your captain speaking. Thank you for flying Southwest airlines…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
Before long I was served peanuts, Ritz Crackers, and Sprite. I munched, read, gazed at the tops of the clouds out the window for a moment, and then took a wee nap during the two-hour flight to Tampa. Rose woke me as we neared our destination and handed me some gum. I began chomping as the plane began its descent, and I understood why she had given me the gum. My ears began popping with a minor bit of pain, but that was the last thing on my mind. I was peeping out the window, across the 80s couple, and admiring the beautiful, sparkling blue waters of Tampa Bay. And watching the land grow nearer and nearer. My anxiety spiked just before the landing. We were low, very close to the ground with buildings and things flying by the window. The landing gear touched the earth and the passengers bounced in unison. We touched again. Bounce. Touch. Bounce. Touch and then we were rolling down the runway, breaking hard, and rolling to a stop.
Tampa
Rose and I gathered our carry-ons and headed off the plane toward the luggage terminals. Our luggage arrived in tact and upon checking our cell phones, we learned that the Charleston branch of the Garris family had finally boarded a plane and would be arriving in Tampa in a couple of hours. Whatever dark cloud had been hovering over the start of our trip appeared to be dissipating. Or so it seemed. :)
The Insufferable Wench
Burnsy was there at the airport waiting for us and greeted us with a warm smile and a bear hug. We hopped in his car, rolled down the windows, and let the 70 some degree wind blow through our hair. Since the rest of the Garris clan wouldn’t be arriving till dinner, we decided to grab some lunch and go meet Krisi, whom I now refer to as Sean’s Insufferable Wench.
We picked up Wendy’s and headed to the cute little house that was Krisi and her children’s home. Upon stepping inside we were met with the strong smell of cat piss and the sound of children playing. Jacob greeted us warmly, as energetic wee ones are wont to do, and his mother was polite, but didn’t seem thrilled by our visit. The baby just stared. We made polite conversation and ate while trying not to breathe through our noses. After lunch we sat on the couch and talked a bit. I colored with Jacob and was deeply disturbed by the fact that he wanted to make everyone in the coloring book bleed by coloring them red. Sean began complaining of stomach pain and nausea. Krisi finally made her way to Sean’s computer and ignored everyone, including her children, for the remainder of the visit. Wayne called to say they had arrived and were taking a taxi to the Howard Johnson. Krisi whined a bit about Sean taking his computer, so he left it. She then took us outside to gloat over the new van that he had bought for her. We oohhed and aaahhed as she expected, said our goodbyes, and then piled in Sean’s car.
On the drive to the Howard Johnson to meet my family, Sean asked me what I thought of Krisi. I asked him if he wanted the truth or a sugar-coated, easier to swallow pill. He opted for the truth. I informed him that Krisi struck me as whiney, self-centered, bitchy, and lazy. I also told him that I didn’t think she was all that hot and couldn’t understand why he’d had his panties in a wad over her. And I told him to get a paternity test.
At the end of that pleasant conversation, we found ourselves at the Howard Johnson and were reunited with the kinfolk for the first time since Christmas. We discussed the series of unfortunate events that nearly prevented the trip and made our way to collect the rest of the cruise gang, Cheryl’s sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and brother in their hotel rooms.
We have angered the Poo Gods!
Once all were together we headed to the steakhouse next door to have dinner. On the walk there, I noted the three strip clubs across the street, and a demolished hotel room wall with yellow caution tape sectioning off the area. During dinner, Raymond (Cheryl’s brother), shared his account of how he had been reclining peacefully in his bed the night before watching television, when he heard a loud noise and felt the bed, the walls, and everything begin to rattle and shake. The TV jumped, the lights flickered, and he thought for sure that he had scheduled his vacation on the eve of the Apocalypse. But the vibrations stopped and he stepped outside his hotel room to look around and found that a few doors down, just around the corner of the building, someone had driven their vehicle into the wall of the hotel. Luckily no one was injured.
Wayne wondered if the accident had somehow affected the plumbing in the hotel, as just moments before Rose, Sean, and I arrived, the toilet had exploded water all over the walls and floor of their bathroom. Raymond announced in a very solemn tone, “We have angered the Poo Gods! We have not talked enough about Poo! We must make an offering to them so that their wrath will not be provoked once more!” We laughed and wondered what else would go wrong on our vacation.
The Unhappy Little Pancreas
I noticed that Burnsy was looking quite uncomfortable and hadn’t even touched the steak dinner that he’d ordered. He complained of stomach troubles, so we thought it best we head back to his apartment so that he could rest. We said goodbye to the Garris clan and went to the home of the Sean.
Well, typical of Sean, the TV was bigger than the sofa. There was no bed, just an air mattress and a futon mattress. He was in the process of moving and everything was in a general state of disarray. Since we were all tired we went straight to bed. Rose and I opted for the futon as Sean was obviously ill and in pain and would benefit from the comfort of the air mattress. I advised Sean to see a doctor first thing in the morning. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the towel that I was using as a pillow.
At about midnight I woke to Sean shaking me. He was clutching his belly, his face contorted in pain, as he reported his decision to go to the hospital. Bewildered and confused from sleep, I sat for a minute not comprehending what he was telling me. I watched him gather his wallet and phone, and then clarity set in and I offered to take him. He said, “No, no. I’m sure it’s nothing major and I’ll be back by morning. I’m just going to the ER of the hospital down the road here. About 4 miles. You sleep. I’ll call you to let you know what’s going on. See you in the morning.”
I did as I was told and went back to sleep, but I kept waking and checking the time. As the early hours of the morning crept by, my worry increased. I called his cell phone at about 4am and then at 6am. Finally he called me back at about 8:30am and told me that he has been diagnosed with Pancreatitis and would be in the hospital for a few days. I wanted to visit him before I left, but he requested that I leave him alone with his pain medication and the sweet, sweet oblivion that it induced. I honored his request.
Rose and I showered, gathered our things, and caught a Yellow Cab to the Port of Tampa. Our cab driver’s name was Don, a 50-something longhaired hippy complete with ponytail and purple silk shirt, who answered my questions about his job and his typical customers with a large degree of amusement. He looked at me to make sure I wasn’t taking notes and accused me of being a columnist.
The Poo Gods strike again!
We met up with the Garris/Cummings clan at the Port to learn that strip clubs, demolished walls, and exploding toilets were only the beginnings of the charm of the Tampa Ho Jo. Indeed, Cheryl’s brother-in-law witnessed a drug deal while doing laundry, watched a woman attempt to pedal her flesh for money, and the sewer outside of Wayne, Cheryl, and Meg’s hotel room began seeping out human waste in the early morning hours, leaving a large pool of shite outside their door. Luckily they were able to get around it and were not forced to walk through it.
The Inspiration
Finally, after much stress and strange happenings, we had arrived at the Port of Tampa and boarded our Carnival Cruise ship, the Inspiration. (I still can’t get Peter Cetera’s voice out of my head whenever I think of it.) We entered through a room called the Grand Spectrum, and was it ever grand. The Grand Spectrum consisted of seven floors with a brass and glass elevator in the center, fantastic and fanciful wall ornaments, bright blue patterned carpet, a one flight ornate brass and blue stained glass staircase just below the elevator, a curved dark stone bar just below the stairs, with a piano and string duet just off to the right, and the room crowned with a gigantic skylight that spanned nearly the entire ceiling. I had entered another world. I felt like I had stepped onto the set of the Titantic, except it was a Titantic whose décor had been influenced by someone on an acid trip.
Our cabins weren’t quite ready, so we made our way to one of the many buffet style cafeterias, the Brasserie Bar & Grill, to get some lunch. The Brasserie, like the rest of the ship, had bright carpet, and odd futuristic, acid-tripish ornaments on the ceilings and walls. These particular ones were large purple spider web like tubes that wound their way all over the ceiling. After heaping my plate full of food I looked around for a place to pay and then realized that I didn’t have to. All of my meals were included in the cost of the cruise, so I could go back a billion times and never be charged. Neato! Cruises are so geared toward fat people!
After lunch Rose and I found our cabin, U-183. The U stood for Upper deck, which was deck 6, which meant that we were six decks from the bottom of the ship. Interesting, isn’t it? After unpacking and getting settled in U-183, we went to the mandatory lifeboat drill with the rest of the clan. We sat though a short demonstration of what to do if we were in danger of sinking, the proper way to wear a life vest, and where and how to board the lifeboats. Meg was full of questions throughout the drill. Now you try explaining to an innocent three-year-old child that in case the boat starts to sink, we have to wear these orange things, and get in these white boats so that we won’t drown. Yeah.
Once the drill was over, we found ourselves with a bit of time on our hands before the formal dinner at 5:45pm. So Rose and I walked about the ship and wound up exploring about half of it before dinner. There were 14 decks total, three of which were off limits to passengers as they were engine rooms and cargo holds and such. Four decks held nothing but sleeping cabins. The remaining six decks held a photo gallery where you could view and purchase pictures taken of you by Carnival photographers during your stay, two formal dinning rooms, a large play area for the children, a library, a piano bar, a mini mall, a casino, a sushi bar, a café, two dance clubs, two small themed bars, a karaoke lounge, a live performance theater/stage, a kid’s swimming pool, and two adult swimming pools (one with a slide), three outdoor Jacuzzis, a pizzeria, three poolside bars, a poolside stage, a beauty salon, a gym, a spa, a jogging track, and several sundecks for sunbathers. In short, the ship was ginormous!
Dining with Isabel and Richie
Dinner was quite a pleasant experience. Our whole Garris/Cummings crew was seated at the same table and we had a lovely view of the ocean and the fading tip of Florida from the window to the right of the table. Our waiters introduced themselves to us that evening. Isabel was a thirty-something boisterous, bald, black man from Honduras who had the most fantastic accent. The man who introduced himself as Richie was in his late twenties, was very quick, always smiling, struggled a bit with the English language, and was from Thailand. He said that he would tell us his real name, but expected that we would never be able to pronounce it properly, and stated that he was quite fond of the name Richie.
That night, and all week long, we enjoyed the world of fine dining and were looked after by our two very efficient waiters. I ordered things I couldn’t pronounce and I ate things that I still have no clue as to what they were. I ate some fabulous food on that trip and was pampered at dinner like never before. As I sat down each night Isabel or Richie would lay my napkin in my lap. If I got breadcrumbs on the table or dropped a morsel of my food, they were there to sweep it up with a napkin. I didn’t have to think about what silverware to use as they provided it for me and took it away the moment I indicated that I was done. A few nights, the waiters paused in their duties to gather in the middle of the dining room and sang to us all. It was awesome!
One night Richie had a few moments to talk with us and shared a bit of his story. He left Thailand to work on the Carnival Cruise line and he sends a portion of his paycheck home to his parents. Soon however, he will be marrying and the money will go to his wife and the family they will build. He seemed incredibly thankful for the opportunity to work there and appeared to love his job.
Actually, everyone on the ship appeared to love his or her job. Even the maids. Which got me to thinking that maybe I should go to work on a cruise ship. Traveling from port to port constantly. Working along side people from all over the world. How fun and interesting would that be?
Karaoke, Sponge Bob, & the King of the World
But I digress. Back to the story. After dinner, Raymond, Wayne, Cheryl, and I went to the Candlelight Lounge to listen karaoke. Of course, it was amusing as hell. Wayne and I were going to perform but couldn’t agree on a song. Alas, Carnival Cruise lines karaoke bar never witnessed our glory.
After the karaoke, Wayne and Cheryl went back to their cabin and Raymond and I decided to explore the ship’s bars and nightclubs. We made our way, first, to the Avant Garde Lounge where we were met with 30, 40, and 50 somethings grooving to Top 40 and oldies played by a Mexican cover band. It was pretty damn boring if not somewhat depressing, so we finished our drink and walked toward the Rock & Roll Disco in hopes of finding a younger crowd and more interesting antics. We found both. The crowd there was mostly in their 20s and 30s or slightly younger. The DJ was cranking out dance music and hip-hop favorites and the young attractive whores and boys were grinding all over each other. We perused the crowd for possible love connections and both agreed that our cruise ship did not seem to be a love boat. At least not for us. So we just started drinking heavily and laughing at the people dancing.
One dude, who had to be in his 40s, was dressed in a bright yellow Sponge Bob Squarepants t-shirt with bright red flannel pajama-looking pants that had little yellow Sponge Bobs all over them. He was drunk and he was dancing. This was bad for Sponge Bob, as we called him, but good for us. Initially, Sponge Bob was dancing all by himself, but then he wiggled his was up to some 20 something hottie and attempted to dance with her. The girl humored him for a few seconds and then danced over to the other side of the room with her friends. Sponge Bob was rejected about four times in the manner, but he kept on dancing, baby! His face was blood red, he was breathing terribly hard, and alternating between biting his tongue and making those stupid open-mouthed dancing faces, all the while shaking his groove thing as hard as it would shake. Raymond and I were wondering which would happen first: if Sponge Bob would pass out from drunkenness or collapse from exhaustion and possible heart attack.
At about 2:30am the alcohol began kicking my ass and we decided to leave the wonder of the Rock & Roll disco to go back to our cabins. On the way there I had an impulsive desire to see the front of the boat. Well…we sort of got lost because we were a wee bit tipsy and wound up at the back of the boat. Front. Back. Well at least there was water I could look at!!
We stepped out onto the deck and instantly my hair was beating me in my face and I clutched my shawl around me so that I wouldn’t lose it. I walked to the railing and looked down at the black waters churning below as the boat cut through them. And then I yelled, “I’m the King of the World! I am the King of the Motha’ Fuckin’ World!!!” And then I made Raymond yell it once. After some drunken conversation, giggling, and stumbling, we made our ways back to our cabins and passed out.
A Day at Sea
I awoke the next morning to the sounds of Rose getting ready for breakfast. I groggily asked her what time it was and learned that it was 8:00am. She asked me if I wanted to come to breakfast and I became suddenly aware of my intense desire to urinate. I sat up and the room started moving. I gripped the wall and steadied myself on my way to relieve my bladder. While I was sitting on the toilet, enjoying that wonderful feeling of relief one gets from peeing when you really gotta go, I put my hands over my face waiting for my senses to steady themselves. I lowered my hands. “Wow!” I said, “I must’ve gotten really wasted last night! I’m still drunk! I feel like the room’s moving to the right and then to the left and to the right and then the left. Oh god, it won’t stop!”
Rose started laughing and I finished in the rest room and stumbled back to my bed. I looked at her sitting on her bed, with an amused smile on her face, putting on her make up. “What?” I asked. “Well, the room IS moving to the right and then to the left and to the right. We’re at sea, Chris.” God I felt, like a dumb ass!
I was hung over, however, as the sunlight pouring in through the glass walls of the cafeteria stung my eyes and the smell of eggs and bacon plus the movement of the ship made me feel a wee bit nauseous. I sat down with Meg and Cheryl and waited for Rose to bring me some water and bread. I ate croissants with butted and salt and drank about 5 glasses of water. Word to the wise: DO NOT get drunk your first night on the cruise ship! The hang over is a bitch!
After drinking all that water, I felt somewhat better so I headed up to the pool to sunbathe. I found a spot on the upper deck where the sun was beating down on me perfectly, and the wind blew constantly. Everywhere I looked, I could see only the ocean surrounding us. The air smelled like the sea. And I laid in the sun for hours just enjoying the peacefulness of it all.
That evening we attended the Captain’s Dinner, which was the super formal night in the dining room. Some men wore tuxedos, some nice dress shirts and ties; some ladies wore evening gowns, or the traditional little black dress. I opted for the little black dress. Everyone looked great and it was fun to get all dressed up and swanky-like.
After dinner we attended the first Las Vegas style singing and dancing show, entitled El Nuevo Caribe. The theater/stage was quite large and beautiful, with huge gold and green sequined curtains hanging from the stage and soft cushioned brocade stadium seating in the same colors. The lights dimmed, the curtain parted, and a live mini-orchestra played as the singers sang and the dancers danced and the acrobats tumbled. It was an awesome show complete with intricate, flashy, and revealing costumes for the performers, rotating portions of the stage, fog machines, lighting effects, and a creepy Jamaican sounding narrator who kept saying, “El Nuevo Caribe!!!” and laughing maniacally. There was something for everyone. Men could enjoy the scantily clad female dancers and the women could enjoy the scantily clad and well toned male dancers. Rose and I were particularly fond of Andres from Brazil. Andres! Grrrr!!!
For the rest of the trip, if someone said they weren’t feeling well or they were tired or something wasn’t going according to plan I said, “You know what it is don’t you? It’s the Curse of El Nuevo Caribe!!!!!!” Hey…it was funny at the time.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
See? I'm not dead!
It's been a bit since I've updated, so I wanted to write to assure those of you who care that I'm still here. Or...well...if I am dead then I look pretty fucking good for a reanimated corpse. (And pretty fucking bad for a normal living human twenty-something.)
Anyway, I've been quite busy. Just got back from a cruise to the Cayman Islands and Cozumel, Mexico a week ago. It was fabulous and I'm currently working on the blog describing my trip. It's gonna be a long one. And amusing.
For now I just wanted to wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!!
And I wanted to share a little steam of consciousness sort unpoem thingie:
Cupid's Miss
Lying on my bed, crying into a pillow that I am holding so tightly. My face is hot and my hair sticks to my cheeks, wet by my tears. Gulping for air, I close my eyes.
I'm thirteen again. And it's Chris Vint, quarter back of the football team. I can see him in first period History class. Cute ass, sweet smile, and those ice-colored eyes...devoid of any intelligent thought.
I'm fifteen and here's Doug Lucas, center on the basketball team. He's asking me to dance and it's Valentine's Day. The most popular boy in school with those too-blue eyes...focused only on his cock.
I'm seventeen and it's Joe Carlucci, the quiet loner and creative intellectual. He's kissing me in the front seat of my mother's car. Smoldering, thoughtful brown eyes peering at me through that dissheveled black hair, and the warmest smile in the world...shattered one night by the back of his hand.
I'm eighteen...I'm nineteen...I'm twenty-five...I'm twenty-six and I guess, sometimes, I'm Cupid's miss.
It's been a bit since I've updated, so I wanted to write to assure those of you who care that I'm still here. Or...well...if I am dead then I look pretty fucking good for a reanimated corpse. (And pretty fucking bad for a normal living human twenty-something.)
Anyway, I've been quite busy. Just got back from a cruise to the Cayman Islands and Cozumel, Mexico a week ago. It was fabulous and I'm currently working on the blog describing my trip. It's gonna be a long one. And amusing.
For now I just wanted to wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!!
And I wanted to share a little steam of consciousness sort unpoem thingie:
Cupid's Miss
Lying on my bed, crying into a pillow that I am holding so tightly. My face is hot and my hair sticks to my cheeks, wet by my tears. Gulping for air, I close my eyes.
I'm thirteen again. And it's Chris Vint, quarter back of the football team. I can see him in first period History class. Cute ass, sweet smile, and those ice-colored eyes...devoid of any intelligent thought.
I'm fifteen and here's Doug Lucas, center on the basketball team. He's asking me to dance and it's Valentine's Day. The most popular boy in school with those too-blue eyes...focused only on his cock.
I'm seventeen and it's Joe Carlucci, the quiet loner and creative intellectual. He's kissing me in the front seat of my mother's car. Smoldering, thoughtful brown eyes peering at me through that dissheveled black hair, and the warmest smile in the world...shattered one night by the back of his hand.
I'm eighteen...I'm nineteen...I'm twenty-five...I'm twenty-six and I guess, sometimes, I'm Cupid's miss.
Monday, January 24, 2005
A good cry...
I finished an hour crying session just now. And it felt really, really good.
I've cried about four times since I've lived in Baltimore. Once because I missed my family & friends. Once because of a conversation with Ben. Once because of a conversation with Craig. And tonight.
Tonight Rose & I watched Garden State. The main character is a very numb twenty something male whose mother has just died. He returns to his New Jersey for the funeral. While there he stops taking the antidepressants his psychiatrist father has been prescribing him since he was 10 years old. He realizes that his life has been fucked up, however he’s tired of being medicated and he wants to work things out. He meets a quirky semi-fucked up chica who inspires him and whom he falls in love with and so forth and so on. It’s a really cute film.
In my current blah mood I of course shed a few tears at the end of the movie. And then I took myself into my room, sat in the floor in front of my wonderful little heater, and cried and cried and cried. And I thought, “Why am I crying?” And I answered, “Because I’m lonely. Because I want mine. Because I want my, quirky, fantastic, imperfect, and possibly fucked up person to love who will love me back.” And I’ve been looking so hard for so long. For too long. And in the meanwhile I’ve lost focus of things that used to be very important to me. And I’ve become this unthinking, reacting, tortured creature.
I came to Baltimore to change. All I’ve changed thus far is my geographic location. I’m still caught in the same negative thinking, the same negative behaviors. It can’t continue. The creature in me must die.
I gave up hope on the whole dating thing a few weeks ago after a really horrid dating experience with a guy in DC. I said to myself, “That’s it! No more! I’m not gonna keep putting myself through this shit! If I find someone, I’ll find them by luck!” And that’s when I realized that I had been looking awful hard for an awful long time. And I realized that the reason I was looking so hard was because I really wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being alone. (I hate to say you were right Chris & Steve…but when you’re right, you’re right.)
Okay. So I don’t want to face the burden of buying a house alone. I don’t want to think that I may have to get knocked up by some random guy or get artificially inseminated to have children. I don’t like the idea of raising a child by myself. I don’t like the idea of living through my 40s, 50s, 60s, alone. I want someone to love passionately, purely, honestly. I want someone to grow old with. To build a home and family with.
So no. I don’t like being alone. I don’t want to be alone forever. But right now…right now I need to be alone so I can get myself together again. Right now I want to be alone. So I can rearrange this mess in my head.
It’s a start, I think. A step forward. From here I guess I just keep working to untangle everything. Do positive activities, like exercise or dance or mess with my guitar when I'm feeling down. And just be okay with being me all by myself.
I think I’m gonna be okay. For the first time in a long time I feel hopeful. And where there's hope anything is possible.
I finished an hour crying session just now. And it felt really, really good.
I've cried about four times since I've lived in Baltimore. Once because I missed my family & friends. Once because of a conversation with Ben. Once because of a conversation with Craig. And tonight.
Tonight Rose & I watched Garden State. The main character is a very numb twenty something male whose mother has just died. He returns to his New Jersey for the funeral. While there he stops taking the antidepressants his psychiatrist father has been prescribing him since he was 10 years old. He realizes that his life has been fucked up, however he’s tired of being medicated and he wants to work things out. He meets a quirky semi-fucked up chica who inspires him and whom he falls in love with and so forth and so on. It’s a really cute film.
In my current blah mood I of course shed a few tears at the end of the movie. And then I took myself into my room, sat in the floor in front of my wonderful little heater, and cried and cried and cried. And I thought, “Why am I crying?” And I answered, “Because I’m lonely. Because I want mine. Because I want my, quirky, fantastic, imperfect, and possibly fucked up person to love who will love me back.” And I’ve been looking so hard for so long. For too long. And in the meanwhile I’ve lost focus of things that used to be very important to me. And I’ve become this unthinking, reacting, tortured creature.
I came to Baltimore to change. All I’ve changed thus far is my geographic location. I’m still caught in the same negative thinking, the same negative behaviors. It can’t continue. The creature in me must die.
I gave up hope on the whole dating thing a few weeks ago after a really horrid dating experience with a guy in DC. I said to myself, “That’s it! No more! I’m not gonna keep putting myself through this shit! If I find someone, I’ll find them by luck!” And that’s when I realized that I had been looking awful hard for an awful long time. And I realized that the reason I was looking so hard was because I really wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being alone. (I hate to say you were right Chris & Steve…but when you’re right, you’re right.)
Okay. So I don’t want to face the burden of buying a house alone. I don’t want to think that I may have to get knocked up by some random guy or get artificially inseminated to have children. I don’t like the idea of raising a child by myself. I don’t like the idea of living through my 40s, 50s, 60s, alone. I want someone to love passionately, purely, honestly. I want someone to grow old with. To build a home and family with.
So no. I don’t like being alone. I don’t want to be alone forever. But right now…right now I need to be alone so I can get myself together again. Right now I want to be alone. So I can rearrange this mess in my head.
It’s a start, I think. A step forward. From here I guess I just keep working to untangle everything. Do positive activities, like exercise or dance or mess with my guitar when I'm feeling down. And just be okay with being me all by myself.
I think I’m gonna be okay. For the first time in a long time I feel hopeful. And where there's hope anything is possible.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
New Year's Eve in Baltimore
New Year's Eve in Charm City was...well...charming. Rose & I went down to Fell's Point to watch the fireworks display and to meet up with Colin. Colin is a new friend I've made here, with the help of Scott Brooks. He's also from WV and a chef at a landmark restaurant called The Owl Bar. And he sucks at Soul Calibur II.
Anyway, there were SO many fucking people out! Twenty-something parents with their wee children. Entire family groups with moms, dads, kids, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents all drinking together. Groups of twenty or thirty-something men eyeing the gaggles of scantily clad (and freezing) young females with their bodies on display. I saw people dressed in jeans, sweaters, coats, hats...and some in mini skirts, heels, fishnet stockings, and tops that were held on with bits of metallic string...and the rest were somewhere in between.
Midnight struck and the first fireworks exploded into the sky, brilliant red and gold! I hugged Rose and wished her a Happy New Year! I tried to call my parents and brother, but the line was busy. I then tried to call Chris' phone to wish all of my people in Columbus a Happy New Year, but the Cingular network was so overloaded with calls, I couldn't get through. So I put the phone back in my bag and turned my attention to the sparkles in the sky. It was a lovely display, but after about 30 minutes my attention began wandering and I was shivering from the cold. And it was half-past midnight on New Year's Eve and I wasn't drunk! Worse, I hadn't even had my first drop of alcohol!
So Rose and I walked back down the pier, wharf, whatever in search of a warm bar in which we could take shelter while waiting for Colin to arrive. We settled on a place called Max's and at that moment my phone rang and Colin emerged from the crowd. Max's was really too crowded so we decided to walk around to find a nice pub in which we could sit comfortably and talk. Most places were packed to the point that one would have to squeeze their way through the door and would be pressed up against people on all sides while in the establishment. Having a relatively normal sized personal space bubble, I didn't find that at all appealing. Finally we settled on a place called DuClaw Brewing Company.
I'd been to DuClaw before with Craig, but neither Rose nor Colin had been. They brew their own beer, (hence "Brewing Company") and let me tell ya, it kicks ass! And what makes it so sweet (and by "sweet" I mean "totally awesome") the beers have kick ass names too! Like Bare Ass Blonde Ale, Naked Fish, Misfit Red, Devil's Milk, Bad Moon Porter, Ravenwood, Mad Bishop, and Twisted Kilt. Cool, huh? I want to take Shawn, Chris, & Ken here when they come...among other places with good beer.
Anyway, I had two Misfit Red's, a Bare Ass Blonde, and a half of a Red-headed Slut. (God that's the worst shot in the universe! It tasted like Children's Tylenol cough syrup!) I called Chris' phone back and got through this time to wish everyone a Happy New Year. Chris reported that he was sitting on the curb outside of Claddagh's in Columbus trying to sober up so he could drive everyone home. He informed me that Ken had had a wee bit too much to drink as he was taking off his clothes in the pub and at one point was down to his boxers! I asked to talk to Shawn and he adamently refused, stating that Shawn was indisposed. I thought it was just Chris being difficult so I demanded to speak with Shawn. Chris asked Shawn if he wanted to talk and I heard Shawn say, "Yeah...I don't feel so good." And then I heard the sound of gagging and then something liquid & squishy hitting pavement. Promptly followed by the sound of Chris' amused, yet pitying laughter. Yeah. DAMN! I SO WISH I HAD BEEN THERE!!!! I missed you guys so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, while enjoying my beer I received a mysterious text message wishing me a Happy New Year. This same number had sent me a Merry Christmas wish and I'd never figured out who it was. So this time I decided to call it. It turned out to be some complete stranger named Ray. Ray had text messaged me by mistake. Anyway, he was very friendly and we wished each other a Happy New Year and that was that.
By the time we left DuClaw I was feeling very festive. It was 2AM and all the bars were closing, so Rose decided to go home. Colin told me of an after hours party at another bar...it would be open until 4AM! Wooo hooo! You know me! So we went to the Ottobar, which seemed like a very rock n' roll, punk sort of establishment. We played video puzzle games, had drunken conversation, and I had an Amstel Light (I think) and a Long Island Iced Tea. I was fucked up when the 4AM hour rolled around.
So I was drunk, Colin was buzzed, and we were downtown. Luckily, he lives downtown so he drove the few blocks to his apt. and we crashed hard. The next morning I awoke with extreme cotton mouth and an irrational craving for the greek omelete served at the Nautilus Diner. So up we got and picked up Rose and ate greasy breakfast food. And then I went to work with a perfect hangover.
And that, my friends, is how New Year's is supposed to be! No offense to Colin or Rose, but I so missed my friends. I wished that you guys had been with us! Next year I'm not going to be without you! It just didn't feel right without you guys! I love you. =)
New Year's Eve in Charm City was...well...charming. Rose & I went down to Fell's Point to watch the fireworks display and to meet up with Colin. Colin is a new friend I've made here, with the help of Scott Brooks. He's also from WV and a chef at a landmark restaurant called The Owl Bar. And he sucks at Soul Calibur II.
Anyway, there were SO many fucking people out! Twenty-something parents with their wee children. Entire family groups with moms, dads, kids, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents all drinking together. Groups of twenty or thirty-something men eyeing the gaggles of scantily clad (and freezing) young females with their bodies on display. I saw people dressed in jeans, sweaters, coats, hats...and some in mini skirts, heels, fishnet stockings, and tops that were held on with bits of metallic string...and the rest were somewhere in between.
Midnight struck and the first fireworks exploded into the sky, brilliant red and gold! I hugged Rose and wished her a Happy New Year! I tried to call my parents and brother, but the line was busy. I then tried to call Chris' phone to wish all of my people in Columbus a Happy New Year, but the Cingular network was so overloaded with calls, I couldn't get through. So I put the phone back in my bag and turned my attention to the sparkles in the sky. It was a lovely display, but after about 30 minutes my attention began wandering and I was shivering from the cold. And it was half-past midnight on New Year's Eve and I wasn't drunk! Worse, I hadn't even had my first drop of alcohol!
So Rose and I walked back down the pier, wharf, whatever in search of a warm bar in which we could take shelter while waiting for Colin to arrive. We settled on a place called Max's and at that moment my phone rang and Colin emerged from the crowd. Max's was really too crowded so we decided to walk around to find a nice pub in which we could sit comfortably and talk. Most places were packed to the point that one would have to squeeze their way through the door and would be pressed up against people on all sides while in the establishment. Having a relatively normal sized personal space bubble, I didn't find that at all appealing. Finally we settled on a place called DuClaw Brewing Company.
I'd been to DuClaw before with Craig, but neither Rose nor Colin had been. They brew their own beer, (hence "Brewing Company") and let me tell ya, it kicks ass! And what makes it so sweet (and by "sweet" I mean "totally awesome") the beers have kick ass names too! Like Bare Ass Blonde Ale, Naked Fish, Misfit Red, Devil's Milk, Bad Moon Porter, Ravenwood, Mad Bishop, and Twisted Kilt. Cool, huh? I want to take Shawn, Chris, & Ken here when they come...among other places with good beer.
Anyway, I had two Misfit Red's, a Bare Ass Blonde, and a half of a Red-headed Slut. (God that's the worst shot in the universe! It tasted like Children's Tylenol cough syrup!) I called Chris' phone back and got through this time to wish everyone a Happy New Year. Chris reported that he was sitting on the curb outside of Claddagh's in Columbus trying to sober up so he could drive everyone home. He informed me that Ken had had a wee bit too much to drink as he was taking off his clothes in the pub and at one point was down to his boxers! I asked to talk to Shawn and he adamently refused, stating that Shawn was indisposed. I thought it was just Chris being difficult so I demanded to speak with Shawn. Chris asked Shawn if he wanted to talk and I heard Shawn say, "Yeah...I don't feel so good." And then I heard the sound of gagging and then something liquid & squishy hitting pavement. Promptly followed by the sound of Chris' amused, yet pitying laughter. Yeah. DAMN! I SO WISH I HAD BEEN THERE!!!! I missed you guys so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, while enjoying my beer I received a mysterious text message wishing me a Happy New Year. This same number had sent me a Merry Christmas wish and I'd never figured out who it was. So this time I decided to call it. It turned out to be some complete stranger named Ray. Ray had text messaged me by mistake. Anyway, he was very friendly and we wished each other a Happy New Year and that was that.
By the time we left DuClaw I was feeling very festive. It was 2AM and all the bars were closing, so Rose decided to go home. Colin told me of an after hours party at another bar...it would be open until 4AM! Wooo hooo! You know me! So we went to the Ottobar, which seemed like a very rock n' roll, punk sort of establishment. We played video puzzle games, had drunken conversation, and I had an Amstel Light (I think) and a Long Island Iced Tea. I was fucked up when the 4AM hour rolled around.
So I was drunk, Colin was buzzed, and we were downtown. Luckily, he lives downtown so he drove the few blocks to his apt. and we crashed hard. The next morning I awoke with extreme cotton mouth and an irrational craving for the greek omelete served at the Nautilus Diner. So up we got and picked up Rose and ate greasy breakfast food. And then I went to work with a perfect hangover.
And that, my friends, is how New Year's is supposed to be! No offense to Colin or Rose, but I so missed my friends. I wished that you guys had been with us! Next year I'm not going to be without you! It just didn't feel right without you guys! I love you. =)
Monday, January 10, 2005
We wish you a Harry Krishna
Rose and I went home to WV for Christmas. Super-intelligent creatures that we are, we decided to drive in after having worked all day and been up all the previous night wrapping Christmas gifts for our family. So with zero sleep and limited lucidity, we made it to WV at half-past midnight on Christmas Eve. (Well...I suppose that means we got there Christmas morn.) At any rate, we arrived before Santa and his eight tiny reindeer and promptly passed out from exhaustion. Luckily, we were awakened with shouts of "Santa tame Ant Wose and Ant Twiss!" by our darling Meg at 5:00 AM. Luckily. Or else we might've gotten some rest. =)
But I'm not complaining. It was a lovely Christmas morning, surrounded by my wonderfully warm and loving family. I am truly blessed. =) Meg was, of course, adorable opening her gifts. She attempted to stop half-way through because she had gotten the two things that she'd asked for and I think she was a little overwhelmed. And she was eager to actually play with the toys Santa, her parents, Grandma, Grandpa, & the Aunts had gotten her.
We've the whole thing video taped so that I can relive her cuteness at my leisure, however there were a few moments that stood out in my mind. One was when she opened the karaoke machine that Rose had gotten her. She gasped and said, "Just what I always wanted for Christmas!!!" It was so hilarious! And the joy when she opened the Barbie horse I had gotten her. "It's Spirit's Mom!!!", she exclaimed happily, jumping straight up from the traditional 3 year-old's kneeling gift opening position.
The third moment happened later in the morning. After all the gifts were opened, my family and I just sat around in the living room drinking coffee,eating some of the chocolate that Santa had left in our big red stockings, and watching Meg play with her My Little Ponies. It was a nice peaceful moment. The overhead lights were off in the living room and the Christmas tree was twinkling with all of it's might...green, red, blue, yellow, over and over again. It was still dark out, but the night was beginning to fade from black to a crisp, deep, & misty blue. We all talked in hushed voices. It was home and it was lovely. I finished my coffee and got down on the floor with my little munchkin and her little ponies. She ordered me to lay down and I did and she began using my body for hills and mountains upon which the little ponies galloped. It was damn cute. Then she started walking all over me and giggling maniacally! She walked up my legs and stood on my stomach for a minute. Then she said, "Hold my hands, Ant Twiss." So I did. And then she walked up my chest...and carefully and purposefully placed one of her little feet on one of my breasts. Once she steadied herself, she placed the other foot on the other breast! And then said, "I'm standin' on you boobies, Ant Twiss!" And I laughed until I couldn't breathe...and I thought my mom was either going to suffocate or piss herself!
So Christmas was fantastic...but short.
THE END
Next issue read about The Amazon's New Year's Eve celebration, Phantom of the Opera induced depression & psychosis, and why she's giving up dating!!!
Rose and I went home to WV for Christmas. Super-intelligent creatures that we are, we decided to drive in after having worked all day and been up all the previous night wrapping Christmas gifts for our family. So with zero sleep and limited lucidity, we made it to WV at half-past midnight on Christmas Eve. (Well...I suppose that means we got there Christmas morn.) At any rate, we arrived before Santa and his eight tiny reindeer and promptly passed out from exhaustion. Luckily, we were awakened with shouts of "Santa tame Ant Wose and Ant Twiss!" by our darling Meg at 5:00 AM. Luckily. Or else we might've gotten some rest. =)
But I'm not complaining. It was a lovely Christmas morning, surrounded by my wonderfully warm and loving family. I am truly blessed. =) Meg was, of course, adorable opening her gifts. She attempted to stop half-way through because she had gotten the two things that she'd asked for and I think she was a little overwhelmed. And she was eager to actually play with the toys Santa, her parents, Grandma, Grandpa, & the Aunts had gotten her.
We've the whole thing video taped so that I can relive her cuteness at my leisure, however there were a few moments that stood out in my mind. One was when she opened the karaoke machine that Rose had gotten her. She gasped and said, "Just what I always wanted for Christmas!!!" It was so hilarious! And the joy when she opened the Barbie horse I had gotten her. "It's Spirit's Mom!!!", she exclaimed happily, jumping straight up from the traditional 3 year-old's kneeling gift opening position.
The third moment happened later in the morning. After all the gifts were opened, my family and I just sat around in the living room drinking coffee,eating some of the chocolate that Santa had left in our big red stockings, and watching Meg play with her My Little Ponies. It was a nice peaceful moment. The overhead lights were off in the living room and the Christmas tree was twinkling with all of it's might...green, red, blue, yellow, over and over again. It was still dark out, but the night was beginning to fade from black to a crisp, deep, & misty blue. We all talked in hushed voices. It was home and it was lovely. I finished my coffee and got down on the floor with my little munchkin and her little ponies. She ordered me to lay down and I did and she began using my body for hills and mountains upon which the little ponies galloped. It was damn cute. Then she started walking all over me and giggling maniacally! She walked up my legs and stood on my stomach for a minute. Then she said, "Hold my hands, Ant Twiss." So I did. And then she walked up my chest...and carefully and purposefully placed one of her little feet on one of my breasts. Once she steadied herself, she placed the other foot on the other breast! And then said, "I'm standin' on you boobies, Ant Twiss!" And I laughed until I couldn't breathe...and I thought my mom was either going to suffocate or piss herself!
So Christmas was fantastic...but short.
THE END
Next issue read about The Amazon's New Year's Eve celebration, Phantom of the Opera induced depression & psychosis, and why she's giving up dating!!!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
People Love Asses
Back in February of 2002, I created this blog, my online personal journal. I needed a name for my newly birthed project on that cold February day long ago and so I referred to my refridgerator magnet poetry for inspiration.
There were two lines of poetry that were very special to me. Two lines that my good friend Shawn had strung together when I lived in a 6th Avenue apartment in Huntington, WV. And when I moved to lovely Saint Albans after completing college, I moved those two lines of poetry in tact. And those two lines were:
"Never manipulate my black lust god!!!" & "Skin my thousand asses!!!"
Because I wanted to honor my friend Shawn, and because I needed a title that would fit with the vision of what I wanted my journal to be, I chose the latter of those two beautiful lines of poetic verse.
You know, when I first named this website I didn't give any thought to the fact that having the word "ass" or "asses" in my title would determine what sort of people would randomly find me. It never crossed my mind that I would be inviting perverts and horny males of all ages to browse through the digital pages of my history. But today, as I browsed through the statistics and information complied for my by StatCounter.com, the harsh reality hit me.
As I read I found that several individuals had searched for pornography or nude photos and, most likely much to their disappointment, had found my site instead. Someone from Mountain View, CA had searched for "Big old asses" at 1:24 AM. Someone from Flint, MI wanted to see some "thick black asses" today at 12:45 AM. An internet user from Paragould City Light & Water in Little Rock, AR searched for "pregnant porn". A horny individual with high standards from Denver, CO wanted to see "perfect asses" & a qwirky cuss with his wang dangling from Lewiston, ID wanted "apple bottom asses". My personal favorite, however, came from the little town of Magnolia, AR. This individual wanted a down home country girl as he/she was searching for pictures of "cornbread fed asses"!
Initially, I was a bit perturbed by the fact that I have pervs and porn-a-holics reading my personal info. Then I felt relief as I noticed that most of them only stayed on the site a matter of seconds before clicking off so that they could get off. And then I felt somewhat pleased that the title of my site was interesting enough to attract their attention for even a second! Shawn, I owe you so much! If it weren't for your clever words, I might never have been touched by so many dirty minded people! Thank you!!! Thank you!!!!!!
And now in the style of Wank I ponder, "What have I learned today?"
Well, I've learned that people love asses! So much that they search for pictures of all shapes, sizes, and colors of them on the Internet daily! Here's to all you ass lovers out there!
Back in February of 2002, I created this blog, my online personal journal. I needed a name for my newly birthed project on that cold February day long ago and so I referred to my refridgerator magnet poetry for inspiration.
There were two lines of poetry that were very special to me. Two lines that my good friend Shawn had strung together when I lived in a 6th Avenue apartment in Huntington, WV. And when I moved to lovely Saint Albans after completing college, I moved those two lines of poetry in tact. And those two lines were:
"Never manipulate my black lust god!!!" & "Skin my thousand asses!!!"
Because I wanted to honor my friend Shawn, and because I needed a title that would fit with the vision of what I wanted my journal to be, I chose the latter of those two beautiful lines of poetic verse.
You know, when I first named this website I didn't give any thought to the fact that having the word "ass" or "asses" in my title would determine what sort of people would randomly find me. It never crossed my mind that I would be inviting perverts and horny males of all ages to browse through the digital pages of my history. But today, as I browsed through the statistics and information complied for my by StatCounter.com, the harsh reality hit me.
As I read I found that several individuals had searched for pornography or nude photos and, most likely much to their disappointment, had found my site instead. Someone from Mountain View, CA had searched for "Big old asses" at 1:24 AM. Someone from Flint, MI wanted to see some "thick black asses" today at 12:45 AM. An internet user from Paragould City Light & Water in Little Rock, AR searched for "pregnant porn". A horny individual with high standards from Denver, CO wanted to see "perfect asses" & a qwirky cuss with his wang dangling from Lewiston, ID wanted "apple bottom asses". My personal favorite, however, came from the little town of Magnolia, AR. This individual wanted a down home country girl as he/she was searching for pictures of "cornbread fed asses"!
Initially, I was a bit perturbed by the fact that I have pervs and porn-a-holics reading my personal info. Then I felt relief as I noticed that most of them only stayed on the site a matter of seconds before clicking off so that they could get off. And then I felt somewhat pleased that the title of my site was interesting enough to attract their attention for even a second! Shawn, I owe you so much! If it weren't for your clever words, I might never have been touched by so many dirty minded people! Thank you!!! Thank you!!!!!!
And now in the style of Wank I ponder, "What have I learned today?"
Well, I've learned that people love asses! So much that they search for pictures of all shapes, sizes, and colors of them on the Internet daily! Here's to all you ass lovers out there!
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Nyquil? Tylenol Cold? Cipro? God? Something please help me!!!!
I'm tired of being sick!!! I hacked and coughed for most of the night, and didn't rest well until later in the morning. I was supposed to get up early and do the Christmas shopping for one of my residents at work. But becaue of my poor night's rest, I didn't get up early enough to go to the mall. So I called my supervisor and she was like, "Oh, I was hoping all of that would be done tonight." And I had to defend myself, "Well, I intended to have it done, but I didn't plan on being up most of the night coughing and choking on my mucus."
I've been sick for a little over a week and I've gone to work every damn day. I had to work this weekend, so I've had no real rest. And tomorrow, on my day off, they're having the Christmas party for the girls at work and it would be frowned upon if I don't show up.
I feel like shit. I don't want to go to work today. I know I have to go in on my "day off" tomorrow. I'm feeling terribly untherapeutic at the moment.
I'm tired of being sick!!! I hacked and coughed for most of the night, and didn't rest well until later in the morning. I was supposed to get up early and do the Christmas shopping for one of my residents at work. But becaue of my poor night's rest, I didn't get up early enough to go to the mall. So I called my supervisor and she was like, "Oh, I was hoping all of that would be done tonight." And I had to defend myself, "Well, I intended to have it done, but I didn't plan on being up most of the night coughing and choking on my mucus."
I've been sick for a little over a week and I've gone to work every damn day. I had to work this weekend, so I've had no real rest. And tomorrow, on my day off, they're having the Christmas party for the girls at work and it would be frowned upon if I don't show up.
I feel like shit. I don't want to go to work today. I know I have to go in on my "day off" tomorrow. I'm feeling terribly untherapeutic at the moment.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Winter isn't coming! It already came! Right on the winshield of my car!!
People in Baltimore DO NOT know how to drive in ice and snow!
Several stupid Baltimorians driving in front of me on my way home tonight seemed perturbed when they tried to go up an incline and found it somewhat icy. So instead of slowing down, kicking their car into low gear, and proceeding up the hill they turn around in the middle of the fucking road, nearly causing several accidents, and drove back down the icy hill! Does this make the slightest bit of sense to anyone out there? IDIOTS!
And you would've thought a blizzard had hit tonight from Rose's report of the activity down at the local Superfresh (grocery store). Lines 10 people long at every register, including the self-check out lanes.
Oh boy. Now this should be an interesting winter.
Light My Fire, damn it!!!
I coaxed Crescent & Rose into joining me to go see a band on Saturday. As were about to be whisked away by Rosie in her Benzie toward the Box of Funk, Craig returned from Christmas shopping and decided to accompany us. So Craig, Crescent, Rose & I all took a trip down to Federal Hill in Baltimore to the Funk Box, and a trip back in time, to see The Doors!
Well...okay. So it wasn't really the Doors. (I understand that Jim Morrison is quite dead and buried in gay Paris. May we all lament for the death of his cock. Sore and crucified.) It was a tribute band called The Soft Parade, the members of which make it their business to "recreate the theatrical, poetic, primal atmosphere of a live Doors concert for today's audiences."
It was almost insane, really. The lead singer had the long Jimmy Morrison wavy locks, the tight black leather pants, the big ugly brown leather jacket, the whole deal! He looked like Jim Morrison might have, if he had lived and hit the middle-age spread. Basically, it was fat Jimmy...kinda like fat Elvis.
The keyboard player looked very much like Ray Manzarek, keyboardist for the Doors, complete with the 70's style blonde mop hairdo, ugly shirt & blazer combo, and large framed 70's glasses. And the guitarist might have passed on the street for Robby Krieger, guitarist for the Doors, with his receding frizzed out shoulder length hair & hideous 70's attire. The drummer, however, didn't look much at all like John Densmore, drummer for the Doors. Nope. But boy was he sexy! =)
So, they had the look, but more impressive, they really and truly had the sound of the Doors. The lead singer actually sounded like Jim Morrison! The keyboardist used the same type of keyboards that Manzarek used to play and he played them well! It was terribly...well...groovy!
The first couple of songs were somewhat disappointing, as no one in the group knew them. But then they played "People are Strange" and everyone was able to sing along. After that, I'm pretty sure that I knew every song but a couple. Crescent and I were wiggling our asses and doing silly dances once the alcohol lowered our inhibitions a bit. (Rose didn't drink due to being the DD. Craig didn't drink because he is a GREAT, HUGE WALKING VAGINA!!! Well...that and he has tummy troubles.)
I demonstrated for Crescent the famous hippy finger watching dance that Beth (Ben's pot head-hippy-next door neighbor at 1913 6th Avenue) taught me at the Stoned Monkey in 1997 after getting me totally stoned in her car. Cres and I went downstairs and danced with the other drunken fools in front of the stage. After a few minutes, we noticed that the dance floor was actually bending & bouncing under the weight of all the people. We were afraid that we'd fall through to the trendy black toilets in the bathrooms down below, so we went back up to the balcony section to rejoin Craig and Rose.
In between every song, the band asked for requests. In the beginning I screamed out, "L.A. Woman!" or "Riders on the Storm!". As the night wore on, I got a little anxious that I wouldn't get to hear my all time favorite Doors song, "Light my Fire". So I began yelling out "Light my Fire!" And Crescent began saying, "Light her Fire!! For the love of god, light this woman's fire!!!" So they began singing "The End", which is a song that often ended many Doors concerts, and I began to feel drunkenly disappointed. And then they said goodnight and walked off stage! I joined in the chorus of people screaming, "Encore! Encore!", stamping my boots and clapping my hands. And, of course, they came back! And I screamed "Light my Fire, damn it!!!" one last time. And they did. And I danced and sang and acted a fool...and felt very happy doing it! =)
The Thirsty Dog & the Quest for the glowing Golden Arches
After enjoying the wonder that was The Soft Parade, we staggered and walked down the street to The Thirsty Dog Pub, which is a little brew pub a few doors down from the Funk Box on Federal Hill. It's a bar that actually allows owners to bring their mutts if they so choose. I discovered it during my date with Eric, the Jew. It's a very charming little place, with a fireplace blazing on the first floor and a second floor with cozy seating and charming bare brick walls. Crescent and I drank two Peach Dogs each.
People in Baltimore DO NOT know how to drive in ice and snow!
Several stupid Baltimorians driving in front of me on my way home tonight seemed perturbed when they tried to go up an incline and found it somewhat icy. So instead of slowing down, kicking their car into low gear, and proceeding up the hill they turn around in the middle of the fucking road, nearly causing several accidents, and drove back down the icy hill! Does this make the slightest bit of sense to anyone out there? IDIOTS!
And you would've thought a blizzard had hit tonight from Rose's report of the activity down at the local Superfresh (grocery store). Lines 10 people long at every register, including the self-check out lanes.
Oh boy. Now this should be an interesting winter.
Light My Fire, damn it!!!
I coaxed Crescent & Rose into joining me to go see a band on Saturday. As were about to be whisked away by Rosie in her Benzie toward the Box of Funk, Craig returned from Christmas shopping and decided to accompany us. So Craig, Crescent, Rose & I all took a trip down to Federal Hill in Baltimore to the Funk Box, and a trip back in time, to see The Doors!
Well...okay. So it wasn't really the Doors. (I understand that Jim Morrison is quite dead and buried in gay Paris. May we all lament for the death of his cock. Sore and crucified.) It was a tribute band called The Soft Parade, the members of which make it their business to "recreate the theatrical, poetic, primal atmosphere of a live Doors concert for today's audiences."
It was almost insane, really. The lead singer had the long Jimmy Morrison wavy locks, the tight black leather pants, the big ugly brown leather jacket, the whole deal! He looked like Jim Morrison might have, if he had lived and hit the middle-age spread. Basically, it was fat Jimmy...kinda like fat Elvis.
The keyboard player looked very much like Ray Manzarek, keyboardist for the Doors, complete with the 70's style blonde mop hairdo, ugly shirt & blazer combo, and large framed 70's glasses. And the guitarist might have passed on the street for Robby Krieger, guitarist for the Doors, with his receding frizzed out shoulder length hair & hideous 70's attire. The drummer, however, didn't look much at all like John Densmore, drummer for the Doors. Nope. But boy was he sexy! =)
So, they had the look, but more impressive, they really and truly had the sound of the Doors. The lead singer actually sounded like Jim Morrison! The keyboardist used the same type of keyboards that Manzarek used to play and he played them well! It was terribly...well...groovy!
The first couple of songs were somewhat disappointing, as no one in the group knew them. But then they played "People are Strange" and everyone was able to sing along. After that, I'm pretty sure that I knew every song but a couple. Crescent and I were wiggling our asses and doing silly dances once the alcohol lowered our inhibitions a bit. (Rose didn't drink due to being the DD. Craig didn't drink because he is a GREAT, HUGE WALKING VAGINA!!! Well...that and he has tummy troubles.)
I demonstrated for Crescent the famous hippy finger watching dance that Beth (Ben's pot head-hippy-next door neighbor at 1913 6th Avenue) taught me at the Stoned Monkey in 1997 after getting me totally stoned in her car. Cres and I went downstairs and danced with the other drunken fools in front of the stage. After a few minutes, we noticed that the dance floor was actually bending & bouncing under the weight of all the people. We were afraid that we'd fall through to the trendy black toilets in the bathrooms down below, so we went back up to the balcony section to rejoin Craig and Rose.
In between every song, the band asked for requests. In the beginning I screamed out, "L.A. Woman!" or "Riders on the Storm!". As the night wore on, I got a little anxious that I wouldn't get to hear my all time favorite Doors song, "Light my Fire". So I began yelling out "Light my Fire!" And Crescent began saying, "Light her Fire!! For the love of god, light this woman's fire!!!" So they began singing "The End", which is a song that often ended many Doors concerts, and I began to feel drunkenly disappointed. And then they said goodnight and walked off stage! I joined in the chorus of people screaming, "Encore! Encore!", stamping my boots and clapping my hands. And, of course, they came back! And I screamed "Light my Fire, damn it!!!" one last time. And they did. And I danced and sang and acted a fool...and felt very happy doing it! =)
The Thirsty Dog & the Quest for the glowing Golden Arches
After enjoying the wonder that was The Soft Parade, we staggered and walked down the street to The Thirsty Dog Pub, which is a little brew pub a few doors down from the Funk Box on Federal Hill. It's a bar that actually allows owners to bring their mutts if they so choose. I discovered it during my date with Eric, the Jew. It's a very charming little place, with a fireplace blazing on the first floor and a second floor with cozy seating and charming bare brick walls. Crescent and I drank two Peach Dogs each.
As we were contemplating the idea of going back to Cres & Craig's townhome to order pizza, the waitress asked us to finish our beer downstairs as the bar would be closing soon. Maryland is slightly retarded when it comes to the time the bars close...2 AM. Who ever heard of such a thing? Baltimore is a large, advanced city!!! Doesn't it follow reason that their bars should stay open later? All night, in fact?
Well, we walked downstairs, guzzling and gulping our amber nectar and I'm sure I ranted against the early closing of the bar for a moment or two. Somehow our conversation turned to McDonald's and Crescent suddenly became a Big Mac fiend, bound and determined that we should set forth at once to the land of Golden Arches! And so we began our quest for an open McDonald's with a glimmer of hope. But that hope was extinguished when we founde every drive-thru window dark & every Golden Arch dimmed. It was a very sad & hungry Crescent that we left with Craig on their doorstep that night.
Baltimore area DMB Wannabes
The Dave Matthews Band Wannabes actually have a name and a website. You can learn more about These Crowded Streets <--- by clicking on that link.
Friday, December 17, 2004
To believe...
I spent this evening painting ceramics and watching The Santa Clause and Miracle on 34th Street with my girls at the Center.
In the middle of The Santa Clause, one of the girls responded with incredulity to a comment my coworker, Sonja, made regarding Santa being real. She then turned to me and asked, "Ms. Christina...do you believe in Santa Claus?"
I stopped and thought for a second and answered, "I believe in the spirit of Santa Claus. Or the spirit of Christmas or Christ or whatever you want to call it. The spirit of giving, loving, and believing in something bigger and more magical than ourselves."
That answer satisfied her and she turned back to the movie. She was done, but I became thoughtful. I realized that I'm such an adult now...giving the answer my mother gave me not too long ago. And I realized that I want nothing more than to be a child again. To be able to believe. To believe in Santa Claus. To believe in anything other than what I see with my own two eyes or hear with my own two ears. To believe in magic and those untouchable, pure things of dreams & fairytales.
But I'm all grown up now.
"everybody knows
it hurts to grow up
but everybody does
it's so weird to be back here
let me tell you what
the years go on and
we're still fighting it
and you're so much like me
i'm sorry"
~ Ben Folds from Still Fighting It
I spent this evening painting ceramics and watching The Santa Clause and Miracle on 34th Street with my girls at the Center.
In the middle of The Santa Clause, one of the girls responded with incredulity to a comment my coworker, Sonja, made regarding Santa being real. She then turned to me and asked, "Ms. Christina...do you believe in Santa Claus?"
I stopped and thought for a second and answered, "I believe in the spirit of Santa Claus. Or the spirit of Christmas or Christ or whatever you want to call it. The spirit of giving, loving, and believing in something bigger and more magical than ourselves."
That answer satisfied her and she turned back to the movie. She was done, but I became thoughtful. I realized that I'm such an adult now...giving the answer my mother gave me not too long ago. And I realized that I want nothing more than to be a child again. To be able to believe. To believe in Santa Claus. To believe in anything other than what I see with my own two eyes or hear with my own two ears. To believe in magic and those untouchable, pure things of dreams & fairytales.
But I'm all grown up now.
"everybody knows
it hurts to grow up
but everybody does
it's so weird to be back here
let me tell you what
the years go on and
we're still fighting it
and you're so much like me
i'm sorry"
~ Ben Folds from Still Fighting It
Thursday, December 16, 2004
A Random phone conversation
This morning I got a phone call from Captain Random himself, Eric Abston. He was just checking in to make sure the "Baltmore hood rats" hadn't beaten me to a bloody pulp. And he wished me a Merry ChrismaHanaKwanzakha! I ensured him that, although I've been kicked in the breast, and most recently punched in the right arm and kicked in the right leg (with big blue bruises to prove it), I'm holding my own at work.
He then spent the next 15 minutes telling me how fabulous Pointe Break is and demanding that I watch it soon. And he bitched about Maryland not having "misleading road signs" and "not enough gas stations" along the Interstates. He declared that he was going to save up a bunch of trash and litter all over the place the next time he was in my new state.
Crazy bastard! I miss him, though. =)
How OCD did she be?
Rose and I finished decorating for Christmas today and did a little shopping. It was nice to spend the day together. We haven't really got to do that much since I moved up here due to her working like a mad banshee all the time. But, yeah, it was nice.
We reminisced about Christmases past, and this and that, and she discussed her Obsessive/Compulsive traits quite candidly with me. She doesn't really have too many these days besides making sure that her food doesn't touch and making sure she eats everything on her plate in an orderly fashion. (Chinese food is stressful for her. And those weird concoctions that Dad sometimes throws together usually blow her mind.) But when we were younger, my oh my, how OCD she be.
I remember her doing this thing with her hands over and over before she went to sleep and she'd repeat this little prayer thing every time she'd do the hand thing: "I love mommy, and daddy, and bubby, and sissy, and I love Chris Noel!" When she got older she had this thing with shoes. She bought shoes like I bought candy and then she never wanted to throw them away! Even if they were tattered, stinky, and full of holes!
Today she told me that it usd to annoy the hell out of her if she'd accidentally touch something or brush something lightly as she walked past it. And she'd have to go back and firmly touch it before she'd feel at ease again. For example, she would walk through the kitchen and her hand would lightly brush the towel hanging on the refrigerator as she passed by. In her head, she felt like the towel would "itch" or be all freaked out and squirmy until she went by and firmly gripped it for a moment and then let it go. Interesting, isn't it?
People who demonstrate OCD traits usually are trying to distract themselves from a larger issue that's troubling them and the ritualistic and obsessive behavior they engage in keeps them preoccupied. Also it's related to control issues. OCD individuals are exerting control in some way over their environments through their behaviors. Very, very interesting.
Rosie, thanks for giving me permission to post your info. I really appreciate it!
DMB Wannabes
We went to see a Dave Matthews tribute/cover band tonight at one of my new favorite music venues, the The Funk Box. They were rather good. 'Specially that saxaphone player! Damn, he was wailing tonight, making it a little hard for me to stand still! =)
I'm glad we went. It always makes me feel alive to see music created before my eyes and in my ears. =)
Le Sigh: A Poem
Ick! Ick! Ick! I'm feeling sick!
Sinus trouble. Mucus bubble.
Hack! Hack! Hack! Snot green as Gak!
My throat is sore. White blood cell war.
Ill! Ill! Ill! I need Nyquil!
To lay down my head. In my lonely bed.
This morning I got a phone call from Captain Random himself, Eric Abston. He was just checking in to make sure the "Baltmore hood rats" hadn't beaten me to a bloody pulp. And he wished me a Merry ChrismaHanaKwanzakha! I ensured him that, although I've been kicked in the breast, and most recently punched in the right arm and kicked in the right leg (with big blue bruises to prove it), I'm holding my own at work.
He then spent the next 15 minutes telling me how fabulous Pointe Break is and demanding that I watch it soon. And he bitched about Maryland not having "misleading road signs" and "not enough gas stations" along the Interstates. He declared that he was going to save up a bunch of trash and litter all over the place the next time he was in my new state.
Crazy bastard! I miss him, though. =)
How OCD did she be?
Rose and I finished decorating for Christmas today and did a little shopping. It was nice to spend the day together. We haven't really got to do that much since I moved up here due to her working like a mad banshee all the time. But, yeah, it was nice.
We reminisced about Christmases past, and this and that, and she discussed her Obsessive/Compulsive traits quite candidly with me. She doesn't really have too many these days besides making sure that her food doesn't touch and making sure she eats everything on her plate in an orderly fashion. (Chinese food is stressful for her. And those weird concoctions that Dad sometimes throws together usually blow her mind.) But when we were younger, my oh my, how OCD she be.
I remember her doing this thing with her hands over and over before she went to sleep and she'd repeat this little prayer thing every time she'd do the hand thing: "I love mommy, and daddy, and bubby, and sissy, and I love Chris Noel!" When she got older she had this thing with shoes. She bought shoes like I bought candy and then she never wanted to throw them away! Even if they were tattered, stinky, and full of holes!
Today she told me that it usd to annoy the hell out of her if she'd accidentally touch something or brush something lightly as she walked past it. And she'd have to go back and firmly touch it before she'd feel at ease again. For example, she would walk through the kitchen and her hand would lightly brush the towel hanging on the refrigerator as she passed by. In her head, she felt like the towel would "itch" or be all freaked out and squirmy until she went by and firmly gripped it for a moment and then let it go. Interesting, isn't it?
People who demonstrate OCD traits usually are trying to distract themselves from a larger issue that's troubling them and the ritualistic and obsessive behavior they engage in keeps them preoccupied. Also it's related to control issues. OCD individuals are exerting control in some way over their environments through their behaviors. Very, very interesting.
Rosie, thanks for giving me permission to post your info. I really appreciate it!
DMB Wannabes
We went to see a Dave Matthews tribute/cover band tonight at one of my new favorite music venues, the The Funk Box. They were rather good. 'Specially that saxaphone player! Damn, he was wailing tonight, making it a little hard for me to stand still! =)
I'm glad we went. It always makes me feel alive to see music created before my eyes and in my ears. =)
Le Sigh: A Poem
Ick! Ick! Ick! I'm feeling sick!
Sinus trouble. Mucus bubble.
Hack! Hack! Hack! Snot green as Gak!
My throat is sore. White blood cell war.
Ill! Ill! Ill! I need Nyquil!
To lay down my head. In my lonely bed.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Last night I had a very disturbing dream.
It started with me and three other people in my car. We were all dressed in black and I knew that we were going to a funeral. Someone was dead. There was a twenty something male and female in the back...my friends...I'm not sure who. And a twenty something male in the front seat with me...I was driving.
We were anxious that we would be late. The guy in the front especially. And he was very sad. He sort of looked like Eric, the Jewish boy with whom I recently went on a date. He kept rubbing his hands together & covering his face, exhaling heavily. He was very, very pale. We flashed from the highway to the winding roads of a cemetery, the graves covered with green grass and the gently sloping little hills dotted with gigantic oaks and grey & white headstones.
We pulled up beside a black hearse in a little parking lot area near a mosuleum. The back of the hearse, instead of being closed and having a coffin laid out, was sort of extended out like a truck. Instead of a coffin, the deceased young man was sitting up in a large throne-like dark wooden chair with intricate carvings and gold detailing. His blazing blue eyes were open and he was looking straight ahead, with no expression on his face. My car window was closest to him and I looked up at him. He turned his pale face towards me and smiled a that big, beautiful, honest, & welcoming smile that I remembered. It was my former junior high boyfriend and former high school friend, Robert Honaker, who died July 14, 1997 when I was 18 and he was 20, in a terrible car accident.
He just smiled down at me and we said hi and exchanged a few words:
Me: I've missed you.
Him: Me too.
Me: This is sad, isn't it?
Him: Yeah. It is.
He shrugged, the smile faded from his face, and his eyes moved to the boy next to me. He now wore a troubled look. I turned to look at the boy next to me. He was sweating fiercely, hands on his knees, and breathing heavily. Frowning, I looked back to Robert. I had a pang of fear in my chest. His pale face was a mask of calm concern.
Me: So what now?
Him: It won't be long.
Suddenly the boy next to me said, "Oh god! I'm going to be sick! I need to throw up!" And he jumped out of the car and ran a few feet from my car, across the parking lot. I remember feeling alarmed and thinking, "Throw up? He can't. He's dead. He's been enbalmed. All of his organs are sealed in little plastic baggies! He can't vomit!"
Robert looked on with that calm, pitying look and my passengers and I looked on with horror as we watched our walking-dead friend attempt to vomit. He gagged. Clear liquid came out...yellowish liquid. And then he gagged and gagged. And out came a clear plastic bag with an organ, maybe his heart. Then a larger one...his lungs maybe? Yellowish green liquid came pouring out followed by plastic bag after plastic bag containing his precious organs.
And then I woke up.
It started with me and three other people in my car. We were all dressed in black and I knew that we were going to a funeral. Someone was dead. There was a twenty something male and female in the back...my friends...I'm not sure who. And a twenty something male in the front seat with me...I was driving.
We were anxious that we would be late. The guy in the front especially. And he was very sad. He sort of looked like Eric, the Jewish boy with whom I recently went on a date. He kept rubbing his hands together & covering his face, exhaling heavily. He was very, very pale. We flashed from the highway to the winding roads of a cemetery, the graves covered with green grass and the gently sloping little hills dotted with gigantic oaks and grey & white headstones.
We pulled up beside a black hearse in a little parking lot area near a mosuleum. The back of the hearse, instead of being closed and having a coffin laid out, was sort of extended out like a truck. Instead of a coffin, the deceased young man was sitting up in a large throne-like dark wooden chair with intricate carvings and gold detailing. His blazing blue eyes were open and he was looking straight ahead, with no expression on his face. My car window was closest to him and I looked up at him. He turned his pale face towards me and smiled a that big, beautiful, honest, & welcoming smile that I remembered. It was my former junior high boyfriend and former high school friend, Robert Honaker, who died July 14, 1997 when I was 18 and he was 20, in a terrible car accident.
He just smiled down at me and we said hi and exchanged a few words:
Me: I've missed you.
Him: Me too.
Me: This is sad, isn't it?
Him: Yeah. It is.
He shrugged, the smile faded from his face, and his eyes moved to the boy next to me. He now wore a troubled look. I turned to look at the boy next to me. He was sweating fiercely, hands on his knees, and breathing heavily. Frowning, I looked back to Robert. I had a pang of fear in my chest. His pale face was a mask of calm concern.
Me: So what now?
Him: It won't be long.
Suddenly the boy next to me said, "Oh god! I'm going to be sick! I need to throw up!" And he jumped out of the car and ran a few feet from my car, across the parking lot. I remember feeling alarmed and thinking, "Throw up? He can't. He's dead. He's been enbalmed. All of his organs are sealed in little plastic baggies! He can't vomit!"
Robert looked on with that calm, pitying look and my passengers and I looked on with horror as we watched our walking-dead friend attempt to vomit. He gagged. Clear liquid came out...yellowish liquid. And then he gagged and gagged. And out came a clear plastic bag with an organ, maybe his heart. Then a larger one...his lungs maybe? Yellowish green liquid came pouring out followed by plastic bag after plastic bag containing his precious organs.
And then I woke up.
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