Life in the Lowcountry


Poems
November 14, 2010, 11:36 pm
Filed under: Life

4/19 – “Coming Around”

Tired of being afraid of being used,

Weary of misleading cues, of chances taken, risks making me feel afraid.

Leading me on, turning me around yet my confidence pursues.

Shot down again. Hopes Dashed.

Dreams again wasted.

Tired, weary, rejected.

Light pours in and possibilities flourish.

The FEAR dissipates like darkness from a rising sun.

Clouds roll by and saunter on,

While birds sing their mating song and I, I marvel

at the goodness, I wonder at the beauty of being

Tired, Used, Rejected, Afraid and coming back again for

More. And marveling at the chance to BE happy, content, loved.

6/14- “Want”

Hope, you love.

Hope, you need.

Wish, you loved me.

Wish, you needed me.

Believe, you can be loved.

Believe, you can be needed.

6/12 – “Moments”

There isn’t a day that goes by

Except one or ten…

That I don’t think about why we met then.

When that moment passes I wish for a mirror

Or cosmic glasses to reflect

The way we should have been.

Sometimes I see you walking towards me

And if I think fast enough to blink

You disappear from view and

I forget to think of

The love we shared or dare I say it?

Of the times I dared to believe in me, even forgetting my history.

Everything repeats itself and I can’t seem to get off this shelf for if I do,

I know that I will break in two.

2/3 – “Pecans”

Mom and Pecans – that’s what this is about. “Wanna’ heah it? Heah it goze!”

She loves to make Pecan Pie, but

Everyone raves about the Toasted Pecans in the Mason Jar.

Bushel after bushel

Are brought to the door

“Just one jar, just one jar more. Keep the rest for you. We can never replicate

Those culinary things you do,

To that simple nut, The delicate pecan. The delicacy of the South.”

“A pinch of salt, a pound of butter and toasted in the oven, No more than that!” You exclaim.

For the love and attention to tastiness, these nuts have no claim to fame.

My Mom, toasting pecans.

<This is a work in progress. Hence the stilted-ness…>



NaNoWriMo #3
November 13, 2010, 10:32 pm
Filed under: Life

Back to my dating life.

After NYC trip, I arrived home to find that Ben Sills had called. He’s my 3rd TOGETHER person. For those of you not in the know of 90’s dating, Together Dating is a service where you actually go to a physical brick and mortar office and fill out a questionnaire, a dating profile and they use their patented (don’t know if it is or not) matching system to match you up with potential dates. They do background checks, etc. on potential clients and then you pay a fee for their services based on the number of matches you want to receive. I don’t exactly remember, I think 3 was the least expensive package, may have been 10 but I opted for the least expensive as my earnings weren’t quite what my spendings were. I was seriously in debt at the time. I liked shopping a whole hell of a lot.

Message from Ben sounded promising so I called him back and we hit it off. He was very witty and I thought if nothing else, we’d be friends because he gets my sense of humor and we had some things in common. So I gave him my work number and he said he’d call me next week. Monday, he called and we made plans to meet at the Spring Garden Brewery for a drink. I got there first but then again I’m always early. So imagine my eagerness and hopefulness when I see a new BMW pull into the parking lot and a single guy gets out, and he’s actually very good looking. This was a first for me because guys I’ve met before were usually late and not that good looking. Bonus Points if this is in fact Ben. He was nicely dressed and punctual. I’m liking this. It was Ben because he walked straight up to me and said, “You look crazy.” Which was what we’d agreed in the previous night’s phone call that I was really not, in fact, crazy. To which I responded, “It’s got to be you!” Another kooky conversation call-back to our previous night’s phone call.  We had a good laugh. I really didn’t feel nervous around him. I was lost in the conversation and daydreaming about the things we’d do as a couple, CRAZY, I know but not AWKWARD! We had a couple of drinks and loads of great conversation and agreed to make it an early night because he was coming down with a cold. The end-of-the-first-meeting conversation went like this:

Ben: “If we get together again, I’ll cook um, hamburgers. Never mind the McDonald’s wrapper, that’s just the plate.” (To which I laughed appropriately, I hoped.)

Me: some inane off the cuff remark about ‘sporks’ with him laughing appropriately and then I said rather boldly, “If you are asking, I’m game for dinner.”

Which I thought conveyed the interest I have in him without seeming too overly anxious to see him again. Trying to strike that delicate balance of playing hard to get and not seeming so fucking desperate. I think he may have seen through me.

I really read this one wrong. He didn’t call. I didn’t have the courage or drive to pick the phone up and call him. At this point, my self-esteem is at an all time low and I really don’t know how to put myself back out there again. But wait, I still may have Together Dating to come to my rescue again. The hell if I’m giving up this easily.

 



NaNoWriMo#2
November 11, 2010, 8:59 pm
Filed under: Life

4/14/97

First, let me address NYC. Hello, NYC! No, really, last Thursday Mom, Dad, my bro and I went to New York to play. Thursday was Bloomie’s (for Mom and I) and Ruth’s Chris Steak House. Friday was Paul Stuart (for Dad) and Le Bernadin for dinner before WHOOPI GOLDBERG in ‘A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Forum’. All of these things in these two days have been most excellent. Saturday we hit Sak’s 5th Avenue and Macy’s for some more good shopping for the whole family but had a bit of an adventure getting to Macy’s.

Apparently, when one ‘hails’ a cab from the Millenium Hotel in Times Square, one expects safe transport to one’s destination. Our cabbie was in such a hurry to get us out of the cab and into Macy’s for their ‘One Day Sale’ that he rear-ended another taxi just blocks from the hotel. My Dad, the lawyer and resident NYC taxi drivers’ worst nightmare (he’s from the deep South and no one in New York (and sometimes at home, in the drive-thru) can understand him, American or Foreign Nationals alike…) screams to us to “GET OUT OF THE FUCKING TAXI! WE CANNOT BE A PART OF THIS!! JUST GO, GO, GO! GET OUT! GET OOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT!  WE CANNOT GET CAUGHT UP IN THIS! LET THEM HANDLE IT!” – not really a direct quote from my Dad. I’m paraphrasing. I’m sure that if what I paraphrased there had actually been heard by any cabbie (National or Foreign National) in NYC it may have sounded something like this: “Get awwwwt thee tacksah. Sheeat, we cain’t bee apahty to this axedint. jess go, git now, go get awwt! WE CANNOT GET CAUGHT UP IN THIS! Let ’em hannel it.”

I re-read that and NO, my dad isn’t African-American(not that there’s a stereotype here). He’s (again) deeply rooted in the South. Of North Carolina.

So this all takes us (and thanks for remaining with me…) to the reason we’re in NYC to begin with. Mom and Dad believed that the best form of education is travel. God Bless them for that because I am a Traveller.  I love to see new places and experience new things. Every time I get the chance, I’m the first one to jump in the car and say, “Where to now?” Having said that, they also believed that families should have at least two meals together, EVERYDAY. Breakfast and dinner. Lunch, optional. Breakfast and dinner were not an option. We always ate together. ALWAYS.  Ok, Mom cooked both meals, but she was such a diva that she rarely ate. But boy, was she a good cook! She’s all Gourmet and shit. I think she ate while cooking and that’s why she didn’t eat much at dinner but that’s purely speculation. I have no inside knowledge. Yet I digress.  My brother and I had the auspicious and delightful pleasure of being able to set the tone for the meal by choosing the ambient music that would be playing whilst we dined.  We would fight over it and in retrospect, this is inherently funny. I, being the older sibling would choose something suited to the mood of Mom. If she was in a good mood, I’d choose Neil Diamond, Tom Jones or perhaps Pavarotti. My brother, on the other hand, chose what he and Mom loved, ABBA. Every time he got to pick, that freaking ‘Fernando’ was the song choice. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘Dancing Queen’  and other ABBA songs as much as the next gal but ABBA at dinner? ‘Super Trooper’ is going through my mind as I type this. And it’s not helping me at all. The point being that ultimately, Mom agreed with my song choices more often than not. So we bonded over Pavarotti. And more importantly we bonded over the ‘Three Tenors’ when it came to dinner song selections. Secretly, I hold to this day that my mom and brother share an ABBA connection.

So, back to the story, we’re in NYC because the ‘Tenors’ are making some kind of commotion and we want to see them in concert. This is a birthday gift to Mom (and me, since I’m a month and 34 years apart, born) to go to this concert at the Giants Stadium. Mom and I head to the concert, Dad and my brother head to dinner and we could not have had two more different experiences, had we had two more different stories.  EVEN. Mom and I go to the concert in a bus. It lets us off at the ‘doors’ of the venue. It’s July. It’s supposed to be SUMMER but we get there and it’s fucking COLD! We buy sweatshirts, we climb to the top of the Giant’s Stadium, to our affordable seats, to see the THREE TENORS, in New Jersey, who were billed to be in New York. Come see the Tenors in New York and they’re in Secaucus. NEW FUCKING JERSEY. Don’t get me wrong, I love NJ because of Bruce and The Sopranos. But this happened WAY before the Sopranos. NJ was still the butt of every NY joke. Come to think of it, New Jersey still is. But I digress… SO… this ‘fuckin’ guy climbs over us and says, “What the fuck? Could we be more closer to Jesus in these seats?” And then he drops this pearl…”If I were anywhere closer to Jesus, I think I’d be…CLOSER TO JESUS.” I shit you not, dear reader. He was drunker than hell, at a Three Tenors concert. I think he thought he was going to see a Monday Night Football Game of the NY Giants, but it was Wednesday night! In all fairness, he was a season ticket-holder. He didn’t care as much for Placido Domingo as he did for  Jose Carreras. But when Pavarotti sang the opening to ‘O sole a mio’ he wept like a baby. LIKE A BABY. Or maybe that was just me and my mom. The sound reverberated with the dulcet tones of three masters of their voices while we watched, perched upon our high-rise seats, with binoculars trained to the big-screen live version concert footage. We were freezing our asses off. And loving every minute of it. I cried, Mom cried, we cryogenically froze the whole row we were sitting in from our tears.

I know why I cried. I’m so emotionally raw. I feel too much. I’ve always been very sensitive and intuitive. I don’t pride myself on this, I just accept that this is the way I am. Why my mother cried is another matter. I don’t know for sure why she cried. I know she was moved by the music, the atmosphere, (or lack thereof since our seats were so fucking high up in the stadium…) but I think it may have been a bit of nostalgia that made her tear up during the concert. A bit of “Amazing Grace”, which is Mom’s Achille’s Heel in the music department. She cries every time that “Amazing Grace” is played. Which differs from me only in that I cry every time it’s played on the bagpipes.  She’s part Native American, I’m part Scottish. Love the kilts and bagpipes. Takes me back to a time I’ve only known through travel. Good times, good times.

So I’ve digressed and need to get back on point but somethings need to be covered, in order to get ‘back on point.’ Shit, just realized I need an editor. Is there such a thing as a blog editor?

The concert was great…Epic, etc. And enjoyed the hell out of my time in NYC with my family. I love my family. They, apparently love me as well and tolerate my idiosyncratic-ness. We were walking, and I promise this is the last story tonight, away from the hotel and I see this guy in the crosswalk and I just stopped. In the middle of the street! And  my parents and bro were behind me, fastly approaching where I was standing, and I stood there…slack-jawed. I was completely gob-smacked, I’d just ‘rubbed elbows’ with a celebrity in the street! So my folks and my bro were coming up behind me, pushing me along to get me out of the street when I come out with the following: (please stay with me.)

Me: “Oh my God, did you see that?”

My bro: “Huh, wah?”

My Dad: “Was it a cabbie looking for us? Duck! Hide your face!”

My Mom: “I knew Luciano saw us. He’s been looking for me, no? Did he find me? Yes. Hahahaha.” (this was the time before LOL.)

Me: “NO!!! Damnit, did you see the one-armed man I just ran into? He’s the drummer for Def Leppard! I just ran into the drummer for Def Leppard! That guy in the cross-walk, with the one arm!”

My Mom and Dad look at me like I have two heads. My brother gives me the high-five with his hand tucked into his sleeve, not as a ‘DIS to the Def Leppard drummer, but as a ‘DIS to me. But it was funny. I called my best friend Tom that night to tell him of this brush with fame. He’s the guy from high school who always remembers the stupid stuff you’ve ever done in your life and will remind you of it. I don’t think I’d exist if he didn’t exist. Having said that, I call him up to say, “Guess who I just ran into on a NYC street?” Tom says, “Who?” I say, “The drummer from Def Leppard!” Tom laughs and says, “Are you sure it was him?” I said, “Who else would have that hair (mullet-like) and only one arm and still be so fucking angry at meeting a fan in a crosswalk in New York City?” Tom said, “Anyone with a mullet and one arm.” Me, responding, “But with a British accent? Come on, this was HIM, man.” Tom, responding, “How did the people around you respond?” Me: “um, well no one noticed.”

So I actually started to doubt that I’d had my celebrity-sighting until we got back to the hotel and I looked up what was going on in the city for the weekend. Found out that at some venue, Def Leppard was playing. Would be cool if I could say it was Giant’s Stadium, but frankly can’t remember and I don’t pay a fact checker just yet. But all of the proceeding paragraph is true.

On another note I had an “A-HA” moment today. I was catching up on my Late Night with Jimmy Fallon watching and who do I see on the show, playing with the Roots but the guitarist from Def Leppard?!? Wait, what? Phil something was on LNJF the day I was typing the blog about running into Ric something from the same band. I wish I could remember their names right now and I’m too lazy to Google them just at this moment but will look it all up later. I’ll pay myself to fact-check. So what was the “A-HA” moment? I found it very comforting to see this come full circle in my mind. Raw, emotional, intuitive…that and the fact that Tom once said to me that every time he turns on the radio it seems as though there is a Def Leppard song playing. Personally, I think he’s left a CD in and doesn’t realize it’s not the radio but who am I to judge?



NaNoWriMo
November 10, 2010, 6:49 pm
Filed under: Blogroll, HELP, Life, Work

So here is what I’m working on for National Novel Writing Month. It’s a very rough draft, mostly thoughts and old journals but I think I’m finding my voice. Comments are welcome!

So I’m new to this MacBook and I’m trying to write in the Nanowrimo. I don’t know how to make this work just yet but figured I needed to start somewhere. It’s easy to just find a place to type and start typing.

I have no idea what my novel is going to be about. I think I’ll probably recreate my diaries that are still in existence and take some of my blog material and put all that together in a pseudo-diary/blog format for the novel. Anyway, that’s what my thought is tonight. If that is the way I end up going then this whole thing is really going to go easily because I’m not really giving it much conscious thought, just kind of going with the flow. It’s been so long since I’ve really written anything that I’d forgotten how difficult it can be!

This stream-of-consciousness writing is helping me. I feel like an idea may come from this after all. I just need to keep writing and not stopping. I really want to be witty and clever but things at work have gotten the better of me in the past few weeks and I feel as though my humor is eluding me. Listening to comedic podcasts is helping. I love listening to Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier in Smodcast. They never fail to make me laugh. The other one Kev does with Ralph Garmin cracks me up! Hollywood Babble On is one of the funniest podcasts that I’ve found.  I’m way behind on my Marc Maron WTF? podcasts and Kevin Pollack’s Chat Show as well but hope to catch up on those now that I have my Mac and will be taking lunch breaks. Full one hour lunch breaks. I hate eating alone and all these men are very good company!

I’ve been tweeting a lot lately. Just tonight 11/4/10 I noticed that I have almost tweeted 3,000 times. #2,097 was “Closing in on 3,000 tweets. Still haven’t said much.”

I do interact with a few people on a fairly regular basis, and it makes the whole experience a little less creepy. Except for this one time. Dude in London sent me a DM (direct message) and asked me to bend over and then asked my name and age, then asked to see me naked. I thought he was joking, but apparently not. Supposedly he’s some big deal in the London area but to me it’s just creepy to ask a complete stranger something like that.  The funny ones, like this actor who blogs, an actor/singer/painter, a college kid and a computer geek are very often just nice guys who have no agenda except to use the social media as it’s meant to be used. I will call out one of the funny guys, @sadknob because he’s a genius director and so smart and wry that I am constantly amazed by him. He’s got a blog that would rival most that I’ve read and he’s extremely talented. He is someone I would very much like to meet.

OK, it’s been 25 minutes and boy did that go fast! My twitter buddy Patrick says that setting 25 minute goals has helped him with Nanowrimo so I’m going to try it tonight, and through the weekend. So it’s break time, back to twitter and the Nanowrimo site to update my word count.  LATERZ!

9:16pm update:

I am in the running. I have put myself on the nanowrimo website with word counts and a synopsis of my satirical novel. Now have to write said novel. And according to website am 4 days and many words behind. Uh oh. Just took a shower so am going to dry my hair and then continue on with nanowrimo writing and word counting. But first, a thought about the counting, isn’t it a bit pushy? Discuss, whilst I coif. My hair. Two more words leading to a few more, nay, many more inconsequential words. Off to blow-dry! (Are hyphenated words considered singular words by Nanowrimo standards? Note to self: Check FAQ or Frequently Asked Questions for answer to: ‘Are hyphenated words considered singular in the word count of the Nanowrimo book standards?’)

9:39 update:

Am still unclear about the word counts but typing ‘the word counts’ must mean something. So the stream of consciousness continues. Not so much as I’m feeling more unconscious as I try to get back up to my goals as dictated by this Nanowrimo site. It’s like a Gizmo sitting on my Fred Flinstone shoulder screaming in a Harvey Corman voice, “You must write things down and get your words out there!” Not that that is a bad thing. Maybe because I am drunk. Or maybe because writing gives me the freedom to edit myself in realtime and I’m choking here. I really liked Harvey Corman, I still like Tim Conway and now my references to the Carol Burnett Show and all are showing my age. Shit. My 25 minutes are up. Gotta run now or my 25minute experiments will have been in vain. And really, they were. Too typed to drunk. Drink! Escuse me.

11/6/10 – /Saturday evening

Today I decided to go for the dream and re-transcribe my existing diary with little editorializing or fictionalizing. That’s my focus for the next three weeks. All the twitter stuff aside.

Here it goes: Set the stage, and the date:

Setting the stage: I was living in High Point, NC for some years and I’d been keeping a diary of sorts because I didn’t know that in the future a ‘blog’ would be invented and I’d not have to write on legal pads and in notebooks before attempting to get published. OH but I did own a desktop computer and I’d been training myself on computers for some years before this all came about but to me, writing was about ‘handwriting’  with pen to paper. I’m really glad I did because I had beautiful penmanship then and it has since gone to shit. But thankfully I have a few remnants of my pretty writings preserved for no one at all. I have some of my old ‘journals’ as we used to call it, but not all of my journals. This is due to a miscommunication between me and my well-meaning parents. See, it all started back when I was a fetus…

I am adopted.

-tell the story from an adopted child, ie., YOUR story but start here.

-include the shitty parts as well as the great parts where you always knew you were adopted so that the adoption thing isn’t perceived as abnormal, as opposed to the life you were brought into.

-try not to be condescending as the fact that you were raised in a privileged household could be held in a negative light AGAINST YOU if you portray it as anything but privileged. Even if that isn’t the truth.

– do not blame your parents. everything that has been a part of your life is not the fault of your parents but in fact, has been a direct response in the way that you YOURSELF handled the situation.

– keep in mind the nature vs. nurture argument and see where that leads you. I believe it will still lead you back to who you are is who you are regardless of familial ties but I’ll argue myself into a corner with the fact that I still see so much of Mom and Dad in me…it’s just too hard to argue with yourself.

– Having noted this much it’s time to stop procrastinating and time to start transcribing!

My life began on October 15, 1970. At the time of this writing I am 40 years and 21 days of breathing on this planet. I type “of breathing on this planet” because I choose to. There are those that say life begins at 40 and so I’m 21 days into life. Yay, me! But for 40+ years I’ve had some experiences and that’s what I’d like to write about and share with you. I’m a Republican by means of parental influence, a Democrat by means of realizing I’ll never be as rich as my parents and a Libertarian by means of realizing that government doesn’t work, currently. I vote. And I vote for candidates I believe in, even if my beliefs don’t match yours. I am adopted, I support abortions and I vote for the most qualified person.

My God! Who is this person who has gay friends, with and without AIDS? Who is this person who can see the good in everyman and recognize the evil that plagues them? Well, it’s not me, but I inherently see good in everyone. Case #1: How many times have you gotten into a cab in NYC with the same cabdriver on two different days? Day 1, get a taxi from LGA to the Millennium Hotel in Times Square. The driver is from Liberia and I noticed this. My junior year suitemate’s grandfather was the President of Liberia and so I struck up a conversation with him. We talked Liberian politics and life and what it’s like to be a NYC cabbie for the 30 minutes it took to drive us into Times Square. Mom and Dad were horrified (Republicans) that I was talking so intimately with a stranger, (and being Southern, a “Blackman”) God, this is just rambling… get to the transcribing…

-mention the move to Memphis and the throwing away of the majority of the diaries….this is important!

TRANSCRIPTION:

<undated>

I ❤ Italians

I ❤ Italy

I ❤ Names ending in Vowels!!! 🙂

“Freaky Thoughts” 9/26/96

Funky drum beat

Cuban Rhythms

Love olive skin

Love to write.

Stir my drink

With an elegant finger

With apologies to

John Mellencamp ~

‘Tis not what we think

So much as how we ARE.

Come on,

Cry to me;

Everyone else does –

Why should you be

Any different?

Dr. Timothy Leary

Frozen in cryogenics –

Where is our hero?

Who will speak out

For those of us

Wo have no voice?

Too many vices

Not enough pleasure.

Where comes the justice?

When do I get my social “SECURITY?”

Who will give me

Peace O’ mind

In my retired age?

When shall I retire?

Can I have a single-income

HOUSEHOLD?

My children will have

2 parents. They will

have sit-down meals.

2 adults – x # kids…

1 Male (Father)

1 Female (Mother.

That’s not so horrid.

I know i’s possible.

My parents did it.

They also have a house

That I can only hope

To inherit, for I’ll never

Make that much $ in

My lifetime.

So what do I have to dream of?

Where’s my sweet reared?

It’s i my heart & HERE.

~

9/26/96

Going to Maryland to visit my 2 most favorite Christins. Fitz and Pennoyer! Playing in DC & Annapolis 🙂

Can’t wait.

Making a mix tape and bored. Haven’t packed shit. Not washed shit. Tired as shit. Got to PACK! Find $. Bills due. Life is great, RUN AWAY!! 🙂

~

This next page in my journal is from a conversation I had with a close friend and cannot repeat it here. I’ve spent half an hour debating whether to put it in or take it out and it ultimately only made me want to do the Hokey-Pokey and just shake it all about. So your secrets are safe with me for the time being.

1/17/97

(Thought there was a page missing but upon inspection, may have been drunk when composing this next entry. And upon reviewing said ‘beautiful penmanship’, am quite sure I was obliterated.) Here goes:

Thinking this is for Dan –

How could you leave me hanging? How could you let me dangle so precariously on the edge? O was it I, who left you- on the edge?  ‘I am in the heat of battle w/in myself…I know YOU left ME. But why was it MY fault? Did I drive you away?

See how unfair this is? You left…POOF… no explanations – no repercussions…SO EASY FOR YOU… So hard for me. I don’t know why you hated me or couldn’t tolerate me.

I am so desperate to know. What did I do wrong, Dan? You were what I wished for. Why did we part? What did I do? I know it had to be me. I am at fault. Forgive me?

<HAHAHAHA, ed. note.> –this was your insecurity at age 26, not his fucking fault, but yours. What are you apologizing for? IDIOT.

~

2/22/97

Went to Rocky Mount. Left work Friday early, in a huff. Work hasn’t been good lately. Lots of pressure, lots of stress. So much so that I made myself sick.  So I left work at 2:30, went home  packed my shit and hit the road. When I got home Mom and I went to pick up “Pisser” aka, Yo-yo but he was still zonked from the anesthesia (he had his teeth cleaned!) and so we had to leave him overnight. Mom and I had a good talk. Dad had come home for dinner @ 7:00 (but it was  7:30 :)) and we had a good steak sand. w/veggie soup.  Dad gave me advice on what to do about work – (“Do what you can afford to do.”) And asked me what I wanted to do. I told him, graduate school, but I couldn’t afford it. Also, for what, I don’t know.

~

2/27/97

I had a WONDERFUL first date, blind date tonight. It wasn’t  truly blind, we’d been talking for a week or so. So much came up when we tried to get together that tonight was the first time we had a chance to get together. I met Mide at Red Lobster on Wendover and I wasn’t the least bit nervous until I saw him. He’s 5’7″ or 5’8″, slim, blond, blue eyes…very handsome. So strange- I don’t usually like blonde/blue, but he’s  SO charming! 34, not a professional in the sense that I was looking for (Doctor, Lawyer, etc.) but he has a steady job – he owns a house, he has a great sense of humor, he has a cat… He paid for dinner, he kept smiling at me. He’s got great eye contact! He said he was a nice guy and he is. His so genuine. God forgive me BUT… he has dirty fingernails. That’s not a completely bad thing, but I don’t know if it’s for me. He doesn’t seem like the traveling type. I COULD BE WRONG. My defenses are in high gear, so he must have hit something in me.

Michael Lloyd… he has a daughter in Wilmington. He sees her on holidays. He works shift work. He thinks I am “smart and funny.” He wants to see me again. He says he’ll call. I’ll wait and see. Honestly, I kept looking at him, watching him and he made me smile. He’s not much on conversation, but that’s probably just nerves. He’s too smart to be so dumbfounded. I bet he’s very opinionated. That’s great if he is! I don’t know if I will ever meet such a sweet soul. I hope we will always be friends, no matter what happens. He is so great!

~

3/12/97

About Michael Lloyd. I was wrong – he is sweet and cute and caring but he’s not that great with conversation, he laughs like an hyena and… he’s a STONER. So sweet. Such a stoner! He wanted me to come visit his “crib” tonight. I am reluctant to go to any single man’s house  whom I don’t know very well, but More so when it’s their “crib”. Anyway all of this is compounded by the fact that I have met someone else.

Mike Gulas. He’s 33, single, never been married, no kiddies, smoker, writer, songwriter singer, music guy… humorous, witty, he’s just like me but still different enough. I called him Monday night at 7 and we talked until 1 am. Tuesday night he called me and we were on the phone until 10. He kept trying to get me to go to Raleigh and see him. He’s so kind! We met through Match.com and he picked me! (smiley face)

~

3/13 -3/14/97

I was hoping to write more before I met him, but it’s too late for that now! I left work at 4:30 and had to go home to get Mike’s # which was saved on my computer. I finally got on the road and called him from the airport exit. I had tuned in to the radio station he works for (850 am) and they were talking about ME! The host of the show said that “Smelly Williams” had met this girl through the internet – but that she’d probably show up and be a FAT TRANSVESTITE. “Of course real women don’t go on the internet because women don’t know how to use the computer.” said the host. I got it and was laughing. So when I got closer to Raleigh I called Mike. When he answered I said, “Hey, this is the FAT TRANSVESTITE calling.” He said, NOTHING. He was shocked that I’d heard the bit. He just kind of laughed it off.  I was a little suspicious at that point but we had agreed to meet and I wasn’t going to drop out because of some comedy bit on AM radio. Please! But then again, how desperate am I?

We met at Darryl’s Restaurant. He was very cute! He sang me funny little songs, talked the talk and even kissed me when I left. And I haven’t heard one worked since then. Son of a bitch! It was all for naught. Why do I keep setting myself up like this? First I’m too trusting and then I put my guard up. Then I let my guard down and trust that it’s OK to just be myself and get out there and meet a nice guy only to be disappointed AGAIN. This is tough. And my parents wonder why I’m still single. I’d like to see them try it all over again in today’s world. They had it easy.

Let me tell you my parents’ story. Both in college, Mom is a sophomore and Dad is a senior. Mom and her best friend were walking down this path and Dad and his best friend were driving by. Dad and friend decided to follow Mom and her best friend and that’s how those two couples met. Mom married Dad and their respective best friends got married. How fucking easy was that? I have to go on Match.com just to try and get a date.

~



Why can’t I not feel sorry for myself? Because I don’t believe in double negatives.
October 10, 2010, 9:25 pm
Filed under: Life | Tags: , ,

I can’t feel sorry for myself because I’m loved.

I have friends who love and respect me.

My family supports me and I love them all, too.

But what of those people whose family shuns them? Should ignorance and hatred bar these people from love? NO! And I shout again with a voracious tenor voice, NO!

So if you ever find yourself with a  wrongful voice whispering in your ear that you are unworthy of love, that you are unworthy of anything but abject adulation…then you must turn yourself into the complete opposite and realize that you’re so worthy of this love that you’re going to kick the ever living shit out of the bastard trying to take it from you, and…wait a min. think i’m on to something else. Inspiration seems to have taken a track to retribution. FUCKING HELL.

Going to compose myself for a minute. Back after a brief bourbon. Or a brief Gin, as gin is easier to spell when one is completely into tequila. Love the Cuervo. Jose, you are a friend of mine.

Did I mention the time I met STEW? He was my one-eyed sailor friend. No? Remind me to tell you of him. It’s quite amusing. He actually liked me. Which is amusing. Not so much for STEW, (still not an anachronism for anything, it was his name.)

So this is my story, in not so many words. And nothing that my mother can burn in her misguided attempt at “saving me.” Because, I’m blogging, BIATCH! Can’t burn the internet! 🙂 Love ya, mom!

(BTW, my Dad’s a lawyer and this is his worst nightmare come true!)

Last thought. Hopefully not MY last thought, just the last one for the blog…Am having a birthday on Friday that is, for some, a milestone. I consider it another birthday which by any family account is NOT A BIG FUCKING DEAL. I fear that people will make this a BIG FUCKING DEAL and I won’t handle that well. Conversely, if my friends don’t pay special attention to me on Friday I will make it a BIG FUCKING DEAL. I’m a Libra that way. Regardless, I like this.  I like where I am in my life because I believe that I am where I should be. I truly believe that. Sorry, got sidetracked by Twitter. There are these hot guys that I’m following, and they may be tweeting me. STARS, tweeting me! Shit, I am special. And not because I heckle them! They really like me for me! 🙂

<disclaimer: I’m attempting wit, not delusion or insanity>

 



Delving into the past. It’s a process. Work with me.

She is transported to the past in order to bring you this blog…<insert Wayne’s World ™ deeeedledoooodleeeedeeeedeeeellloooodddoooodddllle here>.

It’s 1993, I’ve graduated, found a job, and basically fulfilled what I thought was my parent’s dream list of : “the things that you do after being educated.” I missed the part about getting married. Damn. One of many dreams that my parents had for me that have yet to come true, through no fault of their own. They just didn’t give the best impression of marriage. Dad’s version: “I married her, it’s FOR LIFE.” Mom’s version: “We got married, we made the family, I am a housewife, FUCK YOU. DON’T DO IT! Drinking is a much better way to deal with it. FOR LIFE.”

I’m being harsh. And snarky. FUCK YOU. I learned it somewhere. Nature vs. Nurture? Not just a theory.

Back to the story, It’s 1993 and I’m a year out of college, a year after or right as “The Real World” featuring Pedro, the AIDS guy who I totally fell in love with even though he was gay and had AIDS and by the end of the season died…”Spoiler Alert too late” he was the shit. I kid a lot but that guy had some heart and opened my eyes to the world. Brought me out of my hometown conservative homophobia to the “Real World”. And that’s what freaking reality TV should be, not this trumped up game of who’s going to screw whom ever else over like there is on TV today. (Or so I hear, I quit watching that stuff an hour ago.)

Again, I digress, but I do have a point, albeit a disturbing point, to make. Consider yourself warned. And intrigued. Although only you can consider yourself intrigued if you genuinely are intrigued, which, to beleaguer the point is something only  you can determine at this point by reading on. So to not further digress I will move on past this beleaguered point.

STEW. Not an acronym for anything, that was his name. He was the first AOL (acronym for America On Line) to seduce me online. He convinced the 20-something version of me to say dirty things to him.  I still have conversations we had saved on a disc somewhere but I cannot fathom how to get them off this freaking 3.5 floppy onto Word. I’m hopeless when it comes to computers. So back to the story, it was titillating, people! I tell you this IM chat was HOT! We did stuff I’m still proud of today. And probably was made mention in Penthouse forums simultaneously. I’m just sayin’ that I was young and horny.  And wanting to be talked about in Penthouse.

So Stew, that guy…he got me all hot and bothered while talking to him on IM. So I agreed to talk to him LIVE and IN PERSON! And he dug my voice. “OOOOOHHHHH what a sexy voice you have, can I stroke my cock to it? Can I make you feel good?” And I’m all like, “Um, stroke your cock all you like, you’re not going to make me feel good while you’re in New Jersey and I’m in California. Fucker.”  – He liked that. I was taken aback at the lack of seriousness. If you want a girl to feel good, FUCKING BE THERE to make her feel good. Don’t talk a game…So clearly Stew was out of the picture at this point. He walked the walk that he was walking… whatever that means. He was done for me. Stop it, I’m smart. Too much so, apparently.

Oh, but Stew story, meant to be something of a lesson. He was apparently some kind of movie previewer in the 90’s and had a thing for young chicks. And he wanted me to send him a pair of my unwashed underwear. GROSS!  So if you know the guy, call him out. Seriously, he sent me inappropriate videotapes, I repeat, “VIDEOTAPES”. He sent an impressionable girl “VIDEOS” which I can’t show ’cause they are on beta. But I digress. As I often do.

My favorite story that I don’t tell: Meeting with Stew. He’s such an enigma. He so totally “got” me that I find it hard to tell this saga. I don’t even think you can call it a “saga” without sounding “facetious” when  speaking of Stew.  Stew isn’t “Stew” in this anecdote, he was actually XXXX, but I don’t think it’s right to call people out when writing about them without their previous knowing of it so I’ll call XXXX, Stew. He’ll probably sue me later but fuck that, I got no money! I GOT NOTHING TO LOSE! And I never mean anything in mean spiritedness, Stew.

OK, done delving into the past. More recent past than my only reader knows about. Tom, want more? let me know. I can fill you in. Think this is entertaining? Please let me know. I am pandering here….



I have something to say. (via Ashley Moore)
September 24, 2010, 9:41 pm
Filed under: Life

This chic gal is hip and onto something. You should read her! She’s totally not into herself or anything… Just read her blog already, OK? Don’t make me beg. Errr, um. Don’t make her beg. Errr, um. no one is begging. Please read?

Blogging for blogging's sake is ridiculous. If you have a message, get that message out. Having said that, this is my blog that blogs for blogging's sake. My thoughts are my own and they speak, not for themselves but for me. This is ridiculous. Stay tuned. I do have something to say. And it's gonna blow your mind (because I do know the difference between your and you're!) Damn. I'm giving this shit away. (oh yeah, I'm an adult. So should you be.) … Read More

via Ashley Moore