Ginned Up Bee Gees - How Deep is Your Love

When Guest Blogger (who? who is that even? does she even exist?) gave me "The Bee Gees Greatest Hits" for Christmas, I was delighted. Mind you, I think I have owned that album, cassette tape and CD probably 4 or 5 times in various applications throughout the years. Many moves and playing the songs until you wear them out well...you lose the hardware.

This iteration has some seriously awesome remixes on the second CD. At first, being the Bee Gees purist I am, I was offended and horrified. You can't improve on the Bee Gees. It is high blasphemy to do so.

I was wrong.

"How Deep is Your Love" is one of my favorites; it's a beautiful song and the original is ethereal. The remix has a salsa-y, dance floor feel. I love the bongos and the grand piano; I can close my eyes and see a tropical getaway, me and Mr. Obscenely Wealthy are in our dinner attire on the dance floor, our palms touching, drinking each other with our eyes, a scented breeze wafts in, we are in perfect step, in perfect union, cha cha chaaaaaa.

Hmmmm. Might be the tequila. Darn good remix though - How Deep Is Your Love [Supreme Beings Of Leisure 2007 Remix].

Black Day

See, I think this is fun. Today in South Korea, “Black Day” is being (or has been) celebrated.

South Korea's Black Day for love
By Jon Herskovitz Mon Apr 14, 3:18 AM ET

SEOUL (Reuters) - It was a Black Day for love in South Korea on Monday with lonely hearts trying to ease their pain by diving head first into bowls of noodles.

South Korea celebrates Valentine's Day, where local custom dictates women give gifts to men. It has taken on a popular event born in Japan but sweeping Asia known as White Day on March 14 when men return the favour with gifts for women.

But Black Day, on April 14, is a South Korean original. It is marked by people who have not found love dressing in dark colours and commiserating over meals of black food, with the dish of choice being Chinese-style noodles topped with a thick sauce of black bean paste.

OK, this is cool. Those of us who endured Valentine’s Day and all the attendant and annoying flowers and roses and CRAP get a day for us. We singles – some may be mourning our singleness, some may be enjoying it…but we should get a day too and the South Koreans have provided it to us. Of course, I say, of course.

I’ve never had jajangmyeon (black bean paste noodles), though I could probably find some in DC if I wanted to. I am wearing a black sweater today! I might go get some thai food tonight! And have it served to me by my little Vietnamese buddy! That close enough? Probably not. But I am single. And I will be hanging out alone. While I do my taxes tonight. How apropos that Black Day falls just before I have to file my income tax.

Eh. Huzzah anyway! Happy Black Day!

Trying to ZZZZZZZZZ

I. Am. So. Tie Tie.

That’s how my daughter used to say she was tired when she was a baby. In the manner of billions of parents the world over who repeat the cute things their kids babble; my family and I still say that when feeling markedly sluggish.

No idea why I’m so tired...well my sleep patterns have been interrupted this week. I was still exhausted Monday after driving home from NY on Sunday. And then one horrific night in particular occurred Wednesday, after having consumed caffeine-laden soda after 9pm. That was mistake #1. Wide awake, I stayed up watching television, deleting shows on my dvr. At 11:30 pm, since I was still unable to nod off, I finally decided to engage my bedtime ritual and read until I fell asleep. That was mistake #2. I was this close to finishing Stephen King’s Duma Key and was at a critical juncture; the last 100 and creepiest pages of the book. No way was I going to fall asleep until I finished.

But damn it, it was a work night, and at 2:30 am the effing book wouldn’t effing end, so I closed it, shut off the light and was determined to get three hours of sleep anyway. Huzzah! Success!

No, that was mistake #3. Not that it was foreseeable, but I had a highly disturbing nightmare. Once I realized I was inside a dream I forced myself to wake up from it…and it was all of 3:00 am. Thirty solid minutes of disturbed sleep. For what it’s worth, the dream left a gruesome feeling in its wake that I’m still, two days later, having difficulty shaking. I might have been able to let go of it if I didn’t learn that Guest Blogger (who? Who is that even?) had a dream that included some similar elements on the same night. I’m still creeped out.

After that, the night was pretty much a bust. Mistake #4; I dozed a few minutes each half hour after that, but I kept waking up to check the clock.

It used to be that I could manage a sleepless night and still run on fumes the next day without any ill effects. I could juggle a job, young children and a lusty marital bed; sleep wasn’t too big a deal. Now, it takes me several days to recover if I don’t get enough shut eye.

Just another sign of aging. Nearer my God to thee.

Jerk Encounter at Wegmans

I went to New York this last Saturday to tend to some business. Since my son’s birthday is on the 18th, I planned on putting together a box of “stuff” for him. “Stuff” included an array of things that a 22 year old man would appreciate, sans condoms. He can spend his own money on condoms of he wants to go to hell, I'm not going to grease the spokes for him...so to speak.


Anway, Saturday morning, my daughter and I got up early so I could go to Wegmans and buy additional stuff. She and I had great fun picking stuff out and being silly. One of the more expensive items was a bottle of port to go with the cigars that were procured from a generous benefactor. One of the reasons I love Virginia – you can buy alcohol in a grocery store at 7:30 am.

We made a stop at the bulk section, picked up some gummi bears, pistachios et al. I didn't realize that there were tags to put on the bags to make it easier to run stuff through the register.

My Bad. My Very Bad apparently.

In line. Young Mr. Checkout Man WhoSeemedToHaveSocialization Issues was struggling to find the items in his magic book of codes. Man behind me says, "You know, they have tags that you can just place on the bags so you can swipe them through more easily," I thought he was being informational and I appreciated this until he continued, "It makes it go a lot faster for you AND THE PERSON BEHIND YOU TO GET THROUGH THE LINE MORE QUICKLY." His tanned leathery face got particularly ugly as he towered over me in his attempt to express his displeasure at being held up. At 8:30 am. On a Saturday.

@sshole. I gave him an "Are you kidding me” face and said, "Sorry." in my youareaf*cktard voice and turned away. Eight years ago, his attempt at intimidation would have withered me. This day, I was smooth as glass.

After I had paid and was waiting for my tape to print, Butthole pushed his cart up almost touching me. Interpreting the language of @sshole, (having raised two teenage boys, I am fluent), he was clearly alerting me to the fact that it was time for me to move on. I am little if not passive aggressive, so I stayed where I was until I had taken the register tape, carefully put my card back in my wallet and slowly thanked Mr. Checkout, telling him sweetly to have a good day.
My daughter wanted to die. Methods of snappier retorts occurred to me much later, which I still hope to eventually employ. Like, “Pick another lane you f*cking retard.” Sadly, I'm just not quick enough.

Later on in the day, I found myself irritated with a woman at the gas pumps. I suck as a human being.

AZN! NO!

Breathe. Breathe. I’m trying not to panic. The AZN network has been the one that carried my Korean Drama. Emperor of the Sea, Jumong, Coffee Prince, Hwang Jini, Thank You, My Name is Kim Sam Soon, Jang Hyuk, Song Il Guk, Kim Sun Ah, Hyun Bin.

Think. Think. I have already researched plan B. Another cable carrier that includes some Korean shows. I just need to price Plan B out. Or I could go to Plan C - go out and buy all the Korean Drama I can find. I’m stinkin’ with severance right now. Plan D – give up Korean Drama altogether, go back to watching Lost. HA! Plan E; go out more, find an ajussi, I mean, a gentleman friend, maybe see a movie or two. Maybe it should be a combination of a few plans.

And I should be less selfish; aren’t all those people that work for AZN being displaced? I know what that feels like.

I hope they are OK.

Journal

I keep a secret journal. I have mentioned this before, I think. I talk a lot and I write a lot but I need a place, a room, where I can write candidly about my pain and disappointments. My dreams and their interpretation. I can be silly and uncertain. Bold and still completely unsure of myself. It’s a diary but a grown up one. For the last five years I’ve gone to that little room with that little book and I’ve been able to say anything I wanted without fear of reprisal or rejection.

The beauty of that place is that it’s honest. It’s bare. It’s raw. It’s real. I don’t have to weigh each word I type. I just let fly. Grammar be damned. There is no manufactured anything in that place. It’s stupid, it’s vulnerable, it’s open. It’s password protected. I’ve poured a lot of tears into those pages, but I’ve poured a lot of hopes too. There’s more uncertainty in there than definition, but that’s a function of me when I need to process something. When I’m feeling good, I don’t need to articulate that. Isn’t that funny?

The magic of having a room like that is that it helps. Putting my inconsistencies and hurt on to a digital piece of paper; the physical act of the movement of my fingers, the turning of my mind and the stirring of my heart acts as a balm.

When I glance over those 44+ pages of Arial font size 10, I see a progression. I see that I was able to live through years of loneliness and disappointment and frustration. I did not die when I wanted to dig my guts out by hand to make the pain stop. I’ve hated. But I’ve forgiven. I’ve cried. But I healed. I despaired. But I was loved and lifted out of it.

I hope everyone has a place they can go to like that. Maybe it’s someone that they can confide in with complete trust. Maybe it’s a pillow in their room that they scream into. Maybe it’s their car on the commute to and from work.

I still have disappointments, and I’m still working through them in the same way. And I’m still ok. And I’m still loved and being lifted up.

Red Winged Black Birds

I haven’t written anything in a while and I’m feeling guilty about that, so I’m going to write. It might be crap, but write I must! Yes, dammit, I must!

I woke up this morning to one of my top ten favorite sounds in the world. Birds trilling their wake up songs. It starts with one early riser. I’m guessing that 95% of the remaining birdy population hears him and thinks, “Ohhh kaaaayyy. Time to get up.” 2% think, “Sh*t! He beat me again! Connie, I told you to wake me up!” And the remaining 3% of the birds think, “F*ck. Can’t someone shut that little f*ck up?”

There are lots of cardinals where I live, and that makes me happy; they make me think of my Dad. Last month was the earnest honking of geese as they made their way back up north; they remind me of my Gramma.

I was in New York this weekend and heard one that I miss; the red winged black bird. They make such a sharp impatient sound. I was told once that they are the true harbingers of spring (thank you Dona) and I’m reminded of childhood springs in upstate New York - nothing had quite warmed up yet; dirty piles of snow defying the sun’s attempts, the cold smell of mud, the bite in the air. But no matter what snow fell at that point, you knew it was sort of a pointless exercise, one didn’t even need to wear a coat. Daffodils were right around the corner, the brown grass would turn green any day.

But I’m in Virginia now. It’s been green for weeks, there are daffodils everywhere; cherry blossoms too. I just don’t hear that many red winged black birds. I miss them. I miss New York.