Bit of a Thrill

Interesting day yesterday.  I got out of work early to go to a doctor appointment.  I love my doctor.  He’s a good doctor, kind and patient, listens to me, answers all my questions.  I have a lot of questions.  Their office is something of an anomaly in the medical world I think – I’ve never had to wait more than five minutes before being whisked in for my appointment.  Delightful really.

As an aside, I do not expect this to continue once ObamaCare achieves full throttle.  I enjoy the best medical care in the world right now, however, and do not anticipate with any delight the socialist medicine state we will soon enter.  B@stards.

The visit was made even better after having been given three months of pharmaceutical samples.  I love pharmaceutical samples too.

That done, I was home by 3:00 pm.  Gunner Beagle has been confined to his crate again during the day – he was doing so well, not chewing anything up, not ripping up tissues, or getting into the trash in the kitchen.  But when I came home from work Monday the little fiend had not only chewed up a sneaker (tinnis shoe for my friend Lacie), but he ripped open and gnawed on my favorite k-drama dvd set of all time, “Thank You” with Jang Hyuk.  B@STARD! 

So as I said, he’s confined to his crate when I’m not home.  He wanted so badly to come out – tail smacking up against the metal, so happy to see me.  I pay Gunner no mind, I changed and went to the gym. 

After that, I started “The Shack” (darn slow start btw, I’m hoping it picks up soon.  Blaaaaahhhhhh.)  Blah blah blah dinner, blah blah blah Legion of Mary, blah blah blah Sun and naked torsoed Jin on LOST. 

As I left to go home, I happened upon two youths stealing beer from my cousin’s outdoor refrigerator.  B@stards!!  They took off, we gave chase (in a car, I’m too damn old to run in the dark, I’d break an ankle), and we caught up to them driving around the compound in their Daddy’s Infinity.  Blah blah blah color blah blah plates blah blah blah make and model.  We called the police (the officers that responded couldn’t have been more unalike; one was 6’10” and the other was 5’1”) and filed a report. 

A bit of a change up in the routine.  Bit of a thrill.

Stupid Snow

It’s been quite a winter.

Using vacation and staying home is no picnic.  I’m not dumb enough to go out in this.  It has it’s pleasures though – I get to spend some pretty silly time with my daughter watching movies, listening to music, and making soup.  Downside is unwatchable daytime television. 

There was a Reba marathon.

Today’s storm is the third in 2 weeks.  The first, Groundhog Day Night, after watching “Lost” with family was light and happy:

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Like magical Christmas snow!  Four inches of fluffy joy!  How fun!!  Fat flakes, furry trees, I ran around snapping pictures left and right from my cell.

Friday, February 6, 2010 into February 7, 2010 – Deathsnow 2010 or SNOWPOCALYPSE as it is referred to was another animal.  32” of cold white death:

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And today.  Officially termed a blizzard with wind gusts up to 44 mph.  This isn’t Northern Virginia.  It’s New Buffalo, Virginia. 

Imagination too Active?

One wants to believe that their neighborhood is safe. There are occurrences of theft and depravity in every neighborhood – it’s part of the human condition – and I accept those as a matter of course. My run-ins with Chick have been a slightly entertaining yet very creepy little side-car to condo life, but they do not (yet) make me want to move.

I was further creeped out last year when my daughter spied a peeping Tom outside her bedroom window. We bought heavy curtains the very next day and started locking the door even when we were home.

An event last year added to my concern when my complex hosted a real CSI van in our parking lot. One of the residents “allegedly” strangled his girlfriend, wrapped her in saran wrap, stuffed her body under bed while he continued to utilize her email account to make her friends believe she was still alive. This event, gave me pause and made me look at my neighbors a little differently.

Speed up to present day. No Chick sightings, no more peeping Toms (Gunner thinks he is a much bigger dog than he is and has quite the bark), no more murders. The trash compactor is broken, and it’s been so cold no one seems to want to pick up their dog poop, but otherwise it’s been quiet.

Maybe too quiet.

January 3, 2010 – I’m walking Gunner at roughly 6:30 am. On our route, I pass the apartment I lived in when I first moved to the complex. I generally pay no attention; I pay less attention when the temps are in the teens and the wind chill is in the single digits. I just want Gunner to do his business so I can crawl back into bed.

As I walked by that morning, I paid no mind to the humming noise I heard, until, like a refrigerator – you only notice the noise after it shuts off – the humming stopped. I knew what that sound was. It was the air conditioner. What in the Snow Miser’s name was someone doing with the air conditioner on when the temps were in the teens? I looked up and noticed that the living room light was on, so someone must be home and awake. I thought it odd. I continued on my walk, since Gunner will not be denied.

January 4, 2010 – Same thing. The light was on air conditioner was running. What is with these people? Save on the electric bill and open a window until you cool off. Freaks.

January 5, 2010 – Air conditioner running, the light was off.

I’ve wondered and wondered what could be going on -

1. The home owners are on vacation and having left when the temperatures were warmer, inadvertently left the air conditioner on. The light bulb is timed to go on and off at certain times.
2. The residents are from a cooler clime and are struggling to keep cool with all that heat rising up from the floor below.
3. There has been another murder and the temperature kept at a chilly level will slow the body decay, making it more difficult to assess time of death, the perp having long since fled to Pachuca, Mexico.
4. There has been another murder and the sick deviant is keeping the body from decay so he may enjoy some intimacies previously avoided since the b*tch wouldn’t keep her big trap shut while she was alive.

There are problems with all these suppositions. But I can think of no others. Thoughts?

Wants, Needs, Expectations, Reality

Written at work yesterday:

What I want:
I'm tired and I just want to go home. I want a steak. Rare. I want a honking big martini; dirty please, with three olives. I want to travel someplace exotic (current spot of choice – the Taj Mahal). I want a big HD tv that I can connect to my computer. I want a new bedding set. I want to sit in a hot tub and soak.

What I'd settle for:

Delivery salad. 45 minutes on the treadmill with the air conditioning in the gym fixed. Maybe start a new k-drama.

What I got:

Treadmill - in a gym that is STILL not air conditioned. Maybe I’ll get Chick to break something. Oh! I saw Chick Sunday going into his apartment. I waved a curt hello to acknowledge his presence. He just looked at me. I tell myself he nodded his head in greeting and that he wasn’t deep in thought plotting my demise in his cold cement hell.

Anyway, back to what I got. 30 minutes on the treadmill, but I increased the incline, so I pat myself on the back for that. Went back home dripping sweat and suppressing ire directed at impotent condominium managers, decided against delivery salad and just cooked some "italian" turkey sausage. Was then too hot and tired to dump sauce on it and cook pasta, so just ate the sausage. Internet not working on computer and that meant no new kdrama, so I settled for deleting the Colbert Report and Frasier on the DVR until I fell asleep.

My wants are varied and and align according to whim; like the choices at an all you can eat buffet. My expectations are modest and attainable; like a virgin on her wedding night. My reality is rustic and unpretentious; like dirt.

Your Life is Now

My older sister has been sharing via email with the lot of us her music box. My life is a book. Her life is a music box.

I think we all have a music box sitting up on the shelf. Songs that get us through difficult times, songs that remind us of happy times; our first love, our last love, the beach, church, 9^th grade track meets. I think music can be as evocative as scent in bringing back a memory. Some songs come on the radio and I am transported back into Mr. Frank’s health class in 8^th grade – 1978. I can feel the heat in that third floor room, smell the stuffiness, sitting behind Ed Vertucci for whom I had a powerful crush, (the bad boys, always the bad boys).

This song hails from the latter part of my marriage. I thought we were going through a really really rough patch. I wasn't wrong. We were just never able to crawl out of the patch. I had a naïve faith in the institution I suppose. But I heard this song and it touched me. I listened to it many times after my divorce; it spoke to me and I was forced to listen. “Would you teach your children to tell the truth? Would you take the high road, if you could choose? Your life is now.”

We only get one shot. We can be the best people we can be, or we can be schmucks. Pick.

I can't embed the video. Click here to go to youtube to watch it.

Video

Your Life is Now – John Mellencamp

See the moon roll across the stars
See the seasons turn like a heart
Your father's days are lost to you
This is your time here to do what you will do

Your life is now your life is now your life is now
In this undiscovered moment
Lift your head up above the crowd
We could shake this world
If you would only show us how
Your life is now

Would you teach your children to tell the truth
Would you take the high road if you could choose
Do you believe you're a victim of a great compromise
'Cause I believe you could change your mind and change our lives

Your life is now your life is now your life is now
In this undiscovered moment
Lift your head up above the crowd
We could shake this world
If you would only show us how
Your life is now

Would you teach your children to tell the truth
This is your time here to do what you will do

Your life is now your life is now your life is now
In this undiscovered moment
Lift your head up above the crowd
We could shake this world
If you would only show us how

Your life is now

My Books

My life is a book.

Not an original analogy. But some people compare their lives to a box of chocolate, a la Forrest Gump, or to a train wreck a la Anna Nicole Smith. I think my life is a book.

Well, more like books. Maybe not leather-bound gilded with gold leaf, but a complete set of 26 volumes; A-Z, probably covered in moss-green corduroy with some of buttons missing. My books have all been written in, though none of them are finished.

Journaling is in my blood. My paternal grandfather was a great diarist and it was a revelation to me reading him 25 years after he passed. Every day, he'd write down what the weather was, what he ate for breakfast, what his beloved "Flossie" had made for supper, where he drove, who he saw. A great smoker eventually taken by emphysema, he was terrified of cancer. He had been my father's hero, and in talking to my Dad's surviving brothers I was able to read between some of the lines. I realized that what wasn't written on paper was as important as what was documented.

The point of journaling or blogging is, to a large extent, an effort to share some of the pages in our books with others. The process of taking the thoughts and words inside us, putting them to paper and looking at them existing independently can be healing. Cathartic for me; perhaps a little disturbing to others, but lets face it, it's my book and it is all about me.

Right now, I'm working on Volume O; specifically, the Osh*t chapters. Good times, when you can read these through the clarifying lens of time. Most recently, I've offered up the the Osh*t: I'm 40 sections – Osh*t: I Need Bifocals! Osh*t: I Fell in the Shower! There are also the Osh*t: I Got Rear-Ended! and Osh*t: My Husband Left Me! Ah, and then there's the anxiety-ridden; Osh*t: I'm Pregnant Again! and the face-draining; Osh*t: I Just Accidentally Overheard My Son's Girlfriend Say "I Got My Period"! chapter.

Like I said, good times, when you can read them a few years later. And I do re-read those chapters. In fact, many pages are dog-eared for quick reference enabling me to look at the forest for the trees so that I can remember the people, the pain, the love, the lessons.

There are books in there that are available to only a privileged few. There are books in there that will never be available to anyone ever. Some pages are dusty with big childish writing; and some are tear-stained with a rigid little scrawl penned with a tight fist. On many occasions, I wrote with permanent marker and there were some pages I wrote in pencil fully meaning to go back and rewrite in pen but it has faded so much now that I can't capture the words any longer. That loss bothers me the most.

My words. My pages. My books. My life.