Turkey Day Rejection

Turkey Day

Turkey Day Count Down.

It's the Eve of Thanksgiving. Tomorrow I'm going (as the guest of my best friend Linda) to her sister-in-laws home. Prior to this I would spend this holiday with her sister-in-laws (Linda's husbands) mother. I loved her. Then she died.

I love my best friend too in a way that astounds me. She is a born-again Christian. I am a card carrying heathen.

The party is a pot-luck. I've tested recipes for days.

My friends sister-in-law was married to Jim Jannard for 7 years. He's the guy who owns Oakly.

Needless to say, it is a high falutin' affair. I'm one of the peasants who gets in.

It's always interesting. An impressive mansion with no one in particular who wants to talk to me with the exception of my friend, her husband and the other orphan, my friends husbands best friend, Rick. His Uncle invented Rebar. He and I, orphans and best friends of this couple, oddly, share the same last name.

Once a year I drift into this world of affluence.

I have one true friend whom I admire despite our religious differences. She goes to church. I am a pagan.

On the Eve of Thanksgiving I would like to thank God, if there is a God and I'm not saying that there is, for my best friend Linda.

If a Christian and a Pagan can love each other... anyone can get along.

I Did it...AGAIN!

Nope. I did not see "Evil Surfer Dude". It's over.

We were on the phone discussing the upcoming weekend. I agreed to attend a Jr. college football game.

In return I wanted to drive to Mexico the following day to get drugs. Hee hee. I love saying that. I wanted Lipitor. (I ran out.) I no longer have insurance.

A diatribe ensued. In a raised voice he declared, "If you think for one minute I'm going to sit in traffic for 4 hours to cross the border you'd better think again...bla bla bla...I snapped and hung up. (The border is 20 minutes from his house. There is no 4 hour wait.)

It hit me at once. For the 100th time.

He cannot not, will not, do anything I want to do.

Clarity arrives in small moments.

I just had a little accident. That's the thing I did AGAIN.

A car was blocking my garage. There was room to get out if I changed my exit tragectory.

Then I started talking on the phone (forgot about the car) and....bang.

I pulled back into my garage and started shaking. There was no reason to shake, I'm an old broad with terrific insurance. Why was I shaking?

I returned to my house to pen a note to leave on the windshield. I couldn't write. My hands were shaking.

I was angry. So many folks park behind my garage, blocking me in, it makes me mad. I have not spoken up. I leave an occasional note on a car saying, please don't park here. The usual culprit is the man who lives behind me who initially made a stink about me parking in the ally. I stopped and, mysteriously, he began parking in the ally with a vengeance.

I returned to inspect the damage. To my surprise there was no damage to the black Mercedes SUV save a smear of paint from my silver Beetle. (Man oh man, I love my Beetle.)

I called my sister, an attorney, who told me to make a run for it.

Disregarding this legal advice, I wrote a note in wobbly handwriting. In my house I heard her car departing and ran after her to give her my note which included my phone number.

I felt good about this. That is, right up until the point that I realised that this woman might be "one of those" people who takes advantage. (Like the old man who had hit me formerly) She was "oh no-ing" and "oh my-ing" despite the fact there was no damage. Just a smear of paint. We both ran our hands over the smudge of paint which dusted off beneath our fingertips.

Something tells me this won't be the end. I'll tell you why.

My last accident (a man backed into me in his Porsche Cayenne). He advised his insurance company that I hit HIM. Wha? After hitting me he left the scene. I chased him down. I confronted him. He walked around my car (I had a smudge of paint on my rear fender and he said, "AH HA". Insinuating that I was an opportunist trying to make him take the rap for the tiny bit of damage he caused to the front of my car. It was nothing. Because of his denial I began to shake. He had backed into me...it would look like it was my fault.

I sent his insurance company a detailed drawing of what occured. He made up an entirely different scenario. It was his word against mine. I learned that such people exist.

I just wish I would stop running into them.

What happened today is what happened before only different.

I suspected a woman, for no reason, of being dishonest. I was the one who hit her.

If that man had not formerly suspected me, It would never have suspected her.

It would have never entered my mind.

Getting Outside of Yourself

I have been self absorbed and feeling sorry for myself.

A few months ago, like 100 Days in Bed, I had it all. A great job, lots of dates and was traveling the world.

Then everything changed. The job went away, I stopped dating to focus on a man wrong for me. I had a surgery which plummeted me, prematurely, into menopause in my 40's. Everything that seemed to define me, went away. My hair started falling out, my doctor advised I see a cardiologist (I am the same age my father was when he died). I didn't go. My skin changed, my remaining hair frizzed and I started having hot flashes every 10 minutes.

In my own way, I've been practising my version of 100 Days in Bed. I've been avoiding everything. I have nothing like her excuse. Sometimes the need to avoid pain can cause you to hide. It's not healthy. But I can't stop.

In my case, I've been hiding from mortality and menopause. The biggest problem is my hair. So superficial. I always had great hair. Now I don't. I'm taking hormones and I'm worried about cancer because my mother had cancer and I know I shouldn't be taking hormones.

With the immediate nature of the onset my body objected in a manner akin to a woman who had a hysterectomy. I went from normal...to zero hormones in one day. If I'd known this, I would never have agreed to the surgery. If it had been you having the surgery, I would have found out. But it was just me. The aftermath is that your body temperature escalates, you're face turns bright red and you sweat profusely...everywhere. Imagine this occuring every 10 minutes. It's not subtle. It's unstoppable and beyond embarassing and uncomfortable. You can't sleep, go on a date or have a 5 minute conversation. I decided to get relief with hormones. But secretly, I'm terrified of what is happening. I don't want to face it. I won't go to the doctor.

So I hide. I don't see my friends.

I believe that this is self absorption. Feeling sorry for myself is not the answer. Intellectually I know this.

So I'm going to need a couple more days in bed.

I'm not tryin' to fool ya, just school ya.

I just typed my blog address into the search window (I'd spent hours re-typing new addresses in order to dislodge my blog address.) Why you ask?

While I was away in Denver "The Vern" was watering my plants. I wanted to avoid potential drama if he turned on my computer, saw my address history, noticed my blog name (it has my real name) and started reading about himself.

With each new address I entered, one of the existing addresses would fall off the bottom of the list.

My blog address was at the top. It took hours.

Talk about a guilty conscious.

When I'm on a mans computer I look in his window for a history of what he's been searching for on the internet. I'm sneaky. So far all I have found is that the men I date seem to have a penchant for gambling. Vern gambles on sports and Evil gambles on horses. But I'm not really dating either anymore. They are dying a natural death.

I don't understand gambling. I won't do it. I will, however, gamble with someone elses money. Once, in Vegas, Vern gave me 50 bucks. On penny slot machines I won over $800.00 in a couple of hours. He lost 3 grand.

My luck has to do with one thing. Being able to walk away. It's what makes me good at my job. When negotiating with suppliers on a clients behalf I'm willing to walk away. The suppliers can feel it. I almost always get what I want. I save clients alot of money this way.

In negotiating matters in my own self interest... I lose the ability.

I tried it at the swap meet last weekend. I offered less money for a mandoline (vegetable slicer). The woman in the booth knew I really wanted it. She would not budge.

I did walk away. I did find a cheaper one but I realised...I can only use my powers for others and not self gain. That makes me a good witch, right?

Here is what appeared on the screen when I typed in my blog address:

There is a problem with this website's security certificate.

The security certificate presented by this website was issued for a different website's address.
Security certificate problems may indicate an attempt to fool you or intercept any data you send to the server.

We recommend that you close this webpage and do not continue to this website.

Now people. Despite this scandalous message, I am NOT trying to fool you. I think this message occured because I forgot to type in the www. prior to the address. Duh.

Try typing in your own blog address without the www. See if it happens to you. Then report back.

Next blog entry will be interesting. I promise.

How do you know if you are in love?

I've been absent. I was too embarassed to admit that I began seeing Evil Surfer Dude...again (sort of...okay, just once).

Don't look at me like that. Someone should slap me.

Ouch.

I sent him a three page break up email (so immature). In it, I detailed the ways in which we were not compatible. He ignorned my words.

As usual my teleportation device proved to be fully functional. Bam, he was on the doorstep a few days later. He declared his love.

But you can't go backwards. Even if you want to. In a way..I wanted to.

A few days before this I went on a date with "The Vern" who, as mentioned, stated that we would make a terrific married couple. He loved me for alot of years. We went on one of our famous progressive dinners. All the best restuarants in town from Splashes to Studio. But it wasn't the same. We could not go back.

It made me sad.

You have to get rid of the old in order to make room for the new.

At first I was embarassed. Then I realized that you can revisit the past as many times as you like in order to get it right.

But ultimately the past has to be discarded. Maybe the better word is released.

We have to release people...sometimes.