truth or consequences

the truth is that I know the truth...i know my truth. I've been having this little dilemma because I kinda got fixed up with two different women at the same time. Being the big nerd that I was I didn't really think anything would work out with either of them. Also, I was thinking, "if I have these two women to navigate at the same time, being the loyal-to-a-fault person I am, I won't be jumping in the sack right away, and thus won't be falling 'in love' with someone that I don't really know yet".

So as it turns out, both women are interested in getting to know me. The one wasn't able to get together for a couple weeks (today being the big day) and in the mean time I've been seeing the other woman pretty regularly. It was getting to a point with the woman I was already seeing (C for the sake of ease) where we were both thinking about taking thangs a little bit further and she still didn't know about girl # 2 (S for the sake of ease). I had gotten some advice earlier that was basically, "If you're not screwing, they don't need to know about each other. They'll just shut down if they know you're see someone else". This being a person I respected, I went with it, even though it felt awkward. SO. Back to "so when are we going to kiss?". At this point I called Simu and asked her advice. "The truth shall set you free! If you can't have honesty, what do you have? Besides if C really likes you she will respect you even more for being honest." That felt good. Before I spoke to Simu, I was thinking about my other friends would say, and the truth is, most of them would scoff at me for being up front with these women. So, I told C about the pending date and she didn't throw #33 pho bowl in my face. And we made out a couple days later. (Simu also suggested waiting 6 weeks; we tried. Sorta)

So next we have S. I was really stressing about meeting up with her because I wasn't sure what to tell her. The truth? The whole truth? This time I turned to my philosophical friend Jeremy (who happens to be my seperated at birth, long lost nerd twin brother). After many of his in depth soul searching conclusions, once again The Truth won out. So, I met S, we had a nice lunch, and when she asked if we should meet again informed her that I was indeed seeing another woman. I did fear her reaction, but refreshingly enough, she is "sick of lesbians who want to get married after the first date" and was happy to hear that keeping things light was my agenda. I really do prefer the truth, but I'm always afraid that people will be offended by it. Who woulda thunk the truth could be so refreshing?

I'm tired

What an interesting day. At least for me. I helped my friend Neal with his Kiiko workshop today, which is always a hoot. Kiiko is this famous acupuncture scholar, and man is she full of fire. Every one's favorite Kiiko line is "When we were a fish-uh...", not so much because of the content, but how she says it...probably one of those 'have to be there' things.

After the workshop I went to visit my new, uh-hem, friend, Chris. My plan was to saunter in and lay a big confident (first) kiss on her, but instead, I did my best 'oh shit, what do I do now' dance. Yup, still a big nerd. Oh, well, they tell me that it is now cool to be a nerd.

dude, dude, dude-man

Now that I'm over my job, lets talk about my best friend Sheila. This photo was taken about 8 years ago. It was March or April and Sheila and I were working out in the back yard and a couple of snow flakes fell from the sky. Sheila looks at me and says, "Hey! Wanna load up the truck and go to Phoenix; I'm sure its not snowing there!" So with that, we loaded up her old '74 Ford truck with the Vulcan, the kayak, and a change of underwear and we were off to 'disneyland'. Disneyland in this case being our friend Meloni's apartment complex that had this great little man made mini-lake around it. On this particular day, we got up, went to the pool, paddled around the 'mote', and then drove the motorcycle up the street for our Ambrosia, good coffee. That was the best day ever.

The first words that flutted through my head upon waking were today's title. So here is the story. Sheila and I had gone to the grocery store, and the little gang-banger wanna-be at the check-out, in the space of 30 seconds had called us 'dude' or 'dude-man' about 12 times. So while unloading our groceries at home, we pulled our pants as far down our hips as we could, gangsta style and proceeded to have a contest to see who could use 'dude' the most in a sentence. After that, as our little joke we greeted each other regularly with "dude, dude, dude-man". The only problem is that our little joke on the check-out boy karmically backfired on us, because now, like the check-out boy, we call everyone "dude" to the point of annoyance.

resolution of the saga...

Whilst having a slow moment at the store, Divinity intervened and I wrote a very nice resignation letter...no mention of anyone being a self centered arse, or anything. I said something to the effect of "the stress of full time school and working 4 days a week were too much for my immune system to handle, and that I was honored to have been a part of the team, and would miss it..." all of which were true statements.

The boss and I spent the day strategically avoiding each other, but when it was time for him to leave for the day, he came up to me and informed me that he had gotten my letter and that he was sorry to be loosing me, or some such sentiment. I just grunted and squeaked a bit, afraid to engage. All is well. Thanks B and B for the feedback and support, it is good to know that I did the right thing.

On a completely different note: Damn! My belly is hairy.

the saga continues...

I'm really struggling with how to handle giving my 2 weeks notice at work. Sure I could just say "hey Bryan, this is my 2 weeks notice", but I have so much more to say than that. And by more I'm not thinking of all of the hateful things I want to say, no, it's the "wake up and smell the coffee, man", stuff I want to say. I want to let him know how hurtful his constant accusations and innuendos of me not really being sick when I've called in were. I want to tell him how frakking loyal I was to this company until this last incident. And I want to tell him what a loyal frakking crew that he has now, and if he doesn't change his frakking attitude, he is going to loose everyone of them. But I'm afraid, that as is my usual Karma, he won't hear it. What he'll hear instead is some accusation against him that he will deny, and my message to him will be blocked by a brick wall. So, how do I smoothly exit this situation WITHOUT any regrets. And why is it I can care so little about big things, and care so much about little things?

biding my time

Well, I didn't manage the whole quitting my job thing yet. I found that my first day back at work after spending the majority of the last 4 days in bed was a bit more tiring than I had bargained for; thus I was emotionally, mentally, and physically ill equipped to deal with the back lash of giving my two weeks notice. Tomorrow is another day.

ranty, rant, ran

Oh there are so many thoughts floating in my head, which one do I write about? Shall it be butchering, sex, or quitting my job (these are each separate topics, btw)? Or how about fire-pig? I tried to take a pix of fire-pig, but my camera is very fickle. When I was in ND, my mother was very excited to take me to the feed store and get me a pig-lighter that shoots flames out it's nostrils. Very handy for when you are smoking two cigarettes at a time.

Oh, let me tell you about quitting my job. If you've been keeping up with the blog, you may have picked up on the fact that I haven't been feeling well. So yesterday I called in sick for today. I called my co-worked to pass along the message because it never fails that when I talk to the boss he gives me all this grief about taking a sick day. So, I thought I was in the clear til I got a phone call a couple hours later that happened to be from the boss. "You know I'm a little uncomfortable with you taking more time off. I mean you just had time off, and it was scheduled and all, but still I'm a little uncomfortable with this. And, we just gave you the 4-day week, but I'm still not comfortable with you taking more time off." The response I wanted to give him was, "what the frak do you think I'm doing here? Sitting by the pool sipping pina coladas?...I would lie down on the frakking railroad tracks to save this company, yet all I ever get from you is passive aggressive bull-S***, so why don't you just suck my cock and shove your job up your butt." But instead I said "Yeah, if I feel better, I'll come in". And the big bug up his butt is that we are under-staffed, which he decided to do on his own to save money, while at the same time dumping a bunch of money into our web-site...and the web-site is supposed to be going live but they're still having problems with it, so I'm an asshole for getting sick and taking time off. The moral of the story here is that I am sick of giving my all to a job, compromising my own health, and getting no appreciation in return, SO, tomorrow when I go in, I give my two week notice, and if he starts more of his passive aggressive tantrum crap, I might just walk out a little sooner, because life is too damn short to be this unhappy with a place I spend so much time at every week.

Ma

Eight years ago I was dating this woman whose mom was diagnosed with cancer. She and her mother had this rare (at least in my experience) relationship where they talked about everything. She could even (gasp!) talk to her mother about her relationship problems...and triumphs. So when her mother was diagnosed, it was quite devastating for her because her mother was her closest confidant.

At the time, my mother was still in her "you're just going through a phase, you'll find the right man someday" phase. I couldn't talk to her about my relationships with my girlfriends, or really about anything of emotional weight. What was going on with Jan gave me the courage to write my mother a letter to tell her how hurtful it was to me that I couldn't share this part (being in relationships with women) of my life with her. I also wrote to her about how devastating it was for me when we were foreclosed on, and how I'd never really found my footing after we lost the ranch...and was never given a chance to talk about it(because she was always so "frail" of mental health, and couldn't deal with anyone elses's issues...although I didn't mention that part).

This is a snippet of the letter she wrote back (which I keep with my Alter):

"I sure appreciated your letter honey, it meant so much to me. I love you deeply no matter what life style we live. I know my life style has been a bummer. I hope yours treats you better than mine did.

And yes, the whole family misses the ranch and wanted a long life there. I know it sure threw me for a loop when the foreclosure came and I saw my life being auctioned off because of a damn bottle of booze..."

That is the most emotional moment my mother and I have ever shared, and I am very grateful for it. Besides that letter, these days my mother never fails to ask me about my current g.f. when I have one, or ask about one of my ex's she still likes. In addition, my mother has seen nearly every movie out about gay people, and never fails to inform me when she meets a new gay person in Dickinson. I think she is the unofficial PFLAG in town.

breaking free

I decided to chat with a couple of topics I have mulled over in my blog in therapy today. Gender and my family...specifically my lack of emotion in regards to my pathological family members. What I came to the conclusion to was that it is not safe to be emotional about my family. I think I would disintegrate if I were open to being emotional about my family. i keep myself open to the people i love...that doesn't include my family. the wounds are too deep...too close to being mortal. But, I am free now. Free to live my own life, free to make my own sense of Family.

It's funny, every time I get a little clearer about cutting ties to my family, my brother G tries to make Contact with me (tonight he called just as I got out of my therapy session). Does he feel me pulling away? Have I broken the circle? What is it he feels? Why does he act like he cares when I finally don't?

shit i'm tired.

I'm normally not a nap kinda gal, but I've been finding myself needing to nap on my first day off for the last couple of days. I certainly don't mind naps, but I really don't have the extra time for naps right now with the volume of homework I have. If I were the kind of person who could read after a day at work, I might be able to keep up a bit better, but as it is, I can barely read the back of the box on mac'n cheese. Once again, I'm finding that ND has still taken the wind out of me. I would have no problem crawling back into bed and staying there until tomorrow morning. Unfortunately I'm supposed to be meeting an old classmate for early dinner...although she hasn't called me back to confirm, so I deeply suspicion that after I drive across town I'm going to get no-showed. But if I don't go, I take the risk of being the no-show-er. Shit, I'm tired.

Well, since this didn't post, I can now tell you that said classmate and I got our signals crossed, and I had dinner with my friend Chris instead, and finished reading a very riveting chapter in Theories and Techniques of Group Counseling .

sex and zen

speaking of sex, I just had to page through Interbeing...and good ol' Thich reminds me: Sexual relations motivated by cravings cannot dissipate the feeling of loneliness but will create more suffering, frustration, and isolation, we are determined not to engage in sexual relations with out mutual understanding , love and a long-term commitment. In sexual relations, we must be aware of future suffering that may be caused.

Sadly, I know it's true. Although I can't find fault in a goodly friend-frak, if one of you happens to be moving out of town. I'll keep working on my enlightenment...

Later in the teaching Thich states that "We will do everything in our power to protect children from sexual abuse...". Now how often do holy books bother stating that we need to protect children? especially from sexual abuse? Maybe some other religions need to take a lesson from the Buddhists. I think I am a little too tired for the rant that is building, so I will leave it at that for tonight.

an exercise in freaking out

A few months back I was telling my friend M that I needed to find a gf. Really, at the time I think I just needed to get laid, but that's beside the point. So anyway she kept telling me I should come to the speed-dating thing...which I thought was a completely terrifying prospect, but she eventually convinced me somehow that it would be a good thing. So, it snuck up on me. Tonight was the night, and I had promised, and dammit I can't go back on a promise, and I couldn't think of a really good lie for getting out of it, so I went.

On the drive over I was trying to decide if I had the stomach flu, or if I was just having nervous stomach. Now that it's over my symptoms are gone so I will assume that it was just nerves. After the experience, I'm just not convinced that speed dating is a really good way for me to meet people. Maybe if I actually would have been actively looking for a potential gf, but I wasn't at that moment and so I felt like a fake, I guess because I was. Don't get me wrong, there were some cute girls, and some that I would like to get to know. There were also some scary chicks...and everyone was asking "where do you work?", and having not anticipated that question, I hadn't come up with a good deflection or lie, so there are a number of people who know where I work, and I'm just hoping that they don't turn out to be stalkers. Anyways, I've had my speed dating experience. I guess if you know what you want, it might work out alright, and perhaps it was a good exercise for me in putting myself out there and doing something outside of my comfort zone...which i so rarely do.

a fleeting moment of Zen

As I was walking boo-boo this morning I was keenly aware of the beauty of this new day. I could feel the heat in the air, but the strong breeze kept the heat from lingering to long in one spot and becoming uncomfortable. It is one of those mornings that would best be spent nursing a good cup of coffee and writing on a novel. Instead I have to get ready for work, but before I leave, I leave with a random passage from Thich Nhat Hanh's Interbeing:

Aware of the suffering created by attachment to views and wrong perceptions, we are determined to avoid being narrow minded and bound to present views...We are aware that the knowledge we presently possess is not changeless, absolute truth. Truth is found in life, and we will observe life within and around us in every moment, ready to learn throughout our lives. (the photo was taken at the Zen Gardens in Portland. I love my hair there. Didn't love it then...but, truth is found in life. The shirt was given to me by my friend Jerry, the father of my friend Noreen. He was a great guy who died of cancer a couple of years ago...yet anothe father figure who slipped away...but I am very grateful for the moments I got to have him in my life...I love ya Jerry, I hope you got Buddhified)

grandparents

This happens to be the very first picture on that first page of my dad's photo album. This is grandma and grandpa. Grandpa died a month before I was born. He was anxiously awaiting the only grandchild he would get from any of his sons. As a result he was probably anticipating a boy to carry on the name...well, close enough I guess. His ghost haunted our basement until I was born. Dad actually had a conversation with him...I never got the details of that either...although dad probably didn't remember anyway.

And then there is grandma. She was my Guardian Angel. She was the one ray of hope in my life as a child. And I still carry her love with me today. Grandma was about 4'6", but according to dad, "she could pick up a grown man, turn him upside down, and drop him on his head". And she didn't take any shit from anyone...except for uncle Bill. She took care of him and put up with his abuse for 9 years, and she never stopped loving him. That was just the kind of person she was.

family history

This is from the first page of one of my dad's photo albums. This is him, his brother George, and his brother Bill. All three cowboys are dead. George the oldest died of a heart attack in his mid-thirties. One story is that he had been rolled by a horse and injured his heart. The next to go was Bill. He had M.S. and he was the most bitter man you could ever meet. You could barely understand him because of the M.S., except for when he was cussing you out (which he did regularly) at which point he was as clear as a whistle. Pneumonia finally took him in his late 50s. Then there was my pa, who died of cirrhosis at 61.

I wish I could have met these boys back when this picture was taken...back before uncle Bill had become such a venomous person that no one could stand to be around him, back before my dad was nothing but a shell of a once strong man drowned in booze. I know nothing about my uncle George (he died before I was around), but I know my dad looked up to him. I have his boxing gloves from his stint as a 'potato peeler' in the Navy during WWII, and I wanted to grow up to be a boxer in part because of those gloves. I always think he would have been a cool guy, maybe he was even gay. One of my big regrets in life was that I didn't get more stories from my dad before he died. But I have his photographs, so I guess I can just keep making up my own stories.

Is it a boy? Is it a girl?

Over lunch the other day my friend Jason introduced me to a term that I hadn't really heard used before: 'Gender Queer'. I liked it. It resonated. You see, winter before last I was really struggling with gender stuff. I spent a fair bit of time chatting with my therapist about gender, specifically my discomfort with being a woman. After a long period of being shutdown around my partner I decided it would strengthen our relationship to share with her my gender-distress. Her side of the conversation went something like; "Well I'm a lesbian, and that means I need to be with a WOMAN, and I am with you because you are a WOMAN, and you can't just decide one day that you aren't a WOMAN." That is the shortened version, but you get the idea of whose needs needed to be met. And we never talked about it again. More importantly, I never talked about it again. To anyone. That's a lie. I talked to my friend who no longer talks to me since she started dating said ex-partner, even though she made such a big deal about how much she valued our friendship and didn't want anything to come between us when she started dating L.

This gender stuff has been particularly up for me as recently in my human growth class, I read a chapter about how ideas of gender and gender roles are formed. The thing is, textbook didn't cover what I thought/felt(think/feel). Where is the chapter for those of us who don't fit the "normal" mold? And this shit doesn't feel all nice and neat because there isn't a black and white sense of gender for me; I'm not the person who feels like a man trapped in a woman's body. Most days I just feel like...well, not a woman. I often don't feel comfortable in a woman's body, nor do I feel comfortable with the gender role assigned to women (although, I don't know too many women who can say that they are), and I certainly don't feel comfortable with the term "woman". So, where does that leave me? I'll try 'Gender Queer' on for size for awhile. It sounds so much more fun than 'gender dysforic'.

Everything I need to know I learned from Dolly

i talk a lot about the "scarcity model". I talk a lot about not wanting to live my life based on the scarcity model and about how I don't want people in my life who are entrapped in it either. I thought I was doing pretty good until I started thinking about class status on my drive to school tonight. Primarily I was thinking about how different I am from some of the people I have been meeting lately...different in the sense of bank account, but also how we were raised, attitudes about life, expectations. Mainly I'm thinking of the women that friend's have been trying to set me up with lately, and how I'm poor-ass grad student/retail whore, and I've always been in the lower class of the economic scale. So there it is. I still think of myself as poor, and yes, financially, I am broke-ass, I am not in denial about that...however it is my attitude that is the problem. I wasn't even really consciously aware that I was having thoughts like: "I can't hang out with so-and-so because I'm lesser than she because of my income" or "So-and-so will think less of me because I grew up poor"...and so on.

Does it really make a difference? Or is it just my attitude that makes a difference. Once again, I don't know. Where is my coat of many colors when I need it?

where's my blankey

I am so frakking tired. I know I'm still recovering from my trip, but shit, I'm overwhelmed. Days like this I am ready to scrap my job and live off of my student loans for a while. Which I don't think is that bad of an idea...for awhile. There are so many things I would like to be doing...like taking a writing workshop on the weekends, teaching more motorcycle safety courses, and of course; more writing, but I just can't do it with my work schedule. This feels to much like slipping back into the old patterns of perceived obligation vs. doing things that bring me satisfaction...and I don't dig that.

what bothers me...

As I was reading my oh-so riveting book on group therapy this morning my mind often wandered. One of the places it wandered to was the query of how adequately some of my fellow students are prepared for real-life people with real-life problems. Some of them have led a very sheltered life where the worst experience in their life or lives of their circle are things that for many of us are no more than psychological slivers.

I wondered how they would react if I were to pull my chair up in front of them, look them in the eye and tell them stories about my family. About how my sister's 17 year old son LL, in the 2 weeks before I went up to visit, beat his father. The first time with a large wrench because dad took away his motorcycle after he got in trouble with the law (again) for jumping over cars on the highway. About how LL killed a cat on my sister's voicemail to let her know how pissed he was that she wasn't home to give him cigarette money. (And truth be known, I don't have any doubts that this boy will kill someone someday, and it will probably be a family member) Or how about when her oldest was a baby, how she would be so angry at him for peeing in his diaper that she would turn the stove burner on and hold him over it until his butt blistered. Would my peers be able to believe these things were real or would the defenses in their psyche protect them by convincing them that these were just lies inteneded to shock? Would they break down, unable to hold the psychic weight of the events? Or would they take it in as everyday human experience? (it happens on tv all the time, right?)

And then I wondered how frakked up a therapist I will be for being able to hear these things without any real emotion. I expect these things from certain members of my family. Don't get me wrong, I am horrified by them, but I am also emotionless about them on a certain level. It takes a lot to shock me, to rock my psyche. Is that a good thing, or is it a bad thing? The truth is, I don't have the slightest idea, and that is the part that bothers me.

pink ribbons

Let me explain: You see I had no choice. I didn't want the pink ribbon in my hair, nor did I want the strange man to take my picture. I would also like to point out that this was NOT one of the times I tried to cut my own bangs...mom did that job all on her own. Actually, I think the pink ribbons were a ploy...I think she already had an inkling that I was going to be a lesbian, so she figured if she dressed me in frilly outfits with pink, that I would succumb to straight-ness. If my mother were younger and in better health, it would be funny to tell her that the reason I'm a lesbian is because I saw how horrible her life was a result of the many men in her life.

retro

I'm wishing I had access to all of my stuff without having to go to my storage unit. There is a picture in my senior yearbook of one our guitar-band performances. The reason for wanting this particular photograph (to put in this post) is that I almost wore the very same wranglers and the very same cowboy boots out to go dancing tonight. I would just like to point out that that makes said items of clothing 19 years old. Do I have a disorder, or am I just sentimental...hmmm, funny how 'mental' is in that word.

I changed my mind on that pants because although they fit semi-comfortably enough, I still have a larger roll than I would like hanging over (nice, yes...I'm always happy to share). The boots I had on and thought I would wear, but they were already slightly uncomfortable, and since I plan on dancing, even if the music sucks-ass (which it has the last 4 times I've gone out to any homo dancing place), I decided to go with my work boots. Now if I had that damn picture, this post wouldn't seem nearly so boring.

the natives are restless

A friend was telling me about visiting the Great Plains. She spoke of the harshness of the energy...of the restless Spirits that roamed everywhere. She couldn't get out of there quick enough.

And truth be told, I can't say that I can think of anyone from back there who hasn't had 'experiences'. And I've always tried to figure out why so many people from Dakota have a drinking problem. I always thought it was perhaps the Winds, or the culture, or the harsh climate, but perhaps it is the inner discord brought about by the Restless Spirits who are as plentiful as the fields of wheat, waving in the wind across the plains.

questioning

A couple of days ago I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a number of years. "I heard you were up in Minnesota", she commented. "Uh, no."

Back story: A few years ago, after much trepidation I had finally decided to go to acupuncture school rather than counseling school. My gf at the time had a meltdown when I told her because she was in school for acupuncture and that was her thing. I was trespassing. After feeling like I'd been smacked in the face with a scoop shovel, I looked into other acupuncture schools so she could maintain her 'space', and I decided on a school in MN.

With my passion for life already strangled, self-doubt became the loudest voice in my head and I scrapped the idea of going to acupuncture school...or any school...until a little over a year ago when some woman from Univ of phoenix called and hard-sold me into starting the counseling program there. As much as I hated the program, I owe them a debt of gratitude for getting me back into school. But my run-in with Elise reawoke my self-doubt and makes me wonder if I chose the right field.

when the sky touches the earth

As I left ND the fog was heavy and low. It fit my mood...not quite melancholy, but closed off, alone.

When I was growing up, I was alone too much, now I don't seem to get enough healthy alone time. As much as I enjoy my outings with friends, I value my alone; time where I don't have to interact with anyone, or worry about possibly having to interact with someone. I think this is why I've lost my spiritual connection. For me, I need that quiet time in order to touch Spirit. This photo reminds me that sometimes I need to curtain myself off (No, not isolate) so as to be able to be present with myself and my Spirit.

Born on cattle sale day

While I was getting some photos of my dad, I came across some other stuff that was stuffed in the album including this pix of me and Charley Brown, as well as my baby book. Until a couple of years ago, I had no idea mom had kept a baby book for me, and she actually managed to log in it up to 6 1/2 weeks (following object with eyes). In the photo I'm 4 1/2 and this is the spring that my mom got a bunch of bottle-fed calves and named them all after Peanuts Gang characters. By C.B.'s back leg is one of my favorite childhood toys, a plastic motorcycle...go figure. And if you are wondering what special event happened on my birthday, check out the title of this post! ooooo, and I would like to point out that for the first time in my blogging history, the spell checker gave me the "no misspellings" message!

public service announcement

If you ever find yourself in ND and have a hankering for sopapillas, they're called scones up there. Slightly different texture, but darn near the same thing. Mmmm, mmm. When I was in college, my friends and I would pile into my beat-up 78' dodge pickup...whose floorboards were rusted out, and drive the 18 miles in the sub-zero middle-of-winter to the Trappers Kettle for warm scones , and what else? pepsi!

where i get my sense of humor...

Somewhere in The Storage Unit, I have this great picture of my dad and his younger brother when they around 6 and 3. It was time for their haircut and they asked grandma for a 'big man's haircut'. Fortunately grandma has photo documentation of the two boys with the tops of their heads shaved. Fortunately, they waited until later in life to add the come-over. But here is one of the other rare photos of my dad when he was a kid (with one of his younger sisters).

crocuses in the kitchen window **Photo Added!**

When my dad was around 6 his family home-steaded the ranch where he and I both grew up. He rarely went into town and socialized other than the once a week 10 mile horse ride he and his brothers would take to go have some beers. As an adult, he took over the ranch, and still rarely left the ranch, again, other than go to the bar. In his 30's he helped run his brother Bill's bar in addition to working the ranch. Dad was a shy man and had never dated another woman until he met and married my mother at 40. (Dad was very self-conscious about his nose, but I think he had a handsomeness about him, but I could be biased)

You could say that dad was a bit isolated and didn't have a strong sense of romanticism with one exception. The harbinger of spring was the velvety-lavender crocuses that would pop up in rare spots on the prairie. One of the highlights of spring was hunting for the first crocus to take home to mom. My dad never bought (or picked) my mother flowers, but she would always get a crocus which she would place in a water glass and set in the kitchen window.

Last night my dog kept me up most of the night hacking and whining. I took her to the emergency vet early in the morning to find out that they didn't have the equipment to do the proper diagnosis. How frakking annoying since I could have paid 1/2 the money to my own vet. My hundred dollar answer from the emergency vet: well since we don't have a way to diagnose her, we'll just wait and see if this develops into xyz, and then we'll give her anti-biotics, and if those don't work, we take out a lung. After 3 1/2 hours of sleep and a frak-ton of stress and worry, I spent most of my day trying not to burst into tears, this moment being no exception. I think tomorrow will be a better day.

coming back to center

It has been weird to feel so off-kilter after having been feeling so good. I'm starting to feel less out of it, but I'm still having this weird anxiety complete with "snakes and butter" in my guts. It seems like it would be easier to talk myself out of the way I'm feeling if I could pin-point where exactly it was coming from, but I don't know. I just know that I feel like barfing all the time and I'm constantly worried that there is something wrong/constantly going to negative places in my head, and then of course I start getting paranoid that there is something seriously physically wrong with me...

Damn, that sounds just like my mother. So apparently I need to have an exorcism of some sort. Have a mentioned lately how grateful I am to be in NM and how grateful I am to have 'family' of my choosing?

must eat brains

I keep forgetting about appointments which I only remember at the oddest moments. I feel like I'm loosing my mind. Frak. I guess I should be happy I'm remembering at all...hopefully I'm remembering all of them...I hope I don't need to go back to ND anytime soon...and I hope my next out-of-town moment is to do something fun and rejuvenating.

god, i'm old

A cute little gay boy came into the store today with a faux-hawk. He was a little punk boy complete with tight black pants and funky shoes. I could tell he was feeling the discomfort that one feels when they are worried that they are going to be judged for their appearance (because they generally have been in the past). I wanted to reassure him everything was cool by commenting that I used to have a mohawk back in the 80's when I was his age...but I figured he would just think I was some old lady trying too hard to identify with him, so I just smiled and looked him in the eye and treated him like any other customer.

things i remember

I went through the one photo album I have with me rather than in storage and this is the only pix I have of myself pre-school age besides the out-in-the-corral photo. I like this shot because I can actually remember that period in my life...specifically I remember playing with the fake-glass-grapes and the empty colored-sugar-water plastic bottles quite frequently, and I remember that I loved playing with these things. And I remember that this was the last time until now that I had a sense of happiness. 34 years is long enough to feel miserable. I wonder if my fondness for frogs has anything to do with the fact that I looked like a little frog when I was a little snotter.

making lemonaid

This evening I met my friend Dr Dave for coffee (and pie), and catching up. Even though we come from different time periods, different parts of the country, different sex, and different orientation, we bond quite well over our dysfunctional parenting. It was quite amusing to be able to completely relate to one crazy-vampiric-soul-sucking-mom story after another. We decided that after I graduate we will write a book together about the woes of growing up with a vampire and how to cope. Since Dr Dave actually is a published author, I think that this will actually happen unlike so many other of my book ideas that are still back-logged in my head.

How to deal with a vampire

I didn't think I would need to see my therapist after my visit back to mom as I have been doing quite well psychologically. I was wrong. I found that I was quite...out of my body after the experience of dealing with 4 days worth of comments such as this one that came after spraining my ankle: "Maybe you broke it and you will have to stay here with me." Thanks mom.

About 95% of my conversations with my mother involves her complaining about how horrible her life is. A while back someone suggested that the next time she did it I should counter with my own story of how horrible my life is. It back fired...her response was "Things never work out for you either...You're Just Like Your Poor Ol' Mother." I nearly vomited from the psychic sickness that washed over me when she made that statement. One of those lessons that I've known in my head, I finally got in my heart. That lesson being that my mother wants to live through me...that also means that she wants to pass on her suffering to me. I am happy to say that I don't want it. The thing that I've been getting this last year, and the thing that has been making me a happy s.o.b. is that I Don't Have To Live My Life For Anyone Else. I love my mother, but that doesn't mean I don't get to love myself. I have reclaimed my life, and not everyone is happy about that, but I am, and that is all that matters.

random thoughts on a hot day

The b/w photo to the left was taken when I was 3 or4. There are a number of pictures that my mom took of me that were intended to show that I was my fathers daughter. It's a little hard to see, but I'm wearing my dad's cap and I've got one of his 1/2 chewed cigars in my mouth. There are a number of photos buried somewhere in my storage unit of me around this age again with dad's cigar, and some where I am "passed out" with a jug of booze under my arm. In those photos I'm generally not actually passed out, not because I wasn't drinking, but because dad didn't give me booze around mom.

I was daddy's little helper. Whenever he went into town to 'get parts' (read into that; get booze), I went along with him. The day would consist frequent stops to get beer or schnapps out of the back of the pickup on the 40+ mile drive to town. Once we arrived in town, dad would spend an our or two at each bar in town (for you aspiring alcoholics, the trick is to only stay a few hours at each bar, because if you stay too long at one, people will assume you are an alcoholic). Back in those days, you could still get away with bringing kids into the bar, so that is where I spent my time. In some bars they'd even let him get away with ordering a "shot of rye for both of us". I wasn't much of a rye drinker til my late teens though, however, I was quite fond of beer foam and Tom & Jerrys (I was a little sugar addict too, doncha know).

Many of my fellow alcoholics speak of their first drink...they can remember every detail...their first drink was a life changing event. For me, I was pretty muchly pre-verbal for my first drink, and even my first drunk, but I can remember the first time I cognitively associated drinking with feeling better. I was 7 and I was overwhelmed with an oppressive feeling like the entire world was going to cave in on me and swallow me up into a ball of chaos, and I didn't know of anyway to make it better except to get drunk. Now, on any other day I could have stumbled across 3 different dad-stashes. The first place I looked was in a snow drift about 20 feet away from where that b/w photo was taken, but no luck that day. Next was the quancet which usually held several stashes, but sadly, strike two. Next, there was always behind the seat of the pickup, strike 3.

I guess dad was having a bad day too.

letting go

There is a theme in my mother's life, and that theme is Not Letting Go. It is a theme that I inherited and one that I work very hard to, ahem, let go of...although if you read the last post you know that there are some areas I am not doing so well in. Before I left for ND, I had a friend do a birth-chart for my mother. Said friend wasn't well, so I wasn't able to pick it up til today, but even in her chart, Not Letting Go is the little wise-ass at the front of the class with her hand in the air squealing "pick me, pick me". The other theme that surfaced in her chart was My Life Will Never Get Any Better. Another inheritance from my mother I do my best to run from...I need to keep working on my cardio fitness as that shit runs awefully fast and never seems to tire.

You might be asking yourself, "Well, does mama have any good qualities?" I'm glad you asked. My mother is charismatic, she is a tireless worker, she is loyal, in her youth she was quite the beauty, and she persevered through one hell of a shitty life. Fortunately, I was able to pick a few of these characteristics as well. I figure if I can incorporate a little balance and a whole lotta Positive in my life and the appropriate Letting Go, my mom's gifts to me will be pretty frakking awesome.

My friend the Gadfly

This morning before our workout, TokyoRosa and I went out for coffee and chatted...most of the chat was about me being tired and not wanting to work out...after I had texted her at 6:45 to meet, and after which she had reminded me that the gym doesn't open til 9 on sundays.

However, somehow our conversation got around to all of the (literal) baggage I carry around. Damn you TR for reminding me that I am not as Zen as I would like to believe. I have a storage unit full of stuff. Well, about 1/2 of it is stuff, the other half is actually Stuff that I would be using were I not living in my friends' spare bedroom. "Why do you keep all of this stuff" she asked. I only had an excuse, not an answer. That answer being that I am (cue the Dio) the Last in Line...my father died with only one child (me, if you're having trouble with the math), both of his brothers died childless and his sisters disowned the family...so here I am with all of this stuff...and no one to pass it along to. There are others with my name out there, but I don't know them and they don't me, so there is this heavy feeling that haunts me and stalks me...what is that feeling? (long pause) Obligation. And let me tell you, obligation is one of those primal buttons for me.

I don't know if I'm making it up, or if she actually said it, but I can hear "when are you going to let go?" ringing in my head. Preferably before my mother kicks the bucket. So: Soon, dear Gadfly, soon.

Bread boy

College was such a strange and wondrous time. Pages worth of blogs could be done on the many college-related topics that come to mind, but for now, let us focus on bread-boy, AKA Brian. He's the tall one on the right. Brian was my best friend in college...and back then we both had long hair. The story that came to mind this morning when I woke up at 6am (I really need to stop doing that) is of the time I arranged for us (he and I and my ex Ruby) to go to Bismarck for tattoos. He got a very lovely Pacific Coast Native piece done on his back. I was wanting to get a specific tattoo which the Toad did not have a design for, and since this whole thing was my idea, I had to get something. So in the mean time Ruby got a tattoo of a dragon on her upper peck, and I really liked how it looked so I got the same thing only in a different color. More about that later. Through college, B and I were tattoo buddies...after the Toad, we discovered Penny who became our regular artist, and generally we went along with the other to get our pieces done. We also spent a great deal of time defacing, I mean customizing the art department. Good times. Now B has a real job and gets to fly around in the company jet, has a lovely wife and kids, and a mini-van...and I have a broke-down mini-van complete with side door falling off!