Karma Chameleon and the smell of wet dog

Kindergarten (or pre-school...but same difference)
Sitting in the passenger seat next to my mom, I would look up at the sunny sky through the windshield at the same exact spot (about 20 seconds before she pulled into the stone covered parking lot)....and sneeze. No, I didn't have a cold or an allergic reaction. I just wanted to sneeze. It was a ritual for me. I forced these sneezes for as long as the weather permitted.

I remember back talking a teacher on one particular day and learned never to do that again after I got a fresh bar of soap stuck in my mouth to teach me a lesson. I believe a teacher might get his or her ass sued for doing something like that nowadays, but hey, this was the 80's....a time when watching "All My Children" with your teachers during lunch and dancing around the room to Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" was the norm. I also had a crush on Boy George. I thought it was both cool and confusing that he looked like a girl. Turns out, I liked gay men back then and didn't know how to articulate it yet.

I hated nap time. Too many restless bodies in one room trying to fall asleep on their blanket on the floor. As if the blanket made the floor as comfy as a mattress. Puh-lease. Fortunately, my grandparents came to the rescue. While everyone else had to take a nap, I got to go to what was then referred to as 'tooty flute' lessons, which was basically a very simplistic and plastic instrument version of...you guessed it, a flute. There was a handful of us children that would pretend to play something that resembled a song as we skipped around in circles in a boring, lifeless room. None of the notes we played on our tooty flutes sounded good. It was just a bunch of noise and yet, it was the most pizazz that lifeless room had seen all week. I wasn't a fan of the tooty flute as much as the squishy cookie cutter shaped ham and cheese on white bread sandwiches my Narnie made for me. I lived for those sandwiches, bread so soft that it dug into my teeth and stuck to the back of my mouth. Between the uncomfortable floor and daydreaming about sandwiches, who can take a nap in kindergarten?

6th grade
I did not have any romantic potential with boys in the 6th grade. I was still trying to overcome the Ugly Duckling phase. I enjoyed too many slices of greasy pizza with the family at our favorite pizza joint, Chesapeake Pizza....the only torrid love affair I had yet to experience. That same year I was rewarding myself with a taco salad from Taco Bell when mom and I weighed ourselves at Weight Watchers, excited to discover we lost 3 pounds in the overall 30 left to lose.

On top of being the overweight nerd girl, I also did not have the perfect smile. I was wearing braces and some other metal contraption at the bottom of my mouth. I sure could have used a Vicodin prescription back then for the pain I was in when that was installed.

My friends were also sketchy during this time period. There was Kim Hodges across the street. She was very religious, especially about playing piano and her devotion to New Kids on the Block. She had every conceivable magazine picture of them that had ever been taken....from Tigerbeat to YM to Teen magazine. You name it, she had it. All over her walls. All over her ceiling. I bet she is embarrassed about this sick obsession as a 30 year old woman now. Too bad I have no idea whatever happened to Kim Hodges. Imagine the case study it could have provided.

Then there was Brooke. She had a mopey brother named Jessie who liked to wear surfer label clothing, even though looking back in retrospect...he didn't know the first thing about surfing, nor the social skills to pursue such an ambitious sporty endeavor. I liked hanging out with Brooke. Sometimes I would spend the night at her house, funny considering she lived next door to me. We would listen to The Bangles or help her comfort coat wearin', chain smokin' "Granny" with her crossword puzzle. "Now Brooke....!" she could frequently be heard scolding with a raspy undertone. The family dog Daisy, however, was the most delightful member of the household. Those were the neighbor friends. There were also the school friends.

6th grade alternated between Ms. Norman and some other teacher whose name I can't recall. Although Ms. Norman was the nicer of the two teachers, I was torn between which class I dreaded most for different reasons. Teacher Whose Name I Don't Recall was obese, mean and unattractive. All I recall about that class was learning about Ponce de Leon, that Coronado guy, some Aztec and Mayan history, and a cop coming to talk to our class about the dangers of alcohol and drugs during our lame D.A.R.E. (Drug Education Resistance Education) course. Norman's class offered me the chance to share desk space with 3 other people. They couldn't be just any ordinary kids either. No, I was stuck with Stinky and Drama Queen.

Shannon O'Leary started off as a friend and as time went on, more of a foe...at least to my nose. Sweet girl, but she lived with like 20-30 dogs. I'm not sure if she didn't shower either or if it was just the sheer magnitude of being surrounded by 20-30 different dog odors that had her coming to class smelling like....wet dog. It was so bad that it made me nauseous to sit near her. I finally had to pull Ms. Norman out of the class and gently confide in her as to the cause of my olfactory and digestive distress. I'm not sure what she ended up saying to Stinky, but I remember the smell just went away one day. Sometimes you just have to speak up if you want the smell to go away.

Jessica was a chubby girl with chipmunk cheeks, blond hair usually worn in a ponytail, and many family issues to boot. I would occasionally let her see my answers when we had to do assignments during class time. She complained about how miserable it was at home. I felt sorry for her and letting her cheat off me was the least I could do. Drama Queen was so upset one day that she threatened to run away. When she was absent from school for a few days after that threat, I remember thinking she really went through with it. I reluctantly told my mom about the scandalous run away from home plan on our way to Chesapeake Pizza (I told you, it was a torrid love affair with the pizza that year). A part of me wished she had run away, at least for a little while. I wanted to hear the juicy details of where she had gone and what she'd seen or done on this run away mission, assuming she came back. It's unclear to me now whether she was truly troubled by family or perhaps suffering from something like Bipolar disorder or pathological lying. Is it any wonder my future as a therapist and storyteller was paved well before adulthood?

You know you're a "grownup" when.....

the idea of going out on a Friday night requires more motivation than a sense of adventure.

you start referring to those 7-10 years younger than yourself as "kids."

you feel like you're the oldest person at a sports bar and just want to leave the crowded atmosphere.

you're attracted more to personality (intelligence, kindness and sense of humor) than physical looks.

you wonder if the person you like is married and look for a wedding ring.

the person you like is divorced, has kids, and you still want to date him/her.

you run into your crush at the grocery store instead of the bar.

you would rather sacrifice fun for sleep than the other way around.

you find yourself having lower expectations of people.

you consider what it would be like to change your career someday.

you're buying wedding and baby gifts for your friends, wondering when you will be the one getting married and having children.

social and political issues become more important to you......and you actually do something about it.

making your parents happy becomes secondary to your own happiness.

your birthday feels like every other ordinary day.

you are the only one in the room who knows all the words to an 80's song.

Yes, I am a grown-up.

Vivid dreams

For some reason, I've been having very vivid dreams the last two weeks. Like the night of the election, I remember not sleeping well on my mom's futon (it wasn't comfortable)....but of the sleep I got I had a dream where there were maybe four people gathered around each other in a little circle. A guy was holding this massively huge snake (a boa constrictor?), it's length coiled around the man's arms, neck, stomach. The group was laughing and having a great time. I don't think they even saw me standing about 8 feet behind them. I was petrified and screamed out in fear, even trying to scream in my sleep that came out as a weird noise that woke me up from the dream. That's all I remember. Then a few nights after that I had a dream that I was answering an ad to possibly move into a new house and went to check the place out. There was a guy living there and I was excited about his bedroom being right beside mine, that we would be roomates. I remember loving the kitchen. It had tons of counter space and all these culinary appliances I had never seen before. It made me want to just get in there and start cooking up a storm. The place, overall, was grand.

Last night I had a bizarre and somewhat scary dream. I arrived at my friend E's house. I was excited to see her and reconnect, as I had not seen her since she got married. I was happy for her marital bliss and wanted to hear all about it. She proceeded to tell me she had a sexual experience that she called "cake" and asked me if I knew what it meant. I paused, trying to think of what I was going to say because I didn't know what it meant and also didn't want to sound nieve by admitting as much. But I decided to be upfront and admit, that I didn't know. What's "cake?" She apparently said it was having sex with two people at the same time. As she started to tell me about it, we had to leave her house for whatever reason. I had to go home, I think.

I got on the wrong bus, had to get off the bus after I realized it (and my old coworker Annie was on that same bus, weird) and wasn't sure what to do. E. was suddenly there again and next thing I know, she and I are both on this flimsy looking thing that looked like a cross between an ironing board and a surfboard. She was laying on one and I was laying on one.....and we're thousands of feet above the sky. It's a sunny day and I can see the water, tons of city buildings below. At first, I thought it was cool and fun, this "magic carpet ride" in the air of sorts. We're dishing girl talk and I'm excited that I'll make it back to the south end of Seattle faster than if I had tried to figure out another bus route!

But then.....the thing we're both on starts nosediving and tilting in different directions. I'm getting queasy, nervous that I'm gonna throw up. That feeling quickly turns into extreme fear of "Am I going to die?!" because no matter how much I clutch the flimsy thing I'm laying on, I feel like I'm falling off and going to tumble to my death below. There's no security. E and I are screaming and I'm pleading with god to help me. I'm so scared, my heart is beating a million miles a minute and I'm pretty sure this is it for me. A minute later, as we fast approach the ground....we land calmly and safely on the ground. We're still alive, untouched and unharmed.

"Friending"

I thought I was the only one who had these thoughts and feelings, but as it turns out I'm not. My mom didn't even know I was going to write about this today when I was hanging out with her earlier this afternoon. I laughed when she unknowingly mentioned the same thing to me.

What about you, dear reader? Have you ever crossed paths with a stranger that you were attracted to and wanted to ask out for a "friendship date?" I've had a handful of encounters with strangers lately that have stirred this feeling within me. I want to do the friend equivalent of dating: "friending."

It first started last month when I was on my way home from work. It was a rainy night. I'm pretty sure it was the same night I had to hospitalize a suicidal client because I didn't leave work till about 7:00. The windows on the bus were all fogged up and Young, Friendly Woman Reading A Book that I sat beside made a comment about not knowing exactly where her stop was coming up because the windows were foggy, thus it was hard for her to see. We exchanged a few pleasantries, including her revealing she also wasn't familiar with the area because she had just moved to the area. I perked up at hearing she was 'new.' I should have seized the moment and told her that I was a newbie too, but I think I was too tired and stressed out from my day at work to make the effort. She seemed nice and different from the typical "Seattle freeze" people I typically encounter though. For a split second, I wish I could befriend someone like her.

Coincidentally, I saw YFWRAB on my morning commute last Monday. It was an arduous journey that day, as various passengers commiserated about us being stuck in traffic because someone on the Aurora bridge was threatening to jump. There she was, dressed casually in jeans and talking on the phone. Whomever she was talking to was someone she was on her way to meet, as she told the person where she currently was on her commute. I wondered if she was on her way to some political activity, as she donned an Obama button and clutched a 'green' bag over her right shoulder. She stepped off the bus at a stop right before the Aurora bridge. Why do I keep running into this woman when suicidal situations are going on too? Is there a sign in all this?! As the bus took off and I looked at her through the window, I wished I could be friends with her. Why? I couldn't tell ya. She just seems...friendly, interesting, intelligent.

Then yesterday I interacted with a few men while doing errands who triggered the same feeling for me. I walked into Sip N' Ship to mail two books to a friend of mine. As I approached the counter, the guy working there was talking to a middle aged man. The way they were talking indicated they were friends, or at least acquaintances....making plans to do something later. Middle aged man leaves and I have Cute Postal Guy's full attention. He was very pleasant, asking me how my weekend was going and was very helpful in giving me the best bargain for my buck. Something about his personality gave me a yearning to be his friend too, and it wasn't just his looks because I think he might be gay.

An hour later, I'm in the checkout lane at the grocery store putting all my shit on the black assembly line conveyor belt. A thin, attractive man with slightly spiky hair who appeared to be in his early 30's pushed his cart behind me on register 6. There was 3 feet of space between where he and I had placed our collective items. Being ever the observer (and voyeur), I peeked at his vegetarian selections. He jokingly asked if I had enough room for my stuff and I played along with a witty repartee. Again, I was in "friending" mode. He followed me to the customer service desk....like me, to get a roll of quarters.

I'm going to invent a "Friending" bus route and/or shopping day, for those of us strictly seeking interesting people for friendship. It could be an easy and nonthreatening way to get to know someone that you really deep down just want to blurt out: "I really want to be your friend!"

"Friending." So innovative that I've just coined the term. And hopefully the concept.

Well, one can dream.

Writing exercise

After posting a few thing I wrote in years past on here, I thought maybe it was time to write something new.

Friday night after work, I wandered into Borders with my 30% off coupon and $5.00 off rewards thing eager to buy yet another book to my ever expanding collection of books. At first, I looked at the new books section. Nothing caught my eye. I walked upstairs and asked the bookseller behind the information desk when the Dido cd would be coming out. Not until November 18th. So much for that. I head over to the religion, philosophy, and psychology section. Again, nothing catches my eye....and frankly, I'm not in the mood to read psychology books seeing as I think about psychological things all day at work. I need an ESCAPE from work, not a reminder. A lightbulb goes off: creative writing. A short, older woman with glasses (a bookseller) is talking to a scholarly looking man who appears to be in his fifties in the History section. They converse for a few minutes, as I stand 8 feet behind them unnoticed for the next 5 minutes. When the woman realizes I need help, she hurries over and I ask her if they have a creative writing section because I cannot find it. We start to walk towards the section, a feeling of deja vu stirs within me of the days when I was the one leading the customer to their desired literary object. I notice she is pointing out 'writing style' and 'publication.' Did she not hear me when I said creative, not mechanics? As she is scrambling around trying to show me she was indeed listening (because creativity and mechanics of writing are apparently mixed in together, who knew?), there they are staring back at me. In all its creative glory, one of my inspiring muses from years past, Natalie Goldberg's books. Perfect! I had forgotten she had a new book out, one that couldn't be more apropos: "Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir." I scooped it up, trying to control myself from hugging the damn thing as if it were indeed an old friend whom I haven't seen in years.

What is the point of this anecdote, you wonder? Well dear reader, as part of my whole goal of getting the creative juices flowing and having more of a passion to write again after feeling a fizzle.....I am going to be brave with my creativity and try some of the writing suggestions from her book on my blog here. For fun, for reflection, and to get the proverbial ball rolling. It may sound great. It may even sound like crap. But at least I'm writing again. :)

With that said, here's the first one.....

Tell me what you will miss when you die.

How can one articulate into words the depth, the magnitude of the human experience of being alive? I don't even know where to begin, but here it goes. I will miss being holed up in my apartment on a rainy afternoon, listening to music that brings back memories from different times in my youth. I will miss the comfort of warmth, wearing my favorite sweater or wrapping myself up in my dark blue blanket that carries the lingering scent of me on it. I will miss the sounds and smells of coffee brewing in the still morning hours before the sun rises, the anticipation of that first sip when my lips touch the curve of the top of the mug. I will miss the feeling of being in a virtual postcard, walking amongst scattered autumn leaves along the sidewalks that look as if some technical stage crew in the sky poured them and let them fall in just the right way to perfect the concept of beauty. I will miss water filling in my eyes, being moved by any and all emotion: anger, sadness, joy, inspiration, fear, gratitude, empathy. I will miss holding a book in my hands, my eyes enveloping the contents. I will miss the rush of a new romance and the curiosity of the unknown. I will miss the musky scent of all the men I've been attracted to in my lifetime. I will miss being turned on by intelligent discourse. I will miss the unique and distinct laughter of all the 'favorite' people in my life. I will miss road trips to Michigan in the dead of winter when my body was numb from the frigid temperature, but I never felt more alive. I will miss spontaneity and surprising others, myself included. I will miss physical affection---intimate kissing, hugs, full body massages, sex. I will miss being comfortable in my own skin. Close friends, my parents, my teachers, my lovers, clients I really liked, cuddling with sweet dogs. And FOOD! Green bean casserole, Nicole's chocolate chip cookies, hankerings for avocados, Garcia's margaritas and off the wall (both the witty and the deep) conversations with my two favorite Chicago men. The excitement of having something to look forward to and the memories of all I've accomplished, where I've been. I will miss witnessing progress in the world, in humanity. I will miss photography. I will miss the kindness of strangers. I will miss flirting and being playful. I will miss inside jokes. I will miss the smell of seaweed and saltwater in the air, sand stuck between my toes underneath my socks after a hot summer day at a Florida beach. I will miss the hours of time it would take me to list the infinite number of things I will miss that my brain cannot think of in this moment.....which is to say, I will miss the experience of all that goes along with being a living human being in all its idiosyncracies.

Favorite places

(Photo taken by me, October 2007)

Continuing with the theme of things I wrote years ago, here's one I wrote about my favorite places on 9/1/03. (It's interesting to see how my favorite places have changed in the past five years. Maybe I'll write a current favorite places blog soon....)

My favorite places are not that of distant, exotic lands. They are all a piece of "home" to me. These places are more important to me for the people I connect with and for the comfort of feeling "at home" no matter how far I am from the house I live in at the time.

Camping and hiking at Lost Maples, Texas, picnic meals in the crisp, autumn weather in the woods---reminds me of home in New England. Quiet and Walden-like. Clearwater Beach in Florida and seafood at Leverock's with Dad and again with Mom. Drives through Wimberly to visit Jennie or watch Eliza Gilkyson play at Cypress Creek Cafe. You can see all the stars out there in the pitch black of night, cruising down the winding roads of Wimberly while jamming to music on the radio and talks with Nicole.

Driving along the roads of the west---Utah, California, Wyoming in all its beauty, natural in its green fields and rocky chiseled mountains. Reno and other parts of Nevada reminding me of family closeness I had for 6 months after I graduated college. Ladd, Juliana, Elijah. Jeff's visits to Reno and hanging out at Harrah's in Lake Tahoe. I won us two bets on the Roulette table that bought us dinner that night.

Walking around the block to Uncle Don's house for a tuna fish sandwich, Fritos, and maybe M&M's or highly addictive salty pistachios to munch on while we had long talks at the kitchen table, my surrogate father in an "uncle" disguise. And now, talking to him on the phone comforts me and brings me home to the days when my grandfather imparted his words of wisdom to me. I feel like he's talking to me again when my uncle talks with me.

Breakfasts and brunches in restaurants late at night or in the late morning on the weekend in my grandparents' apartment in Derry, New Hampshire. Eggs, toast, and the artery clogging greasy bacon was my childhood favorite. Sleepovers and swimming in the pool till my fingers turned prune-like. I lived in that pool it seemed, even when the chlorine was green from some chemical problem the pool had.

Now my breakfast meals out are fun times with Eve and the occasional quirky Nate. Clarke's on Belmont is great for camaraderie. Stella's Diner off Broadway is a Sunday morning hangout to debrief after Eve and I have hung out with Brandon and Paul the previous night.

Tuck's, a dive bar with character that reveals the personalities of its inhabitants. Nostalgia felt in the tunes it plays and the memories it brings with the guys we know.

The sights of Portland, Oregon last time I saw Tracy, my old high school friend. I felt at home, reminiscing of our lives over the past 8 years with such an enduring friendship.

The campus of Southwest Texas State, another home of sorts with all the experiences and friends it provided. Finding Nicole again. And meeting Carla in boring Sensation and Perception class, a Psych requirement for my major. Going to the gym with Carla, my "personal trainer" and motivator to workout. Nicole's apartment my second home from my own apartment. Chillin' out watching movies and going to Austin for dancing with Nicole, Jennie, and Carla. "The square" in San Marcos, socializing and getting buzzed with the Swedish guys or Nicole and Jennie's neighbors at The Oaks.

Bookstores always follow me around with that feeling of my special place to be. Maybe it's because I grew up in a virtual library or quasi-bookstore home with Mom's endless shelves of books for me to peruse in fascination and/or curiosity, a thirst to fill my need for imagination and knowledge. My overall favorite bookstore is hands down, "my" store on Michigan Ave in Chicago---Border's with its kooky employees who I have come to know as coworkers posing as my other little family with their own lovable odd idiosyncrasies. Some even remind me of my own family---Cheri is what I imagine Kristen to be like in some ways, a little sister. And Brian G. takes on the physical and comical characteristics of my brother Alex. I am hardly ever depressed when I am around these people---I have found my intellectual niche, very comforting.

The lake down the street from me at Belmont Harbor is where I go to run away from my problems, stress, and shed my old self (cellulite). I love to watch people and the dogs playing or sniffing around the park. The ducks floating along the water, carefree and calm. The ice on the lake in the winter creating a beautiful sight that resembles a broken sculpture.

Tuesday's Child is where I go to be a child again and re-live days of innocence and simplicity, when the small stuff was what mattered most....when you weren't afraid to do what you felt in the moment, hugging your friend and telling him or her "I love you!!" with no hesitation or fear of the consequences.

The longer I live in Chicago, the memories it has given me and continues to give me leaves me feeling like I am more and more in my element, feeling more like a home that is mine and only mine----a favorite place I created and molded from scratch almost 2 years ago. My current favorite place.