I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends‏

Holy cow.  I had a weekend that was, well, perfect.  If I didn't have the friends that I do, it would have been completely awful, but they are awesome and so was my weekend.

A couple of months ago, after Nick beat me up and while I was dealing with the aftermath, I went to the movies with Kay, Ellen and Ellen's mom.  We were talking and Ellen said "Hey, why don't you go camping with us in June?"  I knew they went to this specific event every year but I had never gone before.  I hemmed and hawed for weeks about going but then decided "Hell with it.  I might as well go."  They go with a whole group of bikers.  The thought was intimidating, but I knew most of the ones that would be at their campsite.  I would be safe and who knows- maybe I would have fun.

I spent a few days before the trip trying to figure out what I needed to take.  I had not been camping in about 5 years, and the last bunch of times were at Nascar races.  I was very good at packing for those, but it was a different type of thing.  I was used to taking everything, and for two people, not just little old me.  I dug out my cooler, camp chair, little camp table, air mattress...  But I couldn't find my tent.  The night before I was to leave, I had to go shopping for a tent.  I was pissed.  I knew where the tent I had should have been, but it wasn't there; it wasn't anywhere.  Finding a little tent to fit a queen sized air mattress isn't easy, but I managed to find one for $30.  Not bad.  And I didn't have to buy the Taj Mahal of tents, either.  I began to feel better about the whole trip.

I had to work for part of the day that I was to begin camping.  I considered backing out at the last minute and using work as an excuse.  I realized that was wussy.  I don't like new, unknown situations, but I was going to be with friends.  It was only a half-new experience, right?  I could handle that.  So, after working 6 hours, off I went to the camp ground.  It was close enough to my house that I could drive home for a shower (and a nap) every day.  I checked in while Kay and Ellen waited for me in their golf cart.  I had to follow them for what seemed like a hundred miles to their campsite.  Everyone but me was already set up, and the party was in full swing.  It took me all of 10 minutes to set up my teeny tent and air mattress.  I was officially camping.

I was very surprised at how relaxed I felt.  It was immediate, even though I was in a weird place with port-a-potties.  There were also 2, later to be 3, people I had never met before camping in the same little group.  It dawned on me that if the people I knew thought they were okay, then I didn't need to be uncomfortable.  After a while, everyone decided to go for a ride on the golf carts and look at all the other camp sites.  Kay, her husband Bear, Ellen, and her boyfriend Waffle rode on the cart they had brought.  I ended up on a different one with one of the people I had never met, Charlie.  I got to sit in the front while Ted stood on the back and held on.

I was not quite prepared for the sights I saw.  Signs everywhere, lights, tiki bars...  It was like redneck Disney.  It was worse but so much better than a Nascar race.  I saw naked people while I listened to bad, bad karaoke.  I laughed so hard my stomach hurt and yelled so much my voice became scratchy.  I didn't have any stress that I could even remember if someone asked me.  The only thing I cared about was the moment, and I fully intended to live it and enjoy it.  I have such a difficult time letting things just be and not worrying, but not that night.  Not the whole weekend, actually.  We were all just there, in the moment, being happy.  The freedom to do that was intoxicating.  God knows I had more than enough to worry about, especially over what would happen on Sunday evening, but I just didn't.  I didn't think about it AT ALL.  That was a first.  I'm kind of proud of myself.

The weekend progressed in much the same manner; three nights of people watching and being in the moment.  Most of the time when we went for golf cart rides, I rode on the seat beside Charlie.  He was so unbelievably polite and considerate that I wasn't sure what to think.  I came to the conclusion that he might be afraid of me.  I was loud and laughing and quick with smart-ass comebacks to my friends, and I supposed that could be taken as abrasive.  I wasn't uncomfortable, though.  I usually am when I think someone doesn't like me, but not this time.  I didn't think about it much; I was just being.  I loved it.

Saturday night was the last night.  We had to be cleared out by noon on Sunday.  Oh, did we have fun.  I was up ALL NIGHT.  I think I dozed around 5 for a little bit, but I knew when the sun was coming up.  We all got up and were packed up by 8.  I was sad to leave but happy I had been there.  I wasn't even thinking about what was waiting to be dealt with later that evening.  I was just happy.

I went in to my brother's restaurant and helped him for about 5 hours.  Then I had to rush home- the constable was waiting for me.  Nick finally decided to get his stuff.  Had I not had the awesome weekend I had, I would have been a complete mess.  Yes, he was back where he was hauled out from in cuffs after beating me up.  He was back on my property.  I was in control this time, but it was still scary.  I will admit to a panic attack when I saw him through the window.  It was only one, though, not days filled with them.  I have my beyond awesome friends to thank for that.  They kept me from being a basket case and we had a hell of a good time.

Oh, and Charlie asked me out.  Huh.  I guess I wasn't scary after all.

Yes, I Would Take Over The World, But I Have To Go To Mom's And Do Laundry First

I don't know what pagan god I pissed off, but it seems as though almost everything in my possession has either broken, malfunctioned, crashed or been hit by a wayward deer recently.  Peruse my embarrassingly lengthy list:

1.  Washing machine- Two years old, just out of warranty.  Was not a cheap-o one, either.  I think the motor is fried.

2. Van brakes- The nifty little "Yo, your power brakes done gave up on you" light came on as I tried to avoid an old guy backing out of the American Legion.

3. Van window- The motor in the power window died one afternoon before I left work.  I rode home (an hour drive) with a monsoon blowing in my face.

4. Lawn Mower- Now overheats after doing approximately half the yard.  I realize that it has to haul my ass around as we mow, but I haven't gained THAT much weight.

5. Weed Whacker- Pieces went flying and whacked the mailbox last time I used it.

6. Oven- Light will not work.  Yes, I checked the bulb.

7. Sweeper- Quit sucking, the only thing I need it to do.

8. Weenie Wagon-Supposed to be my "reliable" car.  It needed tires and inspection.  Well, it got $600 in tires but did not pass inspection.  Apparently it has joint and mount issues.  I would suppose if I had joint issues, it would be hard for me to mount things, too.  Whatever.  It's another $500 to make my "reliable" car legal again.

9. Weenie Wagon- Yes, we were just here.  Before it can have more money put into it to pass inspection, it has to have a new front end put on it.  Some dumb-ass deer decided that I did not have enough things to fix and ran into me while I was going 50 miles an hour.  I sent him to meet his maker, flying sideways.

What is the true irony in all of this?  I fix things for a living.  My job is to remove problems, not create them.  I'm usually the one receiving the "Everything in my life is breaking and you're telling me it's going to cost what?!" calls, not making them.  I do not like the tables turning on me.  Neither does my (now very thin) wallet.  I may be selling bodily fluids to fund the next catastrophe.

Oh, yeah, and my laptop speakers just made a sizzling noise and died.

You Are A Pain In My... Eyeball?

I get migraines.  Sometimes I get them frequently.  Lately this has been the case, and it sucks.  They visit for a variety of reason, such as stress, the weather, hormones, or just because they're fun.  I woke up with one again this morning and knew it was not going to cooperate and let me go to work like the two others I've had in the last week.  I called in to work, mumbled something about "head hurty, no worky," and went back to sleep.  Kind of.  My head hurt so badly I could not sleep it away.  That doesn't happen often, but it does happen.

During my fitful nap, I had all kinds of brilliant ideas to write about.  Can I remember any of them now?  Of course not.  I even remember thinking to myself "Hey, write this stuff down," but my head did not permit me to open my eyes and see light, so that didn't happen.  Once I decided to see if I could eat something, I started thinking.  (That's not usually a good thing, by the way.)  Is it possible that I, or someone like me, has cured cancer or solved the world's problems during a moment of midnight lucidness only to erase it with sleep?  Is it like typing a brilliant piece of literature only to have your computer reboot before it was saved?  That is a frustrating thought.  The only way I can think of to not lose the idea is to not sleep, but the only people I know that don't sleep are tweakers, and they aren't very bright.  I doubt some mystery is ever unlocked within their brains.

Well, it seems as though the ice pick had decided to return to stab my right eye again.  I thought this migraine was on it's way out.  Apparently I was mistaken.  Maybe I'll have a brilliant thought while I am resting and I'll actually remember it.  Probably not.

This One's For You, G

I have been fortunate enough to have more than one very close friend throughout my life.  If there truly is such a thing as “soulmates,” I have two.  No, they are not romantic partners.  They are friends that I have a weird psychic and/or physical connection to.  I’m writing about one in particular today.

I’ve known Kay my whole life.  She is actually a relative.  Her father is one of my mother’s cousins.    Physically we both have brown hair and green eyes, but the shades of both are so different it never dawns on anyone that we share the traits.  That is where our physical similarities end.  She was stacked by the time we were 12.  I had to gain 30 pounds in my late 20’s to even get boobs.  Then I realized she was right- they are a pain in the ass- but that’s another story for another time.  She hates high heels; I wear them on a regular basis.  I don’t think she would ever be caught dead with anything pink in her possession, clothing or otherwise.  I’m pretty sure a quarter of my wardrobe has some shade of pink in it.  Needless to say, there isn’t much clothing swapping going on there.

Our outer shells are very different, but the gooey, messy stuff that makes us human is very much the same.  We might as well be sisters.  Somehow I just know things when she has something going on.  Kay is the same.  Many, many conversations have started with one or the other saying “What’s up?  I know I needed to call you for some reason.”  It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, either.  She called me recently to tell me she is pregnant.  My gut already knew.  Ironically, she is due right around my son’s 11^th birthday.  She and I were born just weeks apart, in the same year, and our children will share close birthdays, just 11 years apart.

The bond between us in not just mental, it’s also physical.  We share a very odd array of “ailments,” if you can call them that; everything from migraines at the same time to asthma and “women troubles.”  In college, I came down with a very bad case of mono.  Half a continent away, Kay had it, too.  We hadn’t seen each other in a little over a year, but we both had mono.  How does that happen?  When Kay told me she was pregnant, she told me she was concerned because her kidneys were not functioning properly and it could cause an issue for the tiny life she had been waiting four years to conceive.  Strangely enough, I had been dealing with a kidney infection that began around the time she conceived.  I’m still having kidney problems, and I don’t expect they will clear up until around our kids’ birthdays.  As I told her “I would give you one if my kidneys, but they would be of no use to you until we both get better.”  

There are few people in the world that I love more than Kay.  I can tell her the most outrageous thought in my head and she doesn’t judge me.  She knows exactly why I think what I’m thinking and feel what I’m feeling.  She’s always there to catch whatever has fallen apart when I date yet another loser, and she does it without saying “I told you so.”  She watched as I dealt with having a child with autism and never, ever questioned if he really had a problem or if I was a crappy mother.  She just listened and supported me.

Kay is dealing with her own problems these days, and I am trying my best to be there for her.  I’m coming up empty in solutions, though.  I feel like I should be the rock for her that she has been for me, but I don’t know how.  I can’t even begin to imagine waiting to conceive a child only to find out that my own body is causing problems beyond my control.  All I can do is listen and tell her I’m there to do whatever she needs me to do.  I should tell her I love her more often, but neither one of us is outwardly squishy like that.  We weren’t raised that way.

Oh, hell with it.  I love you, G.  You are more than family and friend to me.  You are part of me.

Late For Work

So…  I was late for work today.  It was all Otto’s fault.

I should explain first- Otto is my cat.  I started collecting cats almost ten years ago.  Otto was the first of now two.  He is the longest-lasting relationship I have voluntarily had with a male of any species.  I maintain that he is actually a wise little old man in a cat body because he is very un-catlike.  He is also devoted to me.  It seems as though his only goals in life are to eat, sleep and watch out for me.  If I am sick, he will even sit in the shower and watch me shampoo, rinse and repeat.  The only things stopping him from taking over the world are his lack of opposable thumbs and the endless supply of food at home.  He may be Yoda.  He won’t tell me.  He does use Jedi mind tricks, though, hence the endless supply of food.

Okay.  My alarm went off at six AM.  Otto was sleeping on the pillow beside mine, but as soon as I turned the alarm off he crawled over to me.  He yawned, curled up in a ball against my stomach and began to purr.  He looked so cozy and content that I didn’t want to move him.  I thought “Well, I’ll get up in a few minutes.”  Yeah.  Two and a half hours later, I woke up to the dog whining very loudly.  She really needed to go outside.  I really needed to be at work.  Whoops.

I rolled into work two hours later than I had intended.  Did anyone notice?  I have no idea, but I do know no one cared.  Phew.  Otto must have declared they be cool with it.

My Place? Or Yours?

I heard two songs on the radio this morning, back-to-back.

"I ain't the kind you take home to Mama, I ain't the kind to wear no ring.  Somehow I always get stronger when I'm on my separate team."

Switch station.

"Slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll, don't that sound like a real man?"

Okay.  Nothing like having God point out what you've been trying to ignore via Miranda Lambert songs, and even before you've fully downed your morning caffeine.  I already hate my hour each way commute, and even more when my brain is trying to NOT THINK.  Sigh.

So...  What do you do when you've wanted something for as long as you can remember but realize that maybe you aren't actually cut out for what you've wanted?  Say you wanted to be a pilot, but in pilot-training school, you find out you have extreme motion sickness and almost poop yourself when you get more than four feet off of the ground?  Then what?  Especially when that's the ONLY THING YOU WANTED TO BE.  A pilot.  Well, from the time I can remember anything, I wanted to be a wife and mother.  Suzy Homemaker, Donna Reed.  I have attempted this.  I got married way too young to a man-child who left shortly after his son's birth less than a year into the marriage.  I have chased the elusive dragon of marriage, home and family ever since.  I've come way, way too close to making similar disastrous nuptials more than once since.  The last man-child told me he wanted to marry me, and when I explained that I wasn't sure I ever wanted to get married again, he "slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll" and then put me through my living room wall.  In front of his mother.  Yep, I sure know how to pick 'em.

I have been presented four, yes FOUR, engagement rings in my 32 years on this planet, all of them by age 30.  I have had at least seven men-children tell me they wanted to marry me.  I am beginning to see that I may not be the actual marrying type.  First, I have a horrible man "picker."  I always pick immature, controlling and usually lazy men-children who want a mommy or a maid.  I can say I dated only one real man, but he actually was still a child when we dated.  I screwed up in letting that one go.  Second, I kind of like being the master of my own destiny.  I don't have to share.  Does that make me selfish?  Probably.  But I don't have to consult anyone about anything if I don't want to.  I kind of like that.  Third, if I screw something up, like my retirement savings or getting a dog that eats the flooring, I made that decision.  Just me.  I don't have to deal with anyone else's stupid decisions on top of my own.

Okay.  So I'm probably not meant to be someone's "little wife."  Where does that leave the dream, the idea of what my life was going to be like?  I think that is the question I struggle with the most.  Should I collect cats and jigsaw puzzles?  (Shudder.  I hate jigsaw puzzles.)  Should I become a fabulous femme fatale and leave a trail of broken men in my wake?  Is there a happy medium where legends/examples are not made of me after I'm gone?  (Your great-aunt Carrie was some lady.  She had 87 cats and 53 lovers.  She also baked her false teeth into a pie once.  She was so confused, and she had a bad back, probably from all those lovers.  Come to think of it, she may have been confused because she took back pills.)  I feel like my slight detour on the map of my life has put me into a different country.  I don't know the language, customs or currency, but I kind of like it anyway.  Does that mean the death of me as I knew me, or am I just me with an alternate ending?  Me with a work visa? Am I copping out on what  wanted all of those years or am I just realizing who I really am inside?

Dammit Miranda Lambert.  I was just trying to peacefully navigate the road construction on my way to work. Now my head hurts.

New Home

I've moved.  You may not know this, but I've had a blog for quite some time.  It was a paid site, and I decided that it was high time I let my true cheap-ass shine, so I moved to this FREE site.  Yep.  Joemama is cheap.