Sunshine: BLOG WITHDRAWLS!!!!
…and that's all I'm gonna say … and while you were up last night being silly
drinking wine you could've wrote a blog! …because i NEED ONE!!!!! It’s
been crazy hell for me in the personal realm and i need a damn blog to read to
lift me up and make me feel better… and i said that was all i was going to say
but i had to keep going
Pandora: Hahaha! I’m sorry.
I have been insanely busy the past month. I will be blogging this weekend, I promise.
Sunshine: …and
writing in the book you’re working on… because you owe me… this is your reminder…
The phrase "if it's meant to be" came up in conversation recently. I responded with something like, "there is no meant to be, there is only right now." Of course, that comment of mine was pretty vague and it lingered with my own thoughts for quite some time. I finally decided that to some extent Life has bested me at the "romantic notion game" and while some people may see it as Jaded Pandora, I see it as Realistic Pandora.
"Meant To Be" is pretty much synonymous with "destiny" or "fate." And to make an already complicated notion even more difficult, most people fail to notice that their idea of "meant to be" is really "what I want it to be." It is an overly romanticized idea that has no practical or realistic value.
I remember driving down the road at 26 and thinking about how I never dreamed I would be a divorced woman, how I never dreamed I would be a single parent, and how disappointed I was to be in that situation and hadn't followed through with my original plan to stay the academic course all the way through my PhD. And I remember thinking that I was certain love was real when I made the decision to marry, and I was certain it was "meant to be" when I dropped out of college to marry this man. And I remember telling myself, as I drove down the road, that I guess it wasn't "meant to be," because if it had been it wouldn't have gone down the way it did.
And I remember pulling myself up by the boot straps and getting myself back into college and eventually graduate school because having my PhD and becoming a college professor was "meant to be." What I didn't see coming was another round of custody battles that would eventually deplete me financially, psychologically, and emotionally. What I didn't see coming was that the needs of my child would ultimately far outweigh my need to be a professor. And what I didn't see coming was that I would have to choose between what I perceived to be my purpose and my "destiny" and what was truly my purpose and "meant to be" -- Mother and Sole Provider.
And I remember fighting my way into the corporate world, and I remember talking my way into a comfortable position and I remember thinking, "this wasn't supposed to be how it went down, but here I am." And I remember keeping men at bay because they were not to be trusted, and I remember creating a list for myself for what I wanted in a man, were I to magically meet The One. And I remember thinking that, a few years after I had made that list, I truly believed I had met The One and I once again believed this was "meant to be," but we all know how that one turned out so... shame on me... shame on my overly romantic tendencies and my apparent failure in realizing that I truly have no fucking idea what is "meant to be," except for everything that has happened to me thus far was "meant to be."
Truth is, the only thing that is "meant to be" is that I exist in this world, that I have a path I'm walking and while I dream and plan and do my best to become the vision in my head, there's no telling what may happen when the random storm passes through. I'm like The Dream House that I always wanted, but I was dumb enough to build it in tornado alley and every so often I have to look at the rubble that was left behind and rebuild. Each time I tell myself I will make it bigger and better and stronger and it will withstand the elements. Unfortunately, the nature of the beast is unpredictable, and even if I were to move out of tornado alley, I still have to contend with earthquakes and hurricanes and floods and hell... maybe even a little war here and there. The only thing I truly know is what is happening right now.
Right now there are people that had once been a part of my journey down this road, but they have taken other turns or left or passed away. Then there are the people that crossed my path long ago that still seem to walk alongside me and I love them and enjoy them. And then there are new people that cross my path and touch my life in new and exciting ways, and I can hope they stick around a while and become strong and solid relationships like the people I have beside me already, but one never knows what the road will bring and one can never predict the outcome of "meant to be," nor does anyone really know what was "meant to be" until a while after it has come and gone so... I see no point in going there.
Walk the walk, ride the wave, hold on tight, and enjoy.
Dream if you want to, dreams are good, but ... tread lightly with "meant to be."
I grew up the daughter of a Baptist Minister. Back in the 70s and 80s, in the Baptist environment, we had potlucks all the time. We had Wednesday night Bible study potlucks, and Thursday night potlucks that I'm not sure why we had them but we had them, and we had Friday night potlucks which, again I can't really remember why we had them but I can assume it was because it was a Friday night and we were Baptist so you really weren't allowed to go play cards or dance or go out for a drink or anything so you might as well have a pot luck, right? And then there were Sunday night potlucks sometimes (because in those days Baptists were big on Sunday night church, in addition to the three morning services we already had, and so it made sense to break up the monotony sometimes and have a potluck and eat while simultaneously singing some hymns or something). And then, of course, there were the church picnics that were also potlucks, but... at least you had a playground and maybe even a swimming pool somewhere close by so you could potentially make it through the entire day without enduring the "potluck" part of things.
I can't fully explain my aversion to the potluck. I have mental screen shots of being somewhere around 5 years old where my dad would walk me through the potluck line and put a little bit of everything on my plate without asking me if I wanted it or not (and, having been a parent now, I'm sure he didn't ask me because he knew I needed to eat something and he also knew I would say no to everything on the table). And I remember sitting at the table and seeing some strange green bean casserole on my plate, and some homemade potato salad, and some homemade macaroni salad, and some random vegetables (including radishes), and maybe I was lucky enough to have a piece of fried chicken (but it always seemed to be homemade fried chicken that was dry and bland and overcooked so... there goes that hope of tastiness...). And then there was always some crazy green jello mold thing with cottage cheese in it and... well... there never seemed to be anything that my mom cooked on my plate and... at 5 years old, you really knew nothing except for the fact that your mom's cooking was trustworthy and everything else on your plate at the moment was questionable.
Years later, I find myself in a position where I'm at a potluck with my own daughter and it's a completely different experience. For my daughter, she will most likely have bad ass memories of "potlucks" that I never had. Why? Because the potluck these days seems to be planned by that select group of ladies that have husbands wealthy enough to let them stay home and do nothing but make the home and such. So these ladies plan an event and designate it as a potluck, but the majority of us are working so... this means you don't get green bean casseroles or crazy jello that comes from molds with cottage cheese somewhere in the mix. This means that you get people that quickly drive through McDonalds and buy fifty 99 cent cheeseburgers and you get to stand in line and watch the woman in charge of the potluck hand out cheeseburgers from the paper bag to anyone willing to take them. This means that there's about five boxes of Hot-N-Ready pizzas from Little Ceasars on the potluck table because another working parent stopped there on the way home. This means that there are buckets and buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken on the table which is awesome because you know FOR CERTAIN it isn't overcooked and dry because, well, it's KFC (and if I weren't a Celiac, I'd totally eat that). And sure, there's the one lady that had the time to make a homemade pot of Chicken Albondiga Soup, but there's also the one lady that still had enough guilt in her soul to drive all the way home from work and quickly chop up some lettuce and put in a bowl and try to pass it off as a salad, completely oblivious to the fact that the women behind the potluck table were wondering what the hell to do with that shit because there was no dressing or anything, just a bowl of lettuce.
I'd still like to take a moment to tell that lady that I think she's a bad ass for two reasons: 1) in the face of pizza and cheese burgers and fried chicken, the kids weren't going to eat any kind of salad anyway, even if she had thrown in some cranberries, feta cheese, sunflower seeds, bacon bits, and some bad ass vinaigrette dressing and 2) I'm a Celiac, and as bland and tasteless as that shit may have been, it was one of the only things on that stupid table I could eat and thank God I was smart enough to notice the Ranch dressing in the veggie tray behind it (which also reminds me, I need to give props to the genius that thought up the pre-made veggie tray because I'm pretty sure your mom was the one that always took the time to chop up the veggies and present them at the church potluck on her best china, and you were smart enough to grow up and make millions because you knew the future of the working world and people like me would forever bring the pre-made veggie tray to social events... God bless you, whoever you are... you are a smart and insightful individual and I wish I would've met you and married you and lived happily ever after off the fact that all you did was make millions from a really simple idea that everyone else was too dumb to figure out).
I don't know what else to say except, sort of like American politics, it may be time to recognize the traditional way of doing things doesn't apply anymore. If you have a situation where everyone is making a quick and random stop just to include a food item which could be McDonald's cheese burgers and Little Caesars Hot N Ready pizzas, you may need to realize that this is a time in American History where the art of the potluck (if you can call it that) is completely lost. We live in a time of convenience. And, at least in my world, it may be more beneficial to send out a memo saying, "We want to throw a get together, please contribute 10 to 20 dollars, and we will have ... cater the event." I guarantee you, knowing myself and people like myself, that will fly. Why? Because we will probably spend that amount to feed our family random restaurant dinner or drive thru something or other on any given night of the week anyway so... go ahead, pool that money and make something happen. But... I know what I'm saying makes everyone go into some kind of irrational tizzy that makes no sense to them or myself (that is to say, when they try to explain their irrational tizzy I have this moment where my mind breaks down because I can't figure out why this is a problem when it makes perfect sense to me but... okay... have it your way... I'll bring potato salad that came from the Albertson's deli across the street if I have to just to keep the potluck peace, even if no one eats it because there are five other potato salads from Costco on the table to choose from -- no one has time to peel potatoes and boil them and mix them in some strange mayo goo anymore either, but it still seems to be a potluck staple).
None the less, someone has to be the voice of potluck reason and well... at least tonight... it's me.
Caesar: PandOora... What? Is today your day to step into Office Vietnam?
Pandora: Apparently. And considering the rants running through my head right now, it's also surround me with stupid people day.
Caesar: Really? I thought that was yesterday. Is this becoming an epidemic? Should we send out a bulletin?
Pandora: Well, we may need to submit a warning to our fellow members of the intelligent underground. There does seem to be something amiss in the universe right now.
Pandora: No. Although, I should probably ask around about that one. I was informed that Venus is retrograde for the next six weeks, but that's supposed to affect one's love life, of which I have none, so I think I'm in the clear, but it may affect you and... I suppose that could be why so many stupid people are drawn to me right now. I mean... something has to go wrong with my public relations right? No love life but... if a planet needs to screw with me then why not send some stupid people, right?
Caesar: Huh. I don't know, but thanks for telling me about that. Now I will pay attention to things that happen and I will have an excuse ready to go.
Pandora: Just remember, that excuse is only valid through the end of June.
Caesar: Hmmm... (looks at his email) Oh hey! Dilly bars! By the printers!
Pandora: ...dilly what?
Caesar: (looks at her like she's stupid) BARS...
Pandora: Dilly bars?
Caesar: ...
Pandora: I'm serious. I've never heard of this before.
Caesar: How could you not?! How sheltered have you been ALL YOUR LIFE... AGAIN?! This is your basic ice cream product from Dairy Queen!!!
Pandora: (shrugs)
Caesar: That's it. Wait here. (goes around the corner and comes back with a Dilly Bar)
Caesar: This, my friend, is a Dilly Bar.
Pandora: um... that looks somewhat Freudian there.
Caesar: Oh yeah... I am about to lick this big chocolate nipple!
Pandora: ...
Caesar: This is nothing but a big choconip with an even larger areola. In a matter of seconds, let's just say this dilly will never be the same again. (picks the thing up and ever so gently kisses it)
Pandora: ...
Caesar: You may want to walk away now. You aren't going to want to see what's about to go on over here.
Pandora: Right. Well, I do have a valid question.
Caesar: What? You want to lick my chocolate nipple?
Pandora: No, I don't want to lick your chocolate nipple.
Caesar: Oh, okay. No problem. I offer it more than I probably should anyway. (continues to work the dilly) Besides, Venus is retrograde right now, so I'm all confused.
Pandora: Seriously... can you please refrain from working the dilly and answer my question.
Caesar: The Dilly... she's going to melt soon if you don't and the only place this baby needs to be melting is in my mouth.
Pandora: ...
Caesar: All right, shoot.
Pandora: I need to know the contact information for the engineer you're working with on the 83rd job.
Caesar: (working the dilly) Engineer? What engineer?
Pandora: You know... the engineer in charge of the project for the city? The main contact?
Caesar: (not looking at anything but the stupid dilly ice cream bar) Engineer in charge? Main contact?
Pandora: Oh my god... You know what I'm talking about. Perhaps Project Manager is a better title? Does that ring a bell?
Caesar: Oh! (licks the chocolate off his lips) That guy! What, you need me to call him?
Pandora: No, I need to call him.
Caesar: (licking the bottom side of the dilly) So you want me to dial him now and put him on speaker.
Pandora: No, man, I need you to give me his contact info and I will call him myself.
Caesar: (loving on the dilly)
Pandora: dude... will you please just take a bite out of that thing already?
Caesar: Don't be a hater, Pandora. They do have Buster Bars. You may need to pick one up on the way home. You're extremely uptight right now.
Pandora: ...
Caesar: All right. His name is George Zingerbacher. Let me finish having my moment here with Dilly and I'll send you his info. What you got against this thing anyway? It is the yummiest nipple I've ever had.
Pandora: well... look at it. They so did that on purpose. It has to be a representation of some lady somewhere.
Caesar: Of course it is! It's a representation of the Queen Herself!
Pandora: Awesome... The Queen's man had pet names for her glory and he made a chocolate ice cream bar to commemorate them and now everyone is excited to lick the Dilly.
Caesar: Dang... This conversation is starting to remind me of that Family Guy episode where Peter turned into Mrs. Garrett's chest.
Pandora: What?
Caesar: You know, Mrs. Garrett? From The Facts Of Life?
Pandora: Oh, sure, but those would be strawberry vanilla, not chocolate.
Caesar: You're right. ... oh man... that's a bad image now. I need to think of something else.
Pandora: How about you think about the Zingerbacher guy and get me his contact info.
Caesar: Good idea. (turns to his computer to print off the contact info and starts singing) "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life. ...the facts of LIFE!"
Pandora: Please don't do that.
Caesar: "there's a time you gotta go and show you're growing now you know about the facts of life... the facts of LIFE!"
Pandora: This is disturbing me.
Caesar: (hands Pandora the contact info) Now, you go do what you need to do here, but I want you to promise me that you will go get a Buster Bar and chill out.
Pandora: (takes the paper from his hand) Yes, I will be sure to do that.
Caesar: Leave me and Dilly alone now. We need some alone time.
Pandora: (chuckles) Thanks. Take it easy, man.
Caesar: Orale...
Pandora: Simon...
(as Pandora walks away from his cubicle she hears him break into one last lyric: "The facts of life are all about yooooooooooooooou....")
It’s been
9 months. Today is day #270. It is important to note that I have stopped counting, somewhat. I mean, I used to count because it hurt. Now I'm just counting because I committed to count out to 365. In other words, I have reached the point of counting out of obligation to the task I set for myself as opposed to counting because I'm keeping track (if that makes any sense at all).
In the
past three months, since achieving my “bronze chip” in February, I’ve made a
conscious effort to shake off the bitter. It still pops up every once in a
while, but I’ve learned to catch it when it happens and shut it down.
I’ve done
my best to understand that this man created a bit of hell for himself through
his own actions and, while I know he hurt me and my daughter, I also know he
devastated himself.
I’ve done
my best, and continue to do my best, to remind myself that this is something
that had to happen the way it did because, had I married the man the way he is,
it would have ultimately ended far worse (and significantly less humorous) than
being dumped by the dumpster via text message six days before the wedding.
I have
taken the advice of one of my greatest friends to heart and I have worked to
remember who I am and own it.
I have
made a conscious effort to practice forgiveness, not because I hope to mend this relationship someday but because the lack of forgiveness is
harmful to myself and to my daughter.
I have taken the energy that was somewhat destroying me and turned it into something that reconstructed me.
I have focused on my intellect. I have focused on my creativity. I have focused on my daughter. I have focused on the few personal goals and dreams I have left. And I have been better for it.
I have three more months before I hit my year mark. To be honest, like I said, I'm not even sure why I'm counting anymore, other than the fact that I made a point to do so -- I made a point to track my journey of recovery and I gave myself a year. And so... I think it needs to be said that in 9 months, as much as this bull shit hurt when it went down, I like who I've become, and continue to become, in the process. I like what appears to be rising from the ashes. I like embarking on something new. And I like, for the first time in my life of weird ass bull shit experiences that I've had, that I actually paid attention to my own metamorphosis as I went through this lame ass shit. (because most of the time, people just go through it blindly and wake up one day saying something like, "damn... I'm better than I was before, go figure!" and at least this time I have paid attention to the details leading up to the moment)
As Forest Gump said, shit happens... and his mama said, "you got to put the past behind you before you can move on," and sometimes if you just keep on running, even when you don't feel like it, you will eventually reach that point when you realize you're ready to go home.
My name is Pandora, and I have successfully completed 9 months of rejection recovery.
All right, so there is a new website for this in the works. It's not completed yet, but it is nearly ready. I am extremely excited about this and it feels like a commitment of some kind, to myself, and one that I've never made before. Strange part is, while I'm waiting for this, I seem to have lost my inspiration. It's like I've fallen off the wagon or something and I'm waiting to get back on my feet before I know that I will be going on the long distance run of my life. Bear with me.
Writing is the one true thing that makes me happy and feeds my soul. Writing... is the one dream I have left. Making you laugh, making you cry, making you angry, and making you have the sappiest warm fuzzies here and there that make you puke even as you enjoy them makes me the happiest person on Earth (at least in my own mind).
Again, I say, bear with me. And... dream with me too, because ... dreaming and chasing the dream down is what makes life beautiful.
Aside from the fact that I love the mild winter here, my favorite time of year in Phoenix is spring. The weather is awesome, particularly in the evening, and I love to sit outside. The problem is... shit bites me!
The hell is that? I live in the damn desert, for God's sake! It's dry here! Really dry here! If you live here you have to drink twelve thirty-two ounce glasses of water a day just to shed your skin like a healthy reptile! There's none of this "water water everywhere" thing going on, and generally that is required for the mosquito world, so will someone please explain to me how the damn mosquitoes find their way here and then select me as their favorite target?!
Creatures... they are AWFUL creatures! I can't find a reason for their existence in this ecosystem aside from keeping the human population level in some kind of death toll balance. I absolutely hate them! This is a time when I wear sun dresses, this is a time when I show some skin, and this is a time when they decide to mark up my flesh with red bumps that itch and piss me off in more ways than one! Is this Florida? NO! This is the desert! Someone call the feds and tell them we have an immigration problem! The mosquitoes have decided they like it better here and we can't stop them from coming and stealing our lifeblood and leaving stupid marks on our body right before we decide to dress to the nines and impress someone!
Seriously... I was out on my patio the other night, and I when I came back in there were two glorious red bites on my left arm. When I was at work the next day, talking to a specific gentleman about a certain document I needed him to sign, I noticed that he kept focusing on the bumps on my arm. It really started to bug me. I mean, if he were focused on my cleavage or something at least I would know I had him distracted enough to sign anywhere without thinking much about it, but when staring at inflamed red bumps on my arm I can only imagine what could be flying through his mind: "Whoa... Is she ill? Is that a disease? Does she have chicken pox or shingles or something? Oh my god... she's touched the same pen and paper she's asking me to touch! Am I going to get what she's got?!"
I'm not kidding. The man was entranced by the stupid bites on my arm. I finally looked at him and said, "Yes, I got bit by some mosquitoes or something the other night." And after he realized that he had been caught staring at the more unattractive parts of my body he replied, "Well honey, that's just because you're so sweet." Really...? Just sign the damn easement. I know what paranoid thoughts were flying through your head old man. Sign it.
I did leave that moment irritated. I did leave that moment thinking about how I need to eat more garlic or something because, it works on vampires so... might as well give it a shot. And... because I'm so sweet?! ugh... that's such an old one... will someone come up with something new? Seriously, I'm not that sweet. I may have been prior to ... hell, I don't know... 15? But I'm full of piss and vinegar these days and they're still biting the shit out of me. How about you say something to me like, "Well... something's gotta bite you because apparently you've not had any luck in the bedroom lately so... at least the mosquitoes think you're worth it." Man... if dude had said that to me I would've laughed out loud and actually paid him a dollar to sign that damn document. But no... that's not how it goes. Shit bites you, leaves itchy ugly marks, and then some idiot tells you it's because you're sweet.
Are you reading this blog? I'm not sweet, man... I... am... not... sweet... and apparently the mosquitoes like it that way.
So, have you ever wondered what your life looks like to one of your engineer friends? If you're like me, you have, because most of the time (as much as you love them) you are always wondering if they really get it. Today, as I did my best to explain to my engineer friend what I was going through, she suddenly sent me this:
This is my experience in the last week and a half to my engineer friend via cad file. (cad file is something only a certain group of you will know) I'd have to say she did a pretty nice job on the chi chis, though I do despise the fact that the woman that is stabbing me in the back has better chi chis than I do, particularly since hers are purchased and mine are aux natural. I would still have to say, she did an excellent job and these are better stick figures than I could create on my own. The one part she was unable to represent was the part where my nerves are so shot I've been throwing up for no good reason for the past five days. (leave it to an engineer to forget to represent the part where one's emotions overrule logic and reason to the point of vomiting in a toilet bowl approximately a pound a day for no good reason aside from the fact that your jacked up world is gray, not black and white).
I will, however, cherish forever that this is a time stamp in my life and done via cad file. I just pray that I don't accidentally open this bullshit up in a business meeting when I meant to open the file for the Power Rd. Project instead.
(god knows... even metaphorically speaking... this is nothing like Power Road...)
I kicked a midget once. I know that sounds horrible, but I had no choice. He completely invaded my personal space in the worst way. I mean... what would you do if you were me and you were sitting on a bar stool and a drunk midget jumped into your lap screaming something like "OH! I WANT YOUR FISHY!" right before diving his head into your holy of holies?! I so kicked him... I kicked him all the way across the room. God forgive me.
I'm not sure, but I think it may be a mortal sin if you fart in an elevator right before you step out and let other people walk inescapably into it as the doors shut behind them. I'm not kidding. I think that may be evil. Why would you do that?! Why would you fart in the elevator just so innocent people can be tortured on the way up to the fifth floor?! Shame... shame on you elevator farting man.... (melt my face off why don't you...)
Speaking of melting my face off, if you have a cat that pees on your clothes, please don't wear those clothes to work and then come speak to me in my cubicle. Thank you.
...the hell is up with this Wedge Salad bull shit? Have you ever been unfortunate enough to order one of those stupid things, because you saw the words bacon and blue cheese crumbles in the description and thought it sounded perfect, only to have a plate brought out to you with a quarter wedge of some stupid Ice Berg lettuce, a fucking steak knife, and some bacon bits and blue cheese crumbles on the side? ...the hell is that?! That's not a salad! That's not even art! What is that? Some creative way to get rid of a completely worthless vegetable that no one really eats any more so you have to trick us into ordering it?! Dude... don't do it. If you see the words "Wedge Salad" on a menu, do not be deceived! DO NOT BE DECEIVED!!! They are merely fooling you into paying somewhere between 5 and 15 dollars for something I wouldn't even serve my pet rabbit! (if I had a rabbit... I don't really think rabbits make good pets though... too many pellets)
Someone please tell the bus boy in the cafeteria that we are not impressed with his ability to swat the germs off the counter-tops with a towel. Someone please teach him to use disinfectant and to perhaps do a little scrubbing. I think that might be a useful skill and one that is most likely included in the job description.
I'm pretty sure that's not beef in the Delimex Beef Tacitos.
I'm also pretty sure one should never eat anything with the word Whiz in the title. ...seriously...
A wise man once said, you should never apologize for smelling like bacon. Not that what he said right there was wise, but I laughed when he said it and... he's pretty wise.
I decided that driving behind a bus on a two lane highway is like standing in line behind the guy that's buying 20 scratch off lottery tickets at the Quicky Mart. ...so irritating...
Okay, so at least three of you have now said something to me today about Blog Neglect.
I do apologize.
I have had, since Sunday, a series of little earthquakes, some good some bad, that left my head somewhere off in the stratosphere and way too clouded to think or create. However, I do promise to pick the pace up this weekend and I will be back at the blogging with a vengeance -- this I promise.
Until then, remember to be selective when employing the word MEAT in a sentence. You may regret using it if you don't think it through first. ;-)
I had been playing music with a certain group of people for the past few years and, if you'd read The Send Off , you can probably put together how huge that experience was for me and for Hope and for everyone else involved.
The send off was Sunday. It was emotional, to say the least, but it was perfect and beautiful and I wouldn't have it any other way, but it left me in tears.
I connected with every single person involved, but there was one in particular that I connected with more than others. And to play music in that space again was so normal and yet... so abnormal, all at the same time, and, like I said, it left me in tears. But even as I cried through most of the afternoon, at some point I had to pull myself together because my daughter and I had another musical engagement to attend to.
Ingrid Michaelson is my most favorite female artist these days, and she was playing at The Rialto in Tucson that night. So we got ready and made our way out to see her.
My head was hurting, my stomach was hurting, and my eyes were swollen. We were driving down the highway listening to music and my daughter finally said, "Music is strange, if you think about it. We make noises with our voices that are different from speaking and it moves us somehow. Isn't it weird?"
I smiled at her and agreed that it was weird, but weird in a beautiful way, weird in what I would consider a God way. No matter your background, everyone uses music to worship, to meditate, to focus, or to reach some sort of emotional level that they just can't do with silence or simple words -- the voice soars when singing in a way that it can't do while speaking, and the instruments build the emotion behind the lyrics and somehow the message is communicated in a poignant way that the written and spoken word just can't get across. I don't know why humans have this part of them. I have no logic, no reason, no science in my intellect that can explain it all, but as an artist, as a musician, I have to say that music is a gift from a higher source and it is something that makes us special and unique. We tell stories in song, we express emotions in song, we communicate in ways that reach masses of people unlike any other. Music is universal.
We shared that moment, which was enough to bring me out of my tear induced headache for a while, and we got to Tucson, and we stood in line, and we took our seat in the theater, and then... the opening band came out.
They came out with their tight harmonies and their excellent musicianship and their poignant lyrics. And as I sat there feeling the weight of my own sadness, brought on by memories that I had tried to bury, as I sat there with melancholy at my side, they started to sing songs that lifted me out of the dark -- songs of love and experience.
I had no clue who they were, but they were amazing and they moved me, just like I had explained to her in the car -- they told stories, in song, that were universal and they spoke on a human level as they sang:
...can't stop a heart that's bound to break, but you don't have to let it bleed, so if we're both here in darkness, I'll be the first to shine the light, I won't let you lose your voice here, screaming into the night .... I know... you're breaking down. You'll make it through, but I can't do it for you.
And their voices raised in the most beautiful harmony, and the emotion rose with the instruments in such a way that we all, every single one of us, suddenly felt inspired.
I watched one person after another, people who simply came to see the headliner, walk in closer and closer to the stage in an attempt to get close and be a part of this musical experience, wanting to hear and feel what was expressed in song, and knowing that, on some life level, they were a part of it.
And yes, music is a gift and it is, in a world of war and political bull shit, the one gift that humans seem to have gotten right.
Something came to an end today
Something left me in tears
and I won't play my guitar
but I would give anything to hear yours weeping.
I remember wishing I had six strings
so you could make me sing,
but today I remembered
I sing with no one the way I sing with you.
Something left me today
Something that brings me to tears
and I place my guitar in the closet
but I would give anything to hear yours weeping
I remember waltzing in the ethers
all heart and soul and voice and distortion
but today I remember how this all went down
I hurt with no other the way I hurt with you
Something faded today
Something that drenched me in tears
and I shove my music in the corner
ashes to ashes and dust to dust
and I put my microphone away
and put it all behind me
and I leave it all to collect dust in the attic
and I throw this and I throw that
and my head hurts from crying
but still...
I would give...
I would give anything to hear that guitar
gently weep.
Pandora: (takes a bite of the chicken salad) Mmmm.... this must be why all the other meats try to taste like chicken.
Sunshine: ...huh?
Pandora: You know... Every time someone eats something strange like snake or alligator and you ask them what it's like, they say it tastes like chicken.
Sunshine: Ya, well, they lie. I don't believe anyone when they say it tastes like chicken, because if it tastes like chicken and it ain't chicken, I'm not eating it.
Pandora: (smiles and shakes her head)
Sunshine: Mmmm... You smell that? Smells like popcorn. I should make me some popcorn. I like the Kettle Corn, only I like mine slightly burnt... mmm.... so good!
Pandora: What? You like burned popcorn?
Sunshine: I said slightly burnt, and yes, it's good! It smells the place up, but it's good!
Pandora: Are you crazy? Burned popcorn from the microwave even?
Sunshine: Well, ya! What you think I'm gonna do up in here? Bring in a Jiffy Pop? Bring in the popcorn cart from the Carnival down the street peddlin' my own burnt popcorn stand? Of course it's microwave.
Pandora: Oh man... burned food is terrible enough as it is, but I'm completely paranoid about microwave burned. That's radiation! That's all... charcoal from another planet or something and now you're putting it in your mouth and saying it tastes good! It's going to kill you!
Sunshine: Hahaha... I like all my food burnt. Burnt chicken nuggets? Mmm.... Or like those french fries you bake in the oven? Bake 'em ten minutes longer than it says to -- perfect. Mmm....
Pandora: What?! Holy cow! Why have I worked so hard to cook a nice meal for you when you come to visit? Next time I screw up a meal and burn everything I should call you up and invite you over. You eat that? That's terrible! I'm always so upset if I burn things. They taste awful!
Sunshine: Well, I didn't say charcoal burnt, I just said slightly burnt.
Pandora: Leaving the french fries in the oven ten minutes longer than is required is charcoal burnt.
Sunshine: (pulls out her iPhone) Girl.... let me show you the difference between charcoal burnt and slightly burnt.
Sunshine: THIS is charcoal burnt:
Sunshine: This is SLIGHTLY burnt:
Sunshine: Charcoal burnt fries:
Sunshine: Slightly burnt fries:
Sunshine: See the difference?
Pandora: Okay, yes. But still.
Sunshine: Here, take a look at this:
Sunshine: THIS is a chicken:
Sunshine: THIS is not:
Pandora: Aaaa! Put that away! Don't show me that! That hurts my heart!
Sunshine: What hurts your heart?
Pandora: The alligator! That's TERRIBLE!
Sunshine: What's terrible? Why does that hurt your heart? The chicken ain't got no head! At least the alligator still has his head and feet!
Pandora: Are you nuts! Chickens never have the head when prepared for cooking! That poor little guy looks like a baby gator they just skinned and threw on there! He even has a cute little face! Oh... I'm gonna throw up. Why did you show me that?
Sunshine: Well, I figured since I was showing you the difference between charcoal burnt and slightly burnt, I might as well show you the difference between chicken and alligator while I'm at it.
I was sitting in a business meeting with one of the cities the other day and the city engineer, who was frustrated about a particular project said, "Well... this whole thing got goober snatched." When someone at the table responded, "Goober snatched?" she said, "Yes, goober snatched. It's a very important technical term." At which point I looked at the admin and said, "Please put that in the minutes. We need to write that down for sure."
She had a couple other good ones like, "take that nubbin and do something with it!" and "I just don't know what people thought they were doing with all this hoolio!"
She was truly frustrated while talking to us, and she was trying to get her frustration out on the table, but ultimately we all spent more time laughing at her "cuss words" than we did taking her frustration seriously. So, instead of returning to my desk and immediately diving into the problem on a quest for a solution, I sat there for a while thinking about goober snatched items and nubbins and piles of hoolio. I decided that it may be better, at least in certain circles, not to substitute cuss words with things like hoolio at all. I'm not saying drop the F-Bomb at the business meeting (that would just be rude and get you sent to HR for some sort of Awareness Training), but I am saying that the word hoolio in a dead serious frustrated tone is hilarious and I don't think hilarity is the point you're wanting to drive home right there. It's probably best to say, "You guys really messed this project up for us and you need to understand that we're very displeased with your performance," and then give us all the eyeball that makes us think you're about to call our moms and we'll be so grounded when we get home. (At least, that works for me. That probably would've sent me straight into Type A Mode, because I HATE to disappoint, and I would've had the issue resolved within the next hour because... my mom is scary when she's angry. Trust me.)
I thought about it the rest of the day. I remembered a time when I said, "Well jeepers!" when working at the mortgage company and everyone in my general vicinity turned around and said, "Jeepers?"
And there was the time I was sitting at the table with my parents playing Yahtzee and I said "dagnabit" after rolling nothing of worth and had to take a zero on my score sheet. A few minutes later I noticed that my dad, in a moment of intense thought and doodling, wrote DAG NAB-IT in all caps on the top of his score sheet. When I asked what he was doing he said, "Well... I was just trying to figure out the right way to spell that word." (Had I said "damn it," mind you, I would have evoked a completely different response from him, as well as a horrified gasp from my mother.)
So when I got home that night, at some point I walked into my daughter's room while she was doing her homework and I said, in my most serious mom voice, "Your room is horrible! What's with all this hoolio?!" She stopped, a bit confused, looked at me as though she knew she was supposed to be in some sort of trouble but she couldn't help but crack a smile and say, "...um... hoolio?" Without missing a beat I said, "I'm not kidding. This is some serious goober snatch! Get this nubbin cleaned up!" At that point she dropped her pencil and practically fell out of her chair laughing and gasping as she asked, "What are you saying?!" Now maybe this is because she knows me too well, but I would like to think that I was running an experiment here on whether or not I could successfully get the same intensity while employing goofball word substitutes.
I confess, and you already know this from some of my blog posts, I can throw down well enough to include "sailed the seven seas" on my resume, but... anyone that has worked with me in the corporate world also knows that I can scare more people and get excellent results through the use of complex sentences and five syllable words than I ever could through an F-Bomb. I once had to apologize to a guy at the office because I apparently made him cry, and there was not a single profane word that passed my lips or fingertips that day. His boss simply said I hurt the guy's ego because he had to use the dictionary to figure out what I was saying... hence, my point...
It is better not to "cuss" at all than to substitute some hullabaloo for an F-Bomb when trying to get people to move. Otherwise... go ahead. I've sailed alongside SinBad a time or two -- tell it like it is.
Some of the best moments in life are the ones where you find yourself in a place you had no intention of being, where you commit to be a part of something you really didn't want to, and as a result you end up having one of the greatest experiences of your life and find yourself surrounded by some of the greatest people you've ever met. People that you will never forget. People that you will always wish nothing but the best for. People you will forever consider friend and forever be grateful to have been given the chance to know them.
It all happens when someone approaches you and says something like, "I heard from someone who heard from someone that you can sing." And even after you admit that you haven't performed or been a part of anything musical in years, you are suddenly convinced, through listening to the fact that none of them had been consistently playing in years, you may as well give this a shot because... it just might be good for you. After all, you'd pretty much been sitting there doing next to nothing but surviving anyway, so why not add a little color to your life? And the next thing you know, you're standing in a room with five people from five walks of life and five different backgrounds and they all seem to be having this moment of, "Not sure what I'm doing here but... let's rock."
After a while, you find that you're all sort of standing there in awe of the music that you just created. You're all thinking that this may be the most beautifully bizarre meeting you've ever had because for the first time in who knows how long, maybe ever, you realize that you are sharing a musical space together that you never expected -- it was good. The sound you created was good, the musicianship was stellar, and the only place to go was up. And you found yourself looking forward to this practice and that practice, and this performance and that performance because, while it all had purpose and meaning, it just felt so good to be together.
You soon realize that, through music, you had all become friends. You crack jokes and swap stories. You branch out and hang out, you jam here and there, but you start to learn what makes each person tick and you realize that a part of the synergy between you all is based on a balance of personalities and character -- where one might be weak another is strong, and when one falls down the other picks them up. It became a space where you celebrated each others triumphs and you supported each other though struggles. It became a space where honesty was the best policy, no matter how intimidating that may have been at times, and it was a space where you all had a say and you worked together for good. But as with anything in life, nothing stays the same for too long.
Things happen. Babies are being born. Work gets in the way. Stress and lack of time become major players. Health problems sneak in. Relationship troubles creep up from the shadows. Priorities that demand more attention take away from "the fun." Communication breakdowns, changes in the game plan, curve balls and strike outs... Suddenly the winning season was last year's news and the next round looks like the team is facing some injuries and recovery time is required. But regardless, you have all created something between you much more beautiful than just good music.
And even when you walk away from something that you loved so much, in an attempt to catch up on everything else, or to recover and heal, or to forgive and forget, the bonds that were created between you remain as strong, if not stronger, than they were when you picked up your instruments and played. You've all grown to understand one another. You've learned to recognize your lives as works in progress, and you all have seen the progress that each one has made -- musically, professionally, and personally. And with the passing of time, those things that seem like road blocks or set backs level off and are overcome. And you were all there to work through everything together -- friends first, musicians second.
And then one day, after everything in between, the time comes when you find yourselves together one last time, friends first and musicians second. Everyone's life has taken a turn in which this musical setting that brought you all together has finally reached its end. And you find yourselves walking into that space feeling the same joy as always, but this time there's a tinge of melancholy as you work together to bring a positive send off to something that you all consider a solid and common bond -- full of beauty and good times and good memories and good music.
You all play together now knowing that each individual path is veering off to a new journey and a new experience, but you play together knowing that each individual is only a phone call away. Your friendships are beyond valuable and definitely one of the brightest moments throughout this musical experience you all have shared.
Music is in the soul, but friendship resides there also.
Pandora: (sips her beverage and thinks for a minute) Sometimes... sometimes I believe in luck.
Hope: What do you mean, sometimes? How can you sometimes believe in luck? I thought you either believed in luck or you didn't.
Pandora: I don't know how to explain it, really. I've been around people who don't believe in luck at all because everything is "fate" or "destiny" to them. And then I've been around people that think too much depends on luck, where everything is chance and superstition. But... there are just sometimes that you can't deny it -- you were lucky. Against all odds, even when everything else founded in fact and reason and logic stated that there was no possible way this would happen, it suddenly happens, for good or for ill, and... I call that luck.
Hope: Hm... I guess I never thought of it that way.
Pandora: Like gambling -- the average gambler in the casino is banking on a stroke of good luck. Where they make their mistake is that they go in believing they're going to win. What they need to do is go in and say, "I'm willing to lose $20," and when they sit down at the machine, knowing they're going to lose because the odds are never in their favor, and within the first two minutes they suddenly win $700, they need to consider that the stroke of good luck, cash out, and walk away.
Hope: I guess that could be a moment of good luck. (she stares through Pandora, deep in thought, still not convinced)
Pandora: Okay, how about this one? You walk onto the car lot and you buy a brand new car. Everything about buying a brand new, never been driven, vehicle should mean you've got something that is far from failing you and you're going to have several years of driving a reliable car. Suddenly, $30,000 later and within the first ten minutes of driving it off the lot, the thing breaks down in a puff of smoke and leaves you more frustrated than you were with the junk heap you just traded in. That's bad luck right there.
Hope: (still stares at Pandora as if she's not entirely convinced)
Pandora: (takes her last sip of beverage and confidently puts the glass down on the table) Okay, ...my love life.
Hope: (leans back in her chair) Well... I wouldn't call that bad luck.
Pandora: (raises an eyebrow)
Hope: It's not bad luck, Mom, it's... ... well ... it's ...
Pandora: Really... all I have to say to you on that one is: six drawers of socks, kiddo. ...six drawers of socks and glad lock containers.
Hope: Hahahahahahahaha! Okay, yeah, you're right. That was some serious bad luck right there.
Sometimes listening is all that someone needs,
but when you love people,
when you love your friends,
you just want to say that one thing that will help them turn that corner,
help them see that light, help them realize that hope...
But then you remember that sometimes nothing can be said, sometimes all that is needed is a presence...
a presence in the darkness...
a presence like a small bit of light,
a simple candle in the pitch,
a simple glow,
a silent flame with a crackling flicker to remind them you're there.
You remember... that was all you needed too.
So you hold your tongue.
So you listen.
So you cry when they cry
you ask why when they ask why
you know what that's like,
and you ride the roller coaster with them
there's nothing to do but ride that ride
and pray it stays on the tracks because...
everyone needs to come out of this alive...
And when you get off that ride,
when you're both standing there at the exit
a little out of breath from shock and awe,
you realize that your friend is likely to sink back into the dark
because you're the only glow of light they have,
and so...
you turn around and say --
What happened this morning when you got up?
And when they stare at you because they're too lost to remember, you say...
...the sun came up...
And when they stare at you a bit confused
you look at them and say...
Guess what happens tomorrow?
And when they stare at you because they're still too lost to know what happens tomorrow, you say...
...the sun is coming up...
And when they continue to stare at you because they could care less,
because the rising of the sun means nothing to them at that moment, you say...
You have a life to live,
and no matter how much you hurt,
...there is always the sun...
and just like you,
the rising sun is beautiful
and you... you will keep rising, just like the sun...
and that, my friend, is beautiful.
And when they give you a hug
knowing you said that because you love them
and they really don't give a shit about the sun
today or tomorrow
you walk away knowing
you will be there tomorrow,
just like the sun,
and you will listen
and you will love
and one day they will look at you and say:
"Remember the time you made that stupid comment about the Sun? ... Thank you."
And then you remember that someone once made that same stupid comment about the Sun to you
and then you remember that you need to thank them too.
(Pandora is working at her desk when Crazy walks in)
Crazy: Hey! What's goin' on girl?
Pandora: (turns around) Same old same old. You?
Crazy: Oh! I have something to tell you! I was...
(before she can finish her thought Mr. Toenail walks in)
Toenail: Hey ladies... do either of you have a set of tweezers?
Pandora: Uh... even if I did, something tells me I should say no.
Crazy: Yeah, I got some. You need 'em?
Toenail: Well, actually, I was hoping you could help me with something.
Crazy: Oh. Okay, what?
Pandora: Here it comes.
Toenail: (turns to the side and point to his ear) You see, I got this...
Crazy: Oh no! No no no no no!
Pandora: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Toenail: What? Hey, what? You haven't even let me tell you what it is yet!
Crazy: Oh no! No no! I am NOT going anywhere near whatever you got goin' on in your ear!
Pandora: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Toenail: (looks at Pandora) What's wrong with asking for some help? I need some help?
Pandora: With what? Ear hair?
Toenail: (aghast) Ear hair?! Do I look like I'd be walking around with ear hair to you?!
Pandora: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Toenail: (waves Pandora off like she's worthless and turns back to Crazy who has completely curled up in a ball in the corner of the cube in an attempt to stay away from him) Come on... will you just listen to me? It's nothing bad.
Crazy: ...I ... am ... not ... touching ... your ear.
Pandora: (pulls herself together, a little out of breath from laughing) Okay, what is it?
Toenail: (points to his ear) Well, I was listening to my iPod and when I went to pull it out the earpiece got stuck inside my ear and I can't get it out.
Pandora: You have the earpiece stuck in your ear?
Crazy: (sits up straight) Oh! That's all it is? Well I can help you with that.
Toenail: Thank you! (looks at Pandora) See! It's just an earpiece! Not ear hair! I can't believe you said that! I can't believe you would think I had ear hair!
Pandora: (bites her lip for a moment) I'm sorry... I really am... It's just not often that someone walks into my office cubicle and asks me to dig around in their ear for little treasures.
Crazy: Hahahahahahaha! I know, right? That is a little weird, Toe... that is a very weird request.
Pandora: Why not just go down to the Nurse's office? They get paid to take care of things like this.
Toenail: Well, I thought about it, but I didn't really know what to do. I mean, what if it's an OSHA recordable accident? I don't want to be the one responsible for blowing our safety goal because I got a damn earpiece from my iPod stuck in my ear, you know?
Crazy: Haha! He has a point. The guys in the field would be pissed! They are working with high voltage equipment and some dope at the office ruins the safety goal because of some headphone mishap. Let me go get my tweezers. I'll be right back.
Toenail: Yeah, see? Exactly!
Pandora: Right, well, I'll tell you what is OSHA recordable -- if she screws up and damages your ear because you were too daft to go down to the nurse. Did this just happen?
Toenail: Well, no... It's been in there for a couple hours.
Pandora: You've been walking around with that thing stuck in your ear for a couple hours?
Toenail: Yeah...
Pandora: I'm pretty sure getting that stuck in your ear is not an OSHA recordable accident. I'm pretty sure the nurse would've just pulled it out and sent you back up here.
Toenail: Well, I didn't know! I've been walking around trying to figure out what to do! It's weird, you know? I got this thing stuck in my ear and people are trying to talk to me and I'm turning my head all around so I can hear them better and playing it off like I don't have this thing in my ear. That's weird, you know?
Pandora: Yes... yes I know... it's weird.
Crazy: Okay! Let's do this!
Pandora: Not in my cube though... right?
Toenail: (sits in the chair across from Pandora) Okay. It's in there... can you see it?
Crazy: Yeah... I can get it. (she pulls it out) Got it!
Toenail: Awesome! Thanks! I'm so glad girls always carry things in their purse like tweezers!
Pandora: I don't carry tweezers in my purse, but I do live for moments like these.
Toenail: Well, you're different...and you thought I had ear hair, too! (starts to walk out of Pandora's cube) I can't believe you thought that!!!
If there is one thing that I'm not very good at, it's networking. It's a shame, really, because even in my journey between academia and business I've seen that the people that network get farther faster than those of us who don't (even if they aren't as "good" at what they do).
The networker has an entirely different skill set. I don't want to call it brown nosing -- they aren't necessarily moving on up to the east side because they know how to suck up well. And I don't want to call it charisma because there are plenty networkers that have the charisma of a dirt clod. I think it's just because... they have no fear.
When I say fear I'm not talking about apprehension, there is a difference: one can be apprehensive and doubt the self occasionally, but still shake it off and move forward. When I say fear, at least in this sense, I'm talking about Fear Of Failure -- that moment when you let doubt get the best of you and so you just stay in your seat instead of rise up and position yourself into the best place to shine. They may struggle with doubt and the "what if" factor here and there, but their confidence far outweighs their fear of failure, and, in fact, they may even have that moment where they are convinced they may fail and they may totally fall on their face, but... what do they have to lose? If they just sit there in the corner and do nothing and say nothing and refuse to put themselves out there, failure is inevitable. But... if they get up and take their portfolio down the hall and shake hands with some people and tell their story to some people they may eventually meet the right people with the right doors at the right time that are ready to open and take them where they want to go.
I have confidence in a lot of my talents and abilities, but my flaw is often sitting in my corner and believing my work will speak for itself. What I'm saying there is, what good is work that speaks for itself if all it has to speak to is four walls in room that no one enters but me?
I don't have a lot of dreams left.
I gave up the cow girl dream that I had at five years old after my mom told me that John Wayne wasn't really a cow boy, he was just an actor, and he was dead.
I gave up my dream of being a doctor after I sat through anatomy class and they told us we were going to dissect some cadavers right after I had a quiz on the Latin terms for every section of bone in the skull.
I gave up my dream of being a rock star after I dropped out of college for a year to go chase it down and realized that, unlike Jewel, I wasn't willing to live in my van on the boardwalk in Ocean Beach and hope lightening strikes the same coffee house twice.
And at this point I've pretty much given up my dream of having a solid male partner in my personal corner of the world (well, I haven't completely thrown that one out but ... it's definitely sitting in the closet where I fully intend to leave it to do little more than collect dust).
I have one left... I think you all know what it is... And so, I must, on some level, learn to network.
I must throw fear of failure to the wind and give it all I've got. And if I fall on my face, if I fail, then at least I have a solid day job. But if I lay on my death bed in the future and say something along the lines of, "I never really did give that one a fair shot," then I failed by my own doing.
That being said... please do me a favor and go "LIKE" my Mixed Number facebook page. Still trying to figure out what I'm going to do with that thing, but it's up and it was a long time coming. I'm working on Google Plus and I'll probably make my way around to Twitter sooner or later. (yes, I'm trying not to throw up right now, but... I see the networkers... I see them winning... and... as I move forward with writing projects, both inside and outside of this blog, I have to admit that I'd like to join them)
