Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Birds of a Feather

My friend is afraid of birds. So afraid that she waters her flowers and bushes while wearing a bike helmet.

I want to buy her a parrot.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Frowzy is a Word... aka: My Physical Disability

Now, I'm not one to complain. The fact that I have a less than ideal sense of smell has never created mass hysteria for me. It's been a fact that I graciously accept. To be honest, it's actually kind of nice. There are some perfectly nice boys I have dated that have emitted fumes of mass proportions... clearing a room in three seconds flat. Me? Doesn't even phase me. It might even be considered a bonus.

Well, I left my car closed up for about 24 hours this weekend as I was off on a mountain excursion. I returned to it sensing something odd. It was almost as though I caught a whiff of... rancid yogurt? It was some malodorus scent that existed almost as a shadow or a puff of smoke... barely discernible. Faintly perceived. Musty socks, perhaps? I filled my lungs with oxygen... drawing it through nostril and trachea to see if I was mistaken. Something was amiss.

I'm sure any able-nose-ed person could have practically tasted this odor. But I, taking my time driving home, sniffed and snoffed, pondered and predicted. I wondered... is it repulsive? Is it repugnant? Did my dog eat a loaf of banana bread and barf in the back seat? Did he hide it under a sweater? Was it on the seat? On the floor? What frowzy offense exists in my car?

Yes. Frowzy is a word.

Well, here I sit. Pressing finger to keyboard. Arranging letter and word. Manipulating sentence and phrase. And my car smells like a musty porcupine engorged of sauerkraut and frozen yogurt.

Don't just sit there. Go take care of it, You.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

25 Things I Have Done

1) Kicked a boy in the face for looking up my dress. Age 7.
2) Driven my car off of a large embankment and broken the axle. Age 19.
3) Skinny-dipped in a lake above 9,000 feet. Age 19.
4) Performed the role of Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker. Age 14.
5) Sung the role of Cherubino in the opera, The Marriage of Figaro. Age 19.
6) Developed a secret code which I used to obsess over the boys I had a crush on. Age 13.
7) Dressed in a hot dog costume and rode a motorcycle around town. Age 29.
8) Nursed a baby bird back to health... right before it died. Age 15.
9) Listened to live music in the cold, Colorado rain. Age 28.
10) Learned to drive a motorcycle. Age 28.
11) Learned to drive a stick shift. Age 28.
12) Went on an exciting beach vacation. Age 27.
13) Climbed two Colorado 14ers. Age 20 and Age 21.
14) Climbed my first multi-pitch route. Age 23.
15) Used inappropriate language with some old ladies in a needle-point chat room. Age 17.
16) Called the police on my friends who were stomping around on my roof. Age 21.
17) Got caught by the police making out with Rob in our car. Age 22.
18) Won $50 in a writing contest. Age 11.
19) Explored central Mexico. Age 23.
20) Ate whole baby octopus. Age 14.
21) Made a pie including peanut butter, syrup, barbeque sauce, hot chili sauce, and baking soda and fed it to my cousin's neighbor.
22) Rode my bike (with no brakes) down a very steep hill in Vail and crashed it into a giant boulder. Age 12.
23) Sung at an open mic night. Age 27.
24) Dated a long-haired, motorcycle-riding rocker. Age 19 and Age 28 (Same guy, although the hair was shorter when I was 28).
25) Dressed my little brother in my clothes... including dress, headband, and frilly socks. Age 11.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Harley... What You Sneaking?

Dear Harley-Dog....

You are chubby. And so I have been feeding you less than usual. So I feel like you are more inclined to do naughty things when I am around. I admit to being slightly suspicious of your 'alone at the house' activities.

So last night... or this morning, I guess... when I got home I was surprised to see the house was in perfect order. Trash cans in place. Nobody had found any miscellaneous item to chew up. Good dogs. So I went to bed. And so did you.

What exactly do you think you can sneak by me? I'm a pretty sharp cookie, Harley-Who. Have you sneakified things in the past? I am generally unobservant of important details. Well, this one didn't slide by me. A candy cane. Who knew dogs liked candy canes? Wasn't there a way you could eat it to avoid chunks of it getting stuck in the fur around your mouth? And you thought you fooled me. Negatory, Harley. I am a human. You are a dog. I am better than you.

Sincerely, Mama

Friday, February 6, 2009

Back to Normal??

Well, I never anticipated grief to show it's face like it did. And it disappeared quite strangely before I knew it was gone. Perhaps it will show up again but this last weekend, it was so heavy, I thought it would be my close companion for quite a while.


In those moments of grief insanity, I think I blew a bit of a gasket and wrote a letter to break things off with this wonderful man I have been seeing. My friends all thought I was crazy. Why I would sabotage a good thing, I don't know. I guess I felt that I was too much of a mess to require him to spend time on me. However, he's one of the ones that held my hand and let me grieve. He's not perfect and neither am I. I am still not sure that we are right for each other. Is there some sort of timeline that dictates how long you wait around to feel like someone is right for you? Well, if I completely disregard all of that, I know that I love being around him. He is wonderful to me. He is thoughtful and caring. He gives in many ways. He smiles at my quirks.

I always think that if 'his' (whoever that 'his' may be) mother doesn't know about me, then I'm not really that important to him. Is that strange? I know it's somewhat silly. I mean, his mother might know about me even if I am not important to him. Seems like twisted logic, but it's my logic, nonetheless. I say all that to say this: his mother doesn't know about me. Seems like a chapter out of He's Just Not That Into You. Oh, yeah? Well... I... I refuse to leave my things at his house. And I don't leave my schedule empty just in case he asks. So there.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Sarah's Glasses

This is truly a spectacle.

My friend, Sarah, just bought glasses yesterday. She pushed them up her nose. She squinted without them. She did all the things you do when you have glasses. She fogged them up and wiped them off. She said, "I can't see without my new glasses." And she became worried about misplacing them.

Where did she go to get them? Lenscrafters? No. Doctor's VisionWorks? No. Does she even know the name of a REAL place to get glasses? No. She bought them at Urban Outfitters and they are not even prescription.

She is a glasses poser.


The memorial service magnified my grief.

It has been so intense since then. I woke up Saturday morning and felt heavy, heavy, and sullen and so, so, terribly sad. The words grief and sorrow now mean something to me. And now tears come even when I'm not thinking of him. They used to come when I would think of him in heaven... or of our time together. But now they come when I don't expect them. Sunday morning was terrible, too. Trying to hold it all together while I'm around people. I couldn't do it. I cried and cried and cried. I can't imagine how his sweet mother feels.

When I'm not buried underneath all of that, I feel absolutely nothing at all. I can still smile. I can still laugh. But I truly feel incapable of any emotion. And that's why I feel I have to stop dating this wonderful man that I have been seeing. I couldn't ask him to stick around for this ridiculousness. I feel completely emotionally bankrupt. I know he is wonderful. But I can't give him 100%.

Here is what I need: I need my dear, dear friends to know Rob. No one I know now really knows him. And it makes me incredibly sad. I want to show them pictures and I want to play the music we played at our wedding. And I want to make his delicious chili. I want to tell stories about him and to try to remember what we did. I want to remember everything.

Here is what I want: I want to go with Rob's brother and his best friends when they take his ashes to the top of Long's Peak. I don't know if they will let me. But if they don't, then I will go there myself and sit and speak with him and tell him goodbye.