Another two miles behind me…in the cold no less…and ive decided I may need to get myself some mace. I was running around a corner tonight and over my music I could hear a dog behind a fence. It’s a 6 foot wood fence so im not worried. I come around the corner and start running the length of this same fence when all of a sudden I hear the same dog barking…but this time it seems high. And when I turn to look, this dog has found something in the yard to climb on that allows him to lean over the fence and bark down at me. I about pissed my pants.
Observations/lessons/comments from my 34th birthday celebration:
Your skirt is too short if, when you put your coat on, it looks like you aren’t wearing any pants.
My sister’s got a bucket of beer and a lesbian on her lap.
Somewhere in KC, a girl has a picture on her phone of my friend Wag with her leg behind her head.
Every girl needs 1 pair of red shoes.
A shiny, gold trenchcoat and gold 6 inch pumps are not okay to wear…ever. It makes you look like a hooker.
It’s good to have friends who ask the DJ to wish you a happy birthday.
You’re never too old to dance…I actually think it’s more fun the older you get.
I call myself a writer. I’ve always written and hope to publish something some day. How else is anyone going to remember I was here? For most of my life, I was kind of forced to write in school. So that is where most of my writing came from. I was good at it though and it led me down the paths I have taken. But once you fall out of college and there is no one making you write, it becomes easy not to write (cause believe me it’s painful sometimes…which is why i avoid it). So there was a VERY long period where I didn’t write…anything. I would attempt journaling, then lose interest. I even took a writing workshop at some point…but that didn’t even kick start anything. Now suddenly I am writing a lot…almost every day at this point….and it seems to be that one of my better friends is who has led me back into this.
He recently moved half way across the country, and in order for me to keep up with him, I was forced into written conversations. And as soon as I had to start typing words instead of communicating verbally, the easier it was for me to put words down. And as I started to put words down…any words…the more words I needed to get out. And all of a sudden these words started to form ideas….and these ideas started to form projects….and now I write again.
So at this point, I just keep putting words down because I know at some point something will formulate that just may be important enough or relevant enough or at least okay for others to want to read. If and when that happens, I’ll be sure to thank the perosn that jump started the words in my head.
I am not a people person. Ask anyone that knows me. I have always been kind of a loner with a select few that I actually allow in. I don’t even need one hand to count the friends I had in highschool. And after that, until recently, I can only think of three people that I would actually call my friends. So it is shocking to me that I suddenly find myself in the middle of a group of friends that are some of the most amazing people I know…and at this point in my life, maybe some of the better ones I’ll ever meet.
After having known most of them for over three years now, I am not sure how I existed without this many friends. Friends who are amazing mothers & fathers, friends who have discovered mid-life chaos and lean on me for support, friends that I travel with, friends I spend time with on weekends, friends who know I drink on Fridays at lunch (and still find a way to convince me im not a lush), friends who tell me to breathe when i forget, friends who make me laugh and think its funny when they make me snort, friends who nicknamed me, friends who I can say anything to, friends that listen, friends that understand, friends that have become part of my every day existance.
I truly believe we meet people for reasons…and I honestly think these friends are people I am supposed to know. People I’m supposed to know till the end. It took me 34 years to become part of a crowd…maybe it took that long though because, in the end, these are the people I was supposed to meet.
I overheard Stephanie at work telling someone she had a chocolate martini once. Kinda like it was something special, something new, something out of the ordinary. And I thought to myself that I can’t count how many chocolate martinis I’ve had.
Sometime in December, after enduring two months of chaotic change (friends leaving, friends in trouble, incredibly frustrating family situations and the looming anniversary of the Xmas from hell), I decided to run. I’d been told it would clear your head and i figured i needed that. It was either run or break at that point. The first time I headed out I thought I was going to throw up and my body wanted to know why we were continuing on instead of turning back towards the couch. I had to tell myself the couch gets you no where. It was 3 weeks before Xmas, so houses had Xmas lights up and there was actually a little snow still on the ground. After I convinced my body to keep going, I rounded a corner and all of a sudden I started uncontrollably sobbing. I suppose that was the clearing of the head I had been told about. But there I was, running in the dark, Trapt playing on my iPod, me crying so hard all the Xmas lights got all blurry….kinda finny and pathetic all at once. I thought shit like that only happened in the movies.
How do the people we become comfortable with find their way into our lives?
The first time it happened, she was young and too new at life to realize she had met someone comfortable. His name was James and at the time she had no idea what was happening. Up until that point in her life, it had been the norm to be friends with girls. She was a girl and it was only expected that she have girlfriends. That’s just how it worked. Those were the easiest people to get close to and that was kind of what was expected. So grade school and junior high brought girlfriends. Then highschool brought more girlfriends. Girls that were catty and bitchy….girls that were looking to stab you in the back and looking for a reason to hate you even though they were your “best friend.” So she plugged on into college thinking that is what she would continue to experience. She had no idea what to do when the eclectic, bohemian, I haven’t cut my hair in months boy looked at her in writing class and said “Hi my name is James. Do you want to be my partner?” They had just been assigned one of those god damn, get to know you assignments, she was fresh meat and looking for a “safe” girl to participate with and she didn’t know what else to say but yes when he looked at her like that. Little did she know he was going to be the first “comfortable” person she met in her life. This was her first writing class of college, she was gun shy and now suddenly she had to look at this amazingly good looking boy and find out what his reading background involved. Like a naieve freshman, she started rambling off all these authors she had been forced to read in highschool hoping it would make her sound somewhat intelligent. At some point in the exercise he used the word existentialism to describe his way of thinking and she suddenly realized she had a whole lot of growing up to do…she had no idea what the f**k that even meant. But she did know it meant this was someone she needed to know. For some reason he was drawn to her and she suddenly understood that there were certain people she was going to need to know and he was one of them. At the end of class they of course had to go around the room and tell who their partner was and what they had learned about them. When it was their turn, she prayed that she remembered how to pronounce existentialism and hoped even harder that the instructor didn’t ask her what that meant. When class ended James slipped into his leather jacket with more buckles then she knew you could fit on a jacket and cruised out of class. As the door was about to close all she saw was his dingy rucksack and combat boots but she prayed that he would talk to her again.
So I got some new ink. And its only a week old and I have, of course, had to mess with it a lot…and every time I look at it, I think what the hell am I doing? I don’t think anyone I know (including myself) would peg me as a chick with tattoos. But the more I think about it, the more I think these tattoos are my silent protests against the person I am becoming…the person I said I would never be….the person I’m trying not to be. The person who works in corporate America, the person who owns a home, the person who can’t pick up and leave at a moments notice, the person who is seeping into my every molecule.
I was watching LA Ink tonight and during the show two of the girls participated in a night of speed dating. Now I am way beyond the dating stage so I am REALLY relieved this is something I will NEVER have to participate in (i’m hoping). But as I was watching this weird, new dating ritual I decided I would really suck at it. I think I would probably just freak most of the guys out. The way I see it, you’ve got like 5 minutes to figure out if you like this other person. So I’m thinking I can’t waste this time on where do you work, what do you like to do type questions. I’d want something funny, some obscure fact, the weirdest thing they had seen recently, the most inappropriate thing they had recently heard. At some point I’d probably snort and then my 5 minutes would be up.
Like I said…I’d suck at speed dating.