Lost in the woods

I consider myself to be a happily married woman.

I do not understand most other couples - why they are together, what makes them tick, why are they friends with each other, let alone me.

Then there is the scenario where another couple decides they want to be friends with I am my partner.

But here's the problem: THEY ARE CRAZY DYSPHUNCTIONAL.

The wife, to be here named Ricki and the husband, here Brody, have been married for over three years, together for over 8 and all I have to say is that they are happy in the sense that Dunham always has the notion that those in upper Wisconsin LOVE winters full of snow and ice and freezing weather.

I've seen them fight. I've seen them verbally bash the hell out of their spouse  - WITH THEIR SPOUSE SITTING NEXT TO THEM!!!! I see them as miserable, and only just coming to this conclusion, and having been with them as they came to this conclusion that each of them had changed  - not into OTHER people - but changed enough so that they were unhappy with one another - not trusting each other, or truly themselves but now they are also willing to work towards the betterment of their marriage.

This working towards betterment is KILLING my Soul and the Heart of my marriage by more than mere inches.

I like them...as friends...they're decent people I suppose...but I can't stand how morbose and miserable they are. I feel like there's no middle ground with them.
Ricki wants to set rules to make sure we are all on even ground, and she won't bend or break them, even if it would help her cause - and Brody bends almost ALL of the rules almost ALL of the time.

UGH!
I just wanted simple friends...can't I have one boring pair of married friends?

INSERT THE UNIVERSE LAUGHING AT ME - <No, you can't. =] Cheers.>

I want everything to be happy again.
I want to sleep.
I want to be able to sleep happily again.
I miss writing.

I am sad...I might lose my friends, my job and my family is oh so helpful...."oh we're so glad you lost that 40 lbs! you look so great now!"

I worry about my marriage....I worry about my sanity...and then later...after all that - I worry about the financials.

If I lose my job what will I do afterwards?



And when I go to Vegas, if ever, I'll go as Margarita Salt...

I'm shaking...I'm so nervous and angry and frustrated and shot to hell....I miss being comfortable in my own shoes...socks...can I bawl now?


Until again.....

Work Blog - 1

Ok folks, even though I feel like Cellophane...Ms. Cellophane...

sigh.

OK, today we start a new chapter of fun called Work Blog. I will jot down ths tupid eccentricities of my coworkers and their hypocritical inaccuracies.

Today:
So today, June 3rd, 2011 is the second day I am sittin gnext to my new department coworker. She is ultra-religious, but highly hypocritical. She had me written up last year for saying "damn" in an email and claiming to my supervisor, her buddy, that it was directed at her. However, all day so far, in her frustrations, under her breath she has hit 4 of my tops fave swear words - none of which start with D. So ladies and gents...that's today's news. She's a moron who is rude, crude and evil. Her ignorance is matched only by her apathy....great characteristics for a proclaimed Catholic. I strive every day to not HATE this woman....it's hard, let me tell you. And she nags me for attention 24/7 too. If she doesn't have someone to gab AT, not to, no, AT, then she doesn't know what to do with herself.
More on Monday people...back to the salt mines...

Blu.

Venting Against The Wall

So, there are times when you feel you are being listened to in an empathic manner, and it helps the scenario.
Then there are times when you feel they are mildly distracted, but they MEANT to listen to you with all they are. This also helps, just also stings.

THEN THERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO TALK OVER YOU IN THEIR HEAD AND TO YOUR FACE WHEN THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE LISTENING TO YOU...this hurts the scenario and occasionally your soul.

My new deskmate - meaning they will now sit next to me in an open setting cube style - is one of the 3rd kind of people. This is not close enoucnters of the third kind. This is UNDESIRED encounters of the third kind - the bad kind - that kind.
I try to like people. I try to get along with people.
This one takes the cake for rudeness, apathy and evil.
If I end up in jail, you know what happened.

I want to scream at them: I F@^)!*& HATE YOU, DON'T TALK TO ME AT ALL unless IT IS strictly WORK RELATED!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE EVIL. YOU ARE A B!$@&. IF YOU CONTINUE TO RAMBLE AT ME I WILL BRING YOU UP TO HR. YOU AFFECT MY ABILITY TO WORK. GO AWAY. LEAVE ME ALONE.

yeah, there's my karma blowback. oh well.
sigh.

family tragedies for the rest of the work week, then working this weekend with my cousin :) then AWESOME Memorial Day festivities!!!!!!

back to the salt mines folks.

BLU

Today

Rest in Peace Mary.
October 31st, 1929 to May 20th, 2011
You were a Matriarch, mother, collegiate success, sister, daughter, wife, friend, inspiration.
Phenomenal Woman.
I have so much I want to say to you, and on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning I tried to say all of it. But I know you can hear me even better now.
Your sense of style, your fashion trends, taste in jewelry, perfume, people - your flair for cooking and leading your children and grandchildren (all 14 of us) by example was with love, honesty and strength.
Married for over 55 years you are a mentor, a tutor, a phenomenal woman.
There will be lots of tears in the days to come as we wish you well on your way to St. Peter, but know that mixed in with the sadness is a joyful relief that you have been relieved from your fog (damned Alzheimer's) and from your pains (stupid spreading cancers).
We rejoice in your freedom, and selfishly wish you could still be here.
Thank you for always being who you were - through and through.
Mary (Clancy) Oram, love and respect, and all my best.
Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on Jack until he's ready too.

your granddaughter.

Happily Ever After - Part II

Part II

    Fate  isn’t real, I make my own destiny. I hit my head in the coffee shop and when I open my eyes everything will be back to the way it was before Grace -
    “Open your eyes, I can hear you thinking. If you’re so intent on thinking I’m not here let’s test this theory...you can be Judas if you want to, but you really don’t have to be.”
    “I don’t want - I wasn’t meaning -” my eyes popped open in shock at his words.
    “Now you’re lying to Fate.” He shook his head with sorrowful lines in his forehead. Could Fate get wrinkles? His laughter surprised and scared me. “Is that what you’re wondering? Fine, then see me.” As he spread his arms in the empty coffee shop with the downpour outside he aged incredibly, and was so like my mother’s father I wondered... “No, I’m of no relation to you, I just wanted to answer your question.”
    “So what happened? Where did the people go? Where did the coffee shop go a moment ago?”
    “Do you feel like a child when you ask such questions?” It had been my thought. I frowned.
    “If you know my thoughts -”
    “Why bother asking?” I nodded.
    “You have been making your own rain - as I said - your sorrows are flooding the metro Boston area, so if you want to wallow some more I suggest we go buy galoshes first. I’m here because I wanted to see if you are still as courageous as Grace knew you to be. I want to make sure I truly picked the right person.”
    “Wait, picked for what?” Fate looked around the coffee shop, shook his head, and all the noise, people in the coffee shop returned. He shrugged into a tall collared slicker and nodded towards the door. It was pouring - again, and I couldn’t just sit there. I followed Fate out of a coffee shop, into what was apparently my own rainstorm, to hopefully something better. Wind battered the rain into my eyes, and when I could see again it wasn’t rain blowing at me but flower petals.
    “Welcome to  Sylvia’s Heaven. She made it when she was eight and two-thirds. She picked out the purple and pink versions of the “China Purple” Clematis, and mixed it in with some pink-red azaleas, the blueish white pansies, and some tiger lilies next to a field of star-gazer lilies. She set aside a special patch over by that stone wall, near the willow tree, for naturally growing blue, purple-sterling and black roses.” All I could do was stare, until my nose began to itch. Fate reached over and pat my head, the sneeze vanishing from my system. “A field of flowers and no allergies, that was what Sylvia wanted.” Fate and I smiled, laughing together as the wind swirled through Sylvia’s Heaven.
    “So where’s Sylvia?” I looked, still giddy, to Fate. He frowned solemnly.
    “She’s not here.” This stopped me cold.
    “What do you mean? Why would she leave?” I paused, and then angry, continued. “Did you make her leave?”
    “I asked if she could help me, and she asked that I take care of her Heaven, share it with anyone I thought could use a smile. She chose to help, so I care for her Heaven. Will you help?”
    “I have no Heaven to leave to your care in return.” I walked away from him then, all joy gone. The sun seemed to dim behind newly formed thunderheads. It seemed even here, in some little girl’s Heaven I could still ruin everything.
    “No, not ruin. Even the flowers need rain sometimes. These grasses need rain occasionally.  If you want to help the care of her Heaven, go ahead, indulge in your sorrows, bring the rains. When you’ve soaked your clothes through though, you won’t feel any better about thinking you’ve no Heaven. I chose Sylvia’s because I didn’t think you were ready to visit your Heaven. It’s up to you.” Fate plunked down in the grasses, and began plaiting a circlet.
    “I feel like I failed Grace.”
    “You know you didn’t.” I had no true answer to this frustrating answer, so I screamed.
    And the rain fell in torrents, flattening the tall grass, soaking the willow, drowning the roses, until Fate stood up and hugged me. I stopped wailing then. It changed from something akin to a banshee to a heartfelt sob, changing the rain too - from a monsoon to a spring misting. He turned me in his arms and showed me the damage that had been done.
    “You just wanted to destroy something beautiful, didn’t you?” I nodded, ashamed. “So now I want you to want to make it better.” It sounded so simple - too simple. He covered my eyes. I had to smile, he knew I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Just like that I thought of this little girl’s magnificent Heaven, not like it was when I had arrived with Fate, but slightly better for some nourishing rain. When Fate chuckled I knew I had succeeded. I was rewarded by the sight he let me see by removing his hands. (approved.)
    “Wow.”
    “I knew you could do it.” Grace’s voice drifted through my head and I stumbled. My stomach jolted and I stared at Fate as he smirked sadly again, and the worlds seemed to spin through my vision.

Happily Ever After - Part I

Part I

I remember wishing I could live forever. I even remember why I wished it. Her name was Grace. She never liked her name, she said she was too clumsy to ever have such a simply beautiful name, but I knew the lie there. Her dancing was the most exquisite, her eye for decoration was... unique. She had her own sense of style. I wanted nothing more than to be near her and as blissfully happy forever.

    But Fate knew my Line better than I ever could. Or at least better than I could when I was a simple mortal, one of those dull grey or beige Lines that helps to form the background, but does nothing divinely important. Screwed that idea pretty well.
    Do you know, or at least comprehend at all why the older scripts say things like, “To see the face of God is to perish before Terrible Beauty”? I do.

    Fate met me one day, dressed as a fellow paper-pusher. I was at a coffee shop outside Boston, waiting for the rain to stop so I wouldn’t have to dash between sheets of ice cold raindrops just to catch the subway back to the office. He walked in and ordered a cup of coffee, added nothing, accepted the up-sale offer of a croissant, and sat down at the next table. I was doing the puzzles in the daily paper, glancing up every so often when the door opened, hoping to see the rain had abated, but to no avail. He noticed, and with a quiet grin, finishing his coffee, stood up and walked to my table. I looked up as he sat down, no invitation, no words, still with that quiet smirk. We sat in silence, and when I was particularly stuck on the crossword, I looked up and was startled by his eyes, staring directly into mine.
    “You want the rain to stop, but you keep sobbing, so it’s still raining.” His voice stopped everything. Tenor, melodious, smooth as caramel, gentle, yet incredibly demanding - all in one moment - and I knew this man was different in ways I couldn’t quite place. Not sitting in a metal chair in a coffee shop in Boston. He smiled in a sad way, and reached over to touch my hand. He held his hand just above mine, waiting.
    “What? Why?” I felt the blush rise in my cheeks. Could I have asked more ignorant questions?
    “Do you want me to touch you?” His voice was careful, sincere, respectful. His eyes open and hiding nothing, while offering a depth of knowledge I was afraid to know.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Yes, you do.” Then he let his hand drop the inch or so onto my hand. The immediate relief was astounding. I started to cry instantly, and while I thought of being ashamed, it never occurred to me that I in fact should feel no shame, I simply let the tears fall down my cheeks, his thumb rubbing soft lines across the back of my hand. “I would ask you why you cry, but I already know.”
    This stops me cold. I pull my hand back. Defcon 1. Full attentive defense, offensive ready at a moment’s notice - less than a moment if needed.
    His sad grin fades to just sadness. Just before he speaks I see the rain has stopped, and yet it is blacker out than before, or maybe it’s not black out, but black in - can it be black inside the shop?
    “Grace.” I hiss as he says her name softly.
    “Don’t.”
    “She wouldn’t want you to be so sad, you know.” The tears threatened to drown me again. The memories did instead. I saw it all over again. Our life together, the good times, the bad times, the night she left me, and then the morning she came back a week later. The house we bought together, the dogs we loved. Then the afternoon she  - the day she -
    “You can’t think of her death, can you?” He wasn’t sitting across from me anymore. I didn’t see him move, he just wasn’t there anymore. Neither was the coffee shop.
    “What happened? What did you do? What do you want?” I felt foolish for asking, but cared little, as there was little ego left to bruise.

Marriage and Kids

From FB post Wednesday, October 27, 2010 at 2:11pm

Even as I type that one word, I can hear in my head, the Archbishop from Princess Bride saying "Mahwage, mahwage is what keepswus togewer"...but that is not the point here...just an anecdote.
Ok,
An argument I recently had with someone was that 2 "gays" (or from what I discovered later in the argument, anyone in the community) who want to be married is as funny as 2 people of differing colors getting married. Or slavery for that matter. [I bet someone has already made this a chapter in some book, but here's my rant anyway.] If I wanted to marry a woman I haven't even met yet, say we meet next week, we fall madly in love, and I want to marry her for Christmas. Well, we can't get married in the Church - because we're going to hell, and we shouldn't contaminate the other holy parishiners - as they are against it, and we couldn't get married in most of the United States.
But say we pick one of the states that agrees to marry us, and not just give a Civil Union...fine, mostly New England, and then Iowa...or Mexico City (w00t). Now we're married. How to have children? I or she could look for a donor, and physically have one, or we could find a Juno and have theirs, or we could try globa, or domestic adoption. Now we're screwed. Many don't realize that in the same breath that most of the country was watching to see which way California would go, and if MA would hold it's ground, and if any of the other states would join us in Marriage...there were states who won't acknowledge the vote for marriage until they get past adoption.
Many states voted to keep same - sex couples from being ABLE to adopt children...What?!
Drug addicts can play nice and pass home inspections and adopt children. Pedophiles, Slavers, Drunks, "straights" who will abuse their children in one fashion or another once out of the cute stages of childhood - all allowed children, but not those dangerous same - sex couples.
I have a pair of friends who would make the best home for a child of any challenge (SGBLT, mentally challenged, physically challenged, aids, blind/deaf/mute, constantly happy, etc.) except possibly bigotry, but they know that to get married would invite ridicule if not violence from their family members, communities, and then to want children would cause even more drama...too much drama for a happy home.
I know life is not fair, and love from family comes in MANY twisted flavors that occassionally needs years and tuitions worth of therapy, personal reflection (many meanings there) or whatever helps you understand as I have, that love is love, and however well-intentioned will hurt you nonetheless until you're ready to outgrow the pain, and LIVE LIFE...but marriage is living life with someone else.
Then you are asking someone else to join you in hell....if it is not what people expect for you. And swearing at them is not the answer.
But to see my friends - couples I know across the spectrum (go rainbow!) - live a level of unfairlifeness (new word), that just upsets me.

How is it that a Black man can be President of the United States of America and one human being cannot be legally allowed to marry whomever they want? I'm not saying you have to like it, I'm not saying you have to approve...but damn. If you were told you couldn't marry your spouse...you shouldn't even live in the same house as they do...we shouldn't trust you to raise  children any more than we would trust a toddler near the edge of a volcano with no supervision or fireproof clothing...what would you do? How would you fight that? You would, wouldn't you? You would fight to be able to live your life, right? You wouldn't want to be able to compare your life to Jim Crow rules, do you? They didn't want the two "types" of people interbreeding...that one word says enough of the hate of those two centuries...but we are not far past such Hatred and Bigotry.
Even as an Ally, I too have been hated. Screamed at. Had violence done to me.
I've been called dyke, lesbo, carpet muncher, and worse; but when they tie in the fac tthat I'm Mexican with their insults, then I getmad for whole new reasons which I won't delve into (as I consider it off topic) here. [But Spic Dyke was one of my least favorite terms directed at me ever.]

I want to raise a family, and raise happy children with whomever I please - man, woman, one of each.
That's my rant.
Thank you.