I watched him dance

a vendor came into my office a little bit ago. My office is in the warehouse approximately half way between the East and West walls. the Fish department is directly behind and takes up the other half to the East. I am in a small modular.

A vendor came up a bit ago and popped his head in my door. He has been working on the HVAC system in Fish.

"there has to be a closer bathroom than the one across the building to where I have been working!" Said he.

"Um, there's one in the fish offices"

I gave him approximate directions. As I started explaining, he started dancing.

"Ok! gotta Go!"

He headed back to the Fish department.

I hope he made it...

I don't think I've ever seen a 50 some odd year old man do the peepee dance before. Especially at work...

I don't get it

The topic of conversation the other night turned to my love life and the frequency in which thing simply don't work out.

My friend Krystal said something that confused me greatly, not because it didn't make sense, but because I don't understand why it does.

"You", she said to me, "Might be too nice."

Which underlined my sister Wendy's comment once at a club when she said that I need to learn how to be a bitch. I spent the rest of the evening alternately practicing my emotionless bitch look and giggling at the absurdity of it. It must have worked because I managed to lure a fella about my age away from my little sister (she thanked me for it) on the dance floor where I proceeded to boogie and he played the air flute. Sure enough, once his fingers were tired, he politely invited me to the bathroom. I replied that I just went but that it was right over there.

I um; never saw him again. It wasn't until later that I realized what he was up to.  

I digress.

Apparently, I am too nice. If I want to keep a man interested, I need to be mean to him. 

It looks like I'm gonna live a pretty lonely life. I consider it a perk for any man I date to enjoy my goodies. I certainly can't eat all those cookies by myself (a portion goes to my wife, of course).  I enjoy being helpful. And I'm not going to sit at home alone so that I don't appear to be too available. If I'm going, he's invited. If I'm staying, well, he's invited to do that too. Cooking? Eat! I like to buy presents. I like to treat to dinner. I once volunteered to help a guy clean so I could spend time with him. Er... That was a mistake, but he was weird anyway. It's better that it didn't work out. 

I think he's the one, actually, that taught me that if I am mean to someone, it means I don't want to be around him. We fought all the time about really stupid stuff. I try not to be overwhelming, and I curb many of my nicey-nice temptations but when I catch myself being less than kind, even in my head, it tells me it's time to move on. If I haven't already been declared a "cool chick" and a "really great friend", I start plotting my exit. 

How am I supposed to reconcile the urge to be nice with the apparent dating requirement of being mean? Suppressing my nature hides who I really am and um, isn't that false advertising? I can hear it now...

"I can't date you anymore. I thought you were a bitch but you're actually nice. I just can't hang. I mean, you're a really cool chick and a great friend, but I'm looking for someone who will treat me like dirt..."

Oh wait. I think that may have already happened. Just not in those words.

So it looks like transient relations for me. At least until I find a nice guy who's had enough of the bitches.

S'allright I got plenty of yardwork to do, books to read, and yarn to spin.

A title can't explain it

I was sitting in between the two men having the following conversation today. They were standing up. As a rarity, I am using real names. Monikers just won't work this time.

Glen: Jason! Zip up your zipper!

Jason: Glen!

Glen: What?

Jason: You too!

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...gasp...HAHAHAHAHAHAHA wait... (looks down) Ok. I just had to check.

it still makes me giggle. things have gotten far too serious around here.

I start to worry

I haven't heard from my dad since right around Christmas when he called to get the low down on my darling niece. 

I was happy to hear that he and his girlfriend were finally living in a house, not on the street and that he was not only working, but clean and sober. 

Generally, my father is but a fleeting thought on my horizon. Usually, I have some forewarning that he's going to come back into my world whether it's to check in or to call asking for money (which he hasn't done in a little over a year since I had to tell him no, that I was also unemployed)  The forewarning usually comes in the form of little signs. A copy of Leroy and Stitch (A sequel to Lilo and Stitch where Stitch's evil brother Leroy comes to wreak havoc) at WalMart for example, sent me directly to my cell phone with a warning to my Seester, "he's going to pop up again"

It's been a couple of years since the major dramas but it's hard for me to forget the past and the hurts. I'll never forget that I love him.

Last week it was the odor of cigarettes and faint cologne at work. One of my coworkers, at that moment, smelled just like Daddy. 

Yesterday it was a friend who missed seeing his son. 

It brought back all the late visits. Of sitting by the window waiting for him to show. Of getting a call from him that he wanted to visit before his six months home was over. That he was leaving the next week and he wanted to see us before he went. Of the time I asked to go fishing with him and he turned me down. Or the time I knocked on his door only to hear him shush his friends inside. The door never opened. He had security cameras. He knew who it was. 

I really do try to forgive him all the things. I haven't seen him in over a year and I dreaded that Christmas day. I didn't want to go. I WANT to want a relationship with him. Except that I have worried and stressed over him for so many years that I dread picking up the phone when he calls. 

Despite the fact that he feels that way, I know Daddy isn't forever. I dread that call most of all. I know he isn't in good health. The years of hard living have taken their toll. I know I should call. Be better about keeping in touch even if only to make myself feel better later, but... But. Always a but. It's so much easier to live in my little world 500 miles from his and pretend that he will be there when I am ready for him to be there. 

I try to focus on the positive. Hours spent at the Swap Meet. How he used to take me treasure hunting on the cliffs. Lobster fishing off the OB Pier. Holding on to his powerful shoulders as he swam with me around the pool. 

There have been too many little indicators. He will be popping up in my world again. I will pray that it's a positive thing. There isn't a whole lot else I can do.

what happens?

My last roommate is following me on twitter. This means that if she hasn't already. She will find my blog.

I have mentioned often, especially in recent months how this is a place where I go to get things out. I thought about hiding it again, like I did when my father called to learn where to go to see pictures of me skating, but I realized that things said can't be unsaid. I have to own up to the things I say. I have to support it when I discuss what I percieve as the truth. I can't go hiding every time someone's feelings might get hurt.

If I don't want people to find it, to read it, I shouldn't write it here. there's a lot i don't write here. My blog is NOT anonymous. ginamonster is a moniker I have been using for a lot of years. A LOT of years. I'm pretty sure you can find me if you know my name at all. I've forgotten all the places I have placed links to my blog.

I'm sure that my perceptions of the time my last roommate and I lived together are completely different from her perceptions. I have admitted openly that some ofthe issues that I had may have been caused by my own attitude.

I have to learn to be okay with what people think. They might get angry. They might get some feelings hurt. Things I know are likely to cause issue, I write down elsewhere. I still keep a written journal for that stuff. You know, the stuff I don't want people to know right now. There is plenty.

I guess the point of this ramble is that I learned something today. I'm still here, and I will deal with the rest.

A warm fuzzy after such sad stuff

Things for which I will never be ready

My family moved a lot. By a lot I mean that I will always envy a little the people who grew up in the same schools, in the same house, eating lucky charms for breakfast (real ones, not the store brand "magic stars" with the effed up marshmallows which still tasted damn yummy). Pictures on the walls, grow up lines in the doorways. We moved every three years. Almost like clockwork. 

Not down the street, although we always stayed in San Diego, but usually across town. For me, this meant leaving old friends behind and finding new ones.  Generally, I never saw the old ones again. (I say generally because San Diego is a small town for a big city and I ended up running into old classmates over the years. But not until I was an adult)

The summer after 6th grade my parents did the unthinkable. They moved us to the boonies. The concept was cool. 5 1/4 acres of oak trees and rocks to climb. A playhouse for me (the inside was insulated but not finished so it turned out that I wasn't allowed to play in there because of the fiberglass. Sometimes, my friend from down the street and I played in the chicken coop instead. We didn't have chickens, just a coop) I started 7th grade in a school where almost everyone had been together since kindergarden. My sister had it worse. She was in 11th grade and had to leave a boyfriend behind.

I like to joke that I only had one friend. The truth is that I had two. I had trouble making friends for the first time in my life because I was new. The cliques were formed. I had all the wrong (hand me down) clothes and lived on the wrong side of town. The wilderness my parents moved us to had colonies of crack houses. People disappeared down there. We didn't know that then. I knew that the houses where the school bus picked us up were run down. I knew that the kids who lived there were a little dirty. That became prime real estate when the drug dens were cleared out by the fires of 2003. 

My sister and cousin though, thankfully, made some friends. One of them had a car. Much of my 7th grade year was spent in the back of that car. A Camero. It made me want a Camero. Robbie would come pick us up before and take us home after school. I felt like hot shit riding around in the trunk. (I did say the back of the car, right?). The car was soooo cooool. I was hanging out with older kids even though I knew it was only because I was the little sister. Rob would make the rounds dropping us all off. Sometimes he would hang out at our house. There would be rubber band fights and all around silliness before he went home. It was fun. It was good times. There weren't a lot of good times in that house. 

I didn't see him anymore after he and my sister graduated. The last time I saw him he was the best man at a wedding and he had a black eye. And a story to go with it. 

I think you know where this is headed.

Seester sent me his obituary tonight. 35 is too young. Somehow, I think someday 85 will be too young too. I know from talking to my Nana that I will never get used to this. It's one thing to say goodbye and never see someone again. It's something else to know you can't ever see them again. I don't know what happened. That town is still a small town and I'm sure we will find out. Seester keeps better in touch than I do. 

I'll never forget though, how Rob treated me like an equal instead of his friend's little sister. How he'd carefully close the glass lid over my head each morning. And drive me home each day after school.

I dreamed a dream

I don't often chronicle my dreams because well, it can get very boring to read. But this one was very realistic and indicative of the things going on in my life. I will place my comments next to the discussion so you can see why I found it important to mention.

In the dream, I was living with my Aunt and Uncle. The ones that live in Carson. My mother was visiting. (I don't usually see my Aunt and Uncle unless my mother is visiting. I have been having issues with this over the last couple days because they went to go meet my cousins in Santa Cruz for Easter and no one thought to let me know. This happens a lot, actually.) Chango lived there too. Suddenly, more dogs started appearing. They were lost. I felt as though I needed to post "found" ads on craigslist and get them back to their homes but I didn't have time because I had things to do. (I am feeling a little overwhelmed by life. Especially where it correlates to Derby. Between that and life, I feel like I have so much to tend to that nothing is getting done) Then, the kittens I have pledged to foster had been dropped off too. And they pooped on my bed. I only had myself to blame because they weren't box trained and I hadn't given them a box yet. I left the room.

When I returned, I discovered one of the kitties in a tub of cold water. I had been giving her a bath and forgotten about her. (Apparently, I dropped the ball. I am also nervous about fostering another litter after losing Tarzan last year. That still hurts. a lot) I picked her up and snuggled her close in a towel. I had just started to worry about whether she would ever warm up again or whether she would stay cold and die like Tarzan when my phone rang. 

It woke me up. I don't remember who called but she was surprised to find me still in bed. (It was one of the girls. She was checking to see if I had picked up her BF's hoodie last night. I am lost and found. Things tend to remain lost in my keeping for a very long time. I get frustrated because people don't keep track of their shit. Then I lose stuff and am humbled.) Last night was a late one; I didn't go to bed until 2. I woke up feeling extremely achey and tired. I found it difficult to get up but I knew that I needed to feed my critters and those of a friend who is out of town for the weekend. 

I still need to do my business taxes. I have to be at work again tomorrow at 5:30 am. Then I need to scan those pictures. There is something else too, but I don't remember what. Oh yeah. Chiropractor. Practice tomorrow night, board meeting Tuesday. Event meeting and practice on Wednesday. Maybe I will skip practice tomorrow. I don't want to. Practice is keeping me on the downhill slope to a size 6, among other things. As always, something needs to give. As always, I fear it's my sanity. Or my health. There were things I was supposed to do yesterday to prepare for last nights event. I blew them off and went to the dog park instead. Aside from the twinges of guilt for not following through, it felt GOOD to get outside. GOOD to sit and chat, or not chat while the dogs rolled about. NOT GOOD to get peed on. (embarrassing, but kind of funny if you don't think about how gross that is)  GOOD to tend to myself and Chango's needs instead of other people's wants. 

I'm at that point again. I'm not sure what to do. If I had known three years ago when I first showed up at the rink that I would end up wondering if Derby was worth my sanity, I probably never would have guessed that it would go this far. With that league, I don't think it would have.  This one is needy like a spoiled child. I think it always has been. The skaters want all the wonderful things that derby brings but they aren't willing to work for it. There is a very small group of us who does. We all say the same thing. "I'd love to be able to just skate, but I can't not be involved." "It would be so much easier if I could trust people to get it done." There may be people who will. I need them to step forward. Soon.

Delving into the past

D sent me a text today. Not completely unusual, although I have been hearing from him more in the last week or so than I usually do in a year. No matter, the point is that he was wondering if I had any old pictures. 

Old pictures of him, and surprisingly, pictures of us together. It's been close enough to ten years since the end that I don't really remember how many years it's been. He's never asked for pictures. Of COURSE I told him I would dig, scan, and send.

I started digging in the usual spot. The flowery box where my pictures go to rest. So many photos. Friends, family, pageants, pets. Very few exes. Considering D and I were together for 5 years, I really expected more pictures of him. 

Suddenly, I felt strongly how little of a life we had together. A wedding we attended; he's not in a single picture. I remember now that he chose to wander outside instead of joining the festivities. Camping trips, ski trips, Vegas...nope.

Then I remembered the X Box. It was created for the very reason of cleaning D out of my intimate world. It's grown since then. Not in size but in contents. Tonight, I had to make a difficult journey into it. Difficult because D isn't the only ex in the box. The momentos are varied and sometimes strange. Letters between C and I. E's phone number, written on a gift card Stena gave me one year. Rocks, jewelry, a chunk of wood. The tiny flower on a pin that was on my plate my first date with T. Pictures. Lots of pictures. Mostly of D and of C. I pulled out the best of them (including a shot of me eating my first bowl of pho!) and a couple of other things, newspaper clippings he might like a copy of, his old business card from when we first started dating, his first headshot. Things that if I know D, he will want to see. 

It was a strange trip down memory lane. Upsetting at times (I should shred those letters but I can't) but I don't see harm in it as long as opening the box doesn't become a habit. It's not. I have no wish to go back. My life is different now and I really am enjoying the present. After finding the pictures, I still maintain that D and I lived very different lives and in our years together, we grew apart. I've never questioned that we make better friends. Like anyone in the box, we weren't a good match. Some were better than others, but all ended for a reason. It felt good to pack the box back up and put it back in my closet. 

Tonight, I shall dream sweet dreams of the future.

Trying to get back on the horse

I'm a crafty bitch. Period. We all know it. It's a universal truth. I must make stuff.

But I haven't been. I don't remember the last time I sat down at my Sewing Machine. The last time I knit something. (January, actually. For both, now that I think about it) The last time I spun a good yarn. Or a bad one for that matter.

Sure, I've been baking like crazy, cookies, muffins. There just hasn't been any craftyness since before the roommate moved out. 

I'm not blaming her. At all. She didn't make it easier with her gross out over my fibers (even the dirty ones are only as dirty as a dog that's been rolling around in the dirt all day! And most of them arrive clean and ready to spin) and her constant interruptions, but I was crafting with her here. 

The point is, that I ned to get back on it. No more excuses. Sam gave me some fiber to spin up for her and by george, I'm gonna do it. Like, this week. Maybe right now. Outside. In the sunshine since it's beyond lovely out there.

Lets hope Chango doesn't try to eat it while I spin it...

inevidable

It was bound to happen eventually in a small town such as this one. But these things never happen where and when you think they will.

I was out with Derby folk last night, drinking well whiskey and fruity shots when I glanced over and noticed a familiar face.

He worked there. In that evil place I don’t even like to look at as it towers alone in the middle of the valley, garishly lit with purple lights, half of which are burned out and have been since before I worked there.

I’ve been dreading for a year, since I walked out of the building, personal effects in hand, my head held high, determined, above all, not to cry as I wondered if my dreams of owning a home were dashed just as I had finally gathered the courage to put an offer on one. Wondering where I would work in a town where I knew no one except my boss who resigned by the end of that day.

Worse, it was his mother who pulled the biggest betrayal of all. Forcing me to attend meetings with spreadsheets that were incomplete, only to be told by the CEO that I was wasting his time. Telling me what a wonderful job I was doing; befriending me during long meetings in her office that I attended off the clock in order to get the job done, then whispering in the ear of that same CEO that I didn’t know what I was doing, and taking credit for those same spreadsheets, now complete.

She wasn’t the only one. I dread ever running into the other two.

I’m not sure if he recognized me. I’m sure he did, we worked fairly closely together at one time. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t acknowledge him. In my mildly intoxicated haze I didn’t know what to do. Not that I would have if I had been sober, but by the time I reminded myself not to blame the son for the sins of the mother, he was gone.

I tried to explain it to CNR. I imagine it sounded lame, but he doesn’t know how that situation devastated me. Not just financially, but it shook the foundation of my belief that people are inherently good and that those things only happen on TV. How could he know? He didn’t know me then. He hardly knows me now, and as time passes, the details of that story grow fuzzier. When people ask me now, how I ended up on Reno, I tell then that I came here for a job and that it didn’t work out. I rarely say where. I tell the story even less.

Life is so much better now. I’m glad I stayed in Reno. I’m glad I was fired. I’m sure I will always feel negativity towards that place, but there is nothing there for me. I do not miss walking through that building. I’m happy with the job that I have, have grown accustomed to making less money but also going home after 8 hours paid and knowing that as long as I do my best, I still have a job. As far as I know, no one here feels threatened by me. No one here undermines my ability to do my job. As far as I know. I think I will always be a little on edge about that. I wake up every morning, and I don’t dread going to work. I don’t have to give myself a pep talk about how it’s going to be a great day because I already know that it will be. My biggest issues these days are whether or not I remembered my lunch. (I forgot it today…)(Except for that one thing which is eating at me; more about that as time progresses) There are days when I laugh so hard I cry.

I hope that the next time I run into someone from there I have the presence of mind to at least smile. Wave. I don’t have to be friendly. I don’t have to hang out. I don’t have to be buddies. I want as little connection to that place as possible. The occasional text messaging conversation with the maintenance dispatcher or the increasingly rare telling of the story. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be polite to former coworkers. They are people too and chances are; they are just as unhappy as I was.