You are currently browsing jesse james’s articles.
I was laid off last week. I’ve written several posts about it and once again nothing was posted. I’m still struggling with, well, god, to be honest, a lot right now. But I’m still struggling to find my way back to this space. So, instead of a dramatic play-by-play of how my last day went down, which is a good story and what I am used to writing and what you are used to getting, I’m going to try a different route, the insider’s scoop, i.e. what’s really going on with me rather than the story I could tell to distract us both from, well, me.
So, I lost my job last week. In some respect this is a huge relief for several reasons. In the other direction it seems to be heading up what some could define as a bit of an existential crisis… or really, I guess this is what’s tipping me over the edge onto one that has been lurking and looming for a while now. I know I can find another job – that’s not it at all, that’s the easy part. It’s the painfully exhausting question of what it is that I should be doing… really doing… with my life. And lately, just choosing whether or not to even consider this question tosses me down the rabbit hole so hard and fast that all of a sudden trying to consider a new career move puts everything about my entire existence on earth under question, under fire, under the spotlight and it takes just seconds in this mind space to expand bigger and bigger and bigger until I feel like my brain pops and everything freezes. Well, I freeze and the world keeps going.
I am being reminded by friends and loved ones regularly that I am really sensitive, highly sensitive, emotionally guided, whatever you want to call it. My dad just had me take the Myers Briggs test the other night and surprise! The world breaks my heart regularly and I care so intensely about everything that it wouldn’t be beyond me to name and care for wild animals with the same love and regard as a family member.
And if you’re laughing, so am I. I mean, I’ve written more stories here about a raccoon than my best friend. I cried for a week when Fraidy Phat the Fish died and it still makes my heart hurt. So, I’m not worried about or trying to downsize my being a bit more concerned with/ emotionally invested in/ sensitive about things that might slide a bit easier by another person. That is just who I am. That part, as exhausting as it can be (for everyone), I’m ok with. But I have been concerned with the extent in which this has me flat out frozen. Having no clue what to do, what it all means, as a result, I’m not getting any closer to doing anything at all. Or at least, right now it feels that way.
(As a semi-relevant side note: I’m reading a physics theory book that is only compounding my unrest by confirming the importance of my questions alongside the impossibility of every knowing the answers to any of them. Basically, this book is confirming that the foundation of my existential crisis is backed up by hard science. Awesome. Now try to sleep.)
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?”
…is one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite poems by my very favorite poet, Mary Oliver. I think this line frequently. I get to an impasse, whether to turn left or right or which college to attend and I think this line. And usually, when I think it, sing it, chant it, it makes me smile, my body flutters with the potential of it. But lately, it has been haunting me. It’s as if her tone has sharpened and there is a clock ticking in the background. This all sounds so dooms day and I don’t mean it to sound this way. I know this isn’t my usual style.
Except that I want all of my questions about life, purpose and meaning answered in full, I really don’t know what my problem is right now. My optimistic guess is that it’s a culmination of things and that at some point all of this angst will have worked in my favor, offering insight and information that I wouldn’t normally tune in to. You know, where in hindsight you just briefly mention to your friend, “Ya, that was a bit of a rough patch but look where it got me.” I’m holding tight for that version.
I’m turning 35 next week (and now you say, “ah ha!”). I know. But birthdays usually don’t hold much power over me. I mean, I like cake and Violet always gets me something really sweet, but this one is bugging me, tugging at me in a way I’ve never dealt with before. It feels like this number is creating time lines on certain things that just undeniably need to be flushed out in a way that I could always answer “someday” to before. I know that along with a series of things, this is making me review and scrutinize my life under a slightly brighter bulb with a series of questions I’ve thus far dismissed with, “no comment.” But now I want answers. And for certain things, I think I need them.
What I also want to do is just get over myself. I’ve learned this to be a key component to living with myself without driving myself totally bat shit crazy. I come close to nutso but then, just in time, I get over myself just enough to continue putting up with me. But now that’s beginning to feel more like complacency or fear. Or maybe it’s a part of survival? Hell if I know… if I haven’t made that obvious enough.
- - -
The sun is out today and has been for a few days and that is a really good thing for me right now. Even though it’s still cold out, that bright cobalt blue sky is reminding me that it really will be warm again. Flower seeds are making roots and incredible plans of escape. The light really is returning. I tend to forget that right around now. Or maybe you noticed?
It’s been awhile, huh? And once again I have no idea where to start, so I’ll just go the same old route that has served me well thus far and ramble until one of the sentences looks like a good place to stop.
Truth be told, I’ve written a few posts and then wimped out and never put them up. My unconquered fear of this space finally got me.
Initially, I started this blog at the consistent and flattering push of Sinclair. I wrote a piece on her site years ago and her adoring fans were very kind towards my first online publishing. After that, with a few more, “come on, just do it” and a lot of set up help from Sincalir I did it. And so began Just Like Jesse James. And I’m so glad I did. I could write forever about how much this space and the connections in it mean to me, how, at many different times, it has been my saving grace. I love this place.
But in starting this totally public blog, writing out loud if you will, I have always struggled with my identity here. Let’s just pop the bubble and be honest, (spoiler alert!) my real-life, walking, talking name is not Jesse James. My life revolves around a few more characters than my best-fish-friend, a raccoon (who I haven’t seen in quite a while), the Seal, Cher and Violet. Although they are major, maaaajor players in my day to day, it’s a much bigger, more complicated world for me than that and that is where this blog stops- right where there is no punch line or obvious lesson to be learned. Everything past that is the event horizon of this blog-universe and just falls off into the land of things that happen in my life and go unwritten.
And pretty unconsciously the boundary on this continued to tighten until I had almost nowhere left to go. And so the obvious, you haven’t heard from me in a while.
Sinclair has told me a few times, “you are a master at telling a story about yourself without revealing anything.” Greg said something very similar when I met her as well. And oh how that is true and I take some pride in that. It is also something I’m working on doing less of. Sharing in general, reaching out, not being so private is HARD for me. I can’t even begin to tell you how hard. Which could lead you to think my blog seems a bit ironic then, but that’s not the case at all.
JLJJ was the beginning of working on this fear of sharing myself. A lot of writing here was just learning how to come out in a bunch of little ways, through stories. I used to read and reread every post over and over to try and dissipate some of the panic I felt when I finally pushed “publish”. (And then when the comments would come, dear god, more panic.) Slowly but surely I came to appreciate that under my alias I was free(r) to write (my) truths and that here they didn’t need to be edited or filtered through the social structures and dynamics that are everywhere else in my day to day. I could be in this space, say whatever I want and 99.9% of you could pass right by me on the street, having no idea that I’m Jesse James. I loved that! So James Bond.
This duality has never ceased to keep things a bit complicated (and interesting), having two worlds to walk in (and walk quite differently in at times). But there is something about the two of me that I cherish remarkably and that has acted as a profound outlet to bits and pieces of who I am that might never have seen the light of day otherwise. Like songs that get sung in the shower. Or like when I pretend The Seal is an opera singer and how I sing Cher songs, really loudly, in an operatic voice, pretending that The Seal is singing them… but only when it’s just us. This is something I am trying to figure out how to hold on to somehow… and maybe merge a bit?
Here’s the dilemma in a tighter little nutshell: I have a really hard time sharing my brain (and let’s just stay honest, heart too) with people I know and love (weird, but that’s the deal.) So, I started this blog to share my brain with people that don’t know me because that made me feel safe and set me free(r). But then, there’s a twist! My relationship with the blog continued to grow and so did the relationships with quite a few of the readers and other bloggers. Oh no! My love for you is real! And so, I began slowly tightening the reins on what I felt safe and comfortable saying until I finally ran out of things to say at all.
Jesus, that is just ridiculous.
But that is what happened.
I guess the other unconquered fear to my blog-world-life is a really obvious one in that anyone can come in, read my brain, do whatever they want with it and leave. However, that has never been as scary to me as the ideas in the previous paragraph. And I’ll always cherish the woman who called me a left winged bigot. Always.
So, once again, here I am, at the end of another ramble. Only this time, I’ll post it. This time I’ll stop writing before there is a punch line or some lesson learned. Truth be told, most of the time, I don’t have either.
Aaaaaaaand… gulp… publish.
Please note that this entire conversation was apropos of nothing. In fact, we were both just doing our own thing, listening to music…
Violet: You know what?!?
Me: Nope. What?
Violet: We should have our first dance be to a Cher song!
Me: Don’t play with me like that, V.
Violet: I’m serious. It would be perfect.
Me: I have found the one.
Ok, so, let me just throw out the hook right off the bat and you can decide if you want to keep reading: This story will get to a point where my stepmother is packing heat (yes, a fucking gun) in the middle of the night with her 60 year old, pot smoking, Grateful Dead lovin’ neighbor friend to kidnap a puppy from a different nearby neighbor that is known in the area simply as “that crazy motherfucker.” So, if that doesn’t interest you, I got nothing.
You’re on your own now.
My stepmother. I’ve never mentioned her here before because she and I have little contact and when we do it is either slightly awkward to somewhere around full blown THIS IS SO AWKWARD, awkward. She and I just don’t click. We have nothing in common but my dad… and our deep and sometimes mocked and sometimes (admittedly, but with no shame or apology) over-the-top passion for all things alive. But mostly, we are just so very different in every single other way. The first time we hung out she took me to get our nails done. I am a lesbian… with no nails to be “done” really, but whatever. She is a wonderful woman, we’re just not a match. But she is perfect for my dad and makes him remarkably happy, in a way that rests me assured that he has found the one. She is beautiful too. Quite beautiful. My dad is a fine lookin’ dude himself, don’t get me wrong, but if someone was to whisper “trophy wife” behind their back, I wouldn’t be surprised nor would I defend this.
So, a few weeks ago my stepmother, Marsha, was on a walk with a friend of hers when this adorable little yellow lab puppy came running into the street, her whole body wiggling, tail a-flappin, to say hello.
My dad and Marsha live out in the boonies, so by “street”, I mean a semi-paved area where cars, although very rarely, can go to get from place to place.
Also to note, Marsha is not an animal lover, she is a fanatic. She has three horses, 4 cats, several fish, a few birds and a little dog. She also has an unheard of relationships with the local deer, skunks (you heard me), snakes, birds and other wildlife in the area. And by relationships, I mean, she knows and cares for them, as individuals, and they know her, as a safe place in a way that is totally appropriate in that they are still totally wild, but that just doesn’t happen with wild animals and humans.
So, this little wiggly puppy comes running into the dirt road and Marsha and she go into that crazy frenzy where the dog is rolling all over the ground while Marsha is squeaking all of these sounds about how she is “da cewtest widdle puppy baby ever ever ever!” when all of a sudden the neighbor, lovingly known as “that crazy motherfucker” comes to the edge of his property, still behind a fence and says, “Sorry ladies, that little shit spends her whole day trying to get out of here. Can you grab her for me?”
Marsha grabs the little yellow lab and hands her over the fence while commenting on how adorable she is. When “that crazy motherfucker” got his dog back he said, “It’s all looks so far” and as Marsha and her friend start to walk away Marsha turns back to see “that crazy motherfucker” on the ground, tackling the baby dog to the ground, choking her neck with his hands to where the puppy is coughing only to then stick a running water hose down her throat. And as the puppy is gasping and gagging he is chanting, “You don’t dig holes! You don’t leave the yard!”
Here’s the obvious piece: My stepmother freaks out. She is so freaked out that she can’t speak. She runs home, leaving her friend on the road to find her own way and shuts herself into her bedroom and sobs uncontrollably for hours. Later that night she calls the police. She tells them that the puppy is being seriously abused and that she will file this complaint as a witness.
The police pretend to listen, say they’ll come by and eventually it is obvious that they are going to do nothing.
Days go by and my stepmother is a wreck. My dad tells me that what she saw has turned into the only thing she can think about.
Dad tells her it bothers him too but he doesn’t know what they can do but to continue calling the police when they see incidents.
So, here’s the awesome part, the reason I’m writing this story.
Dad is out of town on business for a few days. Marsha has told a few close friends in the area what happened and to let her know if they see or hear anything about this poor little puppy so that she can file more complaints.
One night last week, Tuesday, one of her neighbors calls, “Marsha! The puppy is out in the yard… alone.” Marsha told this friend, the 60 year old pot smoking hippy, to meet her at the south side of their property (they have several acres) in 10 minutes.
Marsha has a plan. A plan that she had built and rebuilt in her head more than 20 times in the last few days. She already knew what she was going to do. So, when the adrenaline took over it didn’t matter, she was ready to go.
To start, she grabbed a gun.
Like I mentioned, they live out in the middle of nowhere and my dad travels, plus, my stepmother is a badass cowgirl. She triple checked that the safety was on and tucked it into the back of her pants. She grabbed a leash, checked one more time that the safety was on and she left the house at 11:30 at night.
She met her neighbor right where they had planned. Marsha figured this was a quick bedtime pee break for the puppy and knew she needed to act fast. She knew the dog’s name because the “crazy motherfucker” had called the dog, “Danny” a few times as he shoved the water hose down her little puppy throat that day.
With her right hand resting on the gun in the back of her jeans, she whispered, “Danny! Danny come!” And she and her neighbor friend waited.
Nothing. They couldn’t see anything either. It was a particularly dark night.
“Danny!” She exclaimed. Sounding a bit more serious and with some panic, “Danny come here!”
They waited. Minutes went by.
Her friend looked to her with a face that read, “this is over” when all of a sudden a little blond baby dog came bounding towards them in a pitch black night with that run that new puppies have, where all of their legs are there and working, but definitely not yet in sync. She ran so hard and so fast in the dark that Danny slammed her head into the fence right in front of Marsha.
Marsha, in a single bound, hopped the fence, grabbed Danny and handed her to her neighbor. She hopped back over the fence, took Danny back and said, “At this point we’re in trouble. You should just go home. Thank you so much for the phone call.”
The next morning, around 7 a.m., my dad got back from his trip. He travels a lot so his return is standard: his little dog greets him, Marsha gives him a hug and a kiss and makes him a latte (or dinner or whatever), the cats rub up against his leg and then he and Marsha go and tend to the horses or watch a movie or whatever.
This particular morning he came home, walked inside his house, put his suitcase down, only to find the most adorable little yellow puppy bulldozing towards him, who then jumped up on her hind legs, putting her paws on his thighs and started licking the air profusely until he finally picked her up so that she could attack his face with her tongue. He was amused and he admitted this to me when he told me this story, but he was also very concerned and very mad.
Here’s what happened next:
Dad: “MARRRRRSHAAAAA!” (this was far from the first time he came home to a new animal in the house)
Marsha: “Oh you’re home a bit early. Hey baby, want a latte!?!”
Dad: “Don’t do that. What the hell is the crazy neighbor’s dog doing in our house!?”
They talked it through, Marsha told him what had happened and after he calmed down he very begrudedly agreed to participate in what I call “saving a dog’s life” but what could also be legally recognized as “grand theft puppy”.
So, the little puppy lived with them for a few days before they could figure out what to do. She was quite thin for her size so Marsha spent most of her time feeding her and rubbing her and kissing her widdle face all over.
If they could, they both agreed they would adopt Danny, but with the “crazy motherfucker” less than a quarter of a mile away this was not an option, so, Marsha did her research and found an adoption agency that specifically deals with abused animals needing to relocate. She explained the situation, minus the fact that she was packing heat at the time of the kidnapping and they agreed to take the puppy and find her a home. Two days later Marsha brought Danny to this agency where they then took her to her new home.
Danny’s new home is big, with a lot of land to run free, which clearly she needs. There are three young kids and two parents. So far Danny has not attempted any great escapes, making people feel even more confident that this is a good fit for Danny. Marsha said she’ll keep up with them every now and then, making sure Danny is ok and the family invited this idea.
My advice to the family: Best of luck with your new little wiggly baby dog! But also, check yourself before you wreck yourself. If you don’t do right by little Danny don’t get all surprised when a pretty good looking shy-by-day-but-don’t-fuck-with-animal-rights-by-night fanatic ends up in your backyard with a gun and an older stoned hippy lady sidekick, all sorts of ready to do right at any cost.
Seriously. It’s happened before.
About a week ago, Violet and I bought a bunch of fish. We wanted ten or maybe even twenty but then the fish-sales-guy did this crazy up-sell and talked us into twenty five. I don’t know how and I don’t know why we agreed but we did and so we have. We got back into our car with a big bag full of fish and as we drove they swam.
The pond has been empty for a while. I’m not an easy repair with a broken heart but when spring started to spring this year I knew it was time. Last month I bared the grief and drained the pond completely. I scrubbed it out and have since attempted to “balance” it and get it ready for new fish life.
I still think about and miss, very much, my best fish-guy and am not the kind of person who likes to replace. I would much rather dwell on how much I miss Fraidy and how no fish could or will ever take that fish-love-spot in my heart. But, this pond is actually just a well-kept mud puddle of standing water when there is no life inside- so.
So, now there are twenty five little fish dudes and dudettes swimming around, trying to find there place in this new home. Like I mentioned briefly in my last post, I have yet to make any new fish friends but I do enjoy seeing that calm and beautiful space filled with flippy, splashy, swimming life.
Just today, just now, I went out there to give the little guys and gals some food and maybe even try to get to know them a bit. As I scattered the fish flakes, all of a sudden, one of the little baby fish came swimming towards me and then very dramatically turned the other direction and splashed away. It reminded me of the way Fraidy would show off in the evenings when I’d get home from work and come to say hello. I then noticed that minus the lipstick-red lips, this little pint-sized baby showoff fish had almost the same markings as Fraidy.
It’s no big deal really, except that it made me pause and realize, that somehow, somewhere along this way, some repair has happened. And of course, I want these little baby fish to swim and thrive and have the best little fish lives that they can. But beyond that, I am also willing to consider, at the very least, the notion of, the potential to and the possibility of, loving, differently, again.
An old photo of my best-fish-dude, Fraidy Phat the Fish:
Here’s what I’ve decided: If I don’t just start to write, in the middle, towards the end or even just make something up you’ll never hear from me again. My hang up, this whole time, after a few weeks went by from post to post, was where do I start now?
This weekend I spent a lot of time with an old friend who I hadn’t seen or talked to in several months and we just picked right up with, “As I was saying…” as if less than 5 minutes had passed since the last person spoke.
And then I thought to myself, I can do this. I can do this on my blog.
So, as I was saying…
Let me start towards the end, and see where we go. I’ll use the greg-bullet style to get things rolling (hold on tight folks, the margins are going to be a wonky mess and all over the place! And I don’t know how, have time, or care to learn, to fix any of that.)
- Most recently, as in 5 minutes ago, I submitted the “ok” to an editor who is putting the final touches together for a story of mine that will be publish sometime this summer. When I have permission to talk about the book (a compilation of essays by different authors), I will of course, let you know more about it, where to find it, etc. I’ve never been officially “published” before so, this is rather exciting.
Speaking of exciting, I’ve got news. News that makes me feel light headed and nervous even as I type. But I’ll wait a second and mention this little bite first:
- Violet and I were in San Fransisco in May and we both really liked it there. It is a gorgeous city. I did some research and the sun shines there 100 more days a year than here. The people were really nice, in this way that weirded both Violet and me out. Like, we would walk by someone and they’d be all, “Hi.” And we’d be thinking, “why in the world are you acknowledging our existence, you freak!?” But we’d just shoot this look of confusion as we returned the hello. We both began to realize the we have been overly Seattle-ized and that a lot of places in this country aren’t like here. Seattle is great and has been very good to us for a long time now. But, in general, it is overly behaved and passive in a way that can be very isolating in a way that you forget to notice. After you are done being constantly offended by the lack of real interaction with people you don’t know you just sort of get used to it – that is, until you go somewhere else and are reminded that humans do talk to people they don’t know and for no other reason sometimes but that they are both in the same place at the same time. It’s an awesome concept and I miss it. A lot. So, we both applied for jobs there and just when we decided we didn’t even make the form-letter “thanks but no thanks” email I got a call and have been asked to interview in a few weeks. Obviously, this is to be continued.
Ok, you skipped to this part of the post anyway, so here you go:
(this is the shortest version of anything you’ll ever get from me, ever.)
- Two weeks ago Violet and I spent a week in San Diego. One morning we were sitting on a gorgeous beach in La Jolla. The sun was shining, the waves were rolling up to tickle our toes when she told me she loved me. I put my arm around her as I stared at the ocean and then she pulled a ring out of her pocket and asked me to marry her. I said I would think about it and get back to her within 3 to 5 business days.
Actually, I smiled and kissed her, watched her put a really sweet and delicate gold band on my finger and told her nothing in the world sounded like a better idea.
I knew she was going to propose. We both knew. We’ve talked about it a lot and for quite a while, but that has nothing more or less to give or take from one of the better moments I’ve ever had. I have a book I could write at this point, on all of the things around marriage that Violet and I have talked about and I’ll put some of that out here later. We have very particular and intentional reasons for exactly why we are engaged, exactly why we will get married and several ideas brewing as to how we will marry. They are lovely and profoundly important and intimate reasons and they all make me blush and they all make me even more excited to move in this way, forward, if you will, with my best friend. And what ever pieces I can brave to let out, set free, I will write about here. Later.
- In more general-life upkeep news, the Seal is still the raddest dog ever. Marcus has been rather elusive but her big fat babies are out and about, causing trouble and knocking our garbage and compost down and all over. Last week Violet and I bought 25 little baby gold fish that are now zig zagging around our pond, playing fish games by day and hiding from Marcus’ babies at night. So far I haven’t really made any new fish friends but they seem happy and I look forward to naps in the yard next to them.
So, I’ll leave things here for now. This is a start. A start to the middle of it all.
More to come.
You know when you click on something to watch on YouTube because a friend who tends to have pretty good (i.e. similar) taste sends you a link and then you give it all of 2 seconds to totally impress you which, even if it does, in no way guarantees you will last another 10 seconds and then you realize that you’re not just impressed but mesmerized and as you continue to keep watching you continue to squash the explosively dynamic feeling of unrest transforming itself into resolve to an outwardly reaction-less implosion because you don’t want to interrupt or chance missing even the tiniest, most insignificant bit even though there isn’t actually a moment that would qualify as insignificant and then when it’s over you watch it again and again plotting what to do next, how to share it with eyes and brains and ears that will probably get and maybe even appreciate it as well and so, then all of a sudden you’ve turned into the person sending a link to someone in hopes that they will watch it? Ya, me too.
Here’s the video:
(Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Beyonce, but come on, no we don’t.)
to this face…
I woke up late this morning because I could. Yesterday there were rumors flying around that I would potentially wake up to several inches of snow and get to stay home. I got up, peeked out the window where there was not a flake to be found. Bummer, but oh well. I went downstairs to find fresh coffee, a la Violet, and hopped online, like I do. Then WOMP! I saw the news. It is everywhere!
EQUALITY HAS ATTACKED AMERICA! (also being covered under the guise of “Obama Orders End to Defense of Federal Gay Marriage Law”
My favorite despondent correspondent is this lady from FOX. that Joe. My. God posted this morning.
Her eyes are popping out of her head. Her speech is slurred. She’s just sort of yelling at the camera, fumbling over “s s s same s s s sex…”
I don’t get off on other peoples unhappiness, and in this case, on other people freaking the fuck out. But this morning, while sipping a delicious cup of liberal-launched, fair trade, organic, shade grown, french roast coffee while watching Megan and so many others simply dissolve into terrified, mumbling idiots because I might some day soon be that much closer to being recognized as much a citizen as I am human in this country, well, I just find that amusing.
It was a toss up this morning, whether to try my damnedest to finally write a post for my blog or update my resume. Somehow the space between December and now, here, feels like miles. And for the many times in my every single day I feel this aching pull to get back to this space I get stuck on, “but where do I start now?” I don’t know where to start, or where I left off really.
My life, since starting this new job, has shifted and changed so drastically and so suddenly. Mostly this is a good thing but in other ways I’ve been so consumed by all of the new that I have put aside and flat out dropped pieces of myself, like this blog, that are so, so very important to me. So, here I am, trying to get back.
Hi there, friends and passersbys. How have you been?
How about I start with the recent good in my life, the stuff that is keeping me above water as I continue to struggle a bit, to find a balance and other things:
Last week I turned 34 and for this Violet, the Seal and I went on at weeklong vacation in the middle of gorgeous Nowhere Washington where the three of us did a whole lot of skiing, eating, napping, kissing, laughing and nothing at all, all the live long days. We were surrounded by huge mountains and trees and deer, unfamiliar faces, good food, tucked in a beautiful warm cabin with no responsibilities as far as all of my mind’s attempt to circle back to worrying about something could find. It was amazing. I needed it. Badly. It was a simple get away and both Violet and I are toting it as potentially the best vacation we’ve ever had together… so far, of course.
When we re-entered reality I immediately crashed, emotionally, again. I keep doing this, which has me considering a few serious changes, one being my place of work. (The job is ideal, nearly perfect, the place in which I do this is not, but this, hopefully, will be a different post, post a resolve of sorts.) So, I skimmed the surface of responsibilities and made it through my short work week. The light at the end of this week being an evening out with my bestie in the whole wide world and universe, including all other yet-discovered worlds and universes, Rene, that Friday. She and I, as I have mentioned before, have known each other our entire lives. Well actually, I was born 12 days earlier than she, so I guess I had a week and some without her, but that, very truly, is all.
So, just this last Friday Rene picked me up so that we could celebrate our 34th anniversary out on the town together, just the two of us, which is not something we find much time for these days. And usually when we do find time together we make grand plans of going out, drinking fancy drinks and then going dancing till the wee hours. And what we end up doing is choosing to order Thai food around 5 pm., eat it right out of the containers at her place, in sweatpants (that we like to call “our eatin’ pants”) as we watch the trashiest tv we can find while talking about anything and everything, like we do. And this sort of evening is usually all said and done, with us soundly sleeping by 10p.m… 11 p.m. at the latest.
But for our 34th anniversary, for this one, Rene was pretty insistent that she wanted to go out! Wear real clothes and go out in public, together. So, that’s what we did.
We had a lovely evening, which is obvious enough. We ate, drank, and talked about everything. We wrapped things up early, like we always do, and headed back to my place around 8:30.
On the way home Rene said, “It’s pretty early, even by our standards. How about I come in for a drink and just hang out for a bit.” I thought that sounded great. I warned her that Violet was out with friends and so I was certain she turned the heat down to below freezing and that it might be chilly in there at first. Normally Rene would admit to minding this, but she just said, “Oh well, it will warm up. That’s fine.” I guess if there was anywhere to get suspicious, that was it. But I just said, “Ok then.”
We pulled up to my house, I unlocked the door and said hello to the Seal as she ran towards me like a wiggly flood of happiness, like she always does. But then…
As I looked up I saw streamers hanging from the ceiling and then… then as my eyes began to drift to the left I saw a friend of mine, Mark, standing on my stairwell, in the dark. And as my mind began to lose grip on what was real and what was not I saw another friend of mine, standing right next to Mark, standing next to another friend of mine, standing next to another friend of mine… on my stairwell. And just as soon as my brain let my eyes realize that my stairwell was covered in friends they all yelled, “Surprise!”
Violet, who, before meeting me, used to be an honest girl who couldn’t even exaggerate without blushing, had totally duped me and collaborated with Rene and everyone else that I love and adore so much and threw me a surprise party. And let me tell you, I was so, so very surprised. After they all yelled “surprise” I started to feel this feeling, along with a mad rush of adrenaline and an overwhelming jolt of immense love for every single smiling face I also felt like my legs were going to give out on me. I don’t think I was going to faint, but I certainly couldn’t stand so I just sort of fell back onto the couch and sat there staring at the stairwell full of all of my favorites. Speechless. And if you’ve ever read any of this blog or know me at all, you know that speechless is not a common condition.
Eventually, I pulled myself mostly back together and had an incredibly fabulous evening with an amazing collection of wonderful, favorite people. Two of my newest wonderful-favorites being Jen and Sara (from we are (having) so much fun.)
Looking around my living room that night was like a head count of reasons and reminders why I am very certainly, one of the luckiest.
So, there we have it. This little snippet of the best of my world lately is my attempt to reopen the door back into my own blog and all of the other places that keep me upright in the day and warm at night. More to come… and thanks for hanging on and coming back.
Recent Comments