It's Quiet ... But Not Quiet Enough

Halloween 2008 included friends, handing out candy to cuties, and my red hair with one hell of an afterlife.  Actually, that afterlife lasted almost a full year.  In short, the red spray did not only get on my hair for a fun spooky night effect but also on my bathroom walls, sink, and, most importantly, the bathroom linoleum.  From light tan to pink in one step.  Nothing got it out. 

A few weeks ago, I sucked up my pride, contacted my apartment complex and finally asked how much it would be to replace that bathroom linoleum.  I anticipated that it would come out of my security deposit anyway once I moved out; no one would want an apartment with linoleum that looks like it got a bit too intimate with the Pepto-Bismol.  My landlords rock ... not only did they replace it promptly once I asked, they essentially patted me on the head, told me I'm a good tenant, and didn't charge me a dime for it. 

*lively linoleum limbo* 

Sadly, I now love my bathroom linoleum and hate the perfectly adequate kitchen linoleum. *sigh* 

Thus ended the horror of Halloween 2008

---------------------------------

Halloween 2009 includes no friends, no candy, no dress-up.  Sad? Pfft.

Halloween 2009 began with a facial (Aaaah, Indigo), continued with a flick (Aaaaah, Clive Owen in The Boys Are Back at Celebration Cinema), included a hot, soft pretzel with cheese and dark chocolate English toffee (Aaaaah, Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory), moved on to new boots (thank you JCPenney), new books (via the new Barnes and Noble), and rounded out nicely with Chicken Bowtie Festival and Tiramisu (care of Carino's). 

Not bad for a single person with no plans, right?

Right.

I'm home now, cocooned in my totally cool, black Hogwarts hooded fleece, watching a channel surfer's combination of an NCIS marathon and spooky movies (Halloween 1, 5, 4, who knows).  All should be well.

[Note: picture is a year or so old and, although I have been known to enjoy a stogie once in while, I am not doing so tonight. It is the only pic of said fleece I could find.]

And all would be well except for one annoying fact: people keep calling, texting, or otherwise notifying me of their party-dress-candy-fun-family-friends-filled plans for this all hallows' eve.  There is nothing quite like seeing pictures of others' beautiful children dressed in horrifically cute costumes, eager faces smiling with bags and pumpkins in hand ready to beg for sweets to remind you of what you lack.  Don't misunderstand me, I love seeing the pictures, love hearing about the fun ... just not in the seemingly concentrated two-hour span that just ended. 

And not when I'm home alone with no candy and no prospects for kidsters knocking and getting miffed at the oversight of sweetness.

I remember a time when I dressed up to hand out candy while my ex took my stepson around the neighborhood for trick or treating.  I LOVE handing out candy.  I also love finding glow-in-the-dark makeup and attempting to inspire some nightmares that will later shock the kiddies out of their sugar-induced comas. 

I miss that.

So, next year, when you're making your Halloween plans, take a second to think of any of your own single friends, living in apartments, who might like to come help with your candy hand-out.  Believe me, even if they have some hot adult party they are attending (please and thank you), they will still appreciate the invitation.

Meanwhile, it's quiet here ... but not quite quiet enough.
Happy Halloween, All Hallows' Eve, Festival of Samhain ....

The Biggby Jinx

Is my Biggby Coffee jinxing me? I think so.

It's a well known (to me) fact that there seems to be a shortage of hot (to me) professional SINGLE males (HPSM) in my city.  Believed to spend much of their days in office buildings, these elusive creatures are rarely seen.  Their continued existence is, at times, only confirmed during the summer festival days when groups of females will wander downtown Grand Rapids in a daze with one shared thought:

"Where have you (and you and you and you) been hiding??!!!" 

Now, perhaps a less known fact is you can occasionally run into a HPSM at local coffee houses.  For example, I was stunned recently when standing in a building lobby outside my local Biggby, talking on my cell phone, to be confronted with not one, but five such individuals walking through the lobby.  I continued bravely with my conversation but blaring through my head, reminiscent of a festival day, was, "Where have you (and you and you and you and YOU) been hiding??!!!" 

[Answer: apparently in this particular building, the location of which I will take to my grave.]

One would think this phenomenon suggests we should support our local coffee houses thus feeding the addiction that brings the HPSMs out in the open.  That's probably true; however, recent events suggest that my local Biggby is actually jinxing me around the HPSM.

Two days ago, I made my way to Biggby for my daily SSML (that's skinny skinny mocha latticino, no whip - oh yeah, I'm one of those people).  Leaving with my cup o-chocolate goodness, I began walking through the lobby when a seemingly HPSM rounded the corner walking toward me.  Eyes met, smiles were exchanged.  He said, "Hello."  I said, "Hello." 

Jinx #1:  Said "Hello" was followed promptly by a stumble worthy of an I Love Lucy episode.  Although I managed to keep my ass from hitting the ground and (most of) my coffee from doing the same, my undulations and grunts were really not the stuff of successful first meetings.  *horror*

One day ago, I made my way to Biggby for my daily SSML.  Leaving with my cup o-chocolate goodness, I made my way through the lobby and was approaching the doors when I heard an elevator *ding* over my left shoulder.  Instinctively, I looked toward the sound only to see the same HPSM exiting said elevator and shifting his eyes in my direction.  A smirk.  A smirk followed by a "Hi."  Excellent, right?

Jinx #2:  My uncontrollable response to this encounter as a 30-something professional female was to giggle.  GIGG-GAAAAL!!  I also managed one squeaked, "Hi," worthy of Jr. High but apparently that was not enough ... another giggle escaped on my way out the door.  *mortification*

Today, I made my way with a certain amount of trepidation to Biggby for my daily SSML.  I did not see the same HPSM today. No. I did see an older specimen encountered three times before but lately thought extinct.  I had actually engaged the older specimen (and by older, I only mean that I would not feel quite as puma-ish around this particular HPSM as the other admittedly puppish example) in casual conversation about the daily trivia question, shared laughter, no trippage.

Jinx #3:  The older pup entered Biggby with a tall, leggy brunette. *throws up hands and walks away*

I'm beginning to think there's something in that latticino. 

Why?

Because, well, because the alternative is that it's just me. 

.....


Naaaaaaaah.  It's the freakin' coffee.

The Twilight Saga ... Seriously Condensed

Click *here* ONLY if you've already read all four books.



Don't say I didn't warn you.







I would give proper thanks to the artist but I haven't a clue who that would be ... I can only thank my little sister for a chuckle-filled tweet.

A [Likely Temporary] Epiphany

Do you remember where you were when you first really recognized your own mortality? You know, that complete realization that you WILL die at some point in the future?


[I know, great cheery topic for my first post in two months but don't fear ... there's a good point.]


Now, logically, we all "know" this from early on, especially if you've watched a Disney movie. Ever. Someone at Disney seems intent on informing kids early and often that their parents might just up and kick it at any moment. Cinderella loses both parents, Snow White as well, Bambi, Simba ... sheesh! But I'm talking about that knock-you-on-your-ass moment of clarity when you truly recognize and accept that you will die.

It happened to me today. I was walking along the Grand River at lunch not listening to my MP3 player (dead battery) and in the midst of some absolutely asinine daydream about nonexistent characters (yes, I'm THAT immature), it hit me.

I believe my exact thought was, "I wonder how I'll die."


*BAM*


I stumbled.


[Granted, this wasn't my first stumble of the day. That happened on my way back from getting my morning coffee. I was walking through the lobby of a downtown office building when I looked up and saw a hot man in downtown Grand Rapids. A rare find indeed and I managed to say "Hello" right before launching into a full-fledged Lucy stumble complete with undulations intent on keeping my ass in air. And to think I'm single. I know, I'm shocked, too. But I digress too long.]


Now, you would think that such a realization would frighten me, but I have to admit, it was somehow liberating. At that moment, the thought that this life is somehow finite, that this life ends, felt freeing. And I don't mean in a depressing way.

Recognizing my own mortality highlighted just how precious a gift we have in living in the first place. We have this incredible opportunity to live ... to have an adventure of literally a lifetime. Why on earth would we ever consider squandering that? It ends, people! This life!!

Regardless of your views on what, if anything, happens after that end, the fact that this is OUR TIME, right now, down here (all hail the Goonies) should mean something. Why hide or sit quietly by while time keeps moving on to that inevitable end? Even if you tried (anything) and failed miserably at it ... it's finite.

Quite simply, there's NO reason not to try to fulfill whatever dreams you have.

Holding on to that feeling is the hard part. My moment of clarity inspired me, yes, but I know too well that similar feelings get smacked down by the day to day responsibilities and drama. I've yet to learn how to keep from blinking another week gone, another month, another year.

If anyone has the answer to that dilemma ... there's oodles of money to be made and Oprah to meet.

Meanwhile, I guess I'll focus on the memory of today's epiphany ... and on not stumbling Lucy-style around hot men. Lofty goals indeed but one must start somewhere.

Again with the Whatifs!

Whatif ~ Shel Silverstein

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:

Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?

Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

------------------------------------------

Oh Shel, Shel ... what an amazing life. So many of us know Shel Silverstein's name from Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic, but did you also know the Shel wrote the song, A Boy Named Sue, and one of my all-time favorites from childhood, Boa Constrictor, both performed by Johnny Cash? Or One's On the Way for you Loretta Lynn fans.

I saw Julie and Julia tonight starring Meryl Streep. [Excellent movie BTW.] Streep sings another of Shel's songs in Postcards From The Edge. I'm Checking Out ends the movie.

What a big life.

I started out wanting to write about the poem ... the whatifs that plague us/me each day. He hits both the minor (Whatif the bus is late) and major (Whatif I get sick and die). I simply never realized the size of his life before. The contributions he made. The lives he touched in so many different formats. What a life.

We worry about so many inconsequential things in our lives. So many whatifs that never happen. So many whatifs that keep us from pursuing our dreams in the first place.

Whatifs never stopped Shel Silverstein. Whatifs never had a chance.

Whatif we could all have as big a life?

Battle for the Butterfly

The main battle has taken place ... minor skirmishes have followed.

And, no, I don't care if I've set feminism back 2- 50 years; when a friend offered this morning to stop by and man the spray, I took him up on it with the glee of a woman NOT being stung.

I stood not so bravely by the door ... okay ... inside the door ... while he sprayed down the butterfly stone and shot the occasional returning wasp. I thought I'd have to wait a day or so before trying to figure out how to get the nest out but, "what's that you say, do I have a screwdriver? Why yes, YES I do." My friend figured out how to take the bottom off of my solar-powered butterfly and found three nests - a large on on the butterfly and two smaller ones.

More spray, some knocking on wood, and the nests were casualties on the battlefield called my balcony.

*Bruhahahahahaha*

I thanked profusely ... then left the battlefield to let the blood dry before cleanup.

I came back later alone and, feeling quite the victor, stomped on the nests to ensure complete desolation. Yeeeeah ... so ... don't do that. Weird pink gooey stuff does not go well with my tennis shoe or deck. Blech.

I swept the bodies off the battlefield then quickly retreated when more soldier wasps returned home to ... well ... visions of Luke running home then staring idly into the sunset come to mind. Seriously ... this one fellow stood off to the side all contemplative.

Until the evil empire struck again and sprayed his ass. Oh yeah. I killed three more and retreated again. I was feeling all Mel Gibson waving the "watch this" flag in Braveheart when I noticed yet another casualty of the mayhem. But this wasn't right ... not right at all!

It was darkening outside by this time ... but remaining dark on my balcony as well. Alas, stone butterfly remained dark. Was the unleashed stream of killing spray too much for her??!!!!

*sadness*

But wait ... wait ... 20 minutes later - enter R2D2 all fixed and shiny during the victory ceremony!

She's all bright now! My butterfly survived and shines brightly on my abode. WHEEEE!!!

Wasps and Butterflies

I have wasps. I hate wasps. There are wasps on my balcony impeding my enjoyment of a perfect little chair with color-coordinated cushions and side table ... all waiting for me to sit and ponder shit. But I can't. 'Cause I have wasps on my balcony.

I also have a butterfly. A beautiful solar-powered butterfly ... a stone with a cut-out that lights up at night. I've had this wonder rock for a couple years now and it still shines bright. Kinda bright. It's little light is dimmer now ... BECAUSE I'VE GOT WASPS!!!

Yes, the wasps have made their den of buzzing evil INSIDE my beautiful butterfly. I see them flying into it ... crawling over it. I cringe. I HATE WASPS.

Today I bought Raid Wasp and Hornet spray. Killing spray. It says to use at night or early morning ... you know ... to lessen the chance of the evil wasps yelling charge with their sharp stingers of pain and targeting oh ... I don't know ... MY EYE!! Lessen the chance ... "when insect activity is minimal." Minimal. Not NON-EXISTENT. Minimal. That means little Wilbur the Wasp who drew the straw for night duty will be on guard waiting ... waiting to finally seize the night/early morning ... AND MY EYE!

I'm faced with a dilemma. Do I brave these fears and spray the butterfly den myself with the full knowledge that screaming and bottle tossing off the balcony are very real possibilities? Or do I beg for assistance ... you know ... from those guys. Those guys who are likely to drink too much beer and attempt to pick up a rattlesnake. The same guys who climb up a ladder to try and cut down the beehive. Those guys.

......

Anybody know those guys?