Friday, January 12, 2007


There was a rumor going around that he was adopted. No one knew if it was true or not, and he didn't seem interested in setting the record straight. All I knew was that he seemed sad, and he wasn't singing like he usually did.

I stood right behind him on the rafters, so I knew.

During our break, I inquired about his mood. He mentioned that in addition to the rumors about his family, he felt overwhelmed with our new music, and knew people expected him to be better than he thought he was. He needed more practice, but had no time to do it.

Our next period was lunch. While everyone filed out of the auditorium, I lingered by the piano, waiting for my chance. I was hoping that being the well respected, highly trusted student that I was (yes, it should be read teacher's pet) that I could easily slip the one of the black leather music folders into my backpack without incident.

Sure enough, I completed my task and scurried off to the cafeteria to find my friend.

I approached him only when I saw his table scatter-we were chorus friends-not "real" friends-and walking up to him in the cafeteria would have caused somewhat of a commotion. He eyed me wearily as I quickly sat down and pushed the folder in his direction.

"What is this?" he stammered.

"The music. I took it from Mr. Asch so you could practice at home." I was beaming, I could tell. My eyes were wild with heroic light and sweet, sweet music rang in my ears. My smile may have even sparkled.

"Why? You stole the folder? That was dumb. Bring it back-I'm not going to practice at home." His disregard for my risk broke my heart, his scowl dimmed my light.

"I thought you-" He cut me off.

"Look. I don't want to be mean, but you should go back to your table. And bring the music. I don't want Mr. Moravak to see me with this and think I stole it. That's all I need." He looked away with finality. He seemed to be holding his breath.

Forlorn, I looked down at the shiny black leather with it's gleaming gold fasteners, buldging with music that would forever make my heart heavy with regret. Slowly, I rose and walked back to my friends, who were watching my every move.

That's the day I realized that people don't always want to be helped. Or that they don't know how to accept help. Or that they want help, but not from you.

It's the day I realized that my good intentions (and doing something to help another person) will not always make me feel good.

It's a lesson that still knocks me off my ass from time to time.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Sometimes You're the Bug...

It always strikes me as funny when I think about my ex's at random moments. Some things obviously still make me laugh or smile-it's my heart's nature to hold onto happy times. Mainly, I'm sure, to help my brain overcome it's destructive thoughts of failure and doom, but also to validate a life that once was. There are other memories, though, that still irritate me or make me angry.

Like, for instance, the way Matt squeegeed a windshield.

I know, I's a windshield for goodness sake! How could I be so petty, you ask? Well, dear readers, it's because he thought he was a squeegee expert.

No. That's not even it. It's because of why he thought he was a squeegee expert. His father used to own a gas station in New Jersey. WHEN MATT WAS IN NURSERY SCHOOL!

What that means is that while Matt was learning to color in the lines and taking naps, his father was pumping gas, checking oil (because they used to do that-especially in NJ) and yes, squeegee-ing windshields.

Matt somehow thinks he inherited The squeegee skills.

Watching him from inside the vehicle was often hard for me, even when I loved him the most. With his precise little scrubs over bird poop and his long, broad swipes followed by a swift squeegee motion and-this is the worst-the wiping off of the rubber blade with a paper towel before continuing.

It was enough to make me go mad.

Today-about 4 years since my divorce-I still get pleasure out of my haphazard squeegee skills. And when there's a streak-I sometimes leave it just to spite him...even though he's no longer in my life, or even in the state.

Just because I can.

I say life is about the simple pleasures...take 'em anywhere and anytime you can find them!

And, speaking of simple pleasures: Click Here for Eternal Bliss

Wednesday, January 10, 2007


I don't' hate people who smoke. I just hate the smoke. And the smell. And the way the smoke permeates everything it's around.

And the attitude that I'm a prude because I don't want to breath in it's cancerous haze.

I just tried popping outside my office for a few minutes of cold, fresh air to revitalize my soul, and was instead smacked with a raunchy puff of carcinongans that would make the Marlboro man faint.

When I looked to my right to see puffer, I was met with a dirty look and a "You probably want me to move."

When I stood up for myself and said, "Actually, yes..." the look got dirtier and was followed by a rude "You non-smokers have ALL the rights these days!"

He angrily stomped off, smoking his butt down to his fingers. By that time, my hair already smelled. My new wool sweater will have to go to the dry cleaners. I do not feel refreshed and my soul, which was supposed to be revitalized, is not just angry.

This is why God invented wine...Unfortunately, I'm having dinner with my sister-and she's a smoker. No way I'll get any sympathy from her...2 glasses might be necessary.

Simple Suggestions

Here are some handy dandy suggestions for people who want to have fun on dates that probably won't work out anyway...

  • Act as though you have Tourette's Syndrome. Begin speaking normally, carrying on an intelligent conversation, but randomly mix it up by barking or screaming things like, "I like peas!".
  • Only go on dates in a slightly drunken state. That way, you will be all giggles and grins, no matter how bad they are. And, if they turn out to be a winner, you'll already know if they are nurturing...after all, someone has to wipe up your drool when you get old.
  • Wear an eye patch. If they ask you how you lost your eye, simply reply: "What are you talking about?"
  • Strategically place a fake (hairy) mole on your face. See how long they can overlook it.
  • Refer to yourself in the third person. As yourself (out loud) if you think your date is good enough to go out with again. Answer honestly. No one likes a liar.
  • Consult your imaginary friend before answering all questions. Disagree on at least two on them.
  • When in doubt, stare at their left ear. If there is nothing to talk about, at least they will be self conscious about what it is you are staring at.
  • Ask them how they feel about human GPS systems, and more importantly, where would they like you to implant their microchip?

Following these simple suggestions may not find you the love of your life, but at least you'll have something to tell the kids when they come over to play with all of the cats...

No Vacancies

Please welcome my very first Blog Renter


She's a soon to be single Mom (but NOT a Mommy blogger). She's young and fresh, and writes real and honest posts that will make you think.

And also-her template rocks!

So, go welcome her in style-and tell her I sent you!

(Please? I don't want to be a Rent My Blog failure!)

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Toosdae ?'s

Happy Toosdae everyone! One of my normal commenters is away on a romantic ski trip (beyoch) and another apparently no longer visits because I don't have anything important to say. SO...that means it's up to YOU (Yes, YOU) to answer these questions. It should only take a few minutes, but it will make me grin like a silly school girl all day...

1. You are single and looking for a suitor. Several attractive people are presented to you one at a time. You are able to ask them only 1 question before deciding whether or not they are worthy of your company. What question do you ask and why?

2. Who taught you how to drive? Did you pass your driving test the first time? If not, how many times did it take?

3. What do you do to make yourself get excited or motivated to do something that will require a lot of hard work?

1. If I had an answer to this question, I think I'd have a boyfriend. I suppose it would be something nonsensical and silly to see how he reacts. If he scoffs, he's not someone I'd like to date anyway.

2. Both my mom and dad taught me to drive, which was weird because my mom drives super fast and my dad drives super slow. It was very confusing for me to figure out how hard to press the gas peddle!! I did indeed pass my test the first time, with flying colors, of course. ;)

3. I usually either give myself a pep talk such as, "You can do this, you will be a better person when you are done." or if I'm about to quit something I am mean to myself: "Don't quit you loser. This is how you got into this situation in the first place!" Sadly, the angry me usually gets more done....

Monday, January 08, 2007

Old smoky

Should I give up dating (for real)?
Yes, definitely.

Will I end up a lonely spinster?
Without a doubt.

And that's when I promptly threw my Magic 8 Ball across my office. I don't know if it's broken or not because, like my poor meatball, it rolled away and is lost.

Weebles Wobble...

It's not that I have a real "problem" with little people.

And by little people, I don't mean midgets. The tiny people I speak of are the little (mostly) girls ('cause let's face it, you wanna feel sorry for the 5'4" man) who tout statements such as:

* "My old friends and I got together and talked about who got fat since high school."

* "I'm so full-that 2nd Saltine really put me over the edge."

* "I'm mortified. I had to buy a size 2 in these jeans."

These are the girls who were born with small bones and short statures and never have to worry about where they'll buy their next pair of jeans, because, for the most part, stores cater to them.

Yes, we know. You are skinny and beautiful and many people love you.


But don't discount the rest of us-the girls who know what it feels like to walk down a street without one single man making eye contact, or who can't buy a wedding dress because stores don't carry double digits.

We are beautiful, and our worth is not computed by our size, and neither is yours.

I am caring and generous and thoughtful. I think about how my actions will affect others, and if it will hurt someone when I laugh. I'm spunky and adventurous and can easily be the life of a party.

But you don't see that. You only see a size, a shape, that's not perfectly like you. You see someone who can't compete with you athletically or socially because, in your mind, you are superior.

Well, little girls, I am here to tell you that you are wrong.

Because I'd rather be fat than a snob, any day of the week. And when I'm skinny, I will never find my happiness in someone else's misery like you do.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.

You will move on, and you will be ok.