Dancing with myself

So, I was just informed that I haven't written a post in a while. This isn't entirely true - I have actually written two this week, but I didn't post them because the idea fizzled out when I tried to put the words to paper, plus, I am getting a little tired of hearing myself whine, so I promised not to blog until I could have something funny to say.

Niki would laugh at a balloon with a mustache drawn on it with a sharpie (haha, oh, those crazy balloons!), but other people are more discriminating. So, while I have a few minutes while whitening my teeth (woot! girls' night out!), I thought I'd try again.

Yesterday would have been my Uncle Larry's 63rd birthday. No, wait! I promise this isn't sad! Since his birthday was always around Thanksgiving, when he and my aunt would come over for dinner, we'd celebrate his birthday, too.

My (ex-) husband and I had gone to Mexico in 1998 as a sort of pre-wedding honeymoon, and I brought back souvenirs for some friends and relatives. For my mom, I brought back a white lace tablecloth that some peddler assured me was hand-made (yeah, in Korea by a little old machine that only stamped these things out on Sundays). It was a pretty cover for the dining room table, though, and I was proud that mom brought it out for one of Larry's birthdays. (Mom will say this was for his 50th birthday, but that's impossible, since that was before I ever even went to Mexico - so pbbth mom)

Mom had the brilliant idea to put a candle for each of Larry's years on this earth on this little 9" round layer cake. There were scores of candles - at least 51 of them. The dining room was aglow with light - there was a gleam in Larry's eyes as he bent over to blow them out...

And away they blew - the flames leaped from the overburdened cake to the tablecloth, which had evidently been "handmade" out of the most flammable material known to postwar Vietnam or wherever. The damn thing was seven months old and it had a cake-sized hole in the cloth that was second only by the hole in my heart - a hole that could only be filled with a monumental guilt trip that I am just now dishing out 12 years later. Best served cold, baby...

(Did I ever mention that my parents seem to break EVERY gift I give them? Ask me about the picture I gave dad for Father's Day 1998 sometime.)

So, see? I actually can write a funny story about my past that is only slightly flavored with resentment!

Larry - we miss you terribly, thank you for the memories!

Waiting on the world to change

One of my favorite memories from when I was a kid was Christmas of 1984 (give or take). I would have been about 12 years old. My mother, my little sister and I went down to visit my aunt Jan and uncle Chuck, and their kids, on Christmas Eve. We must have stayed a little too long, though, because before we knew it, we were snowed in. The roads were way too bad to drive the 30+ miles back home.

We kids were devastated. How was Santa going to figure out how to find us? (Yes, I knew there wasn't a Santa by then, but still!) Any way you looked at it, there wasn't going to be a pile of presents under the tree for Sis and I. Oh the horror of having to watch our cousins open the gifts that were already waiting for them, in all their shiny glory.

Unknown to us, mom had called dad and asked him to try to gather up our presents and make the treacherous journey from BFE to my aunt's place. I don't know what time he finally made it down there (I have the impression of hearing him arrive, but it's kind of fuzzy).

The next morning, lo and behold! There were presents for everyone! Not content to have us suffer the ups and downs already gone through, my parents thought it would be oh-so-amusing to trick me into thinking that I wasn't going to get anything good, anyway. They had me unwrap presents in a certain order...the first thing I unwrapped was a set of leather straps. (get your mind out of the gutter! I was 12!), then a set of stirrups. Obviously, these are parts of a saddle and I was quivering with excitement.

"Don't get too worked up," they warned me. Times had been tough that year, and they couldn't afford the whole thing, so I would have to wait to get pieces here and there. (cue http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWHniL8MyMM/">Johnny Cash )

Of course, they weren't really that cruel, they just liked me to think they were, I guess, and eventually the actual saddle part itself was brought out and happy tears abounded.

Oddly, their joke wasn't complete - they made me swear there was a Santa Claus before they'd let me have the whole thing.

Wait, why is this one of my favorite memories again? Seems more like psychological torture...hmm...

In this life

The second post in my "Shuffle" series is inspired by the country song "In This Life," by Collin Raye:

Let the world stop turnin'
Let the sun stop burnin'
Let them tell me love's not worth going through
If it all falls apart
I will know deep in my heart
The only dream that mattered had come true
In this life, I was loved by you

This is a romantic song, at heart, and it was actually the first song at my wedding forever ago. But the sentiments go beyond romance; they apply to any number of relationships that pass through our lives.

I commented recently about how common experiences aren't always enough to tie people together for very long. But this is about one of those relationships that stand the test of time and stress.

I have more acquaintances than really close friends, but among those people that know me the best (and love me, anyway) are my family. Specifically, my sister.

Sis is almost 6 1/2 years younger than me, and believe you me - the early years were rough. Circumstances beyond either of our control created some serious resentment on my part. I was positive that my parents loved more, wanted her more, and I still think they gave her an easier time, growing up :) I didn't like that I would have to come straight home from school to watch her. I hated that she didn't get punished for behavior that I was sure I used to be punished for. I have a lifetime of guilt built up for the way I used to tease her, tell her she was adopted, and all the awful things siblings do to each other.

It wasn't until I moved out of the house and got married that we started to become closer. We had a lot more in common by then - she was 18 and I was 25. But even then, I didn't consider her a "friend." I had my own life to focus on and I didn't spend much time thinking about her, and it wouldn't have occurred to me to confide in her.

Then a couple years ago, that all changed. I'm not sure exactly when, just suddenly she became vital to me, and not just someone I had to put up with at holidays. When she got sick, I was devastated, when she said that she was expecting, I was ecstatic. She was the first person I came out to, and the most understanding when I lost my baby. That moment, in particular, stands out...she didn't try to comfort me by soothing platitudes or that awful "it was for the best" that people say. Instead, she just crawled into bed next to me and held me. I don't think she even said anything.

We both have pretty busy lives, these days. She has work, her husband, and a two-year-old to take care of. But she drops me a text or two nearly every day (we love to exchange the funnier Texts From Last Night posts), and she send little messages on Facebook. She's the only person I know who sends letters that aren't included in Christmas cards.

I don't know what I'd do without you, spud. You make my life happier and you make it possible for me to get through some times when truly horrible things are going on in my head. I love you.

This is the story of a girl...

who cried a river and drowned the whole world...

I was tagged in a friend's note on Faceboook that asked the recipient to list (without editing for coolness factor) the first fifteen songs that came up when you set your MP3 player on "shuffle." It was a fun exercise and it occurred to me that it was an excellent way to come up with blog ideas.

I have a pretty eclectic mix of songs. Most of them were released at least ten years ago, and all of them were personally picked for a specific reason that meant a lot more to me back then. (Seriously? Taco?)

One of the songs that came up on my list was Nine Days' "Absolutely."

My interpretation of the song is that there is a girl whose lover makes false promises and makes her unhappy, but she insists on waiting for him, "wearing holes in the soles of her shoes," and crying rivers, but not doing anything about the situation.

"How many lovers would stay, just to put up with this shit day after day?" the narrator (who happens to be the faithless boyfriend) asks.

It is a valid question. What makes us stay in a situation that makes us unhappy? Why do we insist on a course of action (or inaction) that we would warn our friends against?

I fall under this category, myself. I am forever complaining about things that i have control over but am too much of a wuss to do anything about. So, my new motto is "WWMDISWGATSE" or what-would-Melinda-do-if-she-was-giving-advice-to-someone-else.

I recently got so fed up with the ineptitude of my boss and the utter chaos at my office that I quit. Without another job lined up. After years of trying to convince myself that having this job was better than nothing, I finally came to my senses. My sanity is far more important that making my boss look like a slightly better lawyer for the peanuts that he pays us. I would rather sleep on friends' couches than put up with the ungrateful skinflint for another month. My advice to myself? Leave and tell your boss exactly why you are leaving.

Naturally, the boss is in complete denial about why I quit and actually told me that has "six months" in the office pool about how long I last with the other attorney I am going to be doing some work for. Nice. Dude - I put up with you for the better part of six YEARS. I like my chances of putting up with someone else for six months.

But this principle needs to apply to other areas of my life, too:

• If I had a friend who bitched as much as I did, I would probably slap her.
• I spend way too much money on crappy food, then don't understand why I'm broke and fat.
• I spend way too much money on healthy food that then rots in my fridge while I order in.
• The disorganization in my home in no way helps the disorganization in my head.
• That whole "don't make someone a priority if they only treat you as an option" thingy probably has a lot to do with why I'm single and resentful.
• Get the eff out of the house, already!

I'll let you know how it goes :)

One is the loneliest number.

It seems to be a common occurrence that people who share a particular experience become closer...at least for a little while.

In high school, we are best friends with the people that we see every day. Once we graduate, we drift apart, and eventually the differences in our lives separate us, we just don't have much to talk about, any more. Sure, I consider myself to be friends with several people I went to high school with, but none of those relationships even come close to the "BFF" status that we used to share.

I don't have a single friend from college and my last close friend from grad school recently got married and I had to find out by seeing her post a picture of the happy couple on Facebook.

It's a fact of life that, well *life* gets in the way. A lack of common experiences or differences in our lifestyles inevitably interferes.

I am sure that there are exceptions; I bet hiding a body ties people together for a very long time. And most people remember "where they were" when events occur that affect a large group of people (assassination of JFK, 9/11, moon landing). Years, decades later, people will reminisce and the shared experience brings an echo of the original event.

Still, it is sometimes difficult for me to comprehend how an event that is powerful for *me* doesn't affect others in the same way. Have you ever started to tell a friend about this crazy thing that happened to you, only to be met with a blank stare? Granted, I think that this happens to me more than it does to most people (I swear I can hear my mother going over a mental grocery list when I'm on the phone with her), but still.

Yes, a little perspective is in order; something that only happened to me will obviously not move someone else to the same level. But if two people share an experience - be it good, bad or ugly - what accounts for the different ways in which they process and even remember it?

Several months ago, I had a conversation with someone about a situation we both went through last year. I am still pretty upset about it all, but he didn't even remember it. How was that even possible? Clearly, just because an event is important in my mind doesn't mean that anyone else would think so.

So maybe my first sentence is more wishful thinking than truth?

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Why is it so difficult to say what is really on our minds? I am not talking about the general bitching and moaning, but really telling expressing our emotions - good and bad.

I've said before that I am TMI girl. Ask me anything and I will tell you. Hell, I don't usually even wait to be asked. But even the most intimate details I share aren't expressive of who *I* am - just of what I do. I try my best to keep my emotions in check, not wanting to appear like some weak girl who - gasp! - actually has feelings.

What I have been working on, though, is eliminating the passive-aggressive behaviors that seem to go hand-in-hand with keeping my true emotions hidden. It is a behavior I abhor in others. If someone is upset with me, I would prefer to be told about it, than to have things said behind my back, or to have someone drop little "hints."

So, knowing all this...knowing that nothing will be resolved unless I state what I need from others, why is it still so difficult to do? Obvious answer is that I am afraid of the outcome. If I tell a friend that s/he has done something that upsets me, I am afraid to cause even more grief for myself. Or, if I have feelings for someone, I am afraid to say something in case it isn't reciprocated. Been burned a few too many times on that one.

So, if open communication is the way to better understanding of interpersonal relationships, how do you get past the fear of exposing yourself, emotionally?