:: and this i know ::

I am unsure of why or how this happened, but I have become the “witness” at work, the person who, for some strange reason, needs to listen to the petty issues or look at the things that are found. The issue I have with this: the issues or found items rarely have something to do with anything I am attempting to do for work.

I feel the need to state now that I have no problem with helping out when I have the time. I have been known to throw in a needed hand when I have a few minutes to spare to aid someone with their job. I believe in lending a hand when you are able as it makes for a better workplace. However, back to the just realized position, I do have a problem when I am swamped with my own work.

It seems that having a stack of mail to sort through once I am done with returning phone calls left on the machine means nothing compared to having to see something left on a carpet. No, this is not something that Hudson (the Golden Retriever who is the true boss of the company) has left, but some random spot. All I can think of now is how guilty one’s conscious must be to pester someone to look at a spot while claiming that they are not responsible.

I also wonder why when I walk in the door it immediately becomes “listen to my problems at home” time when obviously there are things that need to be taken care of to start the workday. Is it rude to say, “I do not care?” I do not want to resort to this, however when one is following me to my desk, and refusing to take the hints of turning on the computer and grabbing papers from the previous workday, is this what I need to do?

Now I am wondering if this is just an issue with me – maybe I should stop and listen. Join in as I listen to the personal problems, support when needed. Then again, when I have done it, I end up spending way too much time listening to every issue. Worse, when I attempt to bring in my personal experience to either make a point or show I understand, I am talked over and / or ignored.

It is issues like this that make me truly appreciate Hudson in the workplace. Is it any wonder that I tell people that there are days where he provides me with the most intelligent conversation?

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It seems oddly appropriate that I am sitting at home today, on the final day of NaBloPoMo. To me this whole exercise has been a way to unwind, a way to reflect and, most importantly, to spend time away from running around to stop and write. Why is it appropriate that I am home today to write then?

I realized earlier today that this is the first weekend that was not filled with plans or errands leading up to forthcoming plans. I honestly have not had a weekend which was spent doing nothing since the summer. I’ve been lucky enough to be invited out of town for a couple of weekend trips, I’ve also been honored with invites to various parties, one of which involved my having to spend a weekend searching for a costume. There were a few birthday celebrations for myself that friends surprised me with, as well as a night honoring my parents’ anniversary.

What does this all mean, other than I really needed this one weekend with nothing to do? It means that even with so much going on, both in terms of pleasure and pain, I have made the time and effort to post each day. Even those days in which posts were made using the scheduling feature involved my observing things around me to see if I could find something that could inspire a future post.

What I am finding is that there are no excuses for neglecting making future posts. Before I would say that there is no time. Now I know this is not the case. If I decide to not post it will be due to choice. After all, even I can admit that some of these ramblings this past month were made just to mark the daily post off the list. Now I do not feel that pressure – I can post whenever I feel the need. In fact, in continuing, which I feel as though I will do, I have a feeling that any posts that are made may have a bit more substance.

In the meantime, I am off to enjoy another cup of tea. Some may call it a celebratory cup, but I call it feeding the addiction.

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1. I truly do like to write. I find enjoyment in sitting down and teaching myself that watching TV is not the only way to unwind at the end of the day. Then again, the TV is usually on while I write.

2. It does become difficult to write something everyday. There are certain entries that are possibly going to be made private due to my being embarrassed by them – not by the topic, but the fact that I was grasping to find anything to write on that particular day.

3. I am observing more, thinking more about what I am going to write about instead of what I am going to eat later that day. Truth be told, I do think about food as well, especially cake.

4. While difficult, blogging is not as hard as I had been telling myself it is as a way to block myself from just sitting and writing. I do know that I was finding any excuse to NOT write, and this challenge made me face the excuses I had been making.

5. I hope that I will continue to blog, although not on a daily schedule. If I am lucky, I will find a common theme to write about so that this is something worth sharing.

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Yet another entry that was to be about something else. However given today’s holiday, as well as the number of programs I need to take off the DVR, I am going to just ramble to make today’s posting goal.

For the record, yes, this is how my mind wanders – especially when stuck in traffic.

Will anyone ever have the guts to sue Snickers for false advertising if they find that they are not satisfied?
Why are two of my favorite TV shows set in the world of high school sports when I really cannot stand most sports?
Did I select the correct book to read, especially since my goal was to finally tackle it next year?
I wonder how many others shared information on the suction / flow of prison toilets while enjoying their Thanksgiving dinner who were not in prison.
Why does this bra always have a loose strap no matter how many times I tighten it?
Is my decision to treat others the way that they treat me going to bite me in the ass?
Did I buy these socks in the correct size? They seem a bit too snug, but I do like the pattern.
When the hell did I become a sock whore?
When did whore become commonplace when trollop just sounds better?
Seriously, can someone get sicker faster if they are a passenger in a lowrider?
Do I really still find myself cheering for rowing because the movie Oxford Blues?
Will I ever have even a third of the courage of some of my friends? I swear, I cannot help but admire the way that some stand up for themselves.
I also fear that I am the exact same as those that I worry about who do not stand up enough for themselves.
I need a bang trim, and possibly a hair cut. Not really a hair cut, but I kind of want one.
Why can’t cake be the traditional Thanksgiving dessert? I would be much happier if it were.
Am I going to really bake for the holidays?
Has it really been a decade since I had a soda?
Why are yams so addicting?
I really should not have had that third cup of tea so late in the evening.
Why is it that I watch the repeats of episodes I have seen before when clearing out the DVR instead of watching new shows?
Why am I so disinterested in parades?
I need to close the window. It is getting too cold.

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As I may have mentioned before (I am unsure due to the fact that it has actually been rather difficult to come up with a daily blather this month), I do not have any guilty pleasures. I gladly admit to anything that I take a liking to – whether it be trips to Disneyland or reading a play by Ibsen. Can I identify a Salena Gomez song? Chances are yes, I can tell you when it is her song playing. Am I fan? Of her work in Wizards of Waverly Place yes, her music not so much but yet it does not bother me when it is playing. People will admit that they feel bad about enjoying the film Drumline, or listening to certain songs. I have never understood why they would feel shame in enjoying something that gives them pleasure (without breaking any laws, naturally).

The most recent example of what should be a guilty pleasure: Bobbie Brown’s Dirty Rocker Boys. Released this past Tuesday, it arrived in the same package as a DVD of the Big Star documentary, Nothing Can Hurt Me. A quick review: an autobiography written by the person best known as the Cherry Pie girl in the same box as a documentary on a not-widely known band that influenced The Replacements, Elliot Smith and REM. I eagerly anticipated both of these items during my drive home as I knew that they arrived while I was at work.

Why on earth would I be so excited? Is it my love of gossip? Sure. A curiosity about the life of a video vixen? I guess. Is it a love of most hair bands? Absolutely a factor. All I can say is that I read the book in two sittings (damn the need for sleep), which was upsetting. Not that I read it that quickly, as I can do that with certain books / authors (most recently with Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, which I still cannot believe took me until this year to read), but that I finished it so quickly. That was going to be my book to read during the Thanksgiving holiday.

The schedule as I saw it: wake up in the morning, watch Reservoir Dogs as is tradition, clean a bit, help a bit, then watch the Big Star documentary. Take a break to have the mental preparation for the family time, eat and then have Bobbie’s book on hand to keep me company. Last year that honor went to Jimmie Walker’s Dyn-O-Mite, a mighty fine read, and this year was to be spent escaping into Bobbie’s world. Now I am sitting here, taking a break from deciding what to read to blog about my foolish mistake.

Given my book addiction, for it truly is an addiction, I have many selections on hand. Right now it is looking like it may be Neil Gaiman’s American Gods or Michelle Tea’s Mermaid in Chelsea Creek. For all I know it could be the copy of Peyton Place that will call out for me to bring as my dinner date. The only thing I do know is that I will at least have Big Star to keep me company during the afternoon.

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Or at least my mind . . .

This was not the post that I intended to make tonight. I had an idea of what to write. Today does not allow it, not with the headache I have been struggling with most of the day.

It is 9:18 as I type this, at least according to my laptop that is the time. I am already in my pajamas. I have washed my face, brushed my teeth and flossed. Yes, I have given up on the night, but not on writing.

This is an accomplishment, correct? The fact that I am over today, but not over writing?

I was stuck behind a few red lights during the drive home, each light showing the silhouette of a person through their work window. I assume it was work – they were in office buildings, but I may be making assumptions. I wondered if each person realized that people like me were watching them, not in a peeping Tom way, but in a distracted way that involved possible stories behind what they were doing.

Women in a skirt was putting something in the cabinet beside the wall to hide presents from her children. She hoped that they would enjoy the effort she was putting forth, but deep down knew that she would get the looks of resentment.

Man was busy standing, adjusting his shirt and tie because of a date he was nervous about. What if this was a waste of time that could be spent finalizing his fantasy line-up? What if it wasn’t, but unfortunately would lead to his having to suddenly make plans for New Years that did not involve getting a pizza and beer with friends? Oh, why did he agree?

The stereo was my enemy thanks to this headache. Normally it keeps me company. Tonight it did nothing but add to my pain – and this was not due to not liking the music coming in.

So thank you, thieves who stole our bills from the work mailbox on the 7th. Thank you for causing me to spend my day dealing with 3 different bank accounts to find out what had been cashed, what the process of stop payment was and for letting me have the joy of contacting each company that was owed a bill that was mailed that date.

Oh, if only the boss was into doing electronic payments on-line.

One day he will listen and know that it is ok to pay this way. Hopefully I will still have some level of sanity when that day comes.

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It is horrible to admit, but there are certain things that I now expect when I go to the gym:

• People incorrectly using the equipment.
• Individuals who decide that it is best to work out in jeans, and not clothes that I would consider to be more comfortable.
• The man with the comb over who wears inappropriately small shorts (we’re talking 70s basketball short length).
• The surly female groaning loudly when people approach who smell (that would be me; see below about the smell).
• People who think it is best to use equipment such as the treadmill or elliptical while wearing flip-flops.

Occasionally I am surprised by others there, such as the couple that used the same hours I am there to practice for a dancing competition. I enjoyed watching them improve, work toward their goal and see how well their routine matched whatever it was I was listening to at the time. Amanda Palmer worked great for their routine; Queens of the Stone Age not so much. They stopped coming a few months ago, or at least using the empty workout room that I use certain days. I do hope that they scored well as they truly did improve.

In any event, this is not about them, but about the person I recently encountered. While I am used to people using headphones, and occasionally can hear people slip and sing along to the music being played, this man was different. For I have never heard anyone belting out songs from a musical. No, not somewhat quietly, but as in singing as loud as he could. People on equipment a row over who were using headphones were turning around to glare at him. Others were moving to other machines in an attempt to find a quiet spot (impossible – boy could sing). I just stayed somewhat close due to the fact that the good machine (i.e., the one with a vent angled to hit it) was nearby. More importantly, he was not the most annoying person I have been near at the gym.

I am unsure of what musical he was rehearsing as it was not a song from Rocky Horror or Hedwig (I know both soundtracks quite well). I do know that a woman who attends the gym had no problem working out right next to him and was very excited about his song selection. How did I know this? Well, I only know that he was rehearsing due to her asking him why he was singing. I also know that she was excited because of the fact that she joined in to help. Yes, even though she did not have the music, she knew the song well enough to sing-along loudly with him – something that he appreciated as he then began to sing even louder. Yes, encouragement was all that he needed.

For the record:

The most annoying people: no, not the ones who basically stand / sit on the machines in order to chat with their friends and do not really work out while at these machines. The annoying people are those that I can hear perfectly well even with the noise cancelling headphones and the music turned up high. Yes, I get those lovely people who basically yell at each other, even if they are standing in a close circle.

Also, the smelly guy mentioned above: One expects a certain smell due to people working out. However this one man who decided to use the machine next to me one time actually caused me to gag. I had only 15 minutes left of an hour work out, which is why I thought I could handle the stench. I ended up having to breathe into my sweaty towel for air. The person who approached to use the machine on his other side took one whiff, gave a dirty look and left. I swear. Where is the Febreze when you need it?

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I once made an ex-coworker laugh at my panic when I described my morning at home getting ready for work. I had turned on the TV to MTV (back when I would actually watch the channel for something other than episodes of Awkward) for background noise when I heard the all too familiar (to me at least) strains of Lou Reed’s Walk on the Wild Side. This made me beyond thrilled, as I was rarely able to hear Lou unless I was the person responsible for selecting his music to be played. This excitement soon passed as I had the horrible realization that if MTV was actually playing Lou Reed in the morning, it could only mean one thing: he had passed away. I told my coworker how I had stopped getting ready, how I froze, how I could not trembling and finally how I was relieved when Adam Sandler appeared on the screen. You see, MTV was showing Lou only due to the fact that various comedians, including Mr. Sandler, had joined him to perform his most well known song at a benefit the night before. I am unsure if it was the fact that I was so panicked that made the coworker laugh, the way that I described it, or the fact that I ended my tale with something along the lines of “Who knows what will happen when he actually passes.”

10 years later and I am able to tell you what happens.

Tears. A lot of uncontrollable tears that stream down my face throughout the date of his death (October 27th). Tears that come when checking the mail and seeing him on the cover of Rolling Stone, an issue that you silently curse for the address label covering part of the image as you put it away beside the issue with Beastie Boy Adam Yauch on the cover – yet another issue that cannot be read just yet. Why lie? I am not emotionally ready.

It took years, YEARS for me to listen to the Ramones after Joey died. It was only in the past few years that I have been able to listen to the Clash again since losing Strummer. As for the Beasties? I still have to skip them when they come on the radio or on the iPod. It is just too soon, too painful. While I love these people, they in no way hold a candle to Lou in my life.

I have joked that I worship at the alter of Lou. In a way, it is not a joke. I cannot help but think of various lyrics when trying to provide an anecdote. I’ve misquoted his memories that he has passed on from his time with Delmore Schwartz. I cannot help but smile at the footnotes he’s made in passing about his songs. I mean, “Her eyes were hazel” likely did not mean much to others, but even seeing blue eyes, whether pale or not, I cannot help but see those words form in my mind.

So it was with extremely heavy heart that I came across the news four weeks ago of his passing. Was I surprised? In a way, no. Not because of his past, but because of the knowledge that he had recently had a liver transplant. A transplant that caused him to cancel his all to rare West Coast dates this spring, including one at the Orpheum where I was to attend. The news of the cancelation did not include the information on the transplant, just that the dates were no more. I still hate that when I found out the news I told my friend that I knew, I knew that the last time I saw Lou in 2007 was the last time that I would see him perform. While I kid about always being right, I truly wish I were wrong about this fact.

I have written a few obituaries for a friend’s site, a process that I do enjoy more than any sane person should (not to say that I am entirely sane of course). While I wrote one about Adam Yauch, I just could not, and still cannot, think of writing one for Lou. I know the various facts that some may not know – things from Delmore Schwartz to the Jades to the Exploding Plastic Inevitable (which I wrote my senior paper on in high school) to Rachel to quoting Shakespeare on MTV. Yet it was too close, too personal. Too much.

It still is too much for me to think about. I never realized how much music of his, whether solo or with the Velvet Underground, I have on my phone and at work until recently thanks to my decision to shuffle tracks for background music. I also never realized how many people would associate me with him. I am touched and shocked by the people who reached out to let me know that they were thinking of me, something that is still very good, yet very sad to think about as I attempted to ignore most of what was being said on-line or in texts.

As a fan, I was pleased to see Lou getting the recognition that he, in my mind, so rightfully deserves. However, there are only so many times you can read a variation of Walk on the Wild Side as a title of an obituary – they are bookmarked for reading at a time I can deal with the tears. There are only so many Tweets you can read that make you roll your eyes at people jumping on a bandwagon, or to say that they do not care – I am still unsure about which is more upsetting, although I think it may be the jumpers since at least the uncaring are being honest. Worse is the fact that with a majority of any postings online comes the opportunity for the assholes to shine – the comment section. I swear, is there an unofficial competition that I am unaware of where people must strive to leave the cruelest messages each hour? There is no need to mention your opinion that it is a waste that someone received a transplant. There is no need to comment that someone is a “no one.” What there is a need for is to move along without comment if the obituary does not lead you to respond kindly. Also, death is not a competition. It is not a way to say that you are a bigger fan, nor that you had seen him so many more times than another person. This is a time to join in the sorrow, not to brag in a game of one-upmanship.

I swear, the things that I saw when merely glancing through pages to bookmark for later reading makes me realize I might have been correct in declaring Lou a personal God. So many have said he was an asshole (although he was great the times I was lucky enough to meet him). If some say we are made in God’s image. . .

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At least in the traditional sense.

In honor of today’s celebration of one Miss M.’s 16th birthday I decided to spend this date looking back at my own. Did I have a massive party? Nope. To the dismay of my parents, I have never been one for a big celebration of my birthday – in fact, I do not even bother with a moderately sized celebration. Did I have a fancy dinner with friends? Uh-uh. I think we may have had pizza. Did I spend the day in a fancy or fun place? Please. It was spent in a parking lot.

Yes, I spent my Sweet Sixteen with three friends of mine, one of whom I am still excited to be friends with (thanks FB for reuniting us), waiting in line at the famous Tower Records on Sunset to meet Boy George. Only one of us was driving at that point, so she had the responsibility of getting us to the store, while the group of us had the joy of keeping ourselves entertained while in line. Ask anyone who has dealt with a straightforward signing: keeping yourself entertained is one of the most difficult things to do while waiting.

Somehow we succeeded. We not only managed to keep ourselves entertained, but we managed not to kill each other while waiting. Again, ask anyone who has waited in a long line with friends – the urge to cause harm to someone nearby, even if they are a friend, grows with each hour.

After all these years I still remember the pushing that began when the staff announced that the line would be cut soon. We were still outside of the building, waiting to gain entrance into the maze created in the aisles. Ultimately though, we were successful in meeting Boy George, a moment I captured in a picture that I ended up submitting for extra credit for my photo class I was taking that year.

Side note: my teacher made me put this photo, along with ones of Debbie Harry performing and of former Guns n Roses drummer Steven Adler in the school art show. Someone stole my Steven Adler photo. The nerve.

It is amazing. After all of these years (specific numbers not needed), I cannot remember much about the meeting itself, but I do remember the laughter while we waited. Not the specific conversations, which I am positive we thought were beyond important, but that we were able to have a great time together. This even with needing to shift our feet as we attempted to find some comfort.

When I look back at various events in my life I am finding that it is the experience of waiting with friends that I am most fond of – not the event itself, but those random moments that are more and more difficult to come across as we all get older and busier. I do hope Ms. M had some moments tonight that she will treasure the way I have of my 16th – moments of friends, moments of laughter. What gifts are received are never as valuable as these moments.

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To know me is to know I love cake to the point of making it my favorite food group.  Yes, I feel that cake is important enough to have its own food group.

Here it is, a list of cakes that I have been served that are beyond memorable:

1. Kyle’s birthday cakes (with the exception of this past year). One of his grandmother’s friends has made the most amazing, flavorful cakes for his birthday celebrations. Not only are they amazing to eat, but they are always beautifully decorated as well. Unfortunately, this friend had moved so for his 7th birthday this year they had to purchase a store bought cake.

2. The cake Shannon served for Justin’s birthday in the late 90s. A tip: if you want to know if a bakery is good, try a piece of their chocolate cake. If the cake is moist, it is a good bakery as chocolate is one of the most difficult to make as some tend to be on the dry side. This cake that Shannon picked up in Westwood (I asked, she could not remember the name, just the city) was beyond moist, delicious and second piece worthy – if there had been any left over.

3. SP’s third birthday cake from Porto’s. This one was similar to the one Shannon purchased from Justin: an extremely moist chocolate cake. This one gained extra points for using a raspberry filling that I loved – important because I normally do not care for raspberry filling in cakes. Also, you really cannot go wrong with a Curious George themed cake.

4. Sue’s wedding cake was an outstanding flavor, almond I believe. Unfortunately due to the fact that this was a wedding, there were sober servers making sure that every guest received a cake of equal size. Unfortunate because if it had been drunks serving it, I would have been able to get a larger size, multiple pieces even. How good was this cake? A friend’s husband and I were attempting to see if we could locate any untouched pieces on nearby tables to snag to eat.

5. The tres leeches cake for Starla’s baby shower will hopefully go down in history as the worse cake I have ever eaten. Hopefully because I really do not want to be served a cake that rates below the runny mess that we were served. I feel bad, but I think I have mentioned before to her that it was not good. I know I am not alone in feeling this way though: her shower was the only party I have been to where the trash can was filled with barely touched pieces of cake. In fact, I did not even finish my piece. That rarely happens. Actually, there is one good thing to come from this cake:

When I sat down at the table after getting my rather large piece (my reputation preceded me), I noticed that my Dad was quietly sitting with his piece still on his plate. I thought it was his being nice, letting me finish his piece (I have been known to do clean up if it is particularly good). No. He wanted to see me take my big bite so that he could laugh at the face I made when I got a taste, which was I believe similar to the one made by Tom Hanks’ character in Big when he discovers that he has eaten caviar. As I was spitting out my piece into my napkin (no, I could not even swallow it), he told me that he thought it was bad and could not wait to laugh. What else could I do at that point except point out the fact that my Aunt was approaching with her piece. There was nothing like seeing my Dad’s face as he waited for his big sister to take her first bite – except for seeing her reaction before forcing herself to swallow. We basically went around the table waiting for others to take their bites to watch their reactions. Yes, there is nothing like an activity the whole family can enjoy together.

For the record: Starla wanted a white cake with strawberries as a filling, but the person throwing the shower thought she would like the tres leeches more. Even I know not to go against the pregnant lady’s wishes!

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