Filed under: daily
“…sometimes success is better measured in smiles received, giggles heard, and hands held, than in dollars earned, deadlines met, and kilos shed.”
(from the universe.)
Filed under: daily
I dreamt of two kids from some of the various years I spent in the East Whittier school district. One I’d know since kindergarten and another since fourth grade, or so. I ran into both of them within a week of each dream, after about a decade of absolutely no contact.
A few nights ago I dreamt of two boys I dated in middle school. I think it’s fair that I go into panic mode in public, fearing one or both of them will be around the next corner.
Last night I dreamt my dad won $34m in the Lotto.
I’d be okay with that one coming to life.
-CJ
Filed under: frenz
“You cause another outburst like that in a Taco Bell, you’ll be on the business end of more than just a two liter of punch, my friend.”
Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m talking about.
-CJ
During my last appointment with my therapist I had two or three a-ha! moments where I was able to analyze a shitty situation and realize it was completely stemmed from my own actions. This isn’t rocket science, I know. It has taken some twenty-four plus years for me to go, Sometimes I’m wrong and not everything can be blamed on someone else.
I am an intolerable shit, really. The a-ha! was actually more in line with, …oh.
Anyway, I just did it again. I was talking/typing to a friend who has a staunch opposition to organized religion (and some of the most profound and deep things to say on her personal beliefs) who finds herself in a relationship with a lovely, lovely Christian gal. She’s working on being open-minded about their opposing ideas and in my comments to her, I said, “I have to remember that open-mindedness and atheism are not synonymous.” It hurts my chest to even say that. That’s the degree of stubbornness I’m dealing with here. And I’m JUST becoming aware that it exists.
I’m afraid I’ve been a horrible snob for a huge portion of my life and I’m very sorry. (Little stubborn remains screech, “If they’re offended, they should have tried to talk to you about it and not harbored resentment!” GOD, I’m a bitch.)
Ree and I were watching Sex & The City (movie) yesterday at the part where Samantha is harassing Miranda for her exposed pubic forest while she’s in a bathing suit. Miranda flips out about how her lack of grooming/care for nether appearance is part of what led Steve to stray so obviously it’s all her fault that he cheated, etc etc, I cannot believe I’m detailing this fucking movie.
Miranda storms off. Samantha calls after her. I interject, “Fuck that. I wouldn’t be sorry. She put words in her mouth and twisted it up. I’d let her go.” Ree laughed knowingly.
“I know you would.”
I don’t really like that about myself. I have some work to do.
-CJ
Filed under: kiddo
She’s the first kid I’ve heard express how much she misses Santa. The early version of the Christmas list included an iPhone. The revised one includes kite.
-CJ
The fat man is bringing Kiddo something pretty cool this year:
Microwave S’mores Maker from wrapables.com
“Simply stack your crackers, marshmallow, and chocolate under the cute, hand-like presses, fill the specially-designed water reservoir, and pop it in the microwave for 30 seconds or less. The water will ensure that your s’mores are evenly heated and lip-smackingly delicious!”
What?
Don’t look at me like that. So what if I want some lip-smackingly delicious s’mores? It doesn’t mean this present is more for ME than for my precious precious.
Oh, fuck you.
-CJ
The most festivity my house has seen this month is a sticky, frosty, sprinkly mess when Kiddo and her friend smothered pre-made gingerbread cookies in icing and candy last weekend. I was vacuuming colored sprinkles for two days.
That is, until tonight. We’re bringing in the dusty Christmas boxes from the garage and stringing lights around the porch. I haven’t had much time to build a collection of holiday decor to call my own but between Ree’s and mine, it’s bound to feel like Christmas in our freezing cold abode.
Most of the people I know were born here in southern California. Their weather tolerance, like mine, is nil. I know a few people from northern areas where snow, and a fuckin’ lot of it, is normal and they’re all pansy and wuss at me when I require two jackets and a scarf to keep some feeling and color in my skin. Fuck you, man, I don’t know any better. Anything under fifty degree puts me at risk for frostbite and I will not be a fingerless calamity, OH NO.
Wine and cookies are welcome at 2B tonight if ya wanna come help.
-CJ
Filed under: frenz
what I didn’t do:
Shortly after we found out Matthew had cancer there was a benefit party for him in his dad’s backyard. As he struggled to lift his eyes and acted as though every muscle weighed more than he could physically carry, he started nodding off in a chair. His back was to me and I stood still, urging myself to move forward. Just put your arms around his neck, tell him you love him. I still carry a crippling self-consciousness in my step and this crowd of people I hardly knew were making it hard for me to do much of anything. I put one foot in front of the other, once or twice. Someone knelt in front of Matthew to help him up and guide him to bed. I stopped moving toward him and resumed my place near Kiddo and my family. I never saw him again.
what I didn’t say:
This last Saturday was Matthew’s funeral. The pastor left the podium open for anyone with a few words or a memory to share. I willed myself to stand but could not. I rehearsed my short, improvised speech over and over. But I could not bring myself to get the fuck up there. I wanted to tell everyone that I was lucky to have one of my favorite memories of him in a picture. He had hiked his shorts up to his armpits, tucked in his button up shirt, and stood proud with his hands in his pockets, making us laugh. He had the admirable quality of never caring what anyone else thought so the goofing off was never ending… We shouldn’t be sad to see him go but glad that we had him for as long as we did.
