Wednesday, February 29, 2012

I'm slow on twitter

She's following me!!! Woo hoo!  Any day now there will be a picture to my e-mail.  I'm sure of it!!

She is NOT a Nater-Tater, because I imagine Nathan Fillion doesn't follow her.  But Jeri Ryan does! 

14 Random Reasons Why The Bloggess should send me a picture

1)  I got a twitter account just to ask you...
2)  I will twit you, er, tweet you every day until you do? I have learned from the best.  Oh, wait, you gave up your Nater-Tater campaign, but I haven't tried nearly as hard as you.
3)  I'm funny. C'mon - look around the rest of the blog and tell me you don't think it's cute...
4)  Please? Did I forget the magic word before?  Now will you, please, send me a picture?  You can use a spatula to collate the paper - that might be easier.  Thank you very much.
5) Frankly I'm creating this list because I have found that blogs with x reasons to [FILL-IN-THE-BLANK, like bite your nails] seem to do well, so I thought I'd start a list.
6)  Because I'm a really nice person.
7)  Because all baby bloggers deserve a chance.
8)  Because once you send me a picture, you never have to come to this blog again, and I won't bother you again - unless like Wil Wheaton you become a fan.  (As of course I expect you will)
9)  Because a few posts ago "the bloggess" tag over to the right became bigger than "who am i"
10)  Because YOU'RE a really nice person
11)  Because you want to pay it forward after Matthew Broderick sent you a picture with a spoon.
12)  Because you don't really want me to start whining...
13)  Because it's the right thing to do.  Or, wait, maybe it's the left thing to do - as in "leave" me a picture?
14) Because I have an indent on my iPhone where I keep going to look at my mail app to see if you've sent one.  Don't do it for me.  Save the iPhone.

Please.  Thank you.  I know you are awesome. 

P.S. For those of you who haven't followed to date, a few days ago, I called out The Bloggess to send me a picture of her collating papers while holding or juggling twine. 

Go ahead, check out the rest of my blog now that you're here!

P-p-p-poker Face

It has become quite clear that I should not quit my day job and become a professional poker player. 

I know you spent hours agonizing over whether I should or not, but I'll save you further worry, I shouldn't.

Now, online poker playing with strangers you can't see might be a different story, but plain, in-your-face poker, um, no.

There are too many variables to control at one time.  With the ADD, I become hyper-focused, and to effectively play poker well, I imagine - since I haven't done it yet - you need to be able to not only concentrate on what you have in your hand and how to play with the cards life has dealt you, but you need to concentrate on finances - yours, and others, and you need to work on controlling your own expressions while observing the reactions of others as they get their cards, etc.  That's a lot to do all at once.  And I do not have that skill.

Ironically, as I typed all of that, it does sound a lot like life.  Except for the keeping track of the other guy's finances - that's really not any of my business in real life.  But you should be astute and read other people, and learn to play with the hand dealt you, manage your own finances, etc.  Those all sound like good things in life. 

Last night I was at some friends' home playing cards.  No, we were not playing poker, although if I did have money, I imagine these friends might have even some more fun with me.  But they know I'm broke, and wouldn't do that to me.  But we were playing one of the many variations of cards where you have to bid the number of tricks you are going to take. 

I am very conservative.  I typically bid under the number of tricks I actually took.  In this game, there's no penalty for that except that you don't gain the maximum number of points you could.  But if you overbid, you lose all the points you were hoping to gain.  I also know that I am NOT a skilled card counter.  But I have recognized that you also have to play to the players around you.  I challenge them because they play with each other all the time, so they know how the other will lay their cards down, but me, I'm an enigma.  I zig when I should have zagged.  I give away tricks I shouldn't.  I'm just not always sure the best way to play. 

My friend will comment on my hand afterwards, and tell me I should have bid two or three more tricks than I did.  Some of this is based upon my actual success, but most of it is based on what she would have bid.  But I gently remind her that I don't play the way she does, and the fact that I got those tricks was the good fortune of how the cards were played. 

She doesn't buy it.  But I think she also doesn't realize just how astute a player she is.  Not only does she know how to play her cards for maximum tricks, she is smart enough to watch the responses of the other players to get an idea of what their hand might be like.  Her predictive powers are quite a bit better than that broken clock that's only right twice a day. 

But I am risk averse.  And I bid conservatively.  Fortunately, I got dealt quite a few good hands, and despite the qualms about my bidding, I won. 

I guess she would have preferred that I won faster.  But now why would I do that? I was enjoying their company way too much to rush.  I just won't play poker with them.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012


So like many who keep the laundromat in business, I do not have a washer and dryer. FlyLady recommends doing a little load a day to stay on top of the laundry. That's great when it is in the building. Not so practical when you have to literally drag your dirty laundry elsewhere.

I save quarters. People think I have a problem with slot machines, and while I do, that is not why I save quarters.

The owners have figured out that if you have to pay too much for the dryers, you'll take it home and hang it there and let God do the work. So you can start the dryers here for only a quarter.

The washers? Highway robbery.

When I last used paid machines, it was only 3-4 quarters a machine. Here? 14 to wash. And don't think that quarter gets you too far in the dryer. It gets you exactly seven minutes...

So I have tried an alternate to FlyLady. Instead I keep a load of laundry in my car to do when visiting friends. I need a few more friends to spread it around!

Today, I am at the laundromat.

Thanks to technology, though, I can bring you along - blogging by iPhone. I don't want you to miss any exciting details of my day!

When you pay 14 quarters just to wash, you begin to throw your mother's rules for sorting out the door. Reds I still keep separate, but otherwise, unless it is brand new, it all goes in the same load. Whites, jeans, doesn't matter. I do not believe in segregation!

I remember the first time I did a load at one particular friend's house and she nearly had a heart attack as I mixed my colors...

I warned you that I am just looking for a good batting average! Not all of these are gonna be winners.

Now, go to The Bloggess and look at her updated Nathan Fillion entry and drool over a true member of the Borg - 7 of 9 - Jeri Ryan who posed for a picture with a spatula for Jenny.

I am jealous... One day, I will be worthy. I just don't think it's today.

Monday, February 27, 2012

Twitter Haters and the Dalai Lama

So, I go onto my newly created Twitter account to remind The Bloggess about her picture.  I know she was busy last night watching the Oscars with her cat and taking their picture on the red carpet, but I feel confident that she will send me a picture collating paper and juggling twine shortly.  But a little reminder couldn't hurt, right?

So, last night, I tried to find folks to follow, and as I've mentioned before, I *love* the Dalai Lama.  LOVE him!  And so I was pleased to see in my newsfeed (wait, that's a FB term, what is the appropriate Twit-term?)

I admit, his morning tweet wasn't rocket science.  It wasn't one of his more uniquely profound statements, but WTF, to the first comment?

Wow!  Um.. if anyone reading has this kind of a response to my blog, um, could you go somewhere else?  I mean really?  No-one told him to read the Dalai Lama, or if they did, go be angry at them, not at the Dalai Lama.  And, um, he isn't telling you what to do, he's just stating a fact.  Or some might consider it an opinion - I won't quibble that point.  Clearly you need some comforting, and you clearly don't have peace within yourself.  But he isn't telling you to seek comfort, nor to find peace within yourself. 

Um, one more requirement of my readers.  A mastery of the English language and basic sentence structure.  Even if I don't always write in sentences... (There's that inconsistency thing rearing its ugly head.  Luckily, there's a tag for that!)

The Pressure Is On...

I'd like to say that I woke up this morning shocked and surprised by how many people had read my blog overnight.  But that would be denying my friend insomnia.  The reality is that I didn't fall asleep until after 4 AM, and surprisingly, there aren't a lot of blog readers between 4 and 7 AM Eastern Standard Time. 

An English teacher once told me (Okay, lots of English teachers told me many times) that when you write you should consider your audience.  Who are you writing to? 

Well, up until this moment, I was writing to the great vast unknown.  And in my shower - I told you I got a lot of inspiration there - I thought about you.  My Audience. 

Up until now, my audience was four Ukrainians and an imaginary dog.  Well, that's not quite true.  I had a couple of people who came back from the U.S. and who even interacted.  (Of course, with "anonymous", you don't *really* know if it was someone else, or just one of the inner voices in my head)

So who do I think you are, my audience? You are willing to take a risk.  You are bright people because you're still reading.  You have a sense of humor.  I'm not sure if it's good or simply twisted.  Lord knows we haven't figured mine out, yet, so why should we know about yours?  You're supportive.  Or so I hope. 

Will I get haters?  Nah.  Who could hate me? 

Uh oh. 

You are kind, generous, thoughtful.  Yeah.  You like long walks down short beaches.  Fires that you didn't set at your neighbor's house.  I imagine, sadly, that you probably drink a lot of alcohol, but hey, if that's what loosens your inhibitions enough to check me out, well, then, I raise my glass to toast you.

Well, I would if it weren't 8 am on a Monday morning and I have to head to do some work today.  But metaphorically, I toast you.

A writer without an audience is just a self-absorbed boob.  Thank you for making me more than just a self-absorbed boob.

I will think of you a lot as I write. 

Because that's what my English teacher told me to do.  And my English professor.  And a few others along the way. 

Until next time fair reader.... parting is such sweet sorrow.

Television Comedies

We've already established that I watch way too much television.

If I were smart, I would have found  a way to make a living watching television.  But I didn't.  And I even did a stint in Southern California which would have been an ideal place to find such a job.

But I digress.  As usual.

I have noticed a trend in television comedies where the pilot's hook - the explanation of gathering this group of people together, or the way they tie to each other - is often lost as the series progresses.  What we come back to watch - if we come back to watch - are the characters and how they interact with each other.

Seinfeld, at least, was honest that his show was about nothing.  Of course, I never really watched it.  Maybe that's why. 

Actually, that's not why.  I have watched an awful lot of shows about nothing.  I just didn't relate to the characters.  Although I do like Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and enjoyed The New Adventures of Old Christine

But I digress.  As usual.

I watch Happy Endings.  The pilot premise was a bride leaving her groom at the altar, and about whether or how we get our "Happy Endings".  Or so I think.  I know the bride leaving the groom thing was in there.  But I'm presuming that is a little what is behind the title. 

But we don't come back because we wonder about the wedding.  If you tuned in after the pilot, you might not even realize that two of the characters were going to get married before one of them pulled a Julia Roberts Runaway Bride moment.  Because what we have fallen for, if we have fallen, is the characters.

Most would attribute this to the Friends phenomenon.  But I wonder if Friends was really the beginning, or if we just grew accustomed to that coffee shop, that when we see others gather sitting around, we hearken back to that particular sit-com.

But even the classic comedies had an essential tie that brought everyone together, and it was the characters that kept us coming back.  Two with Ted Knight come to mind: The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Too Close For Comfort.  But then, that is the term "situational" comedy. We create a situation, and then we laugh about it.  Three's Company

Cougartown, currently, is really fighting its name.  Yes, I believe, although I never watched its pilot, it did begin with the idea of a cougar looking for, um, prey.  But that is not what it has evolved into.  Not the show I've started watching.  Even the promos - the opening credits - state this isn't what you think it is. 

So is it the situation, a bar in Cheers, that keeps us coming back, or is it Norm, or the other characters whom we grow to love?  Yes, Don Knotts was funny both as Barney Fife, and as Mr. Farley in Three's Company.  But is it small town North Carolina that draws us to Mayberry, or the aw shucks attitude of the characters? 

(Did you not get the memo? I watch way too much television!)

New Girl is another example of a silly comedy that I haven't decided if I like or not, but really, again, the situation - a girl moving in with a few guys as room-mates - really becomes background to the characters.  Zooey Deschanel's character is really the situation of this show.  Again, showing, that really what we have are character-comedies, not situational comedies.  Yes, sometimes the situation will create the comedy - how many misunderstandings about Jack with Janet and Chrissy, and Janet and the other two girls who replaced Suzanne Somers over the years *were* based upon the situation of a man living with two women.  Then, it was a more awkward situation.  Today, New Girl's situation doesn't seem that strange.  But what brought you back to Three's Company (besides that it was on re-runs so often in my childhood that you couldn't miss it even if you wanted to) was the characters and their interactions with each other. 

So, at the end of the day, for a pilot to succeed there has to be registrable chemistry between its characters.  It may be the situation that gets us to watch, but it is the characters that keep us in tune.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

I got Favorited - Part Deux

AND, she favorited me DESPITE the Oscars going on at the same time.  I mean with such distractions, that she took a moment and thought of me.. Wow! Alright.. Now how to ride this wave into popularity.  Please give feedback on what you want more of and what you want less of, and which of the 24 Things About Me you want to know more. 

Okay? Okay.  Now, back to the Oscars and the true question of whether or not JLo slipped nip (which I know, of course, by reading my Newsfeed on Facebook!!)

I got Favorited!!

After being on Twitter less than two hours, I have had The Bloggess Favorite my tweet.  Now, if only I knew what that meant. 

I need some twitter lessons.  Fast.

But it's good, right?  It means I've gotten her attention!  Now, to see whether she will Wil Wheaton, or be a Nater Tater....

Stay tuned. 

Advice from The Bloggess

I'm thinking I'll need some advice from The Bloggess about what to do and how to act in public once I go viral  Because I'm sure that I will go viral.  That everyone will find me so witty, that they can't resist spreading the word.  I mean, already, my traffic has doubled in the last half hour over the entire life of the blog.  Wait.  Maybe that's not something I should advertise.

Maybe I should just tag this one under "insanity"... Yeah, that's it.  Visions of grandeur floating to my head... Better watch out for the ceiling fan...

Seriously, if you found me, and I made you smile, please:  tell your friends.  Oh, and tell me, too.  Either by comment or more privately, if you choose, by e-mail.  For the moment - until I go viral - comments can be made anonymously.

Thanks.  I'll try to avoid the ceiling fan if you write..

Oh shit!

I did it!  I got a twitter account, and I tweeted (twitted?) The Bloggess.  OMG!  There's a reason she's Capital T The and Capital B Bloggess...

She's a published author. 

Oh shit!  I am sure that she will thrive at being a Wil Wheaton.  Positive. 

Calling out The Bloggess - Don't pull a Nater-Tater...

Okay.  Here it is, Post #25.  The one in which I said that I would call out The Bloggess in a shameless effort to get more readers.

She would appreciate both the irony and the need for self-promotion.  I'm sure of it.

C'mon Jenny - you already promote so many wonderful bloggers whom I have been happy to find.  Read more.  Laugh.  E-mail me a picture of a taxidermied animal, if you want.

What I am looking for from you is a picture of you collating papers while juggling balls of twine.  Simple, right?  Surely Victor could handle the photography.  He seems like an amenable guy.  I mean he loves you, he must be a sport.  I'm sure of it.

C'mon, Jenny.  You knew it had to happen someday.  When *you* would have the notoriety of Wil Wheaton and that some other young budding blogger would write you requesting a picture of you collating paper.  With twine.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?

Yes, I admit, this is a shameless attempt to broaden my audience past the [4] people who have viewed it from the Ukraine and my dog (well, I don't have a dog, but if I did, s/he would be an avid reader of my blog, I'm certain). 
Humor me.  You always do.
(I mean check out the sidebar.  You're one of the biggest tags.  And not simply because I went back through all my old posts and tagged you, although I did think about that.. )
A Sincere Fan
(well, except the taxidermied animals, but you can forgive a girl, can't you?)

P.S.  Don't forget to look at the rest of the blog.  And tell your friends! Thanks.

If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.

The Flip Side

The Ukranians are easy to please and continue to come back -or so I think based on how often they find me through the Russian site. 

No, I clearly have a few English-speaking readers, friends of friends. And Mom.  No, not Mom.  I haven't told her about it yet.  I've been spreading the word slowly - I want to remain anonymous after all.  So how do you pick those first few folks to share it with?  And how do I get to be a highlighted blogger from Blogger?

Someone has found me.  Maybe it was those ads I put in bathrooms a few towns away? 

Maybe I need to commit to do 366 Random Acts of Kindness this year?  Better do it fast, the leap year is about to leap by me.

No, that's not it. 

Jenny may be the only solution.  And Twitter.

I have an iPhone app for Twitter.  Maybe it's time I just gave in and did it. 

I resisted Facebook FOR-E-VER (if forever was well over three years ago..), and instantly... I mean INSTANTLY ... became hooked.

Raise your hand if you're like me and you get ALL of your news from your morning Facebook Newsfeed? 

What else do I need to know?

But the question really is: am I ready for Prime Time?  Because if I call out Jenny the Bloggess, that's it.  I'm putting myself out there in a big way.  To her 140,000 fans... Even 140 of them would be huge.  (In the last couple hours, you can see my dreams have grown by 10x... I'm getting ambitious).

Ready or not... the next post is #25... (if it takes me a little bit to post, just remember that it has to be perfect for her, because I'm not a fan of taxidermied animals, I will have to work extra hard to impress her, AND, I have to figure out twitter...)

Life, and illness, gets in the way...

Okay, so the past few days I have been distracted by illness.  Well, those were the first few days I didn't write, and then the last couple of days I've just been enjoying not being sick.  Selfish of me, I know, catching up on my sleep rather than write here.

I had made an important decision last weekend.  In fact, I had started drafting the blog post for my important decision, but I know I need to wait for the appropriate milestone. 

And then I got sick, and didn't write, and now I begin to wonder what milestone is appropriate.  And then I got another sign that it might be time sooner than later...

As I have mentioned before, I am a fan of The Bloggess.  I aspire to be as witty - but not as enamored of taxidermied animals - as she is.  I have high hopes.

So, in the spirit of her Wil Wheaton triumph, I have been intending to ask her to send to me a picture of her collating.  Or maybe I need to ask her to hold twine. 

Then there was today's blog entry - it's like she's already thinking of me and inventing terms I can use to call her out - I can tell her that she doesn't want to pull a Nater-Tater, and she'll be impressed by my ability to take her phrase and wittily reform it into a new term.  I'm certain of it. 

I feel that I must do this soon, while she's in the mood.  I had considered that when I reached my 25th blog entry it would be time.  I am at entry #23 now...

I am sure she wants to be a Wil Wheaton.. I'm sure of it.

Here's the only trouble.  I think in order to get her attention, I'm going to need a twitter account and start a tweeting campaign.  But I'm not a twit. Yet.  Maybe it's time I became one.  For Jenny, I would.

Any suggestions of what kind of picture I should ask for between now and the entry after the next one where I call her out would be appreciated.

(And Jenny, if you're reading this, the reason for calling you out is to get you to bring even 14 of your 140k readers over to my site, because I'm betting below there are no suggestions... I need more than an audience of Ukranians to get that pop.  Please help)

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Trigger People

I recognize my image of myself may be distorted by my own rose colored glasses.  We always like to think the best of ourselves and hope that we act in the best way possible towards others.  But let's face it, we're human.  Or at least I am.

One of the places I work has quite a few personalities.  And I mean stand up comedian sketch material to last for years. 

Often, I can distance myself from them and from the craziness.  I come in to do one thing.  I have control over my hours, for the most part, of when I do it, although there are certain times when I have to be around others.  And I've made some good friends amongst the characters, so often it is a place I can enjoy being.

I know that we're all human.  And clearly, there are some days, when I just have to repeat this mantra.  Accept people for who they are, with all their flaws, as I would want them to accept me. 

But there's this one guy.  I'll call him Bob. 

He used to work sometimes with this guy Frank, who left us last spring, and I do think that Frank cared about him after all the years they spent together, but Bob couldn't win with Frank.  Bob would make a seemingly innocuous comment - "that sheet of paper is white" and Frank would jump all over him.  "No it's not.  Can't you see those blue lines?"  It didn't matter what Bob said, Frank would disagree.

When Frank was here, although I would find Bob occasionally annoying, mostly I felt pity on him for the way Frank treated him.

Until I became Frank.  Eight months after his departure, I know I have become him.  Bob just needs to walk in the room, and already I'm annoyed and on the defensive.  Already I'm ready to pick a fight. 

I don't know if I hide it well or not.  Today he came into the room and said to me "I'm bored.  Create some drama."  And I'm like, if I create drama, I'm going to end up upsetting someone and making them storm out and slam the door, and we really don't need that.  "Oooh.. a fight!" Bob responded excitedly, not clear, apparently, that I was referring to him.  "Goodie!  I'll sell tickets and then watch."

It took all my self restraint not to clue him in.  Others in the office knew exactly what I was saying, and were doing their best to stifle their laughs.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Life Gets in the Way

Don't you hate that? 

I have great aspirations for this blog.  You can tell given how many posts did I post in the first day?  I don't want to go back and count.  Don't make me.

So here it is at the end of the day, and I haven't yet written.  I know it won't take long for a day to go by without writing, and I know that it won't be the end of the world if it does. 

Some say it only takes twenty-one days to form a habit.  So.. I'd like at least twenty-one days to go by before I miss a day.  Then I can feel a wee bit more confident that this whole blogging / writing thing will continue going even if I miss just a day.

But today, life got in the way.  So my entry is short, and a little bit silly. 

However, I've decided I will be happy with baseball averages.  Not every post needs to be hit out of the park.  I can take a few bunts.

Move on to another post.  There are more. 

Sunday, February 19, 2012

P.S. I love you

I love a good sappy romantic story.  Apparently.  I just checked out DVD for The Notebook from the library even though I've seen it many, many times (and read it a couple of times, too).

Yes, I admit it.  I like Nicholas Sparks. 

Apparently I've watched more Rachel McAdams movies than I realize, because I own The Time Traveler's Wife, and just went to see the recent release The Vow.

Movies, actually, have often been a release for me.  An escape into another world where the deprivation inside the theater helps one to be completely focused on the story being unfolded in front of you.  (Unless, of course, the bozo three rows down to the right is texting his friend, but that's another issue)

I have had one long term 10+ years relationship and several smaller ones lasting around 2 years each. 

I remember during one particularly tense time with the 10+ year lover when I escaped to the movies.  Hillary Swank was starring with Gerard Butler in this tragicomic (there was some humor in there) love story of a man who dies too young, and knowing he will not be there for his young bride, he plans a number of surprises to help her through the grieving process.  Several letters with instructions arrive.  And at the end of each, he writes, "P.S. I love you." 

A love that survives even death.  Such a strong classic romantic notion.  That had me bawling as the relationship I thought, then, was supposed to be that for me was falling apart. 

One of my favorite all time movies is What Dreams May Come with Annabella Sciorra and Robin Williams.  Another love story about how true and great love survives even death.  I was very fortunate to see that movie for the first time in a theater.  When the paint splashed on the canvas in such vivid intensity, I was completely mesmerized.  That was the movie that had to break in each successive higher definition big screen television because the images on it were so vivid.  It was a movie I'd seen before the 10+ year relationship, but I owned it and watched it several times with her.

During this same period, our nephew got a new crisp high definition flat screen television, and so I brought the movie over and one night we watched it together, he and I.

If you haven't seen the movie, I apologize because I will spoil it for you here.  Basically the moral of the story is that if you really love someone, you'll allow yourself to go crazy with them to show your love to them, and then, ideally, bring them out of the hell that they are in as a result of their craziness. 

Watching that, and dealing with my own life falling apart as my partner was afflicted with mental illness herself and seeing that as one Hollywood solution was very hard for me to realize and reconcile.  Ultimately, I could not make the sacrifice that Chris, Robin Williams' character, made.  But then, our situations were a little different.

Recently a tryst, for lack of a better word, has ended and I am grieving, yet again.  It was much more complicated than that, and time will only tell if SHE was the one, but for the purposes of this post, it is all you need to know.  I commiserate lately with another friend also grieving a relationship (boy, aren't we a lot of fun?).

And at some point in our daily conversation - which usually takes place over e-mail - I'll write my friend and tell her:  "P.S. I miss her"

When I was younger, I was wiser.  I knew, then, that I would simply have a series of monogamous relationships.  I am a child of divorce, so despite my love of romantic movies, I have some cynical leanings as well.  Wait until I fall again, though, and see which win out.  I get all foolish and silly and wonder if she is the one.  Forgetting, that I will have a lot of ones.

In the meantime, by the way, in case you might have forgotten, I miss her.

If you like this, stick around and read other entries.  Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end.  Take a moment to send me some feedback.  Thanks for coming.  Please come back soon.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Love yourself

This one I am starting before I hit the shower because I know it will be zinging through me in a few moments when I hit the water.  I will wait to post to add whatever brilliance I have from there to here.

In my life I have used what I will call "situational" therapy.  Therapy to help me during, well, situations.  Often transitions.  Often around relationships, whether with lovers or with family.  Sometimes it helps to have a second person help you navigate and negotiate through those straits.  In keeping with a nautical theme, it never hurts to have a second set of eyes helping keep watch as you move forward for things like, well icebergs (Can you BELIEVE that they are bringing The Titanic BACK to theaters? I saw that in a trailer yesterday!!!  In 3-D!  You'd think in 3-D they'd be able to see the iceberg... but I digress)

So I have heard the words from these folks and from other good well meaning intentioned friends that I need to love myself. 

I admit I've often been puzzled by this direction.  Not that I don't think it is important to love yourself - I do - but how do you KNOW if you love yourself? Or don't love yourself?  I wonder now, what self-loathing these people were observing, because frankly, I never saw it.

I do think I love myself.  I am quite comfortable with myself and have a pretty reasonable self-esteem.  I think their concern may arise from the fact that when I am in relationships, I tend to become involved in others' interests that I may not necessarily pursue on my own.  I can see, from the outside, where that could be concerning for those who love me, but I can say with all certainty that I am not losing myself in them in the way that they fear.  I am enjoying the company of people I love.  And if something is important to them, particularly if I haven't done it myself, I'm willing to to give it a whirl and see if it's fun.  I will admit, most often the reason it is fun, is because of their company.  And, yes, some of those activities fall off my to-do list when I am no longer hanging with a particular person.

But ironically, this post isn't about me.  Or rather this post isn't inspired by me. 

My head feels, at the moment, like it is going to explode.

I came out in high school.  And looking backwards from there, it made sense.  I had crushes on several female teachers, I liked to look down some of their shirts (natural curiosity that doesn't mean I'm gay, but certainly makes more sense in context of it), had ardent feelings for my female best friends, etc.  And most people, apparently, knew before I did, and asked me when I finally did come out what took so long, or said "Duh!"

But I do remember that early time period wondering, "could I be... " "Am I..." I couldn't even write the word "lesbian" then.  But I knew what I was referring to, so I didn't need to.  I went on a journey of exploration.  Remembered my interest and curiosity in other lesbians I had met or had seen on television.  Read "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and recognized an an affinity with the writing about the women who loved women.  But I was scared to kiss one, and even more scared of what else might happen - I had not yet been sexual, although I had done some heavy petting.  I had no idea what to do with a woman.  And frankly the thought of doing some things that I really, really, really enjoy now were quite disgusting to me to think about.  But then again, who is turned on by french kissing before you actually try it?  I digress.

I'm lucky.  My family was reasonably supportive.  And all of this, frankly, should have been part of another post, but today's pending head explosion has required me to get all this introductory stuff out of the way.

A friend of mine is coming out late in life.  Ironically she's one of several. I always seem to attract people who are about to come out as friends. I wonder why?  ;)

And she has the normal questioning:  Am I really this way? Why am I this way? Did I drink the Kool-Aid? What will others think? Who do I tell? Do I tell anyone? Can they tell just by looking at me?  What does it mean?  Am I okay?  Will my friends still like me? Will people still love me? 

My answers to those questions, frankly, are:
  • Yes,
  • Does it really matter?
  • Maybe, but it wasn't Kool-Aid that made you this way. 
  • Who cares?
  • Anyone you want or no-one you don't want. 
  • It's up to you. 
  • Some might, most won't; those of us who are may have a better chance of recognizing you. 
  • It means, at a minimum, you're not straight. 
  • Yes, you're okay. 
  • Yes, your true friends will still like you. 
  • Yes, people will still love you. 

But I am beginning to sense that the underlying question that she may be asking or she should be asking is "Do I still love myself?"

Because she has acknowledged that she doesn't think there's anything wrong with LGBQTalphabet in others.  She's not queer-phobic or think that it's wrong in others.  And actually, this isn't her first time at the rodeo.

To me, being gay is just a part of who I am.  A part that has always been there.  A part as natural to me as having five fingers.  I don't define myself by having five fingers, but if you took them away, I wouldn't quite be myself.  (Maybe this is a bad analogy, but it is similar to the one I made to her, so let's roll with it).  She is worried that maybe she was this way because others told her she was, and not because she had arrived here on her own.  And yet, she agreed upon further questioning, that there was no one throwing her out or pushing her or pulling her out of the closet door this time.  That coming out was not something that was fashionably correct that she was trying to emulate.  But, she wondered, do I really have a mark on me or do I just believe I do because others have told me I do?

So I made the analogy of a birthmark.  Analogies are tricky things.  If you don't think them out first, they could back-fire on you.  And maybe I didn't.  But I explained to her that being this way  (and exactly what "this way" means is still unclear - there's a lot of grey area in sexuality despite what others might say or think) for her and her experience is like having a birthmark on her back.  It's been there all along, but she couldn't see it.  Others told her it was there when she was younger, but she never saw it, herself.  She trusted others that it was there. 

Now she's wondering if it is really there.  And I told her I had fancy mirrors and could take a picture of it so she could see. 

And this morning she asked, "what if it's a melanoma?" 

What if her queer feelings were actually a cancer?! Really???

I'd like to say I'm speechless, but you can see from above, I'm clearly not.

I am kind of angry, I'll admit.  But mostly I am very, very sad. 

Because suddenly I was struck with this lightening bolt: "Oh, this is what it looks like when you don't love yourself" 

The good news for me is I know that is not me - I am clear that I do, very much indeed, love myself. 

And as much as I'd like to rejoice in that knowledge, my heart is heavy for my friend.  Very heavy.

Now I ask questions in life.  And so I have, on more than one occasion, asked in response to someone who told me I needed to love myself how I do that.  And none of them exactly had the answer to that, although one did give me a guide to masturbation.  (No, I kid, but really, you knew the joke had to come in somewhere....)

I am shaking my head because I really wish, now, I had the answer.

And I think the answer might be that you love yourself the same way you love others.  You put their needs first.  You make what is important to them important to you.  You try to make their burden easier.  You accept them with all of their flaws.  You recognize that they are not perfect.  That they will make mistakes.  That they will have inconsistencies.  They are beautiful in your eyes just the way they are because you love them.  You want what is best for them.  You want them to find happiness and peace.  You don't want them to hurt.  You enjoy their company.  Their smile makes you smile.  You want to support them no matter what they want to do.  I don't know - this isn't easy.  Often hormones help you "love" someone else while you build a solid foundation of emotional love underneath the chemical one.   

There is a lot of what Paul wrote that I don't agree with, but this seems as good a guideline as any:

"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in the truth"

How to apply that to loving yourself? 

Love is patient.  Be patient with yourself. 
Love is kind.  Be kind to yourself. 
It is not irritable or resentful.  Accept yourself as you are, without resentment. 
And find some way to rejoice in the truth - no matter how scary it is. 

And know that others love you and you deserve to be loved.  Most especially by you. 

Friday, February 17, 2012

14. I live alone - Part Two

The first time I lived with someone, I moved into her house.  I learned from that experience.  I learned not to move into someone else's house. 

Because guess what?  It would always be THEIR house.

By the time I moved out over two years later, I had been having a Virgina Woolfian craving for a room of my own. 

We moved all of my stuff to her home, but 98% of it went into a storage area next to the garage.  I understand it takes time to assimilate, but it took me a year to realize that the only item of size of mine that had made it into the house was my bed and only because she had been sleeping on a futon before I moved in.  Everything else in the house, and on the book shelves, was hers.  Even most of the things in the closet were hers.  The dresser was primarily hers - I think I got a couple of drawers, but not much.

I knew, rationally, it wasn't personal.  And I knew, too, that it DID reflect the state of the relationship, hence the reason it didn't last that long.  She was trying to share her space, but it had been HER space for so long before I got there, and remained HER space for much longer after I was gone. 

And really the reason I had moved in was because we had commenced a geographically undesireable relationship.  (Another pattern, another post later).  Where I had been living when we met was about ten miles from work.  Where she lived was about ten miles from where I lived. It wasn't in the opposite direction, fortunately, but the plot points between my apartment, her house and work formed a nice triangle.  And because she had dogs, and worked from home, it was much more convenient for both of us for me to go to her house in the evenings.  So, after a month or so where I hadn't been home, it seemed silly to continue paying rent there.  And made much more sense - to her - for me to help pay the mortgage. 

(BTW, my apartment room-mate still to this day says I was the best room-mate ever.  Because she never saw me, and I never was there to make a mess)

I decided, moving forward and moving out of her home, that the next time I chose to live with another woman, that we would have to find a place of our own.  That both of us shaped and created and discovered our space in.  And in my next relationship, I did just that.  And it worked!  We both felt ownership and both felt at home where we lived.  We both had space and space together. 

I don't know what will happen when I next fall in love with someone who lives or wants to live in the same place as I do.  I may choose to continue to live alone, or I may throw it all out the window.  But I enjoy having my own space.  I enjoy living alone. 

Now, if only I had someone to share that with!

14. I live alone

I currently live alone. 

When I was in college, I was involved in a long distance relationshp.  It was torture.  This was before the days of skype, texting, Facetime, and e-mail was just beginning to develop, but let me state that we did not have it and we did not use it.  This was when you actually paid for long distance by the minute.  When you paid attention when the phone company called and offered you a better deal on long distance charges, particularly since I wasn't the only one using our phone in a long distance relationship. 

So, communication was not necessarily a daily affair.  We actually wrote letters.  On paper.  With stamps.  We couldn't call every day - we were both students and couldn't afford it.  I'm sure we talked about once a week.  But that's a long time not to be connected.

When we finally ended the relationship due to my loneliness, I recognized and realized that I was not a long-distance kinda gal.  I needed my significant other to be closer to me so that I could be more connected.

In my thirties, I had the relationship I dreamed of in my twenties.  I was living with my partner, and we had a household, the typical white-picket fence kind of existance.  An adult relationship.  I was happy and felt connected.  I had that daily touch, and I was not lonely.

During that relationship, I decided to go back to school for a graduate degree.  This all while working full-time.  This was a lot on my plate.  My time became scarce.  And the demands on that time were heavy.  A good friend of mine was a successful lawyer and involved in a relationship with someone who lived about two hours away.  They talked regularly - I presume daily - and then spent their weekends together.  She had "her" time to do what she needed to do without worrying about getting home to him, and then they had "their" time to do things together and be together.  They had separate time. 

And while in school, and trying to juggle, I suddenly became very jealous of that separation of space.  I suddenly became envious of a long distance relationship, and recognized that now that I was older, I might actually be able to sustain a long distance relationship, and in fact, I might actually want a long distance relationship.  My wife was very supportive of my endeavors, but she had her needs and ants, too.  She missed seeing me, wanted to know when I would be home, and wanted my attention - ideally undivided - when I was home to be with her.  I can't blame her.  Quality attention is much more important than quantity of attention, and I was not giving her the attention she needed to feel that she was special in my life.  But despite our attempts to set "date nights" and other time for ourselves so that we could have that quality time, it was difficult to do so.

I envied the long distance relationship.  The ability to compartmentalize.

And at some point during that relationship, I decided that if I were involved again, I might enjoy NOT living with someone else. 

One of the annoying things I used to do was leave stuff around the house, and let the papers pile.  One of the annoying things my wife used to do was tidy up after me and clean up those piles.  I have a visual / spatial memory.  I have a pretty good memory of where I left things.  If I am in my office surrounded by stacks of papers, I am pretty good at quickly pinpointing what pile something I might be looking for is in, and have a pretty good idea about how far down the pile it is.  With the ADD, I wasn't too great at filing and instead, felt that the papers needed to be out to give me a visual reminder of what needed to be done.  I know that this isn't unusual.

That all works fine and dandy unless someone moves your pile of papers.  And their memory isn't as good as yours to remember what they did with it.  Usually it was put in a plastic bag somewhere. 

So, it'd be nice to have my own space where no-one moved things, and I could find them. 

I haven't really had an opportunity to try out my theory.  I haven't been involved with someone since who has been available to live with me.  In fact, it was quite a complicated relationshp that ended up being long distance at the end.  I did confirm that I can handle being in a long distance relationship better than I could thanks to free long distance, texting, instant messaging, e-mailing.  But I was still lonely, too. 

I think, though, if I were to have the ideal relationship, me and my partner would live in the same "complex" - whether it be apartment buildings, street, or an actual duplex, but have separate space.  Close enough to always be together, but still have a room of our own.

Ah, but that's another post.

Are we really that lazy?

(I'll warn you.  This is a shower post.  It was brilliant.  Let's see where it stands now.)

Alternative subject: Really? How hard is it to type?

I don't like it when I'm reading something and it makes me think. 

Well, to be clear, I don't like it when I'm reading something and it makes me have to think about what the author is saying.

Wait.  Still not right.

I don't like it when I am reading something and I have to have the urban dictionary or a glossary or a texting acronym book to figure out WHAT the author is LITERALLY writing. 

I don't mind thinking ABOUT what the author is writing about, but I'd like to easily understand what that is by reading words I understand rather than try and decode their missives.

I deliberately chose NOT to become a decoder for the CIA. 

(Well, no, I didn't choose that.  Suggesting I "chose" it presumes that I had an opportunity to do so, and we'll never know about that... BUT, I'm sure if I CHOSE to be a CIA decoder, they would have made me an offer. Right? Right.)

I was reading a blog last night, and the blogger wrote about how she and her DH went and did something.  Now I don't know about you, but I don't know that many women who walk around with a designated hitter.  Because that's where MY mind goes to when I see the words "DH". 

Now, last night, I admit, I wasn't that confused.  It wasn't the first time that I'd seen "DH" or other derivations "XDH, DGF, XDGF", etc.  But it is still a new enough term for me that it interrupts my reading experience as I try to understand what it is that she wrote. 

So this morning, as I'm lathering up, I am wondering just how hard it is to type the words "dear husband".  Is it really so hard? 

Now I do have some understanding that we live in a world that limits our characters - texts, tweets, and at one time FB, and so we have to find ways to abbreviate.  And I know that abbreviations are NOT a new thing.  I can imagine, for example, (i.e., eg:) that the first folks who saw "etc" had to take a moment to think "Oh, etcetera!" 

Now, I admit that I feel when I write something like this that I must have become a curmudgeon when I wasn't looking.  I had to look twice in the mirror after I stepped out of the shower to confirm I am not a curmudgeon.  (I don't think I look like one?)

I am sophisticated enough to understand LOL, LMAO, etc. 

But I do find myself sometimes reading TFLN and having to reference the urban dictionary to understand it.  I still enjoy it.  But I feel old when I don't get it right away.

Part of the problem is that I am a skilled typer.  It takes me LONGER to reduce and abbreviate and think about the abbreviation than it does for me to type the full expression.  I have been typing for 75% of my life and began typing on a real typewriter.  I type faster than the average bear.  (Okay, well, that image probably doesn't help you understand how fast I type... since I don't think Yogi really does have the dexterity to type very quickly or very well)

And I am tech-savvy.  I have owned Blackberries, Palm Pilots, and iPhones.  I can type on those keyboards fairly quickly, too. 

I have had friends get frustrated in chatting with me online because they feel like they can't get a word in edge-wise.  By the time they finish writing "Yes, I did" I've moved on three or four more topics.  And then I don't know what their "Yes, I did" referred to, and I've really messed up the conversation. 

No wonder they abbreviate. 

Shower Topics

It is not unusual to come up with a topic for the blog (or in the past a long rambling e-mail to a friend) in the shower.  I mean reading your shampoo bottle only gets you so far in keeping your mind occupied, and I do not have the ability to play music loud enough to hear in the shower and sing along with.

(This does not mean that I don't sing in the shower, of course, I am human.)

But there I will be lathering up, rinsing, and sometimes repeating (NOT because the shampoo bottle has instructed me to, but because I've lost track of what I've done and can't remember if I've shampooed yet or not) and my brain will have it's little mini rant. 

I have discovered, though, that I need to be careful because that little rant is a lot like my dreams.  It will fade quickly once I begin to dry off.  I mentioned that I began a dream journal recently.  I'm so-so good at it.  I'm not sure what the threshold memory of details that I remember is worth writing in the journal.  If I remember, generically, kissing hot and heavy, but remember few details beyond that, is it worth capturing in the journal?  A part of me says, "yes" because one of the purposes of the journal is to detect patterns.  To try and decode the inner workings of my subconscious.  Right?

(BTW, dream journal, last night I dreamt about kissing hot and heavy... )

In the shower, my posts are composed wonderfully.  Well constructed, detailed, thought-out, well formulated.  Humerous.  Definitely funny.  In the shower, my posts are brilliant. 

You'll have to see how well they come out when I'm dried off.  Since I think, like the dog shaking himself dry and shaking off the water drops, I think my brilliance gets wiped away as I dry myself off.  It was there.  And now it's not.  Sort of like my singing ability.  I'm not an Idol fan, but if they had a shower competition, I'm sure I'd win. 

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Elevator Speech

I have lived in big metropolitan areas, so I remember what an elevator is.  But I do laugh at this expression now, living here in a small town where I can't really recall the last time I was on an elevator.  Seriously.

But a friend of mine who is going through a divorce was trying to formulate her "elevator speech" for when she met new people.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the term (like those of us who don't live around elevators anymore), basically you have time travelling in a tall building up and down the elevator with strangers.  Enough time to strike up an albeit quick conversation.  A chance to get to know each other.

Quick is the operative word.  The theory is you have about 30 seconds. (Unless, of course, some bozo hit all the buttons - don't be that bozo)

And the point is for entrepreneurs to use that time wisely to sell whatever it is you're selling.  You have thirty seconds.

That, and when you go to networking meetings, to meet other entrepreneurs, you are usually given about 30 seconds to introduce yourself and whatever it is you're selling.

Thirty seconds.

Since my friend brought it up, I've been thinking about it. 

While the term is frequently used in a business context, frankly, it's usuable in many social situations.  I mean you probably wouldn't want to start with your elevator speech in a bar when you meet someone, but it's good to have a few soundbites practiced and ready to give out to summarize your life down to edible nuggets.

When you live in a town where the only elevator takes you up just a story or two, you have to be fast.

But we are living in a world of sound-bites.  You have 140 characters to twit tweet the perfect line.  Facebook seems to have relaxed it's character limitations.  But let's face it, no-one reads the notes very often.  Often all we get from people are the headlines, the quick lines.

I am a person who tends to operate with a best friend.  Someone I share all my random thoughts with.  That person may or may not also be a lover, but I need and like a best friend.  Because I have a lot that goes through my head and I like to share.  (Haven't you figured that out?)  Maybe it's that ADD-thing.

But that's a lot of responsibility for just one person.  And it isn't infrequent for me to have someone say "I'll read every word you write" to eventually, not.   (It stings just a wee bit when she's the current love of your life, but...)

So, it should not be surprising, in this round about fashion, that I have turned to blogging.  Because all the stuff flying through my head is too much for one person to absorb.  So I need to spread it around.

And I have chosen you.

Make me no promises to read my every word - I have trust issues there - but feel free to do so.  And let me know what you think.  My best friends will be happy to share the reading responsibilities with you.

If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.

The Bloggess and Taxidermied Animals

So, in case you didn't get it when I stated I read the Bloggess and think "that could be me" but qualified that this didn't include her taxidermied animal postings, and scratched your head, well here's one example:

This is the part where I know I am NOT The Bloggess.  God bless her, but I don't do a lot of playing with stuffed animals. 


I work several "jobs".  A couple are for pay and a couple are volunteer.  Currently, only one requires me to punch a time clock, and that's a night job. 

Personally, I tell myself that I prefer it that way.  I like having control of my own schedule and the flexibility to make the commitments I want when I want without having to clear them with anyone else.  Being single helps with this, too.

But I'm not sure, particularly with my ADD, it is always what is best for me.

They say with ADD that structure is important.  Habits are important to make sure you have that structure and you get the things done you need to do on a regular basis. 

Without them, adrenaline and deadlines are usually the strongest motivators. Usually if something can be done tomorrow or next week, then I often feel content to leave it until tomorrow or next week.  It isn't that I am lazy, I just logically don't see the need to rush.   Not always, but frequently enough.  It's the "joy" of ADD, and it frustrates the hell out of those around me sometimes.

Did I mention I was single?  Did I mention that my ADD was diagnosed in the context of being in a relationship?  Um, yeah. 

All of this introduction because last night I decided that I did not need to go to my contract site to work today, that I would work from home.  And as I went to sleep last night (earlier than usual, even) I gave myself a stern lecture / made a pact that I would wake up  at the usual time - actually that's wrong.  I always wake up at the usual time.  I love living without an alarm clock.  The pact was that I would GET OUT OF BED when I woke up.  At a reasonable hour. 

Even though I don't need an alarm to wake up, I do sometimes need an alarm in the morning to remind me that time is getting away from me.  That and an old trick from being a kid to find my watch I always lost.  I have learned that if something is small and has the possibility of being lost, it's a good idea to have a daily alarm on it so at least once a day there's noise by which to find it.  So on my iPhone I have a daily alarm that goes off at 8:57 AM.  This is a good hour after I naturally wake up, and sometimes even longer than that. 

So, I woke up this morning at first around 7:15 AM.  That was nice.  I still have time to sleep - I was projecting getting out of bed closer to around 8 AM when I usually wake up.  So I went back to sleep.  My dream was kind of intriguing (I have some of the strangest and coolest dreams that I have lately began keeping a dream journal) and so down I went.  Woke up again closer to 8 AM, as usual.

A small voice said, "Okay, now, we talked about this.  You are going to get out of bed.  Just because you're staying home doesn't mean you get to be unproductive."  Well, actually, it was to myself, so all I really said was "Okay, now.."  The rest was implied. 

It's not even quite yet 8, I argued back.  Needless to say, I won.  And back to snoozin' sleep I went.

I'm not sure how many times we had this half-hearted conversation.  But some geeky math person could provide me with a minimum.  I finally got out of bed about twenty minutes ago, and it is now 10:15 AM.  The iPhone alarm snooze goes off every nine minutes.  And add a couple extra "discussions" between 8 and 8:57 AM, and well, you get the idea.

I've never been a jump out of bed kinda girl unless I had some place to be. Fortunately the woman I lived with for over ten years didn't seem to mind the snooze button, even though she was the type to jump out of bed (often forgetting to give me a morning snuggle and kiss, what was up with that?)  and get going.  She had the energizer bunny inside of her - but that's a whole other story.

When I have to be somewhere, I can get out of bed.  Or, at least, I could.  These days I try not to schedule anything too early so I don't have to test that out, but I used to live on the West Coast in one of those jobs that foolishly was tied partly to East Coast time, and I used to be at work by 6:30 AM, and out of the house by 5:45 AM.  I can do it.  Well, I did it.  You notice, I don't work that job now.  And that I moved back to East Coast time, so it isn't as much of an issue. 

In the light of morning, I recognize that not using an alarm, waking up naturally, scheduling things later in the morning if I have to schedule anything (I have very little that I have to schedule) is my way of rolling with my ADD.

I was too sleepy to create that understanding / argument this morning, but tomorrow, we'll see if I tell myself "Roll with it" next time I hit the snooze button. 

Resistance is futile.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012


From the iPhone app:

4. Sociol. the merging of cultural traits from previously distinct cultural groups, not involving biological amalgamation.

Of course, anyone who has watched the Borg from Star Trek know that they involve biological amalgamation... but that's a distraction.

In the past, I have been afraid of putting too much personal detail in an anonymous blog because I am afraid that somebody somewhere will figure out it's me.  And then I might feel the need to censor myself.  Ironically, ignoring, of course, that I was already censoring myself, but we'll put that aside for the moment.

I have a friend who blogs regularly who doesn't use his real name as his handle, refers to his wife as Mrs. Handle (or for this, for example, it would be Mrs.BorgBlog), and tries to call his kids by different names to protect their privacy.  But he has been sloppy, and I don't know if he even thinks he has any reasonable modicum of anonymity.

Recently, though, I have found a few blogs where if I didn't know better, I would swear they were written by friends.  And, frankly, the definitive reason why I know that they weren't, on some occasions, because we can all change the details to protect the innocent, was knowing that they were spending time with me when they would otherwise supposedly be blogging.  (Yes, I know you can time delay posts, but, really there were other details that confirmed it). 

I have also found a message board where I have started sharing information, again, very conscious not to give too many incriminating details so that someone might realize it was ME. 

(And we'll just ignore the huge ego issues that I've just raised that anyone really cares it's ME or whatever....)

On the message board, I have seen and I have written: "I could have written that".  We find our experiences to be so similar.  Where we might otherwise have felt alone, we now find comfort in realizing we are not.  My fears that someone who knows me and knows my issue bringing me to the message board would be able to pick me out of the crowd is unfounded. 

I've also fallen in love with The Bloggess.  I am most definitely not her.  But there are several entries (usually NOT the ones involving taxidermied animals) where I think, WOW, I could have written that. 

And so I realize, that even if you think you know who this is, you're probably wrong.  I may remind you of your hysterical neighbor (as in funny, I hope, and not crazy) down the street, the girl you grew up with, a former lover, a best friend, a woman you really hated, but that's probably someone else.  It's probably not me. 

Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal. 

Some have said that there are no new stories to write.  I don't know whether that is true or not.  Fortunately, I'm not in the fiction business.  I just finished reading John Grisham's The Confession, and I found it quite thought-provoking.  And then I picked up a recent Scott Turow book and decided to take a quick review of his other books to remind me of the potential connections, because usually his books connect to each other in some way.  And I was reminded of the book Reversible Errors which I have read, and re-reading the plot summary realized it was the same basic underlying plot as I had just read in Grisham's book.

Okay - that was a detour.

When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective.  There is no unique "I" in Borg.  There is just Borg.

 So while you think you may know me, you probably don't.  Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know.  But you do not know my identity. 

You can simply call me Seven of Nine. 

If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.

I am slow...

I am not always the quickest to make silly connections.  But after the last post and thinking about the Sisyphusian analogy about my ADD and reviewing what I've written so far today, I had an amused ironic smirk on my face.

A "DUH!" moment.

Resistance is futile. 

Clearly trying to push that boulder up the hill is, um, futile. 

Maybe I need to walk away from that boulder and find a different way.  Doh!

21. I have / am ADD

I bring this up to you not only to tell you another little factlet about myself, but also to warn you that I am already getting bored talking only about myself. 

Which really actually minimizes the issue of my ADD. 

And my ADD is a big issue. 

If I were able to manually make those tags various sizes, I'd make the ADD tag pretty big.  I know I can manipulate it, but I won't. 

I was not diagnosed as a kid.  And this was for many reasons.  First, it wasn't the catch-all diagnosis for energetic kids that it seems to be used for today.  I do think that the way we operate as a society actually creates ADD, or at least ADD symptoms, in folks.  But that's a whole other entry for another day. Second, I was smart enough to pass.  While it clearly, particularly in hindsight, hampered me from "reaching [my] full potential" as so many teachers might have written, I was doing well enough that they didn't waste a lot of time getting me there. 

I don't mean to say my teachers or parents didn't care.  Fighting ADD - either yourself or in others - is like rolling a boulder up hill.  If you don't continually apply your efforts, that boulder gets heavy and starts rolling back down hill.  It is a continuous ongoing process. 

Or that's my understanding of it based on my experience.  Right now I feel like I'm sitting at the bottom of the hill leaning up against that boulder and trying to figure out whether it's worth pushing anymore. 

Except I like the view higher up.  I like it when I reach my potential. I get frustrated by these invisible walls I keep hitting up against. 

Ironically, I was diagnosed as ADD not through an academic or a professional setting or situation, but through a relationship.  So this "disorder" not only holds me back academically, or professionally, but even raises its ugly, ugly head in my intimate relationships.  Lovely.

So, here I sit by the boulder at the bottom of the hill trying to figure out what to do.  I'm single (see #4).  And I contemplate the traditional definition of insanity.  Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. 

I do welcome feedback on this area.  And I'm sure I'll talk about it much more and make that tag on the side bigger and bigger over time.  I have tried a variety of methods to attack this, and it may simply be I haven't found the right combination.  Again, make comments below publicly, or feel free to send them privately by e-mail to

ADDENDUM - JULY 20, 2012

As of today, this blog post has had the most views of any of my posts, and yet no feedback, whatsoever.  Please take a moment and leave me a comment to tell me what you were looking for when you came here.  This and my other ADD posts seem to have an independent popularity, and yet, I don't know who this audience is, why you are coming, and what you are looking for - and even more, if I'm serving it.  Having ADD is hard - and knowing you are not alone is important.  Please, comment below and reassure me that I'm not alone.  Thank you!

If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.

24. I am neither politically correct or incorrect. I just am.

Well, after a post about church, I might as well get politics out of the way and hit two of the bigger taboos.

I have belonged to communities where political correctness is very important.  I have lived in communities where it's not.  I have known people for whom it seems being politically incorrect is a lifestyle choice. 

"Politically correct" has become quite a loaded term.  First it has such an arrogance to it that some throng can define what is "correct" and what is not "correct".  Second, what IS politically correct (surprisingly!) is often in flux.  And this is not only over time, but by block or neighborhood.  Or who you are. 

I, for example, can use the word "dyke" because I self-identify myself as one.  (See #15)  And frankly, personally, I don't care who else uses the term (although I might care HOW they use it), but I know there are many people who are politely sensitive who are afraid to use the word.  I respect their concern, but for me, personally, I am not offended if they use the term.  However, there are other "women who love women" who might be offended by the term. 

Basically, in our insular sensitivities, we have set up a minefield.  Good luck being politically correct.  It's a lot of work.  God bless you (oh, wait, that might not be politically correct, but here in the mid-West, it's a widely used expression that is acceptable...).

I was once with a woman who worked very hard to be politically correct.  I loved her dearly.  But watching her try to be politically sensitive - because, frankly, her intentions were to be sensitive, she didn't have the high-haughty motivation to need to be "correct" - was tiring.  And that was just watching her. 

I know she meant well.  And I haven't seen her in nearly twenty years.  I hope that she is not burnt out, but I can't imagine that she's not.  I love her dearly for her attempts.

But not everyone she was trying to be sensitive did.  Which was also sad to see.

I have been in actively politically correct communities.  Several of them.  And boy are the folks in them quick to judge you all while trying to be appropriate - which to me would seem to be non-judgmental.  But then, I'm a strange nut.  There was a certain hypocrisy often present in these communities.  Not everyone, but certainly many.  Being politically correct was a badge of honor - and again, given how much work goes into being that way, I guess they earned it.

But I think that for many, they lose the forest while looking at the trees. 

I accept the fact that in my life I'm going to offend someone.  It is impossible not to.  And frankly, if you get offended, it could just be you. Not me.  I accept that, too.  What I mean is not to shift the blame to you, but to recognize that I may have no control over whether I offend you.  I can spend a lot of energy trying not to, and still be unsuccessful. 

My goal, however, is to try and be sensitive and treat you as a human being.  Complete with flaws.  Someone who has similar qualities to me and different ones.  Similar experiences and different experiences.  I don't pretend that I know what it is to be you.  At least not without talking with You.  I can make certain assumptions, but I also recognize and respect that those are assumptions. 

I will make mistakes.  It will happen.

But I also try not to take myself too seriously, or let you take yourself too seriously. 

At the end of the day, either you'll like me for me - and all my flaws - or you won't. 

And frankly, if you base your whole opinion on me and whether I'm a person worthy of your companionship and friendship on whether I use, for example, the word 'dyke', or 'lesbian' or 'homsexual' or 'butch' or whatever politically correct or incorrect term, then frankly, I don't find you worthy of my companionship and friendship.

I am not out to offend you.  But I probably will.  It's life.  I'm human.  Get used to it. 

Much shorter diatribe is political party.  Each has its value.  Each has its flaws.  I do not vote simply along party lines.  Life is not that simple.  We're in the middle of a presidential election as I type this.  Republicans are thrashing each other and providing the fodder the Democrats can use later once they pick their candidate.  This does not seem like a particularly effective system, but it's the one we got.  It's a crazy world.  Well, a crazy U.S.  I'm sure the expression applies globally, but I'll stick with what I've started.

So, that's me in a political nutshell.  I'm sure more will become obvious over time. 

10. I am active in my church

It's a simple statement: I am active in my church.  And yet, writing it or trying to figure out how to write it, I realize that it is really quite complex.  And less so because of what it means to me, although that is a part, but more so because of what I think it might mean to a random anonymous audience. 

I would be curious to hear from others who might make that statement as to why they are active in their church.  You can comment below publicly or privately send me an e-mail - I think there should be a link, but if not, it's

I like the formatting feature on the right where it lists the labels used on the blog, and makes the labels used more often bigger than those used less often.  It helps you see what your priorities are, or at least your most talked about (and tagged, because administratively, you gotta tag 'em) subjects. 

I would have a lot of "tags" as to why I go to church, and the biggest of those "tags" would be community.  I participate in my church to find and participate in my community. 

When a person is in school, they are surrounded by people and it is easy to make friends.  The older you get, I have found, the harder it is to meet people and make friends, and develop long lasting relationships.  Not impossible, but harder.  Church is a place to meet people and make friends for me.

Relationship with God.  Frankly, I don't need a church to have a relationship with God.  He and I have it regardless of where I am at.  I have belonged to a church - not my current one - where I have found a perfect spot to sit and feel His presence, but a church is not a requirement for me to commune with God. 

A good sermon.  I really like a thought-provoking sermon.  I want the preacher to make me think about my life today in a new or different way.  Or reaffirm choices I am making, or nudge me in a direction if I am wondering.  I like an engaging and thought-provoking sermon.

My "religious beliefs" are not necessarily traditional.  I am not a bible thumper.  Nor do I feel the need to impose my views on others.  I'll share them with folks and have a conversation, but while I have a strong faith in my relationship with God, I have no pretense or belief that I can tell you about your relationship.  That's your business. 

But the primary reason I go to church is for the people, for the community.  I have made good friends in church, and I enjoy seeing people each week.  I can be socially awkward - inviting people to do things is not always easy - but here I know we'll see each other regularly - I don't have to work that hard to see you. 

So I am active in my church.

8. I watch way too much television

Which is pretty impressive considering that there isn't even a functioning television in my home. 

I can be a little bit compulsive. 

I have a love/hate relationship with Hulu.

I have a love/hate relationship with Netflix.

I think DVR and the ability to "pause" is one of the best inventions. Ever. 

If we could vote, I would encourage cable stations to pick up more of the cast-offs of the network stations.  I have found a lot of good series that only have one season that I think could have made it had the network not cut bait so quickly.  In today's wide manner of watching shows, there needs to be better ways to evaluate whether to continue a show's viability.  Perhaps the forum it is in may not be the most appropriate, but television execs should not throw the baby out with the bathwater. 

While I cannot say I have been immune to reality television, I am not a big fan.  But I loved the first couple of seasons of the original MTV Road Warrior and I really wanted to be on it.  And, I admit that I have watched more than one season of Survivor.  But it's been awhile. 

I would welcome recommendations.  Preferably ones I can watch on my computer.  ;)

13. I am a wee bit narcissistic

I think you have to be in order to write a blog.  You have to think that you are just SO-O-O wonderful that everyone would want to read what you have to say.  That Everyone would think you are interesting. 

I'd like to think that a certain amount is healthy. (I can't keep retyping the word, or else I'll keep misspelling it - too many 's's...)

I'd like to think that the amount I have is healthy.

Time will tell.

Or you will.

3. I am a geek

Okay. So, not only did I brain-barf the list above (and keep coming up with others that I want to add, but I have a separate place I am tracking those), and then randomize it, I, THEN, randomized the list again to provide the order that I'd write the posts.

'Nuff said

So, who am I?

Believe me, I have thought about saying, I am the Borg.  I have assimilated and the purpose of this blog is to assimilate you. 

But that isn't true.

Or is it?

As I made the epic decision to try to do another blog (this is not my first anonymous blog, but hopefully it will be the one I stick with and the one that goes viral), I made this list in my head of all the things about me I needed to tell you.  And I dramatically decided at the end, I would end it with "I am you."  But I'm not.

Or I hope I'm not. 

It's fun to find like-minded folks, and I hope to attract a lot of like-minded folks.  But I doubt that there is someone who is as unique as me and who likes EVERYTHING that I do.  I could be wrong.

I'm probably wrong. 

But the reality is if you become a fan of this blog you will like a portion of the things I like and not necessarily all.  My challenge will be to still keep you interested even when I'm talking about a subject you really don't care about. 

So who am I?

Okay.  Before I give you the list, I'll have to admit a bit of my neuroses.  First, I wrote a list that I will qualify and say is not comprehensive.  Then, afraid that the order in which I wrote things might suggest a priority in how I identify myself, I took the list that I had written as a stream of consciousness and then used an Excel formula for random numbers to order the list.  #3 on the list is Geek.

Some of this list may make sense to no-one but me.  But each one is worthy of its own post.  If you want to know more, find the post. 

1.  I have a geographically diverse background
2.  I live under a rock.
3.  I am a geek.
4.  I am currently single.
5.  Zen is Borg and I love the Dalai Lama
6.  I like country music.
7.  I am a mystery / legal thriller fan.
8.  I watch way too much television.
9.  I love deeply.
10.  I am active in my church.
11.  I have a diverse working background. 
12.  I am a soccer coach.
13.  I am a wee bit narsissitic - at least to the extent you need to be to write a blog.
14.  I live alone.
15.  I am a dyke.
16.  I live in a small town.
17.  I live in a poor part of town.
18.  I watch a lot of Hulu. 
19.  I am an iPhone, Facebook and PC user, but I have owned a Mac, too.
20.  I love the Superbowl for the commercials.
21.  I have/am ADD.
22.  I enjoy Texts From Last Night, Idiot Runner, The Bloggess, FlyLady, George Takei and advice columnists.
23.  I love to line dance.
24.  I am neither politically correct or incorrect.  I just am.  I do not belong to a political party, either.  I am registered as an independent.

This is by no means comprehensive, but gives you a brief introduction.  Interested? Read on.  Tell your friends.  Leave me comments.  Adore me.  Assimillate. 

Resistance is futile.

If you like this, stick around and read other entries.  Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end.  Take a moment to send me some feedback.  Thanks for coming.  Please come back soon.

Resistance is Futile

Despite the title, this will not be a blog about science fiction. 

Well, not totally. 

I have discovered, to my surprise, that I am apparently a science fiction fan.  In college, special interest groups would be allowed to gather together to pool housing priority points and get suites where people of like interests could live together.  On the floor I lived on my freshman year, the Sci Fi club had a suite.  I became best friends with many of those folks, but never identified myself as part of the Science Fiction group. 

Until recently. 

Facebook is a part of my life.  I resisted it for awhile.  I originally only went on to try and find someone for a client of mine from a Google search, but then found old friends.  I got hooked.  Recently, I found a cache of folks from college.  Frankly, if you'd asked me before the Facebook age, I wouldn't have said I kept many friends from college - just a handful.  But last night I created a group of just my friends from college to pass along a reference to our school in pop-culture, and discovered I have 20 Facebook friends - or over 10% of my "friends" - from college. 

At least half of these are recent entries and reconnects in the past year.  Someone from the Sci Fi group found me, and then invited me to their private page.  And then others found me.  I discovered - quite belatedly - that I did belong.  I may never have been a card-carrying member.    But when I looked at the posted pictures from college, I was in over half of them.  I cannot tell you who have been all of the Dr. Whos (what is the grammatical formation of the plural of Dr. Who?), and I do NOT (I repeat, I DO NOT) speak Klingon. 

But I am a fan of science fiction.  I couldn't help but be with my brother enjoying it himself as a youngster.  He was a great Star Trek fan, and I saw Star Wars for the first time in the theater with him and his friends.  They tried to scare me by telling my father was Darth Vader (and this was the original - *before* we learned that he was Luke's father).  My Hulu playlist will show that I am a fan of Warehouse 13, Eureka, Misfits, Firefly, Quantum Leap, and Being Erica, amongst others.  My college house-mates and I would religiously gather to watch the weekly broadcast of ST:TNG, and caught up where we had missed on the regular daily re-runs. 

I cannot hide.  Resistance is futile.


One day I was typing an e-mail to my friend on my iPhone and was having a blah kinda day.  So, in the subject line for the e-mail, I typed "Blah".  Or so I thought.  Autocorrect changed it to "Borg".   Since then, it has remained a subject header we use when we have no subject. 

I will NOT steal from Jerry Seinfeld and suggest that this is a blog about nothing.  However, you may draw your own conclusions. 

Either way, welcome aboard.