We gaze out at downtown Dallas from her balcony.
Fifteen floors up it's windy out here and all that worry
over my hair a waste of time. A girl I was friends with
for 16 years before leaving for NYC is hosting an
after-holiday party with her boyfriend of five years.
My guy is still grousing about being here with all
these "old" people. "Are we this old?" he asks. No,
now sit down and enjoy yourself. He wants to know
why we left so quickly from my other girlfriend's
townhouse. The house with 20-somethings and
substantial food about to be served. Free food.
I'm annoyed that he won't stop asking. "I hate
these hit-and-run social events. I'd like to get to
know some of your friends." We'll stay longer next
time "What's our time limit for this situation?
I'd like to be prepared." I tell him to get another drink.
It's fun seeing my friend again but can't recount the
crazy escapades in front of our current guys. Not
appropriate on so many levels. She was my friends
back in the the day. Those crazy electric early
days when we'd pretend to have important things
to do before showing up at the clubs at 10 PM.
A lot of wasted time pretending. Next year I
pledge to not waste any time.
I watch her interact with her new friends made
in my 16 year absence. I met her in a restaurant
in Dallas. Down the bar there was this beautiful girl
in a striking red suit and matching red hat. Any
woman who has the balls to wear a red hat with
confidence is someone I want to know. And so it
began. We dated two guys that were best friends,
suffered with each other through break ups and
heart breaks. I think about one particularly painful
breakup. I sat on my sofa for weeks and don't
remember how the bills got paid. How I was so
numb from despair that I was unable to talk.
How I knew I would never kill myself but did have
crying jags on the phone with therapists. And
anyone that would listen. So much wasted time.
It's fun talking to her new friends. And one old one.
She starts to tell me when the last time was we
saw each other. The Fairmont Hotel on New Year's
Eve I say. Surprised, she agrees. Then recalls we
then went to the 8.0 Bar after. That I don't
remember. Truth be told I recently looked at photos
from that New Years Eve at the Fairmont Hotel
twenty years ago. I remember thinking why
didn't I wear more make up and what was going
through my head when I pulled my hair back like that.
One of her friends and her husband are taking
9 months off and leasing a home in Aspen so their
13 year old daughter can learn to ski. Must be nice
I comment. She says it costs about the same to do
that as it does to put her daughter through one
year of private school. I can't imagine this idea
hatching from the brains of my parents. But then
my father was an engineer and I doubt her husband is.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
She Used To Be Queen
Nearly as many dogs as people on this ranch. But not as well trained. Aussie Shepherds dominate. There's one odd Corgi and a brown dog with splotches on him. The kind you are afraid to touch.
There are rules for the care and feeding that will confuse even a genius. The momma dog that is quickly becoming neurotic and loves to nip at people is outside during the day and in the main office at night. Food and water and her 3 pills twice a day wrapped in cheese. She grunts and groans when she moves, an outward manifestation of the depression she feels inside. No more litters to care for. Even the little stuffed animals she gathered around her have been devoured by her constant attention.
She was the queen until "the others" arrived. Now she's just lost in a sea of barking, fur, dog food pellets and lack of attention.
There are rules for the care and feeding that will confuse even a genius. The momma dog that is quickly becoming neurotic and loves to nip at people is outside during the day and in the main office at night. Food and water and her 3 pills twice a day wrapped in cheese. She grunts and groans when she moves, an outward manifestation of the depression she feels inside. No more litters to care for. Even the little stuffed animals she gathered around her have been devoured by her constant attention.
She was the queen until "the others" arrived. Now she's just lost in a sea of barking, fur, dog food pellets and lack of attention.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
I Am making My Dog Neurotic
He breathes so loudly that we can't sleep
in the same room. His legs so short I have to
lift his heavy body to go anywhere. I envision
a day when I am no longer able to do this and
keep working out and going to yoga so that I
stay healthy longer. My dog is saving my life.
We have his dog house in the living room.
Actually the living room section of my train car
roomette I live in attached to the barn garage out in
the country. Sounds horrible until I tell you it is
rent free. And nice. I come downstairs in the morning
for my cup of coffee and vanilla creamer. If I talk to
him he is up and mouthing off and talking back.
He has no sense of balance and can't just say good
morning. He goes on and on telling me things I
don't understand about his dreams or fears or
wants and needs. I finally tell him to be quiet.
Please be quiet. Now.
If I just stroke his little head he wakes up and finally
comes out and stretches his downward dog yoga
position and waits for me to put on my hooded
jacket. This morning he was unusually quiet. He
had accidentally (I believe) gotten trapped in the
garage part of the barn, and when I found him he
really let me have it. So he and the male Aussie
200 feet from my front door which is nearly
impossible lately for me to get to. I journal in the
morning and ask God questions. "God, why can't I
get to the gym?" My hand writes "Because you are
lazy." I believe God channels my hand through my
thoughts. It makes me feel better to believe this.
That somehow the truth will come out of my
subconscious or my conscious denial and set me
straight.
Once on the treadmill I turn to locate the dogs'
positions. My dog in the far corner behind the
third cardio machine. Hiding. Wiley is behind
me against the wall and I imagine I lose my footing
and am catapulted backwards and land on top of
him and break his back and he looks at me with
these eyes that can't imagine I am the last person
he will see alive. But that's not what's happening.
Usually my dog is at the treadmill, waiting for me
to finish. This morning he sulks and hides. I cut
my work out short and jingle the zipper on my
hooded jacket. Nothing. He doesn't move. I call
his name and go to the door. No response.
I pick him up and put him outside. Maybe his
feet are cold. I can't read his mind and he
doesn't speak english so we are at an impass.
Maybe he's tired. He usually climbs into his house
around 8 PM and I go upstairs to watch TV in bed.
But lately I've been downstairs until 10 or 11 PM and
I can tell by his mood that he would rather I be gone.
He loves me but hey, he's got his own schedule and
when it's time to go to bed he goes to bed without a
lot of fanfare. Just plops down on his pillow under
his red roof. So now, because of his unusually quiet
morning, because of his heretofore inability to sit
still during my workout which he seems to be able
to do now, I think something is wrong.
in the same room. His legs so short I have to
lift his heavy body to go anywhere. I envision
a day when I am no longer able to do this and
keep working out and going to yoga so that I
stay healthy longer. My dog is saving my life.
We have his dog house in the living room.
Actually the living room section of my train car
roomette I live in attached to the barn garage out in
the country. Sounds horrible until I tell you it is
rent free. And nice. I come downstairs in the morning
for my cup of coffee and vanilla creamer. If I talk to
him he is up and mouthing off and talking back.
He has no sense of balance and can't just say good
morning. He goes on and on telling me things I
don't understand about his dreams or fears or
wants and needs. I finally tell him to be quiet.
Please be quiet. Now.
If I just stroke his little head he wakes up and finally
comes out and stretches his downward dog yoga
position and waits for me to put on my hooded
jacket. This morning he was unusually quiet. He
had accidentally (I believe) gotten trapped in the
garage part of the barn, and when I found him he
really let me have it. So he and the male Aussie
200 feet from my front door which is nearly
impossible lately for me to get to. I journal in the
morning and ask God questions. "God, why can't I
get to the gym?" My hand writes "Because you are
lazy." I believe God channels my hand through my
thoughts. It makes me feel better to believe this.
That somehow the truth will come out of my
subconscious or my conscious denial and set me
straight.
Once on the treadmill I turn to locate the dogs'
positions. My dog in the far corner behind the
third cardio machine. Hiding. Wiley is behind
me against the wall and I imagine I lose my footing
and am catapulted backwards and land on top of
him and break his back and he looks at me with
these eyes that can't imagine I am the last person
he will see alive. But that's not what's happening.
Usually my dog is at the treadmill, waiting for me
to finish. This morning he sulks and hides. I cut
my work out short and jingle the zipper on my
hooded jacket. Nothing. He doesn't move. I call
his name and go to the door. No response.
I pick him up and put him outside. Maybe his
feet are cold. I can't read his mind and he
doesn't speak english so we are at an impass.
Maybe he's tired. He usually climbs into his house
around 8 PM and I go upstairs to watch TV in bed.
But lately I've been downstairs until 10 or 11 PM and
I can tell by his mood that he would rather I be gone.
He loves me but hey, he's got his own schedule and
when it's time to go to bed he goes to bed without a
lot of fanfare. Just plops down on his pillow under
his red roof. So now, because of his unusually quiet
morning, because of his heretofore inability to sit
still during my workout which he seems to be able
to do now, I think something is wrong.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Ode to Donatella Versace
The way you hang your hair
The way you work your beat
Your aura fills the air
Men clamor at your teat
Gossamer strands of fantasy
Wield power to slay even the strongest he
But what does it mean to a gal like me?
Compare if I dare
But the odds are stacked
I can only conclude
Being brunette is whack
Oh the horror the horror it's so unfair
To a blonde clothes merely an accessory
But I don't despair
That my dark hair lain flat from a lonely night in bed
While their golden manes
An exquisite explosion on heir head
On moonlit sheets
flaxen strands sparkle in the dark
With barely a nod
To my muffled dark bark
Madonna, Shakespeare and Anita Loos
Pay homage in their art to the Golden Coos
Hitchcock's frigid blondes with their vulnerable core
Yet some finicky, demanding or angelic bore
Blonde was pivotal in my development
First kiss from blonde Mike was a condiment
First sex with blonde Randy a fabulous feast
It was a blonde world, I a brunette beast
Angst overwhelmed me for they didn't stay
It was blonde Paula and Mallory on Homecoming day
Blonde or brunette, which more famous will be?
On the internet blonde wins seven thousand four hundred and three
A failed Summer Blonde experience in the 9th grade
Now a visit to my colorist, a blonde I'd be made
Ignore that timer, I'm going for blonde
The point of the exercise is to swim in their pond
It doesn't look natural and I don't care
A variety of clues hopefully sooner than later lay bare
My secret shame I hesitate to reveal
When a man entice by blonde my clothes he doesth peel
My new fuck you confidence and attitude never fade
Being blonde is considered a sexual aid
Addicted to the bleach, someone please stop me
Friends and family think I'm out of my tree
Repeated bleachings, my myth out of control
My newest address - Mar Vista Bowl
Ladies, synthesize this fact: men blonde their own hair
Such an obvious glimpse into their psyche is rare
They know what works, having themselves felt the pull
Of the testosterone surge of a charging bull
Yet my search yielded more than just strands of gold
My real personality did begin to unfold
Bold statements and actions emerge from my heart
And before too long I was an A-#1 tart
A seminal truth magnetizes all men in the room
And lets blondes sweep them up like dust balls in a broom
But constant surveillance of my roots in the mirror
Morphed all my neurosis into one giant fear
Amids all this fun burst some common sense
Shockingly, I was now high maintenance
This can't go on, my studen loans beckon
Thinning hair, shrinking checkbook more than I could reckon
It's not the bleach! Fine, but let it be
I've got to return to how God made me
Blonde traits long desired as my hair fades to black
Still exist in the void painfully lack
I'm demure, bold, funny and sometimes all three
But the point is, I'm finally free
Living a myth is exhausting, blonde is a con
Like sex, some fantasies ought not be acted upon
Donatella, you had me fooled
Finally my blonde jets I have cooled
All we brunettes need is a good ad campaign
Being dark doesn't mean sipping champagne in vain
Do blondes have more fun? What a crock, step aside
And out of the way of the changing tide
My sisters, you fooled me or am I to blame
For truly believing that confidence and fame
Came from a bottle or my hairdresser's cart
But the truth sets us fre - blonde comes from the heart.
The way you work your beat
Your aura fills the air
Men clamor at your teat
Gossamer strands of fantasy
Wield power to slay even the strongest he
But what does it mean to a gal like me?
Compare if I dare
But the odds are stacked
I can only conclude
Being brunette is whack
Oh the horror the horror it's so unfair
To a blonde clothes merely an accessory
But I don't despair
That my dark hair lain flat from a lonely night in bed
While their golden manes
An exquisite explosion on heir head
On moonlit sheets
flaxen strands sparkle in the dark
With barely a nod
To my muffled dark bark
Madonna, Shakespeare and Anita Loos
Pay homage in their art to the Golden Coos
Hitchcock's frigid blondes with their vulnerable core
Yet some finicky, demanding or angelic bore
Blonde was pivotal in my development
First kiss from blonde Mike was a condiment
First sex with blonde Randy a fabulous feast
It was a blonde world, I a brunette beast
Angst overwhelmed me for they didn't stay
It was blonde Paula and Mallory on Homecoming day
Blonde or brunette, which more famous will be?
On the internet blonde wins seven thousand four hundred and three
A failed Summer Blonde experience in the 9th grade
Now a visit to my colorist, a blonde I'd be made
Ignore that timer, I'm going for blonde
The point of the exercise is to swim in their pond
It doesn't look natural and I don't care
A variety of clues hopefully sooner than later lay bare
My secret shame I hesitate to reveal
When a man entice by blonde my clothes he doesth peel
My new fuck you confidence and attitude never fade
Being blonde is considered a sexual aid
Addicted to the bleach, someone please stop me
Friends and family think I'm out of my tree
Repeated bleachings, my myth out of control
My newest address - Mar Vista Bowl
Ladies, synthesize this fact: men blonde their own hair
Such an obvious glimpse into their psyche is rare
They know what works, having themselves felt the pull
Of the testosterone surge of a charging bull
Yet my search yielded more than just strands of gold
My real personality did begin to unfold
Bold statements and actions emerge from my heart
And before too long I was an A-#1 tart
A seminal truth magnetizes all men in the room
And lets blondes sweep them up like dust balls in a broom
But constant surveillance of my roots in the mirror
Morphed all my neurosis into one giant fear
Amids all this fun burst some common sense
Shockingly, I was now high maintenance
This can't go on, my studen loans beckon
Thinning hair, shrinking checkbook more than I could reckon
It's not the bleach! Fine, but let it be
I've got to return to how God made me
Blonde traits long desired as my hair fades to black
Still exist in the void painfully lack
I'm demure, bold, funny and sometimes all three
But the point is, I'm finally free
Living a myth is exhausting, blonde is a con
Like sex, some fantasies ought not be acted upon
Donatella, you had me fooled
Finally my blonde jets I have cooled
All we brunettes need is a good ad campaign
Being dark doesn't mean sipping champagne in vain
Do blondes have more fun? What a crock, step aside
And out of the way of the changing tide
My sisters, you fooled me or am I to blame
For truly believing that confidence and fame
Came from a bottle or my hairdresser's cart
But the truth sets us fre - blonde comes from the heart.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Much Adu About Me
As you back away
I say why do you?
But baby its' me
Really nothing new.
I sigh when you don't
I even cry
But baby it's me
Why can't I?
If only you'd do and be and say
But baby it's me
I'm not okay.
I live inside
Yet blame the world
For imaginings
That come unfurled.
I really can't
So I say you don't
I turn away
But I say you won't
The unnamed fear I feel inside
Remains within
Again denied.
Baby I can't look
For I might see
The fear that's deep
Inside of me.
Do you know my fear?
Can you guess it's name?
Do you know I think you are to blame?
Because if it's you
Then it can't be me.
Baby, baby I don't want to see.
I say why do you?
But baby its' me
Really nothing new.
I sigh when you don't
I even cry
But baby it's me
Why can't I?
If only you'd do and be and say
But baby it's me
I'm not okay.
I live inside
Yet blame the world
For imaginings
That come unfurled.
I really can't
So I say you don't
I turn away
But I say you won't
The unnamed fear I feel inside
Remains within
Again denied.
Baby I can't look
For I might see
The fear that's deep
Inside of me.
Do you know my fear?
Can you guess it's name?
Do you know I think you are to blame?
Because if it's you
Then it can't be me.
Baby, baby I don't want to see.
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