Saturday, December 27, 2008

The Day After Christmas Resolution

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.

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.

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


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.

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.