Posts Tagged ‘life’

2010 Combobulated

January 4, 2010

After a year of lots of bumps (yes, balanced by some happy times), I think I’m ready to make some changes in my attitude this coming year.

So, I’ve decided to delete the “dis” from my life…

I intend to have a -combobulated 2010, definitely.  I’ll also look forward to being -illusioned, -pirited, -jointed, and, clearly, want to be -tracted.  It’s about time I was -mayed and -appointed by things happening to me.  I’ll surely be -couraged and -turbed.  Without that “dis”, wouldn’t we all like to be -concerted, -arrayed, and, of course, -gruntled by life in 2010.

And while I’m at it, I  think I’ll get rid of the “per”, as well.  I’ll be happy to be -turbed and -plexed this year.

May as well lop off the “be” in 2010, too.  If I have a chance for a life of -wilderment, that would be great.  I can be -fuddled, -mused, and, with a smile, -deviled.

But, I will draw the line at eschewing the “de-“ this year.

I’m not thinking I’m ready to stop being deranged and demented.

Yee HA!!!

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Occasional Help

February 16, 2009

We’re all doing the best we can wandering our way through life. Often we need help from others, for that gentle nudge…or for the forceful kick in the ass…in a better direction. Or maybe just someone to cheer us on or cheer us up.  Consider this an open advertisement from me for the latter… a ‘special’ kind of latter—

Ed. Note to All (added the day after the post and based on comments and e-mails received)  –  I think I blew the true message I was trying to convey… yes, we all need cheerleaders in our life, to help us out.  I was not trying to imply that I am in an especial need of such due to gloom and depression at this juncture.  Rather, I was more hoping that I could get a volunteer who is a fishnet-stockinged, short skirt wearing, hottie to cheer me “up” (if you get my drift).  All’s as well as can be expected under the circumstances here in The Wilds.

Growing Old, Not Up

January 26, 2009

As mentioned a few times before, I’m mumblety-two years old.  Let’s just say I watched Ike through the slats of my crib on the ol’ black and white television with all of three channels.

Admittedly, that’s chronological age.  Emotionally I’m still a kid.  I like to play.

I was talking recently with a friend in more or less the same line of work* about how difficult it is in a career to balance work and play.  If you act like you want and play, even if you are very capable at what you do, you don’t go up the corporate ladder.  However, if you “act your age”, you’re liable to burn out and become painfully cynical.  Me?  I’m in the second phase of my career.  In the first phase, I was smart enough to rise up the corporate ladder.  I also saw the rare other high level executives who could still play, while being effective and efficient at their jobs.  Therefore, I thought I could as well.  That philosophy came crashing down when I hurt my neck crashing into the “act your age” glass ceiling.  While those other executives snuck through, I was stopped cold.  And done.  And cynical.

But not dead.  I came back in a similar job in the same bureaucracy, but starting over.

I’m trying to recapture the playfulness, both personally and at work.  Work is too serious to be taken seriously.  Hell, LIFE is much too serious to be taken seriously.  You need to work hard—and live seriously—yes, but have fun doing so.

Two events helped me see this is both harder…and easier…than I thought it would be.

First was a mandatory workshop set up by my bosses.  It was intended to teach us to think creatively and synergistically to solve problems.  On
arriving at the workshop, I was delighted to see little toys — legos, plastic cars, bouncy balls, crayons.  The workshop facilitators hit it right away–“You need to have fun at your job to be creative at your job.”  Excellent!!  Finally an advocate of the way I like to work.  I fell full throttle into the class.  I was multi-processing, playing with the toys while still listening to the facilitator and participating in the exercises.  Those around me (who happened to be from my office) were doing the same.  Comes the first break and a facilitator walks up to us, “I’ve been asked to tell you to tone it down.  You’re having fun is distracting the others from their learning.”  “Okay, let me get this straight… having fun is distracting from learning that having fun is essential to job creativity?”  “Right.”  My energy for support and participation in the workshop went from 100% to 0% in a matter of moments.  I used much of the remainder of the meeting using the crayons…quietly…to write over and over, “Shut Up And Color”.

It’s going to be hard…

The second was a recent and brief interlude in life.  A passing moment.  I went shopping at one of those warehouse stores and bought a bunch of
stuff for my condo.  It was very busy that day and I had to park quite a distance away.  Feeling the need, I started running with the shopping cart, getting it up to speed, then jumping on the back for a ride down the parking aisle (visions of the movie ‘Titanic’, on the bowsprit, “I’m the king of the world!!”).  It was exhilarating.  Whenever the cart slowed down, I repeated the process.  Just before getting to my car…and just as I had jumped off…a car comes pulling up beside me.  The lady driving rolled down the window and hollered, “Hey!”  Now, she looked to be about my age, as well as seeming a no-nonsense mom type.  Just because I’m mumblety-two doesn’t mean I won’t react to a Mom calling me to task.  I looked at her sheepishly**, already feeling busted for the crime of exuberance.  Then she stuck her lecturing finger out at me.  I’m thinking,  Uh-oh.  The ‘lecturing finger’!  I’m really in for it now.”  Then her words came out, slowly and deliberately, “Don’t. You. Ever. Stop. Playing.”  Shock…Escape…Vindication!  She went on to say we’re all too serious in life and a little bit of happiness should be pursued wherever you can find it.  I thanked her profusely and wished her a happy day.

It’s not going to be that hard…

Balance?  Yep, still working on it.  More so, I need to work on not giving a crap what others think.

…and just have fun.

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*meaning they more or less understand me and how i relate to my job…more or less…

**baaaaaa!!!!!

Sushi Laser Skating

December 23, 2008

Well, the subject line is really three parts of an evening, but it sounds fun so I left it like that.

Spent a delightfully delicious evening with Dear Friend this Saturday.  A chance to get out and spend time not thinking about unpacking boxes (yes, still and slowly), work idiots (unless there’s a humorous story to be told…which there were), or other ugly stuff like divorce.  Just some relaxing (and, at times, exhilarating) moments together.

On Dear Friend’s recommendation and my hearty endorsement, we went to a downtown restaurant that serves Thai food… and one of our favorites – – raw bait sushi!   A bottle of whine wine, a yummy appetizer, and then a decision on what to eat. 

Liking variety…and quantity…in our sushi, and enjoying sharing with each other, we settled on the Sushi Armada!  If you’ve not been to a sushi bar, one of the key elements of preparing sushi is the presentation.  Sometimes, with especially good sushi chefs, it gets downright artistic.  One serving option, when there are multiple people wanting to share, is the sushi boat.  Knowing our limits, we did stick with the sushi boat for 2, although the boat for 4 and 8 looked pretty damned tempting.

the sushi armada arrives

the sushi armada arrives

Knowing our limits, we did stick with the sushi boat for 2, although the boat for 4 and 8 looked pretty damned tempting.

Afterwards, we went to a local outdoor park to ice skate.  Small-ish as ice skating rinks go, but for an outside venue, it was pretty nice.

honest - there were people there that night

honest - there were people there that night

 

 

No, I’m not an ice skater.  The last time I was on skates was some 20-plus years ago.  Dear Friend was similarly skilled, but had only been on hiatus from skating for a mere 15 or so years.  But, neither of us want to watch the world go by just sitting on a couch.  We need to participate in life, even if there’s a chance it will be painful (you did know that ice is awfully damn hard if you fall on it, yes?).  But, even with the firm dedication to skate, fears grew as to our abilities to stay upright on the ice and not break anything… well, anything crucial.

While we were lacing up our rented skates, the management cleared the rink so they could Zamboni it (can that be used as a verb?) and have a laser light show.  The lights went down and the time honored, dulcet tones of Mannheim Steamroller Christmas tunes echoed out over the speaker system, accompanied by a display of multi-colored laser pageantry.  The music?  A bit overdone.  The lasers?  Not too creatively matched to the music.  But the combination of the two, along with a shared moment with Dear Friend, made it wonderful.  Even better was that, just as we got there, it started to snow lightly.  What was really cool about that (pun not intended, but go wild with it if you want) – and I wished I had my camera – was the effect the snowflakes had as they drifted through the laser beams.  The flakes would sparkle and flare as the lights reflected off each crystalline arm.  A fireworks show in microcosm. 

We didn’t want it to end…

…mostly because that would mean we’d have to ‘put up or shut up’ and actually ice skate. 

Looking a bit like geriatric hip replacement patients, we shuffled along to the entry to the rink.  Stepping out onto the ice, we immediately grabbed the railing next to us, knocking small children and the aged aside in our desire to stay upright while perched on a thin piece of metal on both feet.  Once, twice, thrice around the thankfully small rink, all the while hanging on for dear life.  Then, part way through the third go ‘round, we dared to let go of the railing and skated on our own… small children, snails, and sloths passing us by.  Surviving a turn like that, we both heartily agreed it was time for a hot chocolate break!

By this time, the snow was turning to sleet making the walk over to the concession stand seem more dangerous than the ice rink itself.  But we made it and had a wonderfully tasty and hot cup of cocoa (and, no, I won’t mention the fact that Dear Friend totally forgot to bring the flask of Bailey’s she’d promised to bring along… nope, won’t mention how much smoother that hot chocolate would have tasted… how much more it would have warmed our bellies in the cold sleet… nope, just won’t mention that at all!  I’m too nice a guy….).

Back out to the ice again and another 8 or so spins around the rink, our confidence and abilities bolstered by staying vertical.  A quick break to sit in front of a fire pit the park had going, then back out for a third time on the ice. 

We could tell it was time to quit as both of us had near spills, primarily from leg muscles (still sore today) giving up their heroic efforts to keep us upright.  Well, that coupled with the sight of blood on the ice… looked like a hockey game had been held there. 

Back to Dear Friend’s home, where we made our own cocoa…yes, with the Bailey’s this time…and commiseration on a wonderful evening and a promise to keep participating together in what life has to offer…. Snow skiing may be next.

All in all, a wondrously fun evening.

…and, amazingly, neither of us fell on the ice that evening… 

Song Lyric Thursday

December 19, 2008

I’ve not played along with Song Lyric Thursdays, though have enjoyed reading such on, for example, Rob’s and Uncle Keith’s blogs.  Neither do I automatically do all memes or tags, though will get tickled by the occasional one that I will play along. 

But, after a recent night out and given the season and all, I feel compelled to join in for this Song Lyric Thursday.

Invited by my good theater friend, DK, to another benefit, I got to see the Rubi Girls again.  Having seen them at Masquerage, I was expecting a similar show.  What I didn’t know was that, because of all the other stuff going on, they had to severely limit the time and content of the show at Masquerage. 

This. Was. A. Hoot.

They performed for almost 3 hours straight.  They don’t just lip-synch to women’s songs, but rather play act as well.  Results are intended to be, and are, great fun.  One song in particular had tears of laughter rolling down my face.

So, in honor of the holiday season, may I present my first offering to Song Lyric Thursday.  The song this is satirizing is titled Santa Baby and has been sung seductively by the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, and the Pussycat Dolls.  Someone decided it was time to do a parody.  It is not remotely politically correct on numerous levels, but that was intended as part of this mockery, so consider that before feeling offended  – – –

Santa’s Baby

(Jackie Beat)

 

Santa’s baby, is growing here inside of me now.
Like wow!
I’m gonna be the mother of, Santa’s baby.
He put it in me Christmas Eve night!
Santa’s baby, is growing here inside of my gut.
This slut.
Got drunk and now she’s pregnant with, Santa’s baby.
A bastard child, but at least it’s white!

“What? We can’t say that? Oh, well, we’ll cut it out!”

Oh, when I heard that: “Ho, ho, ho!”.
I spread my legs beneath the mistletoe.
Then, Santa had his way with me.
Even though I was screaming: “No, no no!”.

Hey, wait a minute.
Santa raped me!
He took advantage of a young girl!
The world, has got to know the ugly truth.
How, Santa raped me, even though I tried to put up a fight.

“And, don’t you for second say I was asking for it, because I was wearing a mini-skirt and a tube top!”

Santa’s baby, will make it hard to ever erase.
That face, all fat and jolly, sweatin’ on me!
Santa’s baby is gonna wreck my life at my thighs!
Too late.

Santa’s baby, is growing like a cancer. I fear, right here!
It’s gonna look just like him.
Somebody take me. And get this baby outta my sight!

“Do you have 50 bucks I could borrow? No?”

I got excited, I couldn’t wait.
The moment my monthly curse was late.
Now, it’s a gift I’ll never regret.
It’s worse than late fruit cake, ’cause it’s date rape!

Santa’s baby, he came down the chimney.
Then, came in me.
I’d make a lousy single mom, so.
Santa’s baby, is gonna get aborted tonight!
But, thanks to the conservative right.
I’ve got to say I was raped that night.

Thank you!

 

 

 

 

Christmas Separated

December 18, 2008

Yeah, this is going to feel a bit weird.  This will be the first Christmas that I’m on my own…ever.

Girl Child is doing a stellar job of trying to support both her mom and me.  She is, admittedly, a bit conflicted about how best to do so.  I have tried to minimize pressure on her by suggesting that, “Christmas is not just a day, it’s a shared moment… whenever you and I can share that moment, that will be our Christmas.”  Which will likely mean that she’ll spend Christmas Day with her mom.  And, honestly?  I am good with that.  I’ve made a life choice to maximize my potential for happiness in the long run.  Yet, as said in the opening line, this will be a bit weird. 

Still, I want to try and have Christmas.  I may not be in the holiday mood (I’m not, really), but at least wanted some of the trappings to help me get there.

But… 

No trappings.  Other than a new ornament bought on a whim and some Santa placemats, I had nothing holiday-ish.

I had to go back home to [scary music swells] The Spouse and get some of the Christmas decorations. 

On the advice of many friends, I didn’t give her much warning of my intentions.  Rather, I called about an hour before I wanted to be there.  I knew that Daughter Person would be out that evening (getting her CPR certification, the little life saver).  This would avoid having that bit of extra emotional impact on hand.  I also knew The Spouse would be highly unlikely to be otherwise occupied [biting my tongue here to avoid saying “…sitting around doing not much of anything…” – – damn!  Said it anyway…] so I figured I could avoid some drama.  Surprised The Spouse with my request, but she said to come on over. 

One of the first things she asked, in a rather accusatory tone, when I got there was, “Did you tell Girl Child we were doing this?”  

I replied (I think gently), “No, I knew that she was at CPR class and thought this the best time.”

She countered, a bit vitriolic, “So, you were going to leave it to me to tell her?” 

[blink…blink…blink…]

<heavy sigh>   

No clue, but thought it best to let it go and not engage in a useless fuss.  I’m thinking that my refusal to rise to argue set the tone for the rest of the evening.

Dragged all the Christmas boxes down to the living room and started through them one by one.  Most of the non-ornament stuff we could easily split… stuff that was her family’s or given to her by her family and vice versa.  Then there was the stuff we bought together over the years.  Except in very few cases, those were equitably split. 

Then, the ornaments – – –

Oy!  This would be difficult.  Again, some were family.  I laid claim to my Mom’s ornaments right away.  The Spouse didn’t fuss.  Likewise, there were a couple from her family… yep, take ‘em. 

The rest?  I used a technique that worked out well when my siblings and I were splitting up mom’s stuff (albeit we were not at odds with each other).  Whatever was wanted by both of us was put on the dining room table [GnuKid’s hackles rise still that she got the dining room table… grrr].  Kid’s ornaments… ornaments with stories attached (e.g., the manatee ornament)… ornaments from places lived (e.g., a White House commemorating a job I held near Washington DC)… all on the table.  Then, deferring to her to take the first turn, we then went back and forth picking out favorites…

I thought there’d still be issues and tears, but it went amazingly well.  Okay, I did cheat some… whenever an ornament came out of the box and she expressed interest, I claimed interest too even if I hated the thing.  Figured she’d use a turn to claim it and that’d leave me more ornaments I really wanted to choose from.   

When done?  I got a lot more than expected.  Had to leave a few I really liked behind, but got some I truly wanted… including a crèche scene with Christmas Kangaroo…

There was one that neither of us wanted.  A spun fabric ornament with some sappy Hallmark verse on one side and on the other side?   “Couple’s First Christmas” 

I took it…not as one of my picks… just to get it out of sight.

So… what to do with it?  And, before you say it, I’m sure it would fit up there, but may need lubrication.

Some ideas I had or were given to me?   

          Hang it on the back of the tree, upside down (sort of like the international signal for distress by flying the flag upside down)

          Have a party and ceremoniously burn it

          Put it on e-Bay in hopes that there’s some poor couple out there who married the same year we did and are looking for “just the right remembrance” of their special day (just as I’m looking for “just the right forgetfulness”).

 

Public Privacy

December 17, 2008

…or is that Private Publicity?

The Girl Child took me out to dinner last night.  She even let me buy, the little twit darling, but I got to choose the venue.  In this corner of the Wilds of Ohio, there’s a bleeding heart liberal hippie artistic town called Yellow Springs.  Many cool little eateries can be found there and I picked a cozy place that specialized in the cuisine of Peru.  It even adds to the exotic, extralocal flare by having a uniquely authentic Peruvian name – – Williams*.

The place was small-ish.  There were three other tables filled with folks… a saccharine cute couple at the front window table, a pair of doddering, ancient slightly older couples, and a mom with her two excessively energetic sons.  We were seated and just started diving into the menu when the front door opened and a cold draft (no, not beer…a breeze of air) made me look up.  Saw a guy hanging up his coat and turn – – holy crap… it’s Dave Chappelle!

the davester

the davester

I just caught a glimpse of him, but was pretty damn sure it WAS him.  I knew that he kept his home somewhere in Yellow Springs.  Still, I wasn’t totally convinced.  He proceeded to sit at the table with the mom and 2 kids, with his back towards our table.  Couldn’t help peeking over now and again to try and confirm it really was him, though I heard his voice a few times and it was spot on to the guy on the Comedy Central show.  At one point he got up and went to the loo and both Daughter Person and I got a good look at him… Yep, very definitely Dave.

So, dear reader(s?)…what would you do? 

Here is a public figure, who has earned millions of dollars because we (yeah, me!)…the faceless masses…have made that possible by buying his bit part movies, overpriced show CDs, and watching him on his caustic cable TV show.  I should go ask for his autograph!

Or…

Here is a private citizen, out to enjoy a quiet dinner with his family, wanting only to have a brief respite from the demands of his overly public job.  I should leave him be.

I chose the latter.  Okay, okay… the latter coupled with eleven too many glances over at his table to see him… and his kids’ frolicking… and just what kind of woman would marry a guy like him…

I did notice he did not make eye contact with anyone else.  Avoided eye contact is a better way of saying it.  My glancing around the room is not creepy atypical.  I like people watching.

I did notice that they seemed just a normal family, with mom chiding the kids when they got a bit too frantic and with dad playfully winding them up again with a well time, placed tickle.

I did notice that Dave has no ass whatsoever… okay, I’m straight and don’t make a habit of looking at men’s asses, still couldn’t help but notice…. NOTHIN’ in the trunk.

After they’d left, I asked the chef, who was checking on his customers, if Dave frequented the place.  “No, I think this is his first visit – – even though his family comes here all the time.”

So, I had my brief brush with one of the Rich and Famous and found him to be Normal and Typical. 

…and I hope he’s grateful I passed on an autograph opportunity… 

<cheesy grin>

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*Yes, I’m serious… here’s the website for Williams