Sopranos Ending

If I were trying to be clever, I would claim that the last post in this asinine blog was a tribute to the Sopranos, ending mid thought. In truth, I didn't intend for it to post and it was clearly unfinished. I started it days ago and had a stream of consciousness moment. I'd delete it, but whatthefuckever.

I didn't review my books and movies this week, as I don't know that I saw a movie, but did read two books. I'll do those later.

I am utterly preoccupied and for reasons that I probably need to write down, but won't tonight. The short version is that the person I am in love with is in a world of chaos and there is nothing I can do. I don't exist in the chaos. Denial and extreme avoidance? Yes, please. I have done that so well it should be considered an art form. Am really done with that whole tactic. But I know and remember all too well the chaos part of it and was so flustered by it. I don't thrive on drama and chaos and am truly a nester at heart. I like routine. I like coming home every night to a known reality. I am so the far out of my comfort zone and am trying to remember the only truth I know.

I can only control me, my behavior, my actions, my acted-upon thoughts, and my own shit. That is it. Nothing else is in the side mirror of my control. I fully own every mistake, misstep, accomplishment, fuckup, victory, whatever -- as long as it is all mine. Hell, I have no fucking desire to control anyone's shit, as mine is more than enough for me. I have no interest or desire in knowing or controlling B's shit, but am strangely wired to care about this new man - my man -- and his state of mind. And he is struggling mightily.

And, on the other side of the equation, I find myself wondering this. At no point in my life have I fully surrendered and said "hey, help me. I am struggling because I fucked up and don't know what to do." I think that takes more courage than I have exhibited in my short time on this planet. Usually, I develop a course of action and follow it - take the high road, don't indulge the crazy or misfit social types, be true and honest to yourself and things will work themselves out because That Is How The World Works. Thing is, it doesn't always work that way. It doesn't always work out with the proverbial happy ending and the gray area? Yeah, things aren't always so sunny.

No point, as always, to this random post. Just realizing, yet again, that I don't have all the answers and rarely have the perfect solution to a terrific problem.

Hump Day Extraordinare

Closing in on a Wednesday and just got home after two really long days. This will probably post on Friday....

1) Chanel's tinted moisturizer is the shit. Spend the money. Utterly worth it.

2) I need a hobby that photographs well. I like rowing, but I don't look good doing it. No no one does. My hobbies are rowing, playing soccer and reading. Hardly sexy.

3)Stop it. Stop asking me to save B. Not my job. I resigned from that post.

4) Thanks. Seriously, I mean it. Thanks to all who want me to fight a battle I no longer care about. Thanks for the vote of confidence in all things social.

5) Stop with the drunk texts. Never.Going.To.Happen. Never. I don't miss you anymore, B. I don't. Unrelated: am not going to seduce you, just to watch you cheat again. I have no desire to sleep with you or prove any points. Am done. I don't want to revenge fuck you. It was never that interesting in the first instance. Quite frankly, you didn't inspire me, sexually.

6) Google seems nice. Am taking the second interview.

7)

Sister Act

Ed. Confidential Note: I started this post this morning and got sidetracked. I know you are going to think I wrote this after our conversation tonight. Only the last 2.5 paragraphs. Come Clean.

For someone who doesn't have kids, I have some strong opinions about child rearing and family. I may not ever have children of my own, so I probably won't ever understand how fully arrogant and misguided said opinions are, but alas, I am just plain opinionated, it would seem. I also have strong opinions about birth order and all that, but again, for another time.

Among those strong opinions is birth order and siblings. I am one of four kids in our family. Four seems like an awful lot of kids these days, especially given the cost of living here. My older sister (yet another K - we all start with K) and I were in the first litter with the first husband who made a somewhat graceful stage left exit. Older sister KK is 18 months older than me which, incidentally, I believe to be an ideal spacing between siblings. We were far apart in age enough to have separate lives, but close enough to have shared experiences.

KK is, in many ways, a typical first born child, as far as I can tell from the information on the internets. For 18 glorious months, she got all of the attention, and if you knew my older sister, you would understand how glorious that was for her. When I was born, KK wrote her name on all of her toys, and those markings endured. KK didn't just command attention, she demanded it. When her baby sister was born, she had the predictable reaction. She had once been the only child and was now the used model. From stories I have been told, this played itself out in a variety of interesting tales.

KK and I occupied different social roles growing up. Second kids typically have an easier time socially, most likely because they have someone to model. In our case, I truly believe that KK inherited a lot from my mother, personality-wise and I inherited much from my bio dad. My mother wasn't particularly comfortable in the junior-high, high school dynamic and neither was KK, even though both had and have a timeless beauty. I was socially comfortable, probably because I had an older sister and I had the bio dad genes that made me resistant to the self-doubting. It should be noted that bio dad was, himself, a second born.

In any event, this post is about my sister, who is the ultimate touchstone in my life. Her birthday is today and we are somewhat disconnected, which always creates an emptiness in me. I said in the maudlin Father's Day entry that my dad informed every aspect of who I am. I need to supplement that statement. My sister is my other half. At times, it feels like we are twins -- sometimes Siamese -- because she is my sole shared history. I cannot rewrite my past because she was there, right beside me, to remind me of how things really were. And she is so much more perceptive than me - she remembers things that I forgot long before high school.

I am a shitty sister to KK, and an even shittier aunt to her daughter (wait for it -- KK, Jr). If I were in a finger pointing mood, I would blame it on my marriage to B, but that isn't it. KK is very much about family and called me on every shitty thing I have done in and out of the name of family. For as much as I wanted to escape my family and forge a new one, KK kept me tethered to our shared history as best she could. She was fighting an uphill battle. It was entirely my fault. It still is. Every relationship - family, friend, husband, lover -- it all takes work, maintenance and effort. I have failed her in that. I have failed her and her daughter by only being available for random sound bites and occasional phone calls.

One of the many things I intend to do better in this next lifetime is treasure my sister and all of that shared history. Absolutely no one could know me better than my sister, even though we are so far apart now. There are so many funny stories I can tell. Mike Huggins? Best kisser ever? So many, but I will only tell one:

Singapore. Shit - 1989? 1990? Hard Rock Cafe. That guy who hated me initially. KK didn't want to be there, but alas, I was a sucker for a table full of military guys and Long Island Iced Teas. Having that guy profess his love for me at the end of the night. The taxi ride home and the barf bag that you handed to the cab driver. The elevator ride into the Twilight Zone. The cab ride the next morning with the chiming. The extra night in Singapore and the cash, courtesy of the airline. That will always be one of my favorite memories of us. The way that whole trip started was hysterical.

My sister will never know how much she influenced me or how much she shaped me into being who I am. KK is the only person in my life who can keep me grounded and real. Nothing in my life is real unless KK knows about it, even if she hates it or disagrees with it, or "has a bad feeling about it." I trust KK's opinion more than anyone else in my life. She is such a part of me and, quite frankly, a part I can't ever dismiss. She is, in many ways, the best part of me.

I don't dismiss only children by the following statement. Having a sister or brother? Having three of them? Yeah. Kind of golden. Having a sibling who is just months older than you and has similar yet different frames of reference? Yeah, really golden. Having a sister who, no matter what, feels like an appendage? Yeah, you are never alone. You always have your sister.

I treasure my sister more than she will ever know. Happy Birthday, KK. You are more a part of me than you will ever know. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is real until you get on board. I love you so much and am so sorry I suck as a sister.

Father's Day

For whatever reason, Father's Day carries more import and significance than Mother's Day. It seems like less of a Hallmark Holiday than Mother's Day, probably because my own father expects nothing out of the occasion.

In retrospect, I was blessed. I don't remmeber my bio dad, as I was apparently at the desired age of divorce. I don't have early childhood memories of my bio dad and he was long gone during my childhood and teenage years. I vaguely remember a court proceeding when I was 5, asking me who I wanted to be me dad. How fucked up was that? I remember saying that I wanted my stepdad to be my dad, as, at that point, he was the one I saw every day. My bio dad (jazz piano player) was altogether willing to sign off on us, so no harm, no foul.

Except, maybe, there was. My mother married a man from Texas, who had strong opinions about child rearing (except he had never done it) and was forceful in his implementation of said opinions. We were beaten, berated and bullied into submission. My step dad was close to 30 when he married a woman with two small kids. Hell, I am 36 and I can't imagine inheriting that, and I certainly wouldn't have been at 30.

Thing is, everything I am as a human being as attributable to my dad. Technically step, but fuck technically. He raised me in every sense of the word. He is, 180% my dad, and even my "daddy." He was the parent I called when I got my period, he was the parent I called when I first entertained the idea of getting married, and hell, he was the person B called when he proposed.

Girls have strong, strong relationships with their fathers. I am so acutely aware of that right now. My relationship with my father defined every relationship I have had with a man. Whatever flaws I perceived in him, I adored my father for his unconditional love and support. I remember a time when he and my mom were on the outs, and him saying to me, in no uncertain terms, "K, I want you to live with me." Mind you - step father, no blood relation, but had my folks broke up? Yes, would have gone to him, no question.

When we talked tonight, he wanted to ask me a hundred questions about my present personal life, but he and I have perfected a dance where I invite him to ask questions about me. I didn't. I asked him questions about his life, and perhaps most revealing, he told me that his job was kicking his ass professionally. My dad is in his late 50's, and he should be coasting. Except he isn't, because my dad has the work ethic and desire to be the best that has informed my entire life.

This is going to end as a love letter to my dad, and the fathers I so admire. I will compare every man I ever meet to my father, who is flawed and was awful and is now one of the men I most admire. Dad, thank you for setting the bar so fucking high and for making me feel like the most desirable woman on the planet. If I can see myself through your eyes at least once a day, I will strut accordingly. Thank you for teaching me that no man is an interesting as the woman he loves, and thank you for instilling in me a confidence that no one could ever take away from me. Thank you for teaching me that I determine my own worth, and that I had the skills, smarts and beauty to do whatever the fuck I wanted. Thank you for those many moments where I could see in your eyes that you were so proud of me and thank you for tonight, where I know you wanted to ask me questions about my personal life but restrained. I love you and love who you made me. You made me this way.

I also want to write this as a love letter to my bio dad, who died way too young. Bobby, I will miss you every day of my life, as you were my biological soul mate. We didn't grow up together, but you taught me so much about myself. You were the best friend a daughter could hope to have, even though I didn't really consider you my "dad." You were my roots, my biological father, and every day since you died, I miss you more than I could ever express in words. Thank you for everything -- for loving us, for sacrificing us to a two parent house, for opening up to me when I was old enough to get it, and for being one of my best friends on this planet. I have missed you terribly every day since you left us and would give my life for one hour to talk to you again. I love you and miss you and wish I could talk to you. I loved you so much, and seriously? Every day? I think about you and wish you were still here. I miss my close friend and biological soul mate. I miss you.

Being a father to a daughter is so much more than anyone could realize. I so appreciate that and tip my hat to the good men who love their daughters. You have no idea how long that lasts for us.

I know what it means to be a good father and am in love with one of those

Crazy Internet People

I have mentioned before my discovery that there is a whole subspecies of folks who only exist on the internet. Their friends, their social and love lives, the whole thing. I am new to the internets, so this still fascinates me. For these folks? The internet is serious business. I mention this as a prelude to a story that has little to do with the internet, but recently, I have realized just how scary this phenomena is.

Can you imagine deriving your whole self worth from the internet? Validation, romance, friendship, etc? Can you imagine assessing your life by the comings and goings of others on the internet? So completely foreign to me, even though I know that there was a point in the past year where I was tethered to it. I like the real world so much better.

So onto the real world.....

I have a friend -- it is almost hard to call her that, as she and I aren't close. We were situational friends. Way back in the day, she married our "landlord" of the espresso cart days. D was the landlord and I'll be frank -- I never liked him. I met him under less than desirable circumstances, to be sure (he had just ended his engagement to H, who was managing his store, because he was fucking Z, a barely 20-something employee). B kind of admired D. I didn't - ever. I thought he had something, but that something wasn't anything I found interesting. D had said, on numerous occasions, that I was the only woman he couldn't win over. True that.

One of their first dates was at our wedding, or so they like to tell. They told us a few times about them having sex at our wedding. Lord knows, a lot of people got busy at our wedding. It was a good party. And, in the interest of full disclosure, when they got married? B and I had sex in the bathroom -- Columbia Tower. Anyone who lives in Seattle knows you pretty much have to have sex in those restrooms. Tallest building in Seattle, floor to ceiling windows. It is a rite of passage. So to recap, they fucked each other at our wedding, we repaid the honor at theirs.

In any event - flash forward. We lost contact with them over the years and hooked up with them probably seven years into our marriage. D&K now had a kid, M, who is adorable and sweet. I still don't like D, but I like K - she's my kind of woman. Blunt, direct, takes no prisoners. B, for whatever reason, is still in awe of D and tried to bring him into B's company. I strenuously argued against that and won. B is twice the leader than D is and I think, to this day, B still loved that assessment.

Okay - to present times. D and K split up once, about three years ago. It had a ripple effect, including one on B& Me. They were our history and if they could split up, anyone could. That is a subject for another post and I will let it slide for the time being. Thing is, they got back together (never should have) and eventually finally broke up. D now has a 23 year old girlfriend now and K has been trolling the internets for a new love. K really only wants to hook up with a rich guy so she can be in that state of "living well is the best revenge."

God, that was a long set up.

Okay, so, after a few false starts, K is trolling Yahoo personals (which, I have to believe, is the trailer park of the internets). She meets "Sam" - a wealthy executive who claims he is too high profile to post a pic. He sends them to her privately and turns out, he claims to be a 52 year old guy from the Washington coast who is an executive at a family run business that it crazy successful. Private jets, etc. Oh, she is my age -- I think she is 35 or so.

4 dates into it, he drops the bomb. He has liver cancer and is going to die quickly. Much hysteria ensues. Then he suggests that she hook up with his identical twin brother. I shit you not. K does in fact correspond with identical twin brother, who, I shit you not, Sam claimed they were raised by separate families and never knew about each other until a chance encounter on a Hawaiian beach 20 years ago led to their discovery of one another. Even better? After meeting each other on that chance encounter, they never introduced their families. I know. Jesus, I know. Infuckingsane.

Shut the fuck up, I know. Not only do I know, but I know a chick so fucking desperate after the demise of a relationship that she bought this story. Yes, have lost all respect for her. Every single ounce.

You can see how this ends. "Sam" dies, K hooks up with identical twin "Jim" (something I am ill equpped to judge, but seriously? My twins had......demonstrable differences). K starts sleeping with the "twin brother" who is married, but going to leave his wife. He takes her on private jets to Tahoe and talks of a future. Seriously - the most pathetic thing I have ever heard.

How do I get involved? K's best friend J -- who is the J familiar to my posts, calls me and knows that no matter how stupid I am on most things internet, I have some skillz that she doesn't. I tell her to give me a day, but within a few hours, I have disproved the existence of "Sam." Which, let's be honest, required no real legwork, as anybody with a fucking brain would have known.

So here is where I am -- knee deep in another person's drama and I? Am utterly ambivalent, aside from knowing whatever "I lost my fucking mind on the internet" is completely eclipsed. I have, in the past, lied on the internet and invented scenarios to replace the disintegration of my life in meatspace. But holy shit, I haven't concocted an identical twin, separated at birth, that no one knows about, just to get laid. I can't imagine trying to construct that kind of alternate universe for the sole purpose of getting laid. Fuck, batteries are cheap and the fallout is much less.

Monday Morning Review

Ed. Note: I started this entry on Monday and it will probably post as such. I had so much to say this week, but time got the better of me.

I had planned on making this a review of Ocean's 13, but I have to start with the Sopranos finale. I have watched it and rewatched it. Twice. I have concluded that it was brilliant. It was, in many ways, the perfect ending for that particular show.

Sopranos Finale

For those of us that watched the Sopranos, well, we were invested. You have to be invested to wait years between seasons, to say nothing of watching a show about the mob - something completely foreign to me. I remember when we first started watching it, the Greeks and B would consider it a dull episode if no one got whacked. The show did have that kind of audience as well, but I think those of us who liked the ending appreciated it for more than the carnal acts of violence and revenge.

My favorite season had very little violence and dealt primarily with the marriage of Tony and Carmela. For me, that relationship was pretty much the draw of the whole program. Her willful blindness, the negative space between them - it was both familiar and fascinating. The ordinariness of their lives - the problems with the kids, the need for therapy, the self-doubt, the marital conflict -- these were the things I could relate to. Tony Soprano as a character was an utter sociopath, but he was humanized by great writing. Even weirder? This actor - Gandolfini - he is overweight, balding, had a tragic Jersey accent and was more neurotic than anyone on Desperate Housewives and yet. And yet, the audience not only liked him, but they were attracted to him. Men secretly fantasized about being him and women wanted to fuck him (and the men wanted to be him for that reason).

In any event - yes, it was just a television show, but it was more if you let it be. I was more invested in Six Feet Under, but I find myself, days later, thinking about the totality of the program more than I did with SFU. The two shows couldn't be more different, but because I watched them both from start to finish, there is a natural need for comparison. SFU was the quintessential series finale -- it wrapped everything up and in a most surprising and emotional way. The Sopranos left it to the imagination of its audience, which, as I mentioned earlier, was pretty varied. I know a lot of people were pissed off that there wasn't more bloodshed. For me, at least, the ending was loyal to the show as a whole - it let the audience choose its own adventure, so to speak, and didn't need to wrap it all up in a bloody bow.

Ocean's Thirteen

In a word? A complete mess. Don't get me wrong - I laughed my ass off, chuckled quite a bit and had a great time. But I don't understand why the movie got some critical acclaim. It was truly a mess of dizzying plots, ridiculous suspensions of belief, and throwaway acting performances by pretty much everyone. It has the same snappy dialogue of the two previous, but the disconnect with a tight plot line made it ring a little hollow. I, for one, appreciated some quality Clooney time onscreen, but in the end, it felt phoned in.

Oddly, I liked Ocean's Twelve better than this. This is not the summer for sequels.

End of an Era

Tonight is the series finale of the Sopranos and, of course, I am headed over to the Ps for the event.

P and I have been doing this for almost three years - the Sunday night ritual of a big dinner and HBO viewing. In truth, however, the tradition began during the second season of the Sopranos. B and I would head over to our friends, the Greeks, and we would have a big, family style meal with them. The Greeks are two brothers who own a restaurant. Their mother and father were often there, as were assorted hangers on. You never really knew who was going to be there, but the drill was for each of us to switch off every week on the food preparations. As we all got into Sopranos, it became largely an Italian meal.

Also, at the time, I could only cook spaghetti, but goddamn if it isn't a kickass spaghetti. Especially if you like it meaty.

We did Sundays at the Greeks for years and it became one of the highlights of my week. We would all sit around a big table, passing around plate after plate, sharing stories of the week and generally relishing our extended family status. The Greeks are among our oldest friends and being with them really felt like being with family. Thinking about it, I am ashamed at how many unreturned phone calls I have from their mother, who, like everyone else in meatspace, I ignored during the course of our separation. It was heartbreaking to think of spending time with her, as she was part of the history that was being erased. She reached out to me so many times and I ignored her each and every time.

Am such an asshole. I will make in my only goal this week to call her and arrange to see her. Enough time has passed that I don't think we need to have the "what went wrong with B&K" discussion.

At some point after the separation, P and I started our own ritual. We didn't vary it by much - usually, either steak or salmon. If it is steak (me- ribeye, P- New York), it is steak, caprese salad, asparagus with lemon aioli. If it is salmon, it is king salmon, asparagus with lemon aioli and often a sweet potato or sweet corn. We always have a "little something" for dessert and always two bottles of wine - white to start, red with dinner.

See, e.g.:



vs.



As for the show itself, well, we've seen a few come and go. I don't suspect tonight's finale will rival the best of all time (Six Feet Under), but for sentimental reasons, the end of the show is personal to me. When I first fell in love with the characters, I was in an entirely different life. Although I miss elements of it, I am pretty secure in the one I have now.

The Surreal Life

Am writing this out for the sole purpose of reminding myself what a weird day I had. What an odd day altogether.

Got home after 2am last night - first time in years. Took a dear friend out who was utterly under the bus and had a kickass night. I was the designated driver, so it wasn't a boozy night, but we had a great time. We came thisclose to hitting 13 Coins at 2am, which would have really sealed the deal in terms of old school, but we decided to just go home.

Had one of the best conversations of my life upon my return, but that isn't the point of this story.

Today - no meaningful sleep, hit the row club at 7am, then the P and I had a date with the Clooney. More on the movie later, but suffice to say, I had a great time at the movies with Clooney, Pitt, Damon, Cheadle et al.

Come home and had another great conversation. So good, in fact, that when I hung up, I decided to make a few calls I had been avoiding, including one to my mother. She was glad to hear from me, not that pissed off that it took me a week to call her, etc. What struck me was how quickly she asked about my personal life. Holy shit. Wanted to know about "the guy" - and in far more detailed questions than she ever dared ask about B. My family - we are different from most others. No topic is off limits, and I am the absolute worst offender at that. You have to come to our house prepared to discuss anything and everything. Still, I was stunned. I have historically been the inquisitor and no one dared ask me anything personal. Either I have gone soft, or my family has a newfound sense of daring. It was, however, incredibly touching to hear the boys' opinion of the man in my life, and they barely know him.

The whole conversation was utterly nuts. And probably the longest conversation I have ever had with my mother.

But the day got weirder. I had a wild hair for Thai food and walked the 10 minute jaunt to Fremont. I had a host of errands to run up there, so Thai food was the last on my list. We (Darbs and I) crossed the bridge and even over the tunes in my ipod, I heard a whistle and a "HEY K! catcall. I looked up and saw a guy I hadn't seen since I got my masters at UW. He pulled up on the sidewalk (Fremont Bridge) and got out and hugged me. We had a brief catch up and promised to call each other and all that and I went about my way. I hit the grocery store, the pet store (for food) and was heading to my favorite takeout place to pick up my dinner.

Right in front of El Camino, I see B. Now, I got Fremont in the divorce, so I was unprepared to see him in my neck of the woods, especially while rocking the sports bra-tank top-shorts and baseball hat look. He seemed stunned to see me, too, and when I saw him, I didn't really slow down (or even turn off the ipod) and just nodded "hey, B." Of course, he wanted to talk, but I just said "hey, listen, I have to run. Have a great night. Talk soon" and kept going. I was really polite, though.

Literally five steps later, this guy asks me if he can pet Darby. I stopped and let him rub down the girl and he....well, he was kind of nuts. He laid down on the sidewalk, which was beyond bizarre, and played with Darby. He was a great looking guy, but entirely too short for my tastes. Shaved head, piercing eyes, but short. I would have bet a c-note that he was gay, but then he unequivocally hit on me. It was surreal - telling me how beautiful he thought I was (NB: aforementioned attire), asking if I had a boyfriend or was married, what was I doing later -- entirely surreal. Although I didn't turn around, I am guessing B witnessed the whole thing. The weird little man handed me his card, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and I went about my way. Absofuckinglutely nuts.

Finally got my takeout and headed home. Right after I crossed the bridge, I hear a horn honking incessantly. It is an old law school buddy of mine, heading to Fremont for a night on the town. He was yelling out the window at me, telling me to call him. I waved and nodded, and then my phone started blowing up with his calls. He just got engaged and was having a boys' night to celebrate and begged me to be there. I told him I would try, and, as it is now 10:30pm and I got little sleep last night, I am thinking I won't make it. I'm thinking he will get over it. I have had enough of Fremont for the night.

awesome

If It Was Easy, Everyone Would Be Doing It

B has still not signed the property settlement, which, for whatever reason, makes him believe we are still married. You would think a man who was married to an attorney might defer to her certainty of their marital status, but you would be wrong in your assessment. It doesn't really affect me in any meaningful sense, but today, I found myself thinking about all of the stuff we had to divide and what I really got out of the marriage.

Yes, I got all the material stuff. All of it. I wasn't a bitch about it whatsoever and, in the 2.5 years we were separated, told him many times that he could have whatever he wanted. I admit there was a period where I didn't want to give him anything, as I believed he had bailed on the relationship and was therefore not entitled to recover anything from our home. As the anger subsided, I realized it was just stuff and I was attached to very little of it (with some exceptions). It is coming up on three years and he still hasn't demanded anything.

Thing is, I would trade him all of it for what he got in the settlement - our history and life together. In the aftermath of the separation and my misguided attempt at the high road (to say nothing of the very misguided anticipation of a grand gesture on his part), I bailed out of our life. Friends, family, etc. I think I just didn't want to talk about it with anyone who knew us both and was terrified at getting caught off guard and (gasp) getting emotional about it in public if that had happened (which it did, once or twice). B and I resolved early not to discuss our private life with our friends and I don't think he ever really did. If anything, he probably shouldered all of the blame and defended my honor.

Nevertheless, I disappeared. Poof. I was polite if I ran across our mutual friends and sported a winning smile, but I retreated. B does not retreat. Hell, I don't think, until I just typed those words, that I fully realized what I did, but retreat it was. B is not that kind of person whatsoever and I never thought I was, either. B stayed in the picture, continued socializing with our friends, and eventually, my absence became expected - the status quo. B continued with our life without me and therefore got our former life in the divorce.

That is one of many of my regrets, as there are many days that I just miss my former life. I know that I can rebuild it and all that and I will, in one form or another. But I feel like I lost a 14 year history that has simply been erased. That is not his fault whatsoever - that one was all me. It is amazing how I can rationalize decisions at the time, but with the hindsight of clarity, it is stunning how bad of a choice it was.

I thought of this for a variety of reasons, some of which included other things that I miss, including traits of B. God knows, he is flawed, as am I, of course. But with the benefit of hindsight and some distance, I can remember most of what I was attracted to when I met him. He was definitely an "outside the box" kind of thinker, whereas I was more prone to drawing within the lines. He brought me pretty far outside my comfort zone when it came to the "safe route." I don't think we ever took one in the 14 years we were together. That probably sounds more exciting than it was.

What I was utterly enamored with was his decisiveness and willingness to just fucking jump in and do it.

Buy a boat and live on it?

K: No way, how will we make the payments, we don't have the income, what if something goes wrong and it requires a ton of cash or it will sink and then we will be homeless?

B: We'll figure it out. We do our best work when our backs are against the wall. If it were easy, everyone would do it. Stop with the worrying and let's go for it.

Let's open a deli!

K: OMG, you have to be kidding me. Do you know how much cash it takes to open a restaurant? Lease obligations? Insurance? Failure rate of new business? This neighborhood can't take another eatery.

B: Nobody got anywhere without taking some risks. If it were easy, everyone would be doing it. You handle the lease negotiations and the licenses. I'll handle the renovations and together, we'll build the business because we fucking know everyone in this neighborhood.

Go to law school wherever you want.

K:OMG, no way, I'm staying here and going to UW. Georgetown is too far away, USC is in California and therefore off limits. Notre Dame is in the middle of nowhere.

B: We'll figure it out. We'll see each other every 6-8 weeks, I won't be in your hair, keeping you from studying, ND is a kickass school and you have a full ride - w00t to no debt

When we were in premarital counseling, I made some asinine comment about him being the bird, me being the rock. As soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized the banality of the statement. That statement became a running joke in our marriage, but part of it was utterly true. I will say that in the settlement of our collective property, I got some of that fearlessness from him. I am still the rock, to be sure, but I no longer draw within the lines.

At times, that has created more problems than it solved, but I much prefer living this way and not so goddamn afraid to rock the proverbial boat. I am a better problem solver and risk manager, and I guess that isn't the worst thing to take from our settlement.

Poop Bell

When I first got Darby, I put a small bell around the front door, with the understanding that she would use it to inform me when she needed to go out. It serves that purpose well, although she and I have different understandings about need vs. want. In any event, she has never gone in the house when I am here and will ring that goddamn bell to get my attention whenever she needs or wants to go out.

But I rarely left her at home until recently. I took her to doggie day care nearly every day and that solved the problem of what she would do if I wasn't here. That was also ridiculously expensive ($500 a month. I know!) and just recently, I started leaving her at home two days a week.

Now that she has Giardia (Ed. Note: Doesn't that remind you of a certain Food Channel chef? No? Just me?), she is dogma non grata at day care, even though SHE FUCKING CONTRACTED IT THERE. She has to stay at home - everyday - for at least the next two weeks. We are about to test the very limits of the Poop Bell. In a way, however, this is a great way to segue back into our old routine.

When Darbs was a wee pup, I took her for an hour walk every morning and an hour at night, rain or shine. You wouldn't think this little puff of a dog had it in her, but she kept up. Hell, she got used to my weird interval training (walk a mile, sprint half a mile, jog a mile, walk a mile, lather, rinse repeat). If I got lazy, she would pick up the pace and pull me along. However, in this the winter of my discontent, I got lazy and hence the doggie day care. Then I got injured and long distance walk/runs were out.

Starting tomorrow, we're on the 7 mile morning run/walk around Lake Union. If we leave by 6:30 at the latest, we're back by 8 and she'll be spent. That gives me enough time to shower and get to work, hopefully by bus or by foot, by 9. I am usually home by 7:30, so that gives her 12 hours alone. She'll be dying to get out by then, so we can do another hour walk when I get home. I think that will nearly eliminate my gym time, which sucks, but I think that as we settle back into a routine, I'll send her back to day care twice a week and use those days (and the weekend) to get my weight training, yoga, crew, soccer, rollerblading and kickboxing back in play.

I have to remind myself to ease my way back into full on active lifestyle. I got hurt the last time I overdid it after a period of injury. I just miss that feeling of walking into the house, drenched in sweat and utterly high on endorphins. I am going to use the month of June to redevelop a routine, which will most likely be firmly in place when I decide to make some major life changes.

In the meantime, I need to figure out how to invest the foregone doggie day care and parking funds. I blew some savings as of late, so I am thinking it will go to replenish those funds. I am also planning a no-holds barred, week long trip to NYC in September, although that destination may change if the Euro keeps on keeping on. Having never been to Ireland, I am thinking a fall excursion may be in order.

It is all about looking forward at this point.

I Like Lists

It felt like we were gone a lot longer than we were and I had only missed four days of work. But damn is it a PITA to get things back to normal. Let's review, shall we?

1. When I picked up Darby, I was advised she had had bloody stools that morning. Bloody stools? She was eating her regular food and hasn't been anywhere near a dog park, where Giardia festers like herpes in Paris. She just got a (heh) clean fecal two weeks ago. This morning, I took her for a walk and I saw the symptoms myself. Fucking fantastic. Collected said output and called the vet. Diagnosis? Yep, Giardia.

2. I have a iron stomach and don't get sick overseas. Was fine the entire time in Mexico. But yesterday, I experienced some.....intestinal issues. The hell? Montezuma's revenge? Yep, I have it and can't seem to hold anything down today. I went to the doctor, scored some Zithromax (or however it is spelled). I am going to order my favorite pizza in a few and hope for the best. I haven't eaten since Copper River salmon last night at our weekly Sopranos get together at the Ps.

3. Clients. Oh sweet hell, am I behind on basic communications. Tomorrow will be a long day.

4. Personal stuff. Been circling around a decision in my head and I think I am really close to doing what needs to be done. Timing is everything and my timing sucks out loud these days. Don't you hate it when you discover exactly what you want at precisely the wrong time?

5. B. As I alluded to in an earlier post, for whatever reason - and alcohol was not a factor - I sent him a text message while in Mexico. I apologized for my role in the demise of our marriage and related thoughts. His response (I read it the next morning) absolutely floored me. B very, very rarely said the right thing at the right time, but he nailed it. I was stunned to tears. We exchanged a few quality text messages and I think (and hope) I obtained whatever closure I still needed. We haven't spoken since I have been back home and it is probably too raw to do that yet. We can't be friends anytime soon, but there are a few fundamental truths about us that remain.

6. Change. I need it. I have been in limbo for entirely too long and the inertia is stifling at this point. Having moved every two years for most of my childhood and a good part of adulthood, combined with the events of the past three years, I am overdue for some big, overhaul changes in my life. Career, home, personal, everything.

7. Physical activity. Have been back at the plan for a while, but am bored and need something else. I signed up today for a soccer team and registered for a weekly rowing club. God, I love summer in Seattle.

8. Further to #6, it is time for some overdue spring cleaning. I need to clean out my closets (literally and figuratively) and get rid of what I don't need. Also need to get B his remaining personal effects. I also am embarking on a plan of redecoration, to make this place my own. Right now, it is a graveyard of a dead relationship and a life that no longer exists. I am going to take it in baby steps, as it is likely that I might not live here for too much longer.

9. Catch up. I can't believe what I have blown off in the past six months. So unlike me in the context of my 36 years. I have friends I have ignored, obligations I just shunned and a shit ton of things I need to do. I think I just got overwhelmed and checked out for the early part of this year. It is sort of amazing how I can mentally check out when I need to.

10. Family. I want to see my brothers more and now my mother is here. The latter is more of a PITA than anything else, but I am going to try to readjust my attitude and not see it that way. I don't know my mother well at all and what I do know usually irritates the shit out of me. My summer goal is to get to know her better (and vice versa) and spend some quality time with her.

Monday Morning Review

I write on this blog largely for my own, no-charge therapy and to serve as a written record of where I've been, so it makes absolutely no sense to add a weekly review of movies or books. If nothing else, it will serve to remind me how much time I spend reading or watching other people's creativity. I'm guessing I'll keep this up for a month, tops. Until then, Sundays are my reviews of what I read or watched in the previous week.

As chronicled in the last post, I was in Mexico this past week. The weather was hot, humid and rainy, so the P and I spent a good deal of time indoors. I was also on planes and I read on planes, so my inaugural post will be much longer than usual.

Books

The Good Life, by Jay McIerney

Having read a few of McIerney's books, I was somewhat ambivalent about this book, but the NYT Book Review prompted the purchase. In short, I loved this book. It haunted me and as soon as I read the last word, I started over. It is a story about Manhattan's upper echelon post-9-11, and while I don't relate to most of that scene, the stories of the characters were haunting, if not startlingly, familiar. This is probably too personal of a review to do, but suffice to say, it captured my imagination for more than a few days. I can't stop thinking about it.

Darkly Dreaming Dexter

This is the book on which the Showtime series is based. Having watched the show religiously, the book had few surprises, and, of course, the series gave me a complete visualization of the characters. I wish I had read it (and its progeny) first, although there is another book coming out this summer.

Elements of Style: A Novel , by Wendy Wasserstein

A little more meaty than most chick lit books, this one is also about NYC's upper echelon and their fucked up relationships. The characters are better written than most and the story more engaging than I had anticipated. It was hard to relate to the social climbing aspirations of some of the characters, to say nothing of their lifestyle, but, as always, the trials and tribulations of complicated relationships makes for an entertaining read. The author is a playright and it shows - Janet Maslin of the NYTBR called it "chick lit with a pedigree".



MOVIES

Knocked Up

From the director of the 40 Year Old Virgin, this was an entertaining romantic comedy that was really well written. Lots of laughs, snappy dialogue, interesting characters. I do think the lead actress (the chick from Grey's Anatomy) was miscast and her big, white teeth were a little distracting. I didn't think she and the male lead had any palpable chemistry and certainly nothing in common (aside from impending parenthood). I also detected the slightest suggestion that women are inherently irrational, at least during pregnancy, and that you shouldn't judge a (male) book by its cover.

The Dead Girl

Interesting storytelling, to say the least. I can't say much without giving away entire plotlines, but it is basically just the story of the death of one girl and its effects on several people around her. Some really good casting on some levels, but at the end of the whole thing, I found myself thinking "well, that was weird."

Breaking and Entering

An Anthony Minghella film, this one has very well written characters and explores the familiar themes of trust, love, desire and the need for intimacy. It is remarkably well cast, with Jude Law, Robin Wright Penn, who rocks quite an accent, and an amazing performance by Juliette Binoche. Pretty heavy on the dialogue, which is my kind of flick, and some interesting twists that keep the story engaging. The gist is that Jude Law's environmental landscaping business keeps getting robbed of its high tech gadgets and when he discovers who it is, he becomes involved with the thief's mother (Juliette Binoche). His wife (Robin Penn) has a precocious but troubled daughter from a prior relationship and she keeps them both emotionally estranged from him. At its core, the movie is about Jude Law looking for an intimate relationship with someone -- anyone -- and eventually realizing that what you don't say is almost always more interesting than what you do say. I call that negative space and I find it fascinating.

Blog, Mexico Style

So the story of the wedding, as told by my eyes....

Saturday, May 27th, 8am:

Am at work. Have huge, HUGE case going on while I am gone and I don't want to make my boss or anyone else feel like I am phoning it in. Begin work early, plan to stay all day.

1pm.
We all get fake tans. Yes, we drop trou and get airbrushed with perfect tans. By 10 that night, we look like we had just returned from Mexico, not about to go. This is what women do to avoid the sun -- we pay money to look like we are in it, because none of us fair-skinned women can afford the aftermath of skin damage.

2pm until 11pm:

I work.

Sunday, May 28th:

I work from 8am-11pm

11pm: Call P, ask her to make sure she calls me to wake up for our 7am flight. Call often and regularly. Call other person who is three hours ahead and make same request. Am loopy from no sleep and need to pack and get something approximating sleep.

Monday, May 29th:

5am: 14 phone calls unanswered, P shows up at my place at 5am, dragging my sorry ass out of bed. Had been up most of the night working and sending emails. Take world's quickest shower and we head to airport. Really haphazard packing job.

6:15am: Realize (at airport) that I have somehow left my wallet in P's car. Cab back to parking lot, grab wallet, hope this is the worst.

5pm (Cancun time): P's luggage doesn't arrive. Rental car place requires energy. Not so much vacation.

8pm: Where are J&K? The tequila bar, of course. We rally, hang out with them. Unpleasantness ensues between the two of them, most likely owing to nerves. We temporarily wonder if we are going to be kicked out of this fine resort, owing to late night altercations.


Tuesday, May 30:

9 am: Great breakfast. Weather sucks. Humid and rainy, most of the time. We decide to just read and drink, except for when I have to work

11am-4pm: I work. Bothersome to everyone. Also, I check Blackberry constantly.

5pm: Fuck it, work sucks. Let's drink

5pm-??? Earlier plan rules the day. We drink, laugh and have fun. Make new friends with cool wedding party. BEST FRIENDS FOREVER.

Wednesday, May 31:

9am: Breakfast? Hell yes, they get that right.

11am: Go to Talum. Let's blow this popsicle stand. P and I head out for a day away. Check out Mayan ruins, people watch, etc.

11am-5pm: Afternoon at our leisure. We see the ruins, stroll Playa de Carmen, have kickass lunch on the beach, resolve to come back to Playa on Friday

6:45 pm: I show up at rehearsal dinner scheduled for 6:30. NB: Seattle folks should never, ever order salmon unless in a proper west coast city. I read my blackberry, talk to my colleague about the days' events that I missed and berated the Carribean salmon.

8:00 pm: Dinner is over, have sudden, inexplicable need to apologize to B for the demise in our marriage. Send said text message. Get increasingly drunk.

11pm: Fall and hit my head. Am mercifully and sufficently intoxicated that I apparently jumped up and apologized for the distraction. P walks me back to the room and I do the honorable act of passing out.

Thursday, May 31: Day of Wedding

7am: Wake up with huge goose egg on my scalp. Can't quite remember how I got back to the room, so I assume the bump indicated I had a good night. P comes out and explains how worried everyone was the night before, as apparently, I can take a beating to the head whilst under the influence of tequila. Am over it.

10 am: Eveyone we know asking if I am okay. I assure them that I am, and if I start seeing double, I will go to town. Also? Huzzah to me, having hit the hell out of my head and being no worse for the wear. But holy fuck, my head hurt.

3pm: Beginning of the wedding preps. I dried K's hair painstakingly, as the hairdresser failed to show. Until one hour before the wedding. In which case, K's hair having been "done" -- she did mine. And big ass hair ensued.

5:30: Holy fuck, how are we running so late

5:55: Them: Um....it is time for all of you to leave the room and get going to the whole ceremony thing. Us: Not so much.

6pm: We leave the room. 15 seconds later, K realizes her written vows are in the room. We get security, fresh keys, etc. Crisis avoided.

6:04: Did I mention the beachfront wedding was redirected to the hotel lobby on account of crazythefuck rains? It was nutty - the weather the whole time was nutty -- but right before 6pm, it was dumping. Unfortunately, this made it more slippery for us and K nearly took a header on her way to the altar. I will NEVER forget the look on her face when she steeled herself after a near miss. Am carrying, at this point? Two vows, two rings and my maid of honor bouquet.

6:05pm: I suppress my laughter at how she almost bit it. Judge me all you want, but people falling down --including my near-certain concussion the night before -- is just funny. On top of the impending hurricane, the forgotten but recovered vows -- it was all funny. K looked amazing, by the way, as did Natalie.

6:15pm: We're all in place. Here we go

6:20pm: Holy fuck, is that a tear? I don't tear up at weddings. Must be the humidity.

6:25pm: Nope. Am actively tearing up. Thank bob no one is taking pictures, except for her goddamn wedding photographer and everyone else watching. I know people with mad Photoshop skillz that can 'shop me right out.

6:20-6:45pm: Great wedding. Honest, real, pure and raw. You had to be there. You really had to be there. Fanfuckingtastic wedding.

6:50pm-7:30: Photographers ask the least camera-friendly folks to pose. You can probably imagine how that works out.

7:30-???: Reception. Great times. All good. Hopefully none caught on camera, except all anyone seemed to be doing was taking pictures or reviewing the ones they just took. I made friends with the wedding crashers. Suffice to say, the donkey really was a great uniter.

11pm: Done.


Friday, June 1

9am: Breakfast, relaxation, swim in the beach.

5pm: Head to Playa del Carmen

6pm: Drink margaritas, eat our weight in guacamole and live it up. Great night.

11pm: Nightcap in Puerto Morales. We bond with a dog. We are clearly missing home at this point.


Saturday, June 2:

7am: Rise and shine for breakfast and final packing. The Seattle contingent gets home at 7pm.


10:00pm: I blog this whole story. So much more to come.

Viva Mexico!

Holy shit, I am headed out of the country on Monday to go watch K&J get married on the beach. Sofa king excited. I am the maid of honor, emphasis on honor. I do have a housekeeper, so I think I fit the bill.

They truly met at my house (K&J). Two of my very good friends. When does that ever happen? Not often enough. Although a case of mine is blowing the fuck up and I will be working most of the vacation, I can't wait to get there. It can't be a vacation, but I can still chill and unwind. I need these five days to just shut up and think. Fuck me.

We've all done the airbrushed tans and are looking good. We are so overdue for some fun in the sun. All of us. We all work hard and have dramas and issues and it will be nice to get away to another county and deal with it from a distance. Also? Guacamole. Enough said. I intend to eat my weight in it and have nothing else. Huevos and guac for breakfast. Salad with grilled chicken and guac for lunch. Guac and {fill in the protein} for dinner. I can't wait. So excited.

My friends, K&J, they love each other in a way that defies explanation. I dig that. I get it. Quite franky, I know about that. I am long past the point of judging other relationships, but I do get a magical feeling where they are concerned. I am batting a thousand when it comes to being a bridesmaid in a successful relationship and am supremely confident my average will stand with these two.

I am fond of saying that love is a necessary but not sufficient state of mind. These two get it, I think. They are very much in love, have really open lines of communication, and look at each other the way partners -- true partners -- should look at each other. Maid of Honor? Honor, indeed.

On an aside, I saw my brother (elusive #3) tonight and his bride to be. She asked me to be an attendant for her and I couldn't have been more honored. I haven't been the best sister-in-law and I didn't deserve the honor, but take it, I will. She truly is the perfect woman for my perfect (okay, not so much) brother and she loves him deeply. She gets him, knows him, loves him and tolerates him. He seems to know it now, too. I took a picture of them tonight that warmed my heart. My brother waited until he knew, and now? He knows.

Well, fuck, imageshack is down. I'll post it another time. Suffice to say, brother #3 is doing well. And he hugged me tonight as I left -- it was different and awesome. I was MIA for a while and failed him (and the others) as a sibling. Not anymore. We all showed up at my cousin's 30th birthday and that? That is why my family rocks out with our collective cocks out.

Original Ex

I had a truly unpleasant sexual experience my first year of college and, for reasons that don't quite fit with this post, had the potential to cause permanent, long-term damage. My perceived self-awareness notwithstanding (and I had not yet arrived at my groundbreaking conclusion), I believed that just living and moving forward meant I would put it behind me. In present day terms, we call this coping mechanism denial or, in practical effect, avoidance, but in any event, it provided a great cover for not getting involved with anyone for a year. If I didn't have to be physically intimate with anyone, I wouldn't have to deal with it and certainly wouldn't have to think about it.

And then I met someone. Someone who was all wrong for me on paper but all right for me at the time. In fairness to him, we weren't that different, notwithstanding our respective "social differences" at the time. He was on a break from college, came from a very poor background and certainly didn't have the safety net that I enjoyed from my upper middle class parents who were footing the bill for college (and my rich bitch dorm). He worked at the 7-Eleven down the road from said dorm and he was just goddamn cute. Twinkling eyes, great grin, sharp, witty and utterly oblivious to whatever perceived class distinctions I may or may not have thought existed between us. In retrospect, I think he saw the situation clearer than I did.

In any event, we ran into each other at a neutral setting (w00t - Stray Cats concert) and the chemistry was off the charts. He drove me home on his motorcycle -- hello, bad boy -- and we immediately started a pretty intense relationship. He (later that summer) was the first guy to ask me to marry him and, at the time, although I had no interest in marrying anyone, it seemed completely possible eventually. He was my kind of guy - no bullshit, straightforward, hardworking, smart, clever, funny and so charming. We had the proverbial first love experience - staying up nights talking, trying to learn every detail about each other, having great sex (first guy I ever gave myself to and I couldn't have asked for a better partner at the time) and just enjoying the hell out of each other.

And then the pigeons came. He wasn't exactly cheating on me, he was cheating on his on-and-off girlfriend of the past eight years with me. I was blown away, as we had spent almost every waking and sleeping hour together, at least when I wasn't in school, and I never sensed a thing. In fairness, they were pretty clearly on an "off" period, but it was nevertheless evident that there was unfinished business where they were concerned. Our breakup was rather unremarkable, as I (as always) thought I was taking the high road. Got the stuff that inevitably ends up at your boyfriend's house and retreated to my cave to lick my wounds and regroup.

I did what any self-respecting 18 year old would have done. I cried a lot. I replayed scenes of a whirlwind relationship over and over in my head and couldn't figure out how I had been so duped. But I don't revel in the crying part and I don't feast on ice cream. I got pissed. Oh holy hell, I was pissed off. I trusted this guy and loved him and spent all this time with him and he had this whole other side to him. Just like that -- depression to anger.

And then anger gave way to revenge. I wanted him to hurt and feel as shattered as I did. The opportunity presented itself when I learned his twin brother was in town. He had told me that the two were not close, owing to the twin brother's now defunct relationship with Original Ex's former girlfriend, and how there were some lines brothers should never cross.

A chance encounter with said twin? Yeah, you know how this ends. I fucked the twin brother. Started dating him, even. Hell, if memory serves, I dated him longer than I dated my Original Ex. I fell for him in an entirely different way, as the term "identical twins" is misleading.

As revenge relationships are wont to do, we fizzled out. Too much baggage, fucked up circumstances, and all of that. We were doomed from the start, of course, although I will say that I learned a lot about baseball from him and he was a great guy in his own right. But it was just still a little sleazy, even though I stopped considering the Original Ex about a month into the relationship with the twin. It was just doomed.

Aside #1: Twin and I had a rerun about a year later, after I ran into him in neutral territory (Living Colour concert). That time around, we had a much better relationship, but the old baggage ultimately proved insurmountable.

Aside #2: After I had left TX, Original Ex came to Seattle and looked me up. I will never, ever forget the feeling of satisfaction and closure when he looked me in the eye and told me that he knew he fucked up the best thing that ever happened to him. I had waited years to hear that, but at the time, I had just started dating B and all I could think about? B is going to walk around that corner, see me talking to you, ask questions, and after I gave him the back story, he would feel as insecure about me and Original Ex as Original Ex made me feel about us. I thanked him for the closure, told him I was in love with someone else, and begged him to please just leave, before B came back. I never wanted to make anyone feel the way he had made me feel -- doubtful in what I believed was real.

I thought of this tonight because I got an email at work from Original Ex - behold the power of Google. It amazes me how this three or four month relationship really affected the both of us. The email was terrific -- great update on his life, what he has accomplished (for the record? Don't dismiss the 7-Eleven clerks. If they meet the right girl, they can become positively inspired and do amazing things) and what he has been up to in the past (egad) nearly 20 years. The subject line of the email was "The One That Got Away" and it concluded with this (cut and paste) excerpt:

"I thought you should know that rarely does a week go by that I don't think about you and the time we were together. You are the kind of woman that haunts a man, if for no other reason than your laugh, and you are the kind of woman that can change a man forever. You changed me and I will always be grateful that I had that one summer with you. Best time of my life."

Until I read that, I was ready to respond to him, apologize again for dating his twin brother and wish him well. But after reading that, I realized that we have said everything we needed to say and we were both better off for having had that failed relationship. I didn't need closure, as I had closed the book on that years ago, but nevertheless, that email and those words validated that I hadn't overvalued the relationship, as I am clearly wont to do. It was a big deal, even if it took almost twenty years to fully figure out.

Right back at you, Original Ex.

Tales From the Crapper

My toilet broke last night. Yes, just the stupid floater thingie, but I have some uber toilet (low flush? who knows?) that didn't lend itself well to quick repair. I hated to call a plumber, so I called D, who is (one of several of) B's assistants and someone with whom I have a curious relationship.

By way of background, B "discovered" D in a supermarket checkout line. D is a quality human being. Son of a D-list celebrity who is batshit nuts, D has managed not to turn into a train wreck of a human being. After B discovered him and hired him, B sort of groomed him. Gave him a job and D has a work ethic. But B took advantage of him over the years and treated D as our errand boy. Not my errand boy, to be sure, but looking back, I can remember a few weekend days where he was washing my deck because he felt indebted to B. Sure, we lent him a down payment for his condo, but he paid it back. Sure, we got him back in college and paid his tuition, but he paid that back, too. Just a great guy.

During the separation, B would dispatch D to wash my deck or do household repairs. It always made me uncomfortable, as the relationship was between B and D, not me and D. I felt not unlike a user -- using him for menial tasks -- just distasteful. I always left money for him and he never took it. That made it worse -- me offering money, him rejecting it -- was I wrong to offer it?

In any event, D is just good people and we have developed our own friendship. He was here shortly after I called him, asking him about the toilet situation. Tonight, he came over, assessed the situation, realized it called for better equipment, then gave a temporary solution. As I said, I am helping him with a legal issue, but felt unsettled that this seemed like quid pro quo. I don't operate that way. I give favors without expectation and expect the same in return. No one keeping score or thinking entitlement.

I said as much to him and that just sort of released a floodgate for him. "K, you have gone above and beyond the duty for me so many times and I am so grateful." I responded that I hated every time he did a favor for me at B's direction, as it reeked of quid pro quo (e.g. "we've helped you, now help us"). In any event, the things he said tonight? Wow. Definitely an independent friendship of B. I was stunned. Wow. I had assumed many casualties in the great B&K breakup and he is not one of them.

The part that made me write this post was when he told me that "K, you were B's soul. You really were. He isn't the same man anymore." My instinct was to protect and defend B, as that is what I did for over a decade. But I know he is right. B is not the same guy -- I get glimpses of him, to be sure -- but he isn't the same guy D once knew. Nor the guy I married.

Right before I left work tonight, a family friend sent a couple of old pictures. One, which I am posting because I love it, is of my mom and my bio dad. It is easy to look at the picture and think I resemble my mother, but I really look like my bio dad. It made my smile and miss the bio dad like I suspect amputees miss their limbs. My bio dad was one of my best friends and I have missed him like no other since January 9, 1998. I miss you, sir.



The other picture, which I probably won't post, was of me and B about 6 years ago. That provoked an entirely different reaction.

Unintentional Cryptic Comment

So we're clear, there is no present drama on the horizon. I have a solid history of breast cancer in the family and, since a manufactured scare in college, have been diligent about the annual (or, in my case, more frequent) screenings. I have had irregular biopsies several times in the past few years and this was not even remotely worrisome. What struck me was my doctor's attitude of "you are going to get it eventually, let's bring it on." To this end, the passive end of the treatment scale is a drug to stave it off, or, to be more proactive, radiation to bring it on.

Neither option is working for me at this point. I don't fuck with my body's chemistry unless I absolutely have to and I don't think I'm there yet. Yes, solid history of cancer in the family. Yes, big tits and all that. Yes, other factors that would suggest a likelihood. But right now? I don't have it and I am pretty goddamn proactive about screening for it. They aren't going to find a lump, years after the fact and pronounce me in stage 3. If I am going to develop it, I will catch it early and often.

No cause for drama queen just yet. I simply take issue with the notion that you need to fight a battle where no one has thrown the first punch. After doing some research (and hearing from z), I'm inclined to believe the preventive approach probably creates more problems than it solves, and, in any event, isn't for me, at least right now.

I have a friend who just had a double mastectomy in March and I feel stupid for even worrying about this. I have seen what the battle looks like and right now, I am but a scrappy little kid, wondering if I am going to get into a fight.

But thanks for the concern, folks. It means a lot.

Sack of Hair

Color me....unsurprised.

Antidote

For your moment of emo:



And when you're finally the fuck over it?

Whoa Nelly

I can't shake the pissed off state of mind. Am now convinced that I have some quirky, odd-ball style of dealing with real and perceived transgressions, such that I don't deal with them in real time. So, in the interest of improving mental health, let's just compose a fuck you list, assembled in no particular order:

1. Fuck you, profession of law. It is rarely about really helping someone navigate the morass of regulations and formalities and more about ways for businesses to gain a competitive edge or people finding ways to fuck with each other with the government's stamp of approval. The rare time that you encounter someone who has a legitimate, bona fide problem that needs redress? The system is stacked so far against them that they might as well blow the clueless, just-collecting-my-paycheck judges who think their black robes act are halos. Judges? Not just fallible. Often - hell, almost always -- lazy government employees who long ago lost their faith in the system.

2. Fuck you, law firm business model. Charging for 1/10th of an hour is just bullshit. Invent a better mousetrap - this one is no good for the client or the attorney. Note to clients: stop suing your attorneys for not getting the result that you wanted. It drives up the cost of malpractice (see, e.g. health care industry) and prevents us from representing you in the best way we know how.

3. Fuck you, irritating fellow associate: Look, I know you are a nice person and that no one has ever pointed out your ridiculously irritating quirks because they know that. But finishing my sentences for me? Okay, mildly endearing when your new paramour does it, but even then, it grows old really fast. I don't care how much we think alike or how you are on the same page intellectually. Cupcake? I am hundreds of steps ahead of you. Also? Your voice gets really crackly when you think you are making a point that everyone else knows. A strong voice is much more assuring and communicates confidence in the message. You sound like the kid in The Shining ("red rum!") and the inexplicable burst into laughter? Very little about the law is funny, unless you are reading a Scalia opinion. You should also take active steps to reduce your tendency to roll your beady eyes. Not a good look. It scares me each and every time.

4. Fuck you, people with very little situational reading comprehension and social skills. There is a reason you look around and find yourself without friends that don't live on your computer screen. Seriously. What is it about the internet that gets people so worked up and so utterly estranged from traditional social skills? Have an issue with someone? Talk to them directly, lay your cards on the table and resolve the issue one way or the other. If you lived next door to each other, would you really pull your curtains shut, barricade the door and randomly toss out messages in a bottle? Who the fuck does that? You might find that your perception of things isn't the end all, be all of reality. Jesus. Some people only exist online.

5. Fuck you, carbohydrates (generally) and unbleached white flour (specifically). There is no good reason I shouldn't be able to enjoy a turkey panini with pesto on ciabatta bread or Phad See Iw without feeling completely bloated. I take care of my body (HA) and should be able to eat whatever the fuck I want if I give you an hour's worth of exercise each day.

6. Fuck you, irregular cells. Things evolve and maybe just because they don't look like everything else in my body doesn't mean the sky is falling, Dr. Chicken Little. I know we have a few dates together and I will be no worse for the wear, but fuck you for giving me another thing to worry about. Double fuck you for the suggestion of Tamoxifen, or, my personal favorite, radiation-induced treatment.

7. Fuck you, aging. I believe that people grow into their features and get better with age. Fuck you for hating suntans and a healthy color in your face.

8. Fuck you, Home Owners Association. You want to assess us to improve the building? Don't fucking piecemeal it. Hit me with your best shot. Fire away. Just do it right the first time and don't ask me to come clean up your mess three years later because you tried to solve the problem on the cheap. Am not cheap. Perfectly willing to solve the entire problem in one fell swoop.

9. Fuck you, I-really-believe-you-are-my-ex-husband: So tired of arguing whether we are divorced. I have the decree, but keep on keeping on with the whole "we're still married" bullshit. Don't know what to make of the notice I got AT HOME about our proceeding, but suffice to say, in the snowball's chance in hell we are still married? I will handle it, as I handled every fucking misstep in our marriage. Related: stop trying to sleep with me. It isn't going to happen. Wasn't good then, no expectations that profound anger will make it better. And no, I don't want to stay married indefinitely. Grow the fuck up. Oh, and no. I don't want to be GC at your company. The idea of working with you every day? Worse than morning sickness, at least as I have heard it described.

10. Fuck you, romantic fate. This is the card you dealt me? Sofa king rude.

Fuck everyone. I am just tired and done. Fuck me, I am just pissed off.

Feeding off Z

Holy fuck, I am just pissy today and have been for days.

Everybody - and I mean damn near everybody - is pissing me off. I could easily jump down the throats of a dozen people today and I feel like I am just seething underneath my skin. Although I am not typically an angry person, I am taking on the role with restrained enthusiasm. If I lived like this all the time? Yeah, I am starting to understand those folks who say horrible things out of anger. It is definitely a struggle to not react, not let that edge in your voice affect someone else and, above all else, not to respond to the fuckwits.

I am going to have to figure out where to channel this very strong energy. I am behind on so many personal things and am going to account for all of them this weekend. Or, at the very least, make a list of people with whom I need to touch base and fulfill certain obligations. I am going to do some spring cleaning, which I think will generate some much needed momentum in other ways. Organized and clean house, organized mind and all that. I need to rid my physical and mental closets, so to speak.

I have wandered into some really interesting places on the internet. Kind of amazing how much time I spent in just one little corner and, incidentally, holy sweet mother of god has that corner up and gone batshit. But I have discovered some amazing sites and writers and rediscovered my complete awe of the internets. Holy hell - what a resource.

That Time of Year

I managed to get a quick Mother's Day note out to the mother unit last night (one of the benefits of your parents living abroad is not having to do the Mother's Day brunch in real time) and got a reply back this morning. She gets here on the 31st.....for four months.

Four months. My mother has taken vacationing and annual vacations to the next level.

My parents have a house about an hour and a half north of Seattle. Brother #4 somehow managed to talk my parents into buying a house on a golf course in the town in which he attends college. Same brother also managed to convince them, after a few shitty roommate experiences, that roommates were a bad idea. To recap, said brother lives in a 5 bedroom house on the golf course, rent free, by himself and the folks pay the bills. Did I mention that said house on the golf course is about an hour from the border (Canada) and about the same from Mt. Baker? And the no-bills thing?

I was pretty proud of my "no curfew" status in high school until Brother #4 utterly schooled me in the fine art of obtaining parental concessions.

Mother unit informed me that they were purchasing some land in another town an hour and half away (different direction) with Seattle views and all that. Looks like the 'rents are going to be neighbors in their retirement years. We haven't all lived in the same country, let alone the same state, since....1986. Although technically, one sibling is still in CA. I don't think she'll be there for the long haul. Once one of us has kids, she'll be here.

UNRELATED: Perk of divorce? You are no longer the matron of honor, you are the MAID of honor. I would rather be a maid and will be next week. One of my closer friends (K -- of K and J fame) is getting married in Mexico and we're flying down on Memorial Day for five days of margaritas and cervezas in el sol. Couldn't come at a better time.

All in the Family

My brother (the elusive sibling #3) got engaged last weekend to his long-term, very patient girlfriend. He is 29. I got the news right as I was sitting down to dinner on Saturday night and I think I was beaming for the next six hours. His bride is already a part of our family and a great member at that. She just fits and is an ideal sister-in-law. Despite whatever pessimism I may have about marriage, I have no doubt about them. She has the patience of Job and my brother knows just how lucky he is to have her.

I got married at 23, having met B when I was just 21. At the time, I don't know that I even really thought about marriage in any substantive way. We basically moved in together a few months after meeting. I was housesitting (aside: remarkably cool place. Converted maid's quarters at an old Seattle mansion) and he stayed the first night and never left. We got our first apartment together after the housesitting gig ended and bought our first boat six months after that. We became engaged about a year after our first date and married a year later. We lived together in close confines (a 30' boat) and worked together every day. When he asked me to marry him, it was less of a question and more of a given. I didn't really think twice about it - it just seemed like the natural next step. A no-brainer.

I have often said there is a grand canyon between the ages of 23 and 28. I was 28 when I started law school and my classmates were almost all around 23-24. Had nothing in common with them, especially since most had lived pretty different lives than me. I had been married for five years. I had run two businesses, lived on a boat, grown up overseas and been living off the family dole.

One of the things that my brother's engagement has had me pondering is whether I would have made the same choice at 29 as I did at 23 (or, to be accurate, I said yes at 22). Hindsight is 20-20 and I can see all of the red flags that I apparently ignored back then. As close as we were, we had distinctly separate lives, particularly when it came to family. I jumped into his and his mother and I became fast friends. The same was not really true for B, although to his credit, he didn't balk when sibling #3 came to live with us, on the boat, after only a year of marriage. Having just typed that, I have to give him credit, as that was just one of the many unconventional parts of our marriage. We were two young adults who grew up together, and although he was 28 when we got married, he was still just becoming his own man. He had had his own interesting past and was just learning what it meant to be a responsible adult.

We taught each other a few things along the way. There were a host of things I just didn't know about living in the US, let alone about being an adult in the US. B had common sense and "street smarts," which was something I was sorely lacking. I had organizational and academic skills that balanced that out. All in all, we were sort of a complement to each other back then -- two young adults, partners in crime and just figuring it out.

What prompted this dance down memory lane? I realized that we kind of lived in a bubble, B and me. Or, perhaps more accurately, I moved in and out of the bubble. Our life was firmly established in the bubble, but I kept a lot outside of it. My family, for one. I have a great family -- stellar siblings who are the best part of my life. My primary regret in my marriage is that I ignored them (or at least back burnered them) for the sake of the bubble.

I don't know if I would have done that at 28. I know I won't at 36.

Joss

Listen to this woman's voice. She's not even legal. I heard this song a few years ago and fell in love with her voice. I dig her style. This is an old tune of hers (relatively speaking), but damn if I don't still hum it from time to time.

Rear View Window

Today (and last night) was interesting on the B front. He had sent me a text message on Sunday (after getting reports of seeing me with another man - SCANDALOUS) that said "let's talk on Monday in Florida" (he was in Florida, apparently). I didn't respond. My head was somewhere else.

Last night, I got home from a friend's birthday dinner and heard the Blackberry chime - text message. It was B, asking "can we talk on Thursday?" I was just relaxed enough to respond and I called him. Got voice mail. Odd, in that he just sent a text message, but okay. I didn't leave a message and just sent a text saying "what is on your mind?" A few seconds later? Another chime, another voice mail. Fucker was awake, but not answering his phone. I called him again. Voice mail again. The hell? Who prefers texting over voice? I replied to his text (wherein he expressed a desire to "see where things were") and said "answer your phone and we can talk." Again with the chime - another text message. This was an alternate universe.

We exchanged seven text messages, each weirder than the previous. In all the time I was with him, I never knew him to choose written words over voice. It was irritating. At one point, he told me he "didn't want any drama. I know it is hard, but try not to have drama."

I was furious. Not once in all of this did I opt for drama where he was concerned. Not once. I have been coasting on the high road, at least where our relationship was concerned. I stopped with the texting and went to bed. Fuck that noise.

I woke up, still pissed off and sent him a text to that effect. "Bullshit on insinuating I have ever created drama in all of this. Quite the opposite. You initiated a conversation that I preferred to have in voice and in real time, not via short text messages. Don't rewrite history to make it seem as though I behaved as a drama queen in this." That got a rambling voice mail in reply that made almost no sense. He retracted the drama comment and instead criticized my failure to communicate. Laughable, but there you go.

I had a meeting that went very well, and afterwards, I called him back. We started off sort of combative (at least on his end) and it looked as though the conversation would end badly. But somehow, we managed to get past the stupid stuff and somehow launched into a really terrific conversation. For an attorney, I really seem to have an aversion to conflict and that goes for B. Although it is way too soon to be friends, we will always have a connection to each other that transcends a lot of things. We grew up together as adults. Right or wrong, we have a history together and a style of communication between us that is brutally honest at times.

At one point - after the combat -- we were just laughing and joking and being B&K. We can do that well after many years of practice. During one exchange, he called me "P" (the name of his current girlfriend). I threw my head back and laughed so hard. He tried to move past it, but I insisted it was worth a quality laugh. I told him that he better not make the same mistake the other way, as she might not find it as amusing. There was a hearty, hearty laugh at that point and, for maybe a few minutes I was talking to the guy I married. Didn't miss being married to him, but I had a few minutes with that man - my friend, my history. We shared some of the details of our life (my brother got engaged, my great aunt died, I had a biopsy today, the status of his parents, his job, his interests).

It was good. I have reasons to hate B, but I can't. I loved him for too long and we have too much history to be enemies. We can't be friends just yet -- he kept saying "we will always be each other's touchstones, Kari" -- but I cut him off and told him we wouldn't. Not now. We agreed to meet on Thursday to settle out a few things that need settling. I am actually looking forward to it. I do miss B, but in ways I can't really explain. It is not unlike missing an old friend, years after you realized that you stopped being friends because of past slights.

I just can't live in a world of ongoing conflict. I confront it, stare at it, deal with it and move onward. I know that B and I will always love each other. I know that. I know that I could say the right words and we could probably make a second go at us. I don't want that. I don't think I am ready to have B as a friend, as I know how tenuous his grasp on the concept really is. But as far as I am concerned? He and I? We're cool like Fonzie.

Grand Gestures

In the years that we were separated, B and I didn't do much in terms of working on reconciliation. That is one hell of an understatement. We were pretty much equally to blame, even though I am not sure I realized it at the time. Back then, I was waiting for the Big Moment. The moment of clarity and realization that THIS WAS US that was on the line and we always managed to save US from disaster. The moment when B would make his GRAND GESTURE and show me that I was and would always be the most important thing in his life and that nothing could ever break us up.

I waited for the grand gesture for over two years. It never came.

Looking back, I don't know what, exactly, I was waiting for or what gesture I had in mind. I sometimes wonder if I watched one too many bad 80's romantic comedies. However, I didn't want the guy to pull up in a Porsche and bake me a birthday cake. I didn't fantasize about giving a guy my diamond earring and having him wear it unironically. I didn't dream about a heartfelt kiss in a parking lot after he finally realized that he screwed up and I had moved on.

Nevertheless, I was waiting for that grand gesture that I would always remember as proof positive that he loved me, would do anything to keep me, and that no matter how far apart we had grown, we would find our way back to each other. I really believed in that, even as I completely backed away from him during our separation. I think I wanted the grand gesture no matter what, even if I realized that I didn't want to stay with him. I just needed the grand gesture. I needed it as validation of the wifetime I had spent with him. I needed it to prove to myself that all of those years together meant something and that even if we didn't ride off into the sunset, I could still know that he loved me beyond reason and was willing to do anything to show it.

Again, said gesture never came. What's worse is that in the two years we were separated, I myself made a few grand gestures. The one that comes to mind the most vividly was leaving a trial (I was third chair, so not the most vital) in the middle of the proceedings because I got a scary text message from B that indicated he might do something stupid (like commit career suicide). Even though this was a full two years after we separated, even though we had made no meaningful strides to reconcile and even though I was pretty sure it was time to file for divorce, still, the idea that he was hurting and pained and scared? I couldn't bear him going through it alone and I flew to be by his side. He was, of course, stunned and grateful and eventually, I talked him down off that ledge. Tellingly, the experience was very difficult on me as well and as soon as he had his sea legs back, he promptly disappeared again and I was left picking up the pieces by myself.

(This all makes me sound like a saint. I wasn't by any stretch of the imagination. This is just an entry about grand gestures.)

Habits die hard. B had abdominal surgery earlier this year and listed me as his emergency contact and next of kin. He instructed the surgeon to discuss everything and anything with me and all that, even though he had moved on and in with someone else. He was always a complete baby about all things medical and I learned that he had downplayed the whole thing and was going to wake up alone after his first major surgery. I drove to the hospital (Eastside! Bridges and tunnels!) to be there when he woke up. The idea of him waking up alone scared and confused and disoriented just unsettled me, even though I know just what kind of a man he is these days. I just thought I was honoring our long term relationship and that is what a good friend does, no matter the pain inflicted. Friendship is forever and all that.

I was thinking about this last night for reasons that make sense only to me. I know I didn't do any of those things out of some martyr complex. I really hope not, at least. I was genuinely concerned for B both times and didn't want him to feel alone. I wanted him to know that when push came to shove and the big things were on the line, I would support him, no matter what. But looking back, there was only one of us doing the grand gestures. There was never a point that B became concerned that I might be feeling alone and scared and all of that. Never. I don't think he did that at all during our marriage. Empathy was not his strong suit.

In any event, I think I realized last night that I am holding out for a man capable of grand gestures. Someone who can give as good as he can get. I can think of another few traits for the list, but at the moment, I am easy to please. Grand gestures require as much confidence as they involve risk, and that combination just sort of works for me. Confidence, risk, humility, even temperment, and a great sense of humor - all are required for a proper grand gesture. At its very essence is the willingness to make a complete ass out of yourself and not be destroyed if you actually do.

I've said it before in this here blog and I'll say it again. I think the making of mistakes is one of the most underrated parts of living, because it is only through making mistakes and trial and error that you finally get it right. I think I am going to win the relationship battle because I believe in grand gestures, whether properly executed or horribly miscalculated. And, as the great waxer May would say, people falling down is always funny. Always, no matter what.

State of Affairs

Holy shit, it is May. 5 months into 2007 and it feels like it was just New Years. I have either become one of those people who laments how fast time flies or, more optimistically, life is just moving on. A few milestones:

Number of:

+ Exercise-related injuries: 3
+ Months out of the gym: 1.5
+ Weeks back at the gym: 1.5
+ Months to get body back in shape: I'm guessing 3. You get to 36 and you realize that for every month you take off from exercise, you have to double that in terms of rehab time.
+ Pairs of crutches: 1
+ Ulcers: 1 (eye ulcer - seriously, how fucked is that? N.B.: apparently, you can't wear and sleep in your contacts for months while you are kind of slowly losing your mind)
+ Friends met from the internets: 2 (to be updated in the near term)
+ Divorces: 2 (one from B, one from the internets as I once knew them)
+ Friends gained: 4
+ Friends lost: 3
+ Pounds lost: I don't do scales, but the size 8's fit much better right now.
+ Times I have spoken to B since the finalization of the divorce: 0
+ Times I have missed B since the finalization of the divorce: 2 (but not as my husband)
+ Times I have uttered the words "My marriage came to its successful conclusion and I wish B well in all of his new adventures": Too many. It is my go-to phrase when encountering mutual friends. It seems to put everyone at ease, changes the subject, and, for better or worse, allows us to perpetuate the myth that our breakup was amicable and that we remain close friends.
+ Books read: Just 3. Pathetic.
+ Cell phones lost or destroyed: 2. Technically, I got both of them back, but I have an uncanny ability to lose phones.
+ Dates: I think technically 6, but I just wasn't ready. Have some new friends, though. My heart is elsewhere.
+ Trips planned but not taken: At least a dozen.
+ Trips booked: 2. Mexico for K-n-J's wedding and NYC in June. I'm looking at you, Connoisseur.
+ Times I have had scarily dark thoughts and all out pity parties: At least 4.
+ Times that I have felt blessed, loved and lucky: More than 4.
+ Times I have fallen in love: 1. You know, that phrase is eerily accurate. It does feel like you're falling, doesn't it?
+ Lessons learned about love, life and friendships?: Entirely too many. You really can't appreciate a great love or friendship until you have lost one that mattered to you. Today's useless piece of wisdom. No charge.

The passage of time is really the only anecdote for the trials (no pun intended) and stresses in your life. This too shall pass? I fucking hate those words, but they ring true and if you are a smart girl, you will take from each episode something that will make you a better person and a better friend and lover. I'll go to my grave not understanding the black and white, myopic view of life kinds of folk. Shit happens, people fuck up, life changes and everyone moves on. People can and do recover from these episodes and relationships can be reconstituted.

I think that perhaps, one day, B and I will again be friends. You can't love someone for that long and suddenly and completely turn it off, no matter how many sins you committed against each other. I can't wish him any ill will and I hope he once again becomes the man I married. That man was supremely unique, interesting and challenging. I know that parts of me also went sideways, so I cannot begrudge him anymore.

Without being unduly cryptic, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of something and am about to leap into something that I might regret. But here's the great thing about living - unless you fuck up and make mistakes, which necessarily means taking risks (some more stupid than others), you are living in the margins. I like margins. I like healthy lines and boundaries and, above all else, good common sense. But I am also humble enough (now) to know that sometimes? The benefit outweighs the risk. Here's to leaping without abandon with the confidence that (1) you have fucked up royally before and (2) you can recover from another mistake and (3) Sometimes? Your instinct about people is spot on. You've been wrong before and will be again. Most often, you aren't all wrong, but partially. But life -- my life -- is about taking chances and putting my cards on the table and playing my hand.

I love that about myself. I am still an optimist, despite all evidence to the contrary.