I have nothing to say.

I mean, really, I don't have anything to say.
I'm sitting here, craving a cigarette, but spending my time with you lot, and there is really nothing to report.

Except maybe this:

On Sunday I'm flying to New York, to New York City - to stay in the Ritz Carlton (Battery Park) and then attend some meetings and then on Tuesday, my company is going to ring the opening bell at the NYSE. I don't know that I'll be at all visible, I was thinking so, but lately have gotten some emails that make me think I'll be off to the side and not on camera (and I was totally going to do the Carol Burnett thing as a signal to my mom that I love her and wish she was there with me) and that really bums me out, because I bought a really nice suit for it.

After NYSE (which still, how cool, because we'll be given a tour of the trading floor, and really, who gets to do that? One of the requirements is that women in sleeveless dresses and open toed shoes are not allowed, presumably because you'll get punched and tromped on what with all the frenzied people throwing paper and bidding?

Who knows. Anyway, I need to get shoes.

From NY I am flying then to Boston. I'll be in Boston for one day on a top secret sleuthing mission and then I fly to Edinburgh. I'll then be in Edinburgh for 6 days. Three of them to spend searching for a home and learning the area, and three of them spent with coworkers for the design of our new buildings.

Two full days of meetings with little ones being added on.
We look to start at 7:00am each day and end approximately 10 or 11pm.
But I will be with one of my mentors, a man who has encouraged me at every step I've taken, the man who would not fire me when I first started working there, no matter that I was late to work every single day.

And I was the receptionist. It was fairly important that I be there.
At one point, because I got in at 8:15 for my 8:00am shift every day for a year, this kind mentor-man changed my hours to an 8:30am start, whereupon I promptly started coming in at 8:45am.

I am just hardwired to wake up late. Always, always, always late.

I get home on the 26th. I'll be posting as I can, because I've been given a laptop.
I said I needed to keep up on my work emails, but really I just needed to be able to check my gossip sites and talk to you folks.

I'll be in touch,

Salome

p.s. Those mosquito hawks are out in force. And when I say out in force, I mean dotting the walls of my house with a vengeance. They are stupid, and tend to buzz all around me, knocking against me until I slap them away with a frenzy. And sometimes they die, and leave little pellets of themselves behind. And I don't know if that's poop, babies or brains. And this fact simultaneously skeeges and fascinates me.

That is all.

Special Letter July 9, 2007

Dear Size 4 Women Who Put Your Pants in the Macy's Clearance Section Clearly Marked L - XL,

You are despicable bitches.

Fat Assedly,

Salome

Letters July 2007

Dear Tough-Looking Older Gentleman with the Tats Walking the Small, White Poodle:

Awwwww. One look at you and I knew that was your wife's dog.
His little sparkled collar goes great with the big anchor tattoo on your forearm.
I was fully prepared to drive by you, wave and have you smirk with embarrassment while hacking out a lungful, just to prove your testosterone, when you did the most surprising thing: You didn't see me wave because you were watching this tiny white poodle with so much affection and love that your attention was decidedly elsewhere.
So I think this: That is your wife's dog, but you love it more than she does.

Keep on Rocking In the Free World,

Salome

Dear People Who Schedule Conference Calls at 7:00am in the morning Pacific Standard Time:

Huh? Whaaaa? (clears throat) (chokes down night hack) (gulps coffee) (squeaks out a "YES" or "No" as appropriate).
Sorry about that. I gave it my all. And that wasn't a lot.

ZZZZZZZzzzzzzz,

Salome

DEAR CRAZY CAMPER GUY WHO THREATENED MY SECURITY GUARDS WITH THE PROMISE OF A GUN BECAUSE YOUR PARKING PERMIT IS EXPIRED:

Your daughter may work at Hooters, but I assure you my security officers are not perverts. They may be overzealous, yes, because I never asked them to monitor the parking tags of a lot licensed to a parking company, but they are not perverts.
And when you showed up at my site 10 minutes after I had gone home, drunk and threatening to bring a gun to "do the job" to my security officer?

YOU ARE LUCKY I WAS NOT THERE. I would have kicked your ass back to the trailer park you lousy piece of shit.
My security officer tried to talk you down, because he is a gentleman and gives everyone the benefit of the doubt (not the best thing in a security guard tasked with protecting the site from batshit insane people like you) but when you asked him to call the property manager and he refused, saying you could sober up and see her tomorrow? He was doing you a favor. Because when I found out about this tonight I got your parking permit revoked and put out an APB on your sorry ass. If you show up when the guards are there they will call 911. If you show up when I am there I will bust your ass personally. For my guards and for all the times I've been annoyed and had to suck it up.

I will call the cops only after I have verbally assaulted you within an inch of YOUR life, you lowlife, drunk-ass scum.

You're a filthy, lousy degenerate,
Salome

Dear People Who Weren't Home Whose House We Set on Fire with Fireworks But Quickly Put Out:

Whew. Was THAT ever exciting. You should buy that neighbor dinner, because he scrambled up onto your roof faster than a howler monkey after (whatever howler monkeys really like and will chase). And MY FRIEND, Gaia, ran so fast I think her 10 month pregnant belly was left in her yard. (her hips hurt today, poor, darling lovely friend).

We are so sorry about your house. No confirmation it was us, but it probably was. What are you doing being out of town on the 4th of July in a city where fireworks are legal with that old cedar shingle roof? I think you should hold yourself responsible. If you ever want to kill a great fireworks show, set a house on fire.

The fire was put out, not much damage, no one was hurt and I've never seen two 15 year old kids clean up fireworks detritus so fast in my entire life. But then, I'd never seen a 10 month pregnant woman move that fast, either. Gaia rocks and she could still beat you in a footrace.

Sssssssssssssmokin'
Salome

It's OFFICIAL

We're moving.

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

Hello Hello
I don't know why you say goodbye, I say Hello

Dear People Who I Think Have Kidnapped Finny:

I believe that you have him, and that you love him. I believe that he needed more stimulation, and perhaps a Lucy-free home. I don't know why she is so hostile to other cats. I rescued her, and maybe she just thinks I am her savior and anyone who threatens that, threatens her personal safety. Well. Lucy, I am your savior, and I will protect you and love you all the days of your ever-bitching life. I love you anyway, honey. I love you despite.

I have been very angry, thinking of you people, how this really incredible boy walked into your homes and you fell in love, but I'm angry because he walked in with a collar that speaks of my care for him. Of my concern, of my worry, of my mother-instincts. His collar tells you his name, and the phone number of where his home his.

And if you took him from me and did not call that phone number, you are evil, awful people. I have worried and cried and searched and cried and searched and worried about Finny. I have called for him and walked for him and cried and cried more. I have hoped for him, I have prayed for him, I have yearned for him with an intensity that would burn you up, that would immolate you and everything within a 10 mile radius of your sick, nasty heart.

DO YOU LOVE HIM THIS MUCH?
DO YOU LOVE HIM THIS MUCH?

I have been thinking that karma will get you someday. You will have terrible troubles befall you - things that no good person should endure, and you will endure these things because my wrath is a wispy finger of smoke - it may take years for my wrath to get to you, but I will damn you, for all time, for eternity - for taking my baby from me. I will meet you on the other side and I will slap you to hell and back only for the opportunity to slap you again, only for the opportunity to shake you and shake you and shake you because you took my little boy and you never let me make sure he was safe, and you didn't consider that I would cry while thinking of him injured and needing me, and that all my failures as a human being and a mom flew up in my head and battered me, battered me bloody.

You were so unkind to me.

But if karma gets you and you have my baby, then karma will hurt my baby, and I cannot withstand that.
So I forgive you. I release you from all the wrongdoing of what you did. I give you my forgiveness, so that my little man is forever safe and sound. I forgive you, I forgive you.

Now love him. Love him within an inch of his life. Love him as though the stability of the earth itself depended on it.
Love him when he is darling, and love him when he is exasperating and love him, love him, love him through all of your trials and tribulations. Think of him as a gift. He is my gift to you, he was my gift from the moment I laid eyes on him, he is a gift, he is a dear, he is my love.

Take very good care of my baby. I will meet him again someday, and I want him to have been loved.

Day Two In Ohio

I'm having so much fun. Unbelievable.

11:55am - I wake up. Everyone's up, my dad's gone and my mom's in the shower. Usually on a weekend I hear my dad watching TV in the mornings, because they always put the loud stuff under my bedroom, knowing how accomodating I am to noise and the whatnot.

1:00pm - after 1300 cups of coffee (and grape leaves and hummus) and much chatting with my parents, I help my dad plant his planter box and several large pots with seasonal flowers for the summer. This is the man from whom I've inherited every green thing about my thumb. If I were to try to tell you how much it meant to me to garden with him for three hours, I would fall desperately short of how cool it was. So I won't even try. Except to say that it was an unexpected gift this weekend. Especially since Father's Day is right now.

3:45pm - My mom and I go grocery shopping. Agony, because we both hate it, and they were out of limes, and then the next place was out of my dad's brand of cigarettes. So we stopped at three stores and we both hate shopping. Blech. We immediately made a drink when we got home. It is so comforting to be around like-minded individuals. There is no time when I want a drink that they are not thinking the same thing. I am truly back with my peoples, from whence I am sprung.

7:15pm - We go to a benefit for "Rally for the Cure." The entire NW Ohio contingent of the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure against Breast Cancer is dedicated to my mom's dear friend Georgie Navarro, who passed away in January from Breast Cancer. And that should tell you what an AWESOME lady Georgie was. My mom wins a silent auction for a print of St. Andrews Golf Course, and most of you will know why she bid on it. She said, this is so special to me, this weekend, with you here and what you guys are going to do, I just couldn't pass it up.

8:45pm - we are all hammered, and everyone is wearing pink at this thing. We were going to go out for sushi, but instead, everyone is coming to my parents' house to play the Wii that my mom got my dad for father's day. We have pizza and a Wii tournament, and we all suck royally, and then everyone leaves and my parents and I do the most awesome thing:

WE SIT IN THEIR NEWLY REDONE BASEMENT AND WATCH THE BEEGEES IN CONCERT ON MY DAD'S DVD. With surround sound. And I know every word to every song, and I can't figure out why, until my mom tells me they were her favorite band, and when I was a little girl she played their albums constantly, OVERANDOVER again, and even still, she is laughing and delighted that I know them so well, and a piece of my personal life puzzle clicks into place and I think, THERE. That's one parcel of me explained.

Then we watch Roy Orbison and Friends, then Queen, and then Monterey Pop Festival, and then Fleetwood Mac, and then the Eagles, and now my dad is rocking out to Rod Stewart. I had to go, because I am drunk and we are going to my grandfather's grave tomorrow morning to drink mimosas and tell him how much he meant to our lives. We're all meeting there. All of us.

You guys, you have no idea, I'm home and I all of a sudden remember who I am. I forget from time to time. But this is my legacy, and all of these things explain to me exactly who I am and why I do the things I do. And I think it is to my detriment that I am away from my family so much. Because you can't possibly understand me, if you don't know them.

First Full Day In Ohio

It is 11:35pm in Ohio right now, and my mom went to bed because she wrenched her shoulder getting my grandmother's present out of the car (an automatically retracting hose wheel for her garden, it apparently weighed 50 pounds and my godmother Joycie laughed at my mom and hauled it one handed (after 5 margaritas) into her own car) and my dad is drinking a glass of red wine and watching a cooking show whose camera angles are making my head spin.

But perhaps that is because I have consumed more alcohol in a 12 hour period than I have for the last six weeks combined. Welcome to a Tice/Wilhelm Ohio visit!

I'll recap for those of you who have never come here with me.

6:23am - my dad gets up and goes out to get the paper. The security system beeps when he leaves the house, and beeps again when he comes in. For some reason these two beeps wake me instantly and completely. I lie in bed and listen to my dad make coffee and then I pad downstairs and get a cup. It is now 7:00am and my father's mouth drops open in shock to see me. I drink two cups of coffee and then head upstairs to lie in bed and read my book.

8:45am - my dad leaves for work and says something to my mom. This is after he walks in and out of the house at least 13 separate times, sending the security system into apoplectic shock.

8:50am - I peek my head into my mom's room and she is doing the crossword puzzle in bed, drinking coffee. I ask what my dad said and she says, "He said to pace ourselves today, because we have a long night ahead of us." She means my grandmother's birthday lunch at our favorite Mexican place, Loma Lindas.

10:45am - after my mom and I have read the paper, had three more cups of coffee each, and looked at photos she's taken over the last 17 years (her memory chips holds, currently, 700 pictures, to which I say, what the hell is wrong with my camera that it is full after 10??? Ridiculousness) we head out to get pedicures. We laugh and chat the entire time and then we head over to Lomas to surprise my grandmother.

12:30pm - EVERYONE is at Lomas. EVERY single member of my mother's side of the family are there. I walk in to surprise my grandma (after sitting in the parking lot for 15 minutes because Joycie is late, as usual, and doesn't want to miss the surprise. So we wait, and as soon as she walks into the restaurant, we do too.
My family has taken over one whole room in the restaurant, all the waitresses know us by first name (at least one member of my family is at this restaurant every day of the week except Monday, because they are closed that day). We have been doing this for over 30 years. I walk in and head over to my grandma to surprise her. She sees me when I am about 10 feet away and her mouth drops open in shock. She stands up so quickly she knocks my cousin Adam in the head with her arm. She bursts into tears and lights up with the biggest smile I've seen from her in a while. I want to freeze this memory in my mind, because it is the single best feeling in my life. My aunts freak out, too, because they didn't know I was coming. Everyone is crying and rushing up to hug me and I haven't felt this loved in a long time. It feels great, and I'm smiling and crying and laughing and hugging people into comas.

We eat lunch and she opens presents and Joycie hands me her card to Grandma, saying, read this, Ena, you'll cry your eyes out. And it is good, but Joycie has taught me well, Grandma opens my card, the card I bought about three hours earlier, and the one that made me burst into tears in the card aisle. Joycie reads over my grandma's shoulder and bursts out crying and declares me the winner.

I am covered in cousins and aunts and my mom's best friend is sitting across from me and my grandma is sitting next to me and my mom and I are laughing at our own jokes, and I just cannot tell you how much I need this. I absolutely love my family, I love them dearly. I miss them more than I realize. What a great place to be from.

Somehow we drink 4 margaritas and each of us only take a few bites of our food, what with all the joyous chaos. My mom and I grab PJ, Allison and Mallory (cousins, PJ is my favoritest of favorites, and he's a total computer whiz.) We stop by their house and my mom buys his friend's Wii for my dad for father's day. Then Mallory and PJ come over and PJ rewires the house. No kidding, he just set up wireless internet and hooked up the Wii, but the guy is incredibly impressive with his technical skills and know-how. I swear there is NOTHING this guy can't do. We bowl and play tennis with the Wii for a couple of hours until my dad gets home, and he plays my 12 year old cousin Mallory in bowling and she almost beats him. (oh and I have a beer, while my mom has a beer and then a scotch and my dad has two martinis.)

6:30pm - we head down to the Toledo zoo for Toledo's biggest event of the year, the ZooTo-Do. Expensive tickets, and the men wear tuxedo coats, shirts, cumberbunds and then shorts and tennis shoes. The ladies wear high end dresses and tennis shoes. You buy drink tickets and all the best restaurants in Toledo have booths where they have samples of their food and the food is excellent and it is free. I drink two cosmos and a margarita.

We stay until the thing is breaking up, my parents know every single person in Toledo and they all tell me I look JUST like my mom and there are three bands and it is just awesome. I argue with my dad about whether the band is playing Queen or Def Leppard, and I'm right. I have to sing along to prove it and he gives up, whether because he believes me or just wants me to stop singing, I'm not so sure.

We drive home, I'm having a glass of red wine, and tomorrow I'm going to go shopping with my mom and then come home and help my dad plant his flower baskets and then I think we're going out to dinner. On Sunday I'm golfing with my mom, dad and my uncle Bob which right there are three of my most favorite people on earth. I couldn't be happier right now.

I'm home.

Not My Life

I'm completely dialed into the grief outpouring that is the lost pet community.
There's a woman who's been looking for her dog for three months. She posts on Craigslist every day. I listen to the shelter hotlines each morning, to the point where now I know the schedules of the different workers who call in.

There's the one guy at the Seattle shelter that they must be testing out, but he is too cheery, and says everything in a way that makes it sound like a joke, and I want to call him and say, this is no joke, buddy. This way I feel? It couldn't be LESS like a joke. And if you announce the arrival of one more deceased family loved one with that cheer in your voice, I'm going to come over there and beat the shit out of you. For myself, and for everyone who is dialing that number (that they now know by heart) just hoping to hear that their baby was found and turned in, and that you insensitive fuckers at the pound don't harrass and stress them out too much.

In addition to the 100s of lost cat ads posted daily on various websites, there are the occasional FOUND cat posts. I check all of these with so much hope in my heart, and then I see these stupid cats blinking back at me, photographed in all sorts of weird area, sinks, tubs, wherever their fear has driven them, once they gave up and allowed themselves to be caught.

And I think, Finny, honey, will you please let someone catch you? Because I know how smart you are, and how tricky, and how absolutely impossible you were to catch when you didn't want to be caught. Remember when we used to use the flashlight to lure you inside at night? And when you wised up to that we used the laser pointer? And when you wised up to that we pulled weeds and tossed them, knowing that you would run over to help, and to chase the weedlings and pounce on them? And when you wised up to that, Mommy just let you stay out. She just kept the bed warm, and made sure that when you finally came in, you knew you were wanted, and loved beyond all reason. That's what Moms are for.

But then I also think that Finny was such a joy, such unadulterated love and purity, that I wasn't supposed to have him the whole time. That maybe there's another harried woman, coming home from a job she despises, into a house where she could use some help, and now that I've got a light at the end of my tunnel, and my husband doesn't work insane hours, well, now I've got things to lighten my load. So maybe Finny was needed elsewhere.

But then I think, no. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.
He was MINE and that was the deal. That was the deal. You weren't the one that woke up in the middle of the night because an 11 week old kitten was biting your feet, and you looked at the bedspread and it was bloody, because he was teething. And you didn't pick him up and let him chew on your fingers for an hour until he conked out in your arms, exhausted and with freshly broken new back teeth in his little mouth. You didn't do that for him. I did.

Oh, tinks, it is so hard to keep going on with this hope. And Lakshmi wants to walk with me, but I'm afraid to let her see what I get like when the hope overwhelms me and then leaves me broken. When I think maybe today, maybe this time I call, maybe this time the phone rings, or someone emails me with a Your Lost Pet subject line, when they post of an orange male neutered tabby anywhere within a 30 mile radius of me, and then CRACK. I'm back to three weeks ago when I walked into the house from gardening and thought, "That's funny. I haven't seen Finny since I got home."

But it isn't funny. It wasn't then, and it isn't now, and for every 40 cats that go missing each day, they find one or two per week. And I don't think that any of those FOUND postings are going to be you. Because that is not my life.

What You Do

We threw a baby shower yesterday for my dear friend Gaia.
We threw it co-ed and things got out of hand, as all good parties do.

There was much drinking. There were shots.
My husband ended the night early, nauseous and complaining of a headache.

When I woke him this morning he said, "I don't feel well."
I gave him another 1/2 hour to sleep while I unloaded and loaded the dishwasher.
While I was doing that, I thought the following:

OF COURSE you don't feel well! You drank a lot!
That's kind of the deal you make when you drink.
You start talking to your body the day of the party, and you say,

Liver - going to need your help tonight. Have you been working out? Good.
Brain, be prepared, because you might hurt tomorrow, and please don't lose yourself and start being honest with people again. We've talked about that before, and Remorse is very upset about the last party, as are Guilt and Embarrassment. So let's keep it together here.
You talk to your Balance and you say, Keep Me Upright All Night, and I will take that yoga class you've been asking for.

After thinking a minute, you say, Gag Reflex? You might want to get a babysitter. Not sure if I'll need you, and fergodsake don't show up early, but I'm making Grandma's margaritas tonight, and you know how that goes.

Then you go to the party. You drink your ass off, and all the while, all your body parts are rooting for you (or against you, as the case may be) and you have a great time and you laugh loudly and then someone puts on dance music and you don't remember much else.

And your body hangs with you, and helps you recover the next day (or if you're in you 30s, the next three days) and that's the DEAL. You feel lousy because they're pissed at you, because they have their normal jobs, and then you throw overtime into the mix and THAT is why your body breaks down when you're in your 70s and 80s.

Because by that time you no longer call the shots for yourself, and the organs and other various functions have their way with you.

So what I really mean by all of this is, SUCK IT UP, POPE. You feel this way because you drank too much, NOW GET UP and help me unload the dishwasher.

Household Math!!

Husband Math:

Comet + New Scrubby Thing + 30 minutes = Stunningly still-grimy tub and bewildered wife.

Wife Math:

Comet + New Scrubby Thing + 5 minutes = Sparkling Clean tub and grimy wife.

Husband Math:

One tall can of baked beans = Enough for 12 people

Wife Math:

One tall can of baked beans = You're out of your fucking mind, buy more beans.

This is Bullsheet

I am getting ready for a party, and trying to make all the beds (two) with clean sheets.
We have clean sheets, I remember well that one Sunday evening where I washed and folded no less than 30 sets of sheets.
Which, for two beds, I was incredulous!!

So this morning I go and there are two mishmashed sets of white clean sheets. Only, no, they're not complete sets.
One bottom sheet, two top sheets and three pillowcases.

WHERE DID EVERYTHING GO? And WHY do I have a set of sheets for a twin bed? When did I have a twin bed?!?!?!

Oh right, in college I had a twin bed. Which was, mmmmmm, 432 years ago.

Sigh.

UPDATE! Found a wadded up bottom sheet under all the clothes in my husband's hamper. GREAT.

And as luck would have it, I'm almost out of detergent. You know when you have to hold it up in odd angles to get the very last drops? Yes, that's where I am.

In other news, the bathrooms look really great when they're clean. Must remember this.

This Dark Apartment - James Schuyler

Coming from the deli
a block away today I
saw the UN building
shine and in all the
months and years I've
lived in this apartment
I took so you and I
would have a place to
meet I never noticed
that it was in my view.

I remember very well
the morning I walked in
and found you in bed
with X. He dressed
and left. You dressed
too. I said, "Stay
five minutes." You
did. You said, "That's
the way it is." It
was not much of a surprise.

Then X got on speed
and ripped off an
antique chest and an
air conditioner, etc.
After he was gone and
you had changed the
Segal lock, I asked
you on the phone, "Can't
you be content with
your wife and me?" "I'm
not built that way,"
you said. No surprise.

Now, without saying
why, you've let me go.
You don't return my
calls, who used to call
me almost every evening
when I lived in the coun-
try. "Hasn't he told you
why?" "No, and I doubt he
ever will." Goodbye. It's
mysterious and frustrating.

How I wish you would come
back! I could tell
you how, when I lived
on East 49th, first
with Frank and then with John,
we had a lovely view of
the UN building and the
Beekman Towers. They were
not my lovers, though.
You were. You said so.

Still Not Over It

Dear Finny,

You have been missing for over two weeks now. Going on three. I don't check your places anymore, but I still sit quietly outside listening for you. The kids behind our house are tormenting me, because their far off cries sound so like a meow that it stops my heart, over and over and over again.

Life goes on. It always just trudges right along, disregarding the rent in the earth which represents the day, the minute, the second I realized you were missing. Disregarding the broken pieces of my heart that I'm trying to hold together as I run to catch up.

Your brother and sister are okay. They are different now. Happier, and that makes me so sad. Because you made ME happier. And now they are benefitting, because I am just so glad for the love, and soft furry affection, that I am pouring all the hurt I have over you into love for them, and they are revelling in it.

A lady said that she saw you - she called me and I was away, I was in California, and she wasn't sure when it might have been that she saw you, but she was pretty sure she saw you, and I called your Dad and he went right over there and called and called and called. He put posters everywhere, but I want you know, he loves you, Honey. As much as me. And we both decided that you wouldn't come if he called, so when I got back, I risked all pride and arrest to prowl that nice lady's yard and call out to you. But you didn't come, and she wasn't sure when she saw you, so you could have been anywhere at that point. But I want you to know that both Mommy and Daddy are worried and looking, and not giving up.

Listen, baby, if you found another family that you like better, that is okay. I will understand. I'm your Mom, and all I want is what is best for you. And Dad and I are going to be moving, and that is traumatic to me, because what if you are still lost and it takes you months to get home, and when you finally get here, we are no longer here? And I lie awake at night, crying, because Honey, I would never do that to you. You were supposed to come with us. You were always supposed to come with us. But listen, I will leave the back door open my whole life. I will always be waiting for you. Mommy is really scared right now, because so many things are happening, and she is afraid that something will teter out of balance and offset the whole equation. And things are falling apart elsewhere and she might just be the only one that can truly see that.

You know, your Mom doesn't get scared very often, in fact, this is the first time in a long time that I can remember being afraid. And I'm excited, but it is a big committment, and you know your Mom isn't good at those. It also means saying a pretty indefinable goodbye to some people who mean alot to me, and for one of the first times in my life I'm not so sure I can do that. Of course you know I will, because above all else, I am an adventurer, but it weighs heavily on my heart right now.

Finny, maybe you are dead, and that's okay, too. I wish I knew for certain, so that I could stop worrying and just KNOW, but I'm a realist. Everyone wants to tell me about all these cats they know that went walkabout and came home months later, but I know you, baby. I know you loved me and came home every night so I could rub your face and stroke your fur softly as you slept beside me, becoming vulnerable for only the briefest moments in an entire day. And if you died so that some coyote mommy could feed her babies, well, I can understand that. It doesn't mean that Mommy won't kill the next coyote she actually sees, but I can understand the motivation.

But I still dream up incredible heroic rescues, where I climb 300 feet down a ravine and tuck your weary body in my shirt and climb up with tree roots to drive you to the vet and save your life. I walk around the neighborhood and imagine you peering out of someone's front window, and I walk up and rescue you and bring you home. I imagine you walking through the backyard and I'm in the garden, and you see me and you're tired and dirty and you start running toward me and I start running toward you and the music of life swells in the background and we are reunited and never to part again.

I dream all these things because I love you, little man.

What Happened on Monday

We went to see a movie with Lakshmi and DB.
Oh, right, you don't know DB yet!!

Here is DB:


We were attending the 5:40pm showing of Spiderman 3, along with about 37 chattering toddlers.
NOTE TO MOTHERS EVERYWHERE: I did not pay upwards of $20 to listen to the nonsensical babbling of your (admittedly adorable) kids. GET THEE A BABYSITTER, before my eyeballs pop out of my head, what with all the glaring.

Anyway, I digress. DB had slept late. I wish DB would stop doing this, because it really hurts my efforts to shame the Pope out bed before 3:00pm on the weekends. A little help, here, guys!!

Oh, here's DB again:


Are you kind of getting a sense of this guy? No? Well, I'll elaborate a bit. He's the greatest guy. He is incredibly fun, intelligent, funny and good-natured. He's the kind of guy that you meet and you're just blown away with all the awesomeness. Adjectives fail him. He's someone that creates joy whenever he is around. Really, you should meet him. I'll give you his phone number.

He also buys drinks for anyone in a 3 mile radius, and that's never a bad thing. (Unless you're his lovely wife, Lakshmi. Or have boobs, because he can get FRIENDLY.)

So DB woke up just in time to scurry out of the house. He stopped in the garage and slipped on his shoes. He noticed somethng on the side of the shoe. It was sticky. He wiped it away a bit, and then they got in the car and drove to the theatre. As soon as DB put the shoe on, he thought, "my sock is all jacked up in the toe! Oh well, it'll work itself out." BECAUSE DB IS GOOD-NATURED. You see? Any woman would have immediately and irritatedly sat down and unjacked the sock, because women are not generally good-natured.

As they drove to the theatre, DB thought to himself that his shoe was really feeling tight. Maybe my foot swelled, he thought. Gout does run in my family. (No it doesn't, or I don't know if it does. I'm enjoying a bit of artistic license here.) He noticed it, but didn't say anything. He thought still that it would work itself out.

He and Lakshmi arrived at the theatre, and we proceeded into the RomperRoom viewing of Spiderman. While Lakshmi and I were trying to enjoy the movie, amidst all the glaring and shushing we felt compelled to do. We were the two bitchiest women in the theatre (as we are the two bitchiest women WHEREVER we go....) and it was our job, really, to educate the mothers on their lack of etiquette.

For the three hour movie, DB was exploring his shoe with his toes. "Wow, there's really something in there," he thought. "My shoe is really tight. There must be an extra sock in there. It isn't hard, I can push it with my toes, and get more room, but I've got to take care of this when we get out of here."

And then he smiled, as he always does, and watched the movie. Good-naturedly.

We filed out of the theatre, Lakshmi and I giving a very audible impromptu press conference on "rude fucking people everywhere" and she and I beelined for the bathroom. Did I tell you that Lakshmi and I are the same person, except she's smaller and prettier? Yeah, sucks for me, but what are you gonna do? At least there's a version of me out there that is hot.

As we were in the bathroom, DB and the Pope chatted about the movie. As the Pope was nattering on about the film, DB was fidgeting with that one shoe. While still in conversation, DB leaned down and took off the shoe, shook it (it rattled) and then he tossed the item out of the shoe and onto the floor. The Pope leaned down and said, "is that a mouse?? Is that a toy mouse?" The both leaned closer.

DB said, "Noooo, that would be a real mouse."

Lying on the hideous, Vegas-style carpeting of the movie theatre was a seriously managled, ripped up, bloody, dead mouse. And not a small mouse. I saw the mouse. It was gory, dead and a fairly normal sized mouse. That had been in DB's shoes for about 3 hours now. As he played with his toes, scrunched it to the top and wondered, good-naturedly, about what it could be.

Oh that sticky stuff? That would have been mouse-blood.

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I introduce you to DB:

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

He said YES.
VERY EXCITING NEWS, I've been hinting, but I got a YES tonight.

From the very top.
He said YES.

I'll be back with the promised post and the latest news!!!

Sal.

Leo, you hunter, you!!

It is 11:53pm on Tuesday night.
I have just woken the Pope up for the second time to rescue the shrew (vole?) that Leo brought in. Both times not dead. Second time a bit more frisky than the first.

Leo, we're so proud. I'm so proud I could burst. But Mom is a bit squeamish and Dad has to get up at 5:45am, so can you kill them (because then I could get rid of them) or bring them in alive and terrified before 9:00pm?

Thanks muchly,
Mom and a very annoyed Dad.

I have a very good post coming. Something happened to my very good friend yesterday which is alternatively disgusting and hilarious. Must write about it. I'm working on the wording. Stay tuned.

BitchQueen of the House

I know I always post about Finny (who is not yet returned) to the detriment of my other kitties. But Finny was the superstar, always doing things that got and held your attention. The other kitties are older, more set in their ways, and less apt to do things that made you laugh out loud or shocked you.

Well, last night Lucy showed what she is made of. Something I have always joked about, and long suspected....she is a formidable little cat. Lucy is a little cat. She is short, close to the ground, and has tiny features. She is shaped not unlike a loaf of bread. She is zaftig (hee) and has a tiny tail, simply put there is nothing in her physical appearance that would give any other cats pause. But I know.....she is the meanest cat I've ever seen.

We adopted her out of a pound in San Diego. We were looking for a kitten to keep our one year old cat Cali company. We got to the pound, and there was little 4 pound Lucy, and when she saw me, she threw herself at the cage door. She did that repeatedly until I looked at my ex-husband and said, HER. She's the one. He said, she's not a kitten, she's not a boy, she's not at all what we are here to pick up. I said, no matter, it is her. I know this.

We adopted her and I took her home. She curled in the floor of the backseat passenger side and howled the entire drive home. I kept saying, You're OK, You're OK kitty, You're OK. I reached back there and soon as I touched her, she quieted down. And that was about it for Lucy and me. I'm her mom and she has always been MY CAT. No one else has ever been able to get as close to Lucy as they may wish.

She detested my ex-husband the entire time we lived together. She would climb on his lap, turn around and fart in his face, and then walk over the bed to lay on my legs. He hated that. The Pope has a boy, Leo, who Lucy has terrorized since they met. She does this all without much violence. She will glare at him, and makes him so fearful of her that we have to pick him up to move him past her. He will stand and cry on the other side until we rescue him. Finny used to torment Lucy, but she never really raised a hand to him. She would hiss and howl, but she rarely, if ever, acted toward her little brother with any real aggression.

But I knew. I knew in a pinch that she was the one to fear.
And that pinch came last night.

A huge white cat, once we keep seeing in the backyard, ambled in last night and sampled their food. Lucy was with me on the couch, and heard him first. She slinked off the couch and bristled. I saw the cat and jumped up. The cat darted out of the kitchen, and before I knew what was happening, Lucy shot toward the cat, snuck past the wall, with every intention of heading him off at the pass. She did, and very much surprised this huge cat. He was three times her size. She hit him with a football tackle, and they rolled, biting and clawing, the entire length of our hallway. Lucy was attacking this cat. The cat was doing everything he could to protect himself, but her ears were back and she wasn't making a sound. She was going for the kill. I saw this, saw them rolling and thought, she's going to kill it! Oh my god, she is going to kill this cat!! I followed the cats, shouting, Lucy, get in the office, stop it, stop it, stop it! I got them separated by walking up close and bending down and clapping loud right next to their ears. Lucy had rolled this white cat into a hissing, white hair flying ball to the end of the hallway, and then slammed him into the wall and was a vicious little loaf of bread-shaped anger. I got her into the office, shut the door, and meanwhile the cat ran for the door, his nails skittering on the wood, his hind legs flying, tufts of his hair swirling around the hallway. He ran past the door into the kitchen, Leo came into the kitchen, and the white cat was all, DUDE there are more of them! And he ran into the laundry room and vaulted out of the cat door.

I let Lucy out of the office, and when I looked down at my sweet girl, she was all business. She stalked out of the office and went low to the ground and started tracking the scent. She had tufts of white fur peeking out between her toes. She is absolutely unscathed from this. But she went to bed on the far end of the bed, the one closest to the bedroom door, and I think she was watching for him. We shut the cat door after the white cat left, but I want it open for Finny. I don't think that white cat will be coming back anytime real soon.

Let it be known henceforth.
Don't fuck with Lucy.

I had a dream last night

Overwhelmingly the image was a truck door - closing and ratcheting shut with a lever.
Then the image shifted and I was in a wooded area watching a lady's house. I saw Finny, and some lady was calling him her cat.

I approached the lady, I told her Finny was my cat. She argued with me and I said, HE IS MY CAT! HE IS MY CAT HE IS MY CAT HE IS MY CAT and my voice was so loud I broke all the windows in the world.

My voice was so loud the woman cowered before me.
In the dream I recovered Finny, but he was rather ambivalent about it.

I woke up this morning and was sure that I'd find Finny in one of the two vans that match that description on the street behind mine.
The one house I didn't go up to, because no one was there, the other I knocked on the door and two little girls, left home alone, said, "Who's there???" I said, "I'm looking for my cat."

They opened the door, they couldn't have been more than 8 or 9. I felt so bad for them, because they were scared of me. I handed them a flyer and asked if their parents were home. They seemed to disagree, then finally admitted they were home alone.

I handed them the flyer and told them I had a dream about their van.
THAT seriously freaked them out, or amused them, because the one broke into a huge smile and the other started to shut the door.

I thanked them for their time, and left.
On my way out, I pressed my ear to the back of the van and called loudly for Finny.

I didn't hear anything.

Untitled - June 16, 1999

I mistook the cosmos again
Shooting stars should not aim
at civilians

What is so lucky about planetary motions?
Placements?
Mars has me by the throat
And Neptune
is just
unmentionable.

I'm up here without a rope
net
or game plan.

I shift into various constellating intentions
thought Pegasus
Andromeda
even Ursa Minor.

I TRIED to swim away
but the Kraken sent me back
and Ursa thought me just
too small.

And all the while
the edges get edgier
and the corners
sharpen their blades

and I'm going to need that black hole soon.

What is the Hardest

It isn't so much the worry, although I am worried, very worried, worried to tears, and from tears to headaches and from headaches to tequila and to a blissful, ignorant sleep.

It is the hope.
Hope kills me on a regular basis. It breaks my heart like the first time my heart broke, every time I come home and look expectantly at all his places. It breaks my heart while I daydream stunning rescues while I'm at work and then come home to nothing.

Today my heart broke when I looked at his favorite toy.
Then it broke again when I tried to garden, and tossed weeds that he normally would have chased, pounced on, and then dragged with him for a bit.

I'm going to get in an accident, because near my house I don't look at road ahead. I look at the roadsides, hoping yet not hoping that I see a flash of his fur.

I go on Petfinder and the LOST sites, trying to find someone who has him on their site, up for adoption, and I will speed over there and say, this is my baby. Give me my baby back.

I get an email from a lady asking if my cat has a orange mark on his face and even though he doesn't, I get all excited and email her a picture of Finny that shows a closeup of his face. She hasn't responded.

I look under the deck again for the 30th time, and I sit really still in the garden, listening for a quiet and desperate meow.

Finny, the irises are blooming now. And you would have liked that.
The birds are getting daring, they must know that you are away.

Finny, my heart is breaking every minute of every day. And I'm so sad without you.
Finny, the house just isn't the same without you. And your sister won't leave my side, even for a second, and I love her dearly but am so angry with her. Why didn't she save you? Why didn't she fight? She is meaner than the rest of us put together. She could kill with looks alone, and now you are gone and she isn't even looking for you. She just meows at me and sits with me and sleeps right between my legs, like everything is normal, like the whole world wasn't just tipped on its side and emptied into my heart.

Like the worst that could have happened didn't just happen.
Finny, this is the worst that could have happened to me. The worst thing ever.

And I love you so dearly, little man. I love you love you love you so dearly.

Ah My Broken Heart

Finny, if you are still out there, there are a few things I need to tell you.
I love you. I have loved you since the moment I saw you and took you in my arms.
I looked down at you, you looked up at me, and that was it. I was your mom. And you were my baby.

I have loved every single minute of every single moment you were around me.
Even when you drove me crazy waking me up several times in the morning, I knew it was just because you wanted to hang out. Or have me let you out. Or have me feed you.

You did the funniest things. You said HI to us each time you came in the door.
You got spooked at plastic bags (because of that one time you got stuck in one when you were a baby).
You liked to have me rub your face for hours at night. I rubbed your face for hours. You curled into the cat condo even when you outgrew it, even when all we could see by looking in was a face and a tangle of feet.
You got lost that one time in the blackberry bushes? And I was on the other side picking berries, and you cried and cried and I kept saying, You're OK, You're OK, follow my voice Finny, and you followed my voice until I led you out of them. You were such a good helper in the garden. You helped us so much whenever we did anything. We miss your help, honey.
You used to run around the house at a full gallop, and then stop short and flick your tail, so happy with the speed and the space you had. You made me laugh out loud on a daily basis. You brought me dead things all the time, and I am so proud of your hunting prowess. You used to let Lucy lick you the wrong way against the growth of your fur, and you let her do this for minutes before you bit her, and honestly I would have bitten her much sooner. You got so big and still you were so loving. You would shove your face into Lucy and Leo's necks so that they could love you, and honestly they were terrified to do anything else, you were that big and rambunctious.

You climbed on everything - even the counters. You are the cutest cat I've ever seen.

I knew that there was a danger in letting you roam so freely. But it made you so happy, and I would do anything to make you happy.

Honey, I've looked everywhere. I've called your name for miles. I've put posters everywhere. I call the hotlines obsessively throughout the day. I really tried, honey. I miss you so much, and my heart is so broken. And if I knew where you were, I'd come there right now. No matter what. No matter what.

Finny, you were such a good boy. You were a very very very good boy.
And I loved you so much. And I'm so sorry I let you down and couldn't protect you from everything.
And I am so so so sorry I can't find you. I tried, baby. Honestly, I did everything I could.

Everyone is so worried about you. Everyone loves you so much. I just want you to know that you were/are? the best cat I've ever had, and I am just wrecked by this. I am just so truly and completely wrecked by this.

Finny

Finny is missing.
He hasn't been home in two days.

I am wracked with pain because what if he needs me and I can't get to him?

Finny, I would come to you past every layer of hell.
I would run over blackberries barefoot, I would tear the necks from coyotes with my teeth.

I would fight and kill for you.

Just call out to me and tell me, WHERE ARE YOU?

Mommy is coming - I'm coming sweetie. I just can't find you, no matter where I look.

Please honey, come home. I miss you and I love you and I'm devastated. Honey please come home.

Please please please please come home to me.

Don't Even Ask Me About Lettuce

So I am taking this supplement that my friend sells.
I "won" it in a raffle she held at her booth at a NW Mind Body Spirit show recently.
And by win I mean that I filled out the form with the understanding that if she could swing it, I was going to win. I believe that is the first raffle I've ever won. I'm not particularly lucky, unlike Lakshmi, who makes you want to scream with how many times she wins things.

But then again, she enters things, and I've heard that is a good start on the whole winning thing journey.

But I digress. My friend Gaia (she is a lovely, lovely, nurturing woman) has been taking this supplement for her entire first pregnancy and now through her second. She credits it for keeping both she and her son healthy, and for ensuring she never became as a big as a house.

That was pretty much all I needed to hear. The very day she dropped off the prize to me, I started taking it.

(UNLIKE MY FUCKING CANDLES. WHERE ARE MY FUCKING CANDLES? Don't throw a candle party and then keep the sales open for three months. That's ASININE, and now I don't even want the fucking things. I need instant gratification, and I need it right this very minute!)

Anyway. I started taking the supplement immediately, and I've been taking it every day religiously (except for two days this weekend, which I'll explain later).

And it is a powder that you mix with water and shake up and then drink. It has a bazillion fruits, nuts, grains, and good stuff for you. I will tell you exactly what in a second. I'm getting there, just be patient.

About three days after I started taking taking it, I noticed something odd. My stomach was having a little revolution issue. Revolting. Constantly. ALLTHETIME. UNCOMFORTABLY SO.

I know! Too much information, but then, you're reading my blog, so suck it. It has been a slow week.

So basically it is like this: I take the supplement. Then I eat something, and it is like throwing a food party. I invite all the food into my colon and then they get all out of control, and the music gets going, and someone breaks the fucking toilet tank (CLP!!) and I'm getting pissed and my other organs are trying to do their jobs and the fucking colon won't turn down the bass, and THEN. Someone calls the body cops and they come in and break up the party and it is all, "EVERYONE GET OUT. NOW! You're underage and you're drinking and we're gonna bust every last one of you!!"

So everything in my colon goes flying out screaming, "Damn, it's the pigs - everyone get out of here, dude hide the drugs, my mom will fucking kill me!!!"

I get just a brief rumble before news of the cop show arrives simultaneously to my brain and all pain receptors in my stomach. I've been no farther from a clean and well-smelling restroom than is absolutely necessary since I started taking these things.

So I got curious and really looked at the information packet. (I know, how stupid of me to take something w/o reading the actual ingredients!? I truly DON'T REALLY CARE! Unless I break into hives or turn orange or my stomach joins the communist party. You can ask me about all of the random and indefinable things I ingested in college if you are so inclined. I'm fairly daring when it comes to my body. It should be interesting when I'm in my 80's.)

What is in this stuff:
30 Antioxidant Rich Fruits and Berries (it tastes very berry)
30 Powerful Greens & Vegetables (like berry-flavored dirt)
11 Nutrient Dense Seeds, Nuts and Sprouts (I will admit to gagging down the last swallow)
83+ Active Enzymes and Fulvic Minerals (what is a fulvic mineral?)
22 Strains of Resilient Living Probiotics (WHAT? 22 STRAINS of RESILIENT LIVING THINGS?)

I think I know what is causing my stomach issues.
That must be like eating 357 cups of yogurt that have been left out in the sun all day.
I'm surprised I haven't ballooned into 400 pounds of "living things" and am now considered an amusement park for all various and sundry bacteria in my body.

They are resilient, and they are extremely territorial of their turf.
Which is my poor, oft-abused colon and lower intestine.

But that being said, I'm taking it again, once everything calmed down.
I think the resistant strains now know: Fuck with me again, and I won't let your friends emigrate. That's the kind of brain I am.

And I've been to India, and I've contracted Amebic Dystentery, which is a WHOLE 'NOTHER POST - one which I promise never to write.

22 Strains of Resilient Living Probiotics? Pshaw. You're child's play to me.

Mayakovsky - FRANK O'HARA

1
My heart's aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it's throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.

2
I love you. I love you,
but I'm turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.

Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I'll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.
I embraced a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.

3
That's funny! there's blood on my chest
oh yes, I've been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky
and glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

Friday Letters

Dear Guy Who Flipped Me Off This Morning:

I cut my driving teeth in California. That's Los Angeles to you, dickwad. You may have heard LA referred to as HELL-A before, and let me tell you why:

There is an extraordinary amount of bullshit driving that occurs in LA. You'd be surprised, no really, you would! I know you're from Seattle, and that's where stupid people drive nicely (an altogether horrid combination, if you ask me....) but I'm not from Seattle. There are drivers in LA that drive so as to PURPOSEFULLY hurt people, and police car chases and the whatnot. So really, learning how to drive in LA is learning how to drive aggressively and reactively, ALL THE TIME. No matter what you're doing. (iPOD be damned! I'll swerve and miss that person who flagrantly jumped on his brakes when the light four streets away turned yellow.) I know, you're not following me. That's okay.

What I am trying to tell you is that when your car came to a DEAD STOP on a busy off ramp so that you could honk and wave at your friend that was stuck in traffic, my teensy horn-bleat was a polite way to say that you're an imbecile who is going to get someone killed. The underlying subtext was, "Let's hope it's you." I did that admirably restrained beep only after stopping so short and so hard that my purse flew off the front seat and hit the glovebox hard enough that now they're married and my lipstick is on maternity leave.

Go fuck yourself,

Salome

Dear Perky Colleague That Freaks Me Out With Cheer:

Sweetie, chill. Your grin is making MY cheeks hurt. I think you may have been hatched from the pod in Stepford, and OMG that's totally AWESOME!, but you need to show a crack, or a bad mood or something.....you're waay too perky and it is fairly unsettling.

As we sat together during that company conference call, I was watching you for some electrical glitch (a repeated movement, a random blinking eye-lid) to confirm that you are a robot. Or probably a Scientologist. I had just reached for my water to throw on you to cause an electrical fire, when you reached up and picked at your right nostril.

AHA! Not robotic, just preternaturally nice. Let me leave you with these small words of caution:

Everything! Is! Not! That! Awesome! And! You're! Really! Kinda! Scary!

I am the antithesis of perky,

Salome

Cop Out

I was going to sit down and write a nice long post about playing tennis with my husband tonight, and something very exciting that might be possible, might be on the horizon for us.

But I don't want to jinx anything and I am tired and ready for bed.

So instead, I will leave you with this picture of an awesome foursome that is going to Cancun in August. Except that we're a fivesome, and a very cool chick is coming with.

So here we are, effected by iSight's Camera:

In Case You Were Wondering

I don't know if I ever told anyone why this site is named the way it is:

Carcharodon is a long-time favorite of mine. If you've ever been around me and the water, I'll tell you why I won't go in, and then proceed to bore you with every fact about sharks I've ever stored in my head.

Which is why I don't know your phone number by heart.

I'm sorry, I simply don't have enough room for your phone number and still retain the ability to draw three different shark teeth for you and tell you which ones they go to.

You really don't want to watch SharkWeek with me. I've seen them all before, and I find myself correcting the shows out loud, scornfully.

It is the sorriest, the dorkiest, the most-Salome thing I do.

So when I sat down to create a blog address, I sat in front of the prompt for a bit, waiting for something to come to me. That is how Salome came about. I signed up for email my freshman year in college. Remember when email was so new? I was so excited to get an email address, and no one wrote to it for the first three years I had it, because NO ONE wrote emails back then. That was back when I thought the internet contained only one website, the homepage for the band HOLE.



What came to me in the 15 seconds I had to choose a college email address (they timed you, I swear to god.) I typed in, almost as if I were being channeled, salome@....and Salome was born.

I later read about her (although Catholic, I did not know of her) and thought, "huh." Doesn't really sound anything like me. Hmmmm.
But I have continued to use the name Salome. Ever since September of 1992 I have used that name to write under.

So, I sat at the Blogger prompt and then thought: CARCHARODON!
Yes, perfect!
But it was taken, and I was totally pissed.

So I then thought of ways to use it.

And if Carcharodon means Man-Eating Sharks (which is so catchy, I LOVE IT) or...
Sharp Teeth (or rough teeth, depending on where you look, someone with some latin skills can tell us) then making it Carcharodonna would mean: sharp teeth, lady: right? Are you following me?

But then I thought more about who I am and the way I write. And I typically write dark things. I typically think dark things. And so a note of caution appealed to me.

Sharpen Teeth, Lady.

Prepare yourself for the rest of the world, Donna.

Because it can
(and will)
be brutal.

So that's where the name came from.

Eh.

So I heard from a psychic that in order to feel serene and tranquil I need to spend more time in nature.
Being natural. Doing nature things. Gardening. Waha. Gardening!

For me, and this house built next to every fucking tree in Washington State that is designed by God to drop its leaves, gardening means a whole lot of the very relaxing "cleaning shit up."

I invite you all to watch me garden:

1. Stand on back porch surveying all that requires my attention.
2. Smoke cigarette.
3. Better get the iPod, neighbor is blasting oldies rock.
4. Go around the house to get gardening tools out of the garage.
5. Go back around the house to go inside the kitchen and through the hallway to open the garage door - because every other door is locked and you're an idiot who didn't open the garage door to begin with. Revise step one to include this in the future.
6. Get tools and arrange them on the back porch where you will get them when needed.
7. Go back and get the one thing you will actually use all day.
8. Skip this song, stupid iPod plays the same songs on shuffle all the time.
9. Bend down and greet the cats who are swarming around you, shocked that you are not on the couch with a bourbon.
10. Rake leaves.
11. Rake leaves.
12. Rake leaves.
13. Detest leaf dropping trees and wonder about ticks.
14. Is there Frontline for humans? Wonder this as you rake more leaves.
15. Bend down and greet Finny, who is desperately trying to help you in any way he can. OMG so CUTE! Sooo cute.
16. Gather up leaves and put in the.....?
17. Curse as you walk back around the house to get the yard waste bin. RIDICULOUS lack of planning.
18. Gather leaves and stuff into the yard waste bin. Push down to fit at least 7 piles.
19. Spill half the barrel as you tote it back around the house, across the street to dump down the ravine.
20. Smoke another cigarette.
21. Go inside the house to get some water. You're working pretty hard.
22. Walk over and clip dead flowers off of the planet of hydrangea that is growing at the edge of the deck. Any excuse to ignore the leaves for a bit.
23. See Finny stalking you in the creepy creek bed things and pull one up and toss it to him.
24. Laugh with delight as Finny jumps to grab the creepy thing and then looks expectantly back at you to pull up and throw him more.
25. Find seriously decomposed skeletal thing in the last pile of leaves to go into the bin. Think it is a cat. Go get the Pope to verify. The Pope is seriously skeeved, and suggests it is too brittle boned for a cat. Have distinct mental picture of coyotes puking up the neighborhood cats in your back yard. Which would be so RUDE. See a bone sticking perpendicular to the marshy bit, and because you have your dirty suede gardening gloves on, pull on the bone to reveal a decomposed wing. A HUGE stinky decomposed wing which makes your stomach hurtle towards your throat. Throw it in the yard waste bin and now know who belonged to all those large black feathers you cleaned up off the porch a couple of months ago.
26. Find Finny and gush over his prowess for a bit. Finny doesn't remember, but he loves you anyway.
27. Smoke another cigarette, thinking how one less crow is probably a good thing. Big mean birds might not come around here.
28. See Finny cavorting in the irises and are amazed that this goofy little guy can kill anything.
29. Wipe bead of sweat from forehead and freak out thinking it is a tick.
30. Rake leaves.
31. Weed the little starter weeds that were uncovered by cleaning the leaves.
32. Repeat as necessary until your muscles ache and it looks like you have actually done something.

20 Things About Me

1. I can sneeze with my eyes open. Just because my brother once told me it couldn't be done.
2. I love sharks.
3. Passion Fruit flavored anything sends me into a frenzy of joy.
4. If I don't read from a novel at least once per day I get irritable.
5. I cry at FTD commercials. And sometimes tear up at poignant billboard signs.
6. I wish I were more like my friends.
7. I sometimes wonder why they are my friends.
8. I've considered paying them to stay my friends.
9. I rarely ask for help, but am learning to reach out. It feels good.
10. My dream job would be a musician - guitar and lead vocals.
11. I would be pretty wild as a rock-n-roll singer - and probably die from an overdose.
12. My cats are my kids. No, I mean really, they are my kids.
13. I would kill to protect those I loved.
14. I wish I had been born years earlier, as a man who would go to battle.
15. I really, really, really want dragons to have existed.
16. If I could die and come back as something, it would be a housecat or a great white shark.
17. I think I'm smarter than 95% of the people I meet on a daily basis.
18. I choose my friends because I think they're smarter than I am.
19. I'm always right when I choose my friends because of #18.
20. I can't stay on a diet to save my life.

Letters Letters Letters

Dear Drivers on I-5:

I swear to fucking god that you're all morons.
There is absolutely no need, NO NEED, to tap your brake lights every 13.4 seconds for over 4 miles. I understand that no one wants an accident, I certainly don't want one as much as you don't want one, but if you all don't fucking get a clue I'm going to start honking.

And by honking I mean I am going to surgically enhance my chest to include the steering wheel, because that is how far I'm going to thrust my body onto the horn to give you a message.

If it was just the piece of shit landscape truck that I was UNBELIEVABLY trapped behind for 30 years tonight, I would understand that. I would tap the brakes, too, if I were leaking all sorts of fucking debris over the highway.

And hey, landscape truck? Your truck bed was piled too high. I know this because I was flipping you off for about 15 solid minutes and you didn't speed up once. NOT ONCE.

I understand that traffic can be stressful. And I further agree that the city of Seattle founders were totally tripping on acid when they determined where and how you would merge on and off a freeway, particularly as you hit the CBD on the 5.

But listen. Let's all agree to not drive like idiots, and then everyone will have a safer and happier time out there. Are you with me?

Putting the flames out,
Salome

Dear People in Business that call Busy People In Business:

* LEAVE YOUR FUCKING PHONE NUMBER. I am not omnipotent.
* If the machine cuts you off, that is a polite indication that you have rambled on far too fucking long for me to be at all interested in what you are saying. So please don't call back and say, "Hehehehe your machine is having trouble," and then recap the 4 hour message it tried to end. The machine is not having trouble, it is just as bored as I am.
* TURN OFF THE RADIO AT YOUR DESK WHILE YOU'RE TALKING. Be sure that we don't share the same tasted in music, but be doubly sure that it drives me batshit when I can't hear you because some crappy top-40 song is blaring into the phone speaker.
* If you call me on a regular basis, please don't tell me who you are in relation to me in time and space, and repeat your number and company name twice in the message. If I sent you a Christmas gift, I know who you are. If you call me complaining at least three times a week, you can be assured I fucking know who you are, and I think you're annoying.

Just Trying to Make It Through the Ever-Loving Day,
Salome

Dear Incredibly Large Spider I Saw In My Backyard This Sunday:

Dude, SERIOUSLY. You stay outside and I promise not to kill you. But if you ever dart out of a small crevice very near my head again, all bets are off.

Heebying,
Salome

Clothes on the Freeway

Today on the freeway I passed several piles of clothes.
They were men's clothing, flannels and knitted hats - socks and other items.
I wondered about the story.

A badly-packed moving van, a pickup; items thrown carelessly and tied haphazardly with too-little rope?
What of the story?

Bad breakup - last minute preparations - idiocy.
What?

Or a young woman, having been dumped by one of the first of many worthless lovers, being driven around town by an understanding and sympathetically angry friend, eyes red from crying for hours, deeply pulling on cigarette after cigarette while a song they love that says everything so exactly right plays on a continuous loop - stabbed by the index finger of the girl at the closing swell of music. The friend drives while looking over and agreeing with all the aspects of the loser boyfriend that the friend wants her to know.

You Know? she'll say. And the friend will nod, understanding, or say, Fuck yeah.

YouKnowYouKnowYouKnowYouKnowYouKnow? And the friend will know. Over and over again while they drive with the small items he left in her house. Items he doesn't want, which is why they've stayed at the girlfriend's house this whole time.

And they'll be on the freeway, and the girl's heart will break in a crashing wave larger than all the crashing waves she's felt since he told her, and she'll turn to her friend and tell her she's going to throw his shit out, and the friend will look over and her heart will twist, the girl's red rimmed eyes and phlegmy sniffling - the byproduct of furious tears that rise and fall in the crescendos of the song, and she'll say, absolutely.

And she'll grab armfuls of his clothes and she'll toss them out the window and they'll howl at this, and turn the music up louder, and she'll feel better for a minute, light a new cigarette and nod her head vigorously like she's shaking the ache off, and then they'll fall silent and continue driving, and the tears will break again like waves against the shore.

And this will be the first of so many men that will twist her heart and break her places, but she'll always have this story.

She will always have this story.

My Darling Fabric

Last night, I lovingly curled around my cat in bed.
"Ruuuuucy...." I crooned.

I layed very still, how I do, to make sure that Lucy wasn't disrupted enough to get up and leave.

I'm not sure why I do this, since to get her off my lap when I'm on the couch I have to stand up, tip her sideways, and dump her screeching nest of claws off of me.

But anyway, when I'm going to sleep I need her and so I am very careful not to offend.

So there I was, lovingly curled around her, when she jumped up next to my face.

Which means that for the preceeding 20 minutes I had been lovingly nestled around the wadded up bedsheet.

Sigh.

Hello, my name is Salome, and this is the Pope.

Virginia Tech Massacre

Totally unlike how I felt when the Columbine tragedy occured, I am filled with sadness for the Virginia Tech shooter.
An immigrant - painfully isolated and unable to relate. Attending a school with the over-privileged.

I myself have issues with the over-privileged. You think, I work so hard, I work SO HARD and still I am scraping by.
And this kid invents (by all accounts thus far) a romance with a completely unrequiting girl, and then loses it and kills everyone in sight.

I'm still interested in seeing what his possible motive could have been, but far less am I sorry for the innocent bystanders.
I am sorry for this poor kid's rage and unhappiness and what would have caused him to violently self-destruct like this.

I know what it is like to feel isolated and completely out of touch with people. I also remember well being ridiculed in grade school and even to an extent in college.

I escaped, but I think there were moments when I was an insult or sly glance away from climbing the tower with an UZI and making my fatal point.

I am still writing nasty letters because they bleed off the pressure of living in a society that so focused on the wrong things.
No one gives an inch to anyone else, because everyone's leverage is so hard come by.

This world, this life, it is all so hard, and it just gets harder and more complicated, and as I get older there are just more disappointments and more difficult things to grasp.

I feel for everyone who has just HAD ENOUGH OF IT ALREADY.

I do, I really do, I understand.

I'm finding writing anything to be very difficult lately. I don't even type well, I'm clumsy on the keyboard which is unlike me.
I'm not depressed, but I am disappointed. There are too many people living just for themselves. 9 out of every 10 I meet are doing this. It makes it almost impossible to be kind and try to effect some change. Because the first through 8th person you will try this with will take advantage of you, because they can. Because you asked them to. Because you didn't just assume they would screw you, and so you didn't protect yourself and watch out for it.

Okay, can anyone help me with the fucking MAC? Is there anyway to be typing on a document with a font larger than 5 point? I'm going to go fucking blind already.

I practically need magnifying glasses to read what I'm typing. And the internet? Fucking forget about it.
Everything you pull up to read would fit in my wallet. On the head of a pin. What good is the ability to be working on several windows at a time when I can't see anything on any of them?

I love the new computer and all, but FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD, you're a MAC, you're supposed to be intuitive to learn, and YOU'RE NOT. All those commercials? Bullshit. Making the transition from a PC to a MAC has been agony.

Nothing works the way you think it should. Applications don't make sense and printing off of the internet requires an advanced computer technology degree.

Sigh.

See? Even the good things in life are so fucking complicated.

Plus I'm fat and dieting only makes me crave the things I should not have. They scream in my head all day long. Plus I have a pain in my kidney area and today my pee was orangey-pink and smelled like buttered popcorn. That can't be good.

College Junior Takes a Typesetting Class!

Correspondence File: April 2007

Dear Minivan Woman on Phone Stopped at the Green Light for 10 Minutes:

Bitch, PLEASE. I've been waiting patiently back here, but if you don't act soon I'm going to miss this light. And if I miss this light, then I'm going to miss the next light, and eventually you will have screwed up my entire commute into work.

And for that? I will follow you to wherever you are going and beat the shit out of you with that phone.

Move Your Ass,

Salome


Dear Guy at the Mac Store:

Hey, listen. We came here to buy tonight. I don't know if you were pissed that I turned down all the "add-ons" you guys are supposed to upsell, or what, but taking our order for the PC we wanted and then letting it sit in the corner of the store while you helped three different people and then flirted with that man and his daughter? HIGHLY ANNOYING.

You so don't let customers cut in front of other customers. You so so so don't want to do that with me.

Clearly you have not heard of me, but I guarantee you I will beat your ass with my new computer.

Fuming,

Salome


Dear Husband Away on A Business Trip:

Honey, I miss you. The cats and I are just knocking around this big empty house waiting for your return. I need you to come home and say things to me like that thing you said to me last night that was so special to me that I'm going to keep it private forever. I am trying to write my nasty letters but it is difficult because all that I am is suffused with the joy from you.
Come home soon, but I hope you sell your teeth out in New Orleans. Get it? Dental Convention? Teeth Out?

Yeah, I know, but you love me anyway.

My heart grows fonder,

Salome

I tried to write a poem about my divorce.

The WHY. Everyone always wanted to know the why. And I think better in metaphors, and the one that started this poem is the metaphor that I came back to every single time I tried to understand why my marriage failed.

So here it is, and it is a wayback poem. I'm not terribly happy with this one - but I haven't tried to revise it in a while.

Divers (written 7/2/03 - revised on 7/16/03 and hasn't been touched since)

DIVERS


A cool night
spanning years at a time
in a minute

we were chin-up from the water’s surface
taking great gasping gulps of crisp frigid air

I can still see you smile at me
falling short of full lungs in your exultation
and those great blue eyes full of sweetness and hope

I had no hope to return to you.

I sucked the night sky
dry of oxygen.

I couldn't see anything

no land
no clear view of the water below
or what swam down there
waiting

And I guess I never take real deep breaths anymore
I don’t think I’m meant to go down that far.

That was a free dive
Into uncharted territory

And as soon as I headed down
With my big wet hand clutched tightly in yours
And my big wet heart....

Going down with all your hopes riding shotgun,

I realized
There isn’t enough air
To live through this.

And you might as well have been
A bleeding diver in a great white’s path
Poised for a destruction
Astonishing in violence and speed.

Down several fathoms
Farther than rational thought:

I KNEW

we were dying.

You held me so tightly
like you thought I was drowning
like you alone could save me.

We were dead weight
Trailing loosely into abysmal currents
And I was hyperventilating
Choking desperately with asthmatic lungs

lack of air
space
of breath.

So I reached down
To the diver’s knife at my belt

I cut you free of me

And the flood of bubbles
From your shocked and shattered face
Breaks my heart a thousand times a second
Every time I think of it

Every single time I think of it.

You spiraled up like a shot from an underwater flare
Kicking feebly
trying to reach down and grab me

Like you thought you could save me
Like you thought I needed saving

I dove out of your grasp
into the dark and murky depths below
where I have some idea
of what to expect
prowling around me.

I am not prone to drowning.
But you were.

You would have died and stayed at my side

And it would have been dangerous, as frailty always is.

I washed up on the shore,
long after this battle gasped its last and let go

I stayed there
striking the rocks on a cyclic tidal rhythm

Just to make sure you got out.

I need you to know that I would have gone back in
To the depth of a realm I fear more than anything else

To get you
bring you to safety.

But one of the things I’ve learned
in all these esoteric, watery lessons,
is you can help someone only so much
then they’ve got to plunge in
fight for themselves.

So you have to WANT to walk out of that water.

I am still here
Standing now on the shore
I’m leaving,
you know that
But I walk slowly
backwards
eye toward the sea
In case you call me
like you need my help.

But don’t fuck around
And call me just to swim
Because you will eventually drown
And there is nothing that I can do about it.

You know I’m like an angler fish

You don’t get what you see
You get what I give you

and I’m short on that
just now.

Still Loving the iSight Camera.....

This was after I discovered the effects buttons.
What you can't tell from this shot is that I was laughing hysterically - I had tears in my eyes and was gasping for air.



Okay, I've got funnier ones, but it seems to want to upload the same photo everytime - no matter how many times I choose a different one.

Blogger on Macs acts different, and is really kind of pissy. I can no longer change my text font - but the good news is that I always want to write in Trebuchet - and my preset HTML didn't always take in the Windows Blogger.

So anyway, off to my hair appointment!

Hee

Well, we did it.
Because I am actually only 5 years old.
We bought the computer tonight! TONIGHT!

Didn't have as great of a time at the Mac store tonight as we did last night - but I will update you all on that later, I have a couple of letters to the world that I've been working on. I'll compose and post in a bit.

We then decided to go to Johnny Rockets at Tukwila Southcenter to grab a quick bite.
I did try to stay on my diet, but they were out of what I was going to try to eat healthily and so I ordered a chili dog.

Because, if thwarted, I'm THWARTED. ;)

Anyway, here is me after I spent 25 minutes looking for how to operate the camera that comes included in the iMAC.




I'm only posting this one photo because in every single other photo my nose is the size of Cleveland.

We're making the jump......

From my old creaky Dell PC to

THIS

We're very excited.

I am still price comparing at the moment - so no purchase date as of yet, but we went to the Mac store tonight and I can't even tell you the number of times our mouths dropped open and we said wow.

WOW.

All I have to say.

WOW.