Oh Britney....

Well by now you have all seen IT.
While better than you or I could possibly hope to do, she bombed. BOMBED.

And I have to comment. I HAVE TO!
While I actually LIKE the song, and for that I'm twisting in an hurricane of shame, she is so lackluster and unprepared, I'm speechless.

If you are going to bust your post-baby body out in a sexy outfit, you'd best have a slamming body, and while she looks great for having two kids (and actually better than I do after, um, NONE) she is not slamming. Except those margaritas, apparently chased down with a healthy handful of fire cheetos and Taco Bell.

This was totally her chance to go up there and shut everyone's mouths. You'd have thought she would be practicing her ass off, yet by all gossip accounts, she was partying until dawn every night leading up to the event. You just have to watch the other performances to see how other artist, seeking to either establish themselves or further their star-wattage, took the opportunity to create something that people would GASP at.

Remember when Michael Jackson took the stage at the Motown 25th Anniversary Show?
I watched that with my father and both of us, BOTH OF US, were speechless. Breathless during, and absolutely stunned afterwards.

We sat silent a moment, and then my dad said, "My God, what a TALENT!"
This was back when an artist's affectations were forgiven, absolutely, for talent. And MJ flowed along that vein until it was bled dry, frankly.

But while Britney Spears was a major success for the teen-crowd, she never truly translated to the world at large, and her growing pains were, quite honestly, excruciating to watch. She married stupidly, got pregnant stupidly, and then proceeded to destroy her reputation and the solid fan base she'd built up over her brief, but phenomenal, rise.

You cannot move into the adult market by acting like an asshole adult. And yet that's what she did. She broke out of her child-tart persona into a horrifying, ADULT WHORE, new image, replete with idiotic behaviors and questionable parenting choices.

And while I will admit that I breathlessly waited to see how bad she would be, I was not at all prepared for the sympathy I felt on Monday while reading the excoriating reviews. She's a young, dumb girl who grew up quickly and collapsed under a wave of her own ill-choices. She's a young mother who is now divorced, and cannot imagine that her husband married her for herself. She's estranged from her family and brutally abused in the press. I feel bad for her.

But enough about her.

Let's focus on other people, who did this star thing right: THIS lady was at the zenith of her career for this 1990 VMA performance, and she pulled out all the stops.

That is what a STAR is, ladies and gentleman.

NYC with CLP

I started using the Nicorette patch again last week, WELCOME DREAMING, WELCOME WEIRDNESS!
Goodbye morning lung pain and so much wheezing.

The first day I used one I came home early and fell asleep on the couch.

I immediately drifted into a vivid dream.

CLP and I met up in New York. We were both very dressed up, I was wearing the torturous shoes from my NYSE day, yet they didn't hurt me. Which convinced me I was dreaming. We met up in a hotel and hung around the lobby, which looked suspiciously like the Riu Caribe lobby, but more upscale and no palm trees.

We drank several margaritas and then ventured out into the city for some food. I was craving a sundae, one which was also very suspicious, it looked just absolutely exactly like this: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dooce/295333358/ (pardon me, but I'm in Safari and so cannot hyperlink. Damn Safari!)

Along our walk, CLP gradually changed out of her dress up clothes, I would look over and she was dressed up fully, then look away and when I looked back, the blouse was gone, replaced with a hoodie (which I don't think she ever wears) and then looked again and she is in cargo shorts (again, not sure she has ever worn these in my presence) and then finally I looked back and she was in Birkenstocks and right then I was sure again that this was a dream, because I believe she'd rather I drive my thumbs into her eyelids than wear Birks, but maybe the years have changed her. Maybe I always, all along wanted CLP to be a hippy. Regardless, I remember being pissed in the dream, because I hadn't brought any other outfit, and now we didn't match.

We stopped at the place that had the sundaes as pictured above and it was 7 minutes until 10pm. They told us they could seat us, but that they were out of mostly everything, except Thanksgiving dinner. We said, ummmm, really? And the waitress stomped off in a huff. We sat there debating whether or not to just go, and I pleaded with her to let me get my sundae and then we could leave. The waitress returned with a plate of charred hamburgers. "And these are for you," she chirped gaily.

CLP and I looked at each other and in unison got angry. We demanded just our sundae and we would leave. They brought out a dish full of melting ice-cream and Cool-Whip. We took one look and walked away.

Out on the street, we started worrying whether it was too late to eat anywhere. We stopped and talked to the ticketseller in a movie theatre, behind the glass fishbowl, you know? And he assured us it was NYC and we could eat until whenever we damn well pleased. We kept walking and came upon a huge, brightly lit casino, which also advertised mortgage rates. I remember pondering this heavily as I stood and stared at the busy, open air (because of course!) casino. I remember thinking that getting your mortgage at a casino was probably a bad idea, but I was curious how good (or bad) the rates would be. We kept walking and came upon several small shoe stores, all open air, and all with circular displays of shoes.

We split up in the shoe store and I heard CLP exclaiming about all the cute shoes she was trying on. Even in my dream I scoffed, because I will never forget being stoned out of my mind in Amsterdam many years ago while CLP mourned her Fred Flintstone feet in all the cute Dutch shoe stores. And that was after she got pissed because they won't serve mustard with a ham sandwich and the idea of mayonnaise on ham grossed us both out tremendously. I put on a heavily strapped leather shoe which had a lower heel and then limped around with two different shoes trying to see if it would hurt my feet. I picked up one bootie type shoe and the leather flapped around, broken in places. I looked less closely and realized it was a skinned pig head and revoltedly put it back.

(I have explained before that I have a wickedly perverse subconscious, and now you belive me).

At this point the dream ended. We never got food, and we never went anywhere in particular. And I thought about this dream the whole next day, trying to eke some sense out of it. And for a while I thought that it meant something about my friendship with CLP, and how absolutely everything we do is the most fun I've had, even when we do nothing. Even when we sat in her apartment in Cincinnati and played gin rummy and smoked, and used her cool ashtray that had a button that dropped all the ashes into the bottom of the container. Even when we drove around Toledo as teenagers, listening to A Daisy Chain 4 Satan and Skinny Puppy. Even when we ordered delivery food from the one place that delivered in Toledo after 3:00am. Even when we watched the Oscars from a pubic haired bed in an unclean hostel in Amsterdam. Even all those times, I've always had the best time of my life with this girl.

I know what the dream meant.

It means I miss you, Potterchick.
It means I miss you really a lot.

Team Day

Tomorrow is my Team Day.
I'm going Salmon FISHING on a boat.
I have to be at the pier (40 min away) at 5:30am.

Nothing could make me a team player more than getting up at 4:15am.
Let's hope it rocks a bit, I hear we have some squeamish people.

Salmon Fishing.
FISHING!

On a boat - roughly handled and probably minimally cleaned.
On an EARLY BIRD BOAT.

Early + Salome = NOT A TEAM-SPIRIT.
Early + Salome = usually a pretty raging, angry, chainsmoking and fire-eyelid Salome.

Especially because Salome likes to drink margaritas and smoke cigarettes until the wee hours, then top that off with sparkling water and an hour of book.

Salome is in trouble, ladies and gentlemen.

In Other, Non Crushed News

A retrospective of our Holiday Weekend:

1. Watched three movies: The Cave, Fracture and The Lookout

The Cave was actually pretty awesome.

Fracture SUUUUUUUUUCKED. Sucked! Ryan Gosling went to the same teacher that taught Brad Pitt all the tics and twists he uses instead of acting his way through the "Oceans" series. Unwatchable. Bad plot, unbelieveably unbelievable subplots. Yawn.

The Lookout was FAAAAAAAANTASTIC. Run out to your video store this weekend and get it. Stars that kid from 30 Rock and he is a marvel.

2. We went to an awesome party with our awesome friends. Friends, be ye ever so awesome.

3. The Pope hosed down the entire house because the spiders had decided it was theirs. They were wrong. But one thing that always happens when you hose the spiders down? THE BIGGER SPIDERS come out. Thank you, Mr. Horrifying, for the case of heebies I went to bed with. I almost had to call my husband to let me back into the house after my nightly (300th) smoke, because you were too close to the door for my comfort.

4. Both the Pope and I read a book: Maximum Ride by James Patterson. He liked it for its cheap and easy thrills, and how it kept his interest the entire time. I read it (great premise - flying bird people! Sweet!) but I was annoyed by the familiarity of the tone and the childish asides. The damn thing ended abruptly plugging its already-out sequel. It is nice when you read a book in a series and the other ones are out by the time you have finished. It is especially easy to do this when you're reading your way through a plastic bag of paperbacks that a friend of yours dropped off for you at work. I looked online for the sequel and discovered......

Dum Dum Da Dum!

IT IS A KIDS SERIES!!!!!!!!!

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

AhA! Ha! HA!

I'm currently contemplating whether or not I care, and whether or not I'm going to bust my ass over to the 1/2 price book shop on Wednesday and buy everything else that's out. Not that it is great writing, or anything, sniff, but the premise (like I said) is pretty cool and it was an enjoyable read. But I'll be even if I went to the bookstore, they probably won't have any of the other books in the series. I'll bet I'd have to buy them off of Amazon.

Those tweens are pretty miserly with their books.

In other news, I'm watching episodes of that show Flipping Out on Bravo. Guy does good work, but what an asshole. I don't know why those people work for him.

Hope Springs Eternally Crushing

A lady posted an ad on Craigslist Lost and Found on Monday stating that she has found a colony of stray cats in South Seattle. Three of the cats look feral, but one cat, a large orange and white tabby, looked like a lost pet. She said this cat would come close to people, but be started away by any loud noise.

I emailed her immediately and sent a picture of Finny. She called while I was out and told JP where to find the cat colony, complete with makeshift shelter and food area.

The area is about 4 miles N of where we leave. Stretching the bounds of possibility, but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible.

We went there last night and only saw two of the four cats she's seen there, and neither was the orange and white cat.
Tonight we went back, a little later, a little more towards dusk. As we approached, the Pope said, look there...

I looked, and behind a fenced area sat a cat that was almost identical to Finny. ALMOST. And no matter how long I stared, or hoped, or wished, it wasn't Finny. There was an orange spot on this cat's nose.

"Orange Spot?" I asked the Pope, "Or an injury?? Maybe it is blood, and it will wipe right off and underneath that cat will be Finny."

Because it is possible that Finny shrank a couple of inches, and grew fatter, and that his face shape changed, or that the white markings on his face have retreated below his eye level.

How can it be that there are two cats that look so much alike and yet THIS one, THIS FOUND ONE, is NOT my little man?
BECAUSE WHY IS IT MY WORLD THAT HAS TO BE BROKEN, THAT CANNOT BE FIXED?

It wasn't Finny. And my heart, which had swelled up so large it almost broke open my ribs, deflated again.
He is still out there. And he is either lost, dead, taken or (and maybe in all cases) never coming home.

And the world just wants me crushed.

We left a bunch of food for the cats, because even in my broken and banged up world, all cats have someone who loves them.

Carl Jung, I Need Your Help

I've been dreaming of Finny for the last few weeks.
For the last two or three weeks, every other day I would dream that Finny came home. I would dream him in vivid orange, and he would walk through the cat door and say Hi, like he used to.

Or I would dream that he would be in our house when we got home from Cancun (at least three times while on vacation).

Last night (I've just woken up) I dreamed that he came home while I was in the house, getting ready for bed.
He was filthy, thin and skittish. It didn't matter, I curled up next to him on the bed and kissed and hugged him until he fell asleep, exhausted.

And then things got weird. When I woke up (in the dream) I had to go to a hotel for meetings about Scotland. I went to the meetings, which were all about getting people together in a room and then the meeting would abruptly end. I was ALWAYS smoking a cigarette in the dream, and always put it out under the table as soon as my boss appeared, because he HATES smokers.

Somewhere in the middle of this I went to the vet, to make sure Finny was okay, he'd had some stomach seizures in the night, and I wanted to help him be well.

I had Finny in a carrier and we were in line. I explained to the vet that this was urgent, that he'd been missing for three months, and needed to be seen NOW, because anything he had he'd had for months, and we needed to help him. HELP HIM, RIGHT NOW, I shouted, and I was crying in the dream.

They couldn't see him at that moment, but they let me put him into a waiting room. But the waiting room had an opening in the bottom of the door, and Finny kept running out. I didn't want to traumatize him (because maybe he'd decided to leave me for good this time) and so I took him back home in the cat carrier. I did notice that sometime during the night he'd cleaned himself and was no longer filthy with mud.

Then I went back to the vets later that night, but forgot to bring Finny in his carrier.

BY THE WAY - the entire time in real life, my husband is snoring. I kept waking up to yell at him to turn over, and then quickly went back to sleep so I wouldn't miss anything. Finally, at 8:00am this morning, I got up and stomped over to the guest bed so I could dream in peace. As I type this, he is still snoring, he has no shame.

So I'm back at the vets and I forgot to bring Finny! I'm devastated, and all the vets are sitting around a board room table, waiting to examine Finny. It is like a convention of Vets, all the best ones in one place, and I've forgotten Finny!

I make an appointment for the next morning and go back to my ridiculous series of meetings in the hotels.
The next day I get Finny from home and he is now pure white. Instead of bright orange with a white face, chest and paws, he is solid white.

As I'm taking him to the vet, and as I'm at the vets, his orange begins to appear on his shoulders, back and head.
I wake up before the vets tell me what is going on, but the whole time, I'm looking at this white cat, and thinking, this isn't Finny, but then I look in his eyes, and he nuzzles up to me, and I know it really is.

I wish that these dreams meant my little guy was coming home soon. I still really miss him and think about him probably too much. I wish that you could just wish for things and they would happen.

Not for the first time in my life, I wish I could go back to a specific place in time, and do something differently, like shut the cat door on that Monday, May 14th and not let them out that day.

Hello There!

It's been WORLDS since I last sat down and updated this. I've got letters upon letters (and some of them are sorely needed).

I did some traveling. It is clear that my people need letters from me.
It is also clear that the world is full of people that are not my people. My people would never behave in such ways.

Let's begin....

Dear Ladies from England Wearing Size 34 Bikinis,

There is absolutely no call for this type of horror. On behalf of me, and the tender stomachs of those I traveled with, please put yourself away. The glare alone off the pool from your thighs is giving me sunstroke. I have the sense to at least cover up in a one piece, you should be so sensible. I appreciate and am somewhat jealous of your general joi de vivre, however, I appreciate and intend to keep using my retinas.

Get Thee a Coverup,

Salome

We went to a resort in Cancun, Mexico. YES! Cancun! Did you watch the news about Hurricane Dean? WE DID. We were barricaded in our room for 12 hours in anticipation of Dean, which turned out to be nothing, and the hotel stopped serving alcohol for approximately 31 hours. Yes, I was counting. Yes, Salome fans, I was totally pissed.

OUTRAGED, in fact.

Dear Mexican Government:

Kind Senors and Senoras. Por Favor. I am but a tourist in your majestic land. I am here for the beaches, the sun and the blue skies. I have paid my American dollars towards your tourist industry, and let's all agree, shall we? That is all you have going for you at the moment. You need me, and I need you, a place to spend my hard-earned American dollars and drink myself silly. Right? We're all friends, my friend. Mis Amigos. I understand that for a large majority of any country's population, the thought of unrestricted alcohol in the face of a natural disaster would make a government uncomfortable. But my American ancestors were Irish, sirs, and I think we both know what that means. If you want me to be of any assistance in the face of a natural disaster, you'd better have a drink waiting. Prior to asking me to do anything, and immediately upon my doing said requested thing. For you to take alcohol away from me for over 24 hours (31! Treinta y uno! Dios Mio!) was cruel and unusual punishment in the extreme.

I will Not Hurricane in your Province Again,

Salome

The Resort was gorgeous, the company was superb, and relaxation was had by all. When I say that the company was superb, I mean that the company was SUPERB. I've talked about Lakshmi and DB, and we had their awesome daughter with us, too. Lakshmi and I are old soul friends. There is nothing we can't encounter together and not have fun. She was even cool when I was sneaking tequila shots when the bar was closed (Because please, everyone, I'm Irish! Did you not think I would find alcohol when none was offered? Pshaw!)

I'll tell you what: If you ever find yourself at a resort with a Category 5 Hurricane bearing down on you? You'd better hope that you are with DB and Laskshmi. They are quite simply two of the most fun people I've ever encountered, and I consider myself insanely lucky to have made their acquaintance. I'll write more about them later, but have I told you about the flight home yet?

Dear Woman with the Screaming Child for the 5 hour flight from Charlotte, NC to Seattle, WA:

Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking GOD! Your child SUCKS! You know it, and you can be damn sure that the 100+ people on this godforsaken flight know it, too. But I have a few tips for you, should you be interested, and if you don't want to get the snot beat out of you in the airport parking lot (am I right 23A? 21C? You're with me, right? Damn Straight!) you will sit BETWEEN your two children on the flight. In fact, here's a short list of things to remember next time you fly with that unbelievable fucking hellion:
1. If she wants something, goddamn GIVE IT TO HER.
2. If she doesn't want something, GODDAMNIT TAKE IT AWAY!
3. TYLENOL
4. VALIUM
5. LOLLIPOPS
6. Anyfuckingthing to get her to stop screaming for the 5 hours would have been appreciated while you sat on your ass and read your US Magazine. In fact, I would have reenacted the entire magazine for you with SOUND EFFECTS had you just had the sense to set it down and FIND OUT WHAT THE FUCKING PROBLEM WAS!

Glaring at You from 23B,

Salome

So I don't know.....I really needed this vacation. I had gotten to the point at work where any request for me to do my job, the thing that they pay me to come in and do every day was just such a CHORE, you know? When everything that you need to do in your life to have a house, and a marriage, and two cats, and everything had just gotten to the point where I was so tired, and so fed up. And so done. I was just done with everybody asking so many things from me.

What I needed was to lie in the sun with cool chlorinated water very close by, for the dunking and dipping as necessary. I needed really strong frozen margaritas and people that make me laugh heartily. And I had that, for 6 out of the 7 days that we were in Cancun. And for that one day, the only component I didn't have was the frozen margaritas.

And on the first day I was back, it was my 33rd birthday, and the Pope's 36th birthday, the same day, as most of you know.....I had a great, relaxed, glad to be back kind of day. But I missed Lakshmi. I missed that morning greeting with her. I missed the glances, the inside jokes, the things that made us laugh on the trip, known to just the two of us. I missed DB's endless good nature. He never got annoyed or irritated. I missed the heat. (Yes, traveling buddies, I was freezing when we got back to Seattle) Who would have thought I would have missed the endless rivers of sweat that fled down my temples and settled in the crook of my bra. My shirts smelled like pee when I got back. Was that just me?

I stood in the clearing of a major Mayan historical site. One of the new Seven Wonders Of the World. It was so fucking hot, and I was such a landwhale, I couldn't get into the mystique and the history.

It is late, and that is enough for know.

Stay tuned for more updates - I might go crazy and do dailies! Woo! There is no baby to see pictures of, but if you go to www.clanbuchanan.co.uk you will see the most beautiful little girl that has ever been born, I mean, honestly, isn't she just striking and gorgeous? And you can get her mom's updates on being a first time mom, which I find charming, hilarious and very enjoyable. It is a site I now check daily.

Enjoy, everyone, I'll be back with a force in the coming days, and you tell me whether that is such a good thing. Could I swear any more?

Yes, yes I can and I enjoy it, so get ready and stay tuned. I've got BUCKETS of letters to share with you.

Salome

I Can Kill Time and Opportunity Like No One Else

The Pope has been on a business trip since late Sunday night. I had such plans for these four days alone, you have no idea.
This is what my plans were:

Goal Monday: Write Paper - Work Out - Clean House
Actual Monday: Stressed and Non-Productive all day, came home, read book on couch until waay too late.

Goal Tuesday: Write Paper - Work Out - Clean House - Return Sonicare heads (HATE THAT THING) - buy clothes for trip
Actual Tuesday: Was up late reading, stressed at work - came home and finished book on couch - started another.

Goal Wednesday: Write Paper (Goddammit!!!) - Work Out - Clean House - Return Items - buy clothes for trip - Go to Costco to get book Lakshmi recommended.
Actual Wednesday: Wrote first draft of paper (thankgod) - watched Top Chef - vacuumed at midnight - sat on couch reading new book until very late.

Goal Thursday: Finish Paper and send to peers for review - Work Out - Clean House (because if you break it into four days, you're not a maniac scrambling around and sweating profusely, you know??)
Actual Thursday: Finished paper and sent to peers for review - CLEANED MY MANIAC SWEATY ASS OFF

I'm actually a little distressed. It seems I am entirely incapable of being productive. I actually killed some time on Amazon last night, searching for books to help me be more productive, instead of actually being productive. Fascinating, isn't it?

I have not lost the weight I wanted to by August. This is only the goal I made last September. So I'm about on target to be thin by my death. I lose about 12 ounces every 2 years. I might actually be ahead of the game. Of course, for every 12 ounces I lose every two years, I gain about 37 pounds a minute, just by breathing the air that food was once fragrant in. Do the math. Have you ever seen that movie Gilbert Grape? Yeah, that's probably going to be me.

But you know what? I give up. It isn't happening with all this not-trying I've been doing, and clearly freaking out about it and stress-eating isn't going to work, so I'm just going to be happy being soft. My face will look younger as I age that way.

So, come next Wednesday morning, I'm going to whale myself out onto that beach and burn myself to a crisp. Hopefully there will be people from Iowa at the resort, because you just KNOW they're going to be fat.

I remain,
Corpulently yours,
Salome

Husband on Business Trip: Day One

The Pope is on a business trip.
So far I have overslept by 2 hours (the volume was turned all the way down! Dammit!)
Used 37 dishes - I can't believe it, I don't know how I've done it, especially since all I've eaten is a bottle of wine!

I have also taken out the trash and cleaned the cat litter.
I have kissed Leo 43 times, and told him that Daddy will be home soon.
Leo has decided to hibernate for the week, leaving the bed only to eat and then go back.

There are two big trips coming up, and I'm not going on them.
Which partially makes me nervous, and partially relieves me, because I'm tired of the work traveling at the moment.

People I Love

Loved Ones Clockwise L to R:

Grandma
Mom
Salome
Godmother

Written the Day After I Met Him

I am poised on the rocks
a forbidding muted coast
visceral
and shivering.

I am not scared.
It is not cold.

And somewhere a tiny girl runs through a meadow filled with flowers
promise all around her
and laughter
everywhere.

I think of you as if made of art
and I would defile you
smudge you
with my inelegance.

You are very beautiful.
intricate
fractured
passionate
strong

Even my words are daunted
adjectives rendering themselves inadequate
flying from my mind, gathering behind my head
peeking out to discover if you are real.

Because I’ve been at this beach,
stripped raw
before
and STILL.

And I am sure that no one like you has ever come by….
So you must be lost, friend.

To find me here,
shivering
now stunned.

But I am not scared.
It is not cold.

And somewhere I’m a tiny girl, flying through the fields of

THIS.

-1/22/04

Funkytown

Can't write anything now. I'm in a funk.
Not a depressed funk, an irritable one. Everything sets me off, I'm too busy to do anything well, and I find that at the end of the day I've accomplished nothing, so what am I busy doing?

My mind and emotions are whirling.

Can't get anything out in a coherent manner. Everything I try to communicate on has terrible mechanical/electronic issues, I feel like the entire world is telling me to shut up.

Vacation coming up, really looking forward to it, hopefully I'll write more soon, but right now I don't want to talk.

I just don't want to talk to anyone right now.

Capsized, Erring on the Edge of Safe

FINALLY! ONLY THREE HOURS LATER!


Click on The Con

I may have figured out a way to blog songs.

The Pope is sorry for you all.

But I don't know what he means!

Drowning

To say that the last few days have been a rollercoaster would be to grievously underestimate how frightening, how pit-falling, rollercoasters can be.

Especially to the human heart.

I stood there on a balcony of the most expensive hotel in Edinburgh, illegally smoking a cigarete, in my pajamas, the events of the day reverberating raucously in my head, my inadequacies flying in my face and battering me like bats.

Encircle me, I need to be taken down. (new Tegan and Sara song lyric that is resonating in perhaps every single wrong way)

I stood there and looked out over the beautiful city that I have a hand engraved invitation to, and the only thing I can think is, I'm so completely unworthy and unprepared for this.

Please don't misunderstand me. I know what I do well. I do it well, everyone says so. But what this is is completely untread territory. I don't know what to do, and every step I take appears to be wrong, every impression is suspect, every instinct is rebuked and I am lost and falling and drowning all at the same time.

Here's where I take out my glass heart and beat it against the first stone thing I come to.

There are such highs and they are tinged with wonder, and then there are lows, that are probably not lows, but everything is so important, and there is no room for mistakes, and that is all I seem to be doing.

I'm trying, oh my god I'm trying so hard, but there are no breaks, and even where there is good news there are hard times, and why doesn't it ever get any easier.

And he's right here. He's here when I need him and he's here when I don't, and sometimes I wonder why he stays. Because even when I need him I turn away because I hate the fact that I need anyone or anything. Except Lucy because she knows I need her and I know she needs me and in our intensely private and exclusive little sphere of vulnerability there is nothing that is misunderstood.

And then there are mechanics, computers, phones that don't work easily - time differences, returns to offices that were trashed in your absence, trashed with the expectation that Salome would just fix everything when she returned, because that is what she does, isn't it? She fixes things. She can't build them, because she doesn't know how, or doesn't do it right, or her observations and instincts are wildly incorrect, but you know what?

If you break something, I will know how to fix it for you. Even if I can't fix what I break. Even then.

Wow

There is so much going on right now, there is so much that has been going on.

I'm reeling from the activity, the cities and the work. I'm tired. I go to bed tired, I wake up tired, and I drink massive amounts of caffeine to try and fend off the loopy "not quite there" feeling in my head.

That being said, I would not trade this for anything. In the last three days I've had more great things happen to me than I have had in years. (except 8/26/06), or (1/21/04) perhaps, or especially, especially (5/12/07).

On Sunday night I caught a flight to NYC.
I arrived very early Monday morning and took a cab from JFK Airport to the Ritz Carlton Battery Park. I checked in and went up to my room and I wheeled in my luggage and stopped dead, my mouth hanging open. Because the huge picture window in my room looked out at an unobstructed view of the statue of Liberty. Unobstructed view of Ellis Island and the Harbor. It was incredible.

It was so incredible that for the two days I stayed there, everytime I was in my room, I stood at the window and looked at the statue. It was breathtaking.

So here is a brief summary of what's been going on.

Monday:

10:00am - arrive at hotel. Shower, change and walk to a local bakery for coffee, bagel.
11:30am - Meet up with SK (SK WAS THERE!!!) We have another coffee and sit in the bakery's outside area and talk.
1:00pm - go back to room and read docs for my 2:00pm meeting.
2:00pm - meet with one group - meeting goes until
3:00pm - meet with another group - meeting goes until
4:00pm - Meet with major new job group forum - meeting lasts until
6:45pm - run upstairs to room and change clothes
7:15pm - Meet with new partners (Aye - the Scots) and catch cabs to
7:30pm - Il Buco Wine Cellar - private dining event in wine storage basement of great Tuscan restaurant
We drink copious amounts of wine and have discussions and a five course meal until
11:30 - return to the hotel. SK calls me - they're at the bar.
11:35pm - bar with great people from my company until
1:15 am - back to the room and I lay down, but too wired to sleep - because tomorrow is exciting.

Tuesday:

6:15am - wake up call
6:20am - coffee is delivered. I am shaky and strung out from lack of sleep. Shower and put on my new, gorgeous suit and awesome black pointy toed slingbacks. Look like a million bucks. Feel like a billion.
7:30am - meet up with members of my company and walk to the NYSE.
7:50am - uh oh, these shoes pinch my toes. This might be a problem. Five blocks is 10 miles in pinchy shoes.
8:30am - We're through Security and into the Board Room of the NYSE, for a plated dinner before we ring the opening bell.
9:20am - We're advised to eat eat eat, finish quickly because we're leaving in minutes. The senior management goes to the podium, the rest of us are escorted to the trading floor.
THE TRADING FLOOR is unbelievable. Scary, so much chaos, so much activity. People running (RUNNING, full out speed) from station to station, phones ringing, people shouting and traders making trades by tapping the screens of computers that are mounted high on the booth walls.
9:30am - My company rings the opening bell at the NYSE. On the floor, we tear up, smile like lunatics and clap until our hands hurt. We are all of us, as one, proud and elated for this moment. It is our 10 year anniversary as a publicly traded company on the NYSE. We are toured around the floor and a kind trader explains what he is doing to us. It makes absolutely no sense. I look around to all the really smart people I work with, and they have no idea, either. I feel better.
11:00am - Company Board Meeting in the Board Room of the NYSE. I'm invited to sit in on the Scottish presentation. I'm asked to tell the Board about myself. They ask me a question, I answer it. A board member I've worked with speaks up after I'm done and gives me his highest support. The Scots pass out high quality scotch to the directors. We leave.
Walking back to the hotel I am sure - THESE SHOES HURT. 5 blocks is now 16 miles, and I imagine there will be blood on my feet when I take them off.
12:00pm - back at the hotel - I run upstairs, blow kisses to the statue and take the wretched shoes off. I put on comfy black sandals, take off my suit jacket and run back downstairs.
12:15pm - The van I've arranged arrives and we pile in, taking the Scots on a tour of one of our current construction projects, adjacent to the East River. The scope of the project is breathtaking. They are pounding over 1,000 pilons into the ground because it is fill. There is a Thunk Thunk Thunk of the piling machine ringing in the background. We are all awed by the scope of this project.
3:30pm - the Van drops us back at the hotel. I rush upstairs and grab my binder because
4:00pm - meeting with another group that lasts until
6:00pm - run upstairs to the room - change into dinner clothes. SK comes over and we toast to our fortunate lives with a little champagne (gift from the scots to me).
7:00pm - dinner with the folks from my company. It is nice and lasts until
10:00pm - a huge group of us go out to Tribeca, we are at the bar until someone needs nachos and we leave in search of nachos.
12:15am - we are back at the hotel and the bar is closed, so we do a slumber party (with five of us girls) in the room of one of the coolest ladies at my company.
3:00am - we all leave the room and go back to our rooms to go to bed.
4:15am - I am finally falling asleep.

Wednesday:

8:15am - my wake up call. I get up, there's coffee. I'm in bad shape.
9:00am - I'm in my colleague's room for a call. The person we're calling has forgotten, so we drink coffee and chat and look out at the incredibly stormy weather that is raging outside. Thunder, lightning. We turn on the tv and learn that all flights out of NY airports are delayed. We buy tickets for the train from NY to Boston to be safe (we have a 2pm flight scheduled.)
10:00am - I'm back in my room, and I go back to bed for two hours.
12:15pm - I get up - shower, dress and pack up.
1:00pm - check-out, store my bags and stroll around Battery Park until
2:05pm - my colleague is off her call and we take a cab to Penn Station
3:00pm - our express train from NYC is completely sold out, everyone has departed the airports to try and get to Boston and other places.
6:30pm - we arrive in Boston - go to our hotel and check-in. It is a dump.
7:30pm - we stroll around Boston Common, my colleague went to school here and she tells me about the things we pass.
10:00pm - I'm home and call the Pope, because I miss him and love him.

Midnight - I'm going to bed.

Salome

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.