From yet another book on singleness, I've read that there are two kinds of dating problems: not having any eligible men to date or having too many options. I am happy to report that I've recently changed categories from the barren drought of no-man-land to...ta da! Options! Yes, folks, I've crossed over to the other side. The flood gates have broken. I am dating.
Happy birthday to me...
Monday, November 19, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Anyone from N.O. can appreciate this...
To my New Orleans people enjoy!
Pass down memory lane.
Old Heads may not get some and Young Old Heads
will not get most.
But enjoy anyhow.
*You knew Cash Money before they became famous and
were living in the East.
*You know who UNLV is and what the letters mean.
*You went to Man-Chu's for Wings.
*You understand that Red Pepper is different than
Cayenne.
*You remember Manuel's Hot Tamales.
*You were never crazy enough to eat a Lucky Dog
from the cart in the French Quarter.
*You know about Hank's, St. Roch Seafood, Deanie's
and Jaeger's.
*You know which sno-ball stands have the soft ice.
*You know that Creole tomatoes taste different
than the regular ones.
*You know how to pronounce some of our crazy
names: Dejoie, Robicheaux, Hilaire, Villere, etc...
*You know what people are talking about when they
say "across the river".
*You know that damn near everyone from N.O. is
Creole.
*You remember the furniture commercial "...come
see the special man, let her have it"!
*You had to get a new ESPRIT bag from Krauss or
Maison Blanche every school year.
*You either had a Medallion Chain, Ring, or
Bracelet. Was N.O. the only city that had JESUS or
CHRIST head rings?
*You remember the pie man...
*You remember the old lady on Canal Street singing
old gospel hymns in front of Krauss with her karaoke
machine...
*And how about ya boy on the corner of Canal and
Carondelet trying to get everybody at the bus stop
to be saved, with his bible in his hand...
*For those Greater St. Stephen members, remember
the lady that sold cakes and pies outside church
after service. God bless her soul.
*The ultimate best - Easter Sunday on the lake -
everybody was there and you couldn't hardly drive
your car down the street because everybody was
showing off.
*When they mention the B.W. Cooper on the news,
you're confused 'cause you know all the projects by
their old names... Magnolia, Calliope, Desire,
Florida, Iberville, St. Bernard, etc...
*Someone has told you that you look like you from
the 7th Ward...
*You still sing " Rosenberg 's,
Rosenberg's...1825...Tu-lane!"
*You remember the " Seafood City " commercials...
*You went to Bachemin's Meat Market on St. Bernard
or Patton's on Delery for hot sausage.
*You can't get pickled tips anywhere but New
Orleans and surrounding cities...
*You know what "snap beans" are...
*You don't eat everybody's gumbo or potato salad
(definitely)
*Once you met your girlfriend's (or boyfriend's)
mother or grandmother they asked, "Who's your
family?" or "Is your family from the 7th Ward?"
*If you or someone you know is related to a
Broussard, Boutte, Pichon, Doucette or Mercadel they
or you are from the 7th Ward...
*You know where the "Point" is on the Lake ....
*Your mama used to whip yo tail with Daniel Green
slippers...
*You remember Pontchartrain Beach ... How about The
Bottom Line, Discovery, Whispers, Crash Landing and
Nexus
*You still want to sing or scream " Hey Pocky Way "
*You know "It Ain't My Fault", "They All Axed for
You" , "Who shot the LaLa", and "Mr. Big Stuff"
*You only ate Chinese food at Chinese Kitchen or
Five Happiness...
*You remember that manager (with the Jheri Curl)
at Circle Food Store...
*No matter what part of the Eastbank you are from,
you will drive to Haynes to get seafood from
Castnet's...
*You remember when Harrah's Casino was at the
Municipal Auditorium (calling out all casino
visitors:)
*You went to a St. Mary's and 35's Talent Show (to
go to any school's talent show was a big deal!)
*You thought McMain, the birthday cake school was
for the nerds.
*You remember Maison Blanche, McKenzie's, Tastee
Donuts, D H Holmes, Times Savers, and KB.
*You lived in Michoud and people didn't want to
visit because you lived too far...
*You knew what the 3rd floor at Charity was all
about!
*Someone asks you where you are from and you reply
9th ward, Uptown, the East, Gentilly, Downtown or
the Westbank (you never give your street name).....
*You know that THE GAME at Tad Gormley was 35 vs.
St. Aug, and that was a major social event, even if
you didn't go to either school...
*You refer to the French Quarter as "the quarters"
and really don't go to the Quarters like talkin'
about it, just when you have family from out of town
that want to go there...
*You refer to St. Bernard Parish as "The
Parish"...
*You know how to pronounce Tchoupitoulas...
*You know that Mardi Gras really goes down on
Claiborne under the bridge and not on Bourbon...
You knew if somebody important or ghetto died,
there would be a 2nd Line....
*Dressing up to go "uptown" or "downtown" (depend
where you lived) aka Canal Street .
*Going to Woolworth's to eat at the lunch counter.
*You bought po-boys from the corner store.
*You bought frozen cups from the lady down the
street or yo' mama was the lady down the street who
sold them...
*Eating those good donuts at Woolworth (and they
were greasy!!)....
*You know what huckle bucks are...
*You used to shop at Krauss...
*You always got a new outfit for Easter off Canal
Street....
*Someone at your job used to sell "suppers"...
*You know where Lincoln Beach or Little Woods
is...
*You remember "Buck Jump Time"
*You know who Harry Lee is - so you don't hang in
Jefferson Parish!
*You take the Huey P. Long Bridge to get from The
Westbank to the
*Eastbank, 'cause you don't want to pay that
dollar on the Crescent City Connection...
*You end each sentence with "yeah" or (now the
youngens say) "ya heard me? Example: "It's hot out
here yeah" or "Holla at cho' boy, ya heard me?"
*Your maw-maw "made groceries" at Economical on
Gentilly and Elysian Fields or Venus Garden on
Dryades St..
*Your maw-maw referred to mayonnaise as "my-naise"
*You drank "earange juice" and got your "earl"
changed in your car on the "cordner"
You went to the "Lafitte" or Orleans & Claiborne
to watch the Zulu Parade...
*You remember the "Gondola" and the "84 World's
Fair"
*You piled in a car with cousins to drive pass Al
Copeland's house to see the Christmas lights and
then spent the drive home talking about how he stole
the recipe from an old black man...
*You USED to refer to Betsy as New Orleans ' worst
storm (not anymore)
*You were looking for YOUR house on TV during the
CNN coverage of Hurricane Katrina...
*You got tears in your eyes after reading
this...(I certainly did - tears from laughter!)
*Pass it on to other N.O. folks to have a good
laugh!
Pass down memory lane.
Old Heads may not get some and Young Old Heads
will not get most.
But enjoy anyhow.
*You knew Cash Money before they became famous and
were living in the East.
*You know who UNLV is and what the letters mean.
*You went to Man-Chu's for Wings.
*You understand that Red Pepper is different than
Cayenne.
*You remember Manuel's Hot Tamales.
*You were never crazy enough to eat a Lucky Dog
from the cart in the French Quarter.
*You know about Hank's, St. Roch Seafood, Deanie's
and Jaeger's.
*You know which sno-ball stands have the soft ice.
*You know that Creole tomatoes taste different
than the regular ones.
*You know how to pronounce some of our crazy
names: Dejoie, Robicheaux, Hilaire, Villere, etc...
*You know what people are talking about when they
say "across the river".
*You know that damn near everyone from N.O. is
Creole.
*You remember the furniture commercial "...come
see the special man, let her have it"!
*You had to get a new ESPRIT bag from Krauss or
Maison Blanche every school year.
*You either had a Medallion Chain, Ring, or
Bracelet. Was N.O. the only city that had JESUS or
CHRIST head rings?
*You remember the pie man...
*You remember the old lady on Canal Street singing
old gospel hymns in front of Krauss with her karaoke
machine...
*And how about ya boy on the corner of Canal and
Carondelet trying to get everybody at the bus stop
to be saved, with his bible in his hand...
*For those Greater St. Stephen members, remember
the lady that sold cakes and pies outside church
after service. God bless her soul.
*The ultimate best - Easter Sunday on the lake -
everybody was there and you couldn't hardly drive
your car down the street because everybody was
showing off.
*When they mention the B.W. Cooper on the news,
you're confused 'cause you know all the projects by
their old names... Magnolia, Calliope, Desire,
Florida, Iberville, St. Bernard, etc...
*Someone has told you that you look like you from
the 7th Ward...
*You still sing " Rosenberg 's,
Rosenberg's...1825...Tu-lane!"
*You remember the " Seafood City " commercials...
*You went to Bachemin's Meat Market on St. Bernard
or Patton's on Delery for hot sausage.
*You can't get pickled tips anywhere but New
Orleans and surrounding cities...
*You know what "snap beans" are...
*You don't eat everybody's gumbo or potato salad
(definitely)
*Once you met your girlfriend's (or boyfriend's)
mother or grandmother they asked, "Who's your
family?" or "Is your family from the 7th Ward?"
*If you or someone you know is related to a
Broussard, Boutte, Pichon, Doucette or Mercadel they
or you are from the 7th Ward...
*You know where the "Point" is on the Lake ....
*Your mama used to whip yo tail with Daniel Green
slippers...
*You remember Pontchartrain Beach ... How about The
Bottom Line, Discovery, Whispers, Crash Landing and
Nexus
*You still want to sing or scream " Hey Pocky Way "
*You know "It Ain't My Fault", "They All Axed for
You" , "Who shot the LaLa", and "Mr. Big Stuff"
*You only ate Chinese food at Chinese Kitchen or
Five Happiness...
*You remember that manager (with the Jheri Curl)
at Circle Food Store...
*No matter what part of the Eastbank you are from,
you will drive to Haynes to get seafood from
Castnet's...
*You remember when Harrah's Casino was at the
Municipal Auditorium (calling out all casino
visitors:)
*You went to a St. Mary's and 35's Talent Show (to
go to any school's talent show was a big deal!)
*You thought McMain, the birthday cake school was
for the nerds.
*You remember Maison Blanche, McKenzie's, Tastee
Donuts, D H Holmes, Times Savers, and KB.
*You lived in Michoud and people didn't want to
visit because you lived too far...
*You knew what the 3rd floor at Charity was all
about!
*Someone asks you where you are from and you reply
9th ward, Uptown, the East, Gentilly, Downtown or
the Westbank (you never give your street name).....
*You know that THE GAME at Tad Gormley was 35 vs.
St. Aug, and that was a major social event, even if
you didn't go to either school...
*You refer to the French Quarter as "the quarters"
and really don't go to the Quarters like talkin'
about it, just when you have family from out of town
that want to go there...
*You refer to St. Bernard Parish as "The
Parish"...
*You know how to pronounce Tchoupitoulas...
*You know that Mardi Gras really goes down on
Claiborne under the bridge and not on Bourbon...
You knew if somebody important or ghetto died,
there would be a 2nd Line....
*Dressing up to go "uptown" or "downtown" (depend
where you lived) aka Canal Street .
*Going to Woolworth's to eat at the lunch counter.
*You bought po-boys from the corner store.
*You bought frozen cups from the lady down the
street or yo' mama was the lady down the street who
sold them...
*Eating those good donuts at Woolworth (and they
were greasy!!)....
*You know what huckle bucks are...
*You used to shop at Krauss...
*You always got a new outfit for Easter off Canal
Street....
*Someone at your job used to sell "suppers"...
*You know where Lincoln Beach or Little Woods
is...
*You remember "Buck Jump Time"
*You know who Harry Lee is - so you don't hang in
Jefferson Parish!
*You take the Huey P. Long Bridge to get from The
Westbank to the
*Eastbank, 'cause you don't want to pay that
dollar on the Crescent City Connection...
*You end each sentence with "yeah" or (now the
youngens say) "ya heard me? Example: "It's hot out
here yeah" or "Holla at cho' boy, ya heard me?"
*Your maw-maw "made groceries" at Economical on
Gentilly and Elysian Fields or Venus Garden on
Dryades St..
*Your maw-maw referred to mayonnaise as "my-naise"
*You drank "earange juice" and got your "earl"
changed in your car on the "cordner"
You went to the "Lafitte" or Orleans & Claiborne
to watch the Zulu Parade...
*You remember the "Gondola" and the "84 World's
Fair"
*You piled in a car with cousins to drive pass Al
Copeland's house to see the Christmas lights and
then spent the drive home talking about how he stole
the recipe from an old black man...
*You USED to refer to Betsy as New Orleans ' worst
storm (not anymore)
*You were looking for YOUR house on TV during the
CNN coverage of Hurricane Katrina...
*You got tears in your eyes after reading
this...(I certainly did - tears from laughter!)
*Pass it on to other N.O. folks to have a good
laugh!
Monday, September 17, 2007
Date or Appointment? The Meaning of Chemistry
If you're a faithful reader of Twenty Plus+ and were asked to describe the author's worst date ever you would undoubtedly refer the questioner to the blog concerning Mr.Suave. And rightfully so, because that was the worst date I had ever been on. At least that I can remember.
Yet, in my never ending quest to one-up myself, albeit by reaching greater levels of hopelessness rather than improvement, a new suitor has risen to take that infamous title from Mr. Suave. This one successfully flipped the script on me, in that he didn't come with even greater mishaps than kidnapping, rudeness, and self absorption. What would that possibly entail, I wonder? No, instead he ruined the date with the subtlety of a fox, if not the wit of one. (That would be too interesting).
As a part of this program I'm supposed to be following, I strive to be open to almost anyone, so as not to rule out future hubby. God forbid! I am experiencing new people, places, and situations. I am open. So when Mr. Blah came into my restaurant the first time I saw an opportunity. Interest and curiosity sparked both our eyes. And when he didn't ask for my number after a brief but pleasant conversation, instead saying his goodbyes, I thought that was cute. After all, he knew where I worked and could show up again. Exciting, no?
"Ah, the chase mon ami," as Hercule Poirot would instruct Hastings. The run almost became a marathon as Mr. Blah would come in to "eat"-translation see me-for two more weeks before asking me out. His method went from cute to stalker-ish/Is he looking for an affair and this is a neutral place? He did mention his ex-wife, but who knows with all this baby-mama-drama in the world today? Maybe they have an arrangement.
Before the first date I also learned he was from Detroit, hates Phoenix like me, has a little girl, and is working on starting his own business selling knock-offs of designer labels. Everybody has a dream. All of the facts I've gathered so far are just that-facts. Underneath the thrill of being pursued lies nothing. I have no interest in this man, what he's doing, or where he's going. I chasten myself for being so cold and close-minded. All I think is what I've read in the dating how-to book, "Give it at least one date, maybe two." So when he asks me what I like to do in my spare time I innocently rattle off my interests, not anticipating the inevitable, "Why don't we do one of those things together?" play. Thus, being totally blindsided by this smooth move, I must admit, I automatically respond yes.
He calls before we go out. He asks me what I want to do and where I want to go. He takes me to a nice place. We talk. He pays. He's a perfect gentleman.
And perfectly boring.
I can't conjure up chemistry even with a drink in my hand.
That's when I know: Sometimes your first instinct is right. You're not being close-minded. You just really don't like this person and never will. It'll never happen.
And it makes me wonder about this thing called chemistry. Like love, it's hard to define but easy to recognize. Either you have it together, or you don't. And I think about my ex-Mr. Wrong Right Now and the chemistry we had. It was amazing, like one of the natural wonders of the world. Why was everything else in that relationship so wrong?
Yet, in my never ending quest to one-up myself, albeit by reaching greater levels of hopelessness rather than improvement, a new suitor has risen to take that infamous title from Mr. Suave. This one successfully flipped the script on me, in that he didn't come with even greater mishaps than kidnapping, rudeness, and self absorption. What would that possibly entail, I wonder? No, instead he ruined the date with the subtlety of a fox, if not the wit of one. (That would be too interesting).
As a part of this program I'm supposed to be following, I strive to be open to almost anyone, so as not to rule out future hubby. God forbid! I am experiencing new people, places, and situations. I am open. So when Mr. Blah came into my restaurant the first time I saw an opportunity. Interest and curiosity sparked both our eyes. And when he didn't ask for my number after a brief but pleasant conversation, instead saying his goodbyes, I thought that was cute. After all, he knew where I worked and could show up again. Exciting, no?
"Ah, the chase mon ami," as Hercule Poirot would instruct Hastings. The run almost became a marathon as Mr. Blah would come in to "eat"-translation see me-for two more weeks before asking me out. His method went from cute to stalker-ish/Is he looking for an affair and this is a neutral place? He did mention his ex-wife, but who knows with all this baby-mama-drama in the world today? Maybe they have an arrangement.
Before the first date I also learned he was from Detroit, hates Phoenix like me, has a little girl, and is working on starting his own business selling knock-offs of designer labels. Everybody has a dream. All of the facts I've gathered so far are just that-facts. Underneath the thrill of being pursued lies nothing. I have no interest in this man, what he's doing, or where he's going. I chasten myself for being so cold and close-minded. All I think is what I've read in the dating how-to book, "Give it at least one date, maybe two." So when he asks me what I like to do in my spare time I innocently rattle off my interests, not anticipating the inevitable, "Why don't we do one of those things together?" play. Thus, being totally blindsided by this smooth move, I must admit, I automatically respond yes.
He calls before we go out. He asks me what I want to do and where I want to go. He takes me to a nice place. We talk. He pays. He's a perfect gentleman.
And perfectly boring.
I can't conjure up chemistry even with a drink in my hand.
That's when I know: Sometimes your first instinct is right. You're not being close-minded. You just really don't like this person and never will. It'll never happen.
And it makes me wonder about this thing called chemistry. Like love, it's hard to define but easy to recognize. Either you have it together, or you don't. And I think about my ex-Mr. Wrong Right Now and the chemistry we had. It was amazing, like one of the natural wonders of the world. Why was everything else in that relationship so wrong?
Saturday, September 08, 2007
PDA-please don't advocate!
I have recently been the victim of an insidious crime against singleness. And a crime perpetrated by one of my own, no less. Rather, a friend formerly known as single. As in, doesn't she know better?!
I'm talking about public displays of affection people. Does love blind its subjects to the point of complete disregard for anyone else in a 20 foot radius? Apparently it can and does. That's why lovers are all starry-eyed! I must admit, I've been on the other side; Puckering up in restaurants and parking lots and God knows where else. Somehow, it was more pleasant that way. But as I sat across the table from my friend and her beau kissing and holding hands-for whom I am happy-I see the pitfalls love can bring. For those not in it!
My new mantra for the rest of the year is...drumroll...Celebrate Singleness! Ta-da! What a concept, huh? (Sounds like someone's been to therapy).
So I say to my lovebird friends, "C'est la vie and congratulations."
I'm talking about public displays of affection people. Does love blind its subjects to the point of complete disregard for anyone else in a 20 foot radius? Apparently it can and does. That's why lovers are all starry-eyed! I must admit, I've been on the other side; Puckering up in restaurants and parking lots and God knows where else. Somehow, it was more pleasant that way. But as I sat across the table from my friend and her beau kissing and holding hands-for whom I am happy-I see the pitfalls love can bring. For those not in it!
My new mantra for the rest of the year is...drumroll...Celebrate Singleness! Ta-da! What a concept, huh? (Sounds like someone's been to therapy).
So I say to my lovebird friends, "C'est la vie and congratulations."
Goals for my last "twenty something" year
Turning twenty nine in a couple of months has made me a little more introspective lately. I've decided to celebrate being single and free. But also get serious about a career. Because doesn't everybody settle down in their thirties? That's in the rule book, right?
My goals for my last twenty-something year:
Travel
Still get a tattoo
Go to some concerts/get into music like a normal person
Make more friends and be a friend
Love more, get angry less
Make blogs of note, some way some how
Buy a car
Work with young people
My goals for my last twenty-something year:
Travel
Still get a tattoo
Go to some concerts/get into music like a normal person
Make more friends and be a friend
Love more, get angry less
Make blogs of note, some way some how
Buy a car
Work with young people
School Nurse Countdown
One week left!
5 days
Ok...I pushed the deadline up a bit. I just couldn't make it to October.
5 days
Ok...I pushed the deadline up a bit. I just couldn't make it to October.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
School Nurse
Hey guys (my two readers)! Sorry I've been incognito...Started a new job a month ago.
Wow! It's amazing how much I hate it. I didn't know it was possible to despise a job so much. Or for work to completely ruin your life. I gave notice two weeks ago, but my boss made me promise to stay until they find a replacement and/or the end of October. I'm sure October will roll around before they find another school nurse. It took all summer and then some to find me. And another school is still without a nurse. But I'm trying to be positive...The kids are funny. There. And I get paid. If you know anyone who would like to be a school nurse-holla!
I apologize for the lusterless blog entry. Just a reflection of what I've become since working at "Sunset of my Soul" school-only focused on how I hate my job/life. There is nothing else right now.
Official Countdown:42 days
Wow! It's amazing how much I hate it. I didn't know it was possible to despise a job so much. Or for work to completely ruin your life. I gave notice two weeks ago, but my boss made me promise to stay until they find a replacement and/or the end of October. I'm sure October will roll around before they find another school nurse. It took all summer and then some to find me. And another school is still without a nurse. But I'm trying to be positive...The kids are funny. There. And I get paid. If you know anyone who would like to be a school nurse-holla!
I apologize for the lusterless blog entry. Just a reflection of what I've become since working at "Sunset of my Soul" school-only focused on how I hate my job/life. There is nothing else right now.
Official Countdown:42 days
Friday, July 13, 2007
Texting Ettiquite
I love to see that little envelope on my phone! What a treat to get a virtual note in your locker so to speak.
But there definitely are pitfalls to texting...
As in... How does one know the person on the receiving end actually got the text?
When is it too late to respond to a text? After 24 hours should the text-er move on? And if so, does one pretend like the text never happened? What if the information in the message was pertinent to the text-er/text-ee relationship?
Maybe the answer is in the silence.
Maybe the answer is in the silence.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
SSR/Montessori Book Corner
Since spending so much time in the nonfiction book world, I developed a healthy craving for a good old-fashioned story.
After much harrassment for a good book, one of my friends lent me What a Girl Wants-I'm sure just to shut me up. It falls into "christian chik-lit."
(There's a place for everything. That's one of the things I love about books).
It gave me what I was looking for: An easy read with a good story by someone who obviously knows what it's like dating in this day and age! Who doesn't like validation?
After much harrassment for a good book, one of my friends lent me What a Girl Wants-I'm sure just to shut me up. It falls into "christian chik-lit."
(There's a place for everything. That's one of the things I love about books).
It gave me what I was looking for: An easy read with a good story by someone who obviously knows what it's like dating in this day and age! Who doesn't like validation?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
It's Elementary
Anyone out There?
One plus one equals two. So why is it so hard for one man and one woman to equal loving committed and good relationship?
Allow me to answer my own rhetorical question. A blog entry hangs in the balance! We are human. And when people get involved in things, no matter what it is, we bring along hang- ups, baggage, prejudices, expectations, selfish ambition...You get the idea. Even good relationships are works in progress; Ever growing, yet never complete, organic projects of nature.
And I do mean "good."Because as a member of the human family, the problem does not necessarily exist in finding someone. Or, rather, anyone. Men and women are everywhere. As a friend says, "8 to 80, blind, cripple, and crazy."
And I've seen it all.
For example, Mr. Suave. Mr. Suave is a 30-something ex NFL player who noticed me on one of my many treks across Phoenix's desert. Seriously. I don't hike for fun, but my legs provide my main mode of transportation. At first I shrugged him off as a potential stalker. Not a necessarily attractive quality. But, after he pulled over for the third time in two weeks to offer me a ride, he handed me a card and properly introduced himself. The card serves a twofold purpose of letting me know he has a viable business and evaporating the fog of suspicion that he might be a loony. Honestly, how many crazies hold down 9-5's? Not many, unless you consider the post office. Then this line of reasoning breaks down. But I digress...
Card becomes phone call. Phone call becomes first date. It's been so long since D-A-T-E that I turn a blind eye to some of the red flags screaming, "Run girl! If it takes a year hike through the desert yourself. A ride isn't worth that much!" Of course I don't listen to inner voice, because it's a date after all. (And dating is fun-or so conventional wisdom makes us believe. There's a reason Sex in the City was a hit. Hello! real life is sooo not like that. That's the way we wish we looked, acted and dated through life. But that's another story). Yes, he laughed incessantly at his own jokes, which I didn't get. Okay, maybe he's nervous, I think. Yes, he barely listens to a word I say, but the connection on my phone is bad. He does ask where I want to eat and obliges to my request for P.F. Chang's. And Lord knows I'm a sucker for a good meal, especially a free one.
The date ensues. Do I remember? He picks me up, of course, in his nice car. Awaiting me is a single yellow rose. I think," How sweet?" But in sharp contrast to the beauty of the delicate flower, a funk invades my senses. The car stinks. Not an acute smell, but a subtle evasive stink. I conclude that it's the dreaded BO. Not just BO, but an attempt to mask it with cologne. Did this guy even shower? I mean, I know he hits the gym pretty hard, but no time to wash up? Maybe he just hit the highlights and figured that I wouldn't notice. Oh well, I have a strong stomach. Anyway, there's no turning back. We're well on our way-meaning the I-10. Note to self-buy own car! I don't know cars, but I know this is luxury. It has GPS, but somehow we still manage to get lost. It also has satellite radio. Okay, not exactly my style. I'm just as content channel hopping and asking for directions, but I'm an open-minded person. But it strikes me that he thinks he needs to have the luxury car with all the amenities because that's what successful people do in life: Get expensive stuff and lord it over those around you. And there's always better and more expensive stuff to get.
Then the conversation. There is no lack of it, which is my most dreaded date fear, but it all revolves around him. This affords me a slight advantage, though, because I learn a few things about Mr. Suave.
1. He has some money. "I bought my mom a house out here. I love my mom."
2. He has a kid et. al. "I moved my son out here with his mom. She was complaining..." Silent scream here. A baby, ok. It's hard finding guys my age who don't have babies. But baby's mama is still in the picture? As Faith Hill sang, "Baby, hello. On no! Goodbye!"
3.Drinks like fish? After asking if I drank, and myself responding that I have a glass of wine occasionally, but most times I just get a glass of iced tea, he declares, "I'd make that a Long Island iced tea!" Upon which, after arriving at the restaurant he proceeds to order.
Then comes dinner. Ah, the bright spot to the whole affair! Yet, even for my yum-yum loving tummy, I begin to doubt if the date is actually costing me more than I'm getting. Hmm...More of the same. We discuss his glory days in the NFL, his subsequent injury and conversion experience, and again, his love for his mom. Does he think I'm finding this attractive? I'm thinking he's not even pausing to consider, he's so busy impressing me. Then I learn the last tidbit to complete my impression of Mr. Suave.
"I get PMS like a woman."
"What?!"
"I'm moody. Just like a woman."
Great. That's all I need in a man. I can track both of our periods. We can bum it on the sofa eating chocolate and watching Titanic during that "special time." Wait. I have girlfriends. What do I need you for? I already discuss the best tampon brands, woman exams, tender breasts, and embarrassing female mishaps with them!
Okay, I'm open-minded, not crazy. And not desperate. That statement sealed the deal, or the un-deal, as it were. But like previously stated, I was stuck. Repeat mental note here, emphatically! Explicative. So we finished dinner, got a doggy bag, and headed out. Mr. Suave was hoping the party had just begun and suggested we go clubbing. I was freezing and longed only for the warmth of his hi class ride. In which he proceeded to run errands. Suddenly,I couldn't recognize where we were going and vocalized this, feeling uneasy, thinking, "This is how people disappear." He answered, "Well, since we're in the area." Thank God we only went to the video store and his office. Although, he did spend 10 minutes in said store while I waited in the car refusing to expose myself to the elements again, so technically,
I was abducted. I should've run into the video store and sought refuge with one of the video clerks. It might have been more fun. And possibly have brought things to a quicker end.
Mr. Suave pulls in to the apartment complex. I silently thank the Lord. With my hand on the door pulley thing, I turn and thank him for the date, which I mean. He says he had a great time. I lie and say the same thing. Did we just go on the same date? I take my rose and head for the door. At least he doesn't know which apartment I live in. All I can think is that there's a reason some of us are single.
Meeting a person, as GI Joe says, is only half the battle.
One plus one equals two. So why is it so hard for one man and one woman to equal loving committed and good relationship?
Allow me to answer my own rhetorical question. A blog entry hangs in the balance! We are human. And when people get involved in things, no matter what it is, we bring along hang- ups, baggage, prejudices, expectations, selfish ambition...You get the idea. Even good relationships are works in progress; Ever growing, yet never complete, organic projects of nature.
And I do mean "good."Because as a member of the human family, the problem does not necessarily exist in finding someone. Or, rather, anyone. Men and women are everywhere. As a friend says, "8 to 80, blind, cripple, and crazy."
And I've seen it all.
For example, Mr. Suave. Mr. Suave is a 30-something ex NFL player who noticed me on one of my many treks across Phoenix's desert. Seriously. I don't hike for fun, but my legs provide my main mode of transportation. At first I shrugged him off as a potential stalker. Not a necessarily attractive quality. But, after he pulled over for the third time in two weeks to offer me a ride, he handed me a card and properly introduced himself. The card serves a twofold purpose of letting me know he has a viable business and evaporating the fog of suspicion that he might be a loony. Honestly, how many crazies hold down 9-5's? Not many, unless you consider the post office. Then this line of reasoning breaks down. But I digress...
Card becomes phone call. Phone call becomes first date. It's been so long since D-A-T-E that I turn a blind eye to some of the red flags screaming, "Run girl! If it takes a year hike through the desert yourself. A ride isn't worth that much!" Of course I don't listen to inner voice, because it's a date after all. (And dating is fun-or so conventional wisdom makes us believe. There's a reason Sex in the City was a hit. Hello! real life is sooo not like that. That's the way we wish we looked, acted and dated through life. But that's another story). Yes, he laughed incessantly at his own jokes, which I didn't get. Okay, maybe he's nervous, I think. Yes, he barely listens to a word I say, but the connection on my phone is bad. He does ask where I want to eat and obliges to my request for P.F. Chang's. And Lord knows I'm a sucker for a good meal, especially a free one.
The date ensues. Do I remember? He picks me up, of course, in his nice car. Awaiting me is a single yellow rose. I think," How sweet?" But in sharp contrast to the beauty of the delicate flower, a funk invades my senses. The car stinks. Not an acute smell, but a subtle evasive stink. I conclude that it's the dreaded BO. Not just BO, but an attempt to mask it with cologne. Did this guy even shower? I mean, I know he hits the gym pretty hard, but no time to wash up? Maybe he just hit the highlights and figured that I wouldn't notice. Oh well, I have a strong stomach. Anyway, there's no turning back. We're well on our way-meaning the I-10. Note to self-buy own car! I don't know cars, but I know this is luxury. It has GPS, but somehow we still manage to get lost. It also has satellite radio. Okay, not exactly my style. I'm just as content channel hopping and asking for directions, but I'm an open-minded person. But it strikes me that he thinks he needs to have the luxury car with all the amenities because that's what successful people do in life: Get expensive stuff and lord it over those around you. And there's always better and more expensive stuff to get.
Then the conversation. There is no lack of it, which is my most dreaded date fear, but it all revolves around him. This affords me a slight advantage, though, because I learn a few things about Mr. Suave.
1. He has some money. "I bought my mom a house out here. I love my mom."
2. He has a kid et. al. "I moved my son out here with his mom. She was complaining..." Silent scream here. A baby, ok. It's hard finding guys my age who don't have babies. But baby's mama is still in the picture? As Faith Hill sang, "Baby, hello. On no! Goodbye!"
3.Drinks like fish? After asking if I drank, and myself responding that I have a glass of wine occasionally, but most times I just get a glass of iced tea, he declares, "I'd make that a Long Island iced tea!" Upon which, after arriving at the restaurant he proceeds to order.
Then comes dinner. Ah, the bright spot to the whole affair! Yet, even for my yum-yum loving tummy, I begin to doubt if the date is actually costing me more than I'm getting. Hmm...More of the same. We discuss his glory days in the NFL, his subsequent injury and conversion experience, and again, his love for his mom. Does he think I'm finding this attractive? I'm thinking he's not even pausing to consider, he's so busy impressing me. Then I learn the last tidbit to complete my impression of Mr. Suave.
"I get PMS like a woman."
"What?!"
"I'm moody. Just like a woman."
Great. That's all I need in a man. I can track both of our periods. We can bum it on the sofa eating chocolate and watching Titanic during that "special time." Wait. I have girlfriends. What do I need you for? I already discuss the best tampon brands, woman exams, tender breasts, and embarrassing female mishaps with them!
Okay, I'm open-minded, not crazy. And not desperate. That statement sealed the deal, or the un-deal, as it were. But like previously stated, I was stuck. Repeat mental note here, emphatically! Explicative. So we finished dinner, got a doggy bag, and headed out. Mr. Suave was hoping the party had just begun and suggested we go clubbing. I was freezing and longed only for the warmth of his hi class ride. In which he proceeded to run errands. Suddenly,I couldn't recognize where we were going and vocalized this, feeling uneasy, thinking, "This is how people disappear." He answered, "Well, since we're in the area." Thank God we only went to the video store and his office. Although, he did spend 10 minutes in said store while I waited in the car refusing to expose myself to the elements again, so technically,
I was abducted. I should've run into the video store and sought refuge with one of the video clerks. It might have been more fun. And possibly have brought things to a quicker end.
Mr. Suave pulls in to the apartment complex. I silently thank the Lord. With my hand on the door pulley thing, I turn and thank him for the date, which I mean. He says he had a great time. I lie and say the same thing. Did we just go on the same date? I take my rose and head for the door. At least he doesn't know which apartment I live in. All I can think is that there's a reason some of us are single.
Meeting a person, as GI Joe says, is only half the battle.
I soldier on.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Bored = "Grown up?"
Why is it the prospect of becoming an adult seemed so exciting when we were young?
Maybe because everything is exciting when you're a kid. Of course, who would expect those good times to end over something as frivolous as time? The frontier that was "the future" was ripe with possibilities. Each opportunity needed only to be chosen and picked, as easy as one picks an apple from a tree.
One week I was going to be a dermatologist, the next week, a veterinarian. And I needed no explanations on the 180's. I was a kid after all.
As I've taken different roads in an effort to find that holy grail of highways-the purpose to life- I've been struck by one thing people don't tell you:
Work is boring! It doesn't matter if you're living your ideal life, although that helps; There exists a certain amount of routine in every career.
In nursing it was the assessments. Try getting heart rates, breathing rates, and lung sounds on 5-6 babies every day.
Or for the adults, going through the medication routine for 8 patients. Some require more, some less-so that changes up the pattern a bit.
Now as a waitress, greeting my guests has become somewhat annoying. "Hi I'm Charlotte, I'll be your waitress. Can I get you anything while you're looking at the menu?"
There's no way to get around this fact. So I accept it. I go through the mundane details, but focus instead on the different people I meet and having fun with my coworkers.
Maybe because everything is exciting when you're a kid. Of course, who would expect those good times to end over something as frivolous as time? The frontier that was "the future" was ripe with possibilities. Each opportunity needed only to be chosen and picked, as easy as one picks an apple from a tree.
One week I was going to be a dermatologist, the next week, a veterinarian. And I needed no explanations on the 180's. I was a kid after all.
As I've taken different roads in an effort to find that holy grail of highways-the purpose to life- I've been struck by one thing people don't tell you:
Work is boring! It doesn't matter if you're living your ideal life, although that helps; There exists a certain amount of routine in every career.
In nursing it was the assessments. Try getting heart rates, breathing rates, and lung sounds on 5-6 babies every day.
Or for the adults, going through the medication routine for 8 patients. Some require more, some less-so that changes up the pattern a bit.
Now as a waitress, greeting my guests has become somewhat annoying. "Hi I'm Charlotte, I'll be your waitress. Can I get you anything while you're looking at the menu?"
There's no way to get around this fact. So I accept it. I go through the mundane details, but focus instead on the different people I meet and having fun with my coworkers.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Nurse Whites
1 2 3 4
Took a step through the door,
Filling out the app was the key
A real job it affords me.
Might
Have a job in the public school system
fighting flight
response
5 6 7 8
No turning back...it's too late
There's a new set of numbers to learn
like 6:30- time to wake
30,000-how much I'll make
one-how many I'll support
40-the hours in my new week
9 10
back to elementary again!
Took a step through the door,
Filling out the app was the key
A real job it affords me.
Might
Have a job in the public school system
fighting flight
response
5 6 7 8
No turning back...it's too late
There's a new set of numbers to learn
like 6:30- time to wake
30,000-how much I'll make
one-how many I'll support
40-the hours in my new week
9 10
back to elementary again!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Still Owe
Just got a bill from the great state of California...owe more taxes!
Will it ever end?
Until next year.
Will it ever end?
Until next year.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tattoo Idea
Eureka! A friend of mine is going to design a tattoo for me.
I'm thinking a vine starting at the lower back and traveling up my side, complete with little flowers-to represent life springing up out of death, i.e. the dirt. Or turning over a new leaf in life, ha ha...
What do you guys think?
Cast your vote here
I'm thinking a vine starting at the lower back and traveling up my side, complete with little flowers-to represent life springing up out of death, i.e. the dirt. Or turning over a new leaf in life, ha ha...
What do you guys think?
Cast your vote here
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
My Book Corner or for the Montessori kids "SSR"
SSR translates "Sustained Silent Reading" for those who haven't experienced it. Whether for better or worse, I can't say, but I have. In the quest to find the purpose for my life, i.e. a career, I have become almost obsessed with finding out what other people are doing with their lives. How have others answered the question-"What am I going to be when I grow up?" Sometimes the question remains unanswered, but I settle for reading about their lives. Hence the following list...
Waiting by Debra Ginsberg.
An insider's view into the world of waitressing, from diners to fine dining, penned by someone who has been there. Very funny, and I must say very true.
Mixed by Angela Nisse.
Also laugh out loud memoir. Details the struggles, challenges, and just weird occurrences of growing up biracial.
Waiting by Debra Ginsberg.
An insider's view into the world of waitressing, from diners to fine dining, penned by someone who has been there. Very funny, and I must say very true.
Mixed by Angela Nisse.
Also laugh out loud memoir. Details the struggles, challenges, and just weird occurrences of growing up biracial.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Men are Like Buses?
At twenty one years of age, I was an idealistic, albeit naive, young woman with only my whole life ahead of me. The future loomed with possibilities-all good. And not just possibilities, but opportunities disguised as choices. I didn't consider being turned down by an academic program for a better candidate, or schools rejecting me for financial reasons. "Things will work out, of course," is the mantra idealists chant. And without even realizing it I internalized this philosophy. The only problem was narrowing the choices down and following one path.
So when I heard "advice" from older, experienced people, I shrugged it off as bitter cries from those who didn't seize their opportunities and resented me for pursuing mine. It was their own fault. I overheard things like, "Don't worry about love. Just look for a man who has a job, doesn't beat you,and doesn't run around on you." Or, "Back in the old days, people didn't think about what they wanted to do for a career, they had children to support!" And of course, "Wait to get married! That lovin' feeling doesn't last." I just think how low can one's expectations go? You can do whatever you want to do. Why not do it?
Then the disappointments slowly trickle in, chipping away at the armor.Being talented in a particular area, for example, does not insure recognition, immediate success, a paycheck, or even understanding. Look at VanGogh. Ask famous people who have "made it" and they will tell you it took years of working at their craft to suddenly get "discovered." And who knows of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of nameless souls who work just as hard, but remain in obscurity behind desks or waiting tables.Each workday is a reminder of one's failure. Their dreams, sold out to a steady paycheck,are left to drown in the once beautiful horizon of "the future."
Yet, there is a way to reconcile the idealism of youth with the realism of experience. There must be...Like Tom Hanks' character in the movie Cast Away, in order to move to a better place, the old comforts must be abandoned-Wilson-in order to keep that which will carry one to a safe place. But it is not enough that he remains alive. When he has nothing else to cling to, he has hope. He "breathes in and out..." and looks for a new door to open. Not surprisingly, at the end of the movie he stands at a crossroads and chooses a new path. Youth and its enthusiasm along with age and its wisdom both play a role in life. Neither needs to be mutually exclusive; With moderation and balance they complement each other.
Now when the "old people" say men are like buses:Either there are none or they all come at the same time, I chuckle, and look for my bus.
So when I heard "advice" from older, experienced people, I shrugged it off as bitter cries from those who didn't seize their opportunities and resented me for pursuing mine. It was their own fault. I overheard things like, "Don't worry about love. Just look for a man who has a job, doesn't beat you,and doesn't run around on you." Or, "Back in the old days, people didn't think about what they wanted to do for a career, they had children to support!" And of course, "Wait to get married! That lovin' feeling doesn't last." I just think how low can one's expectations go? You can do whatever you want to do. Why not do it?
Then the disappointments slowly trickle in, chipping away at the armor.Being talented in a particular area, for example, does not insure recognition, immediate success, a paycheck, or even understanding. Look at VanGogh. Ask famous people who have "made it" and they will tell you it took years of working at their craft to suddenly get "discovered." And who knows of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of nameless souls who work just as hard, but remain in obscurity behind desks or waiting tables.Each workday is a reminder of one's failure. Their dreams, sold out to a steady paycheck,are left to drown in the once beautiful horizon of "the future."
Yet, there is a way to reconcile the idealism of youth with the realism of experience. There must be...Like Tom Hanks' character in the movie Cast Away, in order to move to a better place, the old comforts must be abandoned-Wilson-in order to keep that which will carry one to a safe place. But it is not enough that he remains alive. When he has nothing else to cling to, he has hope. He "breathes in and out..." and looks for a new door to open. Not surprisingly, at the end of the movie he stands at a crossroads and chooses a new path. Youth and its enthusiasm along with age and its wisdom both play a role in life. Neither needs to be mutually exclusive; With moderation and balance they complement each other.
Now when the "old people" say men are like buses:Either there are none or they all come at the same time, I chuckle, and look for my bus.
Liberty!!
I am now free from the government! My debts to the U.S. are now reconciled! Yeah...now there's just the credit cards and the student loans...(;
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Date-ology
I've just discovered this awesome counselor-Dr. Cloud-through this book my brother recommended, "How to Find a Date Worth Keeping." He's so real. So not like a lot of christians out there. Not to sound bitter or anything. But sometimes I think we as christians don't know what to think, so we take an overly "spiritual" view of things-hoping to be on the safe side. But this guy is sound. Check it out.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Is it Just Me?
Is it just me, or does this Imus controversy seem to be more about the "racial double standard" than the fact that he said some really terrible things. I mean, there's a difference between free speech and talking about racial issues and making derogetory remarks.
A more thorough column is coming-as soon as I get my thoughts together...What do you think?
A more thorough column is coming-as soon as I get my thoughts together...What do you think?
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Tax Season
Uggh! Depressing...Have to come up with money I don't have to pay the government "what I owe." Give me a break!
Maybe they'll take blood. If I'm lucky. At least blood regenerates itself. Money just disappears.
Maybe they'll take blood. If I'm lucky. At least blood regenerates itself. Money just disappears.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Freedom Found in a Little Black Dress
Yes, it's true. I was liberated from heart break by a flirty little black dress. How can that be, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did.
On a shopping whim with a roommate last year, I splurged on a completely irresponsible and unecessary, yet totally adorable-translation must have-dress. And being that I had no occassion to where this little number-keeping with the "unecessary"theme-it sat in my closet for much of that year. Occassionally, I'd take it out, try it on, admire myself in it (embarrassingly admitted), and hang it back up.
You see, I decided this dress should be saved for a date with Mr. Heart, aka longtime crush, on whom I hoped my charms, nudges, hints, and all out pursuit of would win. Yet, as the days passed as usual and the phone sat silently misplaced, the Cinderella inside protested, "Where, oh where is the ball? When will Prince Charming come? And more importantly, will I ever be invited?" Not only did I want to be rescued from the drudgery of everyday life; I was hoping for the beauty inside of me to be revealed and cherished by the man I loved. The dress was the means to feeling that beauty, but it meant nothing without Mr. Heart's appreciation. "All dressed up and nowhere to go," is the old cliche that, oddly enough, rings true here.
So...it's not like the fairytales. My life did in fact go on. I did what I suppose anyone else would do. Packed up, moved on-literally-but I kept that dress. I even wrote a poem about it. I navigated my way through the stages of grief:denial (it might still happen), sadness (it's never gonna happen with this guy), anger (why didn't he like me?!), and acceptance (hey, it's not gonna happen and I'm ok). Although, I sometimes waiver between denial and what I like to call hope: It might by some remote chance still happen, but I'm gonna live my life.
And in keeping with that theme, a girlfriend called me the other night and invited me to go swing dancing. I went to my closet, went straight for that little black dress, and was the belle of my own ball. It felt great! Maybe it wasn't such a frivilous purchase after all.
On a shopping whim with a roommate last year, I splurged on a completely irresponsible and unecessary, yet totally adorable-translation must have-dress. And being that I had no occassion to where this little number-keeping with the "unecessary"theme-it sat in my closet for much of that year. Occassionally, I'd take it out, try it on, admire myself in it (embarrassingly admitted), and hang it back up.
You see, I decided this dress should be saved for a date with Mr. Heart, aka longtime crush, on whom I hoped my charms, nudges, hints, and all out pursuit of would win. Yet, as the days passed as usual and the phone sat silently misplaced, the Cinderella inside protested, "Where, oh where is the ball? When will Prince Charming come? And more importantly, will I ever be invited?" Not only did I want to be rescued from the drudgery of everyday life; I was hoping for the beauty inside of me to be revealed and cherished by the man I loved. The dress was the means to feeling that beauty, but it meant nothing without Mr. Heart's appreciation. "All dressed up and nowhere to go," is the old cliche that, oddly enough, rings true here.
So...it's not like the fairytales. My life did in fact go on. I did what I suppose anyone else would do. Packed up, moved on-literally-but I kept that dress. I even wrote a poem about it. I navigated my way through the stages of grief:denial (it might still happen), sadness (it's never gonna happen with this guy), anger (why didn't he like me?!), and acceptance (hey, it's not gonna happen and I'm ok). Although, I sometimes waiver between denial and what I like to call hope: It might by some remote chance still happen, but I'm gonna live my life.
And in keeping with that theme, a girlfriend called me the other night and invited me to go swing dancing. I went to my closet, went straight for that little black dress, and was the belle of my own ball. It felt great! Maybe it wasn't such a frivilous purchase after all.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Glass Half Full
Who hasn't heard that old cliche, "The glass is half full, you idiot!"? Or something like that.
(I firmly believe in the use of artistic license). Apparently, I also believe in tangents- digressing...
The power of a positive mental outlook struck me on a visit to a nursing home last weekend. Upon entering the facility, I was arrested immediately by the smell. And I say "the smell" because such an odor is difficult to describe. The air contained a mixture of old and/or sick people, cafeteria food, bathroom smells, and recirculated air. In one word the smell was repulsive. I felt an instinctive pull back towards the door marked exit. And I wondered when on earth these people got to see the outside world, if ever.
Those residents not confined to their rooms scooted about in their wheelchairs in the home's common areas. They looked like a living cemetery-people just waiting around to die, but who for all intents and purposes are dead already.
Then I visited one resident in particular. By the books on the shelf and the degrees on the wall, and the limited amount I was able to communicate with him, I gathered that he was an intelligent man with dreams to travel the world. Yet, apparently those dreams were cut short some time ago by a catastrophic health crisis. And so here he is, and has been, for years. But what impressed me about him was his laugh.
Someone who cannot take care of himself, go where he wants to go, and do what he wants to do-laughs! I think he should be sour and bitter, because of what's happened to him, but maybe he's learned to be optimistic in spite of it. When I asked if they had any activities planned for residents on the weekend, he replied, "Yes, but it's my day off." I realized then that if there were any activities planned he probably wouldn't be able to participate in them. Duh! But glass half full, see?
I firmly believe in reality-seeing things as they are-and being honest with yourself. But a healthy optimism can help you cope when life's circumstances overwhelm you. Because although life throws all it has at you, you can deny its ability to defeat you. Perhaps my friend has learned this secret, and every laugh is a victory cry.
(I firmly believe in the use of artistic license). Apparently, I also believe in tangents- digressing...
The power of a positive mental outlook struck me on a visit to a nursing home last weekend. Upon entering the facility, I was arrested immediately by the smell. And I say "the smell" because such an odor is difficult to describe. The air contained a mixture of old and/or sick people, cafeteria food, bathroom smells, and recirculated air. In one word the smell was repulsive. I felt an instinctive pull back towards the door marked exit. And I wondered when on earth these people got to see the outside world, if ever.
Those residents not confined to their rooms scooted about in their wheelchairs in the home's common areas. They looked like a living cemetery-people just waiting around to die, but who for all intents and purposes are dead already.
Then I visited one resident in particular. By the books on the shelf and the degrees on the wall, and the limited amount I was able to communicate with him, I gathered that he was an intelligent man with dreams to travel the world. Yet, apparently those dreams were cut short some time ago by a catastrophic health crisis. And so here he is, and has been, for years. But what impressed me about him was his laugh.
Someone who cannot take care of himself, go where he wants to go, and do what he wants to do-laughs! I think he should be sour and bitter, because of what's happened to him, but maybe he's learned to be optimistic in spite of it. When I asked if they had any activities planned for residents on the weekend, he replied, "Yes, but it's my day off." I realized then that if there were any activities planned he probably wouldn't be able to participate in them. Duh! But glass half full, see?
I firmly believe in reality-seeing things as they are-and being honest with yourself. But a healthy optimism can help you cope when life's circumstances overwhelm you. Because although life throws all it has at you, you can deny its ability to defeat you. Perhaps my friend has learned this secret, and every laugh is a victory cry.
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