In memory of Randall Gloege: a brilliant, funny and thoughtful human.
Randall, his wife Mary Beth, my friend Aaron and I stood in Yellowstone Park, watching the elk and the river rushing by one fall afternoon. We were hoping to see a wolf, but no luck. We noticed that the friendly fluffy clouds overhead were quickly turning grey. They became more ominous as we headed back to the rental car. Within a few steps of safety, the weather was still relatively calm and Randall turned to the clouds and asked in a booming voice: “I wonder what would happen if I said ‘YO MAMA” to that cloud.”
We all laughed, rolled our eyes and turned to the car. Classic Randall. Almost immediately, the sky darkened, the wind started to whip and booms of thunder cracked in the distance. We quickly settled into our seats and headed to the main road only to find that the wrath of the wind had blown a 60 foot pint tree across the road. Cars were blocked on both sides and Aaron, Randall and I headed to see if we could help the gathering crowd remove it from traffic. We were bombarded with dirt and pine needles, shivering from the icy chill of the wind and by the time we got back to the car, we were soaked. When all the doors closed, Randall’s expression changed to one of mischievous awe and he said, “I had no idea I was that powerful!” We all burst into laughter and forgot about the beating we had just taken from Mother Nature.
The first time I met my friend Randall, it was to ask him to take me on (a naive art student) as an independent study in Environmental Ethics. He was a bear-sized man, and I was immediately intimidated. Not because Randall was ever intimidating on purpose. It was his sheer size, quick-wit and slight twinkle that made him so. He was deeply intellectual and believed in the specificity of language. In addition, I was intimidated by anything or anyone that resembled authority. And besides towering over me, he was a classic academic, white hair and beard, distinguished with a bit of rumpledness. I was a first generation college student, majoring in art and no one took art students seriously.
I was prepared to work hard, but I don’t think I was at all prepared for how much Randall would make me think. He would assign voluminous reading and writing assignments and we talked for hours about the dilemmas facing the planet: pollution, habitat destruction, species protection and many many more.
I was a product of Disney, raised on cartoons and movies that anthropomorphized animals. I had also never heard the word “anthropomorphize”. I think during the first discussion, I heard it 16 times. [It means: Assigning human characteristics or behavior to a god, animal, or object.]
I grew up in a violent, dysfunctional and very alcoholic family where being outside and being close to animals were the only solace I had. Essentially, my pets and plenty of sunshine kept me sane. So, through these experiences, I felt a kinship with animals. I related to them much more easily than I did humans, even in adulthood--even now. As a result, I did plenty of anthropomorphizing even though up to this point, I really didn’t know what that meant. I was taken aback when Randall scolded me for referring to the feelings of animals because it was “un-scientist-like”.
It turned out not to really be a scolding, but instead a brilliant way for Randall to start a discussion. He used this as a way to shape my thinking. He told me that in order to care enough about something to save it, we (humans) must first love it. That anthropomorphizing was in fact, okay, because it taught us to love things, places and species that weren’t human. And if we loved those things, we would surely see their intrinsic value and work to protect them. But he reminded me that using this technique instead of evidence, was not the way to win my argument. He helped me to understand the science behind the cause. I hadn’t heard the word “intrinsic” either. Needless to say, I spent most of my post-Randall appointment time with a man called Webster!
We discussed so many things: the rights of nature, how religion affected our view of the natural world, and wolves. We talked about wilderness, becoming eco-warriors, creative “monkey-wrenching” and the importance of a single spider in the grand scheme of what we call earth. Randall didn’t care much for religion and instead believed in what he could see and touch. He believed in bears. He believed in trees. He believed in wilderness.
Randall, was teaching me to question... everything. He was teaching me to think, to defend my point of view with more than my intuition or my passion and to listen as well. At the end of one particularly grueling session, I felt a little hopeless. We had come to the conclusion that just by being alive, every human being is essentially killing some other being. For instance, I may have stepped on a pile of ants while walking to his office. Poof! Dead ants. It could be that I ate a hamburger. Poof! Rest in peace, cow. Don’t even get me started on what damage I do by driving my car. The problem was, I loved cows. I also loved hamburgers. Living was a catch-22! On the verge of tears, I asked, “So, what is the point? Why do we even try if something else is doomed to die when we take a step or a breath?”
I don’t remember exactly what Randall said, but the gist is this, we can be aware. Every time we make a decision, we can remember that the decision holds consequence and it doesn’t just affect us. A decision creates a ripple. If we can see ourselves as accountable, we can make better, less negatively impactful decisions. That in the process of living, we would probably eat more than a few cows, step on a few hundred ants, maybe even kill things on purpose with our own two hands or a shotgun... but that we can be conscious of those actions.
Randall also taught me that intrinsic value should never be ignored. He asked me if rocks had value. I assumed monetary value, so I said some do. Immediately, he questioned why some do and some do not? That’s a good question, by the way. Some do and some do not because we (humans) say so, but why is that our decision? Wow. I hadn’t thought of anything that way before. It’s a matter of arrogance to think that we assign value to everything... but who assigns value to us? Does a wolf decide that one rock is valuable while another is not? You want to say no, don’t you... but be careful. How would we know? Only the wolf can tell us and we’re just not smart enough to understand his point of view yet. Randall introduced me to Aldo Leopold and a quote that has become so important to me:
“We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes—something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters' paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.”
Over the next 10 years, Randall and Mary Beth became very important to me. Although life eventually took us on different paths and I didn’t see them very often between the 11th and 20th year, I thought about them both, nearly every day. I did not become an eco-warrior, but it’s a rare day if I don’t have a discussion inspired by the things Randall taught me. Mary Beth deserves her own letter. But as for Randall, who once wrote in my birthday card, “Keep the faith! Not in God silly, in ecosystems.”, you were deeply important to me and I wish I would have said these things sooner:
Dear Randall,
Thank you for affecting me, for making my life better... for making me - better. Thank you for teaching me that a rock has just as much value as I do. Thank you for making me laugh every time I saw you even if your jokes were lame. Thank you for the walks, the conversations, and for sharing a little of your life with me. I loved your poetry and was honored every time you offered to share a new work. Thank you for encouraging me and even for calling me fat when I was fat. You are the only person I’ve ever met who can use that word objectively and without any malice whatsoever.
Thank you for treating me as an equal even though I can never hope to be as smart and as thoughtful as you. Thank you for arguing with me about the true meaning of the word “perception” for 4 hours straight. Although I was ready to strap you to the hood of my car by the end, you were right. I still use it incorrectly, by the way, because everyone does, but it drives me crazy when I do. Thank you for introducing me to Yellowstone and for saying YO MAMA to that damn cloud. It was one of the best days of my life. Thank you for opening my mind and being my friend. And I hope you can forgive me for not saying all of this sooner and for not being as patient as I would have liked.
You once told me that if you believed in reincarnation, you would have been a polar bear in a previous life. I always loved that image because thats the way I thought of you. It breaks my heart that we will never have another discussion or that you’ll never tell me another stupid joke. But, as I was missing you today, I started to wonder how beautiful it would be if you got to be wild again. Maybe in the transition of your molecules and atoms, as you would say, you can experience wilderness as a wild thing once more, untethered to asphalt and car exhaust. No thought of paychecks or retirement or other annoying human obligations. Perhaps you can see the world as a mountain,where you and the old wolf can live with a fierce green fire.
Keep the faith, Randall! Not in God, silly, for you are a mountain and need no such thing.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
My Dating Manifest-O
Over the last year and a half, I’ve learned a few things about dating. I only started doing it when I turned 40. Yes, you heard me right. Long story, just go with me on this. I’m seriously behind the curve when it comes to the modern relationship. But, it’s brought me to this place. The place in time where I’ve decided to write a brief manifesto. I struggled with using the word “manifesto” simply because in the age of the Internet, I didn’t want to get flagged by the Department of Homeland Security. In particular, I live in Montana, where lots of wackos come to embrace their wackoness. Generally, wackos in Montana aren’t actually born here, they’re transplants. I was born and raised here, so I’m perfectly sane... really.
I decided to stick with “manifesto” because it’s time to get serious. It’s time to be true to what I want and send a clear message to those “potentials” out there. I also mean it as a new age-y double entendre. If you know anything about manifesting what you want into your life, you’ll know what I mean.
So, here goes. Listen up people!
If you think relationships are a game to be played with strategies and plans: Move it along, I don’t have time for you. I am who I am. I don’t want to try and manipulate anyone into liking or loving me. So, I’ll just tell you a little about me. I am caring and kind most of the time. I occasionally get pissed off, but that’s usually directed at my family and people who lie a lot. Not once, but a lot. I can stand up for myself, I am hard on myself, I am funny and I can be generous. I am extremely independent. I tried asking for help from someone I was seeing, once, because all my girlfriends told me that guys like to rescue the ladies and to fix things. My girlfriends were mistaken. I am strong, both emotionally and physically. I want a partner, not someone to take care of me or pay the bills. I deserve the same.
If you just want to “help each other out”, aka: friends with benefits: Move it along and quickly. I don’t want to be your friend with benefits. Friends with benefits is a complete misnomer. It should just be called “benefits” or better yet, random sex with someone you sort of know. People (both men and women) who just want benefits typically don’t know what real friendship is... at all. And although I want a relationship that includes lots of the benefit in question, and I mean lots in a very literal way because I spent 15 years in celibacy, I want the benefit to be in addition to a good conversation, endless laughter, spontaneous dancing in the kitchen, sitting on the couch cuddling (yes cuddling) and lots of other things.
If you’re married but unhappy: Run far away from me. I understand your plight, I really do. Things happen, people grow apart, things change, things are complicated, there are assets or children involved. I get it. But grow some balls and make a decision. You aren’t doing yourself, your spouse, your children, or your finances any favors. Is it hard? Abso-freakin-lutely! But life is too short to make each other miserable and trust me, the kids know, and they aren’t happy either. In fact, everyday you “fake it” you are chipping away bit by bit at their ability to have a healthy relationship in the future. And I am not willing to complicate matters further by being your friend-with-benefits-second-choice-waiting-in-the-wings-hoping-you’ll-eventually-choose-me-girl. Nope, sorry. So, run away and good luck in your quest for testicles.
If you want me to take vacation time so that we can sit in your basement and play “World of Warcraft”, forget it. I really shouldn’t have to explain this one.
If you want to uproot your whole family and move to my hometown before we even talk on the phone, let alone meet each other... I’ll run, you stay where you are.
If you want to send me penis pictures before we meet in person: As an artist, I totally appreciate the learning value. And the variety in shapes and sizes is scientifically fascinating. A couple were even fairly impressive, but let’s face it. It’s just a little too exhibitionist. Let’s avoid it. After we’re in a relationship... I'm all for it.
If you bought your car... your jacket... your shoes to impress someone: Move it along. I’m pretty sure we’ll have nothing to talk about. This goes double for someone who makes snap judgements about people’s looks or fashion sense.
If you won’t allow a dog to sleep on the bed or get on the couch: See ya!
If you are relatively honest, funny, sincere, creative, like adventure (not the extreme-you-could-die-zip-lining-in-the-Amazon type but more spontaneous and slightly safer adventures)... if you like movies, being outside, working hard, building a future, laughing, traveling, art, cuddling, zombies, sex (not zombie-sex... ewwwww squishy! And ewwww!) and me... then say hello. Better yet ask me for coffee.
Because here’s the thing. I’m worth it.
I decided to stick with “manifesto” because it’s time to get serious. It’s time to be true to what I want and send a clear message to those “potentials” out there. I also mean it as a new age-y double entendre. If you know anything about manifesting what you want into your life, you’ll know what I mean.
So, here goes. Listen up people!
If you think relationships are a game to be played with strategies and plans: Move it along, I don’t have time for you. I am who I am. I don’t want to try and manipulate anyone into liking or loving me. So, I’ll just tell you a little about me. I am caring and kind most of the time. I occasionally get pissed off, but that’s usually directed at my family and people who lie a lot. Not once, but a lot. I can stand up for myself, I am hard on myself, I am funny and I can be generous. I am extremely independent. I tried asking for help from someone I was seeing, once, because all my girlfriends told me that guys like to rescue the ladies and to fix things. My girlfriends were mistaken. I am strong, both emotionally and physically. I want a partner, not someone to take care of me or pay the bills. I deserve the same.
If you just want to “help each other out”, aka: friends with benefits: Move it along and quickly. I don’t want to be your friend with benefits. Friends with benefits is a complete misnomer. It should just be called “benefits” or better yet, random sex with someone you sort of know. People (both men and women) who just want benefits typically don’t know what real friendship is... at all. And although I want a relationship that includes lots of the benefit in question, and I mean lots in a very literal way because I spent 15 years in celibacy, I want the benefit to be in addition to a good conversation, endless laughter, spontaneous dancing in the kitchen, sitting on the couch cuddling (yes cuddling) and lots of other things.
If you’re married but unhappy: Run far away from me. I understand your plight, I really do. Things happen, people grow apart, things change, things are complicated, there are assets or children involved. I get it. But grow some balls and make a decision. You aren’t doing yourself, your spouse, your children, or your finances any favors. Is it hard? Abso-freakin-lutely! But life is too short to make each other miserable and trust me, the kids know, and they aren’t happy either. In fact, everyday you “fake it” you are chipping away bit by bit at their ability to have a healthy relationship in the future. And I am not willing to complicate matters further by being your friend-with-benefits-second-choice-waiting-in-the-wings-hoping-you’ll-eventually-choose-me-girl. Nope, sorry. So, run away and good luck in your quest for testicles.
If you want me to take vacation time so that we can sit in your basement and play “World of Warcraft”, forget it. I really shouldn’t have to explain this one.
If you want to uproot your whole family and move to my hometown before we even talk on the phone, let alone meet each other... I’ll run, you stay where you are.
If you want to send me penis pictures before we meet in person: As an artist, I totally appreciate the learning value. And the variety in shapes and sizes is scientifically fascinating. A couple were even fairly impressive, but let’s face it. It’s just a little too exhibitionist. Let’s avoid it. After we’re in a relationship... I'm all for it.
If you bought your car... your jacket... your shoes to impress someone: Move it along. I’m pretty sure we’ll have nothing to talk about. This goes double for someone who makes snap judgements about people’s looks or fashion sense.
If you won’t allow a dog to sleep on the bed or get on the couch: See ya!
If you are relatively honest, funny, sincere, creative, like adventure (not the extreme-you-could-die-zip-lining-in-the-Amazon type but more spontaneous and slightly safer adventures)... if you like movies, being outside, working hard, building a future, laughing, traveling, art, cuddling, zombies, sex (not zombie-sex... ewwwww squishy! And ewwww!) and me... then say hello. Better yet ask me for coffee.
Because here’s the thing. I’m worth it.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
In These Shoes
I recently rediscovered my love of shoes. It’s no big surprise that most girls, or women as the case may be, love shoes. The types of shoes we love, of course, varies as much as we do. But nevertheless, we love shoes. There’s no getting around it. Do I have to say it again?
If you’re an outdoorsy or sporty type, you probably love shoes that comfort your feet, preferring function over form. But, I bet that each and every woman out there loves at least one pair of completely frivolous, ridiculous, useless, over-the-top shoes. In fact, I have a friend who is wildly practical, and even she has a pair of sparkly pink sequined tennis shoes. Yep. I know, right? She is my irrefutable evidence.
As most of you know, I’ve been in the process of rediscovering myself. I’ve been losing some weight, learning to love myself (and let me tell you, this is like an epic battle of good and evil that I like to call Mothra and Godzilla need an intervention by Stuart Smalley) and living again after being hit squarely in the face with an early onset mid-life crisis.
Little by little, I’ve been taking better care of myself, treating myself to some nurturing and basically, doing whatever the hell I want. This is wreaking havoc in some parts of my life, but overall, it’s been fun and fascinating. Over the last year, I’ve been completely and utterly surprised by almost every choice I’ve made. And with all the ups and downs, the woohoos and uh-ohs, I’ve come to one truth. Life is a pretty amazing journey.
During my fantastical ride, I’ve re-discovered how much I love shoes... and other girly things. The fact is that most of the time, I prefer the comfort of elastic waist (or “waste” depending on your fashion dictionary) pants and threadbare t-shirts. I prefer them because they’re comfortable and I can get covered in clay and not worry about ruining anything expensive. Even though I’m an artist, I do have a professional job and I’ve used that as an excuse to buy some completely ridiculous and impractical shoes. In fact, each new pair gets a little higher in the platform and the heel. Eventually, I’ll make my way to stilts, but I’d call the latest pair: Dorothy Does Mary Jane: an over-the-top pair of red faux suede platform Mary Janes that officially make me six feet one inch tall. And yes, every time I wear them, I click my heels and make a wish. Did you really have to ask?
You also know that I started dating again a little over a year ago, and currently my life seems to be soap operatic in that area. See earlier blog posts if you need to get caught up. But, I have to say that my first actual, physical, in-person, old-fashioned date was a complete success. It was a little over a year ago. No, we didn’t run starry-eyed to the little white chapel, pledging undying love right off the bat. He didn’t have a white horse and I wasn’t wearing glass slippers. I was wearing a great pair of taupe faux suede four-inch open toed scrunchy shooties which made me nearly six feet tall. But alas, we are not a we at all. We never became a we even though I still hear from him from time to time. How does this relate to shoes? Be patient, you’ll see.
The never-to-be we met for coffee at a local coffee shop. Something low-key that I thought would allow him to run for the hills should he be so inclined. It never dawned on me that I might want to run for the hills. Actually, it still doesn’t. But that’s for another post as well.
Anyway, we talked for quite a while and decided to go for dinner. At dinner, we talked some more. He had a couple of years on me, but is oh-so-handsome. Around six feet. Nice build. Dark short hair and goatee with a quick smile and twinkly eyes. Honestly we didn’t have a lot to talk about, but it didn’t matter. I was just enjoying the view. I had to restrain myself from leaning over to smell him several times because he smelled delicious, but of course, that added to my enjoyment of the whole experience. I saw him on his motorcycle a few weeks ago and I actually swooned... Swooning while your driving has an odd effect on your motor functions, by the way. I’m sure I’ll always be attracted to him, not just for his cutie-patootie good looks, but because he helped me find a little thing I lost. Courage.
After dinner, he walked me to my car and he took charge, kissing me goodnight. I am absolutely terrible at these things and although the people I work with would tell you I’m no shrinking violet, I am very unsure of myself when faced with a personal display of affection opportunity. You see, I’m very outspoken at work--probably too much so, but when it comes to dating, I can’t help but to be old-fashioned. This doesn’t mean men have to pay for everything, but they do have to make the moves. And no one had made a move on me in a very long time... In fact, I had kissed a total of four boys in my lifetime. Yep, you got it. And one was a kiss in the sixth grade.
So, needless to say, when he made the move... I could hardly contain myself. And let me give you some more perspective. I hadn’t kissed anyone in about 15 years. Again, more fodder for other posts. Anyhoooooo, my first kiss in 15 years turned into a full blown make-out session right there in the parking lot of the local Red Robin. TMI? Live with it.
Here’s the thing. When you go that long without a kiss, a lot of things happen to you all at once. The gaggle of butterflies that lives in your stomach waiting for occasions like this turn into hyper-active, ping-pong bowling balls on speed without any navigational control, knees launch their official shut-down sequence and uncontrollable giddy laughter holds your brain hostage and tickles it until the rest of you can’t breathe. Every physiological system in this organism I call me went “AWWW-OOOO-GAAAAA!” I was Riverdancing to my own drummer on the inside completely on the verge spontaneous combustion while doing everything I could to on the outside to contain it.
Eventually, we both got ahold of ourselves and stopped before we got arrested and had to register with the state. But, I was over the moon. It wasn’t the he’s-the-one-we’ll-live-happily-ever-after moon. It was the WOW-my-life-isn’t-over-I-can-do-this-I’m-not-completely-disgusting-somebody-kissed-me-I-can’t-believe-I-forgot-how-great-that-was kinda moon.
After putting ourselves back together, messing ourselves up again, and putting ourselves back together again, times two... we finally said goodnight. I smiled so long and so hard that my entire face ached. I don’t really remember driving to a see a good friend of mine, but I must have felt the need to tell someone for fear the whole experience wasn’t real. She knew that I had a date and as soon as she saw me she said, “How’d it go?”
It took me a few moments. I opened my mouth a couple times, but nothing came out. I jumped up and down in my fabulous suede opened toed shooties a few times and then, out of the blue I yelled, “I got felt up!! These shoes REALLY work!”
If you’re an outdoorsy or sporty type, you probably love shoes that comfort your feet, preferring function over form. But, I bet that each and every woman out there loves at least one pair of completely frivolous, ridiculous, useless, over-the-top shoes. In fact, I have a friend who is wildly practical, and even she has a pair of sparkly pink sequined tennis shoes. Yep. I know, right? She is my irrefutable evidence.
As most of you know, I’ve been in the process of rediscovering myself. I’ve been losing some weight, learning to love myself (and let me tell you, this is like an epic battle of good and evil that I like to call Mothra and Godzilla need an intervention by Stuart Smalley) and living again after being hit squarely in the face with an early onset mid-life crisis.
Little by little, I’ve been taking better care of myself, treating myself to some nurturing and basically, doing whatever the hell I want. This is wreaking havoc in some parts of my life, but overall, it’s been fun and fascinating. Over the last year, I’ve been completely and utterly surprised by almost every choice I’ve made. And with all the ups and downs, the woohoos and uh-ohs, I’ve come to one truth. Life is a pretty amazing journey.
During my fantastical ride, I’ve re-discovered how much I love shoes... and other girly things. The fact is that most of the time, I prefer the comfort of elastic waist (or “waste” depending on your fashion dictionary) pants and threadbare t-shirts. I prefer them because they’re comfortable and I can get covered in clay and not worry about ruining anything expensive. Even though I’m an artist, I do have a professional job and I’ve used that as an excuse to buy some completely ridiculous and impractical shoes. In fact, each new pair gets a little higher in the platform and the heel. Eventually, I’ll make my way to stilts, but I’d call the latest pair: Dorothy Does Mary Jane: an over-the-top pair of red faux suede platform Mary Janes that officially make me six feet one inch tall. And yes, every time I wear them, I click my heels and make a wish. Did you really have to ask?
You also know that I started dating again a little over a year ago, and currently my life seems to be soap operatic in that area. See earlier blog posts if you need to get caught up. But, I have to say that my first actual, physical, in-person, old-fashioned date was a complete success. It was a little over a year ago. No, we didn’t run starry-eyed to the little white chapel, pledging undying love right off the bat. He didn’t have a white horse and I wasn’t wearing glass slippers. I was wearing a great pair of taupe faux suede four-inch open toed scrunchy shooties which made me nearly six feet tall. But alas, we are not a we at all. We never became a we even though I still hear from him from time to time. How does this relate to shoes? Be patient, you’ll see.
The never-to-be we met for coffee at a local coffee shop. Something low-key that I thought would allow him to run for the hills should he be so inclined. It never dawned on me that I might want to run for the hills. Actually, it still doesn’t. But that’s for another post as well.
Anyway, we talked for quite a while and decided to go for dinner. At dinner, we talked some more. He had a couple of years on me, but is oh-so-handsome. Around six feet. Nice build. Dark short hair and goatee with a quick smile and twinkly eyes. Honestly we didn’t have a lot to talk about, but it didn’t matter. I was just enjoying the view. I had to restrain myself from leaning over to smell him several times because he smelled delicious, but of course, that added to my enjoyment of the whole experience. I saw him on his motorcycle a few weeks ago and I actually swooned... Swooning while your driving has an odd effect on your motor functions, by the way. I’m sure I’ll always be attracted to him, not just for his cutie-patootie good looks, but because he helped me find a little thing I lost. Courage.
After dinner, he walked me to my car and he took charge, kissing me goodnight. I am absolutely terrible at these things and although the people I work with would tell you I’m no shrinking violet, I am very unsure of myself when faced with a personal display of affection opportunity. You see, I’m very outspoken at work--probably too much so, but when it comes to dating, I can’t help but to be old-fashioned. This doesn’t mean men have to pay for everything, but they do have to make the moves. And no one had made a move on me in a very long time... In fact, I had kissed a total of four boys in my lifetime. Yep, you got it. And one was a kiss in the sixth grade.
So, needless to say, when he made the move... I could hardly contain myself. And let me give you some more perspective. I hadn’t kissed anyone in about 15 years. Again, more fodder for other posts. Anyhoooooo, my first kiss in 15 years turned into a full blown make-out session right there in the parking lot of the local Red Robin. TMI? Live with it.
Here’s the thing. When you go that long without a kiss, a lot of things happen to you all at once. The gaggle of butterflies that lives in your stomach waiting for occasions like this turn into hyper-active, ping-pong bowling balls on speed without any navigational control, knees launch their official shut-down sequence and uncontrollable giddy laughter holds your brain hostage and tickles it until the rest of you can’t breathe. Every physiological system in this organism I call me went “AWWW-OOOO-GAAAAA!” I was Riverdancing to my own drummer on the inside completely on the verge spontaneous combustion while doing everything I could to on the outside to contain it.
Eventually, we both got ahold of ourselves and stopped before we got arrested and had to register with the state. But, I was over the moon. It wasn’t the he’s-the-one-we’ll-live-happily-ever-after moon. It was the WOW-my-life-isn’t-over-I-can-do-this-I’m-not-completely-disgusting-somebody-kissed-me-I-can’t-believe-I-forgot-how-great-that-was kinda moon.
After putting ourselves back together, messing ourselves up again, and putting ourselves back together again, times two... we finally said goodnight. I smiled so long and so hard that my entire face ached. I don’t really remember driving to a see a good friend of mine, but I must have felt the need to tell someone for fear the whole experience wasn’t real. She knew that I had a date and as soon as she saw me she said, “How’d it go?”
It took me a few moments. I opened my mouth a couple times, but nothing came out. I jumped up and down in my fabulous suede opened toed shooties a few times and then, out of the blue I yelled, “I got felt up!! These shoes REALLY work!”
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Lori & the Three Vikings
Okay, well first, there are more than three, but still not enough to make me a floozy. Second, the Vikings are kicking my ass slightly less than my now 41 year old hormones are. Third, I believe I have a multiple personality disorder.
Let’s deal with each one of these things separately, shall we?
More than three, but less than floozy...
So the last year of my dating life has been filled with a Goldilocks metaphor. This one is too soft, this one too hard (I’m sensing a double-entendre here, do you sense it too?), this one too cold, this one too hot... I haven’t found the one that’s just right, quite yet. And at this point, I’m not sure I should keep sampling the porridge.
Here’s the thing... no matter their Goldilocks category, the Vikings have all been good guys, each in their own way. But this dating thing hurts. It hurts to be dumped. It's even painful to hurt someone else’s feelings. And they feel exactly the same way in both regards. I’ve heard that geese mate for life, I’ve often wondered if they hurt this much while they’re trying to find their mate. Note to self: Ask a goose for dating advice. Believe it or not, I will actually do this.
The reason that I’m considering not sampling any more porridge is that I don’t want to get hurt or hurt anyone else, again. My last few experiences have broken my heart even if I was the one saying goodbye. That’s the thing about relationships, I guess. You can’t guarantee anything to the other person. You just can’t. No matter how much you want to. You can believe you can with all your heart, but people, including myself (and that's a huge understatement), are unpredictable. Circumstances change, people grow or change, life changes in general and there we are back in Kansas stealing sparkly red slippers off a dead witch so that we can try again.
I’ve found that if I’m honest about this concept, Vikings interpret it one of three ways: They think I don’t want a relationship or want to be alone ("relationship" and "alone" as defined by them); They think I just want sex... Most of the time they’re perfectly fine with this, but they also think it means they can ask my massage therapist out for coffee after they leave my house; or they think I’m playing with them like a cat plays with a three-legged mouse. None of these are the case, but usually I don’t have an opportunity to explain why.
The case is, in fact, that I want to be happy. And if being with someone doesn’t make me happier than I am by myself, then I’ll stay by myself. I don't expect someone to be perfect. I don't expect them to change. I want to love them for who they are. I want to be able to see a future with them. I don’t want to be in a relationship so that I have someone to share half the expenses with. That’s not ethical, and it’s not love. But trust me, a lot of people do it. And if I’m really honest, I’ve thought about it. I also don’t want someone to take care of me in any sense. I want to take care of each other. But again, it would be nice not to feel like I’m holding up the world all by myself all the time. I can’t put into words what happy looks like. At least not specifically... But I think I’ll know it when I see it. Until then, I’m not going to pretend that I can guarantee anything at all.
The Vikings are winning...
Yes, the Vikings AND my hormones are kicking my ass. First I should tell you that I only started dating when I turned 40. Yep. I know, long story, one I’m saving for a book I’m writing. It’s completely true, with the exception of having a few movie or dance dates in high school and college. And by few I mean between five and eight. Pathetic, I know.
Here’s the problem with not dating until you’re 40:
You have no schema! In fact, you’re up a creek without a schema. You just don’t have a clue what to do. This puts you at an extreme disadvantage and means that you’re going to do a LOT wrong. You’re going to hurt yourself and others in the process. You’re going to feel one minute like the world is the most glorious place in the universe (this is an oxytocin rush, just so you know). And the next minute, you’re going to feel like you can’t do anything right.
Let me put this in perspective. I’ve spent 19 years, just shy of half my life span, living alone. I had one roommate for a short period and it was actually good (maybe not for the roommate, because I’m pretty sure I’m hard to live with).
The point of telling you this is that I haven’t done a lot of the relationship-y things that most people have. I haven’t shacked up with a guy. I haven’t had a guy spend the night. I’ve never had a morning after breakfast. Bear with me, the TMI will be over soon. I’ve never cuddled on the couch to watch a movie with my significant other. I’ve cooked dinner for a few people, but the only one I was dating, I wasn’t really dating. It’s complicated. I’ve never had a joint checking account. I’ve never had anyone pay my bills for me, but I helped the it’s complicated guy financially a couple of times. I’ve never rented an apartment, bought a house or a car or even a teddy bear on joint credit. Never adopted a dog with anyone. Never had a child. I’ve never said “Honey, pass me the ketchup.” to anyone.
I have a vastly different perspective on life than most people and it’s tough for anyone to put themselves in my shoes. I don't blame them, I'm kind of a weirdo. Imagine going nearly 15 years without a kiss of any kind. Fifteen years without someone ever holding your hand. I’m not telling you this to garner sympathy, I’m trying only to describe my perspective.
I woke up this morning with a huge epiphany. One I didn’t like very much. It was: I may never be capable of having a significant other. This is a relief in a lot of ways because let’s face it, dating is hell. It takes an enormous amount of time and effort. This isn’t bad. It should take an enormous amount of time and effort or it wouldn’t matter. It hurts like hell when something doesn’t work out. And again, it should. Without hurt, you wouldn’t have a context for joy. But the other edge of this double-edged epiphany is that there is a pretty good chance (not 100%, mind you, but so far that’s my track-record), that I’ll grow older and eventually die having never experienced the relationship-y things I referred to above. So, yes I’m relieved, the pressure’s off, I can get back to work. But, I am also deeply and profoundly saddened. That takes me to my third point.
I believe I have a multiple personality disorder:
Most of the last year has been maddening! Mad-Hatter maddening. Too many fairy tales in this blog? Well, anyway... When I meet someone, sometimes even before I physically meet them, let’s say we text or talk on the phone, I can usually tell if we’ll be mostly compatible or not. I say mostly because no two people are ever 100% compatible. It’s just not possible to agree on EVERYTHING, or like ALL the same things. That’s why we’re called individuals. But, we can be mostly compatible and in my observations, those seem to be the happiest relationships. I can usually get a sense for compatibility with someone pretty quickly. And on the flip-side I can generally sense when something’s off as well. I don’t believe I’m always right about these things, but I try and make the best decisions with the information I have when I have it. I’ve also learned to trust my Spidey-sense in the last year, because if I ignore it, I regret it. Where are the multiple personalities, you ask? Well...
I seem to vacillate between the realist, the epically horny teenager and the pink sparkly tutu clad princess looking for her prince charming.
The easiest one to explain is the epically horny teenager. Fifteen years of no dating. Nuff said!
The realist. This is the woman who knows things sometimes work out and sometimes they don’t She is too honest, too logical (Lori-logic is a little different than say... Einstein-logic), occasionally skeptical, and always has a plan, flexible though it might be. She tries to be honest with her potential mates because if she fails them, she wants them to be prepared. She wants to spare their feelings right off the bat. In a twisted way, she ends up hurting their feelings by being honest about her own shortcomings. The trouble with the realist is that she never wants to count her chickens before they hatch. In some respects, she robs herself of her own potential futures.
The sparkly pink princess has counted the 5th generation of hatch-lings and built little pink chicken condos with her prince charming. She wants the fairy tale. She believes in the fairy tale. She believes every “this one” might be THE ONE. And with every potential prince charming, she floats around to the beat of her own drum... heart... something. I kind of lost that metaphor somewhere in the middle, sorry. My point is, she wants to jump in with both feet, tutu flying up over her head laughing all the way.
As you can imagine, the realist and the sparkly pink princess don’t get along all that well. For me, that means I’ve got a constant war going on in my head. Take a chance! No, wait and see. TAKE A CHANCE! No, I already know he’s not the one. TAKE A CHANCE, DAMMIT! But what if I do and it doesn’t work out and I hurt him? Argh!!!! Throw in the teenage harlot and I’m ready for meds and a comfy padded room.
Meanwhile, the Vikings end up hating me or dumping me.
At the end of the day, here we all are... Me, the realist, the sparkly pink princess, the teenage harlot and some Vikings, all special in our own way. I don’t know where we’ll all end up, but I know this. Eventually, we’ll get where we need to go. It might hurt, it might never work out. It might be happily ever after. Who knows? None of us. And fate has a funny way of making it happen although she beats the hell out of you along the way.
Let’s deal with each one of these things separately, shall we?
More than three, but less than floozy...
So the last year of my dating life has been filled with a Goldilocks metaphor. This one is too soft, this one too hard (I’m sensing a double-entendre here, do you sense it too?), this one too cold, this one too hot... I haven’t found the one that’s just right, quite yet. And at this point, I’m not sure I should keep sampling the porridge.
Here’s the thing... no matter their Goldilocks category, the Vikings have all been good guys, each in their own way. But this dating thing hurts. It hurts to be dumped. It's even painful to hurt someone else’s feelings. And they feel exactly the same way in both regards. I’ve heard that geese mate for life, I’ve often wondered if they hurt this much while they’re trying to find their mate. Note to self: Ask a goose for dating advice. Believe it or not, I will actually do this.
The reason that I’m considering not sampling any more porridge is that I don’t want to get hurt or hurt anyone else, again. My last few experiences have broken my heart even if I was the one saying goodbye. That’s the thing about relationships, I guess. You can’t guarantee anything to the other person. You just can’t. No matter how much you want to. You can believe you can with all your heart, but people, including myself (and that's a huge understatement), are unpredictable. Circumstances change, people grow or change, life changes in general and there we are back in Kansas stealing sparkly red slippers off a dead witch so that we can try again.
I’ve found that if I’m honest about this concept, Vikings interpret it one of three ways: They think I don’t want a relationship or want to be alone ("relationship" and "alone" as defined by them); They think I just want sex... Most of the time they’re perfectly fine with this, but they also think it means they can ask my massage therapist out for coffee after they leave my house; or they think I’m playing with them like a cat plays with a three-legged mouse. None of these are the case, but usually I don’t have an opportunity to explain why.
The case is, in fact, that I want to be happy. And if being with someone doesn’t make me happier than I am by myself, then I’ll stay by myself. I don't expect someone to be perfect. I don't expect them to change. I want to love them for who they are. I want to be able to see a future with them. I don’t want to be in a relationship so that I have someone to share half the expenses with. That’s not ethical, and it’s not love. But trust me, a lot of people do it. And if I’m really honest, I’ve thought about it. I also don’t want someone to take care of me in any sense. I want to take care of each other. But again, it would be nice not to feel like I’m holding up the world all by myself all the time. I can’t put into words what happy looks like. At least not specifically... But I think I’ll know it when I see it. Until then, I’m not going to pretend that I can guarantee anything at all.
The Vikings are winning...
Yes, the Vikings AND my hormones are kicking my ass. First I should tell you that I only started dating when I turned 40. Yep. I know, long story, one I’m saving for a book I’m writing. It’s completely true, with the exception of having a few movie or dance dates in high school and college. And by few I mean between five and eight. Pathetic, I know.
Here’s the problem with not dating until you’re 40:
You have no schema! In fact, you’re up a creek without a schema. You just don’t have a clue what to do. This puts you at an extreme disadvantage and means that you’re going to do a LOT wrong. You’re going to hurt yourself and others in the process. You’re going to feel one minute like the world is the most glorious place in the universe (this is an oxytocin rush, just so you know). And the next minute, you’re going to feel like you can’t do anything right.
Let me put this in perspective. I’ve spent 19 years, just shy of half my life span, living alone. I had one roommate for a short period and it was actually good (maybe not for the roommate, because I’m pretty sure I’m hard to live with).
The point of telling you this is that I haven’t done a lot of the relationship-y things that most people have. I haven’t shacked up with a guy. I haven’t had a guy spend the night. I’ve never had a morning after breakfast. Bear with me, the TMI will be over soon. I’ve never cuddled on the couch to watch a movie with my significant other. I’ve cooked dinner for a few people, but the only one I was dating, I wasn’t really dating. It’s complicated. I’ve never had a joint checking account. I’ve never had anyone pay my bills for me, but I helped the it’s complicated guy financially a couple of times. I’ve never rented an apartment, bought a house or a car or even a teddy bear on joint credit. Never adopted a dog with anyone. Never had a child. I’ve never said “Honey, pass me the ketchup.” to anyone.
I have a vastly different perspective on life than most people and it’s tough for anyone to put themselves in my shoes. I don't blame them, I'm kind of a weirdo. Imagine going nearly 15 years without a kiss of any kind. Fifteen years without someone ever holding your hand. I’m not telling you this to garner sympathy, I’m trying only to describe my perspective.
I woke up this morning with a huge epiphany. One I didn’t like very much. It was: I may never be capable of having a significant other. This is a relief in a lot of ways because let’s face it, dating is hell. It takes an enormous amount of time and effort. This isn’t bad. It should take an enormous amount of time and effort or it wouldn’t matter. It hurts like hell when something doesn’t work out. And again, it should. Without hurt, you wouldn’t have a context for joy. But the other edge of this double-edged epiphany is that there is a pretty good chance (not 100%, mind you, but so far that’s my track-record), that I’ll grow older and eventually die having never experienced the relationship-y things I referred to above. So, yes I’m relieved, the pressure’s off, I can get back to work. But, I am also deeply and profoundly saddened. That takes me to my third point.
I believe I have a multiple personality disorder:
Most of the last year has been maddening! Mad-Hatter maddening. Too many fairy tales in this blog? Well, anyway... When I meet someone, sometimes even before I physically meet them, let’s say we text or talk on the phone, I can usually tell if we’ll be mostly compatible or not. I say mostly because no two people are ever 100% compatible. It’s just not possible to agree on EVERYTHING, or like ALL the same things. That’s why we’re called individuals. But, we can be mostly compatible and in my observations, those seem to be the happiest relationships. I can usually get a sense for compatibility with someone pretty quickly. And on the flip-side I can generally sense when something’s off as well. I don’t believe I’m always right about these things, but I try and make the best decisions with the information I have when I have it. I’ve also learned to trust my Spidey-sense in the last year, because if I ignore it, I regret it. Where are the multiple personalities, you ask? Well...
I seem to vacillate between the realist, the epically horny teenager and the pink sparkly tutu clad princess looking for her prince charming.
The easiest one to explain is the epically horny teenager. Fifteen years of no dating. Nuff said!
The realist. This is the woman who knows things sometimes work out and sometimes they don’t She is too honest, too logical (Lori-logic is a little different than say... Einstein-logic), occasionally skeptical, and always has a plan, flexible though it might be. She tries to be honest with her potential mates because if she fails them, she wants them to be prepared. She wants to spare their feelings right off the bat. In a twisted way, she ends up hurting their feelings by being honest about her own shortcomings. The trouble with the realist is that she never wants to count her chickens before they hatch. In some respects, she robs herself of her own potential futures.
The sparkly pink princess has counted the 5th generation of hatch-lings and built little pink chicken condos with her prince charming. She wants the fairy tale. She believes in the fairy tale. She believes every “this one” might be THE ONE. And with every potential prince charming, she floats around to the beat of her own drum... heart... something. I kind of lost that metaphor somewhere in the middle, sorry. My point is, she wants to jump in with both feet, tutu flying up over her head laughing all the way.
As you can imagine, the realist and the sparkly pink princess don’t get along all that well. For me, that means I’ve got a constant war going on in my head. Take a chance! No, wait and see. TAKE A CHANCE! No, I already know he’s not the one. TAKE A CHANCE, DAMMIT! But what if I do and it doesn’t work out and I hurt him? Argh!!!! Throw in the teenage harlot and I’m ready for meds and a comfy padded room.
Meanwhile, the Vikings end up hating me or dumping me.
At the end of the day, here we all are... Me, the realist, the sparkly pink princess, the teenage harlot and some Vikings, all special in our own way. I don’t know where we’ll all end up, but I know this. Eventually, we’ll get where we need to go. It might hurt, it might never work out. It might be happily ever after. Who knows? None of us. And fate has a funny way of making it happen although she beats the hell out of you along the way.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Oowa Means Yellow
"It is a scientific fact that hearts and clocks slow down as they approach the speed of light."
It's a goofy quote from a stupid television show, but I think it's a beautiful thought. Could it work the other way? If, as the heart slows down, the soul approaches the speed of light. Its a thought that gives me comfort and makes death feel less permanent.
Now, imagine that every person has a little light inside of them. It might be the soul. It might be neurons and synapses firing. I'm not smart enough to know for sure what it is... I don't think anyone is. The thing I do know is that about an hour ago, a beautiful soul approached the speed of light. His name was Jason.
When I got the news, I remembered fighting with him when we were young, particularly around the junior high age when all kids hit that smart ass stage that lasts too long. There were moments when I thought I never wanted to see him again, because we were so mean to each other. Its a wonder that any kid makes it past fourteen quite honestly. Everything is so dramatic.
I remembered his "hip-hop" phase which is kind of hilarious now considering he was such a skinny blond white kid. I remembered my mom driving the two of us to Red Lodge to buy my first mountain bike. I had saved for so long and for some reason he wanted to come along. On the way, we pulled into the Rockvale cafe, where we sat among old men in John Deere caps and cowboy hats while we ate our breakfast. Me in my sweats and Jason in a faux silk purple pants suit, matching tops and bottoms. I kid you not. Buttoned to the last button, adorned with a thick gold chain. Shiny shoes. I loved that confidence, "that dare to be different--just because I feel like it" attitude. I think he was twelve or thirteen at the time.
I remembered two summers ago... I think it was two. Eating lunch. The two of us, now adults, having a real conversation for the very first time. We talked about the things that hurt, the things we struggled with, the things and people we loved, and we both wondered how we actually survived. That's a story for another time. But I remember thinking how amazing it was... that we were both still standing. And that no matter how many times we got knocked down, we also got back up. I remember thinking that the odds against us as kids were nearly astronomical, but we made it. Not only did we make it, we did pretty damn well. Yes, we'd made some doozy decisions. And yes, we'd screwed up. But we'd also built a life. Each of us. He'd soon be marrying a kind-hearted and fiery redhead who he loved like crazy. I was still on my own, but almost always happy. At least content. We talked about letting go for the past, finding a quiet place to live--not outside, but inside ourselves. We laughed. A few days later, I took the pictures at their wedding.
And I remembered the wedding. Certainly not traditional. That's why it was beautiful. Two people, in jeans and t-shirts, standing in the middle of my grandma's big back yard, each telling the other "I love you". And I remembered his ring. An enormous silver skull. Definitely not traditional. But beautiful because it fit him, not just his finger. I remember looking at their hands in my camera's viewfinder. Her hand resting on his. Their crazy rings saying very clearly, we are individuals, but we are together. From that skinny blonde in purple silk to a strong, tall man in a crisp white t-shirt and tattoo sleeves and a skull ring and a beautiful wife. His Great Dane Grimm, the best man in the affair... well, he shared that job with my grandma, actually.
And I remembered getting the picture of him holding his newborn son. A tiny little baby in a crazy blue fuzzy beanie. I remembered how in love he was with that tiny bundle. A boy. Another little light in the world. His name was Acen. I realized today that the name was actually a combination of the names of his parents. I'm not sure why I didn't get that before. Their DNA, their love and their names with him forever.
And then I remembered a tiny toe-headed boy. Mind like a sponge, in fact he learned the expletive alphabet way before I did. And he loved flowers. We had that in common. He loved being in the garden with my grandma. He loved pansies most of all. He thought they looked like little faces, and he told me his favorites were the purple and yellow ones. But, he couldn't pronounce yellow. Instead, he said OOWA, and he called me Yori. From that day on, I could imagine the pansies dancing... Just dancing and laughing every time no one was looking.. I could tell sometimes, when he was staring at a thicket of itsy bitsy pansies, that he was just waiting for them to say something. I could see it in his face, holding his breath with wonder. Waiting. I wish I would've asked him if they ever said anything. Wouldn't that have been something?
And the little boy, the fearless purple tween, the tattooed adult... now a light that seems so very far away. Like so many people we love, gone far too soon. Most of you probably didn't experience his warmth or his twinkle, but you will have that chance now.We all will.
Because "Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy."
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving Gladness
Dear Spirit,
As I sit in front of my zombie movie enjoying my non-traditional Thanksgiving with my dog Hairy, I realize that I want to take the time to thank you for a number of things.
I recently discovered that I have a brother and sister-in-law who are beautiful and extraordinary people. By recently, I mean within the last few years. As a little girl, an only child, I wished for an older brother. I didn't realize that this was basically an impossible request because when you're little, you don't know how big brother's are actually made and that they have to be born BEFORE you. But, Spirit, you surprised me and granted my wish anyway. You just didn't tell me about it, so I'm grateful to know now and proud to call him, them my family. Oh, and I'm also grateful to know his mom. She's beautiful too.
And, Spirit, you've brought people into my life just when I've needed them. I hope that you've put me in the path of others as well, when they needed me. I don't always understand why they go, sometimes permanently, and you could make that a little easier you know. But I know you must have a reason. Each person I come in contact with changes me or teaches me something. Whether I like them or not is irrelevant it seems because I learn from all of them.
One may teach me math, another fun, another respect. Some teach me to value myself and some are reminders to stand up for myself. They are all purposeful. And I'm grateful for each and every one, especially the ones I call "friends".
And Spirit, you've also given me challenges. Let's just say I'm never happy about them at the time, but I always understand them later. I try to remind myself that with every challenge there is eventually joy and happiness again and it seems even sweeter.
For all of the material things, I thank you as well. I'm grateful for a warm bed and a roof over my head even though it leaks it little. I know the people in my life are extremely grateful I have clothes to wear, as am I. No one wants to see a pantsless Lori, trust me on this.
And thank you, Spirit, for me. For giving me strength, hope, tenacity and kindness when I need them. Again, do I really need so much strength and tenacity? Even still, I am grateful.
And thank you for the ridiculous things that I just enjoy, like zombie movies, feeling the sun on my face, warm cozy boots, bubble baths and smelly candles. These things are good too.
Most of all, thank you for Hairy. Because when I forget to be grateful, his "dog-ness", the spontaneity and joy that are inherent in his nature, remind me what's important.
For all of these things, and the things to come, Spirit, I am grateful.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.
-L
As I sit in front of my zombie movie enjoying my non-traditional Thanksgiving with my dog Hairy, I realize that I want to take the time to thank you for a number of things.
I recently discovered that I have a brother and sister-in-law who are beautiful and extraordinary people. By recently, I mean within the last few years. As a little girl, an only child, I wished for an older brother. I didn't realize that this was basically an impossible request because when you're little, you don't know how big brother's are actually made and that they have to be born BEFORE you. But, Spirit, you surprised me and granted my wish anyway. You just didn't tell me about it, so I'm grateful to know now and proud to call him, them my family. Oh, and I'm also grateful to know his mom. She's beautiful too.
And, Spirit, you've brought people into my life just when I've needed them. I hope that you've put me in the path of others as well, when they needed me. I don't always understand why they go, sometimes permanently, and you could make that a little easier you know. But I know you must have a reason. Each person I come in contact with changes me or teaches me something. Whether I like them or not is irrelevant it seems because I learn from all of them.
One may teach me math, another fun, another respect. Some teach me to value myself and some are reminders to stand up for myself. They are all purposeful. And I'm grateful for each and every one, especially the ones I call "friends".
And Spirit, you've also given me challenges. Let's just say I'm never happy about them at the time, but I always understand them later. I try to remind myself that with every challenge there is eventually joy and happiness again and it seems even sweeter.
For all of the material things, I thank you as well. I'm grateful for a warm bed and a roof over my head even though it leaks it little. I know the people in my life are extremely grateful I have clothes to wear, as am I. No one wants to see a pantsless Lori, trust me on this.
And thank you, Spirit, for me. For giving me strength, hope, tenacity and kindness when I need them. Again, do I really need so much strength and tenacity? Even still, I am grateful.
And thank you for the ridiculous things that I just enjoy, like zombie movies, feeling the sun on my face, warm cozy boots, bubble baths and smelly candles. These things are good too.
Most of all, thank you for Hairy. Because when I forget to be grateful, his "dog-ness", the spontaneity and joy that are inherent in his nature, remind me what's important.
For all of these things, and the things to come, Spirit, I am grateful.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.
-L
Thursday, October 27, 2011
I'm Cuckoo for Zombies!
YES! I'M cuckoo for zombies like a tiger digs frosted flakes. All zombie movies are excellent, but the ones with humor are the cream of the crop.
The best zombie movie ever is Shaun of the Dead. It's a British film and I love the snarky humor that the Brits do oh so well. In fact, I sell a lot of t-shirts and bumper stickers in that part of the world (insert shameless plug here >> www.cuckooforzombies.com. )
I'm not a fan of all horror movies. The slasher and senseless violence movies like My Bloody Valentine or Friday the 13th: number 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...42 are just stupid and I have to say pretty formulaic. I've been looking for a chance to use the word formulaic without it looking like it was on my word of the day calendar and LOOK-here it is!
I think that's why I enjoyed Scary Movie so much. I mean, we all know what's going to happen in a slasher movie, right?
And I hate shutting my eyes at the gory parts. Instead I will pause the movie, jump around for a while and sing a happy song until I'm calm enough to continue with the show. This means it took me three days to watch Zombieland... and I loved every minute of it. The best part was that every time I would scream and jump from the couch, my dog would run to the window barking, scaring me even more. So, if you can imagine me jumping up and down singing, my dog barking at the window, intermittently looking to me for some sign of sanity and then... me laughing my ass off when I realized how ridiculous it all was. It's the BEST!
Zombieland is actually my second favorite zombie movie. Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg are brilliant and Bill Murray has a cameo near the end. Let's just say... Bill Murray, always funny! The best part of the story--and a good zombie movie ALWAYS has a story and good character development-- is Woody Harrelson's epic quest for the last Twinkies in a post-apocalyptic-zombie-infested-world. The survival list is fabulous, the humor is pee-your-pants funny and the characters actually pretty endearing.
So, I'm not sure what you're going to dress up as this Halloween, but I can guarantee you I will be on the lookout for roving zombies, probably screaming my head off and then laughing like a loon! It should be a sight.
The best zombie movie ever is Shaun of the Dead. It's a British film and I love the snarky humor that the Brits do oh so well. In fact, I sell a lot of t-shirts and bumper stickers in that part of the world (insert shameless plug here >> www.cuckooforzombies.com. )
I'm not a fan of all horror movies. The slasher and senseless violence movies like My Bloody Valentine or Friday the 13th: number 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...42 are just stupid and I have to say pretty formulaic. I've been looking for a chance to use the word formulaic without it looking like it was on my word of the day calendar and LOOK-here it is!
I think that's why I enjoyed Scary Movie so much. I mean, we all know what's going to happen in a slasher movie, right?
- No! Don't go into the basement/woods/tool shed/serial-killer-rec-room-that's-clearly-marked all by yourself!
- ACK! Look behind you! [they never never DO even when I try to warn them by screaming at the television.]
- All minor characters get taken out one at a time to build the suspense of the final dual between the bad guy and the main character. However, the minor characters are always killed off one by one in order of importance, which generally means in order of minority/gender/ or funny but expandable sidekick.
- Flashlights NEVER work, or only work long enough to make you feel safe about going into the basement/woods/tool shed/serial-killer-rec-room-that's-clearly-marked!
And I hate shutting my eyes at the gory parts. Instead I will pause the movie, jump around for a while and sing a happy song until I'm calm enough to continue with the show. This means it took me three days to watch Zombieland... and I loved every minute of it. The best part was that every time I would scream and jump from the couch, my dog would run to the window barking, scaring me even more. So, if you can imagine me jumping up and down singing, my dog barking at the window, intermittently looking to me for some sign of sanity and then... me laughing my ass off when I realized how ridiculous it all was. It's the BEST!
Zombieland is actually my second favorite zombie movie. Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg are brilliant and Bill Murray has a cameo near the end. Let's just say... Bill Murray, always funny! The best part of the story--and a good zombie movie ALWAYS has a story and good character development-- is Woody Harrelson's epic quest for the last Twinkies in a post-apocalyptic-zombie-infested-world. The survival list is fabulous, the humor is pee-your-pants funny and the characters actually pretty endearing.
So, I'm not sure what you're going to dress up as this Halloween, but I can guarantee you I will be on the lookout for roving zombies, probably screaming my head off and then laughing like a loon! It should be a sight.
Happy Halloween everyone!
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