Moths & Baristas
And not necessarily in that order.
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In thinking what I could do with myself these days, I've been reflecting on my last non-mommy job. I was a Barista once. I pretty much enjoyed myself working the espresso bar in a bookstore cafe. As is the usual case, I still hold the memories of several silly little stories from day-to-day work life.
The Lesbian
I was minding my own business (as usual), and a girl walked up to the counter. "I'd like a tall mocha." So, I commence with the makings of a tall mocha. The mandatory question, "Would you like whip cream on that?" They girl doesn't reply, so I turn to her thinking I should repeat the question. Alas, she is waiting for me to look at her. She winks exaggeratedly and replies, "I love
LOTS of whip cream, sweety." Oh man. I place the tall mocha with
extra whip cream in front of her, and she slips five bucks into my tip jar. Hmm, five dollar tip on a three dollar drink. With another wink she walks towards the door with a, "I'll be seeing you soon." Now, was I hit on, or was that just my imagination?
The Bad Day Guy
You get all kinds of coffee fiends first thing in the morning. There are those who stand there twitching until they drink their first coffee, and there are those who begin twitching right after they drink their first coffee. I always loved those who stood there being assholes until their first coffee. I felt powerful. I knew that I had a drug in which they couldn't function properly without. Mwahahah. One guy in particular was throwing Teretts inspired phrases at me bright and early in the morning, so I was being rather slow and methodical. I finally served him his coffee, and he took one sip and threw it at me, "This is
shit!".
Threw it at
me. Coffee drenched apron, coffee splashed face. He turned on his heel and squealed the word "shit" again in a high pitched voice on his way out the door. I'm guessing he was having a bad day.
The Irate Mom
Closing time and there is a couple with two small children (still up at eleven o'clock) walking towards me. The mom orders two hot chocolates for the kids. Fine. Thirty seconds after I hand the drinks over, she storms back up to the counter and slams one of them down spilling it's contents across my register. "This hot chocolate just burned my daughter's tongue! I demand a refund!" Ok. "Ma'am, I'm sorry your kid's tongue is burned, but I don't actually make them scalding hot or anything." -- "I will SUE! I will sue YOU, and I will sue this COMPANY!" -- Ok. "Ma'am, will the refund you demanded suffice?" -- "Fine, but I'm going to find someone and tell them you should be fired. You can't just go around burning innocent children's tongues." Yes, that must be my lot in life. Burning innocent children's tongues. Thank you for giving my life meaning.
That story is why they put "Caution contents may be hot" on the cup. Also, I would dare say that is why they call it
hot chocolate.
The Heimlich Maneuver
Yes, being a Barista even requires one to be able to give emergency medical attention to a fellow employee. This older man, who worked the bookstore side, and I would go next door to the Mexican restaurant each week. One sunny day, we were eating our lunches outside. All of the sudden he started banging the table. I looked over at him in alarm, and he was some unnatural color. He made no noise. He wasn't even gasping. He started to stand up as he was pointing frantically at his throat. Ok. So, I jumped up, got around behind him, put my hands together, and gave a good whack into his breadbasket. (Umm, I'd seen that on TV once?) He immediately started vomiting. Which, in turn, dislodged whatever it was. He started crying and hugging me. "You saved my life! You saved my life!" So, he began to make it his mission to tell this to everyone who would listen. He started following me around like a puppy. Actually, he gave me a puppy for my birthday. It got creepy. One day long after I'd quit that job, I got an e-mail from him asking if it would be okay for him to publish a poem on poetry.com that might have my name in it. Ok. I'm thinking a nice poem about a girl who saved his life once. No, apparently, when you save someone's life it turns them on.
Ahh, those were the days.
I think I'll leave being a Barista to my fond memories.
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I will preface this by saying that before I met my husband I was involved in, well, a few self detrimental relationships to say the least. I was just reading a fellow blogger's post tonight, and I was in awe of her infatuation with the all-too-familiar unattainable and unrewarding relationship.
Questions of the day:
Why is it that we are so drawn to the relationships that which can only lead to our own emotional demises?
Why is it that moths are drawn to a flame?
Collective Soul
Ok, I'm going to be like a school girl now. Bear with it...
I love music. Unfortunately, I'm not musically inclined or anything. My dad is though. I grew up with him playing in a bluegrass band, and you can still find him jamming in his living room at night. My husband was in a band as well, and I got to live vicariously through him a bit when we dated.
So, I got the music bug naturally. In the past I've gotten over the fact that I can't create music by being obsessed with going to concerts and watching the creation of music. However, I haven't been going to concerts for a while now due to the fact of living overseas, a couple of kids, etc.
I got my music fix last night. ::watch out for falling school girls::
My friend and I found out that Collective Soul was in town for Riverfest, and I couldn't believe it. She and I had seen them in Memphis back in 1999, and they had played in Little Rock at Riverfest that year, so I caught that show as well. Apart from CS being just that cool, we could go for old time sake.
I mean, I am just about to turn 26. I can handle watching a band in an average adult manner. I was giddy though. We got there early (due to previous night's experience at Al Green where I was afraid I would be the only white girl in the vicinity), so the local band was still playing. We moseyed along toward the stage. I'm not a "stage" kind of person. I've never had opportunity to be. I sit and I watch musicians and everything else disappears except for me and the song. I forget to yell or clap due to complete mesmerization. So, I'm not the most flamboyant fan.
Ok, that band finishes their set, and people begin to mill around. We start to edge forward. I'm getting that stomach pit squeezing feeling as I'm looking around because there are five people between me and the stage. There is the mic like right there in front of me. And, all of the sudden I think, "Man, I know how sexy Ed Roland is, and I hope he flicks his hair back and beads of sweat splash on my face." What? Who was that talking? I certainly don't think thoughts like that!
Oh, who cares, I'm starting to get caught up in the nervous pre-show anticipation energy. There is the mic like right there in front of me. Body heat is an awe inspiring thing though. We are outside, it is a decent temperature, and it's 9:30 at night. You'd think you wouldn't suffocate in those conditions. Wrong. I feel sorry for sardines now. The body heat. Intense. Hmm, I don't like to feel other people's sweat. I think I'd been oblivious to reality in my initial feelings of grandeur at being right at the stage.
I've never been that close to people before. As in, not a part of me wasn't being touched by another person. People are hairy too. And they smell. I thought to myself more than once that I wasn't quite sure I was still in the mix of human beings anymore. These creatures emitted strange noises, constantly groped each other, and threw their waste (i.e. empty beer cans) at each other. We sure can be a nasty, barbaric life form. What ever happened to a little personal hygiene?
Is there such a thing as a contact high? Oh, I think there is.
I can handle this. Yeah. Then the guy next to me turns to the tiny girl behind him and says, "You better get on somebody's shoulders because you will be crushed." With her deer in headlights look, "What do you mean?". Greasy haired guy says, "Have you ever been to a
real concert before?". Cute out-of-place looking blonde says, "No, why?" Sweaty, beer-filled pores guy says, "Heh, you are in for one hell of a ride, little girl."
Um. Ok, I know I can be naive. I know what happens in front of the stage of a concert, but do I really
understand what happens in front of the stage of a concert? I turn to Lisa, "Look to your right. That's our escape route if need be, k?"
Ed Roland.....Dean Roland....oh my god...there they are...in front of me...as in...I can see...eye color... and stuff.
MOSH PIT
Shoe to the head. Girl on guy's shoulders above me. Top off. Tits for free. Shoe to the head. Body surfers. Ok, hands up over head, grab the guys ass (or have it smack my face) and help heft him over to the next group of outstretched arms. Third time's the charm. "Lisa, go to the right." "Slam into them, damnit."
We pushed right and forward. Somehow. We grabbed the stage rail right under Dean Roland and the right side speaker. Freakin' A. We are the two luckiest girls on the face of the planet. The school girl rears her unbeknownst to me head. I start to scream. I start to jump up and down. I start to dance around. Without my control, my hands make the universal symbols for "I love you" and "You rock!" up above my head.
Also, when you are that close to the speakers, your body moves uncontrollably with the pulse of the beat. I kept thinking, "If I peed myself, I wouldn't even know it. I'm so sweaty, and I can't feel anything about my body except the vibration of the speakers." It's an experience like none other.
Smart girl has digital camera beside me. She is taking sexy pictures of the guys. I'm so not shy at this point that I turn to her and grab her and yell into her ear. "Do you have email?" She tells me she does. "Would there be any way I could get you to email me a couple of those pictures?" She tells me that she'd be happy to. I happen to have a pen and a scrap of paper (festival advertisement) on me. I scribble out my email address for her, and she smiles and pockets it. Stellar. Good timing because she turns to leave at this point.
Who gets to see Collective Soul and an episode each of
Cops and
Girls Gone Wild all at the same time? As the right corner of the stage was a foot from us, we got to view security land. We got to see cops come over the rail, into the mosh pit and drag half clothed beings over to security land. It was surreal to see boys being thrown to the ground and three cops wrestling cuffs onto their wrists. My eyes were assaulted by three pairs of skanky boobs, one penis, and two pairs of man cheeks. Yes, a man stood up (I said stood) on the shoulders of another man in front of us, unbelted and unzipped his pants, and commenced to pull them down while the guy below rotated 360 degrees for all to see penis.
Ed Roland is quite eloquent. His motivational speech went a little something like this: "What you may not know is that my little brother, Dean, and I were raised preacher's kids. We still are preacher's kids. Our dad believes in what he does, man. He feels it. One thing I learned from my dad is that if you believe in something you go for it, man. My shining memories of watching my dad preach is how the people reacted. The people feel it, man. They stand up, man. They raise their hands in the air! They remain standing and they never lower their hands as they get into it and really feel it. Tonight, YOU are my congregation!" (hysterical screaming) "Tonight, I am your preacher! You WILL stand! You WILL put your hands in the air! And you won't stop until I am finished with you!"
Amen.
He points to the grassy hill on the left. "That is my hill! Your asses WILL be up off the ground before you leave tonight!" (Well, this is true. They have to get up to leave.) "If the person next to you is not standing, start hitting them." Ahh, rockers are cool.
In the end, I didn't get to catch Dean Roland's guitar pick he threw out into the crowd. He waved at us though. He waved down at
us! By the end of the encore, we were about the only two chicks standing in our particular space. We were right below him, and as he stepped to the edge of the stage, we went nuts. Embarrassingly nuts. (grin) So, he waved down at us. For a moment in time, my thoughts connected with Kate Hudson's character in
Almost Famous. Wow, an empathetic glimpse into the minds of girls who become "band-aids". It was fleeting though. That's not the real world.
Dean Roland waved at us. (giggle)
Ahh, to be 16 again. It was fun for a night.
Oh yeah, I'm not sorry I experienced a mosh pit
once in my life.
Meandering Thoughts
I told my Polish doctor once that I thought I was going crazy.
She said, "You can not be going crazy. If you
were going crazy you would never know it. You wouldn't be able to think this 'I am going crazy' thing. It would just happen."
Those are the most comforting words anyone has ever spoken.
The accent helped.
**********
So, when I envisioned creating a blog, the first thing that came to mind was Doogie Howser, M.D. You know how he ended each show by typing out his witty thought for the day on his computer? He could sum up the meaning of the day he just lived with a thought provoking one-liner like no one else.
Does that make Doogie the pioneer of blogs?
I live for witty one-liners. I think I will compile a list of them from which I hear or read each day.
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My husband tries to convince me that I am attractive to people. If a situation was to arise as to where I would be hit on, there are only three types of people who would do so: women, toothless black men, or senior citizens. I say this from experience. Now, how can one have a decent self esteem when only lesbians, crack heads, or seniles wink at them?
I like lesbians though. They crack me up. But that doesn't make me one, right? I like vegetables, but that doesn't make me a vegetarian.
**********
Why can't everyone just fear and obey me like I want them to?
Insomniacs Rule
Sleep deprivation is a scary thing.
I have always prided myself on being a quite level headed, of fairly quick wit, usually in control of me type person. Insomnia changes all that. I can walk into a room and have no idea why I am in that room. I drive to a destination and have no idea how I got there. I look all over the place for something that's sitting right in front of my face. I watch myself from the outside, and it's as if I am walking and talking as though moving through poured concrete as it slowly dries and finally brings me to a halt. I can even see other people look at me strangely when it takes me more than a normal amount of time to register what they've said to me and then have to think of a decent response, yet I can do nothing to remedy it.
I know we all do crap like that. Although it really bothers me when I stand at the sink waiting too long for the tap water to get warm, and then finally realize that I only have the cold side turned on.
I dread time to go to sleep. It's too much pressure. I am so freakin' exhausted, and I am nearly falling asleep standing up. So, I go lay down. That's when the pressure is on. It's like, here is my chance! Ok, now sleep! Then, poof. I'm wide awake. Why can't we just fall asleep where we may? In mid sentence, standing up, sitting down, in mid stride; I don't care. Oh, yeah. That's called Narcolepsy. I'd like to hire my own personal assistant though. Merely to catch me when I just fell asleep at any given point in time. That way I wouldn't have to think about it anymore.
I just prefer to sleep on the couch. That way I can trick my mind and body. I'm not really going to sleep. I'm not in bed or anything. No pressure. That way I can just doze off with the tv or something.
Did you know there are 4,321 toss and turn positions when going to sleep? Left side, left side knees up, left side legs straight, right side, right side knees up, right side legs straight, back, face to the right, face to the left, left arm up over head, right arm up over head, stomach, face to the right, face to the left.....
I practice these each night.
What's with the mind racing so fast? I can feel it. The wheels spin across from one temple to the other. Sometimes it's almost searing head pain. And this has to happen for three hours before I can fall asleep?
Why is it that I can only come up with super intelligent thoughts right after I've gone through all 4,321 toss and turn positions? Then I have to jump up and scribble them out onto something. Or I can just lay there repeating my intelligent thought over and over a hundred times convincing myself that I will remember it later. At that point the 4,321 toss and turns were all for naught, and I have to start all over again.
I know, I know. There are pills for this sort of thing.
Let me introduce myself...to myself
A friend of mine recently had a comment regarding my personality. He says I am a romantic introvert who likes to depress herself. I remember him telling me once that my romanticism makes me melodramatic as well.
Romantic:
Imaginative but impractical; visionary
Introvert:
a person who tends to shrink from social contacts and to become preoccupied with their own thoughts
Depress:
To bring down or humble; to abase, as pride. To cast a gloom upon; to sadden
Melodramatic:
Having the excitement and emotional appeal of melodrama; exaggeratedly emotional or sentimental
Yep, that's a pretty fair assessment of me.
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These Days
(Jackson Browne)
I've been out walking
I don't do too much talking
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.
I've stopped my rambling,
I don't do too much gambling
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think about
How all the changes came about my ways
And I wonder if I'll see another highway.
I had a lover,
I don't think I'll risk another
These days, these days.
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It's just that I've been losing so long.
La la la la la, la la.
I've stopped my dreaming,
I won't do too much scheming
These days, these days.
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.
I adore Nico singing this song...
Doing The Snoopy Dance
Wahoo!
I did it. I put a link on my sidebar. I had to go into my template and edit it all by my lonesome. I didn't even go into the blogger help.
Who said the 3/4 of a year I spent in computer science classes at UCA was all for naught. (Has it really been eight years?)
Hooray for small victories.
Are they watching me, or what?
The term agoraphobia has been widely misunderstood. Its literal definition suggests a fear of "open spaces". However, this is an incomplete and misleading view. Agoraphobics are not necessarily afraid of open spaces. Rather, they are afraid of having panicky feelings, wherever these fearful feelings may occur. For many, they happen at home, in houses of worship, or in crowded supermarkets, places that are certainly not "open".
In fact, agoraphobia is a condition which develops when a person begins to avoid spaces or situations associated with anxiety. Typical "phobic situations" might include driving, shopping, crowded places, traveling, standing in line, being alone, meetings and social gatherings.
Agoraphobia arises from an internal anxiety condition that has become so intense that the suffering individual fears going anywhere or doing anything where these feelings of panic have repeatedly occurred before. Once the panic attacks have started, these episodes become the ongoing stress, even when other more obvious pressures have diminished. This sets up a "feedback condition" which generally leads to increased numbers of panic attacks and, for some people, an increase in the situations or events which can produce panicky feelings. Others experience fearful feelings continuously, more a feeling of overall discomfort, rather than panic.
A person may fear having anxiety attacks, "losing control", or embarrassing him/herself in such situations. Many people remain in a painful state of anxious anticipation because of these fears. Some become restricted or "housebound" while others function "normally" but with great difficulty, often attempting to hide their discomfort.
Agoraphobia, then, is both a severe anxiety condition and a phobia, as well as a pattern of avoidant behavior.
Eighteen
Thinking a lot about the age 18 lately (being as nostalgic as one could possibly be sometimes), I dug up something I wrote back then.
When I Learn
why am i so hard on myself
many negative thoughts repeatedly swirl in my head
if only i could just let things be
i know i'm not like others
it's no one's fault but my own
i let so many take precedence over me
i tolerate so much more than i should
keeping the hurt and pain all inside
what is within me only i can see
we each have to be what we really are
situations arise and i react in ways that make only me hurt
afterwards, i feel so lame, a more selfish person i should learn to be
but, i wouldn't feel right
so, i only cry on the inside
that's all i know, i have to live with that part of me
so many times i get ran over
there's no room to complain of my own spinelessness
all i can do is learn, and someday the others too will see
Retyping those words was weird. I'm kind of sad for that girl.
Just had to share...
I just watched
Lost In Translation
.
Brilliant.
Apart from the strip club and kissing Bill Murray, that could have been me Sofia Coppola was spying on in Warsaw.
Yeah, it's officially my new cinematic obsession.
He Ain't Heavy
I had a lot of imaginary friends between the ages of 4 and 8. I always acted like I had a brother or sister. Actually, when I was young, I never thought too much about life with a sister. A man and a woman were supposed to get married and have one boy and one girl. Where I'd come up with that, I have no idea.
I remember when my mom had a miscarriage. I was around four. We still lived in our little trailer before my dad and his brother and father built our house. I remember the crying. I have fuzzy images of me standing in the living room asking my dad, "What's wrong with Mommy?" while she was in the bathroom crying. I haven't ever told my mom I can remember.
My mom still thinks about it. It had happened at Halloween. Some time ago, I was sitting at the computer dialed on line, and my mom signed on. She sent me this instant message, "He/She would have been 18 years old." Freaked me out.
So, a few years later when my mom accidentally got pregnant, I was ecstatic. I remember how I found out. I had stayed at her father's farm during the summer. Her and Dad came to pick me up, and she was sitting on the couch in the living room with her purse next to her. Sitting at the top of the purse was a box with a picture of a baby on it (looking back, it must have been prenatal vitamins). I was like, "What is that?" She smiled and said, "We have news."
So, my brother was born. I only remember a couple of things about that day. Mainly, the foreverness in the waiting room with my grandmother. She taught me how to do "Fill-It-In" puzzles (thanks for the addiction, grandmother). There are pictures of me first seeing my baby brother, and my eyes are wide with shock, and my mouth is hanging open. My mom says, "What were you thinking?" I have no idea. I have absolutely no recollection of that moment. I didn't know someone was taking a photo. I wonder what my first impression of my brother was.
I know what my impression of my brother was a few weeks later: Take him back from whence he came. For my nearly eight-years-old mind, he changed everything in my life. My mom was owner/director of a daycare center in town, and my parents had to close it down and file bankruptcy during that year. My life of fancy toys and pretty clothes came to a halt. My mom changed. As a mother of two small kids now, I can totally relate. But, back then I got bitter and resentful towards her and in turn towards the baby. My parents fought. All of the financial troubles and my lashing out and the stresses of a new baby took their toll.
The favorite story told is that when my mom would leave the room, my brother would start crying. So, one time she sneaked back to the doorway and caught me holding his nose. I honestly remember being intrigued that he couldn't breath out of his mouth. I was trying to teach him how! No one believes me.
The second favorite story is that I locked him in his toy trunk when I was left to babysit. My dad told me that I had only been born to later become my brother's babysitter. I honestly believed him back then, and it infuriated me.
My memories from around a seven year time span is of how much I thought I hated him. He broke into my room, disregarding the "Keep Out!" sign posted especially for him, and used my staple gun to embed staples all over my favorite photos I had painstakingly assembled on a memo board. We learned to fight mean. I called him "Nosak" a lot. I did because he had no idea what it meant as he didn't understand about spelling his name backwards. But, because he didn't understand what I was calling him, it would make him so angry he would turn colors. We laugh about it now, of course. In reminiscence, I called him "Nosak" the other day, and he replied, "Hmph, gigantic sack!" Give me a break.
When my parents split, they've told me how concerned they were about him, but not me. I was smart and tough, they say. Mom had always babied my brother though since she had had a hard time delivering him, and his heart had stopped beating a couple of times before they performed a c-section. And then he had been a real sick baby, so I had a hard time dealing with the extra attention he received. He had learned how to use this to his advantage by this time. One example was how he would rub his arm until it was bright red and go tell one of them how I had hurt him. They always believed him.
During the years after I moved out of my mom's house, I didn't keep contact with anyone much. I don't know anything about my brother from that time. I would always say that he was going to grow up and become a convict because of what a terror he was to me, and I too had a part of me that figured my parents sad situation would affect him negatively.
When I was married and then had my son was when things changed. My mom and I finally built a bridge between us, and I started to spend time with my brother. He played baseball, and I never missed a game that summer. My husband was overseas, and my brother came to stay with me. I found that I love him very much.
My brother just turned 18 years old and graduated from highschool. I can't believe it. He is one my favorite people on this earth. I am in awe of his morals and his convictions and how he carries himself. He is a smart guy with a lot of common sense for his age. He reminds me of me in so many ways, yet I am appreciative for his differences. It is amazing how sarcasm and cynicism can enter into one's wit at such a young age. Yeah, he reminds me of me.
What if he goes away for college or just to start a new life? I will be
proud of him and hug him and tell him good luck. I will want to hug him and tell him he can't go. He can't not just be across town for us to run to the mall together or go sit at Sonic or come to my apartment and shoot the breeze.
I'm glad I have my brother. It took several years for me to be so glad. It sure has been worth all the trouble though.
Missing
Life wasn't the bed of roses it was supposed to be in Warsaw, Poland. Looking back, I got surprisingly miserable. Although, the perks were the fact that I was in Europe and the travel I experienced, general life itself was a farce. Everything you did on a daily basis was just to stay sane (I use that term loosely these days). The decisions we make in expat life are not the decisions we would make in our natural born surroundings. That statement isn't so true for those who are overseas fulfilling a purpose (military, job, greater cause, etc.) However, for the spouses of those who have a goal, a place to be each day, and a desire to be where they are, life can be kind of lonely and even scary.
Of course, you never know what you'll miss until it's gone. Creature comforts we all have here in the states we really do take for granted. Simple, daily routines are a lot different elsewhere, and it takes awhile to get acclimated. Back then, when thinking about moving 6,000 miles away from home, my feelings were that I would definitely be okay without my family. My parents divorce had shattered any grand family ideals that I had had growing up, and no one was really speaking civilly to anyone else in those days. I could count on a couple of fingers the friends I had left since I had run off and gotten married, so that wasn't a concern for me either. I was excited about starting anew in a foriegn place.
In reality, I couldn't utilize all that could have been available to me because I had my 22 month old son to take care of. I had a responsibility to him, of course, so I wasn't going to lead a care free life style or anything. You can imagine how frightening it is at first when you have no transportation, no language skills, and you don't know a soul on the continent except for your husband who has to put in uncountable hours at the office.
Enter Paula.
The saying goes that some people are put on this earth to touch the life of another if only for a moment, but in that moment they change that person's life forever. That was Paula for me. Thankfully, I knew her for more than a moment, and the year and a half I was fortunate enough for her to be my friend I will cherish forever. Paula is so cool. Her mother is Irish and her father was Greek, and she was born in England but raised in Cyprus. Her absolutely awesome accent will forever be etched into my brain. And after nearly a year, I still think to myself, "How would Paula have phrased that?"
She taught me a lot about myself.
She called my flat out of the blue one evening when I didn't even know she knew my name. She was managing the office for a group of women in Warsaw who volunteered their time to find other English speaking expats and do charity work for the community. As I mentioned, although something like charity work is wonderful, I wouldn't have exactly sought out this sort of thing back home, but it was the thing to do in Warsaw. It was nearly the only source for wives to meet one another and find a way to not twiddle their thumbs day in and day out.
Back to the phone call. She had seen me when I had come around the office to check out this women's group thing, and in the meantime had had a conversation about me with Tammy, the wife of someone my husband worked with. See, after my arrival in Poland, I'd had to have an emergency gall bladder removal (whole other story), so I was a hot topic of conversation around the work place. When Tammy was describing what all had been happening to me in Warsaw, something clicked in Paula's head that some of the descriptions rather closely resembled things that happened to her in her life. And then upon watching me at the IWG office, I had reminded her of a younger version of herself.
Back to the phone call again (I digress a lot). Thank you Tammy for talking about me behind my back because after that conversation, Paula decided to "take me under her wing" and call to feel me out about helping her manage this international women's group office. Life wouldn't have been the same for me without that opportunity. From that task I was able to later become the newsletter editor for a group with the American Embassy. So, I thank her for opening those doors for me. I learned new things about my own creativity and talents while working with these organizations.
Paula never failed to call me each day while I lived in Warsaw. Whether this annoyed me or not an any given day, I was ultimately very grateful that someone cared enough and thought about me every single day. Paula took me places I would otherwise never have gotten to enjoy. She came and drug me out of bed when I was depressed and found me doctors and took me to my appointments. She would send flowers around to my house and seemed to make it her mission to build up my self worth. She cared about my family, and she was constantly mindful of us. All of this was during great hardships in her own life and three young children to take care of.
I often wondered (as is my nature) what I did to deserve this gift of a person. Why couldn't I give back to her as much as she gave to me? She would scoff at me when I mentioned that and tell me how I would never know how much I gave back to her. Although she was very popular among all the expats (again she is just that cool), I think she was a very lonely person. Throughout the year, our phone conversations often turned dark and she would tell me some god awful secret from her past. Some people you feel might tell you something "in secret", but they probably tell other people as well. But, I truely feel I might be the only person who knows some of the things she felt trusting enough to say to me through her tears. She did find a confidant in me, and I pride myself in that.
As she helped me pack boxes for my move back to the states, she commented on how there are some people you just know you won't ever hear from again no matter how close you got to them while living an expatriot life. I thought how odd that comment was. However, since moving back I was repeatedly e-mailing her, I sent a couple of packages, and I was calling the number I had for her each week for the first couple of months with not one single response. So, I took the hint and gave up (as is my nature as well).
I wonder what it means? Why were we only supposed to be friends in that situation of our lives? I know we had gotten to such a level as to basically being each other's therapists (as we often joked), and trivial daily life things weren't really a concern in conversation. So, would we really know how to simply e-mail about the current events of our lives?
I know we all surround ourselves by different people in life. Some people only see our silly side and some people only see our deep side. It seems rare that we show all our sides to any one person. I don't remember being silly with Paula too often. It was a serious time with serious situations over the course of time in Warsaw. I know she was there for me at the time in my life that I needed her.
I just miss her. For whatever the reason, when a person we love leaves us (or we leave them) we never stop loving them, we just have to learn how to live without them being around anymore. It's not easy. I probably won't ever get the answer to why we aren't in contact anymore, and I might not ever have the chance to know how she is doing. But, I am ever so grateful to her, and I am blessed with even knowing her at all.
Testing, testing 1...2...3
I believe that this is an interesting concept. I have recently read through some blogs of my friends and of people I have chatted with over the years on the internet...
It is incredible to me what we will say online that which we never say In Real Life. I have found that people express love, hate, anger, anxiety, etc. so readily and so easily over an instant message or blog, yet we often hold the emotions back when face to face with each other. The fights I have witnessed (or been party to) between people who have never even *met* each other are crazy!
There are a lot of folks who could be considered two-faced, of course, but I wouldn't consider those who are my friends that way, it just somehow never ceases to amaze me what inner faces this internet stuff brings out of us.
All of this is being said in light of the fact that I was on AOL for about five years, but then I discontinued all contact with my "AOL Life" for around four years. Recently, however, I have come back to my internet roots, and I see how the more things change the more they stay the same around here. Things just get more high tech, hence, blogs themselves being new to me.
I guess I could correlate blogs to the movie "What Women Want" or this old "Twilight Zone" episode I saw when I was a kid. In both shows someone could read other people's minds. Can you even imagine being able to walk by any and everyone and be able to hear in your head what they are thinking? In the "Twilight Zone" episode this guy could read anyone's mind whom he looked at as long as he had his walkman headphones on. Maybe that is what a blog is: a virtual twilight zone enhanced walkman headphone.
Back to my being amazed: I understand keeping a journal. It's a great idea. If you've ever been in therapy, that's the first thing they say, "Start a journal of all your deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings." Well, maybe they don't add the deepest, darkest part. But, a journal is private, right? It's a way to vent, to heal, to let it all hang out. Usually you don't let anyone else in the world read it (except those you pay to, i.e. that $100/hour therapist), and one would go to great lengths to lock it away because usually our innermost thoughts could hurt feelings of those near and dear to us.
So, with the blog phenomenon, the way is paved for the entire world to read this private journal. How ironic is that? I realize that there are the funny blogs, the witty blogs, the insightful blogs, the random rambling blogs of all sorts, but a lot that I have read are actually the results of true pondering. This includes musings over acquaintances, friends, and family, although not necessarily always things you would want them to know.
Why then do we all seem fascinated by and willing to take the chance of someone we blog about coming across all this ranting and raving in our posts? When we make our cute little blog pages, don't we all want to share them with our friends? But, then won't there have to be some self censorship concerning those we have given the link to our blog? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a "journal"?
Well, like I said, I found myself intrigued, so my first blog is about being amazed by blogs. As I keep up with this, we will see how deep into my mind I am willing to delve for all the world of bloggers to be able to read.
