Not Sad or Happy

So since I have been taking Paxil I find I begin to blog and get about 1/3 way through and then I stop. It is this point I tend to lose interest and the subject seems pointless and before I know a few months have past and I have not written about anything.

Generally I feel better when writing regularly. I find this particular drug has placed me somewhere in the middle of not happy nor sad. It feels like basic existence, somewhere in the middle of not good nor bad.

I'm not complaining. I don't have the moderate to severe anxiety I was suffering, so this is is relief. Although today I found myself thinking I really wasn't worrying over things I had legitimate reason to worry, translated I began to worry I wasn't worried enough. Just like my blogging as I processed the thought I lost interest about 1/3 of the way in, and then it was gone.

One thing I will say I do like about this emotional venue, is I don't have any real depth of pain.

In fact, presently I can only think of two events which could occur in my life in which I would be emotionally shattered, everything else seems psychologically doable.

Now I can see orphans in Haiti, and although I'm able to recognize it as tragic and terrible, I don't absorb it the way I used to. There is a bottom to sadness that didn't seem to exist to me before.

So I suppose this means the shattering events medicated, would be obliterating events non-medicated. I can count the loses I can't absorb on one hand, and in that I find comfort...yet those loses would be unimaginable. There are now people I simply can't live without...

I find I have now lost interest in this subject...but it didn't make me cry.

Troy Shelly

In high school my cousin Erin dated this guy named Troy Shelly.

I know very little about Troy Shelly other than 1. my cousin was really crazy over this guy and after they broke up, no matter who she was dating Troy Shelly kept a little piece of her heart and 2.Troy Shelly may have or may not have been in some type of law enforcement the last time my cousin spoke to him.

So...one time when we were talking about this woman I was dating who dumped me, and how although I was aware of the inevitability, she held this little piece of me.

"She's your Troy Shelly," she said. And she was right.

I think everyone has their Troy Shelly somewhere along the way, someone you REALLY like but just doesn't quite fit into the puzzle of your life, the shape is sort of there and if forced it could fit- but it just doesn't...and you and Troy both know it and when Troy breaks up with you...and he will break up with you, it takes a while to really let Troy Shelly go...

So, I let my Troy Shelly go about 9 years ago, but it took a while. We haven't seen each other in a few years and so this last week my Troy Shelly sent me an e-mail asking for some legal advice.

And I happily gave it...because she was my Troy Shelly after all.

So today at this second birthday party I had Camille on my lap and Camille put her hand on another persons leg thinking it was my leg and then reached for the ladies hand. Upon seeing red nail polish Camille realizes she is not holding my hand and she recoiled a little bit because it freaked her out.

And so it reminded me of this time when I was about three or four while I was at my Grandparents I climbed into the lap of a man I thought was my Grandfather and it was really a visiting friend who I didn't know at all, and I was horrified.

I'm not what I would describe as a hugger, I would say overall I do my best to really limit the physical contact I have with most people, I trace it back to this moment.

One time a friend told me she would absolutely never forget the embarrassment of when she was a child finding out the woman she was hugging in the grocery store wasn't her mother but some other woman whose hair sort of looked like her mother's...

In every fully lived life there is a Troy Shelly...as there is a a moment of stark realization you reached for a person you thought was someone else...

Movies

So I have this thing that I am able to begin watching any movie at any point.

Gioconda has to watch everything from the absolute beginning to the end, and in sequence, whereas I can literally miss the first 3/4 and pick it up later on.

It usually takes me about 8 viewings to watch a whole movie, I may pick it up in the middle, see the end, then the first or second half- in whatever order... and then I have it. The order of it has no meaning to me whatsoever.

I do enjoy this aspect of my personality as it does not seem incongruous to the basic person i am.

I love order, and when the right thing is done at the right time, and I'm easily thrown off by even the lightest deviation from routine, but while watching anything- and I really mean anything (as I tend to watch only the last five minutes of any sport), I can come in any any point in time.

I know there is a crescendo in any story, but I'll get to it at some point.

There are some movies which are harder than others, like Memento (its backwards), and those movies that even if I did watch it in order I still wouldn't get it like Blue Velvet- really anything by David Lynch... Muholland Dr, I don't think you can watch that movie at any point and understand it- and if you say you do- you are a complete wing nut.

All romantic comedies are the same- so I really don't need to know that when the couple finally gets together that they hated each other in the beginning.

There are some parts of movies I love to watch over and over- like the last scene of The Killing Fields when Cambodian Dith Pran, tells American Sydney Schanberg "There is nothing to forgive.", when asked for forgiveness for Schanberg's failure to get him out of the country prior to suffering years of atrocities under the the Khmer Rouge regime.

It makes me cry every single time.

So in the movie the actor who plays Dith Pran is a guy named Haing S. Ngor , who was not a professional actor but was cast in the part. And in 1985 he wins a bunch of awards including the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. Apparently this guy actually lived through "the killing fields" so was it really acting? Not so sure- yet if you ensure something like that in a life time I think you deserve some sort of trophy- right?

So anyway in 1996 this dude is outside his house and he gets robbed and murdered right here in LA- so there's that...

Last night I watched a moved called "How Do You Know?" from beginning to end.

Basically it comes down to the main character (Paul Rudd) choosing to either allow his father ( Jack Nicholson) to go to jail the rest of his life or have a romance with Reese Witherspoon...who is currently involved with Owen ( what the fuck happened to your nose) Wilson...and he chooses Reese because Reese chooses him over Owen ( how the fuck are you a movie star with that face) Wilson.

The ending sucked so i wished I would have watched that part first, just to get it over with. I made a vow to never watch a movie in sequence again...

Fat and Then Thin

Tonight as I was shoving another pistachio down my pie hole I thought about getting fat.

Don't get me wrong, it wont deter me from eating, but now I think about gaining weight, and this is something I never- and I honestly mean never have contemplated.

About a year ago I lost about 30 pounds. I didn't try to lose the weight, it just happened. It was around this time the girls started walking and I found my anxiety level going up, and as a result I was eating less, and moving more.

Before I lost weight I didn't think I was fat, but now I realize I was. I have the opposite problem of an anorexic, instead of looking in the mirror and seeing myself as fat, I would look in the mirror and think I was thin...and I wasn't.

Honestly I don't think I look all that different, but everyone notices.

When people tell me I have lost weight I typically say the same thing, " Ya, I didn't know I was so pudgy."

And then they look at me - like- ya you sort of were....

So now I don't want to go back to the land of chub, but I just don't have it in me to do anything about it.

I know nothing about nutrition, and honestly- I don't want to know. I know I am a mother and I should be making sure my babies have a balanced diet, but I have decided this really isn't my job. I am the fun parent they will share skittles with.

What I know about fat content is that the more fat the better the flavor- and calories- what is that exactly?

I will put butter on buttered popcorn, I would eat ranch on an aspirin, to me a sweet tart is a fruit.

I have never been on a diet, and I can safely say I always-- and I do mean always eat whatever I want, whenever I want.

This is why I was fat.

And then I wasn't , and I didn't even try not to be. Although I would definitely be rich rather than skinny, being thin is way better than being fat.

It was after throwing a few handfuls of M & Ms in my mouth tonight I decided my weight loss was both a blessing and a curse

I now know what its like to be thin...but now I also know what it's like to be fat...

Ice and Starbucks

So I stayed in a hotel on Friday night and on Saturday morning I decided I needed some ice, and so I got the ice bucket- that is in every room- and found the ice machine on my floor- that is always there...and it occurred to me, I never considered ice something mandatory in my life- in fact I've considered it more of a luxury.

Yet in the world of hotels- and motels- apparently it is mandatory.

I have stayed at a few places that I actually had to pay for the ice, yet the machine was still there- available....and for whatever reason, where ever I am staying I do find myself with the ice bucket in my hand. Sometimes its one of the first things I do, and I don't know why. Sure its nice to have in your water, but certainly not imperative.

Down in the lobby I found the Starbucks, which apparently has also become mandatory in most sectors...as while shopping at Target, or going to the bank, or at the grocery store, I am always able to find a Starbucks. Each and every time I find one I have a little sense of relief, as if things will go more smoothly now that I know where the Starbucks is located.

When we were in London a few years back we went to Starbucks every day...and it did feel as though it was something we NEEDED to do, and I don't even drink coffee.

So- it got me to thinking about the things I personally find to be a "requirement" .

Basically it comes down to a few simple things.

1. Comfortable shoes and tagless, underwear- are in a tie.
2. I can't drink anything out of a can or consume food off anything but a ceramic or plastic plate.
3. I have to be warm, others may call hot, when I sleep.
4. No techno music when I'm eating.
6. I find having a fan blowing on me from any angle intolerable.
7. Starbucks- which I do struggle to understand completely.

Thats about it. Ice isn't on the list...yet apparently to many it is

The Birthday Tribe

My 47th birthday is exactly one week from today.

For as long as I can remember the month prior to my birthday has always thrown me off. Most of my life the entire month of November felt like a scratch I could not itch, I felt unsettled, like there was something profoundly wrong, yet I could not pin point what the particular thing was exactly.

Through the years I have been able to shorten it to about a week, and although I did feel the inkling of this all too familiar feeling around the 10th I resisted the urge to give into it, but it can't be avoided.

It takes a few days to encompass me, and looking back it must have begun last Thursday when I found myself preoccupied with the cholesterol deposit the eye doctor told me was beside the retina on my right eye.

Although she assured me it would have no bearing on my sight, since she told me I have felt had trouble focusing on objects in the distance.

It was last Thursday I actually called her just to make sure she was positive it would not ultimately grow over my retina and blind me, or worse give me one of those clouded over eyeballs. One time I was at a carnival and I saw a guy with a goiter and a clouded over eye ball, and so in my mind the three things are associated- carney, goiter clouded over eye ball....and before I know it I'm spinning.

The doctor was sure, I would be fine.

I didn't realize it until today, but that is when the "it" began, this odd sort of low grade panic that overcomes me this time of year.

Since I have had it for the majority of my life, in my early twenties I did discuss it with a therapist. She suggested in a past life I may have been part of a tribe that did something terrible to you on your birthday and I have carried this memory with me into this life.

Although I have completely accepted this as a rational theory, it has occurred to me that a person would have to be a complete dumb shit to belong to this kind of tribe.

Apparently, I was one of those dumb shits.

For me I can't help but think about what I'm not- what I haven't done- my laundry list of what I thought I would be by this point in my life - and what I am. I know that sounds harsh, but I can't help myself- its woven into my DNA like the color of my eyes- my father suffers from the same plight.

"Whats the alternative to not having a birthday, if you don't have a birthday your dead," my mother has said to me many times over the years.

My mother is right, certainly at the minimum it is some form of neurosis...or maybe I was the member of moronic tribe....

Socks and Voting

I hold socks as having very little if any importance.

Although I certainly own socks, I rarely wear socks for any other purpose than to warm up my feet. I almost never wear socks with shoes.

But this week I did wear socks with shoes and I couldn't remember the last time I wore a pair but it has to be at least a year.

As a result of my non socks wearing my shoes tend to have a bad odor, which doesn't really have anything to do with anything other than it is a fact, and certainly a draw back to my inability to wear socks with shoes.

I will call it an inability.

It may have been about 10 years ago I gave up on the sock wearing, as my feet tend to get really hot with socks and my feet are like a temperature gauge to my whole body, so I would walk around really hot all the time- until I stopped wearing socks....

At some point in my adulthood I gave up on certain things I didn't ever enjoy doing but did as I felt as though I should.

It was 17 years ago I stopped wearing dresses. I know this because this was at my sisters wedding to her now ex husband.

Granted I was not ever a big dress wearer, yet this was the demarcation in my mind- and I will say without hesitation I will never wear a dress again. If I am invited to an event which requires me to wear a dress, I just won't be going- so there's that.

It really wasn't until this year I gave up on the entire concept of exercise and democracy. We had a gym membership at a really cool gym until August of this year, and I think I went five times over the year we had the membership.

My relinquishment of most things physical came gradually, I gave up hiking and then bike riding, and then really any organized sport, and then any exercise all together. It was around the time I decided to abandoned any self imposed diet restrictions that I lost 30 lbs.

I may never vote again, as I really don't believe in the process- and in the end I really don't think it matters- it was such an enormous relief to me to let go of the idea that what I thought or said or did made any difference in regard to the political landscape of the country.

I know the argument- if everyone felt this way imagine who would be in power...like a potential presidential candidate who has a reality show and whose daughter, after becoming a teen mother, is a finalist on "Dancing With the Stars" (although the daughter is neither a dancer or a star) .

Imagine a person who has shown to not understand, or to completely misunderstand basic legal and political concepts in which our entire system is based as the leader of the free world.

If people gave up on democracy maybe a person like that would be taken seriously by an entire political movement....

So I will continue to not wear socks.

Beano

Tonight I saw a ad for Beano, a product which helps reduce gas.

I have no idea if Beano is effective, and I will most likely never know- it is something I would never buy.

Pepto Bismol is the acceptable product to have in your medicine cabinet, first of all its a cheery pink color and although for a sour stomach, doesn't seem as in your face as a product called Beano.

It's a habit I have been in since living alone. I only place items in my medicine cabinet which make me seem as though I really don't have any problems because if a girl I was dating was smart, she was going to take a look.

This eliminates most prescription drugs, which I typically hide in the back of my underwear drawer.

In the medicine cabinet I tried to keep the following;
Icy Hot, some cloth tape, and an ace bandage as I felt it made me seem athletic. Excedrin for a pain reliever, as this says I'm serious, Benedril, as this is prudent, dental floss- good oral hygiene, a yellow custard cup filled with q-tips- giving me a playful side, and the most important item- a box of throat lozenges from France.

Although it really doesn't have to be from France, but it has to have another language on the box other than Spanish or English- this item makes you seem international- translated- more interesting.

There are many who don't abide by these rules, to their detriment.

Whenever given the opportunity the first thing I would always do- check out her medicine cabinet. Since most people use this area as an actual storage for medicine it can be a tool to determine if you want to proceed with the relationship.

You have to know what your looking for.

Any type of birth control, this means she is bi-sexual, and the bi girls always go back to men. Any kind of anti psychotic drugs, but I would allow most anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs- yet its best to take a look at the dosage recommendations, personally I tried not to date someone taking more than 4 mood stabilizers in a day.

Also on the don't look back and run list are drugs for the treatment of any sexually transmitted disease, self explanatory, little post it notes from the ex, unavailable. A crack pipe, treatment for hemorrhoids, and really any cream for the vag area...and of course- Beano

Thinking About...

I know I at some point I will want to take this back, but right now I can't wait until the girls can speak.

We have a list going of all the words they can say at this point, Sadie is more verbal than her sister. Camille has learned to shake her head no, which is actually sort of helpful as I am constantly guessing what they want - it makes the narrowing down easier.

What I really want to know is what they think about, yet I tend to wonder about this with other living beings who can't communicate- like my dogs- and sometimes the chicken.

I know the pigs only think about food, eating food, finding food- its only one thought for them.

It seems as though the rabbits are preoccupied with fear, dwelling on all the things that could possibly kill them...which is pretty uninteresting, as a rabbit can be killed by almost anything.

Unfortunately, there has been quite a bit of rabbit murder here at 2107, so if the remaining rabbits are thinking rabbits, they actually should be preoccupied with their mortality.

Of all the animals the cats are by far the most clever, but I do think they take themselves to seriously.

Clearly the dogs have the best sense of humor, but I imagine they would be amused by slap stick- The Three Stooges- I Love Lucy- which I personally find felony annoying and without any real entertainment value, but it occurs to me the dogs lack the sophistication to enjoy a good Woody Allen movie ( editors note: the last really good Woody Allen move was Hannah and Her Sisters).

I have spent hours imagining what the animals I live with are thinking about...and now I spend inordinate amounts of time imagining what the babies I live with think about.

I can't wait to ask them and have them tell me. Until then I have been training them to think about what I think about...candy.

Kurt Cobain and Paxil

On my ipod I have a "When I'm Melancholy" playlist.

My #1 go to song- All Apologies

"Find my nest of salt, everything is my fault
I'll take all the blame, aqua seafoam shame"

I know its cliche, but when I'm depressed I really like listening to Kurt Cobain.

I like listening to him because a. He was a depressed person and b. It depresses me to think about him, so it really works for me on two levels.

Although I'm not feeling depressed per se I have been sleeping a lot which is typically a sign of depression, and tonight when I found myself listening to the "When I'm Melancholy " play list, I had to consider the possibility.

I prefer using the term melancholy, as it doesn't sound like mental illness.

Gioconda says I am "melancholy" 361 days a year.

"I really think its more, but I'm being generous," she said.

"Is it four full days of not being melancholy or four days in aggregate over the year?," I replied.

"In aggregate," she responded.

Harsh.

It might be true.

For a while I was keeping a journal but I found it unsettling to go back and read in times I felt in retrospect were fine, were in fact filled with moderate to severe levels of anxiety.

"The most terrible aspect of not passing the bar exam would be the public nature of the failure. I woke up at 5:00 am considering if I should begin to study again or not..." I wrote prior to getting results back when life was "easy" in 1994.

And then after passing; "...and now there are expectations of me I am unsure I can fulfill.." .

And this is why I don't keep a journal.

One would think passing the bar was a good thing, apparently I was still able to twist that accomplishment around in order to satisfy some neurosis.

" I feel like my life is on the edge of a cliff and it slips a little more every day," I told my doctor a few weeks back.

"Prozac, Zoloft or Paxil?" she asked.

"Paxil," I replied.

So, I'm hoping in about 8 weeks I'll improve on the 4 days a year.

Peter and Gloria

This afternoon my sister in law had a birthday party for her boyfriend.

Let me start by saying I really like my sister in law, and I really like her boyfriend, individually- yet as a couple- not so much.

In the last 8 years Peter and Gloria have broken up an average 3.5 x year, typically for no more than a month. They usually break up around August and September, get back together in time for Thanksgiving staying together over the holidays, and then break up again around February, getting back together in April, which last until Mid-June, then a short break up until July, and the cycle begins again.

I add in the .5 because there might be a week here and there through out the year.

Peter is a retired IBM middle manager, Gloria works as a counselor with Transsexual sex workers- Peter's a white republican, Gloria is a Latina who I would put on the left side of left. To their cores they are very different people, and not different that compliments each other like pineapple on pizza, different like tuna in a hot fudge sunday.

The beginning of November is always a together month, and so this afternoon Gloria had a lunch for Peter and his friends.

I have met Peter's friends on other occasions and find them to be not similar to me in any fashion, yet very nice. Still when there is a party with his friends and her family its like a soiree with iguanas and zebras.

Every time they break up I think to myself that this will be the last time, and every single time they get back together. In June of this year Gloria's daughter graduated from high school, and began her first semester living at college this fall, so without the complications of a child living at home one would could think this back together may stick.

I don't think so.

Around the end of January their arguments will become more heated to the point one of them will blow up and call it off, its just how it happens.

I seem to be the only one tracking the break ups, everyone else I live with just takes it in stride. Now we just invite Peter to whatever gathering no matter of his boyfriend status, it will change in the matter of a few weeks one way or the other.

Here's the crazy part, no one ever talks about it except for me.

"Don't you think they are sort of old to break up and get back together that often," I've asked.

Gioconda's family will just shrug.

"It's what they do," her father told me.

This year may be different, they may not make it to Christmas.

Although they have only been back together for a few weeks at the party this afternoon Peter seemed to get really angry there were not enough forks, and I think I saw Gloria roll her eyes, they are a good 3-4 weeks ahead of schedule in terms of lingering resentment....

The Dry Cleaners

I find I avoid gas stations in which I can't pay at the pump. Although its more convenient that's not the reason I prefer it. Given a choice I definitely choose not interacting - meaning I would much rather deal with a machine than a human.

I can't remember the last time I actually went into a bank. The fact I can do 99% of my banking through an ATM is absolutely liberating.

I hated dealing with bank tellers, the sideways glance when they see how much money you don't have in your account. I don't miss the judgement.

I only wish there was a way to eliminate interacting with a human at the dry cleaners. After trying several different places around my house the best and cheapest place is right up the street, but theres a lady who works there who always wants to talk about my clothes.

"You have a lot of shirts in dark colors," she said last week.

I wanted to tell her to shut up, but after the ugly incident in which I repeatedly insisted I had left a pair of jeans to be altered, just to find them at home later, I held my tongue.

I have varied the time I go, hoping I'll miss her shift, but apparently she works there all the time, as every time I go, at any hour, on any day, there she is- with something stupid to say about my sweaters.

In truth, I'm basically drained by most people so I am certainly not the arbiter of appropriate conversation on most levels, yet it does seem as though some of her comments are over the line.

Once I took in a few of maternity clothes of Gioconda's when she was pregnant with the girls.

"Is someone you live with going to have a baby?," she asked.

It made me furious for a minute.

"Yes," I answered. Before she could ask who, I told her I needed to pick up the clothes by the end of the week and fled.

What I am hoping to live to see is a world in which transactions of every kind are conducted with assistance of high functioning robots.

Ford Flex

For the last ten years I have driven a BMW or a Mercedes.

I know this makes me sound like an asshole, but its the truth. Last year around this time I traded in my E series Mercedes for a Ford Flex.

Gioconda was driving a Range Rover, and after we got the Ford Flex she drove that car and I drove the Ranger Rover.

Now, for a variety of reasons she has decided she wants to drive the Ranger Rover leaving me with the Ford Flex.

Here's the thing, I pay the payment on the Ford Flex, and she pays the lease on the Ranger Rover and the Ranger Rover is significantly more- so for the past year I have been a Ranger Rover driver on a Ford Flex payment.

Its unfair I know, yet driving that Ford today I really missed the Ranger Rover to the extent that I really don't care about the inequity- I want that car back.

Now I'm a Ford Flex driver- and all that means....

Gioconda has six children, objectively she should be driving a car with three rows of seats. So now its just me driving in my big long Ford Flex.

Unfortunately we have a total of 5 cars, two of which aren't driven. Although I hold no ownership interest in one of the cars (Joe's Jeep), I am co-owner of the other two cars - one of which is not currently operational due to a leaking gas tank...

Tonight I offered to give Gioconda full ownership in those two cars, just to allow me to drive the Ranger Rover until the end of the term of the lease.

She said no.

So- it looks like for the next five years I'll be a Ford Flex driver.

What bothers me about driving the Ford Flex, is that it bothers me so much. I have recently said I was done with expensive cars, they cost too much to maintain and in the end just doesn't seem worth the extra money.

I have now rethought this position.

At the end of the month I am going to be 47, which means by the time I am able to dump the Ford Flex I will be 52- that is I will be 52 driving a Ford Flex.

I have little kids, so every day I do the math- how old will I be when they graduate from high school (63), how old will I be when they turn 13 and begin to really make our lives intolerable (58)... every mile stone has a number attached to it- that number being my age.

I am feeling really old these days, the skin around my eyes look like the before Botox ad that pops up on my e-mail. The other mothers at the My Gym class could easily be my daughters, I am now officially in my late 40's.

Here is the stark reality-now I'm not only old- now I also drive a lame car.

Prize Money

My dad called me last night to tell me that my Grandmother had won a contest and that she had received a check in the mail for $4,456.78 which was to cover the taxes on the 100k prize. She was not to take any action until she called an international number listed on the letter.

"I think I'll just deposit it into her account," he said.

There is actually two issues with this;

#1 -This is a scam. The person you call tells you that you deposit the check and send them the money, in return they will send the remainder of the prize, the problem being is that the check is no good and the scammer gets you to pay $4,456.78. You never collect the winnings because there are no winnings.

#2- My Grandmother has been dead since April of 2009.

Apparently the account my dad had with her prior to her death still has her name on it, so feasibly he could place the check into her account. I can only speculate as to how my dad thought he would obtain her signature to endorse the check, and I didn't ask.

Although I didn't know the exact scam at the time, I knew it was too good to be true and I told him to not try to deposit the check.

I told him not to deposit the check not because I thought it was wrong to collect a prize for a dead person, in fact that didn't even occur to me.

Let me begin by saying I have never in my life outwardly stolen anything, meaning if something didn't get rung up at the register I didn't point out the error, which technically is theft, but what I mean is I have never taken anything with the intent of not paying for it.

I think I can say the same thing about my mom, dad and sister. We aren't shop lifters...or grifters-yet I would have no issue with endorsing a check with a dead person's signature- and either did my dad- so what exactly does that make us?

I guess for one it makes us potential forgers.

"Legally I don't think a dead person can collect a prize," I told my father.

"How do you know she didn't win it before she died?", he replied.

Its a decent argument. yet since she has been dead around 19 months, I'm not certain when put to the test it really holds water.

"I guess the prize would then go to her estate," I said, and it was at this point I realized I had been sucked into the insanity. The reality was there was no prize, and if there was this was certainly not the way in which we would be informed.

"I don't think you would have to talk to someone in Indonesia if this was a for real thing," I reasoned.

After a few minutes I got my dad to agree to throw away the check, but it did take a bit of convincing.

Today my sister told me that a payroll service deposited money in her checking account and she has no idea where it came from.

"Don't spend it, they will figure it out sooner or later," I told her.

Or maybe she won a prize....

A Princess Thing

I was talking to a guy the other day who told me he was dating a girl he thought he likes, but she has a really shrill voice.

He explained at first he thought he could negotiate it, however, when they got into a heated discussion her voice became exasperating, and it was at this point he began to doubt his ability to over look it.

Sure its true when you are getting along there are those little things that become exaggerated when your not getting along, yet I got the feeling her voice wasn't just one of those things. For me the things that bug me at the beginning never decrease over time, for me those things only get worse.

In my twenties and early thirties I dated quite a bit, and inevitably I would see something on that first date which told me a second date should not take place, but I would find myself 6 months down the line completely focused on whatever it was on the first date I found only slightly annoying to be the reason I would not be sure I could ever be in her company again.

I also dated girls I had nothing in common, and although some people think opposites attract, the truth is opposites become a pain in the ass within 6 weeks.

One time I dated a girl who was a self described "river rat". She had the look, long over processed permed hair, she always seemed like she needed a good scrubbing, her clothes seemed to be about 1/2 size too small, and she drank Coors Light out of a can.

I have never been, nor do I ever plan to go to "The River".

On the first date she told me she didn't think she really liked attorneys, as she found them to be opportunistic and generally immoral.

I remain unsure why it was I went on the second date in this particular case, but in retrospect I think it may have been I thought she was really funny- but she wasn't trying to be. Although born and raised in Bellflower for some reason she had an accent which made it sound as though she was from Arkansas or Oklahoma, not quite from Texas, but just adjacent.

So she had a Jet Ski that was pink and on the back she had the following:

"Its a Princes Thing"

I still think about it.

It seems to me that riding any water bike is very unprincess like. We dated for the summer, and it wasn't until the very end I told her how I really felt about the statement on the back of her hot pink Jet Ski.

"Its fucking stupid. If you were really a "princess" you wouldn't be riding a Jet Ski ,you would be riding on a yacht. By virtue of you owning a Jet Ski, that isn't on the deck of a boat, you have defined yourself as NOT a princess. That is something you put on a big ass boat, not a flipping Jet Ski," I said.

I know it may sound harsh, but I felt justified based on her comment as to her assessment of lawyers.

Unfortunately, the mediocre first date, turned into a terrible second date. There was a rebound to not horrible on the third date, and for whatever reason a few weeks later I found myself in her condo in Stanton essentially telling her she was a moron.

"Get out of my house," she said suddenly sounding like she was from Bellflower and not Little Rock.

I wanted to be petty and say something like - sure, when you have one and I visit it I will, but I didn't. I left and never looked back.

So a few years later I get a call from her that she needed some legal advice about a family law matter and was I still practicing that area of the law.

Since I never practiced family law, and I still thought she was an idiot, I never returned the call and it it left me feeling as though I got the last word - seven years later.

Three Derby Wins

At a Halloween party this weekend I met Gary Stevens the hall of fame jockey.

I love horse racing, and so I was genuinely really excited to meet him. This guy has been the winner of the Kentucky Derby three times, and is almost a Triple Crown winner...and it got me to thinking was one win better than the others?

I mean, when you do something amazing three times, is it better the first time- or the last time?

This guy has a few kids, including a 16 month old daughter he has with his smoking hot second wife, who I also met at that party. I have had people tell me the the day their child was born was the best day of their lives, and although I really wanted to ask him if the birth of his children were better days for him than crossing the finish line first at Church Hill Downs I kept myself from it.

So this dude was born in March of 1963 and I was born in November 1963 that makes him 8 months and three Derby wins ahead of me.

I've never done anything incredible in my life and it bugs me every single day.

Granted I have never tried to be a jockey, so am not literally comparing myself to Gary Stevens, its just being around people who are really accomplished in some unique way it makes me wonder-what the fuck...why am I not really excellent at something.

And then I come to the same conclusion, I'm not really good at anything that people give a shit about.

I could make a lame list of the things I am competent - like anyone else- but objectively I'm not really excellent at anything. I'm not saying this in any self deprecating way, I don't think most people are excellent at one particular thing- I'm just not sure it bothers people as much as it bothers me.

I've always considered myself ambitious- but really if I was truly ambitious wouldn't I be more than I am today?

I passed the California Bar examination the first time I took it- so there's that- but that was in 1992- a good eightteen years ago..so I'm about due to do something else anytime now. I can only bask in this glory for so long- and in all honesty I think the statue has run on this accomplishment at this point

My first problem with doing something "amazing" is I will need to try something "amazing" in order to accomplish it. This will be the most troubling part of the task for me- as although I think about climbing Mt. Everest frequently, I consider trying to swim the English Chanel monthly, and I would be willing to be a part of any space exploration program- I don't see any of these as true opportunities, so I'm somewhat limited.

I know I should try to be the best parent I can to my daughters- and that this accomplishment should be beyond all.

I think its time for me to accept I may never be asked to take my picture at a toddlers Halloween party by someone who knows I did something exceptional...like winning the Kentucky Derby three times....yet it occurs to me as long as I am the best person I can be for my daughters nothing else really matters.

Yet still, winning the Derby- it has to be pretty sweet....

I'm Straight

I went to law school about twenty years ago..which objectively seems like a really long time...

One of the guys I went to school with- I'll call him Chuck- because his name is Chuck- is a partner at a comp defense firm and I see him in court every once in a while. I have always liked Chuck, which is sort if big because the people you typically meet in law school are a bunch of blow hard assholes- I mean think about it - they all want to be attorneys.

So about twenty years ago- I'm walking down the hall at school and I see Chuck talking on the pay phone- yes pay phone because this is BEFORE the cell phones - BEFORE getting bar results "on line"- because this was a long ass time ago....

Chuck gets off the phone I notice all the blood has drained out of his face, and it looks like he just took a really good one to the balls.

I ask him what was wrong and he tells me the phone call was with a woman he met on a cruise and she just told him she was pregnant.

And so I'm thinking- fuck...but I say something like-she doesn't have to have it...and he says he thinks he loves this woman and she is really everything he could want- and that this was his destiny...and because Chuck is a real stand up guy he marries her and they have two more children and settle behind the orange curtain in Yorba Linda of all places.

Through the years I would ask him about his family and I got the sense marriage was maybe less than he expected, but he didn't ever really complain.

So- I see him the other day at court and he is just finishing up his very messy and expensive divorce...twenty years later.

Seems his wife had multiple affairs throughout the marriage and was prone to fits of rage.

Based on what Chuck told me to call her unstable would be an insult to unstable people. While Chuck was creating a law firm and supporting the family, his wife was messing around and working a couple of days a week as an aerobics instructor.

"I learned if you meet a girl on a cruise and she gets really drunk with you and jumps in the sack after knowing you a few hours- and then tells you 45 days later she's pregnant you shouldn't marry her. I won't be making that mistake again," he said.

While Chuck was telling me about the divorce trial I felt myself begin to dry heave.

Child support, spousal support, custody arrangements, investigators, psychologist, his lawyer fees, her lawyer fees... it all seemed really terrible.

Luckily for Chuck the guy she had her last affair with - the "soul mate du jour" - is going to marry her July 1, 2011. This means the end of spousal support for Chuck.

"I used to want to kick his ass, but now I want to send him a fruit basket. I just hope he sticks in, I really need to get her off my dance card," he said.

Chuck's story was a body blow to me- I honestly didn't think divorce was that big of a deal until recently...now that I can get divorced (because I'm married) - it seems so amazingly difficult. Throw in twins, step sons, a few worthless pieces of property, leases on cars, and credit cards...its overwhelming.

Earlier this week a couple of friends came over for wine and the conversation turned to infertility. One of the women explained how after two years of infertility treatments and the subsequent birth of her son, she endured four additional years of treatment to try and have another child.

"I finally just couldn't do it anymore," she said.

I can't believe she did it as long as she did. We had two years of the hell of infertility - which for two women is to be somewhat expected as there is a glaring challenge- yet even with this knowledge- it was really very difficult. I could only think how much harder it would be to be a man and woman in that situation- they are supposed to be biologically equipped...right?

This experience gave me a great deal of empathy for people faced with this issue.

Just thinking about those years gave me such of wave of anxiety, I took an Ativan. Perhaps because it was on the heels of my conversation with Chuck- but for the first time in my I began feeling really straight....

Never in my life did I think I would so personally relate to getting divorced and/or infertility...and I came to the realization - being Gay is like being a puppy your whole life.

I know, this" Peter Pan" existence is a life that can lack depth, but really now I'm an middle aged dog....

When your Gay you can't reproduce with your same sex partner without a great deal of effort, and financial resources- so most don't- now you can't get married in this state-- so that eliminates the whole divorce thing. No marriage - no children - your problems when you hit an exit ramp are reduced 98%.

Arguably this is simplistic, yet it is actually true.

I traded in my gay card for a straight card-and honestly I do have those moments I would like to trade it back and be a puppy again...

A Full Moon

Theres a full moon tonight and it always makes me think about being a werewolf...and if I was I would be tracking down some unsuspecting goat or lamb to kill, and it is in those moments I sort of scare myself.

And then I think about space travel, and how going to the moon seems like a really fucking stupid idea.

Recently I have considered trying to obtain employment on the Space Station as sometimes I find the idea of spending an extended amount of time away from earth appealing, yet I'm pretty sure I would have to be an astronaut and I don't have time or energy for that - so there's that....

I am not a fan of science fiction, I didn't see any of those hobbit movies. I can't get my head around any of of it. I did enjoy some of Ray Bradbury's stories, I think I read the Illustrated Man in Jr. High, and every time it rains I think about The Martian Chronicles- so my enjoyment of sci fi is really very limited.

I saw a few of the Star Wars movies, until I couldn't understand who was related to who- that whole the first movie was the last movie or something like that- I need things to be in chronological order...so after Return of the Jedi I was pretty much lost.

A friend of mine was proposed to after the last Star Wars movie. Apparently, this event had a significant meaning to her now husband. He's a comic book, trekkie dude, which is always baffling to me- I don't understand how he can keep it all straight in his head, the villains, and good guys, everyone looks sinister to me- I can't tell anyone apart.

A proposal after the last Star Wars movie is arguably a little bit lame, yet thoughtful and sweet is a really dorky way.

So looking at the moon tonight it got me thinking about werewolf's, space travel, Star Wars and then marriage proposals....

Gioconda said she would never remarry, but in June of 2008 during the window period marriage licenses were being issued to same sex couples, we had just found out she was pregnant with twins.

Since she thinks marriage is important only if you have children, and we were having children, specifically two children, marriage became something we were both considering.

"If you weren't pregnant you would not have married me?", I ask relatively frequently.

"No, the only reason I married you was because I was pregnant," she always responds.

That seems harsh until you consider my proposal. It wasn't romantic, or actually even clever.

I asked her via text.

Jody: Queers can now get married- I think we should...

Gioconda: Is that a proposal?

Jody: Yes

Gioconda: Let me think about it and I will send you an e-mail.

In retrospect she never said yes, but we got married anyway....

Theres a full moon tonight - and it just got me thinking....

The Sizzler

Tonight we took the girls to My Gym and afterward decided to go to dinner.

Pasadena has great places to eat, and we could have gone to Old Town, but it was left up to me and so I make the decision...the Sizzler.

In fairness, I hadn't been to a Sizzler in a really long time, yet it was nothing like I remembered. Although the neighborhood was not the ghetto, the Sizzler was...

"People with false teeth don't need tooth picks," I overheard a man say as I was deciding between the shrimp and the chicken ( I choose the shrimp which at this point in the night does not feel as though it was the best selection).

It was pure section 8, (909) crowd. The false teeth guy and his wife who sounded like she had one to many Marborl red packs, a black dude with shower shoes and a braided goatee, a man with a really bulbous nose, and a bulging shirt pocket filled with what appeared to be three hundred receipts sleeping at one of the tables...the unfortunate waitress with bangs, a Denny's reject.

Star Wars bar.

When I was in high school I loved the Sizzler, as there was one conveniently located near where I grew up, my sister and I ate there at least once a week.

Admittedly the food did taste somewhat institutional, like it was all made in the same big vat, yet it was oddly satisfying, all those choices and as much as you could eat.

But tonight...I was a pig among a bunch of other white trash pigs. It never felt like that to me before.

Maybe its the Sizzler has changed, maybe its me that has changed...although it maybe a combination of both, but I am entertaining the possibility I've changed a whole lot.

Sure maybe it was an off night at the Sizzler on Aroyo, yet there are just some things I am just not willing to participate in anymore.

I'm never going to paint any wall again, or put together any furniture.

I'm not going to clean a carpet, and I may never wash my car again. I'm not mowing my yard, (unless I can get one of those cool riding mowers, which I have considered), and I am never gong to take a bus anywhere. I will never unclog a toilet.

I will never again watch Japanese animation.

My dad is the type of guy who does everything himself. Don't get me wrong, he isn't handy at all, but he washes his car and mows his yard at least once a week, and he's 70 this year. At 47, I'm done with all that shit.

Its not I think I'm too good...its just I don't want to do anything I hate unless I REALLY have to.

So I won't be eating at the Sizzler anymore, not just because of the scary crowd, or the gross vinyl booths, Formica table tops, the gold, green and orange color combination...its that it isn't worth the effort- or the calories...

Yet it made me a little bit sad- eliminating the Sizzler...although I may take my dad for his birthday, he loves that place.

Meerkats

There is this attorney at the last firm I worked out who is also Gay. Her name is Jiblet and she is no way resembles me other than the fact we are both lesbians.

So- a few times a month I will have someone come up to me at court and either call me Jiblet to my face, or begin talking about a case we have together- the problem being the case they are talking about isn't my case- its Jiblet's case.

Jiblet tells me she has had the same experience.

So now I say, " You must be talking about Jiblet, I'm the other lesbian."

I don't do it to make the person feel stupid, its just as though to them I'm a meerkat and I look just like the other meerkats...its the lumping us all in the same place I don't like.

A few times a month someone will tell me I look like Ellen Degeneres and I so don't look like her at all. May be its the lack of dress wearing- I just can't know, but people say it all to me all the time.

I'm guessing people aren't walking up to Ellen and telling her she resembles Jody Downey, so I think this is a unilateral problem, flowing just in my direction, but then again- maybe people are telling Ellen she looks like that Gay woman from the show Glee- whatever her name is....

The other day I worked with a court reporter who told me that her and her husband "just love Rachel Maddow", what she was really telling me is that she was down with the lezbos. It was an awkward moment, as I was unsure how to respond-yet I appreciated the gesture, I prefer this over hostility.

Gioconda says that being Gay increases a persons overall cool factor, I tend to disagree. Overall I have found it to be a pain in the ass, but I think that's mostly because I endured a queer childhood, which at best was isolating.

I grew up feeling as though no one knew me, and if they did chances were pretty good they would not like me- or not just not like me, but try to kick the shit out of me. Growing up in Orange County in the 1980's it was like illegal to be Gay.

I didn't really understand the people I was around, and they certainly didn't understand me. I felt as though I was on the outside looking in, which it something I still struggle with to this day.

Sometimes I wonder what I would be like as a queer teenager in today's world, I don't know...it would have to be easier, but then I think maybe not...maybe it wouldn't be the same - I'm not sure. When you are different from 95% of the women in the world, its not easy...

So with facebook I'm now reconnecting with people I knew in high school, and although there have been a few troubling encounters, overall the majority of the people I have "friended" from those years have been kind and accepting.

Still- when I posted that I was still married after the ruling on Prop 8, a woman I was never friends with in high school, but "friend" in facebook world, commented that - she would not comment because she was "very conservative".

So by not commenting- she was clear in her message- I should not be married. I wanted to punch her in the head. She was an ugly heartless mean girl in high school and 30 years later she was that same person.

I happen to know this woman was on marriage #2...so theres that. I blocked her, but fantasized about exacting a more personal form of revenge. This really, really bothered me.

So here's the deal- straight people never and I mean NEVER have to deal with this type of crap. They never have to rationalize their lives to anyone...no one ever says to straight people- if you haven't had sex with the same sex how do you know you aren't Gay?

Yet I get this all the time.

Being Gay changes who you are in the world- but growing up Gay changes who you are to the core. Its much easier for Gioconda to be "out" as she enjoyed the privileges of heterosexuality for the majority of her life and with that privilege a membership in a club I have never been nor could I ever be a member.

Being a parent has changed much of this for me. In the end I think- or hope- everyone wants the same thing for their children, and so with that there is a commonality I share with most of the world I hadn't before, and this has taken me to another side of life which is inclusive for the most part.

What I do have is I've been true to myself, I've never tried to be anything other than who I am- be that good or bad.

And I remain thankful no one has told me I look like Martina, at least not yet....

A diversion from working....

So I have this thing- when I didn't have a "job"- as in when I was working as a contract attorney, I was constantly thinking about getting a job-job. Now I have a job-job and I constantly worry about loosing it...which maybe if I was working instead of writing this stupid blog I could relieve some of my stress...

But I won't do that- I will continue to write this and in a few minutes I'll go outside and smoke...so theres that.

I don't help myself in any way.

Gioconda's father says if it was fun to work you wouldn't get paid for it...which has certainly been my experience. I know I shouldn't complain- because I get paid a relatively good amount of money in relation to the actual work I do- meaning I was sweeper at Disneyland for about $12.34 an hour during college and that really sucked shit, so comparatively...

Its difficult for me to find a comfortable spot in most situations- work is no different I suppose.

Recently I have considered what I think must be the most difficult job on the planet, pre-school teacher. It must be completely unnerving, I have two and find it utterly overwhelming- I can't imagine having 30...

Tonight I was cleaning up the kitchen and for reasons still unknown to me Sadie got so upset she stopped breathing.

This is something she does...and it freaks me out like nothing I have ever experienced. Our pediatrician says at worse she will pass out and then start breathing...great.

Here's the problem- no one bothers to mention this stuff when you are considering having children.

It would have been nice for someone to just say something like ;

" By the way, if you have children your life wil become a preoccupation of keeping them alive, and this is a one way street- your childern will not be on the same page and will frequently do things contra indicated to living..."

I love my daughters beyond measure- yet had I had any working knowledge of what it would be like...

After I told a friend of mine we were expecting twins she gave me a really tight hug. At the time I thought she was just happy for me, but now I know what she meant- I wish she would have just said the words-

" You have no fucking clue what is about to happen to you..."

Me and Vanessa

Early this morning I had a dream I was in the Walmart buying gardening tools.

After leaving the store I ran into my good friend, Vanessa Williams who had just come from the dentist. She had new veneers put on her teeth and wanted to show me. There was a chemistry between us, and when she licked the end of my nose it felt both intimate and sexy...and in all I thoroughly enjoyed it.

While walking her to her car across what appeared to be a meadow from the corner of my eye I noticed a dinosaur in the distance. Walking upright on two legs, it was a few moments before he noticed me.

It was only a matter of time before he was on me, but somehow although locked in his jaws I was able to free myself. Objectively one would think that this would be terrifying, yet I felt no terror.

The dinosaur then headed toward a river flowing through the meadow to attack two pigs, who strongly resembled my pigs, perhaps distant cousins of my pigs, I simply wasn't close enough to be certain.

Luckily for the pigs there was a freighter headed down the river followed by two cowboys on horse back who quickly lassoed the beast and tied him up- the next time I saw the dinosaur he was hog tied on the deck of the freighter.

"You should take him to a museum," I suggested to captain of the boat.

Before heading back through the meadow I took a moment to reflect on the events, its not every day you get assaulted by a dinosaur while walking Vanessa Williams to her car after she shows you her new teeth and puts her tongue on your face.

Apparently Vanessa ditched me just prior to my being accosted, which is disappointing as it did feel as though there was at least a little something between us.

Although uncertain what government entity one should call in case of a dinosaur attack, it did feel as though she could have at least tried to hit it with her car or something...some diversion.

That lick to the bridge of my nose was seducing, but its over between Vanessa and I - I have to draw the line somewhere....

I briefly thought about trying to decode this dream- but came to the conclusion I must be going through something- or a lot of something and decided to just leave it at that....

Jealousy

Recently I had a conversation with a woman who is going through a relatively amiable divorce. I say relatively as in my experience no break up is ever amiable- throw in issues of child custody and money- in the end its all a cluster fuck even in the best of circumstances.

So she hasn't worked in nine years as she has stayed at home to raise their two children (9 and 6). He has maintained the spacious home they bought several years back, and she has taken residence in a small rental.

Although he is paying her support she is still struggling financially, she hasn't been able to find solid employment and her 9 year old son is being bullied at school.

"I have the support of my family, and my children know that I really love them," she said in mitigation of her current plight.

In talking about her relationship she told me her soon to be ex-husband was disconnected, he didn't care what she did or who she did it with. I didn't ask her but I got the feeling she didn't think he ever really loved her.

He wasn't jealous....

I have been through my share of break-ups. At this point I would say I would much rather be the dumpee rather than the dumper, although I certainly have been on both ends.

Once I dated a woman who I was exceptionally crazy about. There was passion, and with that a level on intensity and subsequent jealousy I had never experienced.

When I began seeing her I had just been dumped by another woman with whom I was maintaining a "friendship", mostly out of my desire to not feel completely discarded.

Predictably this became a huge issue in our relationship. At first I found it somewhat flattering, reeling from being the dumpee, it felt as though her jealously was a source of security- she wouldn't leave as the mere thought of me being with another woman was intolerable to her.

In order to maintain a degree of harmony I would update her at the beginning of the week with my schedule.

This seemed to work unless there was an unexpected change. One time after a visit to the dentist to repair a crown that had come loose , an event which was on the schedule, I had to have a unexpected root canal.

In my life I have had two root canals and these procedures are at the best painful and unnerving, understandably through the course of the afternoon I didn't have an opportunity to call the woman I was dating.

Once I was finished with my long hellish afternoon, the multiple voice mails she left told me every thing I needed to know.

The first one was pleasant enough- just checking to see how it went at the dentist- by the fourth message she wasn't quite as friendly- as in where the fuck are you.

Panicked I called her the minute I left the office.

"You don't sound right, you sound like you have been drinking," she said.

No shit- I had a root canal. But I didn't say that, because it felt as though her jealously was somehow linked to her desire for me and only me.

After a few minutes on the phone I was able to convince her I spent the afternoon in the dentist chair not in the bed of another woman. After being satisfied I was really where I said I was the subject of my root canal and subsequent recovery was not revisited.

Once I recovered from my dental trauma and had an opportunity to reflect on the event I came to the realization that this woman I thought loved me- really didn't.

Her jealously was about her, not about how she felt about me at all...I happened to be the person in that specific place in her life. I was no different from her last lover or the next lover...I was merely a space holder in her life at that particular moment in time.

Although it took me a while to disconnect myself from my feelings this sobering realization set me on the path.

Inevitably the relationship cooled, and at lunch one day she told me she was dating another person she thought she really liked and needed to stop seeing me completely, which I understood, but it still felt like a loss.

So at the moments I found myself missing her- I just thought about about my tooth....

Happiness

Recently while arguing about something I truly can not recall, Gioconda told me being married to a man is the same as being married to a woman.

So this means either, she's right, it is the same - or that she married the wrong person twice.

I mean, a mistake feels like a mistake - right?

So there's that.

Either way it got me to thinking about it, does everyone end up in the same place, in the end are most marriages more the same than different?

Candidly I don't know that many happy married people, but I'm not sure that they were happy single people- so theres no real control group. And really, other people don't "make" us happy, yet I find other people can make me really miserable....

Thinking back at my life thus far I can't tell you when I was happiest.

I've been more tired than I am now, certainly much more intense, but happier...maybe. Recently I told someone I whose opinion I trusted that I thought 99% of the problems of my life could be solved with money.

"You think it would solve your problems but I won't," she said.

Although I do think that she may know what she is talking about I'm just not certain I believe her. I remain convinced money can solve problems, more specifically my problems, and in turn I would be happy...or at least that is how it works in my head.

But I do know that nothing is ever what you think it is going to be, for me things are rarely more terrible than I imagined, because I tend to be worse case scenario right off the bat, but there are those times things turn out to be really great just in a different way. ..and I like that the best- terrific in a way I had never planned...

I guess happiness is not a destination, but a process.

But I'll continue to play lotto...

My guts

There is a commercial for a digestive yogurt product featuring a what appears be a puppet of a stomach/ upper and lower intestines.

He (or she) looks friendly as it has eyes close to what appears to be the esophagus. So in this ad there is the digestive system replica and a woman who seems to be the owner.

She wakes up with him (or her) they roll out of bed together, ride horses, blow bubbles, objectively it looks like they are having a pretty good time. Although I can't be certain of the name of the actual product, it may start with a G or a F, the point of the commerical is to make friends with your gut.

I guess its sort of funny, but it got me to thinking, maybe she and her gut are more than just friends, I don't know - it just seemed like there was some sort of chemistry between them. I'm not saying the relationship seemed sexual per se, I'm just saying they seemed really very close- and I just don't have that kind of relationship with any part of my body.

Maybe my hands because I see them a lot, but certainly nothing internally I don't even feel that connected to my own toes or feet.

So I have considered the possibility I'm not so close to my body because I don't take good enough care of it.

I used to think a lot about working out and eating right, but I've pretty much given up on all of that at this point. I know, I have young children and I need to do everything in my power to stay healthy for them, but I think I am.

My paternal Grandfather worked in as a auto mechanic his entire life. He was exposed to asbestos, smoke cigarettes, ate vegetables rarely, ate organic anything never and he lived to be 87.

My Great Grandfather lived to be 109 and I watched him fry eggs in bacon fat, (in a cast iron skillet filled with carcinogens), and eat the entire mess on a piece of wonder white bread.

I'm just not convinced that other than gaining a ton of weight, I'm not going to really do anything that will decrease or increase my life span for more than 5 months, so it's just not worth it.

So I take no interest in getting to know my gut, my spleen, or even my liver more than I already do, in fact I would really prefer my entire GI tract keep to itself.

Edward and Wallis

In December of 1936 months into his rein as the King of England Edward VIII caused a constitutional crisis in Great Britain when he proposed marriage to the twice divorced American socialite Wallis Simpson.

Since the marriage was opposed by the Church of England, and the population could never accept a woman with two living ex-husbands as the Queen of England, Edward abdicated the throne.

So in order to marry the woman he loved he changed the course of history and gave up being the King of England.

Admittedly, he still was a Duke and lived the rest of his life in absolute leisure. He married Wallis Simpson within a year after giving up the crown and they lived together until his death 35 years later.

According to what I have read Edward fell in love with Wallis due to her domineering manner and abrasive irreverence toward his position.

Wallis didn't really give a shit he was the King and he dug it.

In the words of his official biographer, he became "slavishly dependent" on her.

Slavishly dependent. Like a slave...

And so the King became a Duke, and George IV, Edward's younger brother became the King, and after his death George's daughter Elizabeth II became of the reigning monarch.

Elizabeth's father George VI was not suppose to be the King, so because of this twist of fate she became a Queen she was not born in line to be.

So Elizabeth's first son is named Charles and although unfortunate looking is heir apparent to be the King of England and with this in his pocket he is able to get a stunningly beautiful woman named Diana Spencer to marry him...and they have this amazing wedding that the entire world literally stops to watch...and so fast forward a few years...and she finds herself in a speeding car in a tunnel in Paris with photographers chasing her and a drunk chauffeur...

Thus, Edward's abdication may have proximately resulted in Lady Diana's death...yet I'm able to put that tragic event aside for the obvious reason- is there a bigger move?

Really?

Giving up being a King for love.

Although I'm certain being royalty has its draw backs, Edward wasn't going to be beheaded, or even over thrown- sure there's responsibility involved, but from my angle, if there is not any bloody coup on the horizon, being the King of anything seems like it would be pretty cool.

Yet I think in the end Edward had no choice- his life must have felt unimaginable without Wallis Simpson, for whatever reasons she simply held his heart.

A love slavishly dependent.

I wish I had never....

I have really wanted to blog but everything I write turns out sounding bitter and generally ugly so I've not published anything I've written for a while.

I had a post about a birthday party we went to at a house that was filthy...which although not bitter per se, in reality didn't need to be retold. In fact it was over a week ago and I am still struggling with some of the images.

So this morning I'm up at 5:30 am thinking about all the Persian rugs I have in the attic. I have spent literally spent thousands of dollars on rugs that now lay in mouth balls wrapped in green hefty bags.

With the girls and the animals I've put the lion's share away. Each rug is a work of art and having them in the house brought light and color, yet I couldn't stomach having them ruined. It is my hope the roof rats don't enjoy snacking on them.

So I'm thinking - fuck- why did I buy all those rugs...it's 5:30 on a Saturday.

When I was a kid my dad's favorite phrase was 'I wish I had never...' and then fill in the blank.

I never heard him say he 'wished he had never...' had children or moved from Iowa to California, but other than those two things he pretty much covered everything else. Every house, every car, there was no purchase made that was not subjected to 'I wish I had never...'.

Regret.

So now I have it...thinking about rugs I bought from my sister-in -law's Iranian ex boy friend was the first regret of the day.

For me there is a constant stream of regrets running through my mind on a continual basis, like the news crawl on CNN.

'...I should have not left that hamster outside in the habitrail when I was in the sixth grade...' and then there's '...I should have gone away to college...'

Its always there, flowing through my head, a transparency over whatever else I'm doing.

Since my father regretted the vast majority of his decisions he backed into life, where as I decided to move forward- but we were left with virtually the same result.

I thought if I was more deliberate it might somehow change for me, that his regret was somehow linked to his seemingly lack of control over his life, a turtle on his back.

Now I think it has to do with our inability to allow for mistakes, because in that we are both the same - my father and I- we don't allow mistakes for ourselves or others.

I don't want my daughter's to make mistakes, but I certainly would never want them to know it.

To forgive your own mistakes is to live without the burden of regret, and it is a burden I truly don't want for either of them.

About 5 days before Joe took his own life I knew he was depressed, but didn't know to what extent. I specifically asked Gioconda about it.

"He wouldn't kill himself, right...," are the exact words I said to her.

"No way. I've seen him so much worse, and besides he's Catholic," she replied.

So we know how this turns out, 5 days later I find myself standing behind yellow police tape outside his house hearing the news, and then life was turned on its head.

The profound consequence of that day left all of us unraveled, a weight around our necks, which is never removed but coped with...

There was something in me that told me Joe was near the edge, but I didn't act.

I should have told him that he needed to be strong for Julien who was leaving for this freshman year at Cal the next week, and explain to him how terrible it would be for Aidan to loose his father at the age of 11.

I could have told him it would be the unmooring of his own mother, and how his sons would struggle to understand why he would leave them in that manner. How they would all be left untethered.

I should have told him it would fundamentally change Gioconda, robbing her of her optimism, and that she would be filled with her own regret- how she would miss him- how they would all miss him -

But I never said any of that to Joe....

So this regret dwarfs the others - really....

Today is 9/25/2010. This day holds no other significance to me other than the following:

I'm going to forgive Joe's mistake...and I'm going to forgive mine....all of mine.

Moving forward deliberately....

The Manner of my Death

My dad tells me no matter what he doesn't want a memorial service after he dies.

I have every intention of defying his wish, but I get it. The thought of people sitting around being sad your dead is unappealing to me as well. In fact, I think this is the most major drawback about being a parent, it limits the possibility my death will simply go unnoticed.

Certainly, I would have to outlive my immediate family, but I could be gone a full year before I think any of my nephews or the boys would really notice, but now with my daughters being here I wont be able to slip under the radar so easily.

I contemplate my own death at least once a day, and have since I can remember. Once I had a dream I was on a plane that was about to crash, knowing I had only minutes left to live I looked at the person next to me, who happened to be a very cute girl and asked her if she wanted to hold my hand.

The last minutes of our lives we were sharing, in retrospect, I should have asked her to kiss me, but based on the circumstances, impending death, it seemed inappropriate.

So as I sat there holding the hand of a cute girl before I died the last thing I thought was...this is how it ends.

Really.

I didn't think about loved ones, or things I had wished had accomplished- I didn't panic, I wasn't desperate, if anything I felt at peace knowing the manner of my death.

My preoccupation with death is one of those things I'm reluctant to discuss with others. I don't want a terrifying death. Arguably a plane crash is terrifying, yet by terrifying I mean I don't want to be taken hostage by a zombie, or disemboweled by a grizzly -that kind of terrifying.

Since nearly every day someone asks me if I have a disease, I've concluded I could have a slow death if it was painless. The draw back to the slow death is its really hard to make vacation or concert plans, so theres that.

Yet it gives you some time to shore up your life...but maybe its better to be sitting next to a really cute girl and holding her hand.

Uncle Clint

My dad stayed at my house last weekend as we were in a beach house in Newport for Gioconda's birthday.

Luckily my dad loves dogs, and he takes really good care of all the animals, and he was able to ride his bike around the Rose bowl which he enjoyed.

He also cleans up my yard, which is a huge benefit.

So I called him yesterday to thank him and he says, " Are you feeling ok."

I know immediately what he is referring to.

"You've lost a lot of weight."

He's right I have. Around the girls started walking I began loosing weight, and since October have lost over 30 lbs.

Now I eat about a quarter of what I used to eat, and although I have been able to maintain at 134 lb people ask me nearly every single day if I've lost more weight.

Since I've been anticipating gaining the weight back I haven't updated any of my clothes, so I'm an 8 wearing a 12-14, which I think compounds the perception I am suffering from a disease.

And then it gets me thinking, maybe I am.

Objectively I have all the characteristics of someone who should be filled with cancer.

I can be incredibly resentful, bitter and petty. I never look on the bright side, or think everything will work out fine. Although not negative per se, I am certainly no optimist.

A few weeks back my mom was in Iowa and informed me my great uncle Clinton , my grandfathers only remaining sibling, died and since she was in town she would be attending the funeral.


"Was he sick? ," I asked.

"He was 92, he died of being 92," she replied.

On the paternal side of my family the concept of "happy" was certainly not in the lexicon; however, even by the standards of people who never felt any form of joy on any level, this dude was considered really unhappy.

My sister's theory was that he was secretly gay. She bases this on a picture of him shown at the funeral in which he looks somewhat feminine.

"That explains why he was so unhappy," she reasoned. I think it is more than that, I'm not secretly gay yet I struggle to obtain a level of just ok.

Uncle Clint was married to some unfortunate woman, who divorced him sometime in the 70's, they had two sons one of which did not attend the service.

I golfed with him a few times, which he appeared to moderately enjoy. I try to enjoy golfing, but in all honesty find it stressful.

My family suffers from a low to moderate level of anxiety on a consistent basis, and I have clung to this legacy.

Since my daughters are not burdened with my genetics I am hopeful they will not suffer from this same plight.

My Uncle Clint didn't die of cancer at 92, although objectively he had all the qualities of someone who should have been filled with cancer.

This has lead me consider the possibility disease may just be afraid to reside inside me....so I may be onto something.

Ander, Kalix and Tusk

So its thursday, which means it My Gym day....

I know- this is old news --I blogged about it a few weeks back.

At the beginning of the hour at My Gym you have to introduce your kid...so today the following kids were at the class:

Ander
Kalix
Tusk

Yes, Tusk.

Ander and Kalix? Are these children or pharmaceutical companies?

And Tusk...I even asked Tusk's mother how to spell it. I thought there had to be an x in there. Tuxk- or even Tukx - that's how I imagined it.

Since when it did become cool to name your kid an inanimate object. Where do you go from Tusk?

Antler? Hoof? How do you move away from the animal theme once it begins?

"This is Tusk and his brother Jeff," see how that just doesn't sound right?

Did they even think about what the name Tusk sounds like in the possessive?

Tusk'ssssss- the s's go on forever.

Tusk's mother wears a lot of gaze, so theres that...I'm not passing judgement on gaze wearing-I'm just saying there might be a correlation.

Tamales and Tres Leches Cake

Tamales and Tres Leches cake really piss me off.

First of all, I hate both. I hate the taste, the texture, the flavor, the smell...I hate tamales and I hate tres leche cake, but what I hate more than the actual substances is the fact that what seems to be the majority of the population is completely in LOVE with tamales and tres leche cake.

Granted, I'm not that into food, so theres that..yet still, the way people react to tamales, especially at Christmas, is objectively mind boggling.

And what is this Christmas tamale connection anyway?

My in laws make Nacatamales, which are Nicaraguan tamales- these are a thousand times worse than the average tamale.

Everyone here at 2107 goes ape shit over this stuff.

Really?

Its a bunch of mysterious ingredients (which don't go together) wrapped in dry corn meal.

Is something wrong with my tongue? Am I not tasting this correctly?

On more than one occasion I found myself at the dinning room table with everyone eating away- they just can't get enough- they eat three or four, and I'm not even able to shove 1/3 down my pie hole.

At first I thought maybe they were just being nice to Gioconda's mother, but its sincere...and then they all talk about it...

Nacatamales. Nacatamales. Nactamales....by the end of Christmas day I want to punch out the nacatamales.

How is it possible I hate something so much that everyone else loves?

Tres leches cake is like eating a sponge-its not good-end of discussion.

Its the same phenomenon- when its around everyone has to talk about the fucking tres leches cake...

A dry soggy cake- its like snot in my mouth.

Maybe I'm just too white...

Barbara Parish

After I passed the bar exam in 1992 and before I got my first job I worked for a variety of applicant firms sitting in on depositions.

The applicant attorney gets paid for their time, so I was getting paid $25.00 an hour to sit and listen, and maybe make a few objections. Most of the time I spent writing a note to whoever I was dating.

Typically the depos were pretty freindly, but every once in a while there would be an aggressive defense attorney - and those depos were really no fun at all.

I was doing a lot of work for a attorney who was very nice, but had some really hinky cases. Although I was techincally representing her clients in the depos I thought the majority were malingering exaggerators.

So- I get a depo of this guy and while I'm prepping him for his testimony I'm thinking about how much I hate working with these loosers, and how although a loose association- its still an association with this hinky firm...and I was feeling sort of bad about being an attorney in general...and then in walks this lady who is all buttoned up - she's the defense attorney and she is wearing this red button that says STAMP OUT WORK COMP FRAUD.

And so I think- great - no note writing today this lady is going to be kicking my ass all afternoon.

But she was actually very nice.

I walked away thinking she was the type of attorney I would like to be-professional, unemotional, yet committed. She knew what to ask and how to ask it ...

So I get lucky and get a job with in house counsel for Liberty Mutual, and I meet my supervisor- STAMP OUT WORK COMP FRAUD- Barbara Parish.

The first seven years of practicing law I worked under her.

She taught me how to be an attorney- how to conduct myself in a manner which was not intimidating, yet from the position of strength, she taught me to pay attention to details- to look at a problem from many perspectives.

She was smart and funny and kind...

Last week after a long struggle with a terrible disease my friend and mentor passed away last week at the age of 61.

I saw her in court last year, and I knew at the time she was not well, yet still her death took me by surprise somehow.

I never told her the role she played in my life- I never thanked her for her time and effort- I never thanked her for her loyal and compassionate friendship.

So I will thank her now-

Thank you Barbara Parish, you will be missed more than you could ever know.

Blanket Jackson

So P Diddy bought a $400,000.00 car for his kids 16th birthday, and then was upset when questioned about this decision.

I got a stereo for my 16th birthday.

I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how amazing it would be to be born into wealth. What it would be like to have a ton of dough and have done nothing but be the winner of a genetic lotto.

I will say I am actually so consumed by this I'm actually curious to know if other people think of it as much, but feel too embarrassed to ask.

Gioconda knows about the preoccupation and gives me shit about it all the time.

"If you spent as much time working as you spent thinking about how you could get money with no effort, you would have a lot more money," she says.

This is actually untrue. I work as much as I can, and I can only make thousands, I want millions.

I know this seems shallow, I don't care. I know money can't buy happiness, but it makes everything really fucking easier.

I'm looking for easier.

The thought of entering this world with a Trust Fund waiting is appealing to everyone, I know, but for me it plays like a loop in my head.

So.. I'm thinking about it this morning I decided if I was one of Michael Jackson's children I would be Blanket, not just because he was the one Michael Jackson hung over the balcony- he does have that...

If I was Blanket I would start dance lessons yesterday.

Although I don't really believe Michael Jackson is the biological father of any of his children, and thus Blanket may not have the "Jackson DNA", with enough practice anythings possible.

Fast forward 10 years and Blanket Jackson is the winner of the new artist of the year at the Grammy's...

Editors Note: In reading over this the name Blanket Jackson seems sort of lame, so if I was Blanket Jackson I would change my name to something more mature, maybe Turbo- Turbo Jackson- I'm still working this through....

I understand if I was Blanket Jackson I would basically be an orphan, and I 'm certain the death of his father was difficult for him- but lets be honest...maybe little Blanket is better off.

Ignoring the obvious dangling him over cement many many many floors up, when your parent takes you out of the house with a mardi gras feather mask over your face more than seven times maybe he's not the BEST parent.

Still...even if I was Blanket Jackson I wouldn't need a $400,000.00 car, I would just ride around in my helicopter.

A Fantastic Love

Last June after my Grandmothers memorial service my aunts and mother complied a book of family history for all the cousins.

Although my mom had told me about the book, today was the first time I actually saw it.

There were pictures from the late 1800's, men with what appears to be fur protruding from the sides their faces in odd patterns, women with blank stark stares.

"This guy had five wives, a widower five times" my mother said about a photo of a particularly unattractive man.

Ok, or a murder.

"Maybe they died to get away from him," I suggested.

Then there were the letters, most of which were from my Great Great Grandfather, Henry Milner and then after his untimely death my Great Great Grandmother, Jessie Milner.

A year after Henry died Jessie followed resulting in my Great Grandmother and her five siblings, including an 18 month old, becoming orphaned.

On the prompting of my Henry's parents the family moved away from the homestead in Nebraska to try and farm in Kansas.

Apparently, it didn't go so well.

Henry's letters are all business, the cost of seed, a calf he had to sell for $3.00.

At some point the family decided to move back to Nebraska, it was on this trip Henry became ill and died.

"Dear Mother and Family-It is with grief that I write you the sad news of Henry's death. Oh my God, how can I ever live through this trouble..." she writes.

And it only gets worse.

She couldn't afford to feed her horses so she allowed a man to work them for food.

"I will have to take my horses away from that man...I will live on corn bread and water before I will let anyone work my horses to death."

Great.

Her husband died leaving with with 6 children "alone among strangers". In turn, she died leaving her six children orphaned among those same strangers, including Bessie the mother of my maternal Grandfather.

Bessie married my Great Grandfather, Bert Adams, a difficult and harsh man, and had three sons she adored.

Her oldest Paul was killed in World War II, and my Grandfather, Dwight, died of renal failure at age 44, so life didn't really get any easier for Grandma Bessie.

Yet she wasn't angry or bitter, she was kind and hopeful, at least that is the way I remember her.

I have vivid memory of my Great Grandmother and stories of her childhood on the Kansas Prairie.

She died in 1983 at the age of 96.

At the end of the book was a photograph of my Grandparents, Dwight and Margaret, engaged in a passionate kiss. He is holding her tight against his body, his lips planted squarely on her mouth, her hand on his face.

"They were so in love. They loved each other that way until the day he died," my mother said.

A fantastic love is what it was.

I put it on my desk so I can see it everyday.

Sometime life hands you something and it makes you rethink who you are- the two people in the romantic embrace are my Grandparents- of this I am heir.

My Gym

On Thursday afternoons between 3:30-4:30 we take the girls to a class My Gym.

My Gym is essentially an indoor playground. At the beginning of the class we sit in a circle and do what I think is intended to be exercises, buts its really just moving your arms around.

Gioconda typically takes Sadie, who is absolutely compliant, and I typically take Camille who is absolutely non-compliant.

There are usually about eight kids in the class, and of those eight I would have to say that Camille is not the only kid who doesn't want to participate, but she is the most obvious about it.

The circle time at the beginning is the worse time of My Gym for me.

I actually understand it, there are a ton of really cool things to climb on - who really wants to find your nose when you could be on a slide.

So after about 14 attempts of walking away from the excise circle I finally allow it on the 15th attempt, and thus giving in to her bad behavior.

A few weeks back Gioconda took Camille and I took Sadie.

Disappointingly Sadie decided on this particular day she didn't want to participate in the exercise circle, more disappointingly it was on this particular day Camille decided she did want to participate.

This gave the idea to certain people that perhaps it was not the bad behavior on the part of the baby, but an inability to control the baby on the part of the Mommy.

Guilty confession- its true. I don't come close to controlling the girls like Gioconda does. They won't even eat for me.

"You goof around all the time with them so they don't take you seriously," Gioconda says.

She's right, and although I know this is a failure of my parenting, it hasn't mattered to me, at least not yet.

"So you get to be the fun parent, and I have to be the heavy," Gioconda said.

Exactly.

Diapers

Tonight while lifting Camille up to smell her butt, it occurred to me...how did this happen?

With twins when you smell something- and the very strange part of this is that I can decipher actual poop from just gas-you can't be sure which butt needs attention.

I remember watching my sister sniff the hind end of her first baby.

"You're smelling his ass?" I asked.

"It's better than sticking your finger in it," she replied.

Apparently those were the two options, stick your nose in it, or put your hand in it.

In theory I thought it would be better to risk it on my hand, than to risk taking a big whiff of baby shit.

In practice I've found my sister was right. The smell test is easier, although I've found that most of the time if there is a suspicion of poop- there is poop.

Last summer we went to dinner with a friend who has a daughter, Sophia, who is just a month younger than the girls. Sophia's diaper needed changing and although forewarned it could be bad, I volunteered to do the task.

I mean, at the time I had changed hundreds of diapers, it was just another one of the many I thought.

I thought wrong. I am literally still haunted by it, I dry heaved for over a week. Of the disgusting moments in my life, this was in the top five.

Later Gioconda told me she couldn't believe I was willing to do it.

"You should never volunteer to change the diaper of a baby that is not yours," she said.

It's one of those things I wish she would have revealed to me earlier.

Hey Nanny Nanny

I once worked with a woman who while in Thailand saw a show in which a woman shot a dart from her vag and popped a balloon. She also shot ping pong balls out of this same location making the balls bounce into a cup.

So there is some velocity going on.

Although I find nothing remotely sexually interesting about this particular form of entertainment I have actually considered traveling to Thailand for the mere purpose of seeing this spectacle.

Are there family's who do this -like the the flying Wallendas. Is it passed down from one generation to another?

Although I can't imagine any mother wanting to her daughter to follow this particular path, how else could anyone ever discover this as a talent? I understand there are ways to strengthen this part of the anatomy, however, I'm not sure I could throw a dart with my arm hard enough to break a balloon.

I mean this seems to be a unique ability-maybe its just one women who can do it, one woman with a super strong hey nanny...

Felony Boring

Considering what to blog about this morning I contemplated my current situation- what am I doing or what have I done that would be interesting to read about.

I gaze to my left and see the ball pit which clearly needs to be pumped up with more air, I look out the window and contemplate the statical probability that all of the baby rabbits are female which would eliminate the potential rabbit population explosion I have been obsessing about.

Then there are my obsessions, which appear to be also taking a turn toward Dull Ville USA.

The pool cover is off the track and won't open, and the guy who was supposed to come fix it from the pool cover company didn't show up yesterday and I can't get ahold of anyone...and so I start thinking no body is working because no body is getting paid- so if they are out of business who the fuck is going to fix the pool cover.

So, the ball pit, the rabbits and the pool cover, that about sums up my Saturday morning.

On reflection it was in 2005 I began my journey into the depths of becoming uninteresting.

I'm not saying people didn't find me boring prior to 2005, I am saying it was around this time I began to find myself uninteresting. I would be talking and then just zone out because I didn't even care what I was talking about. I wasn't able to pay attention to myself.

Gioconda and I once had dinner with a couple who talked about their appliances all night. Perhaps if I were in the market for a dishwasher this would have held my interest, but I wasn't. By the end of the evening I was ready to tear off my own head and throw it.

A few weeks back we were invited to a birthday dinner with a few other couples, most of whom we didn't know. I had a couple of drinks which is always dangerous for me as then I become chatty.

Sometimes when I have had a few belts I've been insensitive, like the time I asked our good friend if he could imagine sustaining a head injury as a result of a violent attack with a hammer - and he HAD- in fact it almost took his life- yet somehow I was able to forget this fact after one too many cosmos.

So now I am just trying to not be the uninteresting insensitive one.

Even my thoughts are unexciting, when I was in the twenties my thoughts were so much more fun, yesterday I thought about how much more stuff I could fit into the attic.

"You did well, I was afraid you would talk too much about the girls," Gioconda said on the way home.

Since Gioconda is brutally honest I know I will get an objective review.

"Do you think its boring when I talk about the girls, " I asked.

"Yes," she answered without a moments hesitation.

'Wow, that's my main rap right now."

Gioconda just shrugged.

It was a sock to the gut, the only thing I had going....