Happy Friday! Let's all put our silk pajammers on and creep into the weekend.
Oh-ah, oh-ah, oh-ah.
This morning, I was running super late. I grabbed my stuff, got my coat, and hurried out the door. As I walked down my front stairs to the sidewalk, there, on the bottom of the stoop, on sidewalk level, was a pair of Nike sneakers. I could tell that they had been worn, but they were still pretty nice. The style was a little bit Grandpa-ish. They were perfectly placed, side by side, at the bottom of my outside stairs. Facing my house. I was in such a rush I just walked by them, looking over my shoulder as I walked away, thinking "is someone coming back for those?" It felt like a scene in an arty movie. Like there was some sort of meaning there that was just beyond my understanding.
This weekend, it was time for me to put on my Christmas pants. I mean this in a figurative sense of course, because I don't own pants (well, I have one pair of jeans), although what would Christmas pants look like? I am thinking either a bedazzled Christmas scene sort of like a Christmas sweater, or maybe they are red velvet with white bottoms like Santa pants? Either way, I donned them this weekend, figuratively.
First up, Nordic Boy, Biogirl, Biogirl's dude, and I went to dinner at a fancy restaurant that was lovely, but I must be old and crusty because all I could think when I was in there was THIS IS TOO LOUD. It wasn't like we went to a club or something- it was a wine bar. But the way the room was set up caused the sound to bounce off the walls everywhere. So we ate and drank and yelled at each other, which I guess a lot of people do for the holidays anyway, so Merry Yelly Christmas.
After we got shouty with our Chardonnay, we went to this garden in the burbs that does a crazy ass Griswald style light display every year. There is no other way to describe it other than amazingly gaudy. It is a spectacle of gaudy. There was a chimpanzee made entirely of Christmas lights, you guys. Because, why? No one knows.
Saturday evening the four of us met up for dinner (this time at a delicious and appropriately-volumed establishment) and ate a gorgeous meal. We followed this by seeing some musical theater. Oliver! to be exact. I had never seen that show before, although I did have good nostalgic feelings about it because when I was a kid I was in this fancy choir and every year when the latest auditionees got the news that they had made it into the choir, we sang them "Consider Yourself" from Oliver! to welcome them. Is that not the most twee thing you have ever heard? I know. Anyway, I had good feelings about it going in. But you guys. That show is super weird! I mean, it opens with workhouse orphans who are starving, and they sing a chipper song about food. It's like We're starving! (jazz hands) Misery! (shuffle ball change) Life sucks! (But at least we are cute). On the up side, the lady who played Nancy had some powerful pipes so she blew the roof off for a minute there.
The final highlight of the weekend was hanging out with our dear Delium. Love that guy.
Weekend round up, over and out.
To me, grief is like a fog. For the past six months, it's been hard to focus, concentrate, see things in front of me. I would listen to my friends and family talk, and I would hear them, but it was like I was underwater. I can hear you, but there is a roar in my ears, a scrim between us. I am trying to listen, I hope you know I'm trying to listen. I did all the normal things, I went to work, I met friends for dinner, I smiled, and the smiles were genuine, but they were labored, under that thick, blankety fog. I've wondered, these past months, what the purpose of this fog is, where it comes from in the brain. It's effect, it seems to me, is to make one feel a bit numb, which makes sense, I guess. I can see why a little emotional anasthetic might be helpful in times like these. "Can people tell that I'm having trouble?" I would ask Nordic Boy. "No, I don't think so. I can't believe you're pulling it off, but you seem ok out there." I went to work, I kept up with people, with things. When I was particularly spaced out, Nordic Boy would catch my eye and just look at me with that lovely groundedness of his and it would help me re-focus. Being a cheerful girl by nature, this sadness felt confusing to me. What do I do here? How do I do this? I was lucky enough to have a dad for my whole life who was truly unconditional, who did nothing for me except love and support me, who gave me the gift of understanding, from how he treated me, what simple, uncomplicated, open, supportive love was. He loved me, and that was all, no qualifiers, no hard parts, no hidden hurts. It sounds stupid, maybe, but I felt frustrated for feeling so sad, for not being able to live in the gratitude of it and feel thankful after he died. I wanted to think "thank you, thank you, thank you for that love," but instead all I could think was "this sucks, this is devastating, how am I going to do this without you?" My attempts to reach through the fog to people in my life have been less successful than I would have wanted, but I'm starting to feel resolved about that. Sometimes we don't get what we need from people and sometimes we do- that's the way life goes and there's no use fighting it. And that doesn't mean we're not loved. That fog is a powerful thing whether you're in it looking out or outside looking in.
When I smile at that Nordic Boy, it feels like a real smile, a joyful smile, a me smile, and there is no fog between us.
Hey you want to talk about my hair some more? Because we're gonna. So, I recovered from bad Haircuttageddon 2013 and I went to Michigan to visit my mom. While there all sorts of things happened, and one of them was that I took a box of my Dad's things and mailed the box back to Seattle. When I packed it, I thought, hey, as long as I am mailing this box, if there is room in here I might as well pack some of my heavier items that would have gone in my suitcase, because Nordic Boy and I packed super tight (one week, one small carry on suitcase between the two of us LIGHT PACKERS AWARD) so why not take advantage of this mailed box and stuff some shit in there, thus alleviating the suitcase burden? I put in a book, and my boots, and a sweater, and my hair dryer. I was not thinking about the fact that it would take a week to get to Seattle. More than a week because of the holiday, actually. Which left me Hairdryerless In Seattle. Which meant that even though I had a good haircut again, I now had ugly non-blowdried hair for days.
I am so sorry to discover this about myself. That I am such an effing pain in my own ass about my hair. But I am so vain that that song is totally about me, you guys. Ugh. WORST.
I am vain, but not vain enough to go out and buy another hair dryer for a week and a half, so that says something, I guess. I will say that I did a happy jig when that damn box was delivered today though.
You know what else happened? I was paying my automo-bills (Destiny's Child, wut wut) over the weekend and I discovered that while we were in Michigan someone here in Seattle was running amok with our credit card number. SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF AMOK. It's that sort of discovery that makes you not worry about your hair for a minute. It seems like our credit card people are going to be cool about it, but that was a jolt to the old ticker, I tell you.
Oh yeah, and there was that whole Giving of the Thanky Feelings Day that happened too. We had Delium and Biogirl over for the vittle times for that. The rest of the weekend was spent going to a movie (Hunka Hunka Burning Shirtless Thor 2), snuggling up at home, and turning up the furnace.
I solemnly lemon pledge to you that we will not talk about my hair again for a very long time.
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