Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Hallowed Ground

I really do not know what it is about cemeteries that speak to me.  It has never been a place of fear, it has always been a place of comfort and serenity.  Perhaps one reason has something to do with the fact that my mother would take us to a cemetery (gorgeous in bloom) for picnics in my hometown.  It was a past time to sit and talk and read the headstones.  And nap.  

To this day, I still love them.  Whenever I feel upset or down, I find the nearest cemetery and take a little walk.  There is one close to our new house, and I have walked there a couple times, thinking, reflecting, clearing my mind completely.  Stress builds up, and its almost as if the ground itself soaks it up out of your feet like a sponge.  
Sometimes the best and most creative ideas come to me on these walks.  Stories, poems, dreams...  I wonder sometimes if the thoughts and lives of the deceased all around me are leaking up and into my head.  Energy is neither created nor destroyed, as decreed by science.  So where does the life force go once it leaves the body?  Who knows what lingers and stays; who knows what passes away and to where.
I walked the cemetery today, the weather gorgeous, not a cloud in the sky.  I took pictures of the interesting tombstones, stopping to read them, wonder about the person that was once living, now tucked away safely underground.  And realize that one day I too will be lying under that dirt, people walking above me, reading the basic statistics of my life.  

Just the birth and death dates are not good enough.  You need an inscription, a legacy, a word to the generations coming up, something to stand out.  My favorite grave of the day:

Uncle Billy's grave.  He was a steel worker, and with this intriguing headstone, is an I-beam as a foot marker.  The inscription at the bottom (besides telling us he was on the honor roll) gave his life's creed:

"I love my Lord, I love my home, I love my job."

That is the kind of thing that stands out, shows everyone a piece of what you were, your character.  These are the graves I find most interesting.

A rule of thumb, a rule of safety if you do enter a cemetery.  You may find me silly, but I grew up in the Deep South, and we all have our beliefs.  Graveyards are not to be taken lightly.  Today, walking through, pollen and dirt clung to my shoes and toes.  I made sure to wipe them off completely before entering my car.  You never take ANYTHING from a graveyard, unless you know what you're doing (such as graveyard dirt - many things to be done with graveyard dirt).  You only leave things at a cemetery.  A sign of respect.  

If you forget to clean your shoes before entering your car, the most important part is to never allow any cemetery dirt to hit your own front porch or cross your threshold.

Pictures, since I took a few today, I am hoping are still alright to take beyond the gates.

American Gods: A Novel 

World's Largest...

Adult Bookstore and Sex Shop.

Doug, being the room mate of Patrick and I, graciously hung out with me last night.  We went to The Flying Saucer, to work on our U.F.O. club allotment of 200 beers before we get a party.  We've got almost thirty knocked out a piece.  Be nice and perhaps we'll invite you to our party with free beer and food, but mainly beer.
We finished up there and got in the car to drive home.
On the way... we were sidetracked by the Muse, a music venue in Nashville that is pretty cool.  We weren't sure about the bands on stage that night, so we continued on...

Right past the "World's Largest Adult Bookstore and Sex Shop".

Now, honestly, we had to go in.  The first thing Doug said was,"We should probably measure it."
We spent around 20 minutes inside.  Looking, inspecting, judging.  We actually saw a dildo in the shape of a human fist.  And the thing was freaking heavy, too.
So the judging.  I did not realize how loud we were actually being until I realized there were creepy older guys in the porn section, seriously inspecting copies and reading the backs of the cases.  They would not make eye contact with anyone.  Which is probably for the best, because I most likely would have laughed out loud.  I'm sorry, I love all things sexual, but some of it is pretty funny.  And if you can't laugh at yourself, then life is going to be harder than you want it to be.

Oh, did you know you can make molds of your private areas for (hopefully) a loved one to take when they are away?

Monday, March 29, 2010

Over the Deep End

Patrick returns Wednesday.  But for all practical purposes, it might as well be Thursday.  I will dutifully be sitting at the airport at 11PM, awaiting his descension, probably in my pajamas.  How did he do this to me?

I ask myself that question a lot.  And by "this", I mean, how did he turn me into someone that NEEDS someone else.  I never needed anyone before.  It was NICE to have people, certain people, a short list, around.  But when they left, they left, and I was ok until they turned back up again.  Now, Patrick goes on a week and a half business trip, and I am sick as a dog missing him until he returns.  I had empty bed syndrome.

What made it worse was the big dog, George, the AmStaff, the big freakin' baby, is about as solid as Patrick.  Definitely snores like Patrick.  So in the middle of the night on Thursday, the dog had wormed his way under the covers and curled up against my back.  Hearing the snoring and feeling body heat, my heart jumped thinking he had came home early.  But upon turning, no, just a snoring dog.  Who loves being allowed to sleep in the bed full time while his master is gone.

I can feel all of you judging me...  I'm trying to ignore it.  Its ok, I judge me too.  Its hard to believe someone has changed me like this, and that I willingly allowed it.  

I protested to Patrick last night, "You made me needy, damn you!"

And his response was just to laugh and say, "That's how you know you finally found 'The One.'"

See?  Do you see what I have to deal with?  How could you not get all mushy and gushy after that?  Or after he tells you you are the woman of his dreams, or that he can't imagine anyone else he'd rather be with, yada yada yada.  And before, those things felt like lines to me, as they slipped meaninglessly from between the lips of liars.  But from him, they feel so damn genuine.

Enough of the love crap now.  He'll be back Wednesday, and I'll be back to my old self again.  If I post anything else mushy like this, I give you all permission to throw slanderous comments my way.

That is all, for now.

Teardrops Fall Like Rain

Tears come in all different shapes and sizes, kinds, types, viscosities.  If the Eskimos have multiple words for snow, then I have a million different words for crying.

Some tears well up and spill out of the lids of your eyes, like water flowing out of an over filled bucket, without a single sniffle or cry.

Others are dry tears, with gasping sobs.

Other times those gasping sobs are accompanied by tiny drops that squeeze from the corners of your eyes.

A leaky face is one of the worst, where your nose turns red and runs along with your eyes.

Then the giant, perfectly formed, globes of water that drop slowly, one at a time, no matter how many times you wipe them away.  They reappear, same as before, and with reinforcements.

I hate tears.  They give you away.  No matter how hard you try to disguise your emotion, be it happiness, sadness, devastation, fear, or love, tears give you away.  I do not trust them.  And I do not like them.  I prefer hiding my emotions (except of course here, but this me on here, its not really me, or maybe its even more me, the me I keep inside and only myself or Patrick really knows... either way, I'm much more candid.  Which isn't completely me in person... But I digress) and tears ruin my camouflage effect.

So I swipe away at the couple still lingering on my face.  I sniffle, and I say goodnight, a watery smile upon my face.

Monday, March 22, 2010


I'm still in school.

Its been 7 years, and I'm still in school.

Now, yes, some things came up in those seven years - mental disorder diagnoses, marriage, divorce, death, change of majors, change of schools. But the fact of the matter remains.

I am still in school.

And as much as I pretend I'm glad I'm still moving forward and working toward my degree, every time I do a homework assignment, every time I study for a test, every time I drive toward campus, the extreme disappoint in myself shines through. And hurts.

The only thing I wish to change about my past, my only true regret, is not finishing and graduating on time. There isn't much I could do to change it, but I wish I could.

I am 25, and I have yet to get my bachelor's degree, even though I have been in college since my high school graduation. I feel like a failure.

I love myself. I love me as a person, my character and my thoughts and my beliefs and my loves.

I just hate that I cannot do this one simple task. Something that everyone else from my graduating class, and now younger, have done. How can I not feel like a failure, even slightly.

Most of the time I move past this, but as of late, I can't. I can't focus on the task at hand because I am so focused on the disappointment. Which I know in itself is hindering me. I want to pull my own weight, but I can't support myself; I need someone else to do it. I want to be independent. Can love survive a dependent relationship?

I don't want to lose what I have because of my inadequacies. Sometimes I feel I'm not good enough for anyone.

Someone pull out the violins. Its a pity party for 1.

PBR Classy

I really am a lucky girl. It took a damn long time, and kissing a lot of frogs along the way, but I have found a man that knows me better than I know myself. He knows when I need to left alone. He knows when I need someone to push until I spill my guts. He knows when I need to cry. And somehow he says the right things.

He's in Colorado again, for a couple weeks on business, but I was really grumpy when I found out. Mainly because I feel trapped in this little city, and he gets to fly all over the nation. I wanted a change of scenery too, and him being gone wasn't going to make things any easier.

So he texts me last Wednesday:
"When do you work this weekend?"

"Friday night. Off Saturday. Why?"
"You now have plans for Saturday and Saturday night. Stay open."
"Yes, sir."

But what in the world he was talking about, I had no idea. Well, Saturday morning we drove down to Chattanooga, TN for a mini vacation. Without even telling him, he knew I needed to get out of this house and away from the pets and the room mate and just be alone.

It was a great weekend, too. We walked all over the city, went to a Hubble IMax movie, and enjoyed each others' company. Saturday night, we even found this amazing bar/restaurant called "The Pickle Barrel". I really wish I could stick that place in my pocket and bring it home. We are seedy, dirty, dark bar people. And this place was not only that (and served us PBR), but they had AMAZING food. I mean, I ordered a portobella mushroom sandwich on an onion bun with a pesto mayonnaise. Lord! We immediately decided that we would eventually open a place just like that one. Everyone needs an awesome pub. And who better than two Irish to open it? We were born for it!

Getting back to the hotel, and being us, we stopped at a gas station for a six pack of PBR to drink at the hotel and relax. I love being with this man. We get back, fill the sink with ice, and pack in the beer.

It was a good night. And I think I'll make it until next week when he returns.

I do have an entire 24 pack of PBR in the fridge to myself now. :D

Sunday, March 21, 2010


1. To be done with school... FOREVER

2. To open a restaurant

3. To publish a novel

4. To continue publishing novels

5. To buy a house

6. To have an orgasm-causing kitchen

7. To live a quiet life as a hermit

8. To be married to the man I love

9. To be a mother

10. To thank my parents for helping me all these years

11. To lose the extra weight

12. To love myself

13. To control the anxiety

14. To breathe

15. To find and claim the happiness I know is right at my doorstep

Sometimes lists are important to keep our minds on what has to be done.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Wanna Hear About My Day?

As tough as I pretend to be, I still get scared shitless at times. Like today, when I entered onto I24, merged into traffic, and my car decided to shimmy like a stripper at a night club. It was all I could do to pull off onto the shoulder and pray one of the speeding semis didn't wipe me out then and there.

Thank God for caring others.

Patrick was there in less than ten minutes, words of consolation, a plan, something to keep my mind off the broken car. Which I would be paying for, with no moneys. No moneys. (If you would like to send me moneys, I am ok with that...)

I wound up taking his truck, throwing my satchel inside, while he drove off with my Honda, barely getting above 30, and promising to have an answer as to why it decided today was the day it wanted to die.

I drove the 35 miles to campus, only to find most of the student lots had been closed for some basketball tournament being hosted this week. $5 to park.

Ahem: "NO."

There were other lots, being monitored, strictly for MTSU students. If you had a parking tag.

See where this is going?

Guess what I left in my car, back in Nashville? Yep, my parking tag. Guess who wouldn't let me park in any of the student lots? Yep, the guys with bright orange vests.

So what did this resilient little girl do when faced with adversity?

She calmly and quietly tucked her tail, threw a finger in the air, went to buy Boondock Saints II, and went home for a nap.

Oh it is glorious how quiet a house can be when empty in the middle of the day.

Doesn't change the fact that I WILL run over the orange festooned guards of the parking lots if they ever cross a dark street alone.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

When I wear this much make-up do not be fooled. I am hiding from you and the rest of society. Everyone has their masks.

St. Patty's Day

The one freaking holiday that my heritage supplies to the nation:

A reason to get sloshed and throw up all over your city's main street.
A reason to wake up next to someone you've never met and look around for your underwear.
A reason to make the entire bar your best friends.
A reason to attempt to sing karaoke.
A reason to dance like a robot.

I am Irish (partly, enough) and the other part is Indian, so I'm good on the alcoholic ancestors.

But the most important thing about today....

Remember to wear something green. Or I will be pinching you.

Erin Go Braugh!

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Spring Cleaning

The weather has finally broken in Tennessee (for the time being). Snow has left us, the biting cold wind has gone, and finally the sun shines on our heads and warmth touches our skin. Spring. And with this warm weather, only one thing can follow in the south.

It's yard sale season, folks.

I just moved, yet again. Probably the sixth or seventh time in the past three years. I know, ridiculous. Well, this time, I went through most everything I owned, cleaning out, paring down, yada yada yada. Now I have an abundance of things in my garage that I am waiting impatiently to sell and donate once Friday comes. So, if you'll be in the Nashville area on Friday or Saturday this week, give me a holler, I'll hook you up with my address and some deals.

It amazes me how much crap (and yes it is all most certainly CRAP) that we accumulate from year to year. Small things, clothes, books, movies, furniture, trinkets, kitchen items, pictures, decorations, everything. It keeps piling up. Because we are a nation that believes in the value and prestige of owning STUFF. You are nothing without your stuff. We let what we own, what we buy, own us and control us. Ala "Fight Club."

I hate that concept. I hate that my amount of stuff had overwhelmed me, if only momentarily. You, as a single unit, should within in twenty minutes be completely packed and ready for adventure. If you find it too hard to leave your convection oven, whirlpool tub, or 500 count silk sheets... well, you are a sad excuse of an adventurer. There is nothing in my home that I would not leave behind.

  • A buckeye
  • My grandfather's pocket knife
  • A journal and pen
  • A towel
The first two things are sentimental, make me remember my family and the fact that I need to eventually come home (yes, I may or may not have taken off before). The third, a journal and pen, is to keep a record of things that I see and how they affect me. The fourth, a towel, well that's purely a call back to my dear friend, Douglas Adams. Read the Hitchhiker Trilogy, my friends.

So the stuff. Perhaps it is unfair of me to unburden my abundance of stuff on to others, just for them to fall under the weight and be tied down, unable to escape. But really, they should know their own limits of what they desperately need, and what is merely a want that will trap them in their homes.

I know the difference. You gotta learn it for yourself.

So come buy my crap, people.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Past and Present

I just spent a couple days pouring over an older blog Patrick wrote. It began and ended before we ever met each other, and it showed me so much about where he came from, what he felt, the things that made him the man he is today. The man that I love so much my heart can barely hold it.

But reading his words also reminded me of how much I wrote in the past. The blog before this one, that was so evilly torn from my hands and lost to cyberspace, received a post (or more) a day. Not all of them meaningful and deep, but every now and then I hit on something special. What would he see in me if he could read those things that crossed my mind. Would he still love me? Would he see the steps I took to today? The choices I made, both bad and good (mainly bad). But those choices that I would never change, because I wouldn't be me without them.

Writing is a wonderful tool. If the internet and technology have done nothing else, they have made us prolific. Everyone can spill their souls to whomever they wish, the entire world. And you will have a legacy. Maybe not much of one, maybe they barely remember a sentence you wrote, misquote it, and don't even remember your name. But its still there. You became a part of their life experience, and in so doing, changed them in some way.

Hopefully, just by reading what he wrote 4, 5 years ago, it has changed me that perhaps I will give more attention to the blog I have now, and not yearn and pine for the works I lost.

Because somewhere, someone remembers those old posts, and what they meant to me.

Peace out, homies.