There are 364 Un-birthdays, un-birthdays every year. Well, today is not an un-birthday. Today is Hubby's special day. And trust me it's tough to have your birthday so very close to Christmas, even if you are over 30*insert foot stomp. But the biggest problem I have with this time of year? Hubby buys his own presents. He picks them and purchases them sometime in the summertime. Promising me he only wants this one thing for his birthday and this one thing for Christmas. Am I glad he bought himself a hover board? Yes, and No. Yes, I'm happy that he's gonna get something he really wants. No, I'm unhappy that I didn't get to pick out something especially for him. No, because I don't really want a hover board until it really hovers on water. No, because birthdays aren't supposed to be preordered and in the mail 7 months before the actual day. No, because I can't afford to give him another gift after he's given them to himself. It has been 4 years since I have bought my Hubby a gift, for Christmas, Birthday, Anniversary or Because it's Tuesday. And on this day; his birthday it makes me sad.
Considering the many gift giving foibles I have exhibited in the past, it is understandable that Hubby may be cautious about getting a gift lemon. But, I have gotten much better. For example, I am cheap. I am forgetful. I am bad with dates. It's taken many baby steps to tiptoe away from those not so awesome qualities. Like, my all in one daily planner, notification system and life coach that now fits nicely into my pocket. There is no longer an excuse for forgetting birthdays. I have been working my butt off and I'm trying to worry a little less about money. I mean, I still want to make sure that the gifts have implied value. That the gift I am giving is precious to the receiver. Keeping it special for the birthday boy or girl or Xmas lister, I try to remember inside jokes or something mentioned in passing. Giving a great gift is tough, but I'd still like to try.
The giver/receiver relationship is a special one. It is a chance for the giver to prove themselves. Prove they've listened, that they know the receiver, that they thought about it. They become a proven entity. But the receiver really is the lucky one, they get to feel that surprise of something special, the wonder of the details and the work put into the gift by the giver, they get to feel celebrated and loved. They develop a grateful nobility. Growing up I was taught to wait for the special day. Plan of course, send your letter to Santa or the Birthday Squirrel. The rule was we weren't allowed to buy anything for ourselves in the 2 months leading up any gift giving day. Though, I guess Hubby hasn't technically broken that rule, as he bought his gift 7 months ago. Anyhow, I wish the Happiest of Days to my loving Hubby, please consider this blog your gift. But next year, it's Wifey's Choice.
A few blogs ago I initiated a challenge. My goal was to focus and narrow in on one of my passing fancies. Writing. Now, you may say, Melicious you write everyday. Aw, you noticed? But I don't write with a goal in mind. I have a tendency to vary my interests. Which is great for those Squirrel! moments, when I can't remember what I wanted to do, I just look around and see something shiny and decide to play with that. In my short busy life, I have been an esthetician, a bartender, a box office attendent, a drive thru attendent, a cruise director, a bead stringer, a stationary creator, well, you get the point. Hubby is proud of coining the phrase: "Melicious loves to collect. She collects other people's hobbies and jobs.". He's right of course. It's a rare genetic form of career hoarding. I mean how embarrassing would it be if someone asked me a question I didn't have the answer to, or worse, wanted me to do a job I didn't know how to do. I might look stupid. The upside of course, I love learning. I hereby plant this flag as the Master of Being Jack of All Trades.
The love of learning is key to the actor's life, otherwise how would we know what you to do if we were supposed to act like a cop, a robber, or a pizza delivery guy- who's really an undercover cop. These are important questions. Learning is also the tether that keeps the writing ball in play. Being able to predict the outcomes of situations each different character finds themselves in. The characters are important and their lives are as different from each other as they are from my own. Imagination and learned information is the key to unlocking the stories of the fictional folks in Book Town. I mean stories would be pretty boring if the only character the writer knew how to write was themselves, unless of course it's an autobiography, in which case that's acceptable. This blog is mostly about me, but that's what blogs are all about. My writing and acting are all about others. And in most cases fake people. Learning how the world works and how people fit in as cogs in the grand scheme is a ticking coo-coo clock, waiting to chime the hour. And I always want to know what time it is.
The laser beam that has become my focus may start to burn right through my artistic obstacles which include but are not limited to: fear of failure, fear of success, regret and laziness. My brain is still jammed full of half baked ideas and schemes. But knowing that if I don't actually put the effort forward I have only myself and my distractions to blame. So, for now I am focused on becoming the next big thing in YA literature that goes mainstream. Turns into a billion dollar franchise, with a beloved series of movies and trademarked memorabilia. It's a cosmic goal, but I am aiming for the moon, hoping to end up amongst the stars. The passing fancies on the back burner have been simmering for a while, and I look forward to bringing some of those stew pots to the front burner and then eating my heart out. There are very important things that I still need to learn, but I will never lose my lust for consuming the knick knack info that sticks in this noggin and tickles my fancy. Those tidbits eventually become a part of my stories and the stories of Book Town. I am writing here and in aCloud to help us learn that fancy things come from passing along the information we've learnt. So, that's today's lesson. An apple for the teacher, if you please.
Please find attached 2 relatively related rants:
Rant the First
Hubby and I are chronic renters. We prefer small cozy city living. Snuggled up in tight quarters. Small spaces but with great windows that on a clear night can see all the way to Bloor St. But to make way for progress our panoramic view is quickly depleting. It is a sad day for open space loving small townies like us. I liked the view from here. It's a great location... Location, location. Real Estate has never been my forte. It sounds really interesting at first until I realize the stories I hear about these amazing gems with nob and tube aren't in my future. I don't want a fixer upper in the city that's been lived in by 15 different people and none of them cared. Bleached and barnacled and tired from city living. It's not my cup of T.o. There is a dream though, a teeny little quiet dream. The wish is to have a house that's been in someone's family for generations and, this is silly; it's been deemed historically significant. Our house would be a part of the history of something bigger. Our very very very fine house, would have 2 cats in the yard. A story to tell. A song to sing. Our house would have personality. The stairs would creak and the wind might whisper on occasion but it would hold the secrets of history. Of course, it would be a pain to maintain all the structural integrity in accordance with the local historical society bi-laws; a challenge Future Me willingly accepts. But for now we live in a city shoe box, without a story. And the wide screen we were watching life on is shrinking. I guess I'll really have to go outside.
Rant the Second
The giant hole that is my backyard is a muddy disaster. Clay and gravel and slick squishy mud coat my pathway home. Covering my boots and imbedding itself in my tread. Stomping and dragging my feet the whole way. Trying to shake off the filth. When I do get inside the view is like an exposed root after the tooth has been ripped out. The bottom which is almost 4 stories down is dotted with tents to protect the men working in these conditions. Giant flood lights click on at sunset and push the crew to quitting time. The holes have been drilled, the rebar impacted. Cranes have been brought in to move the cranes in. The skeleton structures floating over head. Suspended and riveted. They are sleeping giants. Not quite ready for action. But I can hear them practicing their shriek, stretching for the long job ahead. I get why people want to live in the city. I mean obviously I do, it's just that how many more of us does there need to be? In such tight quarters and with all this mud and dog pooh, you can't ever wear nice shoes. Fancy city night living shoes. Shoes you hoped to look nice in, ensemble shoes. Been a long time since my feet were fancied up. Also down side, there is a lot of stomping in my building. Mud clots dot the hallway carpets. But winter is coming. The anticipation of frozen clay is killing me. Though, I don't think it will be a respite. By the time it gets cold enough to freeze everything's gross and soggy anyway. The once dirty route now becoming treacherous. It will be a slippery layer of icing on top of the so-hard-it-hurts-to-fall when you fall on it permafrost. (Notice I said when. I accept I will fall. It's slippery) At least while I am hibernating this winter, trying to pick the pooh out of my boot tread, I can watch the cranes spin and twill and finally grow up to be elevators. A dirty festering hole like that? The dentist would recommend a filling, at least 9 out of 10 of them would.
Growing up I was taught that you are only as good as your word, but it seems like the world has forgotten the value. I have been an entrepreneur since before it was fashionable. Always striving for my work to reflect who I am. My corporate motto is 'The way we wish the world to be is how we are.' Things have changed. In this dog eat dog business world I am being eaten alive.
It would never cross my mind to double cross, back stab or devalue the services of others. As an entrepreneur our economic value is directly associated with who we are. It's a tough place to be. Stuck between providing the best service possible and growing the baby business. The entrepreneur is at the mercy of those who represent our name. And people decide that the power of one- themselves- is more important than the big picture- my poor little defenseless company. I am all for the advancement of the organization. Profitability is important to all businesses. Though I would never put progress before the individual. It is my hope that being a good boss, business owner and in most cases friend I will be taken into account when the individual is making decisions. It will never cease to amaze me how selfishness can defeat even the most optimistic mandate. Delivering the entrepreneur into dicey and unpleasant situations.
My entrepreneurial endeavors may never be Fortune 500 caliber, but I would love to know that my business is represented with dignity and poise, no matter the situation. Integrity is the only value we should hold above all else. Who you are and what you do are two different things. A person will never be their job. No matter how much you may want it to be. But how you bark when the big dog comes to town does define you. Being a small dog is not shameful, but peeing on the carpet and blaming it on the cat is. So people, I ask you, what is your integrity worth. And who are you selling it to? Cuz you're never going to get the reward you hoped. As for this entrepreneur, I will keep being a medium sized dog in a big ring jumping through hoops, happily accepting my treats for a job well done. Bow wow bad dogs! Watch out for rabies. Cuz this old dog has learned a few new tricks and won't be blamed unless she did pee on the rug. Which sometimes can't be helped.
My Parents have done a great job of keeping me off the pole, until now. I was taught that the reputation is a lifetime to build and a moment to destroy. The road to a bad reputation is a quick and slippery one. But it can also be athletic, sweaty and a lot of fun.
Things I learned about pole dancing
1. Wedding rings and brass rails are natural enemies
2. The pole is slippery, wide and wet
3. The pole burns with the friction of a thousand suns
4. Just when you think you're spinning too fast you get stuck
5. Whiplash can be caused by an almost kinda sexy hair toss
6. Sexy arms are way harder than they look
7. It helps your dancing to keep your high heels on
8. Doing the robot isn't sexy
9. Either the boobs lead or the butt leads but never both
10. Leg warmers are cute and functional
11. Big steps=feet too far apart
12. Move slowly, at least then you don't have to fake as much sexy time
13. Watch your high kicks
13a. Watch where you're aiming those not so high kicks- they reach your classmate no prob
14. Poise-ture: it's an attitude thing
15. A smile distracts the watcher, even if you're wrapped around the pole like an origami snake
16. Furrowed brows aren't hot
17. I was tempted to have a Flashdance style ending to class- but the bucket of water is tough to rig and slippery to continue dancing
18. Public groping, short shorts and gyrating are encouraged but not automatic
19. Climbing the brass rail is new recruit hazing
20. Striptease class isn't about sex, it's about confidence
21. Bruises are expected and celebrated by these tough tight ladies
22. Six inches are starter heels
23. My body is sore and I love it.
I may not be ready for a 3 song night shift, but with a little practice I'll look forward to relinquishing the crown of world's worst dancer. And for that, I know my Momma will be proud, cuz we have the same dancing shoes.
Okay, okay, that's a made up word. But it has an implied meaning; so even though you've never heard it before you understand it. Which is a strange way to think of language but it's a great way to think about communication. Aww, you know what I mean. How many times a day do you hear someone say that? And you do know what they mean, somehow your brain makes the call. Having collected all the crucial communication information. The speaker, the topic and the time. These factors clean up sloppy lines of communication. So, let the conversation satisfication begin.
While spending some much needed time kissing tha'Babe, I couldn't help but see how little talking was required for me to understand exactly what she meant. Most of the time it was just small talk, but I would think that's even harder for an 8 month old. As we grow up we forget how to communicate on the basic human level. Please don't take this to mean we should start crying, throwing things and screaming to get our points across-though for some of us it's too late. Instead consider that a wink and smile can go a long way in all languages.
With instant communication at our fingertips. We are infinitely connected and all within arms reach. These little devices being constantly forgotten, causing heart attacks and anxiety. Most of us suffering from a severe case of the where is it?Oh there it is. Phew-itis. It's hard to comprehend how we could loose track of how important and special those names, places and photos really are. I remember the social calls. The teenage hour long conversations. The ringing doorbell. The playdates. And the Sunday check-ins. In my pocket I have all the information I could ever want. Dates, times and events all collected in one tiny hand held horcrux; communicating has never been easier. Though the digital siren's call is a tough one to ignore. It is my goal to put down my fruity apendage and really stay connected. And even if I can't peel it off; I will never underestimate the power of a smile. Now, that's what I call satisfication. Oh, you know what I mean.
Growing up in a small town, there's lots of time for reflection. Time to sit by the river and wait for your enemies to roll by or read the Art of War. It's up to you. There is always more time and it's never to late to write your wrongs. My Grandma Far was a fan of two nuggets of truth. 1. What's for you doesn't go by you. Which means, if you're destined to have something or you've earned it, you'll get it. And 2. The whole world can't be wrong. Meaning, if you're the only one to see things your way, you're probably wrong. And I am. I have been wrong a lot lately. Which is not to say I haven't been trying, I've just been trying the wrong things the right way and ignoring the right things the wrong way
The strangest part about being wrong is that you don't realize it until it's too late. Sad, but true. If l had stopped to listen to the oh so very many voices of reason while on this tunnel vision express train, I probably wouldn't have F*ed things up...quite so badly. There were warning signs- I ignored. There were beacons of information- I ignored. How about the pony express telegrams I received, but instead of reading, I did what, oh that's right- I ignored them. Hubby says that people need to go through a selfish faze, especially when their goals are as lofty as mine. Here is the problem though. I am double crossing myself. Hedging my bets. By putting in the effort for the things I need to be good at to achieve my goals, I risk losing the things I am already great at. And I don't like that, it feels wrong.
When it feels like the world hates my guts, there is special person I turn to. The man behind the curtain. My Papa B; renowned grump and philosopher. Plus sometimes I just need to talk to my Daddy. As I wept onto my smart phone, my Papa B apologized for giving me his guarded and easily aggravated genes. He is convinced that he is responsible for the not-so-social quirks my Bro and I share. Which are many and widely varied. This might explain why the only person the 3 of us really trust is my Momma. I know he's wrong about giving me all my quirks cuz I got a few from my Momma as well. But where things really go wrong is when the two gene pools collide. My Papa B's shrouded mystery with my Momma's need to shout it from the rooftops. My Papa B's grumpiness with my Momma's need to please. Papa B took an hour on a windy almost winter day to talk me down from a lonely breezy, freezing ledge and what I needed to hear most was the last thing he said: "No matter how wrong you are. If you apologize and mean it, there will always be time to right what you've wronged, if that's what you want." And I want to. Living life right is about maintenance, it takes work. You're never wrong for wanting to better yourself. But there is a right way to do it. As for their genes, they may never fit me and look flattering. But my Mom's genes will sure look good with my New Balance *insert coy wink for my funny little play on words*
Willowing in the darkness that daylight savings brings
Hibernation drawing nearer
The hours and days gliding by on tracks, preventing diversion
Eliminating adventure, restricting exploration
Temperamental weather covering the hard pan dirt
Packed down into pathways
Wrapping us in single servings of loneliness
The darkness highlights the breath escaping warmed bodies
Visible in the early darkness
Streetlights haloed in the mists of nightfall
A tight hunched stance to protect from the elements
Pink cheeks burnt with the bite of another screaming wind
Warm noses chilled with the icy touch of bitterness
Leaves left and gone, given up
Tired from the effort of holding on
Finding comfort in the comforter
Wringing with the near winter chill
Hot chocolate ringing my dear's darkest ills
The winter's pill swallowed for another long season
Sleep's long fingers inviting
Beckoning, bleating
Their wooly warmth fleeting
Shadows and shivers stretching along our length
Savings with nothing to bank
A necessary lightness withheld
Unsprung and undercover we wait
Lured by the comfort of our love
Warmth wishing us well for another long hazy winter
Tucked sweetly in the loving arms of Mother Nature
Awaiting the sweet gentle bounce of green bursting through brown and grey
The spring of another celebratory summer waiting to unwrap us gently
But for now the long winter's embrace enfolds us
A chilling reminder of summer's quick step
We wait, ever patient, we'll wait
Heading into the busy holiday season I thought I would try to organize myself. I would love to be one of those "5 year plan-It's all going according to schedule" girls but these are words I have never uttered. Ever. There are things I am good at organizing; like other people's events-which can be very helpful this season. But there are organizational tools that elude me, for example choreographing a Puppy and Kitty Xmas Carolling Concert- I don't know how those animals on the radio do it. Oh and Social planning. It's not my forte. Please let me explain. I am great in social situations, it's all the other stuff that goes with them that I stink at.
Firstly, I am not a good planner. Not to mean I can't make plans and keep them. It's just that I like to fly by the seat of my pants which means I leave a lot up to destiny. I make general plans with multiple options for amusement. Letting myself go with the flow- a BFF trick extraordinaire. It's a lot more fun that way. Unless of course you're married to the Commish, who must account for every minute he's on the clock, otherwise the boys upstairs will start giving him heat; and he's too old for that.
Secondly, I tend to double, triple and in rare cases even quintuple book myself. The enthusiasm of just being invited somewhere clouds my judgment, going against all scientific theories of time and space. Which I hope by this time in the year 2014 (baring the Rapture) we'll have solved. And I will be able to attend all events simultaneously on a fractured timeline.
Thirdly, distraction. I am easily distracted. Oh! A squirrel!
Fourthly, short term memory loss. Did someone say something about squirrels? If I don't write it down it's gone.
Fifthly, I forget every year this coming month goes by so fast and then the parties are over. It's a busy blur of festive cheer. Leaving us in the Daylight savings dark with nothing to celebrate until Valentine's day.
So, I hope this year to take advantage of some much needed celebrating. Despite all my social foibles. There something relieving about FB holiday invites going out early and the pre-event planning I've been involved in. So, this year I look forward to wrapping myself up in an ugly Sandy Clause sweater and enjoying all the miracles and merriment of the season. At least that's my plan;)
The Script: Are you satisfied with your long distance plan? Would you mind if I called during dinner? Is there a better time or number that I that I can reach you? I am not going to call, I am just asking. There are just a few things I would like to discuss with you for the next 2 hours but we're not going to sort anything out or save you any extra money. This will only be a short survey, and when you accept; my first question will be to ask you if you understand what a survey is. Would you mind being recorded so we can play this conversation at our national convention when we can all laugh at you. And joke about how irate you get talking to our customer retention manager; who 's actually just the guy in the next cubicle. Please listen to this slightly untuned white noise music station from the world's last dial radio. You're call matters. To you.
Uncle. I give up* Insert waving of white flag. Mr. Phoneman, you make me pay monthly for using my computer; which I also had to pay for. It's just bytes of life for Rod's sake. You throttle the amount of information I receive. If you think it's too much, you unplug my encyclopedia. You tell me I can't have all the channels that the really great shows are on. The specialty channels are where everything well, for lack of another word, special is, just share it, would ya'please? Are you always going to be the meanest and most expensive bill that lands on my step? The most controlling member of my private life? Would it kill you to give me a break? I mean how much more do you need?
Big Bad Businessman, would you mind if I stole your social identity? How would you like it if I were to come into your office and told you no more? Just straight up tell you that I wasn't going to tolerate this treatment anymore. What would you do then? I mean, it's hard to do anything about the fact that large corporations are a joke. The 23 top employees get paid like rockstars and then you screw the rest us. This is the reason we now have to live in a Twinkie free society. I'm excited for the day when my outrage will affect more than my status on FB. And as far as long distance is concerned, I know Hubby and I have the most cost effective package for talk & text with a premium price tag for the Ultra light-super-maxi-high speed internet. Obviously, we have to have the best, I mean what are we cavemen?
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