In response to everyone saying that my daughter looks just like me, I decided to grow a huge gross mustache. Take that world! The Tangerine has turned 3 months old. In response to her turning 3 months old, she is teething. Hello drool soaked everything. Yuck!
I battled with writing about the Roman Polanski saga right smack in the middle of a post about my daughter turning 3 months old, but the feelings that have been swelling as I watch this story unfold are so very relevant that I made the decision to do it anyway. So I will say that for anyone that does not want to go down this path with me, now is a good time to move along. I am fully aware that not everyone feels the need to read anything involving the rape of a minor. For me when I go back thru this blog years from now and I see this post and I remember all of the new feelings I was having as a new father to a little girl, this story really got my blood boiling. I think it is important to have it here.
I joked with Cole for months and months that I did not want a girl before we found out that we had successfully made a baby. I kept saying "no girls! Please no girls!" It had nothing to do with being afraid I would miss out on the usual dumb man reasons men say they want boys over girls like football, and chicken wings. It was for one reason. I just knew how much I would love her, and how hard it would be to watch her grow into a woman and not have her inevitably hate my guts for being an over protective psycho shooing away boys. I know, I know, it is vital not to instill the belief in her that girls need boys to protect them, and that will be my challenge to raise her in a totally empowering way amidst the sea of mass media that still applies this ideology. I am going to have to really subdue the crazy father urge to buy a rifle and clean it whenever a boy comes to the house. Someone made a harmless joke the other day while we were at a gathering, about Tessa marrying some little boy that she had just met when they got older-- and I just blurted out, "Yeah right! She's not marrying him!" I mean everyone was joking around and oohing and aahing these cute little kids staring at one another and smiling, and I was all buzz kill. "Don't even say stuff like that." I felt my blood moving a little faster and my eyes squint a little, and knew I was in real trouble when she was older.
So all of the sudden when this Polanski business surfaces it pulled me right in. It pulled me in because I couldn't believe that any rational adult could justify or downplay the events. I hear plenty of awful news stories about the horrors of men raping and sexually assaulting women, it sucks every single time I hear a report about it. What is missing from those stories is any debate about the sexual crime being a crime. There aren't celebrities on the 6 O'clock news saying "well it wasn't rape rape" about some random dude that drugged a random girl at the bar. I wonder if ol' Whoopi would consider the thousands of rapes that occur every year when dudes slip drugs into girls drinks at bars "rape rape?" -- because, isn't that exactly what Polanski did? Drug a girl and rape her. I mean the fact she was a minor should not be the discussion here, whether she was 13 or 33, a man drugging a woman, and then having sex with that woman while she is repeatedly saying no is just wrong. There is no debate here. The more people that chime in to discuss the crime and try to soften it, is making me more and more crazy. I mean I've never had a daughter before. So I have never had the unique and gut wrenching experience of applying the Polanski scenario to my own little girl, and what I would do if someone used their celebrity and power to rape her. I listen to these people of privileged power trying to justify his crime. I hear their sides, I don't disagree with the fact that outside of America views on sex and females are completely opposite. That is entirely true. The world is full of what we consider pedophiles. There are 14 and 15 year old girls being married off to old gross dudes all over the planet. I'm not sure how any of that has any significance at all to this situation. It is very simple, an adult man that should have known better, did something low down and despicable to a little girl. I don't need to be the millionth blog to go into how deeply wrong it was and how shitty the entire situation is. That man should have known better. That is the end of it. No amount of cinematic brilliance can make his mistake go away.
My intention was not to get into a big thing about him being arrested, and if a trial should go on. To be exact, I am sick from watching people in positions of mass influence try and dismiss what took place as some little thing. I am going to suggest you think of it this way... and I apologize in advance for the crude visualization: If you catch a grown ass man with his cock inside of your minor aged daughter and he looks at you and says "I made a mistake!" Are you going to shrug it off, or beat his ass straight into hell? I am aware that there are many sides to this: dirty dealings, a shady judge, a crazy media, pressure to prosecute to the full extent of the law to avoid scrutiny, let all of that be the ethical debate. Argue and chest pound about it till you can't breathe, but the way his crime is being glossed over as no big thing is just gross.
And so my daughter is 3 months old, and I know the world she is growing up into, and it makes me mad that I have to tell her about these things when she is older, and I know that she will be thinking the whole time... "Oh Dad, you are so fucking crazy, just relax."
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
Labels:
the news is making me crazy
Pacing the Panic Room is out of commission for awhile. My macbook died last week and I do not have reliable regular access to another machine to be able to sit and write, or upload photos for that matter. So while I get new guts for my computer, and calm down from losing so many of my pictures and new stories from the crash, I won't be updating. I was told 7 days (maybe longer). I'm excited to get this thing back and jump into new updates and continue the story. Until then I will be shooting away, and keeping a mental log so that I can get caught back up here when I get my laptop back. See you all soonish.
All the Love in the Universe~ Me
I felt like I needed to write some words to update where Cole and I are at in the work force. The "how we're doing" update. I get emails occasionally and even some snarky comments implying that I am some kind of unemployed jackass that just lays around and lazily blogs and snaps pictures in my backyard of dew drops. It was a good indicator that I needed to update here. I haven't really written specifically about it in a long time. I forget that not everyone has been reading from the start, and that a reminder of what all of this is might be in order. This blog has always been, and remains to be about the building of my family, nothing more. It isn't a pregnancy blog, or a parenting blog, or a Dad blog even. It has always been about people that fell deeply in love, and started a family, and the stories that come from living our life. This includes ups and downs, and all of the joys and the frustrations. So for the people writing lately to tell me how shitty my blog is now that Tessa has been born, thanks I appreciate your insightfulness. You make all of this so worth while. I had only been married a few months when I started this blog, Cole and I were both young in our careers and pursuits, so this has always been our climb. This has been the beginning, and it just so happens that we were both starting out during a very shaky time in America when all of this stuff started to be written down for the world to see. I had made a promise to myself that I would make a living taking photographs and writing stories, that I would stop talking about it as a dream job, and just go ahead and make it my job. Nearing my mid 30's it was the last gasp. I was lucky enough to have Cole that just believed I could do it, and didn't worry when it wasn't working right away. She's the fucking best. I'm not shy to admit that. So right when I finally got things going and feeling good about the climb for us, of course everything has changed. We are in the middle of that flux. It feels good to be terrified again. It makes me work hard, it keeps me imaginative. It makes the work get better.
So in regards to where things are at for me, here is the updated deal (to the second), just so we can all be updated together.
I'm going to be as understated as possible, so that I don't come off all super panicked and completely unglued-- Learning to live my life with two kids in the picture, and still be able to work on photo shoots and projects as I always have, reminded me of my first time with the Rubik's Cube. Let me explain. I know how it's all supposed to fit together. The rules are simple, sides, colors, make them match. And so I say with (gross arrogance): "Yeah, yeah, all the sides have to be the same, I get it. Give it to me!" I set to work. I get one side done with ease and feel confident, maybe even boast a little. And then, that one little stubborn piece, the one green square that I just can't get out of the yellow side, it just proceeds to kick my ass for hours. For days. I keep trying not to mess up the work of the one completed side. I start to call it names. This little tiny thing is starting to make me feel like I'm stupid. This should be easier (I keep thinking to myself), there is a logical pattern here, I just have to force myself to stop repeating the same mistakes and find the correct pattern. Within a few days you master the game, and then set to work on breaking speed records. You start to do it without even thinking. It just becomes an extension. Ugh! My Rubik's Cube analogy is annoying me because it just doesn't even come close to how frustrating and impossible it seems to be able to get stuff done lately. I guess the only way to make this relevant would be to imagine the very same puzzle solving scenario of the Rubik's Cube, but now try imagining that I'm wrestling it away from a ravenous badger, while I'm in a burning car, that's sinking to the ocean floor, filling with sharks, the car is fitted with a time bomb that's ticking down, and then the baby wakes up from her nap, grabs a machete, and slices my hands off at the wrists and says: "Try breaking the Rubik's Cube speed record now asshole." That seems more like it. That is exactly how I feel lately when I have been trying to work from home and plan shoots.
Being able to work from home is one of the things that I just thought I would flow into and make happen. I've always found ways to bend to new schedules, circumstances, limitations, etc, but this... this is fucking ridiculous. Now for you seasoned work at home vets picking yourself up off the floor after laughing your ass off at my naivety, thanks for letting me figure this out on my own. I never would have believed you if you said it was going to be tough, and only gotten angry if you told me it was impossible. Obviously it isn't impossible. I just wrapped up a busy August and managed to get quite a bit of work done. Here is how we managed to do this. I had to get the crap beat out of me so that I would finally stop fighting. I had to stop making it me vs the kids and a clock ticking down everyday. I fought them until I found the respect for how powerful they were. They're stronger, louder, more persistent, relentless, and they need me. So I gave into the needs, the work was suffering on the days I tried to make it happen despite their power. On the days that Cole works, the only thing I worry about are the kids. I am just their Dad, nothing else. Cole is back to work at the salon and working her way back to her old schedule. I am excited for her, I get to see all of her hard work starting to pay off. It makes me proud to take care of everyone so she can keep running down her career. So in return, I asked her for 3 days a week where I know I can work and book shoots. That's it. We split up our schedules so we both do the SAH parent role, and then work our ass off on the days we can rely on the other one. So far so good. I feel like this is our recipe for success. Sharing the load. We are grateful to have this flexibility. And of course we know that we are lucky.
So yes. I have managed to get clients, and decent jobs, and have had success entering into this competitive field of writing and photography. Someone asked why I don't write about my victories as passionately as i do the stumbles, and I never really realized I had been doing this. So I don't know why for sure... I can say that it feels shitty to me to write a post every time something terrific happens. I freelance and so every time I get a job it is a victory, and I feel like if I started mentioning successes all the time it would start to come off like bragging. There is someone I follow on twitter that shoots for a living, and constantly "tweets" about every job booked. Every single one. And then "tweets" about what cool gadget will be bought or some exotic vacation and adventure that will happen with the pay from the jobs. I'm not saying people shouldn't be proud of what they have achieved and walk with some swagger and be happy. It just runs its course. It would be like Oprah sending out "tweets" about how much money she makes all the time. People would start to hate her after awhile. Americans love a coming up story, and I have not seen many instances where they allow that person the same courtesy after they have achieved some success. So yes. I am not comfortable jumping up and down celebrating the good times. I know that things can just as quickly dry up and go back to struggles. This has been a long answer to say that Cole and I are doing much better. We are still at the beginning. She is starting to take on clients of her own (Anyone in Orlando interested and in need of a stylist?) I have the beginnings of a decent portfolio and resume. We are both excited. This all feels possible. I have my very first ever tear sheets and it is for both writing and photography. I have had my work published this year. That was what I promised myself I had to make happen, or I would not linger and keep struggling if there were no signs that I could support this family by doing this kind of work.
Like I said this is just the beginning. So yes on the mornings where all I have to worry about are the kids being happy, I will be doing things like taking pictures of dew drops for them. On the days that I work. I will continue to work hard. And that just might include doing things like taking pictures of dew drops in the morning. I have found a way to do both, and I understand that having that luxury makes people hate me a little. I'm fine with this. My family is happy, and so that means that no matter what any shitty email says, or lousy comment claims about me, that I'm doing my job. So there it is. I received a comment once that said this:
"You should get a real job.
You're almost pitiful. If I were your kid, I would be extremely disappointed with you for not being able to provide me with all the wonderful things that every kid deserves. (I can't imagine being your wife.) Remember. Your kid never chose to be in your family. It is your DUTY to provide him with the very best that life can offer.
Be a man. Get a real job."
Oh the joys of blogging. I never let that stuff bother me. I have a great collection of them. They are just reminders of how truly awful people are. It might hurt if the kids were screaming and crying and my wife hated me.
So here is the first ever tear sheet, from the first time I have had both my written work and photography published in the same piece. I have a long way to go but feel like I have the legs to get there. This was in the September issue of Pregnancy Magazine. The first publication to take a chance on me :)
Labels:
and how we do it,
what we do
I am dedicating a post today to shed some light on a story that completely grabbed Cole and I this weekend and had us consumed and reading and watching anything we could find about it when we had extra time. Cole had stumbled across a YouTube clip of the amazing and beautiful Carly Fleischmann, a young Canadian girl with autism who has been featured on Larry King, and also on 20/20, sharing her story and a breakthrough. In the clip we watched a girl struggling badly thru therapy from a young age, and her resilient and strong parents who refused to back down and stop believing in their child. They kept pushing for a breakthrough, while others lost faith and began to question the point of it all. Her parents could see thru Carly's outbursts, and saw the bright intelligence behind her eyes. They would not give up on their child. They were connected in deeper ways than anyone could comprehend. Their girl was trying to breakout and reach them-- and one day she finally found a way. Here is the clip that we watched and you can be sucked in yourself...
Labels:
amazing people,
Carly's Voice,
tweet this
So today is the big day right?! Cole and I have gone to Random.org and plugged in the numbers and hit the generate random number button and... I have to say that I hate giveaways because I feel bad that everybody can't win. So I am saying thanks for having the courage to put yourself out there knowing that the chances are good that you will not walk away with diapers. You played the odds and laughed in the face of probable rejection. The diapers are definitely worth it to subject yourself to this kind of anticipation and excitement. Am I building it up too much? Just announce the winner? Okay... So a super thanks to everyone that entered and helped spread the word on Fuzzibunz. It was a great response and so very appreciated. So now the winner. The random number generator spit out the number 88.
So.. that means that Kelly Ann and her baby Hendrix are the winners. Congrats. Please email me thru my blogger profile and let's figure out where you want us to send these diapers. I hope you love them as much as Cole and I have.
I also wanted to put up and point out that Tereson the owner of Fuzzibunz hosts loads of giveaways thru her twitter account, and you should head on over and give her a follow to stay updated and to catch all of her giveaways. Follow Fuzzibunz here. Thanks again to everyone that entered and helped out.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Us
Labels:
and the winner is,
cloth diapers,
fuzzi bunz
He's 5 now. He wants to play.
I see him standing there, The Littlest Buddy, right in the wilds of the stomping grounds of kiddom. It's a brutal unforgiving place when the Universe deals you disadvantages, and rocks your body with delays. The gate keepers here rule by the crudest means: who can run the fastest, climb the highest, jump the farthest. These are the things that matter on the playground. Nobody here notices nuance and subtlety. His sensitivity and propensity to hug, his silly smile, his shy slow shuffle when he walks, he bites grooves into the back of his hand when he is excited/nervous/frustrated, he does not speak, he can't, none of these things do much to forge alliances or create kinship with the others. To the other kids, he is just in the way. To the parents on the sidelines, he becomes something to try and figure out. They watch him. What's wrong with that one? We see it in their eyes. LB is slow to move out of the way, he wanders into the path of the high flying swings, he stands at the top of slides but will not go when it is his turn. He is gentle and careful, he considers every move. When he is mesmerized he stands still and will watch what caught his eye, even if there is a line of children piled up behind him and waiting their turn to climb or swing, they're shouting and sometimes pushing at him to "just GO." He holds his ground while he scans the playground until he catches our eye and can give a wave or smile.
Labels:
growing pains,
SMS,
the littlest buddy
Hello everyone! Remember this?
Labels:
cloth diapers,
fuzzi bunz,
giveaway
I'm sour. The tone I have taken while writing lately made me think to add a color scale warning system that I would build into the blog, (much like our fool proof Homeland Security Advisory System, that ALWAYS has me looking extra hard for the terrorists stealing freedom whenever it's in the red). So my personal advisory system for the blog will protect my readers from me! For whenever I am extra salty, or surly. A "Severe" threat will surely mean loads of FUCK bombs are dropping, and a clear sign that I am on some opinionated soap box chest pounding again. Some dumb widget that can live in my sidebar that will let all of you know if I have been a soured tongue of late. All color coded of course, spelling out in unmistakable vibrance if I am writing on a :) happy up streak ( meaning a low threat for assholery), or all wrapped up shrouded in self doubt and darkness (almost certainly being an offensive fuckwad). That way, when the people that come by just for the cute pictures, they will see that I am writing on a "Severely Annoyed" level, and they can choose to quickly click away before they have to be subjected to any of my unwanted negativity. Sound good?
If it wasn't Labor Day Weekend I would get started on that little "I'm being an Asshole Advisory System" for my readers, but I will have wait to pick that project up after the holiday.
I can't recall a single time that I've ever done anything fun for Labor Day weekend. The fact that everyone else in the U.S. is doing something "fun" actually reminds me to stay in the house for 3 days straight... because all of the fun shit to do becomes overrun with people on top of people (all in uncharacteristically bad moods because everything is so crowded) all trying to celebrate the small fact that they don't have to work for a whole single day by drinking canned beer and sweating. The problem I have with Labor Day is that in true American spirit this one day given for extra rest to the workers--over time has turned into a two week avoidance of work within business, or at the very least a great excuse to do the bare minimum, just enough to get by until the holiday. It becomes a put off, a total excuse to slack. So right on the Monday before the Labor Day Weekend it begins, people start saying shit like: "Let's pick this back up after the Holiday Weekend." because you know... they couldn't possibly concentrate on work the week before Labor Day, or start anything new when they have a whole entire extra day off to sit and eat hot dogs at a beach, or a lake, or pool, (whatever body of water they happen to class into). Then when Labor Day is over, and they are back in on the following Tuesday it becomes: "I'm trying to get caught up from the Holiday Weekend." So they fumble around for four days getting "caught up." This of course does not apply to the hard working service industry folks, as they become swamped and work even harder to serve as the "business" folk start to fall into total slack mode. The service industry and retail are always heroes during holidays:) Am I wrong about this observation? Am I generalizing? Of course I am. I'm trying to be funny about how annoyed I get about the American institution of laziness. Not every single person abuses the system like this, but I bet some of you know what I'm talking about. Enough people carry out this extreme scenario that it creeps into my life-- so whenever Labor Day rolls around I get all fired up and ridiculous.
Labor Day is a reminder to me that I can go ahead and start counting down the days until someone will surely and most definitely tell me: "Let's go ahead and pick this back up after the new year!" It's coming. Sometime next week we will surely start seeing the holiday lights go up in the super shopping centers. Gotta start saving up for my giant inflatable animatronic snow globe this year. I've got to.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
P.S. I wonder if anyone will still want to come to our Bar BQ after this post? I will let you know next week. After the Holiday weekend :)
P.P.S. AND remember-- don't be an ass and wear white shoes after Labor Day, it's offensive. (thanks Lea)
Looking over the line of trumpets within the symphony hall all pushed tight into puckered lips, I hear the effort, not the tune. It doesn’t matter that they might be misfeeding a melody, what matters to me is that they are trying to find a way to be beautiful. I don't have a tuned ear to notice the nuance, the way that the music mixes within music. I just know when I see it all happening it's incredible. I am the kind of asshole that falls in love with the spectacle and the brilliance of the concert hall. The people sitting holding their instruments in their arms have done so for thousands of hours, and built their lives around finding this succinct perfection. It's all I can think about. They're marvelous people. They also sit there knowing that as they play, their music will fall onto ears of men and women who have not trained for years to play, and that have not dedicated their lives to perfection, but have the ears and the ability to hear a mistake made within the madness of all this music swelling. Some spectators wait and watch for a note to fall-- specifically so that they can turn to their partner and make sure that they know, that they know, a mistake has been made. Turning that split second of musical chaos into a little badge of knowledge that they wear for the other followers following along to see that they are indeed "in the know." A little frown, or maybe an eyebrow raise, or even a low whispered "hmmm" to cement the fact that they could here the subtle second when things fell apart. The point here is not to point out snobbery or judgmental snootiness. It is simply to say that just as much as there are people in the world that train away at a love in order to perfect it, there will always be people to judge wether or not perfection has been achieved. It's a dance. People deserve to hear the best when claims are being made that that's precisely what they will be hearing. It becomes that symphonies job to make good on the boast.
These kinds of people (the watchers) are always considered carefully by me whenever I do anything anymore, because I have decided to put myself out there. I plaster writing and photography into this blog and I know very well, that I have only the smallest and most basic knowledge of grammar and punctuation, and I am still very much a beginner when it comes to photography. There are comfort zones and things that I can do that deliver good results, but I am in pursuit of perfection. I want to master light, and find focus, and composition that others could never see. I am struggling along the way. So as I go and grow and the work appears here, I expect it to get better. So as I push myself to new challenges and miss the mark sometimes, these are the blows that hit the hardest. I guess in all of this long-windedness I am my own worst critic, which is crucial in the development of a craft, but at the same time it does nothing to take the sting out of the learning curves. I am in the middle of a curve. It feels awful. The point when you step away from the safe places and stand on new ground and nothing works the same.
I am standing in the middle of this path on my climb to a career in photography and story telling. I am not far in. I got started so late. I see 16 yr old girls armed with digital SLRs firing off pictures that I still can't achieve, and then I look at myself good and close and I start to doubt the time I have put into this passion. Just a handful of years so far. I am 34 and thinking about going to school for the first time, because as much as I am a chest pounder for being self-made and self-taught, there is just nothing like a good mentor. Working hard for someone that has the ability to pass down knowledge, someone that can take your hand and show you things that you had no idea you could do. I have never had that in my life and I find myself longing for it. Some people are totally fine with taking mediocre pictures on all of the auto settings and then under charging on craigslist, and calling themselves a photographer. I could never do that and have been in pursuit of better from the beginning.I want to take pictures that make you forget where you are, and pulls you into them. I want you standing in these places, and feeling these feelings. That is perfection for me within a photograph. I have a long road ahead. I got started way late in the game and kept ignoring passion. I dream about me as a 10yr old kid that found his Mom's box of old photos and her Kodak Brownie, the kid that thought taking pictures was the coolest thing on the planet, and I want to get in the Delorean and go back and talk to him and say: "Do this every single day. From now on. For the rest of your life. Never put it down." And that 10yr old version of me would look back at me and say: "Whoa-- I got fat!" Hopefully he would listen.
I am on my way, really running down these old dreams of mine. It has been a long time since I was that brave kid that sat in a classroom, and when my turn was called said I wanted to be a writer and a photographer. I've been juggling the balance of family and marriage while learning and chasing the tiger down. I am arrogant enough to think I can pull all of it off, and so far have done a fine job on the marriage and family end. I am running for this career and need to remember to slow my ass down and really fine tune craft. I have been so very frustrated and cut off this week from everything. I'm stuck in my head and fighting off doubt. I heard how sharp I sounded with LB today when he was dragging his feet. Man I hate when you can hear yourself sounding like an asshole. I realized something huge about losing my confidence this week, in the past when it was just a younger louder me. I could drink myself drunk and surly, and stay out all night and drown in it. Now with a family, there is no hiding. I have to face it down and find it, and battle for it back while remaining sober and responsible and an earner. There just isn't time anymore to roll around at the bottom. I never worry about rejection. I just worry about perfection. There is no reason why I can't find it for myself. I want to release that shutter, or pen a story that makes my jaw drop and say: "HOLY SHIT you nailed it asshole!" All I can do is keep walking, I'll know it when I get there.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
*disclaimer- this was written before I had ever met Cole...
"Hey! Stand Over There. ( Codependence At An Arms Length)"
I found myself seated next to depression again. He had noticed the empty seat next to me, and as much as he could, he rushed to occupy the vacancy. He set straight to work slugging rounds of gin into his blood stream. This was a fellow that had targeted me more than a few times as a sympathetic to his troubles ( I had made the mistake once before of pretending to give a fuck). I couldn’t find the tolerance to allow for bent ears this night and found myself rushing to get that stool out from under me, and myself thru the exit door into new and better opportunity. I gathered belongings, hot boxed smoke, and deprived the rocks of the whiskey. I paused-- nodded-- and then awkwardly patted, first his back, then his knee, and finally with consideration pet his arm, just soft enough that it should have given him the creeps. I spoke up just as loud as I could get away with to make for an abrupt exit and said: "You have to keep stirring that shit storm my friend. Fuck it, right? (Pause--Pause--Pause) Anyway, good luck with all of it. Chin up?” Slapping my hand down on the bar two times, and then I bolted.
(I don’t mind these awkward instances with strangers so much, because I invite it by sitting alone and making eye contact with irritating folks. I am always testing my own individual strengths of small talk and insight of the world, and my personal favorite… good solid “relationship advice”. A real joy of mine was convincing people that had no business being with one another that were about to end it all, to go ahead and give it another try.)
So now I am outside in the awful reality of downtown Orlando on a summer Tuesday night. It is so sticky thick out with heat, flooding the town with skimpily clad fashion; it becomes a sea of sweaty flesh and tacky summer colors. As usual the younger girls walk in packs, carrying their newly earned beer weight rampant with chubby glitter smeared girl bellies hanging out and jiggling like a beacon to the college boys prowling for the insecure girls. The easy lays. I'm out of my comfort zone now, clubs spill over with wild drunks, and big groups of buddies that refer to one another as "bro" and use the high-five to punctuate every outburst. I want to go back to where I was. I instantly wish for that stool again. All of a sudden that sad, fat sack of shit and his stupid problems that he was eager to burden me with feel good to conquer. I have the choice to go and find the girlfriend, or to stay out with the strangers.
I catch myself standing still and coming alive asking questions. Why am I alone again carrying her around in my head? Is it just the idea of having a "her" that's satisfying? Why am I always in a crowd being very careful not to talk to anyone? Why does love seem to mean everything to her? It must mean that I am not in it equally. Can you be in love just a little bit?
She rolls off my tongue like a punch line. She is my identity to most, but only by my breath, she's never on my arm. “Where is your girl?” people ask. This is almost always the first question punched in like a time card upon entering any familiar room. I always carry the answer, but handle it with this kind of confusion and aloofness that makes friends and eavesdroppers lift eyes off libations and salivate for drama. “ Who knows man” I answer with a heavy sigh, it's a favorite of mine I like to say. And then I realize standing there in the lagging pulse of this dying city-- after hearing myself put on this pretend, I am always alone. I have done so by design. I like being in that bar by myself. I am a regular. I have become one of my childhood television heroes. Why did my parents let me watch so many episodes of Cheers?! I am just like Norm. I love Cheers, and I love Norm, and I love that he was always alone. He was ALWAYS alone.
Sure people sat next to him and they laughed, and cried, and cared… sure sure. But Vera (his wife), that miserable Vera that was never EVER there…that crafty Norm it was the way that he secretly "loved" her. He used his love and his partner of life as a punch line. He recruited comradery, and related to the deep loneliness that exist amongst the dregs and sad sacks of the bar even though he shared his bed and his life with a loving companion. He was better, he was the best, and he had Vera, and she had Norm. Yes God Dammit fucking Norm, I always liked him so much. He was everyones favorite!
My feet fill with pep in step, and I swing heels and walk straight back into that bar with vigor and brashness. I yell out the tenders name just so everyone knows I am in fact back, a regular, and I am more comfortable then all of them. I march right up to the stool and reclaim it and dig into the weeping sad sack and commence building him back from scratch. I accept my whiskey like a surprise, it is always on the house so I am lavish with tips and courtesy and really put on a show. I am Norm after all and everyone is gonna know my name.
Big deep breath...
The Tangerine had some shots stuck in her leg yesterday and quite literally never stopped crying the rest of the day from it. This was the first time I got a glimpse of what it would be like to have a baby in my life that cries non-stop. For the parents that have suffered, or that are currently getting thru the big mean wall of screams and tears, I think you should all get fancy gold medals. You are amazing heroes that should be honored with undisturbed naps, and given pampered sexy happy ending massages to nurse you back to life again. I'm talking about the making it thru a bloody battle, racing past bomb bursts, and landing on the other side unscathed with nothing but your nerves frazzled kind of medal, your very own purple hearts for the emotional injuries. Because baby screams pack the nuclear punching power to blow entire worlds to pieces along with your mind. I honestly had no idea what people were describing whenever I would read someone detail the sounds that had shattered their nerves. I just had never heard it for myself. Cole has lived thru it-- as LB was apparently quite the banshee as a baby. So she knows about this. I did not. My cherry was popped. It hurt. It hurt bad.
Posts
All Comments
