Christmas of the Living Dead

It's Christmas! I survived yet another trip through the "we hate life and are going to take you out as well" state of Maryland to return to my parents' home in western PA. We had dinner with my cousins and their 4-year-old, who plays fetch, then I went for hot warm beverages at Eat n' Park with a friend from high school who recently got married. He and his wife spent the holiday with their respective families because they didn't see them over Thanksgiving. And let me tell you, it was a little odd to hear one of the most emotionally repressed guys I've ever met saying "I love you" on the phone to the woman he refers to as "my wife." I am thrilled for them! It's just going to take a little getting used to. ;)

Sunday was church, then breakfast with a young adult for whom I used to babysit, who for some reason looks up to me. Talk about pressure! After breakfast I did a little shopping. Later in the evening my parents and I went to Wal-Mart and emerged 45 minutes later to find a total blizzard outside. Christmas Snow!!!!! There was enough to cover everything and nearly white-out the road on the way home. It was so pretty and I felt like I was five again.

Monday was kitchen time helping Mom prepare for our huge family dinner, three course meal for sixteen people. It was amazing . . . my mother's cooking is truly like nothing else. We went to midnight mass and I really enjoyed the service. Sometimes, God just hits you the right way, and you "get" it.

Today we opened presents (I got a new laptop!) and visited our family friends in Ohio to watch their 3-year-old open her presents and run around being a princess all morning. It was exhausting and I slept the whole way home. Later was dinner at my Aunt's and now I'm just pulling everything together to head back to VA.

Tomorrow is a trip to the Outlets, lunch with my best friend, then goodbyes and my drive home.

A few stats from this Christmas:

Number of people asking if I have a significant other: 4

Alcohol units consumed: 5

Cookies eaten: at least 30

DVD gifts: 3 (South Park movie, American Beauty, and High Plains Drifter)

Money spent on gear that will be reimbursed by government: $406

Txt messages from non-family wishing me a Merry Christmas: 12

Of those, txts from guys I thought I'd never hear from again: 3

. . . which is why Christmas this year could be renamed "Holiday of the Living Dead." Ignoring them for the past two months appears to have worked. I even deleted one of them from my contacts and had to check the area code in the phone book to figure out who sent the txt. So now I don't know what a proper response is. I'm laying low for now, giving it at least a day and a drive home to consider.

Overall, a very Merry Christmas and a joyous one. Here's hoping those feelings can last for a long time.

Beware of Beavers!

CAUTION:
There are some real crazy beavers out there!!

See below for proof:




Haha! This little display is at Forty Deuce in Luxor, in Vegas. I found it today and found it funnier than I did when I was in its presence.

And this is how Vegas lives on in my heart.

Ode to a Troll

If I ever see you again, it will be too soon. I know our paths will cross someday, and when they do, if I don't punch you in your pathetic little face, you will know exactly how much self-control I am capable of.

You have made my friend cry, and you have done so for as long as I can remember. I don't remember the times you made her happy. I don't remember why she could possibly think you are a decent human being. I also don't remember the last time I felt any positive feelings for you.

I can only hope that every time your (forked) tongue says her name, you realize that she was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you hate yourself for letting her go. For the rest of your life, you will compare every woman you meet to her, and when you decide they are somehow better, it's only because you are compromising on what you think you want.

The crisis you have put those who love her into at this moment, will not be the only one of its kind. Because after this alleged "love" fails, you will probably come snivelling back, crawling on your belly through the mud. I can only pray that she has the strength, and self-respect, to kick you squarely in the face and push you away, as you have done so many times. And then you will break her heart yet again when you find your next "I can do better." You are running. You are running from your deepest fear, yet you will inevitably fail. You will be just like Daddy, no matter how hard you try not to be.

Stay away. Stay away from all of us.

Top Ten Things I Love About My Friend Rowdy

10. Guaranteed designated driver.

9. On the Border is much more special with him than with anyone else.

8. As much as I eat for a girl, he always eats more.

7. He goes to church.

6. Even after three years, he's never pressured me for ANYTHING.

5. Biceps.

4. Pecs.

3. Hilarious blog posts on MySpace that are so funny, you know no one could ever make them up.

2. Bon Jovi sing-alongs in the green Jeep for which he STILL hasn't gotten VA plates.

1. Knowing I have a friend who will always be there for me.

Field of Gray by JunkFood

Because I can't get it out of my head . . . this is for Dusty.

everyday feels like a lifetime
every noise i hear is coming after me
the world keeps closing in
i know they're coming to take you away

every pill brings back the life
it sucks me closer, closer to the end
my pounding head is starving for answers
my brain won't question anything

how long before i remember
how long before you fade away

is it really crazy just to think
someday
the little things won't mean anything
another day
i belong in this field of gray
and you belong with me

lock the doors, i let no one in
i set the table for me and me and me
inside this bottle i see the light
it helps me help you go away

how long before i surrender
how long before they take me away

is it really crazy just to think
someday
the little things won't mean anything
another day
i belong in this field of gray
and you belong with me

i want, i need
i can't find right from wrong
i want, i bleed
and i can't break free

is it really crazy just to think
someday
the little things won't mean anything
another day
i belong in this field of gray
and you belong with
you belong to me

Thankful

Geez, it's been a while, over a month. I've been busy, and I really mean that. I worked 60+ hours of overtime in the last month, and kept my out-of-work time filled with fun and frolic. Buffet mode rocks my world and keeps me entertained, if not out of trouble. It's good fun to just spend time with interesting guys that are so different from one another. They all have their nicknames and perks, pros and cons. It's a smorgasboard and I'm definitely enjoying the feast.

The parents came down and we had our own little Thanksgiving today with two of my friends who are also far from home. We ate like maniacs, watched football, drank wine, and smoked hookah. A truly good holiday.

Everyone should count their blessings, especially today. In that spirit, I am posting a list of things for which I'm thankful . . .

• My freedom, and my life and work in this wonderful country.
• My family, who taught me what love means and remind me every day.
• My friends, who support me no matter what dumb thing I've just done.
• My health, which is a true blessing for which to serve my purpose on the Earth.
• My faith, which pulled me out of many a fall, and continues to move me.

These priceless things are all that really matter. The rest is just paychecks and needless worry. I am fortunate enough to have everything I need . . . and I really want to stop whining so much, because I have no reason to.

At the end of the day, my hope keeps me an optimist. The good in me will always prevail.

Ma Vida Loca

It's been just over 2 weeks since my last report. The most significant event in this time was my first trip to Las Vegas, a girls weekend with 4 of my friends. And I must say, I loved that town and I can't wait till I get to go back! We stayed at the MGM Grand and THEhotel at Mandalay Bay. My favorite thing was walking the Strip, drink in hand . . . that open container thing was really fun! Honorable mentions are the restaurants we chose (Diabolo's, Trevi, to name a pair), lounging at beautiful pools in beautiful sunlight, dancing till the wee hours of the morning at fun clubs, and taking a "Stripper 101" class. It was like a great girls night that lasted for 4 days. We looked gorgeous and we had a ball. The pictures that can be shared have been shared with my inner circle, but here are a few scenic shots in my constant efforts to protect the innocent:

Bellagio Fountains
View from MGM Grand pool
THEtp at THEhotel
THEhotel
View from Mix

Prior to our departure, and influenced by my Vegas research, I finally put a name to my latest mentality regarding my relations to the opposite sex:

I am in "buffet" mode.

This means that I am acknowledging there are many, many tasty foods out there and they are all different. They are all there for the sampling. I am going to fill my plate with whatever I want, a taste of this and a sample of that, going back for more as much as I want. I want to try some new things and not commit to one main entree. When I get my fill of the variety, or when I find one food that knocks my socks off, I'll order something special off the menu.

In this spirit, and within the past two weeks, I have spent worthwhile, quality time with no less than 5 fine gentlemen. And I am in talks with a 6th to finally go out but our schedules are a bit divergent. Anyway. For each of them, the company is wonderful, fun, flirty, and comfortable. Maybe I have finally, finally shed whatever shell I seem to wear that attracts simple-minded, boorish assholes who don't know how to treat a fabulous little catch like myself. It feels really good to do my own thing and just enjoy being around these guys on my terms. No pressure. No drama. Just good companionship and fun times.

Highlights have included:

• Beers at the seediest local bar within 5 miles, catching up on our latest dirty little secrets
• Dinner at a Russian restaurant, pointedly talking about everything but work
• Birds-eye view of the street in Adams Morgan and laughing with each other as we watched a bachelorette party enter a bar accompanied by a 4-foot-high inflated penis
• Popping a Team America: World Police "cherry"
• Coffee at a museum, watching his face react to my story about Stripper 101
• and a tipsy smoke on my porch discussing global politics.

Lots of variety. Just like a buffet should be.

I remember a line from the musical Mame: "Life is a smorgasbord and most poor suckers are starving to death. LIVE!!!"

I'm living. To the limit. And I love it.

Words to Live By

I am in my late 20s but never had much stomach for the girl magazines. Cosmo, Elle, Marie Claire, etc. have been present in my life primarily to keep me from having panic attacks on airplanes. As I've said before, I am a low-maintenance girl. When it comes to such magazines, I know I can't afford the clothes in them, I know I won't spend hours of my life on eye makeup, and I know much better resources for sex advice. So they don't do much for me.

I do not, however, know the meaning of life or what it's like to be a grown-up. Therefore, I did something to assist me in that knowledge . . . I got a subscription to Oprah magazine.

Don't knock it till you've read it. It's great.

I found the below quote in this month's issue:

"I must learn to love the fool in me--the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs, and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool." ~ Theodore I. Rubin, MD

Now that is brilliant.

Number One with a Bullet

My whole upper body hurts. I have a wound on my chest and a bruise on my waist. My arms and neck have red marks spattered over them. My right cheek aches when I touch it and my hand is scraped up.

But you should see what I did to him . . .

Hahaha!!! Just kidding.

Never mind what I'd like to do to a few men I know . . .

I am truly blessed in my work in that every once in a while, I get to go to the firing range to play. Sure, it takes a lot of concentration, focus, and even a little pain, but damn! is it fun. Being out in the fresh air, burning up ammo, and blowing targets to bits (and getting paid for it!) is really as good as it gets. You get beat up (the slight injuries above are the result of hot brass, holster wear, and 13 rounds from a shotgun), but it's so worth it for the sheer release, and how utterly spent you feel afterwards.

Kind of like other activities . . . ;)

Going back into the office today was a complete buzzkill after playing Annie Oakley for 3 days. Some crappy stuff happened and I ended up needing a really good run when I got home. So I literally pounded the pavement, pretty much tearing apart what was left of my body. I won't lie - there is a lot of internal pain and turmoil going on right now, and the only way to subdue it is through physical pain . . . it's funny how exercise and the phenomenon known as "cutting" serve the same purpose, yet exercise is much more socially acceptable. How many exercise nuts are really just crazy people torturing their bodies so they don't have to deal with the torturing of their souls?

Wow, was that deep.

I desperately need the sleep I am not getting right now. Tomorrow will be a loooong day. Here's hoping my weekend lives up to the hype . . . and that this funk I'm in passes . . . and that my smartass ways don't get me into trouble!

The World is Still Turning

Since my last post (12 days ago - seems like forever), I have hosted the parents for a weekend, battled a cold, been flatly stood up, counseled a friend about what could be the end of her engagement, taken a boat ride around DC, danced till my feet could hardly function, hosted a baby shower, and planned for the Vegas trip. And I thought I'd be bored to tears with no overtime at work last week.

I think my pregnant friend has the right idea - she is unexpectedly expecting but the baby's father is totally out of the picture. This may sound like a bad idea to some . . . but I think it might be the ideal situation: taking a big life step forward but no man around to somehow screw it up. Because I'm beginning to think that men are good for nothing except procreation and disappointment.

That being said, I am not a quitter and I don't believe in going down without a fight. As I've written here before, I find no shame in something not working out when I've fought like hell and given it my best shot. But I must be frank - the latest "prospect" has me at wits' end and I am ready to be done with him, good or bad. I am not a high-maintenance girl (and yes, that has been affirmed by ex-whatevers past so I believe it is true). I pride myself on not being needy and enjoying the fabulous "my own thing" I've got going. Relationships aren't the special feature in the cinema of my life. They are the candy or popcorn: completely unnecessary, but hey, it makes the show a little more enjoyable.

But when a guy goes out of his way to tell you he's interested in you, and you reciprocate, then he can't back that statement up with any action whatsoever, you begin to wonder WTF is up. And that's where I am right now. I don't need constant phone calls, showering with presents, or anything that might cramp my style. But I do need something. A little sign, a few words, something to show me that my interest in him is not a waste of my time.

Or at least a little honesty, difficult as it is, that he is no longer interested.

I'm just confused. I am still interested, I want to know whether or not he still is, and if he still is, can we alter our "thing" so that I don't feel like I'm bothering him when I reach out. Is that really so hard???

That's all I've got on that topic.

On another . . . it's been a year since the only real love I've had in the last 4 years crushed my heart prior to moving overseas. Since then we have exchanged sterile conversation about 10 times, with the mention of anything significant at a whopping twice. Sometimes I think he will end up as my "one that got away." Time will tell, I guess. In the meantime, the sun still rises everyday and I carry on, even though I think of him more often than I'll ever admit. And I wonder if he ever thinks of me. I learned a lot from the death (murder? agonizingly slow dismemberment?) of that relationship, and while I fiercely want to believe I've changed for the better, I wonder if he believes the same or just resents me for being young and afraid.

Comfort with the unknown is a luxury of the apathetic. Not exactly my style. But since the world hasn't ended yet, I have to believe that the answers are out there somewhere, and it's just a matter of time and patience until I finally find them.

Shocking, isn't it. I always thought I was a pessimist.

The Thinker

I'm sure you all are dying to know the details about my weekend in Philly. Well, all I will say here is that it was good. Any more information than that will cost you lunch and 2 martinis. Here are some photos:

Tut on the steps outside the Franklin Institute.

The Thinker by Rodin

I'm going to stray a bit and vent rather than try to analyze or entertain . . . these are the bad things I'm thinking about tonight:

1) It sucks to work lots of overtime only to need the money for immediate, necessary car repairs (work with me, people, it was a broken AC in NoVA in August!!).

2) It sucks when the friend for whom you drove out of your way, on your only night off, to pick up from the airport, says it's out of her way to drive you to work (half the distance to the airport!) one time when you don't have your car.

3) It sucks to watch Chapelle's Show alone and remember the last time you watched it was with someone really special. And you laughed. And he laughed. And you miss his laugh because you haven't heard it in so long.

I may sound down, but I'm not. I'm accepting, I'm forgiving, and I'm patient. Here are the good things I'm thinking about tonight:

1) Today is my best friend's birthday, and I celebrated it in my head all day because his presence in my life is such a gift to me.

2) Prospective lunch with a fine gentleman prospect.

3) Mom & Dad are coming to visit in a few days.

What I've been up to lately:

1) Work.

2) The Magic Flute opera at Wolf Trap.

3) Bodies exhibit.

4) Weird Al concert!


And there it is. Your little voyeristic fetish satisfied by a fleeting glimpse into my wacky-ass world. Is it really so crazy?

Risk

This weekend, a Pittsburgh girl will venture somewhere a little risky . . .

Philadelphia.

Growing up in western Pennsylvania, only minutes from Ohio (the midwest!), you kind of see anything east of State College as a foreign country. They talk differently, seem awfully scary-tough, and have never heard of a perogie. I think it's possible that Pennsylvania is really two states: Close to Pittsburgh and Close to Philadelphia. And there is plenty of buffer. The last time I was near Philadelphia as a destination, we had driven for 7 hours and never left ol' PA. It goes on forever.

A fond memory of that trip: we got lost between the church and reception, and ended up in Delaware, and were thrilled to finally cross a state border. Unfortunately it was scary-as-hell-Delaware, and we were just as thrilled to figure out how to turn around and get the hell back into PA, despite our dread of the "east side."

But I digress . . .

What, you ask, could lure a "western" girl like myself to this foreign land of the "east side?" It started innocently enough: the exhibit of articles from King Tut's tomb, on tour from its permanent spot in Egypt. Philadelphia is the closest it will get to me after stops all over the world. I love ancient Egypt, so I couldn't pass that opportunity up. The exhibit opened last fall and I've kept a post-it of the info in my day planner since about January. It closes in September so I knew the time was near.

Then early this summer, I learned that a dear, awesome friend from grad school and her equally awesome husband had a little girl, born on my mother's birthday. And the pieces started falling into place . . .

But the final push was my chance meeting of a man who, after one group dinner, stayed in my thoughts for days, to my surprise. To much more of my surprise, he was interested in me. And he has a place in Philadelphia.

We had a typical (yet surreal) first date: out on a work night, outdoor Italian with a bottle of red, ice cream parlor after, then Goodfellas back at his place. That night, when he drove me home, we knew we had to say goodbye for a while: life, plans, obligations, vacations. That was 6 weeks ago.

And here I am packing for Philadelphia. I don't know what I'm in for. It's a risk . . . but I have to try.

The last time a guy broke my heart (4 months ago), I briefly considered shutting everything down, giving up, never letting anyone in again and never caring about being alone. But then I realized that that state is true misery. That's the state he was in, and likely still is. I would rather put myself out there, at risk of being hurt, and really give another person everything I've got. Because there is nothing that makes me feel more alive than knowing I'm doing something to the extent of my soul's allowance. It's powerful, it's invigorating, it's a high that can't be found anywhere else. It's worth the risk. Life is meant to be felt, pushed, and lived . . . not locked away playing Wii with every wall up and every door locked and every crack sealed to keep out the light of real love, real caring, real feeling.

As I said before, I have no idea what I'm in for. But I refuse to live afraid. I will not fear feelings, I will not fear love, and I will not fear being hurt.

And will certainly not fear Philadelphia. We Pittsburghers are tougher than that!

Control

One thing I will never, ever understand is why almost every person in the world will approach an already-pressed, already-lighted elevator button . . . and press it again, often repeatedly. It doesn't matter if it's the up/down panel outside the doors, or the select-your-floor panel inside. A stunningly high number of people take that extra step when someone else has already completed the task.

Why? Why, why, WHY???

When you think of it, it's kind of insulting to the initial button-presser, who is usually present. The second person to press the button is expressing to the initial button-presser that:

1. The elevator is not going to listen to Initial.
2. Initial somehow did not press the button well enough.
3. Second can press the button better than Initial.

Or maybe Second has a total inferiority complex, an exhausting paranoia of being ignored, and needs to feel important in any way he can . . . in other words, he presses the button again to assert control. As so many people do in so many ways: press the button to assert control.

Control is really an amazing concept. We fight for it every day, during every interaction. Example: your boss asserts control over you by assigning you a task. You, in turn, ask your boss for clarification, so you can assert control over the task itself by enhancing your understanding of the task, which in theory contributes to your confidence in completing it.

Control drives us. The human spirit is competitive, often self-serving, and always striving for more . . . and what is behind all these traits? A desire for power, domination, control. We live in an ever-rebalancing equilibrium between feeling like masters of our universes and feeling like peons. The old moth-windshield analogy, if you will. Obviously, we feel our best when we are the windshield, and I don't mean that in a pejorative way. We feel good when we get it right. When we get it right, we are in control. And if being in control, getting it right, feels good and makes you happy, then you should be able to enjoy it.

Of course, some people take it too far. They ruin it for everyone. So sometimes the Universe (God, if you will) has to knock you down a peg to remind you that you are a guest in this world, subject to its moods and fluctuations, and even if you are CEO, boss, head of household, or even in control of just one other person (partner or child) . . . you can still die behind the wheel of your car on an ordinary day. You can build dams, tall buildings, even supersafe bridges . . . and one earthquake, 19 fanatic terrorists, or the wrong combination of physics can destroy what you created in an attempt to control and dominate the Earth you live on.

The best things in life are the things we cannot control: beautiful sunsets, lightning bugs in the woods, mountains and trees and the ocean. And the endless amusement that humans provide. We are quirky, often downright funny, and our little nuances are truly a gift.

So if I cannot control my laughter the next time a Second starts frantically pressing a button that was already competently activated by an Initial, I will thank God for that quirkiness. And the Second will watch me laughing and either:

A. Smile and wonder at my own quirkiness, or
B. Realize what I'm laughing at and laugh at himself, or
C. Become enraged at his lack of control over both the elevator and my response to him and press the button again.

Because he cannot help it.

Introduction

Well hello there.

This has been a long time coming.

I guess my main reason for starting this blog is that I used to write all the time, and for a long time now I haven't been doing so. And I miss it. So hopefully this can help me get my "voice" back.

I'm not saying that what I wrote, write, or will write is good. But sometimes there are things you simply have to try, regardless of the result.

The title of this blog is "What doesn't kill you . . . " I have heard a few completions of this phrase to include:

" . . . will probably hurt like hell."

" . . . wasn't trained by the US Marine Corps."

" . . . will make you wish it had."

My personal favorite is the original Nietzsche: "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger." These are the words I had inked into my flesh (in Latin: Quod me non occidit, me firmat) six years ago. I got my tattoo as a reminder that no matter what I face in my life, it is all for the purpose of molding me into a better, stronger person. I have faith in that: that God gives me trials to refine myself, grow better, develop, and craft myself into a beautiful instrument through which to do whatever work He has designated as mine in this world.

Sometimes, that idea is the only thing that keeps me going. I am currently recovering from a difficult year (and a half) during which I had numerous disappointments and heartaches. But it developed in me the strongest sense of self I've ever had. That is what problems do . . . break you down to the point that you have to strengthen yourself enough to get up and keep going, and it's when you pass through the storm that you feel that strength. In that strength is your mind, soul, spirit . . . your very essence.

So. That is my introduction. I guess we'll see where these writings take me, and you, dear reader, whoever you are.