Aug 25, 2005 | Uncategorized
. . . Over educated and underemployed.
Note to you: don’t go pissing off the powers that be until after they grant your diploma.
So
Spring’s drama continues long distance as I work on finding an
internship on my own.* The key phrase being ON MY OWN. Now,
I expected this much. It is, after all, the definition of
exile. But what I didn’t anticipate is how much of a pariah I
would become at my choice of institution for advanced education.
On
the 16th I requested an unofficial transcript so that I could apply for
a teaching position at the local community college. I’m still
waiting. IZ suggested I send my request via priority mail with
signature upon receipt–but I was afraid of the message that would
send. Instead, the opportunity to teach this year has passed and
I face the reality that not only am I going to be working RETAIL this
year, but I’ve pissed off the head of the department (who stopped by my
house to personally invite me to apply!) by not turning in my
application on time. It seems I won’t be content until I’ve pissed off
the entire Universe.
Now, it is quite possible that my email
was perceived as spam–or things are so busy that my request is buried
in a pile somewhere in the registrar’s office. But, being the
paranoid girl that I am (and I contend after this Spring I have due
reason to be!) I can’t help feel the sting of payback. I knew
payback was a bitch but who knew she had such an arm on her! I’m
sure there is some lesson hidden deep within this–that in retrospect I
will have a big "Ah-Ha" moment. But, until then, the only thing I
have to say is, "Would you like fries with that?"
*I wonder if I
could pitch this as a reality tv show? It sorta has that ring to it. .
. "What lengths will Wende go to graduate–join us next week to
see how low she will stoop for that elusive diploma."
(more…)
Aug 24, 2005 | Uncategorized
Someone
needs to pull real hard on the rubber WWJD? bracelet Pat Robertson
is wearing. Because, I’m thinking Our Lord and Savior wouldn’t be too impressed that Pat hasn’t figured out that God loves Fidel Castro too." Speaking about Venezuelan President, Hugo Chavez, Robertson is quoted as saying on his program The 700 Club, "If he thinks we’re trying to assassinate him , I think that we really
ought to go ahead and do it. . . It’s a whole lot cheaper than starting a war. And I
don’t think any oil shipments will stop." It seems that Chavez and Castro are BFF and Robertson is a wee bit jealous.
Now, if you would all please stand and join with me in singing #678 in your hymnal, "What a Friend We Have In Jesus."
(more…)
Aug 19, 2005 | Uncategorized
Jesus of the week:
It’s Friday,
again, and I wish there was more to report. I could blog about my
minor break-down last night over my lack of prospects (up until 1am
blubbering my eyes out while IZ tried to reassure me that this is not
the end of my little world!)–but even I have my limits on
self-pity. And I’m not really that pretty of a crier! The
bottom line is I’m up a proverbial creek and need to do some fast
driving if I ever expect to graduate. (Hold on Jesus!) Other than
that, I’m just sitting here listening to Radioio trying to push down
all those weedy thoughts that fight their way to the surface–thoughts
that suggest I’ve seen the last of caps and gowns.
I never looked that good in Black anyhow.
(more…)
Aug 16, 2005 | Uncategorized
IZ: (pulling up a stool in the Kitchen) "Here, so you can plop* your ass down."
Me: "Thanks, Sweetheart."
*As if I’ve ever plopped my ass down on anything!
(more…)
Aug 12, 2005 | Uncategorized
As I am headed to Seattle today(to visit with the darling and pregnant
Becca) there will be no Friday Cat blogging today. Wait. I don’t
Friday Cat blog. So, you aren’t really missing anything, are
you? But before you start your complaining, I direct you to Jesus of the Week.
At the risk of adding years to what will be in all likelihood a very
long purgatory sentence already, I will point out that as a meme (which, I won’t do… just because your friends jump off a bridge, should you?
Hmm???) Jesus of the Week gives a whole new spin to "Good Friday."
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Aug 11, 2005 | Uncategorized
Boy Wonder: Uh, Mom?
Me: Yeah?
Boy Wonder: You know when Andrew was here, I showed him your underwear to make him laugh.
Me: silence
Boy Wonder: He thought it was funny. . .
Me: more silence
Boy Wonder: Well, I was just trying to be a good friend!
Ha
ha ha ha… by showing him my underwear. The humor of small boys
never fails to befuddle me. (or their logic) Since when did "I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours" turn into, "Hey check out my mom’s undewear!"? I’m not sure what appalls
me more: the fact Boy Wonder showed him my black "spanky pants"*
or that the kid next door thought they were funny.
*don’t ask.
(more…)
Aug 11, 2005 | Uncategorized
Dear IZ,
You know I love you–you have to know this,
right? I mean, only a woman in love would put up with the house-guests from hell– six weeks after moving! House-guests that
belong to YOU! Seriously, you must know I’m completely smitten
with you to clean, bake, and all around put up with the generous
amounts of neurotic anxiety produced by said house guests.
Not to mention the undisciplined and unmonitored antics of their
oppositional eight year old. (Two words: NEVER AGAIN!)
I’m only asking because
I’m hearing noises coming from the kitchen that suggest you might not
be aware of my total and complete dedication to your happiness.
Grumbly noises. Snarky noises. And I have to say, I am
crushed! Your friends have driven me to drink and I don’t think
commentary from you regarding my Mocha habit is really necessary.
Yes, I want another mocha.
And I don’t think it’s too much to ask you to make it. It’s not
like I’m asking for, let’s say, a rather large diamond or
anything! I can hear you
raising that eyebrow at me, bubba. If I have a three mocha a day habit,
it is in direct correlation to the three days of mind altering, passive
aggressive, narcissistic, oppositional behavior tolerated by yours
truly for YOU. Because I love YOU! So, stop asking if I
want whipped cream on top of my third mocha in that tone. Of course I want whipped cream–bling bling.
(more…)
Aug 6, 2005 | Uncategorized
(FYI: The following is my worst nightmare come true–and probably the longest hour in my life. But it ends ok. Keep that in mind as you read this. It’s poorly written, but I don’t know how to craft hell.)
Sometimes, time stands still in a way that is glorious. Summer
evenings perfectly balmy, sitting on your porch that overlooks the
city, soaking in the last of the warmth the day held, the smell of
honeysuckle getting all mixed up with the smell of your wine. I
live for those moments. Moments full of the laughter of close
friends–there’s a sort of magic in it all.
Sometimes,
time stands still in a completely different manner. Trapped in a
hot car waiting in a parking lot of a freeway. Waiting for an
exam to begin, or test results. Small children screaming at you
in the wee hours of the night, tiny tummies bound up with colic.
Anticipating lab results. Getting lab results. Facing the
lab results.
Eight year olds riding off on their bikes and not returning. Time stands still and it is horrific.
I’m
not sure what I expected. Oh, I expected to face it in some
way. IZ says I’m a worst case scenario kind of person–that I
imagine my worst nightmares and how I will cope with them as a way of
steeling myself against the odds and the possibility of actually having
the worst happen. It’s a precaution. It’s a coping
mechanism. It’s insanity–and it doesn’t work.
Nothing
prepares you for the reality that you have allowed your child a small
bit of freedom and in that freedom he has disappeared.
Vanished. When the reality hits you that he has not come home and
checked in, that he is not where he should be, that there is no trace
of him, that no one has seen him, that he does not answer your calls,
Time takes on a completely different texture. Minutes pass before
you but you stand completely still. Screaming does not change
your perception nor your reality–neither does vomiting or crying or
pleading with the Universe. Nothing alters your perception that
the world has completely sped away from you and that you no longer
exist on the same plane. You are suspended in a hell worse than
death. Your child is missing.
My child is missing.
Nothing
prepares you for your reaction either. I couldn’t manage the
phone call to the police. IZ called them–after walking our
street several times and the neighbor boys setting out on their bikes
in search of him–and gave them his description. IZ could not
remember our street address or what he was wearing. I
could. What I could not do was face punching the numbers into
the phone. Instead, I paced our driveway–my pleas to God
punctuating IZ’s conversation with 911.
"He’s wearing shorts. . . "
"No, he has on a grey shirt with green stripes and grey sweatpants. . . "
Please, God, where is my child?
"We live at 534 Kens…"
"No, IZ! It’s 559 Kensington!"
Please, God, where is my child?
I
was not prepared to fall apart, to come undone. In all my worst
case scenarios, I never factored in my complete fracture. I never
imagined what the effect of time standing still would have on my
ability to function. My undoing was so unnerving for our neighbor
(mother of boys in the search party) she got in her car and began
canvasing the neighborhood despite the fact she was just out of surgery
last week and still in immense pain. She and IZ both took off to
search while I paced in front of our house–her cell phone in one hand,
our home phone in the other. And it was at the point I realized,
I was NOT ever going to be prepared for this. Nothing was ever
going to make this OK. Nothing was going to start time again as
long as my child was gone, as long as I didn’t know where to find him.
Fortunately,
phones ring with good news. Boy Wonder had made a wrong turn
(verboten!) and left our street (Uber Verboten!!) and because we live
on a hill his wrong turn had him careening downhill into town. He
finally managed to stop and attempted to help a motorcyclist at a stop
sign who inadvertently lost his saddlebags. (NO NO NO!) He also managed
to ask for help in finding directions back to his home and had just
navigated onto our street when the police and IZ caught up with
him. He defends his decision to ask for directions from strangers
by pointing out that he did make it almost home and that he couldn’t
locate police. He was quick to identify himself to the officer in
charge as well as let them know he was lost not a runaway! And all of
this has humorous overtones that I can’t begin to fathom because it all
happened in a space I only recognize as hell. Maybe
tomorrow. When tomorrow comes.
(more…)
Aug 5, 2005 | Uncategorized
Sometimes, time stands still in a way that is glorious. Summer
evenings perfectly balmy, sitting on your porch that overlooks the
city, soaking in the last of the warmth the day held, the smell of
honeysuckle getting all mixed up with the smell of your wine. I
live for those moments. Moments full of the laughter of close
friends–there’s a sort of magic in it all.
Sometimes,
time stands still in a completely different manner. Trapped in a
hot car waiting in a parking lot of a freeway. Waiting for an
exam to begin, or test results. Small children screaming at you
in the wee hours of the night, tiny tummies bound up with colic.
Anticipating lab results. Getting lab results. Facing the
lab results.
Eight year olds riding off on their bikes and not returning. Time stands still and it is horrific.
I’m
not sure what I expected. Oh, I expected to face it in some
way. IZ says I’m a worst case scenario kind of person–that I
imagine my worst nightmares and how I will cope with them as a way of
steeling myself against the odds and the possibility of actually having
the worst happen. It’s a precaution. It’s a coping
mechanism. It’s insanity–and it doesn’t work.
Nothing
prepares you for the reality that you have allowed your child a small
bit of freedom and in that freedom he has disappeared.
Vanished. When the reality hits you that he has not come home and
checked in, that he is not where he should be, that there is no trace
of him, that no one has seen him, that he does not answer your calls,
Time takes on a completely different texture. Minutes pass before
you but you stand completely still. Screaming does not change
your perception nor your reality–neither does vomiting or crying or
pleading with the Universe. Nothing alters your perception that
the world has completely sped away from you and that you no longer
exist on the same plane. You are suspended in a hell worse than
death. Your child is missing.
My child is missing.
Nothing
prepares you for your reaction either. I couldn’t manage the
phone call to the police. IZ called them–after walking our
street several times and the neighbor boys setting out on their bikes
in search of him–and gave them his description. IZ could not
remember our street address or what he was wearing. I
could. What I could not do was face punching in the numbers into
the phone. Instead, I paced our driveway–my pleas to God
punctuating IZ’s conversation with 911.
"He’s wearing shorts. . . "
"No, he has on a grey shirt with green stripes and grey sweatpants. . . "
Please, God, where is my child?
"We live at 534 Kens…"
"No, IZ! It’s 559 Kensington!"
Please, God, where is my child?
I
was not prepared to fall apart, to come undone. In all my worst
case scenarios, I never factored in my complete fracture. I never
imagined what the effect of time standing still would have on my
ability to function. My undoing was so unnerving for our neighbor
(mother of boys in the search party) she got in her car and began
canvasing the neighborhood despite the fact she was just out of surgery
last week and still in immense pain. She and IZ both took off to
search while I paced in front of our house–her cell phone in one hand,
our home phone in the other. And it was at the point I realized,
I was NOT ever going to be prepared for this. Nothing was ever
going to make this OK. Nothing was going to start time again as
long as my child was gone, as long as I didn’t know where to find him.
Fortunately,
phones ring with good news. Boy Wonder had made a wrong turn
(verboten!) and left our street (Uber Verboten!!) and because we live
on a hill his wrong turn had him careening downhill into town. He
finally managed to stop and attempted to help a motorcyclist at a stop
sign who inadvertently lost his saddlebags. (NO NO NO!) He also managed
to ask for help in finding directions back to his home and had just
navigated onto our street when the police and IZ caught up with
him. He defends his decision to ask for directions from strangers
by pointing out that he did make it almost home and that he couldn’t
locate police. He was quick to identify himself to the officer in
charge as well as let them know he was lost not a runaway! And all of
this has humorous overtones that I can’t begin to fathom because it all
happened in a space I only recognize as hell. Maybe
tomorrow. When tomorrow comes.
(more…)
Aug 4, 2005 | Uncategorized
(more…)
