Just a quickie…

Day 2 of the big house sitting pet sitting adventure.

Every time the phone rang last night - Mikey decided to bark her little hyper high pitched poodle bark. I ended up locking myself in one of the bedrooms upstairs and crawling under the bed with phone pressed tightly against my cheek. No - I did not pull my vibrator in after me.

I know that things are suppose to be all romantic and everything. I’d like to be one of those girls who tells you that I always play while I’m on a call - but every once in awhile one has to be … realistic and honest. I was in the wild kingdom last night - and I was too busy crawling into tight places with phone in hand to get away from the barking bitch to play with Mr. Hitachi man. I will make sure he is with me tonight, though. Mikey might decide to behave.

I’ve been slowly walking around the house though. I am, by nature, a big snoop. Snoop doggy dog and then some. I LOVE looking at people’s things. I’m just being honest. If you don’t like the fact - then please don’t invite me to your home. Because I’m telling you. I WILL look thru your shit. Maybe not stuff that you have on the top shelf of your closet - but under your bed? Under your mattress? In a drawer or two? Yeah. I will be that snoop doggy.

So I’m at the house - and I realize thru my snooping skills that the house that I’m sitting for does not …. *whispers* have a computer. I KNOW. I didn’t think a house existed. But there you have it. The little kind lady that I’m house sitting for does not have a computer. Does not have a lap top. That I know of. That I’ve found. Does not have a computer. Soooooo - I have to run on home and do what I need to do - and then rush on over to spend the nite with the puppies. I also do not have the ability to check my listings - or even answer emails that are sent to me while I’m on line - unless I’m on line while I’m at home - which is not likely. BIG No-No. Seriously. I’m surprised she has a tv. Had I not been snooping - I might not have realized this as early as I did and made arrangements to log on in another way - see? Snooping is imperative.

I haven’t found any movies - but it doesn’t matter cuz I haven’t found the DVD player to play the movies on.

So I was sitting in front of the big screen tv earlier today - eating my tomato soup with crackers and staring out at the pool when it hit me. How warm was the pool and how warm did it have to be before I swam in it? I had dipped my toe in it a few times - and it was pretty cold. It looked so inviting. There’s a little water fall that is at one end - and a little hot top, I guess, in another part of the pool. It’s really oddly shaped - so it looks more like some tropical pool than a typical pool. I had no bathing suit. I didn[t even wanna wear the one that I had bought 2 seasons ago. I didn’t want to go skinny dipping because that is only fun when you have someone you want to fuck, let’s face it. So there I sat - discussing the possibility over the phone. Sitting there in my white tank top and white cotton granny panties. Yup. I thought to myself … what is wrong with just slipping into the pool like this? And I sat at the edge and let the water kiss my ankles. Then I kinda leaned in…bracing myself on my hands behind me and lowering myself in like … I don’t know… some calgon commercial or something. The water slid up my calves. I stood on the stairs of the pool - these nice thick blocks of slippery cement - and with each step I took the water rose a little more… a little more… a little more. Just one more step to go….

The entire valley must have heard my yelp. How was I to know the last step would be the deadliest? That last step had me ass deep into the pool. 75 degree water was lapping at my ass and I could hardly even take my breath. Once I was in I figured, “fuck it” - and just swam for about 20 minutes. It’s warm after your blood stops circulating.

I have work in a minute… and I still have to get changed. I’m tired. I’d like to just curl up at the house with the windows open and take a nice nap. It’s peaceful there. I guess having no computer there might help me out a bit. I have 2 papers that need writing - and I have a lot of relaxing left to do. I can lay by the pool tomorrow until classes and read and toast myself golden on both sides - sliding into the pool every now and again to cool off….

This week is gonna be a good one!

You know when something happens and you feel partially responsible for it even happening? You feel angry - but then there is this knot of guilt that makes the sadness kind of turn into a … a knot. The knot just sits there in your stomach and every time you feel like crying about it - the knot rears its ugly head once more.

I left my ipod - a gift from a dear friend of mine for my last bday - sitting in the i-trip doc in my car. My car was in front of my house - under a street light - where it sat undisturbed for more than 12 hours. This afternoon, however, my luck runneth out-eth. A lucky bastard saw fit to smash the window on the passenger side of my brand new car (almost - only a year old), lean in thru the window and snatch both ipod and doc from their cozy home and run away with it, probably not even taking another thought.

I live in a nice neighborhood. It’s not Minnesota - and I’ve lived there for a bit of my life - but it’s nice. It’s a quiet neighborhood where kids play in the street and skateboard to the park and walk their dogs - and wash their cars in their driveways. It’s a neighborhood where we all know one another - and even though we’ve had our little disagreements over constantly barking dogs in the middle of the morning - or people taking our spot under the coveted tree during 102 degree summers - it’s relatively a norman rockwell sort of painting. Nothing bad ever happens here. No police raids - no helicopters flying over head. No gang activity or tagging or … break ins. Even though I have an alarm on my car - I rarely ever use it. I just haven’t thought of it as necessary. Until today.

I saw the window from the doorway. I looked at my car and thought to myself that a bird might have shat on it or something. Something was hanging on the window and as I stepped towards my car I realized that it was bits of little honeycombed pieces of glass - hanging from the rubber seal or whatever it is called. I looked inside knowing instantly what they had been after - and what they had unfortunately recieved. You know - as the day went on - I wasn’t even upset about that fuckin ipod. I really wasn’t. I was upset at the fact that my damn window was gone. I was upset that now I had to think about my whole “life” being exposed for someone to just walk in and touch my belongings - and that someone actually had. My window is but a fraction of the cost of the ipod - but I seriously did not even care about it. The day wore on - I had to go to work - and all thru work I kept thinking about my car in the parking lot - minus a window. A kind policeman came to my work and I couldn’t even get excited about him. That pissed me off too - because he was certainly very attractive. As he sat down and took the report - I kept telling him that I didn’t care about the Ipod. I knew I wasn’t getting it back. I cared about my window. I wanted to get it replaced as soon as possible. I wanted all that glass cleaned up. I wanted to drive down the street and not hear the evidence of the crime dropping into my damn door. I wanted to sit in my car - place my purse on the passenger seat - and go about my business. Instead, here I was, not disturbing the “evidence”. I felt like - I felt like the glass on the seat of my car and the missing window was some indication of what I had done wrong. I felt ashamed. I felt like I was to blame for even thinking I could leave something so valuable in my car and not have it taken. WTF.

All through work I talked about that damn car. I heard that there had been several robberies in the area - even a bank had been robbed earlier that morning. A house had been broken into - and several cars had been vandolized through out the day. Our little safe neighborhood wasn’t so safe after all. When it came time to close I realized just how freaked out I had become. It was nighttime now - and maybe the people would be back to gloat at their work. I know it seems silly and dramatic as hell. I know it does. But I still felt like they would be back to do more to my car. Maybe this time they would take the whole car. Maybe they would scratch it - or maybe they would …

I manned the alarm. I went inside. I started to cry. I attempted to get out of my funk. I thought about it as a life lesson - about how much worse off it could be. But nothing quite worked, ya know? I would start to think about something else - and then I just felt bad again. I even spoke to my friend NAKA and laughed for a bit - but when the conversation shifted I felt … all pissed off again. Maybe I just was in a funk and determined to feel lousy (???) - I don’t know. But we fought a bit. If I had been near him, I think I would have shrugged off any attempts he made to touch me. I felt like here I was - a good kid - hadn’t done anything wrong - and I was being punished, I felt, for something. I know it’s not attractive to be in victim-mode - but I just wanted to feel badly for a minute and I was sure that no one else in the whole entire world felt as lousy as I did at that moment and damn it - I wanted a ribbon or badge or something! (lol). For every, “it could be worse” comment I got today I felt like saying - “this IS worse for me!” for every “well at least…” I heard I wanted to scream loudly, “THIS ISN’T LEAST!!!” I don’t care if the person who took my shit had an addiction and couldn’t stop himself because he needed some dope. I don’t care if he was mistreated as a young kid and raped by his fuckin priest and was acting out on some post traumatic type shit. I wouldn’t care if his wrong decision or moment of insanity landed him in jail where he couldn’t talk to his girlfriend anymore and his mother felt so bad that she had a heart attack and landed in the hospital and was on life support. HE SHOULDN’T OF FUCKED WITH MY SHIT - point blank. period. End of fuckin story. I was enraged. It took me all day to realize it - but I was PISSED. I was hurt - pissed - and didn’t believe that I would ever feel better until I had my shit back. Fuck empathy and life lessons learned. I fought with NAKA - something that didn’t make me feel half as good as I thought it might.

When the time came in to check in with Doc - something in me finally broke free. I finally let it go. I told him about how I felt guilty. How I had asked for it. How stupid I had been. How I wanted my things back. How they didn’t belong to the person who had taken them. How dare they??!!! I work hard for my things. I know that life is hard and tough and blah blah blah - I know that there are SEVERAL things that I WANT but I can’t afford to get - or can’t get right now - or whatever. Don’t you think that sometimes I’m tempted to just take shit too? If I didn’t have that little bit of guilt inside of me - I could walk into a store and just take a outfit here or take an outfit there. I would go to the corner and buy a damn lap top off of someone knowing full well that it was probably stolen, too. I like nice things. I feel ENTITLED sometimes to have them - I mean - fuck - I’m human. But I don’t do things like that to other people. Partially because I know with my luck I would get caught and it would be nothing like the fantasies I imagine. But also because I know that it would hurt someone and I just don’t have it in me to be that fuckin mean and heartless. And trust me - I’ve had people in my life that deserve that type of treatment. It was when I was going thru the actual pain of losing something that meant so much to me that my friend stepped in and did something that he is known to do over and over and over again for me.

He bought me another Ipod to replace the one he had given me just one year ago.

He picked up the bill and he paid it. He paid the price for my lack of judgement - and for some asshole’s lack of …guilt, maybe? Discernment? I don’t know what. And then he said, “Now you can stop crying…” At first I cried more - just because his never ending kindness does that to me. But finally the tears stopped. I started to feel not so “shamed”.

I have a busy couple of days a head of me - but there is no doubt that by Monday Morning I can put all of this behind me. My window will have been replaced. Fingerprints will have been dusted for. My car will have been wiped clean by a great car detailing place down the way. This too shall pass. And in a few days I’ll have in my hands an even bigger Ipod than the one that was taken from me. Scratch free. And I will never leave it unattended in my car again.

So I need to apologize. I’m really sorry, NAKA for being so deeply affected by all of this that I couldn’t let you in to even comfort me. I had to fight and be angry for awhile - and it was not fair for me to not tell you what it is that I needed. I should have just sat with it for awhile instead of making you take the full force of my anger. You told me that one day I might laugh about this - and I treated you like you told me that one day I’d enjoy the taste of shit. Maybe it was just too soon for me to hear all that - but I can not fault you for wanting to make me feel better - especially when you had all kinds of other things to deal with in your life. I know that if I had asked you to help me in any way - you would have… no questions asked.

Doc told me that maybe one day I can make this into a fantasy. I kind of thought about it and shook my head. But down inside of me there was a bit of a twinge. Due to 2 great friends and their listening ears and their almost-annoying-at-times optimism - a window inside of me started to break. Words started coming together and forming sentences and though I can’t quite go there - I know that I will turn even this gross example of human nature and life’s lessons into a fantasy that I can enjoy.

Maybe not today.
But soon.

Dave - thank you. Sometimes in the middle of the nite I get very fuckin emotional - and I guess it hit me. Most of the time I can reel it back in and sometimes I don’t even bother to. I don’t even attempt to - ya know? In the morning light however that post just was glaring at me and screaming for protection. So I did it. I think it’s fine to be read - but just having it out in the open all accessible and stuff makes me feel just a tad more vulnerable than I would like - so I password protected it.

For everyone that didn’t get to read it before I protected it - it’s no great secret. The password is van. That’s it. But be warned. It’s pretty heavy, really. And probably not the type of post that will make you horny and want to run over to NF to call me. I’m saying that sort of with tongue in cheek. Sort of. But it is something that happened to me - something that is on my mind - and something I just wanted to get out. Not sure if I wanted to share it - but I’ve transformed this little blog into a somewhat heavier vessel of um… of a diary, maybe (?). Anyways - I had to write it - so feel free to read or to skip it - depending on what you can handle. K?

I have gotten called into work AGAIN by the evil inconsiderate work gods - so I’ll be leaving here soon to go work out for 8 hours or so. Good god. I’ll be back on because tomorrow is Friday and even though I STILL have to work ONCE AGAIN on Friday - I won’t have to go in so damn early at least and can play a bit. So I’ll be on taking calls around 10:00PM and will stay on as long as my little eyes can stay open. Maybe 3 or 4:00am.

Thanks again Dave for reading my post down below - and for delicately giving your opinion. I took it to heart and it wasn’t out of line for you to say anything.

C.

Usually when I can’t sleep it’s because there is something inside of my head that just keeps spinning around and around that I just need to figure out. I suppose that is true for anyone who has insomnia - but for me - it’s not quite that. I mean - I could sleep…if there wasn’t a spider that just ran away from me that I couldn’t ‘catch’ before I thought about closing my eyes. I don’t need to revisit my fear of spiders, right? I don’t really mind them - I just mind them alive and running around while I’m sleeping and unaware of where their 8 legs are treading. I might even be able to sleep if I wasn’t thinking about my geography test that is later. I might even be able to sleep if I wasn’t aware of the sun peeking thru my upstairs loft window - and the fact I have errands to run and bills to pay and that I should probably work out and keep my promise to go to the gym and or walk every day AT LEAST. If all of these things weren’t going on inside of my head - I still couldn’t sleep. It’s so much deeper than all that surface crap, ya know? It’s like there is some puzzle that if I just write long enough - it might reveal itself - I might have a chance of solving it - and then and only then I will sleep.

So here I am - at 6:09AM Tuesday morning - writing.

After work last night I came home and tackled one of my year end projects for Geography. We have to make this family tree album of sorts - and I thought that maybe I could talk to my mother about her side of the family. We hardly ever talk about these things - family trees and history and things. I’m not one of those kids that doesn’t talk to her parents - but I usually am quite selfish when I do talk to them. I don’t talk about how she and my father met - or how and when she went to school - and how she felt about her parents. I kind of soak up information from aunts and uncles about her - but never really go to the source. This project, however, has made talking to my mother a necessity - and convinced that I had put it off long enough - I started to ask her questions last nite. “How did grandmother and grandfather meet?” I asked her. I watched her face. Her expression. Her little nose scrunch up when she finds something funny - and her eyes watchful - watchful of whether or not I was humoring her by my questions or if I really wanted to know. I really wanted to know. And she talked. She talked about hiding under tables and making faces to mimic those around her. She talked about how old she was - not much older than I was - when she first found out she couldn’t hear so well out of her left ear. She talked about how my grandmother was - how my grandfather accepted eggs and butter for payments for delivering children in the little country town he served as a Doctor. She talked and talked - and laughed - and showed me pictures in little cookbooks filled with deserts and hotdishes that only a true Minnesotan would love. I looked at these pictures - and tried to trace them with my fingers. Tried to look at the faces and find mine and my mother’s in them. I could find my mother’s - but being adopted - any familiarity for ME was lost.

Pictures of my family, for this reason, has always been pretty bitter sweet.

I don’t have many pictures of me as a baby - another casuality of being adopted at 3 years old. It’s like my life just suddenly started at 3 years old or something - and everything before that is just - I don’t know… vapor. It makes me a bit sad, really - and I try to convince myself while looking at my families history that I belong somewhere in there.

The story goes that my mother, while working in a library - saw my name on the ledger in the back of the book. She vowed then that if she ever had a little girl, she would name me that name. I never heard that version of the story. I heard that I was named after a great grandmother’s sister straight out of Norway. I liked that version better. I could almost pretend as though I was part of the family, ya know - and not just some “substitute” as I often feared I was. But I won’t get into all of that. At least not this morning. I saw the picture of my name sake though - My great great Grandmother’s sister. She did not smile. Her hair was pulled back into these braids - with little ribbons at the ends. She looked - posed. Looking straight ahead with the rest of her family at some photographer - some stranger, maybe, who had no idea who this family really was. Even if he did know - it was obvious by the deadness in the picture that capturing any reality of who they were was not important to him. If I was the photographer, I would want to take a picture of them playing together. Or maybe sitting together at the table eating a dinner. Or maybe even rolling out some lefse for Christmas dinner. I would want to take a picture of my great great grandmother tying the ribbons on her sisters braids. Or maybe even a picture of my namesake impatiently staring back at the photographer waiting for the ordeal to be over. If.

Sometimes I wish that I could paint. I remember so many things that I know there are no photographs for, ya know? If I could paint - I could paint from memory, maybe. I could paint even a picture of a family that had my features - my expressions. I would paint a picture of my mother - under a table - making faces that looked like mine so that maybe people could find a resemblance there. I would paint - I would paint reflections - perfect reflections because they are my favorite.

I couldn’t write fast enough. My mother kept talking - and everything that she said I wanted to make sure I remembered exactly what she said. Even if I had taped her - and wrote it back word for word - how could I remember that specific look she had in her eye. How could I remember to tell my own kids when the time came for their family tree project - ya know? That worries me. I want to be able to record everything down. I want to remember things and I want my words that I write to be a accurate account of things. Yeah - I write to entertain - and yes - I write even to tantalize and titillate my readers (thanks puppy - you were right about that!) but I also write to remember. To record. I write because I can’t paint. I write because I don’t take pictures - and even pictures sometimes can’t tell EVERYTHING (though some pictures I’ve seen come pretty damn close!). IF I could paint I doubt even that would do justice - so all I have is my words. Limited - overused - sometimes misunderstood. But I’m awake trying my damndest to attach words in my head - to everything I love right now.

I love the expression on my mother’s face when she was telling me stories about our family. I love the expression on my mother’s face when she was telling me stories of when she first held me in her arms. I was 3 years old. I didn’t know who she was or where she was taking me. I sat on her lap in a rocking chair and she rocked me until I fell asleep. My mother’s eyes were tender when she was telling me. She looked at me like she wondered why I had ever stopped allowing her to hold me. She looked at me like I was still 3 years old - and that birthdays had never happened to make me older - and too big - for her to rock in her rocking chair. How can I even begin to paint that with words? How can I even attempt to capture that in a picture?

Why does that bother me so much that I can’t sleep?

I am so sorry. I really have nothing of great importance to say. Or I should edit that to read: I really have nothing of great importance I’d LIKE to say - because I’m sure somewhere in the cobwebs of my mind there is something worth while.

The past week has been a blur. It has literally been too much - and I pride myself with being able to do about fifty bajillion million things at once. I had TOO much on my plate - and not a big enough appetite to consume it all. I think there is still a bit too much on my plate - but I’m trying my best to balance a bit more and see what I can eliminate. I didn’t think it was going to be niteflirt for the past couple of nites - but I’m sure my grades thank you for allowing me to have a moment away in order to study things like mountain ranges, heredity and DNA and RNA - and what the process of metabolism involves/is. My head feels - full. I wish there was a sex education class I could take. Not that I have to learn anything - but … um… yeah. At least I wouldn’t have to study as hard and I might have some familiarity with the subject matter… right?

So I really don’t have much time - and I’m sorry that this is going to be one of those drive-by postings where I just throw things out there and hope that at least part of it sticks - but - I don’t have much time. Really. Didn’t I already say that? Thought so.

Soooooo…

I did do something I have been promising to do for … a month? No - it’s not pictures. LOL. I updated my schedule, though! You’ll find I have a page here on my site for my schedule. I also have it posted on my listings on NF (I tried looking at it though - and it didn’t show up there … so if you don’t see it just look up and click on the link called SCHEDULE - or over to the right under navigation there is a link to my schedule, too). Yeah me. I FINALLY did it. I don’t know how this schedule will work for me - but for now it feels good just having something in place. If I left it up to me this week to log in when I had a moment - it might never happen. So let’s see how this works, shall we?

Um - oh - before I forget - at the end of this week I will be house sitting. I’m SO excited. Hot tub, pool, and a house all to myself to do whatever I’d like. I’ll probably be sitting there studying most of the time - but when it’s time for me to play (as in play play play) on the phone - watch out!!! This might be by far the loudest sex I’ve ever had in my entire life (besides that one time in the hotel that one time…) so I’ll let ya all know when I’ll be there. It would be a good time to hear me go crazy with my toy! I just might make a few recordings while I’m there, too. Why not make a whole week of it, right? *wiggling eye brows up and down*

I gotta get to bed. It’s already 12:55 and I have a busy week ahead of me. Test on Tuesday - another on Saturday - and work work work in between. Take a look at my schedule page and then give me a call & help relieve me of some of my pent up tension, k?