DIRTY NEVER FELT SO CLEAN
When I moved in to the Monopoly house in July, it didn’t bother me that not only did it not have a washer/dryer, but it didn’t even have hook ups for them. I was content to be old school and do laundry at the Laundromat. I had visions of the way Laundromats were once almost romanticized in movies and TV…sitting around smoking cigarettes outside, having conversations with your friend; choreographed, yet impromptu dance sessions with the laundry cart and other patrons; and meeting that intriguing stranger who ended up capturing your heart and broke it by the end of your load when you saw him folding his girlfriend’s panties. This would be my new life, and I was going to rock it. Oh the stories that would be had.
Now, you may be laughing at my vision of the Laundromat, but you have to understand something first. Two times ago when I moved back to Washington, I was living in Bellevue and refused to pay extra on my rent for a washer/dryer, which I now look back and realize it would have saved me money since the Laundromat ends up not being very inexpensive. A few weeks after I moved in there, my friend Desiree from Phoenix came to stay with me for a month. It was a fantastic time and we had many adventures and lots of laughs, but one of my favorite things we did was go to the Laundromat next to the Safeway in Overlake. We’d sit outside and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and gossip and giggle and talk about my new boyfriend and the boys she was meeting while visiting. It was never boring and fit that vision in my head of what a Laundromat was supposed to be. No, we never met our dream man or even a cute boy, and if I recall correctly, we had a few moments of trying to fold our unmentionables while trying to hide them from the gazes of a creepy man staring at us. And we never danced with carts, but I blame that on the fact there were no carts. But the conversations…they fit every piece of the movie in my head of what it was supposed to be like. I loved it.
My first trip to the Laundromat up the road did not meet one piece of my movies and shows, with the exception of it actually looked like what I always envisioned, complete with the carts that I would dance with in my head. I towed in a mountain of sheets and dirty clothes and started the monotonous ritual of load, soap, set and go to the next machine. Once I had four of the machines loaded, I sat on a bench, pulled out a book and looked around. I was not only the youngest person in there (and at almost 40, I don’t qualify as “young”), but the only white person in there. I felt disappointed that this was not going to be the multicultural dance off I was hoping for. Nostalgia set in and I recalled the days of Sit and Spin in Seattle where you could eat, drink beer, play board games and do your laundry, and it was a variety of people and ages. This was definitely not the Sit and Spin, and the only thing close to some good music and a board game was an Applebee’s commercial on the TV and the pattern of used dryer sheets and pennies on the floor that kind of resembled a game of Tic-Tac –Toe.
“I’m not giving up on my vision,” I told myself in my head.
I don’t think I ever made it past the second page of my book because every time I heard the “beep-beep” that went off every time the door opened, I looked up to check out what could possibly be either a new friend or the next man I lost my head over. While after my first hour the place finally hit the multicultural mark, I didn’t see many options for the new friend minus the woman chewing out her boyfriend. As far as my future ex-boyfriend, my best options were either the man who resembled Snoop Dog or the gay redheaded man. And as for the Fame style spontaneous dance sequence with the carts, no one seemed into this idea minus the guy getting chewed out who I thought might throw the cart…but that could be a dance move, right? I instead texted my friend Shane about all the weird things I was seeing and how bored I was. I left that night with clean clothes, an unfulfilled vision and $30 poorer.
Upon hearing how much it cost me to do my laundry, some of my friends offered up their washers and dryers, which I utilized when it was convenient for them. However, folks have been busy and I feel bad doing so much laundry (sheets and massage quickly create a laundry nightmare), so I instead let my laundry mount. Minus the basics, which I would do at Dolores’ during our Walking Dead date nights, it was getting bad. So upon completing my half day of work today, I came home and finally accepted the fact that I could no longer tolerate my dog-hair covered comforter and was down to one pair of sheets. I had to go back.
My expectations were low after my last time at the Laundromat, so I wasn’t expecting much more than flat out boredom and survival. I got a laundry card, added the money, dragged my bag of sheets and my comforter to the machine, got them going and plunked down on a bench with The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, thanks to Eylin’s donation and Tommy’s rave review. I was sucked in instantly and made it almost to the end of the loads of wash when something happened.
In the back row of the machines, I saw the tall bar of a laundry cart poking above the washer skyline like a shark’s fin warning you of its presence. It would stop, pivot, speed up, crash into a wall, halt, and repeat.
I stood up to try to see who was controlling this thing and muttered, “What in the hell?” Taking a few steps forward, the cart rounded my corner at great speed and I ran back to the bench to avoid getting hit. “At the wheel” per se, was a little girl, maybe two at most, with an inhuman amount of hair, running like a fawn that just found her legs. She crashed into my cart, stopped and looked at me with surprise, flashed a huge smile and screamed, “Hiiii!’ and took off like a bumper car out of hell again. I sat back down and cracked up and realized that while I was not a participant, and it wasn’t my perfect vision of it, I kind of had my dance scene…it just happened to be between a laundry cart and a toddler. It was good enough.
Once I switched out my wash, I moved to the bench with no back by the dryers and went back to my book. After a few pages, my back began to ache, but I liked my new spot. I grabbed my purse and my parka and made a bed on the bench. I cozied up with my book and quickly lost track of what I was reading due to the sound of dryers. I rolled over onto my side and watched my laundry spin and was almost instantly mesmerized by the colors spinning up and dropping back down with brief moments of flying. I know it sounds idiotic, but it became poetic. I started humming “Rainbow Connection” and it fit the exact pattern of the roll of clothes. My eyelids started to droop and I stopped humming. Out of nowhere, some woman on the opposite side shouted, “Sweet Jesus, Lord!” and began belting out gospel music. It was beautiful and she unknowingly sang me to sleep. Yes, I fell asleep on a bench next to the dryers. And it was at that moment of drifting off that I fell in love with the Laundromat.
I quit smoking almost two years ago, I don’t think I could get a friend to hang out with me at a Laundromat if I paid them, I’ve yet to dance with a cart, and the most I’d get out of a relationship with someone I met there is probably a bad case of gonorrhea. Yet in some odd way, tonight I left there fulfilled, a little more rested, a little calmer, and quite content that this was a baby step on the road to my nerd vision of how clothes really get clean when you don’t own a washer/dryer.
Now, you may be laughing at my vision of the Laundromat, but you have to understand something first. Two times ago when I moved back to Washington, I was living in Bellevue and refused to pay extra on my rent for a washer/dryer, which I now look back and realize it would have saved me money since the Laundromat ends up not being very inexpensive. A few weeks after I moved in there, my friend Desiree from Phoenix came to stay with me for a month. It was a fantastic time and we had many adventures and lots of laughs, but one of my favorite things we did was go to the Laundromat next to the Safeway in Overlake. We’d sit outside and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and gossip and giggle and talk about my new boyfriend and the boys she was meeting while visiting. It was never boring and fit that vision in my head of what a Laundromat was supposed to be. No, we never met our dream man or even a cute boy, and if I recall correctly, we had a few moments of trying to fold our unmentionables while trying to hide them from the gazes of a creepy man staring at us. And we never danced with carts, but I blame that on the fact there were no carts. But the conversations…they fit every piece of the movie in my head of what it was supposed to be like. I loved it.
My first trip to the Laundromat up the road did not meet one piece of my movies and shows, with the exception of it actually looked like what I always envisioned, complete with the carts that I would dance with in my head. I towed in a mountain of sheets and dirty clothes and started the monotonous ritual of load, soap, set and go to the next machine. Once I had four of the machines loaded, I sat on a bench, pulled out a book and looked around. I was not only the youngest person in there (and at almost 40, I don’t qualify as “young”), but the only white person in there. I felt disappointed that this was not going to be the multicultural dance off I was hoping for. Nostalgia set in and I recalled the days of Sit and Spin in Seattle where you could eat, drink beer, play board games and do your laundry, and it was a variety of people and ages. This was definitely not the Sit and Spin, and the only thing close to some good music and a board game was an Applebee’s commercial on the TV and the pattern of used dryer sheets and pennies on the floor that kind of resembled a game of Tic-Tac –Toe.
“I’m not giving up on my vision,” I told myself in my head.
I don’t think I ever made it past the second page of my book because every time I heard the “beep-beep” that went off every time the door opened, I looked up to check out what could possibly be either a new friend or the next man I lost my head over. While after my first hour the place finally hit the multicultural mark, I didn’t see many options for the new friend minus the woman chewing out her boyfriend. As far as my future ex-boyfriend, my best options were either the man who resembled Snoop Dog or the gay redheaded man. And as for the Fame style spontaneous dance sequence with the carts, no one seemed into this idea minus the guy getting chewed out who I thought might throw the cart…but that could be a dance move, right? I instead texted my friend Shane about all the weird things I was seeing and how bored I was. I left that night with clean clothes, an unfulfilled vision and $30 poorer.
Upon hearing how much it cost me to do my laundry, some of my friends offered up their washers and dryers, which I utilized when it was convenient for them. However, folks have been busy and I feel bad doing so much laundry (sheets and massage quickly create a laundry nightmare), so I instead let my laundry mount. Minus the basics, which I would do at Dolores’ during our Walking Dead date nights, it was getting bad. So upon completing my half day of work today, I came home and finally accepted the fact that I could no longer tolerate my dog-hair covered comforter and was down to one pair of sheets. I had to go back.
My expectations were low after my last time at the Laundromat, so I wasn’t expecting much more than flat out boredom and survival. I got a laundry card, added the money, dragged my bag of sheets and my comforter to the machine, got them going and plunked down on a bench with The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, thanks to Eylin’s donation and Tommy’s rave review. I was sucked in instantly and made it almost to the end of the loads of wash when something happened.
In the back row of the machines, I saw the tall bar of a laundry cart poking above the washer skyline like a shark’s fin warning you of its presence. It would stop, pivot, speed up, crash into a wall, halt, and repeat.
I stood up to try to see who was controlling this thing and muttered, “What in the hell?” Taking a few steps forward, the cart rounded my corner at great speed and I ran back to the bench to avoid getting hit. “At the wheel” per se, was a little girl, maybe two at most, with an inhuman amount of hair, running like a fawn that just found her legs. She crashed into my cart, stopped and looked at me with surprise, flashed a huge smile and screamed, “Hiiii!’ and took off like a bumper car out of hell again. I sat back down and cracked up and realized that while I was not a participant, and it wasn’t my perfect vision of it, I kind of had my dance scene…it just happened to be between a laundry cart and a toddler. It was good enough.
Once I switched out my wash, I moved to the bench with no back by the dryers and went back to my book. After a few pages, my back began to ache, but I liked my new spot. I grabbed my purse and my parka and made a bed on the bench. I cozied up with my book and quickly lost track of what I was reading due to the sound of dryers. I rolled over onto my side and watched my laundry spin and was almost instantly mesmerized by the colors spinning up and dropping back down with brief moments of flying. I know it sounds idiotic, but it became poetic. I started humming “Rainbow Connection” and it fit the exact pattern of the roll of clothes. My eyelids started to droop and I stopped humming. Out of nowhere, some woman on the opposite side shouted, “Sweet Jesus, Lord!” and began belting out gospel music. It was beautiful and she unknowingly sang me to sleep. Yes, I fell asleep on a bench next to the dryers. And it was at that moment of drifting off that I fell in love with the Laundromat.
I quit smoking almost two years ago, I don’t think I could get a friend to hang out with me at a Laundromat if I paid them, I’ve yet to dance with a cart, and the most I’d get out of a relationship with someone I met there is probably a bad case of gonorrhea. Yet in some odd way, tonight I left there fulfilled, a little more rested, a little calmer, and quite content that this was a baby step on the road to my nerd vision of how clothes really get clean when you don’t own a washer/dryer.
OVER MY DEAD BODY!
I feel pretty comfortable saying that I know myself - good and bad. I know my strengths (at least some) and I know my weaknesses...in fact I probably know more about my weaknesses than my strengths to be honest. I also feel pretty comfortable knowing what most who know me think of me. Some think I am brave. Some think I am weak. Some think I am funny and witty (which I like to pretend is quite true), and others view me as just weird. Some think I am organized. Others think I'm a mess (at least in my personal life). Some think me as smart, others as flighty. I have been called Type A one day and earthy and laid back the next. I have been called a drama queen, an adventurer, a nerd, a weirdo, a good friend, sincere, and overly sensitive. Basically, I'm all over the board, but in a stable kind of way. But of all the things I know about myself and know what others think of me, I have never thought of myself as dangerous...well except when I talk with my hands so it's just best you stay a bit past arms-length from me when I'm talking. However, it appears my family thinks I might be not just dangerous, but deadly. Why? Well, let me explain.
Years ago when Millionaire Dollar Baby came out, my father and I went to see it together. Anyone who has seen this movie knows just how intense it is and that it raises the issue of choices between life and death and whether "living" is really something that can be true and of quality while needing machines to survive. It's a hefty subject, and one that naturally had to be discussed after seeing this film; unfortunately the conversation went horribly awry.
As my father and I walked out of the theater with me in tears from the movie, I commented that it was a fantastic film, but so hard to stomach. "I can't believe anyone could even consider having machines keep them alive! What kind of life is that for the person on life support, and for their family? It's heartbreaking!"
My dad looked at me as if he was about to lecture me. "Well I for one, want to be kept on life support if anything ever happens to me."
My mother had told me this about my father, but I think I chose not to believe it and so I felt genuinely shocked. "WHY would you want that for yourself and for the family? What kind of quality of life is that?"
He looked at me and with almost admirable assurance said, "I believe in miracles, Heather."
"I do too, but not like that. It's not natural!"
The conversation quickly spiraled and we were both arguing our points; neither giving in to each other's views. After arguing for a bit, I got so riled up that I said what turned out to be the magic words that put everything into motion....
"If anything ever happens to you and you get put on life support, I swear to God I will unplug you! I will trip on your cord so fast and make sure you don't put yourself or any of us through that crap!" I didn't really mean it. I was just so stunned that people still though this way and I reacted and said too much.
He laughed, but he apparently didn't think it was so funny because the next day I received a call from my mom. Now mind you, my parents have been divorced this time for 11 years. They get along, but most of their conversations are had when something is going on with one of us kids and then my mom is given the job of contacting us since we're closer with her.
"Heather, what did you say to your father last night?"
I had honestly forgotten about it already. "I don't know. We went to see a movie. Why? What happened?"
"Heather, your father called me today to let me know that he is changing his will and Power of Attorney and such to make sure you have no say in what happens to him in the event he needs life support."
My mind almost imploded. My father thinks I'm going to kill him! I fill my mom in on the conversation. "Of course he's changing the paperwork, Heather! He really thinks you'd unplug him against his will if he was in that situation! You need to watch what you say to that man!"
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It's such a depressing subject anyways, but now I'm apparently a cold-blooded killer to go against his wishes and just off him when I know better? My father is scared of me...at least in a hospital setting.
He apparently really did change the paperwork because my word is mighty in his mind. I'm not offended that I was removed from decision making in that situation, as who really wants that responsibility and heartache to begin with? But I'm still shocked that my father ever believed that I was capable of that. Okay, well sure...I did threaten it, but I also swore I'd quit smoking for 24 years before I finally did it. I'm kind of a slacker about being really strong about big decisions. Actually, it's not that I'm a slacker necessarily, I just...wait...shit. Okay, I'm totally impulsive and react without thinking through the consequences sometimes. I get why he's scared. He's seen my impulsive choices and had to live around me as I bear the consequences. I guess the man is pretty damned justified.
Last year I was at my mom's house and she sat me down and said we needed to talk.
"Art and I have re-done our wills and Power of Attorney and I need you to know that you aren't allowed to make any of the decisions..."
"OH MY GOD! You think I'm going to kill you too?"
My mom laughed and explained that they didn't want to be on life support, but that they were afraid I would keep them ON life support because I wouldn't be strong enough to go through with it.
Interesting. I'm a killer in one's mind and a wuss in another's. At least they both know I suck at decisions.
Years ago when Millionaire Dollar Baby came out, my father and I went to see it together. Anyone who has seen this movie knows just how intense it is and that it raises the issue of choices between life and death and whether "living" is really something that can be true and of quality while needing machines to survive. It's a hefty subject, and one that naturally had to be discussed after seeing this film; unfortunately the conversation went horribly awry.
As my father and I walked out of the theater with me in tears from the movie, I commented that it was a fantastic film, but so hard to stomach. "I can't believe anyone could even consider having machines keep them alive! What kind of life is that for the person on life support, and for their family? It's heartbreaking!"
My dad looked at me as if he was about to lecture me. "Well I for one, want to be kept on life support if anything ever happens to me."
My mother had told me this about my father, but I think I chose not to believe it and so I felt genuinely shocked. "WHY would you want that for yourself and for the family? What kind of quality of life is that?"
He looked at me and with almost admirable assurance said, "I believe in miracles, Heather."
"I do too, but not like that. It's not natural!"
The conversation quickly spiraled and we were both arguing our points; neither giving in to each other's views. After arguing for a bit, I got so riled up that I said what turned out to be the magic words that put everything into motion....
"If anything ever happens to you and you get put on life support, I swear to God I will unplug you! I will trip on your cord so fast and make sure you don't put yourself or any of us through that crap!" I didn't really mean it. I was just so stunned that people still though this way and I reacted and said too much.
He laughed, but he apparently didn't think it was so funny because the next day I received a call from my mom. Now mind you, my parents have been divorced this time for 11 years. They get along, but most of their conversations are had when something is going on with one of us kids and then my mom is given the job of contacting us since we're closer with her.
"Heather, what did you say to your father last night?"
I had honestly forgotten about it already. "I don't know. We went to see a movie. Why? What happened?"
"Heather, your father called me today to let me know that he is changing his will and Power of Attorney and such to make sure you have no say in what happens to him in the event he needs life support."
My mind almost imploded. My father thinks I'm going to kill him! I fill my mom in on the conversation. "Of course he's changing the paperwork, Heather! He really thinks you'd unplug him against his will if he was in that situation! You need to watch what you say to that man!"
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It's such a depressing subject anyways, but now I'm apparently a cold-blooded killer to go against his wishes and just off him when I know better? My father is scared of me...at least in a hospital setting.
He apparently really did change the paperwork because my word is mighty in his mind. I'm not offended that I was removed from decision making in that situation, as who really wants that responsibility and heartache to begin with? But I'm still shocked that my father ever believed that I was capable of that. Okay, well sure...I did threaten it, but I also swore I'd quit smoking for 24 years before I finally did it. I'm kind of a slacker about being really strong about big decisions. Actually, it's not that I'm a slacker necessarily, I just...wait...shit. Okay, I'm totally impulsive and react without thinking through the consequences sometimes. I get why he's scared. He's seen my impulsive choices and had to live around me as I bear the consequences. I guess the man is pretty damned justified.
Last year I was at my mom's house and she sat me down and said we needed to talk.
"Art and I have re-done our wills and Power of Attorney and I need you to know that you aren't allowed to make any of the decisions..."
"OH MY GOD! You think I'm going to kill you too?"
My mom laughed and explained that they didn't want to be on life support, but that they were afraid I would keep them ON life support because I wouldn't be strong enough to go through with it.
Interesting. I'm a killer in one's mind and a wuss in another's. At least they both know I suck at decisions.
PAST LIVES
I'm back! It's been so long since I've blogged, and I can no longer ignore the directions pointing me back to here. Between simply missing writing, checking out friends' blogs, too much time on my hands in the midst of my limbo, and writing being part of my New Year's resolutions, I had to come back. Now, I know past blogs have varied between memories, thoughts, venting, and some not so great incidents documented, but we're going to shift that a bit. In writing out my resolutions on December 30th, I decided that this would be the year of positive. Too many times throughout this life of mine, I have allowed myself to snowball in the negativity and wallow in unfortunate circumstances, bad luck and poor choices. I'm done with that. Sometimes you step in poo and you can either bitch and bitch and bitch about stepping in the poo, or you can clean off your shoe and go about your day. I'm choosing to clean the poo off my shoe and enjoy that at least it shook up the monotony.
In keeping on the resolution of positive blogging, I decided that this year I wanted to really focus on my favorite things - people, places, memories, music, whatever it is that I love or have loved. I even listed a bunch of them out with my resolutions. My first entry of this new year was going to be one of those; however an unexpected comment (which still falls into that category) precedes all that I had planned for this.
I'm not even sure how it all started, but one of my roommates and I were talking last night, sharing stories as usual, and I was talking about when I lived in Flagstaff. There was laughter, eye rolling, regrets, lessons learned, and then a hunt on Facebook to reconnect with those people I wasn't already in touch with, who were such an important piece of that experience. The Flagstaff conversation continued on today when I pulled out my photo album from that time and shared more stories from back then and where they were now. And that's when Priscilla made her comment that leads to this...
"Oh Heather, I love your past lives."
I have amazing people in my life here, but I have them spread all about this country. I'm not special because of this, and this is not a new revelation. However, what her comment did make me aware of is this...I am someone who does not know what they believe about God or what happens after this life, but roots for reincarnation out of fear of boredom and a desire to make right where I did wrong in this life. l have spent so much time hoping for this that I never realized that in a sense, I've already lived many lives in this one. I've moved around a lot, had plenty of jobs in such varied areas, had amazing and unique experiences, and acquired so many amazing friendships and acquaintances in so many different places. I have had beautiful highs and dark lows, and I always get through them. I have lived so many things, both good and bad, and I'm grateful for the greatness, the oddities, the pitfalls, the times of calm, the times of hilarity, the tears, the changes, and that I am blessed with few good-byes, but plenty of "see you laters".
So with that, I give you my past lives.
I WAS...
A painfully shy child
Paralyzed for a time
A mermaid in the pool
An Honor Roll student
A survivor of sickness, fears, trials and tribulations
A Mormon for 16 years
A horrible party girl
The one who got kicked out of school
The one who came back
A pilot for an afternoon
A student of Oceanography
An actress many times
A maker of bubbles
A holder of the Boa
An "adoptive" granddaughter
A mess
The risk taker
A traveler
The first one to leave
A witness to the famous and their craziness
The first to come back
The first one to leave again
The first one to eventually leave 4 times and come back 3
A fiancé...a couple of times
A married woman...thank god, only once
A divorcee
A theatre chick
The old one in a college town living like she was much younger
A woman who helped save a newborn calf
A Camel girl
The musicians girlfriend
A babysitter of children...and boyfriends
The one who made life decisions a bit too spontaneously
A girl of flings
A woman who fell in love too easily
A learner of life
A hiker
A camper
A lover of nature and the religion of the outdoors
The girl with bizarre stories
A lover of inappropriate humor
One who finally stayed and sat still
A woman who struggled with herself and her family
The believer that people are generally good
The one who still kind of thinks she's invincible
The one who also realizes she's probably more naive than invincible
A writer
A singer
A pianist, violinist and a French horn player...okay, I prefer French Hornet.
A vagabond
A granola
A vegetarian
A carnivore
A pescatarian
A nuisance
A Westerner
A Southwesterner
A Southerner
A loudmouth
A good friend
A struggling daughter and sister
A bridesmaid time and time again
A smoker
A non-smoker
A liberal
A spy
A wino
The getaway car (in only legal endeavors)
A problem child
A saintly child
A neat freak
A mutant
A student of massage
A student of yoga
A student of Buddhism
A fearer of dolls and dying naked
A stunt woman
A homeowner
A hermit
The woman who yelled at you to "slow down"
A pet owner
A pushover for my dog
And a lover of all things pajamas and slippers
I am grateful for all those that are part of my life now and for those that are the ghosts of my past. It's been an interesting set of past lives, and I can't wait to add to the list!
In keeping on the resolution of positive blogging, I decided that this year I wanted to really focus on my favorite things - people, places, memories, music, whatever it is that I love or have loved. I even listed a bunch of them out with my resolutions. My first entry of this new year was going to be one of those; however an unexpected comment (which still falls into that category) precedes all that I had planned for this.
I'm not even sure how it all started, but one of my roommates and I were talking last night, sharing stories as usual, and I was talking about when I lived in Flagstaff. There was laughter, eye rolling, regrets, lessons learned, and then a hunt on Facebook to reconnect with those people I wasn't already in touch with, who were such an important piece of that experience. The Flagstaff conversation continued on today when I pulled out my photo album from that time and shared more stories from back then and where they were now. And that's when Priscilla made her comment that leads to this...
"Oh Heather, I love your past lives."
I have amazing people in my life here, but I have them spread all about this country. I'm not special because of this, and this is not a new revelation. However, what her comment did make me aware of is this...I am someone who does not know what they believe about God or what happens after this life, but roots for reincarnation out of fear of boredom and a desire to make right where I did wrong in this life. l have spent so much time hoping for this that I never realized that in a sense, I've already lived many lives in this one. I've moved around a lot, had plenty of jobs in such varied areas, had amazing and unique experiences, and acquired so many amazing friendships and acquaintances in so many different places. I have had beautiful highs and dark lows, and I always get through them. I have lived so many things, both good and bad, and I'm grateful for the greatness, the oddities, the pitfalls, the times of calm, the times of hilarity, the tears, the changes, and that I am blessed with few good-byes, but plenty of "see you laters".
So with that, I give you my past lives.
I WAS...
A painfully shy child
Paralyzed for a time
A mermaid in the pool
An Honor Roll student
A survivor of sickness, fears, trials and tribulations
A Mormon for 16 years
A horrible party girl
The one who got kicked out of school
The one who came back
A pilot for an afternoon
A student of Oceanography
An actress many times
A maker of bubbles
A holder of the Boa
An "adoptive" granddaughter
A mess
The risk taker
A traveler
The first one to leave
A witness to the famous and their craziness
The first to come back
The first one to leave again
The first one to eventually leave 4 times and come back 3
A fiancé...a couple of times
A married woman...thank god, only once
A divorcee
A theatre chick
The old one in a college town living like she was much younger
A woman who helped save a newborn calf
A Camel girl
The musicians girlfriend
A babysitter of children...and boyfriends
The one who made life decisions a bit too spontaneously
A girl of flings
A woman who fell in love too easily
A learner of life
A hiker
A camper
A lover of nature and the religion of the outdoors
The girl with bizarre stories
A lover of inappropriate humor
One who finally stayed and sat still
A woman who struggled with herself and her family
The believer that people are generally good
The one who still kind of thinks she's invincible
The one who also realizes she's probably more naive than invincible
A writer
A singer
A pianist, violinist and a French horn player...okay, I prefer French Hornet.
A vagabond
A granola
A vegetarian
A carnivore
A pescatarian
A nuisance
A Westerner
A Southwesterner
A Southerner
A loudmouth
A good friend
A struggling daughter and sister
A bridesmaid time and time again
A smoker
A non-smoker
A liberal
A spy
A wino
The getaway car (in only legal endeavors)
A problem child
A saintly child
A neat freak
A mutant
A student of massage
A student of yoga
A student of Buddhism
A fearer of dolls and dying naked
A stunt woman
A homeowner
A hermit
The woman who yelled at you to "slow down"
A pet owner
A pushover for my dog
And a lover of all things pajamas and slippers
I am grateful for all those that are part of my life now and for those that are the ghosts of my past. It's been an interesting set of past lives, and I can't wait to add to the list!
WITH LEGS DANGLING, THE HEART IS FULL
I just had a very odd, yet fulfilling moment...and yes, it can be considered gross depending on how you look at it.
Days of being unable to go to the bathroom finally just caught up with me and I made my way to the bathroom across the hall. I ran into my normal "Number 2" stall, but someone else had left their previous present behind. In disgust at the lack of flushing, I raced to the handicapped stall across from it. I typically avoid handicapped stalls, as I once witnessed a girl go in one at a rest area even though all the others were open, and wouldn't you know it, lo and behold in comes a woman wheeling in her frail old mother in a wheelchair. The girl took FOREVER to finish up, leaving the woman and her daughter quite upset. So yes, I tend not to use the handicapped stalls if at all possible. However, I felt the need to be far from the door and so I gave in to my usual rule of thumb.
As I sat on the toilet and did my business, I noticed that my feet were dangling above the ground since I was too short and the toilet was too high for me to touch the floor. And yes, I sit on toilet seats. Call me gross, but they've done studies to show that the toilet seats are MUCH cleaner than the nasty things you will encounter upon the sink faucet. Sometimes I'm working hard enough in that stall...I don't need to add squats to my bathroom repertoire.
So back to dangling feet. I was sitting there doing my business and was extremely aware of my feet dangling. I felt small not being able to touch the ground. And with feeling small, I started to remember what it felt like as a kid to be too small for the toilet; legs dangling, hands gripping onto the edge of the seat so your bum didn't fall through into the water. It made me smile…a full body smile.
I know you are thinking, "Well that's because you just love talking about toilet stuff." Now, while I do enjoy the amusing incidents that can occur in the bathroom, that's not what this was. It was instead this sudden rush of youth and innocence that I felt in that moment. I felt this lightness and sense of freedom recalling those days when something as simple as sitting on the toilet took some effort and was sometimes the worst of your problems that day. There was no worrying about money, relationships or lack of, lack of sleep, wondering how you were going to get through the next year, where you would settle down, whether or not to panic you don't have a retirement fund anymore, how you're going to make time to take care of yourself, how you can't get over certain stumbling blocks, etc. While my childhood had some rough bouts that stick with me (as we all have), I also had a lot of fun and a lot of love. And while I still have a lot of love and have fun when I can actually make time to do so, it's different. It's not as effortless or maybe accepted as it is when you're a kid. Nowadays I feel like I have to be an adult, but instead just come across as an inappropriate, odd girl. As an adult I'm "weird" or "crazy" as opposed to brushing off my same behavior at six as, "Oh who cares, she's a kid!"
I sat there on the toilet, smiling as I thought of being a bizarre little girl full of stories who was full of hope for what could someday be ahead of me in my life. Then as quickly as it came on, the reality of life all came flooding right back. Ebb and flow. Nostalgia and dreams wash out to sea, reality floods back onto the sand. Quite poetic for a bowel movement on a handicapped toilet seat, huh?
I finished up my business and went to flush. The water started to rise faster and faster. "Oh shit...it's about to overflow," I thought. I stood there in horror as the water settled near the seat that had just brought me nostalgia for childhood.
And then I ran like hell out of there before I got busted for plugging the toilet. And as I ran, I giggled and felt the rush of nostalgia come back. I may be old, but I can flee like a kid.
Days of being unable to go to the bathroom finally just caught up with me and I made my way to the bathroom across the hall. I ran into my normal "Number 2" stall, but someone else had left their previous present behind. In disgust at the lack of flushing, I raced to the handicapped stall across from it. I typically avoid handicapped stalls, as I once witnessed a girl go in one at a rest area even though all the others were open, and wouldn't you know it, lo and behold in comes a woman wheeling in her frail old mother in a wheelchair. The girl took FOREVER to finish up, leaving the woman and her daughter quite upset. So yes, I tend not to use the handicapped stalls if at all possible. However, I felt the need to be far from the door and so I gave in to my usual rule of thumb.
As I sat on the toilet and did my business, I noticed that my feet were dangling above the ground since I was too short and the toilet was too high for me to touch the floor. And yes, I sit on toilet seats. Call me gross, but they've done studies to show that the toilet seats are MUCH cleaner than the nasty things you will encounter upon the sink faucet. Sometimes I'm working hard enough in that stall...I don't need to add squats to my bathroom repertoire.
So back to dangling feet. I was sitting there doing my business and was extremely aware of my feet dangling. I felt small not being able to touch the ground. And with feeling small, I started to remember what it felt like as a kid to be too small for the toilet; legs dangling, hands gripping onto the edge of the seat so your bum didn't fall through into the water. It made me smile…a full body smile.
I know you are thinking, "Well that's because you just love talking about toilet stuff." Now, while I do enjoy the amusing incidents that can occur in the bathroom, that's not what this was. It was instead this sudden rush of youth and innocence that I felt in that moment. I felt this lightness and sense of freedom recalling those days when something as simple as sitting on the toilet took some effort and was sometimes the worst of your problems that day. There was no worrying about money, relationships or lack of, lack of sleep, wondering how you were going to get through the next year, where you would settle down, whether or not to panic you don't have a retirement fund anymore, how you're going to make time to take care of yourself, how you can't get over certain stumbling blocks, etc. While my childhood had some rough bouts that stick with me (as we all have), I also had a lot of fun and a lot of love. And while I still have a lot of love and have fun when I can actually make time to do so, it's different. It's not as effortless or maybe accepted as it is when you're a kid. Nowadays I feel like I have to be an adult, but instead just come across as an inappropriate, odd girl. As an adult I'm "weird" or "crazy" as opposed to brushing off my same behavior at six as, "Oh who cares, she's a kid!"
I sat there on the toilet, smiling as I thought of being a bizarre little girl full of stories who was full of hope for what could someday be ahead of me in my life. Then as quickly as it came on, the reality of life all came flooding right back. Ebb and flow. Nostalgia and dreams wash out to sea, reality floods back onto the sand. Quite poetic for a bowel movement on a handicapped toilet seat, huh?
I finished up my business and went to flush. The water started to rise faster and faster. "Oh shit...it's about to overflow," I thought. I stood there in horror as the water settled near the seat that had just brought me nostalgia for childhood.
And then I ran like hell out of there before I got busted for plugging the toilet. And as I ran, I giggled and felt the rush of nostalgia come back. I may be old, but I can flee like a kid.
KAMP KOXX AND THE WARRIOR PRINCESSES OF BOONE
Things have been so busy as of late that I can barely keep track of what day it is, yet alone get anything done it seems. Life has been consumed with working late, school, studying and my new puppy. It’s been a month since all that shit hit the fan with the crazy evicted roommate, but it's thankfully coming to an end with just a few repercussions peeping their heads in. At least we're finally starting to exist in that light at the end of the tunnel that seemed distant not too long ago. I'm flippin' exhausted, mentally and physically, but minus wishing for more time in the day to take care of myself, things are good.
As I run about like a chicken with her head cut off, I've had moments of sheer awe of what has transpired in the last year and where I now sit. In the last year and almost a month I have moved four times, fallen apart, with the help of friends and family and self Humpty was put back together again, am in school to obtain my dream of becoming a massage therapist which I am so in love with (school and my dream fulfilling itself), have a wonderful roommate, a new puppy that is just pure love who is wearing me out, and still have the best friends and family I could ask for. When I think of how much has transpired, I'm amazed at the year and where I am now versus where I was a year ago. With the exception of about 10 pounds, I'm in a much better place than last year.
This last weekend, our weekly Girls Night group went to a cabin outside of Boone for the night and we had an absolute blast - good friends, lots of food, laughter, warrior princess face painting, too much wine, a dance party, and a fire; it was glorious. Not only was I in the woods, which I just love beyond words, but was with inspiring, amazing women whom I love dearly and laugh with often. We cracked up, danced our asses off, had blunt conversations, and of course I cried and then in my wino turnaround tried to go for a nature hike in my pajamas which was hindered with death threats.
That night led to some deep conversation and I see that while I've come far, I still have a long way to go before I'm in the place I should and crave to be. But one thing was evident...it's a hell of a grand and loving ride getting there, and I'm doing so with a decorative face.
As I run about like a chicken with her head cut off, I've had moments of sheer awe of what has transpired in the last year and where I now sit. In the last year and almost a month I have moved four times, fallen apart, with the help of friends and family and self Humpty was put back together again, am in school to obtain my dream of becoming a massage therapist which I am so in love with (school and my dream fulfilling itself), have a wonderful roommate, a new puppy that is just pure love who is wearing me out, and still have the best friends and family I could ask for. When I think of how much has transpired, I'm amazed at the year and where I am now versus where I was a year ago. With the exception of about 10 pounds, I'm in a much better place than last year.
This last weekend, our weekly Girls Night group went to a cabin outside of Boone for the night and we had an absolute blast - good friends, lots of food, laughter, warrior princess face painting, too much wine, a dance party, and a fire; it was glorious. Not only was I in the woods, which I just love beyond words, but was with inspiring, amazing women whom I love dearly and laugh with often. We cracked up, danced our asses off, had blunt conversations, and of course I cried and then in my wino turnaround tried to go for a nature hike in my pajamas which was hindered with death threats.
That night led to some deep conversation and I see that while I've come far, I still have a long way to go before I'm in the place I should and crave to be. But one thing was evident...it's a hell of a grand and loving ride getting there, and I'm doing so with a decorative face.
View as PDF: This month | Full blog « previous page (Page 1 of 56, totaling 276 entries) next page »
