*friendship

I’m single and I don’t have kids.

So if you want to marry me or be my kid (not both), I will mail you an application. You can tell a lot about a person from their handwriting and the way they construct their sentences. I need to find the right person to inherit my personal treasures:

"...my Preciouses..."

my Preciouses

 

In all seriousness, I’ve been thinking about drawing up a living trust/will. I simply cannot imagine leaving and not having the final say. And more seriously – I really do love my Preciouses.

Being in this mind space makes me wonder if I’ve expressed enough love to the people I love. Some already know because I’ve told them or have sent them a random text or email while high on caffeine, running or while possessed by some wide-ranging, renegade emotion. I also say it through food. Sometimes I pull their hair. There are so many different and creative ways of expressing it.

I’m not always a good friend. Relationships morph as you morph and break ups are difficult. Do you use a clichéd saying?: We’ve outgrown each other…We want different things, you and I…It’s not you/me, it’s me/you. You cannot say, “Let’s just be friends” because it’s totally counterproductive.

And then there are those who are stunningly beautiful in the ways that they are, and some way, some how, they look at the tumbledness inside of you and think you are stunningly beautiful, too. One of these beautiful creatures opened her home to me and let me stay with her for three months while I sorted out my life. I’m not sure I could have let myself do this or let someone else do this for me, except her. I love her with all of my heart and beyond. I’ve never said it to her in exactly those words; if I had, I’m sure she would have had me arrested for being overly dramatic, as is my wont. Thusly, my plan is to tell her posthaste! For my heart wills it. Exit stage left.

I guess that’s the point of a living will: to take care of business while you’re still able, and remind you to use your voice, arms, and yes, your oven, too, while you are still able. I wish more than anything that I could will everyone their hearts’ desires plus the belief that they can do whatever that thing is that makes them happy.

What the hell. Maybe I will add that to my wishes and demands. I wonder if you have to use law lingo for a document to be considered legal tender. (I feel like that sentence made me sound kinda smart.) Well, for now, I’m declaring it here. I’m feeling sentimental these days; so much so that my heart gets to aching because it feels like I’m not doing everything I can for the people around me.

I think I’ll go now and bake cakes for everyone…

friends

*for nancy

 

The Red Dress

I’ve been trying on pretty things lately as part of an attempt to find clothes that make me feel good. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bought items that almost fit right, looked passable because hey, it covered what it needed to cover, and because it was on sale. But if I feel uncomfortable, I’m going to look uncomfortable.

With the constant guidance of one of my most fashionista friends, I’ve been trying to stick to the rules I’ve been given and have slowly rebuilt my wardrobe for the past year. Last year, I was opposed to trying on dresses because I was very much wedded to the idea that my bare burritos weren’t meant to be seen in public. But during my trip to Hawaii this year my attitude slowly began to change.

I recently added two dresses to my wardrobe (I only had one before). They’re both striped. I know, I know! But they were too cute to pass up. They need to be hemmed. I think. But how many inches? I will need my friend’s sage advice on this one. PYP is of no help to me. I texted him a picture of me in a dress I tried on a few days ago and he said it needed to be hemmed about mid-thigh. Mid-thigh?? Hahahahahhaaaaa!!! I have never worn a dress that short in my life and told him so, adding that it never crossed my mind to wear a dress that length. He responded with his trademark “lol”, which is how he responds to most things I say.

70's Fashion

See? My dresses were always at a tasteful length, even as a progressive 70’s chick. Although I can’t say that about my friend there next to me, harhar. There’s that fake fur coat I loved so much…I don’t know if this photo was taken before or after the Devil Dog took a bite out of it. Probably before – I still look happy. Oh…and those groovy boots! Today, sadly, many knee-length boots are too long for my short legs and I cannot zip them up past the most generous part of my calves.

The Red Dress

The Red Dress

I’ve never owned a red dress, let alone wear red. But I saw this dress in a little boutique when I was walking downtown the other day. I stopped. And then I heard it: You love me…Don’t try and resist me…I belong to you… I stared at it, listening intently.

One of my rules of thumb is, if I buy it, I have to wear it. I can’t let clothes waste away in my closet, taunting me for my impulsive and/or poor judgment. However, because I don’t buy into the latest trends, it’s possible that I will still be able to wear the dress years from now. My friend was appalled at the price tag. But then she said, “Remember years ago when you said that you wanted to wear a red dress in Paris?” I did, didn’t I…

I loved it. I couldn’t resist. It belongs to me now.

The Red Dress isn’t just any dress. It symbolizes a shift in my thinking and image of myself. It’s about hope and possibility and magic that I can’t define.

Whether it be a person, place, and/or thing, I hope to have many “Red Dresses” in my lifetime.

And because it’s not all about me (sometimes it’s hard to tell), I hope you do, too.

The Enemy of All Enemies

In the past couple of weeks I’ve learned of a handful of people passing away. Most of them suddenly, unexpectedly, swiftly. One in particular was a 47 year-old woman I used to work with. Cancer took her life in eight short months.

Cancer is my sworn enemy. And as my enemy…Cancer, you can suck it.

In fact, you can suck it big time: My good friend N is battling ovarian cancer. She started out at stage 4 in April 2013. The prognosis of this disease at that stage would lay anyone low. After enduring a multitude of tests, drainings, 12 weekly sessions of chemo, surgery, and currently more chemo, N just received the results of her CA-125. This marker measures the concentration of ovarian cancer cells, normal being at 35 and under. SHE WAS AT 8.

I flipped my lid when she told me and I cursed to the high heavens in happiness. True to form, she thanked me for making her experience less lonely, less scary. Seriously? How lucky am I to have a sistah and friend like her?!? I told her that she gave me strength. For real.

For the time being, N will continue her chemo sessions because her oncologist told her that the cancer cells could simply be “sleeping”. Oh? Then blast those suckers, I say. So far, she is tolerating chemo very well, thank goodness. I wish I could be there to celebrate with her.

I think I’ll go for a walk and celebrate the fact that I can.

Good health and wellness to everyone out there.

The Chihuahua Effect

I didn’t expect to get picked up during my double date last weekend.

And then he literally lifted me straight off the ground and pretended to abduct me into a windowless van.

This happens every so often – the lifting part, that is. Not a very dignified thing to happen at my age, unless you count the time I needed to be carried across a rushing river.  But that was based on survival.

The Librarian wasn’t the one who picked me up – it was the husband-portion of the double-date. He totally upstaged The Librarian with his enthusiastic, open personality. I’m friends with his wife, but this is only the second time I’ve met him – the first time being very brief. He hugged me after I joked about my personal space, he lifted me up, and in general, he seemed to like me a lot. My friend was nonplussed. My own biased opinion is that I believe other women find me completely non-threatening. You can totally trust me with your husband or boyfriend. Seriously. Hand him over.

Why do I sound so creepy? I might as well have a windowless van, too.

Before you think what you’re thinking, I have to explain that The Husband’s reaction towards me is what I call the “Chihuahua Effect”. I never had a term for it before, but it seems fitting since I seem to like referring to Chihuahuas. If for some reason you think they’re cute, and they do something you think is cute, as in: “Did you see the Chihuahua? She has an underbite!  Haha! That’s so cute – I gotta take a picture of her!”, then the Chihuahua Effect is taking place.

I don’t know why I can’t find a single man that I find attractive to react this way. I wouldn’t have to work so hard. I’d simply flash my underbite at him and I’d be golden.

I’m Leaving You – Part 2

Good night, sweet desk.

Good night, sweet desk.

Last night, I cleaned my work desk for the very last time.  Some might argue that it’s the first time I’ve ever cleaned my desk.  Details, details.

If you’ve read I’m Leaving You – Part 1, then you know my plan of leaving my job with hardly any plan at all.  I would say I’m still in denial, but you know what…I don’t think I am.  I was lucky enough to leave on my own terms and I had the opportunity to say all my farewells and thank yous to all the fantastic people I’ve met and worked with.

Months ago, when I first made the concrete decision to leave, I burst into tears.  I was overcome with the realization of how much my identity was tied to my workplace, and I wondered how I was going to do without some of the best co-workers and friends I’ve ever known.  As the weeks flew by, I began to feel more at home with my decision.  Having that time allowed me to appreciate the people around me all the more, knowing that I was incredibly lucky to be in the presence of such…greatness.  I did my best to tell them, although I cloaked some of it in what I call my sense of humor.  If I had the money (and a business plan), I would steal some of them away and create an empire by investing in their brain power and creativity.  We would be unstoppable.

I’ll be having a farewell dinner with some of my girlfriends in a few days.  This is where I’m truly in denial, because I refuse to think about it.  In fact, I’ll stop right now.  Can’t go on.