Teeny Violins and a Theme

How did everyone like the first installment of Bridge Man’s ramblings? I asked him to write something because 1)his political rants rival those of Keith Olbermann and 2)I’m trying to avoid any more Debbie Downer type blogs. And so, for this reason, I will avoid telling you about how I got “let go” from my job at the ad agency. I won't talk about how freaking pathetic the job hunt has been going. I’ll refrain from mentioning the awfulness that was the entire month of November. And I refuse to complain about the fact that I can’t seem to sleep for more than three hours at a time. I just won't do it.

If you listen closely, you can hear a teeny, tiny violin in the background playing a sad, sad song just for me.

What have I been doing with all of my new found, jobless free time? Well, my short attention span leads me to abandon the monotony that is job hunting after a few short hours. But, let no one say that I’m sitting on my bootay, couch potato style.

This was Mohawk Day.

I promise, Bridge Man does not always look like that. I think some of the mousse and hair spray seeped into his head giving him a temporary Rob Zombie persona. (I was going to link a picture of Mr. Zombie here but, dang, he is seriously a scary looking fella. You may Google him if you choose but don't say I didn't warn you.)

This was Cigar Day.

This all started when J and I were watching an episode of Friends. You know, the one where Joey and Chandler want to be just like Richard so Chandler grows a moustache and Joey starts smoking cigars. I believe our conversation went something like this:

Mmmmm, cigars smells so good!

Oh, I know.

I wonder if they taste as good as they smell.

Where do you even buy cigars?

Anywhere. The gas station, the grocery store, the liquor store.

Let's go get some.

(Laughter followed by a long silence.)

Are you serious?

I'm betting you can guess where this is going. That's right ladies and gentlemen, at the age of 25, for the first time in my life, I smoked a cigar. And what did I learn? Cigars do NOT taste as good as they smell. Not even the flavored ones. We were (hacking and coughing) giggling so much it was ridiculous. We then made a mad dash to the bathroom to brush and gargle away the awful dirt taste the vanilla flavored stogies left behind.

(You'll have to pardon my awful hair, I thought I'd give it a break after the beating it took on Mohawk Day.)

The last theme day I have for your enjoyment was Cooking Day. Now when I say "cooking," this does not mean gourmet. Oh, no. This simply means that I cook actual food on that day. My recipe of choice, Black Bean Wraps.

They tasted like wonderful wrapped up beanie goodness. And they're healthy too. This was the final presentation:

Notice how there is nothing else on the plate? My menus rarely include side dishes. I always forget to plan that part of the meal. So I usually end up opening up some canned fruit and slopping it onto a plate. Bon appetite!

The plan is to continue to make up theme days to occupy my time. Who needs a job, health insurance, or a retirement plan anyway?

Why in the ...

Disclaimer: For the regular readers of Spotless Mind. The following blog is not from the mind of Xteener. It is from the mind of Bridge Man.

A few days ago I was asked to write a blog for Xteener. I agreed and said I would need to think of something good about which to blog. I guess today is the day and the subject.....politics. However, I almost chose not to write after reading the last few blogs by Xteener. Having been touched, affected, involved (I don't know the appropriate word to describe my place in such an event) by the "life changing event" of which Xteener wrote and obviously being emotionally affected, some political whining by me didn't seem to matter. But, I was wrong; it does matter; it doesn't compare in importance but it does matter.

In a few hours some citizens of Iowa will go to their designated polling place to caucus for the presidential candidate whom they think will best represent the Democratic Party in the run for President of the United States. I'm sure some of you who pay little or no attention to politics could care less about the first primary election or the second or third. I know, it's not very exciting and it's not even the big November election so who cares, right? You don't have to care or pay attention or even give it a second thought but it is fairly important.

Each state chooses when to hold its primary election and Iowa is always first so naturally the candidates spend a lot of time in Iowa prior to the primary elections. When was the last time a candidate visited Alaska or North Dakota? I don't know and you probably don't either because they don't go there because those states don't matter. By the time these primaries are held the candidates are pretty well chosen. If a candidate doesn't win the first 3 or 4 they have no momentum to win in the following states and they drop out. So, basically Iowa, New Hampshire, and South Carolina decide the 2 choices we get (usually they both suck) when electing a president. Why in the F should the choices of Iowans have so much more weight than mine and yours? It shouldn't; not that those citizens are incompetent to make the choice but they don't deserve more influence. My point is this...every primary election in the country should be held on the same day similar to that of the general election. Write your Senators and Representatives; every state should be just as influential as the other.

I hope you enjoyed the blog. Tune in next time for another Xteener blog.
Thank you, Bridge Man.

What I do to keep my mind off things.

I blog and I bead...

It's amazing how therapeutic this is, I highly recommend it.

But after two or three pieces and several trips to the bead store, your fiance may begin to wonder if you're spending money wisely.

So you tell him that you're giving them away as gifts for the holidays. Genius!

The above necklace is my favorite piece so far. I'm in necklace love.

Thoughts

*Note: This may not be the most entertaining blog I've ever written. In fact, my next few may not be entertaining at all. Lately, I'm just not in the mood to even think of a humorous topic.

How do you continue blogging after such a life changing event? What do you even begin to write about when the last thirty days of vivid memories are being pushed into the deepest, darkest corners of your brain in an attempt to maintain some sense of normalcy?

All of the Hospice papers I continue to get in the mail say that I should feel numb right now. And in a few months I will begin to feel the pain associated with loss that will not even begin to subside until after the fourth month. Finally, after two years I will be able to create a more normal life pattern that will sculpt the more normal years to come.

While I appreciate all the helpful paperwork, I'm sick of the time lines. During the weeks that my family took care of my mom, we were given numerous, inaccurate time lines that did nothing but mess with our minds. And now, when I want nothing but to be sad in my own way, I get mail that maps out how I should feel for the next few years of my life.

Should I be grateful, for now, that my brain has me in a temporary state of denial? Should I dread the next few months when reality starts to sink in? What if it takes three or four months instead of the allotted two for that reality to hit? Because I now have this calendar, I anticipate what "should" happen and will probably be just as screwed up as I was when things don't go as planned.

I understand that these time lines are estimates. The pamphlet is not an exact science but if you were in my state of mind, and the state of mind that I'm sure my siblings and family are in, you'd grapple for anything - anything that makes some sense out of your life, anything that creates some semblance of normalcy. Anything like a mapped out plan of your emotional life.

11/30/07 - Mom, rest in peace

What I will be reading at my mom's funeral tomorrow. Cross your fingers that I make it through.

***

My mom always said that she didn’t want her funeral to be a sad one. So we thought we could accomplish this with photos chock full of Farah Fawcet hair, plastic triangle earrings that complement bright green eye shadow, and an assortment of hair colors that she would want you to think came about naturally.

Her personality is reflected not only within the pictures displayed before you or the music that you hear but in the memories that she left. Each of you has a favorite memory of my mom that’s all your own and that no one else may know or even understand, whether it was the first time you heard her sing “Delta Dawn” on karaoke night or the time you saw her squeal like a school girl when she got to meet David Allen Coe.

My favorite memory isn’t just one memory, but an era. An entire era of our lives that, to me, seems defined by the way my mom, S and I would cruise around in her yellow Volkswagen Beetle, jamming to Madonna’s latest hit song, headed to Mickey-D’s to get Happy Meals. Or picking up a pack of string cheese from the grocery store and eating all of it on the car ride home. It was an era of just us girls. Mom always made S and me sit in the back seat where it was safer because the old Bug had no seatbelts. I insisted on sitting in the seat directly behind her because it meant that I was the closest person to her. I was my mom’s personal little shadow for the first 2/3rds of my life.

Each memory we have of her is a little piece of what she left for us. A remembers singing in the Christmas music program in grade school. Everyone watched her sing, smiling and silently cheering her on. But when she would look at mom she would see that mom was actually mouthing the words to make sure A wouldn’t forget them. Afterward, mom congratulated A for doing so well – all on her own.

The best memories are those that make you pause for a moment and say to yourself – wow that is so mom. A story that S mentioned earlier does just this. When S first started kindergarten, she had to walk two blocks from school to the baby-sitter’s house at the end of the day. Mom was worried that S might get lost, so she came up with one of her genius solutions: She used chalk to draw arrows on the sidewalk for S to follow. Mom marked the path so she could finish up at work without worrying. But in the end, she took off work anyway and followed S home, just to be sure.

Sometimes, what my mom found hilarious may not have been quite as humorous to us kids, like the day B was first allowed to get behind the wheel of a car. He was ready to back the car out of the driveway, and mom was riding shotgun – visibly nervous before the car was even started. B was so bad at backing out the car – jerking backward, hitting the breaks, jerking backward, hitting the breaks – that when he finally got the car to the side of the road, mom jumped out and said, “I can’t believe you’re that bad – I seriously thought I was going to die!” She laughed, everyone laughed. But B wasn’t laughing later when he wasn’t allowed behind the wheel for another two months.

Mom was there for everything. She would watch Z play Halo on the Xbox for hours just to spend some time with him. Sure, she would complain about the gratuitous violence or the sheer stupidity of the game but she would sit there and, at the very least, pretend to be interested in what Z liked so much.

The five of us were always our mom’s first priority. She did a fabulous job as our mother and as our friend. And as all of us celebrate her life that is one of the things we have to be happiest for. That’s what she would want. Not that we cry for what we don’t have, but that we smile and laugh as we go through the tremendous archive of memories she helped us make. They’ll never run out.

Hola

Hello to those who've been wondering where I've gone. I'm in the middle of a family emergency right now but will be back. Until then...

Adios.

Blogger's Block

It’s official. I haven’t blogged in 14 days and I have bloggers block. Thus the basis of this uber creative title. It’s not that I haven’t thought about what I could write about or that I’ve completely abandoned my Spotless Mind. Of course not. It’s because I’ve been so up and down these last weeks I thought I’d spare you my drama. (You, meaning the two people who actually read my blog and the random person who ran across my humble web-abode after Googling “poopy underroos.” Not joking here people. This crazy cat is either a mom looking for a remedy to clean her kids soiled drawers or… well, I won’t go there. It’s just too messed up.

Anyway, I thought, in lieu of said bloggers block I’d leave you with this.

Everyone can use a good monkey grin. It made me smile.