I Will Not Make Adam Sandler a Wedding Cake

Ever since I  have been a part of the podcasting community, my life has changed due mostly to the people have come to know.  As it would happen, most of these people are gay men. From the beginning, I felt I somewhat understood their feelings of isolation from the so-called mainstream of society, the feeling of always being on the outside looking in. Even as a young person, I never thought being gay was a choice.  I just didn't understand it. As a straight girl, I would look at lesbians and could not understand what they saw in another woman.  There was nothing sexy about other women. I can remember aspiring to be like and admiring beautiful women but only in a competitive, judgmental sort of way. These chicks were the enemy because they want what I wanted.  And for me that meant having a man all to myself. No sharing. Now I didn't make a conscience decision to be jealous of prettier girls or hate them because they had the boyfriend I wanted. It was just there. An undeniable feeling that hosting that man's seed (ewwww) is what my hormones were telling me. Again, I never thought that, I just wanted to be close and kiss and smell the soft, warm spot on their neck.

I remember the first guy I was ever really crazy over. We dated for a short time. In hind site, I think he wanted somebody and I wanted him. Being a discrete teenager, he would bring me home and then we would proceed to  fog up the windows by making out in the driveway. Why was I not concerned about my parents looking out the window and seeing us. I didn't care. The drive was that strong. And things were happening to my body that came as a complete surprise to me. My mother would discuss with me how to handle my period but that was the end of any birds and the bees talk.  I was, however, aware that the worst thing that could happen to any young girl was to get pregnant. Side note, the first time I had sex I came prepared. It wasn't with this young fellow either. It was a year later. I came with condoms and spermicidal jelly. None of his swimmers were coming after my unsuspecting eggs. And then soon after my birth control was a diaphragm.. In case you don't know, a diaphragm was a popular method of birth control in the early 80's. This device was made of a flexible rubber material in the shape of a circle with a thicker out rim. The woman was  to put spermicidal jelly in the concave portion of the circle, fold it half, and then place it up into the vagina until you felt something that the doctor would equate to as a nose. This would create a "fort" to the entrance of the uterus and the spermicidal were the foot soldiers who would kill sperm that were on a suicide mission. Hmmm, it is as this point you might say to yourself, "This sounds like a hormone free option for birth control. No pill to remember everyday and you use as needed". Well, let me remind you what goes in, must come out. But not right away. Eight... eight frickin' hours later. Do yourself a favor and don't think about it too much. Suffice it to say, convenience comes with a price.

I tell you all this to reemphasize that the urge to procreate is so strong that you are willing to put up with all this gooey mess. Or you could do what lots and lots of my fellow heterosexuals do and wing it. I mean, come on. What are the chances that that particular night there will be a come hither egg just begging to get implanted by that one super human seed. Turns out pretty good! Numbers don't lie. People are having baby after baby but again, what are the chances, right? The woman's body is ready to up those odds because at the time of the month she is most fertile, she is feeling the most amorous. I can tell you that this is true based on personal data I have collected.  Again, this is nothing you think of consciously, it is just there. You know what you want and you know how to get it.

I will spare you the talk about the miracle of menstruation. You're welcome. So you have just spent some time thinking about what it means to have sex as heterosexual woman. Except for the pregnancy prevention, none of this is voluntary or a choice. Is it so hard to take those same impulses and urges and apply them to someone who is homosexual? Nope. Not at all. For that matter, aren't there better ways it identify and label people than their sexual preference. Just because something constitutes the majority of something doesn't make it right or the standard. Both Adam Sandler and Jeff Foxworthy are millionaire comedians and are popular with the masses, does that make it right? I enjoy the comic styling of Maria Bamford and Patton Oswalt, does that make me better than those folks, nope. We are different. Different can be all kinds of good.

Sex is so subjective and I don't get a lot of it. Whoever said heterosexual sex was such a beautiful thing anyway? Give me a break. I would like the discussion to turn to love, companionship, and taking the government out of our personal lives. Marriage is truly an antiquated notion of a misogynistic culture wherein women were viewed as property. The wedding ring started as a symbol of ownership.  How it has become a symbol of everlasting love, only the jewelry companies can answer. Besides, if I were to have to go through a messy divorce, so should everyone else. Now that is fair. And don't get me started on religion. Right wingers say the United States was created on Christian Values and being gay is an affront to those values. The truth is, the United States was created by a group of people, SOME who were seeking religious freedom from the Church of England, some who were looking for riches, and some who were indentured servants looking for a new start in life. The founding fathers were a group of land owning white men with the power and the influence to create a system of government that benefited other land owning white men. So quit rewriting history people to suit your own purposes people!

As I step off my soap box, I leave you with this. When I met my fellow podcasters, who happen to be mostly gay men, I knew in my heart I could empathize what they felt about growing up gay. I know now, our struggles are much different. I never felt like I had to put on an act or play games with pronouns. It really felt like I was on the outside looking in but I never walked into a room wondering, "Just who in here straight? And can I trust them with my secret?" I never thought I would get beat up for liking a boy. When I got married, I applied for the license and paid the associated fee. We got married in the church we wanted. Nobody told me they wouldn't make my wedding cake because they didn't believe in my heterosexual lifestyle. My parents put an announcement in the local paper about our wedding and were included in the sea of people who got married that week.  Can you take even 10 minutes out of your life and imagine if you had to fight for these rights? I say to all you heterosexual people, get over yourself, you ain't that special. But mostly I have learned I don't know what it felt like growing up gay but if it helps, I don't think it's fair and I don't think you deserved it and I can see how and why you think it is you against us because at every turn our collective culture has told you that. And that is just not right.

Get Me a Large Orange Julius Please

Even on my best of days, my head is a hectic place.  Much like mall on Saturday. The food court is full of Justin Bieber wannabe teenagers. The busy moms with their Aston Martin strollers are in a winner takes all battle with the senior citizen mall walkers for turf rights while the middle age women are looking for some self-esteem at Lane Bryant. And above it all are the wall of wailing babies and toddlers with snot washing their face and a Pamper clinging for dear life by one last tab. So you see what I am up against?

Right now I have the addition of copious amounts of mucus and sinus pressure. I have a sinus infection. The drama queen in me says that I am suffering from Lint Lung. This is a self-diagnosed condition wherein the patient is systematically overexposed to human and animal detritus, allergens, and just plain old dirt.  Right now it feels like the spiky points of tumble weeds are thrashing about my bronchial tubes with a switch blade. That's right, it's hurt when I cough. My right eye must still be sad over a Rom-Com it saw in 1984 because it won't stop weeping. And my sinuses, well, just say, my nose is having trouble keeping up. I am trying to paint you a picture of how I am feeling. Is it working? Can you feel my slight flush but somehow my skin is cool to the touch? I am tired but when I close my eyes I can't sleep. When I try to work around the house a little, I walk from room to room trying to remember why I came in there for the first place. 

This is my 3rd day of being home from work. The beauty of being self-employed is that when I call and tell my client I can't work that day, there is no supervisor telling me I need a doctor's note or that I will be getting written up for missing too many days. But when you have one employer, you only have to make one phone call. And though your supervisor may be audibly irritated for you making their job more difficult, once you push that "end call", that's it.  Now imagine if you worked for someone you could liken to your mother. Did you know that once you are mother, you can take those shame inducing abilities and apply it to situations outside of your own brood? It's true. Once you take the Erma Bombeck's course, "Guilt, The Gift That Keeps on Giving". (This is an actual quote of hers) you are free to make even the check out girl at the Piggly Wiggly feel like she forgot it was Mother's Day. At this point, you saying to yourself "Calm down Brenda, the whole world is NOT out to get you!". Oh, I know this on an intellectual level. Just tell that people pleaser drinking the Orange Julius in the Food Court. 

I first noticed how other people's mothers could make feel guilty as a child. If I was a friend's house and she was getting trouble for not having done the dishes; I think I got upset than she did. In medical terms, some experts say this is not having a strong sense of self or a childlike response to stress which your inclination is to make everything about them. Sounds about right to me. But as an adult in the break room at Walmart while casually discussing why I never had children and my coworker mother says to me "Well, I just knew it couldn't always be about me."  Now back then I believed she was responding to some magical vibe I had placed into the atmosphere. Just how did she know how selfish I am? Does she have a voodoo doll of me in her locker? The years pass and when I heard someone say, probably Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura, "If the same thing keeps happening to you over and over, look for the common denominator. You" This made sense to me. I was broken. In my mind, everybody else in the world had their shit together except me. Ever slowly, I started giving up. You could see it in my jobs. I started applying for jobs that required less and less out me to alleviate stress. I used to have to deal with public at many of my jobs but it all just became too much. The work was hard enough without all these constant demands of trying to please the world.  Even now, I have this anxiety balloon hanging over my head because I still feel like crap. If I need to cancel the job I rescheduled for Saturday morning should I call now? This customer was clearly put out when I cancelled yesterday it's one thing to sit here and type, it's quite another to clean a house.

Now I believe I am a player in every one of these scenarios but I don't think there is something wrong with me.  People gravitate towards others for a reason. So it stands to reason, you may be attracted to the same version of a person in a different body over and over. If I present myself as easy going, a stronger person may use my personality to their advantage. The primitive in that person says, "Me think Brenda no danger. Me dump some of my poo on her head. See how she respond." The pleaser personality will unconsciously start doing behavior that will win the favor of the aggressor. What will happen if the pleaser doesn't take their role of the submissive.  The more aggressive person, for their own reasons, don't like to feel challenged so they start becoming more aggressive until they see the pleaser getting back into the role they are comfortable seeing them in. And thus the cycle continues for this relationship. 

Do I sound like I just feebly copied this from a text book and put it in my own awkward text? Not this time anyway. I am basing all this from my own life, my own experiences and though I found my role early in life, I can clearly remember a time as a child where other people's feelings were really secondary. I can remember looking at my young classmates and thinking, "Hmm that's weird what they are doing over there".  Then back to "Oh, they are having chocolate milk for lunch today." I remember the unsolicited  opinions about my very bright hair and my bevy of polyester pants (homemade by my grandma in both peach and chartreuse) with loosely matching short sleeved pullover sweatshirts. I never cared what I wore. It just didn't seem important to me until someone else decided it was important to me. I say all this only to say that I want to get back to that little girl. I mean, give me a fucking break, it was the 1970's after all.  And even though I really liked it on Ricki Lake when she did her shows titled, "I was ugly in high school but look at me now", I don't have have any revenge fantasies. I write all this for me because organizing your thoughts in a somewhat cohesive essay does help reinforce the message. But you still can't sit by me at lunch, so there.

Tonopah NV - A Study from Google Photos

Nestled in the San Antonio Mountains is the city of Tonopah. The road leading into town is insufferably straight. There are no trees that dot the horizon, just some low growing bush with gradations of tan and brown. The powerlines that follow the path of the highway are perplexing, just who needs electricity in this empty countryside? And then there are the mountains. From a distance the slate gray color looks like it belongs more on the moon than here on earth. Nothing is growing on these mountains. Are there animals that live amongst the invisible crevices. It looks so smooth from this distance. And the longer you drive, the further away the mountains seem to be.

Just when you think you are on a road to nowhere, the higway curves and you see life. It's Tonopah. The largest city in Central Nevada with over 2000 citizens. As jagged as the mountains that surround the city are, the city itself is flat. The most cared for and tallest building in town is the Mitzbah Hotel, a five story building located on main street. It's red illuminated sign on the top of the hotel serves as a beacon, a welcoming glow to strangers and the locals as they make their home. Driving along this main street you see the usual mainstays, McDonalds, Shell Station, but the local businesses are what catch your eye. The Clown Motel with it's vibrant colored clown cut out that flanks the driveway. And don't forget the Jim Butler Hotel named for the founder of Tonopah. This man found the 2nd largest silver vein in Nevada. Beyond the main street, you won't find any other stoplights, a stop sign is all that is needed.

The residential neighborhoods go from from well care for homes to shacks that look abandoned, condemned, with broken down cars in the yards and garbage strewn in the yard. A random, loose rooster is not an uncommon sight. And here is a homeowner shooting at rats that have crawled out

from under a trailer. Aside from the local service industries, I wonder just how the citizens make their living. After all, there is no logical reason for Tonopah to exist, to continue to thrive. Here is a smattering of people living in the desert at 6200 feet about sea level. How did they get here? Why do they stay?

I imagine life in the desert to be one of constant avoidance of the elements, the heat, the dirt in the air, the heat, always the heat. And how easily life would become unbearable without electricity to cool you and the water. Just what state is the water coming from? Having lived in a small town 22 years of my life, I feel like life in Tonopah is stagnant. Tonopah is either the beginning or the end a life. Can you imagine a whole life spent here? The mere thought makes me want to take a nap. Day in, day out, the same people, the same routine. But now let's take Tonopah and fill it with your friends. Clean up the streets. Force some trees to grow. And encourage the rednecks to take a hike. Now I see the beautiful night sky, the best in the country for seeing stars. I imagine a patio strung with novelty lights, a grill with glowing embers cooking burgers and brauts, and pitchers of ice cold drinks. But best of all would be the people, sitting on lawn chairs, laughing, arguing, and sneaking a cigarette. At the end of the night, we would hug, get back into our respective BMW's or Geo's or bicycles to go home, crawl into bed, knowing tomorrow, a few streets away, we could meet again.

Disjointed Thoughts

I always wanted to be a writer. My first major in college was Journalism but I soon got overwhelmed by the idea of approaching complete strangers. So I switched to English. In many ways this suited my personality. Reading and writing are solitary pursuits, nobody watching, judging, perfect for me. Once I switched majors I was taking as many English classes as possible and this was nothing but reading. Reading several books in a week or I was supposed to be anyway. The professor would say "Read Upton Sinclair's Main Street" and then we would spend one day, maybe two, discussing it. I was not used to this kind of teaching. My high school teachers spoonfed us the textbooks. So while I did pretty well in high school and college, it was an adjustment. The combination of real life, work, and homework proved to be too much. Something had to give and since I needed money to live, the college always suffered.

Now as an adult I fantasize about spending my free time writing but I am finding it again, overwhelming. I want it to be perfect. But writing is many small steps and it is a habit. So I am going to use this blog to practise writing again. These entries may not always be cohesive or complete but I want to try to challenge my mind to calm down and organise itself through structure and repetition. And learn how to spell again.

Please Stay Out of My Lane

For as long as I can remember I have loved to swim. It was the one exercise that came naturally to me. From day one in school, gym class was a constant source of anxiety, embarrassment, and dread. No matter what the activity, my body fought against whatever the instructor said was the correct thing to do. There was a definite disconnect between my brain and my corresponding limbs. It was as though there was a short somewhere in my nerve endings that could never be fixed. A glitch in the wiring that would cause physical spasms like a newly born calf trying desperately to stand having been just thrust from her mother's womb.
No matter what the activity, my body would not coordinate with itself.

Let me break it down for you. Volleyball was invitation to fall down. With my eyes ever skyward watching the ball bounce from girl to girl praying it would not come to my section of the court, I felt almost dizzy, my feet not understanding what my eyes expected from me. Basketball, girl's half court, it was the 1970's after all, meant running and bouncing a ball at the same, clearly two separate activities. Much like rubbing your stomach and tapping your head at the same time, how could anyone do these things at once? And if I got close enough to the basket to throw the ball, my arms did not know the proper thrust and direction ratio to make a successful swoosh. But baseball was the worst. Coed baseball. Baseball  clearly was invented a narcissist who liked being the center of attention. Look at me hit the ball! Look at me catch the ball! Look at me run the bases! Or in my case please don't watch me strike out. Please don't notice I missed the ball. And for the love of god, please don't watch me run to first base. You see, running is the fat girls nemesis. In my effort to control the jiggling of my various pieces and parts, I always attempted a very controlled running technique and to the observer, everybody on both teams, it appears I wasn't trying or indeed running as fast as I could. They were right. I was TRYING not to look a fool and for my efforts I got "Run! Run Faster!" The looks on the jocks faces as I invariably made the last out of the inning cut a permanent scar in my ego and psyche. But swimming was and IS different.

Growing up we lived less than a block from the city swimming pool. At around age 6 I took beginners swimming lessons and I literally graduated in 5 lessons. It came so naturally for me, I took their little test and that was it, I was on to Intermediate. Intermediate taught me the various strokes, the crawl, backstroke, etc. and then I was done. In my mind, I knew everything I needed to know and anything else they would teach me would just be fine tuning. I never had any interest in swim team, I am just not competitive in that way. Swimming, back then, was never about being better than anybody else, it was always just about being IN the water. The summer swim pass my parents bought me every year was the wisest, most completely used thing they ever bought me. I would live at that swimming pool every summer. And as I grew up, the swimming pool culture morphed into a social world as well but it was there that I learned to love the pool.

There are many glorious steps to swimming. If you step gradually into the water, the temperature difference is impossible to ignore and if the water is cold enough, it can take your breath away. Gliding slowly into the water as though you have some control how the water will hit your skin and if you're a girl, your breasts are the most sensitive to the chill. Finally, realizing you are putting off the inevitable, you make the plunge, head under and you are fully invested. It's surprising how quickly your body acclimates. Your nerve endings calm down and it feels like home, this water. And suddenly your body is lighter and more graceful than you have ever felt on dry land. When I am in the water, I can imagine the pure joy a dancer might feel. I feel graceful and strong and in control. My arms and legs suddenly do exactly what I ask of them, a confidence comes over me I have never once felt in gym class. The water protects me from prying eyes and I can try as hard as I can and I don't feel like a fool.  I don't feel clumsy. I feel athletic and in control and I love it. If I am swimming alone in a pool, the surface calm except for my touch, I can look up as I take a breath, see the surface of the water, see the air bubbles, and I am as happy as I have every been. There is an allure to water that is undefinable. It is a feeling that comes so deep from my core. I cannot explain why I am so drawn to it. When I see even a clean, clear fountain or pond, I just want to get in it. The water draws me to it in such a way that the mere smell or the sight calms me and calms my brain. So I take refuge in the water. So you see, that is why you must simply stay the fuck out of my lane.

Life as an oPossum

This week I had two separate opportunities to assert myself  and.....I didn't. Was my conscience clear in both instances? I imagine the little Brenda's who occupy my brain who make these split decisions were quickly weighing all the evidence and shrugged their shoulders in the end saying "We could go either way". I could feel my heart beat faster. Alarms were going off. ABORT! ABORT! Mr. Sulu, prepared to engage thrusters, warp factor 2.

Was I being attacked by a vigilante neighborhood watch block captain you ask? The first incident happened at my gym's pool. If you have listened to my podcasts, you would have been subjected to my many thoughts regarding swimming pool etiquette. For example, please don't occupy a lane when people are waiting and just talk and not swim. Only so many people can fit in a lane, don't push your way in and work around the people already there. But my biggest pet peeve is when people just show up in your lane. I am not so selfish as to believe that I don't have to follow the gym's rules that state members will be expected to share their lane in the event of a high volume of use. I can't say that I like it but I will do it. 99% of the time if I am the one joining the lane, I will make a point of asking the person's permission as a courtesy or at least make eye contact so they know I am there. But this time I threw caution to the wind and treated the lady that occupied the lane the way I had been treated and just showed up.

There are many kinds of swimmers. The older lady aquasizers who can "work out" but still maintain a conversation the whole time. There are swimmers who are just go there everyday. It has become part of their routine like drinking coffee and the act of being there is enough. The next group at the ex-swim team members. These people do the cool flip at the end of each lap, their strokes are flawless, and they are fast, faster than me. And then there are the therapy swimmers. Technically they ARE swimming. They are in the pool, their limbs are moving and they are floating but it's little more than bath time in a giant tub. So the lady I was joining on the particular day in this particular lane was doing some therapy swimming. Right down the middle of the lane. On her back, barely kicking her legs, and the slap, slap, slap of her arms as they make contact with the water and then there was me. Squeezing my as close to the wall as possible, doing the crawl. As I approached the same portion of the lane that she occupied her arm grazed my leg and that is when the shit hit the fan. Before I could even say "Sorry" which I had intended to do, she flew into a rage. "You could have told me you were getting in the lane! Tap me on the shoulder! You didn't have to just get in without letting me know!"  She was so instantly pissed off and loud I might add. My brain went into double speed trying to decide what to do. If my edit button wasn't as strong I would have said what I was thinking, "Nobody tells me lady. Get the fuck over it." But I didn't. I finished my lap. I could see her just staring at me the whole time. I got my things and got out of the pool and sat dripping waiting for the aquasize class to get over. Then, just like an after school special, a guy walks in and hollers down to the same woman and says, "Hey do you mind if I share your lane?" 

In the past, I would have just gotten up and left the pool entirely thinking to myself "Well, I guess I won't be swimming today." but I really needed that swim. If I didn't do it now, it would not get done today. And part of me felt like I asked for her yelling at me because I really hate it when people do that to me. I didn't feel like I had a guilt free conscience in these circumstances but what followed is what confounds me. Instead of just counting it as one of these creepy, bitchy moments you sometimes experience with strangers, I was so embarrassed and felt beat down. These are the times in life when I feel like I have a bull's eye on my  back. "Hey everybody, this chick is weak! Feel liking dumping your bad day off Brenda, well, shit away!" And this makes me so frustrated and when I am frustrated, I cry. When I got back into the water in a sanctioned lane, I was swimming and crying. Quite an accomplishment I think. My thoughts go to "How can I make this not happen again?". I cannot stand be chastised by strangers. I wish it wasn't the first time this kind of thing has happened. This is my main question to this lady. What is in your brain that makes you think that you can just yell at a complete stranger in a gym pool, where everyone has equal status, and it is quite reasonable to imagine there could be someone else close-by in the pool? Is this just another day in your life when you act like an entitled crazy person? So the lesson learned here was I will never get away with breaking these courtesy rules, don't bother trying.

The other confrontation happened with my sister and this could have had much more serious consequences. As you may or may not know I clean homes for a living and my sister is one of my clients. When she first asked me to clean her house, I didn't see any problem. I had been working in a hospital and was used to being around people in much more vulnerable positions and besides, I assumed they would never be home when I cleaned. Furniture is furniture after all. Well, the bathroom held up it's part of the bargain with it's neutrality but I was not always home alone doing my work. It got uncomfortable real fast. I would be cleaning on a Friday afternoon and they would be at home talking to each other. Not to me. I quickly felt like Cinderella and invisible as all domestic help tend to feel. They were paying me and it was just twice a month, I thought, Brenda, don't be a fool. Take their money. But the longer I cleaned there the more I hated it.

So last night I had enough. I thought, "Brenda, you  know they would quit you if it suited their needs. It's not worth it." Normally it would not occur to me to quit a job through a text message but since I had been the recipient of a "We will no longer need your services text." TWICE now from other people, I thought it must be an okay thing to do. Getting on my phone I find a message sent to me last Friday when I cleaned for them telling me what to do with the dog. I assumed it was my sister's phone number. I type out the texts sounding more like we were breaking up than quitting a job. "It's not you, it's me. It just feels weird. You never did anything wrong." I push send. A minute later I get a response, "I think you sent this to the wrong number, did you mean to send this to me?" At first I say "yes" and then I quick check my contacts and realize this is not my sister's number, it must be my niece's number who lives with them. Oh shit! ABORT ABORT! I deny it saying "Oh that's the trouble with texting." My next thought is, will my niece just forget about this or will she say "Hey, I got this weird text from Brenda last night." I leave it alone and think quitting is harder than I thought.

Since I hadn't heard anything last night I thought, crisis averted. My niece accepted my explanation and I will just have to quit in a month or two. But I guess my niece and sister do have connected brain cells and my sister texts and asks "Were those texts meant for her?". Again my heart starts pounding. Shit. Fuck. Do I continue to deny or do I take advantage of this reopening and get out of this quagmire once and for all. I admit that yes, I do feel uncomfortable making sure to mention they have never done anything wrong. To my relief, my sister says she understood and thanked me for doing it as long as I did. I thanked her for understanding and it was over. So why was my heart still beating so fast and why did I feel like such a flake about wanting to quit? I asked myself is it really the confrontation that is so horrible? What was this really about?

I hate, despise, abhor the idea of people thinking badly about me. I realized just how much I want to control other people. I realized why I don't believe compliments from other people. I realized why  I don't believe people when they say they care for me. Let me explain it like this. If you lie regularly, it's easy to understand and even expect that people are lying to you. If you do things just to be polite like I do, I assume people are just being polite to me. So when this lady just went off on me at the pool I felt trapped and confused. Why is it okay in her world to be so utterly rude? Why are her feelings more important than mine?  Control is an illusive mistress who cooperates only occasionally but more importantly I am beginning to think knowing WHY people do what they do is not nearly so important as I thought. Trying to figure people out is exhausting. I thought if I knew people's motivations I was somehow in control. It is flawed logic. It is what a child does to attempt to control their environment. People are going to do what they are going to do. Letting go of this need to control other people's reaction and thoughts of me feels like such a break through and a relief.

Besides, when was the last time you saw a LIVE possum?

Aromas from the Basement

Right now my house is a disaster. Dishes need to be done and the basement smells like a dog toilet. Molly, my 14 year old Beagle/German Shepherd mix has decided that when it's rainy and when nobody is home, the basement is a perfectly acceptable substitute for the backyard. And though I have scrubbed the concrete with urine odor eliminating solvent bought at Pet Smart, the painted, though peeling concrete floor is holding onto the smell like a sponge. It almost makes my eyes water. As I typed these words, the guilty party just walked into the room and plopped at my feet. I do feel like she can read my mind. She does make it hard to stay mad at her what with her cuteness and her sweetness. Anyway, there is a huge part of me that wants to call in sick to my cleaning clients' houses today just so I can clean my own house. Much like the editor who works on other's transcripts for living so he can write his own great American novel, I want to put some time into my own musings. A person might assume that it's the money that motivates to go to work today but it's secondary. Strange words from a person who can use all the money they can get their hands on. The thing I want to avoid is the confrontation, the conversation with the customers telling them I won't be working for them today. These interactions are almost unbearable for me at times. People in general really. Now in the same breath I tell you this. I am a lonely person. I crave human contact but only under specific conditions. Following is a list of times I would rather be alone.

1. Working. If I am cleaning your house, please be nowhere that I can see you. If I enter a room please feel free to disappear into another room. I won't be offended. And the fact that your mother-in-law is visiting is a perfectly acceptable reason to cancel. Your 1500 square foot home cannot accommodate me, my cleaning equipment, and all your people trying walk around me.

2. Visiting Family. How does this make sense you say? It doesn't. This just means I would rather be home alone watching nonstop Fullhouse reruns than hanging out being insulted by my family. And I loathe John Stamos. And by the way, Joey, that creepy dishwater blond mullet makes me gag and you're not funny.

3. Exercising. If I could have my very own pool I would be the happiest girl in the world and since that is not going to happen, please vacate the pool gym when I enter. What little bit of a competitive spirit I have comes out swimming these laps. And the fact that you ALWAYS swim in the middle lane is of no consequence to me. Adapt, humans are supposed to be good at it.

4. Shopping for clothes. The idea of having a girls day for clothes shopping sounds like a nightmare. Clothes have become a means to an end. Cover up and don't make a stink about it. The endless pawing through racks of outfits that you would never consider putting on your body just become your companion is interested in this year's polyester magenta crop top is of no interest to me.

5. Public bathrooms. We all know what's happening in here, so no eye contact and no idle chit chat please. And if YOU could keep the grunts down to a minimum, that would be great.

But that's really it. I am open to human contact in most all other situations. Scientists say that humans want to be part of a tribe, that we instinctively want to belong to a group because it increases our chance of survival. As every National Geographic special you saw growing up depicts, the lone wildebeest is never long for this world when the lioness is on the hunt. But I have found being a part of the group is quite tenuous. It is a delicate balance. Who is the alpha? How did they get to be in charge or at least the most popular? And more importantly to me, how do I fit in here? What is my role? This is what I am continuing to try and figure out. To be continued....