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shoes in the city

the story of the trials, tribulations and mundane bullshit of a disturbingly normal lesbian

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

In Honor of the Beginning of the Holiday Season

a blast from my past

Kitties for Christmas
It was a long weekend. Very long. It started on Wednesday. I was driving back into the city. Thru beautiful rolling hills at sunset. So, of course, I started thinking about my ex-girlfriend. The one I wasn’t supposed to call. Somehow, in the golden light, on the rolling hills, in jeep without a radio, and mind with not enough to do, it made sense to call. So, I did. Next thing I knew, we were making plans to have lunch. I was full of spit and vinegar before lunch. I had a list of things I was going to say. And I was wearing adorable shoes. Of course, I said none of the brilliant things that were sure to bring her running back to my arms. I returned to work and immediately locked myself in an empty office and cried.

So, I spent yet another evening on my couch, surrounded by my own emotional deritrus, and moped. Accompanied by a bottle of shiraz, a pack of cigarettes and HBO. Pathetic.

I did, however, come to one useful realization. When I’m down, I like for my house to be a mess. I find it somehow comforting for it to look like I feel. I sat on the couch and looked around. The house was a fucking dump. And my parents were coming in two days. I took another swig of wine and settled back into the couch to watch another episode of the Sopranos. Nothing like drama to take a girl out of her own tawdry head.

Christmas eve, I woke up and I was ready. Ready to take on the house, buy groceries and in general, prepare for the arrival of Sarah Ann and Richard (the parents). In other words. The house had to be spotless. But, first, I had to check on the cats. They had come home about two weeks ago, and immediately ran into a hole in the wall. In the past week, I had discovered that they had found their way into the ceiling. I felt like this might not be good. So, I set and baited two live traps. So far, they had avoided the traps. I figured eventually they’d get hungry and go in. I was beginning to forget what the cats looked like. It was kind of like having ghost cats. They ate. They used the litter box. They made noise in the ceiling. They made a hole in the ceiling. But I never saw them.

I opened the door to their room. And there, looking rather pissed, inside a trap was Ameila. I was ecstatic. After dancing a little jig, I opened the trap and prepared to carry her the five feet to the bathroom. Ameila was thrilled to be freed from the trap. And quickly decided that she wanted to go back to her safe, dark hole. I wasn’t having it. She followed international rules of engagement and responded with steadily increasing levels of aggression. First, she growled, then hissed, scratched, then a quick bite, then, the mother of all bites. I’m cussing and this little bitch has her teeth firmly attached to my finger. We end up with me holding her behind her head like she’s a snake, blood dripping on the floor and I manage to open the kittie carrier with my feet so I can manage to carry the whirling dervish the five feet to the bathroomwithout further injury. We make it.

I set the carrier on the bathroom floor, open the door to the carrier and dash out of the bathroom. I’m not completely stupid. Over my shoulder I see her dashing in the other direction, headed straight for behind the toilet. Luckily, I have another bathroom. So I don’t have to fear getting my ass attacked while I’m taking a shit.

I spend the rest of the day running around, getting ready for the grand arrival of the parents. I hate Christmas. Ever since I quit being Christian, it’s kind of lost its meaning. But, it’s a big deal for the parents. That probably has something to do with my dad being a pastor.

By late afternoon, my finger is swollen, tender and warm. Four different people, including the ex-girlfriend and the advice nurse at my HMO have told me to go to the doctor. I spent the next three hours at the urgent care getting a tetnus shot and antibiotics. And, for some reason, I turned down Tylenol with codeine. What the hell was I thinking? My parents were coming the next day. I was depressed as hell. My house was a mess. And my finger hurt like a mother fucker. What better time to be high? But I, in my infinite wisdom, said no, I could handle the pain. Fucking masochist.

The Christmas morning, my house looked much like it had the previous day. My finger was still so swollen I couldn’t bend it. My cat was still behind the toilet. And I was sitting on the couch, drinking a latte and smoking a cigarette when my phone rang. It was my parents. Their plans had changed and they were calling to tell me that they would be at my house in two hours; approximately four hours early.

I panicked. As I was scrambling around the house, trying to create some semblance of order, or at least get it to not look like a crazy person’s house, I realized that I was out of toilet paper. I dashed over to my friend Leigh’s house to borrow some. When I get home, I find that Cassie has eaten two loaves of bread and then peed on the floor. I needed that bread for two different recipies for Christmas dinner. I took a breath and called my parents, who were now in town and at the airport. I informed them that we would be having Chinese for dinner. About five minutes later, they called back. Their luggage was in Philadelphia and their rental car reservation was screwed up. I started laughing. And gave the fuck up. I told them that not only were we having take-out for dinner, but the house was a wreck and I wasn’t cleaning anymore. I was done.

Finally, they made it. We had a lovely dinner of steamed dumplings, moo shu and chocolate truffles with Leigh, her daughter Rory and Leigh’s girlfriend CJ. My parents were dismayed by my lack of glassware and forks. Hey, when a girl gets divorced, these things happen.

After Leigh, et. al. went home, Sherman, the other cat, stuck his head out of the ceiling. First we heard meowing. Then I saw his adorable little head peering out of the hole in the dining room ceiling. Next thing I know I’m standing on a chair, trying to feed him treats, while my parents stand on the floor, all of us making kittie noises and talking to him. Sherman has some neurological deficits. His cerebellum didn’t develop fully. So some things don’t work quite how you’d expect them to. Things like eating treats while hanging his head out of the ceiling. They kept falling out of his mouth. So he gave up on the treats and asked to be petted. So there I was, with his head sticking out of the ceiling, scratching his ears while he purred like a diesel engine. It was sweet. But we couldn’t stay like that forever, so I very carefully pulled one leg out, then the next, and while murmuring sweet things, pulled the rest of him out. It was like watching the ceiling give birth. Like Athena coming out of Zeus’ head. Except, it was a developmentally disabled cat coming out of a drop ceiling in a house with a rotting porch, into the arms of a depressed, single lesbian with a throbbing, infected finger and two parents standing by giving well meant, if rather obvious, advice. The little bugger clung to me and then was very happy to see his sister. She even came out of from behind the toilet to greet him. My parents and I ended up having a decent Christmas. They didn’t bitch about the house. They made Christmas dinner the next day and their luggage arrived. Leigh and CJ left a bag full of glasses from Pier One on my porch. My parents gave me a set of silverware. The swelling started to go down in my finger.So all in all, the weekend didn’t suck.

After all, I did get my kitties for Christmas. What could be better than that?

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Balance

Balance is good.

Right?

Because today in the NY Times the following two stories were almost side by side:

South Africa Legalizes Same Sex Marriage

and

Catholic Bishops Say Gays Are "Disordered"

Ok, so I paraphrased the headlines. But the bishops report literally does say that "persons with homosexual tendencies [please note - we're not gay, or lesbian or bi - we're person's with homo tendencies - you know, like I tend to like french fries, i also tend to like pussy - same thing- just a small matter of taste - ok - now here's the kicker] are inherently disordered". Yep, disordered. Of course, the APA (the shrink society) removed homosexuality from the list of disorders in 1973. But, apparently the priests have yet to catch on.

Sigh.

It stuns me to see a church body, supposedly based in Christian love, do such a good job of alienating itself from the people they are supposed to serve.

Oh, and then the document goes on to remind folks that they should not use contraception.

I have a major disconnect when I hear a religious person calling healthy people disordered and encouraging people to relinquish control over reproduction to fate. In the faith in which I was raised (Lutheran), we were taught that God made us and we should be proud of who we are. And that God gave us brains to develop technology, and that resulting technology should be used in such a way as to provide good stewardship of the planet, our communities and families.

But, then again, that's just me.

As to South Africa? Can the US catch up please? For heaven's sake, we're running behind Norway, Spain, Canada and now South Africa?

After our wedding a few months ago, I am even bigger proponent of gay marriage. It was good and healthy for us to stand in front of our families and friends and promise to stick with each other until one of us is dead. It makes a difference in every nook and crannie of me to know that we are married (not recognized by the state, but that's another story). That we have been blessed by our community, that we have laid it all out there, and that our families stood by us. I've been surprised by how very different it feels. It's good. Really good.

The other day we had a fight that made me want to sleep on the couch. After yelling for a bit, stomping around, and cleaning with a fervour known only to the really pissed off, I looked at her, remembered her face on our wedding day, remembered my vows, shut up, got in our bed and told her that I loved her. Because I do. Madly. And that's where I belong. With my wife. We still had to deal with our shit, but somehow the shit is was a little less earth shattering.

How can that be bad? Or disordered?

Especially when it makes me happy down to the bones of my soul.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

revisit

yeah -

not feeling sorry for K-Fed

spousal support?! really?

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

heart so soft it's gooey

Just to confirm that I'm a big old, flag wavy, teary eyed push over - i found my self feeling sorry for Kevin Federline.

Which is completely absurd.

First of all, i don't know the guy.

Second, I don't want to know him.

But, here I sit at work. Where I'm bored out of my mind. So, I'm compulsively surfing. And i click over to Gawker for like the seventh time today, and find myself watching the clip from Canadian MTV or whatever the hell it's called. And there is K-Fed, apparently learning of his divorce by text message. And I gotta say - I felt a little bad for the guy.

Yeah, I know that from all appearances he was one hell of a crappy husband. And, if one of my friends was with someone who ran off to Vegas to party three weeks after she gave birth - I'd encourage her to dump their sorry ass too.

But there was something a little heart breaking about watching part of it on video.

However, what's really heart breaking is that my life has descended to such a low, that I am actually avidly following the divorce of Britney Spears. There are good things going on. Things that certainly distract me from the world of gossip. Like the election. Of course that's just gossip with a smidge more significance. I follow the election cycle and politics with the same fervor that i carry to Gawker and Page Six. But right now, all of the things that interest me, challenge me or seem worth paying attention to are outside of my day job.

So, I sit here at my desk, desperately looking for something to keep my overactive mind busy. And i clutch at the closest things: politics and gossip. Perhaps I should spend some time and troll for a website about Nietzsche. At least that might be better for my brain.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Hard Heart

It was a leave Cassie at the vet morning again.

And Kofi was not having it.

It has happened so often lately that he's starting to develop plans to prevent the separation.

This morning they knew something was up. Not getting breakfast is always a dead give away. Then i pick up one leash. They start tumbling over each other. I snap the lead on Cassie. Kofi acts like he doesn't notice and runs to the door ready to go. I manage to get Cass out the door and the door shut with Kofi still in the house.

Of course the barking and the leaping begin immediately. Cassie happily jumps in the car (which never fails to amaze me - we never go anywhere except the vet) and starts scouring the car for food.

I dash back in the house to grab my bag and attempt to squeeze out the door without Kofi. But the little fucker turned his bones into mush, squished himself thru a two inch space and dashed out the door into the street.

God damnit.

He runs around to the other side of the car and looks for a way in. He finally returned to the sidewalk, wagging his whole body and giving me that look that usually gets him whatever he wants. But it didn't work, not this time

I grabbed ahold of his collar and dragged him back in the house. The whole time he had himself bent in half, looking longingly at the car. Like a convicted felon being dragged out of the courtroom looking at his mom for the last time.

But, I made it. I managed to put him in the house, shut the door and drive away. I was proud of myself. I managed to not be manipulated by a little furry 35 lb dog.

Very impressive. Next I'll bring home the Nobel Peace Prize.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

sucker punch

so

i volunteered to be on the employee recognition committe. dumb. utterly and completely stupid. but i had a fit of feeling that i needed to pull my weight, so i volunteered. and i've hated every minute of it.

as if that wasn't bad enough, one of the higher ups decided that the employee recognition committee needed to also be in charge of the annual charity campaign. which means planning "dress down days" and "silly hat days" and change wars and bake sales and i'm ready to pluck my eyes from my head and eat them.

so, i'm shirking my responsibilities. hiding from the other committee members. and trying to figure out how i can get off of the committee before i find myself decorating someone's door with balloons like the cheerleader i wasn't in middle school.

i would have sucked as a cheerleader. i could never master that completely round handwriting they all had.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

sandinista nostalgia - warning maudlin

Daniel Ortega is running for President of Nicaragua again.

That takes me back

To the early 90s, when i was running around with a bunch of activists, protesting US aid to El Salvador.

It's funny how when i think of that time, I remember the physical. The smells, the tastes, the sights, the light. It was a good time in my life. A time I'm proud of.

When i went to college, i wanted to have an FBI file by the time i graduated. I think i succeeded. And, because of the work of a lot of people, the United States actually stopped sending military aid to El Salvador. A peace treaty happened. The war in El Salvador stopped. The country is still in need of a lot of help, but people aren't being ripped from their beds and "disappeared" on a regular basis anymore. Nuns aren't being raped, murdered and left in a ditch.

The 90s were a crazy time. It was a time when the work of the past several decades bore fruit. The wall came down. Apartheid ended. Clinton was elected. Twice. I saw that there was actually power in activism. That there were results.

Then I forgot.

Now, i look at the war in Iraq and I feel helpless. I read about terrorism. I feel helpless. There is so much that is wrong. I want to legally marry my wife. I'm worried that we'll lose our right to abortion. Hell, I'm worried that in 20 years i'll be living in waterfront property. Which won't actually be very nice. We won't be able to swim in the water. it'll be a toxic dump full of a city that's no longer above sea level.

I vote. I give a little bit of money to political organizations. I go to my government job and advocate for the population we serve. But it feels like nothing i do will make a difference.

I must be wrong.

Because the wall came down. Apartheid ended. I married my wife and my parents were at the wedding. With big grins on their faces. i'm out at work. people can't remember why marriage between people of different races was illegal. some things are better.

Maybe it's time for me to get off my ass. And start trying to make a difference again.

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