Thursday, July 31, 2003

pass the kleenex (r)

You know it's the dumbest thing... I don't consider myself to be a stereotypical mushy female in almost ANY sense of the word. (Many people try to convince me that I have a soft heart underneath all of the abrasiveness, I think they are full of crap.) However, any time I see someone get proposed to in the movies or tv, I get a little worked up. Sometimes I even cry, like today. (Finally got to catch up on the last Sex & the City, and Harry proposed to Charlotte. Oy vey I was snivelling like a 2 year old!)

Why does this make me so emotional? I STILL cannot watch Sense & Sensibility without crying during the part when Emma Thompson's character finds out that Hugh Grant did not, in fact, get married and that he is coming ot claim her. Bawl like a BABY every single time. I know it's coming, I try to tell myself it's coming... In fact, my chest is getting a little tight just thinking about it now. Her reaction is SO strong and powerful, it just knocks me over.

And Harry and Charlotte, it's like their friends of mine. I mean, she converted to Judaism for him and THAT was a big deal. I love seeing people who should be opposites drawn together, it's cool. And she got this look on her face and she was saying I don't care if we ever get married, I just want you to call or ask me out on a date and then he said no -- THAT'S not good enough and he got down on one knee.... Sigh. I'm feeling a little weepy again.

I think it's just the COMPLETE trust that love and romance will win that kicks me in the head. Makes the colors fly in my head, makes my blood start rushing, makes Frank Sinatra suddenly start singing... Because you've got to have Frank if there's love involved, don't you? And I think, too, when I see proposals and weddings and just romantic things in general, it makes me appreciate all over again my feelings for S and I fall in love again and who doesn't love THAT feeling??

I'm going to go sing in the shower and start my day! Hope yours is good too!
rantings of a phone addict

I used to be multi-media communication junkie. Self-confessed. But now that I am on the phone ALL day and the cost of all these addictions keeps going up, instead of down. Well, I'm starting to look for ways to cut corners.

But because I am so used to having the ease of technology at my fingertips at all times, it's a hard step to consider making. For example, I know a NUMBER of people whose only phone line is their cell phone. It seems to make sense in a lot of ways except that I hate my current phone so much that I have considered driving over it with my car on more than one occasion... I can't remember who makes it and frankly, I'm not sure if I should say given the predilection of some companies to sue for slander and all that. But the phone sucks. I bought it after much careful deliberation -- and by comparing its weight to other phones around it. It's not like you get to test the quality of the phone. And my previous phone weighed and ton and I hated that, so like a SMART shopper, I bought a lighter phone. A lighter phone that you can't hear out of, has poor reception and no features. Yay.

But, I digress. My problem with merely having a cell phone and no land line is that anyone can reach you anytime, anywhere. I don't like that. I already know people who have my cell phone number who can't figure out that just because I carry the phone around with me DOESN'T necessarily mean I want to talk on it all the time. The only way to send a signal to these people is to leave the phone off and frankly, it annoys me that I have to do that. Just because the phone is on doesn't mean I want to talk. It just means the phone is on. If you called my home phone and it rang til the machine came on, you would assume that I was not home and/or not available. Apparently, this same logic based etiquette does not apply with cell phones. If the phone is on, then it seems to be okay to call and call and call until you wear someone down enough to make them answer. I have been given the excuse that the voicemail doesn't come on so THAT is why the callbacks were made.

Here's a lesson in modern technology for those of you who haven't QUITE figured this out: caller id. Caller id has been around for quite some time and I know this because I even had it when I lived in South by God Dakota. That means it has been in existence for a minimum of 5 years. Not all people have this feature on their home phones, I'll grant you this. But ALL cell phones have it. Now, here's the interesting technology part so perk up you in the back... If you call someone's cell phone and it rings then that means the phone is on. If it's off you will almost NEVER hear ringing, you will be directed straight into their voicemail. So, if the phone is ringing and no one is answering and for some STRANGE reason, the voicemail does not pick up -- the owner of said cell phone will still know you called because of the magic of caller id. So unless your message was of UTMOST importance (just so we are clear, "dude, why aren't you picking up your phone -- call me" is NOT of utmost importance, this is implied by the fact that you were trying to call and your call was not answered.) it is not necessary to continue to try to call under the guise of trying to get to the voicemail. Caller id does not capture a number on many phones if the phone is off, so in that case you would need to leave a message in order for the party to know that you called.

But people who call and don't leave messages on my voicemail when my phone is off are NOT the reason for that particular rant, and I think we all know what I mean by THAT.

If you don't know what I mean, then I'm probably talking about you and stop stalking!

Okay. I meant to write about my various ideas to try to strip down some of my communication devices but then I got distracted by THAT rant and now I need coffee and food.

Hopefully next time I can stay on track, but I wouldn't bet on it. ;-)

Tuesday, July 29, 2003

Wow, I should let my head get kidnapped more often -- that was very sweet!

But on to the usual plethora of inane topics. Like -- my bowels... Insert corny music.

There has been much joking on Heather and her bizarre bowel issues, but oddly I think I have somehow managed NOT to blog about said issues. How can this be?

I am viewed as an oddity by much of the modern, crapping world because everything has to be "just so" for me to unleash the beast, as it were. The house has to be empty and it has to be MY house. I'm not really happy taking care of these things while others are around. I don't like people to know that I experience natural, smelly bodily functions. This takes away from my image as pristine woman. (Again, please keep in mind this is MY head, MY blog and therefore MY opinions -- frankly I do not care if anyone else really sees me as pristine.) I dated S for roughly 7 months before there was any movement going on in his vicinity. And even then, it was pretty much in my own house. It's only been in the last month or so that I've finally been able to take care of things at his house. A source of EXTREME amusement to him. Even HP2 mocks my issue. Says that I can drive along for hours and be fine but then as soon as I get close to my house I'm racing to come inside and poop. I can't figure out how my innards know that I'm at MY house.

Another thing is that because I'm particularly weird about this aspect of humanity, I can't understand other people's need to NOT be weird about it. For example, the various code phrases are particularly troubling to me. Particularly anything relating to children and pools. What is THAT about? That is NOT a pool and those are NOT your children. S compares some of his bolder movements to the Hulk and even goes into LURID detail and color and arrangement and so forth. Another friend now living in Korea has threatened to photograph some of her more amazing dumps. (Dumps... ew)

Also, other people's ability to shit A N Y W H E R E, but particularly in the bathroom at my job... This REALLY bothers me. Don't these people have bathrooms at home? Do they think this is what that room is for??? It's not as if it's well ventilated and let's not even get into the acoustic aspect. More disturbing though is when people drop their "kids" off at MY pool. I'm not talking about over-night guests, that's acceptable. I'm talking about people who come over and are here for like a couple of hours and are doing things in my bathroom that cause the wallpaper to peel from the wall in horror. Seriously. You couldn't WAIT to do that?? And what on EARTH did you have to eat today?

Yes. I have issues. I am a repressed, anal-retentive (pun intended) freak. I accept this. At least I'm not coming to your house and stinking up YOUR bathroom!

Well, except for S, but his house is like a vacation retreat at this point...

An unHeather blog

We have kidnapped heather's head and have taken control over the blogging... SO WATCH OUT (only we think this is funny of course...). Heather is not enjoying this as much. OM OM OM OM We have all reached nirvana. We are not meeting Heather's standards for blog material and we all know that her standards are very HIGH!!!!!!! take it as you will Sarcasm She retreats to her book and we are all fading. An evening of rekindling, recapping and catching up. It is amazing how time passes but friendships never die and you can pick up just where you left off. Frosted mini wheats are the best! If you are able to follow our logic you are many more steps ahead of us! Goodnight!

Sunday, July 27, 2003

Rated XX

For chromosome content, you pervs!

Spent the night with all the girls tonight. MAN, did I miss that! We went out to sushi dinner and then went out dancing. Sounds simple enough, but my batteries are just totally recharged. Even if I didn't have the hiccups now, I wouldn't be able to sleep. All the things you learn from being with women and the conversations that you NEVER have with your significant other... It's just awesome. This is the balance, this is the yang I was needing in my life.

Too bad we can't do it more often, since somebody has to live in KOREA and somebody has to have baby obligations and somebody has to live in Charlottesville or Durham and so on... But, nevertheless -- we're here and it's now... Awesome. To just be able to sit and talk about everything and nothing and not have to wonder what that means for the relationship. Nice.

And makes me appreciate having a relationship more. Having someone to "report" all the 5000 things we talked about to. Being able to go out dancing and not have to wonder if some guy was going to ask me to dance. Or if I was going to meet "the one." Not that I EVER really thought I was going to meet "the one" while I was out dancing at a bar when I was single before. But, still -- there was some element of pressure there. Not anymore. No one looks, no one stops to chat me up and I am totally cool with that. It's easier, in fact, than having to deal with having to break some random guy's heart (ha!) by telling him he can't have me because my heart belongs to another. It makes the evening much more relaxed.

I just love women so much. I forget that sometimes. It slips away from me. There's just a constant source of validation right at your fingertips. We always tell each other how brilliant and accomplished we are. We give each other honest opinions. We share gritty stories without repercussion.

So, thanks girls -- if you're reading -- for going along for the ride. I think we made awesome cowgirls and I regret not keeping my hat on in the club. I promise to wear it the whole time -- next time. Just say when!

love you mean it,

Saturday, July 26, 2003

I didn't know you could GET sand there

Despite my (self-inflicted) reputation for being "wild", I have never gone skinny-dipping. Ever. Anywhere.

Until now.

Last night, we were trolling through some of the beach bars and then out of nowhere, S turns to me and he says, "What'd you say we get out of here, head up to the north end of the beach and go skinny-dipping?" I agreed heartily, though I didn't really think he was serious. Until he started asking if I had a blanket in the car and told our companion Mr. Kahlua that "the plan" was for us to head off to find a spot to go skinny-dippin' and bid him a fond farewell.

We headed up to the secluded residential area. S was very practical -- take off your jewelry and probably your shoes too so you won't have to worry them. My adrenaline was pumping. I've always wanted to be naked in the ocean but never found the courage of conviction to follow through. We strolled up the path to the beach and I felt like skipping, so light-hearted and young did I feel.

We get down to the area and stripped. Crazy. You could see the lights from the strip far down the horizon. Like another world, another life. We walk out to the ocean, holding hands, bracing ourselves. OH MY GOD -- it was cold. You wouldn't think it would be that cold at night, but S graciously pointed out that it was night time so the sun wasn't warming up the water. It was exhilirating and silly and everything that love feels like all at the same time. Sometimes you have your head above water, but sometimes you get whacked with a wave. Sometimes you just gotta DIVE IN and hope for the best. And you get used to the temperature and the not being sure where your feet are or where you're being pulled. Just like love. It was wonderful!

But it definitely wasn't the sexy experience I thought it would be. I think I've seen too many movies, because I thought it would be just this sheer sensual erotic thing. It wasn't. It was cold and sandy and I had to pee really bad (we won't comment on whether or not I did) and we laughed a lot. And then we straggled out, put our clothes on over our wet bodies and that were all clingy and sandy. And not in a sexy way, particularly. But, in a fun, "aren't we lucky to have such silly times together" way?

I highly recommend it. If you're needing a prescription to put some joy in your heart and spring in your step, naked in the ocean is the way to go.

But, at the secluded north end please -- no one ELSE wants to see that! ;-)

love you mean it,

Friday, July 25, 2003

Not only am I addicted to blogging, I'm starting to develop an addiction to OTHER people's blogs. I realized this morning that this is a bit like being addicted to reality tv. It's that PLUNGE straight into someone else's life and thoughts and you just can't seem to get enough because damn, other people have cool lives.

I'm not saying my life isn't cool, it's just not always as cool as other people's.

Some people's lives are not as cool as mine, so it evens out.

I'm wondering who is the guy that is at the bottom of this chain? How bad does HIS life suck?

It's like this -- most of my friends have at least their Bachelor's degree, if not more and several of them have pretty cool, well-paying jobs. I'm often very envious that they have reached this stage of accomplishment in their lives. Other friends have travelled all over the world and seen things that I cannot even imagine witnessing. I would love to travel but just don't like doing things alone so I don't. (I would SO love to be like that guy in the cell phone commercial who was road-tripping around the country, calling obscure people from his past just to have a place to crash for free.) But both of these groups of friends have often made equally envious comments back to me because I own my home and have "roots." Frankly, I look at the roots as an obligation a lot of the time, but I guess it's because I take it for granted now. This is the yin-yang version of "you have it better off than me" though. What I have evens out what I lack and vice versa.

But, there's always someone that you meet who is a couple steps below the equation. So you have this position of improved status over SOMEONE. And they have it over someone else that they know and so on. But, where does it end?

My brain just drifted off to the guilt room... This is a fun place to be. I always get here when I think about "well at least I don't have it as bad as so & so" because I've recently cut out one of the so & so's from my life. I feel bad but the level of drama ALL the time was just too much to bear. So, I started screening the calls and not calling back and basically acting like a man. But what could I do? Is there a mature way to go about this? Someone whose life is constantly inundated in drama is not going to be able to have the mature conversation about it, are they? And it's not even step one drama, it's spiralled beyond that. She's gotten herself to such a point that the only way it seems like she's going to get out of it is to be adopted by a caring band of monkeys. I don't know how to talk to people like that. The only thing she seems to pro-actively do is find more ways to screw up her life.

I don't have time for people like that. And it's not that my life is replete with friendships and that my dance card is booked -- but I don't have time to waste on people who waste their lives. You only have this one chance to do it, as far as we know. I'm not the most pro-active person in the world when it comes to self-improvement either, but at least I am not going in the wrong direction either.

But, still I feel bad. I feel like I should have said goodbye. I feel like I should have tried to do more to make her see that she was getting to a point of no return.

I lost another really good friend last year over drama. It could have been worked out that time but she didn't want to deal. And even though I was legitimately "wronged", I still miss her. Think about her a lot and wonder what things would have been like if we'd tried harder to find a middle ground for our problem. Have almost picked up the phone a thousand times and called.

But friendships are gossamer wings and if we don't protect them, they float away or are crushed.

Hm. Didn't mean to start my day on this mopey note. Guess I'll go shower and caffeinate, hope that helps!

Thursday, July 24, 2003

there was an old woman who lived in a...townhouse?

It's getting worse with the sitting in bizarre positions in front of the computer every night. Hunched over, grasping desperately for the keyboard. I wake up in the morning and I swear to God it's like I'm 150.

My hips pop in intimate moments and Lord don't THAT make me feel sexy! I just want to say, this is what it will be like bonking when we're 80 dear. I don't say that though. He probably wouldn't think that was funny. But then again, who wants to think about ANY old people bonking, even if it is us.

Or will be.


If I'm lucky.

So, anyways -- I'm immensely tired and uncomfortable and once again I didn't fold my durned laundry so I'm beating myself up -- which is ALWAYS a fun hobby!

But, I've been reviewing all the on-line learning stuff and I'm kind of freaking out. I don't think I'm going to be smart enough to figure out how to navigate the websites, much less learn the material and expound upon it in a discussion room!! I'm freaking out a little here. What was I thinking? I don't want career advancement this much, do I? Wouldn't I stop talking to myself and rocking while I'm at my desk? Wouldn't I NOT wear blood stained t-shirts to work? (Broken thumbnail incident this morning -- gory slasher-film gushing ensued and I was too lazy to change shirts... It's on the collar, who will notice?)

I sure hope I get help with all the big words. Maybe I should get a computer room that a little bit comfier... I can't take classes because I have to decorate -- sorry!

I'm kidding. I'll muster through and I will survive and all that other tough girl spout I pretend to be. I'm just gonna keep on pretending to be tough because it's gotten me through a LOT of shit thus far, eh?

Word. -hp
Sometimes I think if I could live my life soley in the company of women that my life would be a much easier place to be. And my life is not hard now. TRUST.

But, it's just soooo easy with women. Women just get it. (Most of them, the ones that don't I don't bother with.) Women get that you just want to bitch. Women get that you are going to interrupt them when they are talking and they're going to interrupt your interruption and in the space of 15 minutes you're going to talk about 20 topics and it is ALL good.

The single most thing that I miss about having regular contact with women is that... The TOTALLY non-linear fashion in which women speak. We're talking about this but that reminded me of that and OH MY GOD, did I tell you about this? We can be talking about the derivation of languages and flip to "cute shoes" like that.

My boyfriend, God bless him, is fairly linear. When we are having a conversation it is about the topic of conversation until that topic has ended and then we move on to the next. He is very... It's noticeable when he is interrupted. He's a good listener. To a fault. I have seen him in groups with non-linear folks and it's SUCH an interesting phenomenon. He will be talking about something that is clearly of interest to him (Iknow because I see that sparkle in his eyes that he gets and there's a faster staccato to his speech) and he will be interrupted. The spark diminishes and he will just let the other person finish their point of view. And it's NOT that he is meek or mild by any stretch, I just get the impression that he feels like if someone thought THEIR point were important enough to interrupt his own then he won't do them the discourtesy of interrupting THEM. Linear conversation is very polite, you see. Un-American, maybe -- but definitely: un-chick! :-)

So now... I'm back to broadening my horizons, trying to get back on the radar, yadda yadda. I find that after spending so much time OFF the radar with him that my conversational patterns have shifted somewhat. Unfortunately, not for the better. Because instead of gleaning knowledge from his listening skills, I'm just that much more over the top with my interruptions. Obnoxious, actually. Someone is saying something and I am thinking THIS about that and I'm going to say it right now.

More practice is needed! Girls' night is Saturday and I am looking forward to that on levels that are embarrassing even to me. When you primarily have a man to deal with, you get used to thinking your emotions are weird and scary. It's SO nice to have a woman to talk to and hear -- I think that or I feel that or I do that ALL the time... This makes me feel less like a freak.

I don't want to demonize men, I just want to humanize ME. ;-)

And on that note -- going to gnosh at an inappropriate hour and I'm going to bed.

Next blog: why I'm starting to accept being a "fluffy" chick. Maybe.

Wednesday, July 23, 2003

It's official. I'm addicted to the Blog. I think about the Blog all the time. Try to scout out idea. I hear interesting news stories, my ears perk up and my brain starts spinning my "take" on it. I wake up, I'm planning the blog. I'm at work, I'm jotting mental notes. It doesn't always come to fruition, but still: I have allowed the Blog to take over my life.

And I don't even mind.

My personal writing has suffered though, and I do mind that. I've been journalling for 22 years now, no lie, and it's fallen WAY off since I started blogging. It's interesting to me because even though the things that I blog about are NOT always the things that are pressing on me and driving me to write, as it were, the sheer act of the writing is what gives me the release. The creative orgasm, as it were.

Once again, blogging interfering with life -- I HAVE to get ready for work or I'm going to be late. But all I want to do is spew these inane thoughts to an imaginary audience and hear their imaginary laughter and nods of approval.

Shout out to my new friend KP and the FUNshine band -- maybe I DO still have imaginary friends after all, huh?
I want my own website just so MY email address would be WEBMASTER. That just sounds so cool.

Tuesday, July 22, 2003

you NEVER count your money while you're sitting at the table!

No, this is NOT about the poker. But it should be.

Okay, it WILL be just for a minute.

My boyfriend gets to play poker tonight. I am very jealous. I love playing cards of any nature (the ONLY thing good derived from that guy I was married to), but particularly poker. I'm a terrible bluffer, but I've never played with anyone that takes it that seriously so that's no big deal. It's just fun to me -- the betting and the wondering and the hinting. It's like flirting with cards, and I LOVE to flirt.

But I am a girl. Girls do not get invited to poker games, unless the game is being hosted by ANOTHER girl -- and frankly, more often than not THOSE girls are probably lesbian. And it's not that there's anything wrong with lesbians, but I don't know a lot of them so I don't get invited to play poker. Which sucks. I'd like to start a girl's night of poker, but I don't really have a lot of girlfriends locally. (They keep moving away and changing their phone numbers, what is UP with that?) And my local girlfriends aren't really poker players. They might pretend to be to go along with it, but I'll never get a regular gig going and if I can't get a regular gig going then I don't really need one of those green banker visor hat thingy's but I REALLY want one!

So, I've been pouting because I don't get to play but I'm not that worked up over the fact that HE'S playing. I'm just jealous because I can't play.

Was going to blog about the 1000 little things that stream through my head all day that I constantly think "I gotta blog about that" and never do, but there's too many of them. Too bad I don't have a better cell phone because maybe then I could figure out a way to blog from my phone. But then, you've still got to use the numbers on the phone to get to the LETTERS and that's just ridiculous. Gotta push the numbers so many times to get the letter you want and then you've gone past the letter you needed so you have to start all OVER again and that is just a pain in the butt. So, then I wouldn't derive the joy from blogging that I currently do.

I could get one of those palm pilot/cell phones to try to do it, but that would be annoying too -- because then it looks like you're talking to your palm pilot and how dumb is that? I feel dumb enough when I use the hands free with my cell phone.

You know what? The cell phone issues are just another blog altogether. We won't get into it.

In fact, I'll keep it short (for me) and end here! (Although I'm disappointed in myself when I don't have a witty sign-off, sorry!)


Tonight I did something that I swore I would never do... This is going to be hard for some of you to read, so I apologize in advance. I was feeling weak, you understand. I haven't been myself lately. My hormones have thrown me all out of loop and I haven't had any CLEAR guidance. A helping hand is what I needed... I hope my boyfriend can forgive me for what I've done, because I just don't know how he is ever going to understand my actions.

I bought pants with a print on them tonight. Not just any print, not something meek and mild -- more befitting of someone of my size. But a bold print that shouts out, "HERE IS MY ASS IN ALL OF ITS DIMPLED GLORY!" Amen!

Yup. Printed pants. Paisley actually. Not sure what came over me. I was in the neon-lit daze that is late-night shopping at Wal-Mart and I didn't quite feel like jumping into my actual shopping needs. (Blush and body lotion that I already knew would wind up costing me $48 by the time all the impulse buys came into play.) I'm going out on the town Saturday night and I wanted to pick up a fun top. Nothing crazy, just a top. But then I saw these pants and they came in my "adult" size, so I thought -- what the hey, I'll just try them on. Well, needless to say, random Wal-Mart employee happened by while I was criticizing myself silently in the unforgiving three-way mirror. (Which was on the MEN'S side of the dressing room -- do men even know they HAVE asses? And if so, do they care what it looks like in pants? I thought when they started to care, they got wives who would tell them.) She was flattering, but honest -- which just suckered me in all the more. She said that the reason that the outfit looked good was because I was small in the waist, so I got a good shape for the look I was going for. And I agreed. I didn't think that the pants were THE most flattering thing I had ever tried on in my life, but they were fun and damn it, I want to have fun clothes and why should I be denied that just because I'm roundish? I even had the lady give me her opinion on another shirt I was planning to try on with the pants and we discussed shoe options. She wasn't on commission by any stretch, so I decided to take her word for and the pants came home with me.

Will I reget it? Yup. Will I get $34 worth of wear out of the pants and the two shirt options I purchased to go with them? This is where it gets to be an interesting question. Because, really -- what constitutes value in clothing? Longevity? Not necessarily, because some folks just wear the SHIT out of some of their clothes, whether they should or not -- and I am guilty of this for sure. Some things I will wear forever even when they don't look good anymore (and maybe never even did) because they're comfortable or fun or whatever. If I happened to over-pay for these items, can we then say I got my money's worth? I think if I wear the pants a few times and get a few compliments out of them -- it's worth it. But, I do often wonder -- at what point can you figure that you got your money's worth out of an item? Last year, I bought a dress for a formal Christmas party that S and I went to. I fell in LOVE with how this dress looked on my body and the glamour it evoked in my soul to the point that I was willing to pay full price for it -- but then when I got to the cash register and it was on sale AND I had a coupon, well it was worth it. Even knowing I was only going to wear the dress one time. And that was $90. But, I think the denominator is different for formal events than it is for non-formal ones. If I paid $90 for something to wear in my "everyday" wardrobe and only wore it once, I would feel guilty for a looong time.

Anyways, we'll see what happens -- I hope my boyfriend forgives me as I have forgiven myself for my indulgence in prints. (I'm a little self-conscious in this department because I brought a potential purchase home one day and when he saw the print his eyes almost popped out of his head and his only comment was "I like the other one better") Guess I'll just wear the black pants around him! ;-)

BOLDLY going whereever I want...

Sunday, July 20, 2003

cue the cheesy beer commercial music

I'm not sure where to begin without getting all gushy. Let me just say briefly that this weekend, S made up for a lot of my recent grievances against men. Listened to me bitch and over-emote my hormones on Friday. Bought an "us" card to give to the couple for the wedding, without even realizing that was a big thing to do. Rubbed my poor swollen, strap-cut feet. Used the refrigerator poetry to create dirty but sweet messages for me. Helped me give my lawn a REALLY good grooming today, instead of just a half-assed one. Then helped my parents fix their computer and shared a meal with them that he wasn't overly enthusiastic about. And still managed to have me completely pleased with him even though he left me alone for the night so he could mess with fantasy football stuff.

THAT'S talent. There is a man who understands how to play the boyfriend game. Just when the cards seem stacked against him and there was no way he could pull a winner -- OUT comes the ace from the hole. How does he manage to keep doing it?

Maybe it's his sheer devotion and love for me, but frankly I think the boy just likes winning THAT much. ;-) It's like a little puzzle and all he has to do is just figure it out and that'll buy him some peace and quiet and super-happy/non-bitchy girlfriend time! He shoots, he scores!

Let's here it for the boy -- rising to the challenge in the face of so many obstacles!

Here's to you Mr. "My-girlfriend-is-a-crazed-homone-laced-psycho-with-a-knife" -- this Bud's for you!

love you!!

Saturday, July 19, 2003

get me to the church on time

Went to a wedding tonight w/S. Normally, I love weddings and I leave feeling all shiny/happy with a renewed faith in forever and all that stuff that goes along with it.

But, we got their late. And it was the fastest wedding in history, so there wasn't a lot of chance to renew my faith. We were MAYBE 7 minutes late and they were already at the "do you? Do you?" part. Then, there was the inevitable nervous relative attempting to sing some song about forever but it was not even awe-inspiring in a scary way.

The bride couldn't resist the fairy-tale look, even though it's my opinion that there comes a place (and size) in life where you should resist all of that. Still, the dress was gorgeous and she seemed to have the bride glow, so it was nice.

The problem was that it was in the older section of Norfolk, built in the times before a/c. Bad idea in July. We were ALL glowing, and it wasn't just because we were so happy for the bride and groom. I have pools in my bra that some species could survive in for long periods of time with great happiness. S reached levels of water leakage that would cause some cities water shortages for great periods of time. It's hard to be too happy for folks when you are melting (said in the voice of that witch from The Wizard of Oz who came from the bad direction -- you just want to hope they do okay and BOLT!

So, I'm going to go bury myself in my freezer and then take a very cold shower and think about what "happily ever after" is supposed to mean. Sometimes, I like to pretend that I have never been married, so I can imagine what my perfect wedding day would be like and pretend like it's the very first one. Picture all of the details and imagine my reactions. (In this fantasy, I have the money to throw the wedding without having to fret about spending my retirement money) The flowers and the dress and the look on S's face when he sees me coming down the aisle in all of my elegant glory. Picture him feeling foolish because he cried after making fun of all the other guys who do. And me crying because HE cried -- after I made fun of all the brides who do.

I like to imagine this stuff for a little while. Helps put the cynicism on edge sometimes, and even I need that!

Off to vege -- love you mean it!
lonely only

When you're growing up as an only child, your friends often focus on the great things about being the only one. You're the primary focus and you don't have to share any of your stuff with anyone else. Pretty good deal, huh? But then you get older and you ARE the primary focus which means you're the ONLY shot for your parents to get it all right. If you screw up then that's it.

But anyways, they get over you "disappointing" them eventually and just focus on your little victories in order to give them a reason to pat themselves on the back. "Oh look, Heather only lost her job once last year and didn't even have her car repo'd this time! We are SO proud!"

Kidding, I'm kidding. Actually, the reason that I got to thinking about this was because I realized last night that my being an only child means that I'm never going to be anyone's really cool aunt. Even if I do have kids, I have absolutely no hope of being a cool mom because the kind of eccentricities that you appreciate in your "cool aunt" would just embarrass you to no end if it were your MOM doing those things. And even if it were cool for your mom to be a little kookie, she'd still have to turn it off sometimes just to be your mom and do the "mom stuff." But your aunt could be like that all the time around you because by the time she would have to turn it off to do her own thing, she wouldn't be around you anymore.

I think I'd be a really GREAT eccentric aunt. With my wink, wink/nudge,nudge sense of humor and the ability to see the absurd in every day life. [My loud voice has already been pre-determined for this role and let's not forget that Heather laugh that can be measured on some Richter scales.] And I'd get to DRESS like an eccentric aunt and that would just make me even cooler. Instead of jeans and shirts, I'd wear flowy skirts and concert t-shirts. I'd have bead doorways and incense burning and talk about really obscure subjects like foreign films. I'd take my niece or nephew to see eclectic bands they'd only heard about from older kids and I'd get them to read old books like Rebecca. I'd constantly tell them how wonderful they were, and they'd believe because I'm not their PARENT so I don't have to say stuff like that. I'd encourage to write and sing and paint and whatever their heart desires. And I'd have cool but strange hobbies like astrology and tarot reading. I'd eat ice cream for breakfast without apology. I'd work in secret ways to make my niece or nephew appreciate their parents a little more, too. Because after all, that would be my sister or brother -- I would have their loyalty in mind above all else. Kind of like that teacher that you had that got you to learn stuff without your realizing you were learning anything because you were having so much fun doing it!

And then I'd disappear for long stretches doing something worldly and exotic because I just had that wanderlust thing going. I wouldn't stay away long enough to be forgotten, just long enough to stay interesting. I'd come back with a new "theme" in life and tell stories of sailing with pirates -- and my niece or nephew might not totally believe it but I'd have such a knowing glint in my eye that the story wouldn't even seem completely improbable.

Whenever I'd come to visit, my niece or nephew would tell all their friends to come by so they could meet me and see how cool I am. I would have changed my name a couple of times, even. The name would depend on the theme in my life at the time -- I'd have astrological names when I was in my planetary phase but maybe something Irish when I was tracing my family background in order to find one of my past lives.

And I would do and be all of these things with such an air of laissez-faire that I would make my niece or nephew want to be like me when they grew up. They would imagine their lives as being kick-back and carefree and kookie. And even when the reality of their DNA background kicked in and they turned into their parents afterall -- that sense of wonder and ease would stay with them. And give them balance in their lives...

Maybe I can be surrogate aunt to another only child's children? If you want to volunteer, drop me a line. I'll be out shopping for flow-y skirts in preparation! ;-)


Friday, July 18, 2003

as if Hallmark NEEDED another marketing idea

I had the MOST wonderful idea tonight... I remember when I was a little girl Hallmark used to give you this little calendar with all of the holidays on it. And there was always a list in the back for the birthstones for each month and the "traditonal" gift for each wedding anniversary. Remember this? One year was paper and five years was something... I didn't make it to five so I don't really remember what it was supposed to be for! ;-)

Anyways, I think someone should come up with a list like this for men. Like the appropriate gift to give your significant other for each possible minor offense. I came up with a list of appropriate gifts/penances but I can't really come up with their matching offenses...

For example, a minor offense would require an unexpected phone call with words of wooing. ("I love you more than beer, baby!") The stereotypes of flowers and jewelry work too. But, never underestimate the power of the single red rose and a spontaneous offer of a candy necklace is generally touching in a goofy way. Somewhat more serious offenses would require massages and unsolicited foot rubs. An offer to watch that chick flick you've been dying to see but he knows you'll wind up bawling over so he won't go. Volunteering to go for a walk on the beach. Neck kisses can work here too, if the offense isn't TOO serious.

It's never a bad idea to ask your girlfriend if she's lost weight or done something different with her hair. LOOK at those great shoes she has on, don't they accent her beautiful pedicure? (Pretend you're gay.)

But, your major offenses -- they require the kind of grand, sweeping gestures you only see in the kind of movies that make your girlfriend weepy. Karaoke "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" in the middle of crowd of people. Miss your flight to Rome just to hold her hand once more. Grab her in a sweeping hug and ::::whooosh::: her back for big smacky kisses on grand swirling staircases. Stand in the rain with a jukebox playing sappy songs.

Offer to take her to breakfast or lunch or drinks or a movie -- as long as you both shall live. ;-)

Or maybe just send a Hallmark card, which would probably be the bottom line in their list of relationship problem-solvers!


>>> Next blog: things you miss because you are an only child

Thursday, July 17, 2003

Google Toolbar Installed

This is the BOMB -- I have a pop-up blocker and I can blog just by hitting the little blogger icon!

Thanks Google!

it's safe to come back in the water now, Y chromosomes


if you have y chromosome, skip this blog

That disclaimer out of the way -- if you keep reading, it's at your own risk. Men do not understand hormones. But I think what makes it worse is that they don't even really pretend to care. This is not a phenomenon known only in my world. All the women I know have dealt with this on some level another. And it's always this patronizing response to an admitted, uncontrollable weakness: why don't you call your friends? Why don't you blog for a while? Do you want some sushi or some ice cream? Can I bring you a drink? What did I do wrong??

Are you friggin' kidding me?

Yes. You are a man. Your presence in my life is SO powerful that it throws my emotions SO out of whack that I feel like crying when I can't find my hairbrush. It's ALL you, baby. What's up with this??

It seems like a very cruel trick of nature that we as women are plagued by these emotional ups and downs, yet the very person that we are drawn to for comfort and strength rejects us in our hour of need. And it's not always blatant rejection, it's just a retreat to their caves until we start that wonderful crimson tide and seem a little bit more like the happy-faced girl they fell in love with...

Again, are you friggin' kidding me?

We are there for them through their highs and lows -- unemployment and other times of financial hardship, bearing their children, bending over backwards to help smooth out family situations, listen to their bad day stories, clean their houses, wipe their asses, whatever -- and yet, we admit to feeling a little blue and they freak OUT. Afraid that they might have to rise to our same level of supportiveness, I suppose. Afraid they may have to give just a little back of what we have been doling to them by the barrel-ful from the beginning of friggin' time and that it somehow may just drain them a little too much. For a few days a month when we may need just a little more love and tenderness and have the GALL to be honest and ask for it -- well, isn't that being just a LITTLE too demanding? I mean, they're only men. They can't be expected to understand this whole ebb and tide of hormonal joy that we have to deal with month after month until we finally get to experience the joys of menopause -- with its hot flashes and even more extreme hormone ups and downs and dryness down there and so on. All so that our bodies can be designed to carry THEIR children for 9 months, where we sacrifice our cravings for "bad things" to make sure that their child thrives -- while they continue about with their lives like nothing even changed.

Yes. I'm bitter. And hormonal. And it's not going to last long. I'll be fine in a few days but it's when I hear stories (and let's be honest, experience them in my own life) of women whose feelings are systematically disregarded time and time again -- I get a little Hulk like in my anger. I can almost feel my self-righteousness pulling my skin and threatening to turn me green.

Because the thing is -- you know what most women want? We want a man that we can be honest with about our feelings. Where we can admit to feeling blue and angry and horny and nosy and happy and sad and confused and torn and sick and whatever. We just want them to really listen (and not just during commercials) and then we just want a hug. Not a patronizing, "there there now" hug -- just a big, burly, fuzzy hug that squeezes all the funk out of you just for a little while and makes you forget EVERYTHING you're wrapped up in. We know we're never going to get back all that we put in emotionally -- we accept that as part of the bargain. But, we'll settle for a lot less if we know it's genuine.

And it's just that simple.

from the files of Heather has too much time on her hands...

We bring you the death test where you too can learn that you are expected to die on September 17, 2043 at the age of 70 years old. or whatever it says for you.

Guess I should have lied on the hairy nipples question.

Kidding -- I'm kidding!

Had I known that blogging about sleep was going to keep me from doing it, I may have waited til this morning. But I really do think it was drinking beer on an empty stomach. OY vey!

I'm thinking about changing my blog name just so attract more readers. When I first log onto Blogger, there is a list of "newly published" blogs. This LITERALLY means the last 10 people to hit "publish" on their blog. I always click on the sites with interesting names and frankly, more often than not I am greatly disappointed. Whereas, we all know that if people were drawn to MY site because it had an interesting name then they certainly would not be disappointed because this is fascinating, thought-provoking crap HERE! ;-)

Still, I bet if instead of Inside Heather's Head the title was Heather Gives Head I'd be getting a LOT of hits per day -- what do you want to bet??

Wednesday, July 16, 2003


I was talking to friend at work about this topic today (friend with no nickname oddly -- Curly Sue?) and realized I had never blogged about it before. Sleep. I told her that I have to go to bed when I am completely exhausted because otherwise I can't sleep because I start thinking about how weird sleep is and I can't do it. She said this never happened to her, but as is the way with the Cult of Heather I bet she will now...

Does this happen to you? You're lying in bed and you know you need to sleep but you try to catch yourself doing it? You want to notice when you fall asleep to see how it happens? I do. I think it's just fascinating this sleep thing. I understand that there are people whose whole lives are devoted to studying sleep and maybe THIS is my niche because it's the only thing I've ever truly been entranced by. And not even because I'm a big "sleeper" because I'm really not.

[Sidenote: You know the sleepers and if you are one, you know who you are. People who can list napping as a hobby. People who CANNOT be disturbed while sleeping or even napping without dire consequences to the disturber. I've had my life threatened on more than one occasion waking a sleeper from a nap.]

No, I'm fascinated by sleeping because it's a strange thing that all you have to do is just lay down, relax a little and your body goes into an entirely different level of consciousness. Then after a certain period of time you come out of this stage and you're awake. How do all of your bodily systems know to shift gears? Why do we need sleep? Why isn't there any other way to recharge? (As I sit here yawning because 11:30ish is my usual bedtime!) Other than the obvious answers of alarms and obligations, what makes us wake up? How do we know we've had "enough" after 9 hours or whatever? Why can't we program the amount of sleep we need? If you only have time to sleep 5 hours a night, why can't that be enough? Why does it seem like there are some amounts that are GOOD and some that are never enough? And why DOES that seem so intricately tied to how much alcohol you've consumed?

Just kidding on the last one. But sleep is weird. Statistically most people fall asleep in 7 minutes. This is not a long period of time to slip into another level of consciousness when you think about how many beers you have to drink to feel a little woozy. Definitely more than 7 minutes worth. Even if you're doing shots!

Maybe I'm interested in it because I'm a light "fall-asleeper." Once I'm asleep I think I'm on the average level for "disturbability" but as far as getting TO the sleep level: everything has to be just so. Temperature, firmness of mattress, sound, light, etc. S definitely believes I have Princess and the Pea syndrome and I do to some levels. But sleep is like orgasm -- once you get there, it's all good; it's not easy to reverse!

Anyway, I'd love to write more but I'm tired and want to go do some first hand experimenting with this sleep thing!

I want to know -- why aren't there support groups for people of child-bearing age who don't have children, don't want children, won't have children? We need to be reaffirmed too!

Tuesday, July 15, 2003

Oh dear -- you've gotta check out the Hulk because that's about the funniest thing I've ever seen. If I knew how to add links that would be the main one. TOO funny!

Not in a bad way, Hulk -- don't smash me!

Sometimes I think that I've blogged about everything there is to blog about. I've spent my 2 cents several times over. Even my friends tell me they recall things I've blogged about from conversations I've had with them. Did the conversation inspire the blog or did the blog inspire the conversation?

The chicken or the egg?

The lady or the tiger??

But then... The beauty of my life is that I am surrounded by people who are absurb. Even people who don't KNOW they are absurd. Even people who don't even know ME!

For example. There is a man at work. I'm not sure how tall he is because I have only seen him while I'm sitting in the breakroom eating my lunch, but he's not terribly tall. Perhaps a little taller than my average-for-a-girl 5'5" (and a half!) but not much. He has a bowl cut hair cut the color of someone's dog -- not a color you'd see L'Oreal pushing people to give a try. But his most distinctive physical characteristic is this huge thick beard. One of those wrap-around your face kind, you get the feeling he's saving the hair to someday comb back over his clearly thinning hair. (Not sure how he'll see but maybe he has a plan.) The kind of beard that you're just SURE things are lost in -- crumbs from his breakfast toast, toothpaste, a comb -- maybe a small animal even. But more than that is his voice. He has the appearance of a man who would have a whispery, soft voice so when he opens his mouth and out pours this loud, deep resonant voice -- like Santa's black sheep brother -- it's a bit of a shock. I'm quite sure that when we are sitting in the open area of the break room where you can SEE down to the first floor that they can hear him all the way down there as well. The boom of his voice can probably most be likened to a male version of my own. (If you're just a happenstance reader, I can't help you. You'll have to wait til Heather's Head goes to the 900# format to get that thrill.)

Here's where the question of absurdity and perception comes into play... I know this man's voice because every day, at every break I've ever share with him (which, to be fair, is not ALL the time but frequently) he calls his wife. And is overly interested in her whereabouts and goings-on and daily events. Often offers to stop and bring things home. Inquires what her plans are for the REST of the day, after she gets off the phone with him. Then presumably calls on his next break to see if she followed through with those plans. Always with a tone of loving concern and interest.

It's strange to me. How can he have anything to talk to her about when he gets home from work if he is tracking all of her movements all day?? And HOW does she put up with that? That would drive me up the friggin' wall. So, of course -- this makes me wonder about her. Who is this woman that is married to this strange little man who won't let her get a moments peace from him?? How did this get started? Did she think it was cute at first that he was so interested in her daily events? Was he always so interested? Is he THIS concerned that she has a life when he is not around? Doesn't he want his wife to be well-rounded?

But, it's all about perception isn't it? Maybe she's grateful for this level of attentiveness. Maybe she was married to an alcoholic non-communicator before she was married to this guy. Maybe she suffers from some sort of panic disorder and he is genuinely concerned about her safety. (He definitely makes far more money than I if they can afford to just have one person working.) The thing is -- all I will ever know about this situation is what I overhear from him. Even if I were at some company function where they both were, it's not like I could go up to her and say YOU'RE THAT WOMAN! Because even I don't do things like that.

I don't.

Still, mile in someone's shoes in all that. Ever wonder if people wonder what YOUR story is? I think they do. That's why I tell it here!

love you mean it!

Monday, July 14, 2003

on nagging

Had a lengthy chat with my Dad tonight. About this, that and the other thing. Dad doesn't really get the positive reinforcement from Mom so I try to keep that end of our relationship up. But, it's a hard balance because I still have to stick up for Mom while trying to hear his side of it.

He exemplifies so much of what I don't understand about men in relationships that sometimes I keep certain conversations going just as a case study. Particularly when he is complaining about this or that that Mom did. I ask him if he has TALKED to her about this or that and the answer is almost always "no, why would I bother to do that?" or "what good would it do?" And on the one hand, my mother is the queen of stubborn. Trust me, she makes me look like PIE to deal with on some issues -- you just have no idea. She's deaf and an extreme isolationist so her opinions of the world are very firmly held even if they don't always make sense to the average observer. But still, I think that what's happened here is that years and years of him not bothering to talk to her about this issue or that one has just cemented her belief that she is right to be so tenacious about not letting some things go that she really should. It's hard to explain without going into TOO much specific detail, but Dad's job is commission-oriented and so Mom is always on him about when this deal is going or that deal. I said why don't you just stop telling her about the stuff you're working on, then? But, no because then she wants to know WHY he isn't working on anything. So there's this cycle of nagging and withdrawal from said nagging that goes on forever.

I'm fascinated by this cycle because I have this pattern in my own life and I really want to break it. The problem is that both people have to acknowledge that there is this THING going on, this cycle, and then have to agree to communicate about it. And it just seems like early on in this cycle, Dad never said -- hey, this isn't what's going to work here and here's why. Try THIS instead. And herein lies the problem I think -- we as women have certain objectives we want from being in a relationship and don't always get clear directives from men on how to make these things happen. We nag because that's what we saw OUR mothers do; we don't even realize we do it. I know I don't. I mean, I know I nag -- trust me, but sometimes what is interpreted as nagging is not intended as such. And yes, sometimes I DO intend to nag and I don't always even apologize for that.

I also think that the nagging tone that comes out, well that's because women don't want to have to be saying the things that we are saying. We just hope that things will magically happen without our having to bring them up. This doesn't happen and we get irritated because if men can't read our minds then the element of surprise when they DO the things that are on our mind is gone. Confusing, eh? Just put the toilet seat down, buy flowers once in a while, and call your mother and we are HAPPY! Well, we're not ecstatic but sometimes -- it really is that simple.

Well, it's not that simple but we've got to start small on this breakdown of nagging.

I was going to make an effort to keep the blogs shorter in an effort to get someone to read it. Oh well!
Now you see 'em, now you don't! The shout outs are back and no one's using 'em. NOW I know what all the teenagers are complaining about out there in blogland...

Sunday, July 13, 2003

I lost my shout out button. How did THAT happen? :-(

Oh well, no one was shouting out anyways, but it was nice to know that it was possible!
"If money talks, it ain't on speaking terms with me"

I can't believe I've never blogged about this, as it's one of my longest-running stand-ups. And that is: the sacred cult of the walk-up ATM. People act so strange when they are around the cash machine. First, no matter how much they're chit-chatting with you while you are in line together, there's a silence that falls when one person approaches the machine. There is no speaking while the party is using the machine and you avert your eyes when they get their cash, like you're averting your eyes from something private. God forbid you witness someone going to use the cash machine and actually TAKING cash out of it! That's so dirty! Then, as you walk away from the machine, quickly stashing your dirty cash, you start to look at everyone with suspicious eyes. Suddenly, that stranger that you were so wittily exchanging comments about the weather with seems a little off. Clearly, they're "up to something." Why, this doesn't even look like their regular bank -- the little bugger is hoping to rob you of your last $20! But, then they brush past you up to the machine and your discomfort fades as quickly as it arrived. And you defer to the power of the person in front of the machine. Ignoring their too long bleeping, the ones that sound like error messages. And NEVER having your eyes anywhere near the machine while they are punching in their secret code.

The secret code is one of the last flags of intimacy in any relationships. The last things we guard closest to our hearts. I have friends that I have known longer than I haven't known them and I couldn't even begin to tell you any of their "secret codes." What is your secret code? And what does it represent? Why did you pick THOSE numbers? These numbers are SO secret that should you forget yours, you can't call and just get someone to remind you of your PIN. The people who have the power to turn your ATM activities on and off don't even have access to your little 4 digit key. Crazy, huh? [Sidenote: The other day S was going to loan me his ATM card so I could pick up some stuff for him. I was mentally freaking out that I was going to have his PIN. What could he be thinking? Did he think we were there already? Would he expect to know MY PIN? What's next, my email password for God's sake?]

It's funny, too, how the walk-up ATM is so much more sacred than the drive-up. There's no patience with the drive-in, for one thing. Also, there's no respect. You stare blatantly at them while they're punching the numbers and buttons because why not? You can't see that far up, no need to try like to act like you're not looking. They can't see you anyway unless they look in their rear view mirror and what are they doing that for anyways? That's just taking MORE time!

It's strange the things we hold sacred here in America, isn't it? We can talk about our most intimate sex acts over the dinner table, but don't speak a word while I'm checking my account balance... Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go balance my checkbook -- stop looking at my final balance!


Saturday, July 12, 2003

Easy by Emma Gold

I just finished reading this book. (There was the Harry Potter interruption and I am a REALLY slow reader due to an addiction to TV that keeps me from my reading.) And I wanted so desperately to write a review of it or just talk about it, but I'm just no good with this kind of writing. Perhaps if I took notes about the book while I was reading it? Dog-eared even MORE pages??

But I had to write something about it because the main character is SO much like me that I just now realized, and I am NOT making this up, that throughout the book because it is told in first person I was never informed what the main character's name WAS. It felt THAT much like my own writing, my own thoughts, my own feelings -- I identified SO much with this character that the fact that I didn't know her name didn't even blip on my radar. Nutty, huh? I can tell you that this is something that generally disturbs me, as with the main character of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier -- I tore apart the book trying to find one reference to Mr. de Winter's second wife's name. It is a famous exclusion, but noticeable. Now, I'm not even going to begin to try to compare these two books because Rebecca is one of the greater pieces of literature of our time, in my opinion. When that twist comes, you JUST don't see it coming and you're railing at yourself that you could have missed that.

Easy isn't literature, for sure. The opening scene of the book has our heroine drunkenly bellowing at the end of a party "Who wants my number?!" -- not the stuff that's going to wind up in the classics section of your local Waldenbooks for sure. Which is part of its appeal. The heroine is brash, bold, brazen and terrified of rejection and suffering from extreme levels of low self-esteem. In other words, me. Needs to be the center of attention most of the time and yet feels like an ass for always pulling the spotlight on herself. Intensely loyal to her friends and recognizes that the nights in with the girls are often so much better than nights out looking for boys.

There's your expected twist where she learns to love herself for who she is which of course leads to finding the perfect man. No surprises here. Sorry, if I've given it away but if you're living under a rock and so haven't had a chance to read Bridget Jones' Diary then these sorts of endings will always come as a surprise to you. And still, I have to say that while I expect them they're still a bit of a let-down. First of all, it's still promoting the belief that the only way you're ever REALLY going to be happy is by meeting and settling down with a man. Now, at least they've modified this theme to be that the man really has to be the "right" man for you and has to treat you right and all that crap. But ultimately, the message is the same whether you're reading The Rules or watching Sex and the City: the only way you as a woman are ever going to be truly happy and fulfilled is by partnering up with a man. Making yourself half of a partnership. Settling down.

What I don't understand -- and don't get me wrong here, I enjoy being in a relationship and definitely get a strong sense of fulfillment out of said relationship -- is why isn't this propaganda pushed on men, too? Why are men released from this drive to find their ultimate destiny in the soft loving arms of the right woman?? Why isn't our society geared towards making men work and change and evolve in order to be more appealing to women?? When men see happy couples they don't think, those lucky people have got it all -- they've reached the apex. Men are programmed to think that SINGLE LIFE is the apex, and that choosing anything other than that is an end to their freedom. And even while they're dating you and wooing you, they treat you like the enemy. With game tactics the likes of which most generals have never even see in active combat.

And one of the most ironic things is that more likely than not the hype that exists to push women towards trying to change themselves in order to find and secure a man is pushed on them by corporations that are probably run by men... Cosmetics and fashion and exercise and entertainment and the whole kit and caboodle. Men are pushing products on women to make them more appealing and then pushing them away when they try to use that appeal to lure them. Crazy, isn't it??

Okay, now that I've pushed away all of my male readers, let me just round off here and say -- buy the book, read the book, it's a GREAT book! Or just keep reading this here blog because there are a LOT of similarities! ;-)

Friday, July 11, 2003

roses smell!

It's funny the things you notice along the way when you just look around. That's a cliche for a reason. Today I saw a gi-NORMOUS tire delivered, unwrapped but for one strip of cardboard with the address on it, to a little ranch house in the 'Burbs. My groceries were professionally packed (AND delivered to my car, thank you!) by Dominic. A Jaguar with a handicapped tag -- broken down on the side of the road. But, my favorite thing was the uppity Buick Big Car so regally touring the parking lot -- with a SCUBA sticker on the back. That was probably the closest I'll ever come to a Dead Head sticker on a Cadillac.

Should have written them down because suddenly I noticed so many of the little things that I never would have even seen. I keep swearing that I will buy a tape recorder JUST for these occasions but never seem to be on that aisle in the store!

S saw a store called PANIC! with giant flames on the window. We wondered what a store called PANIC! could be selling?? Protective wear for pre-anticapators? Bomb shelters? The morning after Pill? A hotline for women whose dream man called to say he would be over in 5 minutes and she's in curlers and a mud mask?? The possibilities are endless -- why don't you shout some out? ;-)

Vignette, briefly (er, isn't a vignette brief by nature? Well, whatever -- it's early.)... I've been trying to stop making every other blog about "oh, S is so this or that", although I do realize I'm not always terribly successful at that (see Hone & Pookie homage below). Still, I know more than ANYONE just how annoying happy couples are. Or, at least, girls who can't stop talking about their boyfriends all the time. Ick, I definitely don't want to be one of those girls, and in real life I'm not as much... This is also a double-edged sword because he IS the person with whom I spend most of my time so he's gonna come up in conversation...

Anyways, so I HAVE been trying to do this but this is not one of those entries. Because I realized that he is responsible for something that I bet he doesn't even realize he changed. (Can't y'all just hear him? What did I do NOW, Heather?)

A few weeks ago we had a fairly meaty conversation about my writing. He repeatedly complimented me on my writing skills (although, one would have to pause to reflect that much of my writing is ABOUT him) and said that he thought I should try to write a book. A WHOLE book, not just the novel some of my entries feel like. I was overwhelmingly flattered by this, you just don't even know. People have paid me compliments through the years and this is always appreciated, but there's something about getting this kind of compliment from the person whom you are dating. It's the feeling that this person actually GETS who I am and what makes me tick and that is a really amazing gift. So, as a result of that I have made a concerted effort to try to keep the content of the blog "worthy." I still try to keep up with the day to day nuances, but I try to make them richer, more calorie-laden than some past entries. When you read a sentence or a phrase, I want you to really feel what it is that I'm feeling and be able to experience it on some levels like it's happening to you. Yet I still want to be able to write in a relaxed, free-flow kind of way so you can get an idea of how I talk. Because it's my opinion that those closest to me continue to feel close to me through my writing because it sounds like how I talk.

Well, I think this is too long to really qualify as a vignette now, but if I take that out I have to edit the whole first paragraph and trust me when I say -- I am NOT that anal about the writing.

Yet. ;-)
Well, I am just sick. Katharine Hepburn died on June 29 and I didn't even realize it til now. I mean, it's not like I would have sent flowers or anything -- but she was an AMAZING actress whom I admired a great deal and I would have liked to mourn her passing by watching one of her movies that night or something...

It's just like when I killed Jimmy Stewart ALL over again.

Trust me, don't ask.

Thursday, July 10, 2003

Now this stuff might have to be good...

Thanks to my 511 buddy for starting out the shout-out process, TOO fun! (Of course, I am TOO geeky but that is just so not the point anymore) But now this stuff might actually have to have some quality and substance and MATERIAL! Not to mention actual humor and maybe even some big words. If people are going to be able to comment on the inside of MY head, then I better pretend like there's quality stuff in there. But maybe we'll start with the next post, huh?

So, what I'm wondering now is how do you meet women to be friends with when you are an adult?? I never realized this was such a process. When I was younger and still in high school (speaking of HS nostalgia, eh 511?), it was easy. You had classes with the same people and you naturally drifted towards them. Particularly, in my case, people who had similar last names because of the wonderful alphabet seating. Hence, HP2. And you have your neighbors, because they're close and in the same age group so you hang with them too. (See below blog about the Block <- alliteration!) And then you gradually broaden your circle to include your friend's friends, which is how I met 511. I missed out on the whole college version of this game, but I imagine it's a bit similar.

But, then as you get older -- that's when it gets more complicated. I don't talk to my neighbors because I'm not home much and then that leaves work. At my last job, I had developed a bit of a big fish/medium pond thing. I knew a reasonable amount of women and we hung out sometimes. But that's the nature of work relationships -- most of the time, it's centered on the job. You talk about other things, but always that common bond is the job. So, when that changed, I have found that it's hard to develop NEW friendships at this new job because it's such an extreme call center. Everyone's just chained to the phone all the time and I seldom meet people outside of my little area. And then, you have the ADDED constraint that you're just not going to be friends with every woman you meet who's in your little world, because hello? They have lives, they have ideas and thoughts of their own and not everyone is willing to drink the Kool-Aid, you know? But, you do what you can. I never seem to have QUITE the same problems becoming friends with men, but frankly I miss the women. I miss the sense of power and insight that I get when I am talking to a group of women, particularly women who have common interests and backgrounds. This is not always easy because my background is SCREWY!

But then AGAIN, it gets more complicated. Because whenever I DO meet a woman that I want to hang out with, there is a mild sense of terror that is associated with dating that goes along with it. What if she doesn't like me? What if she doesn't want to hang out? Will she think I'm fat and expect me to work out? Will I? I can't ever figure out how to say, "let's hang out" without feeling like a lesbian stalker. I'm sure that few people would associate me with a lesbian (not that there's anything wrong with that), I'm just saying that I don't want to scare anyone. I am very sure that this feeling is just MILDLY related to my low self-esteem issue, but one topic at a time, okay?

[Sidebar: Speaking of my low self-esteem, I'm getting so fat that I am starting to find things in my chin wrinkles. Like, "THAT'S where that potato chip went" kind of discoveries. THIS is scary, I really may have to exercise after all... Yeah, right.]

Anyways. I could go into a whole stand-up about the lesbian stalker thing but I'm a little tired and hungry so I'm going to go focus on THAT. Maybe next time...
Oh my God -- oh my GOD! I think I have a comment button! I haven't been this excited since I realized that I have a G-spot!

Come, read my blog and please -- tell me what you think!! hee hee!
The X Factor

Have you ever been compared to someone's ex? Have you ever compared someone to YOUR ex? Don't do it. And if it happens to you, try to act like your kitchen's on fire so you can get out of the conversation because nothing good is coming thereafter. Especially not in the mental arena.

At least I've never been called by an ex'es name in the throes of passion, THAT would really freak me out. I'd have to just take my handcuffs and go on home.

It's debilitating. And while I know, rationally, that the comparison was based on sensory responses that I have no control over, I still was a fairly UNhappy camper. [Sidebar: WHERE did this expression come from? Do campers achieve some sort of super-level of happiness that other outdoor activity participants do not? What's up?]

You know, we all have our baggage. Sometimes we don't realize that we're carrying things around until something triggers a response. That's just how life is sometimes -- sneaks up on you and the surprises aren't always pleasant. And it's how we deal with these moments that defines our TRUE character. We get in relationships with people for specific reasons with certain desired operating states in mind. Sometimes things proceed according to our mental plan, but more often than not they do not. We deal. But the thing is that as we get older we are more and more likely to be drawn to the same basic kinds of people for some of the same basic reasons. We're looking for something and for some reason (science, nature, nurture, the planets alignment -- whatever) we keep looking for it in the same kind of personalities. Don't hold your current partner responsible for their similarities to your past. It's not their fault!

All we really need is the "missing half of this golden amulet" and we're set...

gotta jet -- love you, mean it

Wednesday, July 09, 2003

Night Visions

I just came to the dumb-founded realization that the time that the advertisers try the MOST to brainwash you is late at night. I don't often watch tv past 11 or so. But tonight, I was hanging out at S's house and saw that French Kiss was on. Got all excited and snuggled into bed to watch. Saw the first part of the movie, which I had somehow ALWAYS managed to avoid seeing the very beginning. And after the first 7 minutes of the movie, they played 20 minutes of commercials. I swear! Okay, maybe it was 10 but it was a VERY long time. And I could feel the brainwashing kicking in. I suddenly thought all of the shows on fx channel were high quality drama. And I wanted to really know "had I driven a Ford lately?" Thankfully, the idea to jot this interesting anecdote down came and that's killed most of that time...

And in loving memory of Honey and Pookie, I give you the following anecdotes:

Pookie: I treat you so good, you don't even know.
Honey: Yes, it's like you're not even treating me ANY differently, that's how little I know!

Honey: (making lame attempt to clean up left behind little bottles all over bathroom) I'm sorry I have so much crap all over. Let me pick it up.
Pookie: Actually, I thought it kinda looked good there.
Honey: starts doing that disgusting girly get misty thing

Honey makes herself vomit repeatedly and hopes that no blog-readers can track her down to sue her for gross negligence where their lactose and sugar levels are concerned.

She then cleanses her pallet with a big STEAK dinner. With lots of seasoning. ;-)


Tuesday, July 08, 2003

Sidenote: My own vanity NEVER ceases to amaze me. I can re-read stuff I wrote YEARS ago, over and over again and never cease to find it interesting... To the point that I develop a strong desire to call people and read them stuff that I wrote years ago to get THEIR thoughts on my writing. And usually, the writing is, of course, ABOUT me. That's the absolute worst part! If I were vainly attached to my writing in general, but the subject matter was typically other people or places or whatever, I think that would be sort of okay. But to be endlessly fascinated with my own journals for God's sake is scary.

Seriously scary.

And that's not even getting into the conversation about the levels of vanity it took to start up the blog that's all about the stuff that goes on in my head. Ridiculous! Who reads this crap? ME! I'm my own number one fan, for the love of God. I'm reading my archives, I'm nitpicking over the details. But, I'm the one that really has the full-on, 3-D version of my head so I guess it would be most interesting to me. Still, it scares me to still get a hearty laugh out of things I said two months ago... Re-reading post from 5/4 where I was talking about Mom's obsession with her thrown away treasures -- I called our attics filled with hoarded crap "a veritable gold mine suspended over our heads" or something like that. I'm sorry, I don't care if I am the one who wrote that, that is just funny funny stuff.

But anyway, enough about me, let's talk about you.

What do YOU think of me? ;-)


Monday, July 07, 2003

I love reading other people's blogs.

Sometimes, they are pure crap. Seriously. But, every once in a while you stumble across something that is pure BRILLIANCE. And it gives me the same sense of sadness that I have for myself (in my vainer moments) and that is that this talent is NEVER going to be appreciated. Sometimes the blogs are from folks who are already making their living creatively, like my favorite blog but sometimes it just regular folks sprouting out their thoughts on this and that, like this one. The thing I like though is the different view inside of OTHER'S heads. You feel like there are people who think about the same mixed up crap that you do. That are "sparked" by the same things that you are. You feel like a friggin' cookie cutter. And then it becomes a struggle to continue to feel like an original again and wish that there WEREN'T all these other damned blogs clogging the internet with your thoughts and feelings. Who are they? What do THEY know of your experiences?? And the cycle goes on.

But apparently, you can stumble across people's blogs by putting in certain phrases on Google... I actually found a very strange "ecosystem" of my blog through Google. I do not even know what this is, but apparently they can recommend things for you to read based solely on crap you mention in your blog. It's very bizarre, but the fact that I pull the string from sweaters to this level leads me to understand why I have so few friends in my life.

[No, the last sentence did NOT make sense and no, it's not just because you're drunk/high/on anti-depressants/whatever. Just one of those Heather moments where that was "just for me."]

What was I rambling about? Ah yes, Google. So, someone stumbled across this other person's blog because she input the phrase "i keep trying to change my screen name because he knows which sites I go to" or something similar. The blogger was disturbed by the Googler because what kind of situations in your life cause you to use THIS as your search phrase for God's sake? I like to think that it's people who are just screwing around with Google to see how outlandish of a subject you can request in order to get info. Apparently, nothing is REALLY out of the question.

Anyways, no real conclusion to the thought process today because there is none. Off to catch some winks before the advent of liability studies tomorrow!


Sunday, July 06, 2003

Aren't I a little young to get so nostalgic?

What is it about these Americana holidays that strikes images of childhood and somehow stirs up the memories and longings from THAT time in your life? How is it that I can look back on that time in my life, that time when I was still untouched by cynicism (okay, I was 4 -- but still) and I can still remember the things that I wanted then?? I don't even have a CLUE how my life is going to turn out now, but I sure had it all figured out then...

I grew up on a block, and I'm not talking a la I'm still Jenny from the block. The Suburbia version of "the block." All of the parents had moved in about the same time, when the neighborhood was still fresh and new. We knew the neighbors and they knew us because that's just how it was back then. And NOT just the closest neighbors, but all the way around the curve in the court and beyond. And somehow there was an imaginary line between those who were in the neighborhood group and those who weren't. It wasn't a color thing -- way too much vanilla in the suburbs in those days -- it was just a convenience thing. You just didn't live close enough to be involved in our pig roast, it wasn't personal. And the house that I grew up in was this big, sprawling Colonial style house that dominated the court. My house was where it started, it was the starting point of all the summer games and it was the meet-up point after a day at war. Even my mailbox was the home base for kickball. My yard was where everyone chilled out in between kicks or between rounds of run around like crazy people and call it "war" just so we have an excuse to jump in the creek once. That and look at all those tadpoles! We've got to get a couple because if we keep 'em and take care of 'em then we'll have our own FROGS!

And so, when the big event holidays rolled around -- then it was time for a block PARTY. The block party was the greatest anticipated event of the summer. The excitement would rise to a fever pitch for the kids and it was the ONLY thing we would talk about. Our moms were frantically preparing dishes that would be satisfactory for everyone, while Mrs. Lewis -- who was the closest to a movie star I knew when I was little because she was beautiful and she was English so she had that lovely accent -- always made wine punch. Or wine margaritas. All I know is her arrival was very much anticipated by the adults, while a bit of a downer for the kids since we could never drink any of the things that everyone always raved about. Most often the events were held at our closest neighbors, the Murphy's, which once again made my house the near command-central: I was closest to the action without having the constant adults swarming everywhere. And the kids got to run around and tear up the streets -- I was allowed to travel distances heretofor unheard of (the great Grounding of my life came when I biked all the way out to the first major intersection just as Dad was driving home from work) but never really considered it for long, because who wanted to leave all the hubbub? The people and the food and the happiness that sparkled on the air. It started slowly humming at about 11am and it didn't stop until late that night. Someone usually knew how to play guitar so we'd gather in a driveway with our rickety lawn chairs and just sit and sing or listen to the guitar player sing. And the crickets were chirping and we'd already been on our big snipe hunt by then. And the people were always there and always familiar and it was HOME. Even when you're that young, you know how good it feels to be home and in your own comfort zone. You can't put those words to it, but you know this is a feeling you never want to end.

This is what I knew I wanted from my life when I grew up. I figured I'd marry Mrs. Lewis's son because he was the closest to my age and we seemed to hit it off (how hard can this be when you're 7?). We'd have a house there in Fairfield and we'd start our own section of close-knit neighbors. And incorporate a circle of close-knit friends from the outskirts of the neighborhood, too. We'd get together a couple times a month to play cards and bs and brag about our kids over-blown accomplishments. ("Why, little Johnny finally stopped wetting the bed -- isn't he the brightest kid ever?" "Um, for a 10-year-old??")

But, with the advent of fear and loathing in our society -- there's not so much of that block atmosphere anymore, is there? You maybe know your two closest neighbors, but you probably wouldn't want them in your house. And you don't have that easy mix of big groups of friends, because we're not working in a 9 to 5 society anymore so it's much harder to get people with same schedules together. Much less people with the same schedules who compromise on their likes and dislikes enough to come together as a group more than once a year. We're pickier now than we used to be, aren't we? We need people who fulfill as like missing puzzle pieces, instead of just simple companions. If we don't agree with all of the thoughts and feelings of others, then we have no time or room in our lives to find out what else rounds that person out. It's as if we consider ourselves too good to be on the Block, isn't it?

I'm not sure what the answer is. I want those feelings of yesteryear and that ease of companionship, but... With MY neighbors?? Maybe next house. ;-)

Cynically yours,

Saturday, July 05, 2003

Note to self: Don't try to write when you haven't really had coffee or from other people's houses. It really is not quite the same. Sometimes I think the greatest contradiction in my character is that I love to be around people -- feed on it, THRIVE from it, really (like plants with water) -- and yet, I never seem to really be able to relax relax and just be myself around other people. Most people. It's not a slam on anyone, it's just interesting to me that as much as I seem to not derive enjoyment out of my alone time, that's the only time that I really am just ME. Who I want to be, what I want to think, going where I want to go, and feeling how I want to feel. I think it's because I have such a deep-rooted fear that other people won't really like who I REALLY am that I just can't let it all go. This has to be censored, this has to be amped up and always -- "the Heather Show" must go on. Loudly, boldly, strongly, confidently.

Frankly, I am not always that loud and bold and strong and confident. Sometimes I don't have the answers and don't even care what the questions are. Would be alarmed if the questions were presented, even.

It's not that I don't like putting on "The Show", I do or I wouldn't. But the expectation that the show has to go on, even that expectation from people who don't LIKE the show -- it's a little draining sometimes. Sometimes, I don't feel like being crass and witty and rude -- sometimes I genuinely want to be polite and reserved.

I do. I hear you out there in shocked amusement of how little I know myself, but that poses the question, doesn't it? Do I know me that little... Or do you?

These deep thoughts are brought to you today by Heather's Overgrown Lawn -- which Heather plans to go and conquer right now!

Friday, July 04, 2003

Ms. Not-so-Independent

I'm starting to wonder, on this day that we celebrate our freedom (that would be we white people, apparently, because it's not as if EVERYONE were freed today), what it is about me that makes me cherish my NON-free times so much. Those times that I'm whipping up social activities or being up my boyfriend's ass or at work or what-have-you, when my time is not entirely my own. I spent many years of my life so involved in not being genuinely leisurely, that now that I am in a phase in my life where I actually have leisure time -- I resent it. I feel like my life is not as full because I have time to actually enjoy things. Enjoy just sitting around and letting go. What could be wrong in someone's wiring that they don't enjoy just being by themselves? In my own company. How can I expect OTHER people to want to enjoy being around me when I don't enjoy it??

I think it's just the passing of time, the shifting of seasons. People come but when they leave you find that they are irreplacable. Interests wane and nothing seems to wax to fill that space. I really DO feel like life is what happened while I was busy making other plans. And then, I find that I look around and the card houses that I was building have all fallen while those around me long ago figured out that the only way to go was brick...

You know how you drive through some neighborhoods and there are all these nice, pretty little houses but then out of nowhere there's an older, dilapidated house that just seems like its owners couldn't figure out how to keep up with the Joneses? That's what I feel like sometimes -- the older house who missed the upgrade.

But, now that I realize this then I'm going to be making a conscientious effort to upgrade MY house. Throw on a coat of paint and go out and meet the neighbors, figuratively of course. Open up my doors and let the sunshine in.

Okay. I'm going to start by going out and embracing three days off with no plans and no destinations and I'm going to have a good time doing it or die trying!


Thursday, July 03, 2003

Everything I learned in life, I learned from Comedians

(With my apologies to Robert Fulghum for spinning his title.) Don't worry, I don't plan to go through a similar list of how they taught me to observe the daily nuances and to make fun of others. But, it's true. Sadly, but definitely in truth, I say that there have been times in my life where what I learned about the world was from Jon Stewart on the Daily Show. Or even rarer, Saturday Night Live. There's a war? There's a budget deficit? But, boy was that a funny way of explaining it, huh? And I think back on all of the comedians that I have enjoyed and admired through the years and how much of their material I can recite and how much I have just flat out stolen and spun into my own... It's scary. I used to have dreams of going into comedy and now I realize it would have been to perform someone else's routine! And like one of those Last Comic Standing people, I would have been called to the carpet by Jay Mohr or Buddy Hackett or whoever for just being a plagiarizing pariah. (I really just wanted another 'p' word to go with plagiarizing -- I'm on this alliteration kick lately, becaue I am a HUGE dork -- or huge half-wit or strapping spaz or ponderous pinhead!)

Anyways, I came to this realization last night because Ellen deGeneres was on HBO. I completely forgot how funny she is because there was all this BS wrapped around her coming out. So, she's a lesbian -- at least she's not a butchy lesbian...

[Sidebar: I, frankly, don't have a problem with anyone that's gay or lesbian. Whatever you want to do, it's all good. I have some issues with lesbians ONLY because I don't understand why they have to look like lesbians. What is that about? You're saying that you would rather roll around with another woman and then you both have to make yourselves look like men? Seriously. I could buy the whole lesbian thing with women LOOKING like women because let's face -- women are way sexier than men. I'm not attracted to women in general and even I can see where it would be more appealing. But that's another blog. All I'm saying is that -- I don't get the bull-dyke phenomenon.]

So, Ellen. She is friggin' hysterical. It was scary though because there were so many things that she said that I could hear myself saying and it occurs to me that I must not have a whole lot of original thought. Plus, she takes it one step further. For example, we both have a running commentary about how lazy our society is (although mine usually leans more towards how DISPOSABLE our society is), but she took it down to the breath strip level. We're too lazy for breath mints, we need the strips to just dissolve. "We're too lazy to suck!" (Not to harp on the lesbian thing again, but an ironic comment is it not?) We're too lazy to flush the toilet, we need the automatic flusher. And then she did this routine where you shake your hand in front of the sensor and try to fake sitting down and getting up again because it won't flush and I almost pulled a muscle laughing because I had done all of those things. She also had this very poignant speech about how music is such an important part of our lives and how in an instant there's a song that can take you back to that time in 5th grade when you knew all the words and there are all kinds of feelings and memories evoked from that. She then stated that song was Shoop by Salt n Pepa -- and then proceeded to recite the song like it was a poem. I really did almost wet the bed at that point. But by far, I think the FUNNIEST thing she talked about was how we forget what we're going to say just before we say it. "And you know... Well, I don't because I have NO idea what I was just going to say." Or how we'll be in the middle of making a point or expressing an opinion and we'll be busy congratulating ourselves for HAVING an opinion that we then forget what the point of our opinion was. I do this ALL the time. You can read it in past blogs. I will be writing about something and then can't remember how I got there and next thing you know I am ALL across the page.

And that's the thing with comedians, the good ones. They find these simple truths, these nuggets of quirky things that we as humans do and they will expose them to light. No one ever stops to think that these things are strange until they are pointed out. That's the beauty of it. IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE IT IS TRUE. That's why I don't laugh at fart jokes or find Tom Green stuff humorous. I can't relate to that. Sure, I fart but I don't think it's funny. Of course, when I see that written down it sure SOUNDS funny, doesn't it? Stop laughing at the farts, that's a serious release of gas into the ozone boy. Don't you know your children will be living in bubbles because of your over-indulgence at Taco Bell today?? Maybe I just don't think fart jokes are funny because I don't make them, because Lord knows I think EVERYTHING I say is funny. Even some of the stuff that's not supposed to be funny.

Well, all of this comedian lauding has wound up over-shadowing the news that I finished Harry Potter! Yay! I won't give any details for those readers (my regular audience seems to have grown to 5 instead of 3, so welcome new Head addicts) who haven't read it but plan to. It was good as always, but nowhere near the level of Book 4. I'm not sure why. Book 4 just had so much detail and so many interesting characters introduced and so many little twists and turns and...

What was I saying? What was I going to say?? :-)


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