Need to kill time at work?

In 2003 I was in a writing group with my friends Cindy, Kyle and Robert (who both happen to be gay males). We would give each other regular assignments, then meet and read them out loud. One of our assignments was to write a four-person scene that we had to all be in. It could be anything, any kind of genre, characters or what have you. I had writer's block and ended up churning out the scene I am reprinting here, starring us as ourselves. Since I'll be attempting to write a novel in 30 days beginning in an hour, hopefully this will keep you busy until my next post. Enjoy. Or don't, whichever.

Writer's Block by Eileen Rivera, 5/03

KYLE: So, how’s the man situation?

EILEEN: It’s so FUCKING FRUSTRATING!

CINDY: Oh no, why?

EILEEN: He’s been pulling the old disappearing act for awhile, not calling when he said he would, not getting back to me about stuff, not e-mailing. Then he finally does call and “sorry” is supposed to make everything hunky-dory.

CINDY: Men.

EILEEN: And every single time, I convince myself that he’s not interested anymore and go through the process of telling myself to move on, yada yada.

KYLE: Aw, sweetie.

EILEEN: And you know, I have abandonment issues and separation anxiety from childhood...

ROBERT: Really?

EILEEN: Oh, sure. You know, Dad dying and all. My brother has it too. So, the first time I broke down about this whole not-calling thing, I cried to my brother and she’s like, “It’s not your fault you have abandonment issues, honey.” Like, so calm. And here I’m tearing my hair out in a panic.

CINDY: I’m sorry you’ve been having a hard time.

ROBERT: Me too.

KYLE: Not me. Kidding.

EILEEN: Thanks. It’s okay.

CINDY: You’re gonna bring it up, right?

EILEEN: I have to at some point, if this is gonna keep going beyond, like, today.

CINDY: Yeah.

ROBERT: When are you gonna see him next?

EILEEN: Well, I’m ashamed to say I’m playing a stupid “taste your own medicine” game right now.

KYLE: Do tell!

EILEEN: The last straw was, I called him Wednesday to ask him if Saturday was a good day to hang out.

ROBERT: You mean today?

EILEEN: Today.

ROBERT: So, you’re seeing him after this meeting!

EILEEN: Wait. So, he said it sounded good and that he’d call later today.

ROBERT: And?

EILEEN: And he didn’t. He didn’t call later that day, he didn’t call all day Thursday. I was so angry and frustrated, I thought that’s it, even if he likes me it’s over, this behavior sucks ass, I need this like I need a hole in my head, I’d rather play Chicken with an oncoming train right now, I’m going back online and meeting other people.

KYLE: Yeah!

CINDY: He hasn’t called at all?

EILEEN: He finally left a message yesterday.

CINDY: What’d he say?

EILEEN: He apologized for not calling and said that Saturday evening was still good if I was still available.

ROBERT: So you are seeing him tonight, then?

EILEEN: Girl, I didn’t call him back.

KYLE: You go!

EILEEN: He needs to know what it feels like.

CINDY: Are you gonna call him?

EILEEN: At some point. I don’t know how long I can hold out. Today has been difficult as it is. I just wanted to drop everything I’d been through and say, “Yeah! Let’s hang out! All is well!”

ROBERT: How long has it been now, the two of you?

EILEEN: Not long. Maybe a month and a half.

ROBERT: Wow. I was already cohabitating at the end of the month.

EILEEN: I know. That’s different. That’s you guys.

KYLE: You got back online even?

EILEEN: I already e-mailed someone. All in an effort to feel better.

CINDY: Well, good for you!

EILEEN: Yeah, thanks.

ROBERT: Can we hug you?

EILEEN: Sure.

(group hug)

ROBERT: Make him jealous, yo. Send flowers to yourself from, like, Jesse Martin.

CINDY: “You are amazing. Too bad I’m not worthy to have you. Love, Jesse.”

EILEEN: No.

ROBERT: I would.

CINDY: I know.

EILEEN: I know. That’s different. That’s you.

CINDY: Your guy was always flaky, wasn’t he?

EILEEN: No. He wasn’t.

KYLE: Maybe there’s a real reason for it, then.

EILEEN: Maybe.

CINDY: Did you really make other plans tonight?

EILEEN: No. I’ll just work.

ROBERT: Wow.

EILEEN: Hope it doesn’t backfire. You know what? Fuck that. If it backfires, he can eat me.

KYLE: He can eat you anyway.

EILEEN: That’s true.

ROBERT: Hey! Next time you’re having sex with him, time it so that Jesse Martin calls your cell phone!

EILEEN: Robert, if Jesse Martin had my phone number, we would not be having this conversation. I would be busy stalking Jesse fucking Martin.

KYLE: Well good luck, I guess.

EILEEN: Yeah, the saga continues.

CINDY: Hey, let’s order some food and play “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt and cry.

EILEEN: I could use a drink.

KYLE: Now you’re talking. A drink and let’s order you a menege-a-tois!

EILEEN: Oh, alright.

ROBERT: Listen; join “Gay-O-L.”

EILEEN: No.

ROBERT: Join a Men-Are-Dumbassess support group.

CINDY: Are you in therapy?

EILEEN: No.

KYLE: Well, you know you can’t be burdening us with this shit all the time. Just kidding.

EILEEN: This is my therapy.

CINDY: What, us? Or writing?

EILEEN: Both. And ice cream with hot fudge.

ROBERT: No whipped cream.

EILEEN: Yes whipped cream, but very little.

ROBERT: No walnuts?

EILEEN: Hell, no.

ROBERT: No fucking pineapple sauce.

EILEEN: Man, I could use a banana split right about now. (To Robert) Did you grow up with Baskin-Robbins?

ROBERT: Girl, a banana split with half Pralines ‘n Cream...

EILEEN: And half Jamoca Almond Fudge. That is the shiz-nit. With chopped peanuts.

ROBERT: No cherry.

EILEEN: No way. Maybe some extra hot fudge.

KYLE: (changing subject) So...our next writing assignment should be about not going off on long tangents.

CINDY: How about on how ending scenes is the most difficult part?

EILEEN: Yeah, like this scene we’re in right now? It should’ve ended 30 seconds ago.

ROBERT: So what? We’re talking about ice cream.

KYLE: We’re catching up.

CINDY: Yeah, it’s been three weeks since we’ve seen each other, let’s give ourselves a break!

EILEEN: Nah, I’m just procrastinating the inevitable, delaying the end of the scene.

ROBERT: Well, what if you just made us stop talking?

(pause)

KYLE: No, we’re still talking.

EILEEN: Yeah. I just wrote that line for you.

CINDY: I’m still talking too.

EILEEN: I know. I can’t stop. I’m sorry.

KYLE: Let’s talk about sex then.

EILEEN: No! This is my scene!

KYLE: It’s not interesting anymore.

ROBERT: Was it ever?

CINDY: Are you scared at what silence may bring?

EILEEN: I just wanna end the thing.

ROBERT: So what, you gonna just have us keep talking until exhaustion?

EILEEN: Maybe.

CINDY: Hey, is that your phone ringing?

EILEEN: No.

KYLE: Yeah, maybe it’s your man.

EILEEN: It’s not ringing.

ROBERT: He’s calling to apologize, ask for your hand in marriage, clean your house and give you head five times a day, only if you answer and not let voicemail pick up.

EILEEN: Nice try, everyone.

CINDY: Agh! Can I go to the bathroom at least?

EILEEN: Nope. I can’t let you go. All four of us must be in the scene, remember?

KYLE: How about a cigarette break?

EILEEN: Sorry.

ROBERT: What if we just refuse to say our next line?

EILEEN: You can try but it won’t work.

ROBERT: Why not?

EILEEN: Because what I make you say will determine how you do that.

KYLE: I don’t get it.

EILEEN: Okay. Try it now. Don’t say your next line.

(pause)

KYLE: I love sex.

ROBERT: Kyle, why’d you say it?!

KYLE: It’s hard not to!

EILEEN: Told you.

CINDY: So what, we’re stuck here?

ROBERT: We have other scenes to read, Eileen.

KYLE: Yeah, now you’re just being selfish.

EILEEN: I just want to improve the quality of my work.

CINDY: By holding us prisoner?

KYLE: You don’t have abandonment issues. You’re a control freak.

ROBERT: I’m hungry. Let’s leave the scene now.

KYLE: Yes. Can we please do so without anybody getting hurt.

EILEEN: Okay, everybody shut up and let me think.

KYLE: Best idea I’ve heard all day.

EILEEN: Quiet!

KYLE: You keep writing stuff for me to say!

CINDY: Yeah! Just stop writing!

ROBERT: Shh. Let her think.

(pause)

EILEEN: I got it.

ROBERT: Thank god.

CINDY: What is it?

EILEEN: A punchline.

KYLE: Well, what is it?

EILEEN: I’m thinking.

ROBERT: Can I say it?

KYLE: Who cares? (To Eileen) Whoever you want to say it, it doesn’t matter.

EILEEN: Okay. I’ll say it. “And so I told the bishop he had nothing on me, then he took his robe back.” (laughs)

ROBERT: What?

KYLE: I don’t get it.

CINDY: Me neither, but humor her.

EILEEN: Okay, I’ll say it again.

ROBERT: bee ba bee ba

EILEEN: Sorry; my hands are getting tired.

KYLE: Then for the love of god, stop writing!

CINDY: gobble

EILEEN: Sorry. Okay, here we go. “And so I told the bishop he had nothing on me, then he took his robe back!”

(they all laugh)

(really, really hard)

End of scene.

Happy Halloween!

Secret thought at the gym

Naturally I see naked women walking around the locker room all the time.
But recently I actually saw someone I wanted to ravish.
She was curvy and sexy as shit.
And I'm straight.
I wonder if I have a "type" now?

(man, she looked yummy)

Does a man have to keep paying?!

You know that last scene in Fatal Attraction (if you don't and you don't want to know, read no further...but for god's sake the movie's almost 20 years old, so get a life) when Glenn Close has drowned in Michael Douglas' bathtub, and Michael is in shock but once he's sure she's dead, he begins to walk away from the tub, then GODDAMMIT! out she comes like a possessed mannequin, ready to stab the motherfucker to death? Scream, run, it ain't over, the fat lady hasn't sung yet, what the fuck...then BOOM BOOM BOOM...Anne Archer, the wife, the innocent, the one Michael cheated on, the one who looked mighty cute in her white undies, blasts a few right into Glenn to save her beleaguered husband and the day?

I feel like I've been sitting on that precipice right after Glenn is drowned but before she comes out to stab me. So many times in the last couple months I've thought, "Wow, I've been going through some stuff these last couple weeks, thank god it's over...whoa, okay. The whole month has been really difficult. Good thing I can now move past...HOLY SHIT! Is it month number two of hard knocks in a row? Is she dead yet? I can see her. Her eyes are open in the water and she's not breathing. Can I finally fucking walk out of the bathroom...?"

I feel handcuffed to the bathtub.
Handcuffed to the Fatal Attraction bathtub.

(help me somebody)

Home

Tonight on 60 Minutes, Andy Rooney talked about cities around the country. After listing a few, he said, and I'm paraphrasing, "New York City is my favorite. It's a hard city to visit, but an easy city to live in." I totally understand what he means. I spend a lot of time in the Times Square area and I've heard tourists walking around, going, "How can anybody live here?" dreaming of the day they are back home away from the noise and the crowds and the lights. I can understand this, because when you visit Manhattan, well, it's crowded and noisy and bright. First of all, if you're a visitor, somehow you have to get into and out of Manhattan. Commuters from other states have to get in and out as well. Locals who live and work in Manhattan have no such hassle. Most of us don't own a car and all that comes with that: gas, parking, insurance. The subways go virtually everywhere you need to be and yellow cabs are in abundance. When I lived in Hoboken, NJ and worked in Manhattan I couldn't socialize very late in Manhattan because getting back to Hoboken involved strategy and buses and trains that did not run 24 hours. That was a pain.

I think it was when I lived in Hoboken, I was hanging out in the West Village and noticed a young guy walk to a corner newsstand to get a paper. He had obviously just woken up, thrown on a pair of flip-flops, sat a baseball cap on his head, and went out the door with the sole intention of being back at home in ten minutes flat. That became my goal, to work and live here. When you live here, the city is your backyard. You picnic in Central Park, see a Broadway show at a discounted price at the last-minute, and get your groceries delivered to your door by someone else who will lug them up your flights of stairs. You discover new things about the different neighborhoods that each have their own vibe; the young-families 'hood, the old-money 'hood, the bohemian 'hood, the art-gallery 'hood. You tend to say things like, "Pam Real Thai has the best Thai food in the city" with conviction. You know where the deals are. "No, just go get a soda at Duane Reade; it's cheaper." You walk to the gym to the office to the subway to your apartment. You and your neighbors feed each others' pets while you're away. You realize you've never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge in all your years here, think the idea is a good one, but still don't. Best of all, you throw on a pair of flip-flops and a hat, walk to the corner, get a paper and a coffee and walk back home. No bridges, no tunnels. No problem.

Nicole Richie: just a drunk who didn't win

Here's me in my Halloween costume. My purse says "Daddy's Girl" by Lionel's picture. The winners of Most Original Costume were a couple who came as Tom Cruise & Katie Holmes (seen below). They were the right height, which was hilarious, and connected by a big chain around their wrists. "Suri" had the words "No photos please" where her face would be. It was fun; I drank a lot. Halloween 2006, yo.

Grateful

I have a lovely (and growing) group of British girlfriends, with whom I enjoy myself a cuppa and talk about how knackered I am and how posh somebody is. Once in a while, if one of them is going through a difficult time or is feeling particularly vulnerable, they will talk about how their very close friends from childhood or just the majority of their support system is over there across the ocean, and they must either visit or run up a phone bill. Whenever I hear that I feel extremely grateful and lucky that 95% of my support system, no matter where in the country we'd met, are right here in the good old NY of C. A mere few miles away, north or south, east or west, are people I feel really safe with, who I can call upset and spontaneously meet for coffee and a hug minutes later. NYC is the biggest, most bustling small town there is. I really appreciate that, especially when I need it most. A laugh is not that far away. And the cat is where I hang my hat. Life is good.

Avoidance is the new Coping *

* a phrase coined by my friend Adrienne.

I didn't even win

GODDAMMIT. After all I've been through these past couple days, I was at least hoping to snag Most Original costume at my Halloween party tonight...to no avail. It shows you how clever everyone is that I wasn't even in the running. Oh, people liked it, appreciated it, and I am still glad I did it, but I didn't get the accolades I was looking for. I'm still not disclosing what it was until I can put up a picture, but I will tell you that highlights were: Steve Irwin and the Sting Ray (who wore a "Hello, my name is Ray" sticker), JonBenet and Patsy Ramsey (there was a loose "famous dead people" theme), and a woman as Kurt Cobain. Now it's 3:15 AM, but yay for me, it's now really only 2:15 AM. Somehow I don't think I'm going to feel that extra hour. Fuck that hour. Fuck everybody. Fuck Halloween. Fuck the 15 cosmo punches I drank.

Barefoot, uphill both ways in the snow

I don't know if it's because I'm getting older, but I find myself getting nostalgic about a time when I was growing up, in the '70s, when in many ways certain parts of New York were definitely sketchier and scarier than they are now, yet I was able to play outside with kids in front of my apartment building while Mom stayed inside the apartment, knowing where I was. If I had a kid now, and my young child wanted to play outside, no way would I not be watching that kid every minute with my very eyes! Mom wasn't being indifferent; she was around for play times, but she could just keep an ear on me if she wanted. And I could come home and tell her who I was playing with and what happened and why I broke my toy and now it's raining and I'm back. I even walked to my little Catholic school in my little Catholic school uniform all by myself sometimes in first, second grade. Not always, but sometimes. And mostly, in the older pre-teen grades, I would walk to school with two fellow girl classmates. Three young girls just sauntering to school, stopping off at the deli first for my eventual lunch of Cheez Doodles and fruit punch (you know, the sugar water in the round-ish plastic bottle? I can see it now.), parents not worried a hoot. My little brother, who grew up in the '80s in California, it was already different then. In fact, yes, I remember the '80s was when the whole Adam Walsh "watch your kid lest he be kidnapped at Kmart" spate of crimes was happening, and I was frightened to death that Nick was just at that age, and I waited to exhale for a good year or two. Times have changed, man. Sad.

Fuzzy boot esteem

As the weather turned colder, I was having "I'm not stylish enough" syndrome. New York City does that to me. I like it though, because I think I can never not be stylish by default, by osmosis. Years ago I was working with someone who was contemplating a move back to his hometown of Dallas. He was wondering aloud all the things he would miss about New York and discovered with horror..."And what about FASHION?" Yes. It's a choice you make. Even though by the time I take my cues from the lovely ladies of Manhattan and finally say to myself, "Yes, I'm going to get myself a pair of {insert trendy clothing item here}," it's not cutting-edge anymore, it's okay. I don't want to be cutting edge. I just want to be minimally urban-chic stylish.

Enter my new fuzzy boots. Fuzzy boots were really popular last winter, and I didn't own a pair, as I was still rockin' my "look like Uggs but aren't," which totally worked. But as the weather turned this last week, and I busted out my fuzzy pageboy hat and reliable scarf and fingerless gloves, I knew I didn't have the footwear to top it off. I was walking around only half-stylish. But I just bought a pair of boots that would become my default, cold-weather, walking-around footwear, and when I wore them yesterday I totally felt like I belonged. Nay, maybe even turned heads with my confidence. "Who's that girl? Is she someone? She must live here," the tourists would point and whisper. Really, who needs plastic surgery when shoes do the trick?

Two for two

In the middle of spinning class, firmly ensconsed on my stationery bike, Whitney Houston's "You Give Good Love" begins wafting over the loudspeakers. It was odd to work out to a ballad at the peak of our heart rate, but the point was to pedal in double time while standing up in a running position for the duration of the song. This happens to be one of my favorite Whitney-at-the-height-of-her-powers ballads. The lights are dim, the song is loud, I'm sweating up a storm, and what happens? Naturally. I start crying. I think I started crying right at the first chorus, too. Yup. So, let's see. I've cried while doing bicep curls, and now while spinning in a running position in class. Now it's a contest. I have yet to burst into tears while on the cross-trainer machine, in the hot tub, or while doing the breaststroke. But now I'm looking forward to it. Bring it on, tears. I ain't afraid of you.

Damn, it's hard to be gym-motivated when the weather's cold.
But on the upside, I just bought fuzzy boots!

My awesome Halloween costume is in its last phases. I am winning on Saturday. I can feel it. I will do my absolute best to remember to take a picture that I can post. The hostess of this annual Halloween party said that after my Hurricane Wilma last year people are actually intimidated by my prowess. My goodness.

Pardon me while I go make brilliance happen

...or at least write a lotta stuff down in the next five weeks.

Having learned about this over at the Blog de Shari, I have decided to participate in National Novel Writing Month this November. Starting midnight, November first, and ending midnight November 30th, I will attempt to write a 50,000 word novella just for the sake of it. No one wins a prize for best novel, nobody even necessarily reads it. But gosh darn it, the participants sure try to crank something out. And I have decided to join up. So, if I become a little quiet on this here blog during this time, just sleep tight knowing that the greatest, well, great, well, my first, okay, just an American novel is being written.

Since November first is eight mere days away, I'm going to have to ruminate on and outline some sort of, you know, plot or what have you. With, you know, characters and whatnot. Now, life may take a turn. I may get an acting gig, my cat might need me more than usual, I might catch the flu, and I may not be able to finish it. But you know what? I'll have tried, and that's all that matters to me right now. Wish me luck! And if you want to participate, click the link above!

Haiku corner: Not giving up

Lost another pound!
One day you minions will be
Answering to me!

Salmon omelette
Thank you for making my day
I just inhaled you

A birthday party
Haven't seen you in ten years
Thanks for the bear hug

Wore my scarf today
Can't believe it's that time now
First time this season

You are always sweet
Wish I could like you that way
Still pining for me

Always on the go
It's all I know how to do
Lest I let me feel

I promise right now
One day I will give myself
A two-day weekend

Learning how to eat
Better than I ever have
It's not really hard

WHAT??!!

According to CNN.com, the priest that Mark Foley has accused of molesting him when he was a teenager could face sanctions, and the Miami archdiocese has apologized. I haven't been following this story very closely at all, so it's the first I'd heard of all this, but these quotes stuck out to me and made me gasp:

On Thursday, Mercieca told CNN that he fondled the lawmaker as a teen, but he said it wasn't abuse because Foley "seemed to like it."

"Once maybe I touched him or so, but didn't, it wasn't -- because it's not something you call, I mean, rape or penetration or anything like that you know. We were just fondling," Father Anthony Mercieca, 69, said in a phone interview with CNN affiliate WPTV from his home on the Maltese island of Gozo in the Mediterranean.

"He seemed to like it, you know? So it was sort of more like a spontaneous thing," Mercieca told WPTV, a West Palm Beach, Florida, station.

Mercieca, however, rejected the idea that he sexually abused Foley, saying, "See abuse, it's a bad word, you know, because abuse, you abuse someone against his will. But it involved just spontaneousness, you know?"

The priest also questioned the timing of Foley's allegations against him, suggesting the six-term congressman only recently became bothered by their relationship.

"Let's say it was 40 years ago, almost 40 years ago, so why bring this up at this late stage?" Mercieca asked. "Anyway, he will overcome it, with a psychiatrist you know. Mark is a very intelligent man."

He seemed to LIKE IT??? Why bring it up at this LATE STAGE???!!! Has this man never been a young person? A young person who is barely learning how to set boundaries and is taught to trust people of AUTHORITY? Possibly scared of REPURCUSSIONS? Maybe thinks it's his FAULT???

I really just wanna punch this guy out.

In case you didn't get it the first time, I work in a cool office

"Okay everybody, there is cake and beer and wine in the break room."

Again?

"Yes, it's Evelyn's birthday."

Twice in one week, cake and beer. That cracks me up. Cakes from Cupcake Cafe, a famous New York bakery that makes dense, buttery cupcakes and cakes with rich, rich buttercream frosting, and beer and wine. This can't be good for my diet, but I'll take it. For the second time in a week, I am working at my computer with a beer to my side. I said, "We have to have an occasion every week. Happy Wednesday, everybody! Cake and beer!"

I love this job.

Goal

As I walked by the Eugene O'Neill theatre on my way to the office as I do every day, I noticed that the new Broadway production of Spring Awakening was practically all moved in, evidenced by the cast members' pictures in the glass cases along with their names and review quotes from their successful off-Broadway run. It's a cast of mostly young unknowns. I was on my way to get a much-deserved medium-sized strawberry cheesecake-flavored Tasti-D-Lite with mini-chocolate chips (for those of you who don't know, Tasti-D-Lite is, in New York, a very popular frozen dessert, very much like frozen yogurt except it's dairy free...mystery dessert, essentially) to salve the gaping hole that is where my heart should be.

On the way back to the office I was about to pass the theater again when I noticed two young guys standing by the posters and talking and pointing to it. They could've been anybody: tourists, locals ogling at the new pictures, but somehow I knew, without it being obvious, that they were probably in the cast. Sure enough, as I passed by one of them said into his cell phone: "Hey, we're here at the theater buying tickets for our show and our pictures are up!" I imagined them trying to process this thing that was about to happen to them. I thought about turning to them and congratulating them, but I was full of anxiety about my own career by comparison.

One day, I thought.

One fine day.

My boss is so cool

"Okay, everybody in the break room, we're having cake 'cause it's Jay's last day."

Just like with birthdays, this is a not-uncommon routine. It's a small office so everyone knows each other and we trudge into the break room and maybe sing pathetically (okay, better than pathetically since almost everyone's a professional performer) while someone cuts the cake and passes it around while we talk a little bit before straggling back to our computer stations.

This time however, we'd all congregated in the break room when my boss Dan realized we didn't have paper plates to serve the cake on. That, and the cake, even though it was a cheesecake, seemed mighty small for all of us. So, Dan gamely said he'd be right back, and went across to street to remedy the situation. More plates, maybe another small cake? We'll see.

Then on the intercom, "Okay, it's really happening this time, and also we have beer."

Huh? That's a first. Well, not only did we have beer, we had more beer than cake. On his errand, Dan got plates and lots of beer. Turns out he decided ("I'm horrible with proportions!") we'd all enjoy about three beers each in the middle of the afternoon to go with our tiny slice of cheesecake.

And you know what? He's right.

Time to close this chapter

A Chance With You
by Alana Davis

You make me whole
But we still have places left to go
But my heart, life and soul
Is yours for the sharing, let me know

With all you've seen
You still have your heart set on your dreams
You're so strong you should rest assured
Anything in this world you want is yours

I don't have a chance with you
But I'm gonna let you find that all your love is better in my mind
You don't have the heart to let me go
I'm gonna let you fly and all the rest
I'll find on my own

This life we lead
Takes everything you've got and lets you bleed
But when you see that you're not alone
It'll open wider than you know

I don't have a chance with you
But I'm gonna let you find that all your love is better in my mind
You don't have the heart to let me go
I'm gonna let you fly and all the rest
I'll find on my own

I know what you're feeling when you're willing to break
And I see all the pressure that you're willing to take...

I don't have a chance with you
But I'm gonna let you find that all your love is better in my mind
You don't have the heart to let me go
I'm gonna let you fly and all the rest
I'll find on my own

Cyber Man: indefinite hiatus

You know how you look forward to a new show on TV, and you watch the first one on Wednesday at 8 PM, then next week you think it's on at Wednesday at 8 PM, but they changed it to Sunday at 7:30 PM, and you lose track, and you're mad at the executives, but your life beckons and next thing you know you've stopped trying altogether, and then it's off the air "for now?" Well, much to my extreme heartbreak, I'm afraid David and I are on such a hiatus. Right when Sam & Diane kissed, the ball was dropped. Of course, I can't predict the future storyline. It may come back better than ever, it may not come back at all. The Cyber Man I knew and loved has left me to do some rewriting and retooling and recasting and reworking. I guess I have no choice but to do the same. DAMN YOU, CYBER MAN NETWORK PROGRAMMING!

Haiku corner: Difficult month

Emotionally
Abandoned by everyone
How do I grow up?

I go to the gym
Only salvation I have
Happy ending, please

Crying jags like these
Are like post-nine-eleven
Vulnerable me

Bumps and scrapes and cuts
I am hurting myself now
Because I am sad

If I had no friends
I would worry about me
But they're always here

I know what you think
I'm such a scrappy strong one
Well, who's strong for me?

Saw a man bent down
Don't know if something was wrong
New Yorkers walk by

Justin Timberlake
Why you gotta be so fine?
Thank God for you, man.

Haiku corner: Random thoughts

Lost one pound this week!
Take that, Christy Turlington
I am on my way

Never do laundry
Would rather buy more panties
Than do the laundry

Charging my cell phone
Takes quite a long four hours
Can't be that patient!

Can tell I've gained weight
Because my boobs are too big
I know that sounds weird

Wish I could swim laps
I panic halfway across
Save me, young lifeguard

Why am I awake
Composing haikus right now
When I have to sleep?

Letter from the trenches of the NYC elite

Gussied up:
Cocktail dress,
Heels and pearls
Set off by subway to mingle
With the Hollywood set.
First gala benefit for
FilmAid International
Whose mission is to bring film to
Refugee camps around the world.

The Time Warner Building
(Where my fave Whole Foods resides
And Anderson Cooper works?)
Name on a list
Coat check
Open bar
Hors d'oeuvres

Can't find my friends
People watching
People watching
People watching
My "date" Victoria finally arrives
Security is keeping her down the hall
Something about a fire code?

I leave the room to fetch her
They won't let her through
We grit our teeth and
Tell each other how nice we look
As a staff member stands between us

Oh, look, Matt Dillon can go in
Guess he's not flammable

Finally we're united
Yet, more fire code nonsense
Keeps us outside a door
But Christy Turlington and Ed Burns
Can go in
"What must it be like to be yes'd all the time,"
Victoria asked.

Back inside we figure out
Where to stand to best get food
Served to us with cocktail napkins
Speech...
Speech...
Julia Ormond...
Honors...
Speech...
Thank you...

Elvis Costello!
Many songs
Feet away from us
While Vic and I talk about other things
In a stage whisper
Elvis says, "You won't be seeing me
For awhile; I'll be busy playing Dad."
We clap
He's pretty good.

It's over
Where's Adrienne who got us in
In the first place?
Let me check this corner...
"Eileen!"
Second wind.

I meet all her friends
The beau I'd heard of all year
And when I have a choice to leave
With Victoria or do the after-party
With the gang, including
The cute film producer
Who'd put his suit jacket
Around my shoulders
Because I was cold...
I choose the latter.

Shoes killing me
(How does Sarah Jessica
Run in Manolos?!)
Hudson Hotel
Fancy Schmancy
Good company
Lots of laughter
Swag! Swag bag
Weighs a ton
"What'd you get?
I didn't get that!"
Trading party favors

In the cab home
Smile to myself
Feeling better
About everything.

He has returned

I thought I left
Insomnia
Far behind
Months ago when I
Started exercising
Sleeping earlier and
Meditating.

But as I write this
I have been awake
For at least 22 hours
And counting.

I knew I was anxious
But I didn't know
It was that bad
Until No Sleep
Crept back into my life
Tonight.

In a few minutes
When my co-workers begin
Milling about the office
I think I'm gonna call
And take a much needed
Mental Health Day.

Were I a politician
I would make
Mental Health Day
A national day of awareness.

Good morning/night.

Working (it) out

You know how when you're at the gym doing tricep curls, all of a sudden with each rep you find yourself crying, and you're worried you will never stop crying and that everyone in the weight room, especially the lady right next to you doing some strange facial-muscle exercises, will notice? Then when you let go and sob at the water fountain, you tell yourself to keep exercising and that everything will be okay? Well, when you start working on your legs, for some reason, it won't be so bad. And when you leave the gym, there will be a street fair on 8th Avenue. Get yourself a non-dairy mango-and-pineapple smoothie before going into work. Then talk to your best friend from college who lives in LA and let him tell you you're doing great. Then plan on asking your other good friend from high school to give you a hug later when you meet for dinner; and if you cry then too, it'll be okay. She won't mind. You might feel even better.

Time to move to New Jersey

I like to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on TV every year. Nowadays there is invariably at least one person I know making an appearance at the parade and I like to watch them shiver and smile their way through a lip-synced song or two. Back in '97 disaster struck when a Cat in the Hat balloon's strings wrapped themselves around a lamppost, toppling part of the lamppost over, and hitting a lady in the head, who was watching the parade with her husband and baby. She went into a 24-day coma, and is now fine and dandy, except...

Two days ago, while she and her family were not at home, Yankee Cory Lidle's plane decided to crash right into her apartment. Yes. Thanksgiving Day Parade Coma Lady is the same lady whose apartment the plane crashed into on October 11th. The plane's engine was found near her bed. Apparently she was planning to be home only a few minutes later and barely missed the accident.

WHAT THE ARE ODDS?!

The bitch is back and other thoughts of the day

I crawled exhausted into my favorite falafel place, when I noticed the cute Middle Eastern guy who always chats with me sporting a new goatee. "Are those back now?" I finally had to ask someone of the male persuasion.
"I think so."
"'Cause they were gone for awhile."
"They were gone."
"And now they're back?"
"Now they're back."

I doubted Clive, but Mr. Owen knew what he was doing.

On another note, I learned today that Cory Lidle's flight instructor who died in the plane with him, Tyler Stanger, was only 26 and had a wife, a 2-year-old, and another on the way. It's doubly tragic when young people die too soon. And what the hell happened up there, anyway??

I mentioned to someone today that I am on a mission to lose 20 pounds, and he nonchalantly responded, "It's already done. Now, you just have to do it." And that blew my mind.

It's already done. Now, I just have to do it.

BRILLIANT!!!!

Not everyone is me

My really good friend Sam had recently disclosed to me that he'd been having a rough month, and why this was. As someone who not only goes to therapy regularly but shares all my dirty laundry with my friends (and in the last year, cyberland), I tend to forget that other people deal with stuff differently. I feel like in the last couple weeks I'd been telling him how to process his feelings, why he should do this, that, and the other, and I hadn't just listened and been there. I'd been trying to fix his life, so I could feel better. When he finally explained to me that some things were difficult for him to share with people, that he kept things private for a reason, I finally understood, even looking back and seeing how he does that for good stuff too. I'd be like, "This great thing is happening to you; don't you wanna shout it off the rooftops???" And he'd respond, "No, it's just for me," and I wouldn't totally get it. Now, I do. I apologize, Sammy, for not necessarily letting things just unfold at their own pace for you. I hope things are looking up, I miss you, and I look forward to connecting again.

A New York tragedy, and other thoughts of the day

So, a plane crashed into a residential high-rise on the Upper East Side today. I was on the cross-training machine trying to lose my 20 pounds (I know, I know, one pound at a time) watching every news channel about a small plane flying into an apartment building. It did seem like an accident (as opposed to terrorism), but of course very dramatic and worrisome. I was watching when a reporter announced on-air that they had just learned that the plane was registered to Yankees pitcher Cory Lidle. One of the anchors gasped. So did I. Of course, the reporter was like, "We don't know who was actually flying the plane; we are just reporting that according to the FAA the plane is registered to him." But for some reason I knew it would be him. Just like I knew, when reports came out that there was a murder/suicide and two people were killed in comedian Phil Hartman's house in Los Angeles years ago, but that they could not confirm the dead, that it was him. And it is true. They confirmed Mr. Lidle and his flight instructor died in this accident. Tragic. Scary.

On more small-scale, "I'm the center of my universe" news, they said it was going to rain after 9 PM tonight and it was like a monsoon at like 5 PM, and it's still raining four hours later. Boo. I walked by a storefront with two big signs that both said, "COMMING SOON," and the name of some restaurant. Now...*sigh*...I'm not going to repeat myself since I did it so eloquently about my frustration with misspelled signage in a post from last year. But it really did make me wanna slam my head through a glass window. And lastly, in the post below I mentioned Ian, someone I dated some time ago, who I bumped into and left the conversation assuming he couldn't give a crap. Ian actually sent me a cordial e-mail out of the blue today. Oh, okay. That's a good reminder that feelings aren't facts. Thank god too, 'cause lord knows I'm feeling awfully disonnected nowadays.

Wherefore hang-ups?

Bumped into Ian, someone I dated briefly, in a department store. Hadn't seen him since we dated, which was almost exactly two years ago; I'd of course fantasized in what fantabulous context it would be whenever I did bump into him. I would be in a formal gown running in my heels into a deli to get some mints before my big event across the street. My handsome significant other would wait for me outside and as I ran in, Ian, sitting at the outdoor cafe next to the deli, would see me and barely get it together enough to say hello; he'd be too busy wondering why he let go of this staggering image of perfection. I would, naturally, pay him only the minimal of minds.

Well instead, I ended up bumping into Ian while just shopping. No makeup, no gown, no arm candy. Was thrilled, however, that I didn't feel a longing, wasn't thinking, "Whatever happened to us?" No. In fact, when I said, "You have a beard," and he responded, "Oh, it's for a part; what are you gonna do?" I remembered he was a self-absorbed actor (I know the phrase "self-absorbed actor" may seem redundant, but really, there are some who are not). And at the very, very end of our conversation, after he remembered where I grew up, let me know the dress I was buying was sexy, and told his brother on the phone that he bumped into me, right when we said goodbye and stepped away from each other, it felt like he was being disengenuous. Like he was just being polite, said nice things, and when we parted, he may as well have winked and said, "Buh-bye, doll."

Blech.

On the other hand, there's Benji, someone I didn't even date, but had the awfulest of "showmances" in the history of showmances. We were rehearsing a play some years ago together, playing boyfriend and girlfriend (typical), flirted incessantly, slept together on opening night (way typical), and from that day forward he'd ignored me while I pined and pined. Benji I'd bumped into every now and then since the play because we ran in the same circles, and it was okay. I mean, he's completely wrong for me; he drinks too much, he's arrogant, and makes a far better acquaintace than boyfriend by far.

I was catching up with a friend who had just returned from L.A. and filled me in on all our Los Angelino pals, of which Benji is now one. "You know he's dating Julie Morales, right?" blurted my friend. "No, I didn't." Julie was someone else we all knew, although I didn't know her well, and immediately I was fighting with my feelings. While on the outside I was giving off the, "Hm, interesting that they're together" vibe, inside I was - and still am, this is what's eating me - feeling rejected all over again. It's so weird. I can't shake it. Unlike with Ian, who I bumped into and didn't feel anxious, self-conscious, or longing, every single blessed time I'd bump into Benji, no matter how unwashed or aloof or glib he would be, I'd swoon. I hate to admit it. He'd be the handsomest, charmingest jerk on the earth. So, now he's actually dating someone, instead of being his confirmed bachelor self, which was an easier pill for me to swallow. And for some reason, the thought of he and Julie together haunts me. And I hate that it does; I mean, who cares?!

What dictates who you get hung up on? I'd not only spent more meaningful time with Ian, Ian out-and-out reminded me of my father. Benji was just a fling, and not a very enjoyable one, at that. It's really amazing how our psychology works.

If there were two of me, I could...

Sleep
While the super fixed my bathroom
Go to work
While he paints my kitchen
Memorize my lines
While typing at work
While taking swim class
Rehearse for one gig
Instead of two
Not go from one job in Connecticut
Straight to another in New York

Wouldn't call or e-mail people back
I keep forgetting anyway
I could live my life
In shifts
So I wouldn't be
So tired
So anxious
So overwhelmed

I could split the load
And be less

Stressed out

Cyber Man: in this episode, if Love overcomes obstacles, let it start now please

My friend Adrienne wants to set me up with a guy named Ted. Seems Ted's looking for a girl with certain qualities that Adrienne thinks I possess. Plus she says he has a "fetching goatee." Are those coming back or something...? Anyway, all I know about him is that he salsa dances. So, I guess a few pelvic thrusts in my general direction would be better than the zero action I'm getting lately. I know that the answer to her has to be yes, sure, of course, I'll meet Ted, I'll meet him, I'll meet anybody once. But now, as opposed to a few months ago, my heart's not quite in it. Because someone else has it. My heart, that is. David has it. I'd given it to him freely and happily and it's tucked away in his sock drawer in his house somewhere in the middle of the country. But by golly, sometimes I think I need that heart of mine back. Like, for when someone like Ted is in the same room as I. Just in case we get along. Just in case there's an attraction. Just on the off-chance that two single people in each other's presence could actually like each other a little bit. But no. I've now become that girl. "Um...no, I'm not seeing anybody, not really, not seriously anyway, actually not at all, well I kinda like somebody long-distance...it's complicated..." HER.

Meanwhile David's been going through a rough patch. He'd pulled back from me a bit, which wasn't fun. He wasn't writing me poems or telling me how wonderful I am. He eventually shared, but where I used to be the go-to gal for advice, I feel like I can't cheer him up. And even though he's got a life, most of which has nothing to do with me, I can't help feeling vulnerable about it. What if our timing is all wrong? What if we're in a cyber-romance because it's easier and safer than dealing with a flesh-and-blood person? Whenever I'm in this anxious place, I tend to do the e-equivalent of shaking David by the shoulders and demanding answers to these questions. And always, in response, David does the e-equivalent of taking my face tenderly in his hands and telling me not to worry.

Oh...okay. *melt*

Man, these warm fuzzies are awesome.
There's nothing like it on god's green earth.
It's what dreams are made of!

But the barriers!
Oh, the barriers!
*shaking fist to air*
Why, god, why?

Cover my magazine anytime, sir

For some reason this small picture of the Clive Owen GQ cover doesn't do it justice. The goatee is a little too '90s (please let it be for a role), and the tan is a little too George Hamilton. But when I first passed by a newsstand and saw this in the window I literally stopped breathing, stopped walking, and just stared at those green pools he calls eyes while little cartoon birds whistled and chirped all around me.

No really, stop the world, I'm feeling nauseous

I took advantage of the nutritionist at the gym yesterday. We figured out my body composition and body mass index, and...carry the one...I have too much body fat by about TWENTY POUNDS. People, I am 20 pounds overweight!!!! That was not a happy moment in time. I had not gotten on a scale in years because it caused me anxiety, but...*sigh*...as they say, the cold, hard numbers can be empowering I guess, and I can now deal with what's actually in front of me. So, I'm gonna work out just a little bit more (thankfully we agreed that I didn't have to do much more than I'm already doing at the gym; more, but not by much), be much smarter food-wise, and weigh myself once a week, if only to make sure I don't get past that GOD-FORSAKEN 20-pound mark EVER AGAIN. Wow. I was so clueless!!!!

Cyber Man

I'm experimenting with writing about this topic in the form of a play. I don't know if it will stay in this form, but it's what got me started, which is the most important thing.

Scene 1

EILEEN is at home sitting at her computer with her coat on, having just walked in. She is crying. She types, deletes, reads, cries, sits back. The cell phone on her desk beeps to indicate she’d just gotten a text message. She hears it and promptly cries fresh tears. She takes off her coat and settles in throughout the following.

EILEEN: I can’t. I can’t do this. It’s too much. I can’t.

{picks up phone, reads text. Closes phone, goes to computer, checks e-mail}

EILEEN: (to computer) What? What do you mean?

{picks up phone, checks text again. Texts a reply. Closes phone. Gathers herself a bit.}

EILEEN: (to audience) I’m in a cyber relationship. With some guy in a whole other part of the country. We found each other randomly, not even looking. It wasn’t a dating-service thing, or a chat room; we just found each other. Occasional e-mails were exchanged; then they became more frequent, then flirtatious, then intense, and the next thing you know I’m in love with him. All in a matter of a few months. Some guy. Some guy I’ve never spoken to. Some guy who sends pictures of himself with his dog to make sure I know he’s a sensitive guy. Some guy who tells me I’m beautiful inside and out. And for some reason we’re holding onto this...thing, this thing that has the potential to be everything or nothing at all.

Real feelings, no physical person, just energy and written words and hope and promises and heartache and longing and pain and joy and potential and disappointment and beauty. And then I sleep, and then I do it all over again the next day. How did this happen? How did I find myself in the non-arms of a non-man who I am hopelessly in real love with? How do I reconcile this at all to myself? How do I explain this to the people in my life, you know, the ones I can touch and talk to and get hugs from? I don’t want to settle. I want the whole package. This is not the whole package. But my god, it’s addictive.

In the morning I hope he’s written. When I come home I hope he’s written. In the middle of the night I hope he’s gotten up and written. I get jealous when I think he might be e-flirting with someone else. I mean, I constantly alternate between being completely ashamed at myself for finding myself in a fake world like some SIMS character, and applauding myself for taking a risk in unfamiliar territory. But mostly I walk around detached from this earth, choosing to live instead in the matrix that is my cyber universe. In cyberland, I am loved. In cyberland, I am happy. In cyberland, I am taken care of. In cyberland, I have nothing to worry about: no bills, no rent, no house-cleaning, no nothin’. And I worry that my real life is suffering. I don’t know if that’s true; I don’t want to know the answer to that because there is too much at stake. If my real life is suffering at the hands of Cyber Man, my dreams will die, and I with them.

Yes, Cyber Man has a name. It’s...um...David. There. I said it out loud to a bunch of strangers. I’m in love with a man I’ve never met and his name is David. He lives in Suburbia, USA. I’m in the city that never sleeps. He lives in a house. I live in a box. He drives a pickup. I take the subway. He has a female dog. I have a male cat. He makes me laugh. I make him guffaw. He makes me swoon. I make him weak in the knees. He loves me. I don’t know how it happened but he loves me. And I don’t know how it happened but I love him back.

You know, having not been in love in many years I understand why they call it “being in love.” Falling in love with David wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t with a thud; I didn’t hurt my head. But it was like I stepped into a nice intimate room with cushions and incense and decided that here was where I was going to be whenever I thought of David. In here. In something. In love. It just happened. I didn’t see the Room O' Love and say, “Get me in there.” I just looked around and I knew I was in love. I was in love with him longer than I would admit to him. But then so was he.

Tonight I’m crying because the week has been a hard one. A job wasn’t gotten, money wasn’t made, I saw a bad show, I had a bad meal, someone in my family died, laundry beckons, food needs to be cooked, litter boxes have to be scooped, and I was all too aware tonight that I’ve come home to...nobody. I felt like I was coming home to somebody only to be reminded that he's at his house, with his dog, in the middle of the country, and by the way, the middle of the country is not here in your apartment. And I feel so very alone. So of course, I just reached out to him, David, my Cyber Man, to make me feel better. And besides making some lame joke just now, he was there for me. He gave me a cyber kiss and a cyber squeeze and I’m cyber assuaged. Such is my reality.

Lonely in a city of 8 million people

On the subway platform earlier today, I was listening to love songs, holding back tears, feeling kinda depressed, when I noticed an older black man with a white beard, in a softball jersey holding a gym bag, drinking his coffee and looking toward the tunnel for the train, his face turned three-quarters away from me. I thought, "Funny. That looks like The Love Boat's Ted Lange. But that's only because I've been faithfully watching Celebrity Fit Club. That can't be Ted Lange. Doesn't Ted Lange live in L.A.?"

Well, you faithful readers of my blog know where this is headed by now.

It was Ted Lange.

We both had the option of going into one car or another. I purposely went into the car that he did not go into, because I didn't want to bother him with my strange "I watched you lose 25 pounds on TV as well as every Saturday night during the '70s and how do I cope with a broken heart over a love that's out of reach, huh? Ted?" energy. So I let Ted Lange go play softball somewhere and I went to the gym so I could lift weights so I could be strong. In more ways than one.

By the way, I think I know what I'm gonna be for Halloween this year. It's gonna be good, but I have to tweak and nip and tuck and see what comes out so I won't jinx it by letting the cat out of the bag yet. Last year I was Hurricane Wilma; I wore a Wilma Flintstone outfit with a raincoat and galoshes. At a Halloween party I was barely beat out for Original Costume by the White House Leak - a guy in a suit with a leek for a tie. That dude's coming from a wedding the night of this year's party so maybe I have a chance for the grand prizeola. Stay tuned.

Milestones

My pal Angel and I met for a much-needed drink at a Mexican restaurant. It never would have happened if she contacted me via the usual channels and asked me when I was next free to see her; she just called and said, "Doing anything tonight?" and we picked a time and place, and met. Which was great, because I hadn't had a chance to reflect on my crazy week. The death in my family, how I've been multitasking every single day, bouncing from one place to another, how the next ten days have me running around town from dawn to midnight. We talked about deep stuff: the death of my father, how I processed it, how the adults in my life mainly left me alone to fend for myself, which I resent, and how my recent godmother's death brought this all up. We barely moved onto the exciting topic of Angel's rehearsals for her upcoming big Broadway debut, laughing when I nicknamed her Kenny G because she had to learn how to play the saxophone in seven weeks, when suddenly the man at the table next to us threw himself down in front of his date on one knee.

*gasp*

Angel and I froze and looked at each other with wide eyes. We were mere inches away from the couple but I couldn't hear a darn thing. Is he proposing? I can't tell. She's kissing him. Maybe something's wrong. Maybe he just needed to hug her. Angel and I were silent for a long time. Finally I mouthed to her, "Is he proposing?"
"I think so," she mouthed back. "I could swear I heard him," she whispered. We didn't move. We couldn't just behave like nothing was happening. He was on his knee forever. Angel copped a peek and she spotted a ring. Wide eyes again, and a nod. "Oh my god," I mouthed. They were having a good old chat while he was on his knee. After awhile, Angel whispered, "Why'd he do it here?" Maniacal laughter. "Yeah," I agreed. "Dude. Why here?" Laughter, laughter. We were totally inches away from them, belittling their life-changing moment. Of course, we have no idea what their story is, and the bride-to-be of course didn't seem to care. The next thing you know, they both got up to leave the restaurant, beaming at us, and left their completely untouched beer and margarita.

*gasp*

They didn't touch their drinks! "He totally didn't plan to do it here," I said. "I don't think so," Angel agreed. "I wonder where they're going; to a more romantic place I hope?" "Or to have sex," she said. "Shit, can we drink those?" I wondered aloud. Alas, they were taken away. "I don't think I've ever witnessed a proposal before," I said. "Me neither," she concurred. Silence. Reflection. Disappointment that we didn't get to inherit the drinks.

After getting into another conversation groove, a whole Birthday Ruckus ensued a few tables over. There was singing, a sombrero was involved, some dessert. Angel was like, "Wow, you've been witnessing a lot of major life events this week! A death, a proposal, a birthday!"
"Yeah, it's a fucking lot."

Hm. How to finagle it so that I sleep for two days straight?

Joke's on me

A couple posts down I wrote about paying my respects to someone in my family who I had grown up with and had very mixed feelings about. I wrote it in reaction to hearing about her death, not having even known that she had a brain tumor last summer and was in a coma; such was how close we were.

I reluctantly ventured to my hometown of Queens to view her body and do a little thinking, a little praying, a little forgiving of us both, and a little mingling with family. As soon as I walked out of the subway I was struck with the familiarity of the neighborhood. What was different other than my being an adult is that when I was a kid living here, we traveled everywhere by car. In fact, subway-riding is still so foreign to my family here that the concept of it was disturbing to them ("You're taking the subway? It's late! Are you sure? It's far to the station! Let me drive you somewhere!").

So, already my two worlds, the Queens New Yorker that I was as a child and the adult Manhattanite, were colliding. I approached the funeral home and ironically thought it very quaint and inviting. It was a nice evening and I was psyching myself up to walk in, see some people, whisper condolences, sit, close my eyes, hug some people, and leave. Well, I walked in to see a packed room of people saying the rosary. Oh, no. Catholic rituals give me hives. I lingered outside the room only to see my cousin Michael, who's my age and who I hadn't seen since around 1990 even though we both attended Boston University together. Thankfully (he may have been relieved as well), he stepped out of the room and we caught up in excited whispers, hugging and pointing at people and exchanging e-mail addresses and laughing. So, Catholic rituals notwithstanding, this was already going in the right direction.

When that was (finally) over, I was able to do the thinking/praying/mingling that I envisioned, and gosh darn it, enjoyed myself so much that it didn't make sense NOT to go back the next day for at least the post-funeral lunch (it was certainly not enough make me sit through the funeral mass, however). It just didn't dawn on me that it wouldn't be an event just with the older relatives. I of course have cousins who are in my age range, who may have been "too young" for me to play with when I was a kid but who are now of course peers, and an entire clan of cousins who grew up in Chicago who I'd never gotten to know well; and acquainting myself at lunch with them either again or for the first time was a delight. I could say hello to my mom's generation of cousins who were very excited to see me (at 5'1" I towered over some!), give them regards from my mom who couldn't make it, and run back to my peeps at the "kids" table. I relished when someone would remind me of something about me or my immediate family, especially my late father, that I have absolutely no recollection of. They were filling blanks I didn't know I had.

And as I walked out of the restaurant, armed with my gym bag and my purse and my leftover Chinese food, toward the subway (after convincing my uncle that yes, it was okay, I'm gonna be okay, it's right down the block, thanks for walking me out, really, it's okay, I love you too) back to Manhattan, a few subway stops yet worlds apart, I finally realized that these things are not about the deceased. They're about the family left behind, and about reconnecting, and about remembering where you came from, who you are, why you are, why you left, and why you came back.

It was awesome.

Carmen Sandiego

After some website, scrapbook and brain-surfing, I've concluded that I've been to the following states in my life:



Vermont and New Hampshire are nagging me, because it seems odd that I wouldn't have visited them whilst studying in New England as a young lass. However, I can't for the life of me remember a definitive time I'd actually taken that self-promised autumn-foliage drive through Vermont or shopped...did I? Did I take a road trip to New Hampshire to shop at some outlet stores? Or was that Rhode Island? Crap, have I really been to Maine or do I just wish I did? I was too hopped up on Rolling Rock to remember now, alas. I could be wrong about not visiting one or two others as well. Oregon? How could I skip that altogether? Must visit Portland at the very least. And here's a disturbing thing. This fancy little "game," which, if you'd like to play, you can link to here, inexplicably excludes the very beautiful HAWAII, which I have been to, more than once. Why you gotta dis my Polynesian brothahs and sistahs, yo? Fifty states, brah, fifty.

Gray

How do you process the untimely passing of a relative who handed out guilt trips like they were napkins?

How do you mourn the death your godmother who passed judgement like it was her birthright?

How do you celebrate the life of a woman who bad-mouthed you to your family but kissed you at reunions?

How do you plan to pay your respects to a person who was mean?

How do you forgive someone who will never take responsibility for her actions?