Yesterday The ExMister and I were waiting at the airport to pick up a friend. While sitting at the Sam Adams bar and having a chat, a gaggle of 8th grade morons tried to descend but were quickly turned away by the bartender.
Our conversation:
"Thank goodness you have to be 18 to sit here. Whoosh!"
"Did they say their flight was cancelled?"
"I don't know... all I heard was '...walla walla walla Kelly Clarkson...' and I ordered another round."
"TURN YOUR FUCKING CAR OFF! TURN YOUR FUCKING CAR OFF! TURN OFF THE ENGINE! STOP STOP STOP! TURN YOUR FUCKING CAR OFF!!!"
I heard this through my open windows last night. It was my Aunt Jane yelling to the man who had driven through her bedroom window. Living almost directly above the scene prevented me from fully assessing the situation and I honestly thought the man had just hit the wall where the boiler room is located.
Much to my surprise, a wobbly 60-something-year-old man had driven his car into Aunt Jane's bedroom window located just off the alley beside our apartment building.
Luckily, the bedroom was empty of people as it was not quite nine and Aunt Jane was hanging about her living room. Most importantly nobody was hurt. The driver was shaken and stirred. Aside from yelling for the man to turn the car off because smoke, exhaust and antifreeze were pouring into her bedroom, Aunt Jane was the picture of calm.
As Aunt Jane says with a laugh, her bedroom looks like Beirut without the bodies. There is glass everywhere; embedded in the opposite wall 16 feet away. Antifreeze permeates the air. Shards of mortar mix with glass. There are tire marks on her drapes. The force of the crash ripped the closet door off; strangely, the hinges and splinters of wood are still attached to the wall, but the door is not attached to ...well the door is not attached to anything. It flew across the room.
She and I cleaned all morning. Vacuuming everything, laundering, finding glass in the most bizarre places was a good release, and though I've now seen the wreckage, it's not easy to wrap your head around tire tracks on the inside of your window sill.
Moms and my sister, Talent, came to visit last week.
They stayed with me and shared an aerobed in my living room. I stumbled past the living room on my way to fuel the jets with coffee. My commotion apparently awoke the dead (read: Moms and Talent).
Talent had no shame complaining about Moms and her snoring, however, I had to jump in. "Talent! Are you kidding? When I walked past, poor Moms had one foot on the floor and and ass cheek hanging off because you had taken up the entire bed!"
Talent is 5'10". Moms is 5'4". I am 5'1". Talent dwarfs me (still I appreciate her funky stylings and the growth spurts that provide the super cool hand-me-ups.)
However, I have to share a bed with the Amazonian Snuggler for a month while we are in Europe. You'll read about it in the news: Small Sister Smothered in Sleep by Sister... Yeah, she looks nice enough, but you can tell she's just plotting how to strangle me with her curly mass of hair.
This morning a co-worker asked, "Is your last name Power or PowerS?"
"It takes two wings to fly, buddy."
Thank you, I'm here all week.
************
Alright, alright... I've been writing like a 15 year-old learning to drive stick: start stop start sputter stop lurch start.
I'm working on it and here's a little catch-up on all that may or may not be Super.
The past few months have been tornado-like. Hopefully it's scooted past and I'm not just blindly walking around in quiet of the eye. In no particular order I went to Europe, got a new job, lost an uncle to a terribly progressive cancer, gotten divorced, remained best friends despite divorcing, hidden from friends and family so as not to cause worry, cleared away the cobwebs and spent a lot of time reassuring loved ones that I am, in fact, okay.
And I am okay. Remarkably brightly looking ahead, pressing on and smiling to knock 'em dead.
Come July my sister, Talent, and I are jetting off to Europe for a month. I can't believe we're doing it and the reality is finally settling in. And I could not be more excited! Details coming soon. Patience, Young Jedi's.
Woo-hooo DC Blogs!
Here I was thinking about putting my pen in my pocket indefinitely and a shout out from DC Blogs has given me renewed hope. l
Today I called a cutie to say, "You won't believe my day. It's been so very cool! You know how yesterday I told you about trying to get a cab in Dupont? Well, I have this blog and there's this website... and wow, now that I think about it, this sounds a hell of allot geekier than I thought it would. Ah, hell, regardless... Not only did I meet the Mayor and asked a fabulously pertinent question that made me seem super smart, but DC Blogs cited me on it's main page!."
Mayor Fenty is quite a hottie and I never would have guessed from seeing him on television.
It's possibly I shouldn't equate meeting the Mayor in a small intimate setting with being cited on DC Blogs, but really I'm not sure which is more exciting.
This is what I wished had happened:
After having lunch at a lovely restaurant and thinking, "Well, today was okay. I'm okay. I kick ass and that wasn't too bad.", I walked to Dupont Circle to hop on a bus going home. I waited, waited and waited some more and decided perhaps my cards pointed to a cab.
My little arm shot up and waved away. The first cabby stopped only to tell me my fare was not worth his time. Apparently the next three agreed with his logic and all drove off with some semblance of "No, no, I can't go there."
The fourth denial led me to yell, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WHAT KIND OF DICK DOES IT TAKE TO GET A FUCKING CAB IN DUPONT CIRCLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DAY?"
As I turned around to re-man my post at the corner, I looked up to see a gay couple eyes wide and mouths agape, obviously mortified at my outburst. Realizing what I'd just done, I got a little embarrassed; explaining "I'm sorry! I got divorced this morning."
The taller of the two sized me up and said, "Oh honey! We're gonna get you a cab!" as he started flailing his arms at any and all cars that drove past.
I gotta tell ya... if you ever need a cab in Dupont Circle the only way to hail one is with two queens on a mission of No Man Left Behind. I've never gotten home so quickly.
Instead, I was truly passed up by four cabbies and definitely yelled the whole "jfc blah blah dick in dupont" and then waited for-fucking-ever only to be charged a double fare. Karma anyone? Regardless, maybe I'll stick something like that in my next book. I really think we all need a fairy-god-mother and if you're ever going to find one, don't you think your chances are better in Dupont Circle?
Truly, I believe the following to be one of my funniest moments ever; however, those without country upbringing, sensibility and sense of humor, may not find the belly laugh. My family still refers to this line, (albeit after a few drinks) while pointing at their own front yards.
*******
Upon arriving at my friend's home in a suburb just outside of Philadelphia, I was not immediately welcomed with hugs and booze. Instead, my friends rapidly apologized for the disarray and neglect of the neighbor's house and yard, noting specifically the not one, not two, but three cars sitting atop cinder blocks.
They ended the apology with, "As you can see by the flag in the window... he's from West Virginia."
Rather than embarrass everybody by noting I grew up in West-By-God, I simply said, "Well, you can take the man out of West Virginia, but you can't take the car out of his yard."
Allergy insanity, already? Perhaps somebody should have warned me about this fifteenth day of March. "Beware the ides of March, dear Super, your head may rupture. Get thee to the apothecary, petition for Zyrtec!"
I've written about it before... Claritin is a joke. "Claritin Clear" my ass - OF COURSE YOU'RE CLEAR, THE PILLS ARE MADE OF SUGAR. Zyrtec is the only thing that works to fight super allergies and at $50 smackers (that I just don't have), I am left with a headache lasting 3 days. Claritin ends up being just as expensive, but the crap couldn't prevent an allergy attack in Antarctica. The difference is you can buy Claritin a few pills at a time which is a little more reasonable for my pocketbook.
******
"Oops, I dropped my cape!" The normal solution is to bend over and retrieve it. However, without Zyrtec, bending over results in blinding pain right behind my eyes. I see dead people. And those people are the insurance assholes who tell me Claritin is an over-the-counter alternative to Zyrtec.
That's like trying to buy a porche and being told, "Here ya' go! This lovely 1983 Oldsmobile Firenza is fabulous. You'll never know the difference!"
Here is the third installment of my European trip. This is the final email sent to my family and friends, but I'm sure I'll have more to tell as I remember.
On Sunday, I spoke to my friend in Germany whom I was supposed to visit. Mind you, it was my birthday and I was a bit put off that he cancelled citing "a nasty breakup with his girlfriend." I wanted to say, "Now, lookey here, Mister, this kinda messes up my trip!" but, of course, I told him it was fine and I understood.
Then I hung up the phone and thought to myself, "Well, screw it! I'll go to Paris." So I did.
My friend, Arrogant Dutchman (AD), asked about my Germany plans and I told him the details and I'd decided to go to Paris. He was a bit surprised at my spontaneity, but offered to go along to Paris! Very cool of him seeing as how he speaks French and knows the city quite well. And I don't speak French and have never been to the city. We jumped a four hour train to Pareee and were there by the afternoon.
Straight to the Louvre where quite frankly, I was overwhelmed. First of all, there were so many people (read: idiots) being stupid. Pushing, shoving, stopping in the middle of a stairway, IDIOTS. Mostly, I enjoyed the David room -amazing HUGE paintings of historical events. Unbelievable. I was somewhat underwhelmed by the Mona Lisa; quite honestly all those people making a scene kinda detracts from the experience; the same was true for the Venus. Okay, okay... truth be told, I'd worn a pair of socks in which the seam rubbed my baby toe raw and I could hardly stand it. At one point, AD stopped after a flight of stairs and asked what was wrong with my face. I didn't know what he meant until he said every time we approached stairs my face would tense up. I told him I might need to stop a moment to cut off my baby toe. Knowing my time in Paris was pressed, I forced a smile and kept on going.
After the Louvre closed, I needed medication for my ailing foot. Medication comes in the form of alcohol, and with all the excitement and pain, I drank far too much at THE COOLEST BAR EVER. This bar was nothing but wine and books (read: HEAVEN!).
The next day was gorgeous. Mid-50s and sunshine prompted sunglasses (the hangover may have insisted the sunglasses), and grabbing a sandwich for a morning in the park. AD read a newspaper and seeing as how I can't read French, I just ate my sandwich and watched people. Mostly it was people making out, but I did make two observations: French men are gross; French women posses something 'special' that I can only hope for. Seriously, French men are lacking in hygiene and manners and do not NOT NOT deserve those beautiful French women. TWICE, while walking the streets, French men made kissy noises at me. The first time, AD laughed; the second time the offenders were three 16-ish looking boys, so AD smiled and put his arm around me. After the boys passed AD had the biggest laugh about the whole thing. I wanted to throw him into the Seine for his shenanigans.
I asked AD about what makes French women so 'special' and we agreed it's just something inexplicable. This leads me to the best moment I had in Paris. I WAS STOPPED BY AN ITALIAN WOMAN TRYING TO ASK ME DIRECTIONS IN FRENCH. An Italian woman thought I was French. I looked at AD and said, "You realize what just happened?" and he said something like, "Yeah, we won't be able to fit your giant head back on the train."
Then to the Museum D'Orsay. This museum ranked up there with the Van Gogh museum for me. It was beautiful itself, laid out well, and just nice to be in. Not to mention, they had four paintings of a series of 26 by Monet. Two of the cathedral paintings are in the DC National Gallery of Art and I absolutely love them. To see four more of the series took my breath away and I was a little overwhelmed. I did not know the paintings were housed in the D'Orsay and I was taken aback.
The next day was just wandering around the city until taking the train back to Amsterdam just in time to make it to a concert at the Concergebouw Orchestra! I know the Concertgebouw for a couple of reasons: 1) I worked at a classical music station and many of my favorite classical music recordings were produced there; 2) The acoustics are known worldwide for being near perfect. Amazing. Afterwards, I met up with Awout, Suzann and AD at a pub right by the concert hall. There were a bunch of the musicians from the concert there and it was just a very great time.
Thursday I made it (finally!) to the Rijksmuseum, and was fully relieved to find it under construction. It only took a couple of hours to make it through the limited collection and as I had grabbed my empty shoulder bag, I decided I needed two things before leaving Europe: books and music. I stopped into the coolest music store, Concerto, and bought a bundle of music that I'd heard while there, but isn't available in the States. Then I went to a bookstore and filled my bag with bookish treats. Seeing as how I'd read all of my books on the trains, it was necessary. Really.
Again, dinner and drinks with my new friends (who tried to talk me into staying! ha!) and a very very nice way to end an amazing trip.
Now I just have to plan my return...
Much love to all!
Super
Email update #2 from Super's European Adventures... Stay tuned, I throw a curve ball in update #3!
Hallo!
Today's email update will be a little shorter and somewhat a preview of what I've been up to.
What a few busy days!
Friday was amazing as I took the train to Lieden, a small college town about 30-40 minutes outside of town. Awout, Suzann's boyfriend, is a scholar at the law school there and offered to show me around. At first I was skeptical, wondering what could be so special about it, but it may have been the most charming city I have ever witnessed. There was a certain glow about the town giving it a magical feel. This is mostly a town made of the university, however, it is from where the Pilgrims came. Their version of 'old' is far better than ours! And all the tiny houses along the canals made it all a little bit dreamy at twilight. After Leiden, Arrogant Dutchman and I went to the National Ballet which was a little kitchy, but the dancing and orchestra were quite good.
Saturday morning began early as Arrogant Dutchman (AD) and I took the train about an hour outside of Amsterdam to Wegeningen and visited his mother and father, Tessa and Henk. As we were putting our coats on to go to the train station AD looks at me with a little worry and says, "You DO know how to cycle, right?"
Honestly, the only way I could answer was, "I... I... I'm not sure." The trouble on his face was disconcerting but we pressed on.
Tessa took us to the National Park where we rode bicycles to a fabulous museum in the middle of the forest. The way it works is, there are all these bicycles that belong to the park and you pick one out and ride around all day or ride to the museum. AD and I had another shared moment of panic when we could not find a bicycle with pedals I could reach. There was a brief time of me eyeballing a kids bicycle and saying, "Oh please please please NO." Then, Tessa spotted a tandem bike and suggested AD and I ride that. Sheer panic struck his face and it became his mission to find me my own.
After finding a fit, I then had to mount and ride the damn thing. Mind you, I have not been on a bike since possibly high school... fifteen years. It was also a challenge as I was bundled up in my long winter coat. I knew I was going to die.
However, obviously, I did not die and in fact did not even crash! And I only got caught up in one tree. I won't elaborate... it's too hard to explain how I managed to find myself stuck in the branches of a tree not even close to the paved trail.
We pedaled away and arrived at the Kroller-Muller Museum which is: A magnificent amalgamation of art, architecture and nature. Amidst unspoilt natural surroundings, the Kröller-Müller Museums collection centres on the extensive collection of works by Vincent van Gogh and the world famous sculpture garden.
And there was this little gem of which a print hangs in my kitchen. I'm so disgusted with the print after seeing the real thing...
That was the majority of the day, then they had me over for dinner for a bit of Dutch lifestyle. Very nice time but my ass hurts from the bicycle. But yes, I. RODE. A. BICYCLE. AND. DID. NOT. DIE.
More to come!
Love,
Super
After much thought, I've decided not to hang up my cape and retire the blog. I'm back from Europe and can not wait for my next visit! To catch you up, here is an email I sent to family and friends while there. I will follow with other email instalments made during my visit.
Hello!
I just wanted to check in and let you know I'm doing quite well with my trip. The jet lag was horrible due to not one, not two but THREE babies crying the entire flight over. I felt badly for the babies, and quite frankly, having taken an Ambien with a glass of wine made me loopy. With the racket, drugs and wine I may or may not have been a disaster upon arrival. My schedule is still a bit wonky, but I'm working it out.
Wednesday I wandered around the city a bit and visited a couple of churches. The first church was your typical gaudy monstrosity that leaves you wondering just what to gawk at next. The second church I visited was a very neat 'hidden' Catholic church. It was built inside the attics of three houses during the prosecution of the Catholics. From the outside, it looks like a normal row of houses, but inside and up a windy staircase there is a large church. There were even two balconies and an organ! The organ was very cool as it was quite small; only 4 1/2 octaves and the keys and pipes were tiny.
Here I was going to try to find a clever way to segue into "The Miracle of Amsterdam", but really, it's too strange. Regardless, I want to tell the story because it's all over here. I'm going to get this wrong, but here goes anyhow... Waaaaaaaay back when, there was a man on his deathbed who a priest visited to administer the sacrament. The man vomited up the sacrament into a chamber pot. When the contents of the pot were dumped into the garbage and incinerated, everything was burned except the pristine sacrament. My reaction is along the lines of "Yuck.", but the people here think it's a pretty great miracle.
Yesterday, I spent the day at the Van Gogh museum and if I get the chance, I want to re-visit before I leave here! The museum was phenomenal and seeing so many impressionist works was beautiful! I truly love Van Gogh and it was the best collection I could have hoped for. After the museum closed, I met up with my friend, Arrogant Dutchman, and four of his (whom I now consider MY friends, as well!) friends for dinner and drinking. It was a lot of fun and they were all great people. One girl, Suzanne, was particularly nice and we compared our political party systems. Quite interesting; The Netherlands has many parties and smart voters have to think more strategically rather than just voting their heart, so to speak. Otherwise, the Parliament can end up with a very divided vote and nothing will get accomplished.
Today I am going to the Rijksmuseum and will have more to report after that!
Much love,
Super
While talking to Radio Goddess this morning, she asked, "Have you packed yet?"
I informed her "Of course not; I wouldn't have any clothes to wear. However, I did get out my little red suitcase. There it sits, empty and alone in the corner... you know, like the emo kids."
For Christmas my eighteenth tumultuous, angry and parental-despising year, I was given luggage.
I took it as a hint and promptly burst into tears.
The lesson this time was: Sometimes a banana is just a banana.
Recently inspired by Defective Yeti's inspiration, I have been thinking about gifts: The good, the bad, and the ugly.
I begin with The Good:
Since my teenage years, I have tried to be thoughtful when giving gifts and I truly do believe "it is the thought that counts." That is not to be taken as, any gift is a good gift, simply it seems better to use your noodle than to wrap up brass candlesticks because you think they are nice. Rather, a little thought goes a long way.
This was a hard lesson learned when I was a 14-year-old band geek who did not understand why my mom insisted on buying crates and crates of citrus fruit every year for our yearly uniform fundraiser. She would then divvy the fruit into baskets and deliver them to all the old people she knew. It was horribly time consuming and I hated every part of being her helper, from filling out the sales forms to tying cellophane around those damn baskets.
Finally, it became all I could take and upon the thought this tedious task was keeping me from my homework, I asked, "Why do you do this every year?! Why can't you just buy normal gifts like scented candles?! Fruit is stupid and this sucks."
My mother looked at me and sighed while shaking her head with the explanation, "The people we make these baskets for are on fixed incomes and can not afford to buy produce in the winter. I choose this as a gift in order to help them get vitamins in their diet."
I was silent. From then on I have tried to put a little more thought into the true meaning of the word "Gift".
The next few weeks will be a whirlwind for sure. The Chariot has been returned and this weekend The Mister and I are popping in to see the fams in Ohio and West Virginia. The Mister will fly back on Monday and I'll stick around for a little more quality time. It will be nice to see my Papaw now he is home after his heart attack. Papaw celebrated his 93rd birthday this past Friday and my well wishes are overdue!
After I return to DC, it will be time to pack up and zoom across the great blue ocean for my first solo-vacation. Although I will be staying with friends for most of the time, it is a big adventure as I have never done anything like this.
"Cultural Recuperation" might be a good way to look at it (thanks AD), and I am truly looking forward to time in museums, music halls, cafes and pubs. It's a bit scary but also exciting.
I will try to blog when I can and in the meantime, I send you my best wishes!
~Super
A woman in Brazil had a seventeen pound baby.
I went to the doctor this weekend for a lovely sinus infection. While there, I weighed in at a buck and a penny. 1-0-1, people.
The aforementioned baby (read: Goliath) is almost a FIFTH of me. Something like that would surely split a person my size in half.
Wow.
I miss Wino and Capitall, Drinky and Red.
I'll be heading towards the Dubbya Vee (gotta see my Papaw!) and then to Ohio in a couple of weeks after I finish up a job (which, by the by, may keep my blogging a bit sporadic). Hope of hopes I get to visit with them!
And it's strange... I keep having this feeling something good is coming towards Capitall... or that it already has. I had a dream about her a few weeks ago but can't bring myself to tell her of it for fear of jinxing. Well, I also don't want to end up in a padded room, either.
I'm off to work!
Opera and I decided to delve into Georgetown yesterday for our weekly "Charter Members of the Glover Park Ladies Who Lunch Club" meeting. Since we were there, I thought it best to go ahead and renew my driver's license as it expires in a couple of weeks.
After getting my picture taken and visiting some very pretty handbags at the Banana Republic, we went to Clyde's for a cup of coffee.
On top of having a chariot crash, then having to get my license renewed, the bar staff at Clyde's was playing the entire album 'Crash' by the Dave Matthews Band. When I realized what I was hearing, coffee almost made it's way out my nose.
How's that for mockery on a Tuesday afternoon!? It's times like these you have to laugh. Of course, I laugh at just about everything, but sometimes, Life makes me snort, too.
An open letter to those who said I would hurt the worst on Day Three after my chariot crash.
Dear People Who Told Me So,
Fucking ouch. You were right.
Sincerely,
Super
If this is what it feels like to be old, I am going to hire a hit man for myself ASAP. I've always said "At the first sign of craziness, senility, menopause, or fat that just won't go away, I will be plunking down the cashola for a nice sweet killer to take me down swiftly". Sometime around 35, I'm guessing. However, the way 2007 is shaping up, I ought to be a little pile of ashes around October.
My poor Chariot has been collected by the surgeons for repairs. Who knows how long the Chariot will be in shop; she's a great set of wheels who in my time of need protected me well.
In the meantime, my french speaking sister, Talent, told me "chariot" means "carriage" or rather, "shopping cart" in the language of lovers. Talent then said, "Every time you say 'chariot' I think of The Mister pushing you around in a buggy at the grocery store!"
Although I'm a petite Super, I'm pretty sure my ba-donk-a-donk will never again fit in those wretched metal seats. Still, it's a funny image.
Adding insult to injury I was crashed into on my way to work Saturday evening.
The Mister is in Oh, Canada, and Aunt Jane took me in last night with hugs, wine, smoke and love. Aunt Jane rocks.
I woke up this morning feeling as if I'd been hit by a car.
Oh, yeah...
I'm fine-ish; just bumped, banged and bruised. Actually, I'm a bit more stiff than anticipated. Eh, guess the body doesn't bounce back the way it used to. The Chariot returned me safely home and although she will need surgery, she is somewhat okay. (The car that crashed into me was SCRUNCHED.)
You know what impressed me the most aside from the Fine German Engineering? I was cool, calm and collected. If you had asked me a week ago what my reaction would have been, there is no doubt I would have said, "On my knees hysterically thanking sweet baby jeesus for sparing my soul... And begging somebody -anybody- for Valium, because for the love of everything sacred, COULDN'T THEY SEE I NEEDED IT?!"
It is most apparent, even to myself, I have a problem with saying too much. Or saying the 'wrong thing' or even just saying anything. What boggles me is how I, soft-spoken and quiet, let my words get me into so much trouble. Sure I may be goofy and funny, but for the most part I am quite introspective.
So how on earth do I make such messes? Perhaps, it is my honesty?
Ah, hell, it doesn't matter.
I will offer my apologies with sincerity and hope forgiveness will come. Without going into details, I offended a friend by poorly explaining my thoughts on friendship. I did one helluva piss poor job and I do hope to make a better go of it here...
You see, there is so much hurt in me right now, I feel the inherent need to protect myself. Within this protection I will like, adore, love my friends, BUT will keep a distance and try not to care about how they feel towards me. In short, I won't let myself get caught up in the dance of "does she like me?", "what if I do this?", "was that offensive?". Getting wrapped in these thoughts only leaves me open to more hurt.
I am taking the time to just be myself and keep people at arms distance. BUT, maybe it wasn't too smart on my part to tell this to a truly good friend.
"Blah blah blah... of course I don't care what you think of me... stupid stupid stupid... at this point in my life, I don't think I ought to... dumb dumb dumb..."
In honor of my apparent retardation, the lyrics to John Mayer's "My Stupid Mouth" (granted, this is about a date, but it fits nonetheless).
MY STUPID MOUTH:
My stupid mouth
Has got me in trouble
I said too much again
To a date over dinner yesterday
And I could see
She was offended
She said "well anyway..."
Just dying for a subject change
Oh, it's another social casualty
Score one more for me
How could I forget?
Mama said "think before speaking"
No filter in my head
Oh, what's a boy to do
I guess he better find one soon
We bit our lips
She looked out the window
Rolling tiny balls of napkin paper
I played a quick game of chess with the salt and pepper shaker
And I could see clearly, An indelible line was drawn
Between what was good, what JUST slipped out and what went wrong
Oh, the way she feels about me has changed
Thanks for playing, try again.
How could I forget?
Mama said "think before speaking"
No filter in my head
Oh, what's a boy to do
I guess he better find one
I'm never speaking up again
It only hurts me
I'd rather be a mystery
Than she desert me
Oh I'm never speaking up again
Starting now
One more thing
Why is it my fault?
So maybe I try too hard
But it's all because of this desire
I just wanna be liked
I just wanna be funny
Looks like the jokes on me
So call me captain backfire
I'm never speaking up again
it only hurts me
I'd rather be a mystery
than she desert me
Oh I'm never speaking up again
Starting now, starting now...
Next month I will be marking my 29th birthday with a bit of an European vacation. I will be travelling alone, but luckily, have great friends with which to stay. My travels will take me to The Netherlands and Germany.
Approximately one month ago, I began my Training. My lungs and liver are terrified of what is to come for 10 days in February. My lungs are still unsure of whether or not to partake which has shocked my friends into a banter of, "Super-stoner won't smoke in Amsterdam?! What?! I feel like I don't even know you."
The thing holding me back from partaking in Amsterdam is I would be partaking alone; a very scary prospect if you cut me open and ask my bronchial tubes. A friend of mine who lives in Amsterdam (Arrogant Dutchman) has told me he and his friends often laugh at the tourists sitting or sprawling on the sidewalks. My friend does not smoke the stank (I know!) and therefore, I'm just a bit weary of the whole thing. Who will fish me out of the canal?
As far as my liver is concerned, the training is in full swing. The Mister has complimented my diligence and even bragged to somebody, "Little Super is putting away about 3 beers a day." The person to whom he said this lived in Germany for many years and was not impressed until he added, "She only weighs a super 100 pounds." Before you get concerned, I'm not doing this EVERY day and some days it's less... some days more. Regardless, I'm not getting tanked every night or anything, I'm just preparing my system for what is about to come.
I have had the occasional day when my liver says, "Sweet baby jeebus, Super, can you lay off the sauce for just one night?" Alack, alas, I must point to my midsection and say, "NO, dear liver, Mama knows best. Now open up and take your medicine!"
Yesterday afternoon, I called my friend, Opera, to see if she was home. Since she moved up the street, we have "gone to lunch" every couple of weeks. Thus we have named ourselves The Charter Members of the Glover Park Ladies Who Lunch Club. We don't always lunch, are not necessarily 'ladies', and two people do not really constitute a 'club'; however, it is always a nice time.
Usually we set our meetings up a week in advance, but as I needed to run errands in the neighborhood, I reached out, touched face and made contact with Opera. We popped into the CVS, the post office and halfway to Town Hall, Opera says, "How do you feel about Sushi-Ko?"
We were unsure if it was open for lunch, but turned heel to check it out. Lo and behold they were open and upon being seated we discovered they were participating in Restaraunt Week. Sushi-Ko definitely went above and beyond, and Opera and I were truly impressed.
Not only did I chance upon a lovely afternoon with a great friend, a lucky trip to Sushi-Ko made for a perfectly super day.
*********************
In the meantime, The Mister is off to Whistler, British Columbia. After returning home from his airport dropoff I decided to check my email. Apparently, I was most certainly not the only person concerned he may fly off the side of a mountain.
Written in his best handwriting, on the desk notepad was this statement:
In the event of my death, I, The Mister, leave all my posessions to Super Powers.
Signed and dated. HA!! I've got it in writing! Although the joke may be on me because half of nothing...
How much is a Super to shoulder?! Yes I am going through a difficult time, but last night's event really took the cake on the "Pain Factor" scale. 
First the disaster that is my marriage.
Then my Papaw has a heart attack.
And now I can put a fucking Ohio State Buckeye cherry on top.
You know... I did not necessarily think I would pop open washingtonpost.com and find THIS picture right smack in front of me. For the love of sweet baby jeebus, can't a girl ignore her problems without pictorial reminders first thing in the morning?
Damn, that's cold. Washingtonpost.com, I take it personally.
Today my Papaw had a 'mild' heart attack; he is 92. Wow, that was hard to write.
The fact is, I can not think about anything happening to my Papaw. You see, he is my Heart. I grew up no more than 200 yards from his house and as close as that may seem, I already lost my Mamaw and just can't imagine this happening. Sure, he's 92, but he's my Papaw... This is just too much. Too much.
I feel like I can't shoulder the weight; like it's just one thing after another and I am ridiculously small.
My brother said he believes Papaw will be fine for this go-around. I say, "When you are 92 years old, how long is a 'go-around'?." Call me Defeatist, if you will. I am a realist. Papaw signed up for three tours in WWII. He had a quadruple bi-pass in the early Eighties. In 2004, at 89, both of his knees were replaced at the same time. He has endured, accomplished and stood for more than any person I know. Papaw is my Heart; the man to whom I have and will compare all others.
And I am too far away for consolation. I have begun writing a tribute, homage, eulogy, whatever... and I just can't get it right.
Perhaps when I sober up... I don't know. Perhaps when he moves on. There is a point when you think "Maybe it is just better this way..." And then the guilt settles in.
He is lucid. He is strong. He has had an amazing life with the expansion going as far as great-grand children.
I don't know... I am a disaster right now. I'm dizzy with solitude and all I want is Peace. Or rather, sometimes I want a hug. Who knows?
What the hell was I thinking?
Oh yes... Yesterday, I went to the doctor for my 29,000 mile tune-up. I'm Super healthy and thought I would celebrate with a beer or five.
Upon learning I have a perfect liver, it seemed logical to really see what she can do.
How is it that destroying my liver makes my head hurt so badly?
My sadness about separating from The Mister comes in waves and this morning there is a small tsunami washing over me. Thank goodness it is Thursday! As I've mentioned before Thursday is my favorite day of the week and today, I need all the help I can get.
Mostly, it becomes difficult to face forward and see the bright side when I'm tired and last night I couldn't sleep. My guess is I should not write things like what I am about to, because The Mister is not comfortable. However, this is my blog.
...
It makes me so sad to know The Mister doesn't seem to think I am worth the effort. Frankly, that is what hurts the most. Knowing that in order to be together, he expects me to live his life and what I may want or need does not matter. I know I'm being vague, but specifics aren't important. Truthfully, it is nobody's business and this is all I am comfortable putting out there. Essentially, it comes down to this: What he wants has changed; what I want has not.
And thus The Static.
This endeavor has been difficult in explanations to family and friends because The Mister and I are so good together. We have fun and care deeply for each other. One friend asked, "I am a bit confused though, if you are still living together and still best friends, then what is the problem?" I wish beyond my biggest dreams I could answer that as simply as it sounds.
There is a large amount of self-sacrifice when it comes to marriage: The key is knowing what parts of Self are worth Sacrificing. I got it all wrong, as did The Mister. The flipside of self-sacrifice is selfishness. Selfishness does not have to be intentional or malicious; it can be oblivious and well-intentioned, "I know what is best...". No matter, it is still selfish. Perhaps, one party has been a bit selfish all along and the other has decided it's now their turn. I do not blame either of us and at the same time blame us both. We created this mess together.
What friends and family can't seem to wrap their heads around is our problems have been going on for years. We've only been married four... Maybe it is naive to think the Mister and I can remain friends, but I believe it. My heart could not take it if he did not want to be my friend. I'm tough, but I think that might break me. Thankfully, The Mister has said (and shown) he wants to remain friends as well. Perhaps for this blog, I will have to start referring to him as "The Artist Formerly Known As The Mister" or more simply, The Former.
At the very core, I am truly happy, though. I have always held true people are inherently Happy or Sad. I am a happy person who can throw in the towel and just laugh at the wreckage. Knowing The Mister will always be a best friend is enough to have made it all worthwhile. We don't argue or fight and this has all been quite dignified. (With the exception of one misguided drunken evening in Adams Morgan where I may have ended up hand and knees on the ground having fallen -POOF!- between two cars after an argument in a bar. Quite classy. Decidedly not one of my finer moments.) However, if I can manage to make it through this with a little pride...
I mean to say, I find this all quite embarrassing. I am so young! Perhaps that is a large part of the problem. Actually, I'm fairly certain it is.
The matter of Friends is also a point of anxiety. I have had some quite disappointing and quite uplifting reactions. Friends who say without blinking, "I love you both and will be whatever you may need" make me well with emotion. Friends who imply they have bigger fish to fry are not friends and make me want to respond, "Well fuck you, too." Instead, they are met with silence. When the chips are down, you learn so much. Many of the people I considered friends had come with The Mister. It is obvious their loyalties lie with him, as they should, but I do wish they could see The Mister and I are not on opposite sides. The Mister and I are both fighting battles, just not against each other.
My most current concern is where I go next. Although I have been working at a local radio station, it is not full time. In many ways it would make sense to pick up a backpack full of books and go back to school. I would love to teach English, but money is quite the concern for this Super. Where to live is also a concern and I am not sure Washington is the place to figure it all out. As long as I can remember, living abroad has piqued my interest. However, Ohio feels safe. I can't help but laugh at that dichotomy!
At this point, it is easy to admit I have much trepidation at the waters ahead. There is a vast ocean and I've only just stuck in my toes.
But no worries, dear readers. Today is Thursday; a day that rocks my week and propels me into a better spirit! Hmmm... Strangely enough, just writing that little bit up there has made me feel a bit more like my perky self! There is something to be said for 'getting it off your chest"... Even if my chest can't stand losing much of anything, I still feel a bit improved!
