Simple Gifts: The Good

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".

DC, OH, WV, OH, DC, NL, DE, NL, DC -- wow!

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 fifth of Jack is another subject...

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.

Patience, Young Jedi.

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!

Irony!

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.

Hope I die before I get old...!

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.

Ah, but my ass is too big!

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.

Crash Into Me... No really, please.

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?!"

Did I just say that? Of course I did!

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...

Twenty-ninth Olympics: My personal training.

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!"

Unexpected Surprises

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...

Freakin' OUCH.

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.

Go around my heart.

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?

The Liver Bone's Connected To The Head Bone?

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?

The Static.

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!