Mumbles & Grumbles

Linda

2009-08-16T15:57:00.000-07:00

Linda is a slip of a woman; a tiny little 5 foot, 89 pound 65 year old southern gal. She's divorced, drives a silver convertible mustang with a trunk full of cleaning supplies and a glass of sweet tea in the cupholder. She is called the Domestic Diva and cleans some of the nicest houses in Hilton Head. When she found out we didn't have a vacuum, she gave us one. She used to visit us every day at the jewelry store I worked at; she is my former boss' best friend. Some times she would join us for brek-ast (that's how she pronounces it), sometimes she'd bring her tiny little poodle as well.
Last week I found out that Linda has bone, liver, and brain cancer. And no health insurance. Friends are looking after her and doing her housekeeping work and donating the money that they get paid for it in hopes to be able to pay for her medical care.
Oh, Linda. I love ya, ya old bat.

George

2009-08-16T15:51:00.001-07:00

The other day, for some reason, I thought about George. George was a former boss' attorney. Said boss & attorney thought of themselves as Hunter S. Thompson & his attorney in Fear & Loathing.
George was a short-ish man with an afro who also slept in a coffin. The last time I saw him he was teaching me how to ride his scooter through a parking lot. Not the Vespa kind of retro scooter, but the kind kids stand on & ride around the neighborhood. George liked this mode of transportation because you could fold it up when you went to court. I wonder who reperesented him for the DUI he got that landed him as a scooter for mode of transportation.

Since I'm Here

2008-12-28T05:23:00.000-08:00

I might as well post another one that's been floating around my brain.

Baking.

I love to bake. Cookies, pies, cakes. Sweet, gooey parcels of deliciousness.

And I finally figured out why. I read it in a book, and it was an epiphany. It also totally relates to why I don't like to cook.

To bake something and have it come out close to perfection, you absolutely MUST follow the directions. Sure, you can deviate *a little*; throw in some toasted coconut here, some pecans there, but the basic of the recipe cannot be fucked with or it will be a disaster. Perfectly portioned teaspoonfuls must be put in in the correct amount and order. Mixing and baking instructions have got to be followed as well or it won't turn out right. There's a well written plan, and it has to be adhered to.

Baking feeds my obsessive need for order. Cooking is chaos. A pinch of this, toss in some of that... That no work for me.

Also, baked goods make people happy. And underneath it all, we all just want to be happy, non?

Universe, Meet Shoebox

2008-12-28T04:55:00.000-08:00

I think this one MUST have to fall under the heading of Six Degrees of Separation (Plus or minus a degree). It's a little convoluted, so try to keep up. It starts in October 2006 and ends in December 2008. With lots of time gaps in between.

Let's begin in Oct. 06.

Lisa Wigger & I did the Breast Cancer 3 Day walk. 3 days, 60 miles. Lots of pain, lots of fun, all for a good cause. There are walkers and there are crew members. The crew are fantastic motivators. Some of them drive around in what are called Sweep Vans, dressed up in themes. They check on each & every one of the walkers, and if you can't make it any further, give them the thumbs down, and they'll take you back to camp. There's also motivator type members, who pop up at intervals throughout the course, and clap, shout, dance, etc- anything to give you that third, fourth, hundredth wind to keep you going. They're mostly women, but there was one guy that really stuck out to me. He was about my age, big, build, bald dude who was always in some kind of crazy get up that usually involved a bra. Just standing on the sidelines, cheering us on, in his bra (bro?). Lisa, myself, and I'm pretty sure everyone else, really got a kick out of him.

January 07:

Lisa moves away to Puerto Rico and I miss her like crazy.

Next, rewind (or fast forward to, depends on how you look at things) to July 07:

I'm living in Hilton Head, and came down to visit for the July 4th weekend. Stayed with my friends Dana & Mike in St. Pete. We've organized a girls night out in St. Pete. Among other friends are Shannon (who is my friend Adam's fiancee) and her friend Laura. Long story short, the night was a bit of a disaster- too many Chiefs, not enough Indians, but I still had a good time; met some new people, had some laughs, whatevs.

Now we're in 2008. October, I believe.

I find out Shannon and Laura are doing the 3 Day. I'm thrilled for them, because I know that even though it's one of the hardest things to do, it's worth it all. I wasn't able to get down to closing ceremonies for a solid cryfest, but I was there in spirit, shoe raised in my backyard. I'm sure my neighbors think I'm nuts.

November 08:

I am friends with Shannon also on Facebook, and some pictures of the 3 Day get posted by her friend Laura. I remember Laura & send a friend request, and start looking through the pictures; they brought back so many memories, and the moments are captured beautifully. But who's one there, but the big bra(o?) wearing dude. And he's tagged, which means he's on Facebook. I make a comment that he was at ours as well, and he was awesome. I get a friend request from him and accept it. I am now friends with Dusty Showers, which it says on my home page.
Lisa Wigger chimes in and makes a comment about his name (pot, meet kettle). There's a bit of friendly back & forth, when I hop in & tell her that she knows him too!!
Just when I thought the universe COULDN'T get any smaller, a picture comment comes through on one of my snaps from my Scottish friend, Ryan. Ryan is a superintendent at the same property as my husband. He & his wife are friends of ours for many years. And. He plays soccer with Dusty.
And, like the best of all infomercials say, WAIT! There's more. I do believe I initially met Lisa at Ryan's Christmas party.

....Shoebox....

File Under WTF

2008-03-22T10:51:00.000-07:00

In high school I had a best friend named Gordie. For many years we palled around town, riding around in his parents' Nissan Multi getting into anything and everything. As with most friendships we lost touch over the years; though we'd reconnect every so often. He went off to music school and I went to jewelry school. He always made the effort to reconnect whenever I would fly into town, and last year he told me he was coming to Orlando on his way to South Beach for some DJ conference. So I hopped in my car and went to meet up with my old friend Gordie and his friends.
When they pulled into the parking lot where I was to meet them, the years disappeared. It was Gord, his friend Scott, and his friend Scott's girlfriend, Brenda. We decided to go grab some dinner and drinks, and sat for hours at Bahama Breeze and shot the shit. I had never met Scott or Brenda before, but it was really like sitting around with old friends- despite the fact that I was on a covert spy mission to find out if my girlfriend actually had a hope of getting back together with Scott (they had broken up years ago and she had since realized that it was a huge mistake). After dinner we went on the hunt for a hotel. A cheap hotel. We found one. It was one of those Days Inns that smell like dead hookers, and that you sleep on top of the sheets for fear of getting some kind of skin disease. There were ants on every surface and rather curious holes at opportune places in the bathroom walls. But whathtehell, it was like 50 bucks a night. So we dumped our stuff, made & drank some cocktails, then went out on foot to find something to do. We found Pirate Mini Golf. Brenda, Gord, Scott & I played and totally went back to old days in just being generally reckless goofs- throwing clubs, trying to hit balls all over the place, laughing like idiots.
When we finished our game they wouldn't even let us go pee, since they were closed and wanted us to get the hell out. Walking home, again laughing and being dorks, we not so eagerly looked forward to the Dead Hooker hotel. Went back, had a few more cocktails then went to sleep. And that was that. In the morning, I quietly woke up in the morning, showered, and drove back here and straight to work.
That was the first and last time I ever met Brenda.
Recently I called Gord when I was in Orlando. I was walking past the Pirate Mini Golf place and felt compelled to reach out to find out when we were going to hang out in Orlando again. He said that flights to Orlando were too spendy, but they were all going to South Beach again and could I make it? That was a toughie. I hate South Beach. And electronic music. But I love that crew. So I filed it under maybe. Brenda wrote on my facebook wall to let me know the same thing, and could I come to Miami to meet them? Again, filed under maybe.
Then I logged on to facebook today to see that a friend had joined the RIP Brenda Group. I only know one Brenda. I thought maybe it was a joke, alluding to her recently passed birthday. I went to the page, and it was fairly ambiguous. So I went to her page. There was lots of posts referencing Heaven being a better place today. At this point I'm freaking out, just reapeating omigodomigodomigod. My husband kept asking, "What? What? Who? Call someone to find out what's going on!"
I called Gordie. He said that he was going to call me this week; that they're still coming to Florida, to South Beach and can I meet up with them- they're having a memorial service for her. I asked Gordie what happened? I was sweating. He pauses and gets really quiet and says, "She was murdered...by her boss. He was osessed with her. She'd complained about it, but she hadn't said anything about it for a while; we really didn't think too much about it anymore," At that point, when I started breathing again, all I could say was, "Gordie, I'm so sorry. I'm shocked. I'm so sorry," He was so quiet, and said, "Scott is a mess right now. I have to go back to work, but can we talk this week? You just don't think it could happen to you. I put up a picture from that night in Orlando at her funeral, it was a really good picture of her & Scott. I've been so scatterbrained lately," "Of course, Gordie. I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to talk about this,"
Here's part 2. When said friend asked me last year about Scott's girlfriend, I told her I was so sorry, but I couldn't not like her. That my friend could be mad at me, but I really liked her (which is a total faux pas in friend alliances. But what are you gonna do?). And at Christmas, Scott bought Brenda some clothes from said friend for Brenda because he knew she'd love them. Bridges were being rebuilt.
Now what?

Resolutions, Cajun Style

2008-02-23T05:18:00.000-08:00

I was fortunate enough to have to opportunity to meet up with an old friend and her husband recently; they're originally from Louisiana. She and her husband have moved to San Juan, PR for his work, so I don't get to see them as often as I'd like.
To set the context of our coversation, I'll describe the what's of our surroundings. We were the only patrons in one of those new, trendy wine bars. You know; stainless steel, deep purple velvet upholstered chairs, funky pendant lights. Basically the idiot's world of wine. After perusing the wine list and ordering each a glass, we settled on a bottle for the 3 of us to share. For me, at least, I cringed at the layout of their wines. Numbered categories from one to six, indicating lightest to heaviest. The seven to nine were whites and roses, I believe, and the category of ten was simply, expensive. No country of origin was given on any of the wines, so I had to ask-- each and every time. Oh. And they were out of most of them, so we were pretty irritated. The bottle comes. It's about 3 pm on a Friday. Rob, Lisa & myself start chatting. And a snippet of it went like this:
Lisa~ So, I made some New Year's resolutions.
Me~ Oh? Can't Wait to hear them...
Lisa~ Yeah. I've got three.
Me~Hit me.
Lisa~
1: Drink more whiskey
2: Get pregnant
3: Work out more.
Me~ Only you. Gawd I miss you.

Holly

2007-12-22T20:59:00.000-08:00

Just a short story this time. A story about a woman named Holly. I don't know her, but my friend's husband calls Holly, Holly house keeper.
Does she clean houses I wonder aloud...
No.
Seems she keeps houses in her divorces.
Nice.

6 Degrees

2007-12-09T13:08:00.000-08:00

In speaking with a friend the other night, the subject of Six Degrees came up. Now, in the sense that we were talking about, it was more of a euphemism. Not so much six degrees of separation, but rather six degrees of each other.
Regardless, the concept of six degrees of separation interests me, as does the concept that the world is the size of a closet. I maintain it's the size of a shoe box. Please allow me to share some stories, as I'm wont to do on this blog. I've titled this one 6 degrees, but I think it should have been called The Cosmic Shoebox. All further blogs on this topic will be thusly named.
Shoebox Number One:
Time & location: Revelation at the lockers in high school, in a commuter town called Newmarket, in Canada.
I want to say I was in grade 10.
My befri was dating this boy named Drew, who had recently transferred to our school from another in our town, and he was at her locker (I don't think he had his own, but I could be wrong). Suddenly, little cogs in my brain clicked into place. I turned to him and said, "You used to live in TO, right?(he'd mentioned that once)" he said, "Yeah, why?" I said, " Did you live in Downsview?" My pitch was going up and heart was beating a little faster as I waited for him to answer. "Yeah, Downsview... why?" "Because I'm pretty sure we went to grade one together!! Did you go to Shephard Public School?" He was laughing at that point and said, "I did! We went to school together?!" " Yeah, and you know what?! We went on a date! To the Dairy Queen! Your Mom took us!"
Then the bell rang, and I had to go to class.
Days later, I found my class picture. There I was in my orange dress with white apron that my Mom made. There was Drew in his blue suit and bow tie. He told his Mom, and she invited me over to show her the picture. Sure enough it matched the one she had, and she did remember taking us to the DQ.
Now what makes this story just that much more amazing is this: I was an army brat, so I moved a lot. We met in Downsview. After Downsview was Lahr, West Germany (yeah, it was that long ago...), then Ottawa, Canada, and THEN to Newmarket. And within those three towns there was about 6 different schools.
And there it is. The universal shoe store had led me to my locker, and he to his...
That was my first Cosmic meeting. There's been heaps more, but I think like most everything else, you never forget your first time!

Truth

2007-11-23T17:30:00.000-08:00

A long time ago my boss made a very good point about live shows.
When we see a comedian we want to see new material.
When we see a band we want to hear what we've heard a million times before.
True dat. Too bad he was an asshole in most every other respect.

Tiki Torches

2007-11-22T18:28:00.000-08:00

Tiki torches freak me out.
I used to live on the army base in Downsview. I think I was 6 years old, as was my best friend Pauline. Pauline had an older sister Kim; who might have been around 11 at the time.
One lazy Canadian Summer evening they went over to a friend's house, where there were Tiki torches setup around the backyard, giving it that tropical festive feel that we all love in the Summer. Somehow, one of the sisters knocked one of those torches over. Or someone else knocked it over. Whatever the case may be, a container full of fire topped oil toppled over. The combination of the splashing of the oil and the fact that it was on fire caused my beautiful friends to be burned. Not small burns like when you touch a pan as it comes out of the oven. No. Burned to the point where they had to have skin grafts done and wear protective breathable tight second skin on their arms, legs, bodies, and faces for what seemed like forever. These girls were beautiful young ladies. Imagine how one small error could affect 2 pre teen girls' social lives. Their psyches. Their futures.
Our nieghbors have them burning in their backyard as I write this and frankly, as I hear little ones run around back there, I just cringe. They have no idea.

Number 1

2007-11-22T11:02:00.000-08:00

Like most people I have blogs. I am not a self important person. Not at all. I'm an observant person. I get paid to be observant. But it's really just my nature, so I guess I'm pretty lucky to get paid to do what I'm decent at. But I blog about my observations. I've decided that I needed a different venue than myspace to do my random observations and odd events chronicling, so here we are.
A friend & I were talking about compiling a book of all the wierd shit that's happened in retail land, and I think this is really going to be where I do my little vignettes of people I've come across or heard tales of.
Of course, having said that, I've got nothing right now. It's a holiday in the land that I live in and my mind is a blank. I'll shelve this and come back at a later date.