Well, learning sucks. Today I learned two things.

One: If you buy a Subaru and then manage to lose the keys, in your house, all alone, you can call Subaru after you have spent 6 hours straight looking for them and with only a VIN number and an ID, they will make you a shiny new key so you can just barely get your kids of to the numerous babysitters you have lined up so you can go sling drinks at a bar.

Two: You know that song, the one that says "the first cut is the deepest"? Yeah, it's a lie. The second cut isn't even so bad, but the little ones after it, like the little one when you find out at 2 in the morning that a: your husband has been indeed fooling around on you for a few years with the same chick and b: you find out said chicks name and c: said chick happens to be a really, really good friend of yours and d: that positively EVERYONE in your little circle knew, but NO ONE told you, yep, those little after-cuts hurt way, way worse.

But I learned one more thing: the 24-hours Burger King on Colfax? The one with the double cheeseburgers with lots of mayo? That makes it hurt a little less.

making out is hard to do

So, last night was the first snowfall of the year here in Denver. It was a geeeoorgeous, wet snow and I took some smashing pictures of it, but I can't upload them just yet so you will have to wait. To celebrate, my friend Terry and I wandered over to Nallen's, the Irish pub, THE Irish pub, and drank a bit of Smithwicks and a bit more of Jamison. We sat at the bar, giggling, remarking on the fact that were we less good friends or only slightly more drunk, we would and should probably have been making out.

Oh, that evil, bad, naughty first snow of the year. It brings out the devil in me. And I'll tell you why.

In high school, I was a bit of a a great big monsterous dork. Capital D or Capital K. DorK. I did not by any means have a fan club, but I did have some people who would not be left alone in a room with me. I was that girl, all in black, hair in my face, no make-up, who barely spoke and when I did usually I was reciting some obscure poem you wouldn't have read until, like, your junior year of college or something.

So, of course I had a crush on this boy. His name was Matt, he was in art, he was good at being in art, he skateboarded during his lunch hour, he had a sweet ass faux-hawk, he was soooo cute (ask Molly, she'll back me up on this one) and he was Mormon so he was uber-polite and nice. In our English class junior year, he and I were the only two kids to pass the test on The Catcher in the Rye. We were deep.

Somehow, in the midst of working on the set for Ten Little Indians, I found the courage to ask dear Matt out on a date. Dinner or something. Even more miraculous was the fact that he said yes. We went god knows where and then to a haunted house. During the haunted house thing, it started to snow for the first time that year. And this, being my first fall in Colorado, was stunning for me. I couldn't bear to go home, so dear Matt and I shuffled off to the Pizza Hut parking lot by the mall and sat on the hood of my car until it became unreasonably late, not talking, not even sitting close enough to each other to touch, just sitting under the orangeish streetlight watching the snow fall. It was, hands down, the single most romantic night of my whole life thus far.

Matt and I, well, that's where the story ends. No goodnight kiss (would have been my first real one, but NOOO, I had to wait 1 1/2 more years). I kept being a freak, he kept skateboarding, I have no idea where life has taken him. He is the subject of one of my favorite pictures I've ever taken, and if I ever get it back from Canada, I'll show you.

But there. There is why I have an unreasonable obsession with the first snowfall of the year. The rest of them I loathe, but I'll take that first one anyday.

Maybe I'm still just hoping for that first kiss.

holy eerie, batman

So, I wrote this big old sappy post about the things that make me happy. You know, just to put it out there. For future reference and shit. And that very same day, by some odd twist of fate, Molly stops by my bar, Andy sends me a cute funny email, Chris CALLS me, and Hannah, the great Izzi immancipator, Hannah emails me a long ass email complete with pictures of my old mangy mutt. God damn it, I miss that dog. But not nearly as much as I miss Hannah.

To top it all off, my friend Terry and I managed to close Nallen's, which is the greatest bar in all the land, in case you were wondering, and walk away (almost) sober.

Oh, happy day.

Tomorrow: a lovely post about making out and the first snowfall of the year.


And then...and THEN.. I go and read Sarah's f'ing blog and she kind of said every single little thing that has gone through my head today.

Sarah, how the hell have we not met yet? And why do you have to make me cry so?

learning something new

I have recently learned something about myself...I have no idea how to be happy. I am realizing that this concept of "happiness" is so foreign to me that I doubt I would know it if it hit me in the face.

There are a few times in my life when I can say with no uncertainty that I have been truly happy. But I am seeing that I usually get kind of close to happy only to sabotage it. A slow, painful, poisonous sort of sabotage.

Like the whole moving to Canada thing. My life, it was pretty damn good before I left. I was doing alright...I had this great group of friends, this job that didn't totally suck, I was the president of the god damn PTA for Christ's sake. I had two cool neighbors who sat outside with me and drank beer at night, my kids were loving life, my baby was cute.

I knew, I knew, that I shouldn't have stepped on that plane. I even went so far as to write a friend a letter saying as much (a friend that has yet to read that letter, but that's another story for another day), but I still went on ahead and did it. I could have stayed. It would have been ugly and angry and bitter, but at least I still would have my baby's crib and some shoes. It ended up much as I expected it to, but the difference is that my shit is all now over a border and I am right back where I started from, minus one address and one moving van full of stuff.

I tend to ignore the things that are blatantly obvious to everyone else in the interest of keeping the peace and not rocking the boat. I totally ignored the fact that my husband was doing way more than his fair share of the whole drinking/fooling around bit (remember the he didn't come home until 3 a.m. post?). I ignored it, I never said a word to him about it. Or to most of my friends. Turns out, my neighbor used to regularly see him coming home at 6 in the morning from god-knows-where and if I had only asked around a bit, I would have at least known better than to have let him off the hook for it.

My point here is that I am so used to this frantic, hanging-on-for dear-life mode that I have burned in for so long that I am overlooking these small chances I have to change things, to fix things, to create an actual, real, happy sort of life for myself. I create situations where I can get nothing but hurt, I latch on to people that absolutely refuse to give anything back, because that is what I am accustomed to. I understand that desperate, needy feeling and I feed into it rather than teaching myself how to just feel good and at peace.

I need some serious reprogramming.

Maybe I should start with the things I know make me happy. I know that the first time I sat on my friends S & C's back patio, just the three of us and little in-utero L, drinking a beer and laughing at C's stories of his high-school antics, I was really freaking happy. There is no doubt that watching T doing handsprings on the trampoline or L's little hug-kiss-hug-kiss thing she does when she's sleepy makes me about burst with joy. I recall once upon a time, sitting on a stoop with my old pal drinking Two-Buck Chuck and doing crosswords and that was pretty damn nice. And the walking to school with B, when it is just the two of us and my arm is around his back and his arm is around my waist, when our feet are taking the same sized strides and his little head is tilted just enough that it is resting in the crook of my elbow, and then he lets out that quiet little sigh that only he can, well, there ain't nothing in the world better than that.

That's not a bad place to start.

moving right along

I have an address. My very own address. My all by myself address.


I got this little condo that I found down the street a bit, and boy oh boy, is it ever cute. Saturday I will sign the lease and write the first rent check that I have had to write since I was 19 years old and then I will be legit.


This is a fabulous, wonderful sort of thing and I am terribly happy about it for a number of reasons.

One: I can finally have Molly over for Guinness and some cigarettes. No, I didn't start smoking again. I have NO idea what you're talking about....

Two: I can finally let this goshdarn baby cry it out. The trouble with living with friends, close friends, friends who love you, is that the baby never ever has to figure anything out for herself. She cries, someone picks her up. She wants down, someone puts her down. She dislikes her dinner, someone makes her a new meal. She seems to be of the opinion that this is a super-fine way to live and that her momma better step up her game. In short, the kid is a spoiled rotten b.r.a.t. Correction: B.R.A.T. My kindly, dear friends cannot handle the idea of the pwecious wittle baby suffering for more than one moment and she is loving every minute of it. Of course, she is now waking up fairly regularly in the night, realizing that no one is hovering over her and cooing, and taking it upon herself to yell at me in a shockingly stern voice until I remedy the situation. We may eat this kid for Thanksgiving dinner.

Three: Things are getting final. I have no doubt in my mind that an international divorce may be a bit, well....challenging? Yeah, that's the word. So sitting her on my duff not making any progress in the getting-on-with-my-life thingy I'm trying to do is frustrating, to say the very least. But now, now I have my own residence. I have this thing that is completely independent of the marriage and the relationship. I have this thing that is mine. It will be filled with my stuff. I will make my memories in it. And that, dear readers, is true progress and it feels mighty good.

Now, does anybody have any extra forks?