When my dad died, a lot of things were really crazy. Like, really crazy.
There were two funerals for my dad. At the first one, a friend of my dad's wife (my dad's wife would be my step-mother and is not the way I would refer to my own mother but instead the second woman my dad married; which is not to say there was a third, but just that she was not the person who birthed me and they got married when I was like, 20 or something, so I never called her my step-mother but none of this is the point,) came with us to dinner afterward. I was sitting at a table with my mom, my dad's wife, two of her friends and my sister. The one friend started to tell us that she had multiple personality disorder. She was telling us of all the places she'd woken up with no memory of how she'd gotten there. She told us how her kids liked one of her personalities because it was the personality of a child and how they would try to get that personality to "come out" so they could play together. When I look back at everything that happened upon finding out that my dead died, through the funerals and cleaning out his apartment and all the rest, I tell people that the most normal part of it all was the woman with the multiple personalities.
On October 25, my grandmother died.
It wasn't like with my dad. I was literally shocked by the news of my dad dying. He was not in good health, but death didn't seem like what would happen next. With my grandmother, I knew this was what was going to happen. I'd gone to see her a couple of times. I got to hear her talk a little bit to me and tell me one more time that she thought I looked nice, though I am pretty sure she didn't know who I was. I think she just thought I was a nice lady who was helping her while she was sick.
Watching, waiting, for a person to die is terrible, but the gift of it, is being able to tell the person goodbye. I got to tell my grandmother several times that I loved her and that she didn't have to be in pain anymore. I got to tell her what it would be like when I saw her again. I got to touch her face and hold her hand and sing to her a little bit.
One regret I have about my father's death is that I didn't go see his
body before they cremated him. My dad lived about four hours away. When
his wife finally got a hold of me to tell me that he had died and what
she knew at that time, she said that they would wait for my sister and I
to come and see him before they cremated him. I talked to my sister
about it, but at the time, I didn't go. I was scared and freaked out and
I didn't have a good relationship with my dad. The practical parts of
me took over the feelings parts of me and I decided that I didn't need
to see him. But I wish that I would have. I wish I would have seen him. I wish I could have told him goodbye.
During my grandmother's funeral, the things they said about her were true. She talked about her faith to the very end of her life. She did love to cook. She was incredibly talented. She was vain and tough and spoke her mind, even when the mind with which she was familiar was gone. It was really nice to listen to someone say what I did know to be true about her.
When my dad died, many of the people who knew him came to tell me the nice things he'd done for them or with them. It was very bittersweet because it wasn't the person I knew. I was glad this was the experience they had but it left me no comfort at all. With my grandmother, there was a little more comfort.
My grandmother could barely walk, but when she was in the hospital, she kicked a nurse for trying to help her into bed.
She was incredible.
I do not know if my dad kicked a nurse when he was in the hospital. I do know that he drove himself to a second hospital because the first wasn't helping him and he still felt ill. He bled in his car. I remember wiping the blood out of his car because my sister was going to be driving it. There wasn't a lot of blood, but I remember cleaning it.
I feel sad that he didn't have any help at what was really a time when he needed it most.
When my grandmother was dying, her face appeared very contorted. Had she been able to see that face, she would not have been pleased. My grandmother cared very much about how a person looked. It must have been painful and exhausting for her, the dying process. After she finally had died, she looked the most like her self since she'd been in the hospital. Once it was all over, she was truly at rest.
She used to always introduce me as her "oldest grand-baby" which sadly lost a touch of its charm as I became way more older. I used to feel a little embarrassed when she would do that, but now it makes me feel so incredibly sad to know that she isn't here to tell people that anymore.
My grandmother loved me unabashedly. I have a voice mail she left me in the summer saying how she just had to call to me that she loved me. I am heart-broken that there is no longer a person on the planet who loves me like that.
That is probably over-dramatic.
She was a flawed person. I didn't know her well enough. I didn't spend enough time with her, but it was so great knowing she was there. It meant something that she was here, even if I wasn't with her.
I acknowledge that this post is all over the place and also that it is not really funny. I apologize. I just feel really sad. It is a romantic idea I have, of a person in my life who knows me so intimately and could advise me, particularly in this time of my life where I just feel so completely without an idea of what to do. I know I need to fix my person; I do not know how. In my dreams, I would be able to talk to my dad or my grandmother about it and they would know me and offer some sort of advice.
Instead.
Instead, I am just me. Really confused. Wasting more time. Wishing that the oldest grand-baby had...something. Had more.
At least I know that she did love me. And the last time we talked, she thought my tights were really pretty.
I know that my father loved me, too, in his own, warped way. I don't remember at all the last conversation we had. I am certain it was brief. I hope I would have told him I loved him at the end of it. I don't know if I did. I know it would have been strained.
I know it won't all feel sad forever. It will pass and this blog will lighten up again. Maybe I will even start writing in it more often!!
There you go, humans. That was your one joke.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Dear oh, yeah, I have a blog
Ummm, wow, humans.
It's been nearly three months since I have typed anything. That is a shame. I should really be one of those people who like, works on their craft. And I would, except, I am so tired and also, there's TV. Finally, I'm not really crafty. Ha ha.
Anyways.
Remember how I moved to Milwaukee? I still live here. Do you know something else I have noticed? Okay. I will tell you. I have noticed that I do not have the same stories in Milwaukee as I used to have in Madison since I am no longer holding the hands of roughly 76,000 grown-ups who were confused as to how to write their name on a form.
"Wait. So my first name shouldn't go in the part that says last name? But which of my names is the last name?"
I kid. Except not really.
I sent several forms with arrows indicating which was the applicant's first name and which was the last name so that the official end-recipient of those forms would know that at least I knew which was first and which was last and so they wouldn't send it back to me with a note saying: "We can't process this form because we can't find this person." Then I would be all, really? Why would you not guess that this person would be so confused and just pull an ol' switcheroo? Are you new?
But I digress.
I don't have those kinds of stories at my new job because the jokes there are more integral to the nature of the work. For instance, other people in the field would be all, I just flew in on that cusip and boy are my assets tired! And others would just guffaw, but your average human would just be like, umm...I also sip and sometimes am tired, too. NAPS!
In my life the stories to tell are way much less interesting because I don't really have like, hobbies or interests. I am currently real, real lost. Like, not in locale. Well, let's not get cocky. I made it to the mall and home a week or two ago, WITHOUT USING ANY NAVIGATION SYSTEM AT ALL, but if I space out for a minute, I am instantly befuddled. The mantra begins: Where. Am. I?
But seriously folks, errands, sleeping and work pretty much sum me up. I know, snoresville, right? I want to be full; to feel full. From life. Not of foods.
Speaking of which.
So we have covered how I am allergic to foods, right? But whenever I tell someone that I have food allergies, they look at me like I have said I have a food addiction and I think allergy and addiction are synonyms. I am going to presume this is because most people with the food allergy times are like, real thin because food is their poison. Food is my poison, too, but the obesity happened way before the allergies really got their histamine on. If I didn't have them I'd be VERY filled with largess. Then I could sing that one line from the Disney movie: "And I'm roughly the size of a BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEE."
We should all have theme songs.
Well, the most pressing news right now is that my grandmother is very ill. Seeing someone lose who they are will rend your heart.
I wish I knew her better. I wish I had more memories of her. I wish there were enough words with enough weight to somehow capture the power and beauty of a person's life and grant them a fraction of the dignity or grace they deserve. I wish she had peace.
One thing I think about her is how she was always fussing. I don't really use that word in my every day life, but I would totally use it about my grandma. She would often be fussing at home and then be so kind with all of the peoples outside the home, and they would say how sweet my grandmother is, and I would laugh inside and be all: you have not been subjected to the fussing.
My other favorite story about my grandmother is that I used to love Grape Nuts cereal (Neither grapes, nor nuts. Discuss.) and I had a box of that cereal at her house.
For those who have never had it, Grape Nuts cereal expands in milk. As in, if you fill a bowl with Grape Nuts and then add milk, the entire population of Mozambique would eat to satisfaction from that one solitary bowl. And it would take them approximately seven weeks to finish eating. It took that happening to me like twice, to realize that when I wanted a bowl of Grape Nuts, I needed to literally put in about 6-10 of the "nuts" and add just enough milk to cover those 6-10 so that I could finish my cereal during the same morning that I started it.
So I was staying at my grandma's house and she had Grape Nuts just for me. I ate some and then left for school. When I came home, my grandma said:
"I had some of your Grape Nuts this morning."
"Really?" I said. "Did you like them?"
"Well," she began. "It took me all day, baby, but I finished that bowl of cereal."
I laughed and laughed.
Not enough words with nearly enough weight.
But there are still words. And there is still time. And while I haven't had any in a long while, there will always, always be Grape Nuts. Well, unless like, they take them off the market. In that case, you're welcome, Mozambique.
It's been nearly three months since I have typed anything. That is a shame. I should really be one of those people who like, works on their craft. And I would, except, I am so tired and also, there's TV. Finally, I'm not really crafty. Ha ha.
Anyways.
Remember how I moved to Milwaukee? I still live here. Do you know something else I have noticed? Okay. I will tell you. I have noticed that I do not have the same stories in Milwaukee as I used to have in Madison since I am no longer holding the hands of roughly 76,000 grown-ups who were confused as to how to write their name on a form.
"Wait. So my first name shouldn't go in the part that says last name? But which of my names is the last name?"
I kid. Except not really.
I sent several forms with arrows indicating which was the applicant's first name and which was the last name so that the official end-recipient of those forms would know that at least I knew which was first and which was last and so they wouldn't send it back to me with a note saying: "We can't process this form because we can't find this person." Then I would be all, really? Why would you not guess that this person would be so confused and just pull an ol' switcheroo? Are you new?
But I digress.
I don't have those kinds of stories at my new job because the jokes there are more integral to the nature of the work. For instance, other people in the field would be all, I just flew in on that cusip and boy are my assets tired! And others would just guffaw, but your average human would just be like, umm...I also sip and sometimes am tired, too. NAPS!
In my life the stories to tell are way much less interesting because I don't really have like, hobbies or interests. I am currently real, real lost. Like, not in locale. Well, let's not get cocky. I made it to the mall and home a week or two ago, WITHOUT USING ANY NAVIGATION SYSTEM AT ALL, but if I space out for a minute, I am instantly befuddled. The mantra begins: Where. Am. I?
But seriously folks, errands, sleeping and work pretty much sum me up. I know, snoresville, right? I want to be full; to feel full. From life. Not of foods.
Speaking of which.
So we have covered how I am allergic to foods, right? But whenever I tell someone that I have food allergies, they look at me like I have said I have a food addiction and I think allergy and addiction are synonyms. I am going to presume this is because most people with the food allergy times are like, real thin because food is their poison. Food is my poison, too, but the obesity happened way before the allergies really got their histamine on. If I didn't have them I'd be VERY filled with largess. Then I could sing that one line from the Disney movie: "And I'm roughly the size of a BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEE."
We should all have theme songs.
Well, the most pressing news right now is that my grandmother is very ill. Seeing someone lose who they are will rend your heart.
I wish I knew her better. I wish I had more memories of her. I wish there were enough words with enough weight to somehow capture the power and beauty of a person's life and grant them a fraction of the dignity or grace they deserve. I wish she had peace.
One thing I think about her is how she was always fussing. I don't really use that word in my every day life, but I would totally use it about my grandma. She would often be fussing at home and then be so kind with all of the peoples outside the home, and they would say how sweet my grandmother is, and I would laugh inside and be all: you have not been subjected to the fussing.
My other favorite story about my grandmother is that I used to love Grape Nuts cereal (Neither grapes, nor nuts. Discuss.) and I had a box of that cereal at her house.
For those who have never had it, Grape Nuts cereal expands in milk. As in, if you fill a bowl with Grape Nuts and then add milk, the entire population of Mozambique would eat to satisfaction from that one solitary bowl. And it would take them approximately seven weeks to finish eating. It took that happening to me like twice, to realize that when I wanted a bowl of Grape Nuts, I needed to literally put in about 6-10 of the "nuts" and add just enough milk to cover those 6-10 so that I could finish my cereal during the same morning that I started it.
So I was staying at my grandma's house and she had Grape Nuts just for me. I ate some and then left for school. When I came home, my grandma said:
"I had some of your Grape Nuts this morning."
"Really?" I said. "Did you like them?"
"Well," she began. "It took me all day, baby, but I finished that bowl of cereal."
I laughed and laughed.
Not enough words with nearly enough weight.
But there are still words. And there is still time. And while I haven't had any in a long while, there will always, always be Grape Nuts. Well, unless like, they take them off the market. In that case, you're welcome, Mozambique.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Dear Random
About three and half months ago I moved from Madison to Milwaukee. It is a big little transition. Here are some thoughts I have had since moving here:
I have absolutely no sense of direction.
I have never seen so many ethnic hair products in a Target. I mean, there is an entire aisle, at the Target closest to my house. It's like. I have choices. I have so many choices!!
Nearly everything I need to do is 20 minutes away from me. Well, it might be less than that, but I have no sense of direction.
That stupid bat paranoia really took a toll. When I do sleep, I sleep hard, I think because I was not sleeping very well in the bat's environs. And I am still not 100% comfortable. I look around every now and then expecting to see one. If I do find one, I will have to be hospitalized.
I am afeared. I am anxious.
A person can tear everything down and rebuild. But if that person is me, there will be many doubts.
A couple of weeks ago, I vacuumed up a spider nest. (Nest? Web of hidden spiderings? White webbing in which I was certain contained bugs?) Well, whatever, I vacuumed it up. And ever since I have wondered: did the act of vacuuming them up kill them, or are they festering in the bag and when I change that bag they will escape and take their revenge?
I might be spending too much time alone.
I DID use my kitchen table.
I need to speak up more.
I need to keep my mouth shut more.
This was harder than I thought but if I can get strong enough, then the bigger moves I want to make will be easier.
There wasn't really anything wrong with that other life. I just couldn't anymore.
Can I now?
Why is everything at the corner of such and so forth but not really at that corner?
What did I do it for?
I mean, AN ENTIRE AISLE.
Things will change, and the world doesn't come to an end.
I have absolutely no sense of direction.
I have never seen so many ethnic hair products in a Target. I mean, there is an entire aisle, at the Target closest to my house. It's like. I have choices. I have so many choices!!
Nearly everything I need to do is 20 minutes away from me. Well, it might be less than that, but I have no sense of direction.
That stupid bat paranoia really took a toll. When I do sleep, I sleep hard, I think because I was not sleeping very well in the bat's environs. And I am still not 100% comfortable. I look around every now and then expecting to see one. If I do find one, I will have to be hospitalized.
I am afeared. I am anxious.
A person can tear everything down and rebuild. But if that person is me, there will be many doubts.
A couple of weeks ago, I vacuumed up a spider nest. (Nest? Web of hidden spiderings? White webbing in which I was certain contained bugs?) Well, whatever, I vacuumed it up. And ever since I have wondered: did the act of vacuuming them up kill them, or are they festering in the bag and when I change that bag they will escape and take their revenge?
I might be spending too much time alone.
I DID use my kitchen table.
I need to speak up more.
I need to keep my mouth shut more.
This was harder than I thought but if I can get strong enough, then the bigger moves I want to make will be easier.
There wasn't really anything wrong with that other life. I just couldn't anymore.
Can I now?
Why is everything at the corner of such and so forth but not really at that corner?
What did I do it for?
I mean, AN ENTIRE AISLE.
Things will change, and the world doesn't come to an end.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Dear Grocery Shopping
So on Saturday night I went to the grocery. I was in the frozen foods section and I see this woman in what is called by the fashionistas, a maxi dress, but the top is too small?
Also, why are they called maxi dresses anyway? I think it's an odd word for a dress. It's a maximum dress? All other dresses heretofore were minimums? That cannot be, but I digress. The top of said grocery patron's dress was not containing her chesticular area, like, AT ALL. And so I said to myself:
"DAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM GINA! What is you wearing lady?"
And then I said:
"Self! Really? Do not judge. That could be you."
And then I was like:
"Umm, no. I wear clothes that fit and I do not toss the girls about willy nilly."
And then my self said:
"Good obs."
And then the lady bent down to inspect the lower shelf of frozen times and I was like:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Also her boyfriend/husband/grocery-lover who was wearing a FULL SHIRT was there and I was all:
"Boyfriend/husband/grocery-lover! Did you not talk to her? I know you see this!"
So then I was trying to give benefits of the doubt, like, maybe this maxi dress is to cover up a bathing suit. But it becomes apparent that it was not. Human parts were not in any definition of the word being covered. Had this "maxi" dress been a cover up it would have meant the afromentioned shopper's clothing was ironic.
Anyways... I finish my shoppings and head to check out AND THE MAMMARIES OF MILWAUKEE is checking out ahead of me with her clueless but likely joyful sidekick. Lo and please Lord, I do not want to behold, but SHE is bagging the groceries. I am so afeared one of her lady parts is going to escape because in the time I was away I feel like her dress got smaller? And I am like:
"SIDEKICK! Why aren't you bagging groceries?"
Unfortunately, Sidekick is flummoxed by swiping his debit card which I feel he must have stolen given the time it took him to figure it out. So then I start looking at the cashier. He seems to be absorbed in checking them out. I am watching him, wondering, where is he directing his eyes?
Mammaries momma miraculously remains contained and she and Sidekick leave.
My obsession with these strangers has made me self-conscious. Her immodesty has an odd sort of transference and I pull my own dress further up.
When I get to the cashier, he begins talking. He asks if I got to enjoy the weather. I say yes and inquire if he did as well. And HE DID! He's been swimming! It was great! Now that it's summer all he does is swim! And swimming is the best exercise! That's what everyone says! And he continues for so much more. Then he wishes me well and I decide all the talking was his transference. Having had to avert his eyes from so, so, so much for so, so, so long, he then needed an outlet.
Oh the humans...
Also, why are they called maxi dresses anyway? I think it's an odd word for a dress. It's a maximum dress? All other dresses heretofore were minimums? That cannot be, but I digress. The top of said grocery patron's dress was not containing her chesticular area, like, AT ALL. And so I said to myself:
"DAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM GINA! What is you wearing lady?"
And then I said:
"Self! Really? Do not judge. That could be you."
And then I was like:
"Umm, no. I wear clothes that fit and I do not toss the girls about willy nilly."
And then my self said:
"Good obs."
And then the lady bent down to inspect the lower shelf of frozen times and I was like:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Also her boyfriend/husband/grocery-lover who was wearing a FULL SHIRT was there and I was all:
"Boyfriend/husband/grocery-lover! Did you not talk to her? I know you see this!"
So then I was trying to give benefits of the doubt, like, maybe this maxi dress is to cover up a bathing suit. But it becomes apparent that it was not. Human parts were not in any definition of the word being covered. Had this "maxi" dress been a cover up it would have meant the afromentioned shopper's clothing was ironic.
Anyways... I finish my shoppings and head to check out AND THE MAMMARIES OF MILWAUKEE is checking out ahead of me with her clueless but likely joyful sidekick. Lo and please Lord, I do not want to behold, but SHE is bagging the groceries. I am so afeared one of her lady parts is going to escape because in the time I was away I feel like her dress got smaller? And I am like:
"SIDEKICK! Why aren't you bagging groceries?"
Unfortunately, Sidekick is flummoxed by swiping his debit card which I feel he must have stolen given the time it took him to figure it out. So then I start looking at the cashier. He seems to be absorbed in checking them out. I am watching him, wondering, where is he directing his eyes?
Mammaries momma miraculously remains contained and she and Sidekick leave.
My obsession with these strangers has made me self-conscious. Her immodesty has an odd sort of transference and I pull my own dress further up.
When I get to the cashier, he begins talking. He asks if I got to enjoy the weather. I say yes and inquire if he did as well. And HE DID! He's been swimming! It was great! Now that it's summer all he does is swim! And swimming is the best exercise! That's what everyone says! And he continues for so much more. Then he wishes me well and I decide all the talking was his transference. Having had to avert his eyes from so, so, so much for so, so, so long, he then needed an outlet.
Oh the humans...
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Dear Near-sighted
One thing I really hate about taking out my contacts at night is how blind I am when I wake up in the morning. Well, blind is an exaggeration, as I can see without my contacts, but not well, unless I am right on top of the object I wish to view. I am near-sighted. Things close to my eyeballs are seen, everything far away is a blurry mess.
My vision is the polar opposite of paintings by Monet.
Everything is fuzzy and undefined for me without some sort of vision enhancing aid. I have been wearing glasses or contacts since I was in the second grade. I prefer contacts to glasses and I would sleep in my contacts every night except that I did that a few years ago - sleeping in the contacts each night for a few months - and ended up with an eye infection. I couldn't wear my contacts at all so that meant I was always wearing my glasses, which I do not care for because if it rains, droplets on the glasses. If it is cold outside and then you go inside, the glasses fog up. And there is always that corner on the side where your glasses are not that you cannot make out anything. Also, you cannot wear sunglasses on account of the eyeglasses. I just hate glasses. Even when I try to find really sweet frames, I still hate glasses. My most favorite pair I lost on an airplane. I like contacts. So wearing the glasses for a month because of the eye infection made me annoyed. I learned my lesson from the terrible eye infection, so I now take my contacts out at night.
Nearly every night.
Some nights I do still sleep in them because of the afromentioned hatred of waking up blind.
But last night, I was not so lazy. I took out the contacts. I went to bed. I woke up fuzzy-eyed and took the glass of water next to my bed to the kitchen to put in the refrigerator so I could drink said water later but cold, because, you know, cold water is refreshing.
A few hours later, after I had put my contacts in, I reached into the refrigerator for said water and saw that there were two ants suspended in the now icy cold H2O. My un-contact-ed eyes did not see the ants when I chilled my water and the thought that I could have sipped it and drank it horrified me. I mean...there were ants...just...and I just iced them?
So, I guess no more water by my bed at night. Unless I procure a sippy cup. I hate ants. Stupid contacts.
My vision is the polar opposite of paintings by Monet.
Everything is fuzzy and undefined for me without some sort of vision enhancing aid. I have been wearing glasses or contacts since I was in the second grade. I prefer contacts to glasses and I would sleep in my contacts every night except that I did that a few years ago - sleeping in the contacts each night for a few months - and ended up with an eye infection. I couldn't wear my contacts at all so that meant I was always wearing my glasses, which I do not care for because if it rains, droplets on the glasses. If it is cold outside and then you go inside, the glasses fog up. And there is always that corner on the side where your glasses are not that you cannot make out anything. Also, you cannot wear sunglasses on account of the eyeglasses. I just hate glasses. Even when I try to find really sweet frames, I still hate glasses. My most favorite pair I lost on an airplane. I like contacts. So wearing the glasses for a month because of the eye infection made me annoyed. I learned my lesson from the terrible eye infection, so I now take my contacts out at night.
Nearly every night.
Some nights I do still sleep in them because of the afromentioned hatred of waking up blind.
But last night, I was not so lazy. I took out the contacts. I went to bed. I woke up fuzzy-eyed and took the glass of water next to my bed to the kitchen to put in the refrigerator so I could drink said water later but cold, because, you know, cold water is refreshing.
A few hours later, after I had put my contacts in, I reached into the refrigerator for said water and saw that there were two ants suspended in the now icy cold H2O. My un-contact-ed eyes did not see the ants when I chilled my water and the thought that I could have sipped it and drank it horrified me. I mean...there were ants...just...and I just iced them?
So, I guess no more water by my bed at night. Unless I procure a sippy cup. I hate ants. Stupid contacts.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Dear LaMontagne
Have I ever written about how much I love Ray LaMontagne? Like. I. It's. I love him. I LOVE him. I. LOVE. HIM.
It's not like a crush, where I think it would be sweet if we got ice cream cones and took a stroll by a creek, though, if we did that I wouldn't be mad. Annoyed, maybe, as what the HALE are we doing outdoors by a creek when we could be doing pretty much anything else, but I would choke that annoyance down in the sheer presence of his being.
But it's not a crush.
It's like a reverential awe. The kind of awe wherein if we were on the afromentioned creek walk and he was all, "Listen, Ms. Liantonio,"-because my first name ain't baby. It's Sherry. Ms. Liantonio if you're nasty, which he probably isn't-so he would probably say, all soft-spoken and whispery, "So, Sherry. I want to be honest with you and tell you this isn't going to work out, because while this walk is lovely, and this dairy treat is delicious, I just like you as a friend. But here are free concert tickets for life, or like, the next few years or something.....Uhm, I am not sure if you are crying now because of heartbreak or because of your life allergies, but either way, let's sit and I will sing you Forever My Friend."
And I would say, "I totally get it, Mr. LaMontagne. You are the smartest ever. No other things would have be right."
And I wouldn't even be that upset. It's that kind of sick, desperate, unabashed adoration that will not die no matter what. In his first album which is just so depressed sauce, I fell in love with him wholeheartedly and did not look back. I know no other love like this, except perhaps for olives. I love my olives with such adoration that nothing, NOTHING, will make me give them up. Even after I hurled last week with the full knowledge that the last thing I'd eaten 12 hours prior was olives. I just turned off the bathroom lights and shut my eyes so I wouldn't have to see and give up my one joy.
I did love a person in real-life the way I love Ray. He was a TA I had in College. And I adored/loved him, adore-ved him, if you will. Oh my that man. I didn't want to date him, either. I more wanted to build a shrine to him in my roach-infested apartment, giving me another justification to leave the lights on at all times. It would keep the roaches away and add to the natural glory of that man. I called him the beautiful TA the entire time I had him as an instructor until he told us he'd gotten his PhD. Then I called him, Beautiful A, Doctor of the Language of Love.
Oh, memories.
Anyway, Ray is the best. His lyrics are amazing and he is PHENOMENAL in concert. Like, his voice is even better in real life than on the CD and that almost never happens, you know? I'm looking at you, Coldplay.
The first time I saw Ray in concert, I expected to be disappointed, frankly. I loved his first CD so much and thought there was no way, he could really sound like that and then he started to sing, and I was mesmerized. His voice was more powerful. You know how people say a voice is soulful and you want to throw up because that is lame? His voice, really, truly is soulful. I wanted everyone around me to shut up and just let him play and sing because it was so amazing. His entire band was amazing and being there felt, like, almost sacred, to me.
I know, I know. I don't care. I adorve him.
So, now watch this, so you can love him too. And if you decide you don't adorve him, I do not want to hear it. Because that will break my heart. And then I will have to go back down by that creek.
It's not like a crush, where I think it would be sweet if we got ice cream cones and took a stroll by a creek, though, if we did that I wouldn't be mad. Annoyed, maybe, as what the HALE are we doing outdoors by a creek when we could be doing pretty much anything else, but I would choke that annoyance down in the sheer presence of his being.
But it's not a crush.
It's like a reverential awe. The kind of awe wherein if we were on the afromentioned creek walk and he was all, "Listen, Ms. Liantonio,"-because my first name ain't baby. It's Sherry. Ms. Liantonio if you're nasty, which he probably isn't-so he would probably say, all soft-spoken and whispery, "So, Sherry. I want to be honest with you and tell you this isn't going to work out, because while this walk is lovely, and this dairy treat is delicious, I just like you as a friend. But here are free concert tickets for life, or like, the next few years or something.....Uhm, I am not sure if you are crying now because of heartbreak or because of your life allergies, but either way, let's sit and I will sing you Forever My Friend."
And I would say, "I totally get it, Mr. LaMontagne. You are the smartest ever. No other things would have be right."
And I wouldn't even be that upset. It's that kind of sick, desperate, unabashed adoration that will not die no matter what. In his first album which is just so depressed sauce, I fell in love with him wholeheartedly and did not look back. I know no other love like this, except perhaps for olives. I love my olives with such adoration that nothing, NOTHING, will make me give them up. Even after I hurled last week with the full knowledge that the last thing I'd eaten 12 hours prior was olives. I just turned off the bathroom lights and shut my eyes so I wouldn't have to see and give up my one joy.
I did love a person in real-life the way I love Ray. He was a TA I had in College. And I adored/loved him, adore-ved him, if you will. Oh my that man. I didn't want to date him, either. I more wanted to build a shrine to him in my roach-infested apartment, giving me another justification to leave the lights on at all times. It would keep the roaches away and add to the natural glory of that man. I called him the beautiful TA the entire time I had him as an instructor until he told us he'd gotten his PhD. Then I called him, Beautiful A, Doctor of the Language of Love.
Oh, memories.
Anyway, Ray is the best. His lyrics are amazing and he is PHENOMENAL in concert. Like, his voice is even better in real life than on the CD and that almost never happens, you know? I'm looking at you, Coldplay.
The first time I saw Ray in concert, I expected to be disappointed, frankly. I loved his first CD so much and thought there was no way, he could really sound like that and then he started to sing, and I was mesmerized. His voice was more powerful. You know how people say a voice is soulful and you want to throw up because that is lame? His voice, really, truly is soulful. I wanted everyone around me to shut up and just let him play and sing because it was so amazing. His entire band was amazing and being there felt, like, almost sacred, to me.
I know, I know. I don't care. I adorve him.
So, now watch this, so you can love him too. And if you decide you don't adorve him, I do not want to hear it. Because that will break my heart. And then I will have to go back down by that creek.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Dear W
I feel like my life is a constant re-enactment of that Sesame Street game where they sing, "one of these things is not like the others."
I want my insides to feel calm, not raw and throbbing. I want peace. I miss peace. I miss feeling certain about hope. I miss feeling certain about what I knew. I missing feeling certain.
It's the W, right? The W is the thing that's not like the others?
And I know that isn't wrong. I mean, even though it's not a 2, we need W. Without it, how would we differentiate between strappy sandals and wedge ones? Look at how many words in this post require a W!
The W knows that even though it's not a 2, it has a purpose. It's not of less worth than the two's. The comparison between the letters and numbers is to teach you about them both. It matters even though it's alone. And probably when the W is surrounded by like-minded consonants, it remembers what it's there for. The W has the why. Hi yo!
Sometimes, everything you once learned you have to learn again, so you can see the other side of what is also true.
Thank you, W. Now, I need a why.
I want my insides to feel calm, not raw and throbbing. I want peace. I miss peace. I miss feeling certain about hope. I miss feeling certain about what I knew. I missing feeling certain.
It's the W, right? The W is the thing that's not like the others?
And I know that isn't wrong. I mean, even though it's not a 2, we need W. Without it, how would we differentiate between strappy sandals and wedge ones? Look at how many words in this post require a W!
The W knows that even though it's not a 2, it has a purpose. It's not of less worth than the two's. The comparison between the letters and numbers is to teach you about them both. It matters even though it's alone. And probably when the W is surrounded by like-minded consonants, it remembers what it's there for. The W has the why. Hi yo!
Sometimes, everything you once learned you have to learn again, so you can see the other side of what is also true.
Thank you, W. Now, I need a why.
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