Bohemiology

When it was all still yet to be lived

We met at a youth conference on a sunny afternoon. My friend (smart geeky guy's prom date) and I were walking up a concrete ramp to the auditorium and he was walking down it. Or more like bouncing down it.

He was energy embodied. Trim, athletic...glowing.

He introduced himself to us, though, I knew who he was. He'd been on our youth pastor's "Most Wanted" list for months. Before his sixteenth birthday he'd experienced drugs, sex and juvenile detention. He liked to angle his stereo speakers together on the floor, lie with his head between them and blast Black Sabbath. He said he thought about God when he was high.

That summer he stunned his friends and made a profession of faith. Some of his demons left for good. Some, as time would show, didn't. But, the future was nowhere to be seen on that bright, sunny day.

I don't remember what we talked about at that first meeting. I just remember laughing.

After that, we "ran into" each other often. At the pool. The gift shop. The snack bar. Since my friend and I were always together, I assumed he liked her. She was blonde and buxom and I was...not.

When he asked to sit with me on the ride home and we talked nonstop for five hours (except when we stopped at McDonald's and he ate five Big Mac's) I began to think he might actually like me.

I left for college that fall and we wrote each other every week. I still have all our letters. I keep them in a red folder...

I'm thinking a lot about Ex these days. Right now, he's trying one last treatment. It's killing him, but we hope it's killing the cancer more.

To answer my own question: B

8th grade. While those around her celebrated new curves, she was ashamed of every protruding bone. She never wore shorts, even on the hottest days, and she usually wore long sleeves to cover her toothpick arms.

But, that day she choose a blue top that left her limbs bare. She liked the top. The color looked nice against her skin and because of the gathers in front it actually made it appear she had a body. If it just had longer sleeves...

She would wear it anyway. Maybe it would be different. This time.

After the assignments were given, students gathered at various tables. She approached a group of girls, talking among themselves.

As she pulled up a chair, a young beauty scowled, pointed to the exposed arms and said, "What is wrong with you, little girl." The others laughed.

She never wore the blue top again.

I'm no longer the stick thin young girl, but unfortunately my self confidence didn't grow as my body eventually did. I still walk into a room feeling like everyone will dislike me.

My mom says I was more outgoing when I was little, before I started getting teased.

I wish I could find that part of me again.

EDITED to add: Was reminded yesterday that it's totally different online. I'm much more confident meeting new people thru a computer screen. Like the awesome conversation I had last night with Izzy and Anissa, while we waited for the Blogher People's Party streaming video that never streamed (at least, not while we were in the chat room). Maybe if I can channel my "online" self into my "in person" self I'll be okay.

Self-deprecating minds want to know

When you walk into a room full of strangers do you think:

A) Most will like you
B) Most will dislike you
C) Some will like you, some will not
D) You don’t give a pig’s patootie if anyone likes you

Explain.

Dust bunnies, ice cube trays and a sliver of hope

For those of you who enjoy contests, I'm having a scavenger hunt on Blogtations. The winner will receive Jen Lancaster's new book Such a Pretty Fat or an Amazon gift certificate of equal value (due to the kindness of a few anonymous supporters). It's a way to mark my change of pace on the site, before the lack of time and dust bunnies do me in.

I've also opened comments over there (just on my posts), which makes me all twitchy inside. According to Drummer, who read a book about it, my love language is "words of affirmation." Apparently without them I become a deflated, depressed, insecure mess. But, I want to encourage a sense of community on the site, so I'm risking the possible feeling of utter rejection.

Come to find out, Ex's love language seems split between "gift giving" and "acts of service." I wish I'd known that when we were together. It explains a lot of the disconnects we had—me craving verbal support from a man of few words, him feeling unloved because I rarely gave gifts and always forgot to keep the ice trays filled.

Also, Ex has been accepted in a trial for an experimental treatment. It's supposed to target the DNA of the tumors and cause it to stop duplicating the cancer cells.

We're cautiously hopeful.

Keepsake

After weeks of grueling radiation treatments, the tumor that was pressing on Ex's esophagus has been reduced in size. We're glad for that. They also targeted his ribs to try and lesson the pain from the cancer there.

He's still unable to eat by mouth, though, and he feels ill and exhausted. It's hard to believe, sometimes, how much his body has endured.

Over the months we've communicated often through text messages. I've saved some, like the one when he told me Pavarotti died. I eventually delete most, especially those that just say "ok" or "thanks."

But, I don't delete the most recent message, at least, not until another has come after it.

Because I never know...

Ruffling the marrow

Pavarotti's Last Performance of "Nessun Dorma," Torino 2006

"Some singing voices vibrate the sternum and the long bones of the listeners. The musicians in our family, call this 'ruffling the marrow.' Once done, ever after, the listener carries a bone-deep 'sense memory' ... something akin to feeling they now know the poignancy of and preciousness of life. Again. Once more. Pavarotti did that; ruffled the marrow; sang into people's very bones, restored their memories of poignant, precious life. Reset the humanity switch." 

~Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Latest crush: Henry VIII

I love The Tudors. Not only does it have a great script, great acting and fantastic costumes, Henry VIII is hot. Jonathan Rhys Meyers, who plays him, can invite me to his court any day. 

The last show of season two airs tonight. It's the end for Anne Boleyn, portrayed by the brilliant Natalie Dormer. It will be sad to see her go.

(Image from JRM Fansite)

How the prom date who dumped me ended up in my wedding

Mommy’s Martini asked readers to share their prom stories. Here's my sad, strange tale:

A guy at my church liked me. I liked him. We sat next to each other during sermons, paying more attention to how many times our thighs touched than the Scripture passage being expounded.

When my senior prom was announced, I mentioned it to church guy and he said he'd love to take me. I got goosebumps. It would be my first real date! (I was a late bloomer)

A little while later a guy at school asked me if I'd like to go to the prom with him. I told him thank you but no, someone else was taking me. School guy asked another classmate (they got married a few years later).

A week before the big night, church guy informed me that he wasn't interested in me anymore. Oh, and by the way, he wouldn't be taking me to the prom, either.

First I cried. Felt dejected. But then...then I got pissed. Really pissed. I called church guy and told him that even if we WEREN'T a couple anymore he should AT LEAST take me to the prom as a friend. I had my dress AND EVERYTHING! It was SHITTY of him to back out at the last minute!! (although, I didn't say "shitty" even though I was thinking it; I probably said "wrong" or "unfair," because I didn't start swearing publicly until, like, last year).

Church guy, however, was unmoved. Jerk.

So, I went to the prom with my two best friends. One who was dateless like me. The other who had a date with a smart geeky guy (who's probably a millionaire by now). Smart geeky guy was a good sport about it, and the four of us went to the prom together. He in a suit, the three of us in similar gowns—floor-length, princess-style with spaghetti straps—just different colors (mine was mint green).

Once we got there, though, dateless friend and I were basically on our own, to wallow in our datelessness. Though we tried to make the best of it, everyone else was with someone. Everyone. We were the only two there without dates (at least, that's how I remember it).

The rest of the evening is a merciful blur, but I do remember that when smart geeky guy dropped us off at my friend's house he kissed us all goodnight. It was my very first kiss on the mouth and I hardly even knew the guy! Oh, well.

EPILOGUE

You're wondering how church guy ended up in my wedding, right? Well, that summer I met Ex, we fell in love and got engaged the following year. I asked a friend to be a bridesmaid and guess who her boyfriend was? You got it. Church guy. He was also a casual friend of Ex's and when we needed one more groomsman, church guy ended up in the wedding party and escorted his girlfriend down the aisle.

Life is weird sometimes.

If I knew then

Amalah recently posted about the financial fears stay-at-home moms have. She asks:

"What if he left me? What would I do? I mean, screw the heartbreak and all that shit, what would I do? How would I pay bills, rent, car payments?"

She's right to be concerned. I stayed home with our children, my husband left me after twenty years of marriage, then I got an entry level job in an accounting department that everyone tells me "pays great" for my having been out of the workforce so long. And now? I'm living with two of my kids in a two-bedroom apartment where I sleep on a fold-out mattress on the living room floor, my clothes hung in the coat closet (the latter being somewhat better than our last place, where my clothes hung on the breakfast bar).

Having at one time lived in a lovely five bedroom Cape Cod this is my home now (yep, that's the tv on the floor):

Here's a different angle (and that big box in the back holds our Christmas ornaments—there's no room for it anywhere else):

Now, I know it's not abject poverty and there are others who have it far worse. Believe me, I am grateful for what I do have. But, if I could go back, these are some of the things I would do differently, so that maybe now I wouldn't have to pinch pennies harder than my Aunt Bernie pinched cheeks just to buy a new pair of shoes or go see a movie:

• Finish my college degree.
• Stay active in the workforce, at least, part-time (though, I think I would've still stayed home completely for the first year after each child was born).
• Keep a separate savings account and put as much into it as possible.
• Invest some of the money I saved (I would not depend on someone else for my retirement)
• Not have any joint credit cards

It might've seemed less than hopeful to have planned that way (sort of like a prenuptial agreement) but you know, I was hopeful and didn't plan and that didn't stop the break up from happening. It just made me unprepared for it.

Also, should add that even though I would like my own bedroom, I really don't mind sleeping on the floor. Must be that Asian in a past life thing.

I still say I was sucking noodles in my last incarnation

According to this, here's my past life diagnosis (with my observations inserted):

I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation. (I'm okay with that…I've always thought I had a masculine side to me.) You were born somewhere in the territory of modern East Australia around the year 1775. (Cool. Maybe I dated Nicole Kidman's great great great grandmother.) Your profession was that of a philosopher and thinker. (Well, that explains all the Carl Sagan books on my shelves.)

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:

Timid, constrained, quiet person. (Still like that sometimes…I don't mind the quiet part, but I'm trying to change the timid and constrained parts.) You had creative talents, which waited until this life to be liberated. (Hmm…not sure if they're liberated quite yet, but I'd say the cage door is at least open.) Sometimes your environment considered you strange. (I don't think that's changed in 233 years!)

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:

It always seemed to you that your perceptions of the world are somewhat different. Your lesson is to trust your intuition as your best guide in your present life. (I can do that, 'cause though in some ways I'm strongly analytical, I’m also a Bohemian through and through.)

Do you remember now?

Nope. I’m still convinced I was Asian in my past life.

So, what about you?

Also, thanks to Colin over at Therapy in the Making for the link to the test!

EDITED TO ADD: Bwahaahaa! Just got the double entendre in my title. That was totally unintended. *snort* 

Even worse than I thought

THE SCENE: This afternoon. Ikuni and I are at the gas station. The attendant asks me a number of questions and he frequently calls me, "Sweetie" and "Honey." The following ensues after pulling out of the station.

Me: How come the only guys who flirt with me are the ones I'm not attracted to?

Ikuni: The gas guy? I didn't think he was flirting with you.

Me: But what about the chattiness and all the sweetie's and the honey's?

Ikuni: That's not flirting. That's called living in the south.

Me: Oh.

(pause)

Me: Well, that sucks. Not only do guys I'm attracted to not flirt with me, guys I'm not attracted to don't flirt with me, either!

Do unto others

Today is Bloggers Unite for Human Rights day. For my contribution I'm posting a song by the band, Garbage. It's for those in our world who deserve not only compassion, but also the ability to get help regardless of what's in their bank accounts.

Bleed Like Me

Avalanche is sullen and too thin
She starves herself to rid herself of sin
And the kick is so divine when she sees bones beneath her skin
And she says:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Chris is all dressed up and acting coy
Painted like a brand new Christmas toy
He's trying to figure out if he's a girl or he's a boy
He says:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Doodle takes dad's scissors to her skin
And when she does relief comes setting in
While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Therapy is Speedie's brand new drug
Dancing with the devil's past has never been too fun
It's better off than trying to take a bullet from a gun
And she cries:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

JT gets all fucked up in some karaoke bar
After two drinks he's a loser after three drinks he's a star
Getting all nostalgic as he sings "I Will Survive"
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

You should see my scars
You should see my scars
You should see my scars
You should see my scars
Try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend
Try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend
Just try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend
Try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend
You should see my scars
You should see my scars

The weirdness that is me

Exhibit A. For Mother's Day Ikuni takes me to a Japanese restaurant for lunch. We pull into the parking lot. The sign blinks "open" but there isn't another vehicle within a block of the building. I freak.

"What if we're the only ones? We can't be the only ones. I don't want to be the only ones! I'll feel too self-conscious. They'll watch us eat. And I don't wanna be the only ones making them work on Mother's Day. I'll feel so guilty. Should we go somewhere else? Come back later in the week? But, they are open. And you wanted to take me here. That was so sweet of you. Now I feel even more guilty! WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo?!!"

Ikuni gives me the oh-my-god-my-mother-is-so-strange look, then laughs and says, "You were sooo Asian in a past life."

We agree to wait a bit and see if anyone else shows up. They do. We go in and have a great lunch. I'm such a dweeb.

Exhibit B. I rarely take the time to straighten my hair. Usually, I leave it in its natural state: curls flying every which way. Whenever I get a cut, though, my stylist hot irons it and for the next 24 hours I receive loads of compliments. Oh, your hair is so cute! You look so good! Wow, I didn't recognize you! (which makes me wonder what the hell I look like 97% of the time)

Yesterday, though, I decide to straighten it. I iron and iron and iron and sweat and sweat and sweat and finally get it looking almost like it does at the salon. I walk out the door and it's raining. My hair frizzes in 1.3 seconds.

Exhibit C, or in the words of E. M. Forster: "Only connect." For a good while, now, I've been tasting fish after eating. I eat chicken fettuccini. A little while later, I taste fish. Eat cheese pizza, taste fish. Pancakes, fish.

This begins to concern me. Why am I always getting a fishy aftertaste? Is some leftover baked trout anchored to my stomach? Is there a rare disease with this peculiar symptom? Should I be tested?

This morning, I eat a ham and egg omelet and again have a fishy aftertaste. I shuffle into the kitchen (I always shuffle in the morning) to take my vitamin, my Zoloft and, to lower my cholesterol...my daily 1000 milligrams of fish oil! Which may be working wonders to keep my heart healthy, but appears to have no effect whatsoever on my fast approaching senility.

35 months of my life

I've been pregnant and given birth four times. Three were fullterm, one a month premature. I thought for Mother's Day I'd reminisce a bit about my experiences.

Wordsmith - Fairly easy pregnancy. Just enough nausea to feel pampering was justified, but not enough to make me hang over the toilet after every meal. Craved apple pie. Which probably explains why I gained 40 pounds. Which I loved. My skinny self finally had some boobs. Yay.

Water broke around 1 AM. Contractions every 5 minutes. Tried to wake Ex, who mumbled something and turned over. He got moving when he heard me on the phone with the doctor, who told me to get to the hospital.

Once there, wanted to go natural till I heard the woman screaming in the next room: "OH MY GOD! I CAN'T TAKE IT! SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEEEAAASE!" I timidly asked the nurse if it was the woman's first baby, too, and she said matter-of-factly: "No, it's her fifth."

Minutes after the epidural I said I needed to go to the bathroom. Turned out, it was Wordsmith making his entrance instead. A few pushes and there he was! Total delivery time: 7 hours.

Drummer - Craved chicken burritos with hot sauce during pregnancy. Had heartburn that took a fire hose to put out, but it was worth it.

Went into labor on my due date. Tried to go natural again, but during transition I panicked and had another epidural. Drummer was born within an hour after getting it.

Later, fainted while walking to the restroom. First time I'd ever done that. The nurses caught me. Administered smelling salts. Felt like I was detached from my body. It was a kinda cool feeling, actually.

Ikuni - Much sicker. Only gained 25 pounds. In utero Ikuni felt most comfy lying on my sciatic nerve, and by my eighth month I was dragging my right leg like a wounded pirate.

Labor was short. But, Ikuni was face up, which caused terrible back pain. I was determined to go natural, though. Water broke. Transition hit. Pushed. Seemed like a cannonball exploded through my body. Baby!

Felt great afterwards. Took a shower. Ate a turkey sub. Did pushups (heh, heh, kidding, but I did feel really good).

Gamer - You know how I didn't hang over the toilet during my first pregnancy? That's where I lived while carrying Gamer. Was ill and exhausted the whole time. Might have had something to do with getting pregnant six months after having Ikuni! More proof that breastfeeding is not a form of birth control.

Went into labor a month early. Something was wrong. Had a sharp pain on each side. Contractions weren't doing anything. They did an ultrasound. Gamer was transverse breech. A c-section followed, and there was immediate concern. He wasn't breathing well, because his lungs weren't developed enough.

Before they rushed him to the pediatric hospital downtown, they let me see him for a few seconds. I touched his hand, they took him away and then I sobbed.

Thankfully, he did fine on the medication they gave him, and we got to bring him home Christmas Eve, a week after his birth.

***

So, those are my stories. What I didn't mention was how each time I marveled at the life that grew inside me. Wondered at these beautiful little people who made my world so much richer.

They say you forget the pain after they put the baby in your arms. Well, I have no idea what they're talking about. I still remember the pain. It's just that the joy is so much greater, it doesn't really matter anymore.

The things I could do to that man

"Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation is almost always somebody screwed up."
~Dr. Gregory House

I finally get a Hugh Laurie, er, I mean a House fix tonight!

Wordsmith and I became addicts of the show last year. During their last hiatus we fed our habit by renting a couple of discs each week and watching every episode from the first three seasons. Our dealer at Blockbuster got to know us really well.

For other Houseaholics who might not have seen the DVD special features here are bloopers from season two.

And this is for Bad Girl, who couldn't believe Hugh Laurie is from the UK and speaks in real life with the sexiest British accent imaginable. It's a fun 2005 interview on Craig Ferguson's late night show. Enjoy, my dear.

Speaking of interviews, I had the chance to feel a little celebrityish myself when Francis of She Who Blogs highlighted Bohemiolgy and Blogtations and asked me questions about blogging. Here's the link.