Cootersnap!

Last night when I was having dinner with my parents, my sister and her family, my niece said, "Auntie Ang, I love you too much ever after." I got a little weepy.

I broke my back once trying to stop a fight between a couple when I worked as a bartender at the Deadwood. That little bastard. I sued him for hospital bills... and had $97 left over. I think I spent it on pot.

Less than a year later, I broke a cheekbone on a high school wrestler's fist as he and four of his friends tried to rid College Green Park (aka 'Rape Park') of my 'kind'... which, at the time, seemed to be hippies. (Incidentally, I was never a hippy... those kids were just stoopid).

I've had my heart broken. Twice (and a half). It's mending nicely.

Tonight I went to the store and forgot what I went to get, but spent $15 anyway. God I hate that.

Today for the first time in MONTHS, my desk at work is clean.

I never went to my high school prom. Senior prom (1983) I made my boyfriend take me to see "Gandhi"... we broke up soon thereafter.

I haven't been 'popular' since the 4th grade.

I have a lot to say, but not the vocabulary for it.

My dog still has a fascination with 'feminine products'.

I love mead. I love Amos de la Keecherton Preggy Swangan for bringing it into my life. And I can't wait for my next niece to be born mid-November.

Scott gave me a book for my birthday called How to Good-bye Depression by Hiroyuki Nishigaki which is one of the biggest gut-blasters of all time.

Jason got me a "classic" Mr. Potato Head and a box of REAL Barnum's animal crackers.

I am lucky enough to have some of the best people in the world as friends. And getting to know more.

Mel Gibson bugs the hell out of me.

Bugs Bunny cartoons are still my favorite... always wanted to do an anthropology of cartoons, but have never been incredibly driven.

Mrs. Gilman (my fourth grade teacher) was always my favorite. In college, Dr. Paul Durrenberger was my mentor.

People who don't let their lips meet when pronouncing an 'M' bug the hell out of me. DO NOT speak with your pearly whites. That's disgusting.

I can't stand lotion, but 'wear' it from time to time when my skin feels like a damn elbow on the Jolly Green Giant.

I'm not a girly girl... but damn, there are days I wish I was...

I use the word "I" too much.

Ok, here 'tis: a post about a future blog. I made a passing comment about desiring an online bookclub, and it's caught on with some folks. So this post, while it may get buried under future posts, is one I will keep checking in on until we get our new blog set up.

Catt, post your ideas here, my wondrous twin, so that we all may read them. Bodil, Vadergrrrl, Meg, Mush, Fleece, El Cid... ANYONE who wants to be a part of our little read 'n rant, cough up some ideas. Titles, authors, how the blog should be run, etc. We'll just capitalize on all of our intellects and have the best damn online bookclub EVER!!

Now, I know that (seeing as how this is Bloggyville) this certainly won't work like a regular book club. We may be posting about the title du jour for days. In a way this'll be rather nice, don't you think? So come one, come all. Drop names, drop ideas... let's get this under way.

There are days when I'm here at work and wonder how in the hell I ended up in this job. As many of you know, I work for an architect as the business manager. Or whatever. Call me what you will... I basically do everything except for the actual designing. But how, with a degree in anthropology, did I go from working three years for the State Archaeologist, to sitting behind a computer all day? I miss my life as a dig bum. I miss getting my hands dirty, curling silty loam between my thumb and index finger. I miss working outside, screening augers-full of soil for hidden riches in my bare hands so I can feel everything (including the chert shard that sliced my palm from heaven to hell). I miss the lab work, every last bit of it... including the pain-in-the-ass soil flotations. What I don't miss are the low wages, lack of benefits, the overly-competitive back-stabbing that went along with a lot of my fellow archies, and, at times, the utter lack of respect for some of the relics we would find. I could go on and on about the sheer stupidity of one of my bosses regarding some Black Sand pottery, but why bother? It's now just little sherds of unidentifiable crap.

Therefore, I should be thankful to be here. I'm paid very well for my services, enjoy good benefits, and when I wanted a new computer at home, my boss bought me a Dell Inspiron 600m laptop. Can I beat that? Probably not... at least not in this town. But something has been stirring in me, in my life. I'm bored. I love Iowa City, but there are days I think there is no way for me to grow beyond the limits of this fishbowl.

***

It's really dark here this morning. Stormy weather. Before the rain blew in, I sat outside on the back 'patio' and watched the little sparks of lightning, listened to the 'low tones of thunder' (Rumi), and smoked a cigarette. My boss is gone for the morning, it's quiet here. I like that a LOT. I can think about things in a different way. I can also get about twice the work done when he's not in the office (even including the time I'm spending to write this post).

***

I simply adore our public library. Adore it. I just finished reading 'The Da Vince Code' and am ever-thankful I didn't buy it. Right now, I'm reading a book called 'Spinsters' by Pagan Kennedy. My friend, Meg, knows Pagan and recommended the book last time we were together. I have to tell you, ladies, it's worth reading. When I'm done with it, I have 'The Talented Mr. Ripley' by Patricia Highsmith that Jason suggested I get. I love to read. I want to be in another book club. I'm not the type of reader that can get into the Ya-Ya's (though I DID read it). I love the Sue Grafton series, though that wouldn't make for serious book club dialogue. One of my favorite books of all time is 'Crime and Punishment'. I think I need to read (and/or re-read) a lot of the classics. Is anyone up for some 'online' type of bookclub? It doesn't have to be one particular genre. I'm actually pretty flexible in that area.

***

My dog is addicted to feminine products.

***

I still can't find the ring Twitch gave me. And why do I find that so funny?

***

I have some very good, very close friends. And I need to tell them how much I love and appreciate them.

***

Well, my little peepages, 'tis time for me to get my ass back to work. Ho-hum. Hope this drivel wasn't too boring for you to read. I just couldn't bring myself to write something entirely cohesive.

Fact: I can't swing a dead cat in this town without beaning one of my ex-boyfriends.

Fact: I have more ex-boyfriends than I have leg hair. (I hate shaving... besides, I'm blonde. It doesn't really show and quite frankly, I like the way it feels when a summer breeze runs through it.)

Fact: I'm friends with all of my ex-boyfriends except for two (the Ex-Fiance and Twitch).

Anyway, here's my tale:

Once upon a time, I dated someone named Blake. It was after the EF and I had split, and I had some issues that revolved around trust. Specifically that I did NOT trust anyone who wanted to date me. The EF made certain to destroy my sense of self, my willpower, my ability to trust people until they gave me a reason not to. This period in my life is somewhat hazy. It took me damn near three years to yank my ass out of the emotional rut the EF had helped me create (due in LARGE part to my best-ever friend, Amos DeLaKeech, figuratively slapping me across the face and saying "Fucking get over it already!!") But even then, I still shied away from relationships, unsure if there was really anything about ME as a person that another person could understand, much less like. Mostly, I was just aloof. I'd go out on a few dates with a guy, then before things got too close, I'd date someone else. No commitment, no strings, no lies. It was an unfulfilling way to live, but it was how I dealt with my lack of self-confidence.

Then I met Blake. He seemed so shy and self-effacing. Sweet. We started spending time together, and before we knew it, we were 'dating'. We were comfortable together. We would cook dinner just about every Saturday night at his house and watch movies. The more I began to like him, the more that gnawing sensation in my gut started acting up. With not so much as an explanation to him, I told him that I just wanted to be friends with him. It was a little crappy for awhile, but then we really did become friends. I'd still go over on Saturdays after work, we'd still cook dinner together. There just wasn't the aspect anymore to our relationship that made me back off. In other words, I was terrified to have sex again. Afraid I would get hurt like EF had hurt me.

This state of affairs lasted for quite awhile. We were happy to spend time with each other. We would talk about our love lives with each other... not that I had that much to discuss. But it was close, comfortable and not threatening. Then, in the space of a few e-mails, we found ourselves in the middle of an imbroglio that ended our friendship. I had lost one of my best friends. Years have passed since then. We eventually came around to civil nods, then waves, then brief conversations and even a few e-mails.

I think it was about three or four (??? I can't remember) years ago that Blake got married. We barely saw each other, even in passing. By that time, it wasn't a void anymore, though. It just was...

Last Sunday, my friend Brian and I went out to the Sutliff bridge, hung out, ate bad greazzzy food (that was delicious!), and talked about all manner of things. I poured my heart out to him about what I wished I could find in a partner, but on the verge of 39, I've pretty much gotten over the idea of 'soul mate'. Later that afternoon, I was sitting in George's working the NY Times crossword, and Blake came in with his ultimate frisbee teammates. We chatted for a little while, he told me that he and and his wife were in the process of divorcing and he was living with his friend J. That news really saddened me... just remembering how very sensitive (almost fragile in a way) Blake is. This is not to say he's some namby-pamby kind of wuss. But he's extremely trusting and loving... and the idea that he was hurting made me hurt, too.

We decided to hook up 'sometime' for a couple games of cribbage, a few beers... just get caught up. He called the next day. I'd ended up working at George's that night (baaaad night... the T's were there and I couldn't bring myself to wait on them), but got the message when I got home. So I called him back the next day (Tuesday), and we met Wednesday night.

I don't know why I'm really writing about all of this, except that I'm confused. Again. I have so many feelings of distrust that evolved from EF, that are now layered with the lies Twitch and Twatch told me. It's hard for me to believe a lot of shit that comes out of people's mouths. And there are times I'm not sure I can believe in myself. Actions speak louder than words.

***

Blake called when I was home for lunch this afternoon. Dinner and a movie (as soon as I clean my apartment). Cribbage on Sunday after he's done working out. I want to be open with him, like we once were. But I'm afraid. And I don't know what to do.

And besides, he gave me a damn hickey. I wish I could say it's a 'tasteful' hickey, but there is no such thing in my book. I think they're tacky, and I think it makes me look like a slut. I need Vadergrrrl to give him a giant WHAP! Sigh. He's 41, 42 and I'm 38 going on 50. What are we doing? We're old enough to know better. Aren't we?

This is goofy. I was in my bathroom last night getting ready for bed, washing my face, etc., when I looked up on the shelf and there was this blue Oral B. I had gotten it for the viking when we were together, but didn't realize at the time of purchase that I wasn't going to see him again.

I last saw him on a Saturday morning (May 8th to be exact) as he was leaving my apartment to drive to Detroit.

Now, this story isn't about the viking or our relationship. It's about the toothbrush. There it sits, having never been used, on my bathroom shelf. It made me rather sad in a 'holy shit, I forgot all about that' kind of way. Hmm. That poor dejected toothbrush. I think I will use it to clean the diamond ring Twitch got for me... and then, all sparkly, that ring will find its way to the Gilbert Street pawn shop, and I'll find myself in the nearest bar celebrating. The toothbrush will have performed its one and only duty before meeting its demise within the confines of a dumpster behind George's.

And with that, I dust off my hands.

Fin.

Saturday. Oh, blessed happy Saturday. It was one of those days when you wake up and realize that it's all in your hands and life is going to be what you make it in your small crafting way. Thus enters George's the divine bartender queen, The Beloved Cooter. Work was great. For those of you who don't know, I have a 'real' job that brings me 'real' money, but on Saturdays I work the day shift at a local bar called George's. It's this one day a week that makes me happy (until football Saturdays happen... I'm not a Hawk fan. Bad thing to be in this town). But my regulars are wonderful and there's just something about serving others that makes me feel good. Even if it is the last legal drug.

My friend, Nuclear Nick had called me the night before to tell me he and his beloved, Kristen, were in town and would be down sometime after my shift. Miz Meems and Mister Mullet (sorry, sweet... but I'm trying to protect the anonymity of some folk that may not wish to be identified) had come in to watch the Cubs that afternoon, and when I got off work at 6:30, we grabbed the confessional, relaxed and talked about the direction of the wind and other neccessary whatnots.

Eventually, Mark came in, MM and MM left, Skippy arrived, then Victor, then Nick and Kristen. People came, people went.. our table had grown in proportion. Even though it was one night, my 'family' was back. I got to tell people how much I love them. And it felt good.

I can't do justice to the feelings that swarmed over me that night. It was just good. Happy. And I can't wait to go to Minneapolis for Nick and Kristen's wedding.

Peace. Out.

This blank screen is stifling me. I've looked at it a thousand times since my last post, but just haven't had words. Mental constipation. Creative constipation. So here goes... *poot*

This last weekend was odd on so many levels. Good odd. Can't remember a whole lot about Friday, other than hanging out with J who was en route from Tacoma to Myrtle's Beach with a detour back up to Minnesota to visit family. Her husband is already at the other end setting up house and preparing for his teaching gig. It was a good night to run into a random person you once knew (she was my photography instructor in the fall of 2000, then worked at George's for a brief period), laugh over a few beers and talk about the few things you have in common. So this is going to be my 'Friday' story, and it doesn't have a lot to do with the actual evening...

When I was in the phot/lab class, I was single and had been for a loooong time. So J decides that she's going to set me up with her best friend C. C calls me, we nervously chatter and set up plans to meet at the Sanctuary. I immediately call J to tell her, but her line's busy (prob'ly talking to C).

The appointed night arrives, and while I was mildly nervous, there just weren't any of those little jittery butterfly thingies. Ah well. I walk in, let my eyes settle into the ambience, and spot C AND J sitting together in front of the fireplace. Ok, that's odd, but J had warned me that C was shy and she was just going to remain long enough for the ice to break. The three of us are sitting around on the overstuffed leather furniture eating a few appetizers, drinking wine, chatting. I decide to get more comfortable, and slide down the to the floor, sitting Indian style. So about twenty minutes later, as we're all yakking away, I feel the stir to use the facilities.

Well, for this date, I wore my nicest 'comfort' shirt (light green fleece button-down), my favorite pair of Levi's and a stupid pair of Clark's that has tiny buckles on the side. Uber comfy, but damned if I wasn't stuck to the carpet! For the next two minutes, J and C are working to free my shoe from its berber hell.

Know what? That was the frikkin' HIGHLIGHT of the night!! I was so embarrassed, but luckily I'm blessed with the ability to laugh at myself... and my shoes. And laughing, in my book, is a hell of a lot better than trying to have a conversation with someone who's 'very likeable but there's nothin' gonna happen and we both know it'.

I am in no way unhappy for having spent time with this man, short-lived though it was. He is considerate, handsome, intelligent.... and now married to J.

As Lily White Intentions would say:
Done. Thanks.

// posted by Me @ <> 0 comments

Heh heh. Last night I met Miz Meems for a few cocktails after work. Our friend Dick came over with "Hey, Angie, I have the perfect name for your blog... Angiogram." I thought that was pretty durn funny, but then I thought maybe Angina would be better. More fitting, anyway, don't you think? Alas, I'm pretty attached to Cootersnap, so will not be changing.

Epiphany. I had one the other night during one of our famous Iowa thunderstorms (which is just about my favorite thing in weather). The epiphany was this: I am me. That's it. Sound simple? It is and it isn't. For too long I've cared too much what other people thought of me. Everyone wants to be liked, loved, appreciated. And when someone doesn't comply with how I feel about myself, it throws me into a bit of a headspin. Having read a post by our favorite bouncer, Rob, really drove that home, though.

Why is it as human beings, we waste so much of our time worrying about the things we can't change? I can't make anyone respect me or love me or even like me. So why try to change that impression, much less CARE about it? In 26 days I am turning 39 years old. I don't feel that 'old' and I sure don't act it. But the fact is, I'm old enough to know better. Love, comfort, acceptance... they all come in a variety of forms. And I know that it is within my power to feel at peace with my person.

Namasté. Walk in beauty, walk in love, and most important of all... walk proudly in your own skin.

Ok. No holds barred. Once in every so often, ya gotta cut the dead wood. Whether it's things or people, it's GOT TO happen. Not a fun thing, not a (necessarily) happy thing. But why keep shit around that makes you unhappy?

Actions speak louder than words. I spent f***in' months telling my ex-boyfriend just that. Do I really need to tell my friends that? I'm DONE with it. Dead wood is dead wood. If you're going to grow, sometimes you just have to prune.

If I'm horribly pathetic for the next 102.83 hours, bear with me. I'm not a nice person, but I'm honest. And if you choose not to bear with me, please walk in beauty anyway... okay?.