It was pitch black when I woke on the goose down mattress pad that was layered on the Jack and the Beanstalk bed.
Grabbing my Blackberry, I text messaged her like we did when we were 10 years old playing with flashlights and walkie-talkies. “You awake?”
“NO” (That’s yes for Dumbass)
I dawned on my clothes and disabled the alarm sneaking out of my parents house like I was 16 again.
The excitement in the air kept me on a toddlers sleep schedule, waking every morning at 5:30 am (4:30 Houston time) I have already missed so much and couldn’t bare sleeping through the short time I had there. As I ran out of the house I coughed and sneezed, the pollen collected in my throat. The thin yellow film coated everything as if it was screaming at me, “You’ve already missed so much!”
He’s counting, She’s Walking, The way She burrows her head in the nook of her Dad’s neck, their infectious laughter and giggles. When I arrive and rap on the door I am barreled over with hugs and coffee.
Sitting on the edge of the steps I notice three photo frames. One of my niece, the other my nephew, the third is in a language I am illiterate to.
“What’s the 3rd?”
“I think you know”
Still a tad slow at 6:00 am. I sat in the silence of bewilderment. She stared at me as if to call me Dumbass again.
“You’re adopting!”
“Yes, from China, we just found out we were approved. It won’t be until next May or June when we can pick our baby up. Do you want to come to China with us?”
Just then, my nephew piped up, as though on cue, “baby sisteh”
“Of course! But, why not from Korea?”
(*** sidenote our kid sister is Korean**)
“Because we already have a girl, Korea has laws in place when a family already has a girl. And when a second child is born to a family in China she becomes government property. They seize her from the family and put her in a crib. The children barely receive crumbs for meals. The government workers call it “summary resolution.””
”I have heard about this, it’s the one child per family law. After the government seizes the new born child if the orphanage is near capacity a physician consult is sought and the child will purposely be misdiagnosed with nonexistent ailments and put into what they call a dying room where they are denied everything but air.”
“Some of the children do wind up in the missionary run orphanages, but the lot of them don’t.”
“Vegetative children”
“Exactly, cruelty at it’s worst”

When discussing the adoption later in the day, our Catholic mother had to suggest, “J-bird perhaps you should adopt too”. This was another way of her saying, my poor spinster daughter I hate you being alone.
She planted the thought and I couldn’t let it go. I want babies some day, but only with the right person. There I said it. I know my Mom is crossing herself saying, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – Thank the Lord she finally admitted it!”
I entertained the idea for over 24 hours asking myself if I could go through with it and took stock. Good job (check), family close (check), good health (check), Stable mind (TIME OUT).
I could still do my brunches and runs, that’s what baby sitters are for, right?
Later that day, in the secrecy of the study while everyone was grilling and draining margaritas, I snuck away to do some research and Googled “Chinese adoption.” I was slow and intrigued not noticing the lapse of time, Sissy came back to check on me. I told her what I was contemplating.
“I have been thinking about what Mom said, I could adopt I have always thought I would some day.”
“You’re to young.”
She’s never outright mean or degrading to me so I did not know how to respond. I sat there frozen, we’re to old to fight.
“What I mean is, you have to be 30 and you’ll only be 29 next summer. Besides, guys would be weird about you having a kid, don’t ya think?”
“Yeah, I know your right, it would hinder my dating.”

For now, I will hold on to my brunches and late night rendezvous for a few more years, all the while knowing I more than entertained the idea of adoption and single motherhood. I could always change my name to Mami but I don’t think it suites me. Children should have a mother and a father, sometimes it doesn’t work that way and we’re forced to adapt. I am going to China with my sister and brother-in-law, oh the shopping galore!

At the end of the day, it’s nice to know there are some things in this world I am still to young for.

After realizing my car really wasn’t stolen at the airport I decided, against my better judgement, to meet him for a drink. He urged and I was feeling needy.
One drink
Standing at the front door I couldn’t help but think how I hate returning somewhere I don’t want to be. Figuring things out and not understanding my miscalculations. Further more, not wanting to discect my own psyche because the inside of our own minds can be a scary place.
We met for one drink, I really needed a drink. However, I needed a bubble bath more than a drink. I caved as my thoughts and insecurities set in.

He gripped my hand and pulsed with a squeeze, my heart fluttered in response as to say, “still alive”.
“It’s great to see you again”
I should have rolled my eyes, I know I should have rolled my eyes. I returned with a suicidal, “You too.”
Walking along the path to nowheresville the band piped up. The drummer stared at my ass. He slipped his his hand in my rear jeans pocket like a bad 80’s magazine ad.
“What’s your poision?”
The sweat accumulated on my palms then I realized what she meant.
“Sky and Soda”
He was having a Gin and Tonic
I began fishing in my purse as he swiped my hand away.
“I’ll get it, please.”
“Only because you said please.”
He hands me my glass as we head for a quiet corner to patch things up.
A crash in our path. The blonde with the black top dropped her glass, shreiking like a crow that dropped a worm then falling to the floor laughing. I can’t help but think, The Bipolar Drunk.
His hand guides me across the glass. I want to head for the door, instead I give myself The Big Girl Talk. My thoughts were already teetering on the edge when I noticed the steadiness of his gaze AT THE BLONDE.
Maybe I was imagining it like post traumatic thinking, minutes turned into questions and statements of reassurance. Dutifully I wanted to believe, then I saw the obvious gaze again, he was still eyeing the blonde.
“She’s beautiful, a klutzy drunk, but gorgeous.”
“Hugh?”, he responded as though I was flashing a light in his face.
I wasn’t flashing the light, I am pretty damn secure, but I had to sigh and smile knowing I would sleep alone tonight.

I am wrong a lot. Giving someone the opportunity to prove that I am wrong and ripping the soap box to shreds is a humbling experience. When people screw up, in my naievity, I will give them a second chance. When they screw up a third time, just like baseball, they are out. No matter how many times you try to come up to bat, I won’t pitch the ball. I am to busy playing the outfield.
Every fingerprint and mark he left is a distant memory. The way he grabbed my arm pulling me close as I inhaled in a startled subtle gasp of excitement and lust. The joke he told to every new encounter while placing his hand on my hip. Twirling me around for the punch line. Bright colors and moonlit walks, I always knew I was standing a little to close. Then he was gone.

I really like you
Don’t tell me, show me. Words fade faster than sand slipping through the hourglass. They fell out of his mouth with ease as though I was yet another he said them to.
And then he was, “out of town”. Damn, I want to be a bimbo, and think “out of town” means phones don’t work. Def. calling B/S. He was the vampire I did not see

When you see the vampire in the room you are expecting to die. He seduces you into allowing him to kill you. Your eyes give the passionate yes as your tomorrow fades. And yet, you believe, you have to. Because Peter Pan is knocking on your window. The tortured animals always recover scarred and more experienced. Never bitter. I tried to convince myself the rapid buzz that emanates from him is the sound of a heart buried deep beneath the strife and jealousy he projects.
But you believe, you can convenience him not to suck your life. Sex and death. Peak experiences. His laughter frightened me, no that was my laugh, a projectile force of the truth. And I hate it when the first feeling, my initial character analysis was right. I reloaded my emotional self unto him, hoping and wanting desperately to believe I was wrong.

The wound has healed, I am in the dugout now, warming up and waiting to bat.

This weekend I will be going home. Home to the Garden State. When most people think of New Jersey they think of Newark. That’s not Jersey, that’s a transport to Hell. Jersey is beautiful. At least the town my folks live in. Imagine being transformed back in time where main streets existed, people ride their bikes everywhere, the town wakes up for runs, bike rides, old fashioned breakfast, morning coffee, a father and son playing catch in the back yard, a child window shopping with her grandma, and Vino tossing pizza in the restaurant window. That’s Moorestown, NJ. Similar to the zoo, we have a whole section reserved for the Tony’s and the Joey’s occasionally they get out and are arrested but, “hey man I got yous guyses back”

When I last went home for my kid sisters wedding I went for my morning jog and stopped at the WaWa for coffee. It was a typical Friday morning, WaWa was packed as I stood in line in my jog outfit, a HOTT construction worker, yes I said it A HOTT CONSTRUCTION WORKER, was in front of me. He turned around and said, “Miss, I’ll get your coffee for you.”

I was flabbergasted. Someone wanting to buy me a drink before noon tha was destined to wake me up and not make the present company look more attractive. Nonalcoholic. Granted it only cost $1.29 that’s not my point.

In my best Southern Belle accent, which tends to sound more like a Jewish mother, I replied, “And people in the South think everyone up North is rude”

He replied, “It’s not that there aren’t a lot of assholes here; it’s that we are more densely packed together so there are more assholes per square mile.”

That’s the North East and Jersey – straight up saying it just like it is.

I thanked him and hobbled down the cobblestone sidewalk smiling coffee in hand.

I am giddy with excitement at seeing my older sister and her family. She put up with me in high school, to say I was easy to handle and love during those years is the tsunami of understatements. Red Tornado was my nickname, hardly the debutant in waiting more like a cross between Mary Anne and Pippy Longstocking. And now years later, we have grown beyond all the childhood angst and hair pulling. We pulled a lot of hair and somehow were both nominated “Best Hair” senior year. The stretching of the cuticles must have strengthened our outer core. We hurt each other with nasty names and slaps on the cheek as our mother ran after us with soap, Tabasco sauce, and the dreaded wooden spoon. Just thinking about the wooden spoon sends chills up and down my spine.

I don’t know when it happened, it just did. Somewhere along the road roughly after the age of 20 we became friends. The hair pulling and face slapping has turned into smiles, sideways glances, admiration and a deeper unconditional love. We can say A LOT with only 3 sentences. Glancing at one another across the room and stating simultaneously, “Mom will never grow up” as she plays on the ground with the grandkids.

All 4 of my siblings (there’s 5 of us) are the best friends I long to see every day and wish I had cherished the time we DID see one another every day. My warm hugs, finger painting, Cotton pajamas, Annie, grilled cheese sandwiches, funny Halloween costumes, sitting next to the fireplace after a bath, four square, cheese on the rug, and Nathan ate the Yodels moments. My warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Spending the weekend with Sissy, her husband F, 2 kids and the most amazing parents is more than one could ever ask for. Perhaps my brother S (the real writer in the family) will drive up from Baltimore and surprise me as he did last time. Even now, the thought of it all has me sitting at a Tahiti bar on the beach instead of the sterile work enviorment as I troll away at my desk.

If you’re looking to kick off the weekend please join us Thursday night to celebrate everyone’s favorite lawyer’s birthday at Komodo’s 9:00 pm. Man, you never did tell me chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry cake. Fingers crossed, I promise no food fights (some things I will never grow out of).

The last 3 evenings it has blared loud above my head with a squeak, knock, bang, brassy undertones, and metal guitars. I pace and saunter back and forth. Metallica and Marilyn Manson are not meant to be played after 10:00 pm unless you are sacrificing Windows 98 or the Olson Twins. I can just know the neighbors are playing air guitar. Grabbing a broom stick I hit the ceiling and banged. Nothing. I banged again. He banged back. He fucking banged back.

This is a warning. Hell have no furry like a lady with PMS on a Monday evening. I have John Denver and Hanson on stand by. I am giving him 5 more minutes then I am marching up the stairs with my sea mineral blue face mask, my bathrobe, red hair in strands medusa style, de-clawed fur ball cat (her name is Jo b/c she’s a bad ass), and a pair of chopsticks. The torture will begin. Quentin Tarantino has nothing on my tactics.

Beware ol’ neighbor above I will get you.

An hour later I never left but it stopped. I am sipping chamomile tea and talking to Tiffy.

Life is good once again.

I called and said nothing
“Hello
Jess you there?”
I couldn’t speak – a moan escaped. If I spoke I’d be sure to break down, which I don’t like to do.

Her heart unbundled as she offered unsolicited telephonic hugs.
“You should have taken my call or called me. Wait! I forgot who I was dealing with. You wouldn’t have.
I’ll be over at 10.”

That was it. My silence and her intuition.
Does everyone have a friend like this? The rational calm voice of a friend guiding you to the choice you won’t regret. The One you call for advice on how to handle a situation or to deal with the aftermath. Making lists of pros and cons and labeling it the “Don’t Do It” Rare moments when emotions are substiuted for mensa minds. Sometimes you call in the midst of an outbreak and break it down.

Then, free will takes over.

I haven’t spoken to Rea for 2 weeks. She knew I was makng masochistic choices. “You Catholic girls start much to late.”
I broke down in a trash heap today. The moutain of strife is piling up which has forced me to call in the reinforcements. She’ll grab a shovel and begin the clean up all the while laughing and ask, “Remember running through the sand in Laguna? There was a full moon, a warm fall breeze, but the sand was dead pan cold. We rationalized if we ran faster we would not feel the sandy ice particles on our bare feet. Ending the episode with us falling down laughing in the ice cold sand.”
She’ll scold me of course. The lashing is enevitable. I will use up all of my “But”, “I believed him”, “I thought”, “He said”, and “I wants”. We’ll drink champagne in the middle of the day. Sometimes you just need to celebrate with out cause.

She’s bringing chocolate kisses and daisies. She’ll wipe the tear from my eye and never say those four dreaded words.

I
Told
You
So

Everyone should have a friend like Rea. A true sister of the heart.

If anyone needs me until then, I am going to my Rob Thomas happy place.
I’m out.

I went in for some water, and he for some coffee and M & M’s.

I was in my own world zoning out to Nelly walking with a little bounce. As I approached the counter, in typical Pig Pen fashion things were falling around me. I dropped the contents of my purse fumbling to get Mariah Carey off my IPOD. Squating down to pick up my items I heard, “You dropped this.” I looked up and saw god.

His eyes of a clear green stolen from the vacation I never took. He glowed as though the sun snuck down and kissed him good morning. When he stood up a scent of vanilla musk and honeysuckle’s snuck out from his white linen shirt. It lingered.

I thanked him and quickly checked for a wedding ring. No ring or tan line. Throwing the contents of my purse into an internal debacle he paid for his and I paid for mine.

Walking out my arms were full, with out pause, he opened the door for me. As I walked towards my car I dared myself to look over my shoulder. I never did.

I for got they made them like that.

And to the person who put Mariah Carey on my IPOD – this is war. I am downloading Hanson this moment.

Ronda

This is my best friend Ronda, she sent me this stilll shot from an independant film she is currently filming.

All I can think is,
OMG Ronda whatever you do:
“DON’T SAY CANDY MAN, CANDY MAN, CANDY MAN!”

http://www.sevenandahalfseals.com

On another random note:
The IT world is apparently on hold, as Star Wars fans everywhere anticipate the latest film. I tried to schedule a meeting today with a vendor but was rejected as there is a group outing to view the movie. If there was ever an opportunity to hack a system or unload a virus it is today.

I grew up with Billy Joel

He was always on in the car when my father would drive me to gymnastic lessons, basketball lessons, soccer, dance lessons, viola lessons, cello lessons, drum lessons, piano lessons, and organ lessons. I really can’t complain about my childhood other than the organ lessons. We took them as a family.
Can you say Grizzwald Family SCARY?

My dad would sing a cappella and tap the steering wheel to Billy. During the beat breaks he’d turn the volume off to hear my little girl squeaks. Only The Good Die Young, Uptown Girl, Allentown, For The Longest Time, Italian Restaurant, Tell Her About It, and my favorite Keeping The Faith (yeah yeah yeah)

Some days all a girl needs is to download some Billy Joel and talk to her dad.

”Sometimes your independent to a fault.” She told me not meaning it as the compliment I took it as. I like to do things on my own and have a problem asking for help. I’m not a soldier wounded in battle who needs others to lean on.
I don’t do victim.
It’s weak and causes people to look at you as though you need help. HELP! Sometimes it’s a person’s weakness that endears you to them. Once their fixed they aren’t as likeable. I’m full of dysfunctions and weaknesses. I don’t wear them on my sleeve, the badge of neurosis. The black tape on my arm like a platoon remembering a fallen hero.
Dramatic, but not tragic.

We all maneuver our way through the dark looking for the same basic necessities in life. Food, water, clothing, shelter, love and companionship. Each of us unique in our very own way. I love the ME that I am and despise the unglued obsessive needy me I become in relationships. Minutes turn into hours as I try to answer all of the unanswered questions. Wondering when and if he will call or ask to see me. Dashing for my phone after a brief recess when it is not tucked safely in my pocket looking for missed calls. The incessant emails shared between my girlfriends and I hypothesizing his next move. I become unglued and vulnerable. I despise being vulnerable I would rather be single and free to be a tourist in my own city than sitting at home waiting and wondering when he’s going to call. I hate that girl.

The needy codependent gal is only satiated by him

This is why I will sabotage a relationship. I will flee from a relationship scared of losing the ME and becoming an US faster than the speed of light. You’ll blink and I’ll be gone wondering what happened and where things went wrong. At the first hint of rejection I will be lacing up my emotional self ready to sprint away. By the time you notice I am gone I have lapped you twice. It’s a lot easier to wave the white flag and throw a left hook in defense than to wonder why your not here. This is my weapon of fear.

I really like you
Don’t tell me that
Why? I do
I’ll run, it’s what I do. Show me don’t tell me

File under introspection