Friday, April 28, 2006

The Original Pobble

I was recently asked to explain what the Pobble part of my blog name and my email address is about. My biosister and I were raised on absurdist poetry: The Man Who Sang the Sillies; The Owl and the Pussycat; The Jabberwocky; ... The Pobble Who Has No Toes.

Now, before anyone takes me to task, all of these, and those not listed here, are indeed truly brilliant. There has just always been something about The Pobble that has delighted me more than the others. And so, without further ado...

The Pobble Who Has No Toes

The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said, 'Some day you may lose them all;'
He replied, 'Fish fiddle de-dee!'

And his aunt Jobiska made him drink,
Lavender water tinged with pink,
For she said, 'The world in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!'

The Pobble who has no toes,
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose
In a piece of scarlet flannel.

For his Aunt Jobiska said, 'No harm
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
Are safe, - provided he minds his nose.'

The Pobble swam fast and well,
And when boats or ships came near him
He tinkledy-blinkledy-winkled a bell,
So that all the world could hear him.

And all the Sailor and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side,
'He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!'

But before he touched the shore,
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.

And when he came to observe his feet,
Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
His face at once became forlorn
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble’s toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.

Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away
Nobody knew and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up,
To his Aunt Jobiska’s Park.

And she made him a feast at his earnest wish
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;
And she said – "It’s a fact the whole world knows,
That Pobbles are happier without their toes.

Those aren't Pobble Thoughts ~ they're Edward Lear's. But a buck fifty will still get you coffee.

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Yahoo Billy Steps Up...and We Both Step Down

First, the debacle was diverted. He understood completely that I didn't want the night's agenda to be meet, have a drink, have sex and actually seemed concerned that I had felt that way. Very nice. So, the date was on.

Second, he's adorable (I mean, really, really adorable ~ just as cute as can be); he's tall but not skinny, which is different for me and I discovered I really liked; he's got excellent taste in music that is even as ecclectic as my own ~ which is rare; he's got depth of personality that I actually was given glimpses of that really impress me. And yes, I spent the night and we had a very nice time, thank you. He even sleep snuggled. Who knew Yahoo Billy would be a sleep snuggler? And, while I'm not usually, I actually snuggled back and it didn't suck ~ which is the highest compliment I can pay sleep snuggling because dammit, there are snuggles and then there is sleep and ne'er the twain shall meet. Let me freakin' sleep already!

So ~ what's the problem? Why am I not here doing the Pobble Hop? The answer is I really don't know. Don't misunderstand me. It's not at all that I dislike him. There is nothing about him to dislike. And I even understand why he's got women throwing themselves at him. The man is..ahem...well...I understand why he's got groupies and all of you do now as well without me having to spell it out, I'm sure. He bought the drinks at the bar. He held my hand while I navigated cobblestones in my high heels. He has the Muppets and techno on his iTunes. He brought me/us water before bed. He offered to turn the volume of his television down if it was too loud for me to fall asleep. He is well tattooed yet none of them are just flash. He is (and Yahoo Billy, if you are reading this, I'm stealing your line. Hell, I'm stealing it even if Yahoo Billy isn't reading it) shy but never timid. Knowing what I know about him and about myself, we should have clicked immediately. Tepid to indifferent on both our parts should not be the response here. And trust me, it is on both our parts. I was nothing special this morning, either. Hell, between not being able to take my makeup off, the giant zit that took over my chin and bed head, I was very nearly bear trap ugly!

I truly believe in his element, Yahoo Billy is hot shit. I know in my element, I am hot shit. And I think we are even hot shit in very, very similar ways. But neither one of us was in our element last night. We were two strangers trying to decide what we wanted from the other one. This morning, I suggested we get to know each other better. (Bless him, he looked like a deer in the headlights as he said "I'm not looking for anything." The relief was almost humourous when I laughed and said "Dear God, NO!") I just want to see if the person I think could be my friend is really in there because right now, it's kinda ... eh, whatever. Isn't that horrible? But I just don't believe he's really that boring. So, we're going to get to know each other a little better, hang out a little more, see if we really could be friends. We both understand neither one of us is looking for A Relationship. And oh thank God that we are on the same page! So, it will be interesting. And I think it will actually even be a good time. I know it could be. And if it's not, if for some reason he continues to bore me and I continue to bore him ~ even that'll make a good story one of these days.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Moving Dirt and Other Debacles

The Lovely Cats is good at keeping promises. Wednesday, I looked at her and said "If you tell anyone I did this, I will look you in the eye and call you a liar and feel no guilt whatsoever." She has kept her mouth shut. What did I do that was so horrendous? I moved dirt. Several weeks ago, she was informed that the house would be livable (read: deleaded ~ and if you don't read the Lovely Cats' blog, just trust that her house needed deleading, it has been a fiasco, and keep reading.) Oh, but the soil was contaminated as well so they had had to remove the topsoil. It was okay, though, because she could plant a garden or something. So she called me and asked if I wanted to come down and plant flowers with her. Now, my favorite thing to do outside is find the closest door inside. I'm a city girl, through and through. In fact, I am the single most citified person I know. But...what the hell. Sometimes planting flowers is okay. And why should Spider Girl and Tai have all the fun. When I got there, it turns out that no one had yet replaced the top soil; they had simply left it in a very large pile by the driveway. We moved dirt. We spread dirt. I even got a blister. Dear Lord ~ get me back to the asphalt and pollution of the city! All that nature cannot possibly be good for a person. The only redeeming things about the day were that 1) it was for the Lovely Cats and 2) I didn't break a nail.

I think I have hurt my Dear One. Remember Yahoo Billy (formerly Yahoo Boy)? Well, when I mentioned him to my Dear One, he asked to see the profile. So I sent him Yahoo Billy's profile. My Dear One wrote back with: He looks like a member of Papa Roach. I hate them. Or a member of Smashmouth. I hate them. And body size is average MY ASS. I laughed and emailed him back telling him I hoped there was something redeemable about Yahoo Billy because I had a date with him Saturday night. I haven't heard from him since. The one time we've been online together, my Dear One ~ my talkative to the point of verbose Dear One ~ was monosyllabic. And nothing since. *sigh* I wish I could make it better but I know I can't. I can't wave my wand and be 25 again. I can't wave my wand and make him 30.

And speaking of Yahoo Billy...this could be a debacle itself. The situation could still be redeemed. We'll see how it goes. The details are a bit gory and would take a long time to write. Suffice it to say, during the week of instant messaging, it started to feel like an outcall, not a date. Now, I'm blunt and as straightforward as they come. And if all I was looking for was a guaranteed fuck, I would be all over this guy like white on rice. However, although I'm not looking to be picking out china patterns, I'm not looking to replace a blow-up doll, either. Silly me ~ I'd actually like a man to want to have sex with me because he knows me and wants me ~ and vice versa. Even just for a one night thing. Not just because we're scheduled to meet up at a bar on Saturday night. I know, I know ~ I'm a demanding, unrealistic bitch. So, I sent him an instant message that said I doubt we're going to be fucking around on Saturday, just so you know. I like actually knowing a man before I fall into bed with him. I'd still like to get together and get to know you a little bit because I see the potential for good times here. If, however, you want to bail, that's cool. Just let me know one way or the other. (Told you I was blunt and straightforward) So, we'll see what he says. Honestly ~ and if you can't be honest in your blog, where the hell can you be honest? ~ I'm okay either way. His stock goes up if he wants to get together anyway. If he doesn't, at least we haven't wasted each other's time.

(Editor's Note ~ FAEE, you might want to stop reading here!) I will never collaborate on a book again. The FAEE and I have an uncontracted-just-between-us agreement that half of the new book will be in her hands on June 15.
That's 625 words, defined and used in a sentence. My co-author is under the impression we are contracted to get them to the FAEE by then. He is in charge of defining the words. So far, I have 63 of them. And none of the definitions are ones that can go straight into the book. All of them still need work. Some of them aren't even definitions. This may just be a fun, little side thing for him but it is my livelihood and my reputation with this publishing house on the line. *sigh* Never, ever again.

Ah ~ the continuing saga!

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Porn Store Post, Part 2 (the Neighborhood)

The store is in a part of Boston known as the Fenway. And yes, for you baseball fans, it is indeed directly across the street from Fenway Park. On one end of the block is one of the swankiest clubs in town, Sofia’s. On the other, a gay bar and club called The Ramrod (not even I could make that up) and the Machine. In between, the porn store. All directly across the street from Family Friendly Fenway Park!

On Friday and Saturday nights, the street would be packed. Red Sox fans on one side of the block; gay men in leather or drag on one side of us; and young hipsters in the latest European young-hipster fashions on the other side. And a little bit of everybody coming in to check out the porn store.

The best part of the evening was an hour or so before the game started. Here’s the thing about the Ramrod ~ there is no signage, no marking, nothing to indicate that it’s anything other than a neighborhood bar. Inside, you are in a neighborhood bar. No matter who you are, walk in, have a seat at the bar and you’re gonna get a stiff drink or a well drafted beer. What always made me laugh, though, were the college kids. You know the type. God love them ~ they look alike, they dress alike, they sound alike. They could be from any college campus anywhere in the country. Inevitably, I would be sitting outside, smoking a cigarette, watching the world go by, and a group of college boys would come down the street, laughing and loud and being their macho, cool, going to the game with the guys selves. One of them would notice they were passing a bar and decide they should get a beer before they had to pay stadium prices. I could count to thirty and they would come scrambling out as if Satan himself was on their butts. The bartender would follow them out and shout “Come back anytime, boys” as he waved them down the street. He and I would smile at each other and laugh at the ignorance of some people. Beers are cheaper at the Ramrod and the seats are cleaner, too.

On Sundays, the Machine turned itself into a lesbian bar. One of the few in Boston, sadly. Since I regularly closed on Sunday nights, I became close acquaintances with the women who worked the door. My Sunday night routine quickly became close the store, head over to the Machine, have a shot, smoke a cigarette, have another shot, smoke another cigarette and go on home. Heather, the bartender and I became close the way two people who see each other regularly in one place but nowhere else become. She started making me her signature shot. One night, I asked her what it was so I could order it elsewhere. She laughed and told me I couldn’t because it wasn’t on a menu anywhere. Okay, I asked. So, what do you call it? She laughed and said “Pobble, you’re the only straight woman in Boston who gets to taste ‘Heather’s Snatch.’”

On the other side of the Ramrod was a 24-hour convenience store. You never, ever ordered anything made there. Even the coffee was questionable. Of course, I drank it but no one else I know would. And I understand why. Still, these were the guys who would tell you not to buy the candy on the bottom shelf because it had been there for so long. They would then turn around and sell it to someone who wasn’t “neighborhood” without batting an eye but they took care of their own. I lived in the neighborhood as well as worked there. One night, I was very sick and out of meds so I pulled a coat on over my pajamas (really, really sick) and went there ~ the closest 24-hour place around. They wouldn’t charge me for my NyQuil and forced me to take hot tea with me.

Across the street, next to the park, is the Howard Johnson hotel. Only Howard Johnson I’ve ever seen with a Chinese food restaurant. We lived on Chinese food. One of us would call in an order and I would head over. I was allowed to sit in the bar and smoke (do you see a pattern here?) while our food was being prepared. The bartender always gave me water with lemon. It would be waiting for me at my spot by the time I got there. And yes ~ they gave us discounts as well.

Sometimes, at one of the establishments, someone new would give me a hard time about where I worked. It never lasted long. While I don’t know what was said because it was never corrected in front of me, it never happened more than twice.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

10 Things I'm Addicted To

These are in no particular order. Here we go:

1. Coffee. I'm a coffee whore. My preference is hot, strong, fresh, extra light, no sugar. I will take it three days old with a cigarette put out in it. And don't even try to talk to me until I've had my first (or second) cup in the mornings.

2. Alchemy. The computer game. It's a puzzle game and I'm hooked. The Lovely Cats is the anti-christ. I know; I can hear your cries: "Not her! Not The Lovely Cats! What is the world coming to?!" I didn't know this either. She is, though. I have learned this because she is the one who has introduced me to Alchemy. Bad Cats, Bad! (thanks...)

3. Grammar. I even cringed when I wrote the title of this posting because it's supposed to be "10 Things to which I am Addicted" but that sounded too stuffy. My pet peeves are apostrophes and quotation marks. It is truly possible that the misuse of apostrophes and quotation marks is going to lead to the downfall of civilization as well know it. Okay, maybe it's not that bad but damn...

4. 80. That's the speed the Pobble Mobile and I enjoy the most. Faster than that and she doesn't handle so well. Slower than that and I don't handle so well. Yep. 80 is a good number. Especially on the Pike.

5. INXS. Still. In fact, I'm listening to them now. Jaded's post made my knees go weak. Don't ask why; I still don't know why. I only know that. And who am I to argue?

6. Hot baths. Now, I'm not talking about a get-clean-and-go-about-your-day bath. I'm talking about a bath with candles and bubbles and soft music and a glass of wine and no where to go whenever it is over. Soak until you are one giant prune. Get out; slip on a slinky, silky nightie; pour more wine; and curl up with a good book. If there is anything that doing this can't make better, I haven't found it.

7. Climate control. People ask if I prefer the hot or the cold. What kind of a question is that??? I don't prefer EITHER. If pushed, I would rather have the temperature be too cold because you can always put on more clothes. When it's HOT out, you can only get so naked. But let's be honest here ~ I love air conditioning. I love my baseboard heat and fireplaces. In the summer, my a.c units are set to 70. In the winter, my heat is set to 70. Anyone who tells you that you don't need a.c. in New England or heat in the South is lying to you. Ignore them. Listen to me.

8. Writing. Yep, I'm one of those lucky shmucks most people hate because I LOVE my job. I write. That's what I do. And that is TOO FUCKING COOL! In fact, I have to remind myself not to work all the time. I love to write Pobble Thoughts. I love to write letters. I love to write.

9. Linens. I know. This one is weird. But I love linens. One of these days, I'm going to buy my linens from places I don't even know exist right now. I will spend exorbitant amounts of money and talk about things like thread counts and cotton looping.

10. House plans. Yeah, I know this too. If being addicted to linens is weird, this is really weird. When I'm really stressed, I buy myself a magazine on house plans. When I want a distraction, I go online and look at house plans. When I need to clear my head, I doodle house plans. Every Christmas, Santa puts house plans in my stocking. It's kinda freaky. It's like he knows I love them or something.

There you have it. Ten things to which I am addicted (whew!). They say (and who the hell is "they" anyway?) that admitting the problem is the first step to recovery. So, here, I've shown you mine. You show me yours. Anybody else have any obscure addictions they'd like to embrace?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you (fresh, hot) coffee.

Yahoo Boy Writes Back

What the hell was I thinking? He wants to meet. Dear Lord, help me.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Warm Fuzzies

These are 10 things I love. Here's what's neat. I had a hard time limiting it to ten things. You may see this theme again. :) Here's the disclaimer: These are not things like my family, chocolate cake, or a brisk autumn day. These are the obscure, unusual little things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

1. Bears. Seriously. Black bears, brown bears, koala bears (I know...), panda bears (I said, I Know...), polar bears, teddy bears, Pooh bears, bear cubs, the Three Bears. They make me smile. (for the record, I'm also partial to puffins, owls, and duck-billed platipi? Whatever, I like them.)

2. My bed. Lord, I love my bed. Snuggle down, pull the sheets up and...ahhhhhhh. For being sick, for being well, for reading a book or doing a crossword, for ignoring the world, for feeling cozy, napping or getting a good night's rest ~ there is no place better than my bed. Golly, I do love my bed.

3. Kids' stuff. Eloise, Barbapapas, Muppets, Dr. Seuss. Proof that genius is not only for adults.

4. Getting mail. Not bills and fliers but real letters from real people actually sent to me. Nothing's better than finding a letter in my mailbox, curling up with a cup of tea and catching up with a friend.

5. Modern inventions. Okay, that is a polite way of saying "indoor plumbing" and "tampons." 'Nuff said, don't you think? 6. Lists. Have you noticed? I like lists. Top ten lists, Best-Of lists, To-Do lists, grocery lists. Hell, I like this list of lists.

7. Funky toenail polish. I stay (relatively) conservative on my fingernails. But if you can't wear electric blue or blaze orange on your toes, really, where can you wear them? 8. Halloween. All the holidays are great. From the end of October through mid-February, I'm practically giddy. And then there is Halloween. It is (almost) the most under-rated holiday. We get to dress up in funky costumes, we get to be scared, we get to do things like drink hot cider and go on hayrides. How can you not love it? (And in case you are interested, the most under-rated holidays are both on Feb. 15th: I Want Butterscotch Day and National Sea Monkey Day)

9. Cherry soda. Not cherry cola, although that's good, too. But good, old-fashioned cherry soda. Canada Dry used to make a great one but now Acme is the best around (if you're lucky enough to have family in southern NJ who stock it for you!).

10. Purple. Yep; I like purple. Blue is my favorite color. It's peaceful and calming. Hot pink is great. It's alive and happy. And still...there's something about purple. All shades of purple, from aubergine ;) to lavender. Purple is the National Sea Monkey Day of my color preferences.

Those are 10 things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy. They may not be your warm fuzzies but I hope they made you think of whatever ARE your warm fuzzies. We could all use more warm fuzzies in the world.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you (warm but hopefully not fuzzy) coffee.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Boring and Mundane

My Butt
I have started working out three to four times a week. My butt already looks better. This makes me very happy.

Last night I was re-reading some stuff I had written early on in my blogging career. Some of it is fun and I think I may repost some of it over the next couple of days. I seem to have blogger's block anyway (you notice the title of this post?) so...why not, right? Plus, most of my readers weren't reading Pobble Thoughts when I wrote the stuff so it will seem fresh!

I think I might be ready to start dating again. I've been single since August. God knows I've got Spring Fever. And I'm not talking about looking for the next long term relationship. It just might be nice to have someone to go out on a date with every now and then. Is this even possible? I have no idea. It's been too long since I tried. Experiment time! That being said...

Six Degrees of Separation
If it is true that every single one of us is only six degrees of separation away from knowing every person on the planet, then I wish I could find my line of connection to this one guy I've seen online (Yahoo Personals). Yes, I've done what yahoo calls breaking the ice with him. We'll see if he comes back with anything. It just seems so...something. It would be so much easier if I could just meet him randomly, through friends or at a club or whatever. I even thought about posting his picture here but that seemed weird and border line stalkish. I'm ready to date; I pray I'm never ready to stalk!

At the risk of jinxing those of us who live here in New England, spring might have actually arrived. Even the doggies are more energetic ~ which is actually funny because once the energy wanes, they crash and sleep for hours. It also means I have to keep a closer eye on my underwear. Daisy's penchant for wearing them as hats has expanded to include bras. She'll come waddling out of the bedroom with various pieces of my lingerie draped over her head, ears or nose. As amusing as it is, I would rather she leave them in the bedroom instead of parading them around and through the house (which really has nothing to do with spring so...) A friend brought me lovely flowers the other day and they are sitting on my desk. It's nice to have them as the reminder for when I can't get outside to see it myself. And that's all I'm gonna say about that in case we still end up with a late April snow!

Nothing new to report. Just didn't want you to think I had forgotten you were thinking about him and praying for him. I'll let you know as I do. Maybe a call to my Dear One is in order tonight...

Those are (boring and mundane) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Porn Store Post, Part One (reposting)

This was getting lost in the post about depression and I didn't want that to happen so here it is ~ reposted. :)

Several people have expressed interest in my time working at the porn store. One the one hand, it wasn't that much different from any other retail job. On the other hand...

I got the job, honestly, when I walked in as a customer. My roomie and I had gone in once before, it was right around the corner from our apartment, and my not-yet-ex-and-not-yet-asshole husband was overseas for a year. Reading material was in order. And the manager got to talking with me. Next thing I knew, I was a porn store clerk.

For all of my bravada, there was a part of me thinking "What the hell are you doing?????" At least we didn't have peep shows. Couldn't have done it with the peep shows. The end of my first day at work, however, even without the peep shows, I had been handcuffed by a coworker (demonstration purposes only), caught someone trying to use a stolen credit card, found someone huffing in the rental section, and discovered I knew absolutely nothing about strap-ons. I told my grandmother I worked at a video/magazine store.

By the end of my first month of work, I found myself alphabetizing videos muttering under my breath "Dammit, guys! 'Cunt Lickers' comes after 'Cunt Eaters'!!!" It had become a job. But I still told my grandmother I worked at a video/magazine store.

My nature is to do the best job I can do, whatever the project. Don't know anything about strap-ons? Okay ~ let's learn about strap-ons! I started educating myself about not only strap-ons but every thing and every genre in the store. I took home videos for Pizza and Porn nights. I read magazines. I learned about the toys. And somewhere along the line, I became the strap-on and bondage expert. To this day, I can tell you what makes a good strap-on and how to deal with chafing that can take erotic pain into Oh My God stop that Right Now I'm Not Fucking Joking. (Before you ask, know that I have to have some specific information about the individual's level of experience and pain tolerance before answering so don't ask unless you are willing to share some information about yourself!)

I always had to laugh at myself when I would forget where I worked. It only happened a handful of times in the year I was there. We would be opening inventory or rearranging display and I would think "Dear Lord! That's a nipp...Oh yeah. Right" and keep on moving.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Once More Into the Breach, Dear Friends

When I was twelve, someone finally ~ finally ~ put a name to the thing that had made my life such hell off and on for as long as I could remember. Depression.

Now, before I go any further, join me on my soapbox for a moment, would you? I have two very strongly held opinions about this diagnosis. First: Whoever named it "depression" did those of us who struggle with it one of the greatest possible dis-services. Better to have named it Fred than depression. Why? Because everyone gets depressed. Everyone gets blue. Even those of us who live with depression get depressed. It ain't the same thing, folks. If you have depression or know someone with it, you get this. If you don't, trust me and be grateful. Second: While I appreciate it becoming less stigmatized, doing so is a double-edged sword. More people are acknowledging that they have it; more people are deciding that they have it. Honestly, the proliferation of depression medication ads just piss me off. Yes, this is a chemical disease. It is also a coping-skill disease. That last part tends to get lost in the shuffle. So many people are willing to pop a zoloft or a wellbutrin but refuse to address the issues in their lives that are triggering the chemical imbalance ~ and then they don't understand why the meds aren't working. The ads don't mention the fact that therapy and lifestyle changes are important ~ hell, vital ~ to the success of dealing with depression. But popping the pill is easier than having to admit what is wrong and try to change it. So ~ yes, the disease is becoming less stigmatized. At the same time, it is becoming simplified. The first is good. The second is not.

There. Soapbox rant over. Luckily for me, I carry my soapbox with me everywhere I go should I need it. Now, it is safely stored back under my desk until next time.

Moving on to the point of this post ~ I think I am entering into another episode. I hate this. I hate feeling crazy. I hate feeling reactionary. I hate feeling overdramatic. I hate feeling unhealthy. None of those things are me. I'm a relatively sane, mostly laidback, only mildly dramatic, healthier than not human being. Except when I'm in an episode. At which point, all bets are off. Now, I could be wrong. Believe me, if I am, I will admit it! This is not something I am willing to turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy. However, one of the good things about having dealt with/lived with this for 24 years is I know the signs. Things have been overwhelming, taking on far greater levels of importance than they actually deserve. Things and people have become intimidating, and I'm so not easily intimidated. Things have stopped mattering, things that do really matter. Things that I know are unhealthy are becoming attractive so long as they will ease this feeling, even a little. My Gestalt Observer has kicked into overdrive thinking things such as "Wow, you know ~ that might be a little extreme here" or "You know, that's not a terribly sane/healthy/reasonable reaction" and, my personal favorite "Oh my God, why are you reacting this way?????"

Boredom has set in. Just trust me on this one that boredom ~ unshakable boredom ~ is a sign for me. I find myself wanting to email a total stranger I had an exchange with and rail at this person for being mean to me, even though there was nothing really mean about the exchange at all. Leaving the apartment seems impossible; staying in seems unbearable. Even finding the source of the stale dog pee smell in my bedroom ~ and this is the really, really embarrassing one to admit ~ isn't a priority.

My last episode was in January of 05. Since beginning work on those lifestyle/coping skill/ therapuetic changes I talked about earlier, I tend to be on a 12-18 month cycle. I'm right on schedule and didn't even realize it until I wrote that. Luckily, another good thing about knowing this disease in me the way I do is I also know the episodes end. If I can forestall it or abbreviate it, I'm looking at another week or two ~ now that I realize it's probably not just a funk. If it turns into a full-out episode, I'm looking at 6 to 8 weeks of not good stuff. Bottom line is ~ I know it will end. And that's worth knowing.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Why I Love the Lovely Cats

She did it again. She got me through the rough day. It wasn't any one thing that was crazy-making or overly stressful. It was just...stuff. But it was stuff that I didn't know how to do. It was finalizing divorce stuff. It was emotional stuff. It was "how am I ever going to remember all the questions I have to ask???" stuff. And the Lovely Cats took her one day off during Lent and came and did it all with me. She even left her house at 9:05. I'm gonna out her here ~ she usually isn't even fully awake at 9:05.

As we sat in the Pobble Mobile waiting for one of the stuffs (the English language will never stagnate so long as I am alive), I realized that I'm not sure there is anyone else I would ask this of. There are other people who would do it for me ~ the Divine M, Nemeria, and the One in VA spring to mind without me even thinking hard ~ but I'm not sure I would ask it of anyone other than the Lovely Cats. Think about it: Hi. It's me. Would you please leave all your shit that has you stressed beyond words during one of your busiest seasons at work, drive two hours, spend five and a half hours holding my hand while I do my stuff that has me stressed, and then drive two hours home again? Oh, and expect to do nothing interesting or get anything in return for it because no, we won't be shopping or having a nice lunch or stopping anywhere for you because I don't have the energy for that. If you're lucky, I'll buy you a caramel latte.

Yeah. Exactly. And that's what she did. Because she loves me, because she's the person I could ask, because that's who we are to each other. Oh, and for the caramel latte. We decided, as we sat in the rain waiting, this was definitely a backdoor kind of compliment.

But you know what else? It's done. It's ALL DONE. He can't take me by surprise any longer. He can't threaten me any longer. He can't touch me any longer. That's been the problem; I have thought it was over and have moved on. So, when he would appear out of the blue with a threat or intimidation or whatever ~ I would be blindsided. No more. I dug deep, the Lovely Cats held my hand ~ and we took care of business. Fuck him and his horse. My life is my own again. And that's why I love the Lovely Cats.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and three dollars will get you a caramel latte.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006


Here's the latest on R.J. ~ the 10 year old in Texas with the tumor. Doctors are giving him three weeks. The tumor is just growing too fast and the chemo isn't touching it.

It's that fine line between realism and pessimism. I am not a pessimistic person. I am a realistic person. As I have told my Dear One, so long as the heart beats and the brain functions, there is hope. Perhaps there is only three weeks' worth of hope ~ it's still three weeks' worth. (At the risk of being completely irreverant and insensitive, would one of you lovely readers who is also a writer/editor ~ SpiderGirl, Wolfgirrrl, Hikaru, Rose and the FAEE come to mind immediately ~ tell me if thost apostrophes belong there or not, please. Even in icky times, I am still infinitely myself and care about the misuse of apostrophes.)

So, three weeks and hope. That's the not-pessimistic view of it. Three weeks, give or take a few weeks. That's the realistic view of it.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Please continue to pray, cast, send warm fuzzies, positive energy ~ whatever it is that you do and have been doing for the past weeks. Thanks for caring so much. I'll keep you posted.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Tagged By Blue Dog...Kinda

I love being tagged. While I know some people find it annoying, I don't. I also love those quizzes that get sent around in emails where you change the answers to fit yourself and send them back. I know; I'm a goob. So, last month when Blue Dog tagged me, I thought it was great. However, unbeknownst to her at the time she tagged me and unbeknownst to me at the time I accepted the tag, the times I was supposed to write about happened to be really, really awful times in my life. Since I have no doubt that this was NOT Blue Dog's intent, I have refrained from completing that tag.

Today, however, she has the following bit up. She chose not to tag anyone at the end of it. I, however, have taken it as my tag. First, I love them. Second, I owe her one. Therefore, without further ado ~ The Blue Dog's Tag:

Four jobs I've had
1. Stationery designer
2. Porn store clerk
3. Community Relations Director
4. Counselor

Four movies I can watch over and over
1. A Man for All Seasons
2. Bring It On
3. Dark City
4. Hunt for Red October

Four places I have lived
1. Philadelphia, PA
2. Fayetteville, NC
3. Fredonia, NY
4. Malden, MA

Four TV shows I love
1. Cold Pizza
2. Meet the Press
3. CSI (I'm with Blue Dog, here ~ only the original)
4. America's Next Top Model
(for those of you who are wondering where the hell MASH is, I decided not to go with totally obvious answers) ;)

Four places I've vacationed
1. Stratford Upon Avon, England
2. Chicago, IL
3. Bar Harbor, ME
4. St. James, Antigua

Four of my favorite dishes
1. beef burritos
2. chicken and dumplings made by the Lovely Cats' mother
3. beef wellington with pate, not duxelle
4. dressing (also known as "stuffing" for those of you not from the South)

Four sites I visit daily

Four places I would rather be right now
1. Boston
2. Caribbeanan beach
3. a quaint New England inn overlooking the ocean
4. the basement

Four people I am tagging
1. Spider Girl
2. Gnightgirl
3. Dreamer
4. Tai

So, there you have it. A whole lot of four from the Pobble, especially for the Blue Dog.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.