maritta rants

she is petite. mouthy. stylish. gorgeous. hilarious. loving. brilliant.
she is also bitter. angry. bitchy. bitter. bitter. bitter.

right now she is snarling at any and all things near her and its hard not to take it personally. but its not personal. never has been. the lemon barrage has beaten her black and blue and she has never had a taste for lemonade.

she gave up her life/home/career once to chase a dream guy that turned out to be too much "that guy" and not enough dream. turns out he was wooing someone else while sharing her housespace and her bed.

rescued from that dizzy fall by Mr. Perfect and a fairytale romance straight off of the pages of Harlequin Romance. all of us were fooled. there wasn't a single wait-a-minute from anyyyyone. they celebrated their one year of dating anniversary AFTER they were married. yes, that kinda whirlwind. and the temp never stopped. fabulous honeymoon. fabulous anniversary. fabulous kick-off of his dream job catering business headed towards full-on restaurant fame and fortune. fabulous first home together. fabulous first furniture together. she lost her job. he moved out. what?! yes, he was gone and never looked back.

not a country song. not yet. losing your job. your man. your home. SOUNDS like a country song. but she still had the dog. the stable force in her life at this point. he got kinda depressed too. there were lotsa moves and changes in his life too. he dropped a few pounds. laid around and didn't want to play.

you would think that a reprieve would have been in order. that her birthday could have been celebrated as a dividing line between that-was-then and a this-is-now breather.

but the lemons weren't finished.

the dog was still there so the country song wasn't complete. she took him to the vet for a check-up on her birthday and for her care and concern was rewarded with a terminal cancer surprise.

as if her year had not been crapped out enough.

f*ck lemonade.

{editor’s note: i found this in the draft files. its old.}

you put your left foot in

you take your left foot out

you put your left foot in and you shake it all about

you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around 

thats what its all about

i hated doing the hokey pokey

despised it

really didnt like roller rinks much either

a couple of laps around the rink and i was done with it.

there wasnt a point. or there was and i just missed it. i mean the dryer has a spincycle too --- but when its done your clothes are clean, dry and ready to be worn. [note: i also hate ironing]

went to a rink and didn't skate once... with my racy slutty friend wendy [not to be confused with my sweet and innocent friend wendy -- yes, i had my own oz characters one summer in the 80s] who was hooking up with a senior only to disguise that fact that her freshman figure was in a full-blown affair with her high schools married football coach. but then again, what else was there for a cute girl to do in a hot louisiana small town besides root around with her teachers, right?

back to the rink. the kids gathered there under the guise of it being the normal wholesome thing to do. parents didn't ask too many questions since most of them probably went to the rink in the days when thats where people skated. but NO ONE skated. they walked. in circles. for hours. stopping occasionally to make out in darkened corners. you walked and circled the SAME PEOPLE over and over and over. and the conversation never really changed --- neither did the scenery. no couple skate. no hokey pokey. mindless laps of skating. and it angered me even more than any other trip to the rink had ever done.

i was the kind of kid that didnt sneak. and not bc i was some angel. it was bc if i was going to do something i was going to own that i did it. come hell or high water. its what always got me in trouble as a kid. i wouldn't lie. i chose a course and stuck it out.  if someone could not explain to me the logic of their course of action they could just as soon shut up and move aside.

so the rink angered me.

bc the kids were lying. the parents were dumb. and no one was really using any of the resources at hand to their utmost capacity.

there is nothing more sad in life than waste. wasted potential. wasted innocence. wasted opportunity. wasted genius. gifted things that are shunned, ignored and trashed without remorse. decisions made with disregard for their impact. and usually the only ones to mourn their loss are the rubberneckers and standersby. those on the fringe of the wasteland.

my office is a recycling mecca. nothing gets "trashed" there. its all recycled. there are bins for paper, plastic, foil. aluminum cans, batteries, CDs, cardboard, rattan chair bottoms. there are places for everything to go. and if you don't find a bin, ask the 'recycle coordinator'. not kidding. we have one. there is literally ONE single trashcan [outside of those in the restrooms] ONE. its clearly marked "LANDFILL". just in case you missed the point. somehow. as if.

working there has served three purposes: (1) to induce severe shock at how wasteful i have always been. (2) silent, repetitive apologies to my sister for always silently and repetitively mocking her recycling efforts, and (3) the start of a personal recycling program. thats right folks. the roomie and i have an inhouse green program. 4 bins strong. our own personal purgatory for trash on its way to reincarnation. [so what if i am mixing religions. interfaith chapel anyone?] and we managed to pillage a days worth of retail this weekend and come home without a single bag. and it wasn't bc purchases weren't made.

its got me to thinking about the skating rink. cycles. and REcycles. and waste. and lies. and reuse. maybe the rinks mindless laps, whether walking or rolling, were THE point. just bc its  current use wasnt its original intention doesnt make it some how subpar. buncha kids hanging out just to hang out. and make out. yeah, i know. for all my scoffing and sneering --- this metropolis of treehuggers and 'sustainable design' and "use only what you need" mantras by the water department, really does shine beautifully head and shoulders above any other place i have lived. the process of being mindful of your individual imprint does seem to run rampant in attitudes around here. there's a respect for the once and future purposes of people and things.

there are recycled people in my life. lovers and friends that once were dearer or closer than they are now. but that doesn't make the relationship any less valuable. or subpar. we've mutely agreed that the spark that brought us together is still worth respecting. i count several exs among the relationships i hold most dear. bc they knew me 'before'. when i was a different version of me and they were different versions of them.

and as you get older [gasp!] you realize this planet is a very small world. and cherishing and respecting people is simply the best route to go. its less wasteful. its good karma. bc just around the next corner might be the 7th-layer-to-kevin-bacon and you'll find yourself surrounded by ghosts of people/places past. recycled/recircled/rerinked into the very things you thought you left behind.

just dont try to get me to believe that the hokey pokey IS what its all about.

{editor’s note: i found this in the draft files. its old.}

you put your left foot in

you take your left foot out

you put your left foot in and you shake it all about

you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around

thats what its all about

i hated doing the hokey pokey

despised it

really didnt like roller rinks much either

a couple of laps around the rink and i was done with it.

there wasnt a point. or there was and i just missed it. i mean the dryer has a spincycle too --- but when its done your clothes are clean, dry and ready to be worn. [note: i also hate ironing]

went to a rink and didn't skate once... with my racy slutty friend wendy [not to be confused with my sweet and innocent friend wendy -- yes, i had my own oz characters one summer in the 80s] who was hooking up with a senior only to disguise that fact that her freshman figure was in a full-blown affair with her high schools married football coach. but then again, what else was there for a cute girl to do in a hot louisiana small town besides root around with her teachers, right?

back to the rink. the kids gathered there under the guise of it being the normal wholesome thing to do. parents didn't ask too many questions since most of them probably went to the rink in the days when thats where people skated. but NO ONE skated. they walked. in circles. for hours. stopping occasionally to make out in darkened corners. no couple skate. no hokey pokey. no mindless laps of skating. and it angered me even more than any other trip to the rink had ever done.

i was the kind of kid that didnt sneak. and not bc i was some angel. it was bc if i was going to do something i was going to own that i did it. come hell or high water. its what always got me in trouble as a kid. i wouldn't lie. i chose a course and stuck it out.  if someone could not explain to me the logic of their course of action they could just as soon shut up and move aside.

so the rink angered me.

bc the kids were lying. the parents were dumb. and no one was really using any of the resources at hand to their utmost capacity.

there is nothing more sad in life than waste. wasted potential. wasted innocence. wasted opportunity. wasted genius. gifted things that are shunned, ignored and trashed without remorse. decisions made with disregard for their impact. and usually the only ones to mourn their loss are the rubberneckers and standersby. those on the fringe of the wasteland.

my office is a recycling mecca. nothing gets "trashed" there. its all recycled. there are bins for paper, plastic, foil. aluminum cans, batteries, CDs, cardboard, rattan chair bottoms. there are places for everything to go. and if you don't find a bin, ask the 'recycle coordinator'. not kidding. we have one. there is literally ONE single trashcan [outside of those in the restrooms] ONE. its clearly marked "LANDFILL". just in case you missed the point. somehow. as if.

working there has served three purposes: (1) to induce severe shock at how wasteful i have always been. (2) silent, repetitive apologies to my sister for always silently and repetitively mocking her recycling efforts, and (3) the start of a personal recycling program. thats right folks. the roomie and i have an inhouse green program. 4 bins strong. our own personal purgatory for trash on its way to reincarnation. [so what if i am mixing religions. interfaith chapel anyone?] and we managed to pillage a days worth of retail this weekend and come home without a single bag. and it wasn't bc purchases weren't made.

its got me to thinking about the skating rink. and waste. and lies. and reuse. maybe the rinks mindless laps, whether walking or rolling, were THE point. just bc its current use wasnt its original intention doesnt make it some how subpar. buncha kids hanging out just to hang out. and make out. yeah, i know. for all my scoffing and sneering --- this metropolis of treehuggers and 'sustainable design' and "use only what you need" mantras by the water department, really does shine beautifully head and shoulders above any other place i have lived. the process of being mindful of your individual imprint does seem to run rampant in attitudes around here. there's a respect for the once and future purposes of people and things.

there are recycled people in my life. lovers and friends that once were dearer or closer than they are now. but that doesn't make the relationship any less valuable. or subpar. we've mutely agreed that the spark that brought us together is still worth respecting. i count several exs among the relationships i hold most dear. bc they knew me 'before'. when i was a different version of me and they were different versions of them.

and as you get older [gasp!] you realize this planet is a very small world. and cherishing and respecting people is simply the best route to go. its less wasteful. its good karma. bc just around the next corner might be the 7th-layer-to-kevin-bacon and you'll find yourself surrounded by ghosts of people/places past. recycled/recircled/rerinked into the very things you thought you left behind.

just dont try to get me to believe that the hokey pokey IS what its all about.

i am a sloooooow runner. 9 to 10 min/mile is my limit. he is a non-runner. he being my hubby and he also being the guy that was supposed to co-run a 10k the day after my birthday. he’s been running for the first time ---ever---in preparation for it. it was going to be one of our wedded “firsts”. he bailed. on the morning of.

taken on its face it could have been reason to be upset. i mean it was a promise. and it was my birthday (ok, day after) AND he really just didnt feel like it. not that he was bleeding or injured, just really not up to it. we werent planning a huge show-down. we had agreed that it would be a walk-run so that it was enjoyable for both of us and so that i could get him to agree to do it again in the future.

so i could have been upset.

but there were a couple of factors that worked in our favor. (1) i adore him (2) he was on his feet for 2 days cooking and prepping for (3) throwing me, AND my brother, the best birthday party ever, (4) i know beyond a single creeping doubt that he would walk through fire to make me happy, and (5) my brother stepped in as proxy.

my brother is also not a runner. or i should say is no longer a runner. he used to be a triathlete. used to run, bike, swim and endure without a care. then his back gave out and he has been reduced to finding ways to cope. a simple game of corn-hole (if you dont know, its funny just to say it out loud) can incapacitate him for weeks. so he should have been the least likely candidate to run a 10k with me the day after my birthday. bc of those factors and because he has not been practicing. at all.

but he did. and so we did. 

and i learned another lesson.

i can be even a slower runner. i ran/walked the entire course while chatting and holding hands with my little brother is a pace i loved to keep. had i demanded that my hubby keep his promises, i would have missed it.

pacing myself. in life. in love. and in really appreciating that the best miles/minute records are not necessarily of the speedy kind.

dad and i have a a tradition when he comes for a visit.

(1) he buys me a beautiful plant.

(2) i kill it.

not on purpose, mind you. just bc i cannot grow things. especially when they come with obscure names and/or instructions. like "keep damp in moderate light". what the heck does that mean? sounds like instructions for growing a southerner --- not a plant.

there is also this lil thing that has plagued me all my life. i despise being told what to do. even if it means banging my own head against the wall to figure out for my own self that yes, indeed it does hurt. my lifes experiences have not been unique. i could have avoided some lessons had i simply taken kind advice given along the way --- but that is not my personal choice. i forge ahead thinking i will indeed make "it" work.

but things do change. sometimes miracles do happen. occasionally even a brown thumb gets lucky. and like cj quoted, "to get something you never had, you have to do something you never did."

i am learning to let go of old patterns. habits. tendencies. that just bc something is my reality it does not necessarily make it true. sometimes success can be easier attained by chosing well-trod paths, even if you think you MIGHT have a better way.  like plant instructions, sometimes if you just follow along with what someone else has proven to work -- you get better results.

keep damp in moderate light. brilliant. why didn't i think of that?

miracles do happen. especially if you are tenacious enough to grab them by the balls and make them pay attention to you.

i have been estranged from one of my dearest friends for over a year. its easier to ignore someone when they are 1800 miles away.

not so much when they are sitting in your lap.

that looks all well and good and perhaps she was just putting a game face on --- i know, i know, but then again i also know dee. and despite the capturing of the moments before THAT shot revealed a truer picture of the situation.....

i also know that despite anything and everything -- she and i are bound for life.

viva la 2009! viva la burial of old wounds and ridiculous line-drawing. lets get back to getting. xox.

people stomping up and down the aisle. sweating and attempting to shove bags, laptops, jackets, duty-free into the overhead. looking at zone 5 people with pompous disregard. i-got-here-first-and-have-the-right-to-ignore-personal-item-limit-rule. i love to travel. if it weren't for other travelers.

but then thats not entirely true either.

i went on my first airplane trip when i was 6. to visit my grandparents in northern louisiana. it was more of a cropduster with room for my raggedy-ann and overnight. i was big stuff. eyes like saucers waving good bye to mom. i loved the take-off even then. loved the clouds. loved even more where i was headed. grandma made play-doh from scratch.

next time i flew i was ten. headed to hawaii with the family in a gigantic tank of a plane. three rows across. my lil brother with mom across the aisle and me with dad in the middle aisle. champagne. sounds terrible for a father to be feeding his 10-year old champagne, but then you don't know my father and the fact that was the first, last and only time we ever had an alcoholic beverage together. he didn't even drink at my wedding. or dance. with me or anyone. you would have to know my dad to understand why that is comforting. and why that single glass of bubbly with him somewhere over the pacific is still one my favorite moments with him. i didnt like that flight so much as i wasnt near the window and you cannot really feel the take-off in a 747. kinda like getting a bus to catch air --- and as great as it was when keanu and sandra did it... well, that was hollywood. but i liked the flight for the moment with dad. stolen. my personal travelmate and co-conspirator.

my uncle had a plane for a while. flew grandma and some cousins around in it once. he was an ass and i hated sitting there and having him take me anywhere. hated the take off because he was there polluting it. hypocritical abusive exhibitionist. sit around in nothing but his stained whitey-tighteys and yell at my cousins and i to switch our pjs for skirts and buns before having breakfast. claimed we were whores. we were 8, 11, and 12 respectively. i didn't know what a whore was. i thought he was mispronouncing oar and couldn't figure out why that was an insult or bad or something to not be on a saturday morning. hated that man. don't care that some murmured that it was agent-orange induced. his brother was just like him and the chances that both of them had identical experiences leading to identical outcomes is as likely as an 8 year old being a whore simply bc she wore her care bears pjs to the breakfast table. hated that flight bc he spoiled it. all of it.

andre chartered a jet to fly us all to nyc. champagne caviar and white leather seats. they were all excited. he was putting the pressure on for a commitment. THE commitment. swearing that he would get help for his flaccid dick and that he was sorry for lying to me. big time spender. loved large parties. large presents. overstatements of semi-truths. was his irish heritage he claimed. another overstatement. he was a polish kid that went to notre dame. claimed he broke his nose walking onto the fighting irish. it looked just like his fathers, and was broken during intramural flag football. we have this trip we are taking. i know big gestures are his thing. i am sick that i am going to ruin the trip for everyone if he proposes. bc i will not marry him. he saves me the question. disappears the night before. literally. supposed to be at the house after a working dinner and by 2 o'clock is still mia. so i call his best friend. who is going on the trip. and who also does not know where he is. and we comb the town until andre answers the phone at 3:30ish. drunk. stupid. laughing at my once again not understanding that working dinner means shit faced and ugly into the wee hours. so i get on he flight and paste a grin and miss the take-off. but ignore him and that and focus on the conversations floating around me. learn more about those people in 3 hours than i had in the 8 months i had known them. facetime without distractions will do that. flying perk.

there was ttrip to cjoes wedding. when usairways robbed me of everything. but wont go into that again. it made for a good story. still pissed about those dresses though.

flew to st louis to meet bradley's family. and to jax to witness char and drew take the big leap. excellent trips. first one for the destination and the trust. bradley and his family ahead, he had not brought anyone home since 'her' and this felt like a big deal bc he wouldnt acknowledge it as such. second one for the optimism. a wedding between someone who i love dearly, who lost someone we both love dearly, to someone that --- as she inscribed in his ring "you save me" --- saved her from the drowning all-consuming abyss that is heartbreak. both flights were shared with pleasant and entertaining co-fliers. i gained a friend on the way to st. louis, starr dickson. seriously. thats her name.

i just got engaged.

to someone that wants me to leave this life that i have begun to build here in the mile-high and join him on his journey. our journey. but it doesn't feel like our journey. it feels like i am on my own charter, with people i really like, who have packed well and aren't snarling at me for disrupting their shitty 1.5-sf of comfort... and someone is asking me to leave all that for a flight in a 2-seater helicopter that i am not the pilot of nor have any choice in the destination. there is not a take-off with helicopters. thats why they are used to get people in and out of areas that they shouldnt or otherwise couldnt be. we lost jacques bc of a helicopter. lucky shot from some pissant on the ground and he was gone. sorry, i am rambling.

i dont want to be rescued. i dont want to be snatched out of this life. i like the journey that i am on. the direction i am heading and the people that i have on board. how do i tell that to someone that i love? that i love them but THIS is where i need to love him from. this window seat. heading THIS way with THESE people. baggage carefully stored for take-off. champagne for those that want it. raggedy anns and peanuts for those that don't.

because after 32 years of flying, countless conversations with strangers, some of whom became friends, take-offs, touch-downs and in-flight beverage service --- i finally know why it is that i like airplanes so much. there is always a reason to enjoy the flight. either the take-off, the travelmates, the conversation, the destination ---- but seldom can you have all of them. and i finally do. and i don't want to give up a single one.