Caterwauling

Well, more of an asocial experiment, but something to keep me not completely submerged nonetheless.

I play music on the way to work, of course. Oftentimes it’s depressing stuff. Ballads, country, whatever. And the days can have their moments of frustration. So today I decided to only play upbeat music. But the day still pretty much sucks.

Actually, I’m fine. I’m always fine. I try my best to just be. Period. Surviving a day is my success. Not a great one, but I’ll take it for what it’s worth.

I have another experiment going. I have a Post-It Note that says, simply, “Assless Chaps.” Now, there’s a story behind it, and I might even share it, but my best friend suggested it last night and it made all the sense in the world. And during those moments when I’m overwhelmed and over whatever it is that I’m overwhelmed by, the note helps. I laugh. How can you not? And that’s what I need to suck it up and keep going.

I wanted this. I guess. But what I wouldn’t give to be a kept woman right about now. …

Alternate title: A day that wasn’t a waste of a push-up bra

So I had just rolled home from happy hour last night when I met another one of my neighbors. He, like many, talks on his cell phone outside because we have shit for reception within the building. I’d never seen him before, but when you’ve got a few hundred people sharing the same street address, that happens.

Anyway, he literally stops his conversation to call out to me. I turned around and smiled but kept going because, well, I had to pee. Like, seriously, I have a thing against public johns and had waited WAY too long. But he wasn’t going to be brushed off.

So he tells his friend to hold on because he’s just met “the most beautiful white woman I’ve ever seen.” I disregarded my immediate self-deprecating thought, which was, “Apparently you don’t get out very often, then” and said thanks. He reached out and kissed my hand and introduced himself, lamenting the fact that he hadn’t known before now that I live in his building.

(Everybody knows I live here. I yell at the cats all the damn time. You can hear, “MADDIE! YOU STINK!” and “KADI! SHUT UP!!!” from Capitol Hill!)

Anyway, I tried to excuse myself (seriously. Bladder.) and mentioned that he might want to resume his cell phone conversation. He said, nah, it’s just his little cousin. “And he’s married to a white girl too!” he volunteered.

I laughed. What could you do? I said hey look, I have to go feed my cats. I could see them watching me from above — they each have a favorite window to peer from.

He thought I said kids and asked how many. I emphasized cats, and he said, “Oh, I don’t like cats. Pussy, though, I do like!”

Now that was entertaining!

I didn’t turn on the lights in my apartment when I got in. I’m not interested in him in particular, but it was nice to have a man whistling after me as I walked away. A girl needs that kind of attention sometimes, and I admit, I didn’t mind it one bit.

I’ve been meaning to pay homage to this wonderful tribute by Trouble. My mind’s been wandering today, and it went back to this:

“When you see him, you may be tempted to think he is just some guy. Average, nothing special. You may never even notice his strong graceful hands. … But to me, he is the most handsome, most intelligent, most amazing man on earth. …. Sometimes when we are together, I can hardly get anything done, because I just can’t stop looking at him. His beauty draws my eyes and stops my brain in its tracks. His dreams inspire me, his voice comforts me, his warmth next to me keeps me safe. He is the one, the only man who even exists, for me.”

The things we notice when we’re smitten. Boys — men — don’t always give us much to go on, insofar as getting to know them easily. Women get frustrated when a few dates go by and they drop off the earth because there’s so much to reveal throughout the course of the time — so much to be revealed to us. Many of us have learned to date in the exact manner that has been shown to us — cool, somewhat detached, able to make a snap judgment and be OK if things don’t progress.

Then there are the ones we would be heartbroken to lose, at least, if we would lose them too soon. The ones who are not withdrawn because they have nothing beneath the surface to offer us but instead the ones who do. The ones, moreover, who might not realize it. And as we wait for those treasures to reveal themselves, we comfort ourselves in not necessarily memory, but rather memorization.

There are faces, fingers, curves of eyelashes and outlines of jawbones and the shape of lips associated with a million facial expressions that we will never forget as long as we live for as many glances as we sneaked or outright took just to accurately absorb them into our minds. These are the things that come to the forefront of our minds when we’re flailing elsewhere in life. These are the things that never fade — these are things that are familiar and welcoming if we are lucky enough to be greeted with them again.

These, my friends, are the building blocks upon which hopes, dreams and fantasies are built. The things that last, no matter the words that are or aren’t exchanged and the feelings that can get bruised in the crossfire or silence or confusion. You figure things out so you can see the smile again you’ve come to rely upon for spiritual nourishment — it’s as vital to you as any other consumable nutrient.

This is somewhat unfamiliar, or at least forgotten, territory for me. I’m struggling to find the words and relying on others’ as well as images clamoring for my attention when there’s so much else to attend to. I think a lot of us have let life distract us from attending to our hearts, and it’s a welcome change for the reverse to seem to be true.

To feel whole, invincible, incapable of seeing anything but beauty everywhere … to not feel scared to look ahead … to be OK in the moment, every moment … wow.

All right, Goddess, time to concentrate again. For now, anyway — or, at least, for as long as I can. …

Presented without comment (a first!), two relevant quotes from today:

And again, because these say enough as well, two relevant songs for today:

Keren DeBerg, “Gone”
[audio:KerenDeBerg_Gone.mp3]

Blue October, “Calling You”
[audio:BlueOctober_CallingYou.mp3]

I’ve got to open this one up to the blogosphere, because I am at a loss and I think it’s something that should be debated intelligently. (Meaning, comment moderation has been set to “vaporize on submission” those that contain words your mommy taught you not to use.)

Now that we’re left with only grown-ups in the room. …

My friend, who is the parent of two mixed-race children, asked me a question the other day. She noted that various cultural groups and special-interest factions have some sort of symbol to show their cause. But what she was wondering is what the equivalent of a rainbow flag, for example, can be for folks who date/marry interracially and the kids who are a product of these unions?

I thought about it and volunteered, rather unhelpfully, “How about a vanilla-chocolate twist cone?” I qualified it with, “Well, you can tell my motivation is borne from hunger on a hot summer day. Mmmm, ice cream.”

And she laughed because she heard “ice cream” and got excited at the food, not necessarily its prospect as the symbol of generations. LOL.

Even Sabre and I were talking about it today, and for lack of a better idea, continuing the discussion over ice cream became our executive decision.

So, I apologize if that was offensive to anyone, but really, we’d love some suggestions. Even if it’s just the best ice cream flavor of the summer.