:: Dictated But Not Read ::
Musings from the ''Miracle Girl''| [::..archive..::] |
|---|
| Things That Have Been Said About Me |
| You are the Minx. |
| She plays taller than her height. |
| You have a refreshing attitude. |
| You're such a renaissance woman. |
| She's not much of a biller. |
| You are very angry. |
| You are so self aware. |
| You need a more sophisticated haircut. |
| You are not afraid of anything. |
| You have a great attitude. |
| Your life is like a Seinfeld episode. |
| You are winsome. |
| You look great in hats. |
| Miracle girl. |
| I am belligerently conciliatory. |
| You've got it big time. |
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
The Last SupperAfter my ex-husband and I separated and before we actually divorced my mother-in-law invited me to come over for a Hanukah dinner with the family. I knew she was not inviting me for me. She wanted the appearance and the sensory feel of normalcy for herself and for the family. She is not my favorite person in the world but she had not, at that point, done anything mean or hurtful to me and it seemed a small thing to go over there for dinner for a few hours.
I am an early person by nature, but I arrived intentionally late and kissed everyone hello including my future ex-husband. It quickly became clear that not everyone in the family was aware of the status. Actually, the only people who seemed to be aware of it were my future ex-husband, my future ex-mother-in-law, and my future-ex-father-in-law. It seemed that, although we had been separated for several months, no one had told the uncle, aunt and cousins. The two first cousins who were at dinner that night, M. and D., are two people, who, politely put, have been denied nothing material in their lives and still yearn for more and more things material. Arguably, they are trying to fill the void of things they have been denied: love, care, respect, and the like. Those facts do not make them any more pleasant to know. They lack a certain, as we say in Yiddish, mensch-like quality. They are not good people.
The short version of the last straw of my marriage is that my ex-husband went from being a lawyer to calling himself a photographer, basically overnight, with little to no consultation with me. These facts were known to everyone at dinner that night, however, the attendant separation and doomed marriage was not, as I have said, common knowledge. At the time of this dinner my future ex-husband was in a full-time photography school program. I was working my proverbial ass off at a big law firm. M., the male child of the two lovely cousins, was seated next to me. We had, to that point, rarely exchanged more than a few sentences and as I have said, I was not a fan until that night. He remains one of my heroes for all time. For no discernable reason and without warning, in the middle of the main course of brisket, carrots and rice, he turned to me and asked loudly, “So, how does it feel to be the bread winner?” You could have heard a pin drop. The writing was on the wall and I did not even have to pen it.
D.B.N.R.
Sunday, March 09, 2003
Secure FlyingTwo years ago I went on the perfect vacation. I mean perfect. My sister and I went on a guided kayaking trip in the northernmost section of British Columbia. The scenery was so fabulous, the wildlife so fantastic, and the orcas so breathtaking that despite sharing a small tent and a slightly larger kayak for a week my sister and I did not fight. True, there was a brief tiff on the final day when we were getting tired and testy in the rain but other than that we were serene and happy all week. Our fellow kayakers were a great group of people. The people we bonded with most were a hardy mother/daughter team from Minnesota and a lapsed Mormon couple from Utah. We sang seventies songs and show tunes on several afternoons as we paddled along much to the chagrin of some of the other kayakers.
As fabulous as the trip was the journey there was pretty amazing too. My journey ended up requiring a lot of different plane rides. I flew from Atlanta to Seattle and spent the night before continuing to Vancouver and then ultimately to Port McNeil, B.C.
My fate on most airplane flights is to sit next to someone who I have nothing in common with but who nonetheless wants to have a lengthy conversation with me. Frequently they are people who are reading Sue Grafton novels. Possibly, “S is for Suspicions”. Having said that, I am polite and like to believe I can talk to anyone and so I usually make the effort to be responsive to people who want to talk to me and end up trapped in conversation for the duration of the flight. I was thinking about this as I shifted in my seat after I boarded my flight to Seattle. I was worried about my potential seat mate. After all, I had a long flight ahead. I vowed that if the person sitting next to me was reading “V is for Vivaciousness” I would dig my head into my own book and hope for the best. Just as I was lamenting my fate I looked up and saw a very good looking guy who looked to be about my age. I scoffed internally thinking there was no way he could be sitting next to me. Or could he? As he put his carry on in the bin above my head I became hopeful. He sat down next to me and my flight started looking more promising.
We started chatting and had one of those rare immediate connections. We talked for the entire flight and laughed so hard that my stomach hurt. We were shushed a few times by people around us who were trying to sleep. We developed numerous inside jokes including one about french dressing. The airline was serving salad with french dressing. We both thought that french dressing was the least likely dressing to be liked by the majority of people and yet the airline was serving it without any other option. It really does not seem funny now but that night it was hilarious.
It turned out that he worked for the National Security Administration. I was impressed and speechless. There are not really any questions to ask once you have been told that. I could not ask him what in particular he did for them. He had been working in Germany for a few years and was being transferred to Seattle. He was funny and sweet and I knew, in the back of my mind, that I would never see him again. When we got off the plane the stewardesses commented about how much fun we had been having and it was apparent that they thought we were together.
He was met by his brother at the airport. At baggage claim I handed him my business card. Apparently, the NSA does not give out business cards so I had no way to contact him. I think that is for the best because stalking an NSA employee is probably a federal offense. I never did hear from him but I have some great memories and the best bar line of all time. Trust me, “I work for the NSA”, is a show stopper every time
D.B.N.R
Thursday, March 06, 2003
Happy AnniversaryToday I have been working at my firm for 3 years. It is strange to realize that. I mean in the span of a lifetime three years is not really that long but it seems like a serious chunk of time to me as I reflect upon it. So much has happened in this time, almost every aspect of my life has changed. It also marks the achievement of a goal I set for myself. I wanted to “last” here for three years. The three years have gone by quickly and I find myself wondering what next? Except for a slight fear mostly I find myself excited about the possibilities of staying here or of moving on to a new opportunity. Both seem plausible and rewarding in their own ways. So I have been feeling reflective and good this week. I mean I was feeling good and reflective this week until one little thing changed it.
Yesterday morning I was quietly working away in my office when one of my younger colleagues came in to my office and said almost breathlessly, “I just had to tell you this. I had a dream last night that you got fired and I moved into your office. It was so odd, I started moving my stuff into your office before you had even packed up and left. Isn’t that bizarre?” Yes it is, did I need to know about it?
D.B.N.R.
Monday, March 03, 2003
Is that a threat or a promise?Last week I was getting ready for a second date with someone I will call Tom for these purposes. I realized as I was getting ready that I did not want to being going on this date. The guy had not been particularly nice to me and he had done something during the first date that was a dead ringer for my ex-husband. We were sitting on my sofa and he suddenly jumped up. When I asked him what he was doing he replied that he was going to adjust the lights because the lamp was shining in his eyes. He went and turned on another lamp and turned off the one that was shining in his eyes. No big deal? It probably is not a big deal, unless you have endured 5 years of being married to someone who constantly engages in socially inappropriate behavior such as picking up personal possessions in new friends’ homes, walking into rooms he has not been invited to enter, and probably (though I cannot remember a specific instance) readjusting the lighting in someone’s living room without asking.
It was for the very reason that I felt myself intolerant of his behavior that I agreed to go out with him again. The constant quest to shake off baggage spurned me forward. I told my friends that I thought he deserved another chance. There was something intriguing about him. Tom, like me, had a career oriented job and yet he was odd. His hair was kind of longish and unkempt. He had an attractive irreverence and did some personal writing on the side. How bad could he be?
Still, as I was getting ready to go out that night I realized I had no enthusiasm for it. In part, I realized that like all the other writers I have dated his irreverence extended to his interpersonal relationships. It appeared that it would pain him to admit any interest in me. I have gotten used to being treated well recently and am no longer amenable to not being treated with at least common courtesy. So, I did not even want to go and was grumpily applying eye liner and wondering why I was such a sucker when the phone rang. It was my friend E. I told him how cranky I was about the date and told him that I was going to do something I had never done. I was going to order expensive drinks and let him pay. I always offer to pay on a date and frequently do pay. I do not believe, in general, in the man must pay rules. E. told me there was a name for what I was doing. It was a “hate date”. Bolstered with the new title and E.’s southern man reassurance that according to his mother Tom should pay for the date in any case, I walked over the bar and met Tom. I bellied up and immediately ordered the first of several Ketel One and tonics, my favorite. I also had some dinner. Among the more choice comments during the date was Tom’s assertion that the holocaust was not really just about killing Jews and it really bothers him when people say that because it was really about eradicating anti-establishment people. This was news to me. I bet the Jews who were lawyers, doctors, and business people in Germany thought of themselves as very much a part of the establishment. He had never heard of Mien Kampf and apparently had never heard of the aryan nation. I did not ask about the latter because I was not sure I could control my rage.
When the check came, I sat unflinchingly still while he looked at it and fumbled with his wallet. He looked up at me and said, “Do you want to help with this?” I paid for half of the check or maybe more than half, who knows after all that Ketel One? Lesson learned.
D.B.N.R.
