FrankenPod ... it's ALIVE!!

Srsly? Who doesn't know what this is from??

As many of you know, music is very important to me and it was a HUGE! part of my life with Kane. I always called him my angel of music *SIDENOTE: if you've got some time on your hands, see my post "My Angel of Music" from September 2011* For those of you who are wayy too busy, here is the cliffnotes version:

• The Phantom of the Opera was very important in our lives
• We always had some type of music playing
• He introduced me to so many wonderful types of music
• He sends me songs just so I know that, yea, he's still watching out for me
• Songs trigger my memories. Good or bad. It is what it is.

My first mp3 player. No. No Apples were harmed in the making of said mp3 player. It was a small rectangle measuring about 2 inches by 4 inches, with only one button, a blue silicone protector in case I dropped it. READ: for when I dropped it. and a tiny screen you could barely see, but holy shit! I can kinda make out the name of the song and the artist! *happy girl!*.  Nothing fancy. but I made it fancy. I put little pink and clear stick-on rhinestones all over it and was so proud of my self when I figured out how to actually get music onto it. Hours and hours of looking through songs, organizing playlists, making certain that each song I picked I knew all the words to so singing was inevitable, ensuring I had enough songs to keep me busy for at least my drive to and from places ... Ok, ok. I told Kane what I wanted on it and he did it for me. *Sheesh!*

I dubbed it, "my tune'age with bling". I took it everywhere. And it was AWESOME! Until iPod Touch came out. Kane wanted one so bad. It was all he talked about. "Babies!, look it can do this." "Babies!, you can put 16 gig of music on it!" "Babies! can I get one?" *Sigh* another 'Must Have' we'll spend a shit ton of money on only to be used rarely - if ever - and when you actually do go to use it, it will either be lost, broken, and/or left in a hot car to warp beyond recognition. My favorite about new technology? A month after you buy it, something 20 times better comes out and its like 1/2 the price.

Enter Christmas 2007. I had to deal with hearing about how fucking awesome the 'iTouch' was for months. I got emails about where to buy them, reviews, specs ... the works. But it was actually a good thing because I knew exactly what to get Kane for Christmas. *Yay!* Next hurdle, keep it from him until Christmas Day. *Boo!*

I'm infamous for buying gifts months before they are actually to be given. When I see something I know would make an awesome gift, I buy it, then wrap it, then hide it until the time comes to give it. Sometimes I give gifts early cuz I can't contain myself knowing the other person will be so excited and happy and that makes me happy. This time was not the case. the 'iTouch' was purchased 2 weeks before Christmas, wrapped immediately and hidden in the Christmas tree. Big mistake!

Our kitty cat, Shithead. Yes, that was his name, Shithead. He had an easy-release, blue collar and tag with his name, "SHITHEAD", on it and a phone number in case he got out, oh and a little bell (so you could hear that little fucker coming), *No sneak attacks in our house!*  And he lived up to his name ... any.chance.he.had! Newayz, he loved the Christmas tree! That year alone we lost a ton of glass ornaments, a bunch of light bulbs, *how he got those without causing major damage to the tree (or himself) remains a mystery*, and yards of wrapping paper with matching bows. Did I mention if he got a light bulb out, he'd bat them around the house and when he was bored, he would bring them to the puppy so she could play with *READ: EAT!!* them? *smdh* I got used to having a tree only 2/3 decorated, but that year he also almost took out the entire 12 ft., pre-lit Christmas tree.

Shithead

Late one night, I remember hearing desperate kitty cries yet no bell going 'dingy dingy', where the fuck is the cat? I called his name and the only reply was his little "help me!" meow. Still couldn't see him, but the moving branches half way up the tree was a dead give away of where he was. 'Honey!!! Shithead's stuck in the tree again!!' So at 2 AM, wearing nothing but a pair of chones, Kane grabbed the ladder from the garage, climbed as high as he could go, and rescued our little Shithead.

What was he doing in the tree you ask? Why, he was playing with the ribbons and bows from the above mentioned 'iTouch' which was strategically placed as not to be seen, and carefully double wrapped with extra tape *so it would be impossible for Kane to unwrap, peek at what it was, then carefully re-wrap it*. The beautiful wrapping - now completely shredded - lay 2 feet below where Shithead was rescued, bows everywhere, ribbon dripping wet with cat slobber, package exposed to the world... Yea, Kane got his present early that year. And mystery solved as to who was unwrapping all the presents. I always assumed it was Kane; "See, I told you it was the cat!" was all he said.

When Kane passed away that 'iTouch' became my only comfort, my metal and plastic woobie. I'd drive around for hours, crying, yelling, laughing, I mean it was him, through and through. It had his songs on it, his pictures, the apps he had downloaded, and amazingly it was still functioning! Every time I played it, I could feel him near, almost next to me, singing along, holding my hand like he always did when we drove, commenting on the song, or telling me a story of what that song meant to him, It was the last thing of his I could still "touch".

After years of enjoyment, memories, and tears, in 2014 the 'iTouch' decided to - as I like to say - eat shit and die. It was a sad day. Alone in a new town, my woobie was no longer, I could never again ask Kane to send me a song, hit shuffle and have it comfort to me through my car speakers. Fuck! Maybe this was a sign from the infinite universe to let go. Message received loud and clear. 10-4.

After stewing over my 'loss' I decided I needed another tune'age mechanism. But this one would be mine, to do with as I pleased, to put whatever songs I wanted on there. Being cheap, and opting to embrace making it my own, I bought a smaller version of the 'iTouch'. One I affectionately refer to as 'FrankenPod' (That is a Widowed Hottie original, BTW. I coined it! It's mine!). *SIDENOTE: I call it FrankenPod because it really is a montage of just awesome music. It can go from metal, to oldies, to honky-tonk, to techno in the span of 10 minutes. And it always seem to know what mood I'm in, or what mood I should be in. It.is.epic!* I can put hours and hours worth of my music on it, *isn't new technology amazing?!?!* add my own podcasts and pictures, it's all mine. And, yea. I do have some of Kane's songs on there, too. I like good music, and his taste was exceptional!

In my ongoing quest to find my someone-just-for-me, I vowed that any music haters would mean an instant disqualification. That man would have to have a passion for music equal to mine. My someone-just-for-me didn't have to like every single song I did, but at least be open to it. He'd have to enjoy at least, say, 60% of the randomness FrankenPod can throw at you, and *BONUS!* if he knows the song/artist/sings along to it, he's a keeper.

Early in our relationship, my real life G.I. Joe and I were driving one night. I wasn't ready to introduce him to FrankenPod just yet, so the radio had to suffice. After A.D.D/squirrel/Oh! Shiney! settled down and I actually found a station I wanted to listen to, a song came on that reminded me of happy times in my past. I refrained from rocking out because I was sure he was going to play radio commando and switch stations, but to my surprise, he started singing and car dancing a la Saturday Night Fever. I blurted out 'Oh My God, you disco? I L ...' but stopped myself midway, completely shocked (but elated) at this new revelation about my real life G.I. Joe. Of course, holding my tongue as to not say the 'L - - - ' word this soon in the relationship. Plus, I hadn't consumed mass - or any - quantities of alcohol that night. *hence, nothing to blame my lack of an inner monologue on*. He just looked over at me, smiled, and finished my sentence "love you?" Quick on my feet, I said calm and collected, 'no, I love this song'. I turned up the radio, and proceed to our destination. He just smiled his shit-eating grin, said "yea, right. I knew what you were REALLY going to say", and continued to impersonate Travolta until the song was over. Shit! and per my vow above, he's a keeper ...

As our relationship progressed, I learned the kinds of music he was into. Classic country & honky-tonk *Johnny Cash & Hank Williams, boss!*, old-school rap *NWA & Cypress Hill, in the house!* electronica *Daft Punk & Crystal Method! Where are my glow sticks??*, rockabilly *The Stray Cats & The Reverend Horton Heat, right-o, daddy-o!* metal *Green Jelly & Megadeath, shred it!!*  psychobilly *The Koffin Kats & The Quakes, killer!* and punk and ska.

Really? I was excited about the last ones. I grew up on Bad Religion, Rancid, Social Distortion, Pennywise, Blink 182, 311 and L7. You know the main stream "punk" bands, the ones they actually showed videos for on MTV *anyone else remember when MTV actually played music videos?* As well as the not-so-mainstream bands like The Queers *yummy, yummy punk rock girls ... cha cha cha!* Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, The Eyeliners, and The Descendents - to name a few. And let's not forget ska ... Goldfinger, No Doubt *yes, the started out as a ska band*, The Mighty Might Bosstones, They Might Be Giants (just threw that in there for good measure, ha!). My favorite Sunday night activity was listening to the SkaPunk show the local college radio station put on. *Three, 311's at 11* Ah, good times!

But he was more into what I like to call "real' punk & ska. You know, the ones rejected by mainstream, but still maintained a following of dedicated fans. Basically the music I hadn't been exposed to. He'd play the songs from these unknown-to-me bands and I was like, huh? Being used to my music, listening because I knew all the words, it evoked memories, and proud of the hard to find tracks I acquired, this "new stuff" was a bit much. It was outside my blanket fort and was disrupting my coloring!

In an effort to school me & convert me, my real life G.I. Joe made me a mixed CD of 24 punk & ska songs that I had never heard, and made me listen to it. *Trial by fire here!* I resisted at first, and certainly made my grievances known. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy new-to-me music, it just wasn't my norm. I get in the car, I hear my music and I sing and car dance. That's how I roll. Not anymore.

That punk & ska CD eventually became the only thing I would listen to. FrankenPod hit the back burner. Finally, I could sing & car dance along with my real life G.I. Joe, and I was being introduced to something new. Sorry, blanket fort, keep the crayons sharp for me,

In December, my real life G.I. Joe took me to my first big punk show. Pennywise!! I was so excited to see them live after listening to them since I was in high school. Ok, Ok, so I only really listened to one of their songs ... Bro Hymn, but I love that song and it brought back happy memories for me. *don't judge* My first big punk show - despite the large crowds (me no likey!) and the human barbie doll throwing an open water bottle at me - it was a blast! And, yea, they played my song!

Pennywise   

The next adventure with my real life G.I. Joe? Getting to see L7 in Hollywood. Again, listened to them since High School. And yes, I knew more then one song thankyouverymuch! The girls rocked it! And I had a fucking blast!

Duh!

The biggest, bestest adventure my real life G.I. Joe took me to thus far? Punk Rock Bowling! I got to bowl and then hang out at a 3 day music festival. All punk, all the time. A tad out of my element (& comfort zone), and the first time I had been to Las Vegas since Kane died, it stirred up some buried emotions. I dealt the best I could, my real life G.I. Joe was great support, and it was a very healing experience for me. *More on that in a later blog post soon. Probably. Eventually.*

PRB (Punk Rock Bowling), Bitches!   

However, my most proudest moment, my breakthrough to short comings, my curing of anxieties, personally, the best part of the whole PRB experience ... getting to see Tartar Control live! Old pro now at shows, right? So what's the big deal? Merely going to shows was block #1 dissolved, but this show was special. There I was, front row, could touch the stage, untie the lead singer's shoes if I wanted to, smushed between two, big-scary, punker guys - one of which I sweetly asked to move over a bit so I could get in (and he did!) - surrounded by moshers, an entire crowd of people I didn't know boxing me in, my real life G.I. Joe nowhere in sight ... and I stood there and rocked out the entire set. It.Was.Fucking.AWESOME!! Sorry, blanket fort & crayons, it looks like I won't be needing you anytime soon.

Robert from Tartar Control

*shameless plug* Tartar Control on the web 

Sean from Tartar Control

Some of the greatest feelings: past chains that bound me = broken!, fear of unknown people, places and things = no mas!, living my life to the fullest and loving it = all Kane ever wanted me to do.  He would be so proud!

*SIDENOTE: FrankenPod has been updated accordingly per this new awesomeness I have been introduced to, and it looks like I have a new angel of music in my life, and yea, this one's a keeper.*

     

The Zen of Being Zen When You're Zen - Part II

Quan Yin - Bodhisattva/goddess of mercy

Let's do a little math here (I promise it'll be super easy): "a messy kitchen" + "laundry" x "a shit ton of things I need to do" = "let's spend the next few hours blogging!" - "doing things I need to do!" x "*W0ot!*" See, told ya it was easy.

Now, where did we leave off ... Oh, yes! CD release party, flyer slinging jackwagon, and WTF? kinda day *best paired with Retsina!*! Shall, we continue??

So the next week was uneventful. I did my normal routine, still living the dream, home sick - not so much, bored on the weekends, etc. etc. but Food Network and my lack of a microwave (actually cooking my meals, not nuke'ing them) kept me occupied. I had just sat down to a homemade french dip sammich & au jus *ummmmm, one of my favorites!*,  with the anticipation of brownies in my near future *brownie junkie up in here!! oh, and ... Corners, bitches!!*, and a new episode of Chopped starting *SIDENOTE: sometimes when I cook, I pretend I'm on a episode of Chopped. I always win, and my fridge/pantry gets cleaned out. Amazing what nomalicious things you can make when you apply a little creativity! Now, where the fuck is my $10,000?!?!?* I hear my phone ding. WTH? Pfft!, it can wait! I'm busy! I finish dinner, the episode of Chopped, and a rerun of MST3000 *Tom Servo!!*, not quite ready for a brownie *READ: to devour the entire pan*... oh yea, let's investigate why my phone dinged. A friend request? Name and picture not ringing any bells, I say out loud "who the fuck is this jackwagon?!?!" A bit more investigation. Oh, he''s friends with my new rockabilly peeps, that must be how he found me? So now the question becomes should I accept, or ignore? Normally, I would click ignore without a second thought. I don't need random jackwagons all up in my Kool-aid and I certainly do not need another FB stocker! As I was about to click ignore, that little voice in my head (yea, still there apparently from the previous weeks) said: "you asked for good friends here. It's ok. Click Accept". A wave of memories washed over me, the creepers, the stalkers, the 'friend' which you had no idea how/why they were on you FB list *can you say FB purge?* that liked and/or comment on ANYTHING you posted ... Yea, I clicked Accept.

Not 2 minutes after clicking accept, my phone started blowing up. "Have you been to any shows at this bar? How about this bar? There's gonna be a show tomorrow nite. You should go. Are you coming to my show next month?" OMG! I remember this guy ... its flyer slinging jackwagon!!! *sigh* Damage is already done, it would be rude to unfriend him now, he might tell other people that I'm a complete bitch and there goes my chances of making friends. Hoping I'll appease him by answering his questions and showing my cordial side, I responded: "no. never heard of it. I don't want to go to that show. no, its a Sunday night." Wrong.Answer.Bob.! The invites to shows continued, invite your friends he said *I only knew like 3 people here* then I was told his attendance was dependent on my attendance. Srsly? Is he flirting with me? Laying on the charm? Sweet talking me? Oh, Hell to the No! Finally healed from "toxic-relationships-since-my-husband-died" #3, jumping into a #4 was not on my to-do list. And no amount of charm and sweet-talking was gonna make me cave. I bid him goodnight and set my phone to silent.

'Being Zen' #4: Uplifting & positive attention can come in many forms. Don't be put off by a form that isn't what you wanted or expected 

Pairs nicely with: Merlot. Bold, strong, spicy and in your face! Ain't no silent mode on this bitch!

The "come to the show" messages continued. Regularly. *READ: All the fucking time!* Which turned into demands of "you will be at the show" *uh, no.* invites to group outings, and small talk. Still not knowing what this guy's game was, I could clearly see there was more to it than just promoting and small talk. It got quite flirty: "you like talking to me, huh?" "you're not alone, you have me", "you can be my sidekick at the show and not leave my side". It got the the point where I would get butterflies in my tummy every time I heard my phone ding ... NO! NO! NO! Stop it, girl! Not going there again! Heart closed! And then he got my phone number ...

Still riding the "NO! NO! NO!" train *toot toot*, I needed to come up with a strategy, and fast. How can I shake this guy? My passive-agressiveness turned into a matching of wits *I won, BTW*, my smart-assyness was apparently a turn on *sigh*,  and the outright NO's were ignored. He's good. Real good. SHIT! 

I played out in my mind over and over how I was going to firmly but sweetly tell this guy to well, pound sand. I really didn't want to go to the Sunday night show *Yea, he continued to bug me about that, too*, I knew from past experiences if the flirty-ness continued I would fall hard & fast and end up getting crushed and I refused to do that again. Its not polite to ignore texts or messages *I'm not like that anyway*, and I knew if I did, he'd find another way to reach out to me. Alas, ignoring would be futile. Driving home one afternoon, the phone dinging the whole drive *You know who. sheesh!* I was ready to 'C'est la vie' and cut the ties. I pulled into the parking lot and as I was grabbing my phone to do the 'deed' if-you-will, I heard a strong, clear voice (yes, that little voice in my head was at it again) say: "Don't write this one off just yet". Wait? What? Where did that come from? Where was the reassuring voice that 'yea, pound sand' was the way to go. Team Pound Sand!' anyone? anyone? *Crickets chirping* As I unlocked my phone and read the message from him, I almost lost my shit. Turns out he had experienced a tragic loss in his recent past very similar to mine. OMG! He knows what its like! Has been through things that I have! Dealt the same hand in life, trying our best to make the most of it. I felt in my heart of hearts that there was no way that I could tell him to pound sand now. Maybe I shouldn't write this one off just yet. I decided to take the red pill. Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes. 

'Being Zen' #5: Red pill. Always take the red pill.  

Pairs nicely with: Pinot Grigio. Refreshing, yet dry but at the same time slightly sweet. Faint afternotes of honey. I like honey. *SAVE THE BEES!!!*

Well, it looks like I missed the last departure of the NO! NO! NO! train. Now what? I figured I should research this guy a bit more. Who was he, what's his story, and why was I intrigued? As everyone knows, the best way to 'research' someone is ...  FB stalk them! *I have no shame* Ok, he likes some of the same music I do, good, Oh! He likes The Fifth Element! *Multi-pass!*, SCORE! Wow, popular guy, I thought there was a 1k limit on friends? guess not. Ah here we go, pictures. Bands, concerts, bowling, more concerts, friends, group shots. Wait? Is that? Is he? No. No way. Yes! OMG! Yes! He is!! A man in uniform!

My Kryptonite. Shit! Now, most of my close peeps know of my deep seeded infatuation *READ: Borderline obsession* with a man in uniform. I sent care packages to soldiers, always showed my appreciation for their sacrifice and service to our country, thanked a uniformed person if I saw them, etc. But the one thing I always wanted was a man in uniform. My very own real life, G.I. Joe. I distinctly remember telling friends that one reason why I was moving so far away was because I knew my man in uniform was there, waiting for me. Yea, they thought I was bat-shit crazy, I mean 5 years after Kane and nothing. But I had hope, I knew it would happen. How I knew, I don't know. But I knew. Could it be? Was it him? And that's when my "NO! NO! NO!" train left the station, never to return. Shit!  

With this new information I had, I seriously needed to play it cool.  Didn't want to scare him off. We continued our chats, small talk, it was status quo. Until one night. The talk. "I'm not looking for anything serious right now. Just someone to hang out with". I knew it! I should have taken the blue pill! Why in the fuck did I take the red one?? Edit>undo, Ctrl+Z, cancel, clear, delete! Reboot, Reboot!!! 'NO! NO! NO!' train, please come back!!!!

Actually, for some reason I was totally cool with it, and grateful for this honesty so soon in the game. I responded. "Good, me too." 

WTF? That wasn't like me? As much as I displayed that I didn't want a boyfriend, deep inside I really did, a good man -no more goobers- but a boyfriend none the less. And here I'm being told that basically a snowball had a better chance in hell than I did having a real life, G.I. Joe? And I was ok with that? A calm, no 2nd thoughts, ok with it. That's unpossible! 

Yep, you guessed it, that little voice in my head again, said "See where this goes". I'm a true believer in a higher power, it physically saved me from going through the windshield when the car I was a passenger in was violently rear-eneded *my high school days*, but seriously? All these messages in a row? No windshields to potentially go through here, I should probably listen.

It all started with a text message invite to a show down south. Son of a bitch! I can't go, I'm on-call. Could I do dinner then? Yes, yes I could. Sushi? *Squeel! He likes sushi!* Absafuckinglutely! Pick me up at 7? Sure. Your windows are broke, but you can have the top down? *OMG! He drives a convertible like Kane had* See ya at 7. So there we were waiting for our sushi, I'm being cool and collected, he's nervous -I can soo tell- having a nice time when the on-call phone starts going ape-shit. Damn it! I don't think I have ever crammed down sushi that fast. Fuck me, I have to go in and I don't have my car. You can take me? Sure, yea ok but it may be a while. You'll wait? Deal! 

The shit hitting the fan took a lot longer then I expected so I went out side and asked him to bring me back to my car. I bid him adieu and went back to work. Mind you I was all decked out in my pin-up attire, working. Crisis everted, err I should say 'me saving the world' completed, I noticed I had a 'meet for coffee?' message. Aww, how sweet he wasn't pissed. Sure. So at 12 am on Sunday morning we had coffee. Actually, I had coffee and he had something non-coffee but newayz. I can't remember what all we talked about but I do remember laughing my ass off. We agreed on breakfast later that day and I head home with a "see ya soon, toots" ringing in my head. 'He's a pretty swell guy' I thought.

Later at breakfast we had an interesting debate of Ketchup vs. Catsup, laughed some more, and agreed an 80's movie night was in order. I didn't realize that meant the same night, but when I got the text "I'll bring ice cream" I was like sure. Strawberry, please. Forgetting to ask if he could bring cones *I HATE eating ice cream from a bowl!* I thought 'if he brings cones, he's a keeper'. He shows up at my door with no-strawberries-were-harmed-in-the-making-of-said-ice-cream strawberry ice cream *my FAVORITE!!* and, yep, cones. *le happy sigh* Shit! He brought cones! What am I going to do now? And as they say, it was all down hill from there ...

'Being Zen' #6: Happiness is having a no-strawberries-were-harmed-in-the-making-of-said-ice-cream Strawberry ice cream cone with someone who's captured your heart. Oh, and watching Breakfast Club. That's happiness, too. 

Pairs nicely with: Sangria. Ok, ok. I realize its not a type of wine per se, but the base is wine. And the wine plays so happily with the fruit, and sugar, and other yummy things in it. That must be where the real strawberries go if its not in the ice cream! Sangria is all about sweet & happy. Find your sweet & happy, and toast to it! Cheers!

Over the next few weeks, we were inseparable. Except for work, we were always together. Enjoying each other's company, laughing, I had someone to cook for *meals for 1 is not so bueno* I was getting to explore my new town and surrounding areas. I was not only living life, I was loving it!

We never talked about making it "official". We both didn't like labels and I sure as hell didn't want the negative shit that comes with having a "boyfriend". What we had was great! Plus, he told me weeks before he didn't want anything serious, and I wasn't going to push it. Yet, the way he would talk to me, the way he would act, said something entirely different. Example: messages of "you miss me, I can feel it", or "you should update your photo to one with us" and the kicker? He wrote me a song!! He always seemed to be "in the area", or heading back to my place after an evening out. I was even getting it from outside. My parents invited us to Christmas. I was like 'MOM! We're just friends... but I'll ask him'. Yea, I didn't seem to mind having a shadow; in fact I kinda *READ: Really* liked it.

One night we were enjoying a movie and Chinese take-out when I opened my statement cookie *what I call them cuz they very rarely have "fortunes"* and got warm fuzzies reading it. "you will soon be bestowed with a great honor". When I read it out loud, he smiled and said "yes, you are." *Confused* WTF did he mean? Later that evening he handed me his phone. There on the home screen was a picture of us. Another one of us in the lock screen. How sweet! I'm not even his girlfriend and he already set pics of us on his phone.

The next morning, I get a text from him about the whole "girlfriend/boyfriend" thing. I, again, played it cool. Mentioned something about labels, but casually threw in something about I probably wouldn't say no if I was asked. Not 2 minutes later, it was FB official. We were in a relationship together. I had a boyfriend. Fuck me! I had a BOYFRIEND!! A real life, G.I. Joe boyfriend! What an honor!

I remember texting my parents to let them know incase they happened upon my status change. "Uh, I kinda have a boyfriend" was all the message said. Mom responds "I knew it! Congratulations!" My daddy, "Kinda, huh? How do you 'kinda' have a boyfriend?" He's a smart ass. That's where I get it.

Two weeks later, we go to a show. The same band that was pivotal to where we are today. In fact, our friend in the band mentioned how nice it was to see us together, and that he'd like to think he had something to do with it. *Totally did! :)* After I had a few beers *Yay! Cheap dates, unite!* we headed back to my place. During the 30 minute drive, the booze kicked in *AKA, my truth serum* and I may or may not have *READ: I totally did!* professed my love to him. As soon as "I think I might be in love with you" came out of my mouth, I gasped. Was that my outside voice? Why did I say that? Fuck me! Here we go. Rejection in 3... 2... 1... complete mental freak out. He looked calmly over at me and said: "You do. I've known that since before you were born" My heart melted. And ah, wait, it was my outside voice, not in my head. Shit! The booze, I'm totally blaming it on the booze. Wait, 'since before I was born'? What did he mean? Before I could get clarification on that, the mocking started: 'you love me. I knew it. You love me' ... *rollseyes* I turn up the music and pretend nothing happened.

That next day was awkward, but nothing was brought up. The booze, yep the booze, I didn't know what I was saying. Yea. that's it. See, already written off as a slip of the tongue during a drunken stooper. Dodged that bullet. Whew!

However, a few days later, after some more taunting about it *apparently it wasn't forgotten*, and my completely confident, matter of fact, annoyed by the taunting, response of "well, would that be such a bad thing if I did?" I get a FB notification. He posted on my wall. It read, "Hi. I love you"

'Being Zen' #7: It may take a year, or even just a day, but if its meant to be, your real life, G.I. Joe will always find his way [to you].  

Pairs nicely with: Veuve clicquot yellow. Cuz its bubbles, real bubbles, Veuve is my favorite maker of bubbles, and you drink bubbles to celebrate. Celebrating that I am truly.finally.happy, and loved. Need I say more? 

Of course a lot happened between 'Being Zen' #6 & #7, as well as after #7 but this is the Cliff's Notes version here people. I'm gonna save those stories for another day. Oh, and yea, I did end up going to that Sunday night show ...

The Zen of Being Zen When You're Zen - Part I

Quan Yin - Bodhisattva/goddess of mercy

First off, I want to apologize to my blog followers, adoring fans, anonymous readers, borderline admirers/creepers *SIDENOTE: fine line, motherfuckas, fine line* and anyone else who's enjoyed my witty writing abilities, epic rants, smart-assyness, g33ky stuff, and yea the F-bonbs ... it's been like 3 years since my last post. *Inconceivable!* But, um, yea, I've been kinda busy. Aww, how sweet, ya'll missed me! Well, I'm back -new and improved, better than ever- with your "Widowed Hottie" fix. As always, I have so much to rant about, err I mean share, so hang in there with me, take a deep breath, keep your hands & arms inside the car, and hold the fuck on!

         *And there was much rejoicing (yaaaaaaaaay)*

Aaaaaaaand we're back (to the purpose of this exercise):

Zen, huh? I think you mean "Zin"? Little miss "wine snob" up in this bitch not embracing an opportunity to use a wine reference as a play on words? I mean for fuck sakes, wine country is in your backyard! (more on that later in Part Deux). Or did you just spell it wrong and spell checker didn't catch it because 'zin' and 'zen' are actually real words (not one of your made up words)??
Nope. No missed opportunities here -don't worry. Wine references incoming in 3...2...1...- and yep, spell checker is working as designed. Ok. So, Zen it is! Well, then, what is Zen?

I'm sure anyone with the ability to Google can find a pretty good definition of 'zen'. Actually, for shits and giggles, I did Google "zen" and believe it or not, Urban Dictionary had a pretty good "top" definition: "... a total state of focus ... a togetherness of body and mind...Zen is a way of being...dropping illusion and seeing things without distortion created by your own thoughts"
Da-ymmn! Pretty spot on. Sure, I'll buy that for a $1. And you should too. Trust me, take my word for it. Urban Dictionary is dangerous, and also a time suck. You can spend an entire afternoon searching for words you heard on Archer ... *SIDENOTE: Some things you just can't unlearn. DANGER ZOOONNNNEEEEEE* But I digress.

For me, Zen is a feeling; a state of being. If you're lucky enough to be able to attain zen instantly, good for you. *bitch!* To find my zen, I have had to do a lot of soul searching, uprooting of my entire existence, surrendering & releasing, some more releasing, a little bit more releasing, meditating, evoking happy thoughts, trying out new healing modalities -the one that finally worked? ACUPUNCTURE! W0ot!-, coming to terms with "reality", facing my demons head on, drinking tea from Chinese herbs, and a little *READ: a shit ton* of letting go.

Let's set the way-back machine to October 2012: In "toxic-relationships-since-my-husband-died" #3 (3rd times the charm, right? Pfft!) I'll spare the excruciating details, but I found myself feeling unsexy, unattractive, and undesired. I know, I know, moi? The Widowed Hottie not feel sexy? UNPOSSIBLE! but, yea, I did. FYI, words and actions are powerful! Think long & hard before you speak and/or act. Just sayin'. I'm still learning this; its a process. AAANNYYYway-for the purpose of time, I'll make a long story short. I happened upon a Burlesque show. I was in awe of this beauty on stage, who oozed confidence, talent, and duh! sexy!. Then I had an apostrophe...lightning struck my brain...and yea, it hurt. Ok, so. here's this woman totally workin; it, enjoying herself, in her element, crowd cheering, smiles on faces, all around good time, no nudity involved -or poles, or silicone, or lap dances, just sexy curves -like mine- which she wasn't hiding, and everyone thinks shes beautiful and they can't take their eyes off her?? ... that could be me! One day that'll be me! Oh, yes. It will be me. Magic fuckin' bananas, exactly one year later, that was me. Up on the same stage. workin' it, enjoying myself, oozing confidence, talent, and duh! sexy!, crowd cheering, smiles on faces, and (for once in my life) not hiding my sexy curves, all eyes on me, in.my.element. ... I was born to be on stage!

'Being Zen' #1: Validation for sexy does not come from outside sources -like goobers who will never see your true worth and beauty; Validation for sexy comes from within.
Pairs nicely with: Bubbles!!! Anything with bubbles! Because, OMG.*squeel!* yay! bubbles!!!

The lovely Miss Inna Cent

Shall we move forward a tad? April 2014: I was laid-off, still in "toxic-relationships-since-my-husband-died" #3, overpowering feelings that bigger & better things were out there for me (including my man in uniform. Yea, I was still on that trip), determined to find these bigger & better things my heart said were out there, yet no clue where to start looking ... basically, I was stuck ... or so I thought. A dear friend of mine gave me a book to read. An old book, nothing in its title would have ever grabbed my attention at B&N- thus I would never have read it-, which sat unopened on my night stand for months until one day I picked it up and read it because a little voice in my head said "just read the first chapter, you'll see." Ok, ok, so I didn't read the whole book, only like 3 chapters before ADD/squirrel/Oh! Shiney! kicked in, but what I did read had great insight, plus DIY-in-the-comfort-of-your-own-home exercises for honing in on your wants & desires. Which I actually did -the first exercise anyway. Really! I did! I have proof! Sheesh!
Not two weeks after completing that first exercise, "toxic-relationships-since-my-husband-died" #3 ended, I was offered a job, I sold the house, packed up, and moved out of state.

'Being Zen' #2: Sometimes shit needs to fall apart before it can fall together
Pairs nicely with: An old-vine zinfandel. Smokey & sweet, smooth & tart, something you can either sip or chug, strong enough to get you buzzed but not shit-faced (unless you drink the entire bottle ... by yourself ... at one sitting ... in under an hour), also includes faint after notes of black cherry and coffee.

And we're coming up to more recent times: So there I am in a new town, -fuck me!- a new state!, thousands of miles from everything I've ever known, friends & family a mere phone call away (reach out and touch someone!) yet unable to jump in the car and actually reach out and touch someone, just me, all by myself. Shit!
Though super-enjoying my new found realization of "July is still jacket weather" and the reality that the ocean was only a 15 minute drive away, I was bored and lonely and maybe a little bit *READ: TOTALLY!* homesick. -WTF was wrong with me?- Advice from  my awesome momma, "Get out. Go do something that makes you happy. The best time to meet people is when you are having fun".
*Such a wise woman!* Humm. Happy? Fun? Such foreign concepts to me! I needed to do some soul searching, and some researching.
Moving from a big city to a small town kinda limits your ability to "have fun" and "meet people" unless of course you like hanging out at bars by yourself (NOT!). Now, I am a firm believer that you can take two approaches to a less-than-pleasant past experience: 1.) you can be bitter about it, or 2.) you can take the good aspects and reapply them. I chose the latter. "Toxic-relationships-since-my-husband-died" #3 did have some good aspects *perception, bitches!, perception* like there are people out there who play music you like, at places where people gather, and maybe since the circumstances are different, it could actually turn out to be something fun?
By chance, I stumbled upon a local band which played music I liked *FOLSOM PRISON BLUES!!!!! Hey, now. I grew up on Cash. Don't judge* They were playing that weekend at a venue near me that happened to be a wine bistro (NOT! a bar). I got all tarted up à la pin-up style, we're talking high waisted pencil skirt, garter & stockings, mary-jane stilettos, fake eye lashes, red lipstick, and a big flower in my hair. *SIDENOTE: I truly believe I was born in the wrong era. Burlesque reiterated that for me and gave me the confidence I needed to proudly be ME in public .., and look smokin' hot doing it* Yep, you can imagine the looks I got when I walked in, my head held high, oozing confidence and sexy, ready to have *eek!* fun? and *double eek!* meet like-minded individuals? Could it also be possible that "happiness" -you know,happiness. That sneaky little bitch who's eluded you for so long- could be there too?

'Being Zen' #3: People who mind, don't matter, and people who matter, don't mind
Pairs nicely with: PBR! -"Pabst Blue Ribbon" for those of you not in the know. Yes, I realize beer is not wine, but PBR is a 'billy staple, at least for those who can stomach it and for those who can't shoot whisky *sheepishly raises hand* . Pabst is cheap, and usually always available in tall-boy formats. P.S. only my close friends are allowed to give me shit for drinking PBR, so STFU and no comments from the peanut gallery if you're a PBR hater!

PBR, bitches!

                                          
If you've stayed with me this long, congrats, you're a super trooper *meow* How 'bout we get to the really good part now? Going to see the local band at the wine bistro actually turned out to be a good thing. *Please keep the Martha Stewart mocking to yourself thankyouverymuch. I like her. Don't be a hater!*. For about a month I followed the band around to other gigs. One night, (huge thank you to the persistent old man who asked me to dance -and for some reason I agreed? Sooo not my norm! and wayyy-the-fuck out of my comfort zone) I ended up sitting with the wife of the upright bassist. Amazing woman and we totally hit it off. She took me under her wing -with my being new to the area and all- and made sure I stayed current with all the haps of the band. I always knew I had a place to sit and people to chat with when I went to the shows. Her husband -super sweet & one cool kat- always greeted me with a hug, thanked me for coming out, and checked up on me to make sure my homesickness wasn't too bad. Always a great time with them, however there was one night in particular, that, dare I say, was the catalyst to where I am today.

--Opening scene: Friday night. A sassy yet classy girl getting tarted up for her evening out. Lil' miss sassy & classy begins to narrate-- 

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind howled and the trees moaned ... uh, actually it was a calm evening and not "so f'ing cold" out like it usually was *SIDENOTE: for me, anything below 75 degrees is jacket weather* The band was playing down the street from where I lived, and that night was a really big deal... their CD release party! W0ot! I did my usual tarting up routine, but this time I opted to wear the Cuban-Foot stockings Ah, yes. Excellent choice. While getting ready, I heard a little voice in my head say: "You are going to meet someone very special tonight". My outside voice instantly responded with 'PFFT! yea right' I mean reading a book was one thing, but when you throw in "meeting someone special" that's a whole different story! I totally wrote it off, continuing about my business. I headed out, and of course, I get all the way to my car, and realize I forgot something. *Damn it!* I walk all the way back to my apartment and I hear that little voice again, saying the same thing. However, this time it was louder, as if someone was next to me talking. *WTF, over?* Something really wants my attention! I promise you, I'm not certifiable, but I do believe in a higher power and though normally I would be all 'Pfft! whatever' and shit, this was different. Like maybe I should pay attention? Ok. Fine. In my outside voice I responded, 'bring it!'. Pa-lease, I could care less if my neighbors heard me talking to myself. 

At the venue, I do my usual hugs & hi's, stand there & look pretty for some photo ops, then stand around, have a smoke, and shoot the shit before the bands starts. I glanced to my right and noticed someone walking up to us, hoodie pulled over his head, hands in his pockets. Now this big city girl's first reaction is to get the fuck out of there, but I just watched, paralyzed almost, as this guy stops, mumbles something, and leans up against the wall by us. *confused*  My amazing friend comes up, says his name and gives him a hug. Ah, ok. she knows him. We're good. I let my guard down a bit, finish my cigarette, and the next thing I know this guy is throwing a piece of paper at my face saying "come to the show". What??? Who the fuck is this jackwagon all up in my face? I graciously take the piece of paper, about to stuff it in my purse when I hear that little voice again say: "look at the paper". Ok, so this is like the 3rd time in as many hours that I heard the "little voice in my head" clear as day. I'm totally wiggin' out, and I distinctively recall possibly hearing the opening song to 'The Twilight Zone' ... I flip over the paper and realize its a flyer, for an upcoming show, with a band I remember from my past! Holy Shit! I know these guys! I start rambling on about how I know them, flyer-slinging jackwagon seems uninterested in my story, the band is starting, I head back in...

'Being Zen' #4: Listen to messages the universe is presenting to you (whether its a little voice in your head, or a flyer-slinging jackwagon). Show gratitude for the messages and more information will be revealed to you at just the right time.
Pairs nicely with: A well chilled Retsina. After a WTF? kinda day, you need some WTF? on your taste-buds to counteract the WTF? going on in your head. For my "non-wine snob" readers, Retsina is a Greek wine that, how do I say this, um, kinda tastes like drinking pine cones. But don't knock it before you try it. Google it. There's a good wiki out there about it. I don't think Urban Dictionary has a definition for it. Ok, so yea it doesn't and I swear I was only on there for like 2 seconds to type in 'Retsina', click search, and see no results. Retsina is yummy with baklava, BTW.

Yamas!

Well, boys & girls, this concludes Part I of 'The Zen of Being Zen When You're Zen'. I hope you enjoyed it. Tune in tomorrow ... or next week ... or whenever the fuck I have time to actually sit down, uninterrupted, and finish the rest. I promise, though, it will be wayyy before 3 years are up.

   

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

I bet ya the first thing you thought of when you saw this blog title was the theme music to the movie? Wshooy-wshooy hooooo ...  whaaa, whaaa, whaaa. Good luck getting that one out of your head! I mean how bad ass is Clint Eastwood? I remember watching this movie as a kid. Being deer in headlights, head cocked, snow-show sound in the backgroung, confused as all hell, trying to figure out why they called it a Spagheti Western when not one damn scene had anything to do with pasta! My father, who schooled me in all the great classics of westerns including but not limited to: True Grit SIDENOTE: The original was wayy better. Just sayin', Rio Bravo, A Mule for Sister Sara, and of course Animal House. Oh, wait, that's not a western, Damn it!, Oh? Ha! McLintock! That's one, There, redeemed myself! Anyway, he explained it had nothing to do with fine Italian cusine rather they filmed them in Italy. Um, ok? Regardless of confusing a poor child, Clint Eastwood is still a bad ass, and that movie still kicks ass! And so does the song.

Being a widow I have had my share of the good, the bad, and the *gasp!* ugly. Good people, bad people and ugly people. I often ponder, why in the hell are there bad and ugly people in this world? Why the fuck do we need them? And why doesn't the good out way the bad? I mean doesn't good always win?

After months of soul searching, I had an apostrophe ... lightning struck my brain ... and yea, it hurt. The reason why we have bad is to recognize good; ugly to recognize beauty. My second question is why I have to be right in the middle of it? I mean every day I have to deal with someone's pissy attitude, douch-baggy actions, or (my favorite) dirty looks. Its like really people, are we 4? Many times I think - or mumble quietly to my self, but not quietly enough that people in close proximity can't hear what I'm saying, "who pissed in your Cheeri-o's this morning". Usually I get a laugh, a "right?", or a dirty look when the person I said it about hears me. Will that make them have a better day? No, its just funny. And here is my rant on dirty looks: I'm honored you think so highly of me to stare at me, cuz, yea, I know I'm hot, and thank you for recognizing that fact, oh and WTF is wrong with your face? Its all wrinkly, squinty eyed & shit. Maybe you should get that checked out.

So how does one be the good ... and not the bad or the ugly?  Kill them with kindness. Nothing pisses off an angry person more then when your niceness becomes exponenitally greater as their pissiness increases. SIDENOTE: I think Graph Jam has a graph about that. Its real pretty, a line graph, created by someone who probably had solitire taken of their work PC, and playing around in Excel is their only happy time now. Umm, yea, guilty. I work mostly in bar graphs & pie charts. Hey, its good practice for when I can actually use it in a professional environment. Yay, G33KS! 

So what if there are certain people who really chap your ass and you'd rather drive nails up your nose then waste an ounce of niceness on them? You know the ones you have to see everyday, or run into all the time, or you cringe when you have to communicate with them (since face-to-fate is their only open line of communication now because you have blocked them from your phone, on facebook, twiter, and set up automatic replies to their emails with some random, smart-assy comments about being on Mars, or deep in negotiations with NASA over having mastered teleportation. I usually set up a filter to go right to spam (thank you gmail, for not allowing your users to block people. FB & twitter let me do it ... get with the times!) Well, I didn't have the answer so I asked the all knowing oracle ... Facebook! I have great peeps who give awesome advice. Some of the comments I received are blow it off, you rock, don't allow lower energies to invade the positive energy you have worked so hard to attain, be the better person, pretend it doesn't bother you, don't lower your standards. What great advice. Maybe I should follow it. I know! I know! I will rock by blowing it off using all my positive energy to not let it bother me while maintaining my high standards because I am the better person ... yea, didn't help ... I still want to smack the living shit out of them! Maybe I can recruit Clint Eastwood to get the bad and the ugly out my good??????

Yea, I didn't think so. Gotta do this one on your own, Nikki. *sigh* I have some more work to do.

Disclaimer: There may be gramer/spelling/things that don't make sense in this post ... Its late and I'm tired. Deal with it. :)

Madame (social) Butterfly

Ok, to my culturally savvy readers: I realize Madame Butterfly is about a Japanese geisha, contractually married as part of a living arrangement - i.e. she came with the house - to an American military man who didn't really have feelings for her (but yet he managed to get her knocked up? Opportunity much? Pfft!), only to leave her for his "military obligation", yet she had such feelings for him she was willing and able to give up her identity, everything about herself and her life she had ever known just to live in his world, and here the damn fool shows up one day, out of the blue, years later, with an American wife, so she committed seppuku à la hara-kiri as she would rather die with honor then live in shame. Wow! Kinda ... sounds... familiar ... hummm. But, in my defense: 1.) I am not Japanese, 2.) I'm not a geisha, 3.) I have no plans of giving up who I am to impress any man and live in his world, 4.) I have no plans of getting either contractually married for living arrangement reasons or knocked up, and 5.) hara-kiri? OUCH!!! So, my blog title is merely a play on words used for emphasis purposes only. With that said, who wants to take me to got see this opera? Its playing next month! ... On Valentine's Day ... what a romantic Valentine's Day present ...

Kane and I had a thing about butterflies. Flutter-bys we called them. If I was zoning out, which I did quite often, still do akshully ... he'd say, "you chasing butterflies, babies?" and when I snapped out of my daze with a confused look and a questioning 'huh', he'd kiss me on the forehead, pat me on the head, and say, "nod and smile, babies, nod and smile".

When someone would go down at the track, or if one of our friends told a story about crashing, our first words were always 'chasing butterflies, eh?'  In which their response would be a shameful 'yea'. In fact, butterflies meant so much to me that after I got my first tattoo, I thought about getting a butterfly to accompany it. Course, I could never find a picture I liked of a blue butterfly cuz you know, how hard is that people!?!?! and hell-ta-tha-no! I'm not going to go through all that pain, almost pass out and/or hurf, for a permanent something on my body that's not perfect. Humm, note to self, find someone who is an amazing artist to draw one up for me. SIDENOTE: Tattoo etiquette #1: NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! go into an ink shop without a picture, or a fucking good idea of what you want. They will think you are a dumbass and will talk shit behind your back. Oh, and stay away from the flash. Picking flash is an instant, top 5 spot in the you-are-a-moron category. Think about it, unless you can fluently read Japanese, you'll never know what that Kanji really means ... sure, it may look pretty, but do you really want to sport "Fucknut", "Stupid", or "I like cock" on your forearm/back/boob/tramp stamp for the rest of your life? Yea, I didn't think so.

Right after Kane died I was sitting outside one morning. Trying to escape the world with a cuppa and a smoke. It didn't work so well as I was bawling my eyes out, hyperventilating due to the gut wrenching sobs coming from an area so deep inside my body I had no idea it existed. I'm sure my neighbors thought I was a nut job. So I'm sitting there, and I hear this fluttering by my ear then a flash of golds, oranges, and yellows. Now, I have no idea how this beautiful, Monarch butterfly 1.) did mach 4 past my head, 2.) hovered in the same place for more then a second, and 3.) was surviving in the hotter-than-hell June day - but I don't question things anymore, I have faith - only to land on one of my Snap Dragons and watch me as I composed myself to stare at him in awe. He sat there for a good 2 minutes, just looking at me. I knew instantly it was Kane. He was sending me flutter-bys from the great beyond, to comfort me, to let me know he's with me, and to bring me even a little bit of hope and peace that, baby, you're going to be just fine.

Enter the last month. I can count on one hand the number of times I was actually home more then just to sleep, shower, or feed the dog. For Christmas I spent the most awesomest time with my most amazing aunt and uncle in Idaho. It was so pretty there! The snow on the ground, the single digit temps, and of course spending time with my loved ones. Hot tubbing every morning, coffee with Irish cream - you know, the alcohol kind?, nutty irishmen starting at 5 pm till whenever, and amazing noms courtesy of my fantastic cook of an uncle. And let's not forget about my wowing the boys. It blew them away, I was more then they'd seen. Oh, and that cute farm boy who was trying so desperately to think of something to say so we could keep talking during our 1.5 hour plane ride? You would see him open his mouth to say something but the words escaped him and he'd put his head down in utter defeat. A few minutes later he would try again, this time spurting something silly out just to get a response from me. He was adorable!

I had dear, dear friends come into town the first of the month. I hadn't seen them in 6 years! Shame, I know! But they live on the east coast! And I seriously have no business back there, I belong on the west coast thankyouverymuch! Well, maybe a visit or two. I can do that! :) We picked up like we had just seen each other the other day. Of course, Kane was a big part of our conversations, and we shared such good stories. One that hit home was a story of when we were first dating. We rode over to our friend's shop probably to bullshit, or get some random part for the motorcycle, or something like that. I got off the bike, and immediately excused myself to the bathroom due to my bladder of a 2-year-old. While I was away, Kane apparently told our friend, "she's the one". When I heard that story I had happy tears in my eyes, and my first thought? That son of a bitch knew 8 months before we got engaged that I was "the one"! Not that we had a long engagement, only a few months, and we were married exactly one year to the day that we started dating so I'm not complaining. I just wish he would have filled me in on this a little sooner.

While I was hangin' with my out-of-town friends, I ran into another friend I hadn't seen in years. See, once the motorcycle club dissipated, we lost touch with a lot of people. Cuz, you know, life happens. In true "good friend" fashion, we picked up right where we left off. He mentioned he started dancing. Orly? I say. What kind? Swing dancing he said. No SHIT? I have always wanted to do that! Well, come out with me next Monday. Hell-ta-the-ya! So, I've been swing dancing. Friday, I actually had a guy approach me and ask me if I wanted to dance! That's a first! Then we went dancing at this super cool rock-a-billy bar. I learned how to two step, and met some fabulous people. Good times!

And may I just say that, as I live up to my social flutter-by, err, butterfly mystique, I am having the best time! I can't remember when I have been this happy! Happiness truly does come from within. No one can make you happy, you have to make yourself happy first. I know, I know, mom was once again right! Hey, at least I'm admitting it and I was eventually able to put it into practice.

Oh, and I'm still trying to find someone to take me to go see Madama Butterfly that's playing here next month... any takers? ... Anyone? ... Anyone? <crickets chirp>

A Letter to Santa

I despise Christmas. I hate how busy stores, parking lots, and roads in general are. I hate how crappy people act because they are stressed and hurried. I hate how people think doing good one month a year will totally redeem them for being complete douche bags the previous 11 months. FYI, food pantries and homeless people need things year round. Just sayin'. Christmas carols make me physically ill. Last time I decorated for the holidays, I gave myself a killer migraine. And I especially hate buying gifts, wrapping them, and then driving all over God's green earth to deliver them.  <steps down from bitter soap box>

December is an especially hard month for me since I was widowed 2.5 years ago. December has so many bitter sweet memories for me; sweet because they were incredible experiences, and bitter because I no longer have them. December 13th, 2003 was the first time Kane said, "I love you!" to me. We were sitting in my car, I had just given him $1,800 for a down payment on a vehicle, and my first thought after he said it was "I'd love someone, too, if they just gave me $1,800!"  That was my inside voice of course. My outside voice answered with "I love you, too!" The first man to ever buy me jewelry (Kane) was on our first Christmas together. A beautiful diamond necklace he spent a lot of money on. Kane showed me just how wonderful the holidays could be. It was about friends, family, celebrating the birth of Jesus, and spreading hope and cheer. His passion for Christmas kinda wore off on me. Of course, after he died, all bets were off and I find myself hating this time of year again.

One of my fav pics of Kane and I. Our last Christmas together. 

Can you see the love in his eyes? Photographer: Tim Campbell

Kane's favorite holiday above all, bar none, was Christmas. He made such a big deal out of it, and he went all out. Our 12 ft, pre-light tree was the center of our festivities. Complete with beautiful crystal ornaments courtesy of my mom, as well as the picture ornament of Kane and I, and our friends, at our wedding reception giving the PSC salute, also courtesy of mom. The pre-lit garland so strategically wrapped around the banister of our stairs, leaving little room for surface space, annoyed the hell out of me any time I had to go up or down the stairs ...  which was several times a day. God help you if you had your hands full and both dogs and all three cats decided to see who could beat mommy up the stairs first. But I knew it made Kane happy to have the halls decked, so I refrained from complaining ... a lot ... ok, so maybe like once a week, I casually mentioned something... FINE! It was every time I went up or down the stairs, bitching and moaning about the "stupid, fucking garland" and how it hindered my safe trip up and/or down the stairs.

I remember when our cat, Shithead - yea, our cat was named Shithead - discovered the Christmas tree was a mecca for trouble, fun, and all around ruckus causing. We lost several bulb ornaments over the years, because, well, they were shiny, they rolled, and unfortunately when they hit the ceramic tile floor, they shattered into a million pieces thus rendering them no longer fun and another one not broken was required to continue kitty happy time. The bows on presents were removed in seconds, usually strung around the house, or left in the litter box. And forget about any type of ribbon on presents. It was chewed on until it became a hard, crusty, cat slobber infused wad of red and green, requiring re-application of new ribbon because yuck!. And the 12 foot tree made for ample hiding, sneak attacks, and general climbing. I don't know how many times Kane had to dig around in the tree to get a stuck - and crying - Shithead out of the middle of it.
 
Kane and I had our traditions for Christmas. Visit family, see friends, try to one up each other in the gift department, and enjoy each other's company. Now, as for gifts go, keeping things from him was near impossible. If he didn't guilt me into telling him his present, con me into letting him have just one present 3 weeks early, or pick up on my "pulling of a Nikki" and letting the surprise slip, he would unwrap presents, and re-wrap them before I got home. If for some reason he wasn't able to return the wrapping to its original format, he'd claim the cat got into the presents and "tore them up, on the side". Right! I'm waving the bull shit flag on that one! And that was when I started using plain white boxes to wrap things in. Even if he did tear open the corner to sneak a peak, a plain white box would make his efforts futile.

Its impossible for me to do anything holiday related without being reminded of Kane, our life together, and what I no longer have. Do you see now why I despise Christmas? I have been good about just treating it like any other month, changing the channel if something Christmas comes on, and avoiding malls and chain stores, etc. And seriously, why is Christmas the perfect time to propose to your girlfriend? I really don't need to hear radio ads about it!

Of course, I can't help but sort of get in the Christmas spirit. I mean, its all around me. I'm singing in the church choir, for Pete's Sakes! I'm trying to stay positive in my actions, and I try to leave out the word 'fucking' when I tell people Merry Christmas. I also decided to write a letter to Santa. Yes, I realize *spoiler alert* he isn't real, and yea I know I'm a bit old to be turning to Santa in my time of need, but really people? I'm disparate, and any avenue I can take to get my Christmas wishes sent to the universe for immediate answer I'm gonna take advantage of! Oh, and I will be delivering said letter to Santa via Macy's this weekend. It reads:

Dear Santa-

I realize you are busy. And yea, I know I'm a bit old to be writing you a letter for a Christmas wish. But, I figured, what the hell, right? Its all about intentions, and this is one intention I have faith will come to fruition. Besides, this one will cost you 0 dollars - PRICELESS! - and I even laid out all the details below of my wish to make it that much easier on you. You're welcome.

A little background for you before I lay out my wish for this year - and every year after that until my wish is granted. I'm resilient, and I have no qualms about bugging you, over and over and over. Just sayin'. I was married to the most wonderful man (who by the way LOVED! Christmas). After 4 1/2 years of wedded bliss, he suddenly died. I was 27, and in the hospital recovering from life changing surgery, discharged early so I could make his funeral arrangements ... on my birthday. The last 2 1/2 years have really sucked. I lost almost everything I had, people I knew for years totally deserted me, and I suddenly found myself without the one thing I relied on every day, my wonderful husband. I'll spare you the emotional, mental and physical horrors of widowhood.

So now you will understand why I'm asking you for this Christmas wish. My wish is as follows: I want a wonderful, Mr. Perfect-for-Me man who will be my wonderful boyfriend, which will turn into my wonderful husband, and we will live happily ever after. And yea, I totally believe in fairy tales, I'm writing you a letter, aren't I? I've been really lonely since he died. Yet, through no lack of trying on my part, the pool of men I have found are so not worth my time. Goobers and douche bags come to mind. Not nice, I know, but its the truth. To help you out with the fulfilling of my Christmas wish, I've included a list of qualifications, in no particular order, for the man of my dreams:

*Someone who I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually attracted to
*Taller then me when I wear my highest heals (I like looking up to my man, not down at him. Plus, nothing is more romantic then a man who kisses you on the forehead when you are lost in his arms)
*A man in uniform (military and/or police to be exact. Sending me a FexEx driver, or a fast food worker - who true, those professions also require a uniform - would be neither funny nor appreciated)
* Someone who will treat me just as good as - if not better than – my late husband did. (i.e. actually calls/texts/emails me, is respectful to me, loves to hold my hand, put his arms around me, and hug/kiss me in public, says he loves me and means it, thinks I am the most beautiful woman on earth - and tells me so, and means it when he does-, is proud to call me his girlfriend/wife, worships the ground I walk on ... you get my drift)
*A kind soul, with an even temperament, who respects others, and is kind to animals (no puppy kickers here please, and we all know I have enough spit & fire for the both of us - Naughty list, 2002, remember? I'll work on staying off that list)
*A genuine person, who is honest, trustworthy, and people (i.e. my friends and family) adore him
*A man who has never been, nor ever will be, a resident of mamby-pamby land
*A thoughtful man, who showers me with love, affection, and of course, gifts (including, but not limited to, Prada bags, flowers, and jewelry)
*He loves his job, makes good money, and his work schedule allows for us to spend quality (and quantity) time together
*Someone who I can always count on, that will take care of me
*A man who makes me laugh, and loves & appreciates my odd sense of humor
*A non-jealous person who is not angered when other men check me out, talk to me, etc. (sorry, I can't help the fact that I have a lot of guy friends, and that I'm a hottie. He should just accept it.)
*His friends and family adore me (with little to no effort on my part. Take me as I am kinda thing)
*Not afraid to tell me what's in his heart, what he's thinking, and includes me in big decision making
*A man who I can confide in, bare my soul to, without fear of judgment (and vice versa)
*He must accept me for me (both my positive qualities and my shortcomings)
*Someone who will make me happy, and that I will make happy
*He must *ahem* be well endowed and good in bed (I know, I know, I'm crusin' for the naughty list again)
*This or something better

So, in a nut shell, what I am asking for is a clone of my late husband with the addition of the man in uniform (military and/or police) part. I have standards you know, and couldn't possibly settle for less then I have already had!

Thank you, Santa, for your assistance in this matter. May you have a successful season, and a restful new year.

Best regards,

Nikki

So even if this letter doesn't make it to Santa's inbox, I'm sure whoever's in charge of reading these letters will get a big kick out of it. And as they read it, it sends positive vibes to the universe for me. One more person reading my wishes = power in numbers, people!

Will My Mind Please STFU???

This week has been hell!!! My body is all outta whack due to the germ factory I'm forced to be in during the day (in very tight quarters, I might add). My job, LOVE! it, but after fighting with Access 2007 all week (HATE! it), I had to get a new laptop. (It fixed the issue. Consistency much? Pound sand, Mr. Gates!). I've been running myself ragged with social commitments, and my sleep has seriously suffered because of it (how do you get rid of bags under your eyes?). I am once again sans hot water (3 days & counting) due to the slum lord who owns the unit below me's refusal to pull her head out of her ass and, here's an idea, be a landlord. And to top it all off, I took a chance (which I regret), said some stupid things (which I regret even more), and my mind has been in a non-stop, all-out, no-mercy-here-people, will you please just SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY debate, full of coulda, shoulda, woulda's, why did I's, and tears. Let's not forget the tears. Lots and lots of tears. My faith has been tested, and yea, EPIC FAIL, my eyes have not been dry once while driving my car (super fun in rush hour traffic ... both ways <rolls eyes>), and all for nothing. I am no better off since my last blog post (opening my heart to the world - which I may close again). This.Is.Bull.Shit. Infinite faith is not enough, and even Yoda himself couldn't Jedi Mind Trick me into thinking these aren't the droids I'm looking for. The force is soooo not with me! *sigh

My week from hell started Monday night. I was up late Sunday night getting things done because I decided fucking off & doing the TTF run with the Z club on Saturday (and rushing my dog to the vet that night) was wayy more fun then actually getting things done. Don't get me wrong, I had a BLAST! (except for the vet part), but my 2 weeks worth of laundry was not so much. My work day was such a case of the Mondays, so I was really looking forward to the soup cook-off at my gramma's church that night.

As the church ladies and I sat there gabbing before the mass consumption of crock pot noms commenced, I let it slip "my late husband" in passing conversation. The look this woman gave me was classic; the same reaction I always get when people hear me say that. You know, like I'm contagious (don't worry your time will come, sweetheart - its called life), or something to be pitied like a homeless puppy (keep your pity, I don't need it). My night was over before it even started.

Fast forward an hour: The pastor's wife got on the microphone and had 4 people stand up and say what they were thankful for. Yea, each lady went on, and fucking on, about their wonderful husband, I love him so much, he's wonderful, I'm so glad he's in my life, bla bla bla. There I am, an hour passed my bed time, running off 4 hours sleep, trying to decompress from a hellacious Monday, stomach not happy with me due to all the soup I ate, and I could feel it. I was going to lose it. Right there at the table. In front of everyone. Commencing melt down in 3 ... 2 ... 1... I jumped up, ran into the bathroom and cried my eyes out. Gut wrenching sobs that have not come out of me in months, tears flowing like Niagara fucking Falls. Next thing I knew, there were 3 ladies in the bathroom calling my name. Hugs all around, telling me how sorry they were, to let it out, and that they weren't going to leave me. In 10 minutes, the meltdown subsided, and I was able to drive home. And here I was, thinking I was strong. Pfft!

Enter Thursday. In expanding my social circle, I took a chance and hug out with a group of people around my age I had met through mutual acquaintances. Here I was the oldest in the group, (not an issue) and the only one single (big issue). Seriously? Who the fuck gets married/engaged when they are 20??? The engagement rings flashing their sparkly bling, the hand holding, the cute pet names flying. It hurt. I cried all the way home. It wasn't fair. What do they have that I don't? I don't think I will be hanging out with them anymore. I left in a hurry and cried all the way home. Asking God why? Cursing Kane for leaving me. Running through my mind how much I have accomplished, yet why do I still feel like I haven't moved an inch. Trying to find answers as to what's wrong with me, what am I supposed to be learning that I'm not, and praying for guidance, comfort, and serenity. Oh, to the happy couples, my bad. Congratu-fucking-lations!   

Enter yesterday. I'm out on break. That's "me" time. If I want to talk, I will. If I want to veg, de-stress, dream, or think about the stupid database I have to reverse engineer and can't get working, I'll do that. I'm not out there for social hour. I don't come out there to hear you go on an on about your wife, how you proposed to her, how you call her cute pet names, and how happy the last 30 years of marriage have been. My 15 minute break ='d 5 minute smoke & 10 minutes in the ladies room silently sobbing.

I'm very observant. I notice things. Is everyone but me married, engaged, have a boyfriend, or in a relationship??? If I see another couple holding hands, I'm gonna puke. If I hear one more commercial about Christmas proposals I'm going to scream. If I'm forced to listen to one more story about being married I'm going to go postal. Naw, I won't. Its not in my nature. I don't like being angry; its not who the new me is. I worked so hard to release my anger, I'm not about to let it come back. But, seriously? Why do I have to suffer? Wasn't taking my husband suffering enough? The only things I have are: my Happy Thoughts, and faith that some day soon they will come true. My knight in shining armor will not turn out to be a retard in tin foil, I will be the girl flashing her fancy engagement ring in every one's face & holding a FB count down for "T - n days & counting 'till my wedding', I will be the one telling my single/widowed friends "it will happen again, look at me". 

So I leave you with this: My Happy Thought to the universe for Mr. Perfect-For-Me:

"Thank you that the perfect man for me is in my life now. You know my qualifications, don't make me repeat them. And, for the love of Pete Sake's and everything holy, make it snappy will ya?!?!?

Namaste"