Lessons.
There were tears this morning. Well, there have been tears since last night. I phoned Will and before he could get a word out told him, "I have two things I'm crying over."
"Number one?" He knew the rest would follow in sequence.
1. My little brother who is not little but 6 feet tall turned 30 today. And I've spent the day picturing him in his basinett when he was not 30 but days old. I'm a little stunned that this day has come.
2. And Ari. My event partner Ari. He read my book and says that Will is only going to be my best friend until he gets married and then he's going to dump my ass.
Tears. Un-Orange County, super transparent tears.
Swollen eyes from men. What else is new?
So, Sissy being the Sissy that she is agrees to meet me for lunch at Jerry's Deli and as I'm waiting for her I noticed she's running a bit late. I can't wait for her arrival because today is a day I need Sissy's blue-eyed rose colored glass thinking. Jerry's Deli is good but Sissy's cup is half full is even better. Even better than carrot cake.
And she's still late...and then.
She arrives, plops down like she does and tells all.
I love when Sissy tells all.
"I think valet is french for ass wipe." She puts her purse down and keeps her phone handy for mid lunch texting and text checking.
Sissy tried parking in the $4.00 valet parking area which was completely empty and Pissy Jerry's Deli Valet Guy was having none of it. They fought over signage of which Sissy feels strongly about. He threw Jerry's Deli attitude.
Sissy was ready to write letters. To people in management.
She moved her non-valeted car and Pissy Jerry's Deli Valet Guy gave her a smug look on her way out.
The entire lunch it bothered her. She's a grown up after all and doesn't like things left unsettled after all. And she knew like I knew like you know that the best thing to do is to go back and say without an eye roll....I'm sorry.
Yes, it sucks to have to be the one to say it but just say it. And mean it.
We walked outside and Pissy Jerry's Deli Guy was changing his shirt. His work day was done and he was about to leave and this was Sissy's last chance to offer a sincere apology. She walked up to him, gulped and sweetly said sorry. He smiled, had hardly remembered and said thank you.
And as we walked to the car, a lighter, happier Sissy said, "Maybe valet doesn't mean ass wipe in french. And humble pie tastes really sweet today."
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Massage, Bravery and Meds.
Life.
I’m learning to be more generous than greedy bastard. It’s worth it. It’s not about someone doing something back for you. It’s not. I have noticed though there are rewards when you take the grip off your wallet.
A couple weeks ago, I was on my way to McDonalds. Nothing new about that. As I was driving up, none of the cars would let me cross and this lady stopped, smiled and gave me the nice hand signal for me to go.
There aren’t many people giving the nice hand signal nowadays.
I smiled and noticed that she pulled into McDonald’s right behind me. Not only was she kind. She was my kind of woman. Down to earth. She must know Ruth in the drive thru, too!
And I pulled up to the window to pay and told Ruth, “Whatever she’s getting, pay for her order too.” Ruth hates when I do this because the manager has to come from the front to the drive thru to approve someone using their card for two transactions. Tough shit, Ruth. I look at pictures of your granddaughter every day. You can handle a one minute delay.
I put a note on the back of my business card that simply said thank you for being kind and drove off. I didn’t need to wait for her reaction. The point was to be nice and move on.
And a message comes in for me yesterday. It’s Dr. Nia. She’s been looking at my business card and note for days and finally called. Buying her coffee stunned her. She said no one is nice anymore.
That no one is nice anymore is not a good thing. It shouldn’t stand out that she would be impressed with someone buying her coffee. From McDonalds.
Dr. Nia insists I come to her office Saturday for an hour deep tissue massage. Look at what a little act of kindness does…just keeps going.
Love.
After the event, two of the event directors and I went bar hopping. Umm..to a bar. One bar. There wasn’t really any hopping involved. There were drinks and there was calamari and lots of catching up and a little bit of work but not much. And then, Jack came over.
Jack is ruggedly handsome. He has this sort of reddish beard and bluish eyes and he wrapped his arms around B, one of the event directors and hugged the hell out of her. They’ve known each other awhile and this is B’s territory so she should get the hugging. I get the hugging in Irvine and my restaurants.
Anyway, Jack starts chatting with the three of us and mentions that there was this one pretty blonde (what’s new about that opening line) and he wanted to talk to her but she was in “the diamond lock down formation”. Four women. Blocking Jack. Blocking Jack’s cock. Bringing a swift end to Jack’s evening.
Devastation.
And I look over and roll my chocolate brown eyes and tell him, “Be brave. Just bust through and tell her you wish you had your wingman with you because you’d really like to ask her out.”
The discussion went on for sometime and Jack continued to mull this over. I think there are the brave men and the not brave men and sometimes not brave men can become brave men. Just ask. Just ask her if she wants to go out. She might say yes, You Idiot.
The worst that could happen is you’ll be back at home finishing it off by yourself. Right? Not much change in that from last night, darlin’.
Loss.
We had an event last night in Newport Beach. Lots of people. Great food. Good drinks. Good music. Well, not my kind of music but I noticed my foot starting to tap so I guess it was doing it’s job. I was project managing and consulting so it wasn’t my event it was more my event to point fingers and boss around.
I at least got to pick out the flowers. I love picking out the flowers.
So, this woman is sitting in the back all by herself and has that look on her face like, “Don’t fucking talk to me.”
I decide to fucking talk to her.
And I ask. “What’s your story?”
She poured out her little Newport Beach heart. Broke and broken after the sub prime disaster. Lost everything. Husband is working his ass of in another state trying to keep the rest of their lives intact until the rest of their lives aren’t intact any longer. She misses him and doesn’t miss him. She’s angry and angry that he’s not angry and handling the loss well.
There’s lots of medications. Of the prescription kind. The ones that makes things a little lighter and fuzzier.
I’m not big on intruding in people’s misery. Sometimes people really want to be miserable but I’m thinking most of the time they don’t. And that big old “don’t fuck with me” face is all an act. It’s simply another tender heart wanting someone to give a damn.
Sometimes we just need to give a damn. Even in Orange County.
I’m learning to be more generous than greedy bastard. It’s worth it. It’s not about someone doing something back for you. It’s not. I have noticed though there are rewards when you take the grip off your wallet.
A couple weeks ago, I was on my way to McDonalds. Nothing new about that. As I was driving up, none of the cars would let me cross and this lady stopped, smiled and gave me the nice hand signal for me to go.
There aren’t many people giving the nice hand signal nowadays.
I smiled and noticed that she pulled into McDonald’s right behind me. Not only was she kind. She was my kind of woman. Down to earth. She must know Ruth in the drive thru, too!
And I pulled up to the window to pay and told Ruth, “Whatever she’s getting, pay for her order too.” Ruth hates when I do this because the manager has to come from the front to the drive thru to approve someone using their card for two transactions. Tough shit, Ruth. I look at pictures of your granddaughter every day. You can handle a one minute delay.
I put a note on the back of my business card that simply said thank you for being kind and drove off. I didn’t need to wait for her reaction. The point was to be nice and move on.
And a message comes in for me yesterday. It’s Dr. Nia. She’s been looking at my business card and note for days and finally called. Buying her coffee stunned her. She said no one is nice anymore.
That no one is nice anymore is not a good thing. It shouldn’t stand out that she would be impressed with someone buying her coffee. From McDonalds.
Dr. Nia insists I come to her office Saturday for an hour deep tissue massage. Look at what a little act of kindness does…just keeps going.
Love.
After the event, two of the event directors and I went bar hopping. Umm..to a bar. One bar. There wasn’t really any hopping involved. There were drinks and there was calamari and lots of catching up and a little bit of work but not much. And then, Jack came over.
Jack is ruggedly handsome. He has this sort of reddish beard and bluish eyes and he wrapped his arms around B, one of the event directors and hugged the hell out of her. They’ve known each other awhile and this is B’s territory so she should get the hugging. I get the hugging in Irvine and my restaurants.
Anyway, Jack starts chatting with the three of us and mentions that there was this one pretty blonde (what’s new about that opening line) and he wanted to talk to her but she was in “the diamond lock down formation”. Four women. Blocking Jack. Blocking Jack’s cock. Bringing a swift end to Jack’s evening.
Devastation.
And I look over and roll my chocolate brown eyes and tell him, “Be brave. Just bust through and tell her you wish you had your wingman with you because you’d really like to ask her out.”
The discussion went on for sometime and Jack continued to mull this over. I think there are the brave men and the not brave men and sometimes not brave men can become brave men. Just ask. Just ask her if she wants to go out. She might say yes, You Idiot.
The worst that could happen is you’ll be back at home finishing it off by yourself. Right? Not much change in that from last night, darlin’.
Loss.
We had an event last night in Newport Beach. Lots of people. Great food. Good drinks. Good music. Well, not my kind of music but I noticed my foot starting to tap so I guess it was doing it’s job. I was project managing and consulting so it wasn’t my event it was more my event to point fingers and boss around.
I at least got to pick out the flowers. I love picking out the flowers.
So, this woman is sitting in the back all by herself and has that look on her face like, “Don’t fucking talk to me.”
I decide to fucking talk to her.
And I ask. “What’s your story?”
She poured out her little Newport Beach heart. Broke and broken after the sub prime disaster. Lost everything. Husband is working his ass of in another state trying to keep the rest of their lives intact until the rest of their lives aren’t intact any longer. She misses him and doesn’t miss him. She’s angry and angry that he’s not angry and handling the loss well.
There’s lots of medications. Of the prescription kind. The ones that makes things a little lighter and fuzzier.
I’m not big on intruding in people’s misery. Sometimes people really want to be miserable but I’m thinking most of the time they don’t. And that big old “don’t fuck with me” face is all an act. It’s simply another tender heart wanting someone to give a damn.
Sometimes we just need to give a damn. Even in Orange County.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Givin' it away.
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I've always been leary of blogging. Felt I was giving the milk away for free. Trying my best not to do that. I've been told the men won't buy the cow that way.
I want you to buy the cow. Not me the cow. The book the cow.
Oh. You get it. So, it's Pre Middle Age and a friend phoned today. She asked how old I was and couldn't believe it when I told her I was going to be 37, just like her son.
Gulp....th....irty -seven. Geez. Even that is becoming hard to say. Wonder if that is why my throat was hurting last night and I starting coughing so much. That really is a terrible number.
Still, in all accounts, it's Pre Middle Age. So, let's get on with it.
My mom's friend said she still remembers me at 17 and even earlier when my dad had his own business and I was just a tot. Just a tot sounds so much better than thirty-seven and so much twice around the world better than ffff....orty.
Just a tot. I like the sound of that. Sounds like pigtails, and dirt and playing bride with The Kendricks on Rio Lempa Drive. I was the only girl so I got to be the bride often.
Another reason I'm so endlessly fascinated with men. Ahh...
I want you to buy the cow. Not me the cow. The book the cow.
Oh. You get it. So, it's Pre Middle Age and a friend phoned today. She asked how old I was and couldn't believe it when I told her I was going to be 37, just like her son.
Gulp....th....irty -seven. Geez. Even that is becoming hard to say. Wonder if that is why my throat was hurting last night and I starting coughing so much. That really is a terrible number.
Still, in all accounts, it's Pre Middle Age. So, let's get on with it.
My mom's friend said she still remembers me at 17 and even earlier when my dad had his own business and I was just a tot. Just a tot sounds so much better than thirty-seven and so much twice around the world better than ffff....orty.
Just a tot. I like the sound of that. Sounds like pigtails, and dirt and playing bride with The Kendricks on Rio Lempa Drive. I was the only girl so I got to be the bride often.
Another reason I'm so endlessly fascinated with men. Ahh...
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