the week in review

in case any of you are wondering where i actually create these masterpieces of blogs, my locales vary. today, however, i am sitting on my porch (still in PJs) in my red nylon chair with footrest, watching all the cars and people and action on the bustling street i live on known as madison ave. it's always good for entertainment, unless it's friday night and you're tired as hell and just want some peace, quiet and solitude.

it's a good 75 degrees, i have our 20 year old, blind-as-hell cat simba right next to me, and the tweekers are having another yard sale (if you're interested, they have at least three vacuums, a black trenchcoat, what looks to be a homemade bong, a terrifyingly yellow smiley face chair, a loveseat that i'm guessing was once cream colored, a motorcycle, and about a jillion other random small items that make it look like big lots puked on their lawn. if you want directions, let me know.) life couldn't be sweeter. well, actually, i am kinda thirsty. *coughhintcough*

this week has been odd to say the least. nothing too exciting or noteworthy. the week's not over yet.

during work i had to run to the post office. i work in a beach town that's very mellow. everyone seems to know everyone else, and the insane people are actually friendly. for those of you colorado folk, it's a lot like boulder would be if you put it right on the ocean.

i walked to the post office, and saw a car driving up to the mail drop boxes. the post office setup irritates me when i drive there because unless you have a passenger in your car, you have to stop, put on the parking brake, get out, and walk around your car to put your mail in them. it annoys the hell out of me, so when i am walking there, or i'm already out of my car, i walk up to anyone that has just pulled up and offer to drop their mail in so they don't have to get out. it was actually a gesture that an older man extended to me when i pulled up once, so i try and pass on the love. i mean, how annoying is it to have to get out of your car to put in one letter in a box that's 3 feet away?

so, this car pulling up was a pupil-searing yellow vw bug, the new style. the woman in it was probably in her 60's or 70's. as i walked up to her window, i could tell she was doing everything possible to avoid looking at me as she rilfed through her stuff on the passenger seat. i didn't think much of it as it's a mega-friendly neighborhood, and was close to noon. i tapped lightly on her window, and she looked at me like i was an alien. after smiling and waiting the obligatory 10 seconds, i made the "roll your window down" gesture (bet those kids that have never seen manual windows have NO idea how to handle that situation). she rolled it down about 5 inches. i said hello and then offered to drop her mail so she wouldn't have to get out of the car. she handed it to me without a smile and with TONS of hesitation. what the hell was i going to do, run off with her letter to her cousin Jean and sell it on eBay? i accepted it, and pushed it through the slot with my mail, and walked on down the road. she said nothing to me during the entire transaction. in fact, she looked at me like i was going to carjack her. can't people do anything nice anymore without people being suspicious? i was PISSED. it made me, well.. i made me want to carjack her.

i didn't, though.

another aneurysm-inducing moment happened earlier in the week at school. i was working on one of my regular clients named Ms Walker, who i'm guessing is in her 60's. every two weeks, i wash and flatiron her hair. she's beautiful, with caramelly skin and freckles. her hair is long and black with streaks of silver running through it. we're always talking about culture and race. one week we were talking about how IQ tests are culturally biased towards white people, and she read me some questions from a black IQ test that she gives to some of her students. i failed. i was gonna call shenanigans on her test, but all the girls around me passed with flying colors.

this week during the flatiron (which takes somewhat longer on ethnic hair, in case you didn't know) a client sitting next to us getting her hair done got involved in our chat. she watched me for a while, and then said, "wow. you're really good at that!" i said thanks, and didn't think much of it. she left to go get her hair shampooed, and Ms Walker turned around and looked at me. "doesn't that make you mad?" confused, i said, "doesn't what make me mad?" "well, she was surprised that you could flatiron my hair. that should piss you off." i asked her if she was suggesting the woman was suprised i could do my job well because i was white. she said, "hell yes, she said it because you were white. didn't you hear how she said it to you?"

i had to admit i did, but i was giving her the benefit of the doubt, like maybe she thought i just did a nice job - period. it is easy to jump to the race issue for people at school since i'm the only white girl, so i avoid doing it. i like to think people are above that. they aren't always. which leads me to the following factual information i would like to mark down for the record:

1. just because i am white, does NOT mean i can only work on caucasian hair. the same goes for any other race. it's HAIR, people. should i not let a latino dude work on my roof, because he may not know how "white people" have their roof done? HELL NO. okay, well that's a stretch, but you get my point.

2. anybody of ANY race, gender or sexual preference can fuck up your hair. the ability to know absolutely nothing about what you're doing knows no prejudice. by that same token, you could be missing out on a kick-ass stylist because they are different than you.

as far as the people who have left the salon, refusing to have me do their hair because of who i am or how i look, i can't change them. they will only be comfortable with someone of their own race doing their hair. and that is truly sad. ignorant people miss out on a lot of wonderful things in their lives.

okay, no more soapbox.

as some of you may know, i went cold turkey on caffiene for about four months. when i decided to fall off of the wagon, i did so by vowing to try every energy drink on the market and rating all of them. since then, i have tackled a great many. the scores are still being tallied, but i expect to have a least a decent list of results soon. i will say that a major underdog in the brand world has made its way to the top. for further, you will have to wait.

while at work this week, i was trying to make a return on office depot's website. they have that neato feature where you can actually chat live with a representative. it doesn't amount to much more than IMing, but it's very handy.

i was talking to jason at office depot, and expecting him to ask a jillion questions like my order number, my account number, my blood type, etc -- all that shit that makes a return almost not worth it. he asked two questions, and then asked if i needed anything else. shocked that it was taken care of, i asked, "is that IT?" after he confirmed that he had all he needed, my response was, "WOW. that was easy."

now i was unaware of this, but evidently the above statement happens to be the motto of office depot's biggest competitor, staples. i would advise you, if any of you happen to get jason as your customer service representative at office depot, to NOT use that phrase. the office depot guys are a little over-sensitive.

i'm not sure what to do with my day. it's gorgeous out, and the possibilities are limitless. so far, i've brainstormed going to the beach, taking a nap, painting some pottery at one of those "paint your own stuff" places, wandering around the convenience store across the street from my house, or finding chalk and creating a crime scene draw-up on my street to attract crowds. now that i'm considering it further, maybe i could get some ketchup and broken glass and convince one of my roommates to lay out in the road. if it works out, i promise i'll post photos.

alright, none of you assholes picked up on my subtle hints that i needed a beverage to quench the major thirst that writing a big blog creates, so i'm heading across the street for a little pick me up. they don't have much of a selection, and i'd sooner drink mule piss than anything made by "monster." i guess i could always settle for water, but that's so cliche.

i conversation i actually had (while surrounded by about 8 drunken guys talking about something only guys find entertaining):

me: man, i have to get out of here. i'm getting smothered. NEED MORE ESTROGEN.

d: what the hell's wrong with testerone?

me: um, i think you mean testosterone.

d: NO! i'm talking about the NEW stuff!

i not only WRITE them occasionally, i READ THEM!

so, i was perusing some blog subscription posts that i haven't had the chance to read lately. i am reminded that i have some amazing friends.

in other news, i checked out my blog viewings. if my math is correct (which it should be since it only involves addition and subtraction) then i have had four hundred views in the last twoish weeks. that is ridiculous. who reads this? they aren't on my readers list! who are they? what keeps them coming back?

who cares, they come back.

so thank you, the invisible many. i appreciate it.

in other OTHER news, a gaggle of us went out to dinner in old town last thursday night. it was busy as hell (odd, i know) and we had to wait for an hour to get a table. fine with us, we found a few spots open near the back bar and gossiped over some margaritas.

each time i went up to the bar to get drinks for everyone, a single man in his 40's would chat me up, asking me what i was ordering this time, what did i recommend, what sounded good on the menu, etc. he was nice enough, and was inclined to talk to me for whatever reason (i didn't see him talking to/looking at any other of the nearby girls - perhaps it was the pink hair and pigtails?) there wasn't anything abnormal about him, just your average, middle aged, nondescript single guy.

at one point, my friends sent me up to the hostess station to inquire how much longer our table would be. as i was wading my way back through the throngs of people, i saw my new-found friend in the line of people trying to make their way out the front door. he caught my eye, and i yelled (with a sly grin and a wink) "leaving so soon, are we?"

the woman directly behind him, which i can only assume was his wife, shot me the most evil look i have ever felt. though his wife was behind him, you could tell that he not only felt her look also, but that it was one he was all too familiar with. he walked out looking at me with a mixture of sadness and confusion.

it all made sense once i got back to our table and noticed the man i had been talking to originally still at the bar eating his dinner. and i wondered how long the other guy's night would be as he tried to explain to his wife for the next several hours who i was and why i was flirting with him.

oopsie.

a conversation i actually had:

me (to bartender one about bartender 2, who was making my beverage): man, does he always give his customers so much grief?

bartender 1: nope, only to girls that are his type.

me: and his type is..?

bartender 1: blondes with pink hair and tattoos.

me: well, you can tell him that i'm a natural redhead. sorry. the pink is false advertising.

this is for aaron

i have this friend named aaron. you may have heard me speak of him before as he is always a good source for a story.

aaron isn't easily rattled. he's seen shootings, stabbings, rapes, suicides, people dead after weeks of decomposing. he's dealt with people who use words that even i, at my worst, haven't ever heard of much less used. he's seen the worst in humankind, and he wouldn't so much bat an eye at the sight of someone that blew their head off with a shotgun. aaron, in a lot of ways, is callous.

driving home late from school the other night, we were catching up. i only had a few items to tell, and one of the less exciting things i had to say stupefied aaron to silence. when he gathered himself enough to speak, his only response was "oh my god. are you serious?"

don't worry. this has nothing to do with dead people.

i went on a date not long ago. this date was enough to make me not want to go out on dates ever again. and at present, i haven't. i'm retracting myself from the dating scene.

i met a guy, whom i didn't really know and wasn't attracted to, at a club near my house. i figured i'd give it a shot since i told myself a long time ago to give anyone a chance who asks me out, unless i might be in fear for my own safety.

we sat in a u-shaped booth and had a drink. we started chatting about whatever came to mind. mainly what came to mind for him was himself. he might as well have said, "okay, enough about me. what do you think...about me?"

the entire conversation was what he did and what he knew and what he liked. he likes this kind of music, and he has gotten this far in his career, and he has visited wherever the hell. i tried to unconsciously coach him by asking him questions about himself and then offering information about myself.

it didn't work.

i am very careful about giving people the wrong signals (even though i'm a vicious flirt.) but if i'm on a date, and i'm not digging it, you can tell. i sat at the table politely with my arms crossed, elbows on the table. by the minute, he inched closer and closer to me until his arm was resting on the booth above my shoulders.

somehow the conversation turned to scars, and he pulled up his sleeve to just above his elbow to show me a small, linear scar about 2 centimeters long.

i can't remember *how* he got his scar, because right after showing me, he leaned into me, looked me in the eye and said, "you know, i just pulled up my sleeve so you could see my guns."

alright, lame. it happens on first or second dates, or when you're nervous or interested.

instead of laughing politely, i felt my mouth widen into the kind of smile you get when you're concentrating on not letting your eyes roll back. the shrug that says, "yup dude, that was as lame as you think it was."

he crept in a little closer to my face at this point, and with all the seriousness he could muster, said "no, really. do you want to touch it?"

no trace of sarcasm whatsoever.

after a not too unkind "no", i excused myself to the loo. looking in the mirror, i was very happy with how i looked. sexy, a little messy, a sweet dewy glow to my cheeks. and i realized -- i wasted the pretty.

i told him i was tired, and exited. he walked with me, and it seemed as though he was finally getting it. he did lean a bit toward me at the end. i'm not sure whether he was testing his courage for a kiss, but i'm glad he second guessed himself.

i walked to my car feeling like i just saw one of those face-sliding-on-pavement sports bloopers. i shuddered a little and then stopped. i stood up perfectly straight, feet not scraping the pavement, and strided to my car, getting all i could out of the lip gloss and eyeshadow before i went home to sleep.

just then, date-boy was involved in a horrible driveby and consequently riddled with bullets from a 9 millimeter.

the present is a present, er..or something

dear sharon of the present, the here-and-now:

i hear you had some weird moments this weekend. not bad weird, or good weird. just weird. odd. strange, as it were.

part of me wants to tell you i'm sorry, but, well, i'm not. you see, it's good for you to go through these things. not because they make you a better person or any of that shit. cause it doesn't always. i was actually there for what happened, and it's pointless.

just because you get glimpses of the imperfect choices you have made -- memories of unpleasantries, like people, things and events, parts of your life you wished you blacked out during -- does NOT give you license to dwell. i know they make you feel like shit. i've been there. BELIEVE ME. but you can't do the obvious thing. you can't dissect everything and wish you didn't do the things you did. why were you attracted to so-and-so? why did you say this or not say that? why in god's name did you feel the way you felt, because that's sure as hell not the way the real you would have felt before or after it happened, or if you were sane at the time. what the fuck was wrong with you?

you can't ask these questions, because there isn't an answer.

the real answer to the more important question is this: you do these things not only so you won't do them again (like you ever would, and you most certainly do not need reminders, right?) but more importantly because it will make what's to come in your life so much sweeter. would little debbie nutty bars taste as good as they did if you would have never been forced to eat sweet pickles? fuck no they wouldn't.

so, you get my drift. and i'm sure you understand all the unsaid stuff that i, well..unsaid.

hang in there. there are some amazing things in store for you if you exercise your patience. you are NOT your choices. you are what you make of yourself.

most sincerely,
sharon of the past

p.s. before i forget, i have a chick friend i think you would get along with really well. you'll meet her..

*******

a conversation i actually had (about 45 seconds ago):

sg: do you wanna go get wasted?

me: fuck yes, i do.

sg: let's go then. OOH! that can be "the conversation you actually had"!

the simplest things

with regard to Sunday:

it's strange how a simple phone call, and hearing two letters removed from a familiar word can change your entire week.

with regard to last night:

also strange how a random dinner with friends can make you forget you even had a Sunday -- if only temporarily.

a conversation i actually had (at BJs Restaurant and Brewhouse):

ed: so sharon, have you had BJs?

me: nope

dg: dude, don't let her fool you. she's had PLENTY of bjs..

i fight authority, authority always wins

i woke up early this morning to a crazy thick fog, and the tweekers across the street having another yard sale. it's pretty much a bimonthly ritual for them, which is comforting in a way -- at least when they steal my shit, i just wait a few weeks and buy it back.

the house i live in was built in 1910, and evidently has had a few "incidents" of the paranormal kind. i didn't know this until we had an informal house meeting on my bed this morning.

i woke up at about 3:45am. correction, i was WOKEN UP at 3:45am by loud voices which i thought to be my roommates (both of whom were dead asleep.) after further investigation, the voices were coming from neither upstairs or outside. and, though all of you know i can be a bit off sometimes, they were not coming from my head (those voices don't wake me up.)

long story short, i factored in everything i heard, and all the surrounding evidence gathered over that 15 minutes in time, and it's truly something i have no explanation for. and neither does anyone else. this is hardly troublesome for them, and wouldn't be for me if i were hearing it after the fact too. as it turned out, i wasn't that lucky.

after mild panic, i got back to sleep and woke up again around 8:30 to find my roommate scott wandering around. he and amanda joined up in my room, and i gave them the short version of the events.

amanda, who has lived here the longest, shared a few past moments that both she, and other people, have experienced. none of these stories did much to calm me, but at least now i know i'm not insane. and now that i'm half expecting it, i won't be as caught off guard if and when it happens again.

in other news, i went to sunny's daughter dylan's talent show last weekend. it featured all ranges of talent from 5 to 12 years old. the highlights of which were dylan (naturally), and a 10 year old playing smoke on the water on electric guitar.

dylan is ever-adorable, though even more so as the youngest performer singing an acapella version of my country tis of thee. not to mention the complete lack of stage fright, which was awesome.

the only act that bothered me was the talent show organizer/janitor singing "jack and diane" karoke style. the act in and of itself wasn't distressing per se. but as the prerecorded music began i wondered how he was going to handle the age-inappropriate lyrics. he launched into "jacky's gonna be a football star, diane debutante front seat of jacky's car." lame, but whatever.

either oblivious, or too wrapped up in his own performance to notice, he failed to edit the rest of the song and belted out "jacky says hey diane lets run off behind the shady tree, dribble off those bobby brooks and let me do what i please" with all the confidence of barney singing "i love you, you love me".

shocked, or more appropriately scared, i sat dumbfounded and silently wished for him to do an encore of too short or dmx. he didn't.

the other oddity this week was the weather:


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sunny called me as i was driving down the 8 to school, and reported hail on her end of town. it occurred to me that where there is hail, there can also be snow. if i snows here, there's nowhere left to go but hawaii.

sure enough, as i hung up with her, i merged onto the 805 and drove right into my own personal hail storm, as if it was there just to support sunny's seemingly far fetched story.

when i was 6, there was a record-breaking hail storm in fort collins. my mom had run outside, risking serious injury, to make sure my sister, who had already begun walking home from down the street, came home safely. she ordered me to stay in the house, so being 6 years old (and better yet being myself) i followed her outside. i woke up about 5 hours later after being clocked on the head with a softball sized hail ball. i officially blame that incident for my poor decision making, particularly regarding the men i have dated.

other than that, the week has been busy, and the weekend wasn't nearly long enough. but i've gotten a ton done today, and still have some items lined up. and no, i don't plan on going shopping across the street to buy my neighbors stolen goods. last yard sale they had a used (VERY used, by the look of it) bin of playboy magazines. i'm holding out for something better. ain't i always?

a conversation i actually had:

claudia: hey, my stepdad thought you were really hot dressed as pink last week.

me: oh really? does he..? oh, never mind. i'm assuming since he's your stepdad that he already has a girlfriend.