Four-Oh.

Ok, well, it's taken me long enough, it's only been three weeks since my birthday and I still haven't posted about it.  I know, shake your head with me, but think of it this way, I'm juggling a full-time job, 12 credit hours and a boyfriend...not easy to squeeze a blog post in between all that.

So, I've hit the big 4-0.  Ok, it's not much different from 39 or, for that matter, 38.  The big difference between 38, 39 and 40 is that I got Ace for my birthday this year.  It's the first birthday I've had with a man around in two years.  It's like the rest of the adjustments you make when you have a new influence in your life, you just have to be ready to tackle it head on.

Ok girls, help me out.  How many times in your dating life have you heard a man tell you, "I'm different than any guy you've ever met"?  If you are anything like me, you know they ALL say that.  Guys should really be told "don't ever say that" because it's one of the oldest lines in the book.  Well gals, stand up and cheer because I've found one of the few guys in the universe that is actually different from any man I've ever met, and guess what, he never said he was different, he was just himself, said nothing and let his actions do all the talking.  Ok, guys like Ace need to be cultivated so there are more like him out there.

After 39 years of frustration, disappointment, mess cleaning, distractions and whathaveyou, I finally found someone I can stand toe to toe with and enjoy every minute.  But, let's talk my birthday:

Ok, I won't lie, my birthday wasn't the most banner of days.  It just didn't want to go there for me.  However, thank goodness for my chrome plated knight and his diesel-driven steed, he really fought for me hard.  The night of the 24th going into the 25th, Ace decided he wanted to have oysters.  Ok, y'all know me.  Oysters?  Really?  Well, yeah.

You first have to remember that I'm not adventurous with my palate.  I'm pretty much a picky eater from hell.  However, since Ace has shown up, I've made the conscious decision to try something new every day.  Ace was a chef at one time, so he's fantastic in the kitchen.  Yep girls, he loves to cook.  I know, "shut up...", right?  Uh huh...and oh is he a good cook.  He is so masterful with a chef's knife...I can't wait for my nephew and niece to meet him.  I told y'all already that he grows his own tomatoes (that are so floral that they could seduce whole countries), his own bell peppers (which he made a special trip to deliver some to my dad) and his own jalapenos (ok, I got lost around the jalapenos, those are just a "no" for me, but who am I to judge?  If he likes them, more power to him.)

So now that you know all that, I realized that I couldn't just stick to my boring diet around him, I needed to try new things if I'm to keep with him, so I stepped up to the Oyster Bar at Palace Station and tried my very first raw oyster on the half-shell.

Here's me before the oyster...

Here's me after the oyster...

Before I swallowed it, Ace whispered in my ear..."Don't chew."  I had been told that before about oysters, and kind of knew the drill, but that was the first time I ever swallowed one of those slippery suckers.  For those of you who are chicken and just won't do it, I'll tell you a secret:  With the way Ace doctored the oyster, all I tasted was lemon, cocktail sauce and horseradish, I didn't even taste the oyster, so all in all, it wasn't bad at all.  After digesting the fact that I had eaten an oyster, I got daring and went for another...and this is where it all went south.  Oysters have beards.  Didn't really know that, but the experienced oyster eater will tell you that they do have them...and well, on my second attempt with an oyster, I ended up with the beard doing funny things in the roof of my mouth and it was disgusting.  So, my oyster adventure ended there.

After the oysters, Ace had ordered us a creole pan roast which was filled with Andoulle sausage, shrimp and a few other things.  What makes it funny is that when the waiter took our order, he asked Ace how spicy he wanted it, and since Ace knows me pretty good, he ordered it very mild, to which the waiter replied, "Whimpy."  Ok, that didn't help, but when it came out, it was spicy!  Oy!  Yeah, I'm the world's largest wuss when it comes to spices, so to Ace it was like dishwater, to me it was burning the roof out of my mouth.  But, I ate well, I embraced the burning sensations and just went with it.

Later on, as we were walking back out to Duke, Ace's diesel-driven steed (a beautiful blue Ford F-350 diesel that's lifted about four feet higher than stock), I got a case of the giggles, BAD.  What Ace failed to mention up to that point is that the reason people eat such spicy food is because of the endorphin rush that it gives.  Ok, didn't know that!  I sat cackling my butt off over nothing!  I didn't even have anything alcoholic to drink yet, and I sat there just a-gigglin'!

I had so much fun with the oysters and spicy food that I went to sleep thinking that 40 had been my best birthday I ever had...well, until the next morning.

The next day, I couldn't get comfortable in my own skin, even if I had paid to be able to do it.  It just wasn't a good day.  My sister, mom and dad put together a beautiful birthday dinner for me including brisket, green bean casserole, potato salad and all of my favorite foods, including a beautiful strawberry cheesecake...

My family was so awesome for my birthday and I can't thank them enough for everything they did for me and for the gifts they gave me.

But then, as is tradition, we left my sister's house to head to Spago for my ritual birthday dessert...and guess what...they didn't have it.  No Créme Bruleé.  Ok, while you may think it's no big deal, to me it's a major tragedy.  12 years of Cremé Bruleé brought to a halt.  While I did have my regular glass of champagne, my dessert was replaced by "Coconut," a Coconut Pot De Crème with chocolate ganache and shortbread cookies.  How very delicious, as coconut is my favorite flavor in the world, but still, it had no zip or classicism to it, not even a "Happy Birthday" written on it, so I was extremely disappointed.

Now, I'm not sure if I've mentioned it or not, but Ace likes to make believe he's blue collar when really he's a white collar guy who likes to dress up as a blue collar guy.  Backwards?  Maybe.  Different?  Heavens yes.  Ace is the original rich bum.  He just exudes it.  The guy can bend wrenches under the hood of a car and get filthy and two minutes later he's decked to the nines with his CEO attitude to carry with him.  Yikes, what a unique mix, right?  Well, I took him to Spago in the way he loves to dress, a gorgeous flowing silk shirt with denim cargo shorts and birkenstocks (that show off his gorgeous feet, what can I say, he's got great feet...how many men can you actually say that about???).  He sat sipping a Bushmills while I took in my dessert.

All day long and into the night I had emotional trouble, not being able to be comfortable in my own skin and Ace really went to the ends of the earth for me.  He really did make my birthday special, and what topped it off was what he got me.  Talk about a guy who knows his girl...he got me a 2 terabyte external hard drive for my computer.  AWWWW!  How sweet!  (He's so awesome.  I love it!)

So, while not the greatest day in the world emotionally, Ace and my family really came through, from oysters to champagne and coconut.

Many thanks to all that posted birthday wishes on my Facebook wall, I really do appreciate it.

So that's it for the big 4-0.  I'm over the hump, it's all fun from here.

For the song of the day, I'll send this one out to Ace with a fat wink...Newton Faulkner's "Gone in the Morning."

Study Break

I've been studying since mid-afternoon.  After my weekly work meeting, I sat down to tackle my one online course for the semester, AAS 101, Afro-American Studies.  As I watched my video lectures, I found myself thinking about my sweet, darling Uruites and our forced migrations...but after two video lectures, five loads of laundry, two chapters out of my books and a test tonight at midnight, I decided it was a good time for a study break.

After putting up piles of folded laundry, I turned on the TV. What did I find?  Sex and the City 2 playing on HBO.  Like Julie and Julia, it always reminds me that I need to write and get to the goods as to what has been happening.

I've been struggling getting to my 8:30 a.m. Electronic Media Production class.  As we all know, in the immortal words of my high school band director, Wayne Tucker, I'm a walking tardy.  Last week, the Las Vegas roadways were filled with orange traffic cones, and while they might have been a stark reminder of Uru, well, it was quite the headache as three lanes of traffic were squeezed into one.  Last Monday I left my apartment at 7:45 a.m.  I finally reached the classroom at 9 a.m.  The word "frustrated" didn't even cover what I was feeling, but lucky enough for me, Doc L. just looked at me and said, "Shit happens."  I was grateful for his latitude with me, he really does look over me with care.

This week with Scorsese was its normal fantastic stream of information that I soaked up, reveled in and made a part of my consciousness.  While I might not be crazy about getting pimped out to sell underwriting for the public radio station, he's at least making it palatable and not so terrible to deal with.

Then, there's Ace.  SJP and crew on Sex in the City 2 reminded me how grateful I need to be for him.  While I might not be thrilled with the character of Carrie (on so many levels) it still reminded me that Ace has been not only incredible, but like I said before, he's my knight in shining armor charging up on his jacked-up, diesel-driven steed.

As I've talked about with him before, he's totally in the business of taking all of my old painful memories and turning them into fresh, new, wonderful ones instead.  Yesterday was an amazing example.  Let's go over the backstory, then you can judge for yourself if I've scored one heck of a keeper or not...

As we know, the Ex moved his girlfriend not but a mile and a half from my apartment complex back in the day when he was still living here.  Well, the corner of Rainbow and Vegas Drive has not been the easiest intersection to deal with for me over the last two and a half years and it's because that was her corner.  The Ex could literally drive out of the apartment complex, take a left, drive a half mile, take a left and drive another mile and he'd be at her apartment.  Horrible, right?  Personally I think a guy that would do such a thing as moving his girlfriend not but a mile and a half from his wife should be taken out behind the barn and had the crap kicked out of him, if not worse, but alas, that is what I've been saddled with for a while.  I've allowed his poor judgement and lack of taste have power over me.  Every time I had to deal with that intersection I went around it, tried an alternate route or flat out just didn't go that way.  Well, this is where Ace stepped in last night.

Making bad memories into good ones seems to be Ace's specialty.  He's taken quite a few thus far and made a conscious effort to change my attitude or re-write my memories of specific things.  He's replacing bad things with good and I don't see where there is anything at all wrong with it, in fact, I think it's quite right what he's doing.  On top of all of the memory enhancements or mood gearshifts, he's making me be more active and I can't thank him enough for that.

Almost every day after school for the last week I've been going out to his house and helping him with what he needs to do there, whether it be going through bags of vintage clothes that his father wants to get rid of, then taking them to the various vintage stores around town (a huge shout out to the awesome folks at The Attic in the arts district, go to The Attic if you're ever in Vegas, it's awesome...), to cooking meals so Ace can essentially cool his jets for a minute and catch his breath, even down to just making sure he's had a great foot rub (he loves those and he has the world's most beautiful feet so it's a pleasure to rub them).  I kind of figure that every day I go out and help him, it's helping him create his own safe-haven and his own little bubble of solace much like my apartment is for me.

Yesterday my day was pretty packed.  I had been busy ever since he had cooked me lunch at his house (an awesome, super-healthy turkey burrito) and I had gone to the stylist to get my roots covered (the grey is getting sooooo bad...*cringe*).  What I came back with after two and a half hours with the stylist was a head full of curls that threatened to make me nuts (I stopped doing curls after my last perm back in the very early 90's).  He laughed heartily as I went into a really funny, cynical tirade about crack whores and Tammy Wynette wannabes.  But as I ranted and raved, he sat there with this huge smile on his face, complimenting the country/western, crack-induced 'do on my head.  He liked it and well, I just couldn't do it.  He laughed heartily as a stray curl decided to enrage me by landing squarely between my eyes, then he chuckled harder as I gave it a nasty glare and blew it out of my face like an angry quail.  His laughing made me laugh, and he truly made a nightmare hair day into one to laugh about.  The funnier part of all is that my tirade came one day after the hanging basket incident where a front yard stumble over a set of empty hanging baskets next to his garage saw him punt a couple of not-very-pristine baskets (minus the flowers) and go into an angry, cynical tirade of his own.  Sufficed to say, I came home and put my head under the faucet after my "hair-raising" afternoon and we now have a great example of two birds definitely flocking together.

Sufficed to say, after the week we both had, we agreed we needed to get out and have a honest to goodness date.  Well, as we were trying to figure out what to do, he asked me if I had eaten, and well, I hadn't and he had been munching all day, so he took me over to my favorite sushi place and watched me as I devoured an order of ebi (shrimp), a cucumber roll and a California roll.  After that, we couldn't decide what to do, so we ended up unintentionally at the corner of Rainbow and Vegas Drive at a bar that a friend of his manages.  As we approached it, I started getting a little anxious and since he knows the story with me and that corner, and as he realized what he unintentionally did, he offered to stop, go around it, reverse course, go somewhere else or do whatever it took to make me comfortable again.  As I looked into his panic-stricken eyes, I made an executive decision, I was going to get through it, just like he had helped me get through quite a few really bad PTSD episodes and triggers before.  I looked at him and my voice shook as I said, "Hey, we're replacing bad memories with good ones right?  So, I'm going to try my best not to let it rule me."  We pulled into the parking lot of the bar and went in.  Not so surprisingly, as the evening wore on, the drinks started to flow and the laughter just didn't seem to want to stop. I forgot all about where I was and the stupid corner that the bar was located at that had traumatized me for so long. By the time the really bad karaoke singers drove us out of the joint, I could have cared less where we were, and as we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked at the street signs on the corner, then looked into the beautiful blue eyes of Ace and effectively said goodbye to another bad memory.  I can now drive past that corner, think of Ace and realize one simple fact...

Everything is as it should be.

Is he a keeper?  You decide.

But enough of my study break, it's time to go back to the books, hurry up, finish my studying, and take my test so that I can have the whole day with Ace tomorrow without a care in the world.  Every day with Ace is a very good thing and each day is filled with tons nutritional value that has me leaping over old wreckage and replacing it with happy memories.

*sigh*

Yeah.  Isn't life supposed to be that way?

By the way all you single gals, if you get a chance, find a guy like Ace...you should see him in the kitchen...OMG, he so rocks with a chef's knife, he's teaching me things about cooking, kitchen organization and all sorts of other things that would make any woman swoon.  He's such an awesome cook.  He even grows his own tomatoes that are so floral in taste that he could seduce whole nations with them.  *swoon*  *faint*  But you can't have my Ace, so go find your own, I highly recommend it.

For Ace, I'll post a great song of the day, one I think he needs to hear just as moral support for all the times he's put up with me being moody, Sting's "All Four Seasons."

In Bloom

I have to say, I had a trying day today.  I've been putting a lot into my various projects, between school, work and relationship stress lately, it's been a handful that has worn my patience down to the nub.  I just feel like I'm putting in a lot and not getting much out of things.  But, you know what, let's not discuss that, it's a waste to dwell on it.  Instead, let's talk about good things and how patience can win out even when you think you've wasted your time, spent energy needlessly and felt undervalued.  I like to believe in the "what you put in is what you get out" theory when it comes to setting myself to task and getting things done, so I think what I've done on my balcony lately is a great reminder to myself that things take time to come to fruition.

Amongst all of my running around lately, I made an executive decision to beautify my home environment to make sure I had a built-in stress reliever.  I think when life likes to tear you in 15 million directions it's good to have a nice area that you've built for yourself that takes you away from the stresses, rigors and other mind-numbing stupidities that life never fails to offer.  What's better than coming in to a wonderful flower-filled area after sitting in bumper to bumper traffic surrounded by not-so-clever drivers after school?

I took my very bare balcony which only housed two succulents (a jade plant and my aloe vera plant named Pepé), and turned it into a floral haven that is a work in progress.  I found a wonderful little table for a very reasonable price along with another chair for my balcony just in case I have visitors.  Everything on the balcony right now seems as it is centered around the color red.  Anyone who knows me knows that the color red is not usually something I decorate or deal in, I usually work in blues.  But I like red, it's rather nice, it has the flavor of fire and passion, and also it says, "Sit and stay for a while" in a very comfortable tone.

I also picked up a couple of window boxes for the balcony as well, but as my apartment complex doesn't allow anything to hang off the balconies, I had to mount them facing inwards and I filled them with blue hyacinths that I'm trying to convince to give a quick bloom before the weather gets too cold.  I love the smell of hyacinth, they're just so calming and peaceful, so when everything is in bloom it will attain the balance I always try to seek, similar to the sun and the moon, or more appropriate to the desert, fire and ice. It's my way of balancing my inner warrior by introducing a bit of the poet.  It's also an exercise in patience, waiting for everything to balance out and create a harmonious whole.

But, I have to say, my favorite in all of this is when I look out my window and see a small pot of Fireball Gerbera Daisies.

Aren't they wonderfully cheerful?  I love Gerbera Daisies, they're always so big and they make me smile when I look at them.  They're my reminder that all the elements in the universe work together for a reason, that out of chaos, there is always beauty to be found.

So, on Wednesday, I got dirty once again, planted my hyacinth bulbs, mounted the window boxes and placed my daisies on the table.  It's just so lovely.  I've never been much of a balcony gardener, but it's nice to know that when I get home I can sit in my little area surrounded by what I like to see and smell so that I can find my zen and get a few moments to clear my mind before the usual suspects come and drag me back into my hectic life again.

So, for those of you needing to get your zen on, I highly suggest that you take a moment to find what makes you bloom.  It might be a full day of rest, it might be a few hours of just watching the world around you, or it might be just a moment sitting among flowers that you planted yourself.

Either way, you'll find yourself in bloom.

Let's enhance our zen by taking a deep breath and giving a nod to our beloved technology with Daft Punk's "Adagio for Tron."

The Fall 2011 Semester Begins...

Ok, now that we're through the summer, and Labor Day weekend has come and gone, it's time to talk about school once again.

This semester, I have some real dreamboat classes, I've got a guy to hold me through the sorrows and the triumphs and I've got a job to go along with it.  As you probably can guess, my gaming time (even a game of solitaire) has been cut down, cut off and well, simple for the facts, there's just no time.

For those of you who are curious, I have found my blue-eyed friend a moniker.  I'm just going to call him "Ace."  Basically you can look at it this way, he's my ace in the hole, he's aces at making me feel better and it just fits, so Sophmorites, meet Ace.  Yay!  New character!  But what am I talking about, we've got a whole list of characters to introduce you to for the fall semester, so let's get started.

This semester, which started on August 29, has been an outstanding rush so far...let's go over it one by one...

I have three classes this semester on campus and ALL of them are located in Greenspun Hall at UNLV, so guess what, no having to walk a mile and a half across campus for anything except maybe a trip to the library, and even that doesn't seem likely.

For Fall, I'll be talking about a new professor to the Sophomore who I'm just going to call "Scorsese."   Trust me when I say that when it comes to the ad world, the professor who I have for two classes, Journalism 332 (Media Planning and Buying) and Journalism 463 (Integrated Marketing Communications Strategic Planning), is the ad world equivalent of Martin Scorsese.  It doesn't hurt that he's of the same stature and reminds me strikingly to the real Martin Scorsese, just minus the big glasses and bushy eyebrows.  He's an uber-genius when it comes to the ad world, he's done his time at the agency level and I wouldn't be surprised if he has a OneShow Pencil stashed away somewhere.  The thing that really gets me about Scorsese is that simply, he retired from the ad world because it wasn't fun for him anymore, so he got out and he's teaching because he wants to be there for all of us who are learning the craft.  I can't speak highly enough of Scorsese, he rocks on so many levels.

At first, 332 didn't really float my boat.  I'm in Media Planning and Buying because I NEED to learn how to plan and buy media for my job.  However, right out of the gate, we got introduced to a woman from the campus radio station who informed us that we had to sell underwriting for the radio station.  Ok, remember when you sell advertising for a radio station, you can sell it, BUT when you are dealing with a non-profit radio station such as NPR or, in our case, the campus radio station, you're asking for sponsorships and inviting people to underwrite the programming.  Basically it's the same thing either way, it's just that with a non-profit, you can't actually "sell" anything.  It has to be worded super-carefully.  When she got up and asked us to provide five leads as homework, I sat there thinking to myself, "WTF?  This is a planning and BUYING class, not a selling class."  I'm not comfortable in the least going out and soliciting.  That's not me.  I got into advertising because my work gets seen over a huge audience, not me walking up and personally asking people for money.  The prospect of actually having to "cold call" people absolutely grated up and down my spine.  After class, I looked at Scorsese and said, "I'm not happy about this, because this is definitely NOT what I signed up for.  I don't have to do it, do I?"  He looked at me and said, "You have to do it, it's part of the class."  I just simply looked at him and said, "Ok, for you I'll do it, but I'm going to be gnashing my teeth the whole way."  He shrugged and said, "Sheri, my teeth are already ground down into nubs."  So we know that Scorsese isn't thrilled about it either.  But, to my sheer relief, on Thursday in 463, he told all of us 332'ers that the homework she assigned was cancelled and they're going to be doing things differently.  So, time will tell.  However, it doesn't skip the fact that I want to take the radio station lady out behind Greenspun Hall and launch her out of a cannon.   Not an auspicious start to 332, but I adore the TA (teaching assistant) that Scorsese has for it, who I'll just call JJ.  JJ is a real doll, she's a graduate student who seems to love the craft as much as I do, so I'm looking forward to what I'll be learning from her.

463 though, that's a whole different enchilada...IMC Strat class.  OY VEH.  This, my friends, is the food of the gods.  NOM!!!  I have 463 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my only class all day and oh, how I wish it WOULD last all day.  Last Thursday, Scorsese began his lecture, he talked about things that I have only dreamed of discussing, the blood and guts of analysis and creating great strategy.  I sat in my seat and swooned.  At 11:15, he looked at the clock and noted that he only had 15 minutes left in the lecture and I almost wept, thinking to myself, "No!  No!  Keep going!  Who cares about the time?!?!"  Oh I could have sat there for hours on end just hearing him talk about the craft.  It was serious swoon time.  I engaged in the subject matter and I began to wax poetic thinking to myself, "It's all about pushing it and sculpting it so that all the strat, execution and all the rest gel into a wonderful, heady perfection, where the creativity looks at strategy and instead of arguing, they become a symbiotic whole and where angels sing of a campaign's lasting impression on popular culture."  I'm obsessed with what I do.  I love advertising...it's just so...*SWOON*  It's as beautiful as Ace standing at my front door holding a handful of white daisies...it's just so awesome...  It makes me smack the vein in the crook of my arm like I'm jonsing for a shot from the ad gods...

But enough of my obsession with my ad classes, let's get to the rest:

Along with 332 and 463, I'm also taking Journalism 202 (Electronic Media Production) with Doc L.  Now, for those of you who are new, Doc L. also fills in as my undergraduate advisor.  He's the man who made this semester possible for me because he nursed me through getting accepted to my major and who signed off on me getting into 332 and 463 this semester.  He's also awesome and he's got a tremendous sense of humor.

Journalism 202 is a hoot.  The first thing that caught me off guard is that there are NO books for the class!  It's a lot of note taking and great discussions, but overall, a week in, I'm in love with it.  From my viewpoint in the cheap seats, even though my destiny is probably not going to be having a lot of time inside of a studio or the production booth, I'm enjoying it because it gives me a viewpoint into how things get done in a television studio.  Monday and Wednesday mornings find me focused on every word that comes from Doc L.  Mondays are dedicated to lecture, but my lab on Wednesdays is three hours long, beginning at 8:30 a.m. and letting us out just in time for me to run up the hall for Planning and Buying with Scorsese at 11:30 a.m.    

Last week's lab time for 202 had me learning about all sorts of different lights, from flood lights, Fresnel's, ellipsoidal's and Videssence lights (which Videssence is basically the Kleenex of lighting, it's a specific type of fluorescent light with special baffles in them so they don't change color.  Lots of people make them, but they're just known in the studio as a "videssence").  I learned about the pipe grid that hangs above the studio and holds all of the lights, and I learned why studio ceilings, far above the pipe grid, are so high.  Now in what seems like the ultimate common sense answer happened to elude a lot of people...the ceilings are high so that the heat from the lights can rise and not heat everything up to a hysterical level.  Pretty cool right?  Then we went over how the whole production area at Greenspun Hall is actually housed in neoprene so it floats and doesn't conduct any type of noise.  It literally carries no noise in that production studio, it's almost creepy how insulated it feels, but at the same token, it feels remarkably safe.

In lab I got to drive a $60,000 camera.  Holy cow, one look at the Sony cameras that are rolling around on pedestals in the studio made me afraid to even touch them.  They're almost like a car!  Trust me with how expensive they are, it's amazing that they have handlebars like a motorcycle, even complete with switches on the handles.

What came next though, I didn't expect.  After a break, Doc L. took us into the control room.  I'm not going to go on about the endless banks of buttons, dials, screens and the sheer amount of technology that would have my technology-fearing mother faint dead away, I'll just say this:  Doc L. showed us the Technical Directors seat and all of the gadgets and gizmos that go with it.  Instead of giving you details about how intimidated I was by all of the buttons, I'll just give you this, the Pixar short "Lifted."  When you see the little guy looking at all of the switches and so forth, think of me on a Wednesday morning.



I'm not even kidding, looking at that bank of controls for the first time had me feeling just like that little green guy.  As soon as I walked in the control room, I became that little green guy, knowing inevitably that I will NOT be able to handle those controls fluidly until I get a lot more time with Doc L. who seems so at home amongst all of that technology.

As you can see, I've got two interstellar professors this semester and it makes going to school every day (Monday through Thursday) a real treat. The class that rounds out my 12 credit hours for this semester is AAS 101, also known as Afro-American Survey I, which is my multicultural class required in my core curriculum to graduate.  It's an online class, so I can squeeze it in whenever I have time, which is a good thing.

So there we have it...the fall semester in a nutshell.  I'm looking forward to every day I get to spend with Scorsese, Doc L. and JJ.  I know it's just going to be incredible.

Let's dig up an oldie but goodie to theme out this semester.  PR is killing advertising, I'm being put behind video control boards, and I'm learning how to use media to my advantage... and just for fun because the last time I listened to this song I was an 8-year-old schoolgirl.  (Remarkably on September 9th, this song will be 32-years-old.)  The Buggles, "Video Killed the Radio Star."

Happy Fall 2011 everyone!

Sea of Stars...

Last night I swam in a sea of stars.  Ok, as romantically twisted as that sounds, it's true.

For weeks now, my blue-eyed friend has been begging me to go over to his house to take a swim. Now, what I've not disclosed thus far is that he lives in a beautiful house that's sort of in the boonies...well, it's in the city, but where it's located almost feels like it's in its own little bubble, carefully separated from the rest of the world. In the back yard of this almost hidden sanctuary there is a beautiful swimming pool that he maintains very carefully.

After weeks of begging, he picked me up last night in his new truck, grabbed my bathing suit for me and informed me that I would be swimming. Ok, I had to dig my bathing suit out of mothballs (remember, the last time I used it was around this time last year), but amazingly as I tried desperately to forget my swimsuit (body image issues on my part), he grabbed it up and proceeded to make sure I didn't forget it. After a visit with his dad (who is very cool by the way), I got told to throw on my swimsuit because we were swimming.

Ok, first, let's talk about me and water. We know the story of me at 6-years-old and my mother teaching me to swim by pointing me at the wall and saying, "Sink or swim", my fish stories, sharks stuck to the top of my head, me in 26 feet of water surrounded by really big fish (sharks in the 10-12 foot long range), my checkout dives in Crystal River with the manatees and my myriad of other aquatic feats. But, watching this beautiful beyond description man beckon me and say, "Come on, it's not going to bite you," was rather poignant. Truth told, that was the first swim I had taken in a very long time without it being for the purpose of sitting in a whirlpool, swimming laps or scuba diving. That he was encouraging me to have fun was rather unbalancing because, put bluntly, I forget to have fun. I'm all reason and purpose. When I do things, there is always a reason and a purpose to them, and there he is asking me to throw those things out and just have fun with no purpose other than to just relax and enjoy the experience. Am I wound up or what? If I forget what it's like to have fun, you know there is something seriously wrong.

Let's stay on how badly I'm wound up for a moment. Last night, I was having issues with my long hair and I put in a set of low pigtails just to feel young (ok, you know me, reason and purpose...the reason for the pigtails is because I wanted to give an image of being fun and a tad cutesy for the purpose of just making him happy). Come on, I turn 40 in less than a month and there I am sporting pigtails, a cute top and faded out denim because I was working out pulling myself out of the doldrums of my illnesses.

Long story short, I had a bad run-in with my disorders this week, my PTSD decided to rear its very ugly head and send me into a really hard crash. Oh hell, it's one of the worst I've had in forever, and there he was, just mopping me up and doing what he knows how to do to make me feel better. If I've said this before, I'll say it again without hesitation, being with someone who shares your illness makes life so much better and easier because they come naturally equipped to handle the situation. A halo and wings are just not enough for him, he's earned them 1000 times over with me. Me, with all of my nightmare programming and horrible past, he takes and says, "No, you don't get to spiral, we're going to be replacing bad memories with good ones." A-freaking-mazing. Talk about someone who can handle my best and my worst...it leaves me wanting to scream really loud, "Where the hell have you been?" But truth told, getting to this point was vital so I could recognize and enjoy the fact he's here now.

So, now back to the swimming pool... He left the pool dark, no lights at all and I have to say, it was a little scary. When I got in, I had my hair pulled into a bun on my head, but you could tell he wasn't having it. He looked at me after I waded in and got shoulder deep in water and said, "That's why I've always hung out with tomboyish girls, they're not afraid to get their hair wet..." After being taunted like that, I said to hell with my MAC makeup and carefully crafted coif, removed the elastic band that was holding my hair together, placed it next to my glasses and proceeded to dive into the water. The smile I got from doing that was so devastatingly gorgeous it was to the point of knee-weakening. That was the point that I started having fun. After getting comfortable in the water which was at a perfect temperature, I floated on my back. With only the sound of my own breathing (which is why I love diving so much, it's so relaxing), I looked up and felt myself wrapped in the fluid medium looking up at the stars. I could see constellations, and all around me was dark, so it truly felt like I was swimming in a sea of stars. It was INCREDIBLE.  The Myst Universe inhabitant inside of me whispered, "like a leap into the fissure..."  My fellow Myst-inspired folks will get that, if you're not into Myst, here, have a visual...

We played in the water for a good solid hour, if not more, talking, laughing, telling stories, and I realized that I was having this tremendous experience just doing something as simple as swimming. While we were flitting around in the water, we talked about my inability to ride a bicycle. Ok yes, I am going to be 40 years old and I don't know how to ride a bicycle. Judge me if you must, but it's just something I have never done. I have a story about why I never learned, but sufficed to say, my parents tried to get me to learn, but at that time, I just wasn't having it. While the other kids rode their bikes, I ran everywhere. When it came time to learn how to drive a car, that's when I rode places. LOL. However, last night after recounting the tale, I think my blue-eyed friend has made it his mission to teach me how to ride a bike. Oy veh.

Alright, you know, after talking about him, I realize, he needs a moniker. Shit. I, um, oh hell, I have no idea how to put this...ok, well, you know the stories of my Ex, right? You know how horrible it was, right? Well, how do I put this? The man I've spent almost the last two months with is eloquent, gentle, kind, understanding, busting-his-ass-putting-in-all-the-work-that-they-always-tell-you-that-has-to-go-into-a-successful-relationship-but-I've-never-experienced-firsthand, romantic, funny, (along with the rest of his endless list of adorable qualities) and has basically taken all of my preconceptions, assumptions, and normal working order of things and basically turned it on it's head and said, "No...that way is broken, don't do that. This way is more healing, try this..." and it makes me feel kind of like a cat on shaky ground, arms and legs splayed trying to get steady. Oh and what a pain in the ass I've been! Every bad habit and nightmare quality have reared their head for him and he just will NOT give up on me! WTF! Where did this come from? So, as you can see, he needs a moniker because he's going to be around for a while and I don't want to rip his shorts down around his ankles by disclosing his real name.

I'm tempted to ask all of my readers to give him a moniker. He's my version of Liz Gilbert's "Filipe." He's my champion and he's single-handedly teaching me how to beat my illness into submission...he's giving so much and putting so much into being with me that, well, it's like he's come riding up on a white horse to save the day. Now as melodramatic as that may sound, it really does feel like that sometimes. So, he needs a name.

The things he teaches me everyday about myself, himself, and the rest of the world is always amazing. He's got this incredible viewpoint and he's always telling me, "Just relax and enjoy things." He's a bit of a farmer with the ability to grow tomatoes that are so floral that to bite into one is like tasting heaven, he's a bit of the tinkerer and shares my "have to take it apart and put it back together to understand how it works" gene, he looks at the world with an experienced, wise pair of stormy blue eyes that, when I look through them, no obstacle seems insurmountable or so bad to work through. He gives me hope. But I guess the biggest thing I can say is that he's got this incredible amount nutritional value that goes beyond anything I ever imagined the phrase "nutritional value" could mean. His smile is infectious, his voice is like a distant rolling thunder that gives you comfort in the fact that a healing rain is never too far away. The biggest thing is that he has taught me what all of those little expressions I heard growing up really mean. My father has always spoken about my mother that she's his "partner." I never really understood what that really meant and felt like until he talked about how a relationship is a "right hand, left hand" kind of thing.

The "right hand, left hand" thing is the moment where when you're doing something together, one half knows exactly how to respond to the other half, when and how to hand them things, knowing instinctively how things work as a couple. When he spoke about it, I finally learned what Daddy meant when he said Mom was his partner. When I spoke to my dad on the phone this afternoon, he told me that those things take time, but when you get it just right, it's wonderful. So, I guess that all of the relationship things I've ever heard about such as the work you put in to it, the partner aspect, your pal and best friend now really make sense. I never really got what people were talking about when they said things like that until now. It's different, I'll tell ya that, but it makes me wonder a couple of things...why am I just learning about this now? How much have I missed out on? OR is it that we live our lives and take in our experiences to make us ready to appreciate it and recognize it when it happens?

At times like this, I think about Doc Cat and how she loves the Sternberg Triangle...and I remember when she spoke about it, she was all hearts about it, as in Doc Cat <3's the Sternberg Triangle, kind of thing...I remember when she taught about it, I thought about my parents, how it seemed as they had it all sewn up, they have the passion, the commitment and the intimacy that make it all work right.  I am just now starting to experience the pieces of the triangle in a palpable form for myself and it's peculiar, I am learning all about the "intimacy" portion of it.  Intimacy isn't about sex or sexuality at all sometimes.  Intimacy is what I'm fighting to overcome, it's where you basically pants yourself, drop them down around your ankles and have all of your weaknesses exposed.  It's showing the chinks in your emotional armor and figure out that the person you're with isn't going to use them against you.  Intimacy is a trust thing I think.  It's trusting the other person enough that you're able to let them be close to you.  That, my friends, is what my stormy blue-eyed knight is fighting against, all of my trust issues...but the thing is, amazing as it sounds, I think he's winning.  Doc Cat says that love is all about risk, what you're willing to put out there and pray that it doesn't get stomped on.  It's scary stuff, but I think it's like that dark swimming pool, with the right person, the scary parts can turn into swimming in a sea of stars.

So, while we figure out a moniker for my walking, talking, dreamy guy, who Sherrilyn Kenyon would term as "sex on a stick," here's a tune that seems to fit his ice cream and daisy style..."Ice Cream" by Sarah McLachlan.

Separation Anxiety

I'm quickly learning that any relationship that starts out after marital failure is the equivalent of overcoming the fear of roller coasters. At the start, the first plummet over the edge always has someone on the ride screaming to get off, but then after it starts gaining momentum and they get used to the sensations that come along with it, they can't imagine themselves anywhere else. They're usually the ones who, right before the end, are the ones cheering their heads off, holding their arms up, enjoying the ride. At that moment, they become hooked on the adrenaline rush and when the cars finally come to a stop, they are the first ones off the ride so they can run around to get in line to ride the roller coaster again, giggling and laughing the whole way, ready again to scream, laugh, and ultimately enjoy the sensations.

Crazy, right?

I am one of those people. The first plummet of my roller coaster ride consisted of me being very narrow in my view. I was squealing my head off that I wanted to get off the ride because I didn't know what to do, had no idea of what to do with the emotions that I was experiencing, didn't have control of the situation and was completely disoriented by the feeling of my stomach plummeting into my shoes. I had no idea that I'd end up being someone that was willing to release my death grip from the safety bar and hold my hands up and, as someone wise told me, "Just relax and enjoy it." Not only did I find someone who was willing to be patient while I released, albeit one finger at a time, my death grip on the safety bar, but he also bravely braced himself to endure my tirade of clawing to get off; he patiently taught me how to hold my hands up and really get into why people enjoy the ride to begin with.

But, here's where the separation anxiety comes in: I am now the lunatic who is running from the ride exit to get back in line to get back on again. It's crazy how there are some things you can't get enough of. Addictive, yes. Or as Liz Gilbert so eloquently said:

Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never even dared to admit that you wanted – an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore — despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere…because he used to give it to you for free). Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have that thing even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you’re someone he’s never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is, you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You’re a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes. So that’s it. You have now reached infatuation’s final destination—the complete and merciless devaluation of self.”

I'm trying desperately not to be a junkie for that emotional speedball. And here's why.  I don't want to blow it. When you have a relationship with someone who is almost an identical reflection of yourself, from the PTSD, abuse and addiction to the untold damages that come with living a life that ended up being a pothole-ridden superhighway to hell, you sit back bathing in the attention, daisies and ice cream of it all and wonder why it's just now being presented to you. You sit back wailing the questions,"Why couldn't have this happened before I got married?" "Have my experiences been the road to make me ready for this?"  "Why am I so broken?" "Do I deserve to be this happy?" and on and on the questions go until you inevitably beat it to death and fall into bed mentally spent. The wisdom that says "just relax and enjoy it" finally occurs to you after you've closed your eyes and after a "doh" moment, you promise yourself that you'll try to enjoy it more tomorrow.

I sat mortified for a while, flailing my arms and scared stiff of being close to anyone. Worse part of it was when Nan looked at me and said, "You're being courted." My eyes got as big as pie plates and I did some serious emotional flailing trying desperately to justify my idiotic need to push someone away who was being very open and honest with everything. I think my subconscious was telling me that this wasn't a trifle, I couldn't play around with it and there was little room for error, because I was being presented with a real, live, honest to gods chance to be happy. 

For me and my history with relationships, that was the equivalent of the bubonic plague of all emotional experiences, because each time I thought I had found it, it turned out to be a lie or I would unknowingly sabotage the whole thing. So to be presented with something that huge, ok, let's cut to the chase, when you've got the brass ring in front of you and you've had it jerked out of your grasp time and time again, you're going to be scared senseless or completely disbelieving and mistrusting of anyone who would dare hold it up again. Do you reach for it or don't you? As Doc Cat says, "Life is about risk. What are you going to do when the risk comes? Sometimes, you just have to jump and see what happens." For me, that kind of jump is near to impossible, and oh boy did I have one hell of a time being talked off the ledge and convinced to take a leap of faith.

I have been getting hit with this amazing emotional speedball right, left and center. So, what does the addict brain do? It tries desperately to hang on to its habits, it does anything to justify the use of whatever it craves to get by. The cherry on the cake of all of this is that the relationship I'm in seems right now to be a very healthy addiction. I took Doc Cat's advice and said, "Ok Sher, you get one hour, ONE, to obsess and then you've got to get on with the things that have to get done," and I've been doing just that, devoting my time to work, getting registered for school, getting my financial aid all worked out, everything top to bottom all fixed up. But then my hour comes, and it's filled with dinners, conversations that are meaningful and sweet, and they end up being longer than just one hour.

And don't you know it...I just got a 2 a.m. text from him about external hard drives, killing the whole topic that I'm writing about, talk about a reflection...the guy is as random as I am.  I get asked, "Are you up?" I of course reply, "Yes." and what do you think I got?  Instead of "I'll be right over..." I got "Here, check out this hard drive."  OY VEH!  He's so going to pay for that tomorrow.  My relationship partner is a fellow reader and I have only one message for him.  That's right pal, you're gonna get it!  I'm thinking of the denial of good back scratching or I might hit below the belt and be a foot massage hold out.  My devious mind will come up with some playfully cruel way to inflict some sort of retribution for messing up my great romantic story.  Ugh, talk about getting de-railed...well, HA!  Try as you might to give me writers block, I'm not falling for it!  I'm in charge of steering this boat, so we're going to get back on topic...

Here's where the next dip comes, I'm not alone in my separation anxiety.  I'm not even the one who brought up the topic, he did.  Speaking of text messaging, I got one the other day that referenced his separation anxiety from me.  I can't help but think it's healthy.  Two addicts, two absolutely triggerable PTSD sufferers and the great thing of it all, it's two people who understand what's going on, how to make it better and be soothing for each other.  Except for the 2 a.m. external hard drive text, (oh, he's so gonna pay...) especially when I'm in the middle of romantic separation anxiety.  Note:  If a girl says she's having that kind of anxiety, don't talk about computer parts!  It's not computer parts she's thinking of!  LOL!

See what I mean?  I think it's a good thing to have separation anxiety when it comes to someone who makes you laugh, who when you come out of the dressing room at Banana Republic he's standing there with his oh-so-groovy sunglasses on (which look amazing on him by the way) and he's got this great straw fedora on and it makes you squeal in laughter and joy (when before you would have been embarrassed because you didn't know what to do with the emotions it evoked), that his goofiness plays right into your own, that when you both face something you don't necessarily like to do and you give each other a "get out of jail free" card just in case someone gets triggered, ensuring no one gets hurt, and you end up spending the evening laying on a blanket under the stars and a full moon while the outdoor play you went to see doesn't inspire either of you so you make the time work for the both of you and end up counting the stars, looking for the satellites passing over head and all of a sudden the thing you didn't want to do turns into one of the favorite moments of your life.

It's having the same favorite soda pop.  It's knowing that when you're in the kitchen and it's just big enough for just the two of you, there is a happy little dance that happens where one person is like the right hand and the other the left hand and you negotiate things with ease and a happiness that is rare to find.

So tonight, the left hand is looking around for the right hand and not finding it.  I'm having separation anxiety, but it's a good thing, it's got tons of nutritional value because, well, I know there is always tomorrow and I know he's having it too.  I finally feel like I've got a partner...and it's pretty damn cool.

So for the song of the day, something that says it better than I ever could, a perfect little tune by Lifehouse called "Broken."

Searching for a sign.

Tonight, I once again loaded Eat Pray Love up on my DVD player. I guess it was one of those nights where you look at your life, trying in vain to realize what's going on, and then you sit back and sigh, then try to find something that will give you a sign as to what direction to go next.  I figured I needed to watch the movie because it would tell me something profound like it always seems to do.

I sat in my big, fluffy desk chair today staring out the window and thinking about the person I've been spending time with over the last three weeks. He's sweet, handsome, and wonderful in every respect when it's just he and I, and he has catered to every emotional need I've had, drying tears and putting up with my growling with effortless grace. He made me realize what I was missing by not having someone to share time with. But inevitably, we all have to realize and accept that there's no point in trying to live in a bubble. Outside influences, along with a whole list of baggage problems, have finally made me realize that although I may like someone a lot, and find them more precious than a handful of jewels, well, when you try to play the gracious host welcoming another person into your life, you also have to deal with your baggage along with the baggage that they carry as well; and then you have to decide whether or not you're available to be an emotional baggage bellhop and/or figure out if you have the storage space to deal with all of their baggage that you try neatly to store next to your own.

As we all know, I'm working hard on rebuilding my life. I've spent the last two years purging every single last piece of emotional baggage, tried in vain to discard every last box filled with bad memories and just spend time trying to find out who I am and then figure out if I really want someone to share it with.

The person I've been spending time with over the last three weeks has really been angelic dealing with my what seems like constant moodiness, my inability to keep my blood sugar at a constant level because I forget to eat and all of the other circus features of my often mixed up life. I think he quite possibly could have qualified for his halo and wings by putting up with me, but on the flip side of that, maybe I have as well.

It's not easy trying to deal with a new person in your life. Take a look at me, I've lived for two years by myself with barely any human contact outside of school and my family and even Nan will go so far as to tell you that if you move something in my apartment without my express permission, I get a little freaked out. Yeah, as you can guess, he's moved a few things around, stored some dishes in places they don't belong in and even went so far as to misunderstand what was going on in my kitchen one Saturday afternoon, effectively ruining the lunch that was waiting to be eaten after an hour and a half long phone call with my boss, plunging me into further blood sugar deprivation. Of course he took care of me through it, but it became something that I looked at with a discerning eye.

But as we say, it takes two to tango and no one is ever without fault. Even though he's so sweet, I can't bear to see him anymore because at three weeks in, I'm having more and more reservations about it. He has an incredible amount of baggage that, even if I tried to play Tetris with my emotional storage space, I couldn't even begin to house it all. The worst part of it all is that our tastes are so very divergent that I have problems trying to keep up with the most simple of things, like going out to eat. I'm a Spago girl, I've been going there since it opened here in Vegas in 1992. I know the maitre'd, I'm definitely on speaking terms with the chef and it's been a very safe place for me for almost 20 years. After all, they were the ones who picked me up when my 28th birthday became a tragic horror story and while I fought back tears, they were the ones that began the tradition of Creme Brulee and champagne for my birthday every year. The food is sublime, the company always friendly and I can't think of anywhere else in the world I would rather go to just sit back, unwind and feel like myself. It's part of who I am, for better or for worse. On the flip side, the man I've been seeing is balancing so much (I won't go into details, but when I explained it to Nan, she winced, if that's any indication), to ask him to try to fit into my not-so-carefree life (but pretty darn close), or for me to try to fit myself into his very baggage-laden life, it doesn't seem to want to gel.

But back to the movie again. I watched the part where Liz has moved in with the "Yogi from Yonkers" and his ever-constant state of unemployment and their arguments that arise from it, I kind of knew that even if the guy I've been seeing was made of gold, he still has a lot of work to do on his life and there's not much room for me. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm not trying, I sat through dinner at the greasy spoon, I've been more than supportive, accepting and everything else...but let's face it, when one person's life is on the way to being organized and the other person's isn't and in danger of falling into further chaos, even if you tried forever and a day, someone is going to end up dissatisfied, hurt, triggered or something else. In all, I think it's just a really bad case of bad timing, it really breaks my heart because he is really wonderful, but the timing just isn't right.

But there is one thing that I didn't count on in all of this, that the sweet, gentle man I've been seeing for the last three weeks has inevitably been running head-long into situations that cause memories of my ex. It's not his fault that my marriage was just doomed from the outset, nor was he there for every single excruciating moment of a relationship that had no business existing in the first place. Nonetheless, being that he's the first person that I've had something going on with in over two years, I guess it was inevitable. I guess I'm not done putting away all of my baggage that would allow me to be a healthy, active participant in a relationship. It makes me sad because I guess I'm just not ready yet and that that poor man had to put up with the angst I still have over how badly I was hurt.

But as Liz Gilbert so eloquently put it, "Ruin is the road to transformation." When we look inside of ourselves and find that even though we've been ransacked, pillaged, burnt and torn down, we all find a way to build ourselves up again. I guess that's the sign I needed that said that I'm not broken, he's not broken, we're just in a state of transformation. It takes time to build yourself back up again after being so torn down, so I guess I just hope with all of my heart that his transformation will go smoothly, that he'll someday find who he wants to be again, while I sit and do the same. It's like what Liz said, "We all have to be ready for endless waves of transformation."

I guess it's easy to misunderstand where I'm coming from. It could happen, but we all have to look at our lives individually and determine where they want to go. It's like what Doc T once told me when we were discussing how to write well and convey what we mean, he said, "When you write, you're your own deity. You determine where things go, you determine what meanings are made from what you have to say. So just write, and live the way you write. You determine everything, so just go with it." Yesterday's post was about my attempts at embracing Liz's "endless waves of transformation" and how I reacted to them. I can't help how I feel about things and how I view the world, it's who I am, to be any different would be the equivalent of giving someone else power over my decisions, and I've done quite enough of that, thank you very much.

So, I'm going to take Doc T's advice, determining my own path and just going with it. I guess today I need to remember that from ruin comes transformation. That should hold me over for a little while.  I'm sad things didn't work out, but I'll just remind myself that even though I'd like things to go a certain way, I can't force people to live the same way I do, however much I'd like them to, and no one else can ask me to live the same way they do either.