Once a month or so, I try to email an old friend of mine who's email address consists of her first and last name. First would be Racheal. Or Rachael. Or Rachel. Her last name I can't spell either. Actually, this is only part of the problem. I am also not sure if the email account is yahoo or gmail, or any of the thousand others you can get for free. So all my email messages for the last few years, go to fake people (I assume, or at some point she HAS gotten my email, only to ignore me, which would make this whole story even more badass but how would I know, so. yea.), or people I do not know, with virtually the same name except no one writes me back and I really do think AT BARE MINIMUM one of my messages has warranted a reply. Even from a total stranger. I would have emailed me back, I write fantastically entertaining emails. I would be my own best friend.
Somewhere my new pen pal awaits.
I am patient.
Eventually my haiku's will penetrate someone's hard candy shell. Some soul out there appreciates the humor in cannibalism. My vagina CAN be the hidden source of vitality that saves our ecosystems. We hold these truths to be self-evident; the collective, the buzzing hive, the we that is me.
I am patient.
So I read my first graphic novel this weekend. Crossed. Wow. Sick. I am hooked. I can't get into that whole superhero thing but zombies, insanity and the apocalypse: Jesus has rained down manna, and it tastes like long pig. There is a Vol. 2. Family Values, but I will have to wait until next weekend to get it. I might be spoiled but I am not that spoiled. Meanwhile, I can get started on the Walking Dead, Sandman, and The Watchmen series... this will be a nice deviation from A Book Club we tried to put together with a few friends, which officially failed and became The Booze Club. Hopefully we will be meeting up again soon. Drinking doesn't seem to be a problem for any of us.
Friday night was another enjoyable Family Happy Hour, a monthly ritual we began back in 2000, so that we could drink wine, wind down, and get all the kids together. Saturday brought shopping for Kid B's 8th grade formal, depositing Kid A at the Science Center Youth Volunteer Orientation, shuffling around the little one (my step daughter) and gobbling some awesome greasy diner food at Bananas.
That night we went to the British Invasion at Stardust Video & Coffee, missing tailgating fun and seeing Orlando City Soccer play. The rain sort of kept me eyeing the sky; thinking about sitting on wet bleachers seemed way less appealing than Mop Tops and the Dalek. Took Kid A, hit the photo booth, grabbed some fish and chips and danced to a few Beatles songs. Stopped by Park Ave CDs on the way out to pick up some Sonny Rollins vinyl for Sunday jazz poolside, which was enjoyed with my sister and the Sticky Hand Posse (her brood) after brunch with our mother.
I was unsure whether marriage would ever really suit me long term. The moniker Sybil, is admittedly, not all that far off. Possibly having made the initial decision to get hitched in a full blown manic phase, plowing straight on through ceremony and celebration, to the dropped jaws of all those around me, I had to trust that my intuition and analysis was correct in the end. I have days. He has days. We both have days. But somehow, when logic and reason is present, it is right. For a thousand different reasons. I find myself hanging in despite a three decade history of flight and reinvention (the first time I ran away from home, I was 5 years old - packed a suitcase, took off, retrieved half a day later by law enforcement after a shop keeper tricked me into staying at my favorite soda counter and coloring in a book for her, the bitch, I was not so easily fooled the second time). Compromise was never a part of my vocabulary until now. It is making me a better person, in spite of the occasional bruising that occurs when I buck and thrash.
This weekend was filled with moments of I adore, to include being roughly pinned down because I refused to stop ripping his snap up button shirt open. That shit was just way too tempting not to do over and over and over again. We are approaching our anniversary, and I think I am falling for him more every day. It what I have always wanted.
This, by no means, takes away from the truth that if we were trying to out run zombies, I may trip him in order to get away. Also, if it came down too it, I'd consider chopping off one of his limbs to cook if ever there was a food shortage. There are levels of survival I am willing to accept.
I hope he survives me.
Because, I really, really, love him a lot.