The Mysteries of Women. And Men Too, I'm Sure

Standing in the coffee bar waiting for my free iced mocha, I got to admiring the physical presence of a young lady who also waited.

She was deeply in animated conversation with the barista, altho I couldn't hear with all the commotions of other conversations in the small shoppe.

As my drink order was announced, starbux-style, I stepped forward and was privvy to the sound of said young lady's voice.  It was deep and husky, surprisingly a jarring contrast to the young lady's appearance.  With her almost-chiffon dress, a semi-sheer white, she seemed lite, tanned, attractive, with an easy manner.

While her manner didn't actually change, her demeanor changed in my mind.   With a rough and husky voice, suddenly her appearance became slightly cloaked in a tougher and grittier persona.   Still attractive and pretty, still the same person, but different in my mind from the fantastical notion I had concocted upon first and second glance.

And then she turned, to reach for her own drink.  A large tattoo on her left shoulder-blade, in a sort of blue black ink.  Suddenly, she was no longer one of the masses in my mind, but someone who might run withe the burlesque set.

And yet, when all is said and done... for all my judgey judgement... Do I really know all that much about her?

My point being, that as human beings, our minds are firing at a mile a minute, even when we're dull and dimwitted.  We make our own assessments and judgements, everywhere we go.    And its nice to know, in the end, that we can be quite wrong - about situations, people, places, etc.     I can appreciate that.

Marthie's Lament

She was utterly vexed. Couldn't understand why her newfound riches in life didn't include the Keys to the Kingdom.  In this case, a family island in New England.

Marthie thought for certain that by marrying her rich wall street beau, somehow she would be invited to the family compound of her even-richer friend Sharon.  Surely money, and her husband's wall street status, would now get them invited. 

But friendship and entree sometimes has to do with breeding; established history; social circles; common conversations; and personal relationships. Its not always about the size of a bank account. In fact in various ways the Blue Bloods—the Old Rich—look disdainfully upon what are termed The Nouveau Riche.  These newbie millionaires are really just pretenders; they don't step forth with the trappings and breedings, with family history, or with family compounds and the dynastic subjugations and swindles that made them all so famously and ferociously clever!  

The Nouveau Riche? They just have loads of money.  But the blue bloods! They have Breeding; they have History... and they know Protocol.

Marthie would go on speculating, why why why, wasn't she invited to Sharon's family island compound in New England, with Sharon and her husband. Why why why.

But thats just banging one's head against the wall. 

Unbeknownst to her, since she was quite busy—banging her head against that wall.

People people

How to handle drama queens.  How to handle. 

I am pondering this.  

Or perhaps there's not enough room for it in my world, as I am the one that needs to be the drama queen?

The Hunt is On!!

Went on a  treasure hunt with a friend. 

Oh sorry I think the term is scavenger hunt. 

It was promoted by a local store.  Part of the celebration for their 5th Anniversary. 

The idea was, go around with a sheet of clues, and visit all these other stores. Get them to sign your sheet, and answer the cryptic riddles about each particular participating store.

In Williamsburg.

Exhausting.

But not for my friend!

She delightedly (and competitively) ran from store to store, like a mad woman, and loved every minute of it!!  It wasn't stores that were all that close by, either. Some of them were close to a mile apart!

And damned if she not only won the grand prize, 

but also stirred up business for herself on two fronts, 

won some other prizes including a free haircut and a free picture framing. 

And other such stuff.

In truth, she was fulfilled. And, inspired.

So I guess in reality, it WAS a treasure hunt.  

She won the booty! 

Decisions Decisions

It really is all about decision making, isn't it.  I mean, everything.  Everything is about making decisions, in a way.
Should I eat pasta, even if it makes me feel sick?
Should I walk down this street, a shortcut through a dangerous neighborhood? Or take the time to be safe.
Red shirt, or white shirt.
Stairs or escalator.

These decisions don't involve life or death.  Most, in fact, do not.
life is not Sophie's Choice.

So but why I write, now, is about making a decision on my part—to be a whiney bitch, or to deal with stuff head on.

I place myself in a situation where I believe I am helping someone. In so doing, I am a good person, or a goodguy. And hopefully will see my friend excel.

The down side is, what do I get.  To see my friend excel?
Do I really just want that, or am I hoping somehow by osmosis, success will somehow rub off onto me as a result?
Or, am I helping the friend, becuase I secretly want them to offer to help me with whatever whatever secret project I might have for myself.

So the decision I must make make is: figure out what I want, and get it. From this situation.  And if I want out, i should step up.  Make the decision, for my own sake. And get out.

But somehow, I'm not making a decision.  I'm taking a wait-and-see approach.  But is that really wise? Won't it somehow lead to anger.

"I'll Call You Back At 830. You Gonna Be Home Then?"

I thought I was lame and irresponsible about calling people back, till I got thoroughly re-introducted to Dee.  I guess its just something to say, when stating, "I'll call you at 830."

 But that statement comes back again and again, and never does said person call back at said time. Never.  My friend Wae once said, "Yes you often don't call when you say you will," and that stopped me from ever promising I'll call.  Unless I know, for certain, that its important and its part of a plan.

I have my moods, and sometimes just do not want to be on the phone, period.  So, I simply won't make that promise anymore, that I'm going to call. 

 But Dee makes that promise, to call, again and again.  And while I'm actually relieved he never fulfills the promise, I get tired of going through the ritual of yes-yes'ing about being home, yes I'll be there, yes you should call, sure. 

In some sense its a totall relief, as I know its just going to be a lot of stories of Woe, some incredible literally almost-unbelievable strokes of bad fortune that have befallen him. And the stories are long, windy, and end depressingly. Generally the person at fault is the teller of the stories, but always there is implicit blame on the others involved, or in The Situation that trapped him in.  These tales go on and on— about having had to pay close to 1000 dollars to visit his brother in Philly,  a 300 dollar cab ride from one town to another, etc.   Just a lot of really really painful stuff to hear.  

And when I say painful I mean it in the sense that its a lot of venting, and mostly no lessons learned, about terrible judgement and sloppy lazy behaviour. Again, the tales end up poorly.  They're tough to hear, because after they are exhausted and explored, these stories will be replaced by more stories. With the same kind of Charlie Brown woe.

Or there's the Highs  The highs of a guy who loves to drink and get high.  Hubris, and Great Possiblity, about a screenplay idea, or a contact made, or just in general something that has become super inspiring and exciting, due to having had a few hits of weed, and some booze down the ol hatcher. 

The question is, Do I really want a call back? Not so sure. 

Fred Is Dead

We all "knew" it would happen, but in fact it did.
It was something we said resenfully -- "Hes killing himself, he wants to die."

Then he did kill himself, he did die.

He left behind a void that only loss can create.  The suddenness left no room for contingency plans.
We all said he was killing himself, yet counted on and expected him to be around anyway.

But thats simply not how it worked out.