I’m looking for new work, but I feel incredibly guilty about it because it would be a really bad time to leave the company I currently work for. That said, they can’t give me more than 24 hours a week, so I’ve had to subsidize my income by working in a situation that is taxing at best, and they pay me peanuts while I’m responsible for a huge amount of work. I passed up a great job opportunity before due to a misplaced sense of loyalty to these people, only to have them tell me that they couldn’t guarantee that my contract would be re-newed at the end of August. They want to wait and see what the new GM (who hasn’t even been hired yet) has to say.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last four months, it’s that sometimes YOUR needs are more important for the greater good. I suspect this is one of those situations. In fact, this is all quite familiar.

“I can’t leave. It’s not a functional environment, but it’s sometimes creatively rewarding. I have to be loyal because I respect the level of artistry at work. They need me. I don’t want to leave them high and dry.”

Mamma’s taking care of herself now, which means a rigid and very frugal monthly budget, and double the rent she’s been paying for the last two and a half years. Nobody at my current place of employment seems overly concerned about that.

I keep seeing red cardinals. They keep landing on the ground in front of me, or lighting on branches beside me. I am used to hearing them all of the time, but not seeing them so very close. When I consult the oracle that is the Internet about the relevance of the cardinal as an omen, here is what I get:

Cardinal-This colorful bird had power to foretell good fortune or something needed was on its way. These birds brighten up our surroundings and colors our lives. We should remember this when going through life. They are friendly birds that help us by eating up weed seeds and harmful insects (including the locust). Those with the cardinal as their guide should be careful with their diet so that they don’t harm themselves or dull their vitality. The male cardinal shares with responsibility of incubating the eggs. They also will often feed the female during the raising of the young. This serves to remind us to keep to our responsibilities and the importance of our personal tasks. The cardinal has a loud whistle which helps us to remember to listen carefully. This should include listening inwardly for strength in creativity and intuition.

And then, interestingly enough, I’m reading a site dedicated to explaining the cardinal as a state symbol, and at the bottom of the page is a huge banner ad that reads “THEY’LL GET ALONG WITHOUT YOU” and it’s for a company called Career Builder. Crazy. All the answers really ARE on the Internet.

Perhaps if I’m lucky, I’ll be one of those people who gets fired for complaining about work on their blog space, and then I can take ’em to court and retire young. I’d make a great retiree. I’d start wearing large hats and drink martinis all day long until I couldn’t feel my face, and my handsome house boy has to pry the glass from my shriveled hands and put me to bed in a silky negligee.

C’mere hannnsssome. Lemme give ya a ‘lil kishhh g’naghht…..”

Cardinal: Recognizing your Self Importance

Cardinal reminds us that no matter what time of the day or year it is, there is always the opportunity to recognize the important of our life purpose. If a Cardinal appears, it is time to pay attention to your health and well-being. It is also a time to listen to the feminine side, the aspects of creativity and intuition. Cardinal people are in tune to the number 12. Twelve months or a year’s time is very important to a Cardinal totem person. They remind us to add “color” to our life and to remember that everything you do is important.

I know I should be unpacking and cleaning. I know that I would even be more comfortable inside with the a/c instead of melting out here on the patio where it is still ridiculously hot at 6:30 pm. There are so many other things I could be doing rather than finally deciding to put this out there in the world, yet here I am.

I miss you.

When you launch yourself into single-hood with nobody else waiting in the wings it allows for some serious time for reflection. I know we made the right choice. It just wasn’t getting any better, was it? Well, it was, but too slowly. We both felt like we were waiting for you to catch up and neither of us liked it. And we sure didn’t understand each other at all. Not even a little bit. I think we would have been frustrated forever. I know we would have.

But lately, when I come home from work at night, I miss having you there. I miss hearing you click away on your keyboard while I started to cook us dinner. I miss eating in front of the television and enduring bad Star Trek re-runs. I miss movie nights with organic burgers, and I miss Battlestar Gallactica with Tofutti. I miss taking the dog to the beach with you, watching you laugh with delight as you taught him how to swim, and then going to grab lunch on the board walk. I miss the Sunday morning dog park visits followed by brunch. I even miss the motorcycle rides that ended in ribs and fries. I miss the rare few times when I really felt like you were happy.

I don’t miss the ten pounds I’ve lost since we broke up.

Eventually, there will come a time when someone else will come along and I will create new rituals and habits with them. I just can’t imagine it though. I’m sure that has something to do with the fact that my home is a shambles. Could it be that I’m avoiding all of my housework because I’m just not ready to move on yet? I’m not ready to have a functional home?

That little revelation was just the boost I needed to at least put the kitchen dishes away and vacum.

Rule #4 for the Fortress of Solitude: Keep your physical environment the way you would like your mental environment to look. (I assure you, I don’t want mine dusty, cluttered, and covered in sheets.)

At least one of the Coreys is still recognizable.

This will be brief because I’m exhausted, and have had several sangrias today.
My dear darling mom and dad were kind enough to rent a van and deliver their guest bed for me today, so I would no longer be sleeping on the couch.
They also delivered a stack of self-help books, but I’m not going to get into that.
The point I wish to drive home (ha!) is that the bed, which I thought was a queen, is in fact a double. Now bedding manufacturers would have you believe that there’s not much difference between the two, but I’m lying in it right now, and I can tell you that this bed feels considerably different (smaller) than a queen. Which may not be so bad.
This bed gives me enough sprawling room, and could conceivably fit two if need be. The other person would have to be in very close proximity, so either they would be VERY comfortable, or uncomfortable enough that they wouldn’t want to stay long.
As far as I’m concerned, either way I win.
Goodnight Toronto.

Does anyone else love Judy Bloom the way I did growing up?
When we were little-ish, my mom used to read to the Gaffer and I before bed, and our favourite soon came to be Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, and Superfudge! (you have to type the exclamation). We loved it because it was so funny, and so much fun to get so wound up and silly before sleep. The Gaffer used to do this thing (up until quite recently, actually) where he would use the tips of his fingers to brush rapidly at his cheeks whilst grinning ear-to-ear when he was excited. Though we probably should have recognized it as a pre-homocidal nervous tick, we all thought it was cute, so we pretended not to notice. Now he’s channeled it into a rapid palm-on-palm rub, which is probably more suited to a man of his impressive stature.

The Gaffer makes me remember who I am, and where I come from. He’s a grounding force, and one of the few people in the world who really “get” me. We have the exact same sense of humour, and completely delight in making each other laugh. When he laughs at my jokes, I KNOW they are funny. We have the same taste in books and movies, and we both share a deep-seated love of Led Zepplin. Judy Bloom is something I’ll always associate with him, and likewise Richard Scary, Guns and Roses, Hulkamania, The Dukes of Hazzard, The A Team, blanket forts, snow forts, my early experiments with wigs, makeup, and my mom’s discarded 60’s baby doll lingerie from our tickle trunk (I think the Gaffer was the first Coquette!), and any and all good-old-fashioned butcher knife chases. Can you guess who was the knife wielding maniac?

*Let me pause for a moment to remark that there is a Silence-of-the-Lambs sized moth fluttering frantically around my apartment, and I can’t get rid of it because if I leave the patio door open, the raccoons who live in my wall will come in for a visit. I’m not killing the little bastard because it will make a horrific mess. One of the limitations of single hood is that there is nobody else around to deal with the really gross bugs. If it lands on me while I’m sleeping, this will be my last entry. It puts the lotion in the basket…*

Anyway, my point in all of this is to say “Chin Up Gaffer.” Life is all about the leap, and the often painful crash to the earth when you get too close to the sun. Remember, without this particular brand of heart ache, Axl would have never welcomed anyone to the jungle, Robert Plant wouldn’t know how to wail, there’d be no reason to say your prayers and eat your vitamins, B.A. wouldn’t have anyone to pity, and the thrill of narrowly escaping with your life as the the bathroom door slammed shut in my face wouldn’t taste so sweet.

Judy Bloom introduced me to menstruation, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, and scoliosis, all of which have become a big part of my adult life. Imagine how different I would be if we had been hooked on Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.

Despite an extensive search, nothing on the Internet could tell me what the hell “Mama Say Mammasa Mama Cusa”means. My brother threw it out there as a phrase to summarize the collective happenings in our personal lives right now, and whatever it means, it felt exactly right. Especially with the world-weary intonation he used to dole that out. Now you’re going to be chanting it in the back of your head for the rest of the day.

The truth is, I don’t know if I wanna be startin’ somethin’. I feel like it makes more sense to concentrate on working off my travels, and setting up my home, but the universe keeps throwing me curve balls. The attractive, interesting kind, and in true Schnooie fashion, I feel remiss to resist. I could take the proffered phone number or email address, and politely explain that I’m taking a hiatus from dating, but where the hell is the fun in that? And how would that work anyway? When I decide that I’m fierce enough again to handle the perils of male/female relations, I dust off the business cards or slips of paper and make a “Hey, do you remember me” phone call?

How does one know when the time is right to get out in the dating world again? A friend of mine stoically opined “You’ll just know. It will just happen.”
Despite her Yoda-like wisdom, I was still left confused.
She also said “There are more important things to focus on than relationships.”

Really? There are? I’m the most ridiculous romantic that I know. I’m hard-pressed to think up what those other things might be. I mean, I have a clear focus on maintaining my friendships, and I’ve managed to gain back my work focus. Maybe she means the creation of art. That one could use a little work, for sure.

Perhaps rather than going out on dates, I will lock myself up in this garret and write and dream and create some sort of masterpiece. I’m not without inspiration, that’s for sure. I could pour myself into an idea I’ve had for some time, and see what it turns into. Or I could write the next great piece of Chick Lit. Hmm….maybe I should use my dating misadventures to write the next great piece (I think this is an oxymoron) of Chick Lit.

Listen, I think I just heard my business card being torn up.

You’re A Vegetable, You’re A Vegetable
Still They Hate You, You’re A Vegetable
You’re Just A Buffet, You’re A Vegetable
They Eat Off Of You, You’re A Vegetable