Sunday, December 22, 2013

Visit From the Past

I was online, Googling up info on exes folks I used to know. Whatever, you've done it too. I looked up this girl I used to know back in high school. I've done it before and never gotten much info about her. That changed yesterday.

In high school (as in much of my adult life) I really wanted to be in a rock band. I would peruse the ads in the local entertainment mag, Scene Magazine, and be really tempted to respond to them, but ultimately I wouldn't out of fear. I was young, black, not particularly talented, not hot, and my equipment was shit. I was aware enough to know that I'd be laughed out of a lot of situations. I don't remember what was special about the one I finally responded to —it was probably perfectly irreverent and anti-establishment—but I wound up traveling by bus to an Arabica coffeehouse in the suburbs to meet Jellybean and Adrienne Bartholomew. It was the summer before I went off to college.

We hit it off right away. They were the poster children for teenage rebellion. At the time, I thought they were just cool peeps on my wavelength that could accept me for who I was; now I can see that they were typical high school kids trying to piss off their parents, jaded and disillusioned, needing ways to channel their feelings of isolation. They didn't care that I was black, lesbian. In fact, they thought it was cool. It gave them credibility. This was in the era of grunge, right, when it was all about disaffected youth and standing against the mainstream, etc. etc. I sound jaded myself right now I know. I didn't feel that way back then. I was psyched to be amongst people who were "like me" in some way. It was about this time that my high school friends had dropped off the face of the Earth, out of school in fact, and that I lost contact with my main cohort. I was lonely and surrounded by people who had no idea who I was. I thought Jellybean and Adrienne were my new "gang". The band was the icing on the cake. We called ourselves Gonorrhea, because we were so hard core.

Jellybean was the drummer. He could not play drums though. The one time we all "practiced", it was like a scene out of Bill and Ted— before George Carlin paid them a visit. Just terrible. He was also supposedly bisexual and considering gender reassignment because he felt like a woman. You know, he was a feminist and hated men and listened to Riot Grrrll music and all that. He also happened to have a pretty well-off, standard issue suburban family that undoubtedly did not approve of his choices, so that all went together nicely in terms of textbook rebellion.

Adrienne was a slightly different story. I spent considerably more time with her, even living with her and her folks in their tiny apartment (sleeping on their foldout couch) for a few weeks at one point. They were generally nice, funny, laid back people. They didn't have a ton of money; their apartment was small. They were the quintessential working class family full of sass and love, y'know? Her dad had some health problems I remember.

Adrienne and I grew fairly close. We'd stay up talking forever. I also had a consuming, burning, disastrously hopeless crush on her that no doubt ratcheted up the import of those nights for me and me alone. She claimed to be bisexual, but she never really...vibed, know what I mean? Again, I think it was all about the image and simply wanting to be what passed for edgy in those days. She too listened to the Riot Grrlll stuff. I remember sitting in her room, listening to Bikini Kill or Babes in Toyland, and she would play along on her bass. She, unlike myself and Jellybean, actually had skill.

So we were a band that never practiced and were not actually any good. I rarely saw Jellybean in fact, but as I said I spent a lot of time lusting after with Adrienne. Life was good in its own way. There's something sweet about the ache that comes from unrequited love, especially your first. Something almost poetic. That all came to a screeching halt though.

I talked Adrienne into skipping out of her house one night and going to a party with me at my buddy's house. By buddy I mean some random guy I'd met in queer group. He was fun, volatile, crazy, super gay, and about the only one left for me to hang with as my time in town was drawing to a close. I had actually starting staying with him because I felt like I was really taking advantage of Adrienne's family. So I convinced her to go with me, and we wound up spending the night there. I slept next to her on a mattress on the floor. Jesus. Sometimes I think we were so close to...but then she gave me a letter essentially owning up to not actually being into women. She was sweet about though. Even threw me a bone and said that if she were into women, she'd be into me. That was nice of her.

We spent the night, I lamented all kinds of things that would not be, and in the morning I took the bus with her back to her house to make sure she got home okay. She climbed into her bedroom window. I waited a short while before finding a pay phone and calling her to make sure everything had gone okay. Her mom answered. Her sweet mom, Sharon, laid into me on the phone in a big way. Way bigger than the scenario warranted I think. I don't remember all of the details of what she said, but one phrase has stuck in my mind all these years: You're destroying our family. That was...I mean, I was shocked and devastated. I kept Adrienne out overnight, sure, but man: isn't that kids do? I didn't think it was a family-ruining moment. To this day I believe something else was going on. I never got a chance to find out though. They forbade me to see her. This was before the days of cellphones and email and stuff like that, and we didn't go to school together so...that was pretty much it. I got another buddy of mine to wait outside her high school with me one day to see if I could talk to her. I never saw her. Shortly thereafter I left for school.

We've had contact twice since then. The first time was during my first summer break. I don't know who contacted whom (I imagine I called her) and we sat and talked on the phone forever. We'd discussed getting together in person, but I balked. I was already dating someone at school, and I was afraid that seeing Adrienne would stir up feelings that would make it hard for me to go back to my girlfriend at the end of the summer. Not that I thought that Adrienne had suddenly gotten into women, but that it would be difficult to be with my girlfriend knowing I was still in love with someone else. We left it at that phone call.

The second time was after I graduated. I was working at a travel agency, my first time with long access to a computer and the internet. That's where my habit of Googling people I used to know began, although it wasn't Google at the time. I found enough information to ascertain that she was still in the area of our childhood, working in customer service (I forget if it was a restaurant or receptionist work at some other company). I got an email address and emailed her. She wrote back, telling me that she was married and had 3 little boys. I was amazed, but happy for her. I emailed her back asking her about her kids and telling her about my own life, including mentioning that I was still a lesbian and involved with a great woman. I never heard from her again. For the longest time I thought she'd gotten freaked out by my admission and decided it best not to talk to me, that she'd thought she'd be leading me on or something. You know how it goes. People get old, get families and move to the 'burbs and mentally divorce themselves from their "sordid" past. I figured that's what she was doing. I was hurt, but decided not to push it. If she'd moved on, so be it.

That brings us back to yesterday's Googling. In short: what the fuck?! I thought for sure it was just one of those typical shared name dealies. If you Google me you get some soccer player for the first 3 pages. I checked out the pics though, and I would recognize that face anywhere. It was her. I don't even know what to do with myself. You read about these things and you think, What monsters! Nothing burns my ass like hearing about people hurting kids. I know (knew) this woman though. I can't wrap my head around how the girl I knew could be party to something like this. It hurts my heart. I can't imagine what happened in her life, what choices and circumstances occurred, that resulted in this awfulness. That poor child. It's crazy how life can spiral out of control. I hope the remaining children find safe, healthy homes.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Tales From the Potty: The Chatter

I have a difficult relationship with public bathrooms. I need complete and utter isolation to do my business—you know, Number 2. I'm very self-conscious about the smell, the sounds, the whole thing. My strategy has always been to only go when no one else is in there. A one-holer? Forget it. The risk that someone will be standing outside waiting is too high. Especially in an office where you'll see the same people day in and day out. If I walk into a bathroom and someone is already in one of the stalls, I will turn around and walk right back out. If someone is standing at the sink, making it awkward to simply turn around and leave, I will enter a stall and, depending on how long they're there, pretend to pee and then jet or wait them out.

If someone comes in once I'm in the stall and doing my business, I will stop the production line and wait. I've had some tense standoffs in the bathroom, waiting for however many women are coming and going to finally clear out. There's a woman in my office who brushes her teeth in the bathroom and she drives me bananas because it always seems that she needs to brush her teeth when I'm in there.

I tell you all of this to set the scene for this story. There's always a stall in every women's bathroom that is sort've the designated shitter. It's usually the one furthest from the door, or the handicapped stall. I paid a visit to this stall today at work, while the bathroom was empty and everyone was preparing for our Yankee Swap. Not long after I got comfortable someone else came in. I hunkered down to wait them out, and I start to hear a few...noises...coming from their stall. Nothing unusual, just the kind of thing that makes you bless the anonymity of the stall.

Suddenly the anonymity was broken. The other occupant of the bathroom called my name. She...called...my...name. I couldn't do anything but answer. I mean, she obviously knew I was in there. She clearly saw my shoes (damn my unfeminine Skechers boots in an office full of girlie girls!) and identified me. So I answered, and she announced that she was going to fart (ummm...yeah, you've kind've been doing that already). She apologized and explained that she'd had Mexican for lunch. Holy cow. Are we seriously having this conversation right now? So she farts, and I'm sitting there mortified for her and me. I'm pondering cutting it short and getting the hell out of there, but since she clearly already breached bathroom etiquette by engaging me in conversation I can't be guaranteed that she won't also choose to exit her stall, and then we'd have an awkward sink moment. So I wait, and a few minutes of silence go by, and she says, "This is awkward."

No shit.

I agree, and we lapse back into silence. I'm cringing here, just mortified. She finally flushes, washes, and leaves, and I'm left to process everything that transpired. I'm thinking about how I'm gonna face her in the office, and about how the pretense of anonymity in the bathroom has been shattered. We can never go back. I now know that people can identify me, and that no amount of quietly sitting is going to save face for me. She broke the fourth wall. Things will never be the same.

If only life were like this:


Monday, December 9, 2013

Where's My RAM?

I ordered RAM from Crucial in late November. 8GB to add to my Macbook Pro so that I could do some serious home studio amateur recording. I'm cheap, right, so I picked the free shipping option. I knew it would take a while to come, so I didn't sweat it. It would get here when it got here. Except finally, this weekend, I kinda thought to myself, Okay, I get that it was free shipping, but was it coming from rural Ecuador? I decided to finally track the package and find that things are not as simple as they seem.

First of all, although Crucial provided me a link to ups.com for tracking, the package was actually being delivered by my local post office. Part of some service or other called Mail Innovations where UPS gets the package as far as your local PO, and then USPS takes over. So you get one tracking number for UPS, then another for USPS. Oh, and information about your package may fall into a black hole of some sort when the transition happens and you have to wait for it to pop up in the local postal service system. Super.

The tracking information said that it was delivered on November 30th, at 8:41pm. To an address the next town over. Great. My package has been delivered to the wrong address, and since it's over a week since delivery something tells me the recipient wasn't a good samaritan type who would at least give it back to the post office. Unfortunately for me I discovered this Saturday night, so there were no official channels available to me. I made a last desperate effort though. I looked up my address in this other town, figuring that it was likely delivered there. I actually drove to this person's house at like 7pm. I checked with my wife first as she's my sounding board, my crazy test. If she thinks it's insane, it's probably best that I don't do it. She saw no problem with a black woman riding up to some stranger's house at night looking for a package. So I went. Unfortunately, the dude who answered didn't speak a ton of English (although he did answer the door and talk to me, which gets mad props), and I don't know if he even understood what I was asking. I was all like, "I live on 123 Sugar Lane in Middletown" and he's like, "No, this is Concord." Ummm...yeah. I walked away empty-handed from that encounter. But, alive! That's a plus.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Diverticulitis

It's gonna be that kind of post.

Last Wednesday I started having stomach pains. Fast forward to Friday when I found myself seeing an NP at my doctor's office because I was in increasing abdominal pain, my right side was tender, I had a small fever, and I was starting to worry that it could be appendicitis. She started to worry about that as well based on my symptoms, and sent me to the emergency room.

I'm no stranger to the emergency room around here. I'm a bit of a hypochondriac, I admit it, and I follow the rule that if I have insurance there is no reason I shouldn't go see about whatever it is that's freaking me out. Better safe and slightly poorer than dead. I've heard too many horror stories about people who've had headaches or aches or whatever and didn't bother to get them checked out for some reason, only to find later that it was some sort of intestine-eating virus or tumor that they could have fixed if caught earlier. If I feel a lump on my boob, I'm in that week to get it checked out.

I rolled in and they put me through my paces. They started out with an Xray and ultrasound, and found nothing wrong. Then they did a CT scan and found my enflamed colon. Sweet. I have to say, nothing makes you feel good like having people duck out of a room while they bombard you with radiation. At least the woman doing my CT scan was gorgeous. That helped.

This whole process took pretty much the entire day though. For the most part it was actually pretty comfortable. They gave me a blanket out of the blanket warmer and I snoozed in my little side room while they were in and out over a period of hours. They finally kicked me out of the room though because someone sicker came in, and I had to suffer the indignity of being one of those people chilling along the side of the wall in a roller bed. It is actually quite embarrassing; everyone can see you, and you don't have anything to do/look at so you're making eye contact/not making eye contact with everyone who strolls by. My phone was also at the end of its tether (because batteries in Androids last for shit) so I couldn't even amuse myself with fanfiction or Candy Crush Saga. Boo.

They finally sent me home with a prescription for antibiotics, painkillers, and a mandate of a liquid diet for a few days. I pretty much didn't eat anything solid from Thursday afternoon until some time on Tuesday. Yet, I still had to go to the bathroom. I'm happy to report that as of now I feel better. No side pain, and I'm able to eat most things I think without too much problem. I'm all freaked out now though because I'm worried this might be a sign of some sort of stomach/colon/other cancer. I still don't feel 100% and I'm hoping it's because of the antibiotics, which I finish up on Friday.

In light of my sickness my new challenge is two-fold: hydration and poop. I don't typically drink a lot of water. And by a lot, I mean any. I can —and have— gone days without a drop of water. I drink other stuff, like coffee, but I am not the kind of person to seek out a glass of water unless I get extremely thirsty. That's not good for me so I'm forcing myself to drink more. As far as poop goes, well...I'm bathroom shy. Like, extremely. I'm the person who has to wait until everyone is out of the bathroom before I go. I hold it as long as I need to to ensure an empty bathroom. I will also wait out anyone who comes in after I've already started. It's really pretty bad, and this is apparently part of my problem. So, I need to drink more water and poop more freely. Not easy for someone like me, but if I have to suffer a little embarrassment now to avoid being back in the hospital with diverticulitis, so be it.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Bye Bye Calzona...For Now

Before I launch into this rant, I have to make a confession.

I don't actually watch Grey's Anatomy.

I know. What the fuck, right?

I don't watch any tv show religiously any more. I think the last time I made a concentrated effort to tune in to a show on the regular was Buffy, Season 6. Even then I was actually doing double duty, watching Season 6 once a week while watching reruns of seasons 1-5 on FX to catch up because I was a Buffy noob. See, the thing is, I have issues with waiting. I'm an instant gratification kind of girl. Waiting a week between episodes or living through the little hiatuses that shows would have—you know, the ones that would inevitably include some ridiculous cliffhanger just in case you were going to forget the show existed in the interim—proved to be too much for my little impatient self. Luckily, technology trends agreed with me and now I can either wait until everything is available on Netflix and gorge myself (looking at you, Pretty Little Liars), or catch all the relevant clips on Youtube when ready. Netflix even went ahead and said, "You know what? Here. Have a whole original series in one go."

Anyway, resources are plenty for attention-challenged peeps like myself so believe me when I say that even though I've only sat down and watched a couple of episodes in the entire run of the series, I'm up on the Grey's. Between the After Ellen recaps and Youtube, I'm all set and prepared to rant like an expert. Sort've.

The episodes that I watched, by the way, were two pretty pivotal Calzona ones anyway. One was the shooter 2-part episode, where they got back together after almost dying, and the most recent 2-episode arc with the storm where Arizona's skank self cheated. Getting ahead of myself? Yeah. They were great eps too, and simultaneously made me understand why so many are addicted to this show while also confirming my belief that my little heart could not survive the waiting.

On with the show.