As I take my trips down memory lane, I seem to recall a moment that, after the fact, wasn't a true moment at all. And I find this all fantastic, because for the longest time, I couldn't remember anything of my childhood. And suddenlly, it's all coming back
Let me explain. It's a tale of high school crushes that wasn't, and emotional episodes that weren't. Of what seemed to be, after all this time, isn't.
Long ago, When I was in Elementary school, me and my friends at the time played games that guy friends do: And one of them was discussing which girl you liked in school. All the other guys picked the obvious, popular, overtly pretty-pretty, and pretty much vacuous personality girls. The ones who like to sorta-kiss. The girl who...er...developed early. And the proto-slut in the making.
But I was always different. I was told I had to pick someone, and I really didn't have anyone in mind. As I told them, I'm fickle. So, pressed into a commitment, and com'on, that's a lot of peer pressure at such a tender age, I picked the only girl who was kind to me.
I picked Maggie MacDonnell.
Mind you, not many girls, nor people were all that kind to me. I was Charlie Brown with brown wavy hair. I smartly avoided yellow shirts with a black jagged line. And by the way, Charlie Brown isn't bald. His big fat round head is actually covered with a blond crew cut. Hell, his dad was a Barber. It would be natural for dear pops to buzzcut his son back in the 50's...
But, I digress...
Anyway, like guys do, they ratted me out all for the brief bully satisfaction of watching me in junior high hell. And you wonder why nowadays, I have women as friends more than men. Of course they told Maggie I had a crush on her, and true to form, not only did she ignore me, she did her best to avoid me. For six years.
And all because I respected her for being my friend. I'm so a Charlie Brown. I guess that's where I learned not to tell people my feelings. I'm just learning now, how to just be myself and tell people that I care about them, and damn it all if they can't take that warm gesture. Man, school can so screw you up...
Here we are in my senior year, and have my yearbook. I've made it to the end with my psyche intact. And It's the last day for signing yearbooks. If I don't get a signature, I will never see these people again. And all those "K.I.T." and "stay sweet, see ya this summer" stuff? the stuff of fantasy.
But, because I so wanted to get people to sign my book, I went to school, even though I woke up with a huge fever. I was so burning up, but I walked to school in cold sweats just the same. I had to. I could ignore the headaches. I could ignore the pain. And, this day will never happen again. So, I am at school, dizzy as a broken gyroscope, slurringly asking people I knew for their autograph. And then, I see Maggie in the quad sitting near her friends.
Six years ago, she was the most kind person I ever met. And today, would be the last day I would see her, of this I had absolutely no doubt. So, I steadied myself, as the ground kept moving, and I walked towards her with pen and book in hand. And the pavement just wouldn't stop bucking! Thank the gods above for planning handrails nearby.
As I got closer, the world was a psychodelic acid trip of a haze, and her head was surrounded with a halo. She turned to me, and actually almost hid the mild shock of seeing the former little boy she never again talked to, hand her a large book. I think I managed to ask her if she could sign it, and I do remember it was an awful stutter. My heat toasted brain just didn't mesh with my mouth, and I also couldn't hold the book anymore.
As maggie casually signed it (how do you casually sign something? Like a moviestar does: you sign one thing as you're talking to someone else nearby.), the world started to slip away, and I was encased in an iceberg. My arms didn't work as I slid down the railings, and my legs buckled finally from my body being worn out from my fever.
I hit the ground, and Maggie sort of plopped my book next to my shaky hand, and the world closed in on me, as I gave in to the 106 internal temperature. Maggie then got the last impression of me before I would never see her again. In my last minutes on the floor before I lost consciousness, I finally was able to make her notice me and I gave her one last thing, something she could never forget.
Yep, I threw up.
But think about it. Think about the what I actually gave her, to take with her through her entire life! Something she could always pull from her memory whenever she is down. A story to impress her friends, or possible children. She would be hailed in her cicles, as the most beautiful creature on earth, or at least to one lonely boy!
From her point of view: In junior high, there was a boy who had such a crush on her, had so fallen in love, that he lived with that for six long years. And on the final day when he finally was never going to see her again, he approched her...and not only fainted dead away from her beauty, but actually vomited!!! Maggie probably thinks, that for at least one time in her life, she was placed upon the highest piller possible, and was someone's most perfect Aphrodite!
You can't pay someone a bigger compliment, than them thinking that they're so frikin hot, they can actually make men faint.
I'm kinda hopping she never reads this, I don't want to spoil the fantasy I gave her. So, Maggie, if you ever do someday read this, I really have no proof that I collapsed from the 106 degree fever. Or that I purged in front of you because perhaps some bad bacon. And As I said, My memory fades...
Maybe it was you, huh?
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Belief in Magic
I just got a letter today from the past. It was from my best friend Leanne.
Let me be honest to you: She isn't my best friend, thats too limiting. I've had many friends, and I've had many "best" ones too. Leanne didn't like to say I was her best friend. She didn't believe in that. She didn't think you could simply give someone a title, and that was that. You just graduated from "friend" to "best best friend"? There is no magic in that. And Leanne, could not be regulated and boxed in to something as simple as that...
Leanne was magic.
I first met her when I was a lonely young 21 year old assistant manager at a KayBee store. I was going to interview my first potential employee. Ive seen many people walk in wanting a job, but when she walked in, somehow I knew there were forces in action to make this day happen. She was slight, short haired, and young, but had this aura of an old soul. I was smitten when we talked, and I don't even think we talked about the job all that much: I just hired her.
And my manager was a little sore at me when we both found out she was just 15.
But she didn't act like she was 15! Hell, she didn't act like anyone I knew! Even my manager saw this, and was willing to let her work the 3 hours a day until she was 16 in 4 months. And everyday I worked and talked with her, was enlightening.
She was a heavy drug user before she was 15. A troubled teen who had no use for her own life, and wanted nothing more than self destruction. Abused and forgotten and dead. Somehow, from within herself, she changed her life, joined support groups, and went total soberiety. She was in the process of her twelve steps and retaking her life back. She lived the life of destolation, and with her own strength, regained who she could be. She talked of her life, which made me feel like an inexperienced newborn. Leanne has done so much and lost as much more than I had. She had an infectious smile and a lust for life. She taught me what it means to live.
From this, a true friendship was made regardless of the age difference (and possible socially illegal potential). We talked constantly, sometimes hours at night till someone fell asleep. I saw all of Californias theme parks and attractions with her, and took photographs of Leanne picking the noses of various things: Statues, Dinosaur skulls, a guy in a Pluto costume, various landmarks, and if there wasn't anyone or anything around, her own nostril. I told her she needed to make a travelogue book of her picking her nose around the world.
She showed me her love of photography, which in turn opened my eyes to the beauty of life, simply by looking at it with a different view. We laughed when she jumped out of her seat by almost two feet at Jurassic Park. We cried together when I was dumped by my then girlfriend. And I trusted her with every secret I had. I'd like to think she did the same with me.
I guess you could tell at this point, I loved her. No, not in a boyfriend/girlfriend way, but more than a brother/sister. It was what love should be. Love isn't sex, nor lust. It's a passion, a trust beyond your own self. Being more than you thought you could be simply by knowing her. The kind of love that would make you do anything to just make her smile. To protect her, even though she really didn't need it. But she cared enough of you to not embarrass you anyway.
Over the years, we've drifted apart at times, and even had falling outs that would span months. My then girlfriend knew I was sad about something, and knew it was that I missed Leanne. But she also knew, I guess, that Leanne would always be a part of my life: She actually drove me to her work so we can reconcile. And when I saw Leanne again, it was as if no time had passed. I even totally forgot why we were angry at each other in the first place.
More years. I moved. She got a new job. I met other people. She took up photography professionally. I still wrote her, as she did me. She got married to a really nice guy, Rich. I was so happy when I learned she was pregnant with her first child, Zane.
Fifteen plus years gone by since that first day. We now mainly write only cards at Christmas. I don't want to bother her new, and well derserved life, even though I miss her. She's a mother now. The same little girl I once new has completed her circle, and is now probably the most fantastic mother any child could have. She found her love.
And I smiled, and cried. And I find I still love her.
Because, after all these years, Leanne is still magic.
Let me be honest to you: She isn't my best friend, thats too limiting. I've had many friends, and I've had many "best" ones too. Leanne didn't like to say I was her best friend. She didn't believe in that. She didn't think you could simply give someone a title, and that was that. You just graduated from "friend" to "best best friend"? There is no magic in that. And Leanne, could not be regulated and boxed in to something as simple as that...
Leanne was magic.
I first met her when I was a lonely young 21 year old assistant manager at a KayBee store. I was going to interview my first potential employee. Ive seen many people walk in wanting a job, but when she walked in, somehow I knew there were forces in action to make this day happen. She was slight, short haired, and young, but had this aura of an old soul. I was smitten when we talked, and I don't even think we talked about the job all that much: I just hired her.
And my manager was a little sore at me when we both found out she was just 15.
But she didn't act like she was 15! Hell, she didn't act like anyone I knew! Even my manager saw this, and was willing to let her work the 3 hours a day until she was 16 in 4 months. And everyday I worked and talked with her, was enlightening.
She was a heavy drug user before she was 15. A troubled teen who had no use for her own life, and wanted nothing more than self destruction. Abused and forgotten and dead. Somehow, from within herself, she changed her life, joined support groups, and went total soberiety. She was in the process of her twelve steps and retaking her life back. She lived the life of destolation, and with her own strength, regained who she could be. She talked of her life, which made me feel like an inexperienced newborn. Leanne has done so much and lost as much more than I had. She had an infectious smile and a lust for life. She taught me what it means to live.
From this, a true friendship was made regardless of the age difference (and possible socially illegal potential). We talked constantly, sometimes hours at night till someone fell asleep. I saw all of Californias theme parks and attractions with her, and took photographs of Leanne picking the noses of various things: Statues, Dinosaur skulls, a guy in a Pluto costume, various landmarks, and if there wasn't anyone or anything around, her own nostril. I told her she needed to make a travelogue book of her picking her nose around the world.
She showed me her love of photography, which in turn opened my eyes to the beauty of life, simply by looking at it with a different view. We laughed when she jumped out of her seat by almost two feet at Jurassic Park. We cried together when I was dumped by my then girlfriend. And I trusted her with every secret I had. I'd like to think she did the same with me.
I guess you could tell at this point, I loved her. No, not in a boyfriend/girlfriend way, but more than a brother/sister. It was what love should be. Love isn't sex, nor lust. It's a passion, a trust beyond your own self. Being more than you thought you could be simply by knowing her. The kind of love that would make you do anything to just make her smile. To protect her, even though she really didn't need it. But she cared enough of you to not embarrass you anyway.
Over the years, we've drifted apart at times, and even had falling outs that would span months. My then girlfriend knew I was sad about something, and knew it was that I missed Leanne. But she also knew, I guess, that Leanne would always be a part of my life: She actually drove me to her work so we can reconcile. And when I saw Leanne again, it was as if no time had passed. I even totally forgot why we were angry at each other in the first place.
More years. I moved. She got a new job. I met other people. She took up photography professionally. I still wrote her, as she did me. She got married to a really nice guy, Rich. I was so happy when I learned she was pregnant with her first child, Zane.
Fifteen plus years gone by since that first day. We now mainly write only cards at Christmas. I don't want to bother her new, and well derserved life, even though I miss her. She's a mother now. The same little girl I once new has completed her circle, and is now probably the most fantastic mother any child could have. She found her love.
And I smiled, and cried. And I find I still love her.
Because, after all these years, Leanne is still magic.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
The Vibe of Love
Here's a story I shared with HeatherJean (and I'm going to share in more detail here) that I totally forgot to tell her, until yesterday:
Back in December, I was in Las Vegas and I was lucky enough to catch the Beatles Love Circe De Soleil show.
All I can say...still say...Was that it was indescribable with mere words. It was Magic.
Anyway, I promised Heather that I'd get her a something from the show. And when I was leaving the show, through the pre-planned exit trough the Love gift shop (ah...Crafty bastards!), all I could think of was that she had to see this show. It would totally blow her mind. And I promised myself I would somehow, someday get her here to see it...But for now...
...I'd get her a shirt
So here I am, awash with Beatles coolass stuff from books to collectibles to artwork to instruments. And I start to sort trough the teeshirts. Some were okay, some were not. The I found...The perfect shirt. It was like hearing the purest note of a song. THIS...Was the shirt for Heather, my lil' hippy chick friend!
And then I realized something as I reached for a hanger: I don't know her size. I mean I know what she looks like, and I know her dimensions approximately, but now I have to get a shirt that would be her shirt. And it's not like a guy. With guy, it's always small/medium/large/x-large. If the guy is fat, x-large. If you can't remember, Large. It's that simple.
But women: Sizing someone up is like transversing a minefield. Get it too large, and she'll think I think she's fat. Get it too small, and she might think I think she's too fat, AND this is a huge hint for her to loose weight to fit into this shirt. And while a guy will wear an ill-fitting shirt, a woman has more pride in herself not to look like an oaf.
Good god, what do I do?
After staring at the shirt for about 15 minutes, I set out upon the sales floor and quietly looking for people the same basic shape as Heather. That one is too tall. That one is too short. I started looking for people with the same walk. The same head held high, and smile. I'd make a sudden noise just so they would turn about. I'd spend 45 minutes silently walking up to people and holding my hands apart to her approximate shoulder width. Then I'd just look annoyed at them when they didn't fit my projections.
I was starting to do mini interviews with some people who were the almost same size. I don't know why, but I had to ask them if they were a hippy chick as well. Of course being outside a Beatles show, they almost all were...
I guess a lone guy in Vegas dressed in burgandy shirt and tie walking around a store sizing up 5'1" women with his hands from behind isn't acceptable after 45 minutes. A shopgirl approached me, just a bit annoyed.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you?", She said
I put my hands down a little defeated. No one here was perfect. I rounded up a few people to pose with the shirt, and some came close, but the vibe wasnt quite there. "I was trying to buy a shirt for my friend, but I'm not sure of the size..."
"well, perhaps I can help you. What size is she?"
I put my hands back out where Heathers shoulders would be.
"oh...", I said, "And she's a hippy chick..." After I said that, I realized how uselessly stupid that was.
But she laughed and relaxed...and she sparked...And I then noticed she was 5'1"!
"Damn! COMEWITHME!!!" And I ran towards the shirts, twirled her about and placed a shirt on her back.
...Perfect...
And that's how I spent one evening in Las Vegas. Heather tells me she loves the shirt, and even more knowing some of the story. Tell me. Do I complicate things on purpose?
And I also got her a keychain. But that was easy.
Back in December, I was in Las Vegas and I was lucky enough to catch the Beatles Love Circe De Soleil show.
All I can say...still say...Was that it was indescribable with mere words. It was Magic.
Anyway, I promised Heather that I'd get her a something from the show. And when I was leaving the show, through the pre-planned exit trough the Love gift shop (ah...Crafty bastards!), all I could think of was that she had to see this show. It would totally blow her mind. And I promised myself I would somehow, someday get her here to see it...But for now...
...I'd get her a shirt
So here I am, awash with Beatles coolass stuff from books to collectibles to artwork to instruments. And I start to sort trough the teeshirts. Some were okay, some were not. The I found...The perfect shirt. It was like hearing the purest note of a song. THIS...Was the shirt for Heather, my lil' hippy chick friend!
And then I realized something as I reached for a hanger: I don't know her size. I mean I know what she looks like, and I know her dimensions approximately, but now I have to get a shirt that would be her shirt. And it's not like a guy. With guy, it's always small/medium/large/x-large. If the guy is fat, x-large. If you can't remember, Large. It's that simple.
But women: Sizing someone up is like transversing a minefield. Get it too large, and she'll think I think she's fat. Get it too small, and she might think I think she's too fat, AND this is a huge hint for her to loose weight to fit into this shirt. And while a guy will wear an ill-fitting shirt, a woman has more pride in herself not to look like an oaf.
Good god, what do I do?
After staring at the shirt for about 15 minutes, I set out upon the sales floor and quietly looking for people the same basic shape as Heather. That one is too tall. That one is too short. I started looking for people with the same walk. The same head held high, and smile. I'd make a sudden noise just so they would turn about. I'd spend 45 minutes silently walking up to people and holding my hands apart to her approximate shoulder width. Then I'd just look annoyed at them when they didn't fit my projections.
I was starting to do mini interviews with some people who were the almost same size. I don't know why, but I had to ask them if they were a hippy chick as well. Of course being outside a Beatles show, they almost all were...
I guess a lone guy in Vegas dressed in burgandy shirt and tie walking around a store sizing up 5'1" women with his hands from behind isn't acceptable after 45 minutes. A shopgirl approached me, just a bit annoyed.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you?", She said
I put my hands down a little defeated. No one here was perfect. I rounded up a few people to pose with the shirt, and some came close, but the vibe wasnt quite there. "I was trying to buy a shirt for my friend, but I'm not sure of the size..."
"well, perhaps I can help you. What size is she?"
I put my hands back out where Heathers shoulders would be.
"oh...", I said, "And she's a hippy chick..." After I said that, I realized how uselessly stupid that was.
But she laughed and relaxed...and she sparked...And I then noticed she was 5'1"!
"Damn! COMEWITHME!!!" And I ran towards the shirts, twirled her about and placed a shirt on her back.
...Perfect...
And that's how I spent one evening in Las Vegas. Heather tells me she loves the shirt, and even more knowing some of the story. Tell me. Do I complicate things on purpose?
And I also got her a keychain. But that was easy.
Monday, January 01, 2007
A Promise Fullfilled!
Well, here we are, one year later.
I still have an active blog (there was some bumps in the road), and I'm still enjoying it all. I wanted to see if something turns out special way back then. And lo and behold, it has...
I've told tales about my first Las Vegas, theater urinals, the pooh circle of life, my rock band days, toast, cybering, stupid people, cool people, car wrecks, Richard Simmons, broken shoelaces, tech support, embarassing birthdays, hair cutting accidents, getting hit by lightning, lonelyness, infomercials, depressions, and exhillerations.
I've told you all things I've never told others before. Things i've personally forgotten. Things I thought were never important. I always though I has an uninteresting life. But, y'know what? Nothing is uninteresting if at least someone wants to hear it. I've stayed true to what I said I'd do here, and I really feel I've accomplised something out of 2006 because of that. I just thought, and did it. And to everyone who read parts of my life: You're all now a part of mine as much as I am of yours.
isn't it cool how some things just turn out?
All I wanted was people to understand me, isn't that what we all want? And although you may not fully understand me yet, I bet you're willing to stick around to try, huh? And of all the blogs i've read in turn, let me experience some wonderful lives and magical people.
Here's to another year.
It looks like I've got more doors in my mind to open for all of you.
I still have an active blog (there was some bumps in the road), and I'm still enjoying it all. I wanted to see if something turns out special way back then. And lo and behold, it has...
I've told tales about my first Las Vegas, theater urinals, the pooh circle of life, my rock band days, toast, cybering, stupid people, cool people, car wrecks, Richard Simmons, broken shoelaces, tech support, embarassing birthdays, hair cutting accidents, getting hit by lightning, lonelyness, infomercials, depressions, and exhillerations.
I've told you all things I've never told others before. Things i've personally forgotten. Things I thought were never important. I always though I has an uninteresting life. But, y'know what? Nothing is uninteresting if at least someone wants to hear it. I've stayed true to what I said I'd do here, and I really feel I've accomplised something out of 2006 because of that. I just thought, and did it. And to everyone who read parts of my life: You're all now a part of mine as much as I am of yours.
isn't it cool how some things just turn out?
All I wanted was people to understand me, isn't that what we all want? And although you may not fully understand me yet, I bet you're willing to stick around to try, huh? And of all the blogs i've read in turn, let me experience some wonderful lives and magical people.
Here's to another year.
It looks like I've got more doors in my mind to open for all of you.
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