Good night sweet prince

Today (as in Tuesday) is going to be a particularly emotional day for me because it’s April 26 and my step-dad, Bob’s birthday, only this will be the first time in 20 years that we will not celebrate it. I’ve mentioned in the past that my step-dad passed away from cancer last Fall, but I’ve never really written about it, so I hope that you will honor him by reading what I need have long-needed to say but never quite had it in me to do so, despite the fact that I started blogging in order to handle my grief afterward. I know it’s rather long, but I hope you’ll stay with me.

Bob was my step-father for the past 20 years, but he never treated us like we were anything other than his own flesh and blood. Many people would call a 41-year-old bachelor who marries a 31-year-old with four kids between the ages of six and 11 a lunatic, martyr, or perhaps even a masochist. But, Bob just became “Dad” to us. Between the four of us, we definitely caused enough trouble for Bob to earn is own stripes as a father, but he never complained and was always there for us. I will always cherish the way he adored my mother in the way he would look at her until the very end; it serves as my model for what I hope to have with my husband.

When you ask people whom they admire in their lives, most will say their parents, but I would imagine that the majority of those responses immediately come out of some type of obligation that people feel is the appropriate thing to say. Not with Bob. Bob graduated with honors from Vanderbilt, but he also double-majored and still finished in three years. He also held two master’s degrees, but how did we find out about it? Because I grilled him one night on how he came to possess his wide range of knowledge on virtually every subject possible. He was so humble that we even found out he served four tours for which he volunteered in Vietnam from our mother. Or, the fact that he missed one question on the SAT test – yes… only one question.

I feel immense guilt in that I never really became close to him until well after I was in college and then had to call in for the usual advice (he scared the crap out of me when he was in the Army). There was no question that I was most like him, out of the four of us, though my sister Rachel was “Daddy’s Girl.” Bob was the most fair and honest person I know, and I always used him as my litmus test if something was borderline ethical, or if the “ends would justify the means.” Not to mention he was our buffer with our often all-too-vocal Southern mom (think Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment).

I’ll never forget when I was going through my divorce and how he would call me on his own to see how I was doing (as in, NOT my mother calling and then passing the phone to him). I have to admit that I was most concerned about what he would think of me in the situation, but he was never anything but supportive. I often wondered if he thought I was a coward to move back to Hawaii afterwward, but Bob told me a couple years later that he was so worried about me that he was about to get on a plane and come grab me out of Texas, had I not left on my own.

The picture above is of my sister, mother and Bob taken last May when R graduated from nursing school in St. Louis (Mom/Bob were emotional right as this shot was taken in their pride for R). At that point, we knew Bob had a weird lump in his leg, but had no idea that it was a malignant tumor that had come back in force as a result of him having skin cancer five years earlier in his face (it was removed through four surgeries in addition to the plastic surgeries to repair the damage). At the time of this picture, he had tumors throughout his entire body, including his brain. So, if you ever hear me bitch about wearing sunscreen, now you know why. Years of exposure in Vietnam and the Hawaiian suns were just too much.

The kids, at least, found out the first week of June that the cancer metastasized everywhere and that we were looking at weeks remaining – barely enough time to “get their affairs in order.” Fortunately, he was not feeling any major side effects yet, and we were able to have a family reunion in August before Bob started to get really sick (youngest bro, Andrew, was deployed to Afghanistan when we found out and he was home during his two-week R & R leave). It was the strangest feeling to know when we were eating at Benihana’s the night before my sibs flew out (our family tradition whenever someone left), that it was the last time we would be able to eat dinner as an entire family.

Six weeks later, Bob could suddenly not walk and began losing all mobility in his limbs. We knew the end was coming, but oddly, when you have all that stuff happening at once, you just somehow seem to pull through. We had to have one of their downstairs bedrooms converted into his new bedroom; hospice had to bring all the furniture for him; we had to Red Cross message my brother from Afghanistan. I went down there every day to their house on the north shore, having performed various errands during the day like shopping for his new hospital bed sheets or even trying to do whatever work was absolutely necessary for the real estate company. Having to work and deal with this was about the most frustrating thing I've ever done, as I just wanted to tell everyone to fuck off for a while.

I remember the night the funeral home people came over to discuss arrangements with my mom upstairs; meanwhile Bob was still coughing in the room next door. I remember finally realizing it was close when I came in one day, to see Bob sitting up in his wheelchair, determined to watch the Atlanta Braves in the play-offs and seeing how sick he really looked, yet I hoped my expression wasn’t so obvious, but I think it was. I remember having difficulty going into his room because I was afraid I’d start crying and I didn’t want him to see that. We were all trying to play “normal” and Becky crying just wasn’t so.

My siblings all came back into town, as well as Bob’s sister and her husband, and we knew it wouldn’t be much longer. On Friday morning about three weeks after the immobility started, my sister R called to say that it was really bad and I needed to get down there as quickly as possible. As soon as I walked in his room, I knew it was near the end, as I’d seen my Ex’s grandmother die of emphysema and she looked similar on her last day.

It was so hard to see someone who was always such a strong influence in my life in many ways suddenly become so weak and frail. We all spent the night and my sister came to wake me up around 6 a.m. on October 16 to say that Bob was gone. Apparently, my mom actually slept in his hospital bed until about 4 a.m., woke up and realized he was hot, so she got out to sleep in the chair. She woke up a little after 5 a.m. and he was gone. I could not go back in his room afterward, nor could either one of my brothers.

I honestly believe that he chose his time to go, after we’d all been back to see him one last time. It was just the selfless way he was in that he did not want to be a burden to the rest of us, as he came to the point where he required 24-hour care. The only thing he ever requested was for at least one of us to sit in his room with him at all times and to “never ever” feed him yogurt -- ever. He kept his dead-pan humor to the very end when my mom was moving his pillow and said “sorry, I know my breath smells like garlic.” He looked at the rest of us, smiled with his eyes and said, “yes, it does.” One time, my mom was upstairs cooking dinner, and one of my brothers came up to say that Bob asked for her because he “missed her.” That made me cry right then and there.

The night after he passed away, Bob came to me in my dream and said to make sure I tell everyone that he was “okay” – even in his Alabama drawl. I told him he was more than welcome to come back and chat with me, but he better not show up as a ghost or else he’d scare the shit out of me. He laughed the way he always did and said “okay, I won’t.”

There’s a lot more that can be said, but it probably took you a lot to get this far and this is good enough. My advice to anyone would be one: to wear that damn sunscreen. Two is if there’s anyone in your life that perhaps you might’ve been taking for granted lately, whether it be your mate, parents, friend, etc. imagine would it would be like to suddenly get the news that you have only “weeks” left, and say/do all the things you would want to do NOW. Don’t wait. Enjoy these people in your life while you have them, and don’t sweat the small stuff. There are more important things in life than worrying whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher (or other mundane squabbles). Trust me, I don’t think about the time when I got in trouble for having a party, I think of those phone calls I got whenever I was sick.

Even now, six months later, I will often tear up whenever I think of Bob, and it’s been flowing the entire time I’ve been writing this. For the rest of my life, there will be a void and I’m so sorry that my own future family will not have the opportunity to know him, for Bob was truly loved and admired by anyone who ever met him. My brother, P, summed it up best in the words he wanted me to read on his behalf in the eulogy, “Bob was the single greatest man I’ve ever known.” If you missed this post, please read it as an example of his character.

I’m going to the cemetery with my family tomorrow, and I know it will be hard. My sister-in-law, Jessica, said earlier today that we need to think about all the good things and how funny he was, so I’d like to leave you with a few “Bobisms” to end in a way that that seems so much more appropriate for his persona.

Chili dogs are apparently the sixth major food group. If it was a Sonic Coney Dog, then it went up to 2nd place, behind beer.

Whenever people would compliment his grandchildren, he said, “Yeah, they’re a lot like me.”

Bob’s response to whenever someone told you “It’s good to see you, Bob” was ”It’s good to be seen.”

Seconds after watching the birth of his grandchild, Brittany, Bob piped up, “see, it’s just like spitting out seeds from a watermelon.”

Ducks in a row

I was a little leery of seeing A Lot Like Love today because I wasn’t sure if I could tolerate Ashton Kutcher, but I was in the mood for this particular type of story today, and it was, once again, one of those movies with a message that particularly resonated (actual review posted later). In the event you haven’t seen the preview, the premise is that these two met on an airplane one day from L.A. to New York and hit it off after spending a day walking around NYC together.

Though Emily initially told Oliver that she really didn’t see anything going beyond their brief encounter, Oliver responds that he isn’t ready for a relationship because he doesn’t have his job, car and house. Furthermore, it was going to take seven years to achieve said goals, and after that point, he can pursue something serious. His words were that he must get his “ducks in a row.” She then asks incredulously, “So when everything is in place, your true love is just going to magically show up?” As if it works out that perfectly, right?

Even after they sporadically meet several times over the next six years and all continues to go well, Oliver continues to keep Emily at an arm’s distance because of work-related issues. He’s moving to San Francisco for his dot.com, he’s getting venture capital for his dot.com and works all the time, etc. He goes on to rationalize that if his job keeps him busy enough as is, is it fair to Emily if he can’t be there, like he should? As predicted, his business goes to hell in a handbag and he goes back to Emily, only to find her engaged.

I continually hear this line of reasoning from people who are afraid of relationships, having children, changing jobs, or even on the negative side of leaving a person – there’s all these “as soon as” scenarios, when the truth is that our ducks are never lined a row. As soon as one problem is solved, another emerges. In the case of Oliver, he finally gets his dream job and then he’s too busy to even pursue the relationship that would supposedly complete the circle. And, he never gave Emily the choice to move and tolerate his work schedule.

Unfortunately, Oliver realized his priorities were twisted as soon as work took itself out of the equation. No matter how hard he tried and committed himself to his new business, there are just some things that were out of his control. Odd that he would take such a risk on a dot.com, but not with a relationship? You really don't hear too many people at the end of their life say they really appreciated their career above all else, do you?

After Oliver’s business failed, his brother made the comment that “life is right now. It doesn’t wait for you to get back on your feet.” The person who took a risk in a relationship that failed can either play it safe and potentially miss a better opportunity right in front of him/her, or they can keep stepping up to bat. The couple that miscarries their first child tries for another or adopts. The entrepreneur tries the next new adventure. The miserable spouse has “the talk” with the other about setting the marriage back on course.

The idea to "live in the now" is such a great mantra, as almost everything worth having comes with some sort of risk and we can't just wait for it to always be convenient. It’s a constant struggle and the source of much anxiety to put ourselves out there, just kind of dangling and flailing, but it’s oftentimes the only way to get what we really want. It’s as if it’s life’s test to decide whether or not we deserve it.

And I, for one, hate missing out.

"If you're not willing to sound stupid, you don't deserve to be in love." Emily

To kid or not to kid

I had a strange experience the other day, while standing in line to check out at Kmart. It may not be odd to most of you, but those who know me fairly well, will understand why this is so peculiar for me.

There was a kid sitting in the cart in front of me, still strapped in, so he was facing me. He was probably two-ish and reminded me of the little boy in Life is Beautiful with blonde hair and big brown eyes. And, he just kept staring at me, but in a good way. I almost (gulp) thought I might want one of my own – it was the first time I’d ever thought that about some kid who wasn’t related to me nor one of my friends’.

I’ve always been unsure if I ever want kids, and even though I think I’m a rather cool aunty to three nephews and two nieces, I know it’s a whole other ballgame when it comes to your own. I can always give them back. My sister’s kids are just spazzes whenever I’m on the phone with her – to the point where she has to go take care of whatever it is they’re getting into, or I get a migraine from the screeching (she was the same as a child, go figure). I told her once “how the hell can I have kids when yours bug the shit out me?” And her response was….”Becky, they bug the shit out of me, too. It’s normal.” It’s not so much that I don’t like kids overall, but I do get frustrated with them quite easily, and that alone concerns me. I know…everyone says that it’s different when they’re your own.

However, where I also have issues is that I really like certain aspects of my life that seem to go away with kids. I like being able to sleep in, go to the movies whenever I want, and take regular vacations. And yes, I know that others say that the trade-off is worth it, but what if it’s not for me? Unfortunately, I won’t know until it’s too late because after all, you can't just return them to the store.

I have no doubt that I will be good at it, but the question I continually ask myself is whether I want it. It has been interesting as more friends have kids, as some of them are like me in that they’re honest with their frustrations, esp. the lack of sleep. It’s quite refreshing to hear that my concerns and potential reactions are normal, and that not everyone is Mary Sunshine. As selfish as it sounds, I have to admit that it would be interesting to finally look like someone (being adopted and all).

I do have somewhat of a biological clock in that if I’m not re-married by 35, then I don’t think I’ll bother because it becomes more of a health risk for both the baby and me. But, it makes it kind of difficult when I’m not sure and then it can be a deal-breaker for people I might start seeing (either they want them or not). I don’t meet too many like me who just aren’t sure. One of my girlfriends is getting married for the second time and she and her fiancé want kids – fairly quickly. She said that she realized that she didn’t want them with her Ex (which probably should’ve been a sign), but she wants them with this guy. Hmm…. will I be the same?

I went to the commissary the other day with my sister-in-law and two nieces, so Jess could get me discounted food via the military. I take Brittany (three years and pictured above) in early and she requests that we get some big ass red cart thingamajig, and I tell her no. Then, she starts stomping around and screaming at the top of her lungs “I want a red ooooooooooooooooooooone.”

Now, what do you think I did?

I start laughing and cannot stop (damn, this stuff drives me craaaaaaaazy). This upsets Brit even more b/c she hasn’t grasped the fact that laughing is a good thing. So, Jess comes back in and I say “oh good, take her back.” And, then I find out that Jessica asked Brittany whom she liked best from her playgroup and she said “Aunt Becky,” which was really cute b/c I wasn’t even there, and now I feel like a bitch for getting so aggravated.

Later in the store, Brittany came up to me and asked me if I was “mad at her” because I was laughing at her earlier, and I explained that laughing means you’re happy, so then she starts doing this fake laugh. I asked her, “Hey Brittany, do you think I should have any kids?” She nodded her head and said “yeah.” “How come?” I ask. “Because I can come over and pway,” she responds. Also, after I took this pic of her and showed her on the digi cam, she said “See, I smile pwetty for you.”

Pic below is of Allison tossing the take-out box of mac & cheese after our lunch, prior to the commissary run. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Does this stuff ever irritate “good” parents or is this a sign that perhaps I just don't have the patience?

Not that this posts answers any of my own questions, but it would be interesting to hear if others waffled on the fence like me, and what happened to help you make up your mind. I suppose it’s moot, if I don’t get married before 35, but according to a psychic in Vegas, I’m to get married by October 2006 to a dark-haired man. But, they do say Elvis really IS dead…

We Can Only Love What We Know*

Last week, I was chatting with a friend of mine who read the post about whether or not Claire should wait until marriage for sex. Since he and his wife waited until marriage to have sex, he had difficulty understanding why it was that high of an importance to determine whether a marriage could work. After all, compatibility on the long-term requires other similarities in values, beliefs, character, etc.

I said that I couldn’t speak for the rest of the commenters, but I thought that it often showed the other person’s “true” nature. For instance, if he (because, after all, I’m a hetero woman) is actually quite selfish in that aspect, I realize that everything that led up to that point was pretty much just for show to get there. Without a doubt, in those situations, once we reached that point, the honeymoon period was over and what I would consider “selfish” qualities then became predominant. Now, I realize this may not be the case for everyone, but it’s my experience and analysis.

I said that I thought sex was part of the overall package, but not necessarily a deal-breaker (that’s such a good word, isn’t it?) So, then he asked what I thought was a valid question: how do you know if you are loved?

I wasn’t really sure how to answer the question, so he sent me to this website that talks about a book called The Five Love Languages that details the primary ways that people convey emotions to one another. The idea is that, at some point, all of these are utilized, but there is one that is more essential over the other four for each person.

Here are the options:

Quality Time – Spending time with each other through listening, sharing and participating in joint meaningful activities that communicates we truly care for and enjoy each other.

Words of Affirmation – Compliments, words of encouragement, and requests rather than demands all affirm the self-worth of your spouse (or S.O.). They create intimacy, heal wounds, and bring out the full potential of the other half.

Receiving Gifts – Gifts are visual symbols of love, whether they are items you purchased or made, or are simply your own presence made available (ahhhhh…I do believe I hear a massage in there).

Acts of Service – Should be not be coerced but freely given and received, and completed as requested.

Physical Touch (the gold mine) – A gesture of love that reaches to the depths of our being. It is a powerful form of communication from the smallest touch of the shoulder to a kiss.

This made me realize how important it is to understand the other person’s preference, even if it may not be your own. Otherwise, you may be talking in circles and never finding common ground – or perhaps you might experience a huge gap in communication down the road, if one party isn’t able to recognize and embrace the other’s preference.

I think of the couple where one person craves the physical touch and the other won’t give it, and then self-doubt starts to creep in. Or, perhaps you’re the guy who brought a small gift on a few dates, and the relationship didn’t go further. It’s not that all women don’t respond to it, but that one just didn't appreciate the intended significance, because it wasn't her preferred "language."

After thinking about it, my answer was when he does something nice that I would specifically like without asking. It can be as simple as watching my favorite chick flick (do you have to ask? The Notebook), offering to rub my head when I have a migraine, getting my favorite ice cream at Baskin Robbins (which is quite rare, so I always savor it), or even figuring out how to make an Italian dish that’s spicy enough for me.

I also think of Sex in the City when Samantha had chemotherapy and started to lose her hair, so she decided to shave it off. Her dude, Smith, came in and shaved his own head so they’d match, despite the fact he was an up-and-coming actor, specifically known for his mane. Now, it makes more sense as to why I was so emotional watching that scene. To me, it’s easy to just say the words, but the actions to actually support them are a whole different level of commitment and more likely to be the real deal.

And, then I remembered my friend post in that what defines a true friend is one who does the things you’re too afraid to ask, and realized these approaches could also apply to showing love for family and friends and trying to figure out their preferences. This sure does get confusing, doesn't it? But, still so worth it.

"What the world really needs is more love and less paperwork." Pearl Bailey

*Mrs. Anna Letitia Barbauld

Sometimes good just isn't enough

I was chatting with one of my girlfriends last week, and we were talking about one of our all-time favorite TV shows, Seinfeld, and what made it so great. I brought up the fact that somehow Jerry, George and Elaine seemed to always be grasping at something to justify breaking up with someone for no real reason.

Let’s take a trip back. Man hands, girl who wore the same dress, girl who brushed her teeth with a toothbrush Jerry dropped in the toilet, Sponge-worthy, woman who didn’t want George to eat a sandwich in the midst of sex, Yadda Yadda Yadda, among many others. This picture is from a scene where George learned what it felt like to be dumped for something he couldn’t control – the shrinkage factor after a cold swim. Sometimes, I just love karma.

I said they had the weirdest “deal-breakers” in that I never actually knew anyone like this or anyone who dated anyone with these traits – but that’s why the show was so funny. If you think about it, just about everyone has these types of superficial deal-breakers in their minds that might make someone seem less desirable. I’ll admit one of mine: height. I have a difficulty being attracted to guys who aren’t at least my height. I’m above average for Mainland USA, but practically an Amazon at almost 5’8” over here. In high school, I could literally see over the heads of most of the people in the hallway. I know it’s stupid, but it’s just not something I’ve overcome yet.

Then, we talked about the kind of deal-breakers that are “no brainers.” What are those you ask? Those who are abusive, crack addicts, too old or too young, religious preference, non-smokers preferring non-smokers, single people not wanting kids, or even race. There can be difficulty in finding compatibility or even compromise with these items, as they stem from values, beliefs and the way we're raised.

But, the real question came up for those that fall in the middle, and how to deal with it, in this ever-changing world of dating in your 30s. The example my friend told me is that she met a guy through Match.com who seemed great and the connection was there. He didn’t have a problem with the fact she had a child. However, when he found out the child was born out of wedlock that became the deal-breaker. He said he could “excuse” it if she had the child and then divorced, but not if she was never married. Where I have a problem with that is if the guy ever had pre-marital sex, where does he get off making that type of judgment? Unfortunately, I’ve known a couple of women who’ve gotten pregnant while on the pill – that 3% error rate is actually quite “real.” It just seemed kind of odd to accept the child, but not the why.

In my case, I recently had a conversation with a male friend who said he wouldn’t want to date anyone who was divorced. Though we’re just platonic, I felt the need to speak up for all divorcees in that while I understood the desire for the marriage to be a “first” for both, he may be missing out on someone he could be compatible with on every other level. Traits that actually affect personalities and the ability to get along 24/7. I don’t encounter this often, but ironically, I think that being married once before changed my priorities in what is needed for long-term compatibility, and really made me appreciate the "nice guys."

What was frustrating between the two of us is how difficult it can still be, even if you have other things that are usually desirable – like independence, intelligence, financial stability, advanced education, thoughtfulness. This applies to both genders, as we are both equally dense in this particular arena. I sometimes wonder if the media’s idea of perfection is the ultimate goal for most people compared to my desire to find a good fit. My cynicism stems from hearing people who want a nice, fun person with a great personality -- but he/she must be of a particular body type.

I don’t ask for too much, I don’t think. My two biggest are that we are fairly equal in intelligence and sense of humor. That’s not to say we need to be experts in the exact same fields, but at least a similar awareness of the world and overall common sense. It’s a good thing when the guy knows the Khmer Rouge isn’t a new Italian dessert. And, if I don’t laugh and banter with him, then I know we’re not going to keep each other entertained for long. After that, just be nice and treat me as well as you’d treat your Mom or sister (thanks to Mr. H. for that).

It seems like people are so quick to judge what the other doesn’t have, instead of valuing what they do. I know I can be guilty of it, so I have to step back, think about it, and then, of course, blog it -- and hold myself to it.

I met f-ing Greg Brady

It was Spring 1995, and I was a junior at Texas Christian University. One of my extra-curricular activities was involvement in the Programming Council that organized, planned and executed the various events on campus (i.e. Homecoming, Parents Weekend, concerts, etc.). I know you will die of shock when I tell you that I was in charge of – ta da – the movies.

My then-boyfriend, David, was in charge of speakers and booked Barry Williams, more known as Greg Brady, to come talk about being involved in an icon of American TV, The Brady Bunch (entertaining speakers had a greater student draw than thought-provoking ones, such as Alan Dershowitz). We all helped each with each other’s events, and David needed asked me if I’d help out with “Greg” (b/c none of you will remember his real name’s Barry anyway).

One of Greg’s requirements is to have a wireless mic for his speech, but unfortunately, during the test backstage, the mic wouldn’t work. To the astonishment of the rest of us, he barked out “don’t you have any fucking batteries?” It took a couple of seconds for David to close his mouth and regain composure to answer “no.“

Don’t get me wrong, we all swore, but it was the fact that it came out of who we only knew as “golly gee Greg” is what bewildered us. Suddenly, the fact that a Brady uttered the word “fuck” caused us to briefly wonder if the world was, indeed, tipped on its axis.

After the performance, Greg and his manager had already agreed to go out “on the town” with the group of us. David asked me and a friend of ours, Robert, (whom I'd nicknamed “Little Shit”) to ride with our guests to ensure they didn’t get lost driving to downtown Fort Worth.

I sat next to Greg’s manager the entire night and we talked about Hollywood, movies, Broadway, etc. and somehow it slipped out that I thought Florence Henderson had so much plastic surgery that she looked like her skin would snap if someone touched her. The manager laughed so hard and said, “Oh, I’ve got to tell Greg.” I almost shat at the thought of insulting his Oedipal crush, but Greg laughed his ass off, though I never was quite sure if it was really funny or the bourbon.

The gathering comes to an end and we’ve all realized that Greg is, well, plastered. I decided to repay Little Shit for all the grief he caused me and “let” him ride back with the guys to their hotel. Thankfully, the sober manager drove, so Little Shit was safe but we still laugh at the idea – 10 years later – how I abandoned him to ride home with a drunk Greg Brady.

Now, if it had been Peter, then I definitely would’ve volunteered. He was so hot.

Update: I've had David and Little Shit going back and forth via e-mail remembering how another one of our co-horts actually told David Spade's agent that we were a Christian school, and therefore, had to keep it G-rated. Hahahahahaha! No, that was really not one of our requirements, that guy was just a little overzealous.

Fellow blogger, TAB, dropped his stick again and asked his women (er, readers) to pick it up this week. If you haven’t read his blog, his humor is oftentimes self-deprecating and kind of reached a pinnacle this week with everyone joining in, so he turned the tides and wrote 10 things he likes about himself and suggested we all do this.

I have a hat face. This is my pic from my Cali trip in January taken near the James Dean Memorial (I 'spose I could add that I apparently don't mind posting numerous pics of myself...).

I’m dependable. If I say I’ll do something, you KNOW it will be done.

I speak well and am not afraid to do it in public.

I have nice skin, or at least healthy skin.

I often think differently than the majority in terms of solving problems or even analyzing art.

I’m a fairly good listener. And, I don’t listen once and forget about you.

I catch on to things fairly quickly, esp. if it’s mind-related (sports…never).

I will remember your birthday and the fact that you love peanut butter.

I’m a risk-taker emotionally, perhaps stupidly. I still believe in the fairy tale.

I usually make good decisions quickly and easily (pros/cons almost come instantly).

If you ever do come visit Hawaii while I’m still here, I will try to find a place for you to stay for free and will be repaid by just seeing you have a good time. And, of course, the ability to blog pictures of you body surfing:)

Now, my turn and I pass it on to all of you for your own blog b/c we are oftentimes our own worst critic, and we also need to hear the good stuff once in a while. Besides, the rest of us might learn something new about you.

*******************************************************************************

Now, Meme #2 passed by Bitchitude b/c I think she’s trying to distract me from the fact that I asked her and her dude DB out for a threesome in early May, and hasn’t responded yet (see, TAB, it’s not easy for anyone). Many of you may have seen this one already:

If I could be a bonnie pirate….I would be Johnny Depp’s girl toy in Pirates of the Caribbean 2.

If I could be a scientist…I would invent a pill that women could take to rid us of pit, bikini line and leg hair. Either that, or painless wax.

If I could be a missionary…I would invent a new position.

If I could be a gardener…I would be one on Desperate Housewives and go after Carlos.

If I could be a midget stripper…I would partner up with Stacy in her current revue and then we'd make some bank as a double act.

Silence is golden

A little while ago, one of my daily reads, Ben, did one of his rare completely textual posts where he lists things he believes in. One of which was “empathy is the most cherished of emotions.” To me, what makes a good listener and a friend is one who understands where you’re coming from and doesn’t try to invalidate your emotions.

To ever respond with a “but” is doing just that, because quite frankly, when your friend’s in need, they never need a “but.” Nor, do they need a reply of “that’s nothing, one time I…” because it comes across as one-upping. If you’re not sure of what to say, then it’s always safe to go the “I’m so sorry, and I know there’s nothing I can say to really make you feel better, but just know that I’m here if you need ANYTHING.” But, also don’t make that offer unless you are prepared to fulfill it, because I can tell you it’s quite difficult to actually make that call.

I’ve been thinking of how to do this type of post for a while, but what spawned it today is that another blogger friend, Stacy, found out that her husband is being recalled to active duty and will be deployed to the Middle East – six years after he got out. Needless to say, her life is kind of chaotic and frustrating and so she does what most of us do, she blogs it. Well, someone sent her a private e-mail that “well, you knew what you were getting into when you married him” (keep in mind, hubby was already a civilian by the time she met him). I’m trying to understand why that person felt the need to say that and what benefit it could have possibly served.

I have another friend who suffers from Muscular Dystrophy, and consequently, has difficulty moving the muscles in his forearms and thighs. We were having this conversation one day about how just listening seems to be a rare talent nowadays, and sincere empathy even more. Apparently, someone actually had the nerve to say to him: “well, at least you can still use your hands.” I would love to see that person’s reactions if he/she had the same restrictions.

One that I personally went through not too long ago was when I found out my step-dad had terminal cancer and the kinds of responses that I received just sometimes left me baffled. This may sound callous, but I swear, those of you who’ve gone through this will relate. I really didn’t need to hear that some friend of a friend died from cancer. Or, that “things will get better soon” when I’ve just said that it’s all over his body, including his brain, and we were literally looking at weeks left. If you haven’t been in the position to have an immediate family deteriorate right in front of you on a daily basis and where you attended to their personal care of helping them go to the bathroom – it’s not the same. Trust me, I’ve been through both. All I needed to hear was a “that sucks ass in a way that I could not possibly comprehend, but if you need anything, call me.”

Now, don’t get me wrong, if you have been through the same thing, then by all means, that’s a different story. I recently had a conversation with one of my clients who just lost her mother, and was frustrated at having to deal with the “business aspects” of the loss while grieving at the same time. I told her “I know what you mean. It’s hard to be rational and practical when you’re not finished crying.” She later sent me an e-mail saying how much it meant to just understand what she was going through.

I’m sure I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth plenty of times, or not even realized that I might’ve started offering a solution when he/she didn’t really want one. But, events over the past couple of years have really taught me this important lesson that I think Shakespeare sums up nicely:

To ease them of their griefs,
Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
That nature’s fragile vessel doth sustain
In life’s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

*Francis Bacon

Hugs, I don't need no stinkin' hugs

I do not like to be touched. Please stay away from me. If you’re standing right behind me at a store, I’ll will turn around and give you “stink eye” so that you will know that it would be in your best interest to shift back a couple of inches. If you’re that rude personal trainer at my gym standing right behind me waiting for my machine, I’ll get up and tell you that I can not finish my set with you lurking right behind me. Or, even if you’re my mom and hogging my armrest at the theatre, I’ll kindly ask you to please “respect the perimeter.”

My comfort zone is at least a three-foot radius around me. It shrinks inward the more comfortable I am with a person, but only a Significant Other gets free reign with in The Zone. That's only once that ice shield is broken, but I at least become relatively normal at that point. If someone comes near me, like the leg accidentally brushes mine, I immediately flinch and move away – unless I’m really, really, really interested.

Chicks really creep me out, and I’m not sure why, especially when comparing the two, women have treated me better overall. It even includes family. Sure, if someone comes up to me and wants a hug, I do that polite pat-on-the-back and still keep as much distance as possible between our bodies. It’s bearable because I don’t want to offend the person, since that’s society’s norm to greet someone.

My own family makes a joke like “Beckyyyyyyy, I’m going to hug you now, so you better be prepared.” My sister’s brand of torture for me is to launch herself on me if I’m in a chair or lying in a bed, before I can move, and then sit on me -- and touch me (get your mind out of the gutter, pervs).

I have no idea where this comes from, as my sister is the complete opposite and we grew up in the same household (though I don’t really remember a lot of hugs going around when we were younger, but I may have just blocked it b/c I was so tormented:) If I wanted to over-analyze myself (b/c you know, I just hate doing that), I might say it’s because I was the oldest and my parents were stricter with me?

Perhaps it comes down to expressing my emotions in a manner with which I’m most comfortable – for me, it’s either actions or text versus affection and spoken words. Those whom I care about know they can rely upon me for just about anything, whether it be giving advice, listening or even running that errand they just don’t have the time to do. Oddly, I think I’ve left more compliments for family and real-life friends on this blog than I’ve ever said to them in-person.

I’ve been told I’m rather strange, but then others have said they’re the same way. It will be interesting to see the comments and if I could’ve predicted who would fall to which side, just based on personalities (if you even want to share).