October 31, 2008

And then they lived happily ever after.

Filed under: Life,Love — Tags: , , , , , — denise @ 3:43 pm

On a bitterly cold day in February, I suddenly found myself with 2 tickets to see The Donnas, and no one to go with.  My friend (at the time), Barb, whom I usually went to such things with was going to be out of town in Chicago for the weekend.

“Take my friend, Kory!”, she said.

WHAT?“, I said, “That guy I met over the fence?”

Because a few months before that, after seeing a strange and wonderful mixture of a show that included “The Trachtenburg Family Singers“,  a reading by Dave Eggers and a performance by They Might be Giants, she wanted to stop at Kory’s house and show him the cool signed poster she’d gotten of TMBG because she and Kory were huge fans and had actually traveled around Britain to see in concert…

And he had a bunch of friends over and we all gathered at the fence and shared pleasantries that can only happen over fences in Minneapolis at 1am. The only thing I really remember is telling my future husband that he looked a bit like the lead singer from Offspring.  And I was totally right, by the way.

<-Lead singer on the left.

<- Dude I met over the fence.


I sent him an email and asked if he a) remembered meeting me over the fence and b) liked The Donnas and c) would possibly, maybe like to go as friends with me to see them on February 13th.

He responded back to my email that a) he did in fact remember me and b) he did actually like The Donnas and c) was actually free that night … and then ended his email by saying that in the spirit of getting to know one another, would I be willing share a very personal thing with him?

Oh fuck.

This is the part where I have to tell him I’m divorced.

No, oh christ… he wants to know my weight… oh just shoot me now…

He wants to know if I have kids. I’m going to have to tell him that I have an 11 year old son…. oh dear….

It’s very important to me to feel like I know someone and their values and priorities, he said, … so, can you tell me…

your favorite cheese?

I think, possibly, I started falling for him right then and there.

Time passed, we drank bloody martinis and chocolate kisses… we watched pretentious indy films and he makes me chocolate mousse.  I introduced him to my son. He survived. He introducedd me to his parents.  I survived. THEY survived.

A year later, one cold February night, we sat outside and in the course of polishing off two entire bottles of red wine,  I basically told him that I was:

A) too old for him

B) too divorced for him

C) would probably never be able to give him his own children

And that for the sake of him getting a young, unsullied, child-bearing woman and pleasing his family and living the life he was supposed to live, that I thought we should just break up and move on.  I pushed him as far away as I could and then I cried and cried and barfed up red wine and cried some more.  He said..

I don’t care that you are divorced, I don’t care that you have a child – I LIKE your child, I don’t care if we never have kids, I don’t care what my family does or does not think… all I want is YOU.

I pushed him out the door and lamented my martyr’s life:

She who saves young innocent men from herself…

I won’t mention, ok – I will, that the man was so flummoxed by me that he posted the whole situation on a woman’s advice bulletin board and received something like 70 responses from women all saying that I was a selfish, foolish, stupid and probably ugly bitch from hell that doesn’t deserve him… and when people make comments about how women throw one another under the bus for a man, I always think of that lovely bunch of women….  anyway…

We survived.

And one day in April, after my son and I had moved into his house, I came home to this:

12 dozen long stem roses….

Twinkling Christmas lights….

My smiling beloved… and my smiling son….

Oh, and a diamond.  A beautiful diamond.

And suddenly, life opened up like a flower… and promise was everywhere.

We cried.

A lot.  A whole lotta lot.

And then… after much preparation and freaking out and ordering things on ebay and checking off boxes and making plans, one October day in 2004 we did this:

and this…

and we left the chuch through a sea of bubbles and raindrops and laughter…

and took a limo to our reception with our entire wedding party…

Where we ate, drank, danced and celebrated.

I randomly walked around and frightened people with my cleavage.

I know, right?  I’m surprised everything stayed in place, but then I was in 49 different things with snaps and zippers and buttons and squeazy things.  Really, if I’d caught on fire that night, I would have been DOOMED.

We sliced some cheesecake…

We danced…

And then we honeymooned…

Fast forward 2 years and we got one of these:

Fast forward 2 more… and we have another on the way…

We survived, baby.

But more than that, we flourished.

Happy 4th Anniversary, my love.

Thanks for not listening to me that night all those years ago when I said we should not be together.  Thanks for listening to me every time mostly since then.

You won’t hear me admit it often, but… you know, you were right all along.

We always were meant to be.

October 30, 2008

The bathroom at work, a poem.

Filed under: Deranged Denise,Poetry — Tags: , — denise @ 9:28 am

Ode To A Poo Nugget
Poor, forgotten poo nugget
floating in the handicap disabled really big stall
in the 3rd floor bathroom
why… why are you always left behind?
Why must I swing open the door
and see you floating and bouncing
in the white porcelain bowl?
Are you the guardian of the stall?
Refusing to go to your final resting place?
You guard it well from me, nugget.
For I tell you this:
You are not my poo nugget!
I will not risk sitting on that pot
lest you refuse to go down again
and I, horribly, mistakenly, humiliatingly
am thought to be the leaver of said floater!
Nay, poo nugget, nay!
I will go in stalls one or two instead.
I will giggle to myself when I hear someone else
some unsuspecting coworker
enter the stall.
Beware the poo nugget –
he is small, but mighty.

October 27, 2008

Don’t mock the vote.

*WARNING – If you are a McCain/Palin supporter, you won’t care much for this post. Skip it. Print and burn it. Spit on your computer screen. Leave a comment.  Do what you gotta do. *

So, I had this dream last night that I was trapped in a Sarah Palin theme park.  Her picture was everywhere. The games and rides were all basic things like throwing a basketball or riding a merry-go-round except they all had theme park names like Palinball and Sarah-Go-Round!  She, personally, played each game with me and rode each ride with me… but there were no rules, no stopping, no way to win.  You didn’t win prizes, you just kept playing.  There was no pinnacle to each ride, because you just kept spinning.

Through it all, she would laugh and laugh. I kept saying, “But how do I win?”  “How do I make it stop?” “How do I leave?”

And she would laugh…. and shake her head.   “YOU CAN’T!!!“, she’d scream!  “YOU CAN’T!!”  Laugh..laugh.. cackle… cackle…  and I would just stay and throw more Palinballs and go around the Sarah-Go-Round again.. and again…. and again.

Talk about goddamn nightmares.

Part of me can hardly believe that this election is just weeks away and part of me can’t wait for November 5th, because this election is really giving me a case of the screaming willies…the heebie- jeebersons… the full-blown, freak out, akimbo zim-zams.    Considering even the possibility that McCain and Palin may possibly win… it causes me actual, physical discomfort.

It’s like trying to drive when the sun is glaring in your eyes. You can’t look away and it hurts more every second you endure it. You try to bob and weave and find some contorted way to hold your head where it can’t pierce your brain, but in the end you just grit your teeth, squint and pray it’s over soon.

I used to try very hard to feel like “live and let live” about party lines. You believe your thing, I’ll believe mine. To each his or her own. Blah, blah.   But this time it feels more like civil war.

This isn’t to each his own.

Your vote for McCain…. that vote… HARMS me.

It divides us.

A civil war in which some people I love are on one side, and some on the other… but unlike the North versus the South, people CHOOSE which side they are onLove them, yes. But also, I count them in my head. The votes that harm me.  The votes that I tally and try to come up with someone in my column that will cancel out their vote.

It’s absurd…. and I hate it. I hate it, but I can’t stop the tally that I keep in my head. I run down the list in my head every day.  One for him.  Two for us.  Two more for him.  One more for us.

It’s … it’s….epic.

This weekend, I was surrounded by Repubs.  And they were spouting intelligent things like:

Obama is a terrorist! He’s a Muslim

You KNOW his middle name is “Hussein”, right? You know what THAT means.”

and my personal favorite,

The only difference between OBAMA and OSAMA is the BS

And these are young people…  19-25 years old.  These are young adults that have been force-fed this kind of bigotry and back-woods propaganda by their parents and their friends their whole lives.

They are brain-washed.

I’m trying my best, Repubs, to live and let live.   Probably, you are trying, too.  I know you, too, are terrified of change, of what you don’t know.  I know.

But if you don’t know the policy… if you don’t know the issues…. if you just want to sound tough and repeat the soundbites of weak-minded, prejudiced people… please, find a soapbox at an Applebees bar and knock your socks off.

But don’t vote, ok?

Just don’t bother.

I’m not saying vote for Obama, if you don’t believe in him.

But don’t vote McCain just because your parents and your grandparents and their parents all voted Republican.  If you don’t know the facts, if you haven’t read anything about their policies and their records and watched CNN and the debates… just skip it, please. I beg you.

I know… I know… I shouldn’t encourage young people to not vote.   I know.

But this one?

Well, I need this one.

I’d rather tell a generation of politically uneducated youth to not rock their vote than ride that Sarah-Go-Round.


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