The Curious Incident of P!NK

Big things and small things, important and trivial things. Most things in my life go missing at some point so I liberally employ the theory “Patience. It will turn up.” Yet slip into internal panic mode when my misplacements (see lost) affect someone else. My usual M.O. is to keep it on the down low.

And so it was recently with P!NK tickets having ordered them for three girlfriends and myself back in September. Costing a small fortune then but now replaceable for over $1,000/per., the fact that they hadn’t arrived put me on high alert.

“Your tickets were delivered by UPS on 10/4/12. Left on your porch.

Regards,

Jeremy, TicketsNow”

“I never received them! What do we do?” I frantically typed back but vaguely remember an October email referencing such.

(Repeat one hundred times: Don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s only a concert.)

Though when you’re trying to avoid something, it seemingly becomes what everyone wants to talk about. That was happening. P!NK, P!NK, P!NK. Can’t wait for P!NK!!!!!

It wasn’t until UPS and my stupid Blue Tooth compatible car out-ed me while driving with one of the friends. The phone conversation was broadcast for her ears too.

“We’ve tracked the package containing your tickets. It was delivered and we have a satellite picture of the truck in front of your house.”

“There was nothing on my porch. Why didn’t I have to sign for something so valuable?”

“I don’t know but to move forward with a claim, you have to file a police report.”

I was forced to explain the whole story to my friend.

“It’s only a concert but I’m finding it pretty creepy they have a satellite photo of your house. What if you answered the door in your pajamas? I think I remember you mentioning that the tickets came.  ”

“Crap. They didn’t say I signed for them but what if I did? Do you think they are trying to set me up?”

Did I have a memory of this or not? Didn’t matter. I didn’t have them.

Marching into the podunk police department in our sleepy little village, I told my story to Officer Fife (Laird) and I became just another porch burglary incident during a two-week period in October. Apparently, we give “good” porch!

“There’s nothing we can do. They were probably sold immediately for quick cash. If you get them reprinted, your only problem will be getting security at the venue to remove them from your seats.”

The saga continues because I have reprints but 8 people with be showing up for only four seats to the hottest ticket in town…

To me, the scariest part is "Big Brother” watched the whole thing. What else have they seen? And why didn’t anyone catch the creep swiping stuff off my porch?

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Residential Burglary Reported: Police Blotter

TUESDAY, FEB. 19

Pricey Pink Tickets Stolen

Police said four tickets to a March 9 Pink concert worth a combined $1,180 were stolen from a resident in the 0-100 block of Blodgett Avenue by an unknown person in October, after UPS delivered the tickets but before the resident picked them up.

The resident recently called UPS to check on the status of the tickets, police said, after wondering why it was taking so long for them to be delivered. UPS told the resident the package had indeed been delivered in the fall.

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Head over to Yeah Write. We are celebrating Flood’s birthday with all kinds of awesome reading for you.

Times Roman Black 12

You are a glowing white screen,

Seemingly two dimensional and flat.

Only your letters are different.

Forming unique combinations unearthing

Your feelings.

Your intensity.

Your humor.

You doctor your persona with bold, italics, colors.

Glimpses of you peek through in word choice, cadence, 

Sometimes explicatives.

But when I look at you for too long, 

My eyes burn.

So I step away

Trying to imagine you in 3-D...

Reading in the park,

Standing on a street corner,

Talking on the telephone,

Smiling.

You become more real then.

But to "see" you, 

I have no choice but to sit here, gaze at this screen, 

And wait for it to be filled

By all of you…

Bold Veranda 14,

Baby Blue Cambria,

Italic Arial 13.

And 

Times Roman Black 12. 

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This week’s 33-333 Trifecta word prompt is:

DOCTOR

3. a: material added (as to food) to produce a desired effect

    b: a blade (as of metal) for spreading a coating or scraping a surface

Trifecta: No

This is a Trifecta sequel from a fictional story started awhile ago. 33-333 words for the 3rd definition of exhaust: 

3a: to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely

  b: to try out the whole number of  <exhausted all the possibilities>

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

From: Gabby B

Wed 2/18/13 12:41 PM

To: William G

Dear Will,

If you were standing in front of me at this very moment, I would take both your hands in mine. After pausing for a few moments to collect my thoughts, I’d shift my eyes from your lips, where they perfectly line up, to look directly into yours.

My voice cracking as I began, eyes burning with tears; you’d interrupt me saying I think too much. Trying to head off my words. Knowing well what my shaky voice means.

Pressing my finger against your mouth (which, of course, you’d bite to throw me off), I’d say...

“Please listen. Let me finish before I don’t.

You’ve had a grip on me for so long; I have no memory of a time you didn’t completely fill me. Sometimes it felt too much, not enough, too long and just right.

One of us always holding on with white knuckles, timing was a stubborn acquaintance. Being reckless more often than smart. Discounting sage advice, thinking "rules" never applied to us. Blind to everything but each other.

I love, loved, being your distraction and you were mine alone. But being distracted from our “real” lives isn’t helping anymore. Now it just hurts.

Don’t say we haven’t tried everything. We incessantly exhaust every conceivable option, every single opportunity, every single time but we still haven't figured out a single version of “us” that's tangible. That ever really works.

What was once exciting and exhilarating is preventing us from being entirely satisfied with anything. Who, or what, is physically before us. Letting us move forward. Be present. 

Now, it all seems futile.

Nothing left to grab.”

That’s what I’d tell you if you were here.

Please let go,

Gabby

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

From: William G.

Wed 2/18/13 12:46 PM

To: Gabby B.

No.

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

From: Delivery Status Notification

Wed 2/18/13 2:48 PM

To: William G.

Email could not be delivered as addressed <gabbyb@gmail.com>. Message delivery failure.

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It's Like Going to a Voluntary Torture Chamber

You know what Sunday means to me...stream of consciousness writing linked up at Jana's Thinking Place. Jana's totally optional prompt this weekend is "It's like going to..."

I will try to explain my current obsession in 5 short minutes, in bursts of unedited writing. So here goes:

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

It’s like going to…

A voluntary “torture chamber” and losing your mind for 90 minutes.

It feels like Death Valley in July when it’s really only 105 degrees.

It smells like the most disgusting pair of boy’s gym shoes.

It’s feels like your heart will never stop racing uncontrollably or your head won’t shake the dizzies.

It’s the same no matter where you go or whom you do it with. It will be exactly the same every single time. You know what it’s like and you do it anyway.

It’s like bathing in your own sweat. The kind that runs down your face, past your eyes, into your mouth. Drips off every fingertip. The end of your nose. You want to wipe the sweat. That’s the challenge but if you don’t challenge yourself, you can’t improve.

You think there's no way you’ll wear a little bra and skin-tight shorts like the girl in front of you! But now you will because it makes perfect sense.

It’s like going into fight-or-flight mode and all you can think about is escaping so you push that out of my mind.

“This is simply a fidget.” You say to yourself. “So don’t fidget then.” You answer. Quiet the internal chatter.

Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matter.

And eventually the transformation happens.

You start looking forward to class and the chance to reflect alone for 90 minutes.  You want to go! You embrace this new addiction you’ve tried to hate but you can’t hate something that feels so good in it’s completion even though you dread every moment leading up to opening that door.

It’s a love you want to hate but you don’t.

It’s Bikram yoga.

It’s like going into a “torture chamber” that’s never felt so good. When it's over.

The "If I Were..." Game

After a lovely and romantic Valentine’s Day dinner, we still had some time before catching the train back home from Union Station. Slightly giddy from wine, we ducked into a hip restaurant, squeezed in between a group of men to grab two seats at the bar and ordered.

“What’s the deal with the nametags on all those guys?” My husband asked nodding his head towards the group.

“Well there’s only one way to find out.” I answered.

I leaned around him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Why are you wearing nametags?’

“We’re here for an event.” Said one man rather abruptly quickly leaving the bar. Drinks in hand, the rest of the group followed.

"Did I offend him somehow?"

"I don't think so?"

Glancing around, we saw several people with their name and a number pasted to their chests. I’m much too curious sometimes for my own good. I had to know so I waved over the bartender.

“What’s with all with nametags?”

“They’re holding a speed dating event tonight in the bar. Every four minutes they rotate partners for the next hour.”

“Oh! So that’s why that guy was wonky. He was nervous. This should be interesting to watch!”

And every four minutes when the whistle blew, our heads would snap around to see the new rotation. Everyone seemed engaged in lively conversation. Smiling. They looked pretty good at it actually. The mismatches were a riot.

As spectators, we decided to play a few rounds of speed dating ourselves making up all kinds of wacky questions and answers.

“If you actually said that, I would never give you my number!”

“Well you’re not as funny as you think you are!”

We weren’t serious at all. It was really fun.

On the way home, we caught the milk run; a train that stops at every station. We didn’t care at all. We decided to play a game we hadn’t in a long time called “If I were hit by a meteor, would you…”

Date? Who? What? Where? When? How? Anyone I know? Would you marry again? How would your life be different without me (assuming the other was gone solely due to natural disaster always using a meteor)? Etc., etc., etc.

The next morning, the phone rang oddly early. My husband doesn’t often call before 7:00 unless it's something important.

“Have you been on the internet yet?”

“No. Why?”

“Go look. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”

What began as a fun and silly game one evening turned sad the following morning. Our game can’t be called “If I were hit by a meteor...” anymore.

Our world is one crazy, crazy place.

Trifextra: A Very Married Conversation

“My heart’s a shriveled raison

Thinking of you every second.”

“Bad” TV queued.

“I bet.”

“I miss you more than life.”

Ice cream spoon dangling.

“Yeah, right.”

Bon bons? Check.

“Be good.”

“You, too.”

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

This weekend's challenge at Trifecta is to include some hyperbole in 33 words. 

My New and Improved Valentine's Day Outlook

Stuffpoint.com

In preparation for writing today, I went back to see what I wrote on Valentine’s Day last year. There were probably only four of you who read it (or my blog in general) back then and understood my thoughts on the “big” day. I do remember being a little grouchy about the whole thing.

I prefer random displays of affection.

Spontaneous anythings on an otherwise nothing day.

Grand gestures? Not necessary.

Plus, I don’t like being told what to do (like celebrating something just because someone say so) but last year my feelings for, arguably, the sweetest day of the year were quickly changed the moment my doorbell chimed in the middle of a purely average day. That memory has been tucked away, with pleasure, since then.

So I woke up this morning, very early I’ll add, to find myself excited for today. It was unexpected because, as I said, this day doesn’t hold any more weight than any other day of the year for me.

I have a confession to make though. I’m also feeling guilty about being excited.

I’ve been asked on a date, a rendezvous for dinner at an Italian restaurant in the city, when we usually stay home and I cook. It’s always exciting to be in the city. It's equally exciting to be on a date.

I bet there will be a heartfelt (more likely inappropriate) card for me with handwritten sentiments inside. I love that.

And I think there will be a gift…

But we don’t “do” gifts for Valentine’s Day.

How do I know this?

I was looking everywhere for the PINK tickets I bought last fall (which I paid $250 each and are not going for $800 a piece) since the concert is quickly approaching. And I looked everywhere. I tore my desk apart. I tore his desk apart. Oops!!!

(I lose things. A lot. This is not a surprise to anyone who knows me or reads my blog. I don’t like it. It stresses me out but it’s me. Part of living with me is knowing and understanding that I spend time almost everyday looking for something (usually important) and it’s gotten worse since I hit my head last summer)

That was yesterday afternoon and I’ve purposely stayed away from the family room, which houses his desk. I’m ignoring it as best as I can because I don’t want to look again to see if it’s gone.

What if it’s like in the movie “Love Actually” where Emma Thompson’s character finds a necklace in her husband’s coat pocket and gets a CD instead for Christmas?

What if that happens to me? 

What if he took it to work for someone else (the silver box from a store he doesn’t usually frequent but has lots of things I love) and at dinner he only pulls out a card?

That’s why I’m feeling guilty. I busted his surprise. It was a mistake. No, REALLY!!!

Obviously, I know it’s for me (it’s gorgeous). It is a wonderful, unexpected gesture that means something to him. He will want me to be surprised and just as excited. He knows I don't/won't expect anything.

I want his eyes and his heart filled with anticipation and excitement as he presents me with the box. I don’t want to burst that bubble or see his disappointment that I found it ahead of time.

I’ll be doing the right thing by not saying anything, right?

wallpapersdb.org (This looks blissful, doesn't it?)

Have a fantastic day. However you choose to spend it.

Sometimes Being Right Sucks

The text came through at 12:30 am on a Sunday evening. Just about anything, at that time of night, makes my heart convulse. I groped for my phone.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come over tomorrow?”

Ugggggghhhhh! I rolled over attempting to ignore the message knowing slumber wasn’t returning anytime soon. I was way too exhausted, now exasperated and extremely hurt. Plus, I knew he was waiting for my reply.

“Sure. We’re leaving at 1:00.”

I tossed all night remembering how, just a few short months before, two beautiful children fell more in love with each passing day. It was one of the sweetest things I’d ever seen. As summer friends, it had been coming for years. 

But school starts up again every fall and long distance relationships are never easy especially when you’re young. There are far too many distractions.

Now, I was emotionally maxed out from a hellacious weekend spent listening to, crying with and emotionally stabilizing my daughter (who was away at school). It was her first, horrendously painful, inexplicable, dumping by a boy. A boy I loved and who felt like a son.

That next day, I anxiously waited for the clock to chime 1:00. 

Why does he want to talk to me? 

What am I going to say to the boy who crushed her heart into pieces so small I worried they wouldn’t go back together?

Just like a rolling reel from a bad movie, her sobbing screams played over and over in my head. “Mom, it hurts. It hurts so badly.” “Now I know how Robbie felt when I broke up with him!”

It’s difficult to explain to anyone how someone they love, who they thought loved them, now loves someone else. Let alone your kid. There are no words to express the pain I felt for her.

Watching him come up the walk, I met him at the front table. Hugging me, he said he was sorry; that he'd made a mistake. Then he just listened as tears streamed down his face. I said something along these lines.

“You are so young. Why are you falling in love so fast all the time? Slow down. We all make mistakes. Learn from them. You will experience heartbreak someday; unfortunately that’s a promise because we all do. Then and only then will you realize just how fragile a heart is and you’ll take better care because you’ve felt the pain yourself. But you two will know each other for the rest of your lives; your children will play together, so you need to figure out how to move past this. Time will help.”

I gave him a big hug telling him to come by next Memorial Day.

That conversation was two and a half years ago.

This weekend, my daughter showed me an email she received from him just a few days ago. It said something along these lines:

“I finally understand how you felt 2 ½ years ago when I f$#ked up really bad that weekend in October. It sucks and it hurts. I’m so, so sorry for what I did, how I treated you and how you felt. I get it now. I’m just happy we’ve been able to get back to being ‘sort of’ friends. Summer’s coming! Woo hoo!”

It does totally suck and it hurts badly. 

Sometimes I hate the idea of what goes around comes around.

And being right has never felt so awful.

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Monday Listicles: "Oh No You Didn't" Gifts

This is an easy one because receiving physical, material things is not important to me. At ALL. I’m not into gifts and am much happier if I’m giving one to you. Watching someone unwrap a gift I’ve chosen makes me tingle with excitement and anticipation. That’s enough present for me.

Since I am playing along today at Sasha’s place and the theme is “Oh No You Didn’t Gifts”, here is what I came up with in preparation for the “big” day. The following are things that either I wouldn’t like or would be a waste of money because they aren’t important to me.

10 “Oh No You Didn’t Gifts”

1.    The latest/greatest thing in the world of technology. I would give it to you because you like that stuff. I only take hand-me-downs and I’m totally okay with that.

2.    Money. Never give me money for two reasons. I do better not having cash on hand (and I have my coffee shops that will float me a loan). I have memorized pin and credit card numbers, expiration date, security code etc. for every piece of plastic we have. And I have a love/hate relationship with money anyway.

3.    Another frying pan. So I got one once, didn’t ask for it though I believe I accepted it graciously, but it’s a cast iron beauty and I use it all the time. Actually, no kitchen items at all as gifts.

4.    Expensive jewelry. I don’t wear it. It usually sits on my messy bathroom counter when it should be safely tucked away in my jewelry box (and then you get upset thinking I’m going to lose it (which I could) or that I’m not wearing it (which I should)).

5.    Books. Well, you could try but you really don’t know what I’m reading. I suppose I could give you my password to Amazon and you could lovingly empty my shopping cart. Now that would be great because it’s full!

6.    A Cat. Just because…and you wouldn’t anyway.

7.    Chocolate/Candy/Cupcakes. Giving up sweets for Lent is always a tremendous challenge. I couldn’t eat them if you were so inspired to gift them.

8.    Dinner Out at the Fanciest Restaurant in Chicago. I wouldn’t appreciate it enough because of the cost. And that’s not to say I don’t like FABULOUS food because I do. Just not worth it to me.

9.    Carnations. Now I’m just getting picky at the end of this list because I’m running out of ideas of gift no-no’s. I don’t care for Carnations but I DO love flowers though not on Valentines Day. I love getting them on random days (except last year those roses were the BIGGEST surprise I’ve received in a long, long time but it won’t work this year because now I’m probably expecting them).

10.      Card Without a Handwritten Note.

If you must get me something, a massage, lingerie, perfume, pretty (costume) earrings, an orchid would all do the trick.