Haiku (almost)

Tonight, an orange moon

glows.

"Come here. Look." He would say.

Third Wheels?

I have made a new friend here and I really like her. She's as sweet as pie, as they say. She is originally from the Midwest and a really silly girl. She possesses this very charming self-consciousness that is balanced by a total lack of pretention. She is totally unassuming. She is also married.

Now I say this, not as a sort of "oh no" aside, but because I went out with her recently, for the first time and her husband came along. Prior to this, we'd had several conversations about what she did on weekends on days off, etc. They all seemed to include her husband. It could have been something she did just with him, but more often that not it also included other people, single women, mutual friends. So, after awhile I asked her

"Do you do everything with him?"

It was then that I realized that it made her feel a little self-conscious when she replied in a stilted manner with this explanation:

"No, I do other stuff without him, I guess it just happens to be these particular stories. You know, I mean, we're friends, we like to hang out, you know? I mean, we have lots of mutual friends, really." "That's really it, we don't do everything together."

But I didn't mean it critically, or did I? I don't think it's bad to do everything with your boyfriend or husband, I guess I've just never had a relationship like that, where someone wanted to do things with me all of the time, so I can't imagine it. It sounds kind of nice, but also kind of annoying. Really, what she made me think of was another friend whose boyfriend (now husband) had recently moved in with her and consequently they began doing everything together. One day when we were both still living in Chicago, she suggested we go to yoga and I said that would be great, she then said: "Oh, I'll just tell Marcus* and he can meet us there." I remember thinking 'hey, since when did Marcus enter this particular equation?' First, I actually thought it weird that a guy would do yoga**, I'm not sure I'd want my man doing yoga, a little too sensitive for me. Then I thought, why would he want to do it with us? And why would she want him to? I ended up canceling and thinking who really is the third wheel here?

So my outing and conversations with my new friend got me thinking. Am I/Have I been jealous because I don't have a boyfriend, because I am perpetually single, or is it weird that a couple does everything together ALL THE TIME-- from hanging out with his friends to hanging out with hers?

I have to say I think it's weird. Maybe because as I said, I've never been with a man who accompanied me everywhere I went, but I think that I wouldn't even want that. Or would I? Maybe it's wonderful. But from this end it still seems like it would be way annoying. You know, maybe that's why I'm still single. Well, at this point it's not, but maybe it's why I will be single for awhile yet....


*names have been changed to protect the innocent.
**please don't write comments about this, I know plenty of men enjoy and benefit from yoga.

All is right with the world...

Just when I think I am fed up with the phony, pseudo-liberal, pretentious, homogeneity so prevalent here in Seattle, I am awed by the physical beauty that exists here.

Lush greenery. Olive trees, cherry trees, apple trees. Blackberry brambles and wild rosemary. Everywhere, complex symphonies of fragrance and color in the flowers that seduce me each time I pass.

And tonight there is a beautiful full moon, encircled by glowing yellow rings and suspended in a sky full of stars.

You can't beat that.

Eu falo português...eventually, that is...

I am very excited today, I resume my Brazilian Portuguese immersion. I am meeting someone who will give me Portuguese lessons in exchange for French ones. I also have a Portuguese teacher, who I will resume meetings with after I move and get settled into a better routine.

I've mentioned before that I like the language. I really do love it. It's beautiful and sexy and I can't wait until I can communicate. It's also kind of hard, pronunciation is difficult and unlike French, a misplaced accent can change the meaning of a word entirely. Wait, let me be more clear, that's not true, misplaced accents in French can change meaning, but generally pronunciation doesn't change. Anyway, I love the language and I am considering a trip maybe during Christmas, or in the spring.

Just one more thing, there is a great blog, from Jôka P called Avenida Copacabana. Even though you may not be able to read what he is writing, his photos are beautiful. Check it out Eunice, especially. I think, his writing is very nice too. :)

PSA

Today was my second day at my new, 'real' job and I have just one thing to say...

If you have nail fungus of any sort, let's handle it people, it's no way to live.

It's in the stars...

Okay, this is today's horoscope from Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology site:

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21):
I couldn't believe the show I saw on the cable channel Spike TV: "Blind Date with a Crackwhore." Fred, a twenty-something stockbroker, got set up on a date with Propecia, a fortyish crackwhore. I watched with horrified fascination as she rejected all his genteel attempts to create rapport, constantly turning the conversation back to where they could score some crack. I bring this to your attention, Scorpio, in hopes it will serve as a shining example of how *not* to proceed in the near future. You have in place everything you need to experience a week full of intensely meaningful adventures with allies who bring out the best in you. Therefore, don't flirt with senseless, random distractions--like blind dates with crackwhores, for instance. And don't do what I did, which is waste precious time entranced by stupid crap. Give every spare moment to capitalizing on the integrity-filled success that's available.

There are a couple of things here I need to know, first and foremost, when does this show come on again and why did it in the first place? Second, who or what is my proverbial "crackwhore"? And since when did crackwhore become one word?

Perspective regained...

I have begun now, when I am quiet and still, to think of the rainy day in Paris when I realized the city was my home. Thoughts of my enemy no longer bulldoze their way into my brain. It's strange, I have an enemy. This happens to be one that I have to protect myself against, not one that I created. Well, I did. I created this enemy with my love. Isn't that even funnier?

But now, I think of Paris. Yes. That rainy day. I even remember the name of the street...Rue de la tombe Issoire. That day, I went to get boxes to mail some things back to the States, but the shop was closed, lunchtime, bien sûr. So, I went to a café to wait. I had two of the most delicious cafés crèmes and here is what I wrote...

18 janvier 2005

I feel compelled to mark this day. Why? The universe only knows. It is quite a dreary day and the weather changed suddenly about five minutes ago. I feel like I am in the Chi. Maybe I'm being prepared for my imminent return.

A sudden downpour has turned to snow, the big fat flakes with a bit of a violent streak...

But I have the good fortune to be inside a little café sipping a café crème while watching Mother Nature throw her temper tantrum.

I am a lucky girl. I know this. I didn't before 2005.

A Jack Russell Terrier, presumably belonging to the owner but maybe not. Perhaps the girl who made my coffee. He's up and ready for action now, much like the weather has changed so suddenly, first lying curled up in his bed fighting sleep and then in a split second up surveying the weather situation and making his rounds in the café.

Right now there is the most fabulous jazz radio station playing--none of that WNUA stuff. Despite all of the adversity, I realize Paris is the place for me, but not right now, I think. I'm not ready for her.

I love Paris. I know this. It is my city. It is my home.

But I told you, I feel good now. I know more. I'm closer to being ready for her...

Grief and Confusion

I've had a difficult last few days. I have been thinking alot about Gregory. He moves in and out of my head...When I am quiet and still I imagine him lying on his front porch saying: "Dude, shot me dead."

This hasn't taken over my life or anything, I just feel a great sense of loss. I have always been one of those people who thought that when someone dies, no matter how tragically or violently, it is simply their time. I have stood by that over the years. But now, I am tempted to say 'NO, IT JUST WASN'T HIS TIME." But it was, or he'd still be here, right? I don't know if this belief is my attempt to make sense of something that makes no sense.

Some things just don't. I should know that by now.

Gregory Ward, R.I.P.

Today one of my babies, one of my former students was shot and killed, probably by one of my other former students. He probably knew, no, he definitely knew who did this to him. His family probably knows. I have my suspicions. Although it will undoubtedly offend, most of you readers probably would have judged him. He was a good boy. Very special. Really, he was. I'm not one to say it if it isn't true, not even in death. He was smart, witty, slightly self-deprecating, and pensive, very thoughtful. He participated in a summer program I created and I used to drive him home during the summer of 2002 a few times each week. He always called the front seat before the other students and I remember him singing this song one day "That's my jam..." he said. I'm sorry Greg.

http://abclocal.go.com/wls/news/080305_ns_gregory_ward.html

This has made me think, for the first time, that I rather it had been me. Or, I wish I could have protected him. Senseless. There are no words to describe it all. Not because I'd been particularly close to this child, or that I 'd taken him under my wing or anything. Certainly, I saw him as a special one. I can honestly say, that when I worked at that school just knowing he was in the building made me feel better. I don't know how to explain. I watched over him, even though, he probably had no idea. He was a good one. It's not necessarily that he would have been a Nobel Prize winner or a world-reknowned mathemetician (he was really good at math), it's just that he made the world a better place somehow, believe me. But maybe he would have been those things on top of being a gift from the universe. He was a gift to us all, even though I'm not sure he really knew that.

I could say something cliché like 'this whole thing makes me see how insignificant my problems are' or 'I can't waste another moment because life can be snatched from you in an instant' but I won't, because frankly, I knew that before Greg was taken from this world. I will only say, I don't understand the ways of this world, I think I never will.

Nasty Girls

At work today, a conversation with two coworkers got just about as inappropriate as any conversation possibly could. Here's the highlight:

Male Coworker: "You know, in my biology class we saw a film from about 20 years ago called The Miracle of Life and in it they say that when men ejaculate, they release a fluid that contains sugars from their prostate into their semen."

Female Coworker: "Well, it sure doesn't taste like it."

Me: "Yeah, that's for sure, if it did, we'd all have a mouth full of cavities by now."

Of course, we laughed hysterically. But I can't really even remember how we got on the topic in the first place.