That Time I Gave Patrick Stewart A Hug

(first: I'm so sorry about the whole "oh, I keep forgetting to blog" thing... I didn't realize how much having a job that meant leaving the house would impact me. I'm REALLY trying to get better.)

(second: I didn't gave Patrick Stewart a hug. He actually gave me a hug.)

(third: That didn't happen either. Well, it sort of did.)

(fourth: there isn't a fourth, I was just on a roll.)

So last night, I had a dream that I came home from my office job in Boston ...

(fifth: I don't have a job in Boston.)

(sixth: can I just mention here that I looked GOOD? I looked good the way people who work in offices on TV look good. Well, not "The Office" because the people on that tend to look like people who work in an actual office, not fancy Hollywood ideas of offices. I looked Hollywood Office good. This isn't really important, but since I'm currently dressed like a really bad version of actual office? I just want to get a shout out for looking good in my dream.)

... and when I pulled up to my house in my fancy car...

(seventh: I actually have no desire to own a fancy car. Also, I'm so not conversant with fancy cars that the badging on my fancy car just said "Fancy" as though my subconscious was all, "Screw it, I put all of my work into making sure you were wearing Gucci shoes and have nothing left for an automobile.)

...I noticed that there were people in the pool. So I put down my briefcase and the printer I was carrying ...

(eighth: I think the printer was my brain's way of mentioning, casually, "Hey, remember when you used to write that thing on the internet? You should get back to that" before it went for the not so subtle hints.)

... and I went to join them. Only one of the people was in the pool -- the other two were sitting on the deck, drinking beverages.

The one in the pool was Lynda Carter. You know, Wonder Woman? Hanging out on fun noodles in my pool. This was a little weird to me because I didn't know her, but it seemed like she was there with the other two people, who I did clearly know: Patrick Stewart and my friend Stephanie.

(ninth: OMG PATRICK STEWART?!)

And Patrick said, "Have you met Lynda?" as though it was perfectly normal for him to bring people to my house, which maybe in that alternate reality it was, I don't know, and Stephanie just smiled like, "I can't believe you haven't met Lynda yet."

"No," I said, and I extended my hand.

"I love your work," Lynda said.

(tenth: I had no idea what she was talking about, except that I knew that it paid me well enough to drive the Fancy car and look nice. And I carried a printer around.)

"Thanks," I said.

I took off my coat.

(eleventh: despite the fact that it was somehow warm enough to be in the pool, I was wearing a heavy leather coat. Whatever, I LOOKED GOOD.)

I also took off my sunglasses and put on my regular glasses.

(twelveth: EVEN IN MY DREAMS MY CONTACTS SUCK.)

"Great," Patrick said. "Now I can hug you." And he did.

(thirteenth: Patrick Stewart is an excellent hugger. In case you were wondering.)

And he whispered in my ear, "How come you haven't been writing?"

(fourteenth: Patrick Stewart also gives an excellent guilt trip.)

(fifteenth: Um. Yeah. So this one's for Patrick Stewart. And for you, loyal Blog Readers!)

Above. Beyond.

I've been trying to wrap up what I want to say today in a story, but I don't have a story. Sometimes the words come, and sometimes they don't, and that's writing, I guess.

It's life, too. Sometimes things come to you, and sometimes they don't.

And sometimes -- sometimes they come to you and you don't see them for what they are. Blessings enjoy disguises, as it turns out.

I didn't think I'd reach a point where I would be thankful for the shitstorm that this year has been. It was so ridiculous and so painful.

But.

I spent some time over the weekend looking around and considering where I'm at. It's a good place. An excellent place, in fact. A place that makes me happy.

It's also a place I wouldn't have reached without my life going to hell in a handbasket in the way it did, when it did.

So here I am with an eye on the horizon and the knowledge that whatever happens will bring good things. Things that are above and beyond my expectations and outside of what I can see in any given moment.

And maybe that's all the story I need right now.

Side Dish

I wanted to start this post off like this: "MEN!"

But then I realized that is a) sexist and b) the message of this post does not apply only to men.

So.

FELLOW MEMBERS OF THE SPECIES:

Please be aware that the following is in no way flattering. Period:

"I would totally cheat on my significant other with you."

I know that in your head this might SEEM like a compliment. Let me clear this up for you: it is not.

Here's why.

When you tell someone that you would cheat with him/her, what you're actually saying is this: "Whoa, look at me! I have no respect for you OR my partner! I am lightly coated with slime!"

What you're also saying is this: I think you would make a great side dish, but I don't like you QUITE enough to make you the main dish (not that it matters, because I don't have any respect for my main dish)."

I know that you're probably thinking that I'm overthinking it.

I'm not overthinking it.

You're probably ALSO thinking, "Well, how often does this happen?"

I don't know about everyone else, but I can tell you truthfully that it happens to me a lot. This is, perhaps, because I am a whistle only dogs can hear (and it makes me question quite a few aspects of my own personality because, really, what's up with this?) but it happens frequently enough that I am obviously posting about it.

So listen up, humans. If you're actually thinking "I would so cheat with this other person" to the point that the words are coming out of your mouth? End your relationship. Do everyone a favour.

And if the words DO come out of your mouth? Don't be surprised if the person you are saying those words to does not look flattered but, instead, walks away.

Possibly forever.

Friday Not Very Random At All

... I think this speaks for itself.



(if the above doesn't work, please go here. )

Moving Forward

I'm at one of those places you get to in life where you're not entirely certain as to where you're going. You know you're going somewhere, but you're not precisely sure where that is.

In the wise words of a friend, though, "You're going forward."

Because -- you have to, right? Face forward, keep walking. Even if you're not sure where the road is going to take you. The road may fork -- it nearly always does -- and you may choose one path (or the correct path may choose you, because sometimes that's how it works), but you keep moving forward.

If there's one thing this hellacious year has taught me, that's it. As I've noted before, if you keep looking behind you, the only thing you'll ever do is trip and fall. Sometimes, even looking forward, you'll fall down (which is another thing I've learned this year) but you're much more likely to land on your ass if you don't even look in front of you and keep your eyes is coming rather than what was. You have to let the past BE the past. You can use it as the legend on your personal map, but you keep moving forward.

Just keep moving forward.

So I don't know which direction I'll end up going. The path has forked. The good thing about this is that I have options and opportunities and either way? I keep walking.

I'm going somewhere.

And so, dear reader, are you. So are you.

Midnight Muse

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with these fabulous ideas for blog posts. This is a great thing. Unfortunately, I frequently fail to jot them down, which is a less great thing as it results in a morning spent staring blankly at the screen, waiting for that great idea to come back and smack me in the head so I know what I'm doing here.

You can probably guess which one happened today.

But it leads me to two important questions:

1) Why, WHY WHY WHHHHHHYYYYY do the greatest, most inspired ideas strike in the middle of the night? Are they even really great ideas or do they just seem that way because you're only partially conscious and so everything that your brain presents to you seems brilliant? What's up with that? When I come out of a deep sleep in the wee hours, I am convinced that I could cure all of the world's ills and then make sure that the entire planet is fabulously accessorized and looks amazing.

I probably can't do that. But I have no guarantee of it, because I can't remember all of my ideas -- just the fact that they were completely brilliant and outstanding.

Which, of course, brings us to ...

2) Why don't I write any of this down? I mean, the likelihood of me being able to jot a legible note when I am only 15% awake and don't have my glasses on is not very high, it's true, but I should be able to read enough of my scribbles to know what I was trying to say.

Or, maybe not. Because I have to confess that I frequently find work related notes on my work desk and have no idea what they mean due to the fact that they say things like this:

"swingset
Pennsylvania
squirrels."

"OMG GIANT BEES. Ramp."

"Customer service yell yell angry."

As a result I think that anything I wrote down in the middle of the night would look like this:

"Camp? Moooo cow moooooo. With cookies."

"Garfield hahahahahahahaha not with balloons."

"Government sillies. With clowns. But not horses."

I'm just saying. I don't think it's going to work.

But maybe I'll try it anyway.

Friday Randoms

I

"When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up and marry Hawkeye Pierce from MASH."

"Dude. That show was like, totally old when you were a little girl. Alan Alda is waaaaay older than you."

"So? It could still work out. It's important not to give up the dream, I say."

II

"When I got divorced, I didn't get custody of the tent."

"Me either."

"But I DID get custody of the air mattress."

"OH MY GOD ME TOO!"

(in unison): "Have fun sleeping on the ground, asshat!"

III

"Lizzie, want some food?"

"mrow."

"Lizzie, want to play?"

"mrow"

"Lizzie, want to be my sidekick as I try to take out Inspector Gadget and Pesky Penny and her little dog, Brain?"

"MROW!"

"That's what I thought. Bwah hahahahahaha."

IV

"You know how, when you get older, all of the days go by super fast except for the ones you want to go by fast, like when you have a doctor's appointment or something?"

"Yeah."

"This afternoon has been about 100 years long."

"But for someone who's over 100 years old? YOU LOOK MARVELOUS."

"I knew I kept you around for a reason."

V

"That's when I asked myself, when did the 'it's perfectly acceptable to scream at other people' memo go out? I did not get that memo."

"Me either."

"I mean, if you need to yell at me go for it. But realize that within 2 minutes my brain's gonna shut off and I'm not going to actually hear you."

"That makes people even more angry."

"I know. That's one of the reasons I do it."

Operating Systems

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me if I had upgraded to the new operating system for my phone. I said I had.

"Do you like it?"

"It's okay."

"How is it?"

"It's like the old operating system. But different. Not wicked different? But you notice."

*****

After I lost Beansie, I wanted to get another cat, but I was worried that I wasn't ready. I was worried that I wouldn't love another cat enough, that I would unfairly expect some poor, unsuspecting kitty to be Beansie 2.0, when I knew that wasn't possible.

Lizzie B, the new kitty, is not Beansie 2.0. She is Lizzie 1.0.

And yet. While I don't expect or even want her to be Bean, there are obvious similarities. Lizzie is smarter than Bean was, but she remains adorably silly. Unlike Bean, Lizzie is not interested in being in the shower when it's running, but she does want to snuggle up with me when I sleep. She likes the exact same kind of toy that Bean liked and ignores other ones. And, like Bean, she will stretch her head back so she can look into my face and make sure I'm still where I'm supposed to be.

She is very like Beansie, but wholly different.

"Do you miss Bean?"

I will always miss my sweet girl. But Lizzie makes my life better.

Different. But better.

*****

This year has been difficult. Like, knock me down and kick me around difficult. As a result, I am not the same person I was on December 31of 2012.

And that's okay.

Because the truth is that 2012 Danielle -- even June of 2013 Danielle -- had a propensity to be selfish. She wasn't generous with her love or her time. She thought she was; if you had asked me if I was a good person then, I would have said yes, of course I'm a good person. But I was a fearful person. I held a lot of things close to the chest that were better shared. Friendship, and honesty, and tenderness. I wasn't as open as I am now. I didn't trust other people because I didn't trust myself.

I didn't know how to ask for help. I didn't know how to receive it.

These are flaws in the system. When you can't tell people when or where you're at, you are alone all of the time; alone is not ideal. We're not meant to be entirely solitary, I don't think. We're meant to live in a community, functioning within it, not separate from it.

I am more uncertain of life than ever, but I'm not afraid of it now. I'm feeling my way through the center of it rather than clinging to the walls and doors.

I'm the same in many ways. I didn't lose or forget the fundamentals of who I am. That would be wrong.

I'm different. I'm running on a different system.

Not wicked different. But you'd notice.