Monday, February 28, 2011

The ladies have released their anger

I was reading the other day and came across this,
I do not hasten to be angry for anger rests in the bosom of fools.
I had to laugh.  But I also must confess.
This rage has been pulsing through my veins so greatly you could say my boobs have been angry somethin' fierce.
(Loose interpretation, but you get the point).

'Slow to anger 'is not easy.
Especially if you feel you've been had by the same person in the same way more than once.
Or twice.
Or Lord have mercy, I've lost count it keeps on happening.

How then could I not get mad?

I'm an honest person.  I expect others to be equally honest with me. 
You need to tell me something?  By all means.  Please pay me the courtesy of the truth and tell me. 
You hate my stinkin' guts?  Then be a man and share your mind.  With me, that is.  Not the minions you tell one thing and then the other lies you tell only moi. 
You have intense feelings for me you pretend don't exist?  Well you better take a good look at 'em and realize it's your own Narcissism you're in love with.  So get it together and realize the things that don't bring you peace aren't from God.
And who wants stuff that's not from God?
Something tells me it will only end in tears.

It always magnifies anger within me ten fold when I feel my life is repeating itself.
It's like, didn't I already head down this street?
Did I really forget the street dead ends just past the castle?

I think one thing we so often overlook when we're angry is that we're not merely mad at the offender.  We're mad at our own gullibility in falling for the same old trick we'd already survived and freed ourselves from.  Sometimes I think I must be like poor ol' Wile E Coyote thinking this time's gonna be different and I will stop the Road Runner and have it for my very own.  And yet I always manage to be the one with an anvil landing on my head.

No wonder I got so damn crabby.

Anvil induced migraines do not go with my vintage hats.

But I don't wanna be a fool.
I wanna be slow to anger and quick to forgive.
I wanna believe the best even when all evidence points to the likelihood that Prince Charming is actually an egomaniacal-two-faced-user-abuser-extraordinaire and I'm the schmuck Jesus would talk about in a parable so as to incite what NOT to do.

But I refuse to accept the selfishness behind gestures disguised in loving acts.

I will not let this anger rest in my bountiful bosom.
I think they're just peachy on their own.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

And they say Chivalry's dead

I have a new prince in my life.
Well, he may be a bit young to yet be a prince.
I suppose then he is a duke.

I have to say I was initially wary of spending time with him.  Under my recent circumstances I'm wary of men in general.  Sorry boys, you know I love you dearly, but I've been kicked in the gut just a few too many times as of late and as such I've become like a paranoid android who was recently held at gun point: I dart my head side to side like some tropical bird waiting for some attacker to jump out of the bushes.

It sounds silly but I actually find it off putting now when I feel a man is leering at me.  I used to delight at any sort of attention a man threw my way.  Snaps for me!  He's savvy enough to appreciate how gorgeous I am!  But now I feel so distrustful, I just want to be left alone.  I'm not sure I've ever felt like this before.  But it certainly makes me one of the minority who actually enjoy their life as a Singleton.

But this duke, he just wanted to spend time with me.  We just talked.  Do you remember what that's even like to be around someone of the opposite where you just share stories and enjoy each others company?  No ulterior motives.  No hidden agenda.  No false intentions.  No saying I'm not the one and then pinning me against the wall with kisses.

It was just...nice.  He's good people.  It was an unexpected treat to have company with someone who didn't make me nervous or make me doubt who I am.

Maybe for some of you you're thinking what's the big deal? 
But I don't have guy friends. 
None. 
And when I do finally seem to find a friend it never lasts. 
And no, it's not because I always end up kissing them.

Though that's a big part of it.


I think this duke was brought into my life to remind me that men like him do indeed exist and are not merely urban legends.

He hardly knows me and he made a lovely cheese pizza, just for me, because he knew I was sad about everything and he wanted to cheer me up.
And when we ordered our drinks he paid for mine but acted like it was no big deal.
When we were outside for a time I hadn't said or done anything to complain but he just, out of the blue, put out his cigarette and said, You're getting cold.  Let's get you inside.
And when I told him a little of all that's been going on he said it sounded like I was doing all the right things, all I could do in the situation.
You're such a sweet girl, don't worry, he encouraged me.

It all probably sounds so simple but it was somehow everything I needed in that moment.

I hadn't even realized I'd grown so wary of others.  I've become someone who'd rather just be alone if I can't be around those few I really trust.  That's probably part of the reason I wasn't eager to go on that second date.  There are so many folks out there who sadly just want to take something from you.  And having the kind of nature that wants to give all it can to help another or make them happy makes me vulnerable to those who would abuse such generosity.  Sometimes it's too late before I feel the affects of giving away all too easily so much of myself.  Suddenly I'm left feeling like all these tiny holes have been punched out of me but no one is around mending them or filling them with their love.

I'm done cutting myself up for those who leave me with nothing to hold onto.

This Reese is not up for the taking, contrary to popular belief.
Get yourself a blow up doll and you can use and abuse her all you like.
And she won't even get lippy when you cross a line.
She'll just look back at you with vacant eyes.

And you can wish and you can fantasize.
But the eyes you  look into will never again be mine.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

I'll take lies he told me for 500, please

It baffles me how people I don't know, people I don't even particularly care for possess a power to rattle me.

 I saw a friend the other night I hadn't seen in months.  We had worked together and she had been there for quite some time and as such was quite loved.  When people like you they will tell you things.  They'll reveal little nuances about themselves and sometimes say more than they ought to.  And my sweet little friend's ears have endured an ongoing diatribe on one topic in particular: Yours Truly.

It seems I am oh so very important!  How lucky for lil' ol' me!  Even after months have passed I'm still the hot topic on everyone's lips.  Why thank you ever so!  Apparently they all really have nothing more happening in their lives than the scandals of this irresistible goddess.  Perhaps their ongoing fascination of all I was involved in, their need to discuss it at great lengths is really a reflection of their desire to be involved in something so titilating and exciting themselves.

Hmm. 
But maybe I'm hitting too close to home on that one?
I'll just come back to that.

There were two parts of my friends story that were shocking:.  One was the accurate details of my personal life Mr. Pastor knew about. (Yes, the one who is slandering me more than nearly anyone else, other than perhaps The Ogre, is a pastor.  Let us all take a moment and pray a protective prayer over any of the unfortunates who are counseled by this so called "man of God."  A man of god I might add who gossips and slanders God's children rather than show love and compassion toward them; a man who steals from his work place but considers the sins of others unforgivable because he's blinded to his own...but I digress).

Mr. Pastor revealed to my friend such intimate details that I hadn't even told my closest girlfriends about which means he heard them all from one source and one alone.  My jaw simply fell open upon hearing her repeat the details.  I couldn't believe they were being discussed.  And altered, I might add. 

You want to brag to all your homeboys about how you scored with me?  Go right ahead, honey.  I know my notch in your bed post was a HUGE deal to you.  But you're going to lie about what transpired?  Oh-hoh-ho, I don't think so.  Why don't you put on your big boy pants and take ownership for your own idiotic choices.


Match.  Point.

Mr. Pastor not only spent an odd amount of time discussing me with my friend but she said he kept making these comments that made her feel like he seemed to have his own hidden issues.  Did you know he's getting unemployment now and getting more money than he did when he was working?  Maybe I should have an affair!  Mr. Pastor shared.  My friend said she just frowned at him and he chuckled, Oh I'm just kidding!

Yeah.  Surely.  Hardy har har.  And how does that proverb go....out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks?  So what comes out of us is already in us to start with?  Hmm.  Oh, but you're just talking obsessively on these various topics that don't involve you to catch up with your dear friend. 

I see it all too clearly now.

Well, God is a god of justice and He will surely deal with this hypocrite accordingly. 
God speed, Mr. Pastor.  May you truly learn a renewing compassion and tender love for mankind once God has shattered your hubris and broken you down so he can rebuild you.

Good. Times.

The other thing that was surprising to me was how greatly this passive, short lived friend of mine came to my defense with the several people she said were slandering me.  The Ogre told her, I hate her because she ran off the nicest person I know to Alaska.  You can't get further away than Alaska.  And my friend responded by telling The Ogre, When I was sad and lonely in Maryland, she was the only person calling me, writing me, sending me a care package for my birthday.  You couldn't even write a card to put in the care package!  The Ogre, quick to his own defense responded, Well, that's because it was from her

I just laughed.  Because I'm the Devil.  And if the Devil is doing something loving then obviously he couldn't participate.  Because, well, I'm so very evil, of course.

It's nice to know that while men think they're stronger than women physically, that they excel above us intellectually, that we're the weaker sex, that we need relationships and they do not, yet when it comes to choices in their lives, with their own actions, they suddenly declare themselves too weak to decide and blame any choices made on the influence of women.

I had no idea I was so very powerful over so many poor, weak minded, unsuspecting B-O-Y-S.

Maybe I can start a club and teach women how to harness their inner wiles for evil and move the puppet strings on the men unfortunate enough to cross their paths.

Or maybe I can laugh that so many "men" are really insecure, little boys who need me FAR more than I ever needed them.

Let us remember who pursued whom.
Who mounted whom.
Who is STILL pursuing whom.

What is final statements for 500.

P-L-E-A-S-E.

Thoughts on how you can be less of an asshole

When you want to justify your own agenda cite a book or a friend don't say "God told me" this or that.  It makes you sound like a pretentious ASS.  And you can't hear from someone you don't know.

Don't move again.  Once a year is far too frequent.  I'm sure the people around you love having you there. Really.  So why disappoint them?

Get over your obnoxious obsession with stevia.  Just be a man and drink your damn tea straight.  Or have some honey, for crying out loud.  Stevia is for wackadoos.  Wack-a-doooos.

Stop blaming the fact you're sexually repressed on women.  Just come out of the closet.  The lighting will be much better on you out there, I PROMISE.

Become a hare krishna.  They seem very peaceful.  And I bet all that fabric would be very becoming on you.

Join the peace corps.  Think of all the world you could see!  For all those years.  For a long, loooong time...


Join a monastery.  Then you will have lots of brothers to confide to the next time you "hear" from God.

Learn a new tactic in addition to your old standby, passive aggressive.  Try aggressive aggressive.  People wouldn't know what to think.  Maybe it would even help with that repression.

Just a suggestion.


Disclaimer: this blog was written for entertainment purposes only and was not meant to be taken literally.  Those affiliated with any of the above finding themselves referenced should understand the jest behind the suggested actions.
And if you're wound too tight to not withstand a good ripping then perhaps you should refer back to item four and deal with the real root of your rigidity.

Nuff said.

I hope you enjoy this

Tonight I was reminded of the truth.

There is a fine line between reality and the illusions we accept as something substantial.
A voice of reason shattered the delusions I'd been holding onto for some time now.

They say character is what you are in the dark.
What if what you are has two faces?
The one you show the world and the one you reserve for someone in secret?
Which is the hologram, then, the Jekyll or the Hyde?

I've decided I really no longer give a damn.

The truth has set me free.

Kyrie Eleison.  Kyrie Eleison.  Kyrie Eleison.

I learned tonight that once again someone who was telling me one thing, whose ongoing attempts to express some kind of affection were all a ruse and that those closest to him, those he fellowships with are being told versions of the fairytale that reveal his actual contempt for the princess.

I thought the man who hated his love for me moved to the mountains.
But apparently he cloned himself and habitates right here in the suburbs.
Lock your doors, folks, no one is safe.
Nothing is sacred.

I haven't had to be reminded of such slander in a long time.  And hearing it all again tonight reminded me of how many times in so many ways with my countless efforts I have tried to free myself from such toxicity.  But try as I might, be I bitchy, indifferent, loving, unresponsive NOTHING. ENDS. THE. MADNESS.

Am I to spend the eternity of my existence receiving random letters, texts, emails, gifs from someone who continues to declare to the world how wretched I am?


But he wants me to think, what?
That all the hateful things he whispers over beers to his bros are a cover for his ongoing love for me?


Love does not say one thing but think another.
Love leaves you the hell alone when it no longer instills anything in you but pain.

I was so happy until I heard from this false prince charming.
He really is quite a vile man.
And he truly delights in the inconsistency that is his life.
And now his two great loves see him for all he is not.
How lucky for him.

Do you know I actually hope he does show his face again.
Just so he can see first hand the hate seething in these eyes.

His greatest fear has been realized: I view him now with the contempt I'd previously reserved for the lost boy.  He is equally deceptive, slanderous, a coward and a liar.

Except he's worse.
Because I really believed his lies.
I really believed he was different.

So he can continue to pour over his computer, alone in the dark and long for the days when this goddess believed the lies that he was something more than a regret, a mistake I'd undo if I only had the chance.

Sweet dreams, fallen prince.
I pray I will be freed from this demon once and for all.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Um. Whoops.

So I unintentionally typed out this url that clearly was not the url I meant to type.

I was looking up a friends blog and mispelled one word.
And this is what I was directed to.



To tell you the truth, I deleted this site a long time ago, I dont know how you continually see it. Oh well. I love you honey, for now and forever. And anyone that doesnt believe me can run off and die. And I hope that you love me to, because I wouldnt be able to live without you, Katie. I know I wrote some stupid shit on this site, and I assure you that I didnt mean any of it. It was a long time ago, so please forgive me baby. I truly do love you. And I'll see you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day...
Good luck with the PSP thing! Love ya!



Um.
I just don't even know what to say in response to that.

But it kind of makes me feel dirty for having a blog.

Shudder.

The words we never speak

Life isn't always what one likes, is it?

No. 'Tisn't.


I love 'Roman Holiday'.

It never ceases to get me all choked up at the end when Audrey Hepburn gazes at Gregory Peck from across the room and his eyes well up fighting back the tears.  And the way they look at each other communicates such love but they say so little.  In fact the words that are uttered between them are formalities for all the people surrounding them.  And all they're really communicating is through the way they look at each other.

Yes, even as a writer I can admit there are some things words fail to say.


I feel really silly admitting this but I totally cyber stalked somebody tonight.

And I'd really like to say I'm far above such juvenille activities especially as I approach my thirtieth year. 
But in my defense it was someone I don't talk to, that I haven't seen in what feels like a life time and if curiosity killed the cat then all I have to say for myself is, Meow.

I'm really glad I saw what I did, though.

I felt like I got to understand a little bit more about the things I'll never understand.
And in some new-age-technology-based-isolated-separated-sort-of-way, I felt connected to the person.
And that was nice.

And then I saw something that brought a little welling to my own eyes.

On my birthday, over ten weeks ago, they had made their status, Happy Christmas and Merry Birthdays!
And I knew that was for me.
That tiny, asinine, seemingly inconsequential thing.

But I knew better.

And people don't do things they don't want to do.
Especially when they have no idea that you'll ever know about it.
Which, I think is why it felt so special.

I stumbled on a little cyber sentence, a tiny phrase in the vastness of the web, that revealed a great deal more than I'd imagined.

And it was nice, for a moment, to hear something they could never say.

A Reese by any other name

My mother reminded me recently that I am someone who is very sensitive, very affected by her surroundings.  I suppose it explains why Gifts is my love language (SEE books by Chapman, Gary to educate yourself) because I am so visceral; being around certain places or people stir up memories in a way that overwhelms me more than in others.


Which is partially why I would really love to get this job at Nordstrom.


When I went in for my interview Tuesday I oozed confidence.  I made sure to wake up hours before my interview so I'd have plenty of time to read and pray, have some quiet time, have extra time to do my hair and makeup just right.  And let me tell you, I. looked. fan-tastic!  My hair had curled in perfect ringlets where frizz was nonexistent.  My makeup?  Flawless.  I haven't been that meticulous about my makeup since my last close at my old Starbucks.  I wore one of my little black dresses by David Meister, the one that channels my inner Karen Walker.

Yes, I think I own four, possibly five, black dresses by DM.  But the man clearly designs his dresses for my body and mine alone.  And really, if you saw how flattering they each are, you'd understand why I bought each and every one.  On Sale.  Of course. 

I even managed to get to Nordstrom early and if you know me at all, you know tardiness is one of my less than lovely qualities.  I honestly don't know how I've managed to keep my job because the number of times I've been late to work over the years is laughable.

I mean, it's very serious and I know I really need to be on time. 
Ahem.

Anyway, I strutted my way to the cosmetics department ready to knock the socks off the department manager.  She introduced herself and shook my hand. 
You look familiar, she commented. 
Yes, I smiled at her, you worked for Lancome when I worked for Lauder
That'd be six years ago, folks.  Ten extra points for me that she remembered me!  I was so ridiculously confident as I sat down at the table with her that I could have been sitting across from Meryl Streep for a film audition and I wouldn't have flinched.

This job is mine, my inner voice chanted.

So, tell me, she began the interview, what are your thoughts on team work?

Uhh....
Silence.
I opened my mouth to speak and a frog's croak fell out.

I was certain if my life truly were a movie this was where the camera zoomed in to my face and my inner voice sighed an R rated word.

Speak, Reese!  For the love of lipstick, TALK!!

I laughed nervously.  I'm sorry, I said.
That's alright, she smiled back.  Take your time.

I uttered some unintelligible bologna on how great team work was and shifted uncomfortably in what felt like my now less than amazing little black dress.

Starter slipup, I reassured myself.  Not a big deal.

Tell me about what you liked and didn't like when you worked here? she continued the interview.

Ugh.
I am so not a bullshitter.
I am uncomfortably honest.
I make people nervous.
I say shit that makes others shoot me a double take and ask, You didn't really say that to them, did you?!

Yes. 
Yes I did.

But this?
Oy golem.
This was not my element.

I gave her another bullshit answer and could feel in my gut this wasn't going the way I wanted it to.
So I decided to make it happen.

Can I just say something?  I asked my interviewer.  Just to toot my own horn for a minute?

By all means.  And she gave me the floor.

So I told her all about how last month I made our two day coffee sale goal in four hours.  How my store has always been such a black sheep with sales in our district that when our DM called to check our numbers she had to repeat the number several times because she just couldn't believe we'd sold so much.  How my supervisor was so impressed with my mad selling skills she'd asked me to write down tips for my co workers.  I called it Resa's Sparkly Tips for Selling Coffee.  Everyone calls me sparkles because I'm always wearing glitter!  I bragged.  And I talked about how important it was to mention promotions to everyone and how even people I thought would say no when I asked them would surprise me and buy the product.  I told her that I was in tune with each customer so if my instinctual bubbly personality was going to be off putting to someone I would tone down my style to better suit them.  One customer after I told about the promotion turned to my co worker and complained, You didn't tell me about that!  And I just realized it's important to tell every customer about what we offer because they want to know!

And when I'd finished pitching myself from just about every angle I could think of in those few minutes I stopped and smiled at her.

I love everything about what you just said, she replied.

And my inner voice sighed a sigh of relief.
'Atta girl.  We knew it was in there somewhere.

As the interview progressed she even said, I really hope this works out.  I have a good feeling about you.  I think you'd be a great fit.

So?
I haven't heard anything yet.

I did talk to the counter manager yesterday and it sounds positive but is still very much in the deciding stages.  And the truth is, the way these things happen I could very easily have favor and get hired or I could just as easily not land the job because of something arbitrary.

I know if it's where I'm meant to be, then it will happen.
That's one really keen thing about faith.
You trust that He puts you where He wants you.
And anywhere else I just don't wanna be.

The funny thing is I genuinely like my job right now.  I have a great rapport with my co workers.  I feel needed and appreciated.  I have fun.  I make people happy.  And I know I'll be fine if I don't get this new opportunity.

But I also know the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere that doesn't have so many memories associated with it, somewhere that isn't covered in windows where I glance expectantly daily wondering who might walk through our store doors, would be really good for me right now.

Do you go by Teresa or Teresa Renee? she'd asked me as we were finishing the interview.

Either one, I'd said.

And I thought how wonderful it would be if I was somewhere where everyone knew me as Teresa Renee, where I could just be Teresa Renee, and Resa could be a memory and an occasional pet name by those closest to me. 

It's a little thing. 
But everyone called me Resa because he did.
And I'd like everyone to call me my name because it's who I am.
And there's more to me than Resa.
I want a chance to show what all that is.

His and Hers

Hers

Peace you leave with her; Your peace you now give and bequeath to her.
Not as the world gives do You give to her. Do not let her heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

She is overcome with joy because of God's unfailing love, for You have seen her troubles and you care about the anguish of her soul.

She is useful and helpful and kind to others, tender hearted, forgiving others as God in Christ forgave her.



His

I thank my God in all my remembrance of him.  In every prayer of mine I always make my entreaty for him with joy.  I am convinced that You who began a good work in him will continue until the day of Jesus Christ, developing and bringing it to full completion in him.

I do not cease to give thanks for him, making mention of him in my prayers.  Grant him a spirit of wisdom by having the eyes of his heart flooded with light so he may know the hope to which you've called him.  And what is the surpassing greatness of your power to those who believe.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Needs they won't show

I'm tired of being a Mom.  I want to do something for me.
There's this really cute gal in my dance classes.  'Cute' makes her sound like she's a high schooler and she's likely older than I am but she really is.  Totally cute.  I told her she reminds me of a cheerleader and she laughed but was a little put off by it, Why does everyone say that? she asked rhetorically.

Truthfully?  It's probably because she's very petite, very blonde and very pretty.  And she always has a Miss America smile painted across her lips.  And she also dances with the precision only a cheerleader or drill team dancer can master.

Regardless I've decided I'm adopting this runaway Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader because something tells me she's a kindred spirit.

I complimented her on her dancing the other night.  There are a lot of gals at the studio and some have got the moves but very few are performers.  There's an extra light that shines from within a true performer and they are the ones your eyes inadvertently are drawn to.  Something about them is captivating and as I guessed it, the cheerleaders love for dance was on par with mine.  I watched that love emulated in her dancing.

They're having auditions next month for a dance team. You should audition, I told her.  I'd hire you.

Thank you,
she beamed.  I'm planning on it.  I'm so excited.  I'm tired of being a Mom.  I want to do something for me!  She laughed at her own boldness but I could see she meant it with her whole heart.

I'd used that same expression when I'd hoped to be cast in the play I auditioned for months ago.  I want something for me.  And I know the dance team is the same thing.  It's like having this really dazzling secret that no one else in your world gets to be a part of.  And when you're doing this thing that's just for you all the rest of your life, the headaches, the responsibilities, the relationships, slip away because this is all about you and this talent few get to see.

And while I know like any audition there will be competition and the factor of fate and whether or not it's meant to be, I also know my passion for performing, for dance especially, is going to be evident in my performance at that audition.  And I'm certain the cheerleaders equal enthusiasm will be impossible to miss.
And something tells me the cheerleader and I will earn spots on the team.

And if not we know we've always got class.
And no one and no thing can stop us from shining every night there.
It's just a fire within us.
And few ever get the treat in delighting at the sight of it.
But some things are just for us.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

I think one of the reasons I love talking to my Mother is because we think alike.  And we think in a way that contrasts greatly from the rest of the world.  We're the kinds of gals who believe the best no matter how many times the worst tries to prove us wrong.  If rose colored glasses were actually visible then I'm pretty sure Mother and I would have pink sparkly eyes.

Oooh!  Pretty!!

Recently I was left an unexpected gift.  It was from someone I haven't seen in ages and the eyebrow raising part of it was that the gift was something I'd given them.  It's possible they forgot I'd given it to them as a present to keep since time had passed but that was unlikely. 

I really believe they're far too savvy to be quite that forgetful.

So, understandably, receiving the item left me in a state of confusion.
And because I like to talk things out I asked several people I'm close to their Oh so humble opinions.  And the only thing they could agree on was that they didn't know.  But most of them didn't know with a sinister under tone.

My Mother was the only person other than myself who saw the love behind the gesture.

But like I said we'd find good in a hopeless situation.
It's our lot in life.
And I wear my faith with a smile in my eye, thank you.

Mother said, You know he is special.  And that the gesture was to say all that words failed.

And I thought even if we were both radically wrong, I was glad Mother and I saw eye to eye.

Test 1- Fail. Test 2- Fail. Test 3,647- Pass!

Eureka!

It took awhile but I think I finally got it.


I don't get to have everything I want.


Well, DUH, Reese.
What's such an overwhelming discovery in that?


The thing is, I seem to keep forgetting that.
I'm good at making things happen.
I'm skilled in manipulating situations to get what I want.
You could say I know how to work what I've got to get what I don't got.

Sneaky.
That's what I am.

But this past week I have wanted to hear from an old friend.  And I mean I. Wanted. To. Hear. From. Him.  Like, my inner five year old princess was jumping up and down stomping her feet when it didn't happen that first day I expected it to and I wanted to yell, The princess wants to see her friend!  Right now!  Didn't you hear me?  Hello?!  Priority Princess Resa!  I have spoken!  Where is said friend?!!

And alright so my hissy fit was much more internalized than how any five year old could physicalize it but it's very genuine all the same.  And today I just had to laugh at myself because I remembered this is not, I repeat, NOT the first time I've gone through this same pattern, over this same topic and it hit me smack on my smug lil' nose.

I'm not gettin' what I want because I need it too badly and I don't even realize that I think I'm entitled to it.

I ain't entitled to nothin'!

I should simply be thankful for everything that does or does not happen and trust that if the Big G wanted it to be different today it would be different today.

Do you know how many times I've pined for a guy who wasn't right for me and been mad I couldn't get him?

Or how badly I just wanted to go on a date, not fall in love, just have a date to have one and I did!  But I was dissatisfied.

Or how much I'd like to have a new beau so I'd stop pining already for that block head whose still managed to possess my heart but I don't have a bf.  And you know who IS in a relationship now?  The Ogre from team Mr. Volcano who hates me with the fire of a thousand suns. 

And you know how they say you can always find one good thing about every person, that there's something likable about everyone?  That is NOT true about this ogre.  I remember one day at work trying to think of something to compliment him about, trying to love my enemies even if it kills me.  And I tell you what, I just thought about it for days because I couldn't think of anything good about that bastard.  And he has a girlfriend!!!  HE does!!

And I'm single?  Really? 

Whoever thinks life isn't a comedy should tune into mine.


But the truth is I'm sure if all I wanted was a boyfriend I could make that happen.  It might be with some guy whose far less appealing than Prince Charming but I don't want something less than.  I told someone once about when I met this guy, nice enough, pretty fond of me, but I just didn't have an overwhelming desire to knock him down and tear his clothes off.  And I need that, you know?

So my friend whose not available to me, whose not coming into my store or sending me a letter or answering my incessant questions the five year old princess is ready to fire their way, is not giving me what I want when I want it.

But as I remembered, sometimes I don't get what I want.

And you know what?
That really is just fine.

I just gotta remember that.
And surely this won't be the last time.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Fill in the holes you've made

I am a communicator.
I am an overcommunicator.
If there was a word that encompassed One who communicates more than the world united together ever thought possible this one gal (SEE Moi) would house that enormity in her ability to communicate.

I am the Alpha Communicator.


I don't know why I always have so much to say.
But there are lots of people who have too much to say.
I, contrastly, always say it.
All of it.

There have been countless times when I've wanted to say something to someone and I did.
I will never be one of those women who sighs If Only or What If. 
I'm such a damn doer reactionary activist that if the thought crosses my mind I will act.
I'm the one God's holding onto by my coat tails as I scurry along in place ready to heave ho and have at it and He's ushering me to calm down and wait and kill the motor, little dude.

Patience, young grasshopper.  All in due time.

I hate wait.

So my most painfully challenging great wait to date?

I can't have contact with those I have so much to say.

Some people would be relieved to have the tear makers removed from their life. 
I know I SHOULD be.

But I have so much more to say.
And I have no way to say it.
I can't be heard.
I can't search for truth in their shifty eyes.

I can only accept all the words that I will never utter.

I can shout and I can scream and I can scribble away all these private dreams
but there are those who've been left blinded, who may never read my words,
those who've lost comprehension, where my songs would be sung to deaf ears.

And humorously, it bothers me my communication cannot be communicated.

But I accept defeat with poise and grace and delight in knowing where they are not, there are those who are.

And surely one pair of eyes, one set of ears work just as well as those who've disappeared.

Recollection

I had this dream.
There was a man.
Handsome.
The kind of dreamy that makes me hold my breath in awe.
And our eyes met.
And the attraction was instant.

Mutual.
Inviting.

And when he spoke his tone was direct, without pretense, agenda or deceit.
He was sincere.
Honest.
Genuine.

And he didn't call.
And he didn't text.
And there was no Facebook, or apps or gadgets involved.
It was much more basic and primitive than that.
It was pheromones and lust and an awareness that something intoxicating existed within this person.
And it would be impossible to ignore.

So action needed to be made.
And he braved the challenge.
And spoke what he felt compelled to speak.
And it brought a permanent smile to my crimson lips.
And I wasn't even surprised that I felt so comfortable, so at ease, around a stranger.
Someone who seemed to know.
And that was all I needed.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Many Faces in Veronica's World

Veronica found herself in a bakery she'd frequented for years but hadn't been to in a long time.  It felt familiar to her but in a distant way; the way something is known because of a memory that is mostly remembered. She met Cordelia who she also hadn't seen in months.  They often met at the bakery and if it were open later their conversations would have likely slid into evening.  They always had so much to say to one another which was partially why they were so fond of each another.  But they'd known each other less than a year. Some connections don't take long.  In fact some of Veronica's most intense connections were shorter than this paragraph.

Yet those were the ones that continued to haunt her.

Soooo. How was your date? Cordelia asked Veronica.

Meh.  I don't know, Veronica searched for the right words.  Nondescript.  It was just...beige.  I guess it had a more friendship vibe than a romantic vibe.  He didn't even tell me I looked nice and I wore the hottest little dress!  Maybe he was nervous or maybe he just wasn't really interested.  Veronica shrugged.  It was kind of disappointing.

Oh, I'm sorry, Cordelia said.

Yeah, I didn't even think it mattered to me until it was over and I realized I was disappointed.  And then it really made me miss him.  You know, every time I saw him, within the first minute he'd say something about how great I looked.  He always made me feel like I was captivating to him.  I guess I just wasn't to this guy.  Veronica took a sip of her coffee and looked out the window.

Cordelia was quiet for a moment and then tilted her head thoughtfully. It's going to be really hard for you to meet a guy who makes you feel the way he did, isn't it?

Veronica looked up at her and blinked.
I guess so.  I never thought about it that way.  Veronica got quiet again and then not wanting the tone of the conversation to get too serious brightened up.  I'll have to have this long list of criteria for every potential guy: Ok, you have to think I'm a goddess, that I'm absolutely the most gorgeous woman in the world, talented, an amazing actress, singer, writer... Veronica couldn't continue because Cordelia and her were overcome with a wave of laughter.

What?  You think I'm asking for too much? Veronica smiled and arched her left eyebrow.

Absolutely not, Cordelia grinned back.  And they raised their coffee cups in cheers and drank a third of their coffees.

Do you think men have a sixth sense about these things?  Veronica changed the conversation tone once again.  Her moods, like her hair color, changed with frightening speed.  I mean, in knowing when you're vulnerable and needing them.  Do they have this built in radar that knows the precise moment to make a move because it will be nearly impossible for you to resist?

I don't know.  What do you mean?  Cordelia asked.

I mean he came in to my store again.  Veronica paused and drank more of her coffee waiting for a reaction.

He DID??!! Cordelia nearly whispered.

Did I or did I not say I was anticipating him doing something around Valentine's day?  And four days after Hearts day what does he do?  Something!  I have no idea why I'm so oddly a tune to him.  It's either absolutely amazing.  Or absolutely psychotic.  Or amazingly psychotic!  Ha!  Veronica smiled at her own cleverness.

You know, things may not work out for him, regardless of you, Cordelia stated matter of factly.

Really?! Veronica responded much too eagerly but then quickly caught herself.  Well, I hope it does.  I mean, I do want him to be happy.

I know you do, Cordelia responded.  And I'm sure he feels the same way about you.

I'm just honestly not really sure what to think.  I guess,
Veronica continued slowly,  I think it means he's either still in love with me and something's gonna happen.  Or he just doesn't want me to move on so he's trying to make me hold onto him to feed his ego.  Veronica locked eyes with Cordelia.  I'm either really excited or really pissed off.  The jury's still out.

Cordelia laughed.  Veronica always made Cordelia laugh no matter how serious the topic was.  So what are you going to do?

Nothing, Veronica said cooly.  One thing's for sure.  He'll be back.  I just have no idea when.  So I guess I'll just have to wait and see what happens.  But I'm not worried.  Veronica grinned her mischievious grin.  It's either something real or something awful and I'm not sure I want to know.  Either way I'm in trouble.  But I shine in every situation!

Cordelia smiled thoughtfully at Veronica.  How could he not love you?

Veronica smiled back.  How could he? she silently thought.

shades of grey

its not fair
your two faces concealed themselves
and you hid the evidence
of all i wasn't
and you can disappear
and you can reappear
and i will still see
such transparency
i was never enough
and you convinced the drones
it was all a mistake
but your mistake brings a smile of delight
to your parted lips
and you hide behind eyes
that house secrets
and fight against the war
raging within
and one day the rains will fall
and i may not be there
to catch them in my hands
but that's the chance
that keeps you up nights
i may be already fading away
then i shall be all yours
a hologram
of all you no longer possess

Game Over

I told my folks recently my life is really simple right now but it feels really full.
There's meaning in that somewhere.


Delight yourself in the Lord and He gives you the desires and secret petitions of your heart.

So you mean when I'm content and happy with my life as it is, with where I'm at and all I don't have then suddenly blessings are gonna show up at my front door?

Damn.
That's fantastic.

Can I be honest and share something?
When I held onto my past, I might add a past who didn't want me anymore, I. Was. Miserable.

When I sat around wondering what went wrong or why he no longer loved me or what I could do to try and entice him I was not the sparkly Resa I was made to be.  And I'm not talking about only one 'him' here.  I went through this same silly pattern with another guy who was wrong for me.

Do I really think the guy I'm meant to be with, the one chosen over all the others out there, The One, My Soul Mate is a guy who is so overwhelmed by his love for me he runs away?  Or even worse, he chooses to be with someone else over me?

I don't think so.
Have you SEEN what I look like??

So why why why why please ladies, look in the mirror and figure out why when we all know better we waste so much time thinking and hoping and scheming over someone who really isn't adding much to our life anyway.

You know what happened as soon as I let go, I mean really let go to a past that was doing his best to keep me stuck with him, when I stopped all contact once and for all, when I accepted whole heartedly that he would never be the prince I'd misdiagnosed him to be?

New doors opened.

It was like I woke up and my world was finally in color once again.
And all the grey that had suffocated me all those months of last year was GONE.

I discovered the dance studio that has now become a significant part of my life.  Because of all the dancing I'm doing I feel confident about making a dance troupe the studio is putting together.  Because the studio is the kind of atmosphere suited to my demonstrative personality and incessant effervescence I feel like I've made 30 new best friends.  Because I'm putting my passions first, I found a new outlet to channel all the love and passion I tried to express with a man who wasn't available to me. And I feel content.  I feel like I found myself again.  And I hadn't even known I'd gone missing.

And now I'm being asked on dates when for all those months there were none to be found.  And Oh how I wanted to date someone else and stop loving those men I needed to stop loving!  And it was like God had His arms crossed and his brows stern and He simply shook his head.  Nuh uh.  You need it?  You're not joyful without it?  Then guess what you aren't getting?  No dates.  You get no man to distract you and make this transition easy.  You get Me and you get you.  I know you can do it.

Oooh!  That made me so mad!  Son of a bitch, I used to sass God (Yes, sometimes I bitch to the Almighty and not just my girlfriends).  And I'd whine and complain and not trust.

Awe.
NOT trust.

You think God rewards that kind of behavior?  That'd be like giving in to a toddler everytime they throw a tantrum for cookies.  I think it's more like Him looking at me and waiting, and then asking, Are you through so we can move on to the sparkly future I have waiting up ahead?  Or are you still wallowing about the toxic things I lovingly removed from your life?  I have no problem waiting.  Did you or did you not ask MY will be done?

Gulp.
Maybe I did and maybe I did.

So my point?

LET. GO.

Those things you're fighting to hold onto, the people who don't want you, whatever change you're scared to make, just stop.  Do you really wanna stay here, right HERE for-ev-er?  Do you think maybe, just maybe, you will grow and be challenged if you're somewhere, oh, say different?

Hmm.

That's what I thought.

All of it, all that hell I survived last year has brought me here.

And I've never been more overwhelmingly content and excited to wake up every day.

And I don't have a glamorous job.
And I don't have a lover.
And I have very little money.
And on and on and on.

But I have faith.
I hope for the best.
I have the love of all who cross my path.

And I have the freedom in seeing FINALLY you boys, you sweet, clueless boys, were not for me.

But it gives me great satisfaction in knowing I was so significant to you.

So there's that.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

When the mind is on the moon




I had one of those moments tonight that caught me off guard.
The kind where I forget myself.
And I don't even notice I've slipped away.


I remembered for a moment how you always made me smile.


I put on a cd I hadn't listened to in a long time. 
And this song came on that had always made me think of him, that kid I once knew so well. 
I held so much faith in him then. 
I was like a child, incapable of believing the worst. 
I think that must be my greatest and worst quality. 
Leave it to me to be such an enigma.

I stopped at a traffic light and I noticed the moon. 
It was overwhelmingly bright. 
And the music played and a smile overcame my face. 
I remembered being huddled on that couch and the movie intro played in the backgound over and over. 
And we just sat there, looking at each other. 
He just sat there with this silly grin on his face, smiling like a fool. 
I remember feeling like I was holding my breath because I didn't want the moment to end. 
And I was afraid I might wake up.
It was one of those moments I believed held our truth. 
And I knew he finally saw it. 
It was impossible not to.
And I knew nothing could really come between us. 
Because the love we shared was unearthly. 
And I believed in it with all my heart.

And then I fell back to now.
And I remembered.
And all that once seemed to be is now a montage of images, like the movie that was ours, the Montauk where we'll never meet.

But I still have the memory.
And it brought a smile to my face finding it still lived there.
So there's that.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I broke up with my blog

Months ago I had an unhealthy relationship with my blog.

A toxic blog relationship is similar to a toxic Facebook relationship.  It really takes a certain type of person to be prone to that sort of unhealthiness but I suppose under the right circumstances it could happen to anyone.  It goes something like this:  Instead of checking your account once a day, you check it fifteen times a day.  You also check other people's profiles compulsively.  You don't look to see what they're up to once you look every hour, on the hour.  You change your profile pictures constantly.  You write status updates to try and affect a particular person.  You post and delete.  You block and unblock.  You are basically a completely chaotic, insane and inconsistent wreck who is beyond obsessed.  And yes, most of the victims of this illness tend to be spited lovers. 

Oh I know, none of you would ever be so ridiculous as to turn into a raging Facebook stalker like moi but just try and picture the insanity of it all.

I even deleted my account at one point because I'd become a paranoid android and felt like anything I posted or was posted on my wall was being read and discussed by the minions who detested me.  And the feeling I was being watched left me so uneasy I felt the only remedy was to delete the entire thing.  So I did and within hours my wave of paranoia was replaced with peace.

So my blog toxicity was a different sort of mongrel.  It was more isolated and specific than anything Facebook related.  I began writing for one person.  I no longer wrote for fun or wrote to vent or for anything Resa related at all.  I was only writing to one person.  And he knew it and he loved it and he totally fed my unhealthy addiction.  It was like we became each others crack.  I guess you could say I was the dealer and he was the junkie but I was also addicted to getting him high.  It was surreal having an awareness of the affect I had on someone.  The few times I did see him he'd quote my blog to me.  He'd. Quote. It.  Do you know how many times you have to read something to quote phrases from it, to quote several different lines from several different essays?  I ain't pithy.  If I lived in Dumas' time and got paid to write by the word vs. the book itself I'd be a gazillionaire!  Once Mrs. Couldn't Handle the Volcano tried to slander me by saying I was crazy because I wrote an ex an eight page letter. 
That was the worst thing she could say about me.  I wrote long letters.  I know, I know, I'm such a whore, right? 
I wrote Mr. Volcano an eight page letter that week just to show how easy it was for me.  Also, when I feel I'm being misjudged I make a point to set people straight.  Those small town hicks never understood my word prowess.  Asshats.

So as I continued experiencing what it was to affect someone so greatly, as they'd read whatever blog I'd post and then update their Facebook status to be relating to or quoting my blog, after they admitted to me they checked my blog five or six times a day --DAMN!--I, too, was affected. 
Ego-1, Spirit-0. 
I remember realizing one night that everything I poured into my blog lacked something.  It was missing an essence.  It was no longer me.

I quit writing after that because I knew the only way to end an addiction was to cut it off entirely.  And the truth was, it was better for both of us if I stopped.  I'd let him get into my head so much that I was entirely too self aware.  It was like knowing every move I made was going to be watched, studied and scrutinized.  I affected him.  That got me high.  But something I'd once felt so passionate about was no longer for me. 
And that revelation destroyed my buzz right then and there.

Like any new habit, it took time but I learned to release my old ways and began slowly writing again.  I even changed my blog URL so that he couldn't read it anymore and I wouldn't be tempted to write to him any longer.  I remembered what it was like to write for me again.  And I only wrote when something truly compelled me to. 

A few weeks ago I decided to try and discipline myself to write every day, as a writing exercise more than anything else.  They say to be a writer you have to write and if I only ever did the things I felt like doing, very little would likely get done in my life.  And the funniest thing started to happen: I find that I look forward to writing every day now.  I've made it a part of my daily routine and I'm certain I'd miss it if I didn't write.  One night I was so exhausted I simply wrote out a list of quotes from some of the men of my past and called it A Tribute to all that wasn't.  If you don't know me or any of those back stories it might be simply somewhat amusing.  But if you do know any or all of them it's absurdly entertaining! 
That's the great thing about words; sometimes it really only takes a few to speak volumes.  And to get a hearty guffaw from the readers who take them in.  And if there's one thing I love it's making people laugh.  I even started recalling past dates I've gone on and started chuckling myself over some of the wretched ones.

And honey, I've had men say things to me you only read about in magazine horror stories
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it turned out he had a girlfriend.  He whipped it right out, without warning, like, in my FACE.  He broke up with me when I didn't know we were dating.  He threw a condom at me.  He expected me to do it with him in his car on his lunch break before we'd even had our first date.  He made another date while he was on one with me.  He got a girls phone number in front of me on our blind date.  It turned out he was bulimic.  He talked about his ex for five hours.  He called me his Little Foot on our first date.  He asked me if I was having fun play time while making out.  In. A. Baby. Voice.  He couldn't meet me for drinks because he had to go home to his wife.  He told me he didn't like the name Resa and was gonna call me something else.

This is the stuff songs are written about.

And blogs. 

Lots of bitchy, drama filled, confessionals.

I'm so glad my blog and I are back together.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

You read what I write?

I remember the first time I found out someone other than my family or two best friends was reading my blog.


I was at work and a girl I went to high school with was in my store.  I never really knew her in high school.  I just knew OF her.  She was the type of girl the stars in teen movies are based after.  She was beautiful and smart, captain of the basketball team, the softball team, the homecoming queen and probably the prom queen and everyone from the band geeks to the computer nerds knew who she was.  Now she's a lawyer in California and dating some guy I also don't know whose well loved and likely has an obscene amount of facebook friends and she just oozes the stuff that Romy and Michelle would have aspired to be for their high school reunion.

So on this particular day this blast from the past happened to be in my store she told me something before she left.
By the way, I really love what you write on Facebook, your status updates and all that.  And I really love your blog. 
I know I stopped whatever I was doing and did a double take. 
You're a really talented writer.  I've told some of my friends who also blog about it and they read it too.

When she left I was stunned.  The Prom Queen liked MY blog.  My little, self indulgent, inane ramblings.  And she wasn't my Mom or my brother or my best friend.  She didn't have to like it just because she liked me.  She didn't know me.  And she read what I wrote.


It was definitely a sort of wake up call for me.  It was like this little reassurance I didn't even know I needed that simply said I do have a talent and I should keep at it.  And it doesn't merely bless me to release the thoughts but the thoughts bless others.

And that's pretty fucking fantastic.


Tonight a gal I also hardly know, told me she reads my blog and that I inspired her to write a blog of her own.  And how cool is that?  Isn't the ultimate goal of art to inspire?  And art that inspires art has got to be what it's all about.



One of the other compliments I've received as of late was from a friend who said, You make me feel better about myself.  When I'm around you I feel more confident.  And it fit in this tiny dark corner of my heart because my greatest desire is to inspire people, to make them happy, to make their days brighter.  And for whatever reason, I feel especially compelled to want to encourage the women in my life.

It hurt so much dealing with the hate and judgment of all those women I thought I'd won over last year.  Do you know how HARD I tried to be loving to those wenches?  Oh man.  I can't even begin to tell you how much I struggled to do all the things I felt that I needed to do in learning to love the Unlovables and especially loving my enemies.  And I don't mean in an overly spiritual, prideful arrogant way some folks act that makes them strut around looking down their noses at people.  They're the ones who scoffed I would NEVER do that when they learned of the idiot mistake I made.

No, I NEEDED to be loving towards those monsters for my own sanity and survival.  Because I knew something needed to change.  At that time, I hated going to work.  I dreaded being around so many of my co workers I think I only liked half of them.  I let those Miserables steal my joy every single day.  Then I'd go home and bitch about them to my friends and they'd steal my nights and my free time too.  Then I'd find out I was opening with them the next day and I'd be grumpy before I even left my house.

What the hell kind of life is that?

So can you see?  Learning to love them was for ME not them.  Sure, the times I managed to bless one of the She Devils was a positive sparkle for them but blessing them blessed me.

Hmm.
Ain't it great I can still find a way to make even the right thing ,the seemingly selfless thing, still about me?
It's a gift.

I'll never forget the first loving act I felt prompted to do.
The Alpha Witch, the one I was warned about before I even started working at that store, was going through a hard time financially.  And I decided I needed to give her some money.
WHAT?!  Give HER money?!  I'd rather do just about anything repulsive.  But the truth was I'd let myself get to the point that I genuinely hated her.  Oh, I know, nobody ever wants to admit they hate anyone.  I. don't. hate. her. I. just. don't. like. her. very. much.  Look up the definition of hate.  You aren't fooling anyone.  You're just too much of a coward to admit your own short comings.

Well I'm not.

I hated that bitch.  And that's why I needed to bless her.  Because hate was poisoning my heart.  And if I didn't step out and take action to change I would have stayed there in that miserable, unhappy state.

I won't bore you with the long, drawn out details or how that one act opened the door for an entirely different relationship but I will say that The-hard-hearted-never-smiles-porcupine-of-a-person cried when I gave her the card and money.  She even apologized for being so awful towards me and opened up about some of the painful things she was dealing with in her life.  I was beyond shocked. And I also had no idea how much pain she really was in.  And months later my boss made the comment after noticing how playful the two of us were working together, It's so weird how well the two of you get along now.
And I just smiled.

Because honey, you have NO idea what I went thru to get here.


And she wasn't the only one.  I went through personal struggles and journeys finding ways to understand and love those folks I spent so many hours with each week.  And I can say, without any ounce of hubris, I won them over.  Each and every one.  In September when I felt it might be my time to start a new chapter elsewhere I remember feeling my work was done.  It was time for me to be challenged and pushed to grow somewhere new.

But I stayed.  And I made a poor choice.  And the hate and judgment and slander that suffocated me from those I'd worked so hard to win over was STINGING.

Did they forget how they'd cried at my generosity?  Did they forget their overwhelming relief that I'd inadvertently answered their prayers in what seemed a hopeless situation?  Did they forget how much they loved their presents, my presence, how often they'd suggested we all go out for drinks?

Gone.
All gone.
That was all moot because now they had learned who I "Truly" was.
And all I'd become was a vessel for their disdain.

It was one of the worst experiences of my life.
And I pray I never make anyone feel as hated as they all made me feel.


And now?

Now they are all faded characters in a book I shelved long ago.  Now I giggle over the fact they probably continue to speak slander of me and I, conversely, am encouraging, inspiring, loving and blessing the new, wonderful people I'm meeting every day.

And I feel loved.  And appreciated.  And not a day goes by that some co worker or customer or stranger in a store says something appreciative towards me.

And the hate those Miserables poured into me, that stuck in my flesh and made it hard to breathe, has long fallen away.

And none of it has power to steal my joy any longer.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Alpha Bitch

"What the hell!  It's not even Valentine's Day!"

"True.  But Valentine's Day is on a Monday and you can't celebrate a Holiday on a Weekday because it's a WEEK. DAY.   And everybody knows important things can only happen on weekends."

Happy hour can be a pretty intense beast.

Sure, the drinks are half price and the appetizers are less than five bucks but during peak times navigating crowds and securing a table can resemble Animal Planet with the predators stalking their territory.  People scout out a table and lock eyes with nearby onlookers arching one tightly knit brow that whispers, Bitch, that table's mine.

So Sunday eve we stopped by the happiest happy hour in Portlandia (Bartini, how we heart thee so!) and the bar was unusually crowded in an obscene way.  (Thus my date's emphatic, What the hell!) 
I hate wait.  We all hate waiting.  But I am a firm believer in the adage You have not because you ask not.  So when I spotted three girls sitting on the two purple couches in the corner I thought I'd ask if they minded if we joined their comfy haven and we could take one couch while they took the other.

The look of hostility the Ugo on my right gave me nearly turned me to stone.

Oh honey, that's really not a good look for you, I declared.
Excuse me? she growled.
Unattractive girls should SMILE.  You know, try and play up all you don't have?  Smile more, scowl less. TRUST ME.
Steam.  Literally fumes started shooting out of the side of her head.
You're welcome! I grinned widely, then turned on my heels in my fabulous David Meister little black dress and walked away.

Alright, so maybe it didn't happen exactly like that.
Maybe I actually was a polite and friendly lady about the whole thing even when that cow glared at me as if to say, How DARE you ask to sit near us?  And maybe when the Alpha Ugo decided her and her two friends needed both couches that could easily seat ten people (I know because I've sat in those purple couches dozens of times with at least that many luscious ladies) I just shrugged and smiled, Ok, no worries! before I turned and walked away.

But wouldn't it have been SWELL if for one night Veronica made a comeback and put those wannabes in their place?

Like the time that coffee slut went after my then recent ex boyfriend and bragged about the group roller skating date he was going on with her.  And she'd sneered, I'm S-U-R-E you can come if you WANT.  He PROBABLY wouldn't mind.
And did I respond by telling her She's so pretty it was a shame she's such a whore?
NO.
I smiled and channelled my inner Mother and patron saint and politely declined, I have plans but thank you.

Bitch.  Bitch.  BITCH!!!

Ooooh man!  I wanted to pop that inflatible bitch and watch her fly around the room.

But I did end up going roller skating that night because HE had invited me to go.  And HE spent most of the time holding my hand and skating with me.  No words were necessary.  That whole night was girl code for, Step off, whore.  You don't stand a chance.

I got her back though, in my own Resa way.  Months later I dropped off these rings she'd loved of mine.  When I saw her after that she was SO sheepish around me.  There's a reason the scripture reads, Loving your enemies is liking heaping hot coals on their head.  It was like my generosity shamed her.

People know when they're being bitches.  Why do you think Mr. Volcano never wrote me back after I told him I was well aware of his continual slander regarding  me but that even IN SPITE of him I still believe in the amazing man he is even with how greatly he hurt me?

SHAME.

Shame thy name is Douchefuck.
And he does wear the title so well.
Especially from the mountains.
The fresh air surely suits him.
There are lots of men for him to climb.
Oh, I'm sorry.  Did I say men?
I meant TREES.  There are lots of trees for him to climb.

Silly Resa.


The alpha bitch still lives on.
And one of these days she may duct tape the demure mouth of Resa and tell every wretched chick they're just so beautiful no one would ever know they were a dude.

Or I'll continue making my Mother proud and just walk away.

But at least I can write about it.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

It's not raining, it's POURING

There are some expressions that are over used.
Contrived.  Chestnuts, if you will.
Some I know and love and some I'll never understand.
(And no, I won't Google them because I like having no idea why the hell people continue saying such expressions.  It is much more fun lifting one eyebrow and gazing at them suspiciously as I marvel over why they couldn't find their own creative words to say what they meant).

But ladies and gents, there ain't no other way to say it....

It's raining men!

I've decided God must have a most wicked sense of humor because there were no men to be found all those months I spent trying to get over Mr. Volcano (formerly known as Mr. Indecisive and yes, sometimes I forget and regress to old nicknames but rest assured there is one and only one Mr. Indecisive/Mr. Volcano/The Alaskan.  See PETER PAN COMPLEX.  No other BOY could house so many personalities.  Believe me, I know.  I've dated all his brothers).

But when I wanted a date?  Wasn't gonna happen.

Now?  I'm stoked about the option of newness but frankly could care less. 
And there. are. men. every. corner. I. turn.

You think God doesn't have a few tricks up His sleeve?
Oh-hoh-ho but He does, my friend.
HE DOES.

Case in point:

Friday was a day I made a decision seemingly insignificant but something I'd felt conflicted about for the past week or two. I felt I wanted one thing that really kinda conflicted with what the Big G probably wanted me to do (Damn flesh wanting all it can get and my Goodie two shoes spirit crying, 'But you know that's not what's best!' Grrrrr).  So, I rolled up my Big Girl sleeves and made the mature decision and said no to something the naughty, trouble making Resa was pissed to miss out on. 
And within a few hours two things happened.

One, I found out from an old co worker via Facebook that Clinique is looking for new talent and after messaging her it turns out Nordstrom is looking to fill a full time position in cosmetics.  I used to work for Nordstrom and have wanted to get back into cosmetics for YEARS. 
Is this job going to be meant to be and work out?  I have no friggin' clue.  But I DO know I didn't find out about it until AFTER I'd been obedient about something I really didn't want to be obedient about.  Coincidence?  Abso-fuckin-NOT.

Two, a guy I'd met MONTHS AGO (See Four) and totally felt an attraction to but nothing ever came of it asked me out.  That day.  After all that time.  Completely out of the freakin' blue. 
Again with the coincidence?  I don't care how cynical you claim to be you've got to be on this band wagon with me!!

What are the odds, folks?!

Will I get the glamorous, high paying full time position at Nordstrom?
Not a clue.
I may not even land an interview.
Truth be told?  I worked for Nordstrom and have since then interviewed five different times, 3 different locations, 5 different departments. 
No. Dice. 
Clearly if it's not meant to be it ain't happening.
BUT I could be given favor.  I could land an interview.  I could dazzle their socks off. 
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

The fact is the possibility of such an occurrence is amazing to me.  In and of itself.  Regardless of the outcome.

And the new Romeo?  Could be a total dud.  Maybe there'll be no zsa zsa zsu.  Maybe I'll look at my watch mid way through the date and long to be at home with this laptop.
Or maybe he'll dazzle my socks off.

And if he doesn't? 
I've already been asked out on ANOTHER date. 
By ANOTHER stranger.
In the last 24 hours.

Because God is just that damn entertaining.

And tomorrow's Valentine's Day and you know I would be surprised at nothing that may or may not happen.

Maybe Prince Charming himself will walk through those doors with flowers and a letter of reference for me because even after everything that happened I know he'd probably give me one of the most glowing references I could ask for.  Even if everyone else thinks I'm a nut for even asking for one.

Maybe the Russian will sense my overwhelming desirability and ask me to share some vodka with him.

Maybe Mr. Dreamy will walk through those doors after all this time and I won't even bat an eye in surprise because ANYTHING. IS. POSSIBLE.

It would take me days and hours to try and write all that has transpired in the last year and the fact that I am where I am, right now, sans all that I once held dear, stronger than I ever knew I could be, content in all that has been taken away, is a testament in and of itself.

So why don't you do me a favor. 
Step outside and look above you. 
At all those stars and those airplanes flying overhead and take a deep breath.

And marvel over the immeasurable, unlimited greatness of His power.
To those. Who. Believe.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

A Tribute to all that wasn't

I feel like I love you more than you love me because you need your friends and I don't need my friends.

We can be friends as long as you understand my heart is somewhere else.

You said you didn't want a boyfriend.  You lied.

My brother has never talked about anyone the way he talks about you.  I know how much he cares for you.

He has a girlfriend.  She has lymphoma.

You've lost your Conor privileges for awhile.

Why don't you get over yourself because everyone else already has!

I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you this.  I'm not interested in spending time with you anymore.  Bye.

I love you but I can't be in love right now.

I hate you for making me love you so much.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Bible Schmible

A gal asked me something today that I just know God found highly amusing.

How do you know so much of the Bible?

You see, this girl had clearly made up her mind about me long ago.  She'd labeled me and filed me and put me in a box that was the kind of box that didn't house the Good News.

I read it, I replied quite matter of factly.

And the confusion that possessed her face was most assuredly The. Definition. Of. Priceless.

Like I said, God was chuckling. 
I was certain I could hear it.

I know she really didn't mean for it to sound as condescending as it probably appears.  She just doesn't know me.  And all she does know of me is that I tend to talk about boys (Moi? NO!) and sex and relationships and I have no filter and she is easily offended.
(And I, Drama Queen that I am, greatly enjoy making the frigidly pious uncomfortable.  Sometimes people's tightly wound feathers could use a good shaking.  Let's open up the New Testament and read about Jesus' shenanigans getting folks' shrouds in a twist).

The thing is, I am what I am.

I love Jesus.
I also like making people laugh.
I like pushing boundaries.
I don't blend in.

I also love sex.
But that doesn't mean I give it away like candy either.
I can count my lovers on one hand, thank you.
Not that it's any of your damn business, anyway.

But then again is my walk with God any more of your business?
And whether or not I have one, doesn't He want you to love me as much as He does?
As much as He loves me in spite of all my falling short of His glory?

Or do I need to sugar coat this Sunday school lesson  for you?
You've been a believer for twenty years but walking in love is still an unpracticed concept.
And you didn't even notice that your tone of voice you used with which to speak to me changed dramatically once you discovered I serve the same God you do.

Sigh.
Let's try another tactic.

I, like you, have a spirit and a flesh.  And they are at war with one another.  That means sometimes I want things that aren't what God wants for me.  Think the little kid sneaking cookies from the cookie jar.  Only my cookies are sexy cookies. 
Tall, dark, can't take their eyes off me cookies. 
Mmmm....Yummy.

Ahem.
Where was I?

But with all my delicious debacles of debauchery I've also learned a thing or two about the Big G.
Here's a little secret I'll let you in on:
He doesn't ask us to do anything that's not in our best interest.
He knows His shizzy.
I'm the one whose straight up moronic.
I'm just moronic with sparkle.
And I'm not so pridefully moronic to not admit to it.

I am also intelligent enough to know if I give myself everything I want when I want it sometimes that's not what's best for me.  Sometimes discipline now brings joy in the future.  And this gal wants God's best in her life.  God's best kicks Resa's best's ass every day of the week and twice on Sundays.  I've spent enough years managing to get what I want to happen. 
I'm not always the brightest rhinestone on the tiara.
And somehow I've finally come to accept the Big G knows what He's doing.
I, alas, do not.

But what I do know is that people are more complex than we give them credit for.
There's definitely more than meets the eye.
And just because I don't look and talk and act like all the drones in your youth group doesn't mean I don't actively strive to be the woman of God He created me to be.

And I certainly am not letting this girls judgment steal my joy.

He knows my heart.

And everyone else?  Well they can just fall in the book of Matthew.
Because I will bless those who curse me.  I will do good to those who hate me.  I will pray for those who spitefully use and persecute me.

Even if it kills me.
And as Grandma said, It. Just. Might.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Pretty as a Picture

I received quite the compliment today.
An actor I hardly know, but felt a connection with at a callback months ago, commented on a picture I have on Facebook.
Wow. You're really gorgeous aren't you?
It was very sweet.
But there's more to it.

You see, this particular photo I took myself and put on Facebook nearly a year ago.
I can't believe it's already been a YEAR.
However can so many events take place in just 365 days?

And this photo I took for a particular boy, a boy who at one time saw me clearly but had come to no longer see me at all.
And I had hoped, if I wore my hair in those pigtails he fancied or gave the right look at just the right angle that maybe, somehow, he would remember all he once loved and see me as the beautiful girl he'd pined for all those years ago. 
I naively thought I could capture in one photograph all he failed to notice.
But I was mistaken.

My efforts were in vain and while I eventually got what I thought I wanted temporarily (no one can ever say I don't know how to get what I want) inevitably the boy who no longer saw me never again saw me.
Still hasn't.
And he never will.

And it took me a long time to accept that that's just fine.

I think all any woman wants is to feel really seen.  Not just as some fly-by-night sex on a stick. (Although I do appreciate the leers of the old married men who frequent Starbucks.  No.  Really.  Their smirks are priceless.)  Feeling desirable is swell but it's hollow, it's without.  It's like some delicious bottle of red wine but I'm just parched for water. 

I think the reason a lot of women stay with men they know aren't right for them is because they want these men to remember how much they once delighted in them.  Women are convinced if they become who they think their man would desire then maybe, just maybe, their Romeo will see the captivating beauty who sits before him.  And they fear if this man no longer sees them, then no man will.

I know part of the reason I fell for Prince Charming when I did was because I was reeling from a drawn out rejection and I was So. Tired. Of. Feeling. Invisible.  I was so desperate to feel what it was to be seen again.  So when the overflowing outpour of admiration put me on a pedestal you're damn right I wanted to be there.  I wanted to stay there!  Being rejected by PC may have been easier than my on again off again fiasco with Mr. Volcano but in some ways it was harder because I had remembered the sweet high of what it was to be seen by a handsome man.  And dammit, I wanted my high back and I wanted it yesterday.

But I learned as time drifted along that maturity brings highs so much greater than the fleeting ones of girlish validation.  I no longer needed him, any him, to see me.  I had learned to trust that where one will, so will another.  And another.  And another.

And if they didn't?  I know.  And surely that counts for something great.


So today, at a time when I'm becoming a creature unlike any other, when I'm learning to embrace the woman I truly am, the one whose filter free boldness offends some and delights others, on a day when I've remembered how full my life is s-o-l-o I was offered a small token of appreciation by a quiet observer, an unknown admirer who had to share his discovery.

I really am gorgeous.

And isn't it nice to know there will always be an attractive man who sees that, no matter how many frightened boys can't?


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

GOTTA DANCE!!

Moderation:
the quality of being moderate; restraint; avoidance of extremes or excesses; temperance.
In moderation, without excess; moderately; temperately.

The Resa:
Extremist Extraordinaire (See DIVA) 

I'm kind of a do or die kind of gal.
Geez, that sounds gruesome.
Let's try, now or never.  All or nothing.
Not half assed.
There, that sounds lady like.

My co worker was teasing me the other day because on Tuesdays I go to five dance classes.  I know, it sounds like a lot.  I go to two before work and three after work but they are all so different that until I hit those last ten minutes of the fifth class I've tricked my body into enjoying the pain.  One is a strength training ballet class. (Dancing like a ballerina is not, in fact, as easy and graceful as they make it look in the movies.  The balance of control without rigidity gives new appreciation to the term Prima Donna).
Two of the classes are dance classes where I learn a routine, so half of those classes are quasi mellow cardio and the other half are a do-the-routine-a-million-times-to-get-your-heart-rate-up cardio.  Zumba is another one of the classes and that class is cardio on steroids.  Sometimes the teacher says she even kicks her own ass.  And surely that ain't no easy feat.  The fifth class is Pilates which while mellow in terms of cardio it is the only fitness class I've experienced that manages to isolate the muscles with the most tiny, controlled movements and yet, still, my abs, legs and rear manage to leave the hour ON. FIRE. 
Impressively subtle German masochistic ritual. 
And yet I go back for more. 
Twice a week.

Tuesday is my overkill day but the rest of the week I average 2-3 a day. 
(And I rest on Sunday because if the Big G got a day off then I guess my muscles deserve a sabbath too).  But truth be told if it weren't for the whole Your muscles need a day to recover and grow adage I would go to Turbo Kick on Sundays too.

Because I freaking love these classes.  They are like crack to me.
Dance is the new Prince Charming in my life.

Don't you ever just want to go home and SIT?  My co worker asked me.
I scrunched up my eyebrows in thought as I mulled over her question.
No, I answered.  Not when I could be dancing.

Last week, towards the end of the week, when my classes and work were beginning to catch up with me, I felt tired and took a nap before class.  I had reached those first fuzzy rems of sleep and my blankets were willing me to stay where I lay and skip Burlesque because warm. cozy. blankets. soft. down. comforter. fluffy. pillow. sexy. dreams. mmmm.....Don't get up!

But then I remembered all the friends I've been making at the studio.  And I thought, if I don't go they'll wonder where I'm at!  I'd already influenced a few gals around me,which is ultimately my goal in life.  I want to inspire women around the world to wear red lipstick and strut their inner Divas for all to drool over.  One Diva at a time!  Huzzah!  My favorite inspiration to date was a gal who kept teasing me for dressing up at the gym, wearing a full face of makeup and rocking my fabulous hair accessories--feathers and veils to boot!  But the night I dragged my tired booty to Burlesque she had put her hair in these fabulous 40's style pin curls and even painted her eyes!  I realized the reason she'd been mocking my girly look at the gym was because she wanted to play dress up too.  And to think I might have missed it!

The other thing that was great that night was I had emailed the teacher about the dance team auditions and after a few correspondence I asked if sometime in one of the classes we could dance to one of Christina Aguilera's songs from Burlesque because, well, they are fabulous and the class is called Burlesque!  And just a couple days later, that night, I walked in late (because I really did have to d-r-a-g my butt from my bed) and the Burlesque soundtrack was playing!  The teacher had choreographed a routine to my song of choice just for me and I felt like the coolest girl in school wanted me to be happy.
And my girlfriends cheered, You're here!  We saved you a spot! 
And wouldn't you know, it was front and center.
As God intended.

I felt SO loved.

And dance class kicked my comfy beds ASS that night.

Grandma has even come to understand my love affair with dance. 
Tonight classes started later than when I leave on most days and after I'd been home awhile I came out to the living room and Grandma asked me, most concerned, You're not going to dance?  Are you sick?
It gave me a good chuckle.
Grandma knows the only thing stopping me from dance class is the plague.
And knowing me, I probably wouldn't let that stop me either.

I'm a determined little extremist. 

A couple weeks ago my Starbucks had what we call a Spike Day which is basically hip business lingo for Please sell more of our expensive coffee because we are not making budget this quarter.
And my store is like the black sheep of our district.  We sell so few pounds of coffee that our own manager bought two pounds the first day because he knew nobody was going to buy any.  And we had a goal of 10 pounds a day, two days, 20 pounds total. 
Never. Gonna. Happen.
But my boss had yet to see The Resa work her magic.
Day 1 of Casi Cielo spike day I worked 12-4.
I sold 20. Pounds. Of. Coffee.
Yup. 
This gal has SKILLS.

We sold something like 25 pounds total that first day because I have a kindred spirit there and she is almost more bubbly than I am.  I told her with how pushy and adorable we both are, we could run the world.

The district manager called to check where we were at in sales that afternoon and my manager had to tell her multiple times on the phone the number we'd sold because she was in such a state of disbelief.
The next day I sold so much coffee we ran out and so I sold all our half pounds.
I think my manager fell a little in love with me that week.
He did buy me two bottles of champagne as a prize for being so legendary.
And apparently that's only part ONE of my prize.
I heart presents.
I may even send myself flowers on Valentine's Day.
I deserve them.

I'M FABULOUS!