Thanks

1. for a beautiful child, a beautiful house, a beautiful car, a beautiful dog...not perfect but all mine.
2. for family, friends, and angels that surround me every day...and to those who are far away.
3. for a job that was wonderful for most of the time, but has reached its peak, and now it's time for me to move on...to a better opportunity.
4. for my online friends and lovers who have added extra dimension to my life...thank you.
5. for health, happiness, and love...may it continue for the rest of my time here.

6. for black shirts that are perfect for jeans and skirts, sweaters and leather jackets, and for overall dramatic effect...slimming effect.
7. for my slr and my new digital...welcome to my life.
8. for tejava iced tea, water, and pears in november...trader joes, i love you.
9. for cable tv...can't get enough of the shows, man, especially on this long weekend.
10. for limewire..someday, i'll upgrade, but for now, it's later.

11. for some of the best blogwriters...you have inspired me to create, to see different perspectives, to imagine.
12. for ross, target, ikea, barnes and noble, 24-hour fitness, the rose bowl...thank you.
13. for corner bakery, chipotle, kabuki, and islands...yummy.
14. for peanut m and ms, twix, reese's pieces, kit kat...sweet.
15. for avid, basketball, violin lessons...which all help to make matt a well-rounded person.

Blessings from MY FRIEND

This afternoon, MY FRIEND stopped by to watch his favorite movie, Collateral. He has a beautiful way of analyzing the image of Vincent's last breath that cannot be seen by eyes who have not seen the movie at least 20 times. For this, I love him (MY FRIEND, not Mr. I'm-so-in-love-that-I-bought-Katie-a- sonogram-machine). He also granted my wish for some butter. Too much, for just little old me, but it smelled good. My hands still smelled of it after the exchange. MY FRIEND loves 420 because it allows him to escape the miserable position he put himself into.

MY FRIEND came into my room on Monday, looking more down than usual. He called earlier that morning, at the ungodly hour of 6:20 a.m. to let me know he wouldn't be coming in that day, and to ask about the steps he had to take to make sure the right people knew. I told him how to do it and thought about calling him back when I really woke up to make sure all went well. I was pleasantly surprised to see him walk by at 7:55. Hey, I said, did you call me this morning or did I just dream it? It's a long story, I'll have to tell you about it later, he said. Anyway, we chit-chatted; strange, now that I think about it, that we even had to have small talk, but nevertheless, I engaged in it with him. Once we passed the regular bullshit about our day, our work, and our lives, I began my confession.

I've been thinking, I told him, that I think I want to be in a relationship with someone.

What, he gasped, you don't want that. You said you never wanted that.

Yes, I know, I answered, but I want it. I'm ready now. I want to have love again. It's time.

No, you don't. You don't know what you're saying. I'm so sick of my wife, he said in frustration, so sick of her stupidity.

Stupidity, I repeated, in what way is she stupid?

He said, you don't even know how stupid she is. She has to be told what to do. It's like being with a kid all day.

I laughed and reminded him, I am sometimes with a kid all day, but Matt doesn't have to be told what to do. He more or less knows what he needs to do, but sometimes he's too lazy to do it, so a gentle push in the right direction usually does the trick.

Yes, but she's so stupid, he continued as he started to pace. I'm getting so sick of it. I'm getting sick of this. I'm normally a patient person, but I'm losing my patience with her.

What did she do, I pursued. Did she make a sandwich the way you didn't want her to?

Obviously, he countered annoyed, if I am this upset, it's something bigger. I cannot explain it to you, don't know how, but I'm getting sick of it.

I've learned when people are on a verbal tirade, it's best to allow them the luxury of letting it all out. And that's what I did.

MY FRIEND breaks my heart sometimes. He is so handsome. He is so smart. He has sparks of wittiness. He is lost. He is tall. And he is sporting a three-day growth on his face. He is sexy...well, he could be, if he just loosened up. I think marriage is the best thing for him, but I do not know the future of that commitment.

I told him once that the reason I didn't accept a position I was offered 2 years ago was because if I had, he and I would never have met. I was flirting at the time, but I guess it stuck with him because now, he frequently interjects with that phrase whenever I threaten to leave the hell I call workplace. Just remember, he says, you are here because if you weren't, you would never have met me. A secret smile begins to reveal itself, astonished that he listens to me...and remembers.

Today, while we were watching a movie, something curious happened. I said something to him, which was unimportant; otherwise, it wouldn't have escaped me so surreptitiously as it had just done. But I remember looking up at him for a response. And what I saw broke my heart again. He looked at me, closed his eyes, and turned his head to the side. Something about his actions made me think that I hurt him. And with him, still waters run deep.

Last Friday, he attended a stupid thing sponsored by the grandparents of our work. Really, he was there to support someone he knew, a sweet and kind gesture. Before the dinner, though, we grabbed drinks at a new place. When we walked into the NEW PLACE, he said, wanna hear something funny? This morning, in the shower, I thought of this word, the name of this place. Coincidence? I'd like to say fate.

We talked, and I drank my favorite drink, mojito. Why it is interpreted differently by different bar tenders escapes me. Anyway, I was getting a little drunk, drinking too much too fast, but mostly because I was excited to be out with him again. He punishes me sometimes, when he is jealous of my weekends, especially if I've met boys. And unfortunately for me, the last two weekends were filled with boys boys boys.

The thing is that it's easy for me to meet boys. It's easy for me to converse, to flirt, to leave. That is my specialty, leaving. I don't like to waste time by making it seem that there will be more after the moment ends. It's probably a protective sheath I weave around my heart and my ego, one that becomes more and more tiresome as I get older.

That Friday, I told MY FRIEND, you know, I think you have this impression of me that I go out and meet so many people and immediately adopt them as my friends and welcome them into my life with open arms.

He said, well, you do meet a lot of guys. You have so many BOYfriends.

BOYfriends? What are we, twelve? Yes, I meet guys, and I talk to them, and it's fun. But most of the time, it's meaningless. And let me tell you something, I waited for a dramatic pause, let me tell you that I miss you when we don't talk. When I'm with you, I feel like I'm home because you understand what I say. And even though you don't listen, I feel like you do. You fake it well.

I listen to everything you say, whether or not I care to. What a prick.

Look, I know I have great mini-conversations with boys, but I would rather spend 5 minutes talking to you than talk to any of them for a whole afternoon. So, please remember that the next time your insecurity seeps in.

You know, I AM insecure. But thanks for telling me that.

And then he smiled. Not a full smile, but a half-smile. This is progress.

A freaky thing happened on Saturday

I believe in people. I believe that the human condition is basically good but with slight momentary aberrations. I believe that when people say they have a mental problem and are taking medication for it, that it is under control. But then there are those instances where people cannot help themselves, and anxiety takes over.

So, Saturday was going to be a very busy day. I was going to work for three hours, then go home to do some work for Sunday, then take a nap, then go to the Thanksgiving dinner at 6:30. But here's what happened: I went to work, then the Freako called, and we made plans to meet.

The Freako is a character that does not warrant any explanation except that he is a freak. I know it is wrong to make fun of someone who has a diagnosed mental condition for which he is actively trying to control, but this person's behavior is what I target when I say freak. It's so unfortunate because the Freako is funny, witty, and somewhat nice.

We met at a restaurant, and I was 15 minutes late. I guess this caused a lot of anxiety because when I got there, he was already huffy and puffy. We sat down at a table, and he was so edgy. Finally, he said, I don't think I can stay. I have to go, he said, I'm not feeling it, and I'm feeling awkward. I said, okay, let's go, I dont want you to feel uncomfortable. He said, thank you, I just want to go home and do my own thing. Don't worry, I said, it's okay.

We got to my car, and his final remark was, I know you think I'm a freak, and I'm sorry. I said, no, not at all. Translation: I don't think you are a freak...I KNOW you are a freak. And with that, I left. Buh bye.

I'm done...

I'm going to try to get a better job. I've bought my "lottery tickets", and I've put it out there, so I think this is going to be a good thing. I'm not going to think about it anymore. It just makes me look at people as pathetic asswipes who deserve nothing but the damnation waiting for them. I really don't wish this for them, but it's kind of a guilty pleasure to think about them on skewers. It's sad at what little price people sell their souls. So, I'm done.

Saw Niva today. God, his eyes are so beautiful, and when he smiles, it is just brilliance. Anyway, he sprinted over to me while I was at my favorite machine, and he said, I just got back my pictures from the Huntington. I said, did I inspire you to take them? He said, yes. Whether or not this is true, that I inspired him makes me feel good. It makes me feel happy and humbled. After, he called me over to talk about it. He said he would send me some pics, but as of yet, I haven't received any. But I don't worry. I know he'll share. I'm glad HP and I had to leave for some dinner; otherwise, we would have been there for more than an hour talking. It's so easy to talk to him. There's mischief in the air...intermittently on either of our parts. I don't want to cause a stir, but I do not know how much longer I can be good around him. I know if he made any move, I wouldn't stop it. My faculties would not allow it.

I've decided that I am done with Roben and Nock. It was fun, but the whole interweb thing is just plain tiresome. I am bored. I'm sorry, Roben. And Nock...well, I have my suspicions about him. Even as I write this, I feel guilty for not trusting him, but the truth is that I don't. I'm done.

Here's my only wish: if there was a chance to consummate either of these relationships, I would do it. I feel it's an entitlement issue. I've always wanted Roben, but it's hard to communicate sporadically. And Nock. It started out as a game, out of boredom, but it is the bottom of the ninth and still no score. It's too late to go into extra innings, so I'll call it. I'm done. But still, I hold out a tiny hope of one kiss, one night, one pleased moan after another. And if nothing, well...it was a chance. This is no "lottery ticket" I'd like to buy, though.

And then the tears began to fall

I love Roben. I love him, love him, love him. Not in the freaky, scary way that people love someone they don't know very well. But he is so endearing to me. And he apologized for being mean. It brought tears to my eyes. This is crazy that I am affected in this way. It is uncharacteristic of me.

He sent me a picture. The one on his site makes him look older, more pensive, like he's trying to persuade others to believe in his talent. The one he sent me is more playful. More revealing of his true self. I want to breathe him in. He is so beautiful, so whole, so funny. If I had him, I wouldn't let him go. And if he had me, there would be no other place than next to him.

I want to do terribly dirty things with this man. I want to have him in my mouth, in my heart, in my p***y. He already invades my mind, but not in this obsessive vein you may think. Our conversations never turn sexual, except tonite, when he tried. But I'm just not ready yet to concede to the sexual nature that is a big part of me.

I am celibate. Have been for about 2 months. Before this decision, it was meaningless and bad sex with meaningless and bad people. All except for one. One who was really so sweet and gentle, and who was amazing at cunnilingus, and remained a gentleman throughout. He was wonderful, but I have no desire to sleep with him again. This I know. So, after him, I decided to embark on the celibacy cruise. When will the journey end? When I meet Roben. I want to do this with him. I am so secure in that I want to be with him. If he will allow it.

I am learning a lot about my tastes and my will power through celibacy. The funny thing is, I used to masturbate every night, but now...I don't. I don't have the desire. Not even when soft core, late night cable porn is on. Not even when meaningless, bad people try to seduce me. Not even when I think about Roben. Which I do. I think about how it would be to move in rhythm with him. To hear his moans. To taste his saltiness. I want this. I want to wait until I am ready, until he is ready, and if we are never ready, then I want to wait longer still. I worry that he may not want me. Will I live the remains of my days a revirgin? I hope not. But that's the exciting part of all this...the uncertainty, the wonder, the hope. That's all any of us really has: hope.

Closure

It's sadness to realize that the person you thought was greater than he really is shows you how little respect he has for you. I dismiss the last 6 years with the Irish bloke. May he walk a straight path, may he find his way, and may his hurt subside. Until then, good night and good luck. Asshole.

Beautiful Blue Eyes

Just came back from a conversation with Niva. This guy has the most bbe I have ever seen in my life. I used to have difficulty looking into them for fear that I would get sucked in to his soul, but now, I can stare at them for 5 minutes at a time. The thing is, I like this guy. There is something about him that I know is more than he shows. I recognize this, and I think he recognizes that I recognize it. What's the issue? Of course the boy has a girl. Which is fine. I'm really not attracted to him in any way other than a fascination. Ever watch a 2-year-old pick up a shiny object and just stare at it for what may seem like ever? That's how I am with Niva.

He's wondered where I've been the last 6 months. I've been around, I tell him. He says, but you never say hi to me or even look at me. I say, sometimes when I walk, I am thinking of things and I don't see what's in front of me. He says, the other day I saw you looking at Nikolai, and you were glowing...so I thought you were interested in him. In Nikolai, I ask. He says, yes Nikolai. I say, no, I wasn't looking at Nikolai when I was smiling...I was looking at you. He says, oh, because I was jealous. The next 45 minutes was spent with some flirtatious touching (mostly on his part), critique of my pictures (positive ones), an invitation to join me in February to take photo classes, and an acceptance with the idea that we would carpool (his idea).

I showed him my pictures today. I didn't know he was "a darkroom nerd" (his phrase). He liked some of the shots, and he suggested I take nude shots of others. Yesterday, I told him, there was this man with amazing shoulders that I would have loved to have shot...but he didn't have to be nude. He replied, no, you have to take nude pics of yourself. I think that would be difficult, I said, and no one would like to see that. His response was a smile.

NOCK

He's this boy who infiltrates my waking moments and my unconscious. He's got talent, this lad, in all aspects of the arts. He is paid to think, to create, to advertise. I am in awe of how I feel about him because it's not familiar. I trust him, I like him, I love his emails...and his voice. I can tell some things already about him. He's a dreamer, but his feet are planted. I wish him the best in his quest for love, for new work, and for success.

Be careful what you wish for

So, Roben contacted me last night. Out of the blue. This is what I've wanted, right? Prayed for it, left little trails for him to follow which will lead him to me. Voice mail, emails, offline messages. They all had the same tone: I'm sorry, please forgive me, please like me again, I won't do it again. Blah, blah, blah. How many times can I say it before he believes me? Before those words mean nothing?

He's into punishment. Not S and M, but punishment with the tongue. My tongue lashing lasted a little less than 45 minutes. And at moments when I felt the need to clarify, to defend myself, to explain...he allowed it. But he won't forgive. And so with that bit of information, I can make a decision. No matter how many times I apologize, it won't work on him.

I get sick of repetition. In my work, I strive to control the repetitiveness that can sometimes fill the environment. It's not good for anyone to do the same thing the same way every day. Don't misunderstand, I know that there is a place for repetition: in math, it's the multiplication table; in science, it's experiments to ensure the same results; in language, it works for the conjugation of verbs; in music, it makes perfect. But in life? In relationships?

He asked me last night a pointed question. I didn't know if it was just a lead-in so he can berate me more. But at that moment, I didn't answer. So the moment passed. And I kick myself in the ass now for not taking a risk in answering it.

There is only one phrase that I would bear hearing every moment for the rest of my life. Escaped from the right lips, these words are melodic. From the wrong ones, a curse. It's a phrase that never loses it's meaning for me. It may send fear through my heart. But at the end of the day, it's the last thing I want to hear. So, Roben, I will answer your question now. Yes, I love you.

Emotional infidelity

I have a feeling that MY FRIEND is going to disappoint me one day and side with the enemy who thinks men and women can't be just friends. I agree that if one of the parties has feelings for the other, a friendship cannot survive. And things get more complicated if either or both parties have significant others. MY FRIEND is married; I am single. His wife is supposedly very controlling and posssessive, and she cut off the last friendship he had with a girl. When he told me the circumstances, I told him that I did not blame her. I thought the "girl friend" crossed some boundaries with her gifts and phone calls. For all intents and purposes, she was committing emotional infidelity. When I agreed with his wife, he accused ME of siding with the enemy. I value this boy's friendship. I want nothing other than our great conversations. Talking to him for a few hours on a Friday afternoon is better than most of the conversations I've had all week. I do not feel a romantic spark or any kind of uncomfortableness around him. It is purely platonic. I asked him today if he thought that his wife would put an end to our friendship, and he said she would. I smiled a smile that I thought I had hidden from his sight. He asked me what I was thinking. I told him that when I was younger, whenever I was threatened by my father with a slap because of my sharp tongue, I would say what I had to say if I was going to get it anyway. And if I was going to be accused of something, I might as well commit the crime. He smiled a sheepish smile and said that he has told her that if he were to be accused of cheating that he may as well do it. I think we both knew what was going on through our minds. I hope that we will never be tempted by each other. I hope we prove everyone wrong who think that men and women cannot be friends. I hope that in the end, we celebrate the uniqueness of our friendship.

Top fifteen things

Today is the Lakers' opening day at the Staples Center. Roben (a clever, even if only to me, moniker that joins his first and last names) will be there to shoot some of the finest images that his talent will allow, and had I not been such a jackass, we would have probably gotten a drink after the game. Or we would have not. I was leaning towards not, but last Tuesday changed everything. Since he is no longer talking to me, I have this hunger to see him. Closure, some would say. He said it himself that we've spent a lot of time "talking" that there is probably no other choice but to "meet". It takes only a few seconds to f**k up, but an eternity to prove to someone that it was a ONE TIME THING. Anyway, in the past, I have dealt with these kinds of "break ups" by writing the hell out of them. Rumination therapy, I like to refer to it as. The thing is, I know I f'ed up. I know that it was by my own doing that this is the condition I find myself in. I know that, but what can I do besides beg, plead, and send cute ass e-cards that say "GEEZUS, I REALLY AM SORRY!!!!" If there is no response by next Tuesday, I will cut it. I have given myself that much time to brood over this man who I am so connected to in some little girl sort of way. He is my crush, my Davy Jones (note the Brady Bunch reference when Marcia has the biggest crush on him and then...MEETS him!!!), my Tiger Beat monthly poster pinup. I pray that he forgives me so that we can continue our icourtship, and eventually take it into the real world. Until then, here are the top fifteen things I wish I had known about Roben before he stopped talking to me...

15. His favorite camera.
14. How he looks when in REM (not the group) in the wee hours of the morning.
13. The taste of the area that most attracts me in the picture in his bio.
12. The way he moves to reggae.
11. The sound of my name from his lips.
10. The sound of his whiskers brushing against his collar.
9. Which leg goes in the boxers first...right or left.
8. Other books on his bookshelf besides his collection of Tim Dorsey tomes.
7. How his cat greets him when he comes home from a long day of work.
6. The sound of his voice in the middle of the night.
5. His handwriting - legible, illegible, pretty, chicken scratch.
4. The way his face looks when he goes through the following emotions: surprise, sadness, frustration, calm, happiness, intense pleasure.
3. His capacity to love, to dislike, to like, to hold a grudge.
2. How many true, lifetime friends he has.
1. If he will ever forgive me since he has discovered one of my fatal flaws.

In memoriam...

As the world mourns the death of Rosa Parks, many celebrities will attend her funeral today in Detroit. LA Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, former President Bill Clinton, Senator Hillary Clinton, and Oprah Winfrey are among those who will praise the life of this tiny-framed woman whose simple actions affected the lives of many she will never know. I heard a sound bite this morning of what Oprah said about Ms. Parks, and it was both personal and powerful. Oprah can really deliver compelling statements that I believe come from her heart as opposed to someone's mind. Unlike other politicians who deliver speeches while the original writer mouths them, Oprah is intelligent enough to be articulate. For that, I admire her.

However, this isn't about celebrities, or even Ms. Parks for that matter. This is about how we, as a culture, wait until the death of a loved one to tell him/her how we really feel. When we eulogize our loved one, we sing their praises. We make the dead seem bigger and better than the life s/he lead. Why can't we tell our loved ones on a daily basis how great they are, how wonderful they are, and how empty and meaningless our lives will be if they were not around? When I die, I really don't care if people think of me as this amazing human being if they didn't let me know now when I am alive.

One thing I miss the most about being in a loving relationship is the validation of my presence in his life. I want to know that I matter, that I affect his life, that if I never appeared, the course of his story would change. And I want to tell him every day how much I love him, love who he is, love how he has transformed me. To hear and to say "I love you" is a priviledge and an honor.

I must admit, I have not always believed in love. In fact, I thought love was invisible and a far-away concept. It was not until I became a mother that I realized that all of my life, I have surrounded by love. It was tangible, it could be proven, it existed even though I did not know. My family loved me, my friends loved me, and boys loved me. Love hurts, love heals, and love awakens. And if you are lucky enough, dear readers, to feel all that love encompasses, please shout it from the mountains. Celebrate it in the plains. Harvest it in the fields.

May you have a positive influence in your life, and may you be a positive influence in someone's life. May you have the courage to let those who love you know what their love means to you. May you have the ability to love back in a magnificent way. Death should not show us what we mean to one another. Life should be the platform for acting out love.

Too much work...not enough payoff...equals boring.

And then he was gone. It would not have ended well anyway. Even though I know this, I am going through the process of grief. Good bye, dear Robert. You are fantastic, amazing, and delicious. As you wished me luck, so do I wish you the same. You are my inspiration, and I will continue to search high and low for the images you create.

He was this person who represented greatness to me. Accomplished in his field, yet continuously striving to be better. I don't know if I created him, or if he just really IS this amazing. I always go back to that word to describe him. He is witty; the banter was so worth it. And you know why it ended like this? Fear. Plain old fear. Of what? Fear of falling for him. Every day that passes, the deeper I fall. And maybe it was the image of him that I created that I was falling for, but nevertheless, I was falling. People affect us in different ways. Some come in a flash and leave the same way without a second thought. Others, though, carve their initials in our hearts and memories, and when they're gone, we run our fingers through the letters and feel these deep emotions. That is how I feel about this man. Too bad it ended this quickly.

The older I get...

1. the less I know.
2. the younger I feel.
3. the more I wonder why women and men can't be friends.
4. the easier it is to get up in the morning.
5. the harder it is to fall asleep.
6. the more I accept myself and my flaws.
7. the more I let go, and let God.
8. the more daring I feel.
9. the better I get.
10. the less I worry.
11. the worse I feel when I hurt someone.
12. the more in awe I am of the world.
13. the more I love my son.
14. the more I love humanity.
15. the more creative I become.
16. the happier I am.
17. the closer I am to reality.
18. the more perceptive I become.
19. the funnier I am.
20. the wittier I am.
21. the nicer I am.
22. the more I behave.
23. the easier life is.
24. the more fun it is, too.
25. the less I need or want.