Thanks Coach

My Dad coached my junior high basketball team. I sucked. Somehow he missed the memo. So I played even when I was deathly ill with the stomach flu and puking up my guts at half-time.

Today my Dad asked me when I was going to be posting again. Not really asked – demanded. My dad hasn’t been this into my activities since I was riding the bench and being called “hacker”.

I assured him that I had a ton to post – if I could only find all the post-its and napkins and ticket stubs with the scribble I or may not be able to read.

Dating with Nightmare

Yesterday I got at message from “Nightmare” about coming on his radio program to give some sort of dating advice.

My first thought was, “Hell Yeah.” (So Mr. Mare, you name the date and I’ll be there.)

Then I thought, what exactly could I possibly say? Don’t suck? And don’t settle?

I mean really, if I had to write a book on the subject, I think I would just title it, “Want a man? Get a life.”

If we spent all that wasted energy meant looking for Mr. & Ms. Right on looking for a happier me, I think the world would be a better place and people would be having better sex – but that is just me.

So that is my platform. Don’s settle on some guy or gal just because you don’t want to be alone and don’t be so sucky to date that you would never want your sister or brother or the anyone else you really care about to date someone like you.

In the meantime, forget waiting around. Find things that make you happy and live you life to the fullest. You never know where your path might lead.

And yes…. I realize how cheesy I sound.

Girl's Night Turkey Night

Wednesday night was Thanksgiving with the girls.

I miss them. Even sitting there on Shortstack’s couch, feeling sublimely full and sleepy, I missed them. We had been on a stretch of regular, if not constant, togetherness - my own little Sex and the City (which we watched as we ate desert).

A lot has happened in the last few months. New jobs and job hunting, trips and achievements, break-ups and engagements. We have been a busy lot. And when the holidays are over and projects are complete I hope we can find time for more regular togetherness. And yet I know that growing apart is not necessarily growing out of each other’s hearts. Because for all the friends I have left in all the cities I have passed through, the friendships that matter, the friendships that last, never fade in my heart or memory.

“I love you girls” Shortstack crooned as she cleared the dishes from her coffee table.

There was no drama in the evening, no long winded antidotes. Just exhaustion and gluttony and the comfort of good friends.

Me, Myself and Introspection

“Well duh.” My dad said as he talked me down off the ledge I hovered on, just above the pit of dark and ugly.

“It is called Looking for Life with More Theatre and Less Drama. The title pretty much assures you that it is going to be introspective.”

I just got a rejection letter from my first round draft pick agent, the agent I could only create in my very best make believe, my sure thing, and she rejected me.

Between the recent publicly humiliating dating disaster and realizing I would never see one of my kids again, I had had all of the unpleasantness I really want to deal with for a while.

And this just sucked.

My first thought was, “Too introspective?” I can’t fix that. That is just me.

Ahh…isn’t Murphy ’s Law a bitch.

Here I am going on about not using the “it’s just me” excuse and it was the first thing that came to mind.
Though to be fair, my “just me,” involved the publishing of my book not the humiliation of another human being, although I suppose I did attempt that in my post of retribution…Hmmm.

“You can’t help but be introspective,” dad said. “What other kids debated the value of music over world peace at the dinner table.

He was right. I am a product of my parents and these days I am finding it increasingly bewildering.

How do I know what is good? When should you bend for your audience?

My dad kept reminding me that it took Frank Baum 16 years to get the Wizard of Oz published. “Although I know you don’t want to wait that long he said.”

He told me to have faith in my work and all that shmushy stuff your family is supposed to say when something disappointing happens. I don’t find shmushy to be terribly helpful but I appreciate the attempt.

But then he talked it out with me, first asking if there was anyway I could rewrite the book, not bailing when the suggestion was met with a prickly response. We discussed the issue of introspection, its positives and negatives and how it would read to an audience. It reminded me of working on my homework as a kid. Not something I particularly enjoyed. This was better. Two grown-ups. Friends.

So I decided the answer might be to change my audience before panic and toss out my book. At a closer inspection it made sense. I had been targeting agents with a penchant for travel/adventure and memoir. A hard sell to begin with, let alone in this market.

I am going a different route and I am excited to see what happens. I am excited that rather than sinking into the bleakness I was able to see the light. And more than anything I am thankful I had somebody to help me through.

The Red Balloon

My family has been joking about having the redneck Olympics for a couple of years now. You can turn your nose up at it all you want but in your hear of hearts you have to admit that there is something entertaining about the idea of toilet seat horseshoes and shot gun shoot outs in a front yard full of rusted out old cars.

Maybe not classy but entertaining.

Last night my girlfriend and I experienced the epitome of suburban redneckism in the form of The Red Balloon.

The Red Balloon is a karaoke bar at 75th and Antioch, where they still allow smoking, only take cash, and shirts, shoes and teeth are optional.

It was an experience. Women clad in sweat suits did the shuffle with tatted biker chicks who appeared to have done their share of meth. Men in see-through wife-beaters played darts with barely-legal girls in tie-die and camo, while effeminate on-lookers squealed over the chance to do a number by Kelly Clarkson or Madonna.

There wasn’t one “type” in this dive. Ages and races and sexual orientations all mixed together in a spirit of commeradory that may have had less to do with the public displays of humilation and more the $2 mini bombs (Yager and Sprite for those not in the know).

My girl friend and I attempted to sing, “Let’s talk about sex,” by Salt and Pepper. Funny, I never realized it was a rap song. It didn’t matter. The boys drinking 40 cans of Paps Blue Ribbon crowed anyway.

I left stinking of BO and cigarettes and had to shower for over an hour before the smell even began to evaporate.

It didn’t matter. It was fun and I developed an appreciation for cheap beer.

Afternoons with V

A couple months ago, V and I got into a fight, a big fight. The kind of fight that makes me so angry I can’t speak because I know if I do something really nasty is going to come out. This kind of fighting can only be done with people I really love. My parent, my best friends – my family.

V and I didn’t talk for almost a month. We are both stubborn and a wee bit passive aggressive and really, really adverse to confrontation.

When we finally saw each other it was awkward, mainly because he was nervous and I was pompous.

“What?” I said, “I was done being pissed a day after the argument.” Which was true, accept that as fine as I was, I wasn’t going to make the first move towards reconciliation. I was hell bent to wait it out. I was trying to prove a point and I think I was successful but it probably would have just been easier if I would have caved.

Like any family, within the time it took to drink one chocolate martini, all was better and have been since.

V is my buddy and I missed him terribly during our “break”. He gives good hugs and cuddles and tells me I am “crawesome”. He is my go to event helper and amusing drunk-dialer. He brings me coffee at work on the days when I am super cranky.

Today we took advantage of the crappy weather and took in an afternoon movie. I had not done that in ages and we went all out, popcorn, Milk Duds AND Twizzlers. It was delightfully gluttonous.

The movie was okay but the company rocked. Every gal should get herself a NSGGBF.

My Kids

During the Clark Kent portion of my day, I work at a school, doing fundraising and marketing to help kids in KC’s urban core get the programs and services they need to succeed in life. Drug treatment, on-site child care, mental health therapy and one-on-one education are just some of the services we provide.

I believe in this school and I believe that the work we do changes lives. I see it everyday.

Lately though my office has been a little too quiet.

I am missing the sound of one of my students who, for the past year, has visited me at least five times a day. A lot of his visits were shameless attempts to get out of class, but more often than not I think they were just him reaching out for a little human kindness.

I have worried about him for about as long as I have known him. He has always been tightly wound and I feared that his attention seeking behavior might one day manifest itself into something ugly.

Then one day it did.

He got into a fight at school. He didn’t start the fight but several kids were involved and bystanders got hurt. A young pregnant woman was sent to the hospital.

And since that day he has been gone.

I am not sure what happened, what prompted the fight but I know that things have been far tenser in the past few months than they were last school year. We have students from all around the city and the consensus is that things are heating up on the streets.

Heating up. I have no concept of what this means. But my kids do.

They know what it is like to lose brothers and uncles and fathers to death and jail. They know what it is like to choose between selling drugs and watching their brothers and sisters starve.

I worry about them. All the time. And for the most part I feel too far removed to feel as though I have any real impact.

For this young man, however, I felt like there was a chance to make a difference. I realize now how egotistical that sounds but being there for him, when he came in upset about a girl or proud over a new drawing, that made me feel like I could impact his word.

He is gone now and I will probably never see him again and all I can do is hope that the little human kindness I showed him was enough to make his world better, even if just for a moment.

These kids deal with so much I could never imagine and tonight as I prepare for my biggest gala of the year, I have the privileged of keeping them at the forefront of my mind. Regardless what goes wrong, what caterers don’t show up, which speakers go long, what technical snafus are left to deal with, I get to know that in my way I am making their lives better – even if it is only by fundraising for their school

We all have the chance to make our world a better place. For me it happens one kid at a time. And I am always happy pass along donations:

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