Archive for October, 2006
I received this message on my cell phone at 9:02 p.m. tonight :
Hi Flo, this is Crazy Joe’s girlfriend. I just wanted to give you a call — Crazy Joe asked me to call you just to let you know he’s going to be in the hospital for a couple of days. He needs some fluids, he’s been a little dehydrated.
Hearing that message made my heart sink. I knew he was sick — it just started when I saw him Friday afternoon — but I had no idea it was serious until his girlfriend called.
Joe was my boyfriend for five and a half years back in the early 90’s. Though we broke up ten years ago, we remained close. We talked every couple of weeks, and met for lunch whenever I was in Riverside, California, where he lives.
When he needs something big or small, I’m always there. He has done the same for me. In fact, since my separation from my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, Joe has been more than loyal, helpful and kind. I can’t imagine getting through this experience without his help. (My parents, my brother, my best bud, Jean Luc, my good friend, Spamelot are amazing, too. But none of them are in the hospital, so let’s get back to Joe!)
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before his slow, grumbly voice asked, “Hello?”
Turns out what he thought was the beginnings of the flu was actually pheumonia. Add in his two jobs, very little sleep and his diabetic condition and it’s immediately clear why his kidney began to fail. He was lucky to get help when he did.
After our brief chat this evening, I phoned his girlfriend to convey my thanks for the phone call. She said that every time he talks to me on the phone, he laughs and laughs, so she thought it would be good for him to speak with me this evening….Isn’t that thoughtful and kind? I think I might actually like this woman!
Kinda scary,
Flo
October 31st, 2006
A few months ago, during one of those lovely Director’s Series Q&A sessions that AFI hosts at the ArcLight Cinema, in Hollywood, California, an AFI staff member encouraged the audience to volunteer for this year’s AFI Festival.
Ohhhh, I thought. I missed out on all the action of 2005’s Festival, unless you count the one film I saw; an interesting German film that I want to call The Wedding Day, but am just too lazy to look it up online. Yeah, that’s how much I care about it.
As the AFI lady walked away, I decided to volunteer, and hopefully join the fun. I registered online for the gig in early October and began my first shift last Saturday.
I explained the ticket voucher for work deal to my best bud, Jean Luc; every four hours of volunteer work equals one movie ticket to any film except for the Premiers and Tributes and a few other screenings only available to the wealthy and connected. Read: not me.
“Aren’t tickets there ten dollars? So that means you’re working for $2 an hours?”
“Dude!” I sqealed, “That’s more than I’m earning right now!”
I was laid off in mid-September from my part-time gig working for Mr. B. My position wasn’t that of a regular employee, but of an independent contractor, ineligible for unemployment benefits. For the last six weeks, I’ve been living off my divorce settlement, given to me early by my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott. Whenever I asked for it, he has given me small chunks of those monies over the last two years. Until this layoff, I still had a nice amount of it still ahead of me, and with it few plans of places to go, people to see — once in a lifetime kind of stuff. (Once in MY lifetime, anyway!) Not anymore. Thanks to taxes and my monthly expenses, it will all be gone by January…If I’m not working by then, things will get really difficult.
The first several days of this unemployment situation was actually a relief. It wasn’t until I stopped going to work that I realized how badly I needed a break. The week after that, I panicked. The third week was visited by an arthritis flare-up; the fourth week (maybe the fifth?), I had panick attacks just thinking about the interview process. Constant freak outs discouraged my job search, though I did go through the motions of visiting job centers looking for work I knew I wouldn’t pursue. Finally, my psychiatrist (God, I hate writing that I have one almost as much as I hate that I need one) diagnosed me with Social Anxiety Disorder.
After that, I goofed off, then became sick, then wasn’t, then was again. I don’t remember the particulars anymore as it has all blended together. The important point is that I haven’t worked since September 14, but really need to pick it up again.
Last week, I renewed my job search, scanned job sites online, revised my resume, and braced myself for the next round of interviews. This time, I might finally get a job.
About ten minutes into my first day of volunteer work, I thought, “Awww, man, I wish I applied for this job last week!” (Some of the Production Assistants were hired the previous week.) “I can totally do this!”
I did the same work as the paid PAs. I crawled under tables, put down audio and ethernet cables, made ethernet cables (sooooooooooo tee-dee-us), assembled and moved plasma screen stands all by myself and more — until the Production Director saw me happily cutting down cardboard boxes in the hot sun and escorted me away from it into the cool production office as he said, “We don’t want our volunteers doing that. That’s what the PA is getting paid for!” — and fit in with the Production staff members just as well as the PAs. So there’s no reason I can’t get a job, especially that job, too. A PA gig, a Coordinator position or any number of jobs will do for now. I can do this, easy peasy!
As if my boosted confidence, the movie passes to unreleased films from around the world, and the volunteer schedule that will allow me to meet the filmakers, get me into their private parties and the closing night gala (Chow Yun Fat, anyone?) weren’t enough, there is one more perk: I’m also getting the PA Workout!
If Bally’s Fitness Clubs or Crush hasn’t already incorporated it into their programs, they really ought to as it would be a huge hit. I don’t think I’ve done this much squatting, crawling, bending, pulling, or pushing since I was in Kindergarten. Because I’m not nearly as flexible as I was at five years old, I am sore! So sore that every muscle from my waist to my knees aches. Every time I sit down, I wince! Having said that, I have to confess that I love it! It’s giving me a kick-ass workout that I’m not getting from my weight training or aerobics classes. If I can maintain this new level of activity for a few more weeks, I’ll be so much stronger. Woo-hoo!
Will work for movie tickets, parties and buns of steel — so Hollywood!
Flo
October 30th, 2006
“…How about an update on your trip? Hope you’re staying up late and doing things that’d get you divorced if you were still married.”
Oh, that Jean Luc is so supportive and hopeful. I, too, was hopeful about getting a little action. By action, I mean anything beyond minor flirtation, that includes prolonged conversations about useless bullshit topics, repeated visits, more than one sentence basically. If any of that includes checking me out — in a good way, not because I stink of sweat and/or look like a homeless person, not hot by the way! — that would be icing on the tiny cake of even tinier expections!
I set my sights very low, dared not hope for anything wild and crazy like someone’s hand on my shoulder or my lower back, a whisper in the ear. No point in seeking or expecting any of that since I was traveling with four other women in my family. Nothing like traveling with one’s mother, grandmother, great-aunt and (regular) aunt to catch someone’s eye.
The week started strong with all the flirtations of Tuesday evening (See my Hello, boys! post for a recap). None of it was taken the least bit seriously by me, so I didn’t have a chance to overthink things, get nervous and freak out. Wednesday morning was spent swimming with two women. Okay, I they were a mother dolphin and her daughter dolphin — thankfully, it was not the least bit hot because that would just be sick! — but I took it as a good sign. If I could hug the dolphins (there’s a photo just waiting to be scanned and posted one day soon) that could be a warm-up for something a little more interesting (read: much more human…Yes, I am a silly person.)
Upon returning to our boat, I was told that my grandmother had a nasty fall a few blocks away from the pier. She, my aunt Genevieve, and my Mother spent the morning in the infirmary having a nurse check Grandma for any serious damage. There was none, thank goodness, except for her bruised ego. After lunch with my (regular) Aunt Teak, and her two friends also traveling with us, the time was after two p.m., much too late to venture out alone. {No, I don’t really think so either, but my mom does. Never mind that I’ve traveled alone in Spanish speaking countries before — Baja California for two days, Costa Rica for a week — because she wasn’t there to witness it, or stop me!} It occured to me to go anyway, then deal with the fall-out once I retuned, but my rebellious teen years ended more than fifteen years ago. I chose to stay on board like the good daughter I am.
After that, there was nothing interesting to report until Friday night, another Formal Night (aka All-Ages Prom) in the dining rooms. Those evenings have extra activities designed to keep everyone up late and in a festive mood. Add in a little dress-up and it gets kinda fun.
I easily met my flirtation quota just walking into the room. More lingering glances, some stopped conversations, looking me up and down — all are things that rarely happen to me. By the end of dinner, I also earned some extra credit cute guy points when the hot Swedish maitr’de stopped to talk to me and my Aunt Genevieve. He stopped because he heard us singing (low), but stayed for the chit-chat. He urged us to attend the 11:45 pm buffet for the magnificent ice sculptures and some fancy hor d’ourves. That invitation was extended to everyone, of course, but probably without the five minutes of lingering conversation and the occasional glance at cleavage (mine, not Aunt Genevieve!), and the rest of me (again, not Aunt Genevieve…as far as I noticed!). Call me crazy, but I knew that if I went, I would probably spend more time with him and, honestly, that scared me!
Okay, brace yourself, because this is the part where you’ll write me annoyed letters and ask me to have myself checked for a concussion, just as Grandma was…but I didn’t go. (Shocking, isn’t it?) I know, I know, but I just couldn’t stay up. I was about to write how I really tried, but that wouldn’t be completely truthful. I partly tried.
I had three and a half hours to kill, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I could have read my book downstairs, but I wasn’t about to wrinkle my nice dress. I also wasn’t about to take the chance of having cute men see me dressed up, then dressed down, then back up again in the short span of three and a half hours. So, I laid down on my bed, in the dark, because my Mom (also my roomate) was already asleep in bed, and waited for the time to pass. I held out until a little after ten p.m. (I think), before giving in to sleep.
Whatever the explanation, I didn’t go. I hate to admit that I was both relieved of the self-consciousness and pressure I’d place on myself, but also disappointed that I gave in yet again to my fears. Yep, I was a total chickensh*t and I don’t like it. I really want this to stop, but have a hard time not giving into it. This has got to change.
Tonight’s dining room dress code returned to informal, so I was back in jeans. As we left the dining room, we all waved goodbye to the two maitre’ds, who responded with kindness and pleasant smiles. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the Swede watched me walk away. So, dressed up or not, at least there’s the knowledge that I can have so much more than flirtation when I’m good and ready.
The real question is when will I be ready?
I want a do-over,
Flo
October 21st, 2006
I write you this evening from the deck of my stateroom on the Carnival Pride.
Some time last year, I took my first trip to Catalina Island. It’s twenty-six miles across the sea (ocean, actually, but that doesn’t work as well in the song). I spent the sunny, breezy day shopping, and dining pier side with my Mom, my Grandma, Aunt Genevieve, and my Aunt Teak (that’s not my joke, but I like it!). On the boat ride home, someone suggested how much fun it would be to do this again, but on a bigger boat, like say a cruise ship. Oh, yes, that would be great, so much fun. Uh, okay, I thought, before forgetting all about it.
Several months later, my Mom phoned to say she and the other Catalina Ladies (my term) decided to book a seven day cruise down to Mexico and I was invitied. She knew money was a little tight for me (ever since leaving my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, then being ripped off for thousands of dollars in freelance work from weasely “employers”), so she offered to pay for my entire trip. If it made me feel better, she suggested, I could always return the favor by sending her someplace nice when I’m back on my feet.
So here I am on my balcony, typing away on my laptop, occassionally looking into the inky, starless sky, on a warm humid night.
It was just like this last night, too. As dozens of people, most decked out in their formal wear — Formal Night was the dinner theme; imagine young and old alike attending prom — spilled out onto the deck, many exclaimed, “Whoa!” or “My God, look at how dark that is!” One respectable teenage boy, he of short spikey hair and a nice black suit, tried to make small talk with the completely unpredictable, “Look at that sky!” I turned to the sweet sixteen — heck seventeen max — year old with the same smile and enthusiasm I wore all evening, “Yes, can you believe it? The stars are barely out!” As I checked for stars, I’m certain he checked out my ass.
Before I go on, I have to tell you that last night, I looked good. If you ask around, you’ll find that that is not the norm. While I’m not ugly, I don’t work very hard at being cute. My daily routine rejects convention grooming wisedom as I only cover the basics: foundation, lip gloss and (mostly) clean clothes.* I should probably mention that does not include the daily brushing of my hair. No, I’m not kidding. When I do brush my hair, apply make-up, throw on a cute black dress and high heel shoes that bring me to a whopping 6′ 1″ height, I look okay. Or as every person I’ve ever known as said at least once, “You clean up good!”
Yes, I do.
Teenage boys, old men, married men, and one tall, hunky, fair haired/skinned Scandanavian crew member all looked, smirked, then tried to chat me up. I usually get a big kick out of that stuff because I know they’d never recognize me without the heels, and make-up. Somehow the “outfit” makes me girly, approachable and, last night anyway, a head turner…Hey, I don’t get it either, but that’s what happened.
Standing at the railing later that evening, I thought about my first cruise, almost three years ago with my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott. This is the part of my blog where I become nostalgic for the good times we spent together but resigned to this fate as a separated woman, soon to be divorced. That’s not going to happen today. Last night, I found I could remember our fun trip without attaching much sentiment to it. It happened, it’s over, and now I’ll move onto another adventure, possibly with someone else. I’m hopeful. And more than overdue.
We dock in Puerto Vallarta tomorrow. I have a dolphin (swim) and a frog (Senor Frog) in my immediate future. We’ll see if they direct me to a real live boy!
Hasta luego!
Flo
*And that last one is only half the time. I can’t eat indoors at Fatburger anymore after that time I went in there completely unwashed after an hour long workout, followed by a brisk half-mile walk in the scorching sun. People seemed to think I was a homeless person because I smelled like one.
October 18th, 2006
Several people I know think I’m nuts. They say I’ve let my separation from my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, go on for way too long. They remind me that I left him two years ago, then urge me to finally get over my heartache and move on. (As if there’s a time limit on heartache. Okay, maybe there is, but I wouldn’t know it since this is my first divorce! By the way, only one person offered his personal – as in hand-on — assistance in getting me over this. Isn’t that nice?)
The one sure way to do that, according to them, is to drop this little blog once and for all. ‘It’s bad for you in the long run, Flo.’ Of course, I think, ‘Why the f*ck would I drop my one outlet for expression? How could that ever be a bad thing?’ They say it keeps my focus on the negatives of this situation, prolonging my pain, and preventing any personal growth – all bad things…Hmmm, I hear what you’re saying, people, but I respectfully disagree.
Writing my little posts has given me the voice I never had in my personal communications. It was always clear to me that no one wanted details on how my marriage was going to hell. When I spoke about it in the most general terms, most people reacted one of three ways: 1) discomfort, 2) boredom, 3) disbelief. (It wasn’t uncommon to hear, “Why would you ever leave a good man like Endicott?†Because he wasn’t good for me — duh!) Now that I have IXH.com online, I can share my stories without dumping them on anyone else. Readers seek out my stories on my site whenever they want.
Some people either don’t get the pain of divorce or were way more successful at getting over it than I am! Either way, they say IXH has got to go.
So imagine how surprised I was to get positive feedback from honest to goodness readers. Total strangers really, who related to my blog and asked me to keep it online. Some have been here for over a year, others just stumbled onto the site and liked what they read. The one that got to me actually wrote that reading my stories was like holding up a mirror to her own life…Oh. My. Gawd.
I can’t tell you how much I want to forward these emails to unsupportive people as proof that this site does really help, more than just me. But I won’t do that because what they think doesn’t really matter.
This site, my scribbles and my feelings are MINE. I (me, myself and I – not you) will deal with them in my own time, and in my own way. So, to the naysayers, I say thank you for your well-meaning comments, but don’t be surprised if I ignore your advice. I’ll drop my site when I’m good and ready, not one minute before then…But I’ll definitely entertain that offer of hands-on assistance.
I’m not going anywhere,
Flo
PS I’m really bad about answering emails, so I can’t really say when I’ll finally write anyone back. Please know that I do appreciate – no, love! – your emails and look forward to receiving more in the future.
October 16th, 2006