Archive for March, 2007
I complain a lot. I know it, you know it — it’s no secret. There’s always some post about how I’m not getting this (affection?), I ran out of that (money?), I can’t get rid of one thing (rheumathoid arthritis) or another (anxiety). It’s all bitchin’ and moaning here at IXH. Generally, that’s okay. For awhile, it was my one joy in my overwhelmed and stressed day.
I thought that writing about my problems would get them out of my system, so that I could to move on to bigger and better things. I now see that it concentrates my negativity so nothing lets up. It’s a constant loop of ‘my life sucks’ every minute of every day. How is that a good thing?
If you’re able to let things go — obviously not a trait I share with you! — maybe you can write in with some tips, dear readers? Please, please, pretty please with sugar on top? I’m in serious need of assistance, people!
It’s been suggested that one way to balance out this unpleasantness is to seek pleasure wherever I can. It was later revised to seeking pleasure, sensual or not. Nice try, mister, but we both know that was a half-hearted revision! The advise was given out of concern for me, so that’s all that really matters! I still think it’s funny…
Seeking pleasure. what a nice, polite phrase for what it is. Equally polite people — all men, of course — have used many euphamisms for seeking out company, with my current favorite being, ‘What you really need is a sharp pencil.’ Most of them say the gender is not important as the goal is to be in control of my own whatever: destiny, body, choice, fill in the blank however you like. Well, however I like. It’s a compelling argument, but ultimately empty and dissatisfying, right? Isn’t that what we women have always been told? It’s what I’ve always been told!
Having said that, I confess that I’ve almost given into to this temptation on several occassions. When someone had his contact list open, and offered up his male friends as nice, attractive men who would be more than happy to help a “tall, hot Latin chick,” (his words — he should have his eyes checked!) scratch an itch, I waivered. I said, “Oh, my God, that sounds so good!…But I can’t. I’d sure like to, but I can’t…If I change my mind, I’ll let you know…Damn.” When a friend was over at my apartment to pick up something I could no longer use (nothing worth mentioning), it (again) crossed my mind. His quick visit turned into a four hour conversation over wine and frozen pizza, ending with compliments on my appearance (I’m not ugly, people), and finally an offer to shoot some photos of me. Seemed he just happened to have his camera with him; he didn’t want to leave it in his car where it was vulnerable to theft in crime-ridden Sherman Oaks, CA. Beside the, ‘You just HAPPEN to have your camera with you?!’ thought, I imagined what could happen (and how) if I said yes. Most important, the consequences of the what and how. In the end, he and the others in the rolodex, were not the right ones for me. Not right now, anyway.
The little fun that I have had distracted me a day, before the worries trickled back. (It was one great day, though!) It can’t be healthy that my stress left me scatterbrained, distant, uncomfortable and unable to enjoy anything (or anyone) for any length of time. Maybe I’m doing this wrong? Or not enough? Or maybe I am doing it right, but sensual distractions just don’t work? Get back to me on that, will ya?
In the meantime, I’ve renewed some other interests. I’m watching movies (more than usual), I’m walking at Franklin Park (again) and I’m writing outside of my blog. Out of these three, picking up the pen is the most enjoyable. It’s not clear if anyone else will appreciate it, but it doesn’t really matter. This is all for me.
Adios,
Flo
March 31st, 2007
After more than two years of pestering and pleading, my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, finally gave me back some of my stuff. Old college textbooks and essays, twenty year old greeting cards and candles from my French pen pal, Agnes — or as my family lovingly called her, Ann-yes — a yellow plastic Snoopy lunch pail I picked up at the Rose Bowl swap meet that looks EXACTLY like the one I had when I was four years old. Oh yes, there were other beauties such as my Buddha and Shiva sculptures, and the equally reverant limited edition X-Files Barbie and Ken dressed as Scully and Mulder. (Yes! Oh yes!)
It’s not all goofy stuff. I’ve been reunited with my acrylic paints and brushes, zip files full of old design school projects and a Polaroid camera with three photos still in the cartridge. (I noticed my self-portrait has a natural sepia tone to it though it’s not supposed to be there!) My favorite returned items are my books, such as the Tao of Pooh and Te of Piglet. (Okay, maybe those are a bit goofy.) Two dozen books with the words digital, typographic and design in the title; each a lovely reminder of my academic adventures at UCLA.
There were two dozen boxes of my stuff piled up inside Endicott’s duplex. Because he packed them — apparently has no idea what does and does not belong to me — I also received lots of stinky, dirty, oxidized crap such as his mother’s old tube socks, nail polish that separated into half oil and half goopy mess, and other equally appealing items all covered in a thick coat of dust. Yuck.
Only half of them came home with me as he was kind enough to let me dump old textbooks and homework in his large recycle containers. He offered to store the first few boxes in his home with his usual, ‘I’ll just take them to Goodwill so you don’t have to throw them away,’ nonsense. I didn’t go for it as I just saw a pile of my stained, faded and worn out clothes and shoes five minutes earlier in his downstairs duplex. On more than one occassion, I threw several of those items into the trash bin only to find them months later stashed away in a back room of his house. Just before I moved out in December 2004, I consented to his Goodwill run. ‘Sure, take that stuff to charity. Yeah, right!’ Boy, was I wrong! I am soooooooooooo glad to see how well my completely useless items helped so many others. Way to go, Endicott…This time, I wonder how long he waited before he pulled everything out of the recycle bin?
Beside the recyclables, I purposely left behind my housewares which were indistinguishable from his; two of my lovely vintage chairs were better suited to his home that my apartment; I didn’t bother with the china, flatware or even the Pottery Barn dishes (picked up at a yardsale in the mid 90s) because his junky, dirty, tattered piles of stuff made me feel claustrophobic. I’m not going back inside his sad home until I get the inevitable call from the authorities telling me he’s been trapped under a pile of trash. Even then…
Out of all the boxes I brought home, there are six big, dusty ones I haven’t completely sorted and emptied. Tomorrow morning, I’m throwing the whole lot of them in the dumpster. If I could live without them for two years, I could probably live without them even longer — like the rest of my life.
One man’s trash is another man’s Goodwill pile,
Flo
March 30th, 2007
Here I go again, mining my emails for IXH posts:
I received an email from my Aunt Molly in mid-March asking (in part) about the status of my temp job with the venture capitalists. There was much speculation — on my part as well as that of several people in the office — as to whether or not I’d receive an offer of full-time employment. Here’s my guestimation on how that would work out.
—– Original Message —-
From: Aunt Molly
To: Flo
Sent: Monday, March 12, 2007 4:34:39 PM
Subject: Are you OK????
…How have you been? Is the job still going OK?Just want you to know I miss you and think of you often. Let me know.
Love,
Aunt Molly
—– Original Message —-
From: Flo
To: Aunt Molly
Sent: Tuesday, March 13, 2007 10:13:40 PM
Subject: Re: Are you OK????
Hi Aunt Molly,
My temp job ends at the end of March unless the venture capitalists ask me to stay on a permanent basis. I’m certain that won’t happen because I totally blew the interview. Ten weeks of good work, camaraderie and compliments went right out the window because the CEO freaked me out.
He started the interview by saying he thought I’m intimidated by him (he’s right) and he doesn’t think he’s an intimidating person. Then, he said the previous assistant was very personable and gave the company a rep as a warm, friendly, caring group. The inference was that I’m not warm, caring or friendly so what do I plan to do about that? It just went downhill from there. Within minutes I was squirming and almost at a loss for words when the CEO said he didn’t know me and wanted to get a sense of the kind of person I am as he’s not just interviewing to fill a job, but also to find someone who would fit in as a member of the ‘family’. The entire office of fourteen people regularly socialize together so it’s important to know if I’d fit in, too. The questions that followed, such as, ‘What do you do on a typical Saturday night?’ and, ‘Who would you say is the one person who had a huge impact on your life, was your own personal hero?’ totally freaked me out…Hell no, I’m not getting that job. After that interview, I don’t want it…Seems I’ll have to start over again.
When I mentioned this interview from hell to a friend, he said that in his business everyone knows that some people don’t interview well, while others are terrible at conducting interviews and should just never do it. What he tries to do is see past all of that and find out if the person being interviewed can do the job. In this case, I think the CEO is a bad interviewer and I’m just as bad an interviewee! Sheesh.
I was mostly right as here’s what happened a week later, as noted in yet another email:
—– Original Message —-
From: Flo
To: No one you know
Sent: Tuesday, March 20, 2007 8:32:36 PM
Subject: None of your beez-wax
Venture capitalists are a fickle bunch. A week ago, they asked me to stay on until the end of the month. Seems they changed their minds a day later and discussed it with the temp agency. Neither the VCs nor the temp reps mentioned it to ME until last Friday. I was only told because the Controller invited me out for a goodbye scoop of ice cream at the nearby Baskin-Robbins. She was a little embarrassed that that was how I found out — and she should have been, too! That’s not cool!
As upset as I was (though not in front of her or the others), it was probably the best way for it to happen as I’ve felt so stressed out this last month over the prospect of being out of work again (and all of the unpleasantness [read: poverty] that goes along with that). Waiting another two weeks for it to happen
would ratchet up my tension to a full-fledged freak-out! It was better to be surprised as the shock wore off in a day.
Though I’m still a little anxious, I am 100% happier than I’ve been in awhile. That stress made it hard for me to think straight and it was even more difficult for me to enjoy myself for any length of time.
Starting over is never fun. I’ll let you know how it goes.
No work and all stress, make me a dull girl,
Flo
March 29th, 2007
I never got the appeal of Valentine’s Day. It’s mostly comprised of mediocre candy, silly greeting cards that are read once, then quickly tossed aside in the mad rush to an overcrowded restaurant featuring surly wait staff dropping and mixing up orders of overpriced food. That’s the good part! It’s the needless the pressure to show one’s sweetheart how much he or she is cherished, and adored that galls me.
I’m all for affection, consideration and major PDAs. Ask my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, or any of my exes what I was like as a girlfriend and wife, and you’ll hear that I did all that and more on a regular basis. The occasional note in a jacket pocket as a sweet reminder that not only am I here, but I’m also thinking about you. Yep, that’s how I roll! (I hate that expression and I am more than a little bothered that I really do roll!) Fake a holiday to sell useless crap and gouge lovesick people is well and fine until you tell me I have prove my love on that day. Listen up, Hallmark: I shared it everyday, so there’s no way you’re tricking me into joining in on your stupid “holiday” manufactured to maximize profits. Ha! No, I don’t like Valentine’s Day at all. (Can you tell?)
The times I did celebrate it was when a relationship was on it’s last leg. Only then did I buy the card and small gifts, which were exchanged in some half-hearted attempt at romance. Now, when I’m at my weakest, most vulnerable moment as I’m alone again, this “celebration” captured my full attention. Yes, I am a bitter, lonely woman! It’s true — I’ll admit it.
That’s probably why I ate up any attention paid to me that day. It began with an early morning email of well wishes that had me skipping into another day of temping with the venture capitalists. It only got better from there as they showered me with gifts.
First, I received a lovely bouquet of fresh cut roses, hydrangeas and other equally girly flowers in a clean, short, rectangular vase. (Adorable and not exactly cheap. I know because I processed the invoice!) Next, the CEO let me have his four season tickets to that evening’s Clippers game at the Staples Center. Seems that all of the VCs were coupled up to spouses that did not want to spend the evening watching sweaty men run up and down the court. I find that completely baffling as hot, sweat-soaked men are the only reason I’d go, though the beer and pretzels come in a close second and third! Last, a rep from a local employment agency gave me a box of Sweethearts candies. She was at the VC office trying to hook them up with a new full-time assistant — apparently NOT me! I didn’t mind as she paid me off with candy! (I’m sooooooooooooo easy!)
Not to rub it in to Endicott, Crazy Joe or any of the others, but I never got this much nice stuff from any love interest! Getting goodies was a nice change of pace, but not necessary or expected now or any time in the future. A simple, sweet, and sincere gesture is more than enough for me. (Told you I was easy!)
As I drove off for the Staples Center that evening, I received a phone call that started with, “Hello, this is Sherman Oaks Florists. I have a delivery for Flo.”
Oh, really! “This is Flo.”
No way could I be home to receive the flowers anytime before midnight. I had a double date with a married couple and a platonic male acquantaince who was humorous but that’s not the same as funny, so he’s not appealing. (At all.) Sorry to my “date” as well as other men in the greater LA area that are not funny, naughty, sexy or tall enough to be considered for romance with me…That will probably get a big laugh from anyone that knows me as my criteria used to just be funny. Older, short, unconventual looks (read crooked teeth, oversized gut and a bald head) were okay and even welcome as I was only concerned with a man’s character, kindness and love for me. Now, I’m much more picky. I’m not giving anything up without the naughty, sexy AND tall, with extra points added for blue eyes — also very, very nice…Where was I?
“Can you tell me who sent the card?” I asked as my car sat still in the traffic hell, also known as Santa Monica Boulevard.
“Uh, I can’t really tell without looking into the computer.”
“Well, can you read me the message on card? Maybe that’ll tell me who sent me flowers.”
Please don’t let it be from Endicott, I thought. You might remember that my soon-to-be ex-husband, Endicott, used Sherman Oaks Florists to send me flowers on my birthday and our wedding anniversary…after our separation. Yes, you read that correctly: Endicott sent me flowers a year after I left him. I don’t understand why he did it, either. I don’t understand most of what he does. Maybe that explains our divorce!
“It reads, ‘To F, From E.’”
I think that’s when I gasped. My heart was racing as she asked, “Is that a good thing?”
“I don’t know.” I said. It took a minute of concentration — easy to muster as my drive only covered an inch at a time — before I realized who sent me the flowers. As much as I wanted them to be from someone else — someone fitting my new checklist, ideally living in my town, Los Angeles — I knew they weren’t. It was all Endicott. Again.
I was late meeting up with my friends, but still on time for the start of the game. The players were interesting to watch, the crowd was fun, my friends were entertaining and the beer totally worked. Maybe a little too well as I kept thinking, “I don’t want YOU. I want someone else. Someone who can’t be here with me. And even if he was in town, he might not have time for me. Oh, that’s not true…Is it?..Hell if I know. I need more beer!”
I did phone Endicott the next day and thanked him for the plants though not in the nicest of ways. “Hey, Goofball, you sent me plants for Valentine’s Day.”
I could almost hear him shrugging as he said, “Yeah, I didn’t want to send you cut flowers that would die a day later. I asked (the florist) for indoor plants that would live if you wanted to keep them at the office.”
“Yeah, that was a nice arrangement. But also majorly uncool to send the woman you’re divorcing a Valentine’s Day gift!”
“Yeah, what can I say? Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I let out a long sigh so he wouldn’t take my resignation as approval; even though I did love the plants. “Well, it’s too late to stop you now, so thanks anyway, Goofball….You know this is going on the blog, right?”
Love,
Flo
March 28th, 2007
Yesterday was one of my rare days off from my temp assignments. It didn’t take me long to find my way to Del Taco for breakfast with my best bud, Jean Luc. Between oversized, sloppy bites of breakfast quesadilla and potato sticks smothered in ketchup, I heard him ask, “So, have you checked your (IXH) stats recently?”
“No…” Truthfully, I think about this site almost everyday, but am usually too darn lazy to pop in and say hi, let alone check up on my site statistics. I’ll happily take lazy over my usual reasons for neglect and abandonment of IXH: an arthritis flare-up or depression. These days I’m a wee bit anxious about my insecure employment situation — and the lack of funds needed to prop up my extravagant lifestyle of rent, gas and the occasional batch of groceries — but mostly, my life is good. More on that later.
“…is it still at 700 (readers) a month?”
Jean Luc, oh so casually said, “No, it’s double that.”
“What?!” I put down my quesadilla — you know me, I never put down food unless it’s wiggling on it’s own, and even then I’m likely to remove the offending culprit and continue on — as this news required my full attention. “I have 1,400 readers? How the hell did that happen?!”
“No, it’s more than a 1,000, but it will probably be over 1,400 by the end of the month.”
He offered some explanation about my added posts be tallied up by the major search engines so they now give me more hits and yada, yada, yada. Sorry, Jean Luc, but I’m not the least bit interested in whatever voodoo it took to get this little slice of heaven more readers. But I am more than amused, flattered, and downright daunted by these facts:
- 1,100 people this month (as of ten minutes ago) are reading about my silly little divorce.
- 20% of them added IXH to their favorites list.
- A whopping 71.1% of the readers pop in via a direct address or a bookmark.
“You have an audience waiting for you, Flo. Get to posting.”
Dear reader, I can’t promise you anything as I am a gigantic flake with unpredictable health and a penchant for freak-outs, but I’ll see what I can do!
I like you, too,
Flo
March 27th, 2007