Archive for September, 2007

Make It Make Sense

{ September 28, 2007 @ 10:09 pm } · { Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon, My Friends, My Sisters and Me, Observations, sad }
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Last night I was watching the news–ordinarily I’m kind of a news junky.  I watch in the morning and in the evening before I go to bed, but the last week I’ve kind of been tuned out.  I’d heard a bit about a local college student who’d been brutally killed, but I wasn’t paying attention.  Last night the news ran video first of the suspected killer and then flashed a photo of her.  I sat up and my jaw dropped.  I know her.  Knew her anyway.  Not well, but I worked with her for a while at a local theatre and she was as sweet as she was pretty-and trust me-that’s saying quite a bit because I don’t think I’ve ever known someone more beautiful.  You know if I’d just seen the news story but had never met her, I’d have thought, “how horrible.”  But as foi put it “because it was someone you did know, even though it wasn’t well, it’s got you thinking more about it. You can put a voice, mannerisms, etc. behind the photograph. It’s understandable.”  She didn’t deserve that.  No one deserves that and I’m so sorry for her family and her friends.  And I’m thinking that I’m glad she was so very loved by everyone she knew.  She was just 19.  She had plans and potential, and even better, she had the drive to make it happen.  So it makes me sick to my stomach, literally.  Why would someone do that?  I just don’t understand.

You know what makes me feel worse almost?  I’m excited because tomorrow I’m going with sunshine and foi and amethyst to the Buffy sing-a-long extravaganza.  And last night when I started to cry, I was really happy because my sweeter-than-any-dog-ever-in-the-world came over and put his chin on my knee and looked up at me imploringly and said, “it’s okay, I love you really, truly, always” and I was so happy to him there and I felt so sad that she wouldn’t be able to have that again.  It’s just kind of complex.  She should get to be excited about going to the movies with her friends and instead I am.  And please don’t misunderstand me, I’m very glad to have the life I have.  I’m just sad that for no reason that makes any logical sense to me at all, she doesn’t. 

And I feel guilty for not picking up her shift that one time.  If I’d known how little time she had left, I would have changed my plans and done it gladly.  I know that’s little and stupid.  I can’t help it. 

I can’t help thinking of the Buffy episode “The Body.”  Some of Joss Whedon’s best writing is in that episode, especially Anya’s monologue on the pointlessness of death.  It seems at first that she’s doing it again-being so literal and annoying, but she comes to the heart of the matter in such a sincere and deeply moving way:  I don’t understand. I don’t understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean I knew her, and then she’s, there’s just a body, and I don’t understand why she can’t just get back in it and not be dead anymore. It’s stupid. It’s mortal and stupid, and, and Xander crying and not talking, and I was having fruit punch and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever. And she’ll never have eggs, or yawn, or brush her hair, not ever and no one will explain to me why.

I found when Alicia died that I had to believe in heaven, and so I believe in it for M too.  But it still doesn’t make sense.  And I don’t think anybody can make it do so.

My Sister

{ September 26, 2007 @ 9:38 pm } · { My Sisters and Me }
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is awesome.  And I’m really sad because she maybe not, but most probably will be moving away.  It doesn’t matter whether it’s St. Louis or CA because either way, it’s far from here and I will miss her really tons and tons and tons and tons.  Because in case I haven’t made it plain enough my sister is my best friend and I couldn’t get by without her.  So I’m sad and even though I’m totally gonna support her and even help her pack, I’m selfishly depressed because I won’t be able to call her up and just go hang on out whenever. 

Fun Meme

{ September 25, 2007 @ 4:59 am } · { Meme }
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Stolen from my sister, who stole it here.

 1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Lester Escape.  (That’s just dreadful)

2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fav ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Mint Chocolate Chocolate Chip.  (That doesn’t really work.  How about MC Chip?)

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
E-Web.  (That doesn’t really work either.)

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Green Dog.

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Anne Lorraine Atlanta.  (Now that’s frakkin awesome.)

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Web-El  (ooh, it could also be my Krypton name…)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite color, favorite drink put “The”)
The Blue Dr. Pepper (back to not working for me)

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Linden Charles (gee, this is the same answer Chaucerian Girl gave.  weird.)

9. STRIPPER NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne, favorite candy)
Sublime Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.  (call me Sublime Butter Cup for short)

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
Anne Hayden (this is no good-we can’t have the same witness protection name-ooooorrr-maybe it’d throw ‘em off…)

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Benson Bedford

12. SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Autumn Daisy (yep, lacks the “in” in inconspicuous…)

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”)
Apple-Cordsie

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree),
Cinnacrunch Pecan

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Acting Thunderstorm Tour

Scheherezade Project-Afraid of Being Brave

{ September 24, 2007 @ 9:33 pm } · { S-Project }
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I’ve been a big fan of the Scheherezade Project for a long time. I think it was an inspired notion of Trista’s to establish a forum where people of all ages, pursuits, ideologies, etc can put their own unique spin on a common theme. Most of the time, we surround ourselves with the same people/ideas/convictions/emotions. It was brave of Trista to put something together that would challenge that.

But now her baby has started to languish a little bit. I’m just as guilty as anyone – I’ll read the monthly theme and make a mental note to write something up. But then…?
Nothing.

So I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to hound each and everyone of you until you contribute. I’m going to beg, plead, pester and even blackmail. You’d be surprised how much I can degrade and humiliate myself to get what I want.

And I’m going to ask a lot from you.

If you’re going to contribute, I need it to be personal. I need it to come from a place you don’t show to even the people closest to you.

If that’s too much for you to post, you can email it to me and I’ll post it anonymously (no speculation as far as whose is whose shall be permitted).

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Afraid of Being Brave

 

I have a lot of brave friends.  They scale mountains (figuratively), leap tall buildings (metaphorically speaking), and make the word a better place just by being (no, really, they do).  When I hold myself up in comparison, I fall short.  And it’s not because I don’t know how to dream or something.  Believe me, I spent a lot of my childhood wrapped in daydreams imagining what my life could be if I only had the courage.  There’s the rub.  Just call me Mitty.  As in Walter.  I dream big, but I fall short. 

 

When I was ten years old, roller skating was all the rage.  All the kids looked so cool, so vibrant, gliding around and around and around, hair flowing behind them in a spinning frenzy, faces wreathed in smiles of gleeful, pure joy.  It looked so fun and it would have been so easy to be a part of that.  All I had to do was skate.  But I was dreadfully afraid of falling down.  Not only would I be laughed at, but it would hurt and I could never decide which would be worse.  One day I tried.  I rented a pair of skates and tentatively made my way to the rink.  It seemed so vast from the outside looking in, but standing there holding tightly to the rails, it seemed the traffic was fast, much too fast, for me to just merge.  And I felt so wobbly and insecure, so I held on to the rail and felt the rush of wind as skaters passed me by.  I never once let go of the rail.  And I never really skated.

 

When I was fourteen years old I met a boy and I loved him so much.  I thought nobody ever in the whole world had ever loved or been loved quite like that.  But still I held something back.  What if I fell and what if I got hurt?  What if people laughed at me?  The boy never did, though.  He looked at me seriously, earnestly, and asked why I wouldn’t give him all of me.  “I am,” I told him.  “Everything I have is yours.”  And he didn’t really believe me, but he tried to.  He smiled warmly at me and touched my face and he told me how much, too much, he loved me.

 

When I was nineteen the boy married me, but he was so sad.  And I thought maybe it was me-maybe I’d done something wrong, or maybe the all of me wasn’t good enough, so I held back.  The boy held back too.  Something in his once open, earnest expression closed.  He didn’t smile as often anymore and once, when I asked him why he was so sad, he replied with a question, “Why won’t you give me all of you?”  And I said, “I am.  Everything I have is yours,” but he didn’t really believe me.

 

When I was twenty-five, the boy left.  He wanted someone who needed him, he said.  He thought I didn’t need him, but I did and I cried and cried and cried for days.  And then later on I realized I was doing okay without him and I cried even more because I didn’t need him.

 

I thought I wanted to find love, the real thing, love and I made myself pretty and time passed and things changed and when I was 30 I met a boy and all my guts and insides said, “no, no, no” and I thought “I must be brave and give and not hold back.”  So I did all that and then I fell and got hurt and the boy laughed at me.

 

I promised never again.  I armored myself and told myself I didn’t need to fall in love and I didn’t need romantic love to complete me.  Love is a fairy-tale, ephemeral in nature.  It doesn’t last.  It doesn’t stay.  It just reminds us we are fools and I didn’t need reminding, thanks.  So I say I don’t want to fall in love.  My theatre fulfills me, my friends and family bring me joy, and life is good without it.  I don’t need it.  But inside, I’m holding on the rail, watching eagerly, feeling the wind rush by my face, as the brave ones skate by, nothing so much as living joy.  And I tell myself, “hold on, be careful.”  And I am afraid to be brave.

 

More Copying from Jehara’s Page

{ September 22, 2007 @ 3:48 am } · { Meme }
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Appetizer

What is your favorite type of art?

I don’t really have a favorite-I like lots of different art and I love it when a piece affects me so much that I have to stop and just stare at it.  Like I can’t get enough of it.  That happened once at Kimball Art Museum when there was an exhibit of Russian masters.  This portrait of an older man just sort of caught and held my interest and I stood there staring at it for about a half an hour.  There’s also a piece at the Modern Art Museum, a sculpture, of this little old lady sitting on a bench and it’s so realistic.  You can see her varicose veins and her eyes are so tired and so wise.  I can’t remember his name, but they recently had a full exhibit of his sculptures and I’m really mad at myself because I didn’t make it. 

Soup

When was the last time you got a free lunch (or breakfast or dinner)? Who paid for it?

Just today, actually.  My dad and stepmother had the day off and they took me to lunch at this pub just down the street.  It was really nice to see my dad all relaxed.  He’s always so stressed and overworked.   

Salad

On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how emotional are you?

Lately, I’d say about a 8 to 9.  After A died, I turned into this really annoying mood-swing type of person.  It’s actually stupid, because I can tell when I’m doing it and I get so mad at myself, but I can’t make myself stop.  I really do need therapy and I’m not saying that in a down-on-Izzybella way.

Main Course

Approximately how long do you spend each day responding to emails?

I’m an obsessive email checker.  I check email 7-8 times a day.  That’s pretty weird, huh?

Dessert

To what temperature do you usually set your home’s thermostat?

In the summer, I keep it around 77-78.  In the winter, I keep it around 68-69. 

S got this here.

Stealing from Jehara

{ September 22, 2007 @ 3:31 am } · { Meme }
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Because I let her borrow my Chosen Collection for a while, so it’s only fair that I steal borrow from her.  She got it from an elsewhere listed at the end:

 Q1 – Books and Movies: When a movie that is based on a book is about to be released–like “Into the Wild,” which is scheduled to open nationwide in early-October–do you try to read the book first or do you believe in the separation of books and movies?

If it’s a book I’ve never read before, I usually wind up watching the movie first and then reading the book.  Usually I wind up liking the book more.  For example, I read Stardust because I liked the movie so much, so a couple of days later, I picked up the book at Border’s.  The book is quite a bit different, though I can tell they tried really hard to capture the spirit of the story, but I liked the book better.  Just now I’ve been working on the His Dark Materials trilogy and even though I’m looking forward to the movie, I’m really worried they’ll muck it up.  Which isn’t fair because I haven’t seen it yet and there’s no reason to assume they would. 

Q2 – Dancing: Do you feel comfortable dancing in public, like at weddings or holiday parties? If not, would you be willing to take lessons and then try dancing in public, or is the thought of dancing in public just so unappealing that lessons aren’t even a possibility?

Like S, I do NOT feel comfortable dancing in public.  Back in my mythical 20s I used to go dancing a lot but I always felt stupid and usually wound up sitting talking with friends instead of dancing.  I’m just not very graceful in the sense that if there’s a wall there, there’s about a 100% certainty that I will walk into it.  So no-I would not take lessons.  It would be too embarrassing.

Q3 – I Want That: If you were able to own or have one thing that a friend, colleague, or neighbor has, what would it be? 

Well, I don’t want the accompanying financial responsibility, but I would love to be a home-owner like my friend V.  Especially of a brilliant lime green house.  That would be awesome.   

Q4 – Public Funds: The senior pastor at an Indianapolis-based Baptist church is publicly objecting the placement of special sinks that would aid Muslims (at the Indianapolis airport) in preparing for prayer because he opposes what he calls “the fraternization with our open enemies during a time of war.” The sinks, which are set to be installed near a parking lot where Muslim taxi drivers wait between runs, would aid Muslims in washing their feet in preparation for ritual prayers. Despite what the pastor thinks, do you feel it is appropriate to use taxpayer funds for the support of a single religion?

I know that taxpayer funds have been used for Christian art, etc. in the past, so I’d have no objection to sharing the love.  And I know this wasn’t the question, but I have to say it.  I can understand the controversy, but the ojection indicated of “fraternizing with the enemy in a time of war” is a stupid justification and shows ignorance of a remarkably peaceful religion.  True there are some extremist offshoots of the Muslim faith who call themselves Muslim, but the same can be said of Christianity.  Just sayin.

S got this meme from belicove.com

Diagnosis: Heel Spur

{ September 21, 2007 @ 1:30 am } · { diet Dr. Pepper rules, my feet, recycling }
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So I have a heel spur.  The doc showed it to me on the X-ray and there it was.  Not sure what I thought or expected and even though it’s just bone, it’s really sort of gross to think about.  Anyway, he gave me a cortisone shot, which OW, then taped my foot, gave me a prescription, which he told me was usually for arthritis, but would bring the pain and inflamation down and I have to go back in two weeks.

 Also, apparently I can never be barefoot again unless I am in bed or in the shower.  Otherwise, I have to wear shoes at all time.  Dude that is such a downer.  He did tell me I could still wear flip-flops, but I had to be selective about them (e.g. only at home and no more $5 Old Navy specials–I need to stick to my adidas and my crocs) and no flip-flops at all if I expect to be walking around very much.  We discussed MoMentuM a bit which was more like me going, “but I move a lot in the shooooooooooowwwwww.”  Yep, that whiny.  His reply?  “That’s great that you move a lot in your shows-just do it while wearing shoes.”  He didn’t add “dumbass” or “moron” but it could have been implied.  I’m not sure.

Did I mention I like this doctor?  Because I really do.  He has excellent bedside manner, so to speak, and he’s just so cool and matter-of-fact that in addition to telling him about my heel pain, I also wanted to tell him about this cool television series I like and did he think the Cowboys were any good this year.  He’s that kind of doctor.  I really like him.

 Also, that lovely 3-mile stretch I like to walk around my neighborhood?  Nope.  Not gonna happen for a while.  He is encouraging me to exercise, but he’s recommended low/no impact activities such as biking (recumbent bike) or swimming, etc.  He thinks we can treat the heel spur without surgery, but I have to take an active role in my treatment and not expect medicine, etc. to do it all for me.

So anyway, for those of you following my foot-saga with bated breath, that’s it-a heel spur.

Moving on.

I got a telephone call from my dad as I was pulling into the parking lot at school, and he told me that the recycling truck (as witnessed by our neighbor) backed into a really pretty mature oak tree in our front yard and pretty much leveled it.  Not sure how they managed to do that, but they didn’t stop, didn’t leave a note on the door, nothing.  The only reason Dad knows what happened is because our neighbor let him know.  The recycling people in our neighborhood are kind of anal-retentive.  They will literally suspend service as punishment if you put just one little non-recyclable item in the bin.  Now, this has never happened to us because we are, in fact, very careful about what goes in there.  But they’re so punitive and all “citizens must take responsibility” that I’m sort of gobsmacked that they just left the ENORMOUS mess in our front yard.  Like we wouldn’t notice?  What? 

The tape on my foot is bothering me.  I don’t think it’s gonna make it two days…

Finally, diet Dr. Pepper is so good.  Seriously.  I really love diet Dr. Pepper.  I don’t want to marry it.  But I really do love it.

That is all.   Go forth and do whatever you were doing before you started wasting time here at izzybella.wordpress.com.  And come again soon. 

Seen While Driving Home…

{ September 19, 2007 @ 11:00 pm } · { Observations }
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pre-teen kid on bike steering with one hand and talking on a cell phone with the other.  We live in a sad world, my friends.

 In other news, today is hump day.  Just two more days until the weekend.  Unless you answer to the name of “Izzybella’s Dad” which means your weekend starts on Thursday.  Lucky.  Not that I’m jealous.   ‘Cause I’m totally not.

On a completely unrelated topic, I have my podiatrist appointment tomorrow, so I’ll find out how on the money gypsy grrl’s diagnosis is.  I’m guessing pretty darn on the money.  The more I hear, the more I think, “yep, that’s me.” 

That’s really all I have today.  No profound thoughts.  So basically, a usual ordinary day!

What Do Dogs Dream?

{ September 12, 2007 @ 9:12 pm } · { My Dogs }
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I woke up this morning around 3:30 to the sound of my dog, Baxter, whining.  I rolled over, figuring he was petulant because he’d been trying to get my attention and I persisted in sleeping.  But no, he was curled up next to my bed shivering and crying.  Turns out he was having a nightmare.  I know better than to wake anyone, including an adorable yellow lab, from a nightmare by touching them, so I whispered his name.  No response, except another low long cry that made something creepy-crawly go up my spine.  I whispered his name a bit more loudly and that worked.  He stopped shaking and lifted his head and I know dogs can’t really talk, but I swear he said, “thanks, ’cause that was a really a bad dream.”  He reached over and rested his head against my hand, gave me one great lick across my palm and settled back down. 

I’ve wondered before what kinds of things dogs dream about.  Baxter has had nightmares before, but he’s also had what appeared to be really pleasant dreams as evidenced by a sudden tail thumping and wagging while still out cold sprawled inelegantly across the living room floor.  Baxter was a rescue dog with a really sad story.  He’d been extremely loved and then tragedy-his person also had a teacup chihuahua.  One day his person’s granddaughter was visiting and grandma gave her a big heaping bowl of ice cream, which she promptly dropped all over the floor.  Dogs are dogs and both the teacup and Baxter headed straight for the ice cream mess.  Baxter is terrible with food.  He doesn’t chew so much as swallow it whole, and woe betide anyone who sticks their hand anywhere near his food, because Baxter will chomp down on it.  He doesn’t mean to hurt, it is just instictive.  In all the melee Baxter wound up killing the teacup chihuahua.  The owner wasn’t unreasonable-she knew Baxter didn’t do it on purpose, but she couldn’t bear even looking at him afterwards, and it wasn’t long after that she released Baxter to the Lab Rescue.  I fell in love at first sight and Baxter never even appeared on the Lab Rescue website, we took him into home and hearts so quickly. 

This morning, I wondered again, “what do dogs dream?”  I don’t think he could possibly know or remember the teacup, but maybe he does.  I wonder sometimes whether he remembers his old family and misses them.  I don’t know.  I do know we immediately took to one another and I sometimes have wondered whether I’m similar in someway to his original person.  Maybe we look a little bit alike or maybe we have a similar sounding voice or smell.  Or maybe he just succumbed to my overwhelming charm and personality.  Yep, that’s probably it.  :)   Anyway, I really do wonder what dogs dream about…

9/11

{ September 11, 2007 @ 10:34 pm } · { 9/11 }
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To every man, woman, and child who lost someone they loved that day-I remember and I promise you I will not forget. 

To every soldier that is serving this nation, ever has, or ever will-my deepest gratitude.  I can’t thank you enough for working so hard to ensure I have the freedom to disagree with this administration.  That isn’t lost on me and I just wanted you to know that. 

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