Through Thick and Thin

I’m proud to be the lone wolf. Never needing anyone for anything, very self-reliant. I live very far from all of my family. Not even a distant cousin nearby. I never get homesick. Well only if they mention something particularly good happening, but it’s because I missed out on something good, not because I miss my family.

I never had more than a few friends growing up. I’m not a social butterfly, I don’t flit from party to party. I don’t dig casualness of any kind. My first best friend only stopped being my friend because she got a boyfriend and he gave her what I sure couldn’t. That was in middle school. In high school, there was no one I felt very connected with. I just put my nose to the textbook and powered through. Toward the end of college I actually had three friends I was very close with. But I moved and now they are just email buddies.

I’ve had one friend that has come in and out of my life ever since high school. We were like sisters in high school. We went to different colleges but always stayed in touch. When I got married, I asked her to be my maid of honor. She couldn’t afford the dress, so she showed up for the reception. Well the meal portion of it, then promptly left. I don’t think she brought a gift. As we grew older, she got married too, but I couldn’t afford to fly or drive halfway across the country for her wedding. We lived far apart but talked on the phone frequently. She was there for me when I got divorced, lending an ear any time I called. She even offered to put me up if I needed a place to stay.

When I got a myspace page, she got one too, and we were each other’s number one friend. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever come to having the cliche “BFF”. Everything was great for a couple of months. We emailed almost everyday, shared pictures, planned visits, and left cute comments all the time. It was nice.

When she got a new job where she couldn’t get on the internet very often, we tried to call to keep up the communication. She promised she’d get the internet at her house because her new job paid more money. Slowly but surely the communication dried up. An email every few days became a call every other week became a text message every other month until eventually nothing for months on end. I would call and leave messages asking her to call me back, but throughout our entire relationship, I have been the initiator.

I stayed really good friends with my ex husband, and while married he became friends with my friend. It got weird when my ex told me that my friend would email him more often than she talked/emailed to me. He said it was because he initiated the emails otherwise she probably wouldn’t have communicated with him either. It just felt so defeating she stayed in contact with him when I am the supposed the life long friend and I had been leaving messages too.

A couple weeks ago, my ex forwarded me an email from my friend after he sent her an email asking how life was going. She wrote about having a tubal pregnancy, needing surgery, losing the fetus, and being in so much pain. Not a peep to me about such a life altering situation. I emailed her asking her if there was anything going on in her life, and her response was a plain “oh, not much.” It was only after much prodding and beating around the bush she finally opened up to me about what was going on. We emailed back and forth a couple of times until she stopped responding. Just never replied the last time.

She was out of my mind again, until my ex told me he got a friend request from her on facebook. He was surprised because apparently she either got the internet at home or is using it heavily at work. She constantly leaves comments on his page, shares photos, and is on the internet frequently. I do not have a facebook page because I don’t even go on my myspace page much anymore anyway. I don’t need another networking website to set up, friend request the exact same people from myspace, and then ignore that site too. It was fun at first but not satisfying friendships.

I’m pissed like a jealous girlfriend. I created a bogus account and looked at my friend’s facebook page. It makes me sick to think she is actively nurturing these online friendships while she ignores the real life one. I imagine this is the same feeling one would get if they came home one night and daddy tells them he isn’t going to be with their family anymore because he has this other family he started and wants to be with them instead. Our relationship goes through these up and downs, and I’ve always put up with it because when we are up, it’s amazing. But I seem to be the only one left confused and friendless when it’s in a lull. It’s beyond frustrating. I put in all this effort for what seems like nothing. It almost feels like when a popular kid in high school pays attention to you because they were bored. The spilt second someone shinier comes along they move on, forgetting the encounter, meaningless to them.

Is it so much to ask someone to have a meaningful friendship in the era of text messages and facebooks pages? Don’t people just drop by for a visit anymore, unannounced, for no particular reason? I’m a very low maintenance friend, no drama, easy to get along with, and not demanding. I just want someone who cares about me as much as I care about them. Where there’s never a sense of one sidedness. Someone who only sees the good in me and helps me through the rough patches, just as I would do for them. Someone who would help me bake cookies, stay up late at night to talk about God, aliens, and just nothing. Someone who just loves me because they just do.

I’ll take comfort in knowing I’ve figured out half the battle. I know who that doesn’t apply to.

I Want To Put Them All In Jars And Shake It Like I’m Playing Yahtzee.

It’s a classic scene: I walk into the break room at work, overhear a couple of hens mid conversation, and thank all creation I’m not like them. It just drives me crazy how stupid, ignorant, and close minded they are. Today’s topics of conversation were the slut with whom the ex-Governor of NY was cheating with and what a gold digging bitch Heather Mills is.

One of the more enthusiastic hens is a professed Catholic who is not afraid to let everyone know what she thinks of them. Another plays the passive-aggressive Southern Belle so well sometimes I forget she is a real person.

I have a feeling neither of these women likes me all that much. Ms. Southern Belle has had a cellphone permanently attached to her ear for as long as I’ve known her. She is constantly talking to people while she’s in the break room, in the hallway, and even when she’s in the bathroom. Constantly. Non-stop. I know more about her than some of the people I’ve lived with. One day I walked into the break room when it was just her and I in there, and like usual she had a cellphone up to her ear. I heard her say, “Good afternoon.” I went about my business sitting dow at an empty table and reading about how to be a better person when she huffs and says, “Well I was talking to you.” I looked up, and cripes she was talking to me. I was so stunned I didn’t say anything back. She doesn’t talk to me anymore but I can’t say I’ve even noticed. As for the Catholic hen, she’s never done anything to me personally, other than annoy me by doing a mean impression of a mentally handicapped person. I’ve heard other coworkers talk about how she’s snapped at them and denounced gay people.

I don’t read or watch the news. I enjoy being out of the loop. For my job I know everything there is to know about what movies are in production four years from now and who’s sleeping with who, but I only learned of NY’s governor having a call girl from a client at work asking if we in CA heard about their Governor yet. She explained about his infidelities, and I explained that most of our members are criminals so if NY’s Gov. wants to get into entertainment, no one would bat an eyelash.

The Hens were first aghast at what a woman could be doing to a man that she would charge $5000-$7000 an hour. It took great willpower not to say, “I’m gonna guess it’s what you won’t do to your husbands.” And I’ve probably seen it done on “Oz”. I also wanted to add with my specialized training and above average skill set in the sexual arts, I would think $5000 an hour was reasonable to charge. The Hens just kept going back and forth with one saying how they couldn’t believe it while the other said, “I know!” Of course they couldn’t believe it, they aren’t worth $5000.

“Oh but you know who really shouldn’t be getting any money, Heather Mills. That gold digging bitch shouldn’t get any of his money. She didn’t help make him a star. So what if she has a kid with him. That was her way of getting more money from Paul.” Now, I’ve always had a feeling my own mother only had four children for the free slave labor it provided. If it wouldn’t be for the audible evidence every Sunday morning of how much my parents are still in love that theory would be proven. Although, I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t have one of Paul McCartney’s kids if it meant I’d get $48 million, so I can’t disprove the bit about the child being a trap. Being as old fashioned as I am though, I still believe people only have children because they are in love. And the best evidence my coworkers are idiots is that absolutely no one worth $800 million would get married without a pre-nup if they weren’t in love and planned to stay together forever. Divorce judges don’t think like jealous bitches. They think of how much a woman needs to maintain the lifestyle she became accustomed to while married. Especially is they have baby traps.

It’s hard trying to make myself a better person when I have to listen to very unenlightened people all day. My attitude to almost everything I encounter is either “Who cares?” or “What does it matter if it doesn’t directly effect you?” Maybe I’ll finally reach Zen when I can sit among a room of hens and not notice and not mentally participate in their conversations. Then again sarcasm and smugness does a soul good.

Deathbed Questions Are So In This Year

One of the most famous answers to the deathbed question came in this essay, often attributed to a woman named Nadine Stair but originally published in 1955 by humorist Don Herold:

If I had my life to live over, I would try to make more mistakes. I would relax. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I know of very few things that I would take seriously. I would be less hygienic. I would go more places. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less bran.

I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary troubles. You see, I have been one of those fellows who live prudently and sanely, hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I have had my moments. But if I had it to do over again, I would have more of them – a lot more. I never go anywhere without a thermometer, a gargle, a raincoat and a parachute. If I had it to do over, I would travel lighter.

It may be too late to unteach an old dog old tricks, but perhaps a word from the unwise may be of benefit to a coming generation. It may help them to fall into some of the pitfalls I have avoided.

If I had my life to live over, I would pay less attention to people who teach tension. In a world of specialization we naturally have a superabundance of individuals who cry at us to be serious about their individual specialty. They tell us we must learn Latin or History; otherwise we will be disgraced and ruined and flunked and failed. After a dozen or so of these protagonists have worked on a young mind, they are apt to leave it in hard knots for life. I wish they had sold me Latin and History as a lark.

I would seek out more teachers who inspire relaxation and fun. I had a few of them, fortunately, and I figure it was they who kept me from going entirely to the dogs. From them I learned how to gather what few scraggly daisies I have gathered along life’s cindery pathway.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefooted a little earlier in the spring and stay that way a little later in the fall. I would play hooky more. I would shoot more paper wads at my teachers. I would have more dogs. I would keep later hours. I’d have more sweethearts. I would fish more. I would go to more circuses. I would go to more dances. I would ride on more merry-go-rounds. I would be carefree as long as I could, or at least until I got some care – instead of having my cares in advance.

More errors are made solemnly than in fun. The rubs of family life come in moments of intense seriousness rather that in moments of light-heartedness. If nations – to magnify my point – declared international carnivals instead of international war, how much better that would be!

Accidental Vision Quest

I visited the Anza Borrego State Park yesterday. For the first two weeks of March, the desert is in full bloom. It was definitely something I’ve never seen before. While driving to the desert, Sir Brauny and I had many spectacular panoramic views.

When we got to the visitor’s center, there was barely any parking. I guess everyone else had the same idea to see the flowers bloom. Around the visitor’s center the bloomage was disappointing. There were little flowers here and there but nothing spectacular. I was fearing no matter how great they said the flowers would be, it was after all still a desert.

We wanted to walk up the Palm Canyon Trail. It looked short and supposedly had the best flowers at that time. From the visitor’s center, there was sign that said “Nature Trail” with a little arrow, so we walked half a mile on a concrete sidewalk to the camp ground area. At which point, we saw a sign that said “Palm Canyon Trail” this way with a little arrow. I realize nature probably doesn’t have paved sidewalks leading the way but you never know.

So we followed all the other people like sheep on Palm Canyon Trail. It was flat and had slightly better flowers. The ground was covered with teeny tiny red and pink flowers, then there were little bushes for purple and white, and large bushes of yellow. It was getting better the further we walked along.

The further we walked along the trail, the more confused I became. More and more cars were driving to the end of the trail. When we finally reached the end of the trail, I overheard someone say that where the cars were parking was $6 parking and you’d be crazy to pay that much when all you have to do is walk a mile to the BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL.

I’m from LA. I’d have gladly paid $30 to save myself a two mile round trip walk and for the realization we hadn’t even begun to walk the trail. We saw a covered map area with a cliche “You are Here” designation. Palm Canyon was a 1.5 mile hike, starting there. We thought what the hell 1.5 miles isn’t that far. Thus my accidental vision quest began.

Lesson one: The end is only the beginning.

Lesson two: It may look dead but there’s a lot going on beneath the surface.

Lesson two and a half: As one of the posters pointed out – you may not be able to see the wildlife, but rest assured they are watching you.

Lesson three: When charging down the path, you won’t notice the neat-o things around you until you stop to rest because you might have sun stroke.

Lesson four: Even if you go off the marked trail in what is clearly not meant for people, all paths eventually lead to the oasis.

Lesson five: If you knew the path was going to be long, hard, and steep beforehand, you’d never go anywhere.

Lesson six: You can make it, no matter how much it hurts.

Lesson seven: It’s wonderful at the top. Until you realize it’s just the beginning.

At the end of such a powerful five mile vision quest, we visited the Salton Sea. What a let down, just like Mother Nature said. There was a large highway near by and even though we had no map of the area, we took it. I figured as long as we headed north and west we’d eventually get home. We ran into the 10, which anyone knows goes right into LA. But it also leads to an Indian Casino first. We ended the vision quest at the Morongo Casino’s all-you-can-eat buffet.

It was glorious.

NPR – Tasty Ear Candy

There Is No God by Penn Jillette

I believe that there is no God. I’m beyond atheism. Atheism is not believing in God. Not believing in God is easy — you can’t prove a negative, so there’s no work to do. You can’t prove that there isn’t an elephant inside the trunk of my car. You sure? How about now? Maybe he was just hiding before. Check again. Did I mention that my personal heartfelt definition of the word “elephant” includes mystery, order, goodness, love and a spare tire?

So, anyone with a love for truth outside of herself has to start with no belief in God and then look for evidence of God. She needs to search for some objective evidence of a supernatural power. All the people I write e-mails to often are still stuck at this searching stage. The atheism part is easy.

But, this “This I Believe” thing seems to demand something more personal, some leap of faith that helps one see life’s big picture, some rules to live by. So, I’m saying, “This I believe: I believe there is no God.”

Having taken that step, it informs every moment of my life. I’m not greedy. I have love, blue skies, rainbows and Hallmark cards, and that has to be enough. It has to be enough, but it’s everything in the world and everything in the world is plenty for me. It seems just rude to beg the invisible for more. Just the love of my family that raised me and the family I’m raising now is enough that I don’t need heaven. I won the huge genetic lottery and I get joy every day.

Believing there’s no God means I can’t really be forgiven except by kindness and faulty memories. That’s good; it makes me want to be more thoughtful. I have to try to treat people right the first time around.

Believing there’s no God stops me from being solipsistic. I can read ideas from all different people from all different cultures. Without God, we can agree on reality, and I can keep learning where I’m wrong. We can all keep adjusting, so we can really communicate. I don’t travel in circles where people say, “I have faith, I believe this in my heart and nothing you can say or do can shake my faith.” That’s just a long-winded religious way to say, “shut up,” or another two words that the FCC likes less. But all obscenity is less insulting than, “How I was brought up and my imaginary friend means more to me than anything you can ever say or do.” So, believing there is no God lets me be proven wrong and that’s always fun. It means I’m learning something.

Believing there is no God means the suffering I’ve seen in my family, and indeed all the suffering in the world, isn’t caused by an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent force that isn’t bothered to help or is just testing us, but rather something we all may be able to help others with in the future. No God means the possibility of less suffering in the future.

Believing there is no God gives me more room for belief in family, people, love, truth, beauty, sex, Jell-O and all the other things I can prove and that make this life the best life I will ever have.

If My Life Were the Message, What Would It Be?

I wish I could nobly say my life is a beacon of peace and love for all to gaze upon. But it ain’t. I wish people looking at my life could easily discern I followed my bliss, the Golden Rule was at the forefront of all my decisions, or no matter what the question was, love was my answer. 

With all of the self-help and new age books I’ve read, I expected to be glowing, enlightened, and levitating by now. But I ain’t. Instead I have developed a smug sense of spiritual superiority, which hides my frustration at not being able to conjure things out of thin air yet. 

My life’s message feels more like a blend of: “Make plans and never follow through on them and then wonder why nothing has changed,” “Enjoy simple pleasures like a piece of cake and then feel bad that you liked it,” “Live vicariously through books,” “It’s safer to sit and think than go out and live,” and “Never admit to anything if it makes you look bad.” 

I would like my message to be “She was so genuine and happy, always true to herself, and never sacrificed her integrity.” Or “By following her present joy, future success immediately followed.” 

To achieve said message, I would start by finding out what makes me genuinely happy, focus on always being true to myself, and then doing what makes me happy. 

The core of my message is to just “Be happy in the moment.” I need to stop reading into bad things that happen to me, stop overanalyzing everything, and learn to relax.  I need to start living from my heart and less from my head. I need to stop thinking about how other people will view my actions. I need to stop judging myself. I want to have my cake and eat it too and then not worry how many carbs it had. When in doubt, just go with the flow. 

My first step in making my new message a reality will be to smile more. 

Introductions

My name is Higginbottom. When I was born, the BeeGees had a number one hit and Mr. Peanut was President. I consider myself witty, creative, funny, and many other positive adjectives.

I live in Hollywood and work in the entertainment industry at a non-profit for mentally challenged famous people. We’ll call it the Guild. Most of the people I help aren’t very bright, but they make some serious money. There’s hope for the smart and creative people out there.

My partner in crime is SirBrauny. He oozes charm, personality, and BBQ. A very passionate fellow for acting and writing, he is trying to make his way into fame’s favorable spotlight.

I am a firm believer in being myself and seeing where that leads me. I would love to be a make-up artist, special effects wizard, sitcom writer, big movie producer, cinema star, and an all around go-to creative person.

I’ve lived most of my life, who am I kidding, all of my life in my head. I’ve dreamed and dreamed of a life of great achievement, but I’ve only gotten as far as concrete possibilities. I thrive on peeking out from under the covers and then running scared if a monster peers back at me from the closet. I also thrive on reading books about how wonderful life will be if I make “the leap,” but instead I stand on the edge of the cliff with a rope securely connecting me to the nearest tree.

I am in vivid green jealous awe of the people who know from birth their life’s mission. “I want to be a first grade gym teacher,” “I was born to be a mother,” “My passion is fabricating 17th century chainmail suits.” Of my friends with this single career mindset, the quicker they achieve the know-how, the quicker they reach inexplicable happiness.

But for me standing scared on the ledge, forever craning my neck to see if the other side is truly where I want to be, I just don’t know what I want. What if it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? Oh god, what if it is? What if I change my mind? I’m too scared to even let myself figure out what I do want.

I want to use this blog to go exploring. It’s time to untie the rope, put down the books, and get to know me. I want to have answers to the questions, “What do you want to do?” and “What are your dreams/goals/wants?” Answers that make people go “Wow!”

Not the “wow, Higginbottom that’s so cute” a parent will follow up with “don’t forget to go to law school, you know, just in case.” But a “wow” that by the conviction and belief in my own voice, there will be no doubt what I say is possible.

No better time than right now to start.