Balloon Fiesta gates open, at, ahem, 4:30 in the morning.
What the $%#& am I thinking?
And to make it more fun, it is supposed to rain tomorrow. Oh yay.
Wonder how many of the seven dwarves I can be tomorrow? Cranky and snarky are part of the crew right?
Let’s see, there’s sleepy, cranky, snarky, PMSy, drunkey, slap happy, and Bob.
Right?
Wheee!
A fave quote from the movie Untamed Heart. A now *coff* sixteen year old movie.
Gad.
Ok, so maybe my life isn’t like The Three Stooges in Spanish. Maybe more like The Three Stooges with the sound off.
Lot’s of running and jumping. Quite a few people getting smacked around. Zany faces. Screwball circumstances.
But without the volume, it’s hard to understand why all the commotion.
That’s me. Sometimes I don’t understand why all the commotion.
I think the answer is, simply, “that’s life.”
This week, I watched an episode of “No Reservations.” You know, the show with Anthony Bourdain? It was a rerun from last season, I think.
It was a “lost episode” from when they were filming in Beirut in 2006. There they were, clubbing, eating, sunning, and within the blink of an eye, things went bad. The country became unstable, they were surrounded by gunfire and air strikes. They had a terrible time getting out, eventually, they were rescued by US Marines.
Now that’s a hell of a commotion.
Look, I’m just fighting the forces of corporate confusion, middle age weary-induced crisis, and changing seasons.
You know, I have it pretty good.
Sometimes The Three Stooges in Spanish is a lot of fun. Despite all the commotion.
(That’s me in the center)
Hanging in the ladies room at a restaurant where The Good Man and I eat quite a bit is the below:
It is “Gli Italiani si Voltano – Milano – 1954” by Gianni de Biasi.
The title means, according to BabelFish, “The Italians turn themselves”.
Here’s the poster (click for a large version)
I am utterly fascinated by this photograph. I first started looking at it closer, because my best friend and I are talking about a girl’s trip to Italy next year.
We’ve all heard the stories, right? Is this what Italy is all about?
I have no idea the story behind this photograph, but along with being totally can’t-take-my-eyes-off it intrigued, it also scares the hell out of me.
It’s so…visceral. The look on the faces of all the men… You are pretty sure you know what they are thinking. And she, dressed in white, little Red Riding Hood plunges, fearlessly, into the pit of wolves.
The guy to her left, with his bottom lip tucked into his teeth TOTALLY thinks he’s got a chance. I mean, that dude is pretty sure he’s going to score. Which makes me hate him.
The guy to her right on the scooter looks skeptical. Perplexed. Dare I say, scholarly? For that reason, he’s the one I’m into. I’d choose him.
I have no idea who the woman is or what she looks like from the front, but my god, that kind of male attention is both craved and rejected by women.
How can she be so confident walking into that? Does she possess the certainty of a truly beautiful woman? Is she actually terrified but hides it well? Is she an Italian woman and thus used to ignoring this kind of stuff?
It conflicts me. I’m not a feminist. It doesn’t make me angry like “she deserves more respect!”
But I’m also not an old fashioned gal either of the “boys will be boys” fey sort of excuse making.
I can’t quite cipher out what it is that gets to me about this photograph. But oh, it gets to me.
…who wandered away from home, and might be a little bit lost?
This weekend my best friend arrived, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time.
Lately, I’ve been, yes, a little bit lost. Been thrown off my center of gravity and unable to get myself back right.
The Good Man has been a champ in propping me up, rubbing my shoulders, sending me back out there for the fight.
I keep swinging. And keep getting knocked down.
Then that great gal I described last week, the one who has been in my court for twenty plus years shows up…back up troops, you might say.
And from her roller bag, she pulls out some completely unexpected presents for my belated birthday.
In the presents, she had this (pardon the iPhone photo fuzziness):
That gift was the idea of my two goddaughters (her kids).
“Open it, friend,” she said, “and take a whiff.”
At first I thought it was some sort of unknown-to-me spice. But I was wrong.
I opened. I inhaled.
Inside that little canning jar, hauled on a plane all the way from New Mexico, was a little sprig of creosote.
“Smells like rain,” she said. She was right.
“Smells like home,” I said, and had to blink really fast so I didn’t dissolve into a huge puddle right there on the red couch.
“Hey Karen, what are you going to do this weekend?”
“Nothing!”
True conversation held last Friday.
The last two and a half months have been nothing short of a rat race. Every weekend something was brewing.
Every. Weekend. Since May.
Most of the stuff was good. Traveling, dinner with friends and family, visiting newly born godbabies, etc.
Also, both The Good Man and I celebrated birthdays over that time span.
There was also some crap stuff, like moving out of our place for termite tenting.
Every weekend was a blur, non-stop, arriving back at work Monday more tired then when I’d left the previous Friday.
I’m a Taurus, and by nature, a bit of an at-home kind of girl. Bonding with the red couch is my sort of speed.
My Gemini love is more of a “let’s GOOOOO” sort of fellow.
So for us, it is about striking a balance.
Combine my natural tendency to lay about with a couple months of mistreatment at the hands of my employers, and you have Little Johnny Karen on the verge of something not pretty.
All work and no play makes Karen a very, very cranky girl.
And so, for the past two and a half months I have been plotting and planning a weekend that included zero plans with anyone other than me, the husband and the feline.
I had targeted this past weekend for some time and was a little bit cranky in defending it. We had no less than FOUR invitations to do something this weekend. All of which, we turned down.
Sure, that may make me a bad friend, but I have my sanity to consider.
So finally, the delicious weekend of July 18th arrived, and good for my word, I did nothing.
Ok, to be fair, I did a few things. Laundry. Landlord came to make some needed repairs. Ran a few errands.
But I also took a *nap* on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh delicious mouth watering naps.
I also made dinner for me and the cutest boy on Saturday night. Took the time and made a genuine homemade dinner! Imgaine that!
You know what else? I *read* a book. My god, it’s like vacation porn. I actually sat on my tush and READ A BOOK. Ay god. Makes me drool just remembering.
So as it will, Monday has returned to my life, but so far so good. I feel a bit rested, calmer, ready to take on the slings and arrows that will inevitably land my way.
Next weekend, it all begins again. Rev up the big machine and start running. Won’t see another break until September…*sigh*
My new motto: Do nothing. And do it *really* well!
P.S. and all those old fashioned “you must get up early and work hard!” because you think it makes you moral-and-just type of folks. To you, I say BAH!
P.P.S. And BAH! again!