Moving on. Moving up.

So a year and a half ago. Two years ago. Perhaps three. Nearly 4...I went through a bad break up. And not bad like hurling insults and throwing dishes at each others heads. Not even messy like: I'm-taking-the-house-and-your-Swiss-bank-account-and-am-going-to-be-very-petty
-over-every-last-detail. Not at all messy really - or childish. But painful. Very very painful. Where one retreated further and further, the other fought harder and harder for attention. Any kind. Good or bad.

Finally, when the realisation that he was never going to change set in, I set off. Picked up what was left of my pride, my very self, and forged ahead. The most difficult thing I have done - but probably one of the things I am most proud of in hindsight. You see - life with him wasn't bad. But it wasn't good. It was just...beige. He didn't love me. He didn't not love me. But what I learned is - I had to love myself. No one is going to love you until you love yourself. Sounds trite, I know. But it's true. I had to love myself enough at such a low point in order to lift myself out of a world to which I had become accustomed. Where I felt comfortable. Where I felt stagnant. Where I was lost.

Anyways. I was sorta just contemplating all this after I read a fantastic quote on - of all things - a Lululemon shopping bag. "To rise out of mediocrity you must not be afraid to fail." And I admit -I am pretty much afraid everyday...of one thing or another. Real or imagined. Mostly the latter. I am afraid I am never going to get the things I want out of life. I am terrified of the journey to achieve them. I am not sure if this is the reason for all the self-sabotage - the moments where things are going oh-so-well that I need to upset the proverbial apple cart and return to my neurotic state - where ironically I feel calm when I am worried about everything.

I don't know. I am just tired of waiting for life to begin. And yet at the same time I am afraid of living life. As set in my ways as I am convinced I want to change them. Weird I know. And reason #792 I am somewhat difficult to live with; no matter where the living is...

Let me know the new zip code Parkes, and we'll see if we can help this girl face her fears in exchange for a new life adventure. In exchange for even more happiness.

Again.

I'm Ginger. Fly me!

So I was sitting there – across from my better half – admiring the view of both said person and the mountains outside the window of the sunny café pub. A pint of lager in one hand – a nacho in the other. We had just finished a long hike drive and it was time for a visit over hops, barley, and various deep fried goodness. A little après ski. Sans the skiing.

That’s when I heard the sound – foreign in the moment – and yet strangely familiar. Ah yes – the sound of the cell phone ringing in my backpack red snakeskin purse. A sound so foreign nestled amongst the sunshine and trees outside the window at the mountain resort.

It was Miss L. It wasn't like her to call – as I had told her we were heading out of town for some much needed…um...R & R. I answered her call though – my very own call of the wild so to speak – and she sounded v. upset.

Her brother – who had the poor taste to set her up with her now-ex-BF Mr. Beige – had run into Mr. Beige the night before – out and about on the town with a new accessory of the female persuasion. And at first I couldn’t figure out why this would bother her. I mean she left Mr. Beige. And good riddance – she can do so much better. But the problem is just that – she hasn’t done better…YET. And the mere fact that he is moving on and is dating someone new – while she is reading self-help books, going to sex toy parties, taking cooking classes, and volunteering with the poor (okay I made that last one up) in order to better herself – while he – Mr. Beige (complete with the red neck/blue collar) is out and about on the town.

So I told her I understood. I’ve been there too. (‘Cuz who hasn’t really?) I mean I half expected The Ex - (* my very own Ex) - to erect (don’t read into it) a shrine in my honour – and worship it once – twice – max thrice – daily. But that didn’t happen either. Hell – I’m not sure that a year and half later he even notices my absence yet. But that being said – it IS easier to move on yourself – rather than see someone else move on – while you are momentarily stuck in limbo.

And she understood that. Sorta. But then she also couldn't get over another sorta silly, somewhat trivial, but very real-to-her concern. Mr. Beige had a hole in his heart where an educated lawyer once lived. And now that spot had been taken over by a flight attendant. A stewardess. A waitress in the sky. And at that point I truly understood. For I too had encountered that very situation. In fact, I couldn’t have written a better outcome for The Ex than ending up with a flight attendant as is also his new accessory. Something along the lines of:

“Once Upon a Time Ginger was fed up with being taken for granted and/or being ignored despite her very charming, very feeling, very intelligent package, and finally left her already-absent spouse. She had not only figured out WHO she was but WHAT she wanted out of life, and the type of man she would like to share that life with. Enter her former BFF/current beau, and for the first time – in her whole entire life – she thought “Here it is – someone who often sees this crazy world how I do…someone I can share all this with…someone who gets me...someone I love...and who returns that back to me tenfold. I am so unbelievably lucky!” Meanwhile, The Ex spent his days…and nights…playing videogames, playing extreme sports, playing videogames about extreme sports, until one day one of his esteemed extreme sporting colleagues introduced him to a 22-year-old flight attendant despite his mid-30’s reality. “Hmm…” thought The Ex in the split second he had while the Playstation fired up “Out of town most of the time AND free flights? SCORE!!!”

And the thing is – one has absolutely nothing to do with the other. I was not replaced by a flight attendant. And nor was Miss L. We both made conscious decisions to leave situations that were ultimately very bad for us. And I have been lucky enough to start rebuilding a new life with someone else. Someone better suited to me. And she will too. It’s just a matter of timing.

So what words of wisdom did I impart? Basically that she is one of the most wonderful people on this planet – funny, kind, pretty, smart, and even deep (learning to be anyways). And that I am proud of her for beginning to understand what she wants out of life, because she will find it. She just has to be patient and wait for it to happen. And when it does the view from first class will be much much MUCH better than the view from serving peanuts at a cruising altitude of 27,000 feet.

But until she's willing to believe me, I defer to the Replacements. Who actually - in retrospect - may have said it better…

She don't wear no pants and she don't wear no tie
Always on the ball, she's always on strike
Struttin' up the aisle, big deal, you get to fly
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky

Paid my fare, don't wanna complain
You get to me, you're always outta champagne
Treat me like a bum, don't wear no tie'cause
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky

And the sign says, "Thank you very much for not smoking"
My own sign says, "I'm sorry, I'm smokin'"
Don't treat me special, don't kiss my ass
Treat me like the way they treat 'em up in first class

Sanitation expert and a maintenance engineer
Garbage man, a janitor and you my dear
A real union flight attendant, my oh my
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky

Fortune Cookie Wisdom

I have been blogstipated. For. Like. Ever. Nearly two seasons have come and gone...and not a single word. I have so much to say. So much wisdom to impart. And yet I sit here not knowing where to start. I know I could start at Chapter One - as I am so very good at beginnings - but it's the where to go thereafter that has me somewhat stymied. I have spent the better part of the year growing, learning, celebrating, mourning, remembering, forgetting - or at least trying to. The blame. The anger. I am just so tired. Am looking forward to looking backward and feeling the relief that I survived what has been a difficult emotional journey, even if it was the best outcome for all. He - the target of so much anger and blame...he - who in retrospect was never 100% to blame...taped this very message to my computer monitor years - if not lifetimes - ago..."Mistakes are often the stepping stones to success." And so I must learn from this...forgive him...forgive myself...and move forward. Recognise that not all of it was a mistake - for there are so many moments I'd do over exactly the same as they still make me smile....while the moments that made me cry are slipping further and further away. So here's to a new season with a fresh outlook - head up making eye contact with the world, working towards - not against - all I want, and of course the odd stepping stone thrown in along the way.

Bliss

At what point does the girl you are with become the girl who is worthwhile?

Until 10 minutes ago I would have thought – said – presumed – it was when you first fell in love. No wait. That may be too soon. Perhaps it’s when you go on your first date – even if it’s a week…or a month …or a year - or 2 - after you first met. Maybe it’s when you start to spend every waking hour together – and those hours that you’re not together – the ones that tick by so slowly – become all-consuming thoughts of THE one in your life.

That. That is what I thought. I was wrong.

On review, I would suppose that a person – a woman – can only become something – something worthwhile – once she has accepted her fate and become the property of the man. Married. Don’t ask me about it – because I have a lot to say. A lot. A self-proclaimed expert of sorts – for I have been down that path…and found my way back. My way back to being me. Where my last name is the same as it was for the 28 years leading up to it. Where I am not just another possession to be admired. To be envied. And I thought – I think – I know…that “back” is where I belong. That just because I do not wear an expensive trinket on my ring finger – does not make me cheap. Nor worthless.

So imagine my complete and utter shock – when someone – someone who I thought got it – understood it - someone who I thought was my greatest supporter and aided in my journey to become un-lost - comments about how his newly-wedded friend should not have time for him anymore – since now – well - he’s married. He’s won. He’s done. Forget the fact he’s shacked-up with said betrothal for nearly a year. Forget the fact – as difficult as it may be - that her wedding dress fit tightly across her now 6 months pregnant frame. These are things I do not judge. In fact, these are the things that I thought mattered. These are the things that I would have thought – made her a priority to him long before some stupid ceremony and piece of paper. But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps this is just me extending my bitter-jaded-once-bitten-twice-shy-you-name-the-synonym-my-god-I-can’t-believe-I-used-the-
word-synonym-in-a-sentence point of view.

But to me marriage is what one makes of it. I am neither for, nor against it. But I do not believe it should be entered into foolishly. Nor should it make someone more important to you a mere day later than the day before. Because if that’s all it took to make someone make someone else a priority – well – perhaps I’d still be living in the house on the hill…instead of picking myself up off the mantle – and dusting myself off - however much better I may be for it...

*** P.S. DECEMBER 4, 2006 - Dear Parkes : I wrote this in June - but never posted this until today. I wrote it in anger - as I do many of my posts - but I'm not mad at you - don't believe I ever was. Yet another moment where I misunderstood/misconstrued/misfired - and for that I apologise. I did feel compelled to post it though, if only to better understand the frustration and anger I felt - feel - at myself. Forgive me...~G

Beverly Hillbilly

Okay…it’s like – Day 192 since Parkes left…and as much as I have enjoyed this time apart…I think I am ready for his return.

I have, however, become reacquainted with the box in the corner of the living room though – and more happily – with one particular show involving one very posh zip code. I hear the opening song - in all it’s synthesizer glory - and am magically transported back to days spent lying about in my one bedroom apartment wondering what my future would hold. Which on second thought – would mean that I’ve come full circle really…though fill in as much drama in the past few years to make even Kelly’s head spin. You name the story line. I have lived it.

Regardless – what I also noted during Episode 3 "The Green Room" today – apart from terribly bad writing – is that the boy I would stalk – if it were me walking the halls of West Beverly- has certainly changed. Circa 1992 – I would have given anything – ANYTHING – to give up my (non-existent even at the time) virginity to one Mr. Dylan McKay. Dylan was soo cool…so popular…if you could just land Dylan McKay then - well your days would be filled with long rides on motorcycles, surfing, and a constant good time. I was always pro-Dylan – the bad boy – the fun guy – whatever you call it – I was just plain attracted to it.

He was certainly far more attractive than the sensitive, emotional, about-one-day-away-from-his-first-period Brandon. There was nothing that put me over the edge faster mid-90s than goody-two-shoes Brandon who always showed up at a party or the beach armed with an empathetic ear and a life lesson for all. He was smart and articulate and good-looking – but didn’t ooze the charm of Dylan…the bad boy…the one that could suck you in and make you feel like you were the one lucky enough to be with him…even if it were the other way around.

Fast forward 10 years…and I find myself looking at the two boys of Beverly in a whole different light. I mean sure Dylan is hot and you could have a really good time with him. He looks great on the beach and can ride the waves like no one else. But he’s also the shallow end of the pool so to speak. He’s emotionally shut off…and though I’m sure has feelings - deep down...somewhere…he hasn’t the faintest clue how to express them…partly since his parents ran off to France when he was still in high school…choosing to buy him fancy toys to distract him instead of dealing with his hurts…his happiness…the things he needed to be taught. No wonder Brenda moved to London. I mean what kind of future is there with a man like that? Sure – you can date him…get engaged to him…hell – even convince him to marry you - but at the end of the day he’s in it for fun…and well…anything over and above that….is just a bit too heavy.

Enter Brandon – whose cheeseball musings and high brow banter always used to drive me a bit batty. Really didn’t like him at first. But you see - as I’ve matured…I’ve noticed that it’s Brandon who is actually the hottie - the keeper…the one who will stick by you during Student Council elections…the closing of the Peach Pit…friend’s drug additions… family emergencies...pregnancy scares. It’s all about Brandon. He listens. He empathises. He nods in understanding. And then he tells you how it is - not always what you want to hear – but how it is…and it makes so much sense and suddenly you feel very supported…and very very much not-so-alone anymore. And you start to notice why he’s so popular - why everyone loves him - because he’s kind. And genuine. And that is a rare combination. Credit his loving family. His good relationship with his sister. His great genes. I’m not sure. But in retrospect - Brandon is the guy you want to hold on to - the one you should tackle life’s adventures with. I mean - yes - there are times he might not be as fun or as carefree as Dylan. He may not even look as good in a wet suit. But when the chips are down…there’s no one better to have on your team than the Student Body President.

And that my friends is what I have learned from watching TV.

Saturday Night Fever

Hi Murz...just me...just got in...can't get hold of you because - well...third world shit phone lines...(he he) and the fact I think you are in church. (Honestly...I think you really are...not in the way I always say "Oh-shit-don't-let-me-sleep-in-and-miss-church-tomorrow" dripping-in-sarcasm-way - but in the "you-are-in-Uganda-and-you-really-really-are-going-to-church-this-Sunday-morning" way) I hope your day is good so far...I know how hard it all is on you...and just want you to be okay.

Anyways - I have just returned home from the bar (yes...altruistic me as well) with Miss Gillian and The Broker. Lovely time really...both are big fans of yours. Good time all in all...learned lots...mostly that I'm not as strange or neurotic as I might think...oh - and a bit of info from each...namely:

Broker: "You Ginger are tall with long blonde flowy hair and blue eyes. You look like an American Eagle model." At which point - I do not know whether to be flattered or offended. It sounds like a fancy way of saying "plain." UGH. (at which point he called Miss Gillian "exotic-looking." I'm so boring! HELP!!!)

Gillian: I love Parkes. You should marry him. In South Africa. I'd so come to that. (looking all exotic no doubt.)

So you see...everything is just how it should be.Me the plain-American-pie (ugh - I am so not-American)-looking-girl-next-door getting married in Durban. Now that would make an excellent AE spread.

Good luck in church - avoid all lightening bolts...and say a quick prayer (or 12) for me.

Ta.

~G

Day 3

Not much to say that hasn't already been said today on MSN...and telephone..which btw...is the best spent $3 a minute ever...and cheaper than those late-night party chat lines (so I hear...)

Anyways. Just thought I'd post here incase you can't open the email...


----- Original Message -----
From: Ginger
To: Parkes
Sent: Tuesday, May 30, 2006 10:17 PM
Subject: cute kids

Hey (insert silly pet name here)

As we were talking (which btw - went so fast - 15 minutes felt like 15 secs! IMY!!!) I found this great photo on the 'net of kids in Uganda. It makes me smile...and I thought it might make you do the same...:)

I hope you are okay for the next few days...I think it might be a bit hard for you - only because you are such a softie (once referred to as "bleeding heart liberal" - which I'm sure said name-caller regrets and now takes back...) Just please be strong and know that you will make a difference to a lot of these people - even if you can't just bring some little ones home as requested. We are so soooo unbelievably lucky (or "spoiled" as someone once referred to someone else - though am sure said name caller/bleeding heart liberal now regrets same and takes it back...) to live where we do (by birth or by choice.) I watched a documentary tonight on sweatshops in China - called "Mardi Gras - Made in China" which showed the factory where the beads (beads for boobs) are made...and just contrasted how hard these people worked for 10 cents an hour making strings of beads...and how hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of these beads are simply tossed about like nothing in New Orleans. (don't I recall...? ;) Very interesting concept - very poorly directed IMNSHO (see that you've done to me???!!) and all I could think was "Parkes could have so done this show so much better..."

Anyway. I digress. All I'm saying is that we are lucky and I am sorry I am a whiner about missing you...I just do...and can hardly wait 'til you are back in this country safe and sound...(though noting a forest fire could break out at anytime)...splitting that $75 bottle of Malbec with me - even if some Argentinean boy only got paid 3 cents to make it.

Chat soon...
~G