The Road To Hell

It started with a good idea.

The 3-day holiday weekend! Total bliss! Well, except for the fact that I was home alone gazing out the window at heavy fog with no plans whatsoever.

This was during one of my infrequent "dry spells". Or maybe I should say I was "between engagements". Whatever the case, I had just ended a relationship with Mr. Wrong and the next Mr. Wrong had not yet appeared.

The call from Cassie came early on Saturday morning. "What are you doing for the weekend?" Cassie lived in Sacramento, a couple of hours away from San Francisco. I responded with my plan to sleep late, watch television, and read books. Cassie said, "Why don't you come up here? We can sit by the pool, work on our tans, drink wine, gossip, and generally just relax." I told her that sounded great, but without a car, I really didn't think I could do it.

"Don't be silly!", Cassie said. "Take the Greyhound!" If she had told me to take the space shuttle, I wouldn't have been more surprised. Although I was in my early 30's at the time, I had never taken a Greyhound bus. I had seen those buses on the road, but I'd never actually even thought about going anywhere on one. It just seemed slightly seedy to me.

Cassie went on to describe the 80 degree weather, the cute guys that just moved into her apartment complex, and all the joys I would not be experiencing in cold and foggy San Francisco. "Oh, come on, Linda! Don't be so prissy!"

I told her I would call and see about schedules and get back to her. I called Greyhound and I was told the price and the schedule. I decided to make this an adventure and just do it. (I could have written the Nike slogan at that point in my life.)

Rather than getting "packed" for a trip, I decided I would just take a Macy's paper shopping bag and throw my things in there. I didn't need much. I packed a bikini, underwear, shorts and a tank top along with a big handful of tampons (because you just never know, or at least I never really knew) and my cosmetics and toothbrush! I also brought a couple of books to read on the trip. I think I was out the door within a half an hour.

The Greyhound station in San Francisco is in an area called "The Tenderloin". It is a very blighted neighborhood. Hookers and pimps all over the street outside of the terminal. There were several flat-eyed cops who looked at everyone funny, even me. Inside the terminal, I quickly found the ticket window and got my round-trip ticket for Sacramento. The bored clerk pointed me in the direction of my bus and I walked through some pretty shady looking characters to get there.

There was already a line formed and I got in line right behind a couple of young sailors. The sailors were a little intoxicated, but not really rude. The bus arrived and we got on. I was in the next to last row with the sailors in the seats behind me. I put my bag on the floor and opened my book.

Since I was at the back of the bus, a lot of people came past me when they wanted to use the restrooms. (It's a two hour trip, people. Pee before you leave home!) Of course, I think some of them went into the bathroom to shoot their heroin. This was sort of a scary cast of characters.

The sailors were having a bitch session behind me and they were also drinking beer. I could hear the "pop tops" being snapped every few minutes.

It was only a two hour trip but it seemed a lot longer. We finally arrived in Sacramento and I stood up and grabbed my bag and got in the aisle to depart the bus.

I was shocked when the bottom of my bag opened up and all of my "stuff" rolled up the aisle in front of me. Tampons spewed everywhere, little items of clothing landing in the muck on the floor, my pitiful toothbrush laying there. I guess the sailors had been drinking their beer and leaving the cans on the floor under my seat where the spillage caused the shopping bag to fail.

A very kind gentleman gave me a plastic bag and I grabbed my panties and swimsuit and cosmetics bag and toss them in. I ignored the tampons all over the floor.

A young man's voice, one of the sailor's, said "Miss, here's your toothbrush!" I said "Oh thank you." (Yeah, sailor boy, I'm really going to use an toothbrush that came off a Greyhound bus floor.)

I wasn't even at the swimming pool or in the sun and I was already having an adventure! Lucky me!

That is the first, last, and only time I ever rode on a Greyhound bus.

Elephants On A Bridge

An elephant never forgets.

I think I've heard that all my life. My elephants have seen so many things. They were around for my first marriage, the birth of my first child, and all the events that followed in my life.

These elephants cost me an entire paycheck when I was 17 and right out of high school. I found them at an antique shop and fell in love with them. They are carved onyx and have ivory tusks and I was told that they were very old when I bought them.

The children that came into my life, my own and others, broke some of the ivory tusks off while playing with the elephants. I was sorry that happened, but if something must remain untouched, I see no reason to have it. The elephants have a small post on their feet and they can be taken off of the bridge. I see the appeal of touching them.

When I was younger, I didn't realize that elephants must always face the main entry door in a home. If you make sure that you position them that way, the wrong people won't come in. My ignorance cost me dearly.

There was the husband that was a disaster. Then there was the next wrong choice in a partner. Then there was the thief. Then there was the policeman and his handcuff games. I could go on, but I won't.

When I finally realized how the elephants should be placed, my whole life got a lot better. I stopped having the wrong people come into my home.

The man that looked good and had game still called me with his evil but appealing suggestions, but I didn't invite him to come and visit. The neighbor woman who wanted to gossip about other neighbors was kept on the porch. The out-and-out goofballs just stopped knocking at the door.

That's not saying I gave up all of my wicked companions, but I just went to their place instead.

It's My Nature

Yes, I know it's 2:00 PM.

My husband is flying home today and I should be dressed for his arrival. Why am I still laying around in pajamas and a bathrobe? Because it's my nature.

I have been on the phone with my favorite cousin in Oklahoma for the last three hours. Her name is Kelly and her mother is my late mother's sister. They had bad tornadoes near where Kelly lives last night but that wasn't what we talked about. We talked about our restless natures. She and I are very restless women. There's this weird dichotomy of boredom and anxiety that messes us up. Both of our mother's had the same affliction.

We both are very moody and very flighty as well, sometimes literally. We have gotten on airplanes to meet up numerous times, with no particular plan at all. When we run away from home, we run to each other.

Now I'm feeling stressed because my husband is on his way home and I'm not dressed or made up. (Not that I really need the war paint since I am so naturally cute and all.) I have pulled nothing out of the freezer for dinner because I don't want to. When my husband travels, I get mad about it. I know he has to work, but the anger is just there anyway.

If I ever get reincarnated, I hope I can come back as a cow. I would love to have a cow's nature. I would love to be placid. I would love to move slowly and just wait to be milked. And I could be nice and fat and everyone would think I looked great. (Wait, I am not skinny now. Never mind.)

I feel like a fat female tiger who has been put in a cage and I don't like this feeling. I'm angry, nervous, tired, sloth-like, depressed, anxious, unhappy and fat.

It's my nature.

Abandoned By The Rapture?

These two dogs have been at this gate all day long.

The dogs belong to my next door neighbor, Mary, and her new husband, Chris. My neighbors are very religious people.

Now most of you know I am not religious. I answer to "agnostic" or "atheist" or "lapsed Catholic". I was brought up Catholic, but we all know that Catholics don't really read the bible, so I never really gave a lot of credence to this "Rapture" business in the first place.

(In fact, I thought the word "rapture" was used exclusively to describe something about one's sex life until very recently.)

But now I'm a little concerned. I have not seen hide nor hair of Mary or Chris all day. Their cars are in the driveway. The dogs have been standing at the gate forlornly since we got up this morning.

I realize that the predicted earthquakes and such have not occurred, at least not as of now. There was a blip on the screen today about a volcano getting ready to erupt in Iceland and that could be related, but I'm not sure. There were also exploding watermelons in China last week if memory serves and that also could be a sign that things are getting ready to pop, so to speak.

Mary has spoken to me about the Rapture in the past. I did have to tell her that I really wasn't religious so it wasn't a concern to me. Sweetly, she offered to pray for me and for Alex too. (He may even be more of a heathen than I am, by the way.)

I have seen all of my other neighbors around today, but most of them are relatively sinful people as far as I can tell. Actually, I have no way of knowing how sinful they are or aren't, but I'm just projecting my own failings on to them. I'm not proud of myself for wondering if I could help myself to Mary's gorgeous sterling tea service if she's gone. I mean, it would be a sin to have it just sit there in an empty house, wouldn't it?

I wonder if I should go next door and feed those dogs.

Hair

There is nothing scarier than a trip to the Beauty Shop.

You are putting your head literally and figuratively in someone's hands. Now believe me when I say that naturally beige platinum hair can be hard to come by, particularly if you want it cut to perfection. Perfection is a funny word. To me, it means, short, but not too short. Styled but not too styled. And sassy, but not too sassy.

My hairdresser, Sandra, a young Mexican woman, is good. I really like her and consider her to be an interesting and talented woman. Sandra married a guy from Mexico recently. She met him on-line.

When Sandra is happy with her bridegroom, I get the perfect color and the perfect cut. When Sandra and her new husband are having issues, there's no telling.

I have ended up with hair that had a purplish tint, a greenish tint, and a bluish tint from time to time. (Oh not to worry, it washed out after 7 or so shampoos.) I have had the perfect hair cut, I have had the Marine Corps boot camp coiffure, and I have had the country western, whoop de doo! It all depends on what is going on in Sandra's life.

Lest you think she is a flash in the pan hairdresser, I've been faithful to her for 10 years or so. (Longer than my faithfulness to some husbands I might add.)

In any case, Sandra did right by me today. And that always make it a good day, considering the alternative.

Remember the 8th Commandment

My husband Alex has been on a business trip.

As a matter of course, some of his trips, including this one, involve time at military bases. I'm not always sure where Alex is, and I frequently don't have any idea what he's doing.

Alex came home this evening. He was telling me about going to an honor bar at the base and picking up a bunch of candy, nuts, chips and such for the troops he works with. There was a sign over the honor bar that said "Remember the 8th Commander" and Alex was cool with that. He wasn't sure who the 8th Commander was, but that's not the point.

He put his money in the cash box and took the stuff into the guys and ladies and said "Here you go!" Everybody appreciates some free snacks when they are working hard.

Alex is Navajo Indian, a veteran of 25 years military service, and a very hard working guy! He understands all too well what the military people are up against.

Today, Alex went in and got a candy bar for himself, and picked up a handful of snacks for the troops and took another look at the sign. All at once he realized it said "Remember the 8th Commandment!"

His reaction was "Mutha Fucker! What do you mean? You stole my country and my land! Fuck you, Mutha Fucka!" Alex grabbed up big handfuls of candy bars, chips and nuts and took them into the troops. Did he leave money in the box? Oh hell no!

Not a dime!

One Clarification:

Alex was at a "defense contractor" location inside a military base. No troop will be responsible for the loss of candy, but an in the workplace, Ten Commandment quoting defense contractor might.

The Bride And The Prejudice

I am totally and thoroughly disgusted with myself.

Alex and I went to my neighbor's wedding on Saturday. I had prejudiced opinions over this wedding well ahead of the actual event.

My neighbor Mary's husband died about a year and a half ago. Mary is in her mid-60's, quite attractive, and she was left in a very comfortable financial position when her husband passed away.

I understand not wanting to be alone, I really do. When she came and told me she had met a man and they were getting married, I said "Good for you!" but I really didn't mean it. I was lying through my teeth. I didn't want her to throw herself into the funeral pyre, but after only a year and a half, I thought she was rushing into something. (Right, like that is any of my business!) I asked Mary how she had met the new man, and she told me "on the internet" which set up loud alarms ringing inside my head.

I had really liked Mary's husband. He was a great guy. Mary introduced me to her future husband, Chris, a few days later. He seemed like a nice enough man. He was recently divorced from his first wife. Mary mentioned that Chris was living with his parents for the time being (which set off more alarms in my head). There was also Chris's disapproving 19 year old daughter in the mix.

(Of course, I was comparing Chris to her late husband and the new guy came up a little short, literally and figuratively.)

When Mary came to see me and talked about her plans for the wedding I was frankly taken aback. She was planning a formal wedding, with bridesmaids, a matron of honor, and a long bejeweled white dress and veil. There were about 150 people invited to attend the wedding and reception which would be held at a very exclusive hotel in the Bay Area.

I "oohed and aahhed" appropriately, all the time thinking to myself that this was the tackiest thing I had ever even heard of. (This was Mary's third marriage. You don't do the dewy eyed 21-year-old type wedding bit when you are in your 60's and it's your third trip down the aisle!)

I sent in our RSVP note accepting the invitation to the wedding but I had a little trepidation over it. Since I was being critical in my head, I questioned that I should attend at all. Finally, I determined that as long as I kept my mouth shut and my negative opinions to myself, we should be fine. After all, she is my next door neighbor, and not to go would be insulting.

The wedding ceremony was to be at 4 PM, with the reception and dinner to follow. We arrived on time and admired the 5-tiered elaborate wedding cake before the religious service. I whispered to Alex that a family of four could eat for a month on what that cake must have cost. So much for my open mind.

When Mary walked down the aisle escorted by her brother, she looked lovely. The service was brief, but rather charming and not nearly as religion-heavy as I had feared. The reception and dinner were both great.

A couple of people I know made somewhat catty comments to me about the appropriateness of a formal wedding at Mary's age, but I immediately cut them off because the comments actually offended me.

Here they were at Mary's wedding being wined and dined on her dime and being critical! How rude is that? I felt that anyone who was critical of Mary or her wedding was a total jackass.

Okay, what does that make me? I'll answer that. I was a jerk, a hypocrite, a snark, and a jackass too. I've always considered myself to be open minded. Hah! Self-delusion is the worst kind of delusion!

When I watched Mary walk down the aisle with her pretty face glowing happiness and hope, I realized how very wrong I had been.

I had to ask myself, was I jealous for some reason? I really don't think that's the case. I've had weddings too. I always chose to have much more private marriage ceremonies because that is what I preferred for myself.

I felt ashamed of myself because in truth, I was just being a bitch.