Atomic Bombshell


Archive for June, 2004

Ms. Understood

Most of the time I blog about somewhat entertaining yet meaningless things, and it’s usually because there’s something else burning inside of me, just not yet ready to be released. If you scroll through my posts you’ll see they are like fireworks popping off… But then there’s the occasional bomb. Well, I’ve got one that’s ready to drop.

I’ve been thinking back on the most painful moments of my life, most of which involve some sort of abandonment by those who proclaim undying love. And I realized that there’s another level; something that bothers me even more than the loss. There’s a second denominator that eats away at me, and makes it even harder to heal… being misunderstood.

Words cannot describe the frustration of having your words, actions, and intentions misconstrued. My mind understands that the way others interpret me has more to do with who they are, and little to do with me – but my heart, my stupid heart, it aches to be understood. It hates being lied about. It screams for the truth to be known and believed.

Jesus knows what I’m talking about. He ended many lessons by saying, “For him who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Because he recognized that you can lay out the truth but some will only see lies. They will call pure love pure evil, just showing you who they are.

I can hear Blake saying, “It’s not about you, baby. Don’t take it personally.” And he’s right. I consciously agree, but deep down I’m sobbing. Because it means that nobody knows me, and that there’s nobody like me… and I feel so foreign and alone. I never had the opportunity to share because they never had ears to hear.

June 22nd, 2004

Love Squared

Normally I try to spare you the boring details of my daily life, but I’ll make an exception today. On Wednesday my throat wasn’t feeling so keen, and as it turns out, by mid-afternoon I was feeling just wretched. It turns out I’ve got a case of what my doctor is calling “sinusitis” – I’m calling it a gnarly fever, with accompanying joint aches, a killer sore throat, impenetrable congestion, and sinus pressure that causes lightning bolts of pain to randomly shoot across my brain.

For three straight days I enjoyed various stages of delirium. Writhing and sweating in bed, never sleeping for longer than an hour at a time. Now twenty-four hours into this series of antibiotics, it appears that I’m finally on the mend. But naturally, my life is never that easy. Today I got my period, which means time to bust out the heavy duty pain meds. Basically the aches and pains from my hundred and two degree fever have merely migrated south. Good times.

I had planned a wonderful family trip to Sea World this weekend, with complimentary VIP tickets and a special breakfast, for the premiere of their new Journey to Atlantis ride. So not only am I miserable, but I’m also missing out. So I packed up everyone’s snacks and lunches, told them to blow kisses to the dolphins, sea otters and penguins for me, and sent them on their way. Then I figured I might as well use this time alone to view some movies that only I’d want to see.

So I headed to the nearest Blockbuster and rented some truly sappy and retarded shit that only I’d watch. Thus far I’ve watched one of three, Love Actually… and I was surprised at how much it tore me up. It wasn’t that the movie was so great, some of the messages just spoke to me. Especially the one with the ten year old boy who played Liam Neeson’s son. I’ve been crying for far too long over this movie.

Must be another one of those sucks to be a girl moments… or PMS. Or maybe it’s just that I love love. Now would that be love squared? I’ll try and write more later. Time for another nap.

June 19th, 2004

Bento Boxen

Did I mention that I collect bento boxes?

I think they’re marvelous. Especially the delicate black lacquered ones with traditional asian designs. Mmm-hmm, beautiful… And difficult to track down, even in this land of plenty. My best finds often come from the famous Rafu Bussan and other shops in Little Tokyo. Sometimes I find something amazing on eBay, but it’s rare.

One of the coolest things about the bento (or obento) is the culinary tradition. There are seasonal menus; the Japanese are very into the different seasons, and they would almost never serve the same dish in spring that they would in winter. Take a look at the extremes some Japanese moms go to when creating their kids’ lunches. Unreal!

Back in the day, I was happy if my mom slapped a slice of bologna and american cheese on a slice of bread. Wow… a Capri Sun… is it my birthday? Seriously, if we weren’t eventually poor enough to qualify for free lunches at school, I think my brother and I would have starved to death. Maybe that’s why these lunch boxes warm my heart.

P.S. As tribute to a friend, I must say: If the plural of ox is oxen – shouldn’t the plural of box be boxen?

June 16th, 2004

Jungle Boogie

When we were kids, my mom worked odd shifts as a nurse, so at times she had to leave us with a babysitter. Although over the years we cycled through quite a few of them, my absolute favorite was a black family with kids our age. They were really amazing, nice people – and so much fun.

The dad called my little brother “my little white blood” and there was a lot of “gimme five” going on, seeing as this was the late seventies, or early eighties. I look back on those days and find that I really learned a lot from that family. Having the opportunity to be immersed in their unique culture helped me appreciate some things that maybe I wouldn’t have otherwise.

First off, they instilled in me an irrepressible love for FUNK music. George Clinton, Parliament Funkadelic, The Gap Band, Rick James, Cameo, Sly & The Family Stone, Bootsy Collins, Earth Wind & Fire, James Brown, Isaac Hayes, Kool & the Gang, The Average White Band, Curtis Mayfield, The Ohio Players, The Commodores, Tower of Power, War. There’s nothing else like it.

What went hand in hand with the music, and turned out to be of even greater benefit, was learning how to dance. My brother and I may have walked into their home that first day as stiff little white kids, but we sure as hell didn’t leave that way. No matter what was going on in their home, there was music playing, and if you weren’t grooving along they figured something was wrong with you – and they were right. If you can sit still with funk playing, there most certainly is something wrong with you.

Dancing is beyond important – it’s vital. Yet somehow mainstream American culture never really embraced its value. I blame those damned Puritans. Most of us crackers have no idea what it’s like to really get down and boogie. I’d even settle for a good hoedown, with fiddlers and a guy blowing into a jug. I’ve got nothing against square dancing, but you don’t even see that going on these days. What the hell is wrong with us?

Throughout history, dance has been an important method of expression. Think for a moment about the emphasis that other cultures, both modern and primitive, have placed on this art form. Even king David, a man after God’s own heart – and mine, danced up the steps of the newly-built temple. The bible makes over twenty-five references to dancing, yet fundamentalists still act like it’s wrong.

Can somebody tell me how dancing became a chick thing? My favorite comedian, Dane Cook, expounds on this phenomenon, noting that the only reason guys go to clubs is because that’s where the ladies are. You’ll find the girls out on the dance floor, shaking it in a big circle, with their shoes and handbags piled in the middle. Why do guys think dancing nullifies their sex appeal? Take a lesson: Fred Astaire was no looker, but women swooned when he hit the dance floor.

After a rough week at the office, I often try to think of what would best release the accumulated stress – and the only thing that I know beyond the shadow of a doubt will be completely 100% beyond effective is a night of dancing. Yet finding other people who want to go out with me is nearly impossible. Am I the only one who knows about this magic cure? I guess so. Well, there’s always the club kids… I just don’t know any of them.

I love even the idea of a dark, steamy, packed club, with music blaring so loud that all you can do is immerse yourself in the beat and get lost in the crowd on the dance floor. Like in music videos where they show sexy, scantily-clad people in slow motion, skin glistening, getting their grove on. That’s where I want to be. But I’m thirty years old, and somehow that makes me too old for that kind of activity.

INSERT DEEP SIGH HERE

But what I do in the privacy of my own home is my business, so I close the door in my bedroom and dance my ass off – literally, it’s aerobic, you know. Sure, it’s not the same as a club, and I don’t do it nearly as often as my stress level demands, but for now it’s all I’ve got… And as long as I’m still dancing, who cares.

June 15th, 2004

Stepford Wife

First of all, I should warn you about Garfield. The only reason it’s worth the money is to enjoy two hours of relative silence from your children… Othwerise skip it. You’ll wish you could get that chunk of your life back. As expected, it didn’t do the comic strip any justice.

To recover, the following night we went to see a movie I had been looking forward to for some time, Stepford Wives. Nicole Kidman, Bette Midler, Glenn Close, Christopher Walken, Matthew Broderick. Now this was truly funny, especially for the ladies. However, I had no idea that the last laugh would be on me.

I was wearing the perfect summer sundress, white with delicate peach and pink stripes – cleavage central, and a beautiful contrast against my freshly tanned skin – with a white handbag, matching white sandals, my coveted pink wrap, and Breck girl coiffure.

100% Stepford… Everyone exiting the theater enjoyed a grin.

June 13th, 2004

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