Daddy's Little Girls

I have a friend who was a rather rebellious teenager and fell into a tough street lifestyle into her early adulthood. She left home at 17 and lived all over the country. For years she had a tumultuous relationship with her parents, going long stretches of time without seeing them. She became pregnant with her own child and delivered a beautiful baby girl. This was a turning point for her. She got off drugs, found a legitimate job, and got off the streets. She created a small but beautiful home for her and her daughter. Eventually she went to college and got a degree in a field that she felt truly passionate about, all while maintaining the same job for 12 years.

Recently my friend decided to move back to her home state, a great move for her, but sad for me. She has mended the relationship with her folks and has become an integral part of their daily lives. Her teenage daughter is now surrounded by a positive family unit and succeeding in school in a much more positive direction.

Today my friend told me she has a fishing trip planned for the weekend with her father, the first time they have ever gone on such an outing in her entire life. Given my recent paternal issues, hearing of their strides, I felt hopeful that perhaps someday I will be able to find peace with my own father. We have a lot of unspoken hurts between us that have been swept under the rug for over 30 years. So, thank you G.P.T. for not only being my best friend, sister-in-heart, and confidante, but for showing me through your experiences, that nothing is insurmountable. You are my inspiration for family unity.

To Coupon or to NOT to Coupon....

There is a reality television show on a cable network titled "Extreme Couponing" which I believed (note-past tense) to be the ultimate stretch on finding a series that would hold a semblance of interest. I must admit, I have been sucked into a few episodes and actually find myself motivated to take a stab at this newly publicized phenominon. The amount of savings to be had is mind boggling if done correct. (One lady had over $600 in items and paid $4.18.. by ANY means, this is awesome).

This afternoon I found myself at the local grocery store picking up a handful of last minute ingredients for recipies I will be trying during tomorrow's holiday celebration. The market was quite busy, all 18 lanes open. Each one easily housed five customers deep and almost every cart was brimming with a variety of meat, charcoal, beer/alcohol and a plethora of fixin's for side dishes. With ninja skills I managed to navigate through the aisles, grabbing my small list of items and shimmy into a check out lane in less than 15 minutes. Unfortunately, lane 13 was a very, VERY bad call.

The fella' two customers in front of me had a one inch stack of retailer and newspaper coupons AND receipts from a previous shopping spree. Quite rudely he demanded credits for items on said receipts which required extensive investgation and the keyed override approval of a manager, thus holding up the line. Minute by minute I became exeedingly annoyed at the delay this caused me and my melting gallon of ice cream. Please do not misunderstand, I give kudos to anyone who is talented enough to make the system work in their favor, especially in these rough financial times. However, there are a few ettiquette tips I might recommend.

1. Please do your best to plan these time-consuming treks for the market's slow hours, NOT the most busy time of day.
2. Do NOT decide one day prior to a major holiday to conduct your couponing.
3. Please allow the customer behind you with three items in hand go ahead of you, ESPECIALLY if it's ice cream.
4. HANG UP YOUR CELL PHONE WHEN YOU ARE BEING ASSISTED AT THE REGISTER!!! (seriously, this is common courtesy people.)

After today's experience, I hesitate to try my hand at saving a few pennies with these ditties. I am still up for the challenge, however; I realize the simplest common consideration as to when and where you test your skills makes a huge difference. And to Lola the cashier, you showed great patience and professionalism to this tactless excuse for a human, yet smiled with apologetic eyes to the unlucky souls who unloaded behind him. For that, you get major "props" from me. When I see you next, the Starbucks 10 feet away will be on me and I will relay this story just so you know people really DO appreciate great customer service.

At Long Last...

Another day is done and you’re still the only one for me

Feelin you…

I want you here with me

Turn my gray skies blue

I need you here with me

Yes I do…

I’m not crying everyday

Wishing things were a different way

I’m learning love is so easy

Mmm, the things he does just to please me

Took some time but I finally found someone

Who could be mine

I found my heaven’s design

And with all the people out there to see

Right here is where I want to be…

Feelin you…

If you knew back when

All the pain I been in

Even you could see

What this man means to me

And if he don’t know right now

That somehow you heard me calling

Caught me as I was falling Saved my life. (Yes you did)

And although in the past

They all have left

This man wont leave my by myself…

So I’m feelin you

He could just tell me what I want to hear

But he’s sincere

Holds me through the night

Wants to talk it out when things aint quite right

Wants to know each and every side of me

Wants to keep me happy

He’s just that into me

Perfect Imbalance

A friend and I had a conversation this evening about relationships and the emotional complications that surface at different intervals in them. While she has minimal dating familiarity due to a long term relationship, I have an extensive dating background and minimal experience with lengthy commitment.

Although she can entertain the romanticism of butterflies and indulge in a blind faith attitude to trust someone new, the end result is still uncertainty. I am the complete opposite and immediately become skeptical if someone seems too good to be true. I have been infinitely hurt and the outcome is an acrid approach to the opposite sex and a coat of armor around my heart thicker than Europe’s Iron Curtain at the close of World War II.

We both try to not hold past relationship history against new prospects on our horizons, but in our own individual way we still maintain a bit of guardedness when it is time to open up. While she allows a man into her heart with pure optimism in a new beginning, I immediately put up a barricade. I may have genuine emotional attachment for this new prospect, yet I behave as though I am unaffected by their kindness out of fear of being hurt again.

How do we find the balance in protecting our hearts while still allowing hope to lead us down the right path? How can one female grasp more caution while the other learns to be more trusting? How does she protect herself from unnecessary pain? How do I attain faith in finding a loving relationship? How do we find compromise and allow ourselves to be vulnerable, yet still protect our souls? How do we sift through the emotional propaganda and allow ourselves to be loved?

THERAPY

A lonely day filled with overcast skies and chilly wind was rather depressing this morning. I have been in the mood to write something heartfelt but have lacked cerebral creativity as of late. Since I felt the need to escape my abode to avoid the proverbial wall climbing, I headed to one of my favorite locals. Here I find amusement in people watching and never have a lack of inspiration. If you have ever been to OB, you know exactly the type of eclectic melting pot that it is.

I parked at the far end of Newport Avenue, the main thoroughfare, and strolled up towards the string of antique shops, bars, and smoking retailers. I entered a bar with a door that may have once passed for English oak. This place is an oldie but goodie for locals but it shall remain nameless to protect the innocent. This is the type of atmosphere you get when you mix tourists, seasoned drinkers, hustlers, tree-huggers, potheads, balmy weather and a constant ocean breeze.

The bar was a long, dim room, five crude ripped leather booths to the right, a wooden bar refinished in glossy acrylic to the left, and the typical mirrored wall showcasing bottles of grain. Eight serious drinkers were present. Mostly gray hair or balding, and upholstered by an extra 15 pounds of belly, propped against the vinyl bar railing. All were either watching the basketball playoffs on mute or facing the bartender, OB’s incarnation of Freud, who looked as though she sampled the wares at intermittent intervals. The Cure played on the jukebox, reminding me that boys don’t cry.

I plopped my rear end into a seat at the bar and ordered my usual, vodka/soda with two limes, please, because today lucidity would be a real bitch and I was in need of some attitudinal healing. The soused man next to me smiled and extended a howdy-do. There was not enough wintergreen in the world to disguise the cigarette on his breath despite his claim to be on the wagon. Ye old failure to rehabilitate. In the stool next to him sat a skinny guy with 3 day stubble, scared rabbit eyes, broken blood vessels exploring his bulbous nose, and the burnished skin of the hard drinking homeless. His sidekick had a face that had once been pretty but had been paved over by bad decisions and a lot of drug abuse.

I finished my glass, put my shades back on, left a tip on the bar and headed back out into the sunlight and the rhythm of the city.The sun was shining through the clouds and I felt as though I had entered a whole new day. Cheers to Ocean Beach.