Yes, Mom, I Would.

I screamed as I fell, Jess’s hand clutched in mine, frozen together in a grip of terror and adrenaline.   A choked sob, mid-pitch, coming from the back of my throat and halfway down my esophagus.  It had barely leaked out when we hit the water, our clinch broken by the impact.  Shock was what splintered the fog of panic.  The water was COLD, probably no more than 45 or 50 degrees and the current wasn’t moving at any sluggish pace.  As soon as my head broke the surface and I spotted her own blonde one, the fright of the fall was behind me and forgotten and I started to swim.  My skin began to numb and I quickly realized this wasn’t a leisure lap.  I was being pulled back under the bridge–the opposite direction of where DJ had climbed out and where I needed to be.  In the nanosecond that this hit me, I’d put authority behind my strokes and started to make headway toward the shore….

 

It was the first beautiful day of the spring.  Everything had thawed by then, but the weather itself remained stubbornly in the 50s.  Out of nowhere, the temperature hit 80 and everyone was walking around campus showing nearly illegal expanses of pasty-white, winter skin.  On weekends without RA duty, I spent the majority of time with my best friend Jess either in her apartment smoking weed or down at the bar shooting darts.  That early afternoon, we’d thrown the windows wide and rolled a joint, trying to decide what to do with the day.  Our friend, and one of her newest roommates, DJ, came out of his room in a pair of board shorts and nothing else, flipping his 70s style red hair out of his eyes.  “You guys wanna go jump off the Morrisonville bridge?”

The bridge was a favorite spot, secluded and down a dirt road.  It had long since been out of use and was now just a hang out, a place to drink a couple of beers and laze by the water.  Located over the Saranac River, I’d been a couple of times, and had seen my friends jump, but had never done it myself.  Jess hadn’t either, and bolstered by peer pressure, companionship and false bravery we agreed right away.  There wasn’t any delay at all and after we’d changed into our bathing suits, we climbed into his Jetta and sped off toward the spot, finishing the joint on the way.

As we got closer, my stomach started to tighten, and, whether out of anxiety or the effects of the pot, I started grinning uncontrollably.  We were laughing in excitement and camaraderie and soaking in the youth and beauty of the day when we arrived at the cement divider that kept anything but foot traffic from the bridge itself.  DJ had been on this adventure tens of times already and was cool as ice as he stepped over the concrete, but Jess and I leered at each other in hesitation and near-frenzy.  We’d both been here before, but the water had never looked so far from the bridge.  It was about a thirty-foot drop and I felt a thrill in the center of my chest as I looked over the railing.  There were two places to jump from, either the platform of the bridge itself, the level on which cars used to drive, or at the top of the arch which added another 10 or so feet to the drop and could be accessed by a hairy and rusty climb.  I wasn’t messing around with my inner daredevil and gave a solid “NO FUCKING WAY” as DJ began to ascend to the upper portion of arch.

He ejected a laugh and then leapt, a straight pencil dive into the fast-moving river.  Jess and I watched in unease for his head to break the surface and hooted and clapped as it finally did so.  As his body cut through the water, we climbed over the railing and found each other’s hands, breathing deeply as if that action would have an effect on our own trembling ones.  DJ made it to shore and climbed out, shouting back to us to go ahead, but to be careful, the current was stronger than he’d expected and the water much colder.  He stood on the bank, his intention being to wait for us to get there in case we needed help or hauling out of the water.  Now was the time.  And neither of us was ready.

Laughing and giggling maniacally, we pranced from one foot to another, very nearly peeing ourselves in hysteria.  The water was SO far away and my mini-phobia of heights was doing nothing to bring it closer.  We counted down, 3-2-1 and then didn’t jump, laughing harder as DJ egged us on.  There were HolyShit!s and OHMYGOD!s and ICan’tBelieveWe’reGoingToDoThis!s.  In fact, I think those were the only three statements we made to each other, making up in quantity for the lack of quality in our vocalizations.  There was no rethinking, we WERE going to jump, it was just a matter of screwing up the courage and DOING it.  Minutes lapsed by, what felt like ten, but was probably closer to 2.  We couldn’t keep doing this, I told her.  “Let’s stop being stupid girls,” I said, and she hugged me, agreeing.  “This is it, DEFINITELY on 3 this time” and we both nodded once, settling the matter, FINAL.

Gripping her hand in mine, I met her eyes for the last time and then squeezed mine shut.  It was the final countdown…probably the 3rd of its kind and we weren’t going to go through it again after coming to one.  This was IT.  Terrified, we clung to each other and took deep breaths as DJ laughed at us from the bank.  We were laughing too, but not out of mirth; it was nervous, jangling laughter that came from our throats and not our stomachs.  Usually the only one with trepidation, I was glad to have her there, standing (trembling) beside me, staring down the height.  I could conquer anything with that girl, and this, so far, was the scariest.  We counted together, 1—2—THREE! and headed for the water.

As I climbed out, I realized that for the first time ever, I hadn’t worried about what was IN the water before plunging ahead.  Turning back to look at what I’d done, large branches, almost trees, floated by, debris pulled along from the winter melt not yet subsided.  We’d jumped during the most dangerous time of year on the river, and like those branches, thoughts of old news clippings of drowned 20somethings floated through my head.  Later that day, I’d swear I’d seen ice chunks, inflating the size of my fish for effect.  Alive and unbroken, I shook off the unease and gave way to an adrenaline smile, linked by arm with my companions skip walking back toward the trestle.  DJ made a couple more jumps that afternoon and Jess might have, I don’t really remember.  I was content with my one, okay with never doing it again, and I watched from the bridge platform, smoking cigarettes and feeling the sun on my face.

Lesson Learned

The Prompt:

What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward? (Author: Tara Weaver)

I read this prompt and:  PANICKED!  I live on the west coast, so the prompts get to me at about 9pm PST every night.  I’m usually in bed reading by this point, so, I put my book down, pick up my iPhone* and read the prompt.  I like to sleep with them (on them?!), so that the next day, I can already have discarded the chaff that my subconscious deems unfit.  As it happened though, last night, I was already preoccupied with an unintended consequence of yesterday’s post**, so the sight of a such a BIG question tossed me right off my bull and onto my patoot.

“OMG!” my mind shrieked, “Have I learned ANYTHING?!  I think I’ve actually learned nothing.  At all.  This can’t be right.  There has to be something.  Think.  No, shh, think.  Okay.  I’m thinking.  Learned, learned, what have I learned this year….oh no….what’s THE BEST thing I learned this year.  FUCK, what is the best thing I’ve learned ABOUT MYSELF this year?!”  I shit you not, I was TOTALLY worked up.  So I took a breath, put down the phone, picked up my book, and lost myself in storyland until sleep hijacked me.  Then this morning, I got my weight training and yoga out of the way (yes, people, YOGA.  I do it too.  So shutta you mout!) and came home slightly more ready to tackle this monster.

Unfortunately, I can’t narrow it down to one thing (c’mon, you knew THIS about me).  The things in this  list go hand-in-hand.  They are all direct results of my year’s journey/hardship/bullshit/successes/failures/experiences; and they’re all pretty major with respect to ME and the (dysfunctional) way I operate.  Drumroll please….

Lesson # 1:  Know your limits. I don’t mean this in the namby-pamby, I-Can’t-Do-One-More-Rep, or, I-Cannot-Listen-To-One-More-Christmas-Song way.  I mean; know the point at which you will WALK AWAY and turn your back on a situation no matter how much effort you’ve put in or how much you stand lose.  Know the point at which YOU WILL NOT tolerate another second of anything and will give up and move on.

Lesson # 2:  Never settle. For real, demand your standards.  Yes, compromise is great, and it keeps the peace, but when it comes to the basics, the foundations, the ideals and the fervent desires, don’t accept anything less than the picture in your mind.  Surround yourself with people who perform to their potential and your expectations.  Let go of those things that continually disappoint, lest they become the status quo.

Lesson #3:  Even if you don’t believe it, operate on the premise that happiness and contentment ARE possible. (This one might just have been the hardest for me)  I could have just as easily titled this one “Fake It Till You Make It” or “Good In/Good Out”.  If you believe it’s out there, you won’t be discouraged in your search, even if that search seems to be lasting an inordinate amount of time.

Lesson # 4:  It is okay to be selfish. Okay, maybe not ALL the time.  But sometimes, it’s GOOD to be selfish.  Lessons #1 and #2 count on selfishness.  I can’t believe I’m going to use this example*** (A.H., stop laughing!), but if the shoe fits…..Anyway.  I had a spa party and the woman who came with all the products obviously wasn’t expecting my group of friends when she began her “take the time to pamper yourself” speech.  Regardless, she made an analogy by asking about airplanes.  ”When the cabin loses pressure, and the oxygen masks fall down, who are you instructed to put the mask on FIRST?”  The answer, obviously, is yourself.  The premise being, that you can’t take care of others if you’re passed out cold.  I agree with this concept.  Although I didn’t until this year.  Suffering in silence gets nobody anywhere.

So there you have them.  The lessons I learned about myself this year.  I could bore you with the actual examples from my life, but if you’ve been reading, you know that I’ve done that ad nauseam already.  Suffice to say that I DID learn some things this year.  Things that I’m amazed and happy about.  Things that are the seeds of the soon to be grandiloquent garden of my 2011.

*Egad, I just said iPhone instead of plain, old, PHONE.  Don’t ever let me try to convince you that the past five years as a westy haven’t influenced me.  This is really a topic for another post, but my conversion into an Apple geek and a love for Grande Coffee Frappucino Lights With No Whip And A Caramel Drizzle On The Inside Of The Cup are prime examples.

**Defriended!!!  With nary a word!  (This is yet another post…How Facebook Has Rendered Actual Human Interaction Obsolete)

***I promise that I’m not generally the type of person that has these things.  It was something new I tried out.  Please keep reading my blog, I promise I won’t try to get you to buy Body Butter or waxless candles or vibrating massagers….

POST SCRIPT:  I re-read this answer a couple of hours after posting it and realized that I could have also recorded myself Karaoke-ing to “The Gambler”.  Hilarious.

Friendship

The Prompt:

How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst? (Author: Martha Mihalick)

The answer to this question is no, they haven’t.  My friends, new and old, have served to only reinforce my perspective, which is something to the effect of: the world is something to be constantly wary of, but not so much that the wariness precludes from enjoying and being surprised and astounded by its treasures.

There are two things you should know about me before reading this post.  The first is that the only thing that I require of the people I know and love is loyalty.  The second is that it’s incredibly difficult to become my friend, because I know, without a doubt, that no one I meet is as loyal as I am. There are any number of therapists that could (quite accurately) give the reasons why I value Loyalty (big “L”) so highly, but honestly, the reasoning is not so important to know here.

I am so in love with the feeling of friendship, of camaraderie, of earnest reliability and staunch devotion that I will forgive just about any transgression against my standard in order to enjoy those moments that AREN’T disappointments.  That joy, no matter how short-lived, is so potent to me, that I don’t generally have a line in the sand for others.  You’re right, dear reader, to be unintentionally repeating the word “desperate” to yourself.  I am, rather, and always have been.

For as long as I can remember, friendship has been a lesson in humility for me, and this year was no different.  People will amaze and warm you, they will disappoint and hurt you, and they will straight-up abandon your ass when what you really needed was for them to pull you closer.

This year, I saw all three of those things, separately with three different girlfriends.

I was forgiven, without pomp, terrible selfishness.  (Don’t think I don’t recognize and honor that D.E.  You, sir, are a jewel and a bonanza.  You are the closest I’ve ever been to being understood by another girl.  I miss you everyday, and though I’m bad at showing it, value you to the highest degree in my life.  Thank you for appreciating what I was trying to figure out and giving me a pass.  )

I was left waiting by the phone, and finally, totally stood up.  (Oh, A.D.  You are my flight-of-fancy-friend.  Lighter than air and prone to keeping things to yourself in order to let others (read: me) shout to be heard, it was your turn to be selfish.  I was hurt, but I totally understand and love you anyway.  I learned that from D.E.)

I was judged and dismissed, and not even to my face.  (The only words I have for you, C.V. are harsh ones and most of them are born of disbelief and genuine hurt.  There is a list of people miles long who have more right to judge me than you do.  It would have never occurred to me to consider you fair-weather, but you are.  I made mistakes, of course I know that.  Your opinions? I counted on and valued them.  Your judgement?  You can shove up your ample ass.)

In the end, my friends did what friends are supposed to do this year; they supplemented me where I was deficient.  They supported me, they brought to my attention that I wasn’t the only one with problems, and they reminded me that I must be more discerning over who I let my guard down in front of when trying to figure out the machinery of my life.

Party

Prompt:

What social gathering knocked your socks off in 2010?  Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.   (Author:  Shauna Reid)

I think not.  The second I read this prompt, I couldn’t stop thinking how stupid it sounded.  Granted, finishing it would be a form of reflection, but in the end, who cares?  Who wants to read about some party I went to and what people were wearing?  I mean, I spent two and a half months this past summer traveling home and spending time with family and old friends.  The idea of recounting even the highlight reel of this trip is exhausting, not to mention, completely pointless.

BUT….I signed up for the challenge and finish it I will. Rather than bore you, dear reader, with pages of descriptions of people and places you don’t know, I decided the best way to participate today was through photos.  Here’s a glimpse into my life over the past year.  Enjoy!

I held my *first ever!* newborn baby this year.  It was during the Rose Bowl (Go Buckeyes!) and he slept through the entire ordeal.  After this, I was forced to admit that babies aren’t as scary as I’d originally thought.

A Little Elf

I helped my friend D ring in her 30th birthday on a girls’ weekend trip to Astoria, OR.  We found the Goonies House, the Mystery Machine and countless other treasures.  It was rainy in the classic Pacific Northwest way and I cherish every second.

The Goonies House!

My husband (not pictured) and I  hauled our asses out of bed at 4:00am on a number of different Saturdays to watch the Six Nations Rugby Tournament at Fado in Seattle.  There aren’t many better ways to start a morning than with an Irish Breakfast, Bloody Marys and whiskey shots.

Italia!!!

Rugby is a large part of our life, and this picture was taken the weekend of the DIII Championship Tournament.  It seems tame, but that’s only because I can’t show you the pictures of male genitalia flying around a stripper pole or the various other homoerotic situations that I caught on film.  Suffice to say, a grand time was had by all.

Attempting to look sober

The following are a series from my trip east over the summer.  Friends and family are food for the soul.

The Satellite; Wilmington, NC

The Most Amazing Handmade Margaritas EVER; Papi's Texican Grill-SC

Shots in Asheville, NC

Cabaret Burlesque; Wilmington, NC

Old Friends and a Tiki-Lounge; Patchogue, NY

A Kiss For a Very Pregnant Girlfriend; Shirley, NY

Three Generations of Sicilian Ladies; East Berlin, CT

And finally, come the remaining months of the year upon my return to WA.

L'Ecole Winery; Walla Walla, WA

Hallowe'en with The Quake; Port Orchard, WA

Thanks for your indulgence (if you’re even still reading).  Hopefully tomorrow’s prompt will be more insightful and interesting.  Cheers!

Beautifully Different

The Prompt:

Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up.  Reflect on all the things that make you different.  You’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.  (Author:  Karen Walrond)

(I find that there is something more than a bit cosmically humorous about the fact that I spent yesterday’s prompt saying things about myself that can be considered less than complimentary and today, I’m called upon to do the opposite.  Instead of calling attention to my flaws, I’ve got to sing my own praises.  I’d like to meet the person that pulls this off with ease.  He or she holds the key to something, I’m sure.)

Look, I don’t know what about me lights people up.  You’d have to ask them.  I’m terrible at accepting compliments, and that has a lot to do with the fact that I never fully believe in the nice thing being said.  I don’t labor under any delusions.  I am not exceptionally pretty.  I’m not an athlete or an artist.   I don’t sing or dance or play an instrument and I can’t really think of anything I do with any special aplomb.  Truth be told, I’m more than slightly odd and awkward and look at it as rather a miracle that I’ve made it this far with friends in tow.

What I can tell you, is that I am a hostess at heart and feel a genuine responsibility for everyone else’s good time.  My friends have in me a girl that will go to extreme lengths to make them laugh.  We all spend enough time (at least I do), alone and miserable with our thoughts, and it is for sure a lovely thing to be able to sit quietly with a friend not talking about anything at all; but to me, there’s nothing as beautiful as a moment lost in frenetic, face-screwed-up, doubled-over, can’t-breathe, god-my-cheeks-hurt, laughter with friends.

Taking this further; to trick a smile out of someone who has accepted me without judging, to get a chortle or even a rueful grin from the mouth of someone I love who’s having a hard time is the currency I’m paid in.  I count any day as a win that I’ve been able to get someone to laugh by doing or saying something outrageous that completely disregards my innate need to blend in in order not to call attention to my strangeness.

An Anecdote:

It was a random evening in Seattle, neither warm nor cold, but at least it wasn’t raining.  My friend D and I had massacred a fortune’s worth of veal shank to make the worst saltimbocca I’d ever tasted.  Maybe it was the wine, or perhaps the champagne, but the result really matter because we’d had a fantastic time laughing in the kitchen while the boys sat in the living room watching some important game of sportsball.  After barely choking down what should have been a delicious and high-end meal (but assuredly WASN’T) we put on our heels and hoofed it to the bar.     As is the case with sparkly, friend-filled nights, we did any number of shots and found ourselves in a rather shabby state.

I was in the middle of a sentence on the way home when D ducked behind a tree (one of those urban trees planted in the dead center of a square of concrete) and ejected the contents of her stomach.  She stood upright at the end, and looked at me with tears standing in her eyes:  “I’m so embarrassed!” she wailed: “We were having such a good time and now EVERYONE saw me puke!”  I looked around and pointed out to her that we were the only ones on the street, that if anyone saw, it was only an old lady peering out the window of her high-rise and who cares about that old bitch anyway?  It didn’t matter.  D was crushed, inconsolable.  I gave her a little chuckle, and shaking my head, asked:  “Would it help if I puked too?”  She looked at me in amazement, and nodded her head, squeaking out a tiny “yes”.  So I did it.  I tottered over to her pile of chunky, half-used stomach contents and I third-knuckled it, leaving an almost identical mass of sewage next to hers.  “Solidarity sister!” I said, and took the crook of her arm in mine and stumble-lead us both back to her townhouse.

I’ve puked for friends and worn fairy wings, dressed up for no apparent reason and arranged for impromptu 30^th birthday lap dances.  I’ve convinced a drunk barfly that my father wrote the song “More than Words” and paid for my college tuition with the royalties.  I’ve had a hand in stealing life-sized, plastic Star-Trek characters from displays in grocery stores and agreed to double dates.  I’ve flung myself to the ground to make snow angels and have developed an almost choreographed montage of old 80s dances that I’ll pull out during a lull in conversation (Shopping Cart anyone?).  Making people snort with laughter is something that I CAN do.  It’s at least one thing that I can give.  It’s a small way that I pay it forward to the world around me.