Tramps like us

Last night Mr. Pants and I went to the Spectrum to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. There's a lot of tension that goes into going to a concert for me. I hate crowds, people, drunk people (except me), kids, screamers, etc etc etc... So when I go it has to be a band I LOVE. I love Bruce and he didn't disappoint last night. The band sounded great and they seemed to have a really good time playing.

The show was at the Spectrum and for you non locals - The Spectrum was built in 1967 and is being torn down this year. As I stood in line to pee (a line that stretched up the stairs and around the corner - there are 10 stalls in that ladies' room and like 15000 girls that have thimble size bladders who have been boozing all afternoon) I started to think about how many times I've stood there to pee over the years. I tried to think of all the concerts I've seen. And all I could remember is how much I adored Meatloaf. Really. The Dead, The Grateful Dead, Inxs, The Cure, Bob Seger, REM, Bruce, and it all comes down to Meatloaf, behind the stage with Adam. Jesus. In all fairness though, it was a great show.

The other thought that got me as I stood there listening to Bruce playing Born To Run in its entirety, of how many times I listened to that album as a kid thinking what my life would be like. It occurred to me that that guy standing next to me probably thought at one time that the town he grew up in was "a death trap, a suicide wrap" and thought "we've got to get out while we're young" or that girl standing next me probably identifies herself as that "barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a dodge drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain". For me, it's always been the melancholy that made me love Bruce. I've always felt that his music was live in the moment type stuff... and that moment wasn't a very happy place. When I was little I would sneak records from my brothers' room and pour over the lyrics while I listened to them. One of my favorites was Born to Run. I would read the lyrics and listen to the songs and think it was this older world I didn't quite get, but that I would some day. Some day, a boy saying "You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright" would make sense. As my Bruce love moved past Born to Run, I feel in love with his lyrics. The working class teenage and young adult world that the subjects of Springsteen's songs often came back to. I remember listening to The River over and over again, and thinking how sad it seemed that just because he knocked up some girl he had to give away everything, and how they both pretended it didn't matter. I loved the bittersweet edge to his music. The first time I heard Jersey Girl (which is actually a Tom Waits song) and thought well, who else but Bruce could call the kid a brat and tell his girl to fix her self up so they could go to the shore. Seriously. Imagine any boy saying these things to you. Would you put up with it? Really?!

But that's the beauty of Bruce Springsteen music. No one is completely the trapped working class hero, or the lonely young girl willing to settle, but romantically we see ourselves as those things. We identify a piece of ourselves with those lyrics. Or at least I do. Let's face it, Bruce has made himself a very wealthy man pandering to those folks. And while he's getting a little long in the tooth (The Boss is 60), he is as energetic as I've ever seen him. The crowd on the other hand was amazingly diverse.

I expected people in their 40s and 50s and there were a lot of them. There were also a lot of people my age and younger, but I was truly shocked at how young. I girl who couldn't have been older than 11 had a sign asking if she could sing. I guess I should back up, Bruce has been doing this thing lately where he goes around collecting the signs the audience members have and playing some of the requests. The best one at the Philly show I was at was the cover of the AARP magazine with him on the cover (the request was for Lil bit o' soul). Occasionally Bruce will play something that is a cover and once or twice something the band has never played before (I think it was Boston this year, someone had a sign for I Want To Be Sedated and he said that he thought they were trying to stump the band. After a conference with Stevie and Nils they got it together). Back to the little girl...Bruce brought her on stage and she sang Waitin' On A Sunny Day, after which he planted a kiss on her and put her back with her folks. During Dancin' in the Dark he brought another young girl up and they danced together. It was a really family feel.

I'm going back Tuesday I think to hear Born in the USA in it's full. Darlington County is my favorite Bruce song. I can't explain why. So hopefully I will have a less long winded entry after the fact.

A concept I can't grasp

Lately there are two lyrics that have been running through my head on repeat. The first is from The Grateful Dead's "Ripple" and the second is from Springsteen's "The Wrestler". They are intertwined in my mind and while the reason that they are both stuck in my head is obvious, I can't quite figure out the deeper meaning.

Ripple: But if you fall, you fall alone. If you stand, then who's to guide you? If I knew the way, I would take you home

Bruce: These things that have comforted me, I drive away. This place that is my home I cannot stay

I would assume that it's my homesickness that is propelling these lyrics around my head. And I'll admit that as Mr. Pants describes the way Al is laying on the couch or how loud Boo cries at night, I feel a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I miss them. And there are times, as I'm trying to figure out this new relationship that I think - I have a comfortable pair of sneakers at home, why the fuck am I trying to break these new ones in?

I wonder how long the new will feel new, and if as most things do as they age, the old will take on that shiny fond memory of the past. Will I wax poetic about how Mr. Pants and I would pour over the EW Fall Preview completely forgetting that he would pick every awful High School "Drama" to record? Will I forget that even after the show was a proven loser he would stick with it and insist it would get better with no regard to my frustration?

I'm tired of dealing with this. I almost wish I could proclaim that I have had enough...I've sufficiently fucked up this life. I'd like a new one. I will treat it better, I promise. I'll feed it and walk it and give it plenty of life kisses. And then six months from now I'll have a myriad of issues that make my new life less shiny and fun. And I'll want to trade it in. Maybe for the life I'm living now. Isn't that essentially what I've been doing? Fucking things up, abandoning them and moving on? Does my lack of sticktoitiveness make me less of a person? Is it wrecking my chances at happiness? I think it is...I need to stick to things. Be less Maria like and more focused.

Maybe that will change my feeling of homelessness. I have a perfectly good place to rest my head every night. I have a nice gentleman who spends a bit of time with me. I have an awesome cat who has developed this really kick ass personality of late. But I don't have a home. That place where I can be me and feel happy, safe and comfortable. I'm really worried about that. I think we all need that place.

I wish I knew how to get home and how to be happy there.

Don't do what Donnie Don't does

Ugh. I haven't updated in awhile. This peaked in late July and plummeted shortly there after. I've been trying to pick up the pieces and once I gathered most of them up, the stuff that wasn't a fucking disaster became of fucking disaster. I'm trying to fix it - I hope I can.

So, let's see, what have I been up to for the last month? I drank some beers with friends. Over shared with my niece. Told a dude in a bar to "Cram it with walnuts, ugly". Watched Dirty work. Twice. Listened to a lot of Springsteen. Spent a lot of nights on my couch, in my underpants petting my cat.

There's more, but I'm tired and going to go watch some tv before I climb into bed. More tomorrow.... maybe.

Come aboard, we're expecting you...

I've started and stopped this entry about 9 times tonight. I know what I want to say, I just don't know how to get it out. Let's start now and work our way back shall we?

I'm sitting at my boss' house watching Bruce Springsteen in concert (he's got 6 discs of Springsteen live on his Escient -I'm loving life!). There is a muppet curled up next to my butt. A muppet that was sick this week and that I'm really happy is all better. I'm dog sitting. Which has been torturous with the swimming and hot tubing and reading and watching movies. Somehow I persevere.

I woke up this morning to a panicky call from my friend Em (who is also my boss' daughter) telling me that the muppet was better, but that our friend Noah was in a lot of pain. His cat got out. And since the last cat that got out never came back, he was really fucked up. There was no hesitation, I decided I was going there to help them look. Before I could get out of the shower and on my way Mr. Jim had been found. After Noah called to thank me for offering to come, I burst into tears. The joy in his voice from finding Jim was overwhelming. I love that kid a lot. He's like the little brother I never had. He's a fuck up, don't get me wrong, I know he is, but he's special too. I don't make friends easily or quickly and there was long period of time that I hated that kid (our working relationship is very dependant on one another). But somewhere it became more. He calls me Pennsylvania Mom when I'm mothering him to excess and Doog most other times. He's That Kid when he's done something dumb - like put a sparkler and cigarette out on his leg. Or shaved his whole head but left just a strip of hair off the back so he resembles a Guinea pig. He's mostly My Friend Noah though. We'll always be friends... I believe that. I don't think that they are just words. I'm fortunate to have him in my life. He met my folks and talked baseball with my pop for hours. He was sweet to my mom. He's quiet and sweet and smart and funny. He's a good kid. But he should wear adult shoes. And cut his hair. And shower more. And drink less. And keep being awesome.

Now for the awkward segue...

So, this phone call that woke me up this morning? Woke me up at my boyfriend's house. I have a boyfriend. I could explain to you how and when and why. Or I could leave it at that. It's probably more pleasant to leave it at that. Those of you that read this because you know me will facebook me or call or email and ask for explanations. Those of you that read this because the internet is full of idiots tossing their life stories up there for some voyeuristic thrill and it's easy to get sucked in, I'm sorry their aren't more details. But everyone should know these things:
I'm sorry I lied about being lonely.
This isn't the reason my marriage ended.
I'm happy. Having this person in my life makes me really happy.
He's good to me and we have oodles of stuff in common.
He isn't a loser (although he'll be the first to deny this) but he's not a loser by my standards. No drug addiction, no alcoholism, not abusive, has a job.
That job? It's at the same company I work at.
It's not Noah.
The situation is ugly, I know it is. I know explaining it here in skeletal form makes it seem like I'm ashamed of it. I'm not. I'm proud. But I also know that there is a lot of baggage and there are a lot of people who can be hurt or saddened by this. I wanted to wait until I was sure this had some permanence. I didn't want to say "I have a boyfriend" in March only to turn around in April and say "Never mind". So I've had a boyfriend for awhile. He's a good dude. And I like him. I'm lucky.

Alright enough love fest. I'm going to take my muppet and go to bed. Good night Internet.

This entry is being written from Bed

Which is where I ate dinner last night, where I read until dawn and then slept until 2 PM, then got up went to see my dad, made kick ass tacos and then retired back to the bed. I would probably have eaten the tacos in bed, but that seems gross and like I'd have to do a lot more laundry.

Let's start at the beginning and work our way forward shall we?

Friday - Happy Hour - Same assholes, same place. I had 1.5 beers in 4 hours and NO SMOKES! Again! Noah and I went out for some drinks on Thursday and I didn't smoke either. I think (I hope) I am doing pretty fucking good at this. After happy hour I went in search of The Sims 3 but since I am unsure that it will work on my laptop I gave up after 2 stores didn't have it in stock. Chipotle and a Simpsons marathon wrapped up the night.

Saturday! Up early and loaded up my laundry to go home - or at least what used to be my home. I got there and Mr. Pants had done the nicest thing he's done in a really long time. I know that is going to seem awful to say considering I have a shitload of jewelry, I got flowers on every flower giving holiday and candy AND a shot glass from every trip he ever went on, but this gesture made me just about weep with pleasure. He made me an Apple Cake. I know you're thinking big fucking deal. But to me it was huge. He hates to bake and hates fatty stuff too. I love both. But I adore apple cake and I can't make a decent one to save my motherfucking life. The cake he made was PHENOMENAL. It had coconut in it and a buttermilk glaze. Sweet Zombie Jesus - it was delicious. I did some wash and we spent the day doing errandy stuff.

Comic book store - Bought a couple new issues of The Stand.
Borders bought:
Stephen King - Before Sunset
Joshilyn Jackson- The Girl who Stopped Swimming
Janelle Brown - All We Ever Wanted Was Everything.
Bed Bath and Beyond- bought new pillows, grill brush & bath mats (which I'm returning)
Lunch at CPK - I had the Pear and Gorgonzola Pizza.
Then we went to The Sale (local flea market type place) where he bought a bunch of crap and I wandered around.

By 5:30 he was off to hang out with friends and I was ready to go home. Got home and changed into pjs and jumped in bed with Duma Key - which I've read before but really enjoyed upon a second read. I stayed up all night reading and texting / talking to friends. By the time I fell asleep morning light was pouring through the windows. I slept till 2 - got up and putzed around. Went over to see my pop - we watched Caddy Shack. Went to Wegmans and spent a ton on food. Came home and made kick ass tacos which ate until I burst and then washed it down with some apple cake and climbed back in bed.

Bought a bunch more stuff from Fredericks of Hollywood I don't need (more heels) and listened to Pandora. Now I am going to read until midnite and then it is lights out.

Life is good - particularly the weekends. Dinana's health is on the good side of things right now and that makes me happy. We'll know for sure this week, but fingers and toes worked for now. We've been thinking about moving... of going somewhere and starting over. I've got to say that kid is doing an awesome job of convincing me we should. Of course she's 10 years my junior and is a tad more optimistic than I am, so perhaps I'll be a bit more cautious. But I am at least open for discussion on it.

Deep as a puddle

I'm tired and I have another UTI. Seriously. What the hell? I ordered some D-mannose so we'll see if that helps. But I am actually debating spending time with a dude named Bucket and letting him stretch my urethra. Yeah. Pain makes us do crazy things.

I seems like lately I have been spending a lot of time talking about Mr. Pants. Not in an "I miss him" way, but in the "we used to be a couple" way. I liked being a couple. I liked feeling like I was part of a team, and now that I've taken off my Team Pants Jersey I feel kind of lost. I miss the secret language of a long term relationship. The nicknames and things that consistently get the other person to laugh. Hell this blog is names after one of those times. I miss making dick and fart jokes and having someone crack up. I miss going to dinner on a Saturday. I miss sitting outside, smoking (oh GOD DO I MISS SMOKING - sorry) and talking. I miss playing Uno or Mancala (the bean game) or Spinners.

My friends will say this means I'm ready to date - to put myself out there - to get back on the horse. I get several emails a day about Match.com or Eharmony. I can't imagine sitting across from someone I don't know at a Red Lobster. Talking about my job, my family, my failed marriage all while I try to decide if his penis should enter my vagina. That seems like a lot of work. And for what? Someone to laugh at my awful jokes? Seems ridiculous

But I am lonely, kids. I won't lie. And I am afraid I'm going to die alone here - and my cat will have to nibble on my toes to sustain herself until someone misses me.

What if no one misses me?

Love is Futurama, smarties and Stephen King

My niece is having a bit of a health scare. I don't want to delve into it, because it's her business, but let's keep Dinana in our thoughts, okay?

My weekend sucked donkey dick. Thanks for asking.

Work was also sub par (again).

I'm not smoking. Which has resulted in my eating and eating and eating. Toast and cherries, subway sandwich, chips and cookie, chicken breast, fries, rice pudding and smarties.

Yesterday my brother came up and fixed a bunch of crap here, after he left I got a huge amount of Chinese food and ate until I fell asleep. Woke up and read Duma Key until I fell back to sleep. Then drove to Mon-key's house and read until I felt like it was too late to go home. And of course once I settled into bed I couldn't sleep. Which led to facebook updating and texting with work friends. I fell asleep eventually but woke up a bunch. Tonight I am going to watch Futurama, read Duma Key and eat smarties. Then I'm going to sleep like it's a sport I can medal in.