Fuel Prices

I think it's a little strange that you have to pay a fuel charge when taking a cab. If I wanted to pay for gas I would use my own car. I realize fuel prices are probably taking their toll on cab drivers across the United States... but again if I wanted to pay for gas I wouldn't be using other transportation options.

Death

She was sitting alone on a park bench. Wondering why they always have scenes in movies where people sit alone on park benches. In real life no one sits down on the opposite end and talks to you. If they do it’s usually a homeless guy who just wants your spare change. She could name a few movies where the homeless guy actually ends up being the oracle of the protagonist’s destiny, but the chances of that happening today were about as slim as her staring in one of those very movies. When she woke up this morning it wasn’t to a musical score or the voice of an omniscient narrator. In fact she didn’t wake up at all.

Where did all the time go, she wondered? It seemed like yesterday when she was sitting on a park bench, free of her gravity ridden and sun dyed body. Ambition and wanderlust radiating from her core. She had her whole life ahead of her. Now her life was behind her. The path less traveled because it was her path to tread.

There is no white light. She isn’t hovering over her body. She isn’t dressed in an awful black frock that her children pulled from the back of her closet. The one they thought was modest and understated, but itched like barbed wire. She is sure they mean well. Doesn’t everyone mean well when you are dead? Unless you are one of those lucky people who leaves behind an estate that your family thinks is worth fighting for. She wasn’t one of those people. She left them memories and a modest black frock in the back of her closet.

There is no blinding light or pearly gates. There is a park bench. A place to sit and contemplate all the things she never got to do, all the great things she did get to do and all the things she never even thought to do. Her thoughts slip out of her brain like the seeds floating from a dandelion. Carried away and falling somewhere to start a life of their own. Her brain is clean. The voices in her head are so much clearer. Perhaps because they aren’t her voices. They are the voices of those who knew her, loved her, were drawn to her or have an obligation to someone who falls into one of the aforementioned categories.

Her son-in-law wants her to know that he never thanked her for giving him someone to love, but he always meant to. Her granddaughter just wants to get out of these tights. Her old boss wonders why he never tried to screw her in the copy room; he always thought she had nice legs. Her therapist is thinking about his father. Her best friends are telling a story from college, a story that til now, her children had never heard. Her daughter wants just one more day with her. Her son wonders what else he didn’t know. Her dog can’t smell her anymore.

She hears the words in no particular order.
Had one of the best laughs. Took her sweet time. Nagged and nagged. Smelled like jasmine. No, no it was lilies. Remember that time. Looked great in red. Red was her color. Goofy. Remind me of. Uptown Girl. She never got to go. I love you. I love you. I love you. I . . . loved you. I loved you. I loved you.

Her husband thinks it won’t be long now until he is sitting on the opposite side of a park bench. He always said he couldn’t live with her, but he knew he definitely couldn’t live without her.

She wonders how he knows about the park bench. She is still sitting on the park bench. The air is filled with the voices of those she left in her wake. She wonders how he knows about the park bench.

This still isn’t a movie. It isn’t her movie. But she thinks in spite of the circumstances, it’s nice to sit on a park bench wondering what it would be like to be sitting on a park bench in the movies, waiting for the leading man to come along and sit on the opposite side. He won’t be her oracle or her omniscient narrator because he is something infinitely better. He was a witness to her life. He is her witness. She smiles, knowing that when he comes they will sit in contented silence because there is nothing they didn’t get to say. A park bench and silence. That is her heaven.

Questions

Why do people say "Oh my gosh, that is funny" or just "That's funny". If it was actually funny wouldn't they just laugh?

Starbucks

A coworker of mine goes there every morning for a venti iced something or other, and yesterday morning she brought something to my attention. Her coffee sleeve had a new and sort of disturbing representation of the Starbucks logo. For lack of knowledge we are going to call her "Star".

"Star", one of the most recognized symbols on the planet, is a close up of a woman who looked like she was placing a crown on her head. Again I am not an expert so it could have always represented something else. However, in the classic black, white and green version it is unclear as to what she is doing. But for those of you who don't know it is a woman with long hair and a crown encapsulated by the Starbucks Coffee ring.

Now it has been two days and today is the second time this new logo has found its way onto my desk. The problem in this newer or maybe older version it is very clear as to what "Star" is doing. She is spreading her legs like a two bit hooker. Well that might be a stretch considering she may be a mermaid I guess, or maybe she is some sort of octopus. Maybe they are tree trunks. I guess that part is still unclear. And don't get me wrong there are some hookers out there who have legs I would kill for, but this new graphic art is disturbing when it is staring you in the face on your morning caffeine run.

Also, her bosom is much more pronounced than before, peaking out behind her long flowing locks. I digress... it is a more sexually explicit logo that again a coworker, who for lack of a better term is "squeaky clean", brought to my attention. Anyone out there notice the same thing?

If so, or you have any information to offer please comment. We want to know what the motivation is behind this somewhat troubling turn of events.

Chance...

If you had the chance to start the rest of your life today, why wouldn't you? What if there was no such thing as something better? What if this is as good as it gets and it wasn't a death sentence? I know you can flip the coin, there is always an exception. That there are plenty of people who are willing to wait for something greater, greener. Bars are filled with people in the middle of the day that have surrendered to a life they believe can't get any better... but there is also the school of thought that came up with quotes like "youth is wasted on the young". "It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all". There are people who pine for the knowledge that have now, back then because they would seize the day. Those who have a shoebox full of letters from the one that got away and have lived every day since then with no regrets.

I realize it is so much easier to say it than actually risk it. The more I think about the hopeless romantic sentiments that are often the disease of young women like myself, the ones who grew up on Disney movies only to be subjected to the "reality" that is Sex in the City. I wonder if the only part that should really have a negative impact is the word "hopeless".

Everyone has a hand in their destiny, even those that would argue against the notion of fate. Decide to be the romantic. Decide to be the risk taker. Decide to succumb to a life that didn't live up to societies expectations. Decide to accept and maybe even enjoy that the moment, the memory, the place that you are in may be as good as it gets... and that might be the best decision you've ever made.

Sign Offs

Why do people feel the need to sign off on emails, facebook messages etc. It already says who the message is from... doesn't that seem sort of redundant?

Critics

Is it or isn't it true that especially as a female, we are our own worst critics? We are harder on ourselves than anyone else. We look in the mirror and see all the flaws that other people don't see. We analyze and scrutinize things to death when it comes to what we present to other people?

I am no longer so sure. Today I was doing some research on matchmaking and there are a lot of women who blog about having no idea why they are still single? Or women who have put out personal ads that definitely don't highlight the things that they believe are wrong with them.

Yes I realize that you won't attract a person with the internal monologue you have with yourself about the size of your thighs or the inflections in your voice. I just think it is contradictory, even for me. When I think about being single I often wonder why I am. Yet, when I look at myself in the mirror or think about myself in the capacity of just being me I am left feeling a bit lackluster. I know you get out what you put in, or at least that is another rule of thumb people adhere to, but then what would explain the harsh criticisms and the contradictory glowing reviews when the context of the question changes?

Waiting

Like Tom Petty said I think the waiting really is the hardest part. It is the time that seems to slide by with the viscosity of a desperately wanted frozen liquid. Minutes seem to last for hours and all one can do is keep doing more of the same. Which usually consists of playing in the areas of your brain that make you feel nervous and unfamiliar with yourself and what surrounds you. It ends up being time spent obsessing, replaying, imagining the past as you would have wanted it to be. The brain on loop is a dangerous thing. It is during these times that I can almost convince myself that unreal things happened and real things did not. I think I need to find a hobby that doesn't only unidle my hands but the corners that make up the inside of my head.

Insecurity

I feel like insecurity in my life is like a virus. It comes and goes as it pleases with no way of stopping it, quelling it, making it less of a disease. I am one of those people that has used confidence as a defense mechanism and I am okay with that. God knows there are much worse things out there to use. But I feel that as I get older I am learning there are in fact retributions that come with it.

Like random bouts of insecurity that take over my brain, make me act all together different than I do on a daily basis. That's not to say that I am not in fact a confident person. I am, but at times I deflect comments, looks, judgments with a witty remark and a air of assurance. Yet out of the blue and quite regularly insecurity has been happening to the point of worriment. Asking my friends if they are mad, if I am being annoying, sorry to bother, am I a pest?

And then I will wake up the next morning and think to myself... why the hell did I apologize? I wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. They wouldn't be my friends if they didn't like me for me, especially at this time in my life. It is no longer a popularity contest. You don't HAVE to be friends with the popular kids. You let people in who enrich your life and for who you want to be able to return the favor. I have done that. I surround myself with amazing people and yet the insects keep coming.

I don't need a prescription, because in this case a prescription won't help. Like any other virus I have to wait until it passes and wait until it comes again unannounced and overflowing with self-deprecation and pity.

I loathe you insecurity even if you are known to be part of the human condition.