Monday, September 15, 2008

Very long mopey blog ahead (but hopefully will be the last mopey blog ever)

Warning: the following blog entry may be very goopy and self indulgent. I’m working through a moment here, people. With any luck, it’ll be the last time we all do this. And it’s very long.

I’m back at the housesitting house again, this time for a week while Ginger Puppy and Basil Diva Dog’s Daddies are off on their honeymoon. (Yay California, where daddies can do that.)

And since the ceremony was here at the housesitting house, both Ginger Puppy and Basil Diva Dog got baths for the occasion, so they smell pretty and no fleas anywhere, which makes them much nicer to deal with. Just look at the coquettish pose that Ginger Puppy strikes for the camera. You know she’s thinking, yeah, check it. I’m AWESOME, I am.

I know the blog entries have been on the mopey side, lately. I know this, I do. They can’t be fun to read.

So I decided to fix things my own way. Which currently involves tequila. It’s Patron, but it’s not Silver, it’s Patron Orange. They had ordered a bunch of Patron for the ceremony, but the guests are no dummies, and given the choice between Patron Silver and Patron Orange, everyone went for the Silver, so there’s a buttload of Patron Orange for me to swim my way through, except, well, what can you with Patron Orange? Everything’s so complicated to make with it, when all a girl wants is a simple margarita.

So I made one. A Patron Orange Margarita. It’s not the greatest. I wouldn’t make it for anyone else. But it’s doing its job. Which is to make me contemplatey, instead of mopey.

I think this will be the last time I talk about this. Not that it won’t still be an issue in my life, I will forever think that I’m God’s punching bag on this, but this will be the last time I talk about it here, in these blog entries.

Ever since things starting going right with every single other aspect of my life besides my heart, I haven’t really felt like I’m connecting to God. Yeah, it’s always been an issue, but I’d hate to think that I only feel near to Him when things are drop dead awful.

I think I came close in Blink And You’ll Miss It moments today. It was a long day at church for me. I got there super early because I’m orchestrating another Blood Drive, the second one this year for my church. I haven’t talked about it on the blog, because there weren’t any issues for me. I knew it wouldn’t be hard to get another one started, I knew it wouldn’t be hard to get people to sign up. Today during the service I interviewed a lovely member of our congregation about the time she needed three blood transfusions while giving birth, and I didn’t freak out that I was conducting a interview in front of 300 people. I just did it. Just like I knew I’d get sign ups. I’m already over 40 sign ups, when our goal was 33, and we’ve still got a week to go.

But because I was part of the service, I had to sit in the second row, close to the front. So no people to look at to split my focus. Just me, singing the songs when they came up. And we were singing one of my favorites, a really simple yet lovely one by Richard Swift, called “As I Go.” You can listen to it here

(The way the church band plays it is a lot more rockin’ though, a lot of drums and guitar.)

Somewhere, in the middle of this part, I think I felt a tiny spark of connection.

Everywhere I go,
Every page I turn,
I see your tender heart
I cannot earn your love
I cannot earn your love
You love me just the same

Halleju, I need to sing with all I have:
Halleju, I need to sing

If I falter, if I fade
You will hold me, still so close
And I need you, my good father,
To be with me, as I go.

As I go.

And once I get a tiny blip, I’m all on it like HEY! WHERE YA BEEN!? Which instantly chases it away, like, like, like a guy. Sigh.

My church did another one of their Relationship Series Talks, which I hung around after the service for. You could submit your questions anonymously and they tailored their talk around them.

And apparently, I do not have the problems the rest of the single people in this congregation have. Because all their questions were about how do I let this person know I like them? How do I know that the person I’m dating is the one I’m supposed to marry? What if I’m unequally yoked by dating a non-believer?

Nobody asked the question I’ve been waiting all my life to meet the one I thought You were preparing for me, but we’re hitting double digits on the waiting period, and I’m losing all hope that me meeting someone is in Your plan, but why do I have this ache that I think You put in me if You’re not planning on filling it? I don’t wanna be a missionary in Africa, by the way.

So I guess I’m the only one with that problem, then. Great.

I can’t say the talk was a complete loss, though. I came out of it with a clarity I hadn’t had before, that um, you’re not gonna meet your Future Husband in this church. I’m out of step with the majority of the congregation. It’s not bad, it doesn’t mean I have to look for a new church. It just means, I dunno, that I can stop looking at that one guy, and that other guy, and whatever.

Pastor Bernard did address the guys at one point to say (paraphrasing here), “You know, we think a lot of you guys are bozos because we see so many really great girls here that you all aren’t asking out.” To which every single girl, including myself, instantly thought, does he mean ME!?!?!

Nah, Pastor Bernard doesn’t mean me. He knows me pretty well, I’m too cranky, too cynical, too cussy, I don’t go on mission trips to Kenya, I take up less showy causes like blood drives, I’m too much of a loner, and I’m probably too old to be considered a viable romantic possibility at this church in general. Sigh.

So I took to the backyard tonight. I felt like there was something I needed to settle once and for all, and it felt like a dramatic backdrop was necessary.

Yay for me, it’s a full moon out tonight. So I turn off most of the outdoor lights, hop in the outdoor Jacuzzi, and let my eyes adjust to the moonlight.

So I hereby vow, to God, to all of you, that I’m not gonna talk about my heart in a romantic sense on this blog anymore. It’s self indulgent, mopey, and I suspect it causes my Mother The Phone Harpy Whom I Love Very Very Much, and my Dad, The Great Stoic Wonder, much agitation. I’m positive that for more than a few years, they suspected I was gay, when the sad truth was, no, no, just that nobody wanted to date me, not that I’m ugly, because I’m not, but because L.A. guys don’t know how to handle a woman that’s ambitious, talented, and disciplined enough to achieve all her career goals…

AHHHHHHHHH! See that? That right there? I’m stopping that.

I swear by God, and this moon. No, no, swear not by the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

I swear by God, represented by this really bright moon…

I swear by this strangely tasting Patron Orange margarita… (it's there, I promise you.)

I swear by this abstract bunny statue, which I’ve never quite figured out why it’s here…

I swear by this Ginger Puppy, never far away….

No no, I swear by THIS Ginger Puppy, as she has brought a squeaky naked bear as an offering…

I am not talking about my heart in a romantic sense on this blog again. Not saying I’m not talking to God about it, though I imagine He’s sick of hearing about it. But the rest of you don’t need to know about it.

I need to move on, is my very long winded way of saying. If I make this vow now, I’ll be forced to talk about other things on this blog and maybe I’ll discover something else that can monopolize my head space.

I’m in the Jacuzzi, the moon as my light, the Orange margarita as my drink, Ginger Puppy as my nearby companion (Basil Diva Dog is off sleeping in the cabana), and I’ve got my Ipod on. I’m singing songs in the backyard, up to the moon, there’s gotta be something that can really finalize this moment.

There’s Brand New’s “Jesus Christ”

Do you believe you're missing out
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
But with nobody in your bed
The night's hard to get through

And I will die all alone
And when I arrive I won't know anyone

Well, Jesus Christ, I'm alone again
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
Cause this problem's gonna last more than the weekend.

There’s Modest Mouse’s “Spitting Venom”

Cheer up baby
It wasn’t always quite so bad
For every venom then that came out
The antidote was had.

I sang that one for awhile, actually.

But then my Ipod flipped out a song I hadn’t heard in forever, a tiny little band nobody has ever heard of, called Common Children, and their song “Redemption.”

I had first heard them on some Itunes radio station, and in true Amy fashion, as soon as I figured out who they were, they promptly broke up. I got their album The Inbetween Time, on mail order for five bucks.

Here’s a link where you can hear the song (I hope they don’t yank it since I’ve linked to it.)

I hope you listen
To the songs the wounded sing
The sound of redemption
In this broken offering

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

And somewhere in the middle of THAT song, I feel the tiniest of Connection Blips.

This is me. I’m singing this song, in a Jacuzzi that’s not mine, in a backyard that’s not mine, drinking alcohol that’s not mine, watching dogs that aren’t mine, under a full moon that belong to God. It’s a great life, if you happen to overlook the fact that there’s a hole in my chest where my heart should be, and I’d give everything up in a second for it to be filled.

I’m wounded. I’m broken. I’m singing this song up to You, God, my broken offering to You. And then I can hopefully, please, GOD, I can hopefully move on.

I will have Charley horses tonight, I can feel it already. I’ve been drinking water for two hours now, but it won’t make a difference. These dogs are not getting their 5am walk. I hope they’re okay with that.

Someday, I will write a script where the guy write a love letter to the object of his affection and he’ll say “I would rub out any Charley horses in your calves that wake you up in the middle of the night.”

Cause that would be awfully romantic to me.