plausible deniability

while i fully understand that shows like Scandal are written and created for tv, i also understand the the idea and possibility behind those shows are very real and probable. i also am coming to understand that i should not watch such shows because it makes me think and start to ask too many question. questions i will never be able to actually ask. questions, that either have no answer, or (i honestly believe to be possible) have a truth buried so deep i don't want to begin to pull the thread. 

three years ago when my dad died, i chose, very consciously, not ask questions. when you know there will be no answer, sometimes it is better instead to focus on simply saying THAT SUCKS and move forward.

 

the bitch of it is though, not asking the questions doesn't make them go away.

 

i knew then it wasn't the time to ask questions. there was an immediate gag order on the case. any public comment was to come only from state level. we were not to talk to reporters or anyone about anything. it was decided before i even arrived on scene, hell, before i even knew there was a fire, that all communication would go through my brother- you know- cops understand cops and all that. there were immediate investigations launched. no one had any answers to give. so i waited patiently.

after a year, the gag order was lifted, but there were still no answers. i wouldn't have known who to ask specifically anyway. so i just took the little i was told and closed the door.

i've seen what happens when people become fixated on answers they'll never get. i've seen people waste away their lives and drive themselves crazy digging in the past forever.

i've also seen people who still had a life to live that just found their bootstraps, pulled up and moved forward.

i had kids. i had work. i had life. i chose the second path.

but then there's nights like tonight.

watching a silly tv show about political scandals. a fake show. created in the mind of a writer.

but i can't help but realize- it's possible. you know? scandals. cover ups. stories with no real answer or ending.

and i start to think of all the questions again.

if there was a recorded 911 call, how could they tell me everyone in the house died before they knew what was happening?

if they had to bring in cadaver dogs to find any remains and do bone marrow samples from jaw bones to confirm identity, how could they tell me an autopsy showed no carbon in the lungs (and therefore no suffering)?

how could a 30 year old male, a brand new trooper who just graduated top of his class physically, not make it out?

how could the same agency, the same team leader that sorted through the tons of wreckage at the oklahoma city bombing to find a specific device and cause for a grand scale tragedy, not be able to sort through a small two story house to find an answer?

how did a fire that burned so hot and so fast manage to destroy a full two story house, every single beam, every single piece, not leaving anything but the cement foundation but not destroy two trees less than 10 feet from the house, the grass, or the garage? how could that fire melt the front axle of a car completely to the ground but leave the trunk (and the golf clubs in it) completely untouched?

of all the gangs in the area, the cartel branches, the street gangs, the wanna bes- not ONE has ever had a rumbling of claiming responsibility. they pulled every head, every boss in a room and nothing. the greatest loss in the history of the state patrol and not one of them wants their name associated with it.

the other trooper had spent an extended amount of time on duty in the governors mansion as a guard/soldier just before becoming and officer. do i even want to start down that rabbit trail?

was it simply the finger of god?

every question leads to 3 more questions. i could drive myself insane chasing rabbit trails that only exist in my head.

i'm honestly ok not knowing.

at the end of the day, even if i had all the answers for every question i could ever think of, it wouldn't bring my dad back. it wouldn't put he and anne at the table for thanksgiving. it wouldn't give christopher the chance at a career and a family and everything he missed out on.

so why ask?

instead i'll just stick with: IT SUCKS. 

but tomorrow there's work. and kids. and life. tomorrow is forward.

so forward i go. putting the questions back away. not being distracted or pulled backwards.

well, not for more than a few minutes anyway.

mile marker 203

another year, another car.

about this time last year i was trading in bonnie for eve and a plane ticket to london.

well, here it is a year later, and eve has now been replaced by betty.

eve, top, she had a good run. betty, bottom, welcome to the family.

no, there was nothing wrong with eve, but she just...wasn't right. i don't see myself as a hatchback station wagon mom. plus, there were issues with the title from the day i bought her AND it took several days to even decide on a name for her. that should have been the first clue.

BUT, for better or worse, eve is the car that made it possible for me to get to london and back for the fairy tale adventure. i owe her a large debit of gratitude for that.

the spawns didn't (don't) understand why i traded in Eve: THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG WITH THE OTHER CAR MOM.

and granted, there wasn't. and yes, i traded down in some aspects- from a 2010 car to a 2000 car. i reasoned it all out and rationalized it- betty is a VW which is a more reliable/longer lasting car than eve, a dodge (even with higher repair costs figured in). betty also has fewer blind spots and will be better on gas mileage AND she isn't a hatch back station wagon soccer mom car. plus, betty has  heated seats. and a sun roof. i've always wanted a car with a sun roof.

SEE, I HAD GOOD REASONS.

saying goodbye to eve was shockingly easy. i never really did get attached to her. but i did get to thinking- what is it that makes me want to change cars so often? and why always in october?

i bought my very first car in october- a 1988 GOLD (we're talking mr. t would have loved it GOLD) chevy beretta. this was long before the days of naming things, so that car just was what it was.

that car lasted a few years until the big spawn arrived and two doors with flip bucket seats wasn't quite working. i can't remember when exactly it was, but i'm pretty sure it was fall-ish when i switched the beretta out for the saturn sl2 (that's the best they could do? sl2? blah).

i drove the saturn through college until it DIED back during the days of marriage. it was december-ish when i took over driving the truck (through the divorce proceedings) and april when i traded the truck for annie, the focus (and the first one to get a name).

annie lasted until bonnie, bonnie begat eve, and eve begat betty. that's the way the begat thing works, right? 

so, not ALL my cars are october babies, but an odd proportion of them are, particularly the last three in a row.

i'm not sure why i've taking to changing so often the last few years- maybe it's some deep seeded control issue- they've all been during/after a pretty sizeable change in life- bonnie was after my dad passed, eve was for london, and betty is after finally getting back to work.

maybe it's my fear of commitment to anything for an extended length of time- i mean, bonnie was BRAND NEW and would have lasted for years if i hadn't grown to sincerely dislike her and traded her in. 

maybe it's just that i had legit issues with the cars and, since they were paid for, could afford to change out (legit to me at least).

you can tell, for all my wondering i've put so much thought into this.

either way, eve is back in foster care until she finds a new home, and bonnie is now keeping my buns toasty warm on the commute to work (heated seats = awesome).

what's in a name?

in an effort to actually hit the publish button more often, i'm just going to start truly vomiting again on here- all the random crap that pops into my brain during the day, the strange ideas (most of them BRILLIANT by the way), the random stories- ALL of it.

i'm learning to let go of the length of the post- they don't all need to be a three part docudrama. 

SO.

here we go.

i have this weird thing about names- there's certain ones i just HATE (anything that ends in an i just really needs to stop existing).

there's some i simply avoid, mainly in the dating arena- ben and steven (brothers), gary (dad).

there's certain names that just instantly make me want to vomit and punch a kitten at the same time (mike in particular).

then there's those that trigger this fucked up response in my head that...well...it's me. that's all you need to know.

for example- i can't hear the name george without saying jjjorjjje the way eva gabor did in the aristocats.

georges hautcourt, lawyer,  the aristocats, disney 1970

whenever i hear the name frank i think of the rescuers down under...

frank the frill-necked lizard, rescuers down under, disney, 1990

any time my kids yell for me across the house all i hear is MA! THE MEATLOAF!

will farrell as chazz reinhold, wedding crashers, 2005

it's been interesting at work answering the phones more and talking to all sorts of people, all different names. some times i just shake my head, other times i wish i had a time machine to go back and slap some parents. i'm sure anyone listening to me write messages thinks i'm partially crazy. mostly from the things i say while writing the names on the message board, partially just from the fact that if it isn't written straight i'll erase the whole thing and start all over.

on another name tangent- over the years i've picked up naming random inanimate objects. i've named my house, flamingos, cars, octopus hanging from my rear view mirror (bruce has now outlasted 3 cars. go bruce).

and finally, perhaps the strangest name habit- i like to assign people random middle names. really don't care what your ACTUAL middle name is, i'll give you different ones on different days. had a friend years ago that corrected me every time, and every time i called him a different middle name. not sure what it is- up until the days of twitter i NEVER used my own middle name. now there's a whole group of people that only know me as sherryrose.

some days i think it would be fun to work in an animal shelter or an orphanage to get to pick out names for all the critters and crib midgets- see if i can find something that particularly fits them. then i remember that there's the actual taking care of something after you name it and i'm tired and need a nap and realize maybe it's better to just name random things around my house.

back in the day, will shakespeare oh so romantically wrote: "what's in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." suggesting that the name doesn't have meaning, it's the person (object) behind it that is important. but i'm calling BULLSHIT. hey will...NAMES ARE IMPORTANT ASSHOLE. do you really think bartholomew shakespeare would have done so well? what about all the actors and actresses that change their names to be more catchy? NAMES ARE IMPORTANT. seriously.

imagine cinderella (or the little cinder girl for the purists) as beatrice the housekeeper. not quite the same disney ring to it now is there?

that's right. i'm calling shakespeare out. HEY WILL. YOU, ME, LOCAL STARBUCKS. IT'S ON.

not sure what the "it" is. sure as hell wouldn't want to challenge him to a writing contest. bastard was brilliant even with the occasional fuck up.

anyway- names are important. so. i'll keep naming things. and avoiding things with names i don't like that i can't rename.

good enough?

"It's been a whole 10 days since you've posted! I'm jonsing for my hit."


and that is why i love my friends.


I KNOW. one post a week. remember when i promised that way back in january?

yeah...

so. i was having a facebook chat the other day and the topic happened to wander into the always entertaining ground of my dating life (or lack thereof).

i've actually been going out lately- meeting different people, consuming more cups of coffee than average.

I LIKE DATING. not a big fan of the relationship thing yet (lack of experience), but the dating thing is endlessly fascinating. the chance to meet someone new, get a peek into their life. it's always interesting to me to see which topics come up, hear scraps of history, glimpse other paths. i'm a big believer in the "time and a reason for everything" school of thought. i believe that each person you meet has something to tell you or you have something to tell them and the conversation will naturally steer itself in the direction it needs to go for that day. sometimes i feel like i'm not sharing anything which means that person probably had a message for me. same thing in reverse. sometimes its all about work, sometimes family, sometimes horrible experiences, sometimes good. i don't stress about over-sharing anymore (or undersharing). i honestly believe that i say what i need to when i need to.

ANYWAY.

enough of that hippie bullshit.


what i DON'T like about dating is that i'm just not interested in anyone. 

no one is making me want to rip their clothes off or wait with baited breath for their next call or text. i'm just not...you know...there is no THERE there.

and i feel like a BITCH about it. i have met some really great guys lately. not only do they have REAL jobs, cars, houses, but they're fun to talk to. they have goals and friends. they can carry on a conversation on multiple topics and they (sometimes) laugh at my terrible macabre jokes. i've enjoyed meeting several of them very much. these are REALLY GOOD GUYS.

i know. not the usual trainwreck you've been waiting for. THEIR FAULT.

but there's just no THERE there.

i feel like i'm just waiting for someone to shock me out of my stupor of sameness. they all say i'm so different, but they all blend together.

i mused with my friend the other day during our facebook chat- is there a certain point that...VA VA VA VOOM stops happening? where you're not really settling, but you're just not a twinkie 21 year old kid in love with the idea of falling in love?

when you add to it that my idea of love isn't necessarily the mushy feelings crap, but more intellectually based in the choice to care about someone and put them first even after all those butterflies have run into the bug zapper...maybe that shock factor doesn't exist or isn't realistic anymore.

is that just part of getting older? there's no longer kisses that leave you weak in the knees? there's no longer someone you can't wait to hear from again? am i just too cold and jaded for my own good?

it may be time to shift my thinking. realize that maybe there's more weight to good conversation over spark.

it's a hard idea to let go of though.

i've had kisses that left me weak in the knees and thinking that was a one time thing is a bit depressing.

i've had the cowboy two step me around the floor while singing along to "i'm holding heaven in my arms tonight." maybe i should be grateful i've had it happen. (by the way: that's a great story about how i once went out with a libertarian).

i've had the romance that i flew half way around the world for (and we all know how that turned out).

i've been the crazy girl waiting on edge for a call or text back and that isn't exactly a fun place to be.

i've been the overly emotional HOW AM I GOING TO LIVE WITHOUT HIM girl.

maybe it's time to be the HEY LOOK, A DECENT GUY girl.

maybe good enough IS good enough.

by the way...

*OFFICIAL NOTICE*
i have been working TWO WEEKS at full time hours now. the job hunt is officially over. i'm back among the standard 8-4 rat race. HOORAY.

it's the same job i've had for almost two years now- they were able to offer me full time AND I TOOK IT.

HOWEVER.

it seems that the universe likes to fuck with me as much as possible- an awesome opportunity couldn't be accepted without passing up and another equally as awesome opportunity. it could never be like HERE'S ONE OPTION. TAKE IT. of course not. that would be too nifty. my universe has to be like: hey- wandering around forever with ZERO options and nineteen kicks in the gut? well now you have to choose between THREE AMAZING THINGS ALL AT THE SAME TIME WITH NO CLUES AS TO WHICH IS THE BEST OPTION AT ALL.

i mean- thanks universe for finally pulling through, but REALLY?

SO. back to the point.

i think.

in the job interview process i was privileged enough to interview for some really fanfuckingtastic jobs including the local symphony (an office job, don't worry, i won't make you listen to my stellar piano skills any time soon), a few large corporations, and, my favorite, the INBA.

if you are unaware, locally the INBA (inland northwest business alliance) is part of a national "gay chamber of commerce."  they exist to make sure there is a list of LGBT owned or allied businesses available to those who need it.

side note: i HATE that we still live in a world where people still have to worry about "straightening" their house if they need service work done or being worried about running across a non-supportive business owner when trying to arrange an event or even just spend a day shopping. it would have been an awesome job to help build the web of support of businesses willing to say HEY, WE TREAT EVERYONE EQUAL.

ANYWAY. i was called back to the second round of interview for the position but had to bow out after deciding to accept the position where i already work.

happy but sad but happy day.

ANYWAY. back to the point.

during the first round of interviews, the interview panel asked: "if you approached a business about joining the INBA and the potential member asked "well, won't everyone think i'm gay if i join?" how would you handle that?"

the very first thought in my head was: REALLY? people would think that?

the second thought was: there's probably more behind them being worried about what people think than just joining a chamber.

my third thought was: YOU'RE A BUSINESS OWNER. MONEY IS MONEY. pretty darn sure you will lose little to no business by supporting the community as a whole equal set of citizens. any business you might possibly loose? pretty sure they weren't a good client if something as basic as that scared them away. does it really matter if they fleetingly wonder about who you go home with?

ANYTWADDLE.

i thought the question was interesting. would people really think you're gay because you support LGBT?

fast forward a week or so.

my brother called for one of his usual check up/humiliation sessions. actually, i take that back. it's been better the last few times. less judgy, more just basic chatty.

he was asking about work, if i'd been on any interviews, and i proceeded to tell him about the INBA.

oh...ARE YOU GAY?

you can't make this shit up. that was the FIRST question he asked me. not how many hours. not how i heard about it. not how the interview went.

him: ARE YOU GAY?

me: well, i'm bi. you knew that didn't you?

him: ummm...i don't think i did.

me: oh. huh. well you do now.

at that point i got a call on my work line (my brother called on my cell) and i had to interrupt to answer the customer.  2 minutes later, back to my brother:

him: remember when i told you to stay away from evil men? was this your solution?

me: ummm....

and that's how i accidentally came out to my brother.

who wouldn't want this?

so, you know the drill, the online dating profile is back up (has been for a while).

sheer boredom. onset of winter. needing the lawn mowed. whatever reason, it's back up again.

the "about me" section right now is pretty scant. i've always battled what to put in there- too much and no one will read it. too little and all you get are booty messages. too snarky and they all think you're a bitch. too plain and you aren't who you appear to be if you happen to meet anyone in person.

today (late last night but i was too lazy to write then) i decided to just say FUCK IT and write a profile that _I_ like and who the fuck cares if anyone else really likes it. i mean- honestly? the online dating world is NOT where to find a tolerable ever after. may as well have a little fun and throw it all out there. right?

so. here's the profile i'll be posting tonight:

i love taco bell more than anyone should. i try to balance it out with green smoothies, quinoa and good old fashioned home cooking but i more often than not succumb to the siren song of the cheesy fake meat goodness.

i am not the girl to take on a hike. like- EVER. but, i am the girl that will go on a 3 mile fundraiser walk in the rain on a saturday morning with you. i rock the hell out of a mom suit (you know, the kind with the skirt attached) and LOVE being near water if you don't mind spending a few hours spraying me down with spf 70 so i don't flash burn in the sun like the pretend vampires in those crappy teen movies (which i have watched and read. don't judge me). that's about as sporty as i get.

i've managed to keep two spawns, a dog and assorted plants alive for quite a while without major trauma (aside from a few staples in the head- the spawns, not the dog). one of the spawn is officially in high school now which, of course, means that i've lost all my intelligence for the next several years. hope you don't mind.  i've tried like h-e-double hockey sticks to raise my spawns to be open minded and accepting which can lead to some pretty interesting conversations around our house. the same extends to my friends and my non-blood family. my house is a safe zone to everyone- no judgement, open and respectful conversations.

i do have the holy trifecta: house, car, job. i pay my bills, make sure there's food in the fridge, and still manage to go out on occasion and buy myself a beer or two (on $1 pbr night anyway).

i'm a nerd of the book variety- as in there's a really expensive piece of paper somewhere in my house saying i love books enough to wade through four years of college to prove it. as such, i reserve the right to a certain amount of snobbery. i prefer my gentlemen with the ability to create full sentences, maintain an actual full conversation, and maybe, PERHAPS, not require me to pick them up at their mom's house before a date.

as to the million dollar question: what am i looking for? in a perfect world it would be joseph gordon-levitt. i mean really- a guy that can reenact singin in the rain? what more could a girl ask for? BUT. i guess i'll settle for someone that likes to go out dancing or stay home and play cards against humanity. a guy that doesn't mind being around my spawns but doesn't feel the need to take over raising them (note: they're basically done. they can do their own laundry and cook a totino's pizza. what more do you need? also: hopefully any potential candidate can at least do the same). someone who is willing to to accept my friends and is willing to introduce me to his. a sense of humor is a must- you won't make it five minutes in my universe without one. i want someone that has as much fun going to walmart as going out to a bar- fun is where you make it. you have to be as comfortable at the opera house for best of broadway as you are at the arena for a hockey game and you also have to be willing to enjoy an occasional glass of wine as well as a crappy cheap beer.

on the short list of move along son, nothing to see here:
if you've been to jail other than a monopoly game- no thanks.
if you "have swagger" get a shot for that ish and keep moving.
if you have to walk like a retarded duck to keep your pants on since you refuse to wear them at the proper level- maybe your time would be better spent belt (or pant) shopping. 
if you pop your collar. really. REALLY??
if you take longer than me getting ready in the morning- i'm shallow. i don't share my mirror or my hair products.
if you can't legally take me out for a drink, you can't take me out.

if you made it this far- hug a teacher for teaching you how to read.

if you're interested in jumping in the shark tank, dive on in, the water's fine (and by that i mean it hasn't turned blue from the special dye that means someone's peed in it yet. hurry up.)


SO. that's it kids. let's see what poor suckers fall for it.

a very tragic sad story

i've been hesitant to share this story because the emotional scar runs DEEP.

this is, if not THE most tragic story of my life, at least in the top five.

it starts back when i was the tender age of five.

i begged and begged and begged my mom from well before the age of five for ONE thing.

PLEASE, PLEASE, can i get my ears pierced?

it was the only thing i wanted. and i had to wait YEARS until i reached the magical age of five, then, if i still wanted to get it done, i could get my ears pierced.

the magical age was finally achieved, and YES, i still wanted to get my ears pierced.

in our little town there was only one place to go- this was LONG before the days of walmart or malls filled with claire's boutiques or anything like that. there was one jewelry store in town that could fulfill a little girls life long dream.

it was called LePlante Jewelry store, located on the main street of town between a furniture store and a bank.

I still remember it exactly(ish) to this day- you walked in the front glass door and there was the never ending jewelry cases down the right side of the building, it always seemed a little dark, probably because there was a warm grey dark paint on the walls with deep red accents.

I got to climb up on the chair next to one of the jewelry cases and pick out my stud earrings (they came in a little pink box which i still have to this day and one of the earrings). They put the little purple dots on my years, made sure they were even, loaded the gun, and BAM: pierced my ears.

I WAS SO EXCITED.

i had no idea the tragedy that had just taken place that would mar me for the rest of my life.

I HAD PIERCED EARS PEOPLE.

BAM.

grown. up. as. fuck.

fast forward to some time in high school when i got a second piercing in each ear, fast forward to college when i got my cartilage (upper ear) pierced, into my late 20's and a nose piercing (twice on that one actually).

even the second set of ears didn't scar me as much as the first experience and on the second ones the gun got jammed and they had to take it all out and start over again (hurt like a bitch by the way).

you see, here's the long hidden, deep, dark, dirty secret that i've kept hidden all these years:

that first experience? the first piercings of my life?

brace yourselves.

they're...*sob*...crooked.

I KNOW, RIGHT?

how have i survived this long?

i don't mean uneven.

i don't mean unevenly spaced.

i mean...CROOKED.

oh, the horror.

i took me into my 30's to be comfortable wearing hoop earrings or anything that dangles because MY PIERCINGS ARE CROOKED. actually, just one, which is totally worse. i think. no basis for comparison really.

i know. you're all reeling from the horror.

we should start a support group or something.

see. back at the tender age of 5 when they initially took the gun to my right ear, they pointed it in (towards my head) instead of straight as far as i can tell.

the result, i'm sure several of you have noticed but have been polite enough to not point out, is that when i wear hoops or dangles or anything besides a stud, my earrings always are half way to flipping around. 

it makes it really hard to talk on the phone, turn my head without getting it caught, wear my hair up, in general leave my horrifying mutilation exposed.

i've tried twisting my earrings around to straighten it out. i've thought about gauging so maybe they would hang a little looser and have more room for correction. i've hidden in shame, and finally, i've (mostly) learned to accept that i will never be "normal."

i've learned to accept that fact that my earring backs will always get tangled because they're too close together. i've learned to accept the fact that i have to buy flip closures instead of back closures since they fall off and get lost from being tangled so often.

i've learned that i can still lead a normal(ish) life, even as hard as it is.

i don't know if there's anyone else out there struggling with this. i can understand their shame and desire to hide if they are out there.

but i'm willing to stand up, speak out: I HAVE ONE CROOKED PIERCED EAR AND I'M OK.

well, kinda.

see how it's trying to run away from me?