Holiday Reminder: My Father is a Sociopath (Part 3)

To: Dad

From: Me

Date: December 30, 2014 at 8:51AM

I had a hard time sleeping last night. Your email upset me, but I suppose that was probably your intent. When I woke up next to my kind & endlessly supportive husband, to the sounds of our sweet son chattering to himself in the next room, I felt better. 

I thought about just letting you have the last word. Why bother with giving you another ounce of my energy? But you've already had your say, many times before. Your reminder last night reads as though you didn't bother to read my last note to you in 2012, so I'll paste it in at the end, just in case you can take it in this year. 

You show the true colors of your dark character by cursing my husband to the misery of your relationship with my mother & estranged daughter. I don't have a crystal ball, but I don't see his story ending up like yours. He's a good man who does everything in his power to do right by his family. He supports me in every way. He is present for his child. I have no fear that he'll ditch out while our son is still a toddler, or refuse to take his phone calls as a teenager, or punish him for someone else's financial choices before he even goes off to college. I know that my husband will be there for his child for the entire duration of his life. Because in addition to being an amazing husband, he's a wonderful & loving father. 

I don't think it's the least bit ironic that you had to find others to take on the role of partner & child. Irony indicates that the result is the opposite of what is expected. I don't think any rational person would expect that I keep going back to a well that's so obviously dry, so naturally you would need someone else. You've been married 5 times, so apparently you can reel 'em in, but seem to struggle a bit with keeping them on the the hook once they get to the dock. Maybe this time will be different. I'm not sure whether you've had the opportunity to have a relationship with someone else in the daughter role, but if you're hoping to be more successful, I would recommend a different strategy than what you've used with me. 

Best of luck to you & Sarah. She seemed like a genuinely nice lady when I met her so many years ago. I know the two of you have a long history & I hope that she takes good care of you. 

I'm going to go have breakfast with my beautiful family. Thanks for reminding me of exactly the kind of parent that I don't want to be. 

Holiday Reminder: My Father is a Sociopath (part 2)

From: Dad

To: Me

Subject: Obama plans another abomination!

Date: December 9, 2014 at 6:55PM

[article about Jane Fonda being honored as a Person of the Century despite a visit to a POW camp during the Vietnam War, which many veterans understandably view as treason]

From: Me

To: Dad

Subject: Re: Obama plans another abomination!

Date: December 29, 2014 at 7:18PM

Another butt dial, I presume. 

From: Dad

To: Me

Subject: Re: Obama plans another abomination!

Date: December 29, 2014 at 7:48PM

Yes, I was trying to remove the number from the call log and it dialed again, for which I apologize -- again. I was surprised by your call and the caller ID. 

From: Dad

To: Me

Subject: Re: Obama plans another abomination!

Date: December 29, 2014 at 7:56PM

Why would you have that FB link? I suspect that it would be anathema to you and yours. I've seen it before and sent it to several girlfriends of about 55 year vintage but not to you, I don't believe. If I did, in error, then I apologize for THAT too.

Politics and personal history is and will continue to be an uncrossable chasm. I do not, however, intend to burden you with my opinions. All I can do is offer my most profound apologies for intruding on your life. I should, perhaps, try to expurgate any and all contact info for you. I was not even aware that you actually answered your phone. You told me once that you did not. Foolishly, I believed you.

One last time, my most profound apologies.

From: Me

To: Dad

Subject: Re: Obama plans another abomination!

Date: December 29, 2014 at 9:42PM

No idea why you would send a Jane Fonda link to me, just replying to it. I assumed it was an error & initially ignored it as such, but when I saw a missed call from your number on my mobile phone this evening I made the silly assumption that you were reaching out. I called back from my current home phone because I don't have reliable service on my mobile in rural Pennsylvania. You've made it clear that was unnecessary. 

Message received. Take care. 

From: Dad

To: Me

Subject: Re: Obama plans another abomination!

Date: December 30, 2014 at 12:10AM

I was always willing to talk to you, but your husband put the kibosh to that in our last conversation a couple of years back. He didn't like me the first time he ever met me and I learned quickly enough, that he was rude, dishonest and generally an asshole so far as I was concerned. 

I sincerely hope that he has as much joy of your marriage and your child as I experienced with your mother and you. 

I also despised your making fun, by way of 'edgy' cartoon cards, of my personal situation, a situation that has caused me great pain and anxiety for most of my life. My friends understand that. My daughter apparently did not.

Again I apologize for accessing your email and phone. My phone and email has not changed, nor is it likely to. I did erase your phone number so that I will not inadvertently dial you again. If it is of any interest, Sarah, whom you met at mom's funeral and afterward at the house in 1996 is coming out here to live with me. Her daughter is all for it. She has known me since she was a baby. She actually likes me and wants to be family along with her mother. 

Odd, hmmh? And the tiniest bit ironic I think.

******************************************************

To sum this up, in case it was lost in the threads, after more than 2 years of not speaking, my father sent me a politically charged email earlier this month. I assumed that he included me in error & ignored it. This evening, I missed a call from him on my mobile phone. An email & a phone call without a voicemail suggested, at least in my mind, that he was reaching out. It's the holidays. Maybe the sentimentality got to him. 

So after the boy was in bed, I called my father back from the house phone. He was friendly when he picked up & I identified myself. After brief pleasantries, he asked, "how can I help you?" 

"You called me, so I'm calling back."

"No, I didn't. Maybe I butt dialed you."

"Okay, happy holidays."

Then the emails, as detailed above. So now I can't sleep, because I'm reminded yet again that my father actually *hates* me. I try not to pull the Now That I'm a Parent card, but SERIOUSLY, I cannot begin to imagine willfully & repeatedly hurting my sweet son in the ways that my father has hurt me over the years. He can't ever just leave it alone. He has to make sure that he's issued a painfully obvious decree of what trash I am to him. Every time. 

My biological father is cruel & I feel sorry for him.  He obviously has some dark storms in his head.  Since he's almost 72, I don't hold out much hope for the clouds parting.  I've simply made the choice to not be his lightening rod. Good luck & best wishes to him, his lady friend Sarah, & Sarah's daughter. They're going to need it. 

Holiday Reminder: My Father is a Sociopath (part 1)

From: Me

To: Dad

Subject: Re: Your mailing address ...

Date: May 23, 2012 at 12:19AM

Hello again,

You have the correct Starbucks email address, but I didn’t receive yesterday's CC there.  My filters have your addresses listed as 'safe', but I had also issues receiving something from a vendor last
week.  We just received a message from our security team about phishing yesterday, so the Postini team has probably applied a finer mesh to the company filters.

Alas, we had to move from the East John Street address in mid-March due to sketchy building management, so our new physical address is as follows:

16th Ave

Seattle, WA

My contact info as you have it listed:

Eva Anne
206-XXX-XXX1 ...  Old work mobile phone that was cancelled when I went on Sabbatical
206-XXX-XXX2 ...  Mobile phone
206-XXX-XXX3 ...  Office phone

724-XXX-XXXX ... Eva Anne's husband

The phone numbers are also correct across the board (with the one cancellation), although the spelling of my original middle name is not.  As one of the two people who named me, I’d think that you’d know that it was Ann without an E (very unromantic according to Anne of Green Gables) on my birth certificate.  I went the Dorothy Kline route when I got married, taking my maiden name as my official middle name.

You certainly have my permission to list me as your next of kin, but that is your decision.  My only requirement is very clear documentation about your wishes.

Now on to other business...

Despite the fact that you seem to think that you know me very well & can so easily compartmentalize all of the characteristics that you seem to dislike – your liberal yuppie feminist daughter [insert
eyeroll here] – I’m afraid you missed the mark on the constantly checking my mobile device & email part.  I’m all over my work email while I'm at my desk - M-F, 6AM-4PM - & then I go home for the day.  I do stay tuned into Facebook most of the time because it amuses me, but that’s pretty much it.  I don't allow notification push & most of the time my phone is on vibrate. Even when my phone is sitting in front of me, if I don’t recognize the number on my phone (i.e. it doesn’t map to a contact), I don’t answer because 99.9% of the time it’s a robocall (thanks for nothing, Do Not Call List).  I unplug & check out because otherwise there’s too much noise.  I don’t have a desire to stare at a glowing screen or listen to rings & chimes all the time.  I got into the habit while we were in Belize because we had no other choice & ended up preferring the quiet.

I truly missed your recent messages in the vast sea of advertisements in my gmail.  I did a search on your name & found this request (with 3 messages in an hour).  Looks like you got yourself pretty worked up in no time at all.  I’ll put it to you like you put it to me when I was about 11 years old & rather hopefully asked if you missed me: you’re not the only thing that I think about.  You are literally the only actual person who still sends me emails here.  Everyone else that I care to keep in touch with is on Facebook & interacts there.  Just last week, I directed my loyal best friend of 24 years to my work email because she told me I'd missed something important.  I sincerely explained how I missed your emails & you basically told me that I’m a dumbass for not telling gmail how to take out the garbage. I check gmail once a week or two to scan for legitimate stuff, but obviously I’m not perfect & do miss things.  Pointing you back to my (apparently impenetrable, *shakes fist at Postini*) work email was
meant to be helpful & welcoming, not circuitous or contrary.  Things change.

I read your response to my husband.  Once.  That was enough.  Such venom in the terribly hateful things that you say.   It does seem like you’re enthusiastically embracing a new reason to fly into a rage & discard your daughter for the 3rd time in 19 years.

!!!  You made sure that my husband knows that you weren't interested in getting back in touch with me or repairing our relationship in 2009.  That's absolutely not what you said at the time & I have the
emails to prove it, but I suppose there's no time like the present for telling the truth ... although we probably could have avoided some of this ugliness if you'd have just bluntly told me to fuck off in the
first place.

!!!  You didn’t trust me when I first reached out to get back in touch with you because you thought I would launch into "another tirade". Huh?  Unwarranted nastiness is your specialty, not mine.  I think
you're confusing me with my mother.  Again.

!!!  You think I conspired with my mother throughout my childhood to keep you away.  Are you fucking kidding me?  I was 2 when you & my mother got divorced.  TWO.  I talked about you constantly & BEGGED to spend more time with you.  I wasn't allowed to call you ("long distance costs money & your dad doesn't pay child support!"), I was discouraged from sending letters (see the prior refrain, just replace long distance with stamps), & certainly couldn't drive myself to Ohio. When I broke through to puberty & could actually think for myself I started calling collect & asking to live with you, with my mother intervening again & asserting sole custody.  Seriously, that is delusional horseshit.

It was about money in 1993 & 1996, when your misplaced anger & cruelty that should have been directed at your 5th ex-wife, the adult who was at the root of that issue, rather than your child.   Considering that you immmediately went to child support in your response to my husband & claiming
that you’ve always had to take care of yourself, I have to wonder if your problem isn’t about money now.  I am a yuppie after all, makin’ that corporate bank.  Or maybe it’s the misplaced anger again, since you’ve mentioned your absence from my Mother’s Day blog twice in your most recent rants.  Mother’s Day is about MOTHERS.  Family photos aren't like Getty Images; they don't require a copyright.  I respect that you’ve lived your life as a female for many years, but the biological reality is that you are my father.  Had you not decided to unload all of this jealous drama, you probably could’ve looked forward to a similar post on June 17th because, remarkably, I have fond memories of you, but I think that ship has probably sailed.

For the record, you can blame the great State of Ohio for your loss of Inheritance, since that’s who ultimately filed the lien for back child support.  My mother’s lawyer told her that he couldn’t take her money for the case because the Department of Health & Human Services had beaten her to the punch.  Do you think that Grandma never talked about your delinquency at work?  You’d been on their radar for YEARS.  I also spoke to Aunt Debi & Uncle Jack on the subject in the following year & neither of them held any ill will toward me or my mother.  Your defense of your brothers is unconvincing, since you were the one who wanted the money the most.  Further, your claim that our portion - $20K to cover what you'd missed from 2 through 18, I saw the check - was fully half of Grandma's legacy is bullshit.  Due to the wonders of public records, I am aware that Grandma's will basically said to sell
it all & divide the proceeds 3 ways.  I do math for a living.  Don't piss on my shoe & tell me it's raining.

You have neglected to consider how much I hurt during the 12 years after you LAST told me that you wanted nothing to do with me & as I've just learned, had absolutely no regrets or qualms about ditching me altogether.  Despite the fact that I initiated contact, busting through all that baggage is much harder than I thought.  Reconnecting isn't a piece of cake, despite best intentions.  Am I above criticism? Nope.  But I sure as hell won't be blasted for being a bad pen pal by the very person who has told his only daughter to get out of his life on multiple occasions.  In the past 3 years, you've randomly unloaded your toxic shit on me at least 4 times.  I've NEVER responded in kind or torn into you about how worthless & unwanted you've made me feel since I was 13.  I'm a forgiving person, but I never forget.  Vicious words have always implanted themselves deeply into my memory & you've
offered up a lot of them with no apology, only self-righteous justification & deputization of responsibility.  It's never your fault.  According to you, I'm responsible for how I feel AND how you feel.  You've shown no recognition of the fact that I am, by nature, a supremely sensitive person.  Since it seemed that you saw that trait when I was a kid, I have to assume that you're willfully ignoring that detail now & just don't care.  I understand that you don't feel that I communicate as much as you'd like me to.  You need to understand that I will give you what I've got.  I have emotional boundaries.  Take it or leave it.

I grew up in an abusive household & as a result have a pretty strict No Abuse policy.  You've crossed the line.  So let me be perfectly clear: I will not be treated, spoken to, or about, in the way you have
over the past few days.  If you've already made the decision to write me off again, so be it, but I will not engage in this garbage any further.

The only thing I’d like to apologize for is the e-cards from last Father’s Day.  I intended for them to be funny, but I clearly missed the signal that they were very poorly received & upset you.  Had I realized that at the time, I would have apologized immediately.  That was insensitive & I am sorry.

Thanks a latte for the memories.

Almost 14 years working for Starbucks.  A full 40% of my life.  My entire adult life.  Even though I've known about the elimination of my role since April, I kept holding onto the belief that another job would come up right until the very end of the fiscal year deadline.  Even with that long to process the possibility that became probability, I'm still in a bit of a state of shock that I'm no longer a Starbucks partner.

I started as a barista during my last year in college.  With plans in the works to move to Seattle with a boy that I liked at the time, I thought it would be a good idea to have a job that would allow for an easy employment transition.  While having a job lined up was easy, getting used to the pace of of slinging java in the coffee mecca was not.  Cheese & rice, I could not believe how pretentious & demanding Seattleites can be when it comes to their precious espresso beverages.  One the one hand, if you're paying $4+ for a hot drink, it's not unreasonable to get what you've asked for.  On the other hand, like most things in life, there's no need to be a butthole about it. 

Once I got into the swing of things in the PacNW, I learned to enjoy the groove of a day in the coffee shop.  I became friends with the other partners & many of the regulars.  Pretending to be nice to meanies became much easier once someone told me to just give 'em decaf with a smile.  When things fell apart with the boy who took me to Seattle, my co-workers became my family.  My mid-20s were fun.  The coffee gig had taught me that I'm a morning person(!) & I loved having a full 8 hours of work under my belt by what was lunchtime for everyone else.  I'd typically go home after work to meditate & take a nap, then get up in time for dinner & a show.  I went to a bunch of really great concerts & could close down the bar, go home for another long nap before getting up to start again.  Sleeping in a couple of shifts a day worked just fine when I had but a 10 minute walk to work & could start chugging caffeine as soon as I unlocked the doors.

Things changed a bit when I took a job at the help desk 4 years into my time at Starbucks.  I didn't have much trouble adjusting to even earlier hours, but it was a bit trickier because my brain needed to be firing on all cylinders in order to perform my job with a modicum of effectiveness.  I liked that I'd managed to get an office gig that allowed me to sit down & wear nice clothes that wouldn't end up covered in milk stains. I loved the pay increase & working directly with partners instead of the general public, but worked hard to find a less frustrating role that better suited my personality & skill set as quickly as possible.  

The same guy who helped me get the job at the help desk eventually hired me to serve as a vendor manager with him.  Similarities in our personalities helped to make us a good team & I was thrilled to finally get to use my natural strengths productively at work.  We had an amazing manager for the first couple of years & I was able to develop as an analyst.  After 4 years in the role & 10 years with the company, I took advantage of the amazing Sabbatical benefit & took a 6 month career coffee break to travel with my husband.  

When I returned from globetrotting, I was on a new team & grateful to be out of a service support role, but the company still capitalized my vendor expertise on a couple of year long projects.  Then my son came along & I took over the departmental budget when I came back from maternity leave.  It was a perfect fit for my niche skill set.  Teaming with leadership that actually demanding accountability, we pulled the budget back to black & I genuinely loved my work.  

I suppose that's my primary disappointment in being forced to leave Starbucks: putting in more than 13 years to finally contribute in a way that I was *really* good at & brought me such joy only to have to leave because the job title management wants to apply to my responsibilities would require me to live in Seattle. It sucks. I've been so lucky to have never had a real gap in gainful employment & have thrived on the consistency that Starbucks has brought to my adult life to date. I don't do well with uncertainty. So what now?

Becoming My Grandmothers

My mom's mom, Annie, is an absolute delight & I spent every summer with her growing up. She's an awesome Grandma & an equally fantastic lady who still loves to have fun. I used to love watching her doll up to go out on the town every Thursday night. Annie relished in her popularity. The simplest of errands invariably resulted in a gentleman approaching to say hello & flirt. "He used to want in my pants," she'd tease. It would probably be more polite to describe my Grandma as coquettish, but I lovingly tell her that she's a dirty old woman.

Grandma's evening routine always concluded with reading in bed. She was particularly fond of the lady mags featuring romantic short stories: True Story, True Romance, & True Confessions were her holy trinity of nighttime perusal. Knowing that I was an avid reader, she saved the monthlies throughout the year & started giving them to me for summer reading beginning when I was 12 or 13. It took a couple of months for my mother to figure out that I'd been reading starter smut all summer & sternly advised her mother that it was inappropriate reading material for a girl my age. Annie apologized & put the magazines away... until my mother went home. "Just don't tell tell your mom," Grandma shrugged.

My paternal grandmother, while very different from Annie, was equally loving. Grandma W was Catholic, conservative, well-educated, & overall a very upright lady. She was very proud of her inquisitive, bookworm granddaughter & earnestly encouraged reading & all manner of learning. Anytime I surprised her with a visit, I'd find her reading a book. Grandma W voraciously consumed paperback novels, always keeping them stowed a royal blue canvas cover that had a rainbow ribbon page marker.

One summer, she & my father took me on a day trip to COSI (Center of Science & Industry) in Columbus. She didn't have the energy to keep up with an excited 10 year old, so she took her book & sat next to the pendulum. We checked in with her after a few hours of exploring the exhibits & she smiled as I ran up to greet her. After breathlessly sharing what we'd seen so far, I looked down at her book & asked why she always used a book cover. Her face immediately became rigid. "Because it's not anyone's business what I'm reading." A few years later, probably right about the time I started thumbing through True Romances, I took a closer look at Grandma W's tall book shelves. Two deep & double stacked were hundreds of Harlequin Romances. Austere & respectable Grandma W was into bodice rippers. I never dared tease her about them, but I've always been amused by my very traditional grandmother's penchant for erotica.

Fast forward 20 (!) years & all I've heard for the past month are ladies murmuring about Fifty Shades of Grey. Eavesdropping in the nail salon last weekend, I listened as a woman boldly asserted that she'd heard so many contrasting reviews about the book that she was just going to read it for herself. "Some people say that it's really good, others say it's garbage. I've heard that it's easy to read, but I've also heard that it's really poorly written. And some of my friends... well, some of them have said that it's dirty," dropping her voice. I bluntly interrupt. "Um, I think that's the one thing that pretty much everyone agrees on: it's super dirty." She quickly nods. At that moment, I decide that I must read this book.

After my pampering, I read reviews on Amazon. As the woman whispering during her pedicure had noted, the color commentary was all over the place, but the general consensus remains that it's chock full of sex. I'm in, but Grandma W's wisdom suddenly resonated with me: I went stealth with my smut via Kindle download. The other commuters don't need to know what I'm reading.

I don't really have a lot to say about the Fifty Shades Trilogy. Yes, trilogy. I've read all 3 in the past week. Are they good? Eh, define good. These books are not great works of literature. The plot is thin & the language is mediocre. One must assume that the editor was, um, distracted by the scenery & rendered unable to provide any constructive criticism. But the pages are littered with gratuitous, hedonistic sex & that's what keeps 'em coming (so to speak) in droves to buy the books.

The 80s Could Have Been WAY Worse

Last weekend, I learned that Jem is on Netflix. I won't go into details, but let's just say that I vigorously maintain that it's a cartoon with a solid plot & my weeknights have been pretty well shot since.

I LOVED Jem as a kid. My mom bought me one of the early edition Jem dolls. She had fantastic flashing earrings that lit up when you flipped a little switch between her shoulders. Naturally, Jem came with 2 outfits - the shiny, metallic rock star outfit + her Jerrica get-up that came with a matching beret used to conceal her pink hair. I had one spare - a yellow dress with an uneven hem - that I learned this week was actually Kimber's outfit. Oddly apt, I recall totally wanting to change my name to Kimber off & on between the 1st & 3rd grades. Gawd, I freaking loved that doll. Being raised an only child, I was not very good at sharing to begin with, but NO ONE touched Jem.

Jem is a holographic output of Synergy, who is conjured when Jerrica/Jem touches her enchanted earrings. When I explained this to my bemused husband, he asked, "so her earrings were sort of like a bluetooth?" Um, yeah. Kind of. That's when it occurred to me that the 80s could have been WAY worse. Wow.

The 1980s Me Decade was one of unbridled ambition, upward social mobility, & Reaganomics. It was an aggressive time & cocaine was the drug of choice. Maybe that's why exaggerated shoulder pads & big hair were so popular: they were safety features. Can you imagine the douchebaggery that would've prevailed had we added widespread cellphone & bluetooth usage to the mix? I just keep picturing Patrick Bateman tuning into the voices in his head, unawares that he's actually on the phone.

For me, the 80s is certainly viewed through the lens of childhood, but the decade clearly provided a springboard for the technology of today. Jerrica monopolized usage of the super-advanced Synergy to propel her into stardom via an alter ego. Didn't Snoop Dogg & Dr. Dre just do something like that at Coachella so they could rhyme with Tupac? Truly Outrageous.

Portlandia

With relatively little planning, as per usual, we decided to go to Portland for Memorial Day weekend.

I've been due for a new phone (I'm completely convinced that they're designed to crap out immediately after the 2-year contract is up) & coveting an iPad. Seattle makes up for an absurd sales tax with no WA state income tax, while Oregon takes the opposite tack. It seemed to me that if we were going to engage in an orgy of consumerism, we might as well align it with a weekend away.

Since we plan most of our travels at the last possible moment, everything but the Friday morning trains were sold out, so I was forced (...) to take an extra day off of work on the long holiday weekend. As always, the ride was lovely. Along the water, through the trees, & past the parts of towns that one wouldn't otherwise see. I may be in love with Amtrak & the Coast Starlight route.

I picked a funky boutique hotel downtown. Submitting a reservation with less than 24 hours notice actually paid off. They'd run out of the low-rent rooms, so we ended up with a free upgrade to a plush King suite. Eric was somewhat unconvinced of the clashing decor, but I dug it. Coffee & latte bar in the morning, then an evening wine hour in a fabulous lobby? Sold.

It'd been many years since I'd spend any time in Portland & Eric had never been, so it was basically all brand new. The train station is beautiful, the light rail is far more advanced than our weak single-lined system, & the architecture is well preserved. We were pleasantly surprised to discover first hand that 175 miles provides just enough difference in climate to allow for thunderstorms.

The City of Roses seems much smaller than Seattle, largely due to perspective; city ordinance dictates a maximum building size of 200' by 200' in order to preserve views of Mount Hood. The result is a Big Town feel. What struck us as really odd was the relative lack of activity downtown. Where the urban center of the Emerald City is consistently busy - more than enough human & automobile traffic at all hours - downtown Portland & the surrounding neighborhoods were pretty subdued. The exception was Saturday Market, which was crowded elbow-to-elbow in the narrow, winding aisles.

We thoroughly enjoyed the local food offerings. Blueplate (featured on Food Network's Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives) has amazing sammiches & soda fountain inspired beverages. Their meatloaf & mashed potatoes were nothing short of bliss. Cafe Bijou was fantastic & their mushroom omelet was heavenly. Louis & Dan's Oyster Bar, the oldest family-owned business in Portland, has a modest menu, but they knocked every single offering out of the park. I'm sad to say that we did not visit Voodoo Donuts. Next time!

The PacNW vibe persisted in our southerly sister city, though with stronger hippie flavor. The mix of people was similar, but the prevalence of good manners appeared to be marginally improved. Curiously, the Civil War mustache trend seems to have gained a lot more ground in Oregon. The widespread affection for books & coffee is identical; Powell's City of Books is my version of heaven.

There was a noticeable lack of live shows, likely due to the competition from Sasquatch this weekend. No matter, since we didn't take much of a departure from our usual, ingrained sleep schedule. Despite not taking in any culture beyond food & the mall, we still had a fun & relaxing weekend. I really enjoy traveling with my man, even if it is only a few hours away.

EMc2

From this day forward,

I promise to love you without reservation.

To honor and respect you, 

always hold you in highest regard,
and to work together with you to achieve our goals.

I promise to help shoulder our challenges,
for there is nothing we cannot face if we stand together.

I promise to be your partner in all things,
not possessing you, 

but working with you as a part of the whole.

I promise to share with you the joys of life,
because with you they will be that much sweeter.

I will stay by your side and remain faithful to our vows
in sickness and in health,
in times of plenty and in times of want,
when life seems easy and when it seems hard,
when our love is simple and when it is an effort.

I will support and encourage you,
listen to you with compassion and understanding,
speak to you with respect,

and be kind, patient and forgiving.

I will provide for your needs as best I can,
protect you from harm,
laugh with you in times of triumph,
and comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle.

I will always be open and honest with you,
and trust in you completely.

These are my vows to you, my equal in all things, today and for the rest our lives.

Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know. I look forward to growing together, getting to know the person you will become, and falling in love a little more every day. Through whatever life may bring us, I am secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love.

Eric, on this special day, in the presence of our family & friends, with all my love, I give to you my sincere promise to stay by your side as your faithful wife.

Coffee & Cigarettes

August 27, 2005
Submission to The Sun Magazine

If broken into component parts, I’m an obvious blend of my parents. My mother is a hardworking, financially responsible, and brutally honest woman. As straight forward as black coffee, Mom reminded me often that she thought my father was worthless - he lived with his mother, couldn’t hold a job, and as a result was negligent in paying child support. She always said that God only brought she and my father together to conceive me, her gift. 

 
The rare weekends I got to spend with my dad gave me a unique insight to what made us tick. He drank what seemed like gallons of coffee and smoked 4 packs of cigarettes during his daily routine of reading and working with his computers. We hung out in his basement office/computer lab and his jittery pursuit of knowledge kept me entertained with any kind of intellectual stimulation I desired. He was a genius who fueled his brilliance with java. What my mother perceived as uselessness, I adored. I was fascinated by him, a Daddy’s Girl closeted by my mother’s opinions.

Mostly we read the newspaper at his enormous coffee-stained desk or played at his computer, making silly pictures or talking to his techie friends using a primitive version of instant messaging. Once we made miniature volcanoes out of baking soda and vinegar, but more often we puttered around chatting.

My dad talked to me as though I were an adult. He’d often make sweetened iced coffee for me, letting me vent frustrations of life at home with my mom and my dismay at being a tall, skinny nerd at school. He never dismissed how I felt, sagely encouraging discourse on what I needed to talk out. Wistfully gazing over the rim of his coffee cup, he wisely made me consider Mom in a different light by fondly reminiscing about all he’d come to admire her for. He introduced me to my idol, Wonder Woman. Through the Amazonian princess, he suggested the optimistic template for what a lanky bookworm had potential to become. The awkward haze of puberty made it hard to imagine, much less believe my dad’s theory that I would become a strong, confident woman whose intelligence and wit could draw as much attention as her beauty.

I haven’t talked to my dad in 9 years. During that time, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find myself growing into a persuasive version of the real-life Wonder Woman Dad had envisioned. More than anything, I want to sit down with him and talk more about what life has in store over coffee and cigarettes.