Take two of these and forget my number!

" They say your problem is inoperable, but they're wrong: It's just incurable. Go ahead and do all the operating you want."

Some mornings the best medicine is the shit that will inevitably get you fired. This has been a bloody weird month for Miss N.K.... Ups, downs, uppers, downers... Why does the 11th month so vehemently hate my freedom? This morning, it was prompt retribution for snaking pain killers from a certain mother-in-law/pusher who shall remain nameless to protect the identities of all involved. "I believe it's an opiate....or a hallucinogen. I can't remember which, but it should take the edge off". Indeed! After a night chalk full of horrifying waking nightmares, I found myself bordering on paralyzation this morning. I even had a fleeting daydream about dialing Social Services with my tongue to notify them of Mommy's self-induced drug coma and the subsequent inability to get her kiddos ready for school.



As it so happens, today in particular, I was scheduled to visit a new daycare for The Miniature One. When I finally peeled myself off the bed and choked down enough caffeine to kill a small rhino, I was out of the gate with both somehow-fully-dressed-and shoed munchkins (shit, I wonder if I remembered socks?....). Right off the bat, it was a change in routine as today I was dropping the eldest off first, then visiting the new school, dropping the youngest off at his normal school, swinging by the DMV and then off to work. I had actually recited this over and over (and over some more) in my head since the plans were made around 2pm yesterday. It's even possible I additionally made up a little song with this sequence of events so as not to be thrown off track. I've clearly become that mentally unstable Lhasa my mom's friend "mothered".... the one who recoiled in horror for hours behind the toilet because it's altogether possible a piece of furniture had been moved two inches without warning!

Kindergarten, New School, Old School, DMV, Work. Kindergarten, New School, Old School, DMV, Work. K, N, O, D, W.... Nope, that doesn't help... Who in the hell put a tree in the middle of the road!?!?!? And that sidewalk!? SERIOUSLY PEOPLE!!!! *panic* Kindergarten, New School, Old School, DMV, Work... I can't be sure I slowed down much below about 7mph or so while dropping Van off in the "Kiss-'N-Go" lane... In fact, I had to check twice to see if he had actually exited the vehicle at all.... *glance* No Van. Shit. I hope he's actually at school *panic*.



As I exited the parking lot towards the second stop in my out-of-the-norm journey, I felt the shakes coming on. I could feel myself nervously glancing around. Dax whined ever so slightly to express his discontent at our deviation from routine and there it was: Full On Meltdown. I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and peeled out of the school parking lot like a bloody banshee. Right, Left, Right, Right again.... SHIT! I was supposed to go Right, Left, Right, Left! It was an "ABAB" pattern, just like Van was learning! No time for apologies, I turned up the music and headed straight for Dax's old school... Rushed him inside, smiling politely in response to the concerned glances of the suddenly crowded hallway, dashed back outside, started the car, lit up a cigarette (this was certainly no time for that piece of shit e-cigarette that is totally lacking in the "throat hit" department I read about last night while shopping for refill oils for the god forsaken thing), skipped forward to some death metal, and headed for the DMV with my head hung in shame (which can make driving a bit of a challenge).



It took a good 10 minutes to calm myself in the car upon arriving at my next stop. I had skipped stop #2. I sucked. And not just a little. This was major suckage. That stop was strategically arranged. It was potentially for the good of all mankind. And I skipped it. I just couldn't do it. My routine was already so off kilter that functioning through the rest of the day was going to be a challenge in and of itself.

Fortunately for the good registration-renewing citizens of the north end of the city, the DMV visit went smooth as silk. Chesty McChesterson recognized me immediately upon my approach to her window and there was minimal conversation to overcome the transaction. Out the door, back in the car and on my way to work.



I have a doctor's appointment today at 2:30pm. Roughly 4 hours and 14 minutes from this point in time. *seething panic*. As unusual pains have surfaced I was finally forced to suck it up and call with the customary "is this normal" inquiry. "Good lord, what? Really? Oh my, that's not good. Not good at all. Not normal. You need to come in". Well that's just great! And no real reason to panic, right? *panic*

*sigh* Once upon a time, before I very suddenly became an old demented broad, I was spontaneous and carefree. Time was my bitch, and I treated her as such. It seems nowadays, that same bitch has become my tormentor. I am all too aware of each ticking moment and I can only keep the hysteria at bay when things are running like clockwork. Next week, I travel out of town each day for training. I'm curious what sort of apocalypse will result from that not 5 minutes into Day One. The mere thought has my palms sweating in nervous anticipation. Calm down, Kitty. Put the coffee down and back away slowly!

Matchmaker vs. Menace

"The stars will wait patiently while you look up the album art for Ted Nugent's Cat Scratch Fever, because they want you to know exactly what you look like to them. "

It's quite possibly inappropriate to begin a thought with a side tangent, but seems I enjoy living on the edge, so screw it. A number of weeks back, I'm wandering through a discount retailer searching for a red jacket. You see, once upon a time, I had an awesome bloody goddamned '70's style pleather jacket in hooker red. It was brilliant and damnit, I looked pretty brilliant in it. Anyhoo, I found a sad substitute for said jacket, but I also happened upon this funky-fantastic vest made of faux-suede and lined with pseudo-lambswool. This ain't any ordinary vest - it's akin to something you might happen upon a Cirque du Soleil cast member sporting. That was enough of a visual for me to plunk down my money and take yet another bold fashion risk (Who am I kidding? If you've ever seen me out in public, you know damn well I look like the product of Punky Brewster on a coke binge). Even amid bits of self-consciousness, I wore the vest to work and strutted about like a peacock in heat. All that glory and confidence came to a crashing halt when I walked in the door upon arriving home: "I'm gonna call you The Nuge". "Um, ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME!?" "What!? No! I love it! You just look like Ted Nugent, so I'm calling you The Nuge!" Fantastic. Not three days later I happened upon the horoscope at the top of this post and couldn't help but laugh. It was even Cancer's horoscope. Awesomeness. And ya know? I think I might just wear that vest a bit more frequently and perhaps pair it with a bow or sawed off shotgun, just for effect.

In a roundabout manner, that side tangent actually COULD feasibly relate to the subject at hand*. I was gossiping with my dear mother last night and my favorite brother came up. Although I've made it painfully obvious that he's my hero for so many reasons - if you haven't met him, you haven't LIVED. When he wakes up in the morning, I'm rather positive he pisses excellence. He is the muthafukin bee's knees, to be sure. He is also single *gasp*! Refrain from jumping to conclusions as he's blissfully single. I dare say I envy him on occasion when I'm being reprimanded for somehow enabling a certain someone's wedding ring to go flying off into the heating duct because he lost weight so the ring doesn't fit his finger anymore and despite being at work, it's all my fault. *ahem* But I digress.

A bit of a back story, here - when my parents divorced, my father - a devout Catholic - married a Mormon broad with a gaggle of children, grandchildren and yes, even children of the great-grand persuasion. Growing up surrounded by the culture, I'm well aware of the immense priorities placed on meeting, marrying and promptly breeding. A lot. Almost obscene amounts of it. But I'll save that conversation for another day. Anyway, as my dear brother lives near my dad & his wife, there are frequent invites for dinners, particularly around the holidays. And I wouldn't so much label them "invites" as "summons". As the surgically implanted foot in my dear stepmother's mouth dictates - there are often lectures about "finding a nice girl" and "settling down". To date, I am not aware of any forced courting, but I'm fully aware how damning the constant nagging must be for him.

My brother and I grew up in a cloud of judgement and rejection from the locals. It could hardly be avoided as we were immersed in this cult-ure everywhere we turned. It was often made well known that we were despised by neighbors and school mates for little reason beyond our own (differing) religion. In all reality, "our religion" generally entailed skipping church in favor of Slurpee's, Mad Magazine and enough candy to induce vomiting while we frolicked the hour away at some nearby park or another. The point was we simply didn't fit. And to not fit was bordering on criminal in our sheltered little cul-de-sac.

It wasn't until high school that we all were able to escape into the fringe society. I dare say high school rather saved all three of us (the third being the other brother who shall not be named). We were exposed to more of a bigger picture of the world... beyond our wee pond. We each blossomed off onto our own unique paths and were able to begin something of a healing process. My brother went out of state for college and immediately thereafter even ventured off the continent for a time. On his travels, he encountered like-minded geniuses with that thirst for knowledge and adventure. For all the things I'm so terribly jealous of. After a time, the job market was bleak and his financials even more so. Sadly, he moved back to our state of birth where he currently resides. This man is brilliant, insanely talented, charismatic, bloody hilarious, well-educated and handsome. Ah yes. And single. Oh, the horror!!!!

Why on earth is it assumed that those precious few people, those who have found themselves and have attained a heightened sense of peace and purpose - must be only hiding their misery at being alone...promptly subject to sighs of pity and the meddling of busy bodies? Have you found your soul mate? A hearty congratulations - but for Pete's sake, LIVE AND LET LIVE. No pity necessary as he is richer in his experience than many of us will ever be. The sad fact is that the omnipresent pestering is breaking his spirit. Rather than embrace his accomplishments and gifts, he is gradually succumbing to the brainwashing - believing he has fallen short of "normalcy". That is an offense I take personally. My heart broke once when he gave up his art. It's breaking again at his alienation.

Alas, it's not my battle to fight, so I ball my hands into fists and shake them aimlessly about on his behalf. It is my hope he will still encounter the realization, along his path, that he is unique, amazing and worthy. No less a human because he is not attached to another. And really, shouldn't we all be whole individuals first rather than basing our self-worth on the presence of a partner? Just a thought.

*Oops... Almost forgot to tie the side tangent to the main point of the post: One of the most detrimental influences on my brother and I as children were the remarks of others. T'is eventually far easier to isolate ourselves than face the possibility of a vocal outsider. Despite free speech and all that hoopla, there is also something to be said for tact. You never quite know who you may drive into a remote cave with your careless remarks.

Love, Pussycats & Carwrecks

" You may not be an expert on which snakes are poisonous and which aren't, but damn it, you know a cuddly one when you see it.  "



Indeed. The title of this bit of rambling is respectfully stolen off one of my favorite albums... More importantly, it seems to sum up where I find myself in life. One might gather, with the timing of this post, that the Thanksgiving holiday somehow metaphorically drilled through all the inner cobwebs, chaos and calamity thus unleashing a new era. Nope, Pets... Odd as it seems, a certain Miss Roseanne Barr is actually due all credit (or hate mail).



It was a sparkly Wednesday morning and I happened upon the most delightful little article in Newsweek penned by the feisty dame. True enough, the bulk of the article addressed the wonderment which awaits us womenfolk beyond menopause. Strange for that subject matter to have such a resounding impact on a certain 33 year old broad - but given my recent surgery, seems it's actually quite par for the course. It also brought a precise sequence of events from the last few months swirling to a head. Little Orphan So-And-So has found a small sense of inner peace.

The essence of the article transcends well beyond the crass banter of "The Big Change" - Notions that there are, after all, circumstances- perhaps a simple state of mind - in which the mind and those pesky emotions housed within outweigh any importance once placed upon our fragile and ever-aging physical beings. In typical Ninja Kitty fashion, allow me to back that trolley up for a moment.... 



In another instant, I was enjoying company comprised of neighbors, friends and family in the sanctuary that is our creaky old garage. For little more than a moment, I closed my eyes to take in all the laughter and sarcasm - each guest increasingly (and intoxicatingly) drowning out the next - all eager to talk and share stories of days long gone by. Each subject would seamlessly beget the next, though time suddenly stood quite still when one subject in particular was breeched: Childhood dreams not yet realized.



As the conversation continued well into the afternoon, my head was mostly filled with white noise and distant clamour. Simple enough to chalk this all up to a handful of "vintage" wine coolers, but a chord was most definitely struck. I frantically tried to recall my own youthful dreams. Good lord, certainly there was SOMETHING I longed for... aspired to.... dreamed of? I kept coming up empty. Quite expeditiously, I concluded that I really was a wallpaper chameleon until well into my 20's, if not later. I never stood out or really had anything I thought I could/would/should offer. I was only minimally existing for so many years. Sure, I had friends here and there, though probably more acquaintances who lingered while awaiting their trains elsewhere. In very sporadic spurts, I encountered people far older than myself who seemed to see through the garbled murk and recognize something unique in me. I rarely understood that and more predictably shyly slipped off into oblivion so as not to make waves in the immediate social situation.

After the birth of my sons and gradually finding a way back to some semblance of a shape (other than obtuse), I found myself garnering more and more attention. Attention from coworkers, friends, neighbors and strangers. It seemed the world was becoming my oyester whether or not I put any effort to that end. To be honest, for the most part, this all escaped notice as my mind was far too occupied with nagging feelings of worthlessness and my own insecurities. As I'd walk down a hallway, I could sense an out-of-place hair or the fabric of a dress brushing against my love handles. (Nothing to love about 'em, that's for damn sure!) And truly, it's not that I ever wished to be noticed. Not special or significant. Only to somehow belong.



Out of the blue, and entirely without notice, I realized that's exactly where I am. I do belong. I will always be gaudy with my bizarre taste in clothes. Eclectic with my sense of humor. Way the hell out of left field with my ever-derailing-trains-of-thought. Yet I'm me. One of those "I'm OK, You're OK" silly sorts of moments. Makes me ponder whether the biological "losses" signify more of a renewed chapter in life than a renaissanced comedienne eludes to. Tis a magical thing, whatever the broader cause.

For such a painstakingly long time, I have strived to release myself from the chains of perceived judgement only now realizing the battle could have been won in a careless snap. What a breath of fresh air! If I didn't suspect the onslaught of lawsuits, I would highly recommend removal of all non-essential women-parts to femmes far and wide LONG before Mother Nature has a say in matters. As I sit here musing at all the imperfections painting the body awkwardly connected to my head, I have to smile. Each brushstroke symbolic of one hairbrained scheme or another. The wrinkles creeping up beside my eyes and around my mouth - marks borne of hysterical guffaws and general merriment. Even the dry, bloody cracks upon my rice-paper-plastered knuckles bring me bubbling to a giggle as they remind me of my brother. Although I admittedly feel as though I've aged a few dozen or so years, there is no fear cloked in growing old(er) and crazy(er). Is this what elusive wisdom feels like? Perhaps simply having a few more years under my belt? One less functional organ? Purely divine!!!



Much to my own surprise, I've been inspired by Ms. Barr to resume recording the inner workings of my head as this journey marches on. Take it or leave it as it's little more than for the amusement of Yours Truly. For now, I see nothing wrong with heading off for a bit of a cat nap - as long as no one at the office immediately pays any mind :). 

Kitty

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Take two of these and forget my number!

" They say your problem is inoperable, but they're wrong: It's just incurable. Go ahead and do all the operating you want."

Some mornings the best medicine is the shit that will inevitably get you fired. This has been a bloody weird month for Miss N.K.... Ups, downs, uppers, downers... Why does the 11th month so vehemently hate my freedom? This morning, it was prompt retribution for snaking pain killers from a certain mother-in-law/pusher who shall remain nameless to protect the identities of all involved. "I believe it's an opiate....or a hallucinogen. I can't remember which, but it should take the edge off". Indeed! After a night chalk full of horrifying waking nightmares, I found myself bordering on paralyzation this morning. I even had a fleeting daydream about dialing Social Services with my tongue to notify them of Mommy's self-induced drug coma and the subsequent inability to get her kiddos ready for school.



As it so happens, today in particular, I was scheduled to visit a new daycare for The Miniature One. When I finally peeled myself off the bed and choked down enough caffeine to kill a small rhino, I was out of the gate with both somehow-fully-dressed-and shoed munchkins (shit, I wonder if I remembered socks?....). Right off the bat, it was a change in routine as today I was dropping the eldest off first, then visiting the new school, dropping the youngest off at his normal school, swinging by the DMV and then off to work. I had actually recited this over and over (and over some more) in my head since the plans were made around 2pm yesterday. It's even possible I additionally made up a little song with this sequence of events so as not to be thrown off track. I've clearly become that mentally unstable Lhasa my mom's friend "mothered".... the one who recoiled in horror for hours behind the toilet because it's altogether possible a piece of furniture had been moved two inches without warning!

Kindergarten, New School, Old School, DMV, Work. Kindergarten, New School, Old School, DMV, Work. K, N, O, D, W.... Nope, that doesn't help... Who in the hell put a tree in the middle of the road!?!?!? And that sidewalk!? SERIOUSLY PEOPLE!!!! *panic* Kindergarten, New School, Old School, DMV, Work... I can't be sure I slowed down much below about 7mph or so while dropping Van off in the "Kiss-'N-Go" lane... In fact, I had to check twice to see if he had actually exited the vehicle at all.... *glance* No Van. Shit. I hope he's actually at school *panic*.



As I exited the parking lot towards the second stop in my out-of-the-norm journey, I felt the shakes coming on. I could feel myself nervously glancing around. Dax whined ever so slightly to express his discontent at our deviation from routine and there it was: Full On Meltdown. I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and peeled out of the school parking lot like a bloody banshee. Right, Left, Right, Right again.... SHIT! I was supposed to go Right, Left, Right, Left! It was an "ABAB" pattern, just like Van was learning! No time for apologies, I turned up the music and headed straight for Dax's old school... Rushed him inside, smiling politely in response to the concerned glances of the suddenly crowded hallway, dashed back outside, started the car, lit up a cigarette (this was certainly no time for that piece of shit e-cigarette that is totally lacking in the "throat hit" department I read about last night while shopping for refill oils for the god forsaken thing), skipped forward to some death metal, and headed for the DMV with my head hung in shame (which can make driving a bit of a challenge).



It took a good 10 minutes to calm myself in the car upon arriving at my next stop. I had skipped stop #2. I sucked. And not just a little. This was major suckage. That stop was strategically arranged. It was potentially for the good of all mankind. And I skipped it. I just couldn't do it. My routine was already so off kilter that functioning through the rest of the day was going to be a challenge in and of itself.

Fortunately for the good registration-renewing citizens of the north end of the city, the DMV visit went smooth as silk. Chesty McChesterson recognized me immediately upon my approach to her window and there was minimal conversation to overcome the transaction. Out the door, back in the car and on my way to work.



I have a doctor's appointment today at 2:30pm. Roughly 4 hours and 14 minutes from this point in time. *seething panic*. As unusual pains have surfaced I was finally forced to suck it up and call with the customary "is this normal" inquiry. "Good lord, what? Really? Oh my, that's not good. Not good at all. Not normal. You need to come in". Well that's just great! And no real reason to panic, right? *panic*

*sigh* Once upon a time, before I very suddenly became an old demented broad, I was spontaneous and carefree. Time was my bitch, and I treated her as such. It seems nowadays, that same bitch has become my tormentor. I am all too aware of each ticking moment and I can only keep the hysteria at bay when things are running like clockwork. Next week, I travel out of town each day for training. I'm curious what sort of apocalypse will result from that not 5 minutes into Day One. The mere thought has my palms sweating in nervous anticipation. Calm down, Kitty. Put the coffee down and back away slowly!

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Matchmaker vs. Menace

"The stars will wait patiently while you look up the album art for Ted Nugent's Cat Scratch Fever, because they want you to know exactly what you look like to them. "

It's quite possibly inappropriate to begin a thought with a side tangent, but seems I enjoy living on the edge, so screw it. A number of weeks back, I'm wandering through a discount retailer searching for a red jacket. You see, once upon a time, I had an awesome bloody goddamned '70's style pleather jacket in hooker red. It was brilliant and damnit, I looked pretty brilliant in it. Anyhoo, I found a sad substitute for said jacket, but I also happened upon this funky-fantastic vest made of faux-suede and lined with pseudo-lambswool. This ain't any ordinary vest - it's akin to something you might happen upon a Cirque du Soleil cast member sporting. That was enough of a visual for me to plunk down my money and take yet another bold fashion risk (Who am I kidding? If you've ever seen me out in public, you know damn well I look like the product of Punky Brewster on a coke binge). Even amid bits of self-consciousness, I wore the vest to work and strutted about like a peacock in heat. All that glory and confidence came to a crashing halt when I walked in the door upon arriving home: "I'm gonna call you The Nuge". "Um, ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME!?" "What!? No! I love it! You just look like Ted Nugent, so I'm calling you The Nuge!" Fantastic. Not three days later I happened upon the horoscope at the top of this post and couldn't help but laugh. It was even Cancer's horoscope. Awesomeness. And ya know? I think I might just wear that vest a bit more frequently and perhaps pair it with a bow or sawed off shotgun, just for effect.

In a roundabout manner, that side tangent actually COULD feasibly relate to the subject at hand*. I was gossiping with my dear mother last night and my favorite brother came up. Although I've made it painfully obvious that he's my hero for so many reasons - if you haven't met him, you haven't LIVED. When he wakes up in the morning, I'm rather positive he pisses excellence. He is the muthafukin bee's knees, to be sure. He is also single *gasp*! Refrain from jumping to conclusions as he's blissfully single. I dare say I envy him on occasion when I'm being reprimanded for somehow enabling a certain someone's wedding ring to go flying off into the heating duct because he lost weight so the ring doesn't fit his finger anymore and despite being at work, it's all my fault. *ahem* But I digress.

A bit of a back story, here - when my parents divorced, my father - a devout Catholic - married a Mormon broad with a gaggle of children, grandchildren and yes, even children of the great-grand persuasion. Growing up surrounded by the culture, I'm well aware of the immense priorities placed on meeting, marrying and promptly breeding. A lot. Almost obscene amounts of it. But I'll save that conversation for another day. Anyway, as my dear brother lives near my dad & his wife, there are frequent invites for dinners, particularly around the holidays. And I wouldn't so much label them "invites" as "summons". As the surgically implanted foot in my dear stepmother's mouth dictates - there are often lectures about "finding a nice girl" and "settling down". To date, I am not aware of any forced courting, but I'm fully aware how damning the constant nagging must be for him.

My brother and I grew up in a cloud of judgement and rejection from the locals. It could hardly be avoided as we were immersed in this cult-ure everywhere we turned. It was often made well known that we were despised by neighbors and school mates for little reason beyond our own (differing) religion. In all reality, "our religion" generally entailed skipping church in favor of Slurpee's, Mad Magazine and enough candy to induce vomiting while we frolicked the hour away at some nearby park or another. The point was we simply didn't fit. And to not fit was bordering on criminal in our sheltered little cul-de-sac.

It wasn't until high school that we all were able to escape into the fringe society. I dare say high school rather saved all three of us (the third being the other brother who shall not be named). We were exposed to more of a bigger picture of the world... beyond our wee pond. We each blossomed off onto our own unique paths and were able to begin something of a healing process. My brother went out of state for college and immediately thereafter even ventured off the continent for a time. On his travels, he encountered like-minded geniuses with that thirst for knowledge and adventure. For all the things I'm so terribly jealous of. After a time, the job market was bleak and his financials even more so. Sadly, he moved back to our state of birth where he currently resides. This man is brilliant, insanely talented, charismatic, bloody hilarious, well-educated and handsome. Ah yes. And single. Oh, the horror!!!!

Why on earth is it assumed that those precious few people, those who have found themselves and have attained a heightened sense of peace and purpose - must be only hiding their misery at being alone...promptly subject to sighs of pity and the meddling of busy bodies? Have you found your soul mate? A hearty congratulations - but for Pete's sake, LIVE AND LET LIVE. No pity necessary as he is richer in his experience than many of us will ever be. The sad fact is that the omnipresent pestering is breaking his spirit. Rather than embrace his accomplishments and gifts, he is gradually succumbing to the brainwashing - believing he has fallen short of "normalcy". That is an offense I take personally. My heart broke once when he gave up his art. It's breaking again at his alienation.

Alas, it's not my battle to fight, so I ball my hands into fists and shake them aimlessly about on his behalf. It is my hope he will still encounter the realization, along his path, that he is unique, amazing and worthy. No less a human because he is not attached to another. And really, shouldn't we all be whole individuals first rather than basing our self-worth on the presence of a partner? Just a thought.

*Oops... Almost forgot to tie the side tangent to the main point of the post: One of the most detrimental influences on my brother and I as children were the remarks of others. T'is eventually far easier to isolate ourselves than face the possibility of a vocal outsider. Despite free speech and all that hoopla, there is also something to be said for tact. You never quite know who you may drive into a remote cave with your careless remarks.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Love, Pussycats & Carwrecks

" You may not be an expert on which snakes are poisonous and which aren't, but damn it, you know a cuddly one when you see it.  "



Indeed. The title of this bit of rambling is respectfully stolen off one of my favorite albums... More importantly, it seems to sum up where I find myself in life. One might gather, with the timing of this post, that the Thanksgiving holiday somehow metaphorically drilled through all the inner cobwebs, chaos and calamity thus unleashing a new era. Nope, Pets... Odd as it seems, a certain Miss Roseanne Barr is actually due all credit (or hate mail).



It was a sparkly Wednesday morning and I happened upon the most delightful little article in Newsweek penned by the feisty dame. True enough, the bulk of the article addressed the wonderment which awaits us womenfolk beyond menopause. Strange for that subject matter to have such a resounding impact on a certain 33 year old broad - but given my recent surgery, seems it's actually quite par for the course. It also brought a precise sequence of events from the last few months swirling to a head. Little Orphan So-And-So has found a small sense of inner peace.

The essence of the article transcends well beyond the crass banter of "The Big Change" - Notions that there are, after all, circumstances- perhaps a simple state of mind - in which the mind and those pesky emotions housed within outweigh any importance once placed upon our fragile and ever-aging physical beings. In typical Ninja Kitty fashion, allow me to back that trolley up for a moment.... 



In another instant, I was enjoying company comprised of neighbors, friends and family in the sanctuary that is our creaky old garage. For little more than a moment, I closed my eyes to take in all the laughter and sarcasm - each guest increasingly (and intoxicatingly) drowning out the next - all eager to talk and share stories of days long gone by. Each subject would seamlessly beget the next, though time suddenly stood quite still when one subject in particular was breeched: Childhood dreams not yet realized.



As the conversation continued well into the afternoon, my head was mostly filled with white noise and distant clamour. Simple enough to chalk this all up to a handful of "vintage" wine coolers, but a chord was most definitely struck. I frantically tried to recall my own youthful dreams. Good lord, certainly there was SOMETHING I longed for... aspired to.... dreamed of? I kept coming up empty. Quite expeditiously, I concluded that I really was a wallpaper chameleon until well into my 20's, if not later. I never stood out or really had anything I thought I could/would/should offer. I was only minimally existing for so many years. Sure, I had friends here and there, though probably more acquaintances who lingered while awaiting their trains elsewhere. In very sporadic spurts, I encountered people far older than myself who seemed to see through the garbled murk and recognize something unique in me. I rarely understood that and more predictably shyly slipped off into oblivion so as not to make waves in the immediate social situation.

After the birth of my sons and gradually finding a way back to some semblance of a shape (other than obtuse), I found myself garnering more and more attention. Attention from coworkers, friends, neighbors and strangers. It seemed the world was becoming my oyester whether or not I put any effort to that end. To be honest, for the most part, this all escaped notice as my mind was far too occupied with nagging feelings of worthlessness and my own insecurities. As I'd walk down a hallway, I could sense an out-of-place hair or the fabric of a dress brushing against my love handles. (Nothing to love about 'em, that's for damn sure!) And truly, it's not that I ever wished to be noticed. Not special or significant. Only to somehow belong.



Out of the blue, and entirely without notice, I realized that's exactly where I am. I do belong. I will always be gaudy with my bizarre taste in clothes. Eclectic with my sense of humor. Way the hell out of left field with my ever-derailing-trains-of-thought. Yet I'm me. One of those "I'm OK, You're OK" silly sorts of moments. Makes me ponder whether the biological "losses" signify more of a renewed chapter in life than a renaissanced comedienne eludes to. Tis a magical thing, whatever the broader cause.

For such a painstakingly long time, I have strived to release myself from the chains of perceived judgement only now realizing the battle could have been won in a careless snap. What a breath of fresh air! If I didn't suspect the onslaught of lawsuits, I would highly recommend removal of all non-essential women-parts to femmes far and wide LONG before Mother Nature has a say in matters. As I sit here musing at all the imperfections painting the body awkwardly connected to my head, I have to smile. Each brushstroke symbolic of one hairbrained scheme or another. The wrinkles creeping up beside my eyes and around my mouth - marks borne of hysterical guffaws and general merriment. Even the dry, bloody cracks upon my rice-paper-plastered knuckles bring me bubbling to a giggle as they remind me of my brother. Although I admittedly feel as though I've aged a few dozen or so years, there is no fear cloked in growing old(er) and crazy(er). Is this what elusive wisdom feels like? Perhaps simply having a few more years under my belt? One less functional organ? Purely divine!!!



Much to my own surprise, I've been inspired by Ms. Barr to resume recording the inner workings of my head as this journey marches on. Take it or leave it as it's little more than for the amusement of Yours Truly. For now, I see nothing wrong with heading off for a bit of a cat nap - as long as no one at the office immediately pays any mind :).