Here I go...

Since I started this blog, I've been inspired to try and think a certain way and not be afraid to share my thoughts and not censor myself. I'm not sure I'm really doing that. I do not at all think I am someone or something particularly special, most certainly not more than anyone or anything else but there is this part of me that is enjoying showing-sharing a part of myself to the 'world' this way. I had thought initially it was because I like to call myself an artist. I like entertaining folks. And I think part of it is because I truly like to make people happy - any way I can - but here is the thing: I just went back and re-read my bloggy blogs and felt a little strange. They have this carefully structured rhythm and each is very similar to the next. And it has just dawned on me why, so I thought I'd share-show THIS to the world and let it lie:

I think a large part of why I enjoy expressing myself artistically is because it enables me to have a feeling of control about how people view me. I can define myself through a medium.

What if I stopped defining myself? Does that even make sense? Does that cause an existential downward spiral? Or is that a secret-to-happiness sort of thing? This is a new discovery here so I'm rambly but I feel like I've hit something. Having an 'Ahh' moment, you know?

K. I'm just gonna stop here. Leave it as this before I go off telling everyone dirty secrets about my shaving habits or something. Not that I have strange shaving habits. Just sayin'. But I do grab Greg's shaver every once in a while and attack the little hairs on my upper lip. I've heard I shouldn't do that but I'm too lazy to pluck. Oh Moises Alou...

Counting Blessings

I went to see 3:10 to Yuma last night. Finally. I've wanted to see this movie since I first heard about it. And I' m not even sure why. I'm a huge Deadwood fan? I'm from Texas? I wondered why everyone loved Russell Crow's over-acting in Gladiator?

When I was ten, on Sundays my Daddy used to make me watch boring 'ol black and white Westerns while he slept on the couch. And kitchy Sci-fi movies. And the silly vampire-werewolf-humaneatingblobthing horror stuff too but that is another story and I still love Vampira.

I think I miss cowboys. Or my Dad. Or both.

Between Greg's busy life and mine, his slim budget and mine we managed to pick a time and place for this long awaited modern western. A whole evening. He called me yesterday morning at work, "Pick a movie...I'm taking you out tonight..."

Well alright Fonzy! I was so excited I almost didn't know which movie to pick out. 3:10! Hello Jennifer! You've been dying to see it! Focus!

6:45p.

Work is a tad nuts. I like it that way but I am running late and have just enough time to run to the bank, walk the dog and meet Greg outside of Clearview Chelsea Cinemas. I've got my head in the zone. I'm picking out the subway car I should be in so I can be closest to the exit nearest the bank. I'm prepping my ankles for the dash in heels. I recall that the pens-attached-to-tables in the poly-ATM bubble never work. I've got my purse-pen in hand. I slip in the door and don't even have to do the annoying hotel-room, door-lock thing with my ATM card. I'm whippin' out checks to sign the back of, I've scouted out deposit envelopes, I turn to go to a machine when some grumpy guy muttering into a cell phone, comes over to me and tosses down a debit card on the table top. It lands next to me.

Um, I'm trying to do math, here. I keep adding. Stare at the card. Back at the dude on the cell phone now in a little ATM stall. I stare at the card. Carry the two. Stare at the card. Total the checks. Did I sign the back? Yes I signed the back. Watch grumpy guy leaving. The card. The math. The card. The card. The card. I look around and nobody seems to care about it.

Am I on Candid Camera? HOW HONEST ARE YOU?

I'm thinkin' the dude on the cell phone obviously walked up to a machine where someone didn't take their card out and thought he was being helpful by slapping it down on the counter out in the open in the middle of the ATM world. Is he nuts? Homeless people live in here! There are all kinds of crazy New York folks running in and out and around. Anyone could grab that sucker and start charging away. This isn't a jacket that someone left in a cab!

I still have to walk the dog.

I still have to friggin' carry the two. Start over. Wait. I know. I'll put the card in with my deposit. I'll put it in an envelope and write on the envelope it was found. That way the homeless guy can't buy shoes willy nilly!

[1. I recognize that new shoes from Chelsea are probably the last thing on Homeless Guy's mind and 2. since when do people accept credit cards from transients? 3. People live in New York City without food or shelter and that is a very sad state of the world. I should calm down.]

I do the deposity deed. Not only do I feel like I've helped a fellow citizen-in-a-rush but I still have time to walk the Tasmanian Devil.

...whom I get home to and has pissed the floor and managed to open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the garbage, that until now, we've been brilliantly hiding from him and he and his little walnut brain have been doing God-knows-what with coffee grounds, dirty paper towels, banana peels and old mail ALL OVER OUR TINY STUDIO FLOOR! Our entire home mind you. Entire home.

I throw him in the bathroom. Poor thing probably thinks I'm playing a new game. Clean the floor. Open the bathroom door. His head is hung low and he's trembling. Why is furry Satan so adorable? I could never have been Eve. Women today would be burdened with children coming out of their nostrils four at a time if the apple thing had been left up to me.

I walk him...correction: drag him...call Greg...I'm late...I'll be there when the movie starts...he decides to walk down to meet me. I run back up stairs. Throw Mephistopheles on the couch. Pee and powder. At the same time. Spray. Pose. Run out the door. Into Greg.

We bolt for the theater. We are next in line behind a man with nowhere to be even though he is BUYING A MOVIE TICKET. "You want anything honey?" I run inside to get Greg a medium Coke. The kids behind the counter have to finish their conversation and their soda-cup-football game before they can begin to find where they keep the Twizlers. Just give me the Coke. No Twizlers. (I actually have to charge the Coke 'cause the $4 cash I have scrounged together is not enough. It's a Coke people.) We race up the escalator. Greg pees. Probably doesn't powder. We go into the movie and it has started. What happened to forty thousand minutes of commercials and previews and singing popcorn? Whatever. Adjust eyes and sit. After about three minutes I notice the woman down the row from me is compelled to moan through handfuls of popcorn in agreement to every third line of the movie. Come on. I've also decided I can't completely situate around to the two silhouettes of giant heads in the middle of my movie. I look at Greg and scrunch my nose. We move.

Ah. Perfect seats. The movie is getting good. I've never been so excited to see an over-produced gun powder explosion actually blowing up a man and his horse. Did they have Smart Bombs in the Old West? Whatever. I dig it.

Then. The. Movie. Just. Stops. No cool melty projectory thing like back in the day. It just stops. The lights come on and the muzak too.

Nuh. Uh.

After ten minutes of conversation and five of quietly trying to get through the rest of the movie with a giant black streak down the middle of it:

Jen: (whispered) Let's go.

Greg: (whispered) Yeah?

Jen: Yeah.

Greg: But you've been dying to see this. For weeks, Baby.

Jen: Yeah, but not like this.

The man I love who has to have the bathroom door cracked open to a pre-measured distance enabling a perfect amount of ambient light-spill for all of our home entertainment viewing completely understands. He escorts me out.

We get refunds and go outside. Another movie? Nah. Drinks? Nah. Dinner? Not really. Let's walk.

Do you know how nice it is to walk around this city and be present and alive and not have to do anything that has been scheduled? Greg and I are all mushy and feel like we're on a first date.

A couple walks by with their arms around each other. "I love her so much. We're getting married tomorrow!" Greg congratulates them and throws his arm around me. Cute.

We end up going to book stores and having dinner and wine and come home to the little Devil and vow to train him better. Great night. Awake and alert.

Thing is, through the stress and challenges and journeys of the evening, I had a good sense of humor. Even after a certain phone call on the way home. I appreciated it all even more.

A very dear friend of mine might have cancer. Again.

Keep smiling.