Always make sure you can depend on yourself

When I was in High School, there was this incredibly popular show that you may have heard of: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It the second season Buffy and her vampire lover, Angel, had finally slept together. In that moment Angel lost his human soul making him into an evil vampire again, better known as Angelus. Angelus had ambitions to destroy the world, (at least he had goals right?) so he gets this ancient statue called the Acathla, which is apparently a demon with a sword stuck in its chest. If Angelus removes the sword with the slayers blood on his hands then he will unleash all of hell onto Earth, so like normal, Buffy goes to save the world again. She is fighting him despite how much she loves who he was when he had a soul. As the fight starts to turn for the worst, Buffy is thrown against a wall, slumped on the ground, her sword kicked off to the side, her friends either not with her or unconscious, and there is Angelus, sauntering up to her with the sword he has already removed from this demon that is working on opening a gateway to hell. As he walks up to her he says the following line:

"No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away and what's left?" He goes to make the killing blow and Buffy, girl power in surplus here, stops the blade before it reaches her face with her bare hands, opens her eyes, staring him down with determination and one very powerful word:

"Me."

Now of course at this point she kicks his ass, Willow restores his soul and she has to kill Angel instead of Angelus and it was a very heart wrenching episode. But I remember it very vividly because of that one set of lines.

In my life I have depended on a lot of things, or people, and inevitably they have all left me in some manner or another. (now to be fair I'm not pouting, and all these people or things didn't leave of their own free will) Some have been loved pets who met their end, friends who moved away or I moved from and we drifted apart. Some of them have been people who stepped outside my sharing circle and no longer know what is going in my life (honestly some of them have been downright kicked out of my sharing circle) and others wished to leave because it was where their journey was taking them.

I do have a few constants, a handful of friends who have been there for me since I met them, and family that always stands by me.

But then I have weeks where I feel so completely alone because I'm not sure who or what I can talk to about what aches in my heart, or frustrates my head. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels like this. Sometimes that ridiculous idiom that we are all as unique as a snowflake backfires and I think, "What if I don't want to be a snowflake? What if I want someone else to be just like me if only so there is someone else who understands what I am thinking?"

Recently I've gone through a lot: Pets dying, guys in other countries mailing love letters back to me and cutting off all communication, family members dying, figuring out what the hell to do with my life at this precipice, fighting with loved ones, fighting my urges to fix everything around me so everyone else is happy, getting my health under control, managing a LOT of different jobs that steal my time, managing my social life. I'm starting to feel like a terrible superwoman with all that I'm trying to do at once. I have found myself thinking a lot in the last week or two that I just really need someone I can lean on and give all my thoughts and concerns too. But I can't really do that. For one thing it isn't fair for me to give all my worries to someone else for them to deal with. Second of all I don't know how comfortable I feel sharing all the things in my head with anyone at the moment, too afraid of hurting feelings, or darkening someones day, or getting a lecture for my feelings. I don't need a teacher, just a listener.

But then this quote comes back into my head. "Me." In the last few years I have done a lot of work on myself, progressing myself forward and digging myself out of a pitty-party grave, and picking myself up. I've done a lot of soul searching and finding out who I am, and what I want or need. I have fixed a lot of my problems (and I have done that with some help from some very good friends) Again I'm not even suggesting for a second that the people in my life aren't there for me, just that I don't know how to let them be there for me in certain areas where I am breaking. But in the end... there is me.

Me.

And I will be with me my whole life, no matter what curve balls are thrown my way. And no matter how scary, or sad, or happy things get in my life I will always be there for me. I'm the one who needs to be responsible for picking myself up, dusting myself off and fighting back against the things that try and push me down. (Well me and God anyway, he's a pretty handy sidekick to have in your bat mobile)

So if I seem out of sorts lately, it's just me, trying to learn how to depend on myself as well as the others in my life. If I can't count on myself, then who can count on me? And who can I count on?

I think we all feel that way a little sometimes. Like we're all wearing blindfolds searching out in front of us for someone else to hold onto, to cling to in the dark and uncertain future. Feeling like we might fall over at any second if we don't have someone to balance ourselves on. As much as I love the people I find in the dark, I need to learn to lead myself in the dark. I never know when I wont have my usual's to lean on anymore.

Vanity

The title of this blog tempts me to do a blog each day for the next seven days about the various sins of the same number. Not sure if I will do that, but still it is tempting. Mainly because I want to talk about something that really vexes me today.

This afternoon I was passing through Western Oregon University's Werner University center, when I heard screams of cheering every few minutes. Curious about what the commotion was about I sought out the Pacific Room where the event was happening. A group called St. Baldricks was shaving the heads of some very sweet and thoughtful young women. These girls, along with many kind young men doing the same thing, were shaving their heads, every lock of precious hair, until they were as bald as John Cena.

I felt an urge suddenly in the pit of my stomach. One that told me, go forward and do it yourself. I assumed, as I watched them gathering up the hair, that they were donating the hair to an organization called "Locks of Love." This organization collects hair and uses it to make wigs for children with cancer who have lost their hair due to chemo treatments. I've donated to them once before when I knocked almost 28 inches of hair from my head. Now I've grown my hair out quite a bit, and it has been a long time since I've had long hair (about 6-7 years actually) but I found myself thinking... "I own a lot of hats. And a couple wigs from Halloween... I could totally do this."

But then this little devil called Vanity started smoking a cigarette on my shoulder. Vanity is naturally my prettiest devil, she has beaten the angel Self Esteem with an ugly stick for years, but she is virtually flawless. She has long red hair that half covers her face like Jessica Rabbit. Her eyes are only slightly less noticeable than her voluptuous breasts and her gorgeous hourglass figure. She has very shapely legs and is always wearing Betty Page-like shoes. Her cigarette is at the end of a long cigarette holder, and she kind of reminds me of a sexy Cruella Devil.So she starts whispering to me "Remember, the Vampire Ball is coming up. And also don't forget how much fun Heather is having, doing your hair every weekend. And I just want to point out that Self Esteem is starting to feel really good about her hair these days. She plays with it non-stop and she thinks that is probably what is getting her so much attention lately. Why would you want to cut all that off?"

I ALMOST listened to her. I found myself nodding to her and saying, "yeah, I mean a lot of other people are donating." WTF?!

No. There are kids who are losing their hair unwillingly regardless of what they have plans to do in a few weeks, and whether or not they have a lot of hats, and their self esteem is suffering from it too. I have never felt so good about lining up a good flick to my shoulder and kicking that skinny legged bitch right off her perch. Her cigarette singed my coat, but it's only a minor burn compared to her crumpled look sitting awkwardly on the floor at Western.

Now comes the part where I am angry. I walked up the sign up booth and asked him if the hair was getting donated to Locks of Love. IT IS NOT!!!!

These girls are just shaving their heads to make a statement to find a cure for cancer.

Let me disillusion you people here. The people behind the cures for cancer? They are not interested in whether or not a few college girls are willingly bald. They are interested in the $10 this charity was charging for you to cut your hair off. So I donated my $10 and kept my hair, because that is all that the organization really wants, but they don't really deserve it. See, it isn't hard to contact a fellow charity  that is donating to children with cancer and saying "Hey, we are organizing a college hair shaving. Wanna come collect the hair so those little kids in your Leukemia wards have hair again?" No,  isn't. Instead I am watching as lock after lock falls onto the floor and is clumped up in a big garbage bag that ends up in a University trash can.

Vanity had a nice big grin at me then, as she was pleased to know that I wasn't getting rid of my hair. But you know, I still might?

I want your thoughts. And I would like to know if anyone would be willing to join me in going to the salon and saying "Take it all, and give it to a little girl who needs it." I have hats, and my hair grows back.

Maybe I'm just another young person who needs a cause to fight for, and maybe my personal battle with what is apparently my deadliest sin is helping this to be my cause. But you know, I just think that if you are going to give to something, don't slap another charity in the face while you do it. Do you know how hard it is to get these wigs to these poor kids? What they go through, and how many wasted inches are left on Salon floors?

Okay Vanity. Take your little seat on my shoulder, and smoke your cigarette all you want, but realize that you are going to be one bald babe real soon.

I think you should take a look at this song by Rascall Flatts if you need inspiration to shave your head with me ladies (or gents with more than 8inches of hair to give) 

Life is wasted on youth

When I was in high school I had to do a project for my Sociology class. In that class I was asked to sift through a magazine and count how many pages had ads on them. Of the some 200+ pages in the magazine 96% of them had ads, and then my teacher asked me to find out how many ads were catered to someone over the age of 30. I couldn't find any. This was a lesson that was easily forgotten once the assignment passed, but I found myself thinking about it a lot last night.

See, when I turned 21, I didn't go out drinking and partying it up all night. I didn't have any of the fun "21st birthday!" paraphernalia that you get from Party Depot, and I didn't do the 21 shots on your 21st birthday thing (thank god because that much alcohol is just stupid!) and so my 21st birthday kind of set the mood for my early 20s. See on my 21st birthday my family threw me a small party in my house, Coldstone screwed up my ice cream cake, and my aunts uncles and cousins forgot birthday cards, except my youngest cousin who was sweet enough to draw me one on her way to my house.  I then sat in my living room after having the messed up cake with family, playing Spyro the Dragon on my PS2 with my little cousins (who are now not so little anymore)

My 21st birthday was kind of a lot like a quiet 15th birthday. Not the big blow out that is expected for the big Two One. When I was younger I never went out drinking, I didn't go to bars or clubs or dancing. I didn't bother with it. I was the stay in and be safe, and quiet, and read, sort of girl. But lately I've found myself venturing out a bit more. The last couple weekends in particular. And I'm finding that going out into the world on the weekend is fun and entertaining! Hey, I'm hitting the club scene a little late but that's fine right?

So, last night...

I was at this club called Raindrops, it's out at the Spirit Mountain Casino, and frankly I think it was a good club if only for the music they played. A big complaint I've had lately is that every dance club I find only plays this top 40 crap. It's the same songs every weekend and they happen to be the same songs that are overplayed on the radio, and for the most part they suck. But this club? This club plays some of that, with classics mixed in. I was able to dance to Queen, and Def Leopard, Thin Lizzy, Blondie, Twisted Sister, and many more. They played a lot of good music, which I enjoyed.

But as I was sitting on the sofa we had stolen from another group (mainly because Kurt did a good job of making a guy uncomfortable enough to move) and I was waiting for the alcohol to kick in and make me intoxicated enough to be willing to dance on the floor with the other people who were already well deep into the liberation's, I realized the crowd at this particular bar. Not all that different from a regular bar really. I could break it down into 3 categories:

Category #1: Recapturing our youth Oh I'm sure you know these types. They are women pushing 50, but wearing clothes they bought at the 20 and under stores, trying to show cleavage they started dropping almost 15 years ago, their faces are showing the lines of wrinkles that years of stress over kids and smoking have caused, and they shake their hips back and forth while they grab the bottoms of their shirts pulling them up just slightly like they saw in that one White Snake Video back in the day. Men who are sporting West Coast Chopper shirts because it makes them look "bad ass," voices raspy with all the rock music they sang out in their garages in their youth, they still put gel in their hair to look like "The Boss" and their abs have disappeared under the beer-baby they've been incubating since high school. They pulse out their dance moves while cruising up to the hot young 20 something girl, like she's interested in him. These adults are probably trying to get back out on the market after a divorce, or maybe their kids are all moved out and they want to find out how to have fun again. But either way, this particular bar crowd can be both entertaining and disturbing. (Disturbing when they're dancing up on the people young enough to be their kids that is)

Category #2: We do this every weekend These people don't have the heart yet to assign themselves a seat in the local honky tonk bar, where the only real sounds are the juke box and the billiards tables, so they still come to the clubs. But they usually come alone. They never order anything that comes in a high ball glass, with colors, shots, or a piece of fruit on the rim. They are strictly beer drinkers, or perhaps they're sophisticated enough to drink something hard on the rocks. You can usually spot them nursing a bottle at the bar, or leaning against a wall. They don't take up tables because they don't share them with anyone. They never dance, they just people watch, and they almost never smile. It is only a matter of time before these particular creatures do find themselves claiming the well seat at a quieter place, some place they could order a steak if they wanted too, and stare down the cleavage of the bartender who pretends that he's such a sweet old man. Women are not exempt from this category, they are not as common, but when they do show up here they usually make several comments about what terrible things men are and then laugh about it with the other men at the bar.

Category #3: We are the champions of the world Ah yes, youth. Those sweet child-like beings. I don't need to describe them for you, because I'm sure you're all familiar with them, but I will just because I think for the most part they are lumped into the same cliches quite well. They are girls who are wearing short dresses and tall boots, their hair is either flat ironed or curled and packed with enough styling products that it wont budge on the dance floor. They all have small purses because they don't have lives to put into them yet, and they keep these tiny bags attached to their shoulders while they dance, because it is part of the outfit, not because there is anything worth stealing from them. They hold their arms up in the air when they dance, and they say "Woo!" after every shot they take. They only order shots on occasion, and then it is usually a round for their whole group. Mostly they drink things with fun names, Sex on the beach, I kissed a girl, apple-tini, and they never drink beer because it is "gross." No, they prefer colors in their drinks, which is why every bottle behind the bar is a sparkling shade of blue, red, purple, green, yellow or glass clear, which mixes well with the other colors. The later the night gets the more they start to touch themselves while dancing, and they almost always only dance with the other girls. Like a pack of lionesses, they wont let the males into their huddle. And they ALL go up on the dance floor if a girl power song comes on. The men for the most part can't dance. Most of them put their fists up at shoulder level and shake them back and forth like a mild seizure. They usually carry their beers up on the dance floor with them if they can, and they hardly ever order a drink with color because it seems too girly, even if it would lay them flat with its alcohol content. They often use their mobile phones to snap pictures of the girls who suddenly all think they're victoria's secret models on the dance floor. And the men don't ever dance with each other, unless they happen to be gay, but these men dance better in the first place.

If I were to break these categories into percentages I would say that 2% of the people in a bar are from category 2, 15% are from category 1, and all the rest are in the third category. Why? Because when you are young it is okay to spend $100 on drinks in a night. Because you still own club clothes at this age. Because you don't have kids, or a mortgage or responsibilities to adhere too. Just like the ads in the magazine, the bar scene is catered to youth. They have the whole world laid out before them, and they don't even know it. They have no idea how fantastic they look, or how amazing it is to cut loose and feel free on the weekend. I only have a few years left before I don't feel it is a very appropriate scene for me anymore. I don't want to be in either of the other two categories. When I'm pushing 50 I'll be writing, or reading or hiking on the weekends, but I wont be thrashing on the dance floor.

I'll probably be sitting in a hot tub, drinking wine, and thinking about all the things life has brought me up to that point. I wish that youth could truly understand what they have and really appreciate it for what it is. And realize that is why the 50 somethings come back to the bar. They are looking for that magic that they lost somehow, and they know no other way to get it back.

Lucky for me I hold all the secrets. I always know where to find the magic of youth.... my very own fountain.

I didn't think I'd feel this way...

This morning my dog of 10 years died, and two days before that my ferret of 7 years died. Both of these animals were my greatest pets I may have ever had, with the exception only of my cat who thank God is still with me. I once heard a quote that, "When you're a creative person you see the world differently than the rest of the world does, and it is your responsibility to project what you see." As a writer I was compelled to sit down at my blog today and write about how upset the whole situation has made me.

But I am finding that I can't really do that. And it isn't because I am so broken hearted that I am unable to write. Perhaps it is because I've gotten older, but I doubt it. Last year in January we had to put our other dog to sleep, and I was broken about it for months. It took me months to finally write a very depressing personal narrative and a heart breaking but really not very impressive poem. Maybe the last year which has proven to have a lot of growth in it, has changed me in unexpected ways.

I sat up late last night with my dog, knowing it was the last night we would spend together, and I held her face as she died this morning, and it did in fact make me cry, but then I found myself not very upset for the rest of the day. I expected to break into tears when anyone mentioned it. I expected to need distraction just to cope, but I've found myself thinking very deeply instead. I have found myself thinking a lot about what this whole event has meant to me. And when I came to the conclusions that I did, I felt that is exactly what I should write about.

Because people who are creative have a responsibility to show the world how they see things.

A good friend and I speculated a few days ago, when I realized that the dog was dying this week, that if dogs lived as long as people, then people wouldn't bother having relationships with other people. Dogs are a superior species when it comes to friendship, they don't judge you, they love you, and even when those closest can't tell that you're upset, the dog knows it instinctively.

My mother had a dog that almost entirely replaced the husband relationship in her life, and it was as hard for her to lose him as it would be for someone to lose their spouse to the same cancer he died of. If he lived as long as she does, I have no doubt in my mind that my mother would never bother to look for human companionship in the future. Perhaps I would have done the same thing, never moved on in my life, knowing that my dog would always be there with me, she would be the only thing that would never leave me, or fight with me or judge me for anything I did.

It is a tempting offer, isn't it? To have a companion as loyal as a dog?

I've found myself listening to the RENT soundtrack a lot today, which I find an unusual choice in soundtrack for this moment, since it doesn't have much to do with the life of my dog. But when I started listening to the last song on the album, (Finale B) I realized it has everything to do with how I view life these days.

For those of you unfamiliar with the soundtrack I want to provide a link to the video of this song so you might understand where the rest of this blog is coming from:RENT Finale B

In this song a dominant line is "No day but today"

If there is something that my dog, and honestly, the ferret too, have taught me it is that there is no day but today. There is no future, and there is no past and every person I meet effects my life. Every animal I encounter touches my heart, and each time I let someone in I learn something, it changes me and shifts me into the person I am. I like the person I am, and so I can't really dislike anyone who has effected that. Even the people whom I don't get along with, and who have impacted my life in a negative way, have changed me into a person I am growing to greatly appreciate.

There will be other people and animals in my life, they will come into my life, and they will leave it too. And I will be so grateful that I had them, even if only for a little while. I am so happy today. I don't look it right now, because I am still adjusting to getting to know the feeling of not having her waiting at the top of the stairs vigilantly for me to get home at night, and trying to imagine not hearing her sing at 2pm each day. But I am so glad I had her for 10 years. I am so glad that I knew her, and so glad that she was such a good friend to me, the best even.

But I am happy. And I look forward to the next friend or creature sent to me for me to learn from.


Raeliah, I will miss you, more than you could ever know, and you have impacted my life in so many great ways. We had a good run together, and I love you so very much.

I hope you're running with Caspian now, and hopefully letting Daxter and Nimh tag along too. I'll see you again someday.

Click below for the last video I took of her, this last Christmas. 

Raeliah October 29th, 2000- March 2nd, 2011

No dog ever had a better life