Moon Walk with Me

Two-hundred, twenty-nine thousand, three-hundred and eighty-two miles. That’s how far away the moon is tonight. And I can’t help but thinking it wouldn’t be that long of a drive, to the moon I mean. Well, if cars could drive up. But I guess those are spaceships and we couldn’t make it there by morning, well, not tomorrow morning, certainly not, but isn’t like the moon isn’t always there, even when we can’t see it. Really though, that seems so close. No this isn’t the prelude to a Rent song, if that’s what you’re thinking. Although now that fucking song is definitely stuck in my head.

So I guess how long it would take to drive there would depend on the speed limit but there probably aren’t a lot of space police between here in there. Seems like it’d be pretty rural. So, let’s just say, for shits and giggles, I can go 80mph. I mean, that seems safe enough, especially if the traffic is light. And, I’m only assuming here.

But, anyways, it would only take 119 days to get there. We’d have to drive in shifts and I’ll tack on an extra month in there for bathroom breaks and roadside adventures. Essentially, we could be at the moon by, realistically, December 14th. But if we ran into any other unknown hazards, that still gives us 8 days of cushion.

That’s because, great news!, we’re having your birthday party on the moon this year. I was going to wait to tell you, but we really have to get on the road if we’re going to make it in time.

Don’t worry, I can pack light. I’ll have to cut down on shoes of course. I’ll bring one of my fake converse slip-ons that you hate cause they’re so grungy. But, you can wear them with OR without socks and I feel like there isn’t too much room for socks. I’ll also have a pair of flip flops. And a pretty dress. What kind of party doesn’t have a pretty dress? Which will of course needs matching shoes, but that’s still only 3 pairs of shoes. And some fingernail polish, if they’re open-toed. Other than that, I’d grab some of those great $5 short-shorts, a few tank tops. My comfy jeans, the Neil’s Bar Mitzvah PJ pants. I need to stock up on some Vicky Cs panties, max that credit card out, cause I’m going to the moon, who gives a shit? And a hoodie, in case it gets cold there. I’ll bring the one with George Bush on it that says “Not my President.” It will remind me of Rocky while I’m gone and also be super ironic to wear on the moon. (The moon doesn’t even /have/ a president!)

I don’t know how close to the moon I can get before Verizon will drop my internet on my phone, so I’ll have to go old school and find all of my CDs. I can sneak into my mom’s house to grab them out of storage. We’re going to need good road tunes. David Bowie is a must. That spacey motherfucker.

You can bring your Cowboys t-shirt. I know it’s your favorite and I hate them, but as long as I find a Steve Miller Band CD, we can listen to “The Joker” so you’re some twisted form of a space cowboy. You’ll need your flip flops as well of course, even though I’m not a fan of man feet. Leave your steel toes behind, those grass-stained “tennis shoes” will be more than adequate. They probably don’t get as fancy on the moon as you do, but you can bring as many polos as you want, within reason. I like the plaid shorts. Whatever other pantage is up to you. And if you can find something that will effectively hide your thunder at Victoria’s Secret, you’re welcome to borrow my card. And we can’t forget your Oakley’s. It’s gonna be bright up there. I think… actually I don’t know if it will be more or less bright, but you look good in them, and it’s always better to be over-prepared.

But anyways, we’re running out of time. I feel like just getting this stuff together is going to take a day at least. I probably won’t be able to bake you a cake or anything once we get there, so you’re just going to have to go with some pre-packaged dessert. Word on the street is that Twinkies are back, if you’re a fan of those. And we’ll have a big-ass bag of pistachios. Enough dip and cigs to kill us. But I feel like we can deal with the water situation when we stop for gas.

Sure, we’ll have our moments on the drive. We’re bound to irritate each other at some point, maybe about turn signals or something. We’ll fix that with some good, old fashioned road head that I know you’ve been waiting for. There will be a lot of car singing and dancing. And we can play that game “I’m going on a picnic” where you have to guess the theme of the picnic based on the items. Have you ever played? If not, it isn’t too hard to pick up on. On second thought, I better bring a deck of cards as well. We need comfy pillows and my favorite blanket, you know the one.

So when do you think you’ll be ready to head out? It isn’t really too much stuff and we can take my car cause the brakes are better. I’ll clear out all the clutter first. This time for real I promise. We’re going to be packed in pretty tight as it is. But really when you think about it the drive is probably the best part. Just think of the scenery! Maybe I can get a digital camera that will charge in my car. Okay– that’s on the list now too.

Well, I’m ready if you are. Just a few more odds and ends. I’ll line up a sitter for Khendra and Cole and Kylie and we’re on the move. This plan may be beginning to seem extravagant, but it isn’t that big of a deal. We both could use some alone and get-to-know-each-other time. They’ll be plenty of that. And I know I’ll just like what I get to know more and more.

When we get there, well I don’t have a firm plan, but like I said with the Twinkies and fancy outfits. We can sit on the blanket. We should probably get some fancy cheese that doesn’t need to be refrigerated, and some crackers. If we can’t find non-perishable cheese, cheese wiz will have to do. But cheese wiz will be delicious on the moon. Eating cheese, on the moon, made of cheese! God this will be a story to tell the grand-kids! And plus, we have like the world’s biggest bouncy house at our disposal. I’ve got to bring back a moon rock for my mom. She’d kill me if I didn’t. Don’t let me forget that. So that sounds like a party to me. And we can sit down, or try to sit down, and finally be able see the ocean in all it’s glory. Making our little landmasses look insignificant. We could just sit and stare for hours, knowing that we’re almost controlling the tides.

And this has to be getting us closer to the stars. You know they’re out there. Now that’s a little more adventurous and I’ll probably need to figure out how to do a transmission flush on my car. But when we see all that is out there, that there is so much more, and even the ocean begins to look small, we’ll want to go further. Sure, I’m fine if you say you want to go back because it would still be a really cool trip, but I have a feeling our exploration won’t end there. It could go on into infinity. Because that’s what’s out there. Infinity is out there and the moon isn’t that far so if we could just get to the moon…

Have you packed your bags? I can pick you up wherever. Also, I won’t ruin the surprise, but I bought you a gift. (I actually need to go pick it up). I can’t give it to you til we get there. And no peeking in the car!

By the time the moon is full in a few days, we’ll only be two-hundred, twenty-one thousand, seven-hundred and two miles from the moon. It will look even bigger. And we’ll be that much closer. So are you going to be joining me or not? Time’s a wastin.

It’s Just the Icing on the Wine

They say you shouldn’t sustain yourself on boxed wine, edamame and rainbow chip icing. Well, I haven’t specifically heard anyone say that before, but they should say it because this shit can’t be good for me. But the edamame was green so I’ll feel a little better about it.

But it was a wine and icing and soybean sort of day. And of course it was an ambien sort of day—they almost always are.

And on this day I’ll venture out into the secret public that is the internet. The so-my-generation thing to do: bitch about my problems, contemplate life, tell everyone that I could solve all these problems if you’d just listen to me, and be allowed to express myself publicly yet in a way that nobody will probably ever see. If I’m feeling really creative, there might even be a couple cute pictures of my cats. Or that Virgin Mary statue with no fingers so she can’t even pick up baby jesus **SPOILER ALERT. But that will keep you coming back for more, right?

So half the time here I’ll be talking to you, the unknown reader, the fellow surfer of the internet who finds themselves in unintentional places that will hopefully be interesting at times. A third of the time I’ll be talking to myself, either in or out of something, on some train of thought you may or may not be able to follow. And a quarter will be devoted to the people in my life- the ones I love, the one’s I work with, the ones I don’t understand but am still trying, and the ones I laugh at, which are mostly all of the aforementioned “ones.”  And if you do the math on that one, it just doesn’t add up.

I’ll also try to avoid using words like aforementioned in the future, but I make no promises. I’m not big into promises or pretentious words but some are too hard to resist. Cliches will be prevalent, metaphors inevitable, and an occasional slant rhyme. If you need to learn more about slant rhymes, I recommend listening to some Billy Joel. Which reminds me, I can’t help myself with song lyrics. I’ll try to be kind enough to cite them for your future musical enjoyment. I can’t help but link every moment to a perfect song.

I’m hoping a theme will develop out of this. Like along the lines of a twenty-something woman grappling with the challenges of reaching the “American Dream” and where she fits among her peers and where her peers fit within the world. My past never makes it far from the present. Maybe it is egotistical to believe that my experiences can tell a bigger story that explains at least a piece of the puzzle about where we are and how we got there, where we’re “supposed” to go and how we plan on actually doing so, if at all.  Or maybe it just makes me a little spec trying to say something about or to the world, irrelevant to its relevancy.

But once you’re looking through the lens of Ambien Girl, anything could happen. It encompasses the wonder and the fear of the future. So here goes.

Explosions in the Sky

July 4, 2013

I roll over to cover my ears from the sounds of the explosions in the sky. I know they’re there with pretty colors, or colors I might think were pretty if I hadn’t been awoken to the sound of bombs being dropped outside my bedroom window. I could never understand the tradition, and I just want them to go away. If I have a virtual alien pet that I can talk to, you’d think they could make a silent firework.

Anyways, I promise you didn’t wake me up because the big booms did. I don’t even want to look at them, but they are behind me and echoing on the mountains in front of me that I can’t even see.

In the morning I will go to the beach and honestly, I want to hear a thunderstorm. Because they sound so different on the flat land, rumbling and rolling through the skies. I love how they sound here, but every time I hear them at the ocean I remember how different and wonderful they are there.

But none of it is so forced as these sounds in the sky right now. And I’ll never understand why people would want to hear this shit when saying “Happy Birthday” to America. Every time it gets me about the epitome of why this country isn’t succeeding: celebrating war with the sounds of war. I understand that it is a simple gesture, but I’m just wishing it would all stop right now.

I told you I didn’t want to be alone for the fireworks and I didn’t want to hear them and I wanted to be next to you. That wasn’t for no reason at all. They scare me, just like when I was a little girl, even though I know exactly what they are now. Maybe I just have sensitive ears, or an overly-sensitive heart, but I’m pretty tired of being told that. Perhaps all of you just aren’t sensitive enough. Why would you assume I’m the one that is wrong?

And maybe it will be my downfall and maybe I won’t make it through this all, but I really don’t believe that. I think someone, someday will see the value in my empathy and my openness and my willingness to understand and they will embrace it. And they will see that no matter how much these booming sounds hurt me, I know that they’ll be over soon and that tomorrow there will be beauty. I will be thankful for the ocean and all the vast unknown that is so beyond my understanding of anything that I can’t even begin to comprehend it.

And all that is given is taken away, but all that is taken away is added elsewhere and it provides a stasis that is somehow unstoppable. The rain pours down right now. It runs through my veins and it is the calming sound that I’m willing to hear. The water is all around us. It flows from one place into another and it all leads to the ocean, which is bigger than any land we would ever want to conquer or call our own. We don’t even know what’s out there. And even though we have devices in our hand that can instantly tell us the year that “Mary Poppins” came out or crush candy or send silly pictures of the everyday bizarrities to our friends, we still don’t know what the hell is going on in there.

Personally, I’d like to keep some of the mystery. I love to sit there and ponder it and realize that there is no need to know, except for to know that it is more than I understand and that that is okay and that there is no urgency in the matter because the not knowing is almost part of the fun. It puts me in my place.

My problems and day-to-day life are nothing when you put them against the entire world that lives beyond the shores and beneath the sea. Yes, I don’t understand why you make your choices or how you can leave something that provides a rare human connection in this life. But I can’t hate you, just as I can’t hate the ocean when it destroys peoples’ homes or takes peoples’ lives in its rough waters. It is all just a cycle that will eventually work itself out.

You will figure it out. I hate that for me that I can’t explain it to you and that I can’t have you by my side in this very moment to hold me and keep me warm. But I’ll go on and the tide will rise and fall tomorrow just like it always does. And soon enough I will be hearing the waves crash. But it isn’t really a crash because it isn’t a disaster. They’ll be caressing the shore and just beginning to touch our world. And I will bask in the sunlight and hopefully put all this aside, or put it in its place in my mind so that I can enjoy that one moment.

And the explosions in my mind will go away. And your memories will become just a remarkable thought that may or may not resurface. And I’ll find some shells to remind me that even when something ends there can be a beautiful continuation for some girl who is sad and walking barefoot across your soft sands, with daisies painted on her toes, trying to find her place amoungst the sea shells and the explosions in the sky.

She wants to have her questions all answered at once and in sequential order. But she keeps thinking about the giving and the taking away and how none of us can ever /really/ know, even though we waste so much of our lives trying to. And all she can know is to follow her heart, even if that leads her down paths where it hurts sometimes and even if she gets caught in that rip current that everyone tried to warn her about.

The only way you drown in the ocean is if you try to fight it, or if you get knocked out, which you could never have seen coming in the first place. Up until that last moment, as long as you stay calm, you’ll be part of something bigger than yourself. And that’s a lesson that is equally important in life as it is in death. Because most of the time, you’ll be okay, and even if you aren’t, you’re still okay.

And as long as you can tell yourself that when you lay there in the sun, you’ll be able to appreciate that water and that moment for what it is: fleeting but beautiful, serene but chaotic, uncertain but steady, and a representation of love in its deepest form. And you won’t be afraid of love anymore. You’ll embrace it and be consumed by it and even if you’re all alone, you’ll know that you aren’t. You aren’t alone at all because all that you see around you is real and good and you’re just an itty bitty grain of sand. It’s an opportunity for humility and a chance for solace. That’s not something you come by just every day. And if you don’t recognize it, it will be lost in the sea of tourists and the kids throwing jelly fish at each other and the planes flying banners with advertisements for helicopter rides and drink specials.

But don’t get distracted. That’s part of the experience. If you succumb to it, you’ll never be worse for the wear. And maybe you’ll learn something about yourself. That’s all we can hope to do as we move forward in our lives. We try to open ourselves to more and better. We can and we will if that is what we choose.

And then in the evening, we’ll look up to the night sky. And we won’t be able to see the waves anymore but we can still hear and feel that they are there. All the worry and confusion that swirls you around like a tornado can drift away. You don’t have to speak to one other soul to be connected to anyone and everyone all at once. All you can do is be grateful and present.

So, yes, I wish you’d be there with me. Of course I do. But I can make it on my own, and it doesn’t need to be a struggle. You could enhance my experience, but you can’t take away what would already be there. The only sad thought is that you’re missing out on it too. And that you can’t see what I see, even in silence and with no explanation. Because this doesn’t need one.

I’ll either find an answer or two or realize that some answers are inconsequential. I’ll write pages to myself, telling me it will all be all right, and hopefully believe myself later. This is a bigger picture than you, or I, or anyone else can conceive. So my goal is to be there for every second of that. And take it for myself. And take it for what it is but not more than it is, even though it could be everything.

And the explosions in the sky will stop, sooner or later, so that I can return to dreams of the ocean and the salt water air that I can taste just even thinking about it.

I won’t be sorry for making choices that might be risky. I’ve always been a gambler. But you can always know that the moon will rise and the tides will turn and that everything will change, but in the end it will all stay the same. Your perception is your reality. And I can see the ocean, so clearly, for what it is. So I can’t wait to see it.

I might be lonesome, I make no promises. But I will never let that impede upon those moments and that feeling, and looking out into the great beyond and knowing that I don’t know what is out there, but loving it anyway.

The ocean is deeper than these thoughts could ever go. But you deserve to be there, with or without me, because you need it more than I do. But I need it too. But I don’t need you, you’re just a unexpected value that is added in my life that I’m making my own choices about. And the ocean can’t stop me anymore than you can. It can only add to me and make me better, if for no other reason than to learn from things that I wouldn’t even venture to call mistakes. Because mistakes are what you make of them.  It’s all semantics, really.

And once you choose to respect yourself and your happiness, well, call me naive, but everything will fall into place just as it should be. Nobody can make your choices for you. Even though I’d love to make other peoples’ choices for them (especially yours), I know that mine are all mine to make. I simply think that seeing the ocean has benefits far beyond drinking fruity drinks on the beach and getting caricatures made. And I’ll love my time with or without any of that. I will love who and what I want to love on my own accord. And I’ll always love the ocean.