Suburban Goddess

“So, how’s the part-time boyfriend?”

“Still part-time. How’s the dirtbag husband?”

“Still a dirtbag.”

(sigh)

“We should totally go Thelma & Louise on them.”

“As long as I get to be Geena Davis.”

“Why? Because you think you’re prettier?”

“No… because she’s the one who gets to nail Brad Pitt.”

Lately, my phone seems to be ringing off the hook from past clients, future clients, old relatives, new relatives… my first instinct was to turn off the ringer and retreat; it’s so much social interaction at once that my reclusive nature is overwhelmed.

But rather than hide from the phone, I’ve started to answer it. I’m beginning to realize that part of the reason I don’t have the close relationships or the life that I crave is because I don’t reciprocate contact. More than once, by more than one person, I’ve been told that I make people feel like I don’t care because I don’t call. D summed it up best for me in a way I could understand:

“Do you ever show up at someone’s house uninvited, or go to a party that they didn’t invite you to? Do you ever assume that you’re included in their big life events?”

“No! I wait until I’m asked.”

“Then why would you expect other people to ASSUME they’re invited in your life when you don’t ask them to be?”

So simple, yet so profound. I have an overwhelming fear of BOTHERING people, so I don’t call (or is that just fear of rejection?). I’ve always figured that if they wanted to talk, they would call… so when they don’t, I get my feelings hurt. I never stop to think that maybe people actually WANT to talk to me, but are waiting for ME to call because they know what a crazy life I lead. I always use business as MY excuse:

“I don’t want to bother them if they’re busy!”

“And you’re NOT busy?”

“I never thought of it that way.”

Seriously, I have no clue why I have such monster self-esteem issues. I had a happy childhood.

And as far as my clients are concerned; it’s been a year since I’ve heard from most of them. They called ME, a year later, when they needed new pictures or artwork. That says a lot; if I sucked, they wouldn’t call back, right?

It’s taken me 32 years to start to truly appreciate my self-worth. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve worked hard all my life; I shouldn’t be so surprised that people might actually love me or appreciate my work. So I’m hitting life with a renewed sense of purpose and excitement.

It’s funny how life my life runs in cycles. When I feel like I’ve hit bottom and lost all hope, the angels start making an awful lot of noise…

My daughter cannot say “toothpaste” correctly (”POOFPASTE, Mommy! I need more POOFPASTE!”).

But she can say Spongebob Squarepants perfectly.

I don’t have cable. Where the heck is she watching Spongebob? And while we’re talking about Spongebob, let’s talk about how it really isn’t a show for children, but a thinly veiled adult-themed cartoon. Have you seen it?

Now, I’m not one of those parents who thinks if it’s inappropriate, it should be yanked from the television. I have the ability to turn the channel when my daughter is in the room, and do. And I grew up on Bugs Bunny, including the ones that they don’t show anymore, and I turned out okay. But after watching Spongebob a couple of times (it’s actually quite twisted, I find it very funny), I know she doesn’t get it.

I just want to know where she’s watching it.

“Get out of my cubicle.”

“Man, you’re CRANKY.”

“Did you ever see ‘Hellraiser’?”

“Yes…”

“Well I have a box full of paper clips; in five minutes, you’ll look like Pinhead if you don’t get out of my cubicle.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m going!”

As I sit here in this quiet, quiet house, I realize it is my daughter that brings the life into it. And as happy as that makes me, it also makes me sad.

When I was shopping for this house, trying to put my new life together, there were certain things I wanted. I wanted wide open space. I wanted something a little different. I wanted a jacuzzi tub. My old house was all windows and light, and as I toured house after house in my price range, I felt like I was walking into shoeboxes…. until I found this one. The high ceilings and open walls allowed me to breathe; I knew it was home the moment I walked into it. I could see fireside conversations on my deck. I could see rowdy board games around my kitchen table. I could see deep heart-to-hearts around my living room coffee table.

And yet, I haven’t done any of that here. Perhaps that’s why I still feel like I’m playing house when I walk in the door. There are so few memories here that make it a HOME.

I really need to get busy living again and stop wallowing in my self-pity. I’m wasting precious time.

I spent most of the evening alternating between rage & despair… it was quite a feat holding myself together for my daughter’s sake. Shortly after tucking her into bed, I couldn’t hold it in any longer, sinking to the cold tile on my kitchen floor and crying like I haven’t cried in years. There’s something about crying with your entire being… your body shaking from the sobs, giving in completely to the despair and just finally letting it all go…. I rarely have moments like this. I spend most of my life trying to keep it all together, tied up in a nice, tight little package.

But life isn’t a nice, tight, little package. And the bad thing about trying to cram it all in that little box is that eventually, there’s no room left for anything else in there.

Something’s got to go.

Some people open the box carefully and let stuff slide out, like ants crawling away from a picnic… not me. My box goes off like a nuclear bomb with a mushroom cloud visible for miles. My breakdowns are LOUD. I know it’s not the healthiest way to do things, but who has time for a mini-breakdown? I’ve got a daughter to raise, a career to run, dreams to attain and schedules to coordinate.

So after I indulged in my little pity-party, I picked myself off the tile, brushed the dog hair off my clothes, and spent an hour pummeling my punching bag, each hit landing squarely on an imaginary nose. After throughly exhausting myself, I sat on the sofa, staring into space, wondering how in the hell did I get here…

This was never the life I dreamed of.

“Why is it so hard to freaking TALK to me?”

“Perhaps it’s the constant references to physical violence….”

“Just because I said I want to PUNCH HIM THE THE THROAT doesn’t mean I’ll actually do it!”

“Do you ever stop to think that if you tell someone that you wish they’d just DIE, that they might not be eager to have a conversation with you?”

“I haven’t said that in over a month!!!”

“You just said it a minute ago!”

“Well, it doesn’t count when he can’t HEAR me!”

I was cleaning out my MySpace inbox, which I haven’t done since I started the account, and the things there sent me on an emotional rollercoaster.

One of the very first exchanges was between me & Chip’s new girlfriend. That was followed by a short romance with an ex-con, then the first email from a man who I consider an angel, a voice of reason, who has become a fast friend. Then came the guy who was deemed “The Stripper,” who told me his account was phished and he was no longer using it, but imagine my surprise to find a recent photograph he took as his profile.

It made me smile. Such a liar. But I forgive him.

But the one that stood out the most was sent on September 4th. Little did I know how much that email would completely change the course of my life… sending me down a path of self-realization and changing my outlook on almost every thing I do in life. I don’t know where that path goes, but for some reason my feet seem to be inexplicably drawn to it, even when I try to go a different direction.

It made me smile, too.

I can’t help but wonder where I’ll be in a year from now. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, speculation is a waste of time. And what a wonderful thing; the life I’d dreamed of a year ago was so boring in comparison to what’s it’s actually been…

Over the Easter holiday, I wanted to keep myself distracted since I didn’t have Alex. In the weeks before, my church started a campaign for volunteers, so I basically signed up for the entire day. The thing is, I didn’t want to be a greeter because I have no social skills and the idea is to make people feel WELCOME. And I didn’t want to work the parking lot because I have no tolerance for stupid people in cars (sorry, God, but you have to admit that some of your sheep aren”t the fuzziest lambs in the flock). So after looking down the possibilities, I found the option of the AV/Sound Team.

No experience necessary.

Now here’s a little piece of Kristie trivia that many people don’t know. I used to hole up in my room with Acid Pro mixing techno loops in the hopes that someday I would be a DJ. That dream died in a fiery crash when, instead, I MARRIED a DJ and realized that I really didn’t want to be one anymore. In all honesty, it had nothing to do with the music; I loved that part. But after hanging in a few club booths with a bunch of drunks surrounded in a cloud of smoke, I decided to pursue other passions.

Anyway, the thought of running the stuff BEHIND the curtain gave me the warm fuzzies, so I made my pitch to play Oz and was accepted. Because, it said so, right on the flyer…

No experience necessary.

There was a quick training session a couple of days before, and then the schedule came out. There I was, in a slot all by myself, running one of the children’s services. Both Video & Sound. (Wait a minute, that can’t be right…) As I walked into the training class, I was suddenly aware of just how many buttons there are on a mixing console. And let’s not even talk about the lighting system… As the pastor ran through the buttons rapid fire, I suddenly wished I’d thought to bring a notebook. Or a voice recorder. Or a degree in Computer Science. But how hard could it be, I mean, really? They said it was NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY.

Well, it may not be necessary, but it should be highly recommended.

By the end of the class I was having a mini panic-attack. After all, this was BIG CHURCH. I didn’t want to screw up their Easter service. Luckily for me, more volunteers poured in at the last minute, and I was not alone in the booth on Easter Day. Lulled into a false sense of security, I left my name in the hat to be a recurring volunteer. So for the past three weekends, I’ve slowly made my way into becoming a true AV tech.

My venue is one of the larger kid’s ministries, the 5th & 6th graders. At first, I recoiled in horror. I don’t know the first thing about kids this age and quite frankly, they scare me. They smell fear, too… I can see it in their little desensitized eyes. But watching the pastor, a large formidable man with a soft heart, inspires me. He gets these kids pumped up over subject matter that, let’s face it, isn’t very popular in today’s society. But his choice of upbeat music and positive messages keep me entralled, even though I’m supposed to be watching the soundboard. But he truly won my heart when a particular song came on and he sauntered over to the board, moving the sliders almost to the top, causing the bass to rattle the walls.

“We can’t have the guys downstairs outdoing us,” he smiled. Ho ho… no worries there, Mister.

And on the eighth day, God created bass. And it was GOOD.

So I’ve had a few mishaps… like muting the band… ear-piercing feedback on the microphones… and let’s not forget today, where I crossed wireless signals resulting in what sounded like multiple gunshots going off (pretty cool!). I didn’t realize I was under the wing of the head AV guy, who is also the lead singer of the band, so he is always there to quickly correct the mistake then explain, very patiently, what was wrong and how to fix it if it happens again. His fianceé also runs the booth with me, and she is pretty amazing, too. All in all, I’m having an absolute blast.

When people used to talk to me about “serving the Lord,” my shoulders would immediately tense with apprehension. While I believe in helping out, I remembered the days of bingo in our old Catholic hall; the smell of mildew and Old Spice and bad jambalaya. But this, this is so much fun it can hardly be considered working. And it just reinforces the fact to me that I have been looking at God all wrong for way too long.

“What’s the matter with you this week?”

“I don’t know. I’m just overly emotional for some reason.”

“Is it that time of the month?”

(Blink. Blink.) “That’s a highly inappropriate question.”

“AH HA! Mystery SOLVED!”