Deuces

Were you just playing a John Mellencamp song...? My inquiry was earnest, though filled with the confused stupor that follows an awakening from a deep, mid-afternoon nap.  Equally confused, he replied "... I don't know anything by John Mellencamp..." In a sedated, yet certain response I added ""Jack and Diane"... I thought you were playing that song..." He stood quietly for a moment, curious, as I held a focused gaze, hands in my lap, staring at my fingers, gracefully interwoven.   It's the look he dubs the "1000 mile stare". And I slowly came to.  Came to realize my father wasn't playing a John Mellencamp song, and Lloyd wasn't either.   I shouldn't have been surprised-  neither of the two men had ever played John Mellencamp before, so why would they now? But in some lost space where fatigue and sleep meet, I had heard my father playing guitar and heard his voice- clear as day- singing the ...

Today I ran up to Mt. Rubidoux, with the grandest intentions to continue to  run up that great hill that overlooks the Inland Empire and Downtown Riverside.   And though my body had a visceral reaction to the incline that began somewhere between mile 6 and 7 of my lon-run goal, I enjoyed the occasional cool breezes and the site of families and friends making the trek toward the World Peace Bridge. As I made the climb toward the Cross that rests atop the paved hill, my body slowed from a jog to a heavy walk.  I forgave myself for my inability to push through the heaving of my own breath as I watched dogs on leashes with fashionably dressed-owners trek past me, tongues wagging, as if to commiserate with my pain.   As I circled back down, I picked up the pace, once more, though my body wanted nothing more than to stop moving.  And yet,   Unequivocally,   The highlight of the weekend was this run: My young daughter and husband b...

I created a new Pandora playlist- It's my Emeli Sandé station.   Love her. It's been a banger station, hit to hit as I transition into this week back from some much-needed time away from my computer- a week away from the noise raging in my head- a week away from the mail I haven't looked at for a while that sits in wait on my desk. The one word to describe my trip to England... Necessary. Though there are so many layers to the trip I couldn't fit it into a blog.  The layer that involves necessary time with extended family and friends, the layer that revolves around the unique time I spent with Sayler in the confines and freedoms away from WiFi and work, a layer involving time with my husband as his passenger- because it's a great feeling to be a passenger, both literally and figuratively.  To rest my head for a short while and let someone take lead.  And there was the layer of focus on creating a great and memorable experience for Ariel...

I left them as I know them. At the airport as they stood in line for departure I saw my husband as I have him in my head: His freshly laundered white tee that he had carefully pressed in the a.m. already had a mark front and center where his daughter's mystery hand smudge left evidence.   "I don't know why I bother trying.." He sighed.  But it is him and what he does.  His face bore the look of worry he has every time he flies and his look of fear was that of a man who knows his daughter will get everything she wants on a long international flight.  Whatever game she wants him to play with her... Whatever movie he must carefully watch with her without diverting his eyes, whatever snack he must allow her to feed him while asking with each morsel "Zat good, daddy?" and every color marker she must hold all by herself will be at the ready.  I left him with a new album downloaded moments before we left the house so he could have the latest...

When I was a kid, there was no one that snored more loudly than my father.   And much like the sound of a bear snorting as he slumbered in the woods, it was slightly frightening, quasi-ominous and seemed to forebode that no one in proximity would sleep well. I didn't think I could ever know another who caused so much restlessness... And then I met my husband. Pushing him to his side and huffing "you're snoring again!" is not an unusual occurrence at Caza Birch. He's a good sport, ol' Lloydy is... oftentimes taking heed immediately or suffering the ongoing painful rib nudges I throw his way as the night carries on .  But just when I didn't think I could ever know yet another who could cause so much restlessness... I birthed my daughter. Houston, we got another snorer. And I will miss their snoring.. Just kidding. I won't. But I will miss some other things, surely, as "they" depart in 2-days time for England. ...

I like buns. But that's not why I wear my buns high, usually. Usually the reason my hair is in a bun is because I am cleaning or I am jogging or I am refusing to comb my hair. But lately, if you see my hair in a constant state of bread-roll, uppity, tightly twisted strands it is because I haven't managed to carve out time to get my hair colored. Because tight buns mask unsightly roots. Tight buns tell the world I am trendy and casual but in my world, my roots tell a tale of a life that is a bit topsy-turvy. No time.  Must rush. A twisted up-do lets me get up and go even though I'd love to get down and sit, comfortably, in a swivel chair and have Gina turn my heinous brown hair into a golden delight. I love Gina.  She knows what color suits me well even though I beg her to let me go red, just once. "No." She insists.  And so it is. I'd like to put my nose in a magazine and stew under a heat lamp until the bleach has ...

I think I'm more concerned with being around people who impress me, And less motivated to be around people I can impress. Has that always been the case? Possibly. Not likely. But here is the epiphany, as I settle into this state of constant wonderment, of curiosity, of wanting to know more about people and what drives them and how they add to the world and give to the world and make this journey more fulfilling. And when I find myself trying to impress other people I can feel the vulnerabilities and weaknesses of who I am slipping through the cracks that I so carefully try to mask with any shred of greatness I embody. I am loud, I am zealous, I am trying, desperately trying. But perhaps I can relax. Maybe I can continue on this quest to be impressed and worry less about impressing you, them, those that are making me try, so hard. I will work on it.

You are so interesting to me, and it's odd, isn't it? That we could be so incredibly different and view the world through different lenses and not agree on much of anything. How did you get to become my friend? Silly banter. That's all it took. And I have so many wonderful friends that I adore and love, and you are among them. But you probably don't know it. Or maybe you do because I think it's an unspoken thing we have. If I could tell you right now I would tell you I appreciate you, That I respect you (even though you're wrong most of the time), and I miss you, too, even though you're not so far away. In an alternate universe we would have together time and more banter and more disagreements (on all the things that you are completely wrong about) and there would be time for telling you things that are better said in person and there would just be, more. But without the more I watch from afar the life you deserve unfold. It's m...

I love this walk... Most summer nights we take this walk/run and half-way through I have sincere regrets that I didn't take a shorter route through the neighbourhood. I get a little weary. But only here can I take a photo like this...

Oh, Jess.   You make me laugh.   You're crazy... but you already knew that, huh?   Jessica, I've known you for over half my life, which just made us sound old, but we're not old...   Right?   Not that the treadmill will ever know because you refuse to tell the treadmill your age.   And you know what my favorite thing about you is?   You're consistent.   It's one of the few absolute deal-breakers for me when it comes to my friendships,   and you've always been the same.   Not one of those loose cannons that you never know what to expect from,   The ones who you never know what they're thinking about,   And have to wonder whether your next encounter will be fun or drama-filled.   No,   You're always the same.   I value consistency in a world of what-ifs.    I value you.   We must have met on some soccer field, and I must have though...

I'm over-exposed. I'm under-developed. I'm ambitious. I'm cautious. I'd wear my heart on my sleeve, if you were to ask me... Don't ask a vague question, If you expect an honest answer. Speak what's on your mind, And I'll assure you with my response. Awkward, Odd, Unsure aren't terms I understand When what I value is certainty, It's crystal-ball faith, Most certainly. I speak in circles, But if you pay attention, My message is clear, My message is clear, My message is clear.

I certainly don't dislike Valentine's Day.  It's a cute day.  The stores are all red and pink and white and stuff.  I'm just not all that "in" to commercial holidays.  I think it's too stressful for men, in particular.  Like they are suddenly supposed to be mind readers and just "know" what the perfect, most romantic gift is.  Some women are just so hard to please. In my world, I tell my babydaddy exactly what I expect... and it had better be good. It's got to be a card. My husband always picks out the best cards in the whole wide Hallmark world.  And he writes just the nicest words.  It doesn't necessarily mean I get him a card.  Sometimes I do- sometimes I don't.  But it's not "my thing".  But it's "his thing" and I don't let him deviate from that. And every year around Valentine's my sweet husband will start to suggest places to go out for the "big" day.  My response is always a scr...

I don't believe in class distinctions.  I do, however, believe in class...  I don't believe in buying cats and dogs as pets. Maybe because I love me a good deal, but my free dog and my bargain kitties are the best damn pets in the whole wide world...  I don't believe in exercising too much unless there is a pending pool party.  Some might say its because I have severe bouts of laziness- in which case I would have to agree...  I don't believe that everything happens for a reason.  I often wonder how people can use that expression so candidly and not realize how vapid it can sound when some people are suffering for no good reason. I don't believe I have a green thumb.  10 brown withers-and-dies thumbs have I... I don't believe I will ever understand mathematical equations, aside from general adding and subtracting.  I have shed many a tear over algebraic formulas in college... I don't believe most salespeople.  God blessed me with an ...

For years I didn't think I had a favorite color.  In fact, the question always irked me a tad. And it's on every friggin' survey, isn't it?  What's your favorite color? And because I love doing random, mindless surveys thanks to my myspacin' days, I had to encounter that awkward question on numerous occasions. And I sat and thought about it yesterday and realized that the color I always come back to is gold. But is it very cliche that my last name is Dorado and I love gold? I'm not sure. And most people born after 1967 find gold to be repulsive.  It's been all about the white gold lately, which I still need someone to explain to me- how is gold silver-colored?  I just can't wrap my head around it. But it's not necessarily yellow gold but that brilliant bronzey, cheap-costume-jewelery gold that I adore. It just calls to me.  There is something ghetto-fabulous about it and yet it speaks 1980's-big-hair-royalty to me.  That was w...

Space. That's another definite plus of my job-loss. Today I purged myself of many a company thing.  I handed over just about the last of it all- the last of the artifacts that were used daily in my job. At first, I was afraid to let them go.  It meant it was real- that I was no longer needed by the company.  But after a few days of waiting to be rid of it all, I was excited to start anew. I couldn't let the keys go fast enough.  Those keys that lock up all the things I held in my hands each working day.  As they left my hands and passed to my ex, I felt a sigh of relief.  I smiled.  I felt light as a bird. I said good-bye to my ex- both verbally and mentally.  And while I know I will continue in the friendships I have made at my last post, things will never be the same again.  Ever. I will never be able to erase from my mind what it felt to feel so incredibly desolate.  I won't be able to purge that sense of isolation from i...

Last night I started a list of things I won't miss about my job. I thought it would make me feel better, but I didn't like the negative thoughts and energy I was allowing to consume my mind.  Instead, I opted to start listing, each day, things and moments that are great about not rowing with the other slaves of the workforce. On today's list is blueberry pancakes.  Loving pancakes is a recent thing.  Maybe we can thank Cynthia, Letty and Julia- my cardio, lifting and yoga instructors for that.  I crave that carbohydrated goodness.  And anything with "cake" as a part of its word geneology is awesome in my book. My husband would make me pancakes each weekend.  Breakfast in bed- one of his romantic specialties on a lazy Saturday and Sunday morning. They were a treat.  And now, I am having this treat just about every day. To wake up and not be in a rush.  To wake up and mix my own batter and smother that batter in indigo-colored...

How annoying that I blog about being laid off.  But since I've been working since the tender age of 16, I will revel in the opportunity to navigate this experience with you. If you don't like it- have a cookie.  That does wonders for my interest level. Today is the suckiversary of one week into the world of being a leach on society's system.   I am draining the universe of it's resources and contributing nothing but a daily blog.  I am stealing from the pie that feeds our children's school systems.  I am taking your hard earned cash-money and pilfering it for my own selfish needs.  Thank You.  Thank You.  Thank You. The week has been shockingly busy.  Too busy. Phone please stop ringing.  Emails keep a'comin.  I have been sorting through handing my accounts over to the survivor and making sure she knows what's up.  I have medical appointments to make to ensure I don't lose the money I have invested into my healthcare ...

"Cynthia-  I saw you checking out my man when he bent down.  I saw you smiling his way, and come over to talk to him.  I considered punching you in the face, but before I had a chance, you kicked my ass and yelled at me." Oh Cynthia.  How is it that you manage to make Mondays come faster each week?  Hmmm? And no matter how much I would love to wallow in my sorrow of job-loss, you beckon me from my jammies and comfort food. I dress. I grab a bottle of water. And I head for the gym. Lloyd and I have been taking your Monday night class for several weeks now.  We hate it.  We love it.  We hate it.  We love it.  We can't decide. You make us get so low with those weights, and you always keep us guessing. The reps keep a'comin.  There's hardly time to breathe. Push-ups always seemed significantly easier in junior high P.E.  Has the exercise changed over the years?  Why would I prefer to fall on my face than lift my body a...