Facing Facebook

I know I've mentioned Facebook recently. It's been a blast connecting with old dear friends from my past. I've so enjoyed catching up with the girls and been amazed at how much we have in common. One, except for the fact she married and had kids - something I forgot to do - has led a shockingly parallel life to my own. But then, I always had great girlfriends.

No, it's the boys that have fascinated me. First of all there were so few who were truly kind in high school. It's been such a trip catching up on where life has taken us all.

There's Tommy, he of of the mesmerizing blue eyes and dimples bigger than the Grand Canyon. I've known him since we were seven. Tommy had such a quiet intelligence. He wasn't the smartest boy in class. No we had Matt, Andrew and Stephen who always rubbed their smarts in our faces. Tommy's brain power was simply cool and all of us were aware of it; never questioned it.

In tenth grade it was put to the test. We were in chemistry with the greasy haired teacher who had dandruff the size of snowflakes whose name I forget but whose catch phrase is forever burned into my brain, "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I don't."

Mr. Greasy Hair had filled his chalkboard with chemical equations for an upcoming semester test. He told us to start writing. We did - except for Tommy. Tommy had a photographic memory; he never took notes. He didn't need notes on paper. He simply "saw" them when he needed them. He quietly tried to explain this to Mr. Greasy Hair. It turned into a shouting match and Tommy was sent down to see the principal.

Within minutes, the principal was in our room, reading the black board with great care. He stepped outside and grabbed Tommy sending him back to his chair. As he left, he said to the teacher, "Mr. [Tommy] does NOT ever need to take notes."

Tommy was an angry young man who would just as soon flatten some punk rather than take any guff. But, when our HI-Y youth group would visit our Bridge School for mentally challenged kids every month, Tommy had such a gentle way with those kids. It's that Tommy I see when I imagine him with his own kids.

And then there's Bill. Another boy with magical eyes, Bill was the class clown. He was a year older and I only met him in Jr. High. One day, when I was in tenth grade, Bill was wandering the halls at recess with every book he had. He had no locker...or his locker mate had kicked him out. As I opened my locker, he took over the top shelf and demanded my locker combination.

As I had a secret crush on him, I gave them up without a fuss.

Bill always made me laugh. He, too, was a smart boy - I recently learned his i.q. is off the charts. But my favorite memory is of him always being the first to arrive at high school. He would get there early to make us park on our old unmarked lot in a more interesting fashion. I always obliged.

Whether Bill ever knew of my crush is questionable... probably so. I'm pretty transparent. While he never indulged me, he was always sweet; never rude like so many boys I knew in high school.

I can still hear his laughter and can imagine his home today with all his kids must be filled to the brim with it.

The other boy I've enjoyed catching up with is the young man I secretly named "The Best Boyfriend In The World!" From junior high through college, whatever little twit I befriended would always show up with her boyfriend, Scott. I didn't even realize that Scott and I were in the same university until some girl (can't remember her name) started chatting about her new boyfriend. "Scott this and Scott that and surly you must know him - he's from McComb." That Scott?? Yep, him again.

I rode on the back of his motorcycle with my friend / his girlfriend between us in Junior High. In high school, he started dating one of my church friends and I always hoped they would end up together...but she too was not the one for him. None of his girlfriends ever deserved him in my book.

But it was because of her I got to know him really well. He was truly the best boyfriend in the world. Once, she and I were in her front yard choreographing her flag corps routine with all her private school girls. Scott showed up with sno cones for all of us and then left us to our work.

He frequently would take would take his girlfriend's friends out on their dates, often with his friend Carey in tow. One such date, he and Carey decided us three girls really needed to know how to drive a stick shift. He took us out to old airport road....nice and straight with zero traffic.

His girlfriend and our other chum each took a turn in the front seat of his VW Rabbit. Each of the girls learned pretty fast. And then it was my turn. Of the three of us, I was the only one that had access to a stick shift...my mother's car. So I really did need to know how to drive one.

Scott patiently showed me all the gears only every time I shifted into second, it died. That is, when it didn't die on take off. We lurched and jumped and bucked down that old road, gears grinding for close to an hour. When I finally made it into second, Carey and the girls in the backseat stood up and gave me a standing ovation! I got so excited, I never made it to third.

It's a wonder the Rabbit lived.

If Scott is half as patient with his kids when they learn to drive, they'll be just fine. And yes, he did finally find a good girl for him. They've been married over twenty years.

It's terrific reading about their careers and career changes into more suitable professions. It's great to hear what they still dream of doing. Looking at their photos of them as men with wives and children and jobs, I don't see the men. No, I still see the boys with quick smiles and funny jokes and dancing eyes and dimples for days. I see the boys that filled me with wonder and made it OK to dream.

OMG!!!!! If I still see them as the boys they were in high school, does that mean they don't see me as the woman who went to Hollywood and made movies and worked on huge ad campaigns and owns her own business???

Do they still see me as that quirky, pimple faced, freckled red head with hair going in 87 directions who always wore hand-me-downs from her grown up sister because her mom would never buy her the "cool" jeans and covered up her vast insecurity with cockiness????? Do they???

Oh God, tell me there's a CANCEL MEMBERSHIP button somewhere!!!

Quick Thinking On My Pedals

I was reading Becky's post today about being propositioned in South Korea and when she got to the last few sentences, she threw in a little comment about a man dropping his pants right in front of her! It reminded me of something that happened in in Argentina. (Thanks for the post idea, Becks!)

I and the American's I worked closely with would spend our one day off, Sunday, exploring. I, unlike the others, never broke my routine. They all would sleep in on Sunday, but that threw my body chemistry way off and made the first few work days afterward difficult. So I would rise, go for a walk along the docks and eat breakfast at the only restaurant I could find with something that resembled American pancakes. When the the rest of the gang was finally awake, we'd brunch somewhere, read newspapers and make a plan for the rest of the day.

We strolled about the city on this particular Sunday, sightseeing and taking pictures until someone remembered hearing something about a Mongolian Barbeque over in Palermo, a neighborhood some distance away.

As all of us were either from New York or L.A., we were perpetually in search of a good meal. It only took a few days to realize that most restaurants in Buenos Aires were all alike: each had a fish dish, an egg dish, a chicken dish, a beef dish and a hamberguesa. We quickly grew bored. We soon learned where to go for more interesting fare both near our office and apartments but Sundays were reserved for finding new and unique meals.

Keep in mind we were all working from 14 - 18 hours a day, six days a week. We were exhausted and all suffering from that malaise that makes nothing really matter too much. If one person had an idea, the rest were likely to follow.

Off we went in taxis to Palermo. Never mind that we had no name of the restaurant; no address. We were a resourceful group managing a crew of a thousand. We could find a restaurant with no name or address in a foreign country. The taxi drivers dropped us off at a park -Parque Tres de Febrero.

This park was like nothing we had seen. We had all been to the incredible Recoleta Park. But this park was wooded and had an amazing lake and big islands. Without so much as a word, we all got out of our taxis and started walking straight for the shore, mesmerized. The park was not busy at all on that late fall afternoon in May. Some of the guys lay down in the sand. Some of the girls took off for a walk along the vast shoreline while others hit the concession stand for a snack. Me? I walked to the water's edge, drawn to the paddle boats.

I've had a fascination with paddle boats since I was child visiting Percy Quinn State Park near my hometown of McComb, Mississippi. My mother would never let us rent a paddle boat. I spent my childhood watching those boats and longing to be on one.

I petitioned all of my friends and no one was game - for good reason: a winter storm was moving in. It was starting to sleet and darkness was setting in.

Finding that restaurant and our exquisite meal are a whole other story. But that park and those boats stayed in my head. It would be weeks before I would return alone on a brisk Sunday afternoon and rent a paddle boat.

I had the best time on that lake which was quite busy and soon longed to explore a quieter shore and study the flora and fauna away from the crowd. I turned down and inlet and soon the busy shoreline disappeared.

I found myself drawn to a duck that was nesting a late fall flock of ducklings. They were curled up next to their mom and she was protecting them from the breeze that was blowing. There were so many trees here, the sun was no longer visible. I paddled so close to the shore, I could have stepped off the boat if I'd had something to tie it with.

I marveled at the coloring of those ducks and how they blended so perfectly with the fallen leaves on that shore. As my eyes scanned that shoreline and the wonderful colors spread on the ground, something caught my eye. Those look like shoes. They are shoes with a man attached!
To my great surprise, that man had his pants down and started pleasuring himself on my shock. Immediately, I realized how close I was to him; that he could step on my boat in an instant! And then, that deep sense self - preservation that many of us possess kicked right in.

I started back pedaling the boat as fast as I could and simultaneously decided if it was my shock he wanted, he would not have it. With my left hand ( I was steering the boat with my right), I pointed at his engorged member and cackled very loud. As I laughed, I screamed, "Moi poquito, moi poquito!" (translation = very small)

He quickly tucked it in his pants and ran off into the woods. I've never wanted to rent another paddle boat!

Sorry State of Affairs

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I went to my writer's group meeting for the first time in ages tonight and then on to dinner with mother - daughter friends from the group. I am about 4 or 5 years older than the daughter, an attorney.

Like many fabulous women I know in Los Angeles, she has fallen into the routine of commuting, working too many hours, commuting home and pursuing things that interest her such as a book group she runs, our writers group and an art group. And yes, she is still single.

She was telling me how, a few years back, she came to know the local homeless man when she was taking the bus to law school. Since then, they often speak to each other and he knows her by name.

The other morning, she was walking to her car and noticed him at the bus stop. She went over and inquired how he was etc. and he, in turn asked about her life. He specifically asked if she had a boyfriend or had gotten married.

When she told him no, his response was, "Dang girl, if I weren't homeless, I'd sure ask you out. I mean your reasonably attractive."

Reasonably?

As she complained the this was the only time a man had hit on her in ages and his best line was that she was reasonably attractive, I could only chuckle.

At least she still gets hit on. Heck, it's been so long for me, I'd pay someone for a "Hey Baby!"

Revelation

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I found myself a little angry with God this morning. I had one of those rare moments of clarity about my life and was suddenly so pissed this info comes about 20 years too late.

This week is an anniversary of sorts for me. 20 years ago today, I was waking up in the Dallas home of my then boyfriend's mother. I had driven in the day before, had a lovely traditional New Year's Dinner - his mom made sure I found the lucky penny in the cornbread - and hit the town with the man that has become known to my circle of friends as the Jackass.

We were up very early the next day...he was driving me to California. This task wasn't originally meant to be his. It was to be my mother's. But 1985 was yet another dreadful Christmas. It was the last time my mother ever struck me. And in addition to her being so difficult to be around, Christmas was topped off with a family friend getting stabbed to death and my cousin's last attempt at suicide (she lived).

Mother used these events to back out of moving me to California. I really think she believed I would not go if she didn't take me. But she underestimated me. When I suggested the Jackass (she adored him; our dog didn't.... hmmmm), her response was to wonder what the neighbors would think of my traveling across the country and sharing a room with him. I still remember the astonished look on her face when I asked, "How will they know if you don't tell them?"

So 20 years ago today, the Jackass and I set out for Cali. I wanted to be a producer or so I thought back then. It only took me 15 or so years to realize that someone doesn't move that far from home to chase something. No, you move vast distances when you are running from something.

We had a blast driving here. He was the driver, I was the DJ. The car was so loaded down, I couldn't get out without placing a few cases and boxes on the ground beside the passenger door.

I was snoozing as we approached California. He tapped my arm and asked, "You were born in 64 right??"

"Yep."

"Find a 64 coin in your purse. Hurry!"

I dug around a bit and announced, "The best I can do is a 69 penny."

"O.K....Let me think... that's 5 years. O.K. add a nickel."

"Got it."

Silence.

"Can I ask why I sitting here with six cents in my hand?"

"Just wait."

Moments later, he was pulling the car off to the edge of the highway. We were right in front of the California State Line sign.

"Get out!"

"Wha?"

"GET OUT! Come on, hurry. It's cold." He dashed out of the car. I followed.

We jumped the barricade and ran west a few feet. He grabbed my shoulder to keep me from running into California. I straightened up and tried to see whatever it was he was so intent on showing me. It was cold and windy and I really had no clue what we were doing on the side of that highway.

He placed his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him.

"Look at that."

I looked at him questioning his sanity.

"That is California. Everything you've ever dreamed of is going to happen to you there. Everything you ever wanted to be, you will be there. You are home."

I had a huge lump in my throat. He had managed to address all my fears. Would I make it or would I tuck my tail between my legs and head back home? Would I even find a job? Could I just stay there long enough to not embarrass myself?

"Now, lean over and make a wish and place your coins over there."

I did as I was told, dropping my coins in the California sand.

"Now, take something for a memory."

I took a pretty rock. Still have it somewhere.

"Now that you're home, you drive. Let's get out of here. It's COLD!"

I raced back to the car to get out of the wind. As I was jumping the barricade, I realized he wasn't with me. He appeared to be digging in the dirt.

"What are you doing? I yelled.

"Covering up your money."

"Huh??"

"You never know when you'll be passing back by and need six cents!"

As I was thinking of this journey and what this man has been through the years in my life, I realized that his driving me here was truly the nicest thing he ever did for me. And I was suddenly dumbstruck with the revelation that this trip, this kindness was his ONLY job in my life.

Couldn't I have gotten this knowledge many, many years ago???

He wasn't the man I was "supposed" to marry. He certainly wasn't worth all the grief and anguish he put me through. He wasn't worthy of my faith or my love. He was only supposed to get me here. And that's just fine. He took me home and now, twenty years later, I finally realize what he was trying to tell me. This is my home. And home feels so good.