My paddling team was fortunate enough to be able to take our entire team out to Saipan to represent Guam in the Micro Cup 2009. It was a blast, can you tell?
We also brought home a ton a trophies. 4 – 1st place,
3 – 2nd place & 3 – 3rd place! The divisions were Women’s, Men’s & Mixed 1500m Sprints, 500m Sprints & 12mile Long Distance.
I was asked by an old friend to stand in as her new child’s godmother after the godmother she chose was denied sponsorship by her church. I try to attend mass almost every Sunday at the same church my parents attended and were married in. I was easily granted sponsorship.
I was a in quite a bit of a rush as this old friend had asked me a little last minute and I hadn’t attended mass the previous Sunday because…well, because I hadn’t had a day off in so long that I wanted to just sleep in. So I was a little nervous and a little guilty. I had recently asked for sponsorship to be Godmother to my brother’s new daughter so I wasn’t nervous about being questioned about my faith. It turns out the priest didn’t rattle my faith. A stack of papers did.
15 pages. With the same information, over and over. Name, contact number, address and signature with a pre-written header that urged all 15 senators to oppose Bill 185. (BTW, what happened to “Separation of church and state”?) With trepidation and complete sadness, I filled and signed all 15 pages. I felt I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to get it over and done with and put it in the back of my mind.
I know many gay and lesbian people. Doesn’t just about everyone, these days? Your son or daughter? Sister or brother? Aunt and uncle? Your best friend? I think of them the same no matter their sexual preference. I’m sure they don’t think less of me for liking people of the opposite sex, even though it seems just as foreign to them as their choices seem to us. We’re allowed to marry of our own choosing. Who are we to dictate to them who they should choose? How they should feel? Who they should love? I signed those documents but I felt like I was letting them down. I was ashamed I was letting my own beliefs down.
I would’ve taken less than 10 minutes to finish but sometime between the 7th and 10th page, I happened to lean over and glance into the back office where I recognized a woman…er…rather, a man sitting and filing away papers. I’ve seen this man before. During mass on Sundays. I noticed him because he was the same woman I saw out and about in public. I had wondered before, just as I did that day, which was the real him/her. Was it a farce in church or a farce in public, everyday life? But there he was, filing away all those petitions against Bill 185. Did he not find it ironic? What I would have given to ask him exactly what he was thinking.
I feel like I should be awarding a BOM medal. There are a couple again this time around. The multiple awards seem to be proliferating. Here are this month’s recipients:
Because the days seem to go faster and faster, I’m wishing everyone a Happy Halloween now before I miss it.
From my monsters to yours, Happy Halloween! <<<<(clickable links)
I haven’t awarded a BOM medal in a while. I haven’t had the heart to. I thought, at first, that the BOMs would make for a good concrete structure to my blog. I envied the others who had themes (“Haiku Mondays”, “Where am I”, etc.) and would blog through those themes. So I figured that maybe the BOMs would make for a good structure. And at first it was…therapeutic. I liked the fact that I had the power, with words, to cut the BOMs down. The same way I realized that they made me feel. Small. Insignificant. Worthless. I liked the fact that I could use my love of the English language and manipulate the words to, yes,… embarrass those BOMs.
So the BOMs roll in and I take caution to pay attention to the details so I can later blog about it. But as they roll in, I realize that they hurt so much more. Like the conversation today that I pretended to not have heard. A conversation that occured between two cousins…who treat eachother like brothers. A conversation that occured between a man who, previous to this conversation, told me about the respect he’d lose for whoever (whomever?) was the current BOM encounter.
I didn’t even really hear the conversation. So what happens when the current BOM encounter occurs between a friend and his cousin? His brother?
BOM: (undiscerning muttering)….like those “Micronesians”…
Me: (quietly embarrassed. No eye contact. Immediately then thinking) I can pretend I didn’t hear. Quickly, walk away!
So I walk away. But then this.
Him: (whispering) (again, undiscerning muttering)…SHE’S “Micronesian”!!!
BOM: I didn’t know that!
Did that matter? Really? And if he did, would it make it right? That he thought thinks that way? This makes it okay?
He (my friend, that is) walks to the back office and I can tell he’s searching my face (while pretending not to be) for that telltale look of distaste I normally have. And really? I want to cry. Because I WANT to be bothered by it. And I DON’T want to be bothered by it. All at the same time. But do you want to know what bothered me the most?
That he never addressed it.
BOM, come get your awards. You get a double.
For the past three years or so now, I promised myself to get Open Water SCUBA certified. 
I finally did, but somehow I managed to make excuses as to why I couldn’t possibly indulge in this trivial desire at the moment. But with my birthday fast approaching this year and feeling like I accomplished exactly nothing the past year, SCUBA certification seemed like the only thing reachable enough to grasp. What no one knew was that the certification was supposed to save me and make me feel that I was in control of my life after all. It was supposed to take me off the beaten path I was on and dump me straight back onto the normal, comfortable, SAFE life I knew. I was so wrong.
“What’s the answer to number one?” I say in a stage whisper to Eric, my running-now-turned-dive buddy.
It was a joke. The class hadn’t even started, the instructor hadn’t arrived yet, there weren’t even books opened up in front of us.
“Class hasn’t even started yet and already you’re cheating?!!”
Registering shock, incredulous, I quickly whisper to Eric through clenched teeth. “He actually called me out?!!” I’m uttering this last word as I spin towards this busybody, a defense already starting on my lips. The busybody turned out to be Billy. He had tousled, dirty blond hair, with a half smile on his face and eyes that danced with merriment as if he’d always been a prankster. Defense all forgotten, we both burst into laughter.
“I’m Matt, this is Z and he’s Billy,” says a voice from the front of the class room. “We bring him along purely for comedic relief.”
The typical story would be that Eric, Matt, Z, Billy and I became fast friends from that day forward. But that didn’t happen. As a matter of fact, I held on steadfastly to Eric and didn’t correct anyone when they incorrectly assumed that Eric and I were a couple. But Eric took a spill on his bike while on duty one night. “Laid his bike down” as Z explains the jargon. It only meant exactly two things to me: I was left lacking a dive buddy…and my security blanket.
Our instructor ended up pairing me with Billy since they were a group of three anyway. Billy. Who, on our final exam, chose from a multiple answer test question, “d: I want to go snorkeling,” when the answer to our DIVING exam was “a: I’m okay.” Billy. Who once in Hawaii was told that the garnish on his drink was edible, was left in hives after he actually ate it AND when the waitress told him at a dinner we attended here, “Yes, all our garnish is edible” he eyed the flower YET AGAIN. Billy.
But Billy towed me out to Gab Gab II when my inexperience kept me at the tail end of the group, winded and struggling to keep up just to get to our dive site. He just matter-of-factly told me to kick my fins his way and he motored me right to our dive site, as if it were something we normally did. On our dives, he stayed patiently right by my side, even as slowly as I explored. He pointed out turtles for me, teased me mercilessly that he could actually hear me giggling underwater when a bunch of tiny fish came out of nowhere and attacked him while I floated nearby, just watching.
Now before I go on, let me go ahead and confirm it for you. I had a full blown, school girl crush on poor innocent Billy. No, I’m kidding. Dinner later that night with the whole group only then secured our friendship. Billy joining me and my friends for my birthday celebration the following night, and earning the respect of one of my best friends, secured my trust.
Before Billy and before this dive class, I thought that getting certified would put me back into control. I was wrong. In order to dive, you see, you need to let go of the reins a little. I found myself sinking when I wanted to be floating and floating when I wanted to be sinking, surrounded by a whole new world that I had absolutely no footing in. I found myself in the hands of an almost perfect stranger. I had to trust in him as he had to trust in me. Trusting this perfect stranger, trusting Billy, had put me on the right path of gaining back the controls in my life….but that is another post.
A few things about me that have been hanging out loose, jiggling around up there…
Can I be frank? I hate being fat. Yes, I said it.
I despise everything about it. Even the word itself. It sounds derogatory and crude and so demeaning…even the least courteous of people cringe to use the word. And I hate being it.
This is what I used to look like in high school (picture on left). That’s me on the far left, in green and black. I thought I was fat back then.
And that is me now (picture on right).
Okay, so that isn’t exactly true. I’ve lost about 15 pounds since that picture. When I REALLY, REALLY watch what I eat and exercise twice a day, daily, this is how I photograph (below). 
I’m not happy with my current weight but I’m not as disappointed with myself as I used to be. My weight yo-yo’s, sometimes quite out of my control, constantly. When it’s down, all is good with the world. Oh…but when it’s up…
When my weight is up, I have days like today. Today, I made the carnal mistake of wearing a shoulder cap sleeved blouse which showed off my arms more than I cared it to. And today, when I had trouble opening the door to a customer car and asked the customer if there was a “trick” to opening it, he said that I had “muscles” and should have been able to yank it open. He even stepped to the side and let me do it myself. While, if my weight were down…the norm would be men tripping over themselves to open doors for me. *sigh* I know…woe is me, right? Little violin? Too bad. This is my blog and I get to post just about whatever I want. 
Please, by all means, leave a comment.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am very capable of doing things myself. However, there is quite a difference between having to do things yourself as opposed to being able to do things yourself. And that difference, I’ve found in my life, is whether or not my weight is up or down.
There’s more to this story…but that is another post.
My children have all gone off-island for summer vacation, successfully leaving me alone in this large house to fend for myself with a lot of time on my hands. I haven’t had a home cooked meal in all the 3 days they’ve been gone. Tonight I settled on peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. It lead to several questions while I was pondering my fate.
I’m gonna cut my losses and quit this pity party abruptly, as I just might jump into the hole I’ve dug. Plans for chipperness next post, I promise.
I have been meaning to post a really witty blog. Maybe even post one of the BOM stories that have been accumulating. There’s even a story about my BOM stories!
Alas, today is not the day that it’s going to get posted. I’m sorry. My excuse heavenly reason? Well. I spent all day Sunday on the beach. I kid you not when I say ALL. DAY. As in, I got to the beach even ahead of my boss who was supposed to be there early to reserve our beach spot. From 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. In the sun. With sunblock of course. I know, I know! This isn’t sounding like the excuse that’s going to necessarily break out your little violin and cry tears of sympathy for me. But…wait for it.
So I spent all day Sunday at the beach, under the sun, with sunblock, SPF 50 mind you. I even put the sunblock on my face even though there’s the little note that says, “non eye irritating” which we all know, of course, means “don’t put anywhere near your eyes unless you want to go momentarily blind.” Had I read “Old Wives Tales, Chapter 3″ I would’ve known that a full day of sun + non-eye irritating gunk = instantaneous stye.
Now, I’d love to put together the witty blog that is rattling around up there in my mind about all the interesting things that I’ve been up to, but this stye of mine has effectively given me a headache for the past 48 hours. 48 hours is kinda my cut off limit. So off to the doctors office I go. “Warm compress,” he says. “And antibiotics twice a day, for 10 days.” I am totally psyched to get these antibiotics as it means that I may not have the ickyness so associated with styes.
So here I am, a little over 30 minutes later, and I’m not feeling so hot. Actually, I’m miserable. My eye throbs EACH and EVERY time I blink or close my eyes. The throbs have blurred together to gift me with a relentless migraine. And the migraine is now in turn making me nauseated. I wish, dear readers, that instead of complaining, I would’ve wanted to spend the time putting together the ever so promised witty blog. But that isn’t true. I want to cry and complain like a rotten, spoiled child (not mutually exclusive, btw). I want to throw a tantrum and clutch at my eye while I incoherently babble about my misery.
I want…ugh. Nevermind. I call uncle. It hurts even to complain. Witty Blog soon.
|
