how do you make forever?

Fabulous Moi — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 10:07:24 +0000

Well I’ve gone glam around here after the week I’ve had. Sersly? The cat is gone; like songstress Peggy Lee warbled — ‘is that all there is?’ Doubtful but this week it sure seemed like it even though I was provided a most excellent opportunity to rethink my life’s meaning. A media vendor extended a gracious and appreciated invitation to an über swank luncheon mid-week. The arugula salad set rubbed shoulders with six good people who’ve made a difference not only in the city but in the world beyond. I’m talking shit like donating a bunch of wheelchairs to a village in butt-fuck Nairobi so folks can get around and thus improve their quality of life.

But I digress. It was a tear-welling luncheon because one couldn’t help but leave the softly lit rose and hydrangea chic table bouquets without thinking ‘what have I done with my life?’

So that’s what I’ve been thinking about this week. Mostly. Between missing my deceased cat and thoughts of a meeting I’m ill-prepared for next week.

My morning commute takes me by a chi-chi greeting card shop. They have a window display chock-full of Valentine shit already. A silver-plated frame with the word ‘forever’ spelled out in rhinestone crystals naturally caught my eye. “Forever?” Does anything really last forever? And in our need now/consume/throw away world the term seems somewhat antiquated. Forever? Hardly.

Here’s your weekend assignment: go do, go be, go live glam. Buy yourself some sale roses. Treat yourself to a new fragrance. Bake cookies. Buy three or five pears (not four or six mind you because you’ll never get them artfully arranged darling) and quietly sit to ponder their God-like perfection. Maybe that’s “forever.”

my matthew is gone

Fabulous Moi — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 08:19:54 +0000

“Matthew” the kitty was euthanized Monday morning around 9:15am; he was 19-years old. I’d been called to the EXbf’s condo Sunday night to assess the declining health situation; though it was painful to witness the labored breathing and obvious discomfort I at least captured one last hour with the best cat ever. I lay prone on the hallway floor for a few moments to make sure Matthew knew I’d come back — that I’d not forgotten, his noble presence in my life.

Those non-pet owner types won’t ever get this type of commentary because they’ve not experienced the unconditional love a pet brings into one’s everyday life. For the record Matthew was a most excellent cat. He defined the very best years of my long-gone 25+ year partnership. I’ll skip any more fond recollections because I frankly can’t write three sentences regarding his death that doesn’t spiral me further into heartache. I’ll leave it at this: I didn’t cry at my own father’s funeral. But then again he wasn’t a man who knew much about “unconditional love.”

you + me = love ~ the undisputed truth (1977)

Fabulous Moi — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 11:15:45 +0000

how I lost 4.5 hours saturday

Fabulous Moi — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 11:18:10 +0000

The tree came down this weekend; it’s the longest I’ve ever kept it up post holiday but, well, I didn’t have the energy. Saturday morning I thought: “Seriously? W T F? Get that tree down or toss a bag over it.”

So it came down. The ornaments were all individually hand-wrapped in tissue and I lined the box with bubble wrap in case I should move before the next Christmas season. You just never know. So there’s that.

where for art thou romeo

Fabulous Moi — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 05:01:18 +0000

I know. It’s been a week or so since I last popped in. This blog is like an unfurnished, rental apartment: I stop by every so often to see if the heat is on and if the toilets flush properly while waiting for new tenants. Only there aren’t any new tenants. Just me. And I’m sucking at keeping up with this blog’s curb appeal. Frankly I still have no energy for any life detail other than work. (the tree is still up) I remain exhausted and have been muttering hallelujah ever since the Christmas season shimmied off into the crushed, glitter foil tiaras of new year’s trash heaps.

This week marks my 6-month dateline at the ‘new’ job. I remain readily fearful and easily sidetracked by multi-tasking; I feel very much like those archaic plate jugglers that use to appear on The Ed Sullivan Show. Now if I could only learn to fart ‘Flight Of The Bumblebee’ I’d have an act for the road. But I digress.

In the last month I’ve forecast and developed a half-million advertising budget — from radio and print to online impressions, redesigned the company’s shopping bag to a chic, low-luxe eurotote that fashionistas will want to carry lunch bits and Tory Burch ballet flats to & from work, designed and presented an emerging advertising brand campaign, implemented a new tagline, coordinated pending photographer/talents, updated some web imagery and — ongoing, posted daily content and graphic elements to the company’s social media presence. And you wonder where I’ve been? I have no energy left for anything but comfort food and bed.

This past weekend was spent — minus an evening’s dinner out, in bed. It still takes the weekend for me to recharge. I don’t know how or why I’m fatigued but it’s an emerging reality that sorta concerns me. Is this what ‘getting old’ feels like? Does it become a matter of not wanting to engage because one is physically not able or is it BECAUSE one simply doesn’t have the energy to back up the “can do” spirit of earlier decades that one turns to a lump on the sofa? This puzzles me; I don’t mind growing old but acting old is an entirely other matter.

The new year has brought a bit of sad news. A friend lost a friend, suddenly; he talked to him one day — gone the next. If you think you are immune to life’s cruel twists and turns of fate think again. Go back to a year ago: think of those folks gathered to hear Representative Gifford speak and recall how so many lost their lives in a jiffy flash. Time is far too precious to waste on the petty, the ignorant and the untrue. Today’s lesson? Go make beauty in your world; share it. It’s really later than any of us think. Dance in your underwear once in a while; maybe go balls out and skip the underwear.