I wax poetical

My life at this time is unlike any other era of growing into adulthood I have experienced. I was unprepared for the ushering in of the New Year that brought with it all the drama and uncertainty. This poem encompasses the bulk of my frustrations and woes. Its obscurity comforts me somewhat, but I’m sure you can understand the feelings that birthed the ramblings.

--never beyond--

I know who I am
I’m here
among so many upturned faces
looking beyond

I’m here garnering love sprung from companionship
friend among friends
a flushing love
corals to roses to fires
yet, not fires
no smoldering heat
only the colors of love

Where is the line that keeps friend from lover?
How keen are the eyes of pilgrims looking for that sainted kiss beyond?
Here, hopes of family
to live happily
cool the embers burning for the self
desire for one so like the self
many turn fearful from its gaze

So here they sit
faces upturned
loving a friend who cannot cross the void

For I too look beyond
to catch sight of someone looking at me
only at me
always at me
never beyond

Finally, some stories worth posting

So, it starts like this. The women are posted in the lobby as silent door-guards. Since it’s my first time in the position, I am unaccustomed to wearing the guard sash around my waist like a KA pageant finalist. Second show, I take my 15 minute break at the top of the ramp. When standing up, the sash falls to my ankles. I lift it up, hoist it over one shoulder with pizzazz and quickly straighten my uniform (which consists of a tunic with overlapping panels that discreetly cover my petite frame, a matching red shirt, black/opaque tights and boots). I spend the next fifteen minutes at the bottom of the ramp guiding guests to the restrooms and secretly completing a find-a-word puzzle to pass the time. Near the end of the shift, a woman hurries down the ramp to tell me her husband has vomited on the ramp. While she attends to him, I go find the EVS person to clear the “code blue.” After Maria collects her cleaning supplies, she follows me to the site and quietly says, “your skirt…uh…I can see your underwear.” Suddenly, I realize that I had been bearing my red and white striped underwear, barely concealed by the black tights (which by the way are not opaque when forced to stretch over the girth of a woman’s rear-end) to all the patrons that passed me since I stood up. After the scene is cleared, I proceed to tell all the other ladies in the lobby about my risqué moment. It was just what we needed to lighten a long, tedious night on our feet in that concrete-floored lobby.

The very next day, I drive out to Summerlin to entertain at a birthday party. (One of my co-workers got me the gig because his aunt runs the party planning company “Balloons with a Twist,” and she desperately needed a girl who could fit into the costume). So, I find the house, knock on the door and get a hushed explanation that I am an hour early. I tell the parents I’ll be back at the correct time, and head back to the car a bit dismayed. Not only am I completely across town, alone, with no where to go, but I’m dressed up as The Little Mermaid. I’m employed as Ariel to accompany a troupe of five year old girls to a Pretty Princess Party. Here I am with a nude body suit barely stretched over my body, purple seashells where seashells must be on any well-dressed mermaid, a green skirt printed with fish scales and a HUGE, incredibly fake, red wig. I drive around for about fifteen minutes before boredom and the notion of high gas prices hanging over my head force me out of the car. I throw on jeans and a sweater and spend a rather strange half-hour shopping in Kohl’s. I can’t even explain the range of weird looks I am getting for sporting such a mess of a wig. Later, the party ends up being a big success. I’ve since been offered a permanent spot on the party rotation list, so who knows what I’ll be dressed as next week.