Making Like a Tree: A Happy, Little Tree

I suspect that several people who know me think I am a walker outer, a quitter of relationships and situations, flaky when it comes people and commitments – that I'm a habitual leaver.

The friend who has shut me out after my (admittedly poor and bumbling) attempt to explain my distance because of the full and messy emotional plate I had at the time.

The friend who probably feels slighted because each attempt of mine to help work through and console a bad decision seemed to lead to another bad decision that needed working through and consolation.

And the boyfriend who fears a change in location means a change of heart.

I have, even very recently, been described by those closest to me as Teflon, someone with a "Fuck 'em and chuck 'em" attitude. I guess looking from the outside in, those brandings might seem pretty accurate.

In my public relations heart of hearts, it is hard to put a spin on some of the people and situations I've walked away from. While I don't feel bad about the relationships I clearly outgrew, I do regret those I never gave a fair chance to fit.

With that in mind, I started tallying up my success rate over the years with regard to lasting relationships and friendships. This, of course, always leads me to Megan Jane. We have been friends for nearly two decades. No small potatoes, kids. Between us, we have managed to maintain a friendship and line of support through nearly 50 moves. That's commitment.

So, while Megan Jane left D.C. this weekend to embark on a new adventure, I'm not worried. I enjoy road trips (thank you, Corn Nuts and NPR) and distance does, in fact, make the heart grow fonder.

I was just telling Lorelai that all friendships have seasons. Some friends are fun for the breezy spring and summer. Some stay with us through the fall and a precious few make it through winter and into next year. It doesn't mean the spring friends were any less important.

Well, muddled metaphors aside, there's a lot going on, kids. I'm expending a lot of my creative energy elsewhere—it's good stuff. Freelance writing and music for Glynnie and Hot Sauce Flo Dad's wedding, not to mention preparing for a Saturday morning gig at Northwest D.C.'s Mount Pleasant Farmer's Market (for you, Spell) starting August 18. It will open the door to a longer-term commitment (there's that word again) if it goes well.

I think blogs have seasons, too, my pretties. It doesn't help much that Blogger has left me unable to leave comments on most of your sites—the "secure items" pop up won't go way. Is this happening for anyone else?

No matter—I think it's the universe's way of confirming my suspicion that it's okay to go away for awhile to focus on other pursuits.

I know that some of you will move on to new blogger friends and some of you will still be here when I come back, and we can enjoy the figurative and literal winter together. Just so happens that A.J. and I will have some mulberry wine ready right about then.

Oh, yeah—he's definitely going to be around this winter. I bought him a toboggan with a pom-pom and everything.

Until we meet again, my pretties, ya'll keep it right out there. If you find yourself missing me, you just put your lips together … and blow.

Wait. That's not right. How about you catch me the 24th of every month over at Burt Reynolds' Mustache or at 123Valerie at gmail dot com?

In the Comments section, tell me what new adventures you're embarking on.

And for my dear Wandering Girl, I hardley seem a good role model for blogging advice, do I? Well, I've never let common sense stop me before:

It’s very simple.When this is passed on to you, copy the whole thing, skim the list and put a * star beside those that you like.(Check out especially the * starred ones.)Add the next number (1. 2. 3. 4. 5., etc.)and write your own blogging tip for other bloggers.

1. Look, read, and learn. ****-http://www.neonscent.com/
2. Be, EXCELLENT to each other. ****-http://www.bushmackel.com/
3. Don’t let money change ya! ****-http://www.therandomforest.info/
4. Always reply to your comments.**-http://chattiekat.com/
5. Develop your own "voice" don't "borrow" someone else's***-Mizmouthy
6. If you don't have something to say, don't worry your loyal readers will wait*-Oldfashionmomma-
7. Be yourself, don't be afraid to share who you really are ***-http://shibari-confessions.blogspot.com
8. Figure out what you stand for, then try to master it.* -http://mornmeet.blogspot.com/
9. Post pictures when you can* -http://akadventuring.blogspot.com
10. Talk about your boobs a lot. http://123Valerie.blogspot.com

(In no particular order):
Hey Pretty, Lorelai, Matty, FC&F, Spell, Winter, Akelamlu, Reflecting Pool, Stacy, Mama Pookie Pants and Minty--Ya'll just got served.

I Went Back to Ohio

Bad blogger. Bad I say!

So, Hi. No worries--NOT in coma, NOT blasted into space, NOT mad at you (though you know what you did).

I'm here. I'm queer. Get used to it.

Wait ... What?

In any case, I've been zipping around the midwest. And farting. You can read about that here.

I've also been lowing the mawn. (That will be funny to exactly three of you.)

And, boy, was that dog yums! (That will be funny to exactly one of you.)

Big shout outs to Very Gay Mark, Kristina Hotpants and My Dear Kirstin for being bodacious hosts. All of my lurve, and I promise I didn't fart on your sheets.

In the Comments Section, tell me where you've been.

The Blacker the Berry, the Paler the 123Valerie

I accidentally found a blackberry bush while walking Wonder Dog Bean the other day.


Maybe it's the hormones in my new birth control or maybe it's the Pisces moon, but I started getting all metaphorical and weepy about picking blackberries.

See, blackberry bushes have thorns, a point that escaped me as I dove in and found myself elbow deep in sharp, pricky things—and not of the good variety.

As I withdrew and let loose the requisite, "Shit Fire Asshole!" (Yes, of course you may use it Love Monkey), I noticed the birds that landed gently on the branches and plucked the berries up without any trouble.

So, I started thinking of myself as a blackberry bush. And how maybe no one ever plucked my sweet berries of love because they were too aggressive, which brought about my thorns, when all it took was a deft little bird named A.J. who knew precisely how to land on me.

Wait.

Okay, "sweet berries of love" is just gross. And A.J. is a giant, soaring manly eagle, not a deft little bird, but still—I think it works.

As with the mulberries, we are psyched to make some wine out of the blackberries, just as soon as we get batches of crabapple, honeysuckle and Cool Ranch Dorito wines going. You can turn anything into wine, and we are determined to do just that.

In fact, we were making big plans to turn our wine into a business—a little roadside stand sort of thing.

Then we found out selling homemade wine or beer is illegal. Damn The Man. Now, we're just gonna have to drink the stuff or give it away. Le sigh.

So, in a completely unrelated matter, I met A.J.'s Dad and Step-Mom. And some very nice Jewish parents who belonged to somebody or other, Linda and Ron.

A.J.'s Dad and Step-Mom were lovely enough, but it was the random parents whom I enjoyed the most. Ron took A.J. aside and told him I was a keeper. I knew I loved Jewish folks for a reason.

So, alright. No real point here. Move along, people. Nothing to see here ... That's a little truer than I'd like to admit.

Actually, you know what? I'm doing this whole "mind over matter" self-help stuff. I’m learning to retrain my thoughts, so here goes: There's a lot happening. I'm working on mastering songs for my friends' Glynnie and Flo's wedding. The weight-loss bonanza is still on. And I plan to get a haircut soon. Good stuff, indeed.

And most importantly, I found some mother-effing blackberries—a little bit of sweetness in super trafficky, see-into-your-neighbors' houses, never find a parking space USA.

Happy July 5, everybody. It's all about the red, white and blackberries.