Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Hands of a Murderer Were Inside My Mouth

My sister, who lives in Northern Ireland with her husband, called me some time ago in a bit of a panic. She learned that her dentist was just arrested for murder. Some sordid love triangle-double murder-alleged suicide story. I can't quite remember the details, but suffice it to say she was quite worked up about the fact that this man had cleaned her teeth and checked for cavities AND murdered his wife and his lover's husband. Not all on the same day, mind you. But a wife murderer had his hands inside MY MOUTH, she explained.

This thought floated through my mind this evening as Dr. Mei Mei Cheng was carefully and dutifully cleaning my teeth. I am not concerned that I will have to call my sister about my dentist. But it does make me wonder what person in my life has an identity that, if revealed, would drive me into a froth.

I'm good for another 6 months.

My sister Julie and her fashionable shoes.

Oh, on the job front, I'm making connections. I'm feeling very hopeful that I won't miss more than a week without working.

Monday, February 27, 2012

A Change Will Do You Good...

Today, I found out my contract assignment is ending. Not a surprise, but I wish I had more than a two week notification.

This news comes at a time when I'm trying to determine what to do about my apartment. My apartment that has leaked for the entire length of my lease (like day 1 I moved in to water on the floor). The same apartment that suffered some damage during Hurricane Irene in August (if you've lost track of time, it's now February). Do I want to have them come in and do the requisite repairs, or is this the signal to move out of the building? Is it time to move out of Jersey City altogether?

I don't know.

I do know that my normal problems, ranging of such complicated topics as do I have the right eye shadow colors to when do I go for a run, are now eclipsed by my mother's declining health.

Nothing I've described is weird; but the day feels weird, somehow. Then the message from the ex boyfriend arrives in my e-mail box. One sentence: "I was thinking about you this morning and thought I'd write to see how you are." There it sits, mocking me, in my inbox. This ex, by the way, is an ex of 18 years. I haven't seen him or heard from him until sometime last year. On LinkedIn no less.  Not anxious to compose my reply.

Stay tuned though. The wild ride is coming. I can feel it. Where to live? Where to work? Will I find work? What do I do until then?

I escaped another night without running. Who said actually training for a half marathon is a good idea?

Saturday, February 25, 2012


Today my good friend Robert turns 50. I can remember when 50 sounded old. Near retirement, aging.  It's funny how time shifts perspective. Now I see 50 as an achievement. People who are 50 are street smart and clear about what they like and don't like. Most importantly, finished with the game playing that tends to accompany us through our 20's and into our 30's.
He's having a party tonight. Not a birthday party, but a party on his birthday. In preparation, I'm heading to the salon to have highlights put in my hair. I love going to see Peter (stylist). I will walk out looking like a rock star.

I have to finish reading my assignments for this blogging course I'm taking, so am hoping to continue to fine tune the lay out of the pages and care for the important details that will make this venture successful. I don't mean financially successful, I simply mean intrinsically.

If my hair is a winner, I'll post a picture. It is like Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day here in the NYC area.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Pardon our appearance as we remodel...

This whole notion of setting up a blog has been in my mind for a long time. So here I am, and in my typical fashion am not thinking about the actual posts but whether or not I can hire someone to help me with the colors and the fonts. So pardon our appearance as we remodel...

During my therapy sessions following the death of Joey--my boyfriend (hate that term, but loved him) of 8 years, I was strongly encouraged to journal. I rejected the advice. It felt too much like keeping a diary, somewhat narcissistic, and I saw no value at the time. Looking back, I wish I had accepted this wise suggestion. There is much that I could gain today from the reflection of the Laura who suffered an unimaginable loss at the age of 37. 

In the near decade that has escaped through my hands since Joey's passing, I've had so many experiences that extend beyond the grief where I also wish I had jotted a few notes. So this will be my venue to document the day to day, the epiphanies and the mundane. Be warned: I love paradox.

It will be like an interactive diary. And a way to educate friends and perhaps a few followers about feral cats, or the finer points of being a good citizen when standing in line at Shop Rite. For now, I'll start with an introduction: Why Squeedunk?

My mom grew up the youngest in a family of 5. Her brother Bill used to call her Squeedunk when she was a pre-adolescent girl. Mom in turn used this as a nickname for cats. I should mention that my love of cats was handed down to me from my Mom. And probably my Uncle Bill (a veterinarian), and both of them likely inherited this from my grandfather (I never knew him) who was also a veterinarian. Given that I have adopted the term I thought it a nice tribute to the Kernick side of the family.

Cards on the Table Time, as a tag line? Lyrics from "I Confess" by The English Beat. I love the line and it's really how I see life--I prefer it when people are direct and to the point with me; and likewise, I tell folks not to ask my opinion if the unvarnished truth is not what they seek. I know I've bruised a few egos over time, yet for the most part, I think (with my friends I KNOW) people appreciate that I say it as I see it.

When I have mentioned blogging to some people in my life, I've received reactions from "what will you write about" (tone ranging from interest to skepticism~given that I'm not an expert on anything), to feigned smiles as if to say, "I don't really think that's a good idea". Fully expect that there will be some who refute this venture. To that I say, "Don't read, and don't ask." 

And with that, I publish my first post. My first real post.