28 March 2010

Awkward.


Saturday, I was to meet this woman at Metropolis (for the first time).
When I stepped inside, a woman waiting at the counter turned, smiled at me and came toward me, as i said, "Rhonda?" (Not just as a courtesy, but because I couldn't believe this was her. She didn't look like her photo). But she said "yes" and shook my hand.

We chatted-- awkward small talk-- as I was trying to get over the fact that she was NOTHING like I thought she'd be. And she was tall and lanky and her voice was odd. Too low. She even looked a little mannish. I wondered if she was actually a tranny.

We stood at the counter waiting on our coffees, and soon another woman walked up and introduced herself and it seemed she was ALSO there to meet her. Increasingly awkward. It became apparent that this girl had overbooked. I made a joke about it, and made the best of it. (I had a moment where I wanted to say--okay, this is not cool. I think I'll be leaving." 
But then I thought maybe that was too harsh and I needed to reel in my attitude. We sat (the three of us) and chatted, and Rhonda seemed confused by the situation but didn't say much.
Still awkward.
Then, like a breath of fresh air, ANOTHER woman walked up to the table.

Another date?? i thought for just a nanosecond. You really need a personal assistant.
But I recognized this new one.
"Jae?" she said to me.
Rhonda. The genuine article.

Now I realized my date was standing by the table, not either of the women sitting down. She had not overbooked, she had merely misheard me when i called her name, and didn't say anything out loud to clear up the misunderstanding. What were the odds that I would meet a woman at 2pm, at a certain coffee shop on a certain day, and there would be another meeting there between two lesbians at exactly the same time?

We all got a laugh out of it. An awkward laugh.
Soon me and the Real Rhonda were at another table. She wanted the scoop on that situation. I told her what happened. She looked JUST like her picture and I was relieved. She was pretty, personable, and not the least bit mannish or oddly confused.
So from now on, I will never assume that the person I am meeting will be the only person there waiting on another person they are meeting.




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21 March 2010

Two Alarm Fires, No Waiting

Around 1 a.m., I had just gotten home from an evening out, and my friend Em called. 
While we were chatting, a VERY LOUD alarm went off. INSIDE MY APT....

Let me just say, i HATE loud noises. Especially ones that feel like they are shredding my eardrums. 
I tracked the source to a big casing on the wall above a filing cabinet.  I pulled the barstool over, climbed up, and popped the casing off, but saw no battery. Then i realized it was the doorbell. So my attention went to the wall plate six inches to the left. It had a little round hole, and when i covered it with my hand, the piercing alarm dulled. I just kept my hand there for a few seconds, enjoying the respite from the piercing shrilling. There were two screws. Flathead variety. I ran to the closet and pulled out the tool drawer, but could not locate the flathead bit for my multi-bit ratcheting screwdriver was.  The sound. The sound. That shrilling. Still permeating all the airspace.

I did the only thing any self-respecting alarm-induced psychotic would do. Brute force was called for. I fetched my hammer and proceeded to silence the offender. My head was going to explode if  I had to listen to that screaming alarm much longer. I took the claw part of the hammer and tried to pry the plate off. It was not cooperating. With frustration, and a smidgen of encroaching insanity, I just whacked the plate with the hammer. It didn't stop, so I whacked it again. It stuttered. I was making progress. Whack! Whack! Whack!  

The faceplate was cracking nicely now, but that sound. That sound. that shrill, ear-bleeding sound was still torturing me. I just started pounding on it until it finally caved in. UntiI the guts  were beaten out of their metal wall-cave, I saw some square module, attached to wires, but no battery. How do I shut this thing off??? I knew that if i had to make a phone call to some night maintenance number and then wait for them to arrive, I would, by then, be fit for a straight-jacket. My head was already pounding. (My ears have always been sensitive to high-pitched noises. That's why I don't use a standard alarm clock, and have avoidance behaviors about other shrill noises. Like screaming children, bagpipes,  tea kettles, and the way some women talk.).

I was about to attach the hammer claw to it and pull, but pictured myself being electrocuted--fried up into a crispy critter with no one around to take me to the emergency room.  (my polydactyle cat, Monkey, had opposable thumbs, as I've mentioned, but still can't seem to use them to offer any help in emergencies. Or even with household chores). But that sound. that sound.  I didn't care anymore. I hooked the wires and got a grip on the rubber of the hammer handle and pulled. Nothing. My options dwindling, I allowed my amygdala to take over and behave in utter primitive stress response; what I like to call: Kill it until it is dead.

I pried and pulled and pounded until finally, finally...the shrieking alarm was dead.
Silence. Blessed silence. Except for the echo of the sound in my head.

Sighing, I looked down at the plaster pieces, the broken liquor bottle that had been on the filing cabinet below. The gutted alarm. The precious, demolished and silenced alarm, hanging out of the wall.

MY ears were ringing, and then i realized, it was not just in my ears, but
outside. I rushed to the door and opened it to the bracing sound again.

A Larger, louder alarm. The mother-sound of all the baby-sounds, that were apparently connected into all the apartments on the building. I went out to the sidewalk just as the firetrucks pulled up.
Bold as neon, I snagged the firefighter and interrogated him. He didn't think there was a fire. They were wandering around and considering a trip into the building. I informed them that the outside alarm had gone off before, without the aid of a fire.
I had to go in. The alarm was too much. In my Bluetooth ear bud, Em was asking me if i had a fire plan. Not really. I knew the sliding glass door was  a few feet away from me most of the time. (the sliding glass door with the almost-broken latch....yes. I have some calls to make). And I knew what to grab. The cats. My hard drive, and probably not much more than that except for my iPhone and wallet and keys and such. I realized that it would be a good idea to take care of t hat missing plan.
In my current situation, I didn't know whether or not to load the cats in a carrier. Or actually remove my hard drive from the computer. After a few minutes of wandering around looking at all the things that were to burn up in the maybe-fire, and lamenting the lack of renter's insurance, I went back outside for an update. They had found nothing. I studied the roof and facade of the building and saw no flames. Smelled no smoke. Then my neighbors began to gather  on the outside stairs, looking over. I filled them in on what I knew and asked if their alarms were going off in their apartments. Yes. That's why they were out there. They had been run out by the noise. Em said it was too bad they didn't have hammers like I did.

Another trip inside, and back out in a few minutes, to talk to the firefighter again. He said that they had found the issue. Someone had pulled the fire alarm lever in the breezeway and broken off the handle. Normally, they would be able to reset it, but it was broken. One of my neighbors had reported to them that the guy living above her had done it. So someone was now busted for causing all this. Or at least, i hope they were busted. If not as an official police arrest, then in the mouth.

Not sure what I will tell maintenance when I call them to repair the murdered alarm in my wall. Maybe that I panicked. Maybe that I had an anxiety disorder and just had to stop the noise. Hopefully, they will be understanding and just repair the damn thing without charging me.

Now, as I write this, it strikes me that this is the second time in as many weeks that I have talked to an arriving fireman. I didn't blog the other experience. It was minor. But, I had gone to the post office late at night, to try to mail some of my books from their 24-hour package kiosk, and while using the computer screen to weigh and send, realized they didn't have the media mail option on the machine. I didn't want to pay $8 to send a book, when i could spend $2. And I had two different books to send. So I decided to come back out to the post office during business hours and do it at the counter. When i canceled out of the program on the screen,  the fire alarm went off. I first glanced around to see if anyone else was there, and peered down the hall, to see the flashing light next to the red alarm.

So I got out of there, just in case the Federal Government had decided to install some protective device that would slam down with metal bars and block all the doors. I get paranoid like that. sometimes.
Outside, I realized as I pulled out of the lot, that I looked like someone leaving the scene of the crime. I didn't want to wait for some 3 a.m. visit from detectives who wanted to know what i was doing at the post office, just before it BURNED DOWN.  The last thing I needed was a
Domestic Terrorism charge from the Office of Homeland Security. So, I stopped and waited, to see if i could hear firetrucks. After a few seconds,  I did, so I didn't call 911. I turned around and waited, and told the fireman what happened. I didn't know very much, but  I wanted him to know I took the time to inform them, and I wanted to officially be seen cooperating. Nothing came of it. I guess it was a false alarm too.

Now, this apartment alarm fiasco. The question remains. Why have I been involved in two false alarms?


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13 March 2010

Projection



My eyes slid open at midnight, my attention on the projection clock image on the ceiling over my bed.


12:00.

In the darkness, I watched it until it changed to -
12:01.

And then tears rolled down both checks and pooled at my temples.

I closed my eyes again.




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11 March 2010

My Author Bio - by Justice Harlow



Baeli was born to spin a yarn. The daughter of a professional musician, she arrived in Wichita and began her journey with a song in her heart and a plethora of passion erupting from her pen. This love of lyrics, prose and poetry was just the simple seed of what would grow into a wordsmith's obsession with the creation of multifarious characters and storylines that fork with dual plot lines into romance and intrigue.

Oklahoma, Arkansas and Colorado are just a few locales that surface in Baeli's novels as these places are ones she drank in from her time in University, to retreating for self exploration. Each place is rich in bucolic terrain and provided grand palettes for her mysteries and suspenseful romances. Townies and their coveted colloquialisms provided divine fodder for tales too real to be true.

There is nothing like experience to craft a character. Baeli has plenty to spare—from a stint in the military to late nights spent delivering newspapers or waiting tables. Each job was a necessity, but one that Baeli turned into a study in the human condition or sometimes inhumane conditions. Some of Baeli's fondest endeavors were fronting an all female band for seven years in Little Rock and her enjoyable time as a managing editor for a women's press.

In recent years, Baeli has pursued technology with a perverse passion. Website building, blogging and creating and maintaining online forums have shared the docket with her ever-present story crafting. Baeli has relied on her technical writing roots and expanded her repertoire, enabling her to edit for herself and other writers, both accomplished and aspiring.

With over 200 song writing credits and 15 books to her credit, Kelli Jae Baeli shows no signs of wear. She has returned to her beloved Colorado where she may be found amongst the Denverites, people-watching over coffee and conversation...awaiting the next story to inspire and entrance.
~Justice Harlow

The author can be followed on Twitter @JaeBaeli. Reader and Professional reviews, as well as Feedback, Praises, and First-Born Children, are cheerfully accepted via her website, jaebaeli.com.






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