Black Cats

A few weeks ago, I was in London, getting ready to come home.  Travel is amazing, and I do love a good adventure, but I am always ready to come home.  I was leaving my hotel to get to Heathrow airport at 5 am.  The hotel had called a car service for me, as it was too early for the trains to be running.

As I walked out of the lobby I saw the car, an unmarked black vehicle, and had the split second thought of turning it away. Every tourist book/blog/post you read says to avoid the unmarked cars- to only travel in clearly marked taxis. But the thought was fleeting. The hotel had provided the service, so I thought it must be trust worthy.  And only a few days ago a clearly marked taxi had taken us to the wrong place- twice! So I figured an unmarked black vehicle was fine to take me to the airport.

The streets of London are small. They are narrow. And at  5 am it was pitch black outside.  It was cold, and rainy. The routes were unfamiliar, and driving on the left side of the road, even after a week of experiencing it, was still a bit disorienting. 

I was sitting in the back of the car, a large SUV, thinking of home, when all of a sudden the driver pulled to the side of the road. He then proceeded to turn off the car, pull his keys out of the ignition, and sit, completely still.

“Um….Sir?” I asked hesitantly. “Why are we stopped?”

“I tell you in a minute!” he chuckled, in his thick Indian accent.

This is when the panic started to bubble up inside of me.

I’m in the unmarked car.  I’m a blonde, clueless, American girl, who has never really been anywhere and is not super Euro savvy. I have no idea where we are in the city.

Images of people coming out of the shadows to abduct me filled my mind.

I’d watched the news specials on human trafficking.  I’d seen Taken.  

Who was going to be my Liam Neeson?  Is there even anyone who would come looking for me?

I was imagining leaving my stuff, jumping out of the car, and running.  

But where would I go? They would find me.

And the driver just sat. Still. Quiet.

This went on for what seemed like eons, while I became more and more unnerved, and my imagination ran wild with every worst-case scenario.

And then, just like that, he put the keys in the ignition, started the car, and began to drive.

I was still nervous.  “Um…Why did we stop?” I’m sure he could hear the fear in my voice.

“Well.” He stated. “Not everyone is a believer like me... But I will tell you... A black cat crossed my path.”

“A what?”

“A black cat.” 

I listened, dumbfounded, as he gave his explanation. “I know that when a black cat crosses my path, it is a sign from God to stop. And to listen. It is a sign that something bad will happen, if I don’t give God a moment of my time.”  He then proceeded to tell me about the time a black cat crossed his path, and he didn’t stop or listen. He was in a horrible car crash, was in the hospital, totaled his car, had a difficult rehabilitation. All because of the black cat warning that he didn’t heed.

“Now, any time I see a black cat cross my path,” he explained, “I stop. I listen. If I am driving, I stop the car for a full minute, to show God that I am here, I am aware, and that I believe.”

I wanted to laugh, half from complete relief that I wasn’t being sold into a human trafficking ring, and half at the absurdity. “Well,” I told him, “You would HATE my house. I actually have a black cat as a pet!”

“Oh!! My goodness!!!” It was his turn to laugh, a nervous laughter. “That is not very good news for your friends!” he said.

To say I have been unlucky in love would be an understatement. I’m loyal to a fault, and have what my cousin calls “marathon crushes” that never pan out.  All you have to do is read one of my posts here to know of this unlucky streak that has lasted for the last 20 some odd years…And these are only the stories that I share...

And it just so happens, I’ve owned black cats for the last 20 years.

I’ve had a black cat since I was 13. When I was 13 I had Kitty, who I brought home from the mall one day, and my mom didn’t have the heart to take back. Kitty was amazing. He was huge, and fluffy, and tough. He loved to cuddle, and would drool when he was happy and mellow. And now I have Manny, my trusted companion of the last 11 years. He has been my one constant in the last decade.  Manny is little and scrappy and moody, and hates every other living thing- Except me. Manny LOVES me.

Could it be that Kitty and Mandrake are the cause of my predicament?   I decided to look into the matter.

Superstitions around black cats have been around for centuries. In the Middle Ages there was the belief that black cats were demons, and worked with the Devil. The Puritans believed the black cat was a companion of witches, and that the witches were actually turning themselves into the black cats to spread mischief, so anyone with a black cat would be severely punished.  Scottish folklore has a giant black cat that was believed to steal a dying persons soul before it was claimed by God.  “The Black Cat” is the title of an Edgar Allen Poe short story, that details a mans descent to madness and murder- all brought on by the love, and then hate, of his black feline friend.

Other superstitions with the black cat bringing bad luck include meeting a black cat early in the morning (I meet one every morning…), and having a black cat turn it’s back on you (this happens to me at least 15 times a day!!).

But then the history and stories get murky. Pirates in the 19^th century believed that if a black cat walks TOWARDS you, bad luck will come, but if the cat walks AWAY from you, good luck is on its way.  (If this was the case, my luck changes every 10 minutes).

There is also other folklore about good luck associated with black cats. There are some cultures who believe it is good luck to possess a black cat (check!), to have a black cat greet you at your door (double check!!), and to have a black cat enter your home (triple threat!).

And, perhaps my favorite, a single woman in Japan is said to want to own a black cat, because they believe it will bring many worthy suitors. (Maybe I should move to Japan?...)

So perhaps Manny isn’t a demon (although, those who have met him may beg to differ).

Maybe he isn’t bad luck, but an omen, like my driver believed. 

Maybe I don’t pause enough. 

Maybe I’m not still. 

Maybe I’m not listening.

Maybe I need to show God that I am here. 

That I am aware.

That I believe.

Looking for Love in Alderaan Places

The thing about me is I LOVE hype.

If you ever want to invite me to a concert, a midnight movie premiere, a book signing- I’ll be there. Even if it isn’t something I’m uber in to, I will want to be there around the energy and fun. I love seeing people passionate, seeing people excited, seeing people become overcome by their love of something- anything!

So when a friend asked if I wanted to go to Salt Lake City’s first Comic Con, it wasn’t a hard sell.

I don’t read comics. I don’t know about video games beyond Super Mario Bros. I haven’t read every sci-fi book. But I love knowing about it all. I read my issues of Entertainment Weekly cover to cover, even if it isn’t about something I personally watch or read. I love a good story, whatever the origin. I love heroes’ journeys. I love the age-old idea of love and friendship and goodness vanquishing all evil. And a good story is the common thread in all things “Nerd”.

And so it was, I found myself attending three days worth of the geekiest of geeky Comic Con activities, including meeting Atreyu from Never Ending Story (Atreyuuuuu!!!!!!), fist bumping the OG Batman, Mr. Adam West (he wouldn’t shake-only bump), and spending an hour listening to none other than the King of Geeks, Mr. William Shatner, wax philosophical and share stories about pranking Leonard Nemoy.

Walking through the crowds there were so many people there. All ages, all colors, all types, all genders. It was amazing how diverse the crowd was, but all there united in their love for all things Nerd. Only at Comic Con can you see grown people together in full costumes, just because. I saw Iron Man, Thor, Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Han Solo, Princess Leia, Storm Troopers, Darth Maul, Darth Vader, Orcs, Hobbits, Mary Poppins, Ursula, Dr. Who and Weeping Angels, Hermione, Harry, Sharknado, Freddy Krueger, Wesley as the Dread Pirate Roberts, Mario and Luigi, and a whole slew of other people and characters. I saw Gandalf the White walking with Gandalf the Grey. I saw warrior Padme and Slave Leia together, I saw the 10^th and 11^th Doctor hanging out, and a full scale TARDIS.

I saw a lot.

I talked to a guy in Lederhosen, and asked what the character reference was. He said there was none- that he just has lederhosen, and this seemed like a good occasion to wear them.

It was all quite epic.

But nothing was quite as epic as Sci-Fi Speed Dating.

When looking at the panel and activity options I saw this and KNEW it was a must. I’ve always wanted to try Speed Dating.

But their tagline was what did it for me.

“Are you looking for love in Alderaan Places?”

I mean, who can resist that?  Go big or go home, I always say.

We had to sign up several hours before the event started. Women were free, but the fellows had to pay $10 for the privilege of spending 3 minutes across from us.

And as we gave them our names, we were able to see a few of our lucky suitors waiting in line to pay…

Once we arrived, it was apparent that there were several things wrong with the organization of this particular activity, (we seriously want to start our own such company in Sale Lake City so we can do it right), but nothing was quite so terrible as the “Host.”

Only the ladies were allowed in the room first. We each took our seat, and he proceeded to tell us how we should be respected, and that if at any time we feed degraded or upset or uncomfortable to let them know and they would speedily remove the offender. But then, as he continued his instructions, he proceeded to become the most foul mouthed, offensive, sexist, disgusting SOB I’ve perhaps ever encountered. Every joke (he called them jokes) was so crass and terrible, that I wondered how we could get him to eject himself from the room.  His goal seemed to be to find out how many times he could fit the F-word, in verb, noun, and adjectival form, into one sentence.

And then the men filed in.

I say men, however, out of about 60 guys in there, there were maybe only 5 that were over 25.  And 95% of them were in costume.

The “Host” continued to give instructions, intermixed with horrific and inappropriate stories. He claimed that when he sees people looking uncomfortable he stops everyone, to “lighten” the mood. He also mentioned that he is trying to make it as a stand up comic, which means really we were just his captive audience. And while some people did laugh, it wasn’t a “you're funny” laugh. It was a “you're making us all so uncomfortable we don’t know how to react, and we are young, so we are going to laugh” laugh. He continued to interrupt throughout the evening, and the tone he set was awful. At one point as he was blabbering on, he looked at me and my friend and paused, and said, “Wow. Can you smile? You look like your going to kill me.” Which was true. The best is, we aren’t sure which one of us he was addressing.

As the “dates” got underway, every stereotype of who you would expect to be at a Comic Convention was represented: Hard core Gamers, working as computer programmers or unemployed, living in their parents basements.  One of my favorite comments was a guy who told me that he didn’t fit the “nerd” stereotype because he loved sports. When I asked him what sport was his favorite he answered, in all seriousness, Ultimate Frisbee.

Several of them couldn’t even look at me while we were talking, they were so awkward and nervous.

One of them had several nervous ticks.

And there were also several Bronies, identifiable by small pins, or buttons. (google it).

We hadn’t even gotten halfway through the group, when the Host told us we were done, and said that the women had to go to one side of the room, and the men to the other, to write down who they were interested in getting to know more. As me and my friend headed towards the women’s table, we kept walking, and slipped out the side door.

And now my critics are thinking, Oh there goes Linda Marie again, not giving it all a chance. Forgive me for not wanting to get to know 20 year old’s.  One of them asked where I went to school, and I answered BYU.

“So you’re a cougar?” he said.

“Yep.” I said, to a kid most likely no more than 20. “I’m a cougar….”

I believe the humor was lost on him.

So I didn’t meet the love of my life.

A friend jokingly posted on Facebook that if I can’t find a husband at Comic Con, I’m pretty much doomed to be single forever…

So I just haven’t found my niche group yet.

Just wait until the Harry Potter/ JK Rowling fan club comes to town…

RIsk Management

In my new job there is something my company teaches people called Risk Management. It is all about assessing risk in approaching any manufacturing scenario.

The main idea behind Risk Management in manufacturing is to think of EVERY. SINGLE. LITTLE. THING. that could possibly go wrong.

On purpose.

(If you suffer from anxiety, do not become a manufacturing engineer.) 

The example in training is selling milkshakes. In this scenario you can you can run out of ingredients, you can have the wrong ingredients, your cup can break, you can run out of straws, you can spill on the counter, on yourself, on a customer, you can mix up the ingredients- the list goes on and on.

I would bet that many of you right now are now thinking of other things that can go wrong in selling mikshakes.

Because there are an infinite amount of issues that could arise.

In learning about said risk assessment, I realize that this is what single people do innately.

Before we are even with someone on a date/in a relationship/simply communicating with them we think of EVERY. SINGLE. LITTLE. THING. that could go wrong.

Because we’ve either heard the stories  (on FaceBook the other day I saw a thread of conversation where one girl said they they had a blind date detail how he would dispose of her body if he killed her, and another said she had a guy play chicken with oncoming traffic), or we’ve experiences them ourselves (please see every prior blog post: date goes home puking; check. Date makes offensive comment about sperm potency; check. Date takes you out in the woods in the middle of the night and ignores you; check. Date takes you to Chilis; check.).

In manufacturing, after assessing the risk they look at the probability of something happening.  This horrible thing may never happen, but it MIGHT, and so we are going to worry about it and talk about it.

So the guy you haven’t even been out with MAY be a serial killer. It is not probable, but it COULD happen!

The guy you haven’t even spoken to could be lazy, he could be boring, he could have absolutely nothing in common with you, he could be mean, he could be unfaithful, he could just not be that into you- there are as many potential risks as in selling milkshakes. 

An infinite amount.

In a webinar I just helped host, the trainer said that “the likelihood of a potential risk does not change the hazard or potential harm.”

Which is why those of us that are doing a Risk Management assessment of our own dating scenarios can be so reluctant to start up the production line.

It isn’t likely. But the risk is huge.

The most hazardous risk when manufacturing something is to cause bodily harm, injury, or even death, to a potential customer.

The most hazardous risk when assessing your love life is pretty much the same.

Hurt.

The manufacturers will then come up with plans to make sure this potential hazard doesn’t happen. In life the most common response to potential hazard is inaction. If you don’t put yourself in the line of fire, you wont get hit.

I've yet to figure out what to do to protect myself from the potential hazards. Regardless, for several years I’ve been putting myself on the production line, and telling the Universe, “Hazards be Damned!”  

(perhaps it’s time to open up a CAPA on my dating life… and only like 2 people who will read this are laughing and get the joke.)

I don’t what my point in this whole assessment it, except to say that I like my new job, now that I kind of get what we do...

And to say that I accept the potential risk. 

Sliding Doors: I am no Gweneth or Are You Better of Now Than A Year Ago?

A few weeks ago I had a Gewenth Paltrow moment. 

As much as I wish it was a Gweneth Iron Man 3 moment, where I show you my rockin’ hard abs, we know that my hips don’t lie, and they sure as hell don’t look like hers, nor does any other part of me.

My Gweneth Moment was a Sliding Doors moment.

You may recall the 1998 indie favorite, whose synopsis on the IMDB reads:

“A London woman's love life and career both hinge, unknown to her, on whether or not she catches a train.”

My train was a public transportation light rail system in the heart of Salt Lake City.

I was meeting friends downtown, for an unsuccessful attempt at trying the new(ish) hotdog joint. (seriously? What kind of restaurant closes at 4 pm every weeknight?)  

I was exploring spots in the city that host free we-fi. When you’re already a recluse, working from home can be problematic. Like when you realize you’ve worn the same sweats for four days in a row, and can’t remember the last time you washed your hair. So I was going OUT. I actually showered, put on a cute outfit (which was very important to me later in the evening), and I went to the Barnes and Noble at the Gateway mall. 

I planned on catching the TRAX train to meet my friends.  And as I was meandering over to the station, I saw the train arrive. I was still a good half a block away, and on the wrong side of the street.

And so I ran.

Nay, I sprinted my little guts out.

I almost puked.

I ran harder than hard.

Records were beat on this sprint.

I got to the train and reached my hand out and was mere inches away from the door…  as it closed in my face.

I was defeated.

I was sweaty.

I stood there panting for a minute, and looked up at the sign informing me that the next train wouldn’t arrive for 15 minutes.

I am embarrassed to admit, for those of you who don’t live in Salt Lake City, that the distance I was going to travel on the train was only about 4 blocks.

The 80’s classic hit says that nobody walks in LA. You can also safely say nobody really walks in Salt Lake either.

And so I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to walk, not ride, the few blocks I had to travel.

But it was a gorgeous day, one of the first warm and blue skied days we had enjoyed. And I love this beautiful little city.

So I walked. 

After a few empty blocks, imagine my surprise when I got to a street corner, and saw someone walking towards me, crossing the street.

It was HIM.

He was walking with a petite and pretty brunette (puke), and as they got closer, I stopped walking, pointed at him with a smile and said, “Hey! You!! How crazy!”

She brushed right by me, without a second glance.

And he said hello, exchanged short and awkward pleasantries with me, but

DIDN’T. 

EVEN. 

STOP.  

I found myself pivoting while he walked past, and then bid me farewell, and ran to catch up to his itty bitty friend (double puke).

And I turned around slowly, completely baffled, and crossed the street.

And then I got MAD.

As I was walking and fuming, (and glad I had on such a cute outfit...) I remembered the Gweneth Paltrow movie. 

She was put on a new trajectory by missing her train.

When pressed to say what quality I’m looking for in a possible relationship my answer used to be, “Unabashed adoration.”

I sure as hell wasn’t getting that from this fellow. But it took him ignoring me on a random street corner to get it in my thick skull.

The first time I saw him, years ago, I rode TRAX to meet him. So it seemed fitting that the same train closing its doors would end that chapter.

When I was at the Gap for oh so many years, I would joke about my persona I put on while there. I called her Gap Linda, and she did so many things that Real Life Linda did not do. She would boss people around. She would have direct and difficult conversations. She would have the nerve to say and do things that Real Life Linda would never, EVER, in a million years say or do.  It was a part I played, and my high school drama teachers would have been so proud of me, because I played it so well.

As I’ve been away from that job, and Real Life Linda has taken over, I find myself missing Gap Linda. There are so many direct questions I would have liked to have asked this fellow, about how he views himself in relation to his friends, his family, his God. But I never had the nerve. The difference with Gap Linda and Real Life Linda is that Gap Linda learned how to not take it personally, and not be vulnerable. Real Life Linda had nothing to be BUT vulnerable. And so she chickened out on many occasion.  Pretty much on every occasion.

But the thing is, and here's the kicker: Gap Linda IS Real Life Linda who are both just little old Linda Marie.

The season finale of Parks and Recreation (I heart Ben Wyatt and want to be Leslie Knope) posed this question to the town of Pawnee:

Are you better of now than you were a year ago?

As I ponder that question I think of all the changes I’ve encountered since last Spring. HUGE changes. Anxiety inducing, life altering changes.

And I’m better off.

Even with missing the train. (Especially with missing the train?) And Gap Linda and Real Life Linda will find a way to merge to create this unstoppable Linda Marie who will find all her dreams, Unabashed Adoration included.

How that's going to happen? I haven't a clue. 

Gap Linda was good at working out plans and details. I'll ask her...