Well, I'll tell you.
Never shop when you're hungry. That's where the money goes.
I went grocery shopping a few days ago and did really well, thank you. I stayed in my budget. I shop at Whole Foods and I managed to get everything on my list and it all fit into my 4 bags that I take with me (because hey...I can be just as environmentally minded as the next person).
Then, this morning, I remembered that I forgot to pick up fabric softener and milk. Liv and I went back just to get those two items.
This is my receipt:
Home Run Inn 6" sausage pizza $2.99
(Hey...Bing and I like something to snack on while we watch Lost.)
Organic boneless butterfly pork chops $7.55
(They looked SO juicy.)
Connie's sausage pizza $7.69
(Always good to have a pizza in the freezer for those nights when I don't feel like cooking.)
Honey roasted peanuts $2.99
(Blame that one on Liv. She loves peanuts.)
Milk chocolate malted milk balls $3.99
(We usually go to a movie on Sundays and it is um...cheaper(?) to just buy treats at the store. Uh huh.)
Balsamic honey turkey breast $5.59
(For Liv's lunches next week)
Newman's original cookies $3.39
(I walked by them and they called to me.)
Newman's ginger o's $3.39
(Ditto.)
Meyer's lemon fabric softener $6.99
(See? I needed that.)
Julie's organic blackberry ice cream $2.50
(Oh, man...it melts on your tongue, I swear!)
Kettle chips $2.97
(To go with the turkey sandwiches?)
Whole Foods whole milk $6.39
(I needed this)
Whole Foods goat milk $6.39
(Liv and I love this, but I was good and skipped buying the goat butter. Props to me!)
Whole Treat dark chocolate sauce $4.99
(Ok...I am trying to think of a good reason and can't.)
Woodstock black currant jam $1.49
(We have strawberry jam at home and this just looked so good.)
RSVP butcher's string $3.49
(We need this for Liv's african bead project, figured that this would work better than floss.)
Organic cherries $1.99
(Liv thought this would be a good afternoon treat and I agreed.)
Julie's organic mint fudge ice cream $2.50
(see Julie's blackberry ice cream.)
Wilshire all natural sausage patties $3.39
(Liv reminded me that eggs and sausage would be nice for a Sunday breakfast.)
My grand total (plus tax): $82.61
And that is where the money goes. I'm gonna have to eat crow with Bing because she bet me that I couldn't stay in budget on groceries this week and I thought I had, but then....well, damn it.
The next time I run to Whole Foods for two small items, I will have to gorge myself first. It's the only way to come out of there with two small items.
And...I also want to give a huge shout out to my neighbor, Sven. He just received news that not only did he get into the University of his choice (Stanford)...but that he will be getting a full ride athletic scholarship to play football there.
I'm proud of you, dude. And keep in mind that you obtained those muscles by swinging Liv around by her arms in the yard. She will never forget you. You are her big soul brother. I'll miss hearing you come home from your dates on the weekend because you insist on shattering the collective eardrums of the neighborhood with your loud music. Not. Seriously, though, you are the best of the best, my beastie boy.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Coughers on planes and African masks
I read an article this morning about a teenage girl who was asked to leave a plane because she was having a coughing fit.
Well, I have mixed emotions. As someone who has HAD a coughing fit on a plane, I sympathize. You can't help it if you have a cold. I know that. The problem is that nobody wants to sit by you. I once sat next to a woman who kept leaping up to go vomit in the bathroom. I offered to trade seats with her as I was on the aisle and every time she lunged over me, I was sure she wasn't going to make it that time. She would come back to her seat and say things like, "Wow. My temp was 101 this morning and my nephew was diagnosed with the flu last week, so I bet I caught that."
And all I could think was: Please do not breathe on me. No spittle droplets. In fact, please just don't breathe until you are fifty feet away from me.
So, with this in mind, let me make a suggestion.
How about if all the sick people sit together in the back of the plane? I mean, okay, you are already sick. So sit with the other people in the same boat.
And let's throw the arm rest hoggers in with them. You know who you are. You are the people who insist on using both arm rests and slopping over on other people's seats. If you are an arm rest hog, you are probably a leg sprawler too. This means that you let your legs slide over to the other person's territory.
I once sat next to man who took his shoes off on the plane. The odor was so terrible that the flight attendant asked him to put them back on. To his credit, he did this with no problem. But, hey...c'mon...what kind of person thinks it is okay to remove their shoes and socks on a plane to begin with?
And, inane chatters. I can handle a little friendly chat. But, I don't want to see pictures of your new grandson, okay? And no, I don't want to know that you are leaving your boyfriend because he slept with your cousin Judy. I know you need to talk. Save it for your girlfriends, okay? Because you don't know me. I am a stranger. And I just want to read my damn book. I don't want to be your therapist unless you are paying me some big bucks. You chatters can sit with the sickees and appendage sprawlers.
I draw the line at children. People with children are fine with me. Probably because I know what it is like to travel with a child and I feel your pain, honey. Liv used to scream on flights when she was a baby because the air pressure hurt her ears. I tried everything and I mean everything from meds to old wives tales to help her. When she hit the age of 5, the pain stopped. But, before that, we took a few trips and I can't tell you how many people looked at me in disgust.
So, now...I have big large giant patience with travelers with children. Unless they are total brats. They are easy to recognize. They are the ones who are holding their parents on leashes.
No kids have to sit in the back. Well, unless they are...SATAN.
Men and women who dunk themselves in fragrance have to sit with the sickee/sprawlers/chatters. It should be a rule. If I can smell you before I see you, you have to sit in the back of the plane.
People with really bad breath are okay unless they fall into the chatter category. If you keep your mouth shut, we will be fine.
Any more beefs? Any other suggestions? I'm not saying that you can't fly on the plane. You just have to sit in the back. Now, I know that some ultra sensitive person is going to say that this is like prejudice and telling people that they have to sit in the back of a bus. I could care less if you are black, white, brown or elf green, gay, straight, rich, poor, democrat, republican, catholic, jewish, muslim, pretty, ugly or whatever. As long as you aren't sick, a sprawler, an excessive chatter or reek, you are fine. Sit wherever you want.
In fact, if you are quiet and just want to read your book, please sit by me!
And now I have to go make out my shopping list for tomorrow. Liv is on Spring Break next week. She is studying Africa in school and for some crazy reason I let her talk me into making African masks, beads and special foods from Africa next week. The beads are simple. You just make your own clay (and even uncrafty people like me can mix salt, cream of tartar, flour and water together) and make a series of small marble sized balls. Then you poke a needle through each ball and bake them for a half hour. When they come out, you paint them. When they dry, you put a string through them and voila...a necklace.
The mask looks harder. It involves glue and newspaper, always a really bad sign for me. Maybe this is a job for Jill or Melanie. Maybe you two can figure out how to make an African mask and just send it to me?
The food will be okay. Liv wants to try banana fritters. I really think I might be able to do that. I am not crazy about the boiling in oil part, but hey, I'm a willow. I can bend and all that shit.
Have a good weekend, everyone.
And if you are flying and have a cold. Pop a dozen cough drops before you get on that plane, yes?
Well, I have mixed emotions. As someone who has HAD a coughing fit on a plane, I sympathize. You can't help it if you have a cold. I know that. The problem is that nobody wants to sit by you. I once sat next to a woman who kept leaping up to go vomit in the bathroom. I offered to trade seats with her as I was on the aisle and every time she lunged over me, I was sure she wasn't going to make it that time. She would come back to her seat and say things like, "Wow. My temp was 101 this morning and my nephew was diagnosed with the flu last week, so I bet I caught that."
And all I could think was: Please do not breathe on me. No spittle droplets. In fact, please just don't breathe until you are fifty feet away from me.
So, with this in mind, let me make a suggestion.
How about if all the sick people sit together in the back of the plane? I mean, okay, you are already sick. So sit with the other people in the same boat.
And let's throw the arm rest hoggers in with them. You know who you are. You are the people who insist on using both arm rests and slopping over on other people's seats. If you are an arm rest hog, you are probably a leg sprawler too. This means that you let your legs slide over to the other person's territory.
I once sat next to man who took his shoes off on the plane. The odor was so terrible that the flight attendant asked him to put them back on. To his credit, he did this with no problem. But, hey...c'mon...what kind of person thinks it is okay to remove their shoes and socks on a plane to begin with?
And, inane chatters. I can handle a little friendly chat. But, I don't want to see pictures of your new grandson, okay? And no, I don't want to know that you are leaving your boyfriend because he slept with your cousin Judy. I know you need to talk. Save it for your girlfriends, okay? Because you don't know me. I am a stranger. And I just want to read my damn book. I don't want to be your therapist unless you are paying me some big bucks. You chatters can sit with the sickees and appendage sprawlers.
I draw the line at children. People with children are fine with me. Probably because I know what it is like to travel with a child and I feel your pain, honey. Liv used to scream on flights when she was a baby because the air pressure hurt her ears. I tried everything and I mean everything from meds to old wives tales to help her. When she hit the age of 5, the pain stopped. But, before that, we took a few trips and I can't tell you how many people looked at me in disgust.
So, now...I have big large giant patience with travelers with children. Unless they are total brats. They are easy to recognize. They are the ones who are holding their parents on leashes.
No kids have to sit in the back. Well, unless they are...SATAN.
Men and women who dunk themselves in fragrance have to sit with the sickee/sprawlers/chatters. It should be a rule. If I can smell you before I see you, you have to sit in the back of the plane.
People with really bad breath are okay unless they fall into the chatter category. If you keep your mouth shut, we will be fine.
Any more beefs? Any other suggestions? I'm not saying that you can't fly on the plane. You just have to sit in the back. Now, I know that some ultra sensitive person is going to say that this is like prejudice and telling people that they have to sit in the back of a bus. I could care less if you are black, white, brown or elf green, gay, straight, rich, poor, democrat, republican, catholic, jewish, muslim, pretty, ugly or whatever. As long as you aren't sick, a sprawler, an excessive chatter or reek, you are fine. Sit wherever you want.
In fact, if you are quiet and just want to read your book, please sit by me!
And now I have to go make out my shopping list for tomorrow. Liv is on Spring Break next week. She is studying Africa in school and for some crazy reason I let her talk me into making African masks, beads and special foods from Africa next week. The beads are simple. You just make your own clay (and even uncrafty people like me can mix salt, cream of tartar, flour and water together) and make a series of small marble sized balls. Then you poke a needle through each ball and bake them for a half hour. When they come out, you paint them. When they dry, you put a string through them and voila...a necklace.
The mask looks harder. It involves glue and newspaper, always a really bad sign for me. Maybe this is a job for Jill or Melanie. Maybe you two can figure out how to make an African mask and just send it to me?
The food will be okay. Liv wants to try banana fritters. I really think I might be able to do that. I am not crazy about the boiling in oil part, but hey, I'm a willow. I can bend and all that shit.
Have a good weekend, everyone.
And if you are flying and have a cold. Pop a dozen cough drops before you get on that plane, yes?
Thursday, March 29, 2007
human pheromone
I ran into my good friend, Harriet, outside of school yesterday morning. It's easy to find each other, because we are the ones in sunglasses even on a rainy day and trench coats that cover our pjs.
Actually, she had regular clothes on because she was coming out from yet another visit with the head mistress regarding her son's tenacity about swearing in school. ("He called another little boy a smelly ass face, Maria! God, I swear I am going to be meeting with his parole officer in ten years.")
I was coming out of Liv's classroom, carrying her tiny violin and music stand. It was her turn to share at the sharing circle and I had been her roadie.
Harriet: I didn't know you could play a baby violin, Maria! Play "Go Tell Aunt Roadie", please, please?"
I laughed. It takes a lot to make me laugh in the morning and Liv is the only one who can usually pull it off.
I explained about circle time. She explained about smelly ass face. We decided to go geta beer a cup of coffee.
Once in the diner, Harriet pulls out this little bottle and SPRAYS us both liberally.
Me: What is this? I hate perfume, unless it is Lily of the Valley. You know that.
Harriet: It's human pheromone.
What the fuck?
She says that she bought it from some catalog that she received in the mail. It is supposed to make men go wild over you. Female human pheromone. It doesn't have any odor.
"I just want to see if it works and we get to be guinea pigs," she explained.
I patiently explained that the last thing I want is men drooling all over me.
She nods. Says she gets that. But, since Bing is obviously attracted to females, this may work on her.
"And what about me?" I asked. "Will I suddenly start really, really liking myself for once? Am I going to go home and masturbate all day? Will I stand in front of mirrors making kissy faces at myself? And hey...are you in danger here? Will I jump you on your way to your car?
We laugh. Agree that it won't work anyway.
Boy howdy. It DOES work.
I saw the school janitor, Felix, when I went in to the school at lunchtime. He is a middle aged black man with whom I talk football. I swear to god, he FLIRTED with me. Felix is not a flirt. He talks sports, loves every kind. He and I are both die hard Cornhusker fans, so in the Autumn, we have lots to talk about. Any other time of the year, not so much. I walked in wearing jeans and a pink tee shirt. No makeup except my Bobbi Brown chili lipstick. He gave me the once over.
"Miss Maria, you are looking fine today!" he grins. "Is that a new shirt? Some new hair on you?"
New hair? It is short and salt and pepper. Not much I can make new with that!
My tee shirt was an old pale pink one that says I heart Mr. Darcy on it. It is ancient and I have worn it many times in front of Felix. I have also worn business suits and pretty dresses in front of this man. He has NEVER commented on my clothes. Ever.
All the male clients that I saw yesterday, practically knocked themselves out pulling out chairs for me. One kept exclaiming about how he heard I was really good at my job, and after meeting me (ONCE!), he was now very sure of my capability. He smiled so much that I felt uncomfortable.
I had two male sackers practically get into a fist fight over which one should carry my groceries out of the market.
My next door neighbor, an 80 year old man, stopped to visit with me as we were both checking our mail boxes. Ten minutes after we waved goodbye, he came over with a bouquet of jonquils for me.
"They were just sitting on my table doing nothing," he said. "I know how you love the flowers in your garden, so I thought you would like them."
Last night, I practically had to beat Bing away with a stick. I had too much work to do to go to bed "early." She acted like she hadn't seen me in a year and kept shooting me lustful looks all evening. When I finally fell into bed, she held my hand when I said I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.
"I'm happy just to hold your hand, honey. Go to sleep," she said, in an almost unbearably loving tone.
I called Harriet today to see what it had been like for her.
"Nada," she said. "My husband worked on his miniature train set in the basement all night. I even went down and kissed him in my slinky nightie. Nothing. I got my hair cut last week and he still hasn't noticed."
I told her about my day/night.
"No way," she exclaimed. "Are you gonna buy some?"
"Spock, are you out of your Vulcan mind?" I asked her. "Good hell, no. I like being mousey me."
We talked for awhile and then she had to go. She was going to pour the whole damn bottle into her bath water.
"Maybe, it just takes a lot for some people," she commented.
If I don't see her for a couple of days, I am just going to figure that she got swept off her feet and taken to Tahiti for a surprise treat. Her husband can't last a whole bottle of female human pheromone, can he?
And well...I dunno. Maybe I should pick some of this stuff up. It wouldn't hurt to expand my client base. And if I play my cards right, I could have Bing buying me a new car or something.
This could be very useful.
Actually, she had regular clothes on because she was coming out from yet another visit with the head mistress regarding her son's tenacity about swearing in school. ("He called another little boy a smelly ass face, Maria! God, I swear I am going to be meeting with his parole officer in ten years.")
I was coming out of Liv's classroom, carrying her tiny violin and music stand. It was her turn to share at the sharing circle and I had been her roadie.
Harriet: I didn't know you could play a baby violin, Maria! Play "Go Tell Aunt Roadie", please, please?"
I laughed. It takes a lot to make me laugh in the morning and Liv is the only one who can usually pull it off.
I explained about circle time. She explained about smelly ass face. We decided to go get
Once in the diner, Harriet pulls out this little bottle and SPRAYS us both liberally.
Me: What is this? I hate perfume, unless it is Lily of the Valley. You know that.
Harriet: It's human pheromone.
What the fuck?
She says that she bought it from some catalog that she received in the mail. It is supposed to make men go wild over you. Female human pheromone. It doesn't have any odor.
"I just want to see if it works and we get to be guinea pigs," she explained.
I patiently explained that the last thing I want is men drooling all over me.
She nods. Says she gets that. But, since Bing is obviously attracted to females, this may work on her.
"And what about me?" I asked. "Will I suddenly start really, really liking myself for once? Am I going to go home and masturbate all day? Will I stand in front of mirrors making kissy faces at myself? And hey...are you in danger here? Will I jump you on your way to your car?
We laugh. Agree that it won't work anyway.
Boy howdy. It DOES work.
I saw the school janitor, Felix, when I went in to the school at lunchtime. He is a middle aged black man with whom I talk football. I swear to god, he FLIRTED with me. Felix is not a flirt. He talks sports, loves every kind. He and I are both die hard Cornhusker fans, so in the Autumn, we have lots to talk about. Any other time of the year, not so much. I walked in wearing jeans and a pink tee shirt. No makeup except my Bobbi Brown chili lipstick. He gave me the once over.
"Miss Maria, you are looking fine today!" he grins. "Is that a new shirt? Some new hair on you?"
New hair? It is short and salt and pepper. Not much I can make new with that!
My tee shirt was an old pale pink one that says I heart Mr. Darcy on it. It is ancient and I have worn it many times in front of Felix. I have also worn business suits and pretty dresses in front of this man. He has NEVER commented on my clothes. Ever.
All the male clients that I saw yesterday, practically knocked themselves out pulling out chairs for me. One kept exclaiming about how he heard I was really good at my job, and after meeting me (ONCE!), he was now very sure of my capability. He smiled so much that I felt uncomfortable.
I had two male sackers practically get into a fist fight over which one should carry my groceries out of the market.
My next door neighbor, an 80 year old man, stopped to visit with me as we were both checking our mail boxes. Ten minutes after we waved goodbye, he came over with a bouquet of jonquils for me.
"They were just sitting on my table doing nothing," he said. "I know how you love the flowers in your garden, so I thought you would like them."
Last night, I practically had to beat Bing away with a stick. I had too much work to do to go to bed "early." She acted like she hadn't seen me in a year and kept shooting me lustful looks all evening. When I finally fell into bed, she held my hand when I said I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.
"I'm happy just to hold your hand, honey. Go to sleep," she said, in an almost unbearably loving tone.
I called Harriet today to see what it had been like for her.
"Nada," she said. "My husband worked on his miniature train set in the basement all night. I even went down and kissed him in my slinky nightie. Nothing. I got my hair cut last week and he still hasn't noticed."
I told her about my day/night.
"No way," she exclaimed. "Are you gonna buy some?"
"Spock, are you out of your Vulcan mind?" I asked her. "Good hell, no. I like being mousey me."
We talked for awhile and then she had to go. She was going to pour the whole damn bottle into her bath water.
"Maybe, it just takes a lot for some people," she commented.
If I don't see her for a couple of days, I am just going to figure that she got swept off her feet and taken to Tahiti for a surprise treat. Her husband can't last a whole bottle of female human pheromone, can he?
And well...I dunno. Maybe I should pick some of this stuff up. It wouldn't hurt to expand my client base. And if I play my cards right, I could have Bing buying me a new car or something.
This could be very useful.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The very strange breakfast
I am not a morning person. You have been warned.
This is usually how our day begins:
Our alarm clock goes off at 5:45. Bing gets up and showers. I get up and make breakfast for Liv, who is a notoriously early riser (the SECOND she hears the shower go on, she bounces out of bed..if someone invents a silent shower, we are buying it, I swear).
I walk slowly, think slowly, react slowly and talk slowly in the morning. Just so you have that straight.
I heard Liv's pitter patter of feet coming towards the bedroom. She jumps in bed with me every morning and we have this little song we sing to each other. I would relay it to you, but you would vomit because it is just that nauseatingly cute. It involves the two of us being as pretty as tulips.
Liv goes to her bedroom to figure out what to wear. Yes, I let her pick her own clothes out. Not because I am such a freewheeling, easy going mother, but because at 6 a.m., I don't really give a fuck if she wears her halloween costume to school. And she is pretty good at doing it herself.
I either start Liv's breakfast (Bing takes a granola bar to eat in the car and buys coffee at Starbucks on the way to her job) or lay in bed for a few more precious seconds of sleep.
Today, I remembered that I had clothes in the dryer (in the basement) still left, so I creakily got up to go down to get them. On the way, I remembered that we had some hamburger buns left from this weekend, so I decided to use them for breakfast. I'd slather some of that raspberry jam that Orna made this summer on them after they toasted. Our toaster is too small for buns, so I turned the oven to low broil and buttered the buns in my half asleep state. I put them in the broiler and went down to get the clothes. Within seconds, I hear Bing calling down the steps that she is leaving for school. She blows a kiss to me. I blow one back. She says, "Kind of an interesting breakfast today, hon..." and leaves.
I gather up the clothes. Liv is standing at the top of the stairs.
Liv: Um, mama? What's for breakfast. It smells....kind of different.
Me: Oh, I thought I'd make you something very special for breakfast today.
Liv looks doubtful, but she nods and disappears.
I get up to the top of the stairs and then the smell hits me.
It is garlic toast.
In my sleepy state, I went on automatic and not only buttered the buns, but sprinkled garlic salt on them.
So, we have leftover pasta from last night. Do you think I can interest Liv in some pasta and garlic toast for.....breakfast?
Right. I didn't think so. The birds got the toast. They can have the stinky breath all day.
I poured the Cocoa Puffs.
I thought to myself that I would have to tell Orna about this later today. She would get a kick out of this. Then, yeah...remembered that she is dead.
Who cares? She'd still get a kick out of it. I sent her a silent message in my head.
I swear that I heard her cackling.
This is usually how our day begins:
Our alarm clock goes off at 5:45. Bing gets up and showers. I get up and make breakfast for Liv, who is a notoriously early riser (the SECOND she hears the shower go on, she bounces out of bed..if someone invents a silent shower, we are buying it, I swear).
I walk slowly, think slowly, react slowly and talk slowly in the morning. Just so you have that straight.
I heard Liv's pitter patter of feet coming towards the bedroom. She jumps in bed with me every morning and we have this little song we sing to each other. I would relay it to you, but you would vomit because it is just that nauseatingly cute. It involves the two of us being as pretty as tulips.
Liv goes to her bedroom to figure out what to wear. Yes, I let her pick her own clothes out. Not because I am such a freewheeling, easy going mother, but because at 6 a.m., I don't really give a fuck if she wears her halloween costume to school. And she is pretty good at doing it herself.
I either start Liv's breakfast (Bing takes a granola bar to eat in the car and buys coffee at Starbucks on the way to her job) or lay in bed for a few more precious seconds of sleep.
Today, I remembered that I had clothes in the dryer (in the basement) still left, so I creakily got up to go down to get them. On the way, I remembered that we had some hamburger buns left from this weekend, so I decided to use them for breakfast. I'd slather some of that raspberry jam that Orna made this summer on them after they toasted. Our toaster is too small for buns, so I turned the oven to low broil and buttered the buns in my half asleep state. I put them in the broiler and went down to get the clothes. Within seconds, I hear Bing calling down the steps that she is leaving for school. She blows a kiss to me. I blow one back. She says, "Kind of an interesting breakfast today, hon..." and leaves.
I gather up the clothes. Liv is standing at the top of the stairs.
Liv: Um, mama? What's for breakfast. It smells....kind of different.
Me: Oh, I thought I'd make you something very special for breakfast today.
Liv looks doubtful, but she nods and disappears.
I get up to the top of the stairs and then the smell hits me.
It is garlic toast.
In my sleepy state, I went on automatic and not only buttered the buns, but sprinkled garlic salt on them.
So, we have leftover pasta from last night. Do you think I can interest Liv in some pasta and garlic toast for.....breakfast?
Right. I didn't think so. The birds got the toast. They can have the stinky breath all day.
I poured the Cocoa Puffs.
I thought to myself that I would have to tell Orna about this later today. She would get a kick out of this. Then, yeah...remembered that she is dead.
Who cares? She'd still get a kick out of it. I sent her a silent message in my head.
I swear that I heard her cackling.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Sexy, Sexier, Sexiest!
I was at a client's house this morning, waiting for him to give me some papers. I noticed a Redbook, so I paged through it while he got together the documents. I came across an article called Sexy, Sexier, Sexiest! It's premise was that "Your daily routine doesn't have to drive your sex life into a rut.Here, sexy switch-ups to spice up your schedule."
And then they gave you 5 situations that you could take from sexy to sexiest.
Bright & Early
1)Sexy: Be his alarm clock with a sweet smooch.
Yeah, okay. Works for me.
2)Sexier: Say good morning by covering him in kisses from head to toe.
No thanks. I mean, c'mon...we are talking two people with really bad morning breath here.
3) Sexiest: Head there for a a happy wake-up call.
I'm not heading anywhere but back to sleep at 5:45.
Shower Time
1) Sexy: Wrap him up with a towel warmed up in the dryer.
The dryer is in the basement. I am too lazy.
2) Sexier: Jump in and scrub each other down.
Well, maybe. If Liv is still asleep. Otherwise, no.
3) Sexiest: Hop in and get it on!
I think shower sex is overrated, I really do. I know that makes me sound unadventurous and old, but I don't get into shower sex. Do you? Just curious.
Office Hours
1) Sexy: Send him a flirty text
Ok
2) Sexier: E-mail him demanding an urgent after hours appointment (wink, wink).
I don't need to be winked at, I get it. I just don't think she would get it, maybe you could wink at her.
3) Sexiest: Show up for lunch, close the office blinds, and have a make-out session on his desk.
She teaches at an inner city high school. I don't think there is a lock on the door and she usually spends her lunch hour patrolling the halls for teenagers making out not making out herself.
Dinner Date
1)Sexy: Cook together.
Our kitchen is tiny. There is barely room to swing a cat in there. Two makes for a crowd. Besides, I am not a good cook unless you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then you'd probably be okay.
2) Sexier: Cook together in the nude.
You have got to be kidding. And get hot bacon splatters on my boobs? No, thanks. Besides, there is the Liv factor. Let's not give her too much to spend time sharing with her therapist in twenty years, ok?
3) Sexiest: Use your bodies as plates and feast on each other.
This is wrong on so many levels. Sticky. Icky. I don't wanna be a human plate and you can't make me.
Before Bed
1) Sexy: Spoon in your flannels.
Done that. Nice.
2) Sexier: Go to sleep sans pj's.
Done that too. It was very nice.
3) You know what to do.
Yup. And I can tell you right now that it is a whole hell of a lot more fun than in the shower or the kitchen floor. It's just...I'm really, really tired and Lost is on and well, how about a bowl of ice cream instead?
And then they gave you 5 situations that you could take from sexy to sexiest.
Bright & Early
1)Sexy: Be his alarm clock with a sweet smooch.
Yeah, okay. Works for me.
2)Sexier: Say good morning by covering him in kisses from head to toe.
No thanks. I mean, c'mon...we are talking two people with really bad morning breath here.
3) Sexiest: Head there for a a happy wake-up call.
I'm not heading anywhere but back to sleep at 5:45.
Shower Time
1) Sexy: Wrap him up with a towel warmed up in the dryer.
The dryer is in the basement. I am too lazy.
2) Sexier: Jump in and scrub each other down.
Well, maybe. If Liv is still asleep. Otherwise, no.
3) Sexiest: Hop in and get it on!
I think shower sex is overrated, I really do. I know that makes me sound unadventurous and old, but I don't get into shower sex. Do you? Just curious.
Office Hours
1) Sexy: Send him a flirty text
Ok
2) Sexier: E-mail him demanding an urgent after hours appointment (wink, wink).
I don't need to be winked at, I get it. I just don't think she would get it, maybe you could wink at her.
3) Sexiest: Show up for lunch, close the office blinds, and have a make-out session on his desk.
She teaches at an inner city high school. I don't think there is a lock on the door and she usually spends her lunch hour patrolling the halls for teenagers making out not making out herself.
Dinner Date
1)Sexy: Cook together.
Our kitchen is tiny. There is barely room to swing a cat in there. Two makes for a crowd. Besides, I am not a good cook unless you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then you'd probably be okay.
2) Sexier: Cook together in the nude.
You have got to be kidding. And get hot bacon splatters on my boobs? No, thanks. Besides, there is the Liv factor. Let's not give her too much to spend time sharing with her therapist in twenty years, ok?
3) Sexiest: Use your bodies as plates and feast on each other.
This is wrong on so many levels. Sticky. Icky. I don't wanna be a human plate and you can't make me.
Before Bed
1) Sexy: Spoon in your flannels.
Done that. Nice.
2) Sexier: Go to sleep sans pj's.
Done that too. It was very nice.
3) You know what to do.
Yup. And I can tell you right now that it is a whole hell of a lot more fun than in the shower or the kitchen floor. It's just...I'm really, really tired and Lost is on and well, how about a bowl of ice cream instead?
Monday, March 26, 2007
What is my problem?
Last week, Liv wanted to go to an ice skating party with some of her friends from school. They were off for parent/teacher conferences and one of the moms called the rest of us to see if we all wanted to meet for an afternoon of skating.
I took Liv, but I didn't look forward to it. I secretly HATE these things. I don't know what the frack is wrong with me. I seem to lack the mommy socializing gene. I just don't do it well. I see them when I take Liv to school in the mornings, that group of moms who drop their kids off and then stop to chat in the hallway.
I hate hallway chats. I don't fit in and it is only partially the lesbian thing. To be honest, I would say that more than three fourth of the moms could care less who I sleep with as long as I am a good mom. It's more of my hermit personality.
I don't know how to chat very well. I am chat challenged.
I generally sort of smile vaguely and try to look as if I have to run to put out a fire somewhere. And to be honest, I DO usually have a lot of work to do, but I could spare fifteen minutes to chat if I wanted to.
I just don't like to do that.
Liv goes to a Montessori school. Her elementary class is from grade 1-3 and there are twenty kids. Six of them are in her second grade class. I tend to get along best with the moms who look like I do, they have their hair up in baseball caps and generally have pajama bottoms on under their coats. No makeup. We nod at each other and get the hell out of there before one of the perky moms can try to sign us up to volunteer for something. At school programs and parental meetings, we are the ones who sit together in the back of the room and snicker silently when one of the other good moms gets up to demonstrate how to hollow out an egg to decorate it for Easter. We are the ones who seem very intent on looking at our nails when the head mistress gets up to ask for volunteers to help at the bake sale.
Today, I got caught by Perky Polly, one of the moms of Liv's classmate.
Perky Polly: Hi,there! How are you doin' today?
Me: Oh, um okay.
I have a question for ya, hon.
I am forced to stop and make eye contact, so I just do it with as much grace as I can.
Ok
How would you like to be in our walking club?
Pardon? What is that?
What the fuck is that?
Well, it is a group of us mommies who want to shed a few pounds that we slipped on over the winter. We thought we would drop off our kiddos and then all walk together and share stories.
Shit. I don't want to do this. And I am immediately suspect of the kind of "stories" she will share. Her stories seem to revolve around the fact that her daughter is just too creative and brilliant for this world and her son (who is just plain bratty) is a whirling ball of high intensity energy just looking for the perfect outlet. She is the kind of mom who can hardly wait until you stop talking so that she can jump in.
Oh, um...well, let's see..I'd like to but I just don't have time in the mornings....
You know, I am JUST like you, but hey, we have to make time to look fit and get back our trim tummies, don't we? I think we owe it to our guys, well...in your case, your lady friend...and we need to be good role models so that our kids will grow up in healthy shape, don't we?
(Lady friend? I am SO tempted to say something really inappropriate like, "You mean my bad ass gal?")
She is smiling at me in that hyper way. Doesn't she know that I am nearly comatose this early in the morning? Doesn't she see that I am wearing sunglasses in the rain and my hair has a morning cowlick that hasn't been tamed yet?
No, I'm afraid that my stomach is going to have to stay this way. I think that my partner will still like me even so. And Liv will just have to use Christie Brinkley for a role model, I suppose! Thanks for asking, though!
And then I am walking away as fast as I can go.
I know that it is important to get along with the other parents. But, I can't help it. I will never relate to this woman. She is in full makeup and wearing lipstick and designer jeans with jewelry on. She doesn't work outside the home, so all I can think is that she actually got up at 4:30 to make homemade raspberry muffins and probably squeezed her own orange juice before she dressed her child for school in clothes she thoughtfully laid out the night before. She will probably spend her day doing pilates and shopping for that perfect birthday present for some lucky person.
I just know that she has never given her child a pop tart to eat in the car on the way to school.
Or forgotten to check to make sure that said child has socks on.
She was one of the moms who baked lemon meringue pie from scratch for the bake sale.
She is the mom who brought pictures to show the other moms of how she hand stenciled her daughter's bedroom and actually designed and made a lamp shade.
She writes little haiku poems and puts them in her child's lunch every day. And in that lunch, there is a thermos of homemade chicken soup with noodles that she made herself.
Her child has themes. She will wear a chinese blouse and skirt to class and have homemade won tons in her lunch.
Her daughter came to the Halloween party dressed as Glinda the good witch and her dress was handstitched with little yellow witch hats running all along the border. She had a wand that was embossed with homemade glitter stars.
This mom knows how to wield a curling iron on her own hair and her daughter's hair before school. I have yet to see either uncoiffed.
I'm the mom who has no problem with pop tarts for breakfast.
I am lucky if my child has matching socks; I'm content if she is clean.
I once brought Pepperidge Farm mint milanos to the after school tea party.
I have no desire to stencil anything. While I have probably worn a lampshade on my head a time or two or three in college, I certainly didn't make it.
My kid's lunch is pretty basic. Homemade is not common. I do write love notes but they say silly things like, "I love you small. I love you big, I love you like a little pig."
No theme oriented clothing for Liv. And frankly, she wouldn't let me pull that shit anyway.
For Halloween, Liv was a witch. She wore one of my old black skirts tightened with safety pins. She wore a long sleeved black tee shirt under it and black tights. Black hiking boots. We did buy her a witch hat. And she carried my kitchen broom. I didn't sew anything on her skirt.
I don't own a curling iron. Liv wears braids a lot.
I have a group of parents that I get along with just fine:
1) Harriet, who literally burst out laughing when Perky Polly asked her if she sewed her own clothes.
2) Candy, who is a vegan and lives a totally "green" life but also admits that her kids drive her to drink sometimes.
3) Mona, who once came to a school program with a curler stuck in the back of her head and when I gently pointed it out to her, made us both laugh so hard that we cried.
And 4) Terri, who comes from Texas, continually says y'all and has a bumper sticker on her car that says, Draft The Bush Twins. She can also bake like a fiend but she doesn't make you feel like a loser if you put oreos in your kid's lunch.
So, yeah...I have a few friends. I'm not a total recluse. I'm just choosy.
And it helps if they have a few bad habits and admit them. Makes me like 'em all the more.
But, none of us will be on those morning walks.
I took Liv, but I didn't look forward to it. I secretly HATE these things. I don't know what the frack is wrong with me. I seem to lack the mommy socializing gene. I just don't do it well. I see them when I take Liv to school in the mornings, that group of moms who drop their kids off and then stop to chat in the hallway.
I hate hallway chats. I don't fit in and it is only partially the lesbian thing. To be honest, I would say that more than three fourth of the moms could care less who I sleep with as long as I am a good mom. It's more of my hermit personality.
I don't know how to chat very well. I am chat challenged.
I generally sort of smile vaguely and try to look as if I have to run to put out a fire somewhere. And to be honest, I DO usually have a lot of work to do, but I could spare fifteen minutes to chat if I wanted to.
I just don't like to do that.
Liv goes to a Montessori school. Her elementary class is from grade 1-3 and there are twenty kids. Six of them are in her second grade class. I tend to get along best with the moms who look like I do, they have their hair up in baseball caps and generally have pajama bottoms on under their coats. No makeup. We nod at each other and get the hell out of there before one of the perky moms can try to sign us up to volunteer for something. At school programs and parental meetings, we are the ones who sit together in the back of the room and snicker silently when one of the other good moms gets up to demonstrate how to hollow out an egg to decorate it for Easter. We are the ones who seem very intent on looking at our nails when the head mistress gets up to ask for volunteers to help at the bake sale.
Today, I got caught by Perky Polly, one of the moms of Liv's classmate.
Perky Polly: Hi,there! How are you doin' today?
Me: Oh, um okay.
I have a question for ya, hon.
I am forced to stop and make eye contact, so I just do it with as much grace as I can.
Ok
How would you like to be in our walking club?
Pardon? What is that?
What the fuck is that?
Well, it is a group of us mommies who want to shed a few pounds that we slipped on over the winter. We thought we would drop off our kiddos and then all walk together and share stories.
Shit. I don't want to do this. And I am immediately suspect of the kind of "stories" she will share. Her stories seem to revolve around the fact that her daughter is just too creative and brilliant for this world and her son (who is just plain bratty) is a whirling ball of high intensity energy just looking for the perfect outlet. She is the kind of mom who can hardly wait until you stop talking so that she can jump in.
Oh, um...well, let's see..I'd like to but I just don't have time in the mornings....
You know, I am JUST like you, but hey, we have to make time to look fit and get back our trim tummies, don't we? I think we owe it to our guys, well...in your case, your lady friend...and we need to be good role models so that our kids will grow up in healthy shape, don't we?
(Lady friend? I am SO tempted to say something really inappropriate like, "You mean my bad ass gal?")
She is smiling at me in that hyper way. Doesn't she know that I am nearly comatose this early in the morning? Doesn't she see that I am wearing sunglasses in the rain and my hair has a morning cowlick that hasn't been tamed yet?
No, I'm afraid that my stomach is going to have to stay this way. I think that my partner will still like me even so. And Liv will just have to use Christie Brinkley for a role model, I suppose! Thanks for asking, though!
And then I am walking away as fast as I can go.
I know that it is important to get along with the other parents. But, I can't help it. I will never relate to this woman. She is in full makeup and wearing lipstick and designer jeans with jewelry on. She doesn't work outside the home, so all I can think is that she actually got up at 4:30 to make homemade raspberry muffins and probably squeezed her own orange juice before she dressed her child for school in clothes she thoughtfully laid out the night before. She will probably spend her day doing pilates and shopping for that perfect birthday present for some lucky person.
I just know that she has never given her child a pop tart to eat in the car on the way to school.
Or forgotten to check to make sure that said child has socks on.
She was one of the moms who baked lemon meringue pie from scratch for the bake sale.
She is the mom who brought pictures to show the other moms of how she hand stenciled her daughter's bedroom and actually designed and made a lamp shade.
She writes little haiku poems and puts them in her child's lunch every day. And in that lunch, there is a thermos of homemade chicken soup with noodles that she made herself.
Her child has themes. She will wear a chinese blouse and skirt to class and have homemade won tons in her lunch.
Her daughter came to the Halloween party dressed as Glinda the good witch and her dress was handstitched with little yellow witch hats running all along the border. She had a wand that was embossed with homemade glitter stars.
This mom knows how to wield a curling iron on her own hair and her daughter's hair before school. I have yet to see either uncoiffed.
I'm the mom who has no problem with pop tarts for breakfast.
I am lucky if my child has matching socks; I'm content if she is clean.
I once brought Pepperidge Farm mint milanos to the after school tea party.
I have no desire to stencil anything. While I have probably worn a lampshade on my head a time or two or three in college, I certainly didn't make it.
My kid's lunch is pretty basic. Homemade is not common. I do write love notes but they say silly things like, "I love you small. I love you big, I love you like a little pig."
No theme oriented clothing for Liv. And frankly, she wouldn't let me pull that shit anyway.
For Halloween, Liv was a witch. She wore one of my old black skirts tightened with safety pins. She wore a long sleeved black tee shirt under it and black tights. Black hiking boots. We did buy her a witch hat. And she carried my kitchen broom. I didn't sew anything on her skirt.
I don't own a curling iron. Liv wears braids a lot.
I have a group of parents that I get along with just fine:
1) Harriet, who literally burst out laughing when Perky Polly asked her if she sewed her own clothes.
2) Candy, who is a vegan and lives a totally "green" life but also admits that her kids drive her to drink sometimes.
3) Mona, who once came to a school program with a curler stuck in the back of her head and when I gently pointed it out to her, made us both laugh so hard that we cried.
And 4) Terri, who comes from Texas, continually says y'all and has a bumper sticker on her car that says, Draft The Bush Twins. She can also bake like a fiend but she doesn't make you feel like a loser if you put oreos in your kid's lunch.
So, yeah...I have a few friends. I'm not a total recluse. I'm just choosy.
And it helps if they have a few bad habits and admit them. Makes me like 'em all the more.
But, none of us will be on those morning walks.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Good books, bad movies and flower shopping already?
What a great weekend. The temps are in the high 70's. Our doors and windows are open. Bing is cleaning off the grill (which has been stuffed in the backyard shed all winter) and we are planning to grill hamburgers for dinner. Liv has invited several neighbors, so we will have to make a run to the grocery store for more ground beef. The neighbors have promised to bring salads. Thank God that our next door neighbor, Hal, gave me the heads up that Liv had put the word out. Bing and I were lugging flower pots out of the shed and Hal came over to help. He is about 80 and should NOT be lugging flower pots, but we gave him the smaller ones.
"So, what time do you want us over for burgers?" he asked.
HUH?
It looks like it will be us and about 6 neighbors, not such a big deal and we'll eat early so that I um...won't miss The Amazing Race.
It will be our first neighborhood grill party without Orna. I looked over at her empty house and had to swallow hard a few times. But, we'll get through it. She would be so pissed off if she thought I was holding back on parties because I missed her.
Yesterday, Liv had a birthday party so we decided to use the "date" time to see a movie. I wanted to see Catch and Release. Bing, smelling a chick flick, lobbied for The Shooter.
"I know how much you like Mark Wahlberg," she said, hopefully.
Well, I do like him. But, the movie looked stupid. I decided to bend like a willow and we went.
It STUNK. Not only was the premise ridiculous, but the writing was terrible and the actors looked like they couldn't believe that they were in such a sucky thing. I'm always annoyed at the women in these violent "thriller" type movies. I mean how dumb can a woman be? Let's see....there is a man whose face is plastered all over the news because he attempted to assassinate the president. That man shows up bloody and begging for help at your door. You know him SLIGHTLY because your dead husband served in the military with him at one time. So, what would you do?
Of course! Let him in! Don't call the police! Sew him up and let him recuperate in your bed! Walk around in skimpy outfits and have several near kisses with him because hey, he is just that hot and you are just that lonely. And let's throw in LOTS of those cheesy scenes where she is bandaging our hero up (after removing the bullet in his shoulder with her needle and thread, natch) and their faces grow closer, ever closer. The linger with their faces about an inch away from each other, circling each other like honey bees in heat. But no, he shakes his manly head in true hero fashion and sternly tells her that they have a world to save, no time for this now! She pouts but smiles bravely. What a man!
Uh huh.
I would have fallen asleep but the sickening torture scenes (and one truly gross assault on the woman scene) kept me awake. Twice I had to leave to go stand out in the hall because I just can't stand THAT much violence.
Bing thought it was "pretty cool."
Remind me again why I am in love with this person?
After the movie, we picked up Liv and decided to go to Borders to pick up some books for Liv and me and some cds for Bing.
I swear that bookstores are like meth to me. I go in there like a junkie with the shakes and it takes a LOT to get me out. I love the smell of bookstores, the feel of them, just the knowledge that I am going to find not one, but ten good books.
Bing insisted on buying me Whale Talk by Chris Crutcher. She is reading it to her homeroom class during their ten minute reading time each day. She picked it because in a small town near us, a small group of parents tried to get the book banned from their curriculum. Several teachers and the school board refused.
We will both read just about any banned book on the planet.
And Bing says that this one is truly great. She has one problem kid in her class who is so enthralled with the book that she intends to give it to him as a gift when she is done reading it aloud. So...she wanted me to have a copy.
Liv annoyed the snot out of me by selecting another Misty horse book. She has all the Harry Potter books and has joined the ranks of girls who love horses set. I am trying hard to be okay with this. I was never into horse books as a girl and frankly, horse books remind me of someone who I'd rather forget exists, so I have to make myself encourage Liv to get them. I mean, she is reading, right? That is what is important. I have tried many times to get her interested in the books that I loved as a child (The Little House books, Betsy-Tacy books, and awright, I admit to loving Nancy Drew too), but she is resistant. She knows what she likes and it is Harry Potter and horse books.
Liv picked out the sequel to Misty of Chincoteague. Something with the name Stormy in it. I smiled as sweetly as possible and put it in the basket.
As for me, I looked at audio books and picked up a recording of Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. I've already read and loved the book, but I like the idea of listening to the words again. It is so beautifully written. I'm currently knee deep into listening to Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire. I initially bought this book for Liv and I to listen to on the way to school and back but realized quickly that this book has some sexual content and it would just be a book for me.
I am loving it.
I found several books to add to my bookshelf waiting list:
1) The Writing on the Wall by Lynne Sharon Schwartz
2) Something Rising by Haven Kimmel (I will read anything she writes, anything)
3) The God of Animals by Aryn Kyle
and
4) The River Queen by Mary Morris.
Any of you read those? Did I make good choices?
I am currently reading And She Was by Cindy Dyson, but am only on page 6, so don't know if I like it or not.
Bing was in cd heaven. She got Real Live Roadrunning by Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris. She also picked out one that we both are dying to listen to: Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
We listened to it on the way home and hey, that van was a-rocking with all three of us moving and grooving and doing our loving-that-music-thang.
So, a great day so far. On the way home, Bing wanted to stop at Earl May to pick out flowers. I laughed at her. For fartsakes, it is NEBRASKA in March. We have been known to have ice storms in April. This 70 degree weather is just a teaser. But, nothing I could say would stop her. She was determined to buy those purple pansies and Liv backed her up.
I tried to tell them that it is folly to plant anything before May 1st around here. But, Liv begged and Bing played the lovey dovey card. It is gorgeous outside. You have your blue sundress with the daisies on it on. Liv and I are wearing shorts. If you put a daisy in your hair, I will be a true goner. Don't be such a party wrecker. Let's buy us some blooms, girls. I want to spend the day planting flowers with you both.
We got the pansies. They are in pots now. We'll see how long it takes for the rabbits to find them. Last year, that gave me the hugest headache. Damn wascally wabbits!
What could be better than good music, good books, pansies in pots and grilling burgers with my two favorite people in the world?
A sweet day. Let's stretch it out, yes?
"So, what time do you want us over for burgers?" he asked.
HUH?
It looks like it will be us and about 6 neighbors, not such a big deal and we'll eat early so that I um...won't miss The Amazing Race.
It will be our first neighborhood grill party without Orna. I looked over at her empty house and had to swallow hard a few times. But, we'll get through it. She would be so pissed off if she thought I was holding back on parties because I missed her.
Yesterday, Liv had a birthday party so we decided to use the "date" time to see a movie. I wanted to see Catch and Release. Bing, smelling a chick flick, lobbied for The Shooter.
"I know how much you like Mark Wahlberg," she said, hopefully.
Well, I do like him. But, the movie looked stupid. I decided to bend like a willow and we went.
It STUNK. Not only was the premise ridiculous, but the writing was terrible and the actors looked like they couldn't believe that they were in such a sucky thing. I'm always annoyed at the women in these violent "thriller" type movies. I mean how dumb can a woman be? Let's see....there is a man whose face is plastered all over the news because he attempted to assassinate the president. That man shows up bloody and begging for help at your door. You know him SLIGHTLY because your dead husband served in the military with him at one time. So, what would you do?
Of course! Let him in! Don't call the police! Sew him up and let him recuperate in your bed! Walk around in skimpy outfits and have several near kisses with him because hey, he is just that hot and you are just that lonely. And let's throw in LOTS of those cheesy scenes where she is bandaging our hero up (after removing the bullet in his shoulder with her needle and thread, natch) and their faces grow closer, ever closer. The linger with their faces about an inch away from each other, circling each other like honey bees in heat. But no, he shakes his manly head in true hero fashion and sternly tells her that they have a world to save, no time for this now! She pouts but smiles bravely. What a man!
Uh huh.
I would have fallen asleep but the sickening torture scenes (and one truly gross assault on the woman scene) kept me awake. Twice I had to leave to go stand out in the hall because I just can't stand THAT much violence.
Bing thought it was "pretty cool."
Remind me again why I am in love with this person?
After the movie, we picked up Liv and decided to go to Borders to pick up some books for Liv and me and some cds for Bing.
I swear that bookstores are like meth to me. I go in there like a junkie with the shakes and it takes a LOT to get me out. I love the smell of bookstores, the feel of them, just the knowledge that I am going to find not one, but ten good books.
Bing insisted on buying me Whale Talk by Chris Crutcher. She is reading it to her homeroom class during their ten minute reading time each day. She picked it because in a small town near us, a small group of parents tried to get the book banned from their curriculum. Several teachers and the school board refused.
We will both read just about any banned book on the planet.
And Bing says that this one is truly great. She has one problem kid in her class who is so enthralled with the book that she intends to give it to him as a gift when she is done reading it aloud. So...she wanted me to have a copy.
Liv annoyed the snot out of me by selecting another Misty horse book. She has all the Harry Potter books and has joined the ranks of girls who love horses set. I am trying hard to be okay with this. I was never into horse books as a girl and frankly, horse books remind me of someone who I'd rather forget exists, so I have to make myself encourage Liv to get them. I mean, she is reading, right? That is what is important. I have tried many times to get her interested in the books that I loved as a child (The Little House books, Betsy-Tacy books, and awright, I admit to loving Nancy Drew too), but she is resistant. She knows what she likes and it is Harry Potter and horse books.
Liv picked out the sequel to Misty of Chincoteague. Something with the name Stormy in it. I smiled as sweetly as possible and put it in the basket.
As for me, I looked at audio books and picked up a recording of Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons. I've already read and loved the book, but I like the idea of listening to the words again. It is so beautifully written. I'm currently knee deep into listening to Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire. I initially bought this book for Liv and I to listen to on the way to school and back but realized quickly that this book has some sexual content and it would just be a book for me.
I am loving it.
I found several books to add to my bookshelf waiting list:
1) The Writing on the Wall by Lynne Sharon Schwartz
2) Something Rising by Haven Kimmel (I will read anything she writes, anything)
3) The God of Animals by Aryn Kyle
and
4) The River Queen by Mary Morris.
Any of you read those? Did I make good choices?
I am currently reading And She Was by Cindy Dyson, but am only on page 6, so don't know if I like it or not.
Bing was in cd heaven. She got Real Live Roadrunning by Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris. She also picked out one that we both are dying to listen to: Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
We listened to it on the way home and hey, that van was a-rocking with all three of us moving and grooving and doing our loving-that-music-thang.
So, a great day so far. On the way home, Bing wanted to stop at Earl May to pick out flowers. I laughed at her. For fartsakes, it is NEBRASKA in March. We have been known to have ice storms in April. This 70 degree weather is just a teaser. But, nothing I could say would stop her. She was determined to buy those purple pansies and Liv backed her up.
I tried to tell them that it is folly to plant anything before May 1st around here. But, Liv begged and Bing played the lovey dovey card. It is gorgeous outside. You have your blue sundress with the daisies on it on. Liv and I are wearing shorts. If you put a daisy in your hair, I will be a true goner. Don't be such a party wrecker. Let's buy us some blooms, girls. I want to spend the day planting flowers with you both.
We got the pansies. They are in pots now. We'll see how long it takes for the rabbits to find them. Last year, that gave me the hugest headache. Damn wascally wabbits!
What could be better than good music, good books, pansies in pots and grilling burgers with my two favorite people in the world?
A sweet day. Let's stretch it out, yes?
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Cutesy pie stories and the apology
Ok, first...I need to give Bing a nod. She apologized last night (well, an apology of sorts, she seldom comes out and says she is sorry for anything).
We were out to dinner. I was doing what I always do when I am pissed off at Bing and Liv is around: acting as if nothing is really wrong, but making sure that I am just THAT hard to reach. I listen to Bing, but don't comment much. Smile, but not in a particularly warm way. I make damn sure that my smile doesn't reach my eyes. It is just an upturn of my lips.
It drives her up the wall and I know it. I confess to using this tactic with some regularity and I LIKE it that it works.
Bing suggested that I order an apple martini, my favorite drink.
"I know that spending the afternoon with 12 giggling elementary girls and their mothers had to be tiring," she said meaningfully, trying to catch my eye.
"It was a blast!" Liv piped up and told us a long story about playing tag on the ice.
I ordered the martini. I warmed up just a tad.
Bing tried again.
"Hey, maybe this weekend we can go online and look up fun things to do when we go on vacation to San Francisco this summer!" she said. "And hey, next weekend the nuns are having a soup supper over at Holy Ghost Church and are selling baked goods too. I know how you love those croissants, Liv. And, Maria, the soup is Italian wedding soup, your favorite. Wanna go?"
I smiled, not a huge smile, but she was getting warmer. I nodded. Bing teaches in the projects, in a really tough area of the city, but there is this tiny Catholic community that thrives there and good hell those nuns know how to bake.
Finally, when Liv got up to go to the salad bar, she wrapped her leg around mine under the table and whispered, "Hey, I know I can be a shit...I was just tired. How can I make it up to you?"
I considered. "Well, the toilets in the bathrooms could use a scrub..."
She gave a weak smile. "Okay, consider it done."
I smiled, letting it go up to my eyes. She was getting off easy and she knew it.
Can I work it or can I work it? Crap. I should have included a back rub in there. Oh well...next time.
And now...the cutesy pie story:
Okay, yous guys..I will admit right here and now that I am one of those people whose eyes glaze over when others tell me about cute things their kids did.
This is mainly because I firmly believe that the only one who REALLY thinks your kid is adorable is you. I try hard not to share too many cutesy pie stories, but this one was really blog worthy, so I am sharing it.
Yesterday, my daughter turned into a dog.
I woke up to a barking, panting dog on my bed.
"What is this?" I demanded. "I do not recall getting a dog! Go home, you!"
The dog handed me a piece of paper.
I am not really a dog. I am Liv. A wich turned me into a dog!
I sighed.
"Well, boy howdy. What do dogs eat for breakfast?"
A frantic scribbling on the pad.
Cheery ohs. Dry.
I got up. Well, that was easy enough. I poured some cheerios into a bowl and set it on the table. The dog jumped on my table and began to eat hungrily. I informed the dog that I don't let sloppy animals stay in my house, so no cheerios on the floor, please. The dog nodded. I asked the dog if I was ever going to see my Liv again and how this happened.
Liv was playing on the jungle jimm at the playground. the wich hateded girls and she loved dogs sowe she turned me into one then i ran away because she was going to put me in a caldron of hot lava the next morning. can i stay with you?
I thought about it. Told the dog that I would really hate to have Liv miss her ice skating party that afternoon.
give me a bath with erbs it will turn me back into a girl
Ah. Yes. Liv loves taking special baths with the rock salt herbs that I put in my baths. I agreed. Yes, that would work.
The dog became very agitated. More scribbling.
I smell the wich! she is at the front dore. hide me and anser the dore and act normal and say that i am not here.
Okay. How far am I willing to go here?
I hid the dog under the table and walked carefully to the front door. Opened it. Spoke to the witch. Explained that no, I hadn't seen her lost dog but that I would surely let her know if I saw a golden retriever who was so beautiful that I could hardly believe it. I returned to the kitchen.
"Well, dog...do you think I convinced her? Was I normal enough?"
The dog nodded, jumped into my arms and kissed me.
I ran the bath.
My Liv was back. She said she didn't remember a thing, but that she felt very odd, as if she wanted to wag her tail.
Some days, it is all worth it.
We were out to dinner. I was doing what I always do when I am pissed off at Bing and Liv is around: acting as if nothing is really wrong, but making sure that I am just THAT hard to reach. I listen to Bing, but don't comment much. Smile, but not in a particularly warm way. I make damn sure that my smile doesn't reach my eyes. It is just an upturn of my lips.
It drives her up the wall and I know it. I confess to using this tactic with some regularity and I LIKE it that it works.
Bing suggested that I order an apple martini, my favorite drink.
"I know that spending the afternoon with 12 giggling elementary girls and their mothers had to be tiring," she said meaningfully, trying to catch my eye.
"It was a blast!" Liv piped up and told us a long story about playing tag on the ice.
I ordered the martini. I warmed up just a tad.
Bing tried again.
"Hey, maybe this weekend we can go online and look up fun things to do when we go on vacation to San Francisco this summer!" she said. "And hey, next weekend the nuns are having a soup supper over at Holy Ghost Church and are selling baked goods too. I know how you love those croissants, Liv. And, Maria, the soup is Italian wedding soup, your favorite. Wanna go?"
I smiled, not a huge smile, but she was getting warmer. I nodded. Bing teaches in the projects, in a really tough area of the city, but there is this tiny Catholic community that thrives there and good hell those nuns know how to bake.
Finally, when Liv got up to go to the salad bar, she wrapped her leg around mine under the table and whispered, "Hey, I know I can be a shit...I was just tired. How can I make it up to you?"
I considered. "Well, the toilets in the bathrooms could use a scrub..."
She gave a weak smile. "Okay, consider it done."
I smiled, letting it go up to my eyes. She was getting off easy and she knew it.
Can I work it or can I work it? Crap. I should have included a back rub in there. Oh well...next time.
And now...the cutesy pie story:
Okay, yous guys..I will admit right here and now that I am one of those people whose eyes glaze over when others tell me about cute things their kids did.
This is mainly because I firmly believe that the only one who REALLY thinks your kid is adorable is you. I try hard not to share too many cutesy pie stories, but this one was really blog worthy, so I am sharing it.
Yesterday, my daughter turned into a dog.
I woke up to a barking, panting dog on my bed.
"What is this?" I demanded. "I do not recall getting a dog! Go home, you!"
The dog handed me a piece of paper.
I am not really a dog. I am Liv. A wich turned me into a dog!
I sighed.
"Well, boy howdy. What do dogs eat for breakfast?"
A frantic scribbling on the pad.
Cheery ohs. Dry.
I got up. Well, that was easy enough. I poured some cheerios into a bowl and set it on the table. The dog jumped on my table and began to eat hungrily. I informed the dog that I don't let sloppy animals stay in my house, so no cheerios on the floor, please. The dog nodded. I asked the dog if I was ever going to see my Liv again and how this happened.
Liv was playing on the jungle jimm at the playground. the wich hateded girls and she loved dogs sowe she turned me into one then i ran away because she was going to put me in a caldron of hot lava the next morning. can i stay with you?
I thought about it. Told the dog that I would really hate to have Liv miss her ice skating party that afternoon.
give me a bath with erbs it will turn me back into a girl
Ah. Yes. Liv loves taking special baths with the rock salt herbs that I put in my baths. I agreed. Yes, that would work.
The dog became very agitated. More scribbling.
I smell the wich! she is at the front dore. hide me and anser the dore and act normal and say that i am not here.
Okay. How far am I willing to go here?
I hid the dog under the table and walked carefully to the front door. Opened it. Spoke to the witch. Explained that no, I hadn't seen her lost dog but that I would surely let her know if I saw a golden retriever who was so beautiful that I could hardly believe it. I returned to the kitchen.
"Well, dog...do you think I convinced her? Was I normal enough?"
The dog nodded, jumped into my arms and kissed me.
I ran the bath.
My Liv was back. She said she didn't remember a thing, but that she felt very odd, as if she wanted to wag her tail.
Some days, it is all worth it.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Mush time is over....
.....I feel a rant coming on.
Bing is a teacher. It's parent/teacher conferences week and she also has some field trips to take with her kids. Parent/teacher meetings can be tough for Bing. She is what we used to call in high school...a tough A. Those kids work for their grades and she has a reputation for being one of those teachers who don't put up with any shit. So, the students who love her are nuts about her and she gets letters from them when they are adults telling her that she helped shape them. But...she also gets lots of parents who are upset that she isn't going softer on their Billy.
This said, she is CRABBY this week.
And taking it out on me.
Therefore, the rant:
Last night when she got home at nearly 9, I was on the computer.
"Did you have a nice easy night?" she asked gruffly.
This means: I have been in the trenches and there you sit on your ass at the computer.
This morning, she comes in to kiss me goodbye as she leaves for work. I'm still in bed as Liv is off today.
"Wow. Lucky you, lying around in bed all day," she says.
I shot up.
Got VERY sassy.
"I'm sorry that you are busy this week. I'm taking Liv to an insipid ice skating party given by that parent who acts like it is BE NICE TO LESBIANS WEEK," I shouted.
"Hey, don't get all testy. I was KIDDING!" she says back.
Yeah, right. She was mad that she had to get up at 6 and I didn't.
"Why don't we trade?" I said in my snottiest voice. "I'll go teach today and you can take Liv to the party and feel like Hermione Granger at the Malfoy's dinner table, like you are a mudblood in the midst of pure bloods."
I hadn't realized how truly mad I am about this parent who treats me as if I am not quite as worthy as the rest of the parents, but she will be kind anyway.
Bing sighed.
"It's just...I'm tired and I work so hard and sometimes it seems like you get the easy part, only working part time."
Ok...this was WAR.
"I take care of Liv. I take care of the house. I work part time. I am just as fucking tired as you are, probably more so. How dare you act like I work less!"
Bing left for work, kissless.
We'll work it out this weekend, but it burns my butt when she does that.
How about any of you? Ever get it from your spouses, partners, significant others?
Just curious.
Bing is a teacher. It's parent/teacher conferences week and she also has some field trips to take with her kids. Parent/teacher meetings can be tough for Bing. She is what we used to call in high school...a tough A. Those kids work for their grades and she has a reputation for being one of those teachers who don't put up with any shit. So, the students who love her are nuts about her and she gets letters from them when they are adults telling her that she helped shape them. But...she also gets lots of parents who are upset that she isn't going softer on their Billy.
This said, she is CRABBY this week.
And taking it out on me.
Therefore, the rant:
Last night when she got home at nearly 9, I was on the computer.
"Did you have a nice easy night?" she asked gruffly.
This means: I have been in the trenches and there you sit on your ass at the computer.
This morning, she comes in to kiss me goodbye as she leaves for work. I'm still in bed as Liv is off today.
"Wow. Lucky you, lying around in bed all day," she says.
I shot up.
Got VERY sassy.
"I'm sorry that you are busy this week. I'm taking Liv to an insipid ice skating party given by that parent who acts like it is BE NICE TO LESBIANS WEEK," I shouted.
"Hey, don't get all testy. I was KIDDING!" she says back.
Yeah, right. She was mad that she had to get up at 6 and I didn't.
"Why don't we trade?" I said in my snottiest voice. "I'll go teach today and you can take Liv to the party and feel like Hermione Granger at the Malfoy's dinner table, like you are a mudblood in the midst of pure bloods."
I hadn't realized how truly mad I am about this parent who treats me as if I am not quite as worthy as the rest of the parents, but she will be kind anyway.
Bing sighed.
"It's just...I'm tired and I work so hard and sometimes it seems like you get the easy part, only working part time."
Ok...this was WAR.
"I take care of Liv. I take care of the house. I work part time. I am just as fucking tired as you are, probably more so. How dare you act like I work less!"
Bing left for work, kissless.
We'll work it out this weekend, but it burns my butt when she does that.
How about any of you? Ever get it from your spouses, partners, significant others?
Just curious.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
A book
It's funny how just one one book can take you back.
I had resolved not to get all mushy in the next post, but can't help myself, so bear with me.
Liv was home and will be home tomorrow because of parent/teacher conferences. (I already went to hers and she's doing so well, so I was proud.)
Since I am taking her to an ice skating party tomorrow, I told her that we needed to have a low key day today. She is coming down with a cold and I had so much paper work to do.....
I ended up hanging with her all day. It's where I'd rather be anyway. We baked banana bread and made graham cracker cookies (see Jill, I can too cook...well, sorta). Liv taught me how to do the can-can. She is WAY too good at this.
But, the big misty moment of the day was when we were sitting together on the sun porch, me scratching her back while we talked and a book across the room caught my eye. It was The Amazing Bone by William Steig.
I got up and grabbed it.
"Do you remember this book, honey?" I asked.
She did. And asked me to read it to her again. I think the last time I read it to her was when she was just beginning kindergarten.
I love this book. It is fantastically written and one of the few books that engaged me as well as Liv. I always read the fox's voice in this slippery Vincent Price way and made Pearl the pig sound all breathy and soft. Liv never tired of it and okay, sometimes I did, but not nearly as much as I did with Dr. Seuss.
I read it to her again. And got halfway through it and choked up. It was just too much. Too many memories of her sitting next to me in her overalls with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.
Liv gently took the book away from me.
"Let me finish it, okay?" she asked.
I nodded and she finished it, doing just as well with the voices.
And then Liv says, "You are like my amazing bone. You know that don't you?"
If you've read the book you will know why I had to kiss her face about twenty times and risked catching her cold with pleasure.
If you haven't read this book, go out and buy it. It is a keeper.
I had resolved not to get all mushy in the next post, but can't help myself, so bear with me.
Liv was home and will be home tomorrow because of parent/teacher conferences. (I already went to hers and she's doing so well, so I was proud.)
Since I am taking her to an ice skating party tomorrow, I told her that we needed to have a low key day today. She is coming down with a cold and I had so much paper work to do.....
I ended up hanging with her all day. It's where I'd rather be anyway. We baked banana bread and made graham cracker cookies (see Jill, I can too cook...well, sorta). Liv taught me how to do the can-can. She is WAY too good at this.
But, the big misty moment of the day was when we were sitting together on the sun porch, me scratching her back while we talked and a book across the room caught my eye. It was The Amazing Bone by William Steig.
I got up and grabbed it.
"Do you remember this book, honey?" I asked.
She did. And asked me to read it to her again. I think the last time I read it to her was when she was just beginning kindergarten.
I love this book. It is fantastically written and one of the few books that engaged me as well as Liv. I always read the fox's voice in this slippery Vincent Price way and made Pearl the pig sound all breathy and soft. Liv never tired of it and okay, sometimes I did, but not nearly as much as I did with Dr. Seuss.
I read it to her again. And got halfway through it and choked up. It was just too much. Too many memories of her sitting next to me in her overalls with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.
Liv gently took the book away from me.
"Let me finish it, okay?" she asked.
I nodded and she finished it, doing just as well with the voices.
And then Liv says, "You are like my amazing bone. You know that don't you?"
If you've read the book you will know why I had to kiss her face about twenty times and risked catching her cold with pleasure.
If you haven't read this book, go out and buy it. It is a keeper.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Signing her up for swim team
I signed Liv up to be on the summer swim team this year. It is her first time. She's had private/group lessons since she was two and her instructor told me that she was ready, so I did it.
But, am I ready?
I dunno.
I look at her in the car next to me. We are going to the swimwear store to find her a new suit. Last years suit? No way. She has grown over four inches. But, she still weighs the same fifty eight pounds, so she is a long, lean girl.
Liv is telling me about an episode of one her favorite shows called The Amanda Show. Apparently there is this hilarious girl on it who says the word "please" all the time. I watch her hands gesticulating, her face merry. She is mimicking this actress with near perfect vocal pitch.
I love her so much that my heart is breaking.
I spent the first four months of her life walking the floor with her. She had colic. I used to sing a song called It Had To Be You to her. Instead of the usual lyrics, I sang
I'm losing my mind
My well educated mind
I paid a fortune for it
But what do I care
When I can be up all night with you
My screaming little you
Who is driving me insane....
You get the picture.
When she was two, her favorite activity was to unfold every article of clothing in the laundry pile.
When she was three, I tried to start her in pre-school. She broke the school record for screaming and crying (two hours) and after throwing up all over her teacher's hand, I was called. The head of school told me that they had never had a child that they couldn't work with until they met Liv.
"She certainly has an iron will," she said.
She did? I was surprised. At home, she never seemed particularly stubborn or tantrum prone to me. But, I'd never tried to make her go to school before.
She showed me. She has an iron will when she needs one. She wasn't ready yet. She knew it and I didn't. So, I trusted her instincts and kept her home another year.
She was ready at four.
In kindergarten, she had a best friend named Matthew and was so excited to make our first jack o' lantern that she plunged her hands joyfully into the pumpkin pulp as soon as we took the top off of it.
In first grade, she met Bette. They have been best friends for two years. They share a love of webkins, The Amanda Show, peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches, and telling each other scary stories in the dark of our basement. Then, they run upstairs screaming happily into our well lit kitchen to request carrot sticks and ranch dressing.
Liv takes violin lessons, will be on a softball team, and now a swim team.
She is seven (and a half!).
She loves sardines, which give her terrible breath and I have to hold my breath when she kisses me.
She loves to help me plan our garden. She has some starter seeds from Orna growing in little pots on our sun porch.
She makes me laugh every single day. She has taught me how to love unconditionally and with a deep joy that I never knew existed in me until I saw her face for the first time.
And now she is old enough to be on a swim team.
Boy howdy. Where's the kleenex?
But, am I ready?
I dunno.
I look at her in the car next to me. We are going to the swimwear store to find her a new suit. Last years suit? No way. She has grown over four inches. But, she still weighs the same fifty eight pounds, so she is a long, lean girl.
Liv is telling me about an episode of one her favorite shows called The Amanda Show. Apparently there is this hilarious girl on it who says the word "please" all the time. I watch her hands gesticulating, her face merry. She is mimicking this actress with near perfect vocal pitch.
I love her so much that my heart is breaking.
I spent the first four months of her life walking the floor with her. She had colic. I used to sing a song called It Had To Be You to her. Instead of the usual lyrics, I sang
I'm losing my mind
My well educated mind
I paid a fortune for it
But what do I care
When I can be up all night with you
My screaming little you
Who is driving me insane....
You get the picture.
When she was two, her favorite activity was to unfold every article of clothing in the laundry pile.
When she was three, I tried to start her in pre-school. She broke the school record for screaming and crying (two hours) and after throwing up all over her teacher's hand, I was called. The head of school told me that they had never had a child that they couldn't work with until they met Liv.
"She certainly has an iron will," she said.
She did? I was surprised. At home, she never seemed particularly stubborn or tantrum prone to me. But, I'd never tried to make her go to school before.
She showed me. She has an iron will when she needs one. She wasn't ready yet. She knew it and I didn't. So, I trusted her instincts and kept her home another year.
She was ready at four.
In kindergarten, she had a best friend named Matthew and was so excited to make our first jack o' lantern that she plunged her hands joyfully into the pumpkin pulp as soon as we took the top off of it.
In first grade, she met Bette. They have been best friends for two years. They share a love of webkins, The Amanda Show, peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches, and telling each other scary stories in the dark of our basement. Then, they run upstairs screaming happily into our well lit kitchen to request carrot sticks and ranch dressing.
Liv takes violin lessons, will be on a softball team, and now a swim team.
She is seven (and a half!).
She loves sardines, which give her terrible breath and I have to hold my breath when she kisses me.
She loves to help me plan our garden. She has some starter seeds from Orna growing in little pots on our sun porch.
She makes me laugh every single day. She has taught me how to love unconditionally and with a deep joy that I never knew existed in me until I saw her face for the first time.
And now she is old enough to be on a swim team.
Boy howdy. Where's the kleenex?
Monday, March 19, 2007
Back to school
Well, I called Liv's school today and told them that if they still needed me to help supervise lunch for the pre-schoolers, I'm their slave gal. (Liv goes to a Montessori school that starts pre-schoolers from age 3 and goes to 6th grade. She is in 2nd grade in the elementary school and there are only 20 kids total, so she gets lots of individual attention. But, there are over sixty preschoolers!)
I am sure that I heard the head mistress salivating over the phone.
"Yes!!! When can you come back? she asked, trying not to betray the sense of extreme neediness that I could hear riding all over her voice.
I said tomorrow.
So...yeah. Now that Orna is gone, I feel obligated to go do the lunch supervising for the pre-schoolers. I have done that for most of the year and only stopped to help nurse Orna for awhile. I don't really like opening up forty sandwiches, twenty nine yogurt containers, thirteen fruit cups and a bajillion cookies, but I do like being in Liv's school and hearing all the news that I wouldn't hear otherwise.
I know which teachers are easy to get along with, which ones gossip in the teacher's lounge and which ones are getting burned out. I know a lot of parents just from seeing their kid's lunches. You can tell a lot about a parent from the kind of lunch they make, but I try to be kind. I remember when Liv was a pre-schooler, I was still working full time and I often forgot to cut her sandwich or pack juice. Once, when we were late, I accidentally packed a bag of dog treats instead of the pack of cookies. I can only imagine what they thought went on at home. I didn't even know that I did that until Liv came home and handed me the unopened dog treats, saying, "Miss Crisppa said to give these back to you,"
I was mortified until I finally started laughing and then I got WAY out of hand, nearly went hysterical. I decided to go down to part time freelancing soon after that.
It was a good decision.....:)
But, the best part of going back to lunch time supervisor is
1 I get to see Liv during the day. I often stop in to see her after I am done cleaning up aftertoddler lunch hell pre-school lunchtime. I get to see how her day is going and share her dessert. Sometimes, if I don't have any clients lined up, I sit outside and watch her at recess. I have learned a lot about her friends and how she behaves at school from this process.
2 I get to see Harriet, my best friend and fellow lunch supervisor. She makes the whole she-bang tolerable. We laugh a lot and she has the dubious prize of being the only person who has ever made me laugh so hard that I had milk come out my nose. Harriet has a daughter in kindergarten and a son in first grade, so we have lots to talk about. She also taught me how to whip someone's ass perfectly with a towel.
It's an art. Really. It's all in the wrist action. Not that we whip the little pre-schoolers. No, we save the whips for unsuspecting teachers and each other. Once, I towel whipped Felix, the janitor and he called me a "little vixen." I always wanted to be called that.
3 I actually like the pre-schoolers. I think they are funny and sweet and we have a fun time. They seem to like me too, or so their moms tell me. I had one mother say that her son wanted to marry me. It is a perk to work at a place where everyone thinks I am swell. I don't always get such devotion and love from my clients. And my clients aren't nearly so adorable.
So, tomorrow, I join the land of the crazy lunch ladies again.
Do I know how to entertain myself or what?
I am sure that I heard the head mistress salivating over the phone.
"Yes!!! When can you come back? she asked, trying not to betray the sense of extreme neediness that I could hear riding all over her voice.
I said tomorrow.
So...yeah. Now that Orna is gone, I feel obligated to go do the lunch supervising for the pre-schoolers. I have done that for most of the year and only stopped to help nurse Orna for awhile. I don't really like opening up forty sandwiches, twenty nine yogurt containers, thirteen fruit cups and a bajillion cookies, but I do like being in Liv's school and hearing all the news that I wouldn't hear otherwise.
I know which teachers are easy to get along with, which ones gossip in the teacher's lounge and which ones are getting burned out. I know a lot of parents just from seeing their kid's lunches. You can tell a lot about a parent from the kind of lunch they make, but I try to be kind. I remember when Liv was a pre-schooler, I was still working full time and I often forgot to cut her sandwich or pack juice. Once, when we were late, I accidentally packed a bag of dog treats instead of the pack of cookies. I can only imagine what they thought went on at home. I didn't even know that I did that until Liv came home and handed me the unopened dog treats, saying, "Miss Crisppa said to give these back to you,"
I was mortified until I finally started laughing and then I got WAY out of hand, nearly went hysterical. I decided to go down to part time freelancing soon after that.
It was a good decision.....:)
But, the best part of going back to lunch time supervisor is
1 I get to see Liv during the day. I often stop in to see her after I am done cleaning up after
2 I get to see Harriet, my best friend and fellow lunch supervisor. She makes the whole she-bang tolerable. We laugh a lot and she has the dubious prize of being the only person who has ever made me laugh so hard that I had milk come out my nose. Harriet has a daughter in kindergarten and a son in first grade, so we have lots to talk about. She also taught me how to whip someone's ass perfectly with a towel.
It's an art. Really. It's all in the wrist action. Not that we whip the little pre-schoolers. No, we save the whips for unsuspecting teachers and each other. Once, I towel whipped Felix, the janitor and he called me a "little vixen." I always wanted to be called that.
3 I actually like the pre-schoolers. I think they are funny and sweet and we have a fun time. They seem to like me too, or so their moms tell me. I had one mother say that her son wanted to marry me. It is a perk to work at a place where everyone thinks I am swell. I don't always get such devotion and love from my clients. And my clients aren't nearly so adorable.
So, tomorrow, I join the land of the crazy lunch ladies again.
Do I know how to entertain myself or what?
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Testing
Mainly this is to test to see if my comments go back up. I was distressed when Bobealia sent me an email to tell me that she couldn't comment....I dutifully went to my settings only to find that everything seemed in order.
So, I dunno. I'll just blame it on a mean spirited peeper.
We just returned home from the movie Zodiac. It was long, yes. But, it was very interesting. I had to pee right in the middle of it and was afraid to get up in case I missed something! So, it was that good. (Yes, I did go find a ladies room, but it was at a fair clip. I rushed back to my seat and made Bing tell me in a whisper everything that I had missed.) I am embarrassed to say that the whole zodiac murder case was around the time when I should have remembered it. I was about 10 when it started, but I honestly had NO recollection of it. Albeit, I was a young sprout on the prairie, but my family DID read the paper and watch the news. I can't believe I didn't recall any of it. Bing remembered it vaguely.
So, yeah...go see it. It is wonderful, although a little grisly. I had to close my eyes at the murder scenes, but I found the whole story fascinating.
And bowling? I can only say that I am not in any danger of losing my gutter queen title. But, those shoes are sure spiffy. And I made sure to wear my black jeans so that my ass didn't look quite so huge when I bent over to throw the ball....Liv and Bing only did slightly better.
On the way home, Liv asked me if I had looked into finding her an ice skating instructor as promised, so I am guessing that she isn't too keen on the bowling thing.
Another odd thing...did anyone else watch Meet the Press today? Well, there I am watching it in that half ass way that I do every Sunday morning and suddenly I hear strains of the song Stompin' At The Savoy.
That song was played at Orna's funeral. I swear that woman is making damn sure that I know that she made it safe and sound....
Anyone else an Amazing Race junkie? And if you are, who are your favorites? I like the gay grandpas. I can hardly stand Mirna and Charla.
It is going to be a couch potato night as Battlestar Galactica is on too. Bing and I even bought doughnuts to snarf as we watch. Since I only get one doughnut per week, I made sure it was a long john. Life is good when you can watch Athena and eat a long john. Boy howdy.
Okay...end of test. Let's see if my comments option comes back to play.
So, I dunno. I'll just blame it on a mean spirited peeper.
We just returned home from the movie Zodiac. It was long, yes. But, it was very interesting. I had to pee right in the middle of it and was afraid to get up in case I missed something! So, it was that good. (Yes, I did go find a ladies room, but it was at a fair clip. I rushed back to my seat and made Bing tell me in a whisper everything that I had missed.) I am embarrassed to say that the whole zodiac murder case was around the time when I should have remembered it. I was about 10 when it started, but I honestly had NO recollection of it. Albeit, I was a young sprout on the prairie, but my family DID read the paper and watch the news. I can't believe I didn't recall any of it. Bing remembered it vaguely.
So, yeah...go see it. It is wonderful, although a little grisly. I had to close my eyes at the murder scenes, but I found the whole story fascinating.
And bowling? I can only say that I am not in any danger of losing my gutter queen title. But, those shoes are sure spiffy. And I made sure to wear my black jeans so that my ass didn't look quite so huge when I bent over to throw the ball....Liv and Bing only did slightly better.
On the way home, Liv asked me if I had looked into finding her an ice skating instructor as promised, so I am guessing that she isn't too keen on the bowling thing.
Another odd thing...did anyone else watch Meet the Press today? Well, there I am watching it in that half ass way that I do every Sunday morning and suddenly I hear strains of the song Stompin' At The Savoy.
That song was played at Orna's funeral. I swear that woman is making damn sure that I know that she made it safe and sound....
Anyone else an Amazing Race junkie? And if you are, who are your favorites? I like the gay grandpas. I can hardly stand Mirna and Charla.
It is going to be a couch potato night as Battlestar Galactica is on too. Bing and I even bought doughnuts to snarf as we watch. Since I only get one doughnut per week, I made sure it was a long john. Life is good when you can watch Athena and eat a long john. Boy howdy.
Okay...end of test. Let's see if my comments option comes back to play.
Hmmmm
Not sure why my blog no longer has the post comment option. I have looked at everything and all seems set up correctly....
Hmmm....sorry. I will do my best to work on it after bowling....
Hmmm....sorry. I will do my best to work on it after bowling....
Time to relax....
Ah...SO glad that Orna's funeral (or as she called it, a "farewell party") is over. I am very ready to do something else, move into other ways of living. And it is what Orna would want. She would be mad as hell at me if I sat around bawling. She'd tell me to take Liv bowling and stop acting like such a wuss pants.
So...yes...we are going to take Liv bowling this afternoon. She is excited. Bing and I are not. Bing has been trying unsuccessfully to slip out of this activity, but I am steadfast in insisting that we all go.
I have already warned them that I am going to beat the pants off them.
Uh huh.
I recall that I was a gutter ball queen in high school. I don't suppose that age has improved me. I am looking forward to wearing the shoes more than anything. The weird thing is that when I was in high school, I was a size five. Now, I am a size seven. How did my feet grow that much?
I have corned beef in the crock pot. I don't know why I bought it because I am truly Irish (both of my parents were from Ireland) and they always thought that it was very odd that in America, people ate corned beef and cabbage. Until they moved here, they had never eaten it. And they were scandalized at how St. Patrick's day was a drunken brawl of a holiday here. In Ireland, it is a very religious day. My mother always made lamb stew on St. Patrick's day and we went to mass.
I hate lamb stew. Even as a child, I used to shudder to think of lambs dying. Maybe that is why we have corned beef. I like it. Liv loves it. Bing thinks it is so-so.
After bowling, Liv is going to be babysat by her second favorite babysitters, (Orna was her favorite, of course, but I think she probably has better things to do now, like dance around like a madwoman and finally be able to eat peanut brittle again)Hal and Nora. Hal and Nora live a few houses down from us, are elderly and into show tunes. When Liv comes home, she will be singing tunes from The Music Man for hours....(oh, we got trouble, right here in river city...)
While Liv is learning the lyrics from OKLAHOMA!, Bing and I intend to go see the movie, ZODIAC. I am so excited about this and it is one we both want to see. I can't tell you how often we can't agree on a movie. Bing likes movies like The Terminator while I favor movies like The Queen. So...this one will satisfy both of us. I will see Jake G in anything and she likes anything that isn't what she calls "sappy or artsy movies."
I am excited just to be going on a sort of date. It has been awhile....
Before I forget...I wanted to tell you all that I have FINALLY learned how to make words bold. Has anyone noticed??? :)
And, hey...I am reading a great book. It is called Family Vacations by Steve White and it is truly hilarious. I actually laughed so hard while eating my cheerios this morning, that I nearly choked. So...if you want a really fun, light read, pick up this one.
And now I will end with my song of the day for GI Jane. Let's see....I've been listening to my old America cds....
Lonely People by America is the song for the day.
Have a good end to the weekend, everyone. And hey...do you think I am getting a little BOLDER? lately?
So...yes...we are going to take Liv bowling this afternoon. She is excited. Bing and I are not. Bing has been trying unsuccessfully to slip out of this activity, but I am steadfast in insisting that we all go.
I have already warned them that I am going to beat the pants off them.
Uh huh.
I recall that I was a gutter ball queen in high school. I don't suppose that age has improved me. I am looking forward to wearing the shoes more than anything. The weird thing is that when I was in high school, I was a size five. Now, I am a size seven. How did my feet grow that much?
I have corned beef in the crock pot. I don't know why I bought it because I am truly Irish (both of my parents were from Ireland) and they always thought that it was very odd that in America, people ate corned beef and cabbage. Until they moved here, they had never eaten it. And they were scandalized at how St. Patrick's day was a drunken brawl of a holiday here. In Ireland, it is a very religious day. My mother always made lamb stew on St. Patrick's day and we went to mass.
I hate lamb stew. Even as a child, I used to shudder to think of lambs dying. Maybe that is why we have corned beef. I like it. Liv loves it. Bing thinks it is so-so.
After bowling, Liv is going to be babysat by her second favorite babysitters, (Orna was her favorite, of course, but I think she probably has better things to do now, like dance around like a madwoman and finally be able to eat peanut brittle again)Hal and Nora. Hal and Nora live a few houses down from us, are elderly and into show tunes. When Liv comes home, she will be singing tunes from The Music Man for hours....(oh, we got trouble, right here in river city...)
While Liv is learning the lyrics from OKLAHOMA!, Bing and I intend to go see the movie, ZODIAC. I am so excited about this and it is one we both want to see. I can't tell you how often we can't agree on a movie. Bing likes movies like The Terminator while I favor movies like The Queen. So...this one will satisfy both of us. I will see Jake G in anything and she likes anything that isn't what she calls "sappy or artsy movies."
I am excited just to be going on a sort of date. It has been awhile....
Before I forget...I wanted to tell you all that I have FINALLY learned how to make words bold. Has anyone noticed??? :)
And, hey...I am reading a great book. It is called Family Vacations by Steve White and it is truly hilarious. I actually laughed so hard while eating my cheerios this morning, that I nearly choked. So...if you want a really fun, light read, pick up this one.
And now I will end with my song of the day for GI Jane. Let's see....I've been listening to my old America cds....
Lonely People by America is the song for the day.
Have a good end to the weekend, everyone. And hey...do you think I am getting a little BOLDER? lately?
Saturday, March 17, 2007
MEME
I was over at Lee's place and saw this MEME several days ago. Just getting around to it now.
Where is your cell phone?
purse
Vehicle?
2004
Hair?
Dry
Father?
Irish
Your favorite thing?
Sleep
Dream last night?
Orna driving my car
Favorite drink?
Apple martini. Two, please. Make that three.
Room you are in?
Office
Your ex?
Sorry
You are?
Tired
What do you want to be in ten years?
Wealthier
Who did you hang out with today?
Funeral attendees
What you're not?
Energetic
Muffins?
Cherry. Two, please. Make that three.
One of your wish list items?
Dishwasher that isn't puke green.
Where is the ___?
Money
The last thing you did?
Laundry
What are you wearing?
Black
Favorite TV show?
Lost
Your pet(s)?
Two fish: Steve and Party Doll
Herbert the hermit crab
Newly acquired filthy talking parrot which used to be Orna's: Burt
Your computer?
Mac
Your life?
Complicated, frequently misunderstood
Your mood?
Teary
Missing?
Dry tear ducts
What are you thinking about right now?
Grocery shopping list, don't forget bleach
Your shoes?
Loafers
Your work?
Freelance, neglected
Your summer?
Hot, muggy, stinky pits
Your favorite color?
Green
It does occur to me that list could change tomorrow.
I am just glad to do a MEME. I feel like the last few days have been so mentally draining that just filling in some blanks feels like a pleasure.
For those of you celebrating St. Patrick's Day, be safe out there. We plan to stay home. Have corned beef tomorrow.
I've promised Liv to take her bowling this weekend. I haven't bowled since high school, so I may just really, really suck at it. But, I like the shoes.
Thank you to everyone who has been so kind in your comments of late. They helped.
Where is your cell phone?
purse
Vehicle?
2004
Hair?
Dry
Father?
Irish
Your favorite thing?
Sleep
Dream last night?
Orna driving my car
Favorite drink?
Apple martini. Two, please. Make that three.
Room you are in?
Office
Your ex?
Sorry
You are?
Tired
What do you want to be in ten years?
Wealthier
Who did you hang out with today?
Funeral attendees
What you're not?
Energetic
Muffins?
Cherry. Two, please. Make that three.
One of your wish list items?
Dishwasher that isn't puke green.
Where is the ___?
Money
The last thing you did?
Laundry
What are you wearing?
Black
Favorite TV show?
Lost
Your pet(s)?
Two fish: Steve and Party Doll
Herbert the hermit crab
Newly acquired filthy talking parrot which used to be Orna's: Burt
Your computer?
Mac
Your life?
Complicated, frequently misunderstood
Your mood?
Teary
Missing?
Dry tear ducts
What are you thinking about right now?
Grocery shopping list, don't forget bleach
Your shoes?
Loafers
Your work?
Freelance, neglected
Your summer?
Hot, muggy, stinky pits
Your favorite color?
Green
It does occur to me that list could change tomorrow.
I am just glad to do a MEME. I feel like the last few days have been so mentally draining that just filling in some blanks feels like a pleasure.
For those of you celebrating St. Patrick's Day, be safe out there. We plan to stay home. Have corned beef tomorrow.
I've promised Liv to take her bowling this weekend. I haven't bowled since high school, so I may just really, really suck at it. But, I like the shoes.
Thank you to everyone who has been so kind in your comments of late. They helped.
Friday, March 16, 2007
A sign?
I took care of Orna for 27 days. In that time, we often talked about the afterlife. I wasn't sure there was one, she suspected strongly that there was. Neither one of us knew if there was a God. We were both on the fence. I have always had a sort of "good force and bad force" spirituality. Orna thought that there was a god, but that it wasn't a he or a she, more of a presence of total good.
I asked her to give me a sign after she died that she made it safe and sound and that the afterlife existed and was a good place, a happy existence. We spent an entire afternoon discussing what the sign should be. We finally settled on a song. She would send me an agreed upon song if there was life after death. I was not to seek the song. I was just to let it come to me. But, we did set up a time frame...if I hadn't heard the song in one month, I would disregard it if I heard it after that time. I mean, the odds are that eventually you will hear a certain song if you wait long enough, right?
I suggested Ventura Highway. She said no...that it was too recent, that it should be a song from her generation. She suggested "Puttin On The Ritz." I reminded her that there was a remake of that song in the 80's. She said it didn't matter. It was one of her favorite songs. And that when I heard it, I was to imagine her dancing towards me, laughing, in a top hat and a fancy shmancy gown. I agreed.
This is a true story.
Yesterday, I cheated. I always listen to audio books when I am driving without Liv. I am currently listening to Wicked (and it is wicked good, by the way). But, yesterday, I just turned the radio on instead. Within minutes, I heard the perfect beginning guitar riff of Ventura Highway. I snorted. Said out loud, "Orna, WRONG song, sister. We changed it to Puttin On The Ritz, remember?" But, I listened to Ventura Highway with tears in my eyes. (Chewin on a piece of grass, walking down the roaaaddd.)
I shut the radio off. No cheating.
I pulled into my driveway, stepped out to the street to get the mail from the box. My sister was driving by and pulled into the driveway.
We chatted for awhile, me leaning into her van. We talked about Orna, she knew I'd been blue about her. We talked about how Orna had designed her own funeral and visitation and that her family was in a stew about it because it was so...Orna. (She arranged for flamenco dancers to perform at the visitation. She insisted on being dressed in her ratty old pink bathrobe and comfy slippers in her casket. She didn't want traditional prayers but had several native american writings that she wants read. Very Orna. Very odd. So perfect. Her family is up in arms. I am enjoying it, yes. Very much.)
My sister said she had better get going. I leaned in to hug her.
And stopped dead.
"What is that song playing on the radio?" I asked her.
She turned it up.
It was Puttin on the Ritz.
I gave a whoop, nearly scaring the hell out of my sister. I didn't explain why, she is a devout and very practical Catholic. She would probably tell me that it was the devil playing tricks on me or something.
I went back into the house and sat smiling on the sofa, Orna in a top hat and a beautiful green beaded gown, dancing towards me....a big slippery smile on her face. And there....looky here. Here comes her Bobby, her husband, the man she was married to for only 3 years before he died on Omaha Beach. She never remarried. She said that lightning doesn't strike twice. But, there they are, dancing together at last. Happy. In the afterlife that she suspected was always there.
Puttin' on the Ritz
If you're blue and you don't know where to go
why don't you go where fashion sits,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Different types who wear a day coat, pants with stripes
and cutaway coat, perfect fits,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Dressed up like a million dollar trouper
Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper (super duper)
Come let's mix where Rockefellers walk with sticks
or "umberellas" in their mitts,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Have you seen the well-to-do up and down Park Avenue
On that famous thoroughfare with their noses in the air
High hats and Arrow collars white spats and lots of dollars
Spending every dime for a wonderful time
If you're blue and you don't know where to go
why don't you go where fashion sits,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Puttin' on the ritz.
Puttin' on the ritz.
I asked her to give me a sign after she died that she made it safe and sound and that the afterlife existed and was a good place, a happy existence. We spent an entire afternoon discussing what the sign should be. We finally settled on a song. She would send me an agreed upon song if there was life after death. I was not to seek the song. I was just to let it come to me. But, we did set up a time frame...if I hadn't heard the song in one month, I would disregard it if I heard it after that time. I mean, the odds are that eventually you will hear a certain song if you wait long enough, right?
I suggested Ventura Highway. She said no...that it was too recent, that it should be a song from her generation. She suggested "Puttin On The Ritz." I reminded her that there was a remake of that song in the 80's. She said it didn't matter. It was one of her favorite songs. And that when I heard it, I was to imagine her dancing towards me, laughing, in a top hat and a fancy shmancy gown. I agreed.
This is a true story.
Yesterday, I cheated. I always listen to audio books when I am driving without Liv. I am currently listening to Wicked (and it is wicked good, by the way). But, yesterday, I just turned the radio on instead. Within minutes, I heard the perfect beginning guitar riff of Ventura Highway. I snorted. Said out loud, "Orna, WRONG song, sister. We changed it to Puttin On The Ritz, remember?" But, I listened to Ventura Highway with tears in my eyes. (Chewin on a piece of grass, walking down the roaaaddd.)
I shut the radio off. No cheating.
I pulled into my driveway, stepped out to the street to get the mail from the box. My sister was driving by and pulled into the driveway.
We chatted for awhile, me leaning into her van. We talked about Orna, she knew I'd been blue about her. We talked about how Orna had designed her own funeral and visitation and that her family was in a stew about it because it was so...Orna. (She arranged for flamenco dancers to perform at the visitation. She insisted on being dressed in her ratty old pink bathrobe and comfy slippers in her casket. She didn't want traditional prayers but had several native american writings that she wants read. Very Orna. Very odd. So perfect. Her family is up in arms. I am enjoying it, yes. Very much.)
My sister said she had better get going. I leaned in to hug her.
And stopped dead.
"What is that song playing on the radio?" I asked her.
She turned it up.
It was Puttin on the Ritz.
I gave a whoop, nearly scaring the hell out of my sister. I didn't explain why, she is a devout and very practical Catholic. She would probably tell me that it was the devil playing tricks on me or something.
I went back into the house and sat smiling on the sofa, Orna in a top hat and a beautiful green beaded gown, dancing towards me....a big slippery smile on her face. And there....looky here. Here comes her Bobby, her husband, the man she was married to for only 3 years before he died on Omaha Beach. She never remarried. She said that lightning doesn't strike twice. But, there they are, dancing together at last. Happy. In the afterlife that she suspected was always there.
Puttin' on the Ritz
If you're blue and you don't know where to go
why don't you go where fashion sits,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Different types who wear a day coat, pants with stripes
and cutaway coat, perfect fits,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Dressed up like a million dollar trouper
Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper (super duper)
Come let's mix where Rockefellers walk with sticks
or "umberellas" in their mitts,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Have you seen the well-to-do up and down Park Avenue
On that famous thoroughfare with their noses in the air
High hats and Arrow collars white spats and lots of dollars
Spending every dime for a wonderful time
If you're blue and you don't know where to go
why don't you go where fashion sits,
Puttin' on the ritz.
Puttin' on the ritz.
Puttin' on the ritz.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
10:20 a.m. March 14th, 2007
Come lovely and soothing
death. Undulate round the
world, serenely arriving,
arriving, in the day, in the
night, to all, to each. Sooner or
later, delicate death.
Walt Whitman.
Goodbye,Orna. Safe journey. Thank you.
death. Undulate round the
world, serenely arriving,
arriving, in the day, in the
night, to all, to each. Sooner or
later, delicate death.
Walt Whitman.
Goodbye,Orna. Safe journey. Thank you.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
A hard bit and a mini rant
The hard one first:
I am so sick of CANCER. My mother died of it. My sister was diagnosed with breast cancer last year and is in remission. My other sister is currently having her blood checked to see if she carries the breast cancer gene. A very good friend of mine died of cancer this Autumn.
And now, my next door neighbor, Orna is dying of bladder cancer.
Today was a hard day. Orna is now in a coma. Not even small windows of coherence. She is just there. But, not there. She lays like a doll, with her legs splayed under the covers, drooling and breathing in alternate shallows and Darth Vadar-like bellows. Once in awhile, she will grimace or groan. A leg will twitch. Her arm will flail listlessly around as if searching for something and then drop like a rock back on the bed. Not a ghost of a smile when I leaned down and said her name, told her that I was here. I picked up my Leaves of Grass that she had asked me to read to her the last time I was there, but after a few pages, my voice trailed off and I just sat and held her hand.
I looked out the window at her bird feeders. They are always teeming with birds, jockeying for position. Not today. Not a bird in sight. It was as if they were being quiet just for her.
Let her sleep. Better sleep than to be writhing in pain.
I went back to Leaves of Grass and opened the book at random. I looked down and saw these lines from Song of Myself:
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
I hope so, Orna. I really do. Safe journey. I hope that your trip to wherever you go has some Gustavo Santaolalla music in the background. I hope that you peek back now and then at the little girl with the dirty blonde hair and her mama, who thanks you profusely for helping her to have the prettiest rose bushes on the block. Thank you for being our friend.
I know, I know. Egg shells. The secret is egg shells.
And now, because I don't want to end this on a sad note....
I have a mini rant.
I was at a diner the other day by myself. I had an hour before I had to pick Liv up and I like their coffee, so I stopped for a piece of apple pie and a coffee. I sat in a booth by myself with my copy of Self Storage (a great book if you need to find one) propped up in front of me.
A couple came in and sat in the booth facing me. Both of them. On the same side. I looked up and smiled and went back to my book. They ordered.
I tried not to watch them, but the truth is that I am always curious about couples who do that. Eat on the same side of the booth. Is it just me or do others find that kind of stupid?
I mean, it must be kind of hard to talk when you are smashed up next to each other, side by side like that. The booths are small in this diner. I would think that elbows would be a problem. Knocking elbows. And then there is always the problem of having to carefully drink your coffee and not have the other person inadvertently hit your elbow and send coffee spilling down your sweater.
I guess I can see sitting on the same side of the booth when you are out with another couple or even another person. But, when there are only two of you? Seems kind of...smushy.
They were young, so there was a lot of kissing and feeding each other food. With their fingers. Which, I'm sorry...bothered me. I mean, I don't want Bing feeding me mashed potatoes with her fingers. No. A piece of bread? Ok. Maybe. But, mashers? No.
And it was just plain awkward. I mean, there they were canoodling with each other, facing me, less than five feet away from me. I kept my face in my book, but...jeez louise, couldn't they have faced the other direction?
At one point, the woman licked a piece of something off the side of her boyfriend's mouth. (And I am guessing it was a boyfriend, because call me unromantic, but once you are married, you generally go for comfort and save the kissing behavior for home.) I felt a little gaggy.
So, I didn't enjoy my coffee nearly as much as I planned on and ended up leaving the diner early just because I was uncomfortable.
Okay, tell me. Am I just an unromantic person? Maybe jealous? Jaded? Been co-habitating too long?
What do you think? And has this ever happened to you? What do you think about same side booth dining?
I am so sick of CANCER. My mother died of it. My sister was diagnosed with breast cancer last year and is in remission. My other sister is currently having her blood checked to see if she carries the breast cancer gene. A very good friend of mine died of cancer this Autumn.
And now, my next door neighbor, Orna is dying of bladder cancer.
Today was a hard day. Orna is now in a coma. Not even small windows of coherence. She is just there. But, not there. She lays like a doll, with her legs splayed under the covers, drooling and breathing in alternate shallows and Darth Vadar-like bellows. Once in awhile, she will grimace or groan. A leg will twitch. Her arm will flail listlessly around as if searching for something and then drop like a rock back on the bed. Not a ghost of a smile when I leaned down and said her name, told her that I was here. I picked up my Leaves of Grass that she had asked me to read to her the last time I was there, but after a few pages, my voice trailed off and I just sat and held her hand.
I looked out the window at her bird feeders. They are always teeming with birds, jockeying for position. Not today. Not a bird in sight. It was as if they were being quiet just for her.
Let her sleep. Better sleep than to be writhing in pain.
I went back to Leaves of Grass and opened the book at random. I looked down and saw these lines from Song of Myself:
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
I hope so, Orna. I really do. Safe journey. I hope that your trip to wherever you go has some Gustavo Santaolalla music in the background. I hope that you peek back now and then at the little girl with the dirty blonde hair and her mama, who thanks you profusely for helping her to have the prettiest rose bushes on the block. Thank you for being our friend.
I know, I know. Egg shells. The secret is egg shells.
And now, because I don't want to end this on a sad note....
I have a mini rant.
I was at a diner the other day by myself. I had an hour before I had to pick Liv up and I like their coffee, so I stopped for a piece of apple pie and a coffee. I sat in a booth by myself with my copy of Self Storage (a great book if you need to find one) propped up in front of me.
A couple came in and sat in the booth facing me. Both of them. On the same side. I looked up and smiled and went back to my book. They ordered.
I tried not to watch them, but the truth is that I am always curious about couples who do that. Eat on the same side of the booth. Is it just me or do others find that kind of stupid?
I mean, it must be kind of hard to talk when you are smashed up next to each other, side by side like that. The booths are small in this diner. I would think that elbows would be a problem. Knocking elbows. And then there is always the problem of having to carefully drink your coffee and not have the other person inadvertently hit your elbow and send coffee spilling down your sweater.
I guess I can see sitting on the same side of the booth when you are out with another couple or even another person. But, when there are only two of you? Seems kind of...smushy.
They were young, so there was a lot of kissing and feeding each other food. With their fingers. Which, I'm sorry...bothered me. I mean, I don't want Bing feeding me mashed potatoes with her fingers. No. A piece of bread? Ok. Maybe. But, mashers? No.
And it was just plain awkward. I mean, there they were canoodling with each other, facing me, less than five feet away from me. I kept my face in my book, but...jeez louise, couldn't they have faced the other direction?
At one point, the woman licked a piece of something off the side of her boyfriend's mouth. (And I am guessing it was a boyfriend, because call me unromantic, but once you are married, you generally go for comfort and save the kissing behavior for home.) I felt a little gaggy.
So, I didn't enjoy my coffee nearly as much as I planned on and ended up leaving the diner early just because I was uncomfortable.
Okay, tell me. Am I just an unromantic person? Maybe jealous? Jaded? Been co-habitating too long?
What do you think? And has this ever happened to you? What do you think about same side booth dining?
Monday, March 12, 2007
BFF
I have several friends. Neve, Vanessa, Sue, GI Jane, Amani, Gina, Paulo, Vince, Thuan, Bess. But, then there is Harriet.
Sometimes you just hit gold and you know it.
I met Harriet at the beginning of the school year. She has a daughter in kindergarten and a son in 1st grade. Her kids go to Liv's school. She and I answered the call to be "lunch ladies." For the same reasons. We both needed the money. Her husband works in insurance but tuition is pricey and with Harriet not working, things were tight. She wanted a job that would only be part time and let her take and pick up her kids from school.
I had cut down from full time work to part time freelancing so that I could be with Liv more and our budget was feeling the crunch.
So, Harriet and I signed on to supervise the lunch hour from 11-1:30 each day.
We hit it off in that way that when it happens, you know it. You have found THE friend. From day one, we have laughed like lunatics at the same things and scowled like hags at the same things. We get each other.
We tried the couple dating thing. It didn't work. Her husband just felt weird being the only man in our group and Bing didn't like Harriet or her husband much, thought they were boring.
So, it was just Harriet and me. And it has made me think. What makes the perfect friend for me?
Well, she has the same sarcastic, slightly sardonic sense of humor that I do; slightly off kilter.
She likes the same books and movies.
She and I don't look anything alike. She is tall and I am...not. She is rail thin and I....am not. She is straight and I...am not.
We don't like the same foods. She is a health food devotee. I will eat anything fried. She and I both live in jeans, but she wears big bulky sweaters. I, as a hot flash queen, wear tee shirts.
We both waited until we were 40 to do the parenting thing. We both spent our 20's and 30's saying that we DID NOT have ticking clocks and never would.
We both had ticking clocks that went berserk at 40.
We have decided that if a movie were to be made about us, Harriet would be played by Joan Cusack and I would get Tina Fey. And we both think our lives really ARE interesting enough to make a good movie.
The thing that I have always really loved about Harriet, though, is that she has never asked me "the question."
The question is "Are you attracted to me?"
I can't tell you how many straight friends have asked me that and I have found it alternately amusing and annoying. I have always found it odd that so many people seem to think that if you are gay, you spend hours drooling over your straight friends. I never have. If I like someone as a friend, they are my friend.
If I am attracted to someone in THAT way, they are a lesbian.
Harriet has also never tried to set me up with her other gay friends. One of my friends is a black lesbian and she swears that she gets it double. That her friends will not only try to set her up with any and all other black friends, but their lesbian friends as well. To be fair here, Harriet would be the first to tell you that I am her ONLY gay friend, so that doesn't count.
So, Harriet rocks. She is funny, smart and just a little off the deep end. She bakes oat bran muffins and doesn't ask me if I want to just try one, although she did get me hooked on soy milk.
Now, I am a soy milk junkie and it is all her damn fault.
Harriet was the one who talked me into cutting my hair. ("You'll look like Annette Bening! I promise.") I actually liked it. I was the one who talked her into going to the doctor to get her bunions removed. ("You'll be able to run in marathons!")
We both loved The Queen. We both thought Borat was really, really stupid. Even after everyone else told us how hilarious it was.
Harriet has been on her own at work since I took some time off to take care of my neighbor, Orna. She sends me e-mails telling me I am missing a really fun day of getting spaghettios in our hair and calls me because she says that if I don't come back soon, she will start trying to hang pre-schoolers with their string cheese.
I miss her. She misses me. We are BFF.
Tell me about your BFF. How did you meet? Why are they your BFF? I think you can read a person by their friends and I want to know more about all of you.
And, oh, yes. For GI Jane: The song for today is: America's Ventura Highway. Because those first few guitar chords take me away someone warm and heady and because Spring was in the air today and I actually have sandals on!
Sometimes you just hit gold and you know it.
I met Harriet at the beginning of the school year. She has a daughter in kindergarten and a son in 1st grade. Her kids go to Liv's school. She and I answered the call to be "lunch ladies." For the same reasons. We both needed the money. Her husband works in insurance but tuition is pricey and with Harriet not working, things were tight. She wanted a job that would only be part time and let her take and pick up her kids from school.
I had cut down from full time work to part time freelancing so that I could be with Liv more and our budget was feeling the crunch.
So, Harriet and I signed on to supervise the lunch hour from 11-1:30 each day.
We hit it off in that way that when it happens, you know it. You have found THE friend. From day one, we have laughed like lunatics at the same things and scowled like hags at the same things. We get each other.
We tried the couple dating thing. It didn't work. Her husband just felt weird being the only man in our group and Bing didn't like Harriet or her husband much, thought they were boring.
So, it was just Harriet and me. And it has made me think. What makes the perfect friend for me?
Well, she has the same sarcastic, slightly sardonic sense of humor that I do; slightly off kilter.
She likes the same books and movies.
She and I don't look anything alike. She is tall and I am...not. She is rail thin and I....am not. She is straight and I...am not.
We don't like the same foods. She is a health food devotee. I will eat anything fried. She and I both live in jeans, but she wears big bulky sweaters. I, as a hot flash queen, wear tee shirts.
We both waited until we were 40 to do the parenting thing. We both spent our 20's and 30's saying that we DID NOT have ticking clocks and never would.
We both had ticking clocks that went berserk at 40.
We have decided that if a movie were to be made about us, Harriet would be played by Joan Cusack and I would get Tina Fey. And we both think our lives really ARE interesting enough to make a good movie.
The thing that I have always really loved about Harriet, though, is that she has never asked me "the question."
The question is "Are you attracted to me?"
I can't tell you how many straight friends have asked me that and I have found it alternately amusing and annoying. I have always found it odd that so many people seem to think that if you are gay, you spend hours drooling over your straight friends. I never have. If I like someone as a friend, they are my friend.
If I am attracted to someone in THAT way, they are a lesbian.
Harriet has also never tried to set me up with her other gay friends. One of my friends is a black lesbian and she swears that she gets it double. That her friends will not only try to set her up with any and all other black friends, but their lesbian friends as well. To be fair here, Harriet would be the first to tell you that I am her ONLY gay friend, so that doesn't count.
So, Harriet rocks. She is funny, smart and just a little off the deep end. She bakes oat bran muffins and doesn't ask me if I want to just try one, although she did get me hooked on soy milk.
Now, I am a soy milk junkie and it is all her damn fault.
Harriet was the one who talked me into cutting my hair. ("You'll look like Annette Bening! I promise.") I actually liked it. I was the one who talked her into going to the doctor to get her bunions removed. ("You'll be able to run in marathons!")
We both loved The Queen. We both thought Borat was really, really stupid. Even after everyone else told us how hilarious it was.
Harriet has been on her own at work since I took some time off to take care of my neighbor, Orna. She sends me e-mails telling me I am missing a really fun day of getting spaghettios in our hair and calls me because she says that if I don't come back soon, she will start trying to hang pre-schoolers with their string cheese.
I miss her. She misses me. We are BFF.
Tell me about your BFF. How did you meet? Why are they your BFF? I think you can read a person by their friends and I want to know more about all of you.
And, oh, yes. For GI Jane: The song for today is: America's Ventura Highway. Because those first few guitar chords take me away someone warm and heady and because Spring was in the air today and I actually have sandals on!
Saturday, March 10, 2007
The almost drunkard's post
Well. That was a close one. I almost posted in a drunken fog last night. SO glad that I didn't give in to that particular whim.
It had been a long day yesterday. I did my daily sitting with Orna, my dying neighbor. She is coherent only about half of the time now, but when she is lucid, she is REALLY lucid. This was our conversation:
Orna: Honey, I need to tell you something.
Me: Okay, shoot.
O: I saw your mother on one of my trips today.
Sidenote: Orna calls her fuzzy times "trips." She often comes back to herself and talks about visiting with people who have already passed, etc. It can get a little unnerving, although the hospice booklet that her nurse left for us tells us to expect this, that it is a common occurrence. So, her telling me that she spoke to my mother, meant that she was supposedly conversing with a woman who has been dead for 14 years.
Me: Oh? Did she mention where she put my Da's guitar because I would really like to have it for Liv and no one seems to know where it is. I suspect that one of my sisters is hiding it in her basement.
Orna: (smiling) No, honey. No talk of gee-tars. Honey, you need to forgive her. She can't pass any further along until you do that.
I sat there stunned into silence. I've never spoken of my relationship with my mother to Orna except to say that she died long ago and that my father died when I was a kid. I have never told Orna that ten years before my mother died, I came out to her and she disowned me, called me a deviant. That she forbade my sisters to talk to me unless they wanted to be disowned too. That even when she was dying of cancer and I tried to see her, she refused to let me in. That her last words to me were over the phone and that she had said, "You will regret shaming me in front of the whole town like this!"
So...now I was what? Supposed to forgive her? Was she having trouble getting into that heaven that she swore I would never set foot in?
I didn't answer. So, Orna pressed.
Orna: Honey. The other side is different than most people think. It has nothing to do with religion or family or anything. All that matters is love, kindness, and atonement. You only get to take that with you. Your mother is sorry for what she did to you and she asks your forgiveness.
I was fighting tears now. DAMN HER! How DARE she do this to me. I have lived a good part of my life feeling like I was a person that even a mother would find hard to love. That my own mother had shunned me and what did that say about me? I've tried to be a good person, tried to get past all that garbage, but it has been a battle. And now I am supposed to just forgive her?
Me: I don't know, Orna. This is a hard one.
Orna: It is not hard. It is easy. Forgiveness is the best gift you can give yourself. Anger holds you hostage. Let it go, Maria. It is time to forgive. Give your mama some peace. She tried too, she just failed at this part.
I never answered Orna. I changed the subject and she reluctantly let me. I rubbed lotion into her feet, read her some of her favorite recipes aloud, called her tax accountant for her.
When I left to go pick up Liv from school, Orna was out of it again. Fast asleep, drooling, gone somewhere talking to dead people, I suppose. I hoped that my mother wouldn't show up again.
Actually, I wished that she'd show up in MY dreams so that I could have a word or two with her. I'd tell her that she did some real damage, she did. That she was my mother, for godsakes, that it was her job to protect me not be my attacker. I would tell her that now that I have Liv, I can't wrap my head around a mother shunning her child. I honestly cannot think of anything that Liv could do to make me tell her to leave my life. I can't imagine it. I would never wish that Liv was gay, it is a hard place to be. You have people who hate you immediately and don't even know you. But, if she was a lesbian, well...fine. A mother loves unconditionally. That is our job. I feel like I do my job and my mother owed it to me to have done hers.
But, then...I step back and try to be fair. I remember my mother braiding my hair when I was child, singing to me. I remember her baking my favorite angel food cake for my birthday. I remembered her clapping like a madwoman when I played the lead in the high school musical. She was a good mother in so many ways. In the end, it was her fierce devotion to her church, her religious beliefs that caused her to shun me. And I need to accept that. I thought that I had made my way past all of this, apparently I hadn't.
So...last night, Bing and I went out for dinner. Alone. Liv was invited to a friend's house for dinner and bowling so we had a surprise night to ourselves. We went to a nice restaurant. I ordered an apple martini. We talked about our work. I didn't mention my conversation with Orna. Bing is not a believer in an afterlife and she would have thought Orna was just hallucinating or something and that I was overreacting.
I downed that apple martini and recklessly ordered another. Bing's eyebrow shot up but she didn't comment.
I downed that one too. I thought about ordering another but when I got up to go to the bathroom, I noticed the room swaying, so I decided to stop that ball from rolling any farther.
We picked Liv up and went home. Bing carried an already sleeping Liv into the house and put her to bed while I weaved around emptying the dishwasher and then I sat down at the computer to blog hop a little.
I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to blog about my mother. But...I dunno...a bath sounded better and Bing offered to wash my back, so I went in that direction instead.
Thank God.
I shiver to think about what drunkard post I would have written. Because while I am not a mean drunk, I am a very sentimental, teary one.
Better to write that post today when yes, I have a headache and woke up with a bad case of cotton mouth...but I am back in my own skin.
I will forgive her one day,my mother. But, not today. I can take a step towards that goal today, though. So...there...here is my step. Done.
And now...going on. Because I have to. I can't linger on this subject for too long. It is scabbed and healing, but I am not ready to pick it open yet.
Let's see...a big thank you to Harriet, my best friend, who is on a week long skiing trip with her husband and children. She sent me a wonderful card that made my day.
On the cover is a picture of a junior high aged girl. On the inside it says:
Don't you start,
because then I'll start
and you'll make that face
and I'll make
that snorting noise
and then we'll
both be in trouble
and I didn't even start it!
Harriet, I know you read this blog and I want you to know that I am so glad that I am not skiing. Yes, I know you are picturing me falling flat on my broad ass over and over again. And I am picturing you shooshing down those slopes and not falling on your scrawny ass even once. See you when you get home and you can tell me funny stories about your kids and if you were able to pry the cell phone out of your workaholic husband's hands....
And I am glad that you are the one who I can make those faces with.
Ok...three songs that I like for today:
1) Stuff Like That There by Bette Midler. She has a way around a tune, huh?
2) Jessie by Joshua Kadison. He was kind of a one-hit-wonder and it is kind of a sappy song, but we need the sappy ones sometimes.
3) Hand in My Pocket by Alanis Morissette. I like the way she slithers around her words.
Tonight, I will try hard not to get intoxicated....:) We are going to see Mannheim Steamroller and I am not sure, but I doubt if there is a drink bar at the theatre....
It had been a long day yesterday. I did my daily sitting with Orna, my dying neighbor. She is coherent only about half of the time now, but when she is lucid, she is REALLY lucid. This was our conversation:
Orna: Honey, I need to tell you something.
Me: Okay, shoot.
O: I saw your mother on one of my trips today.
Sidenote: Orna calls her fuzzy times "trips." She often comes back to herself and talks about visiting with people who have already passed, etc. It can get a little unnerving, although the hospice booklet that her nurse left for us tells us to expect this, that it is a common occurrence. So, her telling me that she spoke to my mother, meant that she was supposedly conversing with a woman who has been dead for 14 years.
Me: Oh? Did she mention where she put my Da's guitar because I would really like to have it for Liv and no one seems to know where it is. I suspect that one of my sisters is hiding it in her basement.
Orna: (smiling) No, honey. No talk of gee-tars. Honey, you need to forgive her. She can't pass any further along until you do that.
I sat there stunned into silence. I've never spoken of my relationship with my mother to Orna except to say that she died long ago and that my father died when I was a kid. I have never told Orna that ten years before my mother died, I came out to her and she disowned me, called me a deviant. That she forbade my sisters to talk to me unless they wanted to be disowned too. That even when she was dying of cancer and I tried to see her, she refused to let me in. That her last words to me were over the phone and that she had said, "You will regret shaming me in front of the whole town like this!"
So...now I was what? Supposed to forgive her? Was she having trouble getting into that heaven that she swore I would never set foot in?
I didn't answer. So, Orna pressed.
Orna: Honey. The other side is different than most people think. It has nothing to do with religion or family or anything. All that matters is love, kindness, and atonement. You only get to take that with you. Your mother is sorry for what she did to you and she asks your forgiveness.
I was fighting tears now. DAMN HER! How DARE she do this to me. I have lived a good part of my life feeling like I was a person that even a mother would find hard to love. That my own mother had shunned me and what did that say about me? I've tried to be a good person, tried to get past all that garbage, but it has been a battle. And now I am supposed to just forgive her?
Me: I don't know, Orna. This is a hard one.
Orna: It is not hard. It is easy. Forgiveness is the best gift you can give yourself. Anger holds you hostage. Let it go, Maria. It is time to forgive. Give your mama some peace. She tried too, she just failed at this part.
I never answered Orna. I changed the subject and she reluctantly let me. I rubbed lotion into her feet, read her some of her favorite recipes aloud, called her tax accountant for her.
When I left to go pick up Liv from school, Orna was out of it again. Fast asleep, drooling, gone somewhere talking to dead people, I suppose. I hoped that my mother wouldn't show up again.
Actually, I wished that she'd show up in MY dreams so that I could have a word or two with her. I'd tell her that she did some real damage, she did. That she was my mother, for godsakes, that it was her job to protect me not be my attacker. I would tell her that now that I have Liv, I can't wrap my head around a mother shunning her child. I honestly cannot think of anything that Liv could do to make me tell her to leave my life. I can't imagine it. I would never wish that Liv was gay, it is a hard place to be. You have people who hate you immediately and don't even know you. But, if she was a lesbian, well...fine. A mother loves unconditionally. That is our job. I feel like I do my job and my mother owed it to me to have done hers.
But, then...I step back and try to be fair. I remember my mother braiding my hair when I was child, singing to me. I remember her baking my favorite angel food cake for my birthday. I remembered her clapping like a madwoman when I played the lead in the high school musical. She was a good mother in so many ways. In the end, it was her fierce devotion to her church, her religious beliefs that caused her to shun me. And I need to accept that. I thought that I had made my way past all of this, apparently I hadn't.
So...last night, Bing and I went out for dinner. Alone. Liv was invited to a friend's house for dinner and bowling so we had a surprise night to ourselves. We went to a nice restaurant. I ordered an apple martini. We talked about our work. I didn't mention my conversation with Orna. Bing is not a believer in an afterlife and she would have thought Orna was just hallucinating or something and that I was overreacting.
I downed that apple martini and recklessly ordered another. Bing's eyebrow shot up but she didn't comment.
I downed that one too. I thought about ordering another but when I got up to go to the bathroom, I noticed the room swaying, so I decided to stop that ball from rolling any farther.
We picked Liv up and went home. Bing carried an already sleeping Liv into the house and put her to bed while I weaved around emptying the dishwasher and then I sat down at the computer to blog hop a little.
I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to blog about my mother. But...I dunno...a bath sounded better and Bing offered to wash my back, so I went in that direction instead.
Thank God.
I shiver to think about what drunkard post I would have written. Because while I am not a mean drunk, I am a very sentimental, teary one.
Better to write that post today when yes, I have a headache and woke up with a bad case of cotton mouth...but I am back in my own skin.
I will forgive her one day,my mother. But, not today. I can take a step towards that goal today, though. So...there...here is my step. Done.
And now...going on. Because I have to. I can't linger on this subject for too long. It is scabbed and healing, but I am not ready to pick it open yet.
Let's see...a big thank you to Harriet, my best friend, who is on a week long skiing trip with her husband and children. She sent me a wonderful card that made my day.
On the cover is a picture of a junior high aged girl. On the inside it says:
Don't you start,
because then I'll start
and you'll make that face
and I'll make
that snorting noise
and then we'll
both be in trouble
and I didn't even start it!
Harriet, I know you read this blog and I want you to know that I am so glad that I am not skiing. Yes, I know you are picturing me falling flat on my broad ass over and over again. And I am picturing you shooshing down those slopes and not falling on your scrawny ass even once. See you when you get home and you can tell me funny stories about your kids and if you were able to pry the cell phone out of your workaholic husband's hands....
And I am glad that you are the one who I can make those faces with.
Ok...three songs that I like for today:
1) Stuff Like That There by Bette Midler. She has a way around a tune, huh?
2) Jessie by Joshua Kadison. He was kind of a one-hit-wonder and it is kind of a sappy song, but we need the sappy ones sometimes.
3) Hand in My Pocket by Alanis Morissette. I like the way she slithers around her words.
Tonight, I will try hard not to get intoxicated....:) We are going to see Mannheim Steamroller and I am not sure, but I doubt if there is a drink bar at the theatre....
Thursday, March 08, 2007
The Tudors and Self Storage.
Well, there I am paging through People magazine yesterday (yes, yes, I bought the damn thing at the store...the Oscar dresses pulled me in, though, not McDreamy) and I see this ad and stop.....DEAD....in my tracks.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers in a movie called The Tudors. On Showtime. Which I do not get.
I don't think I have mentioned how much I adore Jonathan, have I? I saw him first in Bend it Like Beckham and decided to put him on my very short list of men who I would go straight for (Kevin Spacey, John Malkovich, John Cusack, Daniel Day Lewis, Johnny Depp..well, actually just Jack Sparrow, and Sawyer on Lost).
I would watch Jonathan in anything, virtually anything. And now I am going to have to figure out how to see him on Showtime. Maybe order it for a month and then cancel? I love that man's lips! I love the way he looks like he has been around but I bet he knows how to have a great dinner conversation too. So..The Tudors. I will watch him play Henry the 8th, even though I actually did research on Henry in college and he was...well...disgusting. I don't care. Jonathan will make me like him. I know he will.
And this one is for GI Jane...you asked me last night on the phone what I was reading these days and I couldn't remember the name offhand. I said I would find out and here it is: Self Storage by Gayle Brandeis. Read it, y'all. It is THAT good. Some books just reach out and grab you by the heart and this one had me hooked by the first two sentences:
Celebrate yourself.
Sorry I just can't do it.
Brandeis is the reason why I stayed up until 11 last night reading and when the alarm went off at 5:30 this morning, it felt like I was trying to surface from being very deep underwater.
And this one is for Harriet, who thought I should post a song of the day. I don't know if I will, I tend to forget things like that. But, the song for today is:
What You Didn't Say by Mary Chapin Carpenter. I love her voice. It seeps into my skin and makes me feel like she knows me far too well.
But, I hate to end with a sad, sappy song...so let's see...another one:
Babylon by David Gray. It is the ONE AND ONLY song that Bing ever played for me because it reminded her of me.
But...wait...yeah...that one is sort of sappy too. OKAY...one more:
Sweet Baby James by James Taylor. I used to sing it to Liv when I rocked her to sleep and she and I still sing it occasionally in the car.
Happy Thursday, everyone.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers in a movie called The Tudors. On Showtime. Which I do not get.
I don't think I have mentioned how much I adore Jonathan, have I? I saw him first in Bend it Like Beckham and decided to put him on my very short list of men who I would go straight for (Kevin Spacey, John Malkovich, John Cusack, Daniel Day Lewis, Johnny Depp..well, actually just Jack Sparrow, and Sawyer on Lost).
I would watch Jonathan in anything, virtually anything. And now I am going to have to figure out how to see him on Showtime. Maybe order it for a month and then cancel? I love that man's lips! I love the way he looks like he has been around but I bet he knows how to have a great dinner conversation too. So..The Tudors. I will watch him play Henry the 8th, even though I actually did research on Henry in college and he was...well...disgusting. I don't care. Jonathan will make me like him. I know he will.
And this one is for GI Jane...you asked me last night on the phone what I was reading these days and I couldn't remember the name offhand. I said I would find out and here it is: Self Storage by Gayle Brandeis. Read it, y'all. It is THAT good. Some books just reach out and grab you by the heart and this one had me hooked by the first two sentences:
Celebrate yourself.
Sorry I just can't do it.
Brandeis is the reason why I stayed up until 11 last night reading and when the alarm went off at 5:30 this morning, it felt like I was trying to surface from being very deep underwater.
And this one is for Harriet, who thought I should post a song of the day. I don't know if I will, I tend to forget things like that. But, the song for today is:
What You Didn't Say by Mary Chapin Carpenter. I love her voice. It seeps into my skin and makes me feel like she knows me far too well.
But, I hate to end with a sad, sappy song...so let's see...another one:
Babylon by David Gray. It is the ONE AND ONLY song that Bing ever played for me because it reminded her of me.
But...wait...yeah...that one is sort of sappy too. OKAY...one more:
Sweet Baby James by James Taylor. I used to sing it to Liv when I rocked her to sleep and she and I still sing it occasionally in the car.
Happy Thursday, everyone.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Random Acts
I was at the grocery store yesterday in a wicked bad mood.
I felt like a hippo.
I have rheumatoid arthritis and it was acting up, so I was all achy and bleary.
I was in a funk about my relationship with Bing. I don't know how she stays with me, I really don't. I am not good at being a partner. I start to feel strangled and like I can't breathe and just want...out. But, every action I take reverberates through Liv's life and I know that I have to try to make this work, but it is just so hard some days.
Bing knows me better than anyone and knows that I struggle with the whole relationship dance from time to time and she just hunkers down and stays quiet until I get back into myself. She knows that I will never leave. I love her, I just don't move well as a unit (unless it is a mother-child one, I excel at that unit). But, some days I just feel...stuck.
I had promised Orna that I would make her a rice pudding so I was picking up ingredients and feeling very, very cranky because I LOVE rice pudding and knew that I would only allow myself one bite because well, hey, I have NINE pounds to lose at least and my jeans don't want to snap anymore.
I passed a display of shamrock plants. I paused, smiled a little. I wanted one. I am Irish (I really am...both of my parents were born in Ireland) and anything Irish is a good thing in my eyes. The plant reminded me of my Father, who is dead but was always nursing a shamrock plant or two when I was a kid.
I decided that I didn't NEED this plant. I have plenty of plants and they were asking 6 bucks for them. So, sighing, I walked on and got my stuff, checked out and was headed to my car.
"Hey, missy!"
I turned slightly, did that thing where you look around to make sure that it isn't you being spoken to.
But, it was me being spoken to.
There was this older gentleman in a nice black coat and hat, the kind of hat that Ward Cleaver would have worn.
He was holding a shamrock plant in one hand and a jug of milk in the other.
He held the plant out to me.
"I was getting milk for my wife and I noticed you looking so sad and eying these pretty things," he said. "I want you to take this as a gift."
I didn't know what to say. If Liv had been with me, I would have had a conundrum as I have told her a million times to NEVER take anything or speak to strangers.
But, I took the plant and smiled. Thanked him. Told him that I was touched.
He smiled back. "I could see you debating and you looked like you needed a break today," he said.
I told him that actually I DID need a break, so thank you again.
He waved and got into this shiny town car and left, waving again as he passed me, still standing and watching him.
Random acts. We all need a few.
And a big thank you to the aging Ward Cleaver in the nice hat who took time to make a plump, cranky woman's day.
I felt like a hippo.
I have rheumatoid arthritis and it was acting up, so I was all achy and bleary.
I was in a funk about my relationship with Bing. I don't know how she stays with me, I really don't. I am not good at being a partner. I start to feel strangled and like I can't breathe and just want...out. But, every action I take reverberates through Liv's life and I know that I have to try to make this work, but it is just so hard some days.
Bing knows me better than anyone and knows that I struggle with the whole relationship dance from time to time and she just hunkers down and stays quiet until I get back into myself. She knows that I will never leave. I love her, I just don't move well as a unit (unless it is a mother-child one, I excel at that unit). But, some days I just feel...stuck.
I had promised Orna that I would make her a rice pudding so I was picking up ingredients and feeling very, very cranky because I LOVE rice pudding and knew that I would only allow myself one bite because well, hey, I have NINE pounds to lose at least and my jeans don't want to snap anymore.
I passed a display of shamrock plants. I paused, smiled a little. I wanted one. I am Irish (I really am...both of my parents were born in Ireland) and anything Irish is a good thing in my eyes. The plant reminded me of my Father, who is dead but was always nursing a shamrock plant or two when I was a kid.
I decided that I didn't NEED this plant. I have plenty of plants and they were asking 6 bucks for them. So, sighing, I walked on and got my stuff, checked out and was headed to my car.
"Hey, missy!"
I turned slightly, did that thing where you look around to make sure that it isn't you being spoken to.
But, it was me being spoken to.
There was this older gentleman in a nice black coat and hat, the kind of hat that Ward Cleaver would have worn.
He was holding a shamrock plant in one hand and a jug of milk in the other.
He held the plant out to me.
"I was getting milk for my wife and I noticed you looking so sad and eying these pretty things," he said. "I want you to take this as a gift."
I didn't know what to say. If Liv had been with me, I would have had a conundrum as I have told her a million times to NEVER take anything or speak to strangers.
But, I took the plant and smiled. Thanked him. Told him that I was touched.
He smiled back. "I could see you debating and you looked like you needed a break today," he said.
I told him that actually I DID need a break, so thank you again.
He waved and got into this shiny town car and left, waving again as he passed me, still standing and watching him.
Random acts. We all need a few.
And a big thank you to the aging Ward Cleaver in the nice hat who took time to make a plump, cranky woman's day.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
big large
Well, damn. I have been SO good about food this week. Said no to the cake. Said no to all desserts. I ate like a dainty woman, I did!
So, I cheekily got on the scale this morning, confidant that I would see a dent in my seven pound excess since Christmas.
I had gained two pounds.
I fumed at myself in the mirror.
"Well, what the HELL am I supposed to live on? Bread and water? I was SO good. You know I was! This is like a slap in the face. I should have just ate that frackin cake. I wanted it so bad! It was chocolate with that butter cream frosting that I love. And I passed it up! Held my hand up like a traffic cop and said no. Well, missy. I say we take that scale and toss it out the window. I say we torture it first. Put it in the microwave...yeah! But, no. I need that microwave to defrost those frozen brownies!"
I left the microwave.
And I will have yogurt for lunch.
But, I am not happy about this.
I WANT CAKE!
So, I cheekily got on the scale this morning, confidant that I would see a dent in my seven pound excess since Christmas.
I had gained two pounds.
I fumed at myself in the mirror.
"Well, what the HELL am I supposed to live on? Bread and water? I was SO good. You know I was! This is like a slap in the face. I should have just ate that frackin cake. I wanted it so bad! It was chocolate with that butter cream frosting that I love. And I passed it up! Held my hand up like a traffic cop and said no. Well, missy. I say we take that scale and toss it out the window. I say we torture it first. Put it in the microwave...yeah! But, no. I need that microwave to defrost those frozen brownies!"
I left the microwave.
And I will have yogurt for lunch.
But, I am not happy about this.
I WANT CAKE!
Monday, March 05, 2007
The song list
GI Jane is a good friend of mine. She lives clear across the country and calls me every week after Lost to rehash the show and to keep me in line, in general. She doesn't have a blog, but she should because she is just THAT interesting. She reads mine and says it is "okay if you like that stream of consciousness sort of thing." She had a suggestion. She is a music nut and suggested that I list the top ten songs (or movies or books, whatever) that reflected my mood for the day.
So..this one is for you, kid.
1) Redemption by Johnny Cash. No..not because I have been a bad girl, but because I saw Battlestar Galactica last night and I am thinking that Starbuck cannot REALLY be dead. This is all part of her redemption.
2) In My Life by the Beatles. Because Bing and I had kind of a rocky weekend again and the truth is that I know I am hard on her and difficult and even though she doesn't read blogs and thinks they are stupid, I hope she knows that in spite of me acting all chilly, she has a place in my life that I cherish.
3) Keep Me in Your Heart by Warren Zevon. For Orna.
4) Big My Secret by Michael Nyman. Because I need to relax and this song takes me there and makes me feel like somebody hears the rhythms of my heart.
5) Down At The Twist And Shout by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Because this girl just has to dance.
6) A Letter to Elise by The Cure. I'm sorry that I couldn't be what you wanted. And you know who you are.
7) No Myth by Michael Penn. For, you, Gi Jane, because yes, I remember when you sent me this song and I DID understand. I just didn't know what to say.
8) Passionate Kisses by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Because once you think of one of her tunes, you start thinking of others that you like.
9) Shut Up And Kiss Me by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Ditto.
10) Don't You Need by Melissa Etheridge. Yeah, I do.
So, there you have it. Ah...I should have included Monday, Monday...but to tell you the truth, I am pretty much ready to tackle the week.
I hope you are ready to tackle yours too. Have a good one, y'alls.
So..this one is for you, kid.
1) Redemption by Johnny Cash. No..not because I have been a bad girl, but because I saw Battlestar Galactica last night and I am thinking that Starbuck cannot REALLY be dead. This is all part of her redemption.
2) In My Life by the Beatles. Because Bing and I had kind of a rocky weekend again and the truth is that I know I am hard on her and difficult and even though she doesn't read blogs and thinks they are stupid, I hope she knows that in spite of me acting all chilly, she has a place in my life that I cherish.
3) Keep Me in Your Heart by Warren Zevon. For Orna.
4) Big My Secret by Michael Nyman. Because I need to relax and this song takes me there and makes me feel like somebody hears the rhythms of my heart.
5) Down At The Twist And Shout by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Because this girl just has to dance.
6) A Letter to Elise by The Cure. I'm sorry that I couldn't be what you wanted. And you know who you are.
7) No Myth by Michael Penn. For, you, Gi Jane, because yes, I remember when you sent me this song and I DID understand. I just didn't know what to say.
8) Passionate Kisses by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Because once you think of one of her tunes, you start thinking of others that you like.
9) Shut Up And Kiss Me by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Ditto.
10) Don't You Need by Melissa Etheridge. Yeah, I do.
So, there you have it. Ah...I should have included Monday, Monday...but to tell you the truth, I am pretty much ready to tackle the week.
I hope you are ready to tackle yours too. Have a good one, y'alls.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Why I cried in the parking lot of a buffet restaurant: the conversation
Scene: An all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet.
Characters:
Bing: a 40 something woman with graying hair cut short. She is fit, walks like an athlete. She has a no-nonsense voice and a matter of fact manner. She is wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt. You couldn't pay her to wear makeup. She was itching to bring the Sunday paper with her, but decided at the last moment not to because she knew Maria would tell her that it was rude.
Maria, Bing's partner: She is medium height, medium weight, medium good looking, medium everything. She has on a forest green sweater and blue jeans. Hoop earrings. Minimal makeup, eyes are puffy from sleeping in. She hates buffets because she once saw a child pick his nose and then finger some rolls at one and since then, gets queasy at buffets. She has only consented to come to this one because Bing wanted to go really badly and she couldn't think up a good excuse fast enough.
Our scene begins as they both return to their booth after loading up their plates. Bing's plate is full of fresh fruit. She has also been unable to resist getting a big bowl of grits, a nod to her southern heritage.
Maria's plate has only products on it that she thought nose picking children would avoid: a poached egg, hash browns, a prune danish, and two sausages. She has a large cup of coffee too, heavily loaded with cream.
They sit.
Bing: So, did you find good things?
Maria: Yeah. It was fine.
Bing doesn't say anything more. She digs into her food, isn't big on conversation. She is sorely missing that newpaper right now.
Maria eats small bites, looks around at the other patrons, mostly older people.
M: Did you ever notice that these buffets are largely frequented by old people?
B: Uh, yeah. I guess you are right. Old people and big families with lots of kids. Basically people who like to save a buck.
M: Did you see that hunched old man who walked by just now?
B: Um. yeah. He looked pretty old.
M: Just think, once upon a time, he was probably some handsome guy who played football in his backyard, had an eye for the ladies. I wonder how he did in school?
Bing doesn't answer. She is used to Maria going on tangents like this and finds it particularly boring, but is not going to say so unless Maria starts going on and on about it.
M: All these old people have a story. I wonder what they are.
B: Why would you care? You don't even know them, honey.
M: I know. It just makes me think of Orna, ya know? She used to be so productive and now she is at home right this minute, probably laying in bed bored. I hope that her weekend caregivers are making sure to give her pain meds to her on time.
B: I'm sure she is fine.
M: I don't want to die like she is, Bing. Promise me that you will shoot me if I get to the point where I have to have my family wipe my ass.
B: I promise. If I ever found out that I was going to die like she is, I would take Susie Q (her motorcycle) out and run her hard into a tree.
M: When I was there on Friday, she was craving pudding. Maybe when we get home, I will look up some good pudding recipes. She likes mangoes. Maybe I can find a mango pudding recipe.
Bing doesn't answer. She REALLY wants that paper now. Maria always does this, always goes off on tangents.
Another old humped over man walks by. Bing thinks to herself, "Shit!" Now, Maria will go back to feeling bad about old people and wanting to know their stories.
M: I wonder what HIS story is?
B: JAYSUS, Maria! Can't we just have a nice breakfast? Must we sit around stewing about old people?
Before she can answer, Maria's cell phone rings. She fumbles for it. Bing sighs. Why does she ALWAYS keep her cell phone in a hard to reach place? Why not just clip it to her jeans like she does? Instead, Maria is fumbling around in her purse while that stupid thing keeps blaring out some song about girls just wanting to have fun.
Maria finds it and looks at the caller id.
M: It's Liv!
She snaps the phone open.
M: Hi, lovey dove. What's up?
A pause.
M: Okay, sure. We will bring you home a doughnut from Krispy Kreme. Are you having fun at Aunt Hildy's? Yeah, see you soon.
Maria hangs up.
M: Liv wants us to stop at Krispy Kreme and pick her up a long john.
B: She doesn't need all that sugar.
M: No, she doesn't.
B: Why don't you just say no then?
Maria sighs deeply. This is an old tired argument.
M: Can we just enjoy our breakfast?
B: Yeah. Sorry.
Another old man walks by. He is helping an older woman with a cane. Bing sighs. Mentally asks the gods to please not let Maria start up again about old people.
M: Wow. They look as if they have been married for two hundred years.
B: Or maybe it just feels like it.
Maria gives Bing a long look, but doesn't answer.
They finish their breakfast in silence. This is not unusual. At the beginning of their love affair, Maria thought they would never run out of things to talk about, but sometimes they do now. She reminds herself to bring the newspaper along next time so that Bing won't get so crabby. Maria takes one long last drink of coffee and stands up. She digs in her purse to find a couple of dollars to leave the woman who has been so good about taking their dirty plates.
B: WHY are you tipping? Good god, Maria....it isn't as if they have to serve us here.
M: I know, but look at her. She is so young and I bet she is a single mom. She has that look. She must hate working here and she was so nice to us. I'm going to tip her.
She does. The woman thanks her and then she and Maria actually begin to have a conversation about their kids. The woman mentions that she is taking her 2 kids to see a movie today when she gets off of work. They discuss the movie Miss Potter. Should they go see that one? Bing is rolling her eyes. Why does Maria do this? Why can't she just not care what everyone's story is?
They begin walking out the door. The song Yesterday by the Beatles comes on. Maria stops about a foot from the door.
"Oh, God...I love this song!" she exclaims.
Bing takes Maria's elbow and ushers her out the door. On the way to the car, Bing finally has had enough.
B: Why are you so fucking sentimental about everything? People die, Maria. They get old. Orna will die soon. Liv will grow up. Hopefully, she won't grow up fat since we seem to ply her with too many long johns. If you want to be happier, stop CONNECTING so much to everyone. Stop caring if Orna wants pudding. Stop giving in to Liv's long john addiction. Stop wondering if old hunched up men were good in school. How about the next time we go out for brunch, we discuss the Husker's 2007 football schedule? I am sick to death of all this touchy feely shit!
Maria doesn't answer. She privately would not mind one bit if Bing tripped over her shoelaces right now and fell flat on her face. She gets in the car and stares straight ahead.
Bing, by this time, is feeling guilty. For the record, she loves Maria and most of what she loves about her is that she often pretends to be tough, but is actually very sappy on the inside. Maria only shares these sentimental things with her and Bing knows that she has ruined everything now. Battlestar Galactica is on tonight and she was really counting on some cuddle-under-the-blanket time while they watched it together. She has jeopardized this now because she can tell from Maria's jaw that she is pretty damn mad.
Bing attempts to apologize in the car. She hugs Maria, tells her that she is the best thing that ever happened to her and she is so, so sorry for being so bitchy. Maria snorts and looks out the window.
And then the song Goodnight My Angel comes on over the radio. This song reminds Maria of Liv every time she hears it and she starts blinking fast, but it is too late. Her throat is hot and tight and she knows that she is going to start crying.
She does.
An old couple walks out of the restaurant together, holding hands, walking slowly and gingerly over the ice.
Bing watches them for a moment and sees her chance at salvation.
B: That is going to be us one day, darlin. And I promise you, I will be right there with you, holding on tight, never letting you fall.
Maria is crying. Not blubbering. Just silently crying. Bing reaches over and holds her hand. Maria lets her. This is a good sign. There will be cuddle time tonight.
B: God, I love you. Do you know that?
Maria nods.
M: Don't forget to stop at Krispy Kreme, okay?
B: Yeah, okay.
M: And Liv is NOT addicted. For god sakes, she is too skinny if anything. So, lay off on the sugar bitching, okay?
B: Okay.
Maria snaps on her leather gloves.
M: What are we waiting for? Let's ride, woman.
They do. Bing is relieved that Maria's sappy mood seems to have lifted. Maria is feeling sheepish for being such a drip. She leans over and plays with the radio, looking for something upbeat.
The song Afternoon Delight comes on. They listen. Bing drives and leers at Maria.
M: Don't get any big ideas there, cowgirl.
Bing laughs. And the day is getting better already.
Characters:
Bing: a 40 something woman with graying hair cut short. She is fit, walks like an athlete. She has a no-nonsense voice and a matter of fact manner. She is wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt. You couldn't pay her to wear makeup. She was itching to bring the Sunday paper with her, but decided at the last moment not to because she knew Maria would tell her that it was rude.
Maria, Bing's partner: She is medium height, medium weight, medium good looking, medium everything. She has on a forest green sweater and blue jeans. Hoop earrings. Minimal makeup, eyes are puffy from sleeping in. She hates buffets because she once saw a child pick his nose and then finger some rolls at one and since then, gets queasy at buffets. She has only consented to come to this one because Bing wanted to go really badly and she couldn't think up a good excuse fast enough.
Our scene begins as they both return to their booth after loading up their plates. Bing's plate is full of fresh fruit. She has also been unable to resist getting a big bowl of grits, a nod to her southern heritage.
Maria's plate has only products on it that she thought nose picking children would avoid: a poached egg, hash browns, a prune danish, and two sausages. She has a large cup of coffee too, heavily loaded with cream.
They sit.
Bing: So, did you find good things?
Maria: Yeah. It was fine.
Bing doesn't say anything more. She digs into her food, isn't big on conversation. She is sorely missing that newpaper right now.
Maria eats small bites, looks around at the other patrons, mostly older people.
M: Did you ever notice that these buffets are largely frequented by old people?
B: Uh, yeah. I guess you are right. Old people and big families with lots of kids. Basically people who like to save a buck.
M: Did you see that hunched old man who walked by just now?
B: Um. yeah. He looked pretty old.
M: Just think, once upon a time, he was probably some handsome guy who played football in his backyard, had an eye for the ladies. I wonder how he did in school?
Bing doesn't answer. She is used to Maria going on tangents like this and finds it particularly boring, but is not going to say so unless Maria starts going on and on about it.
M: All these old people have a story. I wonder what they are.
B: Why would you care? You don't even know them, honey.
M: I know. It just makes me think of Orna, ya know? She used to be so productive and now she is at home right this minute, probably laying in bed bored. I hope that her weekend caregivers are making sure to give her pain meds to her on time.
B: I'm sure she is fine.
M: I don't want to die like she is, Bing. Promise me that you will shoot me if I get to the point where I have to have my family wipe my ass.
B: I promise. If I ever found out that I was going to die like she is, I would take Susie Q (her motorcycle) out and run her hard into a tree.
M: When I was there on Friday, she was craving pudding. Maybe when we get home, I will look up some good pudding recipes. She likes mangoes. Maybe I can find a mango pudding recipe.
Bing doesn't answer. She REALLY wants that paper now. Maria always does this, always goes off on tangents.
Another old humped over man walks by. Bing thinks to herself, "Shit!" Now, Maria will go back to feeling bad about old people and wanting to know their stories.
M: I wonder what HIS story is?
B: JAYSUS, Maria! Can't we just have a nice breakfast? Must we sit around stewing about old people?
Before she can answer, Maria's cell phone rings. She fumbles for it. Bing sighs. Why does she ALWAYS keep her cell phone in a hard to reach place? Why not just clip it to her jeans like she does? Instead, Maria is fumbling around in her purse while that stupid thing keeps blaring out some song about girls just wanting to have fun.
Maria finds it and looks at the caller id.
M: It's Liv!
She snaps the phone open.
M: Hi, lovey dove. What's up?
A pause.
M: Okay, sure. We will bring you home a doughnut from Krispy Kreme. Are you having fun at Aunt Hildy's? Yeah, see you soon.
Maria hangs up.
M: Liv wants us to stop at Krispy Kreme and pick her up a long john.
B: She doesn't need all that sugar.
M: No, she doesn't.
B: Why don't you just say no then?
Maria sighs deeply. This is an old tired argument.
M: Can we just enjoy our breakfast?
B: Yeah. Sorry.
Another old man walks by. He is helping an older woman with a cane. Bing sighs. Mentally asks the gods to please not let Maria start up again about old people.
M: Wow. They look as if they have been married for two hundred years.
B: Or maybe it just feels like it.
Maria gives Bing a long look, but doesn't answer.
They finish their breakfast in silence. This is not unusual. At the beginning of their love affair, Maria thought they would never run out of things to talk about, but sometimes they do now. She reminds herself to bring the newspaper along next time so that Bing won't get so crabby. Maria takes one long last drink of coffee and stands up. She digs in her purse to find a couple of dollars to leave the woman who has been so good about taking their dirty plates.
B: WHY are you tipping? Good god, Maria....it isn't as if they have to serve us here.
M: I know, but look at her. She is so young and I bet she is a single mom. She has that look. She must hate working here and she was so nice to us. I'm going to tip her.
She does. The woman thanks her and then she and Maria actually begin to have a conversation about their kids. The woman mentions that she is taking her 2 kids to see a movie today when she gets off of work. They discuss the movie Miss Potter. Should they go see that one? Bing is rolling her eyes. Why does Maria do this? Why can't she just not care what everyone's story is?
They begin walking out the door. The song Yesterday by the Beatles comes on. Maria stops about a foot from the door.
"Oh, God...I love this song!" she exclaims.
Bing takes Maria's elbow and ushers her out the door. On the way to the car, Bing finally has had enough.
B: Why are you so fucking sentimental about everything? People die, Maria. They get old. Orna will die soon. Liv will grow up. Hopefully, she won't grow up fat since we seem to ply her with too many long johns. If you want to be happier, stop CONNECTING so much to everyone. Stop caring if Orna wants pudding. Stop giving in to Liv's long john addiction. Stop wondering if old hunched up men were good in school. How about the next time we go out for brunch, we discuss the Husker's 2007 football schedule? I am sick to death of all this touchy feely shit!
Maria doesn't answer. She privately would not mind one bit if Bing tripped over her shoelaces right now and fell flat on her face. She gets in the car and stares straight ahead.
Bing, by this time, is feeling guilty. For the record, she loves Maria and most of what she loves about her is that she often pretends to be tough, but is actually very sappy on the inside. Maria only shares these sentimental things with her and Bing knows that she has ruined everything now. Battlestar Galactica is on tonight and she was really counting on some cuddle-under-the-blanket time while they watched it together. She has jeopardized this now because she can tell from Maria's jaw that she is pretty damn mad.
Bing attempts to apologize in the car. She hugs Maria, tells her that she is the best thing that ever happened to her and she is so, so sorry for being so bitchy. Maria snorts and looks out the window.
And then the song Goodnight My Angel comes on over the radio. This song reminds Maria of Liv every time she hears it and she starts blinking fast, but it is too late. Her throat is hot and tight and she knows that she is going to start crying.
She does.
An old couple walks out of the restaurant together, holding hands, walking slowly and gingerly over the ice.
Bing watches them for a moment and sees her chance at salvation.
B: That is going to be us one day, darlin. And I promise you, I will be right there with you, holding on tight, never letting you fall.
Maria is crying. Not blubbering. Just silently crying. Bing reaches over and holds her hand. Maria lets her. This is a good sign. There will be cuddle time tonight.
B: God, I love you. Do you know that?
Maria nods.
M: Don't forget to stop at Krispy Kreme, okay?
B: Yeah, okay.
M: And Liv is NOT addicted. For god sakes, she is too skinny if anything. So, lay off on the sugar bitching, okay?
B: Okay.
Maria snaps on her leather gloves.
M: What are we waiting for? Let's ride, woman.
They do. Bing is relieved that Maria's sappy mood seems to have lifted. Maria is feeling sheepish for being such a drip. She leans over and plays with the radio, looking for something upbeat.
The song Afternoon Delight comes on. They listen. Bing drives and leers at Maria.
M: Don't get any big ideas there, cowgirl.
Bing laughs. And the day is getting better already.
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