Ringing the old year out and the new one in

Everything is ready. We are throwing our first New Year's Eve party tonight, 14 people coming at 8 p.m.

I have my new midnight blue cashmere sweater laying out on my bed to wear with the jeans that I actually look pretty good in (once I hit 45, I gave in to the fact that I will never have that ass that I want, the one I have will just have to pull me through), and some nice flat blue ballet slippers. My days in heels may be a thing of the past soon.

The pizza is ordered. We ordered several large pizzas to satisfy everyone from vegetarian to meat lovers. I have the bowls set out for chips and dip.

A tray of Domori chocolates.

Another tray of Christmas cookies that Liv and her Father baked and decorated most of the day.

Bottles of beer, ginger ale, wine, water, diet and soft drinks and best of all...one of my Christmas presents from Vince and Thuan: 4 bottles of Veuve Clicquot champagne. We will open those at midnight and all toast 2010.

I think I am ready. I wish that my house was cleaner, but fuck it.

Thanks to the elementary school across the street and over the overpass, we have good parking for everyone. The trek back to the cars after midnight might be a little giddy if one is tipsy....

Liv is spending the night with a friend.

Socks has been to the groomers and returned to us with a jaunty red kerchief that he looked darling in, but wiggled out of as soon as he could. He was embarrassed, so I relented and didn't make him put it back on. It would be like putting Ernest Borgnine in a tutu. He likes to put forth the image of bad ass, take-no-prisoners dog. He can't help it that he looks like he should be in an ad with an English gentleman at his side.

He does smell wonderful, though. And I told him so.

We have the Twister game out and several others, just in case we feel like pulling our backs out later.

The guests were selected with care. My bff, Harriet and her husband are two of them. I know they will add to the fun. The others were selected for various reasons. I only had a few rules:

No republicans. (Sorry if you are one, but seriously, I want to have FUN.)
No braggarts. (No, I don't want to hear about your stocks and bonds.)
No one with an asshole spouse. (One bad apple can cause a lot of eye rolling.)
No holy rollers. (We do, however, have one ex-priest. He is spiritual, but not inclined to ask WWJD.)

I don't have any pre-party jitters, probably because of the above list. I KNOW I will have fun. Although, after watching the Pacific Life bowl last night, I don't know how I can top that for fun. Watching Suh make mischief with his Husker buddies on Arizona was priceless.

Nirand and I just returned from gently walking the dog. This means that we didn't let Socks jump into the snow much or get his feet too muddy. And we had a good talk. Well, not with Socks...with each other. Although if I know Socks, he was eavesdropping. He just rolls that way.

Nirand and I talked about what we wanted for 2010. We slid through the usual shit...good health for us and our loved ones, prosperity, happiness...and then we got down to the gritty stuff.

I said that I wanted to have just enough really good sex to have good memories in my old age.

Lots of long walks with people that I love.

Less phone calls from my mother in law.

An oreo cookie once in awhile. And maybe some milk.

A stack of good books in the bookcase next to my bed at all times, just waiting for me to crack their spines.

A few bowls of oatmeal in my favorite blue bowl, with a smattering of raisins on top.

A movie or two that moves me, makes me laugh, cry, think or just relax after a hard week.

Some good talks with Bing in bed, after all that great sex.

Some good talks with my daughter on the rides to and from school. Maybe an occasional stop at Starbucks for my coffee and her cocoa and a slice of lemon cake. But, only once in a while, so that it will always feel special.

Long dances in my living room, in Bing's arms while we listen to Ventura Highway,

For Spring to come and stay for a long, long sensuous slide. To watch my flowers bloom, my vegetables sprout and then long Summer nights laying in the grass in the backyard with my daughter, singing all the plants to sleep, wearing our thin white nightgowns and feeling a soft Summery night breeze on our bare arms.

Going barefoot.

Being able to fit into all my Chanel suits. Having the nerve to wear one with that little cloche hat that I found at Goodwill.

Blood tests that come out okay. No doctor's calls on a Wednesday afternoons telling me that I need to come in for some more tests...

Nights watching True Blood and falling into Bill's voice and Eric's eyes. Marveling at how good writing DOES make a difference.

Coming home from work and hearing Bing playing piano while Liv dances with Socks in the parlor.

More long talks with my sisters around anyone's kitchen table, with someone talking about how stupid their spouse is. But, hey. We love them anyway.

Sneaking off to an afternoon matinee with my best friend, Harriet and popping back raisinettes or maybe sneaking in a cheeseburger from Wendy's.

Enough money to go on a vacation. To buy those concert tickets. To just say what the hell, let's go out for pancakes tonight.

Watching Liv play soccer, basketball, or fly through the water at a swim meet and bask in her good health, her athleticism, her jack o'lantern grin.

Nirand had his list too, but it was mostly about finding good rocks and agreeable blondes.

As we headed back into the house, he grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him.

"Mostly, I want us to always be friends," he said.

Oh, me too, dear heart. Me too.

Tell me what you wish for in 2010. And none of this good health and happiness for my family cop out.

Tell me something crazy that you want.

I'll start:

I want to walk on the wall of China.

Your turn....

Happy New Year, y'all.

It's been a hell of a ride.

Sorry you couldn't get to Shoot Me Now.

I received many queries regarding the post entitled Shoot Me Now which I deleted.

That is why you could not access it. Sorry...but it was a self involved, angsty, poor me bit of nonsense and I had to get rid of it.

What a whiner! Boy howdy, I watched the weather forecast and saw that more snow was in our forecast (still is, alas) and I had this knee jerk reaction that I let myself write about.

I read it through afterwards and could hardly stand myself. What a baby!

I can do better and I will in the next post.

So..sorry about that...

Compromise again (and again and again)

Well...first of all....YIPPEE!

After being snowed in since Wednesday, we are finally able to get out of our driveway and we didn't lose power even once during the storm that would not end.

So, the guys have decided to take Liv sledding, ice skating, and then off for hot cocoa. She received a new sled and skates for Christmas and is itching to try them out. So, they will spend the day ice skating at the man made rink just a few blocks from our house (they flood a ravine every year...the church next to it opens it's doors and offers free hot cocoa and a place to warm up) and then on to Memorial Park to sled. It all sounds dreadful to me, a lot of shivering and being cold and wet, but they are all excited.

Bing and I decided to see a movie to celebrate our freedom.

So, we did what we always do: we each make a list and hopefully, one of our movies will coincide.

Yeah, right.

My list:

1. Precious
2. The Road
3. Up in the Air.

Bing's List:

1. Avatar
2. Sherlock Holmes
3. Invictus.

Uh huh.

Typical. Even more typical: I gave in and we are going to see Avatar.

The truth? Bing is hardly ever a pouter but she is a real infant at movies that she doesn't like. This includes what she calls artsy fartsy girl movies.

She also rarely likes Michael Moore movies, which I adore or foreign films, which I also adore.

She likes any movie that is action oriented or involves sports.

When I do win out and we go see one of my movies, she inevitably ruins it for me by either a) falling asleep and making this awful snuffling sound, b) sighing and shifting in her seat endlessly or excusing herself to go to the bathroom and coming back half hour later and I know she's been playing video games in the lobby, or c) sitting through half of it and declaring that this is too god awful to sit through and she is going to go to a different theater and can we meet afterwards in the car?

I tell her that this behavior is RUDE (she actually did this once when we went to a movie with another couple) and she maintains that it is unfair to chain her to a seat to watch something stupid.

STUPID? Stupid would be every one of the Terminator movies, which she loves.

STUPID is the fact that I have seen all the Star Trek and Star Wars movies at least five times because every damn time they play on television, Bing insists on watching them. Not only that, she knows ALL the dialogue, especially Yoda's and I have to endure her talking along with him in this odd little Yoda voice that I find not one bit attractive.

So...Liv and the boys just left and we are following soon. And they are taking Socks who is in dire need of some exercise.

I am almost giddy just to be going anywhere. After the movie, we are going to the grocery store!!! JOY!!

So, I am curious. Do you have movie clashings in your relationship? And if so, how do you solve them? I usually end up going to the movies that I want to see with my sister.

Do tell.

The best Christmas present ever.

I must have been good.

I received some doozies.

Another Christmas for the books. We have a family movie that I would LOVE to share if my pee butt blog stalker would leave me the hell alone. It is hilarious. Shows us all singing and Bing went around filming us talking and asking us crazy questions. One segment shows us all out shoveling and Socks rolling around insanely in the sea of snow drifts. Another segment shows Liv and Tinton having a contest to see who can stand on their head the longest. He won. Still another shows us all dancing crazily to Smells Like Teen Spirit. And my favorite...taken by Tinton shows Bing and I dancing alone in the living room to a certain song that we both love and has special meaning for us.

And guess what? I will be hearing that song performed since my Christmas gift from Bing this year (besides some Burt's Bees products that I adore) was tickets to the Lady Antebellum concert in February. She and I will get to see it PERFORMED!



I am stuffed full of turkey, we didn't have to go to my sisters for brunch since there is a drift at the end of our driveway that is taller than me. And more snow coming.

Instead, we all stayed home and were terribly bad. We watched this:




And call me crass and having no Christmas spirit, but I LOVED this movie and would have hated spending the day watching Ralphie finally shoot his eye out with that bb gun or Clarence getting his wings. Nope. We watched Bad Santa.

I doubt that we will be able to get out tomorrow and frankly, I am getting some cabin fever. Bing's sister called to wish us a Merry Christmas and to inform us that she thought the snow was beautiful and I told her she was a nut job. There is nothing pretty about the fact that I can't see our birdbath or naked lady statue in our back yard. There is nothing pretty about a snow plow showering our finally cleared driveway with fresh snow. And nothing pretty about adding 5 more inches to the twelve that we just received because the damn storm has decided that it likes our neck of the woods so much that it is coming back for a second run at us.

I've played cards and many board games. Watched a lot of television. Ate way too much. It is time to get OUT. I need to feel like my life is back in my hands, although I am smart enough to realize that it never really is.

Now, it's on to our bowl game on Wednesday. Arizona...you are going DOWN.

And our New Year's party. Just a few friends. If the driveway is cleared by then...

Liv loved her gifts. Bing was pleased with hers, I think, although she never says much. Our guests have been a delight and we have had some late night discussions that bordered on hysterical. We played let's-talk-about-our-craziest-Christmas-memory and I can honestly say that my story was TAME compared to these guys.

I suppose I will need to wash my hair sometime soon and get out of my sweats.

But, you know...it's a luxury to be able to just be myself all the time.

I hope that your Christmas was happy and will someone please come get this snow? I watched some crazy person on the Weather Channel win snow for Christmas. I believe they were in the Florida keys and they were all wearing shorts and jumping around in it.

We all sat looking at each other on the sofa. Jesus Christ. Were they CRAZY?

I would kill for 80 degrees and to look outside my window and see green grass.

Time for some more pie. They will have to roll me out of here when we finally shovel through.

Happy Holidays, all. Let's all do something decadent to celebrate the new year....

Oh the weather outside is frightful....

but the fire is so delightful.

But, please....do NOT let it snow, let is snow, let it snow.

We are knee deep in a blizzard and I am not enjoying it. One bit.

We had company all afternoon and towards the end of it, I kept anxiously glancing out the window wondering if they would be able to get out of our driveway. The snow is falling fiercely. The wind is howling and whirling, making it almost impossible to see and I don't really want to see those power lines swaying anyway....

But, the company just left and since they only have a few miles to get home, they will be okay.

We have Christmas guests too. Liv's Father is here and Nirand, his assistant. They are tucked away in twin beds up in our attic. Socks has been bedding down with them each night, to Liv's surprise. How feckless. Nirand took a wonderful photo of Tinton, Liv's Father sleeping peacefully in his bed, his arms wrapped around Socks, who was deep under the covers with him, only his head showing.

Our friends from Chicago, Vince and Thuan are also here and sleeping in our downstairs guest room.

Everyone is staying until January 3rd, so we are hunkered down for the storm and staying put.

Bing's famous chili is simmering. She also made pumpkin bars and buttermilk biscuits. We will open presents tonight after dinner.

Liv got nearly everything on her wish list. At age ten, she no longer believes in Santa. Actually, she stopped believing in first grade, to our (and her) relief. She was always a nervous wreck about him anyway. None of this starry eyed excitement for her. Nope. She was terrified but tried to hide it. She figured that it was the only way she would get presents, I think. But, the thought of some large man in a red suit, tromping on our roof with a bunch of reindeer scared the hell out of her. Nine times out of ten, she ended up in bed with me on Christmas Eve and had to be assured that he was gone before she would venture down the steps. We always made the obligatory cookies and set them out for Santa and she always looked faintly nauseated when I would read his thank you note to her.

Santa basically freaked her out. She was the same with the Easter Bunny. She saw nothing happy about an oversized rodent trampling around our back yard, hiding eggs. She found it worrisome. And the tooth fairy? Forget that shit. Her first tooth came out in kindergarten and her teacher gleefully gave her the tiny tooth in a small box and told her that if she left it out on her dresser, the tooth fairy would come take it and leave her a gift. When I picked Liv up at school that day, she got into the car with a wobbling chin and terrified eyes.

"Why does a little old lady collect children's teeth?" she wanted to know.

It was an interesting question. I chose to tell her then and there that it was just a little story that was told to children and that most thought it was charming.

She was relieved.

So, finding out that there was no Santa was like a calming restorative for her.

Whew! No more midnight intruders sliding down our chimney and eating our cookies.

Liv's wish list this year was wonderfully easy:

1) A bat house.
2) A few computer games.
3) A book about saving the rain forests.
4) New ice skates and a sled.
5) A lizard.

She got all except the lizard. And Vince and Thuan are giving her a slew of board games and a new black fleece dress coat from Biscotti. Her father got her a new skate board, some books about rocks, a lovely charm bracelet and rosin for her violin.

Nirand is giving her a children's cookbook.

Pretty good haul. I like the idea of eating our chili and then gathering to open gifts, maybe having a cup of spiked eggnog. And yes. Singing.

Yes, we are one of those nauseating families that serenade the tree. We even learned the song in my previous post and accompanied by Tinton on guitar, Bing on piano and Liv on sleigh bells, we will sing it and harmonize. Then each of us picks a Christmas tune and we sing that. It is dopey and sentimental and I always start out feeling silly and then end up all choked up because it is a tradition that Liv will always remember, along with her bringing the wise men closer and closer to the navity each day before Christmas. Liv almost always picks Jingle Bells. I like to listen to Nirand sing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire and Bing likes O Night Divine.

Everyone has a decent singing voice except me, so okay, sometimes I just mouth the words. It is my Christmas gift to everyone.

Sven, our neighbor, is home for Christmas and he and his mother walked over this morning to bring us an apple pie and presents. They gave me some gorgeous soft green notecards. Liv got a new softball mitt. Bing got a jazz cd and even Socks got a chew toy.

We are so lucky. We really are.

Tomorrow is iffy. We usually go to my sister's home for brunch but it is doubtful that we will be able to get out of the house, so maybe we will just stay home and be lollygaggers.

A fine way to spend the holiday. I like the idea of hanging out in my sweats.

And yes....a traditional turkey dinner is planned.

So, Merry Christmas to all and I want to hear from you. Tell me your family traditions. Your wish list and if Santa was good to you.

And hey...let's have a free for all...

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CHRISTMAS TUNE?

Mine is probably...Tiny King. Although after all our practice, I am very very fond of this one:



Merry Christmas, y'all. Stay warm and send good thoughts that we keep our electricity.....

Local talent....

Have a listen to some local talent. Bing played it for me and we smiled. Great, talented kids.

Merry Christmas Baby

The one about the fencing mom

Her name is Cher. Like the singer. Yes, those were her exact words when she introduced herself to me.

"My name is Cher. Like the singer."

I met her when we were both waiting for our children to finish fencing class. There are chairs surrounding the big room where fencing class is taught. I was sitting in one, reading my book and periodically glancing up to watch Liv's progress.

She plopped down next to me. I looked up, smiled and went back to my book. I didn't want to encourage conversation. Too bad. She wanted a conversation. She put one pointy red fingernail on the page of my book.

"Let me guess. King, right?" she said. "Only Stephen King can get away with writing tomes instead of books."

I smiled, nodded. Went back to my book. She was having none of it.

"So. Do you like him?" she asked.

Um. No. I just read his big ass long books because I like carrying tomes around with me to encourage conversations.

I said yes, I did. I put my finger in my book to save my place and glanced around to locate Liv. She was practicing her Advance-Lunge.

"So, is that one yours?" Cher asked, gesturing at Liv.

I said that yes, she was.

"She has a lot of grace, but her speed isn't so hot," she commented.

I nodded again. Tried to go back to my book.

No dice.

"Mine is the tall boy over there," she said, pointing.

I looked up and located him. Oh, yes. The one who cheats. Also the one who tries to pick the younger, slower ones for partners so that he never has to really work. Once, he chose Liv and she distracted him with an Appel and I don't think he ever really forgave her for it. He hadn't sought her out for a partner since.

I didn't say that, however, to Cher. Instead, I said that yes, he certainly had the advantage of being tall.

"His name is Chet," she said. "It's short for Charles, not Chester. My husband thought that fencing was an elite sport and it might help him with some of his normal, teenage aggression problems. My husband is a football nut, loves those Huskers, but Chet isn't interested in football"

This meant that Chet is taking fencing because he is a bully at school and if he gets written up one more time, he might get expelled, so they're hoping that he can get out his cruel tendencies to pick on younger, slower children by lunging at them with a sword.

I took a good look at Cher. She reminded me very much of a fluffier Joyce DeWitt when she played the dark haired girl in Three's Company.

Since she had a tendency to violate my space by putting her face four inches from mine when she spoke, I also noticed that she had extremely large pores and dark eyebrows that needed to be weeded out a bit. She also needed a breath mint.

Cher talked non stop during the 40 minute class. By the time the instructor finally blew his stop whistle, I had learned that she had been a hair dresser for many years but now worked in the public school system as a paraprofessional for the profoundly mentally handicapped. I also learned that she disliked teachers because they always made the paras take the kids to the bathroom and did I know how gross it was to wipe a teenager's ass?

I didn't. But, I suspected that if you took a job as a paraprofessional for the profoundly mentally handicapped, you might expect that this might come with the job. I mentioned this and she countered with a barking laugh, slapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was a teacher because I sure sounded like one.

I said no, I wasn't. But, my partner was.

"Uh-huh. I KNEW it!" she exclaimed with a beaming smile. "You teachers all stick together."

Whatever.

Liv came running over after she had changed clothes and I hurriedly grabbed her coat.

Cher was not going to let me out of there that easily. She immediately went into a long conversation, asking Liv what school she attended, why she had chosen fencing. Liv answered her politely but before we could escape leave, Cher's son came bounding over.

"Let's get out of here, dude," he said to Cher. "I need to get home in time to get some Halo time in."

I had no idea what Halo was, but suspected it had nothing to do with doing good deeds or being angelic.

I handed Liv her hat and Chet promptly grabbed it off of her head and threw it across the room, looking like a baby faced frat boy who loved to put newbie's heads into toilets.

Liv ran to get her hat and I gave him a look. He insolently gazed right back at me.

"Don't do that again, Chet," I said evenly.

He rolled his eyes. Looked away.

Cher pretended to not notice.

Strike one.

I detest parents who play dumb when their child misbehaves and they don't want to deal.

I told Cher goodbye and said some nonsense about it being nice to meet her and that I hoped the Huskers won their game this weekend as her husband was a fan too."

Chet scoffed. "She isn't my MOTHER. My Dad isn't her HUSBAND," he sputtered. "She's just his girlfriend."

Cher's face reddened.

Ah. Caught in a lie. Sort of. Well, not sort of. Truly. But I understand wishful thinking.

She looked at me and smiled sheepishly. I felt sorry for her and smiled.

"Well, goodbye, then and have a good weekend," I said.

I was so relieved to get away.

On the up side, I ventured to bet that Cher might be too embarrassed to seek me out at the next practice. Or maybe Chet's father would bring him instead.

But, no.

After that, she sought me out like a rabbit looking for lettuce.

One time, I thought I had eluded her by sitting in between two other women, figuring that if we couldn't sit together, maybe...just maybe...she wouldn't try to talk to me.

Nope. Didn't work. She actually asked one of the women to trade with her so "my friend and I can sit with each other." The woman sweetly obliged and I sighed.

Another time, I walked into the bathroom and caught her picking her nose with careful intent while watching herself in the mirror. She looked up, swiftly removed her finger from it's nostril dive and ducked into a stall. I hoped that her embarrassment at being caught would keep her away from me. It didn't.

I learned so much about Cher. Most of it was information that I didn't want to know but she seemed to have no qualms about sharing it all.

1) She had been married twice. Both men shared the common trait of killing someone. One had killed his brother ("he didn't want to talk about that and I understood...") and another had killed someone by accident while hunting ("he said that he didn't mean to shoot his friend's head off...it just happened, one of those crazy accidents..")

2) Both men had been crazy with jealousy because she was constantly getting hit on whenever they went to bars. It occurred to me that you probably didn't want to risk riling up a man who would kill his own brother, but maybe I am just too careful.

3) She had experienced five miscarriages. One didn't really count because one of the husbands had shoved her down her sister's basement steps when she was four months pregnant and well, maybe she could have gone full term if that hadn't happened.

4) Her current boyfriend had an ex-wife who left him for the mailman so now he had this phobia about letting her get the mail. She had to wait for him to get it even though he worked the 3-midnight shift. The ex wife was the mother of the aggression riddled Chet and she had him on the weekends. This meant that weekends were "whoopie days" for the boyfriend and Cher. He liked her to dress up as a nurse. She once had a mail order catalog that with her that sold sex toys and she wondered what to buy him for his birthday, the "naughty girl" paddle or the handcuffs with fake fur to "protect from chafing."

5) Cher and the boyfriend once got into such a bad fight that he had tied her to a chair and left her there for 14 hours while he went out drinking with his buddies. Call me crazy, but I don't think I would be buying a paddle or handcuffs for this guy. But, Cher said that at least he hadn't killed anyone.

Good point.

6) Cher didn't much like her job but it did supply her with health insurance and free lunch in the school cafeteria, so she didn't want to quit. Those tater tots were a real selling point, I suppose.

7) Cher once made brownies as a "gift" for the teacher she worked with for her birthday. She doesn't like her so she put ex-lax in them. She seemed to think this was clever. When I told her that I thought this was totally cruel and uncalled for, she once again slapped my shoulder and laughingly called me a "teacher lover."

8) When Bing called me once during a fencing practice, I excused myself to take the call and she sat there eavesdropping through the entire conversation. After I hung up, she asked if that was my "honey" and I said that yes, it was my partner. She gave me a long look. "A girl?" she asked. I said yes, a woman. "Oh, man," she said, giggling a bit, "My guy would just love to meet you. He thinks lesbians are so freakin' hot." And then she playfully did that annoying slapping of my shoulder and warned me not to get any ideas about her. She was a "true blue het girl."

Damn. And here I had been fantasizing about the four of us all getting together to have some paddle and hand cuff fun and then maybe talk the guy into killing one of my brother in laws...

I told her not to worry about that. One bit. Not even a tiny bit. She looked offended. Sorry.

All of this visiting took place during fencing practice. And not once did I share about myself or encourage her to talk to me. Not once. I found out all kinds of strange information about Cher, though. Besides having atrocious taste in men, she also was very religious in her odd way, she went to church faithfully and even volunteered to bring her famous pecan pie to funeral luncheons, although now I was certain that I would NEVER eat one bite of anything she baked, not unless I wanted to risk a truly shitty day.

Cher and her sister frequented make over stations at Clinique booths in department stores. This could be where she learned to pencil in her lips one shade darker than her lip color.

Cher loved puppies of all kinds but didn't want to get another one since Chet "accidentally" dropped one off of their apartment balcony when he was seven. Cher and her current boyfriend had been living together for nearly 8 years and she was pretty sure he was close to popping the question. She sure hoped so anyway. She had paid off his credit cards and paid for half of his new car. If that didn't prove her love, she didn't know what did.

I grew to dislike the weekly fencing practice a bit, but to be totally honest, I was sort of fascinated with Cher at times. I had never met someone so cheerfully obtuse in my life. And her complete lack of social skills kept me wondering what piece of information she would throw at me next. Was she a shoplifter? Maybe she had robbed a bank at some time. And it wasn't as if I had to talk. I rarely did. In fact, I often didn't even look at her much. All she needed was a body next to her to start sharing her life details, even the sordid, private ones that we usually only tell our dearest friend. If that. She knew nothing about me except that I had a woman partner and a ten year old daughter who took fencing lessons. She didn't know my profession, what kind of ice cream I liked (Cher likes peppermint stick), movies that moved me (Cher likes the movie-of-the-week genre, ones where some poor woman loses her job, her husband dies and her daughter is diagnosed with cancer in one week and yet she heroically manages to inspire some rancher to sweep her off her feet and move to his ranch in Wyoming and raise a prize show horse who wins the Eclipse award)or how many siblings I have (Cher has one sister. They dressed as twins all through childhood because they looked that much alike.)

Well, Liv announced to me last week that she doesn't want to sign up for fencing class in January. I was fine with it. She already has basketball, piano and violin lessons. She had wanted to try fencing and it didn't stick. Oh, well.

As we were saying goodbye at the last fencing class, I mentioned to Cher that no, we would not see each other in January. That Liv did not want to sign up for the next class.

Cher stunned me. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"But, but, but....you're my best friend!" she wailed.

Good HELL. I am NOT her best friend. Or rather, she is not mine.

What on EARTH gave her the impression that because I sat (unwillingly) next to her once a week at a 40 minute fencing lesson that we were best friends?

My best friend is named Harriet and she knows my dress size, that I like my coffee strong and my tea weak, and who I voted for in every election since I could vote and why. And I know that her mother in law bores the hell out of her, that she has a penchant for anything with dark chocolate and that she can sing all the verses to Waltzing Matilda.

We are best friends. And we have EARNED each other. We have sat with each other through my bad medical news and her unexpected pregnancy. We have laughed so hard together that once I peed my pants in her kitchen and had to wear one of her too big dresses home. We were both so mad at the sheer evil of Al Gore being denied his rightful place as president of the U.S. that we we both threw pillows at a newscaster on my living room television. When her son brought home a D in science, she called me. When Liv fell out of a tree and broke her arm, I called her.

That is what a best friend is. Why in HELL did Cher think that I could EVER be her best friend or truly, even a friend?

I didn't know what to say to her. I sort of patted her and said something about maybe Liv would change her mind down the road and we would run into each other.

But, no. Cher wanted my PHONE NUMBER.

No way in hell. No. I was not going to have her calling me every fucking day to tell me about how she and her boyfriend had managed to have sex in a department store changing room or some such thing.

So, I told her no. That I didn't think so. But, hey, it had been an interesting few months and I wished her the best.

She looked crestfallen and I felt a little guilty. Until I left with Liv and saw her corner an unsuspecting woman in jeans and a sweatshirt who had brought her knitting with her.

Good luck, lady.

So, I know about the Jans in your life...how about the ones who want to be your friend and you don't think so? Any interesting stories out there? Because where there is a Jan, there is a Cher. Anyone care to share?

People in your neighborhood

I have always had bad luck with Jans.

Every single girl or woman that I have met named Jan has been a turd.

Now, I know that someone will now write a post saying that their name is Jan and they are nice.

I believe you. I just haven't met you.

There is a woman who comes to our office once a week to do audiological evaluations. Her name is Jan.

I can hardly stand her.

She is one of those personality types that grate on my nerves.

I have never, not once, heard her say anything nice about another woman. Ever.

She often has an expression on her face as if she smells something gone bad. Maybe it is herself and she just doesn't know it yet. Jan is one of those women who give other women the once-over and if a particular woman is unfortunate enough to be wearing polyester pants, well...yes, she gives them a pointed look.

An up and down pointed I am Queen Jan and you are not up to snuff look.

Which would be marginally acceptable if she had splendid taste or something. Which, I'm sorry, she doesn't.

Jan wears stupid earrings. Siamese cat earrings. Dangly miniature Christmas trees. Those kinds of signature earrings. She wears bright green vests with Santa hats on them.

Her hair is a taffy yellow color that only looks good on little girls.

Every time she walks into our office and I mean every fucking last time, she says something about how dangerous our location is.

"There was a homeless person watching me suspiciously."

"I always wear my flats because I am afraid that if I wear my heels, it would just be like screaming MUG ME! MUG ME!"

"Did you see that streetwalker out there?"

"There was this disgusting hamburger wrapper in the street. Well, it figures. Look at where I'm at..."

Then one of the secretaries, an older woman who wears lots and lots of bright colored polyester pantsuits will come out from behind the front desk and...

WHAM!

Jan will give her that up and down appraising look.

It makes me want to smack her.

We often have cookies in our staff lounge. Jan routinely goes in there, comes out with a cookie in hand and then asks if it is homemade. If we say yes, her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as if she can't believe something homemade could taste so bad. If we say no, she nods and sighs as if we have not surprised her one bit.

But she gobbles it right up, nevertheless.

She is not even all that great with the children that she works with.

For one, she is a hypochondriac. Once, she insisted on wearing a blue surgical mask until we told her that it was unacceptable. She replied that she didn't want to catch anything from those people.

Those people would be the mostly underprivileged children whom she is supposed to be testing and helping.

I have often wondered why she works for us since she obviously thinks that she is slumming. Julie, my co-worker, replied that when she applied for the job, she made it clear that she only wanted to work one day per week as she had a fragile constitution and this is probably one of the few places where she can work those kinds of hours.

I try to be tolerant of Jan, I sincerely do. But, god...it is hard. There is this mean spirited woman inside of me that just wants to point to her hair and ask how long she has been dyeing it THAT color and fucking WHY?

Once Regina, our nurse and I were talking about our favorite movies and I mentioned that I loved This is Spinal Tap. Jan chimed in that she did see that movie and she just didn't get it. I mean, she for one had never even heard of that band and they were so....so.....vulgar.

Regina and I did a double take and then, wickedly, I expressed surprise that Jan had never heard their biggest hit: Lick My Love Pump.

She wasn't amused. But, c'mon. Really. She was asking for it, don't you think so?

Several months ago, she finally figured out that my partner, Bing, was a woman. Ever since then she has made it a point not to get too close to me as if she fears that I might try to cram my tongue down her throat or something.

Which of course, makes me feel a bit throw uppy just thinking about it.

Today, Jan brought in a Christmas card for everyone. Inside was a photo of her dog, a full sized white poodle, sitting in Santa's lap.

I stared for a long time at that card. I mean, boy howdy. What does one say?

It boggles the mind. All the terrible possibilities.

So. My question for all of you is this:

Tell me about someone you know, some person in your neck of the woods, who just makes your hair stand on end. And why?

And oh...I want to know their name.

Any takers?

Speechless, breathless and confused.

Bing is a musician. She plays mostly reggae and jazz, but sometimes dives into the classical field too. She had a gig with the symphony this weekend and called home to ask if she could bring a friend to dinner. He was in town to play timpani with the group and was staying in a nearby hotel but she thought he might like to have dinner with us.

I said fine and then went off to get the ingredients for the only dinner that I am really good at making:

Beef stew.

I can make other things, but my stew is always a hit.

So, Liv and I spent the afternoon chopping and simmering. We made buttermilk biscuits to go with the stew and a big salad. We baked some gingersnaps to have with vanilla bean ice cream.

Bing and Javier came home around five.

I'm 51. I am rarely knocked speechless.

And then I saw a man that looked very much like this.

You would have been struck dumb too.

He had those eyes. Those eyes that are kind and generous and a bit wet looking.

A Mexican accent.

God help me.

And FUCK. I had made STEW??? Why hadn't I made something more exotic like roast duckling or at least a roast chicken? No. I had made something so, so...prairie girl.

Stew. Beef stew.

Javier was charming. He spent a good deal of time sitting across from Liv and asking her about school, about her interests.

A polite man.

He said that Bing had told him that she played piano. Would she play for him? She did.

He said that Bing had told him that she fenced. Could she show him some fencing moves? She did.

She was sociable and sweet.

Her mother was tongue tied and babbling.

Nothing in between. Either I was gazing soupily at him as if he were Robert Pattinson and I was a lovesick teenager sporting my Team Edward tee shirt or I was babbling about the ingredients of my stew like Lucy Ricardo.

We sat down to dinner and he praised my stew, said that the beef was so tender, so succulent, so...perfect.

As soon as he said the word succulent I felt myself melt all over my chair.

Bing looked curiously at me from time to time, her tongue in her cheek, amused.

I went to take a drink of my red wine and missed my mouth, spattering my white cashmere sweater and my Irish linen tablecloth. Javier gallantly handed me his napkin as mine as fallen to the floor.

After dinner, Javier and Bing had to get back to the symphony, but not before he joined me in the kitchen as I was cleaning and offered to help wipe the pans as I washed them. I managed not to swoon and we actually had a decent conversation about Obama's health reform plan where I sounded halfway intelligent, I think.

Bing and Liv played Christmas carols on the piano while we worked and Javier smiled at me with his perfect pearly smile and those eyes that looked like he knew exactly how I looked naked.

"You have a lovely family, Maria and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to dine with you."

Good hell, please god don't let me leap into his arms and beg him to take me into the pantry for a quickie.

Instead, I smiled in my best mannered way and assured him that the pleasure was indeed ours. And thanked him for drawing my Liv out so sweetly.

"She is a lovely little thing. She favors you," he told me.

Well, this was a bold faced lie, but fuck it. I'll take it. She and I look nothing alike.

He and Bing put on their coats and prepared to head back to the symphony hall.

He kissed Liv's hand and my cheek.

When he left, I actually had to put my back against the door and close my eyes.

I had no idea I was still capable of being swept off of my fifty year old feet.

"Wasn't Javier nice?" Liv asked.

Oh. My, Yes. But nice is hardly the word. How about dashing? Sexy beyond words? Edible? Fuckable?

Bing called me at intermission to tease me.

"I have NEVER seen you so rattled," she told me. "You were blushing, honey."

I laughed guiltily.

Admitted that he had flustered me.

It happens.

"I'm beginning to think you have a thing for foreigners," she mused. "Indians, Mexicans, what's next? There is a French singer. Should I bring her home?"

I told her to shut up now.

So, laughing, she did.

Later, when she got home and came to bed, she crawled in beside me and said in a husky voice,

Pienso en ti todo el tiempo. Eres muy sexy. Te adoro. Tienes los ojos mas bonitos del mundo....

It made me laugh. Especially when she admitted that she had asked Javier to coach her and he had obliged.

Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe it was his eyes.

I am lucky that I have a wife who not only gets me but loves me anyway.

Because this old broad was positively breathless.

So, what sort of women or men leave YOU breathless?

'Fess up now.

The eavesdropper realized

Friday was one of those days. It had taken me nearly two hours just to get to work. In the part of the city where I work? Well, the streets just don't get properly plowed. My city can deny that this is true but I am here to state that I live in an older, rather affluent area of the city but I work in the projects. And my residential street was plowed much sooner and better than the main street where I work.

Once in to work, I had my second visit with Retha. Retha is a foster care provider. She isn't a do-gooder and to say that she does this for the money is an understatement. Not only does she collect her foster care stipend, but she is also savvy enough to realize that if she can get her foster child declared autistic, she will get an even larger amount of money.

The problem is that the child in her care is not autistic. He is quiet. He is scared. He is four. His life consisted of a biological mother who pretty much forgot to feed him and exposed him to meth. Now, he has a foster parent who is trying to coach him to behave as if he were autistic. Except that, yes, he is four. And he doesn't really understand why she wants him to pretend to not be able to talk and to flap his arms about himself like a bird who is not sure of his direction. I saw a trailer for the film, Precious, recently. The character played by Mo'Nique was so similar to Retha in her facial features and her personality that it gave me pause.

After finishing up with Retha and the sad little boy with the too quiet eyes, I checked my afternoon schedule. Only one appointment. I had Marisol cancel it.

I needed an afternoon off.

I slogged back out to my car, wishing that I had heeded Bing's warning to wear my boots. I'd erred on the side of vanity and now my pretty navy blue pumps were going to pay a heavy price for that. Driving home, I stopped at a local bookstore, ran in, and purchased Stephen King's new offering, Under The Dome.

I like to imagine that I am an intellectual reader of literature. And I do read lots of really heady shit. I also am basically a whore for Stephen King, Charlaine Harris, Stephenie Meyer, Jeff Lindsay, and John Grisham. I can inhale anything by King. Anything. His books are hefty in one's hands and when you open up that cover, you know that you are going to visit somewhere dark. You will witness good in the midst of evil, but, like life, it doesn't always win. I read Stephen King because I think that he is brilliant, for one, and also because I like falling under his spell. When I finish his book and come up for air, I am a little shell shocked, a little dazed and satiated to the bone. And maybe his books aren't considered brilliant, but I beg to differ. His books are masterworks of a mind that is set loose somewhere dark and somehow finds the way back home to tell the story.

I needed me some Stephen King. I bought the book. It felt cumbersome in my hands and I was itching to open it up and....jump.

When I got home, I made myself some hot cranberry tea and grabbed a scone to dip into it and climbed up the steps to the cashmere comforter on my bed.

I settled in and cracked open the book.

And yes, jumped.

A few hours later, as the room was getting dusky, I heard the front door slam and knew that Bing and Liv were home. I sighed and made myself shut the book. I laid my head against the pillow and gave myself ten minutes to relax before I went downstairs.

I heard faint sounds of a keyboard and Liv's voice. I tiptoed barefoot to the top of the steps and listened.

I heard Liv say, "Do you really think Mama will like this?"

I heard Bing assure her that yes, your mother will ADORE this.

I realized that they didn't know that I was home. I had parked my car in the garage, but Bing had left hers in the driveway in preparation for our Friday night grocery shopping. They must have come through the front door, therefore they had no idea that I was already home.

And they were doing something for me.

I kept eavesdropping.

I heard Liv practice on the keyboards until she mastered Jingle Bells without a missed note. They kept playing it back and adjusting the sounds of horns and sleigh bells to go along with it.

Hmm. Garage Band, I guessed.

And then, her voice.

Her sweet little piping voice.

It sang in her high ten year old soprano:

Dashing through the snow....in a one horse open sleigh! O'er the fields we go, laughing all the way (ho, ho, ho!)....

I smiled. She sang it through without a hitch and they played it back against the music they had mixed.

Then Bing said, "Okay, what do you want to tell her now?"

Liv said she was ready, to start recording.

"Merry Christmas, Mama! I love you more than fifteen cats flying over the moon on Halloween. I love you sooooooo much!"

I heard Bing praise her, tell her that it was perfect.

It WAS perfect.

I smiled to myself and tiptoed back to bed. A few moments later, I got up noisily and went to the bathroom for a drink of water. Stood looking at my hair in the mirror, messed it up with my hand just a little more.

And headed downstairs. Liv met me halfway down.

Her little face was twitchy.

"MAMA! What are you doing home?"

I put my arm around her. Told her that I had left work early because I was tired, and had just had the most marvelous nap. I didn't even hear her and Bing come home! Had they been home long? What time was it?

She and Bing smiled at each other as I walked into the dining room. I looked at the garage band equipment all set up.

"What's up?" I asked in my very innocent, unsuspecting voice.

Oh, nothing, they assured me. Just killing some time, waiting for you to get home...but look! You're here! Are we ready to go out for Chinese and go grocery shopping?

I said that I sure was.

During dinner, I looked at my little girl's face, all shining in the soft glow of candlelight from the table and I thought about the secret I would now keep and how surprised I would look on Christmas Eve.

"What? A Christmas cd for me? What a perfect surprise!

As we grocery shopped, I thought of that little boy in my office today and wished him a happy holiday too. I wish I could save them all. I can't. And I have to make peace with that.

Because sometimes, yes, life is like a Stephen King novel. The good don't always win. But, good exists and the good people keep trying.

And this eavesdropper realizes that.

This is what snowed in looks like

We have been snowed in for two days and all I can say is that I would have been an awful pioneer.

We still have electricity.

The drifts in my driveway are taller than I am. I realize that I am short, but this is not pretty. Don't point out to me how enchanting the swirls of snow are. They are not enchanting. It is not even WINTER yet, I am not going to simper over snow.

We baked cookies yesterday. Try doing this with an arthritis hampered left hand. Yes, eggs will go flying. Milk will be spilled. Butter will not be creamed properly.

I watched Jon and Kate Plus Eight. The whole damn hour. It must be a rerun because Jon and Kate seem to kind of like each other still and the sextups are toddlers. I actually sat and watched six toddlers go to the dentist for their first dental check ups. And was mesmerized. My mind is going.

I then watched a show about brides picking out their bridal gowns. They almost all had a budget of 7,000$. Good lord. How insane is THAT? And somebody needs to tell these women that they look like fat little sausages in a toothpaste tube of a dress. Strapless gowns are only for girls who are 18 and skinny. Otherwise, your arm looks like a ham shank. Your mother won't tell you that but your mother in law might.

But, the weird thing is that yes, I sat docilely and watched these shows.

We went out in a blizzard yesterday to pick up my car from the transmission place. Now it needs to go to our regular mechanic for radiator coolant repairs. His answering machine is on so I am assuming that he is snowbound too. And driving in a blizzard is downright terrifying. My hands were shaking for nearly an hour after we returned home. Bing chuckled at me and I called her a toady ass.

Liv is so far ahead on her homework that I am very proud.

Socks loves the snow. He and Liv go out and dance around in it. Then they both come in smelling like wet dog.

Bing just came in from snowblowing. She only got half of the driveway done before she had to give up and take a break.

I am looking out into the side yard from the office window and it occurs to me that settling down on the prairie was not my smartest move. Who in their right mind would think that this is fun?

And, really....I am one of the lucky ones. I don't work in a hospital anymore, so it is not a big deal if I skip work. Our street is close to a school, so it gets plowed relatively quickly. We have plenty to eat. The power is holding. We have space heaters and electric blankets. There is plenty to watch on television. I can play on the computer.

So why do I feel like a caged tiger? I nearly cried when Bing came in and said she just couldn't do the whole driveway, it was too heavy, too hard. I WANT TO TO BE ABLE TO GET OUT!

What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I pop up some popcorn, watch a movie with my family or read a good book? Instead, I look dully out into the street and want to punch mother nature right in the kisser. Global warming, my chapped ass.

And now Bing just turned on her jazz cd. God help me. Jazz doesn't make me smile. It reminds me of snapping rubber bands. It makes my nerves tingle and not in a good way.

But, I will smile and go out and offer to warm up some tomato soup.

I am a good faker.

What I really want? A warm beach. A bikini to wear. A body that could actually wear that bikini and look good. Hair up in a topknot because lordy, it is so HOT today! A big drink with an umbrella in it. Okay fuck the umbrella. Just put lots of grey goose in it and a splash of tonic. Lots of shaved ice.

And sun. Warm sun on my stiff left hand. A thumb that actually works.

No work to catch up on when I finally get back to the office. (And HOW THE HELL did Julie and her mom make it in to the office today? She just called me to say that they were seeing patients and to ask if I thought I would be able to get in tomorrow. I guiltily said sure.)

How about me sitting on that beach with Laura Linney on one side and John Cusack on the other? And they are both vyng for my attention because I am just that interesting and funny and smart.

Okay...time to think happy thoughts that are centered in reality:

Glee is on tonight.

I will watch Ellen this afternoon. I hear it is good and I have never seen it and please God, I don't want to get addicted to re-runs about that creepy Jon Gosselin because that would truly be so sad and pathetic.

There are homemade peanut butter fudge cookies in the cookie jar.

Liv has offered to read to me the book of my choosing. I think I might choose A Christmas Carol because it is dark and it will match my mood.

Maybe I will get ambitious and catch up on all of your wonderful blogs.

I am only a third of the way through my DEXTER book. I can cuddle under a blanket and read.

Maybe Bing will cuddle with me. And Liv. And Socks once he dries out and doesn't stink like a wet dog anymore.

I am a lucky woman.

I am a lucky woman.

I am a lucky woman.

And I don't care, I still want Robert Pattinson, John Cusack, and Laura lusting after me while I sit in a red bikini on a beach where it is so hot that I have to keep popping back my glass of grey goose and tonic.....but considering that I am currently wearing hideous pink sweats without underpants or a bra and I have not put a comb through my hair, well...I can't wow them with my obvious sex appeal. And since I can only converse about Jon and Kate re-runs, my intellect isn't going to zap them either.

Hey, I brushed my teeth. Good enough for today.

Bah humbug

Why are the gods conspiring against me?

We had a "snow event" yesterday. The streets are, as Bing called to tell me, "slick as snot." A blizzard is predicted for Tuesday and Wednesday. This pisses me off. NO snow is supposed to fall until Christmas Eve. It's one of my rules.

It is fuckin' freezing outside. We are talking a whopping 1 degree.

My car, which was supposedly repaired last week, is leaking again. We are two very busy people with two very busy lives and making do with one car is a huge pain in the ass.

My rheumatoid arthritis is attacking my left hand. Since I am left handed, this means that opening yogurt cartons, milk cartons, blinds, etc. is nearly impossible. It is a small thing and yes, I am grateful that it is leaving my ankle alone for now, but it makes me crabby.

My lips are chapped. Ditto my hands and my thighs. My butt skin is dry, thus, very itchy. Making it look like I am a butt scratcher when I am not. No matter how much lotion or blistex I slather on, nothing is helping. This is not supposed to happen until late January. It is a rule.

We have Native American drums hanging up all over the house. Bing made them. They are made mostly of deer and cow hide. When a storm is coming they make this popping, crackling sound, sort of like rice krispies with milk poured on them. They are making a lot of noise...hence....a BIG motherfucker of a storm is coming.

Which would explain why I can barely move my left hand. Because I am old and decrepit and have become one of those people who can predict the weather with their joints.

Bing has had a cold all week. It isn't getting better. She is refusing to go to a doctor. Instead she is whiny. Bing hardly ever gets sick, and when she does, she is, in my opinion, a huge bawl baby. If I have to hear her tell me one more time that she can't breathe through her nose, I may throw something.

Liv is running around happily, expressing her sincere and heartfelt wish that she get a snow day from school. She told me, very seriously, last night, that she ADORES precipitation. This is not my child. Any child of mine would not like precipitation.

I am the worst driver in the world in snow. I am one of those panicky people that you don't want to be behind.

I had bad dreams all night. For some reason, I keep dreaming of pipes bursting. I am hoping that they are not prophetic.

Which just reminded me....the bathroom sinks at my office were all plugged up and I was supposed to leave a message for the plumber before I left for home on Friday and I forgot.

Heroes is on hiatus until January. What the fuck is up with that? In my day (and I KNOW that I sound like an old biddy), television shows started back up in August and went continuously until May. It is RULE. Amazing Race finished up last night and I really wanted the zebra team to win. Although, I am grateful that the gay brothers didn't win, because, honestly, that tall brother who looks like Raymond's brother? Serious whine ass baby.

My hair looks stupid today.

And now I have to leave early for work. Because, yes, the streets are slick as snot and I have a child to transport to school. This means that I will act like I'm not scared out of my bloomin' mind while I drive and sing Christmas carols with Liv.

And then I must call the plumber and sweet talk him. I can do this, I just don't like it.

Let's all meet up someplace warm and lay in chairs out in the sun, what do you say?

Bah humbug. Time for me to put on my calm mother mask and get going.

Reminder to self: DO NOT LET LIV FORGET HER LUNCH.

Is it Spring yet?

einstein and peter max

He came to re-do the grout in the shower.

I'm smirking now because this would be a great start to a porno post. ("He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her diaphanous gown swirled in a sudden hot breeze from the window revealing a rounded breast with a cherry red nipple........aw, I could have been a porn contender, I know it...)

In reality, he had on messy jeans and a black sweatshirt with the words I know there's one in every crowd but why do they always have to sit next to ME? emblazened on it. Work boots.

I had on jeans and a funny sweatshirt of my own: a light switch with a finger on it and the words Amish gone wild.

There was something about him. I blinked. He blinked. We stared and then looked away. He glanced at his work order.

"Are you Bing Lastname?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, um..that's my partner. I'm Maria."

I offered my hand. He shook it. And said, "Are you, by chance, Maria Lastname?"

I smiled. "YES! Do we know each other? Because you look famililar to me...."

He reached into his wallet and handed me his business card.

It said Nick Lastname.

I looked up. "Peter Max?" I asked.

He laughed. "Einstein?" he asked.

Wow. We both did that awkward half hugging thing that you do when you get a blast from the past.

The prelude:

I met Nick when I was fifteen. We were in the same driver's ed class. I was from St. Ursula's girl's academy. He was from our small town's public school. It was one of the few places that the schools mixed. Driver's Ed.

I sat in the next to the last desk in the first row. He sat directly behind me. It was two weeks of sheer boredom and watching driver's ed films that we were something out of Reefer Madness except it should have been Driver Madness.

By day two I was stiff with boredom. I didn't let it show, though. I had been reminded by Sister Caroline that I was a St. Ursula's girl and therefore it would behoove me to behave like a lady. The teacher was a small man who sweat like a pig and looked like he was even more bored than we were.

An hour into a lecture on STOP SIGNS. WHAT DO THEY MEAN?, I felt a finger make a lazy figure 8 on my back. I cautiously looked over my shoulder.

He was smiling at me, a boy with a dark black hair and light blue eyes. I frowned and turned around. I heard him chuckle.

He did it again. I squinched away. He did it again. I decided to just ignore him.

At break time, he sought me out. He told me that he was the guy who had been tormenting me.

"You mean the ASSHOLE who's been tormenting me," I corrected.

This made him laugh. "C'mon," he said. "You were bored too. Admit it."

I looked at him disparagingly. "Any normal human being would be bored in that class," I told him and flounced away.

After break time, I went into the classroom and stole his seat. He came lounging in five minutes late, smelling of cigarettes and took my seat, saluting me as he sat down.

And then I spent the rest of the lecture poking him in the back with the tip of my sharpened pencil. The last time I tried it, his hand came back swiftly and caught my pencil. The teacher must have noticed the sudden movement because he directed a question to me. I answered it correctly, barely having to think.

The boy turned around and smiled at me, mouthed the word Einstein....

We started writing notes. Funny notes. He was a great cartoonist and once did such a telling caricature of the teacher that I had to stifle a laugh when he tossed it on to my desk. The notes weren't personal at all at first. Mainly we made fun of the class.

We started talking on breaks. I found out that his name was Nick and that he went to the public school. I called him Peter Max because of his drawing talent. He called me Einstein because I could answer any question thrown at me without stopping to think in class.

A few of the other girls from St. Ursula's warned me about him one day before class.

"He's got a rep for being fast," once said.

"He got suspended from school for smoking. Twice!" another added.

"He has a motorcycle that he drives out on country roads and he isn't even old enough to drive! My brother and his friends saw him. They said he was poppin' lewwies in a field," one noted.

Well, my love of bad boys was born.

Right there in driving school.

On the last day of driving school, he asked me if I wanted to go out for a coke afterwards. I told him that I would meet him at the park by the swimming pool. I knew that I had to nip this in the bud. I was not allowed to date boys yet, especially boys who didn't go to the Catholic boys academy. If a boy wasn't Catholic, I was not allowed near him.

I told him all of this as we sipped the cokes he bought for us in the vending machine. He was surprised.

"You're kiddin' me," he said. "You can't go with guys who aren't Catholic? That sucks, Einstein."

I agreed. He took a cigarette out and lit it. I looked around nervously and he burst out laughing. Feeling myself blushing furiously, I held out my hand brazenly for a drag. He gave me a long look, but handed it to me.

He was surprised that I knew how to smoke.

"I'm not some innocent," I told him, trying to scowl.

"I never, ever, thought you were," he answered. "I just figured if you couldn't date heathens, you couldn't smoke either."

"I'm pretty good at sneaking cigarettes up in my bedroom with the window open," I told him haughtily.

"So," he said, slowly. "Do you think you'd be any good at sneaking out on a date with a heathen?"

I thought about this.

No, I finally told him. It would be too easy to get caught. Smoking was one thing. Dating another.

He nodded. Stood up. "Well," he said, "I guess I'll be seeing you around."

I stood up too. I didn't want him to go, but I knew it would be a very, very bad idea for him not to. "See ya, Peter Max," I said.

"See ya, Einstein."

I saw him once in awhile after that. At basketball games. Once I was in a drugstore looking for Close Up toothpaste because it supposedly made your teeth white. I looked up and saw him grinning at me from the magazine stand. I sauntered over. Asked him if he was looking at dirty magazines. He held up a Hot Rod magazine.

"I'm really pretty scrubbed and clean looking for a heathen....," he told me.

"Well, too bad," I retorted. "I like my heathens a little dangerous."

"Do you now?" he asked, settling his eyes on me in a way that made my breath catch a little bit.

My little sister, Jessie, came running up to me just then. "Mom said to tell you to shake a leg," she told me. I shrugged. He shrugged. We waved goodbye as I left.

Another time, I saw him at a party. It was the beginning of my senior year. My friends and I had heard that there was a kegger at someone's house from the public school and we debated crashing, finally deciding that god hated cowards, we drove there and went in. We were welcomed with open arms, a group of big haired seventeen year olds in our leggings and Wind Song perfume.

Nick was sitting on a couch nursing a beer. When he saw me, he got up and walked quickly towards me. "Does your mama know you're at a heathen party?" he asked, smiling, doing that thing with his eyes again.

I smiled back. "Nope," I told him. "I'm dead if she finds out, Peter Max."

"Well, my lips are sealed, Einstein. Have a beer?"

I shook my head, told him that I hated beer. Was there any wine? He thought so and found a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Fields and inclined his head outside. We went and sat on the hood of his car. He poured me a cup of wine and tipped up his beer and took a sip.

We talked about being seniors, about who we were dating (I was dating a nice Catholic boy, he was dating a girl named Charlene who would be mad as hell if anyone told her that he was sitting outside alone on a car hood with me), what we wanted to do after high school (he wanted to go to art school, he thought he'd like to be a cartoonist...but, well, school cost money and his folks didn't have much, so maybe he would just do car repair like his Dad and I thought I'd like to be a librarian, maybe, maybe teach English.) Once, he looked closely at me and said that he thought I was fine looking. I told him that he was fine looking too, was he on the football team? He laughed and shook his head. Naw. He wasn't into the jock scene. We shared about ten cigarettes, smoking all of his Kools, so I pulled out my Virginia Slims and offered him one and he laughed again, called it a "girl cig", but took a drag and said they were actually kind of good. We talked until my friends came to get me to go home, one of them had thrown up, not good. It was time to head home.

Nick walked me to my friend's car, his hand taking mine for just a few seconds. When we got to the car, he took my fingers up to his lips and gave them a brief passing kiss.

"Goo--night, Einstein," he said.

"Night, Peter Max," I said. His eyes held mine boldly. I was the first to look away. As my friend drove off, he stood watching the car and I turned to watch him out of the back seat window, my hand up against the glass.

Around Christmas time, word got out around town that the Gillen girl was pregnant, you know the daughter of that guy who was a lineman for the county?

Charlene Gillen. Yes. I had seen her a few times in the gym with Nick. A clingy girl who wore too much eye makeup and was into pda's.

The last I heard, they got married on Valentine's Day. Just another teenage pregnancy statistic.

I left for college and never really returned. That senior party was the last time I had seen Nick.

Until now. Nearly 34 years later.

He still looked surprisingly like the dark haired guy I knew in high school. Except for the receding hairline and the five o'clock shadow that was a little grayish.

I asked him if he wanted some coffee. He said that maybe one quick cup would be okay.

We sat at the kitchen table. Liv wandered in and I introduced her. He smiled and shook her hand. I asked him if he had kids.

"Well," he said. "I have my oldest. Her name is Heather. The girl that I had with Charlene. And after I re-married, well, my current wife, Vanessa, she and I have another daughter, Betsy, she just got married this last summer. And we have a son, Jason, he's at Florida State. A junior."

He commented that I waited to have my daughter late, huh? I said yes, that I did the career thing first and then decided to have a daughter at forty.

"So, who is Bing Lastname?" he asked.

"My partner," I told him. He nodded. Yes, he said, he'd heard that my mother had disowned me a long time ago for being gay. You know how small towns are. No secrets. He'd been taken by surprise, he noted. Didn't see the gay thing coming. I smiled.

I asked him how he ended up in my city. He told me that he and Charlene had tried to make it work, but you know how it is. They were just kids when they married. Neither finished high school. The marriage was over after five years. He had lived in Tennessee for a while, started working for a grouter who taught him the trade and then he moved back to Iowa for awhile, settled in Ames, which was where he met Vanessa, she was going to college there. She was from our city, so when she graduated, they moved here and have been here ever since. He liked prairie weather, liked a place that had seasons. Vanessa's degree was in business and she opened up a yarn shop with her sister when they'd moved here. Now, she taught quilting out of their basement and their daughter ran the business.

I asked him if he saw his daughter with Charlene much. He shook his head. No, he said. Charlene had remarried and moved to Minnesota, took Heather with her, so she pretty much liked her other dad, Charlene's husband, best. He looked down at his shoes and then up.

He asked about me and I told him. He smiled at my profession.

"I guess I can see that," he said. "But, I thought you wanted to be a teacher."

I shrugged. "And you wanted to be a cartoonist," I reminded him.

He nodded again. "The best laid plans..."

Right. I understood.

He finished his coffee and went to work on our shower. I had to get Liv to fencing practice, so I did that and stopped to grocery shop. When we returned, he was finished and cleaning up. Told us not to use the shower for 24 hours.

I asked him how much I owed him. He told me and I wrote the check. He took it and thanked me, gave me a receipt and made sure that I had his card in case we needed any more grouting work done. I walked him to the door.

At the door, he pointed to my cane that I had been using.

I told him that my rheumatoid arthritis was acting up. No heels for me for a while. I laughed a little.

"Bet we never thought we'd get this old," I commented. "Now, I have gray hairs and use a cane once in awhile. I'll be buying Geritol before you know it."

His smile was sweet. "Aw, Einstein, you're still awfully pretty," he said. "And...hey? I'm glad your life is good. Seriously."

"Thanks," I answered. "I'm glad you have a good life too....Peter Max."

We shook hands.

"Bye, Maria."

"Bye, Nick."

I closed the door after him, watching at the window as he swung up into his truck and pulled down the driveway, his cell phone at his ear. He'd mentioned that he needed to call Vanessa to see if she needed him to pick anything up.

I went back into the kitchen and picked up the receipt on the table. I looked down at it and noticed that Nick had drawn a picture on the bottom. It was a boy and a girl, sitting on the hood of a car. They each held an overly long cigarette in their hands. They were smiling at each other. In a balloon over the boy's head, it said, "I think I'd like to be a cartoonist...."

I carefully folded it up and put it in our tax drawer.

The phone rang. It was Bing.

"I'm just leaving the gym," she said. "Can I bring anything home?"

Just you, I told her. Bring you. All I need is you.

I could feel her smiling through the phone.

"On my way," she said.

I hung up and went to go to start dinner.

I'm right here.

Bing,
I know. I know.

I'm trying. I'm sorry. I'm such an ass.

This aloof woman living in the house with you? I don't like her either.

I'm here. I'm right here. I swear it. Inside.

Last night when you tried to kiss me and I said no, could you please just leave me alone?

Well, I don't know her. I mean, I heard her voice and recognized it as mine but I swear that I was in there screaming for you except it came out all wrong.

Something in me just gets lost sometimes and I need to find some sort of marker to lead me back.

Got any bread crumbs?

So, I'm asking you, nicely, prettily, hoarsely and with much hope and love:

Will you try again? Or shall I? Because I miss you so much and I am so sorry.



Love always...for twenty seven moons. Or maybe twenty eight.

Me