I had quite a day. Woke up with a throbbing migraine at 5 a.m. Spent the day in bed with the beat of my heart pounding against my right temple and alternately sleeping and having weird dreams about being a contestant on Jeopardy!, seeing Lee DeWyze and his insipid little fiancee in the basement making out at my sister's house, building a tree house in a sequoia tree and being scared to death to look down and finally, berating George Bush (Dubya, not senior) at a farmer's market for fucking up the economy and messing up the budget that Bill Clinton actually managed to balance while he was in office. (And honestly, this is real life sliding into my dreams because I get so annoyed with idjits blaming Obama for this economic crisis when this was all set into motion YEARS ago with Dubya...no one seems to remember that we had a balanced budget when Clinton was in office and Bush fucked that all up...and if my Sarah Palin supporting reader decides to pipe up, pipe right back down because I am in no mood to take on your strident, so-wrong self!)
So, I finally drag myself out of bed at 6 p.m. after Bing has spent the day chauffeuring Liv around and working on school things and is crabby herself because it is still so fucking hot that you could fry up an entire chicken on our front walk.
Bing (holding out her arms for a hug as I stumble into the kitchen finally) "Hi there, Miss Lie-abed! Are you feeling better?
Maria (ignoring arms) "Do I LOOK like I feel better? My blood sugar is 57 and I have to eat."
Bing (dropping what she is doing immediately) "What can I make for you?"
Maria (crabbily) "Nothing. The only thing that sounds good is oatmeal and I don't like the way you make it, you don't use cream and I like cream."
Bing: "Sweetie, nobody, even you, needs all those calories. Cream is bad for the heart. Why don't you sit down and let me make you some scrambled eggs? You like scrambled eggs.
Maria: "Why don't you let me eat what I want please? I don't WANT eggs. I WANT oatmeal with cream instead of milk! Did you get Liv dinner?"
Bing (pouting a little): "Of course I did! I made her chicken on the Forman grill. It is too hot to even grill outside today. Hey, I talked to Tina!"
Maria: "Tina who?"
Bing: "Tina, my niece. The one who is getting married in two weeks?"
Maria: "At that stupid castle where the servers dress up like damsels in distress or court jesters?"
Bing (sighing, Maria is always SO crabby when she finally gets up after a migraine): "Yeah. That would be the one..."
Maria: "Did you remember to buy them a wedding gift yet? Because remember you said you would take care of it? I always gets stuck buying all the birthday, wedding and whatever gifts around here and I am tired of that shit."
Bing: "Not yet, but it's on my list."
This means that she will forget and the day before the wedding I will be making a run to that bedding store where they are registered and all the small dollar items will be gone and I will end up spending a fortune on some big ticket item because Bing forgot AGAIN.
Maria: Why would anyone get married at that idiotic place? It's like Lee DeWyze proposing at Disneyworld. How stupid and typical can you get?"
Bing: "Well, what do you expect from some coffee house singer who only got a model slash actress to look at him because he won some stupid game show and she is what? Like 27 years old and still says that being proposed to at Disneyland was one of the most romantic days of her life? How old is she? Like 15? Maybe Taylor Swift will be her maid of honor."
Maria (scowling): "Hands off Lee, missy."
Maria sees Lee DeWyze as her family. She can make fun of him but no one else better. Bing holds up her hands, surrendering. Maria putters around making oatmeal and keeps dropping things because her RA is acting up too and she is fumble fingered. Bing finally takes the bowl out of her hands and promises to make the oatmeal with cream if she will just sit down and stop lumbering around like a bull in a china shop. She sneaks and uses skim milk instead of cream and thinks Maria won't notice. She does but is too tired to call her on it but vows that she will never let Bing make her oatmeal again.
Maria (looking around) "Where's Liv?"
Bing: "At a friend's house. I pick her up in a half hour. Oh, speaking of Tina. I told her that we would take her and her betrothed out to dinner on Thursday. We have to go somewhere gluten free, apparently he has issues..."
Maria: "Is it just me or are people getting more and more issue-y these days? When I was kid, no one was allergic to peanuts and no one had to eat gluten free. God, I sound like a sour old woman, don't I?"
Bing smiles, doesn't comment.
Bing: "So, is Thursday okay?"
Maria: "As long as we don't have to eat at that drippy castle where they are getting married at...."
Bing: "I told them to pick. Hey, how does that oatmeal taste? Yummy?"
Maria: "Like someone put skim milk in it instead of cream. Some people are so fucking sneaky...."
Bing: "Excuse me for wanting you to live to old age with me."
Maria: "God, I lost an entire day off. That sucks."
Bing (nodding): "That it does, buttercup. Were you planning on showering tonight?"
Maria smells her armpits. Oh, boy. Not fragrant.
Maria (meekly): "Yeah.....I'm going to go check my e-mail and I'll be out for True Blood. Did I miss any senate votes?"
Bing: "Nope. They are still acting like a room full of brats who are more hell bent on punishing each other than compromising...."
So, I went to my office to check e-mail and blog posts. And it occurred to me that Bing and I are starting to sound like two old ladies. Any comments? What do you and your spouse or significant other or whatever sound like?
And P.S. : HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my Livvie. She is 12 today. We celebrated yesterday with dinner out and a concert. And last week was her slumber party that was supposed to be held in a tent out in the back yard but it was so hot that they ended up camping out in our basement rec room and watching some movie with Zac Ephron. Liv has a secret crush on him but she will never admit it. We also got her tickets to go with us to see Keith Urban and a new lens for her star gazing telescope. We also bought cupcakes from Jonas Bros, so we all have been eating like pigs all weekend.
And P.P.S.: Reason # 49, 889 why I love being with Bing:
I was getting ready to get in the shower, walked into the bathroom naked and there she was, putting up my favorite fluffy hot pink towel and the matching wash cloth that I like. Instead of being all sweet, me being me, said, "I told you that I was going to take a shower! Why do you always find a reason to be in the bathroom when I need it? Just please...if you have to poop, use the other bathroom please." (Life with us is so romantic...)
Bing, being Bing, smiled and said, "You know I take any excuse to see you all nekkid."
I bent down to make sure that my favorite conditioner was on the floor in the shower just as she was bending down to pick up a wash cloth that she had dropped. We bumped butts. I stood up and scowled at her. She smirked beautifully at me and said, "MOON LANDING! ALRIGHT!!"
This made me laugh and as I was showering, I reminded myself to kiss her when I got out. She is the best. The best. And I am an ungrateful lout sometimes....
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
21 Jump Street
I was thirty when the series started, had just bought my first home with my then partner, Cory.
I was miserable in the relationship. Somehow I thought that if we bought a house together...well...maybe it would give me impetus to stay. I knew I was wrong as soon as we settled in together.
Cory was all up in cozy mode, LOVED it that we were "nesting." I kept putting my finger in my shirt front and pulling it away from my neck, feeling like I couldn't breathe. It would be a year of freak asthma attacks for me. I'd had asthma as a kid but grew out of it in puberty. It came back with a vengeance that year. I was not house happy. With every purchase of more things for the house, I found it harder and harder to breathe.
One night, we were cuddling on the sofa or I should say that Cory was insisting on sitting as close to me as she could get and putting kisses on my face in a most annoying way. Her leg was slung over mine in connubial bliss while I sat trying to swallow, feeling as if my throat was swelling shut.
You know, considering that I treated people for anxiety disorders on a daily basis, you would think I could have diagnosed myself...but no. I just thought I was having asthma attacks all the time again and wondered why that was.
But, there we were on the sofa and this show came on. I rolled my eyes at the cheesy music and then suddenly...well, boy howdy...eat a biscuit with honey...there was this boy/man's face. Smooth as silk and olive toned.
Unbelievably sexy.
And, yes...it turned out that his character was a bad boy. Oh...even back then I could have buttered and eaten a bad boy for breakfast on a daily basis. And Tom Hanson on 21 Jump Street was right up my alley.
We began watching this show weekly. We bought special treats for "21 Jump Street night." Cory was ecstatic. We were sharing like a real couple! We had our own show that we watched faithfully together.
I watched it for one reason and one reason only: I wanted to devour Johnny Depp as Officer Tom Hanson. Peter DeLouise was okay as Doug Penhall but he was no Tom Hanson. No one was. Cory never had crushes on men and was not too supportive of mine on Johnny, but she didn't want to lose the one thing that we we sharing so she tried to laugh it off.
21 Jump Street singlehandedly got me through my failing relationship. I had never even owned a television all throughout my higher learning process. After Cory and I moved in together when I was in my mid twenties, she brought her television with her and I saw how easy it was to be able to sink into it, so we did.
When Johnny left the show, I did too. There was some character called Booker, I think who took his place. He was a bad boy too but he did nada for me. He wasn't Johnny.
When Cory and I finally limped bloodily to our relationship's end, she looked at me as she was leaving (at last! at last!) and said, "Whenever I think of 21 Jump Street, I will always think of us together, sharing it."
I gave her that, although my heart didn't believe it. 21 Jump Street was MINE. Johnny Depp as Tom Hanson was MINE. She just happened to be sitting on the sofa next to me hogging the popcorn and drinking out of my glass when she knew that bugged me. I mean, really...get your OWN fucking glass of wine, will ya?
Now, Bing tells me that they are re-making 21 Jump Street with Tatum Channing and Jonah Hill. I will see Jonah in anything, even if he looks almost skeletal these days, so I will be going.
There is talk that Johnny may do a cameo. I would go to see that movie JUST for that reason.
Any other "Jumpers" out there?
If so, tell me why you like it. If not, tell me a show that is a blast from your past that you would still watch from beginning to end if given the chance..
Do what? Do TELL.
I was miserable in the relationship. Somehow I thought that if we bought a house together...well...maybe it would give me impetus to stay. I knew I was wrong as soon as we settled in together.
Cory was all up in cozy mode, LOVED it that we were "nesting." I kept putting my finger in my shirt front and pulling it away from my neck, feeling like I couldn't breathe. It would be a year of freak asthma attacks for me. I'd had asthma as a kid but grew out of it in puberty. It came back with a vengeance that year. I was not house happy. With every purchase of more things for the house, I found it harder and harder to breathe.
One night, we were cuddling on the sofa or I should say that Cory was insisting on sitting as close to me as she could get and putting kisses on my face in a most annoying way. Her leg was slung over mine in connubial bliss while I sat trying to swallow, feeling as if my throat was swelling shut.
You know, considering that I treated people for anxiety disorders on a daily basis, you would think I could have diagnosed myself...but no. I just thought I was having asthma attacks all the time again and wondered why that was.
But, there we were on the sofa and this show came on. I rolled my eyes at the cheesy music and then suddenly...well, boy howdy...eat a biscuit with honey...there was this boy/man's face. Smooth as silk and olive toned.
Unbelievably sexy.
And, yes...it turned out that his character was a bad boy. Oh...even back then I could have buttered and eaten a bad boy for breakfast on a daily basis. And Tom Hanson on 21 Jump Street was right up my alley.
We began watching this show weekly. We bought special treats for "21 Jump Street night." Cory was ecstatic. We were sharing like a real couple! We had our own show that we watched faithfully together.
I watched it for one reason and one reason only: I wanted to devour Johnny Depp as Officer Tom Hanson. Peter DeLouise was okay as Doug Penhall but he was no Tom Hanson. No one was. Cory never had crushes on men and was not too supportive of mine on Johnny, but she didn't want to lose the one thing that we we sharing so she tried to laugh it off.
21 Jump Street singlehandedly got me through my failing relationship. I had never even owned a television all throughout my higher learning process. After Cory and I moved in together when I was in my mid twenties, she brought her television with her and I saw how easy it was to be able to sink into it, so we did.
When Johnny left the show, I did too. There was some character called Booker, I think who took his place. He was a bad boy too but he did nada for me. He wasn't Johnny.
When Cory and I finally limped bloodily to our relationship's end, she looked at me as she was leaving (at last! at last!) and said, "Whenever I think of 21 Jump Street, I will always think of us together, sharing it."
I gave her that, although my heart didn't believe it. 21 Jump Street was MINE. Johnny Depp as Tom Hanson was MINE. She just happened to be sitting on the sofa next to me hogging the popcorn and drinking out of my glass when she knew that bugged me. I mean, really...get your OWN fucking glass of wine, will ya?
Now, Bing tells me that they are re-making 21 Jump Street with Tatum Channing and Jonah Hill. I will see Jonah in anything, even if he looks almost skeletal these days, so I will be going.
There is talk that Johnny may do a cameo. I would go to see that movie JUST for that reason.
Any other "Jumpers" out there?
If so, tell me why you like it. If not, tell me a show that is a blast from your past that you would still watch from beginning to end if given the chance..
Do what? Do TELL.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Never ending swamp summer
Last February, I swore that I would not complain about summer this year.
Well, fuck it. I've HAD IT with this never ending god awful heat. No one even jokes about it anymore. We all just steel ourselves to walk outside and wilt before we get to our cars after work.
Last summer was idyllic. I was alone all summer and nearly every evening, I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sat outside in my Adirondack chair, a dog next to my feet, a book in my lap, Lee DeWyze pouring out of my ear buds. I did this almost nightly.
I hate going outside now. It has been horrid ass hot since early July and the weather guy cheerfully tells me that there is no end in sight. This is the same weather dude, Jim Flowers, who just as cheerily reminds us not to put up our shovels just yet in late March because "we are in for some white stuff, folks!"
Frankly, I am not a big fan of his. I would like him SO much better if he came on and held up his hands and said, "Dudes, this sucks the big one, I know. But, it looks like this heat is going to stay like bad company for a few more weeks. But, you know...in two more months, the night air will be getting chilly and you will take a sweater along with you to the Husker games...."
Now, THAT is a dude I could like. But no. He has to smile that smarmy smile and chuckle malevolently and say, "Weeellll, it sure is a steam bath out there today! It's the air you can wear!" I sort of want to slug him.
What is with it with this summer? Usually I can count on at least the morning air being somewhat fresh. No dice this year. Our air conditioner is running 24/7. I go out to water my gardens in the evening and I feel like I know exactly what a fish out of water must feel like. I am gulping in air like it is going out of style and it is hot and heavy and oppressive.
My poor vegetables. We had a cool, wet spring and then immediately jumped into frying pan heat with no gentle slide into summer. The highs are in the mid to upper 90's DAILY. Humidity is high. My vegetables are far behind where they should be and fighting root rot. It is just so hot and steamy out. More like the everglades than the prairie.
My flowers fare a bit better. Especially the old school ones. My bachelor's buttons, bleeding hearts, pansies, daisies and forget-me-nots are all hardy and take the heat like pioneers. My roses are not nearly as staunch. They are like tipsy old ladies with their puffed out heads of hair careening around in the desultory heat. They beg for water and then drink too much and feel bloated.
My herbs are nearly all on their last legs, except for the leggy rosemary that sits around mocking all the wimpy lavender and lemon verbena.
I haven't even mentioned the bugs yet. Ugh. We live in a very woody area of the city, near several creeks. The gnats come out in droves at night like dive bombing fighter pilots. They aim for our faces since they are slick with sweat and delicious looking. I wear my sun hut to weed the garden and always come in at night with at least ten bug bites on the side of my face near my hairline. Bug detracting ideas are the topics of discussion around the water coolers. One woman swears by vanilla.
"Slink on that full strength vanilla on your wrists and temples before you go out to weed," she advises. "Those gnats will avoid you like someone burping up chili dogs."
I dunno. It seems more like they would love me more since I will smell like cake. A sweet hot angel cake with that crusty, drippy sugar shot icing.
Another person tells me to try Absorbine Junior.
"It works!" she swears.
My Da used to use Absorbine Junior on his athlete's feet. I still remember the almost sickening smell of camphor. Don't really want to go around stinking.
My sister, Patrice, suggests rubbing myself down with a dryer sheet before I venture out. Now that idea is one that I can sink my teeth into. I am willing to try that.
At any rate, I am not enjoying my evening gardening sessions.
And Liv and I have not ONCE sang to the vegetable garden this year. You couldn't pay me to lay in the grass in my back yard. I suspect I would end up with a face as big as Violet Beauregarde's in Dahl's Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but instead of it being from ingesting too many blueberry treats, it would be from gnat bites. And probably covered with ants as well.
Buggy, hot nights. Blistering hot days.
No soft summer breezes wafting my bedroom curtains. No. Instead I go to bed with the air conditioner droning and pumping out cool air that smells and tastes metallic and leaves me half cold and crabby.
And it isn't even August yet. August is generally the hottest month. There is a reason why they are called dog days of August.
I feel bad complaining, though. I have a nice cool home and work in a building that is so over air conditioned that I keep a sweater hanging over my chair. I walk out to my car in the early evenings and my glasses fog up the second I step outside from the huge discrepancy in the cold air from the hot.
We are slow and dull witted. We take the dog for his walk and none of us talk. We are too busy trying to breathe. Even Socks hates it and while he is usually a very wily pup and refuses to shit or pee until he has been walked for over a half hour, now...well...he goes the second he can so that we can turn around and head home to the dark cool cave of the house.
And it does feel like a cave. Bing and I are pretty insistent about NOT opening any blinds in the house unless we have to or until the sun is on the other side of the house. Liv says she feels sometimes like she does when it blizzards outside in the winter...that she is cooped up inside. I get it exactly. And poor sweet Bing. She is my southern belle...generally LOVES the heat of summer and smiles as she mows the grass. Not this year.
This year, she looks grim and determined and the sweat doesn't just gather in the small of her back on her tee shirt...she is drenched when she comes inside. She tells me that even in Louisiana they get breaks from the heat and that the mornings are soft and melty, but not steamy and funky the way they have been this summer.
We haven't grilled much either. 1) No one wants to stand outside and grill those turkey burgers. 2) The smell of the grill cooking meat just draws more bugs. 3) No one wants to eat anything hot. We live on cold salads and sandwiches. Fresh watermelon cut up in cold slices. Tomatoes from the garden, sprinkled with salt and vinegar.
Tempers are short when I drive home through rush hour. Everyone just wants to get home and out of the unforgiving heat. When we get into our cars that have been sitting and baking in an uncovered parking lot all day, we wince as we slide in and sit down on hot seats and try to gingerly drive by not having to fully touch the steering wheel that is so hot it would sizzle if you sweat on it. We stop at the Quik Shop for an icee to slurp on all the way home. Even in an air conditioned car, the sun slithers through the windows and rubs against us uncomfortably.
So, I've gone and broken my rule about complaining. I am SICK TO DEATH OF SUMMER!
There. I said it. And picture me stomping my foot because I am so there. And don't snip at me like my secretary did today by telling me that this is nothing compared to the suffering of the dust bowl people.
I'll complain if I wanna. I miss my sunny skies and the lovely feeling of walking out of a too cold building into the warmth of an 87 degree day in the late afternoon. I miss singing to my vegetables. I miss dawdling over my watering, smiling as I feel the cool water of the hose sinking deep into the root systems of my crops, bathing their hot feet in coolness.
I feel cheated. So I am crabby.
And while I'm at it...I need to bitch about something else.
WHY are keyboards getting smaller? Bing is always on the cutting edge of computer technology and so she bought us new Macs to replace the ones that we've had for about five years. I have one. Liv has one and Bing has a lap top. And while I am impressed with all that they can do, I am dismayed at the smallness of the keyboard. Bing patiently explained to me that I don't need to "slap those keys like you mean it" anymore, but can "just sort of skim over them."
I don't want to skim over the keys. I like to punch them down with my fingers in a satisfyingly punching way.
A good computer is pretty much wasted on me, to be honest. Bing pointed out that now when she travels, we can see each other and talk and won't that be fun? No more making do with e-mails. I blanched a little. I LIKE having haggie maggie hair and not worrying about it when I am on the computer. I don't WANT to have her see me sitting with my hair with a pencil stuck in it and me wearing that tee shirt that I spilled wine on and we never got it out so I just wear it around the house. Can't a woman have any secrets anymore??? Jeez Louise.
And there are so many other things on the new computers that she can't wait to point out to me. When I said that all I really want is a computer that is fast and efficient and easy for me to get my e-mail and write my blog and I could care less about all those other bells and whistles, she stared gapingly at me.
I know. I know. Ungrateful wretch.
Bing makes sure that our computers are top of the line and Macs. She won't even consider buying a pc. "They are like eating ice milk when you could have ice cream!" Our phones are top too.
I am an ungrateful bitch.
A hot, ungrateful bitch.
So..what is the weather like in YOUR neck of the woods? This heat wave looks like it is blanketing the U.S. Are you sweating it out too?
Well, fuck it. I've HAD IT with this never ending god awful heat. No one even jokes about it anymore. We all just steel ourselves to walk outside and wilt before we get to our cars after work.
Last summer was idyllic. I was alone all summer and nearly every evening, I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sat outside in my Adirondack chair, a dog next to my feet, a book in my lap, Lee DeWyze pouring out of my ear buds. I did this almost nightly.
I hate going outside now. It has been horrid ass hot since early July and the weather guy cheerfully tells me that there is no end in sight. This is the same weather dude, Jim Flowers, who just as cheerily reminds us not to put up our shovels just yet in late March because "we are in for some white stuff, folks!"
Frankly, I am not a big fan of his. I would like him SO much better if he came on and held up his hands and said, "Dudes, this sucks the big one, I know. But, it looks like this heat is going to stay like bad company for a few more weeks. But, you know...in two more months, the night air will be getting chilly and you will take a sweater along with you to the Husker games...."
Now, THAT is a dude I could like. But no. He has to smile that smarmy smile and chuckle malevolently and say, "Weeellll, it sure is a steam bath out there today! It's the air you can wear!" I sort of want to slug him.
What is with it with this summer? Usually I can count on at least the morning air being somewhat fresh. No dice this year. Our air conditioner is running 24/7. I go out to water my gardens in the evening and I feel like I know exactly what a fish out of water must feel like. I am gulping in air like it is going out of style and it is hot and heavy and oppressive.
My poor vegetables. We had a cool, wet spring and then immediately jumped into frying pan heat with no gentle slide into summer. The highs are in the mid to upper 90's DAILY. Humidity is high. My vegetables are far behind where they should be and fighting root rot. It is just so hot and steamy out. More like the everglades than the prairie.
My flowers fare a bit better. Especially the old school ones. My bachelor's buttons, bleeding hearts, pansies, daisies and forget-me-nots are all hardy and take the heat like pioneers. My roses are not nearly as staunch. They are like tipsy old ladies with their puffed out heads of hair careening around in the desultory heat. They beg for water and then drink too much and feel bloated.
My herbs are nearly all on their last legs, except for the leggy rosemary that sits around mocking all the wimpy lavender and lemon verbena.
I haven't even mentioned the bugs yet. Ugh. We live in a very woody area of the city, near several creeks. The gnats come out in droves at night like dive bombing fighter pilots. They aim for our faces since they are slick with sweat and delicious looking. I wear my sun hut to weed the garden and always come in at night with at least ten bug bites on the side of my face near my hairline. Bug detracting ideas are the topics of discussion around the water coolers. One woman swears by vanilla.
"Slink on that full strength vanilla on your wrists and temples before you go out to weed," she advises. "Those gnats will avoid you like someone burping up chili dogs."
I dunno. It seems more like they would love me more since I will smell like cake. A sweet hot angel cake with that crusty, drippy sugar shot icing.
Another person tells me to try Absorbine Junior.
"It works!" she swears.
My Da used to use Absorbine Junior on his athlete's feet. I still remember the almost sickening smell of camphor. Don't really want to go around stinking.
My sister, Patrice, suggests rubbing myself down with a dryer sheet before I venture out. Now that idea is one that I can sink my teeth into. I am willing to try that.
At any rate, I am not enjoying my evening gardening sessions.
And Liv and I have not ONCE sang to the vegetable garden this year. You couldn't pay me to lay in the grass in my back yard. I suspect I would end up with a face as big as Violet Beauregarde's in Dahl's Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but instead of it being from ingesting too many blueberry treats, it would be from gnat bites. And probably covered with ants as well.
Buggy, hot nights. Blistering hot days.
No soft summer breezes wafting my bedroom curtains. No. Instead I go to bed with the air conditioner droning and pumping out cool air that smells and tastes metallic and leaves me half cold and crabby.
And it isn't even August yet. August is generally the hottest month. There is a reason why they are called dog days of August.
I feel bad complaining, though. I have a nice cool home and work in a building that is so over air conditioned that I keep a sweater hanging over my chair. I walk out to my car in the early evenings and my glasses fog up the second I step outside from the huge discrepancy in the cold air from the hot.
We are slow and dull witted. We take the dog for his walk and none of us talk. We are too busy trying to breathe. Even Socks hates it and while he is usually a very wily pup and refuses to shit or pee until he has been walked for over a half hour, now...well...he goes the second he can so that we can turn around and head home to the dark cool cave of the house.
And it does feel like a cave. Bing and I are pretty insistent about NOT opening any blinds in the house unless we have to or until the sun is on the other side of the house. Liv says she feels sometimes like she does when it blizzards outside in the winter...that she is cooped up inside. I get it exactly. And poor sweet Bing. She is my southern belle...generally LOVES the heat of summer and smiles as she mows the grass. Not this year.
This year, she looks grim and determined and the sweat doesn't just gather in the small of her back on her tee shirt...she is drenched when she comes inside. She tells me that even in Louisiana they get breaks from the heat and that the mornings are soft and melty, but not steamy and funky the way they have been this summer.
We haven't grilled much either. 1) No one wants to stand outside and grill those turkey burgers. 2) The smell of the grill cooking meat just draws more bugs. 3) No one wants to eat anything hot. We live on cold salads and sandwiches. Fresh watermelon cut up in cold slices. Tomatoes from the garden, sprinkled with salt and vinegar.
Tempers are short when I drive home through rush hour. Everyone just wants to get home and out of the unforgiving heat. When we get into our cars that have been sitting and baking in an uncovered parking lot all day, we wince as we slide in and sit down on hot seats and try to gingerly drive by not having to fully touch the steering wheel that is so hot it would sizzle if you sweat on it. We stop at the Quik Shop for an icee to slurp on all the way home. Even in an air conditioned car, the sun slithers through the windows and rubs against us uncomfortably.
So, I've gone and broken my rule about complaining. I am SICK TO DEATH OF SUMMER!
There. I said it. And picture me stomping my foot because I am so there. And don't snip at me like my secretary did today by telling me that this is nothing compared to the suffering of the dust bowl people.
I'll complain if I wanna. I miss my sunny skies and the lovely feeling of walking out of a too cold building into the warmth of an 87 degree day in the late afternoon. I miss singing to my vegetables. I miss dawdling over my watering, smiling as I feel the cool water of the hose sinking deep into the root systems of my crops, bathing their hot feet in coolness.
I feel cheated. So I am crabby.
And while I'm at it...I need to bitch about something else.
WHY are keyboards getting smaller? Bing is always on the cutting edge of computer technology and so she bought us new Macs to replace the ones that we've had for about five years. I have one. Liv has one and Bing has a lap top. And while I am impressed with all that they can do, I am dismayed at the smallness of the keyboard. Bing patiently explained to me that I don't need to "slap those keys like you mean it" anymore, but can "just sort of skim over them."
I don't want to skim over the keys. I like to punch them down with my fingers in a satisfyingly punching way.
A good computer is pretty much wasted on me, to be honest. Bing pointed out that now when she travels, we can see each other and talk and won't that be fun? No more making do with e-mails. I blanched a little. I LIKE having haggie maggie hair and not worrying about it when I am on the computer. I don't WANT to have her see me sitting with my hair with a pencil stuck in it and me wearing that tee shirt that I spilled wine on and we never got it out so I just wear it around the house. Can't a woman have any secrets anymore??? Jeez Louise.
And there are so many other things on the new computers that she can't wait to point out to me. When I said that all I really want is a computer that is fast and efficient and easy for me to get my e-mail and write my blog and I could care less about all those other bells and whistles, she stared gapingly at me.
I know. I know. Ungrateful wretch.
Bing makes sure that our computers are top of the line and Macs. She won't even consider buying a pc. "They are like eating ice milk when you could have ice cream!" Our phones are top too.
I am an ungrateful bitch.
A hot, ungrateful bitch.
So..what is the weather like in YOUR neck of the woods? This heat wave looks like it is blanketing the U.S. Are you sweating it out too?
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Dear Bat Girl.....
I think I may have mentioned him before....
One of my old college boyfriends...
I always change names to protect the innocent and the guilty....so I will use the names that we called each other back when we were dating in college...
He called me Bat Girl.
I called him Sport
Because he was such a good one.
Well, he found my blog a few years ago and he and I have been e-mailing off and on since. He's married now, is a lawyer in an insurance firm. His wife is a kindergarten teacher. They have one child, a boy who is a high school senior this year. Sport is a happy man, happy with his family, his life.
But, like me, he tends to look back on his wild past sometimes and wonder where that kid went. When did the wildness dissipate?
Here, with his permission, is his last e-mail to me:
Dear Bat Girl,
I laughed at your last e-mail about how Lyndsay made you listen to Mayday Parade in the car ride home from seeing Lee Whatshisface in concert and it took you back to our days at the old alma mater. Because the same thing happened to me a few weeks ago. I was in the car with insert son's name and he was listening to Mayday Parade and I thought of us, how we thought we knew all there was to know about love and life when really, we were just at the beginning of the ride.
So, I'm wondering.
Do you remember:
Our first kiss? Up against a wall in that dive bar that we used to go to because they never checked ids? You were wearing those jeans and a Ramones tee shirt. Hair in a ponytail. High tops.
First bad fight? I can't remember. There were so many, Bat Girl. Can you?
I remember other things. I remember sitting in movies with you and you would always hog the popcorn. And give me dirty looks when I slurped when I drank my Mountain Dew. Remember that movie theater that we always went to because they had Mountain Dew? Back then, in the olden days, NO ONE liked Mountain Dew except me. Now, my son drinks it for breakfast.
We had so much fun and so not much fun together. Once, after a rather sweaty lovemaking session as I was falling asleep, you leaned over and bit me HARD on my shoulder and then gently kissed it, apologizing. That sort of summed you up for me: a biter, but you would always kiss the boo boo. Sex held us together for much longer than we should have been together, you know?
The first time I noticed you was in Dr. Childs' beginning geology class. It was in the late winter and we were both freshmen taking the class to get a science credit. Beat the hell out of biology. I was sitting with Hazen, remember him? I think he is in California now working as a mime or something. Maybe he's a retired mime because I think it's hard to do the miming shit when you are in your 50's. (Did I just say we are in our 50's? When the fuck did THAT happen??) But, when I pointed you out to him, he guffawed and said that he'd heard that you were a dyke.
I was 19, so it was sort of a turn on. Plus, you returned my open stare a few times and smiled, so I figured you were worth a run of it. I think we both knew that we didn't accidentally run into each other at the cafeteria. I stalked you for weeks, knew that you always went to the cafeteria when they served hot roast beef sandwiches. You were always with Bing and I didn't think you were lovers. She seemed more like your body guard! Which made sense when she looked daggers at me when I asked if I could walk you to your next class.
Maria, once my wife and I were talking about the one person we dated who was the most fun and I immediately listed you. You were the first girl that I dated who didn't want to get serious, didn't hint about rings or moving in together. In fact, I knew that I might lose you if I got all sappy, so I kept things pretty unserious even when I started to feel very serious.
I remember the night after that party when we sat outside and you showed me all the constellations. It was almost summer, but a chilly night. You told me that your dad had taught them to you and then you were very quiet and when I looked over at you, you had your head in your knees and I thought you were laughing. I said, "What's so funny, Bat Girl?" And you looked up with your mascara running down your face and I realized that you were crying. I was just a kid, didn't really know how to deal properly with a crying girl and okay, I was annoyed. I counted on you not to get emotional. You were NEVER emotional. And there you were crying, said that you sometimes missed your dad.
First crack in the armor. I now knew that you weren't Vulcan, as I suspected, but probably human. I think I hugged you and you let me and that surprised us both so we stayed like that for awhile. Since I was a 19 year old boy, I tried to feel you up and that pissed you off.
Now, of course, my wife has taught me that when a woman cries, you gently hold her and you don't try to solve the problem, you just hold her and pat and rub her back. See? I am all grown up now and know how to behave like a gentleman.
We did have fun, didn't we? Especially that summer before our sophomore year. We ran around partying. You worked in that restaurant some nights, all dressed up like a gypsy, doing those tarot cards that you never really believed in but you were so good at! I worked at the Sherwin Williams store, loading up paint in people's cars. But when we had time off, we partied. We went to parks and played. We ate picnic lunches by that creek. What was the name of it? I can't remember it but I know we renamed it because it sounded so dorky.
I think we were a little bit in love. I was anyway. Maybe not you. You weren't one to talk about your feelings. I really, really liked that about you. Who knew? You were like a girl who acted like a guy. I figured it was all a part of being bi-sexual. You were the first girl I'd dated who had kissed other girls and even though I acted like I thought that was no big deal, it worried me. All those girls with those lips that were softer than mine.....:) And you weren't exactly my girl, never said you were. But, I thought you loved me a little. You told me once that you loved me. I held on to that. You also had wandering eyes. I remember telling you once that I was the guy, I was supposed to have the wandering eyes, not you. You cackled your witch laugh over that idiotic statement. What can I say? Like I've said, I was 19.
But, anyway. I drove my son to his grandmother's house so that we could mow her lawn and he made me listen to Mayday Parade and I think they are a college band, so I went back in time to college and thought of you. I can't remember how we broke up. I think I met Daisy (the red headed cheerleader who you thought was a moron? She was.)and you met someone else too and there were no real hard feelings. We even waved when we saw each other in the years after that. But, for just a while we were were Kids In Love and I thought that without you I'd be Miserable At Best.
Goodnight, Bat Girl. Your garden sounds wonderful. I liked the photo of you in your sun hat with Liv, holding up peppers for the camera. Bing is a lucky woman...and I like to think that my wife is lucky too. We both turned out pretty decently, don't you think so?
Sport.
So, let's tell each other college stories. Who were you in love with in college and what was so great about it and so terribly wrong about it too? 'Fess up!
One of my old college boyfriends...
I always change names to protect the innocent and the guilty....so I will use the names that we called each other back when we were dating in college...
He called me Bat Girl.
I called him Sport
Because he was such a good one.
Well, he found my blog a few years ago and he and I have been e-mailing off and on since. He's married now, is a lawyer in an insurance firm. His wife is a kindergarten teacher. They have one child, a boy who is a high school senior this year. Sport is a happy man, happy with his family, his life.
But, like me, he tends to look back on his wild past sometimes and wonder where that kid went. When did the wildness dissipate?
Here, with his permission, is his last e-mail to me:
Dear Bat Girl,
I laughed at your last e-mail about how Lyndsay made you listen to Mayday Parade in the car ride home from seeing Lee Whatshisface in concert and it took you back to our days at the old alma mater. Because the same thing happened to me a few weeks ago. I was in the car with insert son's name and he was listening to Mayday Parade and I thought of us, how we thought we knew all there was to know about love and life when really, we were just at the beginning of the ride.
So, I'm wondering.
Do you remember:
Our first kiss? Up against a wall in that dive bar that we used to go to because they never checked ids? You were wearing those jeans and a Ramones tee shirt. Hair in a ponytail. High tops.
First bad fight? I can't remember. There were so many, Bat Girl. Can you?
I remember other things. I remember sitting in movies with you and you would always hog the popcorn. And give me dirty looks when I slurped when I drank my Mountain Dew. Remember that movie theater that we always went to because they had Mountain Dew? Back then, in the olden days, NO ONE liked Mountain Dew except me. Now, my son drinks it for breakfast.
We had so much fun and so not much fun together. Once, after a rather sweaty lovemaking session as I was falling asleep, you leaned over and bit me HARD on my shoulder and then gently kissed it, apologizing. That sort of summed you up for me: a biter, but you would always kiss the boo boo. Sex held us together for much longer than we should have been together, you know?
The first time I noticed you was in Dr. Childs' beginning geology class. It was in the late winter and we were both freshmen taking the class to get a science credit. Beat the hell out of biology. I was sitting with Hazen, remember him? I think he is in California now working as a mime or something. Maybe he's a retired mime because I think it's hard to do the miming shit when you are in your 50's. (Did I just say we are in our 50's? When the fuck did THAT happen??) But, when I pointed you out to him, he guffawed and said that he'd heard that you were a dyke.
I was 19, so it was sort of a turn on. Plus, you returned my open stare a few times and smiled, so I figured you were worth a run of it. I think we both knew that we didn't accidentally run into each other at the cafeteria. I stalked you for weeks, knew that you always went to the cafeteria when they served hot roast beef sandwiches. You were always with Bing and I didn't think you were lovers. She seemed more like your body guard! Which made sense when she looked daggers at me when I asked if I could walk you to your next class.
Maria, once my wife and I were talking about the one person we dated who was the most fun and I immediately listed you. You were the first girl that I dated who didn't want to get serious, didn't hint about rings or moving in together. In fact, I knew that I might lose you if I got all sappy, so I kept things pretty unserious even when I started to feel very serious.
I remember the night after that party when we sat outside and you showed me all the constellations. It was almost summer, but a chilly night. You told me that your dad had taught them to you and then you were very quiet and when I looked over at you, you had your head in your knees and I thought you were laughing. I said, "What's so funny, Bat Girl?" And you looked up with your mascara running down your face and I realized that you were crying. I was just a kid, didn't really know how to deal properly with a crying girl and okay, I was annoyed. I counted on you not to get emotional. You were NEVER emotional. And there you were crying, said that you sometimes missed your dad.
First crack in the armor. I now knew that you weren't Vulcan, as I suspected, but probably human. I think I hugged you and you let me and that surprised us both so we stayed like that for awhile. Since I was a 19 year old boy, I tried to feel you up and that pissed you off.
Now, of course, my wife has taught me that when a woman cries, you gently hold her and you don't try to solve the problem, you just hold her and pat and rub her back. See? I am all grown up now and know how to behave like a gentleman.
We did have fun, didn't we? Especially that summer before our sophomore year. We ran around partying. You worked in that restaurant some nights, all dressed up like a gypsy, doing those tarot cards that you never really believed in but you were so good at! I worked at the Sherwin Williams store, loading up paint in people's cars. But when we had time off, we partied. We went to parks and played. We ate picnic lunches by that creek. What was the name of it? I can't remember it but I know we renamed it because it sounded so dorky.
I think we were a little bit in love. I was anyway. Maybe not you. You weren't one to talk about your feelings. I really, really liked that about you. Who knew? You were like a girl who acted like a guy. I figured it was all a part of being bi-sexual. You were the first girl I'd dated who had kissed other girls and even though I acted like I thought that was no big deal, it worried me. All those girls with those lips that were softer than mine.....:) And you weren't exactly my girl, never said you were. But, I thought you loved me a little. You told me once that you loved me. I held on to that. You also had wandering eyes. I remember telling you once that I was the guy, I was supposed to have the wandering eyes, not you. You cackled your witch laugh over that idiotic statement. What can I say? Like I've said, I was 19.
But, anyway. I drove my son to his grandmother's house so that we could mow her lawn and he made me listen to Mayday Parade and I think they are a college band, so I went back in time to college and thought of you. I can't remember how we broke up. I think I met Daisy (the red headed cheerleader who you thought was a moron? She was.)and you met someone else too and there were no real hard feelings. We even waved when we saw each other in the years after that. But, for just a while we were were Kids In Love and I thought that without you I'd be Miserable At Best.
Goodnight, Bat Girl. Your garden sounds wonderful. I liked the photo of you in your sun hat with Liv, holding up peppers for the camera. Bing is a lucky woman...and I like to think that my wife is lucky too. We both turned out pretty decently, don't you think so?
Sport.
So, let's tell each other college stories. Who were you in love with in college and what was so great about it and so terribly wrong about it too? 'Fess up!
Friday, July 22, 2011
Worth it
Got home at 1:30 a.m. after driving to Des Moines, IA with my 21 year old niece to see Lee DeWyze perform.
Played Truth or Dare without the Dare (hard to pull off in a car) all the way there (2 hour drive)...told some hard truths. Learned quite a few interesting things about my niece...like WHO KNEW she knew all the words to a Backstreet Boys song? (Question: Who is the one music artist or group who you love but are sort of embarrassed to admit it?)
Now she knows that I had a pregnancy scare when I was her age (Lesson: Sometimes condoms break...and yes, it is FUCKING scary...) and that I once stole a flashlight on a dare from a Quik Shop when I was 16.
Laughed harder than I have in years. Had to stop every hour so that she could smoke and all the secondhand smoke was delicious, I might add....
Found parking ONE block from venue. When does anyone get THAT lucky? Someone pulled out right in front of us and we both just looked at each other and screamed "serendipity!"
Ate a big bowl of angel hair pasta with beer cheese sauce at Spaghetti Works.
Got to the venue and sweet talked a security guy into finding us really good seating. Lesson to niece: flirting is not that hard, but you have to smile and duck your head just a little bit. And then when he agrees to help...put your hand on his arm and smile directly into his eyes.
("Aunt Maria, how the FUCK do you DO that at your age? You just got us prime seats!")
(Answer: "Oh, honey...you should have seen me when I was your age...not to be a braggart, but just sayin'....")
Really, really bad opening band.
And then....LEE!
Dancing. Bopping. Jumping. Knowing that my back and knees will surely pay for this.
Bathrooms are filthy.
On the way home, my niece making me listen to all these alternative bands and rocking out to them like I am way younger than I am.
Perk: having my niece tell me that I am "so freaking cool even if you are kind of old..."
Coming in the door at 1 a.m.
Knowing I need to get to bed because I have a client at noon that I cannot sidestep, so need to get to work for that.
Laying next to Bing, having her ask me if I sweet talked Lee into leaving his model/slash girlfriend for me and sighing and saying that I had to settle for a quickie backstage. Chuckling like the 50 something women we are.
Getting up and having every single bone in my body ache. Headache from inhaling all that cigarette smoke and there was cat hair all over her car and oh...just...ick.
Time to go to work.
But, it was so...worth...it.
Thanks to Lee for coming to do a show on the prairie.
And making a 53 year old woman get up and dance.
I swear I would have done the mosh pit if there had been one...
Just sayin'....
Played Truth or Dare without the Dare (hard to pull off in a car) all the way there (2 hour drive)...told some hard truths. Learned quite a few interesting things about my niece...like WHO KNEW she knew all the words to a Backstreet Boys song? (Question: Who is the one music artist or group who you love but are sort of embarrassed to admit it?)
Now she knows that I had a pregnancy scare when I was her age (Lesson: Sometimes condoms break...and yes, it is FUCKING scary...) and that I once stole a flashlight on a dare from a Quik Shop when I was 16.
Laughed harder than I have in years. Had to stop every hour so that she could smoke and all the secondhand smoke was delicious, I might add....
Found parking ONE block from venue. When does anyone get THAT lucky? Someone pulled out right in front of us and we both just looked at each other and screamed "serendipity!"
Ate a big bowl of angel hair pasta with beer cheese sauce at Spaghetti Works.
Got to the venue and sweet talked a security guy into finding us really good seating. Lesson to niece: flirting is not that hard, but you have to smile and duck your head just a little bit. And then when he agrees to help...put your hand on his arm and smile directly into his eyes.
("Aunt Maria, how the FUCK do you DO that at your age? You just got us prime seats!")
(Answer: "Oh, honey...you should have seen me when I was your age...not to be a braggart, but just sayin'....")
Really, really bad opening band.
And then....LEE!
Dancing. Bopping. Jumping. Knowing that my back and knees will surely pay for this.
Bathrooms are filthy.
On the way home, my niece making me listen to all these alternative bands and rocking out to them like I am way younger than I am.
Perk: having my niece tell me that I am "so freaking cool even if you are kind of old..."
Coming in the door at 1 a.m.
Knowing I need to get to bed because I have a client at noon that I cannot sidestep, so need to get to work for that.
Laying next to Bing, having her ask me if I sweet talked Lee into leaving his model/slash girlfriend for me and sighing and saying that I had to settle for a quickie backstage. Chuckling like the 50 something women we are.
Getting up and having every single bone in my body ache. Headache from inhaling all that cigarette smoke and there was cat hair all over her car and oh...just...ick.
Time to go to work.
But, it was so...worth...it.
Thanks to Lee for coming to do a show on the prairie.
And making a 53 year old woman get up and dance.
I swear I would have done the mosh pit if there had been one...
Just sayin'....
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Timberlake
I can't figure him out.
A few years ago, I saw him on Conan (on Leno's time frame...where he should STILL BE) and fell a little bit in crush.
And I can't figure out why as he doesn't meet many of my attraction criteria.
1) He's not a bad boy.
This is pretty much a prereq for me to have a celebrity crush. I'm not stupid enough to fall in love with a bad boy or girl, but I do crush on them. I mean, didn't he date Brit Spears? Didn't they have some sort of celibacy pact at one time? This is SO not attractive to me.
2) He doesn't look like Alcide on True Blood or even Erik Northman. Or Laura Linney or Tina Fey. He isn't even all that great looking. Not that being hot is a pre req (it helps...but isn't necessary.) Example: John Cusack. I've never thought he was gorgeous but there is just this intelligence about him that I find very attractive.
3) He fits the smart criteria. I do crush on smart guys and his interviews show that he is clearly intelligent. And to act, sing and write well is pretty good. You don't always get all three in one mash up.
4) I don't like his voice all that much. It's a little high pitched for my taste.
5) I think he is funny. BIG pre req. He has that dry humor that wins points with me. And his SNL short, Dick in a Box made me laugh so hard that I choked on iced tea.
6) I honestly don't care much for his other music even though Bing tells me that he is brilliant. My foot doesn't tap when his music comes on.
So...what is it about him that makes me look up when I see him on television and why will I certainly go see his new movie? Not sure. I do know that when I was in my 20's this is EXACTLY the kind of relationship that I wanted and could never seem to get. I always wanted a "friends with benefits" relationship...loved the idea of being able to have good sex and fun times with NO strings attached. I would have excelled at that shit but I could never seem to achieve it. Because, face it, there are always a lot more people who are looking for Ms. Right than for Ms. Wrong But Fun. Which is what I was.
But, I have no idea why Justin Timberlake makes me nod and smile and go all limp kneed. Well, not limp kneed like Lee DeWyze gets me. But, limp kneed all the same.
So..here is my question for you.
Who is a celebrity that you crush on who does NOT fit your attraction criteria?
A few years ago, I saw him on Conan (on Leno's time frame...where he should STILL BE) and fell a little bit in crush.
And I can't figure out why as he doesn't meet many of my attraction criteria.
1) He's not a bad boy.
This is pretty much a prereq for me to have a celebrity crush. I'm not stupid enough to fall in love with a bad boy or girl, but I do crush on them. I mean, didn't he date Brit Spears? Didn't they have some sort of celibacy pact at one time? This is SO not attractive to me.
2) He doesn't look like Alcide on True Blood or even Erik Northman. Or Laura Linney or Tina Fey. He isn't even all that great looking. Not that being hot is a pre req (it helps...but isn't necessary.) Example: John Cusack. I've never thought he was gorgeous but there is just this intelligence about him that I find very attractive.
3) He fits the smart criteria. I do crush on smart guys and his interviews show that he is clearly intelligent. And to act, sing and write well is pretty good. You don't always get all three in one mash up.
4) I don't like his voice all that much. It's a little high pitched for my taste.
5) I think he is funny. BIG pre req. He has that dry humor that wins points with me. And his SNL short, Dick in a Box made me laugh so hard that I choked on iced tea.
6) I honestly don't care much for his other music even though Bing tells me that he is brilliant. My foot doesn't tap when his music comes on.
So...what is it about him that makes me look up when I see him on television and why will I certainly go see his new movie? Not sure. I do know that when I was in my 20's this is EXACTLY the kind of relationship that I wanted and could never seem to get. I always wanted a "friends with benefits" relationship...loved the idea of being able to have good sex and fun times with NO strings attached. I would have excelled at that shit but I could never seem to achieve it. Because, face it, there are always a lot more people who are looking for Ms. Right than for Ms. Wrong But Fun. Which is what I was.
But, I have no idea why Justin Timberlake makes me nod and smile and go all limp kneed. Well, not limp kneed like Lee DeWyze gets me. But, limp kneed all the same.
So..here is my question for you.
Who is a celebrity that you crush on who does NOT fit your attraction criteria?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Thoughts on seeing the last Harry movie with my daughter
I can't remember exactly how old she was when we started the first chapter of the first Harry Potter book... ("Chapter One. The Boy Who Lived..")
I think she was about five or six. I do remember that we started the book where we ended it: in the rocker in her bedroom. When we started, she was in my lap, her long colt legs winding over mine, her hair in the always braid down her back. When we ended, she was sitting next to me, one long leg over the chair armrest, the other hanging loosely, the always braid down her back.
We read voraciously at all times during the day. In summer hours, we would read for hours, reach the end of a chapter and then agonize over just reading one more. Just one more. Sometimes, at night I would read to her before bedtime, tucked up in her twin bed next to her, our legs tangled under the blankets, Socks always at the foot of the bed pretending to be looking out at the moon, but really listening just as hard as he could. During school months, we would often go for days without reading while she caught up on homework or me with work. And then a weekend would mosey on by and we would find ourselves on a Harry marathon, stopping to nab bowls of ice cream or crisp apples, oreos as we read.
As she became older, we traded off. She would read aloud one chapter and me the next. This lasted for about half of a book and then Liv begged me to be the lone reader since my voice was especially adept at capturing Hermione's sharp intelligence masked in a shy voice, of Voldemort's sly evilness and of Snape's icy heat filled always so angry but so tempered voice. If I do say so myself, I must say that I did Bellatrix best. I can still pull her slithery, sensual voice off without a hitch. And I do a mean Mrs. Weasley too.
She was nearly 10 when we finished the books, I think. So many memories. Too many to count.
I remember reading of Dumbledore's death and looking over and seeing her lying on her bed, silently weeping, her little heart broken to bits over this. Both of us in total shock that he died. A MAIN CHARACTER died? How could that happen.
Harry's triumphs were ours. His failures, we understood and loved him even the more for. Liv had a weakness for Neville Longbottom, would squirm when he was picked on, she loved him with a tenderness that is unique among young girls who hate to see underdogs hurt. She and I both laughed a little behind our hands at Luna, but we loved her too. How could you not love Luna? So ethereal, so buttery and yet, strong as an ox and full of sharp intelligence that was only reviled by Hermione.
I was always a huge Snape fan. Leave it to me to fall for the bad boy. I loved him from day one, always made excuses for every little meanness he threw at Harry, loved him with a fierceness that understood how his past influenced his future, knew that he had a heart of a lion and was forced to play a role that he didn't choose but couldn't sidestep. Liv would be railing at how mean ole Snape was so unfair to Harry, but I just shook my head and told her that time would prove his greatness. Being the adult, I noticed right away that Rowling had a sharp eye for redemption and a kind eye at understanding how even the best souls (Dumbledore) had an Achille's heel (power hunger) and the harder souls (Snape) had a fair nature that always rose to the surface when given a fair chance.
So much of our kitchen table talk was Harry related. Bing read the books too, but on her own and in private. It was as if she knew right from the start that these moments were just for Liv and me to share, our time together. And she didn't butt in. She did take part in our conversations, however and she always had a fondness for Ron and his bumbling, yet loyal nature. She always said that he was smarter than he looked and she was right. She identified with him, said she understood him and taught boys like him on a daily basis.
When we read the last sentence of the last book: "All was well", Liv and I both looked at each other and simultaneously threw ourselves into each other's arms and cried. Just a little.
Endings are hard and we had shared so, so much.
One of my fondest memories is of an eight year old Liv, laying in my arms one night in my bed after we finished a chapter of the books that we simply called Harry.
("Wanna read Harry tonight? Did you finish all of your homework?")
("Mama can we read Harry now? Or are you still hurting too much? I could hold the book for you...I know it gets heavy...")
On that particular night, she said she had something "very hard" to ask me and I steeled myself, already knowing what she was going to ask.
"Is Hogwarts real?"
I did that parent dance that we all do, not answering but sort of answering. She saw right through me and pressed hard for clarity as she was (and still is) so good at doing. She said something about IF Hogwarts was real, she was halfway scared of being picked to go but even more scared NOT to get picked.
"I really, really want to go, Mama. But, I can't stand the thought of not seeing you for months at a time. And what if I am picked for Slytherin or Hufflepuff? I want to be a Gryffindor!"
I finally ended the conversation by pleading fatigue and then slyly whispered to her as I tucked her in that if she was chosen by Gryffindor, that would be okay, but I would prefer that she was a Ravenclaw....like me. I remember turning in the doorway and looking at her shining eyes in the near dusk. A true believer. We all need to be be those or know those.
We laughed together over Ron's rough start with Quidditch and cheered at his eventual placement of keeper. We shook our heads a little at Hermione's constant annoying habit of throwing her hand up in the air and waving it to get a teacher's attention when she knew the answer. We wanted to know what butter beer tasted like really and pumpkin juice, did that sound tasty? We discussed wands and whether it really mattered if it had a unicorn hair in it.
We squirmed through their early teen years of forced school dances and how wonderful it was when Ron finally noticed that Hermione looked really, really good all swanked out in her ball dress. too bad that Viktor Krum noticed first, though. We shook our heads at Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George and snickered at the thought of them riding roughshod over Dolores Umbridge and her room full of kitten plates. For awhile, Liv's main ambition in life was to emulate Katie Bell, the Gryffindor chaser on the Quidditch team.
So many deaths to cry over: Sirius, Hedwig (I thought Liv was going to throw up when we read about Hedwig's unfortunate death), Dobby (and don't we all have a Dobby in our lives? Some sweet, loyal, crazy spirit who loves us mightily and is so misguided at times?), Fred Weasley, and again, Dumbledore. Rowling understands that dying is just as much a part of life as living. We all have to say goodbye and some of those goodbyes hurt so much that we stagger.
I admit to also having a serious crush on Sirius Black (see: Maria's weakness for bad boys) while Liv thought that Lupin was far more interesting.
Of course, we both thought Cedric Diggory was sort of a fancy boy Hufflepuff until we saw Robert Pattinson portray him in the films and then he suddenly morphed into sort of a cute guy.
And Draco. How we ACHED for him to evolve into a moral man, a good person. But, Rowling is also realistic and she knows that most of us don't change all that much as we age. We kept our fingers crossed that after the final battle of Hogwarts that when Voldemort held out his hand to call Draco over to the dark side again...that Draco would stand up and show some courage and defy him. He didn't, of course. Still, it saddened us. And we both knew Dracos in our time. In my time, it was my cousin Tim. For Liv, it was a boy in her class who reveled in chasing girls around at recess with boogers on his fingers.
So, now...today...was the last time that Liv and I would attend a Harry Potter movie. We got there early, armed with Sugar Babies for her and a snack sized Snickers for me. Diet root beer for me, pink lemonade for her. And popcorn. No butter. Extra salt.
We walked to the counter to buy our tickets and then with them in hand, we handed them to the ticket taker. As we walked into the theater, I felt it. Liv took my hand. She hasn't done that since she was ten. She will be 12 in two weeks. She shares her birth date with Harry Potter, something that makes her proud. I squeezed her hand, smiling. She is now taller than I am by almost a half inch.
My daughter. Our movie. Our books. Our time together. Our memories. I looked over at her, remembering the always-slightly-taller-than-average child with the slight overbite, the jack o'lantern smile, the honey blonde hair in the always braid down her back. I remembered the braces, the year when she lived in high tops and jeans. The child who loved fruits and vegetables so much that she preferred apples and oranges to cookies when we packed treats to take to the park.
Now, she sat beside me, her hair more blonde than usual because it is summer, after all and she goes very blonde in the summertime. She was wearing a purple sleeveless tee shirt and jean shorts, so tan that she looked robustly healthy even though she is so tall and thin that I worry that she doesn't get enough nutrients.
Wearing her first bra that we bought last week because she asked me to come into her room privately and then showed me her "bumps" and asked if maybe it was time for a training bra. I admit to being shocked. I didn't need a bra until I was almost 15. Maybe she won't be flat as a board like her mother...Going bra shopping with my daughter is something that I was totally not ready for and it flipped me out enough that I sat for days wondering if she was going to start her period next and how the fuck did that happen? She isn't even 12 yet!!! I am not ready for this, I thought at the time. But, I had to be, so I was.
We sat companionably, still holding hands for a time until she finally...gently...took her hand away to eat some popcorn.
The movie started. We smiled at each other in the dark. There will be more "firsts" for us. Her first date. Her first driving lesson. Her first boyfriend or girlfriend. Many big moments and small to be shared. But, this sharing started so long ago and is ending now.
I will miss Harry and his friends. I will miss those long days of reading. We haven't found another book to take Harry's place and to be frank, she prefers to read her books by herself now. I get it. It is as it should be. She is growing her wings and I have to stop flinching when I see them poking out of her back. This is as it should be. She is born to fly away from me and I have to let her go.
But, I did have this. This moment. This last sharing of Harry. I smiled at her and nodded when she offered me a Sugar Baby.
Chapter One: The girl who lived.
All was well.
I think she was about five or six. I do remember that we started the book where we ended it: in the rocker in her bedroom. When we started, she was in my lap, her long colt legs winding over mine, her hair in the always braid down her back. When we ended, she was sitting next to me, one long leg over the chair armrest, the other hanging loosely, the always braid down her back.
We read voraciously at all times during the day. In summer hours, we would read for hours, reach the end of a chapter and then agonize over just reading one more. Just one more. Sometimes, at night I would read to her before bedtime, tucked up in her twin bed next to her, our legs tangled under the blankets, Socks always at the foot of the bed pretending to be looking out at the moon, but really listening just as hard as he could. During school months, we would often go for days without reading while she caught up on homework or me with work. And then a weekend would mosey on by and we would find ourselves on a Harry marathon, stopping to nab bowls of ice cream or crisp apples, oreos as we read.
As she became older, we traded off. She would read aloud one chapter and me the next. This lasted for about half of a book and then Liv begged me to be the lone reader since my voice was especially adept at capturing Hermione's sharp intelligence masked in a shy voice, of Voldemort's sly evilness and of Snape's icy heat filled always so angry but so tempered voice. If I do say so myself, I must say that I did Bellatrix best. I can still pull her slithery, sensual voice off without a hitch. And I do a mean Mrs. Weasley too.
She was nearly 10 when we finished the books, I think. So many memories. Too many to count.
I remember reading of Dumbledore's death and looking over and seeing her lying on her bed, silently weeping, her little heart broken to bits over this. Both of us in total shock that he died. A MAIN CHARACTER died? How could that happen.
Harry's triumphs were ours. His failures, we understood and loved him even the more for. Liv had a weakness for Neville Longbottom, would squirm when he was picked on, she loved him with a tenderness that is unique among young girls who hate to see underdogs hurt. She and I both laughed a little behind our hands at Luna, but we loved her too. How could you not love Luna? So ethereal, so buttery and yet, strong as an ox and full of sharp intelligence that was only reviled by Hermione.
I was always a huge Snape fan. Leave it to me to fall for the bad boy. I loved him from day one, always made excuses for every little meanness he threw at Harry, loved him with a fierceness that understood how his past influenced his future, knew that he had a heart of a lion and was forced to play a role that he didn't choose but couldn't sidestep. Liv would be railing at how mean ole Snape was so unfair to Harry, but I just shook my head and told her that time would prove his greatness. Being the adult, I noticed right away that Rowling had a sharp eye for redemption and a kind eye at understanding how even the best souls (Dumbledore) had an Achille's heel (power hunger) and the harder souls (Snape) had a fair nature that always rose to the surface when given a fair chance.
So much of our kitchen table talk was Harry related. Bing read the books too, but on her own and in private. It was as if she knew right from the start that these moments were just for Liv and me to share, our time together. And she didn't butt in. She did take part in our conversations, however and she always had a fondness for Ron and his bumbling, yet loyal nature. She always said that he was smarter than he looked and she was right. She identified with him, said she understood him and taught boys like him on a daily basis.
When we read the last sentence of the last book: "All was well", Liv and I both looked at each other and simultaneously threw ourselves into each other's arms and cried. Just a little.
Endings are hard and we had shared so, so much.
One of my fondest memories is of an eight year old Liv, laying in my arms one night in my bed after we finished a chapter of the books that we simply called Harry.
("Wanna read Harry tonight? Did you finish all of your homework?")
("Mama can we read Harry now? Or are you still hurting too much? I could hold the book for you...I know it gets heavy...")
On that particular night, she said she had something "very hard" to ask me and I steeled myself, already knowing what she was going to ask.
"Is Hogwarts real?"
I did that parent dance that we all do, not answering but sort of answering. She saw right through me and pressed hard for clarity as she was (and still is) so good at doing. She said something about IF Hogwarts was real, she was halfway scared of being picked to go but even more scared NOT to get picked.
"I really, really want to go, Mama. But, I can't stand the thought of not seeing you for months at a time. And what if I am picked for Slytherin or Hufflepuff? I want to be a Gryffindor!"
I finally ended the conversation by pleading fatigue and then slyly whispered to her as I tucked her in that if she was chosen by Gryffindor, that would be okay, but I would prefer that she was a Ravenclaw....like me. I remember turning in the doorway and looking at her shining eyes in the near dusk. A true believer. We all need to be be those or know those.
We laughed together over Ron's rough start with Quidditch and cheered at his eventual placement of keeper. We shook our heads a little at Hermione's constant annoying habit of throwing her hand up in the air and waving it to get a teacher's attention when she knew the answer. We wanted to know what butter beer tasted like really and pumpkin juice, did that sound tasty? We discussed wands and whether it really mattered if it had a unicorn hair in it.
We squirmed through their early teen years of forced school dances and how wonderful it was when Ron finally noticed that Hermione looked really, really good all swanked out in her ball dress. too bad that Viktor Krum noticed first, though. We shook our heads at Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George and snickered at the thought of them riding roughshod over Dolores Umbridge and her room full of kitten plates. For awhile, Liv's main ambition in life was to emulate Katie Bell, the Gryffindor chaser on the Quidditch team.
So many deaths to cry over: Sirius, Hedwig (I thought Liv was going to throw up when we read about Hedwig's unfortunate death), Dobby (and don't we all have a Dobby in our lives? Some sweet, loyal, crazy spirit who loves us mightily and is so misguided at times?), Fred Weasley, and again, Dumbledore. Rowling understands that dying is just as much a part of life as living. We all have to say goodbye and some of those goodbyes hurt so much that we stagger.
I admit to also having a serious crush on Sirius Black (see: Maria's weakness for bad boys) while Liv thought that Lupin was far more interesting.
Of course, we both thought Cedric Diggory was sort of a fancy boy Hufflepuff until we saw Robert Pattinson portray him in the films and then he suddenly morphed into sort of a cute guy.
And Draco. How we ACHED for him to evolve into a moral man, a good person. But, Rowling is also realistic and she knows that most of us don't change all that much as we age. We kept our fingers crossed that after the final battle of Hogwarts that when Voldemort held out his hand to call Draco over to the dark side again...that Draco would stand up and show some courage and defy him. He didn't, of course. Still, it saddened us. And we both knew Dracos in our time. In my time, it was my cousin Tim. For Liv, it was a boy in her class who reveled in chasing girls around at recess with boogers on his fingers.
So, now...today...was the last time that Liv and I would attend a Harry Potter movie. We got there early, armed with Sugar Babies for her and a snack sized Snickers for me. Diet root beer for me, pink lemonade for her. And popcorn. No butter. Extra salt.
We walked to the counter to buy our tickets and then with them in hand, we handed them to the ticket taker. As we walked into the theater, I felt it. Liv took my hand. She hasn't done that since she was ten. She will be 12 in two weeks. She shares her birth date with Harry Potter, something that makes her proud. I squeezed her hand, smiling. She is now taller than I am by almost a half inch.
My daughter. Our movie. Our books. Our time together. Our memories. I looked over at her, remembering the always-slightly-taller-than-average child with the slight overbite, the jack o'lantern smile, the honey blonde hair in the always braid down her back. I remembered the braces, the year when she lived in high tops and jeans. The child who loved fruits and vegetables so much that she preferred apples and oranges to cookies when we packed treats to take to the park.
Now, she sat beside me, her hair more blonde than usual because it is summer, after all and she goes very blonde in the summertime. She was wearing a purple sleeveless tee shirt and jean shorts, so tan that she looked robustly healthy even though she is so tall and thin that I worry that she doesn't get enough nutrients.
Wearing her first bra that we bought last week because she asked me to come into her room privately and then showed me her "bumps" and asked if maybe it was time for a training bra. I admit to being shocked. I didn't need a bra until I was almost 15. Maybe she won't be flat as a board like her mother...Going bra shopping with my daughter is something that I was totally not ready for and it flipped me out enough that I sat for days wondering if she was going to start her period next and how the fuck did that happen? She isn't even 12 yet!!! I am not ready for this, I thought at the time. But, I had to be, so I was.
We sat companionably, still holding hands for a time until she finally...gently...took her hand away to eat some popcorn.
The movie started. We smiled at each other in the dark. There will be more "firsts" for us. Her first date. Her first driving lesson. Her first boyfriend or girlfriend. Many big moments and small to be shared. But, this sharing started so long ago and is ending now.
I will miss Harry and his friends. I will miss those long days of reading. We haven't found another book to take Harry's place and to be frank, she prefers to read her books by herself now. I get it. It is as it should be. She is growing her wings and I have to stop flinching when I see them poking out of her back. This is as it should be. She is born to fly away from me and I have to let her go.
But, I did have this. This moment. This last sharing of Harry. I smiled at her and nodded when she offered me a Sugar Baby.
Chapter One: The girl who lived.
All was well.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Alphabet Meme
Because all work and no play makes Maria a dull girl.
A. Age
53. I'm an Aquarian with a Virgo partner and a Leo daughter. Any astrologers out there who want to analyze that? I am not particularly good at astrology and seldom even read my horoscope.
B. Bed Size
We have a full size one and I admit that I feel cramped by it at time, but Bing really likes sleeping all close and tangled with each other. So...it's fine with me. Our bed is also an antique sleigh bed so I keep it because it looks really, really fine.
C. Chore you hate.
I DETEST doing laundry. It is just so boring and involves schlepping up and down the stairs and having to look at my messy basement.
D. Dogs.
No plural. Singular. A dog. We have a dog. His name is Socks. He started out as this adorable little black puppy with white feet. The white disappeared in the first month and now he is all black and people wonder why we call him Socks. If he could talk, he would sound exactly like Ernest Borgnine. He knows all of our secrets, where all the bodies are buried and he never tells. His big goal in life is to catch a rabbit or a squirrel. The taunt him mercilessly and he shamelessly falls for it every time.
E. Essential start of day.
Coffee. Very strong with a dash of real cream. Not that fake shit.
F. Favorite color.
Deep forest green.
G. Gold or silver.
Gold. Prettier on me. Plus, it has warmth. I am also vampire-like in that I am not overly fond of silver.
H. Height.
5 feet even. It sort of sucks the big one.
I. Instruments played.
None. My mother once sent me to the piano teacher in town and after one lesson, she sent a note home with me. It said, "Maria has no aptitude. Please do not send her back." This was fine with me because she taught in a scary, dark basement with one solo light hanging over the piano. There was also a giant cut out of Mickey Mouse down there. I have no idea why it was there, but it scared the shit out of me. I also tried to play guitar once in junior high. I was able to play a Catholic standard called, "The King of Glory" but I lost interest and only took a few lessons.
J. Job title.
Alpha woman. Mama. Counselor. Shrink. Boss. Cohort. Best friend. I wear a lot of hats.
K. Kids.
Again. No plural. Singular. I have one kid. Liv. She, Socks and Harry Potter share the same birthday and she will be 12. This stuns me. How did she get to be 12?
L. Live.
Yes, thank you. I like to live. Oh. I guess you mean WHERE do I live? I am a born and bred prairie girl. No, I don't miss oceans or mountains. I do miss waving prairie grass when I go away. You miss what you know.
M. Mom's name.
Her name was Rosie.
N. Nickname.
Bing calls me sugar foot. Liv's father calls me Ice. My bff, Harriet, calls me Thing One. The doorman at my job calls me Hermione because I am always dragging a book around with me.
O. Overnight Hospital Stays.
Let's see. I got my tonsils out when I was 6. I was hospitalized in high school once with pneumonia. Again in college for pneumonia. As an adult, I have been hospitalized for pneumonia as well, also for a near diabetic coma. And a couple of times for ulcers and ulcerative colitis. I am just that healthy. No, I was not hospitalized for giving birth. Liv was born at home. With a midwife.
P. Pet Peeve
Women who constantly talk about their boyfriends or spouses as if that is all that defines them as a person. Funny, I have never encountered a man who would not shut up about how "totally awesome" his girlfriend was.
Q. Quote from a movie.
"Kid, the next time I say let's go some place like Bolivia, let's go some place like Bolivia." The first one to guess where that line is from, gets a big online kiss from me.
R. Right or left handed?
Left. And so is my daughter.
S. Siblings.
Three sisters. Patrice is 61, Celia is 57, I am 53, and Jessie, our accidental little sister is 45.
T. Time you wake up.
Without an alarm? Around 9 or 10 a.m. During the week...6 a.m. And. I. Hate. Every. Second. Of. It.
U. Underwear.
White Hanes for Her. I own lots and lots of slinky panties. I wear them for Bing, not for me. I like buster brown undies. Cotton. White. Hate bikini undies, but Bing thinks they are sexy, so once in a while, I wear them. I must really love her or something.
V. Vegetable you dislike.
Easy. Butter beans. My mother once force fed them to me when I was a kid and to this day, I want to vomit just looking at them.
W. What makes you run late.
In the mornings, when I check my e-mail. I often lose track of time.
X. X rays you have had done.
Dental ones once a year. I think I have had nearly every bone of mine x rayed. Lungs. Lots. The hardest one to look at was my feet. When I saw that hammer toe, it just made me nauseated.
Y. Yummy food you make.
I make a really, really good homemade ham and bean soup. I also make a good beef stew. And oatmeal. I make perfect oatmeal, but I use CREAM, so it isn't low cal. Liv loves my cocoa.
Z. Zoo animal.
I dislike zoos. I hate to see animals caged up, especially lions or tigers. I just feel sad when I see that. Liv was never that into zoos and for that, I am grateful.
All done. So easy!
A. Age
53. I'm an Aquarian with a Virgo partner and a Leo daughter. Any astrologers out there who want to analyze that? I am not particularly good at astrology and seldom even read my horoscope.
B. Bed Size
We have a full size one and I admit that I feel cramped by it at time, but Bing really likes sleeping all close and tangled with each other. So...it's fine with me. Our bed is also an antique sleigh bed so I keep it because it looks really, really fine.
C. Chore you hate.
I DETEST doing laundry. It is just so boring and involves schlepping up and down the stairs and having to look at my messy basement.
D. Dogs.
No plural. Singular. A dog. We have a dog. His name is Socks. He started out as this adorable little black puppy with white feet. The white disappeared in the first month and now he is all black and people wonder why we call him Socks. If he could talk, he would sound exactly like Ernest Borgnine. He knows all of our secrets, where all the bodies are buried and he never tells. His big goal in life is to catch a rabbit or a squirrel. The taunt him mercilessly and he shamelessly falls for it every time.
E. Essential start of day.
Coffee. Very strong with a dash of real cream. Not that fake shit.
F. Favorite color.
Deep forest green.
G. Gold or silver.
Gold. Prettier on me. Plus, it has warmth. I am also vampire-like in that I am not overly fond of silver.
H. Height.
5 feet even. It sort of sucks the big one.
I. Instruments played.
None. My mother once sent me to the piano teacher in town and after one lesson, she sent a note home with me. It said, "Maria has no aptitude. Please do not send her back." This was fine with me because she taught in a scary, dark basement with one solo light hanging over the piano. There was also a giant cut out of Mickey Mouse down there. I have no idea why it was there, but it scared the shit out of me. I also tried to play guitar once in junior high. I was able to play a Catholic standard called, "The King of Glory" but I lost interest and only took a few lessons.
J. Job title.
Alpha woman. Mama. Counselor. Shrink. Boss. Cohort. Best friend. I wear a lot of hats.
K. Kids.
Again. No plural. Singular. I have one kid. Liv. She, Socks and Harry Potter share the same birthday and she will be 12. This stuns me. How did she get to be 12?
L. Live.
Yes, thank you. I like to live. Oh. I guess you mean WHERE do I live? I am a born and bred prairie girl. No, I don't miss oceans or mountains. I do miss waving prairie grass when I go away. You miss what you know.
M. Mom's name.
Her name was Rosie.
N. Nickname.
Bing calls me sugar foot. Liv's father calls me Ice. My bff, Harriet, calls me Thing One. The doorman at my job calls me Hermione because I am always dragging a book around with me.
O. Overnight Hospital Stays.
Let's see. I got my tonsils out when I was 6. I was hospitalized in high school once with pneumonia. Again in college for pneumonia. As an adult, I have been hospitalized for pneumonia as well, also for a near diabetic coma. And a couple of times for ulcers and ulcerative colitis. I am just that healthy. No, I was not hospitalized for giving birth. Liv was born at home. With a midwife.
P. Pet Peeve
Women who constantly talk about their boyfriends or spouses as if that is all that defines them as a person. Funny, I have never encountered a man who would not shut up about how "totally awesome" his girlfriend was.
Q. Quote from a movie.
"Kid, the next time I say let's go some place like Bolivia, let's go some place like Bolivia." The first one to guess where that line is from, gets a big online kiss from me.
R. Right or left handed?
Left. And so is my daughter.
S. Siblings.
Three sisters. Patrice is 61, Celia is 57, I am 53, and Jessie, our accidental little sister is 45.
T. Time you wake up.
Without an alarm? Around 9 or 10 a.m. During the week...6 a.m. And. I. Hate. Every. Second. Of. It.
U. Underwear.
White Hanes for Her. I own lots and lots of slinky panties. I wear them for Bing, not for me. I like buster brown undies. Cotton. White. Hate bikini undies, but Bing thinks they are sexy, so once in a while, I wear them. I must really love her or something.
V. Vegetable you dislike.
Easy. Butter beans. My mother once force fed them to me when I was a kid and to this day, I want to vomit just looking at them.
W. What makes you run late.
In the mornings, when I check my e-mail. I often lose track of time.
X. X rays you have had done.
Dental ones once a year. I think I have had nearly every bone of mine x rayed. Lungs. Lots. The hardest one to look at was my feet. When I saw that hammer toe, it just made me nauseated.
Y. Yummy food you make.
I make a really, really good homemade ham and bean soup. I also make a good beef stew. And oatmeal. I make perfect oatmeal, but I use CREAM, so it isn't low cal. Liv loves my cocoa.
Z. Zoo animal.
I dislike zoos. I hate to see animals caged up, especially lions or tigers. I just feel sad when I see that. Liv was never that into zoos and for that, I am grateful.
All done. So easy!
Challenge for all readers.....
Describe your life to us in one paragraph.
There was this girl. She worked hard to achieve her dreams. When all was done, she looked at her life and decided she'd made a mistake. Being alone, having money, no people around to clutter up her life and cause problems? Not working. So, she had a baby, let some love in, and now she has this interesting, chaotic life. But, sometimes? Honestly? She wishes she had more solitude. But, no regrets. Never. Not when she has so much. That would be folly.
There was this girl. She worked hard to achieve her dreams. When all was done, she looked at her life and decided she'd made a mistake. Being alone, having money, no people around to clutter up her life and cause problems? Not working. So, she had a baby, let some love in, and now she has this interesting, chaotic life. But, sometimes? Honestly? She wishes she had more solitude. But, no regrets. Never. Not when she has so much. That would be folly.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
She knows who she is
This one's for you. I haven't forgotten. I'm sorry that I left without really saying goodbye. It was the only way I could do it without crying. And back then, well...it was just the way I rolled. I did warn you that I was not one for staying, yes?
Love scared me to death back then. I was that pot who couldn't abide a lid.
I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry that I couldn't be the one for you. I'm sorry that I never returned one phone call when you called begging for an explanation. I wasn't as cruel as you thought. I just...it was getting too close and the me back then fought love like it was some sort of sickening illness.
It took 4 decades for me to understand and accept that I was worthy of giving and taking love. And 4 decades for me to realize that just because you loved someone didn't mean that they would leave. So..I always was the one who left first. Easier. Cleaner.
I have gone on and I hope that you have too. I found my one true love and I hope that you have too.
That April was so enchanting. And May was so delicious. June held the beginning of leaving for me, I couldn't let myself fall in love. July...I left. August, I ached. And September, I was ready to go on without you.
I'm so sorry that I hurt you.
I hope that life/love was kind to you and that you found someone who could stay.
I'm 53 years old now and we've been over for nearly 20 years, but I still think of you on days when they sun is so hot that everything shimmers.
Wish you well, wish you well.
Love scared me to death back then. I was that pot who couldn't abide a lid.
I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry that I couldn't be the one for you. I'm sorry that I never returned one phone call when you called begging for an explanation. I wasn't as cruel as you thought. I just...it was getting too close and the me back then fought love like it was some sort of sickening illness.
It took 4 decades for me to understand and accept that I was worthy of giving and taking love. And 4 decades for me to realize that just because you loved someone didn't mean that they would leave. So..I always was the one who left first. Easier. Cleaner.
I have gone on and I hope that you have too. I found my one true love and I hope that you have too.
That April was so enchanting. And May was so delicious. June held the beginning of leaving for me, I couldn't let myself fall in love. July...I left. August, I ached. And September, I was ready to go on without you.
I'm so sorry that I hurt you.
I hope that life/love was kind to you and that you found someone who could stay.
I'm 53 years old now and we've been over for nearly 20 years, but I still think of you on days when they sun is so hot that everything shimmers.
Wish you well, wish you well.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Am I the only one?
We are spending way too much time at my workplace discussing the Casey Anthony case.
This bugs me because I feel as if this woman is going to profit mightily from killing her child. The reality shows are going to come a'calling. Can't you just see the publicity blurbs?
"Casey Anthony can beat a murder rap but can she dance!!!??"
"Who will be Casey's new love? Watch "The Bachelorette!"
"Casey can survive a murder trial, but can she survive Exile Island on Survivor??!!"
Jerry Springer, reportedly, wants her story and is willing to pay her a million bucks for it.
She will certainly get a book deal out of this. Will you buy it? Not me.
Is it just me or was it sort of grotesque to see her all prettied up like she is going to go clubbing right after she skips merrily out of jail?
I realize that this is not just a story about Casey or her poor child. It is a story about a sickeningly dysfunctional family. But, I keep seeing her face smirking up at the camera and it makes me want to shake her.
I would have hated to be one of those jurors, I really would have. Because I, like they, would have felt morally responsible to uphold the law and would have had to vote to acquit her. And then I would have to go home and look at myself in the mirror and wonder how to deal with my conscience knowing that I let her go free.
But am I the only one who looks at Casey all dolled up with her hair down and curling prettily and smiling coquettishly up at the cameras...and just feels a roil of disgust flowing through me?
I keep thinking about that line from To Kill A Mockingbird about how terrible things happen and only the children cry.
Someone at work said, "Well, she will have to live with herself now. Knowing that she killed her baby girl."
I wish it were that easy. Something tells me that Casey is not going to spend much time hating herself. Not when there are movies to be made, books to be ghost written and clubs to be hopped.
I will not say her name again. That is the only way I know how to deal with this.
She is no longer in my stratosphere.
I need to laugh at something totally inappropriate right now. Which is why I am going to stop thinking about murderesses schlepping on over to Applebees to get shit faced and pick up some brainless guy to murder and then hide the body. Or maybe carry him around in her car trunk for a few days....
So, I present to you my one and only favorite so very funny, so-wrong-it-is-perfectly-right video.
Let's laugh and let the dead rest in peace. And let's pretend that she never existed.
This bugs me because I feel as if this woman is going to profit mightily from killing her child. The reality shows are going to come a'calling. Can't you just see the publicity blurbs?
"Casey Anthony can beat a murder rap but can she dance!!!??"
"Who will be Casey's new love? Watch "The Bachelorette!"
"Casey can survive a murder trial, but can she survive Exile Island on Survivor??!!"
Jerry Springer, reportedly, wants her story and is willing to pay her a million bucks for it.
She will certainly get a book deal out of this. Will you buy it? Not me.
Is it just me or was it sort of grotesque to see her all prettied up like she is going to go clubbing right after she skips merrily out of jail?
I realize that this is not just a story about Casey or her poor child. It is a story about a sickeningly dysfunctional family. But, I keep seeing her face smirking up at the camera and it makes me want to shake her.
I would have hated to be one of those jurors, I really would have. Because I, like they, would have felt morally responsible to uphold the law and would have had to vote to acquit her. And then I would have to go home and look at myself in the mirror and wonder how to deal with my conscience knowing that I let her go free.
But am I the only one who looks at Casey all dolled up with her hair down and curling prettily and smiling coquettishly up at the cameras...and just feels a roil of disgust flowing through me?
I keep thinking about that line from To Kill A Mockingbird about how terrible things happen and only the children cry.
Someone at work said, "Well, she will have to live with herself now. Knowing that she killed her baby girl."
I wish it were that easy. Something tells me that Casey is not going to spend much time hating herself. Not when there are movies to be made, books to be ghost written and clubs to be hopped.
I will not say her name again. That is the only way I know how to deal with this.
She is no longer in my stratosphere.
I need to laugh at something totally inappropriate right now. Which is why I am going to stop thinking about murderesses schlepping on over to Applebees to get shit faced and pick up some brainless guy to murder and then hide the body. Or maybe carry him around in her car trunk for a few days....
So, I present to you my one and only favorite so very funny, so-wrong-it-is-perfectly-right video.
Let's laugh and let the dead rest in peace. And let's pretend that she never existed.
Friday, July 08, 2011
You tell me
How weird is it to have a dream that you are on a fishing boat with Art Garfunkel, Bing's Aunt Carolyn and a transvestite dressed up like Barbra Streisand?
Eating crackers with peanut butter on them?
Discussing the Casey Anthony case? (Me being the lone holdout saying that the jury HAD to acquit her since there WAS reasonable doubt even though I have this terrible feeling that she did kill her child and just got away with it. We are, after all, supposedly a Democracy and believe that one is innocent until proven guilty...)
And why did Art and Barbra catch some really pretty trout while I got nada?
What is the craziest dream that YOU have had?
Eating crackers with peanut butter on them?
Discussing the Casey Anthony case? (Me being the lone holdout saying that the jury HAD to acquit her since there WAS reasonable doubt even though I have this terrible feeling that she did kill her child and just got away with it. We are, after all, supposedly a Democracy and believe that one is innocent until proven guilty...)
And why did Art and Barbra catch some really pretty trout while I got nada?
What is the craziest dream that YOU have had?
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Why it was a groovy evening.
First, it wasn't too hot. Mid 80's. Not horrid.
Liv had a swim meet. She's had issues this year. One time, she banged her foot on the wall during a turn, another time, her goggles broke mid race.
So, she was crabby. Bing and I found a good spot to put up our chairs and I perused the program to see what events she was in. A medley relay. Freestyle. Backstroke. I settled in with my latest issue of The Onion and Bing started playing games on her Ipad.
Liv came running over.
"Guess what?" she said, glumly.
We asked what.
"The coach asked me to be in the 13-14 year girl breast stroke." She seemed less than excited.
She is not even 12 yet, so I wondered how she would fare against older girls. I guess one of their team members had become ill and had to go home and so Liv was asked.
The breast stroke was only two events after Liv's 11-12 year old girl's backstroke. She would be tired, not at her best.
Liv did well, placed 2nd at the backstroke. And it is her least favorite stroke. We watched as she adjusted her goggles and wiggled her arms back and forth, trying to shake out the tiredness in her muscles before she jumped back in.
And then it was time. We watched. Liv perched on her platform, head down, shoulders just right.
BOOM! The gun went off.
And she was flying through the water. She edged past one girl and then one more. Bigger girls. Girls with more experience.
And she took first place.
I watched her face as she broke through the water and looked at the time coach to see if she had done okay.
It was more than okay. FIRST PLACE.
She grinned her beautiful jack-o-lantern smile as she climbed out of the water, shaking water off of her like a baby seal.
And then she looked over at me, beaming.
I gave her a thumbs up and when her teammates finished high fiving her, she came over to plop weakly into my lap for just a few seconds. She no longer flies into my lap after each event as she used to do, now she usually comes over for a brief hug and goes back to her friends.
But, this time I was able to hold my slippery fish of a girl in my lap for just a few moments.
"You were so FAST!" I whispered to her. She smiled at me again, so glad, so happy. So Liv.
After the meet, we decided to stop at Village Inn for pie.
I had peach. Bing had apple. Liv had lemon meringue.
Her hair was still dripping from her ponytail.
I sat next to her in our bench as we all talked about swimming, about what was going on for the rest of the week, about how we will have so much fun at the upcoming Keith Urban concert.
And just a couple more weeks and it would be time to see the last Harry Potter.
I sat happily, eating peach pie, looking into Bing's face as she showed her a photo she had taken of her on her phone as she came sputtering out of the water.
"That is one I will save to show your prom date," she drawled.
Liv chortled and groaned.
I smiled.
Time is passing. My little girl will be twelve in 25 days.
And this is just one moment in time...one groovy evening.
Mine to savor. Mine to remember on a cold day when she is gone and I am missing her or when I am old and she is far, far away.
I have this shining moment. This shining moment on a perfect, groovy evening in our own little Camelot on the prairie.
Liv had a swim meet. She's had issues this year. One time, she banged her foot on the wall during a turn, another time, her goggles broke mid race.
So, she was crabby. Bing and I found a good spot to put up our chairs and I perused the program to see what events she was in. A medley relay. Freestyle. Backstroke. I settled in with my latest issue of The Onion and Bing started playing games on her Ipad.
Liv came running over.
"Guess what?" she said, glumly.
We asked what.
"The coach asked me to be in the 13-14 year girl breast stroke." She seemed less than excited.
She is not even 12 yet, so I wondered how she would fare against older girls. I guess one of their team members had become ill and had to go home and so Liv was asked.
The breast stroke was only two events after Liv's 11-12 year old girl's backstroke. She would be tired, not at her best.
Liv did well, placed 2nd at the backstroke. And it is her least favorite stroke. We watched as she adjusted her goggles and wiggled her arms back and forth, trying to shake out the tiredness in her muscles before she jumped back in.
And then it was time. We watched. Liv perched on her platform, head down, shoulders just right.
BOOM! The gun went off.
And she was flying through the water. She edged past one girl and then one more. Bigger girls. Girls with more experience.
And she took first place.
I watched her face as she broke through the water and looked at the time coach to see if she had done okay.
It was more than okay. FIRST PLACE.
She grinned her beautiful jack-o-lantern smile as she climbed out of the water, shaking water off of her like a baby seal.
And then she looked over at me, beaming.
I gave her a thumbs up and when her teammates finished high fiving her, she came over to plop weakly into my lap for just a few seconds. She no longer flies into my lap after each event as she used to do, now she usually comes over for a brief hug and goes back to her friends.
But, this time I was able to hold my slippery fish of a girl in my lap for just a few moments.
"You were so FAST!" I whispered to her. She smiled at me again, so glad, so happy. So Liv.
After the meet, we decided to stop at Village Inn for pie.
I had peach. Bing had apple. Liv had lemon meringue.
Her hair was still dripping from her ponytail.
I sat next to her in our bench as we all talked about swimming, about what was going on for the rest of the week, about how we will have so much fun at the upcoming Keith Urban concert.
And just a couple more weeks and it would be time to see the last Harry Potter.
I sat happily, eating peach pie, looking into Bing's face as she showed her a photo she had taken of her on her phone as she came sputtering out of the water.
"That is one I will save to show your prom date," she drawled.
Liv chortled and groaned.
I smiled.
Time is passing. My little girl will be twelve in 25 days.
And this is just one moment in time...one groovy evening.
Mine to savor. Mine to remember on a cold day when she is gone and I am missing her or when I am old and she is far, far away.
I have this shining moment. This shining moment on a perfect, groovy evening in our own little Camelot on the prairie.
Monday, July 04, 2011
Movie rage and welcome home, honey!
Bing and Liv both got home yesterday.
Both slept most of the day. So, today, we decided to celebrate their homecoming by going to see a movie. The Tree of Life was playing at our downtown art theater, Film Streams.
We all decided to go. As always, we stopped at Walgreens to buy movie candy (black licorice for me, a power bar for Bing and skittles for Liv) and sodas. I noticed that my ABSOLUTE favorite soda was in stock: Sunkist diet Orange soda. So I bought that and Bing got her usual Seven-Up while Liv got a Cherry Dr. Pepper.
The movie was PACKED. We found three seats up near the top. By the time the opening credits were running, there were very few seats left except for the very bottom.
In comes Ms. I-AM-LATE-BUT-I-STILL-EXPECT-PREMIUM-SEATING. She spots one seat next to me.
I was trying to do a jedi mind trick on her as she walked up the steps, head swiveling back and forth, looking for an empty seat. I thought to myself, No, you don't want to sit next to that woman in the blue tee shirt. No, walk on by, walk on by... Didn't work.
She decided to make everyone in the row stand up and give her room to get by as she was rather rotund and had a purse as big as a back pack, plus a giant sized popcorn and a drink.
She stepped down HARD on my sandal foot but I managed not to scream out. By this time, the movie had been started for at least ten minutes and I wanted to tell her that RUDE people with huge bags and enough food to feed a family of four need to sit in the FRONT ROW. I think it should be a rule. Instead, I said nothing. Suddenly, she took her rotund self and swung around hard and her back pack of a purse first smacked my daughter in the face and then came down hard against my delicious diet Sunkist orange soda bottle and hit it hard enough to make it fly out of the drink holder it was in. My soda flew up in the air and came down hard, first against my leg, spattering orange soda all over it and then bounced on the ground, spewing liquid right and left...mostly on me.
She didn't even apologize, just sat down and immediately began shoveling popcorn in her mouth and slurping loudly through her straw. I furiously took the offered napkins from the people around me and dabbed at my leg, my shoe, my seat, but most of it had poured all over the floor, leaving a nice sticky mess for me to rest my feet in.
There was nowhere to move to. The theater was packed. I sat back as quickly and quietly as I could and then leaned over and whispered to her, "You are aware, are you not, that you just knocked over my soda and hit my daughter with your purse?"
She pretended not to hear me.
I had this almost overwhelming urge to take the rest of the bottle of soda and pour it over her head and popcorn. Instead, I sat in stickiness, furious.
The movie was incredible, but it was hard to fully enjoy it in my stickiness. Plus, Ms. All-U-CAN-EAT was a loud popcorn smacker and drink slurper. I would look over at her murderously and she would quiet down only to start back up a few moments later.
When the movie was over, we all stood up and I pointedly told Liv to be careful not to step in the soda that was all over the floor. Ms. Back-Pack-For-A-Purse made a point of glaring at the man behind her. "You kept kicking my seat," she said to him. He smirked at her. "I'm sorry. How unmannerly of me. Do you think maybe you should apologize to the woman next to you whom you doused with soda?"
She rolled her eyes and stalked out, managing to spill half of her leftover popcorn on the way down the steps.
There are few people who annoy me more than those who have no movie etiquette. So, I am going to give a few rules that I think we should all follow:
1) Do not come in late to a movie. If there was a big problem and you HAD to be late, make it a point to sit unobtrusively in the first open seat you find. NO TALKING to your friends on the way there, either. No commenting on how you can't see a thing! You are late, idjit. You are in the dark because you are a cretin. The least you could do is NOT stop to get loaded down with food before you go into the movie. If you are late, skip the treats. It is your punishment for being rude to the other patrons.
2) If you bring your children, it is your duty as a parent to PARENT them during the movie. No, you aren't on vacation and either ignore their barbarian behavior or talk loudly to them and say things like, "Becky you shut yer trap right this second or I'ma gonna come spank you!!"
3) If your child starts crying or refuses to behave (and we parents are more understanding than you know), GET UP and take them out of the movie to discipline them. DO NOT return until they have settled down. If your child is begging loudly for candy, you have already made a big mistake because they are doing this because this they KNOW that you will give them money and/or candy to shut them up. Negotiate the candy at HOME before you get to the theater.
4) Men and women...take your HAT off in the movie. It is a courtesy to the people behind you.
5) NO talking during the previews. No, previews are not like commercials. Some of us like to see what the coming attractions are. So, shut the FUCK UP. No, I don't want to hear all about your sister's foot surgery during the previews. Or how your boyfriend is a douche bag because he ignored you all night at the bar. You deserve each other if you cannot keep your trap shut in a theater.
6) If you have snacks, eat them as quietly as you can. If you bring your own pop, do not wait until a very quiet time in the movie to suddenly snap open the pop top and then say in a loud voice, "WHOA THERE!!" when it burbles up all over the place.
7) Do not sit right next to or in front of someone if there is room in the theater to spread out. I have noticed that older people do this more than younger people. Once, Liv and I were at a movie and I kid you not, we were the ONLY people in the theater until two old ladies came in and they sat directly in front of us. RUDE.
8) We do not need a running commentary of the movie. If you have a hearing problem, please turn up your hearing aide or learn to read lips. Do NOT keep asking your seat mate, "WHAT DID THAT ROBBER JUST SAY??"
9) When the movie is over, if you are not the type who like to stay and read the credits, get up and out of your row quickly and quietly. Do not stand and put your coat on or talk to your friends while standing directly in front of someone who may just be a credit reader, like me.
Any other suggestions?
I am still boiling mad. Even Bing was amazed at how steamed I was. I was ranting and raving on the way home and she said, "God, you are like a dog with a bone on this, honey. Let it go, will ya?"
Guess what I told her to do? Yup. Y'all know me too well.....
Both slept most of the day. So, today, we decided to celebrate their homecoming by going to see a movie. The Tree of Life was playing at our downtown art theater, Film Streams.
We all decided to go. As always, we stopped at Walgreens to buy movie candy (black licorice for me, a power bar for Bing and skittles for Liv) and sodas. I noticed that my ABSOLUTE favorite soda was in stock: Sunkist diet Orange soda. So I bought that and Bing got her usual Seven-Up while Liv got a Cherry Dr. Pepper.
The movie was PACKED. We found three seats up near the top. By the time the opening credits were running, there were very few seats left except for the very bottom.
In comes Ms. I-AM-LATE-BUT-I-STILL-EXPECT-PREMIUM-SEATING. She spots one seat next to me.
I was trying to do a jedi mind trick on her as she walked up the steps, head swiveling back and forth, looking for an empty seat. I thought to myself, No, you don't want to sit next to that woman in the blue tee shirt. No, walk on by, walk on by... Didn't work.
She decided to make everyone in the row stand up and give her room to get by as she was rather rotund and had a purse as big as a back pack, plus a giant sized popcorn and a drink.
She stepped down HARD on my sandal foot but I managed not to scream out. By this time, the movie had been started for at least ten minutes and I wanted to tell her that RUDE people with huge bags and enough food to feed a family of four need to sit in the FRONT ROW. I think it should be a rule. Instead, I said nothing. Suddenly, she took her rotund self and swung around hard and her back pack of a purse first smacked my daughter in the face and then came down hard against my delicious diet Sunkist orange soda bottle and hit it hard enough to make it fly out of the drink holder it was in. My soda flew up in the air and came down hard, first against my leg, spattering orange soda all over it and then bounced on the ground, spewing liquid right and left...mostly on me.
She didn't even apologize, just sat down and immediately began shoveling popcorn in her mouth and slurping loudly through her straw. I furiously took the offered napkins from the people around me and dabbed at my leg, my shoe, my seat, but most of it had poured all over the floor, leaving a nice sticky mess for me to rest my feet in.
There was nowhere to move to. The theater was packed. I sat back as quickly and quietly as I could and then leaned over and whispered to her, "You are aware, are you not, that you just knocked over my soda and hit my daughter with your purse?"
She pretended not to hear me.
I had this almost overwhelming urge to take the rest of the bottle of soda and pour it over her head and popcorn. Instead, I sat in stickiness, furious.
The movie was incredible, but it was hard to fully enjoy it in my stickiness. Plus, Ms. All-U-CAN-EAT was a loud popcorn smacker and drink slurper. I would look over at her murderously and she would quiet down only to start back up a few moments later.
When the movie was over, we all stood up and I pointedly told Liv to be careful not to step in the soda that was all over the floor. Ms. Back-Pack-For-A-Purse made a point of glaring at the man behind her. "You kept kicking my seat," she said to him. He smirked at her. "I'm sorry. How unmannerly of me. Do you think maybe you should apologize to the woman next to you whom you doused with soda?"
She rolled her eyes and stalked out, managing to spill half of her leftover popcorn on the way down the steps.
There are few people who annoy me more than those who have no movie etiquette. So, I am going to give a few rules that I think we should all follow:
1) Do not come in late to a movie. If there was a big problem and you HAD to be late, make it a point to sit unobtrusively in the first open seat you find. NO TALKING to your friends on the way there, either. No commenting on how you can't see a thing! You are late, idjit. You are in the dark because you are a cretin. The least you could do is NOT stop to get loaded down with food before you go into the movie. If you are late, skip the treats. It is your punishment for being rude to the other patrons.
2) If you bring your children, it is your duty as a parent to PARENT them during the movie. No, you aren't on vacation and either ignore their barbarian behavior or talk loudly to them and say things like, "Becky you shut yer trap right this second or I'ma gonna come spank you!!"
3) If your child starts crying or refuses to behave (and we parents are more understanding than you know), GET UP and take them out of the movie to discipline them. DO NOT return until they have settled down. If your child is begging loudly for candy, you have already made a big mistake because they are doing this because this they KNOW that you will give them money and/or candy to shut them up. Negotiate the candy at HOME before you get to the theater.
4) Men and women...take your HAT off in the movie. It is a courtesy to the people behind you.
5) NO talking during the previews. No, previews are not like commercials. Some of us like to see what the coming attractions are. So, shut the FUCK UP. No, I don't want to hear all about your sister's foot surgery during the previews. Or how your boyfriend is a douche bag because he ignored you all night at the bar. You deserve each other if you cannot keep your trap shut in a theater.
6) If you have snacks, eat them as quietly as you can. If you bring your own pop, do not wait until a very quiet time in the movie to suddenly snap open the pop top and then say in a loud voice, "WHOA THERE!!" when it burbles up all over the place.
7) Do not sit right next to or in front of someone if there is room in the theater to spread out. I have noticed that older people do this more than younger people. Once, Liv and I were at a movie and I kid you not, we were the ONLY people in the theater until two old ladies came in and they sat directly in front of us. RUDE.
8) We do not need a running commentary of the movie. If you have a hearing problem, please turn up your hearing aide or learn to read lips. Do NOT keep asking your seat mate, "WHAT DID THAT ROBBER JUST SAY??"
9) When the movie is over, if you are not the type who like to stay and read the credits, get up and out of your row quickly and quietly. Do not stand and put your coat on or talk to your friends while standing directly in front of someone who may just be a credit reader, like me.
Any other suggestions?
I am still boiling mad. Even Bing was amazed at how steamed I was. I was ranting and raving on the way home and she said, "God, you are like a dog with a bone on this, honey. Let it go, will ya?"
Guess what I told her to do? Yup. Y'all know me too well.....
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Naked as a jaybird
Well, this behavior will have to stop when Liv and Bing get back home.
This nakedness behavior.
I have discovered that I love being naked alone in my house.
It started last week when I came home from work one day and went to change out of my business suit and into jean shorts and a tee shirt. I didn't have anywhere to go that night except to read my book or sit in front of the television set. My garden had been weeded the day before, so no need to tend it.
Well, I thought to myself, I might as well just be naked. No need to put anything on since I have no place to go and nothing to do.
So, I just....stripped down and walked around naked.
I made myself a bowl of Cream of Wheat and ate it sitting naked on my sofa, cradling the warm bowl against my belly between bites.
I sat in the lazy boy with my book and a glass of amaretto and soda. Read. Sipped. Read. Sipped.
Once, I caught a look of myself in a dining room mirror as I took my empty glass back to the kitchen to rinse. Decided not to do that again since I am definitely having major boob sag.
I curled up, naked on the sofa and idly watched some house hunting show, watching a whiny ass woman and her way-too-good-natured husband walk through some houses on the Caribbean. Vacation homes. Starting at 300,000$. The woman was a massage therapist and her husband owned a bar. Where the fuck did they get that kind of dough to buy a vacation house? Bing and I both work hard and there is no way in hell that we could afford a vacation house in Maine, let alone one in the Caribbean with a pool, a closet as big as my kitchen, AND a backyard with a fountain.
I looked down at my toenails and decided to paint them while I was watching television. Went into Liv's room and borrowed some funky bright green polish. Applied it while I switched channels to watch a show about diners and dives.
The food looked really, really good and that reminded me that I had a pint of Ben and Jerry's Americone Dream in the freezer. I walked on my heels with splayed toes to the kitchen and returned with the pint wrapped in a kitchen towel and watched a different show, this one about how Baby Ruth candy bars are made. I sucked down a few spoonfuls and channel surfed until I found a showing of the movie, ET. God, that little Gertie was sure cute, I thought. Now Gertie is all grown up and is Drew Barrymore. God, I am old.
I looked down and noticed that my belly was looking a bit poochy. No more ice cream for this old biddy.
When it was time to take a bath and go to bed, it was easy as pie since I was already nude.
I think I could be a good nudist as long as no one was around to look at me.
And there were no mirrors.
The phone rang. It was Tinton calling to check in. As we talked, I absentmindedly rubbed the nipple on my breast back and forth until it stood up hard and the areola surrounding it was all puckered.
This suddenly seemed very, very wrong. To be sitting here NAKED, and FONDLING my own breast while talking to the father of my child. Wrong. Very wrong.
I dropped my hand, sat up straight as a schoolmarm and that felt better, more appropriate. Tinton put Liv on and we talked about her coming home soon. I didn't mention that I was naked, of course. She already thinks I am kind of odd, no sense in adding fuel to that particular fire.
After we hung up, I decided to text Bing and tell her that I was naked. Now, that seemed very appropriate.
So, since I am just a sex kitten, I texted
Hi. Guess what? I'm naked as a jaybird.
She responded.
Hi back. Me too. Except I just got out of the shower. Why r u nekkid?
Me:
Just felt brazen tonite. Sorry u r missing it. Wanna have text sex?
Bing:
I'll wait 4 the real thing when I get hm, k? Um..hon? R the blinds shut?
Me:Naw. I'm sitting outside on the bk porch. :)
I am so funny. I should be on Ellen, I thought. Or maybe it was the amaretto and soda talking.
At any rate...I think I could do this naked-after-work shit on a daily basis.
Could you?
This nakedness behavior.
I have discovered that I love being naked alone in my house.
It started last week when I came home from work one day and went to change out of my business suit and into jean shorts and a tee shirt. I didn't have anywhere to go that night except to read my book or sit in front of the television set. My garden had been weeded the day before, so no need to tend it.
Well, I thought to myself, I might as well just be naked. No need to put anything on since I have no place to go and nothing to do.
So, I just....stripped down and walked around naked.
I made myself a bowl of Cream of Wheat and ate it sitting naked on my sofa, cradling the warm bowl against my belly between bites.
I sat in the lazy boy with my book and a glass of amaretto and soda. Read. Sipped. Read. Sipped.
Once, I caught a look of myself in a dining room mirror as I took my empty glass back to the kitchen to rinse. Decided not to do that again since I am definitely having major boob sag.
I curled up, naked on the sofa and idly watched some house hunting show, watching a whiny ass woman and her way-too-good-natured husband walk through some houses on the Caribbean. Vacation homes. Starting at 300,000$. The woman was a massage therapist and her husband owned a bar. Where the fuck did they get that kind of dough to buy a vacation house? Bing and I both work hard and there is no way in hell that we could afford a vacation house in Maine, let alone one in the Caribbean with a pool, a closet as big as my kitchen, AND a backyard with a fountain.
I looked down at my toenails and decided to paint them while I was watching television. Went into Liv's room and borrowed some funky bright green polish. Applied it while I switched channels to watch a show about diners and dives.
The food looked really, really good and that reminded me that I had a pint of Ben and Jerry's Americone Dream in the freezer. I walked on my heels with splayed toes to the kitchen and returned with the pint wrapped in a kitchen towel and watched a different show, this one about how Baby Ruth candy bars are made. I sucked down a few spoonfuls and channel surfed until I found a showing of the movie, ET. God, that little Gertie was sure cute, I thought. Now Gertie is all grown up and is Drew Barrymore. God, I am old.
I looked down and noticed that my belly was looking a bit poochy. No more ice cream for this old biddy.
When it was time to take a bath and go to bed, it was easy as pie since I was already nude.
I think I could be a good nudist as long as no one was around to look at me.
And there were no mirrors.
The phone rang. It was Tinton calling to check in. As we talked, I absentmindedly rubbed the nipple on my breast back and forth until it stood up hard and the areola surrounding it was all puckered.
This suddenly seemed very, very wrong. To be sitting here NAKED, and FONDLING my own breast while talking to the father of my child. Wrong. Very wrong.
I dropped my hand, sat up straight as a schoolmarm and that felt better, more appropriate. Tinton put Liv on and we talked about her coming home soon. I didn't mention that I was naked, of course. She already thinks I am kind of odd, no sense in adding fuel to that particular fire.
After we hung up, I decided to text Bing and tell her that I was naked. Now, that seemed very appropriate.
So, since I am just a sex kitten, I texted
Hi. Guess what? I'm naked as a jaybird.
She responded.
Hi back. Me too. Except I just got out of the shower. Why r u nekkid?
Me:
Just felt brazen tonite. Sorry u r missing it. Wanna have text sex?
Bing:
I'll wait 4 the real thing when I get hm, k? Um..hon? R the blinds shut?
Me:Naw. I'm sitting outside on the bk porch. :)
I am so funny. I should be on Ellen, I thought. Or maybe it was the amaretto and soda talking.
At any rate...I think I could do this naked-after-work shit on a daily basis.
Could you?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)