Join me in the pressure cooker.

We all live here, some of us more than others. Some just visit from time to time for a variety of reasons. Others take up residence for years. Some of us dip our toes in now and then and shudder from the pain, others deal with life here on a day to day basis and learn to thrive on the chaos.

I suppose that those are the strongest of us.

Still, others spend a few months at a time here and then, well...CRACK.

It's too much, the burden is too heavy. They end up sitting in facilities rocking in chairs, hands to their heads. Or shuffling down the puke green hallways, face averted, eyes downcast. Coping mechanisms come in all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes we can stand without knees buckling and then when the pressure finally eeks away, we stand resolutely on our own two feet and shake our heads smiling. How in the hell did we do that? How did we NOT CRACK? How did we get so lucky.

Some of us need drugs or booze to dull the pain. It works for a while and then turns into it's own separate cooker. A pressure cooker within the pressure cooker.

The cause is random so there is no foolproof help book.

Your child is on drugs and you can't help.
You might lose your job, you did lose your job, you are always on the verge of losing it. You hate your job. You hate that person that you have to work with. You hate the smell of the building. The work doesn't stimulate you or it stimulates you too much.
You look at your wife, your husband, your partner, your significant other and for the life of you, you can't see spending another year with him/her.
You look at your wife, your husband, your partner, your significant other and feel them slipping away.
What the fuck is the matter with your kid? He used to be so sweet, so good, so easy going. Who is this snotty little monster that has taken his place?
Where are we going to find the money to pay for THAT?
If one more thing breaks down, that's it. We are going to be in deep shit.
How am I ever going to pay for college?
Why did I lose my temper like that? I HIT her. I can't believe I did that? Wait. That wasn't me! That was some creep who took me over for a bit there. IT WASN'T ME. I SWEAR IT WASN'T ME.
WHY did I quit college? I can't save any money with this dead end job. My wife/husband looks at me like I should have a big L on my forehead.
CANCER? She/he has CANCER?
That storm took out the whole tree and it fell on my house. Will the insurance cover it? What is that deductible again?
I'm scared. I feel that if someone were to prick me with a pin, that would be it. I'd explode.
Does she/he ALWAYS have to fuck everything up for us?
She/he doesn't love me anymore. They're working all those long hours but I can never reach them. Where ARE THEY? And with WHOM?
I can't seem to eat anything anymore without getting a major stomach ache. Is this something I should have checked? What if it's.....something?
I miss her so much.
I can't believe he's dead.
Why does everything have to happen to me?

The list is endless. You stop at a traffic light. Look around. That teenager in front of you? He is hanging with the wrong crowd. His parents know this, but they can't seem to hold him back. He'll be dead in a year. Another overdose. Another kid who jumps off that balcony because he just dropped acid and he just knows he can fly.

The man in back of you who is riding your ass and you wish he would stop? Well, his wife is cheating on him. He knows this. He was also given his second warning at work that he didn't meet his quota. He wants to bash something SO BADLY. He has a dog at home.

The woman next to you? The well coiffed one? She is so tired. All. The. Time. She works full time, makes good money. But, she has three kids and she worries about that daycare the youngest is in. He had bite marks that one day on his arm. And her daughter? Why does she insist on looking like a prostitute when she gets ready for school? Her middle daughter is doing well in school, but maybe she fawns too much on her? Maybe it is hard on the siblings? And her husband didn't make tenure. He is now in a dead end job and wants to apply for that job in Missouri. She doesn't want to move, she loves her job. It is the only thing about her life that she LIKES some days. And they haven't had sex in months.

The teenager on the other side of you? He wonders if he'll get that scholarship. He knows his mom can't afford to pay his tuition next year and his dad left years ago. He didn't make the basketball team so Cassidy didn't look twice at him. He should stay home tonight and study, but GOD...he needs to have SOME fun doesn't he? And there is that kegger at Ben's house. His parents are gone for the weekend.

We are all in our own little pressure cookers. But sometimes it feels as if we are alone. but, Plato was right, you know.

Be kinder than necessary. For everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Try this. The next time you are at a stop light, look over at the person next to you and smile. I realize that this has to be subjective. Like if you are an older guy, you can't do this to a teenage girl or if you are a teenage girl, you might be careful doing this to a carload of other teenage boys who look like they might want to eat you for dinner.

Or smile at someone who is waiting with you in a grocery line. DON'T try to initiate a conversation, though, because if they are like me, they will think that they really don't enjoy talking to strangers. But a smile can be nice. And if they have a bratty child, they won't be expecting it. They will be expecting you to look at them as if you think they suck at parenting.

And maybe they do. But, maybe that smile will make them take a deep breath on the way home in the car instead of reaching into the back seat to slap their child.

We are all in this together. We are all in a circle, as trite as it sounds. We are all connected. Me to you, you to that woman in your office whom you CANNOT STAND, her to the neighbor she has who never leashes his damn dog, him to the mailman who is afraid of his dog, the mailman to the teenage girl who makes his latte every day at Starbucks, she to her college intro to literature teacher who is a newly divorced dad and mourning the loss of seeing his kids every night,the teacher to the janitor in the hallway who works nights so his wife can work days and that way they don't have to pay for daycare but GOD they miss each other, the janitor to the guy in the 24 hour convenience store who sells him his cigarettes.

The guy in the convenience store who gets killed when some low entity slugs rob his store at 3 a.m.

You'd think we'd all feel the loss in the force. But we don't.

Because we are in those pressure cookers. And in our despair, we can't feel that faint pulse of connection that binds us to each other.

Sometimes we can feel the tug of it, when something bad happens, like 9-11. Then, we all feel our connectivity.

But it is always there, can always be used to help us. If we would only reach out to each other.

I'm going to try harder to feel that pulse. I promise.

Because, yes....we are all

Under Pressure.

Falling in love with a dining set....it happens to the best of us.

I didn't plan on it.

But it had been a pretty decent day.

It started early. 7 a.m.

We have season tickets to all the home Cornhusker games and we needed to drive to Lincoln (an hour drive away) to get to the game but Bing had arranged for us to look at a new car for me (well...a year old...but it would be new to me) that a guy had listed on Craigslist. He lived in Lincoln.

A Kia Rondo. Black. If we buy it, it will be my first black car. Until I bought my yellow bug, I had always owned gold cars (they call them champagne colored.) This one is JET black. Very nice. I let Bing quibble car talk with the guy selling it. She wants to have the suspension checked and also the tires, otherwise she liked it. So...we will see. I am not a happy car shopper. I don't do the title shit, the checking out. I just want it in my driveway with plates. All paid up. Bing does the leg work. Which she loves.

And then...the game. THE GAME. It was perfect football weather. Chilly but sunny. Sweater weather. Bing took pictures of everything all the time. Liv and I with our hot dogs in hand, dressed in our red sweatshirts, jeans and Husker caps. Me sipping coffee. Liv sipping hot cocoa. Me almost knocking over my coffee when the referee called Burkhead's beautiful touchdown a fumble. Me standing up and being a bad parent role model as I screamed with a stadium of other Husker die hards that they needed to take a second LOOK, damn it!!! That his hand was OVER the line when the Michigan spartan batted it out of his hands.

Me smiling sweetly when the referee decided to reverse the call. TOUCHDOWN.

Liv and I have been especially close lately. She and I spent the day at home yesterday, she off for teacher duty day, me playing hooky. We carved our pumpkins, took Socks to the park with the trails so that he could sniff and pretend that he was not a scottie but a bear. We made her last Halloween costume. She is going as Lady Gaga in her meat dress. So, yes. A very difficult dress to duplicate. But, we did it, thanks to fabric with a meat design and a laminator.

Mostly, we talked. And talked. I found out why she was not thrilled to make the A team in basketball. She was only one of two seventh graders who made it. She told me that two of the most popular eighth grade girls, Emily and Marina were angry because the third part of their trilogy of popularity, Sadie, did not make the team. They threatened the coach with quitting if he didn't knock down Liv to B team and let Sadie up to A team. After all, she was only a seventh grader and a "newbie" and Gee Coach, did you know she isn't even Catholic?"

Apparently the Coach didn't buckle, called their bluff and told them where the door was if they wanted to quit. I think I am going to like this coach even though, privately, I think he looks like a wolverine.

So, the girls did the next meanest thing: they instructed all the other girls on the team to snub Liv. I guess her practices were pretty hard for her. (I hadn't taken her as they are right after school, so just picked her up afterward. I hadn't seen her practice, hadn't noticed any snubbing.) But, first one and then another girl decided to buck Emily and Marina's rules. And Liv reckons that almost half the team is talking to her now.

But, still. I hate it that she had to go through that. Hate it that she didn't tell me about it until now.

"Mama, if I had told you, you would have interfered. I need to handle this stuff on my own."

She's right. I would have interfered. I would have went up to Emily and Marina and told them that I wanted to talk to their parents about their snotty, privileged asses and then I would have wanted the administration to pretty much tear off their heads and put them out on a pole to warn other popular snotty bitches that they DO NOT fuck with my daughter.

I am learning to step back. It is hard.

But what really bit my ass was when Liv said: "And then yesterday I was at lunch and they motioned me to come over, so I did. And Emily said, 'I suppose you think you are pretty special being on the A team. Feel pretty lucky right now?' and I said that no, I didn't feel lucky, I felt like I was just glad to be on the team and then Marina said, 'Okay. Buh bye, now. You didn't expect to EAT with us, did you?'"

I asked Liv what she did next.

"I started laughing because GOD, they sounded like some bad acting on MEAN GIRLS or something and walked away. I mean, why would I want to eat with them and listen to them go on and on about cute boys and how stupid someone's hair looked? I wanted to eat lunch with Aaron and Jacoby and discuss our fantasy football teams."

Score.

I love Liv. So much.

Atta girl.

She also told me that she has decided against being a mathematician and now wants to be an environmental engineer and specialize in architectural design.

"Stanford is the best school for that. I've been e-mailing with Dad and he did some research. So...I am thinking either Stanford, MIT or Berkeley."

Did I mention that she is in SEVENTH grade? Isn't she supposed to have Justin Bieber posters up or that Selena Gomez person? No. She adores Lady Gaga and Mumford and Sons. She is already working on her Christmas list and so far she has:

A new basketball
Airplane and car model kits
A bag of popsicle sticks so that I can make a catapult from scratch
Vintage tee shirts so I won't have to raid Mama's closet (Nirvana, Pink Floyd, etc.)
A new power scope for my telescope
An ipad
Chuck Taylors
A list of books (too many to name)
A vintage ring or bracelets

She is her own person. I just can't see ANY of me in her. Tinton (her father) says that he can't see much of him in her either. Like...neither one of us excelled in sports and she is a sports nut. She is a Cornhusker fan, but she also watches all the Bronco, Lions, and Bears games and knows all the player stats. She can talk football better than Bo Pellini. She loves math and science. So she is bit like her father. He tells me that Liv has my walk, my aloof manner, and my wit.

But, sometimes I look at her and wonder where she came from. It's like she is a gift from the gods.

After the game, which we WON, btw. (WON? WE kicked the snot out of the Spartans), we came home and then Bing asked if we wanted to go to Goodwill to look for some new pots for our indoor plants. I said yes, Liv decided to stay home and read with Socks at her feet keeping them toasty.

So..off to Goodwill.

I found two shirts for me. Nice ones. Picture frames. Bing found pots for our plants and a set of towels that perfectly matched our bathroom.

And then we walked by the furniture and we both stopped dead in our tracks.

Because sitting right in front of us was a 1940's Danish Modern dining set.

I glanced at the price tag. 99$.

We both looked at each other and gulped.

It was so cheap! And in MINT condition. But, we have been spending lots of money on car repairs lately and now we might be buying a new car. We had just agreed to declare a stop on all purchases that we didn't ABSOLUTELY need.

But, geez....fuck.

99$.

I took in the beautiful hand crocheted chair bottoms. The sleek wood.

Bing and I stared at each other and then she slowly got up and held out her hand.

"Let's go home and think about this one, okay?" she said.

I took her hand and let her pull me away. We got about 6 feet away before I looked pitifully at her.

"Bing?"

Sigh. "Yes,honey?"

"The dining set is calling me. It wants to live with us. REALLY BADLY. I think it might be crying."

She looked deeply into my eyes and then shook her head, smiling.

We went to the front of the store with the tag off the table and handed it to the cashier.

"Wow, this is the perfect day," she said, pointing to a sign that we had not seen by the register.

ALL FURNITURE HALF OFF TODAY ONLY

I swear to baby hey zeus that I jumped up and squealed like a pig.

So, we will go back and pick it up tomorrow. Our old set will go to the Lydia House, a place for women and children to stay when they are down on their luck.

And that is how a really great day turned into a perfect one.

Today, I fell in love with a dining set.

I once fell in love with 2,000 count sheets. Off white ones. And they weren't cheap.

But, this table is like my Liv.

A completely perfect art treasure.

And she will do her homework on this.

It belongs with us.

So, have you ever fallen in love with a dining set?

getting better all the time....

Direct quote from Liv at dinner:

"I was sitting at lunch with Maggie, Kai, Aaron and Jacoby (soccer friend, transplant from Hawaii, science lab partner and new kid who talks string theory with in math) and Maggie said something and I couldn't stop laughing. I mean, Mother, I was SNORTING! And everyone laughed with me for a while and then they stopped and just looked curiously at me, because seriously...I was hooting!"

Something inside me just leaped up and inwardly shouted HURRAH!

Because this is GOOD, yes? She is LAUGHING. IN SCHOOL. AT LAST.

Oh, and guess what?

She made the A basketball team. Beat out a ton of eighth graders...

Atta girl!

To the med student who stopped and helped me today.

I hope you fucking aced that test, mister.

You caught me at a bad time. You don't know me, but I was at the medical facility because I have to have my blood drawn every two months to make sure that I am still in remission. It isn't important that you know what I am in remission for. Just know that it is nerve wracking for me.

I had parked my car in the lot and when I tried to shut the door the freakin' latch stuck again. It has been doing this off and on for a long, long time. I know just how to nudge it with my key and make it work again. Except this time, nothing worked. I was stressed because I was already five minutes late and then the damn door wouldn't shut. I finally went inside to the doctor's appt. leaving the door slightly ajar because yes, as I said, the latch would not close.

Bing calls it the striker if that makes sense to you. It doesn't to me.

So, I saw the doctor and he asked all the stupid doctor questions and then asked me if I had gotten my flu shot (yes) and if I was taking the iron pills for my anemia (no...they constipate me...) and if I had sores in my mouth, bladder ills and if I was feeling tired. (ALWAYS!)

I kept thinking about that door and worrying that it would run the battery down being ajar like that and wondering if someone would steal it, etc.

So, then I had to go get blood drawn which I hate because I am a tough stick. Tiny veins. Rolling tiny veins.

When I finally got out to the car, no one had stolen, it started right up so the battery was fine, but the door still would not latch.

I tried to fumble with it but my hands are always so stiff in the mornings.

People kept walking by me and glancing at me, but no one made eye contact.

And then you came walking out of the facility. You came right up to me and said, "Need some help?"

I showed you the problem and you asked me to please hold your coffee and then you jiggled and jaggled a bit with your pen and the door latched into place. I asked you to show me how to do what you just did and you did so.

What really impressed me was that you did it slowly and carefully, making sure that I understood exactly. Then you said you had to go.

I thanked you profusely, offered you five bucks. You said no. We shook hands and I said, "My name is Maria."

You said your name was Jeremy. And then I hugged you.

I am not a hugger, Jeremy. But, you were such a decent guy that I felt compelled and now that I am of a certain age, I can do that sort of thing and it isn't interpreted as sexual interest, etc.

I said that I hoped you would have good karma today.

You said, "Just keep your fingers crossed that I pass my test today. I'm in med school and I have a big test this morning."

I held up my crossed fingers and you smiled. Waved.

I got into my car and went rushing to work to make my ten o-clock appointment. Just to be safe, I got out of the passenger side of the car when I got there.

I thought of your face off and on all day long and wished you well.

Because, Jeremy....there aren't many people like you in the world anymore. A lot of men that I know tell me that they are nervous about helping women because they worry about being perceived as predators. We are all trained to be leery of those who stop to help.

So many of us just don't stop.

Jeremy, I pledge to be a stopper. The next time someone needs help, even if I am in a hurry or don't think I have the skill set to help...I will stop and try. Maybe I can make a call or something.

Anyway, thanks from the 50 something lady in the blue business suit who looked like she was ready to break down and cry and kick her car.

You rock, Jeremy. I think you will make a good doctor.

And I know you passed the test, dude. Good vibes!

Give some more advice...

Here's the scenario: someone you love has just gotten married or is serious about someone. They ask you for the best advice you have about keeping their relationship happy/healthy. What do you say?

Me? I'm no expert, but I can only say what works for us.

1) It is FINE to go to bed angry. This bullshit about not ever letting the sun go down on your anger is ridiculous. It is NOT better to stay up all night screaming at each other. Call a temporary truce and sleep on it. Things really do look better in the morning. UNLESS...one of you has done something truly awful, like cheated (and just been found out), etc. Then, yes...stay up until the injured party feels as if they can sleep under the same roof with you for at least one night.

2) It isn't necessary to love the same things, but be supportive of things that matter to your spouse/partner. Listen when they talk about a book they are reading that they love or a workout routine that they've just discovered.

3) Present a team face to outsiders. No matter what. NEVER side with your family against him or her and vice versa. You may not agree with them, but stand by them. Argue at home about it, not in front of friends or family.

4) You are NEVER going to change another person. All you can change is you and your reaction.

5) Do not call each other by your pet names in public. It is nauseating. It is like showing your vacation photos at holiday gatherings or having your child entertain the family with her rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone" at a dinner party. NOBODY THINKS THIS IS CUTE EXCEPT YOU AND YOUR PARTNER.

Any other words of advice. Or...it might be easier to think of it this way:

If you could give your just committed self some good advice what would it be?

Give some advice....

I read something brilliant on someone's blog earlier today and now for the life of me, I can't remember who was the writer...so can't give them the credit, but they asked for some words of advice and then compiled them.

So...I am going to ask you to do the same. And I will give the list to my daughter.

If you could go back in time and give advice to your junior high self, what would it be?

Well?

I'll start. Here's mine:

I don't know anyone who loved junior high. But, keep in mind that it is in junior high that you start to see what people are made of. The bullies begin to get their feet wet. The hair swishers begin to realize that they have some power over boys. The brainy ones realize that for the first time, it is not cool to be the smartest kid in math. A lot of life's biggest tests start in junior high.

Now, what is YOUR advice? I value your opinions and truly want to know.

And after this...we will tackle RELATIONSHIP advice, so get your thinking caps on, dudes.

Do you ever.....?

Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and remember a really, really crazy and seemingly important dream and tell yourself that you'll have to tell your spouse about it in the morning and then you go back to sleep and when you wake up in the morning, you've forgotten all but one detail: something obscure like...A BALLOON. And you've lost that important dream.

Do you ever sit staring at the sink at 7 a.m. and trying to remember if you took your multivitamin or not this morning? I mean, if you took it (and you are pretty sure you did), it was only a few moments ago. How can you forget something that you did minutes ago? And then you start worrying that you have Alzheimer's and so, as a mind workout,on the drive to work, you make yourself make up words with the first three letters on every license plate in front of you? Example: PLU=plum. CRT=curtain. DBI=Dublin. EVT=evict.

Do you ever look at yourself in the morning and force yourself to admit that, yes, you DO look a lot like your Mother?

Do you ever feel as if your plants are psychically talking to you? I know this sounds ludicrous but sometimes when I walk by one of my plants, I swear I can feel it asking for water and so I'll stop and stick my finger in the pot to see if it is particularly dry. And it usually is. I water every Saturday, but once in awhile...a plant drinks more than that and needs a little extra.

Do you ever sit stopped at a red light and look around you and wonder at the people around you? Like, that older man in the flannel shirt. Where is he going? Maybe meeting for coffee with his pals? And that women gulping her coffee with hair in a ponytail with three kids AND a dog in the car. Is she dropping everyone off at school and then taking the dog to get a shampoo? Does she feel like, without coffee, she would never be able to sit up properly?

Do you ever look around you and think to yourself: this is now? Think that in thirty years, someone else will be living in this house and never know that you were standing on this spot, at this moment, and wondering what they will be like?

Do you ever run your hand over your lips and wonder what they feel like to your spouse when they kiss you?

Do you ever stroke the cover of a book that you are reading and ponder the author? Wonder how in the world they thought of that story and then put it into perfect words?

What are your do you evers?

Music to my ears....

Liv: So.....I'm off next Thursday and Friday, you know? Teacher work days..."

Maria aka "mother" or "mama": "Hmmm. That's right. Any plans? You know Bing and I both have work. You can stay home alone and I could have Hal and Nora (trusted next door neighbors who used to babysit Liv) check in on you from time to time..."

Junior High has left me with a new Liv. She used to either have a friend over or be at a friend's home. Lately, she is slowly making a circle of friends at her new school...1) Kalei, who is from Hawaii and also a newbie, 2) Aaron, a fellow science geek who is her lab partner and 3) Maggie, a soccer friend....but they are at the beginning of the friend process, aren't going to each other's homes after school yet. Plus, Kalei is living with her Aunt, a corporate big wig player, as her parents are in the doctors without borders group, Aaron has a very overprotective mother and Maggie comes from a huge Irish family and is quite busy with them. Liv and Aaron talk on the phone sometimes and I suspect that they might be close to the edge of visiting with each other at their prospective homes but this process is painfully slow and I am careful never to push Liv. She needs to go at her own pace.

Liv: "Well,I was wondering....is there any way that you could take next friday off and we could just.....hang together? Just you and me?"

I suddenly have a golf ball in my throat. I am not dense. Soon, she will not choose me first. Soon she will want to be with her friends and not me. These days of togetherness will end soon. At least that is what my friends with teens say. That when their kids hit puberty, they suddenly went from being their confidante and close ally to being....the embarrassing parents who were not that smart.

I like to think that Liv and I will be close forever, but I am cognizant of the fact that there is a much needed break away time for her that will come soon.

I speak slowly, carefully.

Maria: Well, I suppose I could take that day off, honey. What did you want to do together?"

Liv grins. I can see that she has been pondering this.

Liv: I want to make pancakes for breakfast together. And then I want to bake a cake together. Remember how fun it used to be to bake cakes? Remember my friend, Charley and how we used to bake birthday cakes for him?"

I smile. I remember Charley well. Liv's imaginary lion friend. He celebrated his birthday several times a year. He accompanied Liv everywhere and sat at the dinner table with us as well. I had to frequently remind him to keep his elbows off the table. Once, he persisted with talking with food in his mouth and I had to put him in a time out on the sofa. Charley appeared when Liv was three and disappeared when she was in first grade.

Maria: "I remember Charley. Want to bake him a cake, just for fun? What else do you want to do?"

Liv: "Then I want to play board games. Battleship. Clue. Aggravation. Chess. And after that, I want to take Socks for a walk and then come home and have toasted peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch...."

Maria: "You've really thought this out, huh?"

Liv: "Yup. And then, in the afternoon, I thought we could go to the bookstore and I could take some of my allowance and we could look at that list of books you gave me this morning (thank you SO MUCH, blog readers!) and maybe buy one or two. And then...come home and watch a movie. Something we haven't seen but always wanted to catch. And then Bing would come home and we could do what we always do: go to her high school's football game and get chili dogs for dinner...."

Maria: "Livvy? That sounds so fun. YES. I'll take next Friday off and it will be OUR day. Just you and me. There is no one that I would rather be with than you, sugar foot. You know that."

Liv sighs happily. Says that yes, she knows and then she takes a deep breath and says, "Mama? Sometimes I miss being little with you. I miss having you all to myself. Sometimes at school, when things felt too hard at the beginning of the year...I would go into a bathroom stall and pull out this picture. I kept it in my back pack."

She pulls a photo out. It is not my best one, but I like it. I am sitting at my office at work and I am laughing about something, my head back and my mouth wide open. I don't particularly like the wheat colored suit I am wearing in that photo, but my hair looks really, really good....I am choked with emotion, thinking of her standing in a bathroom stall, feeling so lonely and scared. I'm glad she had it. I am.

I pull her to me, hug her hard. Tell her that this is why I have photos of her in my office. That sometimes when I am having a hard day, I look at them and feel better. Just because I know that she is in the world. She nods. Understands.

So, next Friday will be Mother and Liv day. Just us.

I never really thought much about soul mates until Liv was born. But, now I think I understand. I always used to think of soul mates in a romantic way. Now, I think differently. I believe in reincarnation and I believe that Liv and I have played these parts or similar ones many, many times. She is my soul mate. I've never known anything in my life as powerful as motherlove. It transcends words. I have come to believe that others in my life are part of my soul posse: people who I've known before in many ways. Bing. Harriet. Liv's Father. My friends from Chicago: Vince and Thuan. And a few others. And yes, even Socks.

And soon Liv will be a teenager and spending a day playing chess with me, baking and going to a book store will not be a big deal. It will be....a chore.

I held my Liv for a long, long moment, savoring the lemony smell of her, her unique scent that I feel in every cell of my body. She is my baby, my little girl with the imaginary lion friend, Socks' pal, her father's pride and joy. And my soul mate.

My Livvy.

I can't wait to spend the day with her.

Money can't buy this sort of joy.

Need your help with something and oh...I found my happy place

First things first.

Liv is a huge reader. She is currently finishing up The Mysterious Benedict Society trilogy. So tonight, she comes in to talk to me with her finger holding her place in the book.

Since I am the responsible parent (stop sniggering, youse), I did ask her if she was finished with her homework. She was. And since we just had parent/teacher conferences last week and I found out that her lowest grade is an A- and that was in music (Yee Gods, you should have seen the look on Bing's face! "In MUSIC? But, she is brilliant. She plays three instruments! WHY is that her lowest grade?" Um...A- is not too shabby and she got it because she forgot to hand in one of her papers...), I am not too concerned with her school work.

She came in and sat next to me on the bed.

"I'm almost done with this last one in the series, Mama," she said. "I need a new book. Any ideas?"

Well, let me just say here and now that she thinks I am a brilliant book picker outer because I was responsible for bringing Harry Potter, Hunger Games Trilogy and The Mysterious Benedict Society into our lives.

So, I have set that bar high. But, now...I'm sort of bewildered. I told her that I would think about this and get back to her tomorrow. So, c'mon, trusty readers, don't fail me now. I need suggestions for a really good book for a 12 year old girl who ADORED all three of the books mentioned above.

She likes fantasy, I think it is fair to say.

Any suggestions?

And because so many of you have asked me if I am sliding into a depression or something because of my last several posts...I should tell you that I think I have cut it off at the pass.

Last night, I lay in bed resentfully listening to Bing snore peacefully.

I was feeling grousy about my car (and yes, it does need a new door...it would actually cost MORE to fix the damn hingee thing...and that sucks, yes? And seriously, dudes....you KNOW Bing. Do you really think she can be trusted to get that door painted? Remember now that it took her THREE years to finish the paint job in the bathroom....)

Work has been stressful. So many little children suffering WAY too much emotional trauma.

True Story: A foster parent calls me to ask if I know if she can get more money from social services if her foster child is declared autistic. I tell her that I don't know (this is a lie...I do know that they get more money if the child has a disability, be it physical or mental...) and she should call her health and human service worker. An hour later, this SAME woman calls and plaintively asks if she can have her foster child evaluated for autism since he "shows signs like he spins in a circle and such and he don't like nobody touching him, plus he don't play no good with the other kids in his class."

God, double negatives just depress me. But, even more so, it depresses me to see people running their foster homes not out of their heart, but their pocketbook.

So, feeling stressed. Poor kiddos.

It is getting cold, like really cold here. Like hard freeze cold. I have no idea why I am here since unlike my ancestors, I am a wussie pants about cold weather and I detest snow. But, as Bing helpfully reminded me....we both have good jobs and that is lucky in this economy. So, we stay.

My marriage has been more work than play lately. Some weeks/months are like that. You just have to roll with the punches. Living with someone who is one's opposite might be sort of exciting at first, but as the years go by, it is painfully obvious that all the love in the world won't change the fact that you see the world through very different eyes.

So, last night I tried to sleep and told myself to find my happy place.

And I blame Oprah for the fact that I was doing this. She would not only be finding her happy place, but would also be diligently writing out a "gratitude list" as well. Well, fuck that.

Because when you're Oprah, I don't imagine it is too hard to find a happy place. You enjoy that million dollar condo in the windy city, girlfriend. And I seriously doubt if you have ridden in a car with a door painted a different color than the rest of the car. And if Steadman starts to get on your last nerve, well...you and your bestie, what the hell is her name? Gayle something? Anyway, you and Gayle can scamper off on a private jet to New York and go shopping for that perfect jewelry. Those of us who live in the real world sometimes have trouble finding our happy place. But, I was going to give it the old college try.

I thought of an ocean. Too big. All that water flying at me. No. I thought of a lake. Better, but the truth is that I am a born and bred prairie girl. Water doesn't soothe me much.

Okay, I thought, think of a mountain. This made me think of rock climbing. Rocks made me think about that guy who had a boulder pin his hand to a canyon wall and he ended up amputating it. I don't think I could do that.

No happy place there.

I thought of a forest. Wild animals and small vermin. Panthers and raccoons. No thanks.

A meadow. Now, meadows look lovely, but if you have ever stood in one, you know that all those movies where lovers are lying in them are big fat lies. If you lie down in a meadow, when you get up, bet your bottom dollar, you will have chigger bites.

Ok. A desert. I already have dry skin. I don't need more.

I was feeling sort of hopeless and then suddenly it hit me.

The perfect idea.

My happy place:



A new car smell. AHHHHHHHHHH.

So? Any book suggestions? And anyone else love beetles?

And it all happened in a Walgreens parking lot

I was cranky after work. Too many chores. Plus, the little latch on the door of my driver's side kept sticking and I had to jiggle it with my key to get my door to shut properly.

Bing seemed to think this was minor. It was not minor to me. It was annoying. Plus, sometimes it stuck and sometimes it didn't and I couldn't predict when.

So, I got my flu shot after work. Stopped to pick up a few things at Walgreens. Went around to the driver's side of my car and I kid you not...a giant SPRING came flying out of the door hinge and almost caught me in the face.

And then the door would not close. It was stuck ajar.

And, of course, the latch was stuck...which didn't matter now since the door would not shut.

An older woman walked by me and sneered at me as if I were doing this on purpose. She got into her pricey sedan and drove away, looking peevishly out the window at me. Why the HELL doesn't this sort of shit happen to people like her?

Finally, a teenage boy stopped and gave it a good shove for me and it shut.

I drove it home, texting at red lights to Bing about what had happened.

I got out of the passenger side of the car just to be safe. I didn't want the door to stay ajar again. And I didn't want to have to jiggle the hingee thing with my keys.

She took a look at it. Said that she would look on Craig's list to see if someone could replace my door with a used one.

I was incredulous.

"WILL THE DOOR MATCH PERFECTLY?"

She looked at me curiously. "Well, I will do the best I can, honey. It will be close. I promise."

CLOSE IS NOT ENOUGH. I WILL NOT DRIVE A BEEDER BOMB CAR.

I said this and tried not to stomp my foot.

"Maria, it is a perfectly fine car. It's just cosmetics."

I glared at her. It is MORE than that.

It is like me going to work with sparkly green eye shadow. It looks trashy. And it isn't me. And we can afford a new car. And I am sick of her insisting that we drive the cars until they die.

I need this car to die. Not just get the sniffles. I need it to die.

I tried to tell her this and she held her tongue. We have had money fights lately and neither one of us relish fighting about money if we can help it again for a while.

WHY doesn't she get this?

Am I being prissy?

Tell me true, I will deal.

Am I?

Would YOU want to drive a car with a door that did not match your car?

Should that matter?

It does matter. To me. It just does. And I can't seem to get her to see this.

She reminded me before she went to take her shower to be sure and get in on the passenger side until she can get that door fixed.

My blood is boiling.

Am I over reacting?

Opinions?

Maria and the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad fight

The air was ripe with it.

And then the Visa bill came in the mail. Bing, as always, went through it with a fine tooth comb. I wish JUST ONCE that she would just skim it, pay it, and be done. But, no.

She came up to me and said, "What is this 80.46$ bill from Whole Foods?

I sighed. Braced myself.

"I took Lyndsay (my niece) out for dinner, remember?"

"And you spent almost 90 dollars?"

"No. I spent 80 something dollars."

"ON WHAT?"

I took a breath. Stood my ground.

"Okay. After we ate, I bought some groceries for her."

Bing was looking at me as if I had said that I went out and bought a motor home. She incredulously asked me WHY I felt the need to buy Lyndsay groceries. Doesn't she have a job?

I put my long suffering martyr face on (and trust me, it's good...)

"She is 20. She is in college. She works at Arbys. She needed some groceries."

"So you took her to the most expensive grocery store in the city? Anything wrong with Hy-Vee?" She was so annoyed.

I shrugged. Said that we were there and I asked her if she needed any groceries and she said, hey don't worry about it. And I said that I wanted to buy her some groceries. Actually, what I said was: "Let me buy you some groceries. I just want to, honey."

I looked over at Bing's totally pissed off face and something in me just exploded. It isn't as if I bought her a fur coat.

"Listen," I said. "When I was in college and my mother had kicked me out of her life and stopped paying for my college and sending me spending money, I learned very quickly how much toilet paper cost. I lived for YEARS in squalor just to pay for school. I would have LOVED to have an Aunt Maria who stepped up to the plate and bought me a carton of eggs, let alone groceries. The groceries are purchased. Deal with it."

Bing scowled. "Lyndsay is not destitute. She has a job. She has roommates. God, you didn't buy them liquor did you?"

Now, it was my turn to be mad.

"NO! I DID NOT BUY THEM LIQUOR. THEY ARE UNDER AGE. I DO NOT BUY MINORS LIQUOR! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD SAY SOMETHING SO FUCKING STUPID TO ME!"

Bing shook her head. Made a snotty comment about money not growing on trees.

I countered by telling her that when she wanted to buy that extra idiotic hat for her motorcycle, she just bought it, didn't even ask me and I didn't say a WORD!

Bing told me that you do not call them HATS. They are called HELMETS!

I said whatever and stalked out of the room.

She didn't follow me. Good.

Later, when Liv told her that she needed to buy a lunch ticket for school just in case they are having spaghetti next week, Bing looked over her head at me and said, "Why don't you ask your mother? She'll probably arrange to have your lunch catered if you play your cards right."

Ok. The gloves were off. Fighting is expected sometimes in a marriage, but the rule is that you NEVER involve the child or children. Ever. She knows that.

I took a ten spot out of my purse and gave it to Liv and told her to go upstairs and get in the shower if she wanted to, otherwise I would. I knew she would go right away because for some reason, she hates taking showers right after others.

Liv left. Bing looked decidedly uncomfortable.

I went up to her and very, very quietly said, "You shithead." I walked away.

She followed me into the kitchen and went into this long diatribe about how she was only trying to look out for our dollars and she wished that I were a bit more cautious about spending money. She ended with, "And I don't know why you are so lovey dovey with your sisters. I mean, god Maria, when your mother disowned you, Celia was the only one who refused to shun you. Both Patrice and Jessie didn't talk to you for almost a DECADE. And when your mom died and left you out of her will, NONE of them shared the money. And, Maria, it was A BIG INHERITANCE."

I had no idea where that came from because while, yes, it IS about money, it was WAY off topic.

But, because I was mad, I bit.

I told her that after my mother died and Jessie called me a year later and Patrice a year after that to ask for my forgiveness, I accepted their apologies.

"What did you want me to do?" I sputtered. "Did you want me to just hold all of that anger inside forever? Because when you do that, it ends up EATING YOU ALIVE, Bing! I had the choice to accept their apologies or not. I chose to accept them. And I have never regretted it. I could care less about the money! It wasn't MINE. It was my mother's and she chose NOT to share it with me. I can't waste valuable time on hate. Whether or not I like it, I am a role model for Liv. I WILL NOT let her learn that it is best to choose holding a grudge over forgiving someone. It was MY decision to make and I made it. Let me be ME."

Bing told me that it would be different if my family was accepting of us, or great people.

"You have one brother in law who is a racist pig, another who is a dumb hick and another one who is an alcoholic. And your sisters? Patrice is a snob. She acts as if her shit doesn't stink and refuses to go anywhere outside of West O because she is afraid of the element down there. Celia is vain. She is beginning to look like Joan Rivers and she spends huge amounts of time on her face book page talking about why the high school should NOT let exchange students be on homecoming and prom royalty. I mean, god, can her life get any more mundane or small townish? And Jessie? I like her, but she believes that if you aren't Catholic, you automatically have to sit in the back of the bus in heaven. And they ALL act like they are just a little ashamed to have a sister who is living in sin with another woman and then had the audacity to raise a child too! It isn't like they are this stellar group!"

I was so mad at Bing right then that I wanted to slug her.

Instead, I used my holier than thou voice and said, "Well, I guess they could be worse. I mean, they could be YOUR FAMILY!"

And I smiled meanly.

We had both treaded too far, said too many things that should have never been said and we were both furious.

For some reason, I picked this moment to talk about the ferret (her friend who has a gigantic crush on her) and said that I'd like to know why she thought being friends with a psychopath was a good move.

Bing opened her mouth. Shut it. And finally she said, "Because I was lonely, ok? And she thought everything I did was wonderful. And okay, I was stupid. But, you know what? It isn't as if you try that hard anymore in our marriage."

I was shocked silent. I never thought of her as lonely.

I was even more surprised that she thought I didn't try in our marriage.

Many, many days, I feel as if all I do is try.

I simply asked what more she needed from me. I expected her to sit and think, but no. She had a list.

1) You could make an effort to "pretty up" more. When we were first together, you used to wear those frilly panties alot. Now, you wear the plain cotton white ones.
2) You don't need me. You would be fine without me. Sometimes I think you'd PREFER it if I were gone.
3) You act as if you are doing me a favor by having sex with me. I'm not particularly fond of mercy fucks.
4) I feel like I am your "fix it" girl. When something breaks down, you always look to me to fix it. Doesn't matter what it is. A drippy sink faucet. A car fuel pump. A tire that needs air. Cloggy gutters.
5) You used to look at me like you thought I was the sexiest, smartest woman in the world. Now, you look like I should have an L on my forehead sometimes.

Well, then, of course...it was MY turn to tell her MY list.

1) You never compliment me on my clothes anymore. You just wonder what they cost.
2) You don't need me. You behave as if you are my mother sometimes, bossing me around, telling me what food I should eat, how much exercise I need to do.
3) You don't romance me much anymore. God, I take my sock off and you are right there, expecting me to jump into bed with you. Sometimes, I'd like some sweet talk.
4) I feel like I have to do all the "wifey" chores. I am the one who remembers everyone's birthdays, anniversaries, whatever in BOTH of our families. I shop for the presents, pick out the cards. I leave the cards on the table for you to sign and you dont' even bother. So, I end up signing both of our names,like some couple from the 1950's. Before long, I will be writing Mrs. and Mrs. Bing Lastname instead of both of our names.
5) I HATE the way you constantly have to give me "advice" on parenting. I am a good parent. A better parent than you could ever be and we both know it. So, stop giving me helpful advice. Liv is MY daughter. I get the last word, get to make the final decisions.
6) You used to look at me like you thought I was the smartest, sexiest woman on the planet. Now, you just point out pizza stains on my blouse.

We were both breathing hard with anger now. The fight had begun to go out of both of us and it had turned ugly. Neither one of us wanted this.

I took a calming breath. So did Bing.

I suggested that maybe we should sleep on things and revisit them at another time when we were both in a better emotional place.

She smiled wryly and I could see her thinking "God, she is always that therapist, isn't she?" but she agreed, I could see that.

She slept in the guest room that night. The next morning, I laid in bed and waited to see if she would come in to kiss me goodbye. She always does. She leaves just as my alarm is going off and we always kiss goodbye.

She didn't kiss me goodbye.

I felt a stab of pain as I heard the kitchen door shut and saw her car lights leave the driveway.

No texts or phone calls all day long. Stubborn. Both of us.

That evening, we were both very, very quiet and polite to each other. Liv, who always knows everything, was quiet too. She and Socks went to bed early.

I took a long hot bath and went to bed without a good night kiss.

I was laying in bed and felt her shadow in the doorway. I opened my eyes.

"Maria?"

"Yes?"

"Can I come to bed with you?"

"Yes."

She shut off the hall light and got in our bed. We lay side by side.

She finally spoke.

"I think I'm ready to dare to eat a peach," she finally said, her voice almost a whisper.

I couldn't help it. I smiled. I love it when she finds literature references. It turns me on. She knows it.

I turned to her just as she was turning to me.

"I'm sorry," we both said at the same time.

"I was wrong," we both said next, right on target, together.

And then we laughed sheepishly.

"Honey?" Bing said.

"Yeah?"

"Can we NOT discuss this and just enjoy being in the same bed tonight?"

I snuggled close to her, put my head under her chin, right where I belong.

"Truce," I said. "Let's just kiss goodnight and be glad we are together," I answered.

Bing sighed with relief. Kissed my hair and then I put my head back for her kiss.

We kissed long and slowly. Lingering.

"I love you so much," she said.

"I love you right back," I said.

I suppose I could lie and say that we fell asleep asleep in each other's arms but it isn't what happened. We fell asleep butt to butt the way we always do.

But we both felt better all the same.

You'd be cranky too

...if your car died in a grocery store parking lot on a Sunday afternoon and you had to wait to get it towed until Monday.

...and because your insurance won't pay for towing unless it is towed to the nearest car repair facility, you had to take it to some swanky ass place in the western area of your city instead of to Ben, your car repair guy who you LOVE as much as you can love a car repair guy.

....and because you are now having to hitch a ride with your spouse to work and she has to be there at 7 a.m., you and your daughter have to get to school and work at 6:45 instead of 8:30/9:00. You both took books to read, she in early drop off ("which is basically for babies, Mama!") and you at your desk.

....and because the car can't be repaired right away, you do this for two days.

....and then it costs nearly a thousand bucks to fix. This causes you and your spouse to get into an argument because you want to get a new car and she believes in driving cars until they die. She wins because she is like the money guru in the family and she acts like you are Lucy Ricardo with a visa card in a dress shop.

.....you finally get the car fixed (fuel pump) and as you are driving home, suddenly the ABS light and brake light come on even though the parking brake is off. The light goes off at a stop light and you resolve not to tell your spouse. This may be a bad decision. We'll see.

.....you go out with your niece for a pizza slice at Whole Foods for dinner because there is this really cute guy in the pizza making area that you've noticed several times. He looks like the lead singer from Mayday Parade, your niece's favorite band and you think that he and your niece should meet. So...you set up a dinner date with her and of course, that night he is nowhere to be found.

....you split a slice of chocolate cake after dinner and you feel your blood sugar shoot up way too high.

......you come home and your spouse makes a joke about the fact that you keep dropping things. You get all teary eyed and tell her that your fingers have been stiff lately with RA and she is an ASSHOLE to make fun of someone's disability. She feels badly, you can tell. You are glad. She should feel badly.

....things are just off with the two of you. Everything feels wrong lately.

....you just finished a really good book and the new book you are starting isn't enticing you yet.

.....why is the house so messy? Doesn't anyone around here clean except you?

......you look back on some old photos of your daughter when she was in kindergarten and you feel sad. You will never be that close again. You lose a little bit of her every month. You feel it. She is growing up and it is your job to let her go. Except, sometimes it feels like she is the only thing holding you to the rest of your life and that is kind of pathetic.

......you scold yourself because you are so lucky and there are so many people who aren't lucky.

.....you almost got into a car accident this morning as you were driving your newly fixed car to work. You accidentally cut a driver off because he was in your blind spot. He laid on the horn to remind you of what an idiot you are. And then he sped up, cut you off and gave you the finger outside of his window. You wanted to join him in his road rage but instead when you got to work, you rolled your eyes at that dumb ass perky secretary from the dentist's office who wears too bright colors and is always WAY too talkative in the morning when she had the audacity to tell you GOOD MORNING! ISN'T IT A LOVELY DAY? You are a bitch. You know that. Recognize that.

...what you really need is for someone to tell you that they can't stop thinking about you, that you are beautiful and sexy and smart and sweet and their day is disrupted because they keep thinking of you. You need some romancing.

.....instead, when you get home from dinner with your niece, your spouse says, "God, what did you spill on your blouse? Is that pizza sauce?

....you suddenly miss Steve Jobs and that is so stupid because you didn't know him but it is kind of like he was the Thomas Edison of your generation.

....you think that you will take a long hot bath and get in bed with a book until your eyes droop shut. Because, seriously, you are in such a bad mood that you don't even like being around you and that is too fucking bad because unfortunately, you're stuck with you.

.....goodnight mouse, good night house, goodnight bowl of mush and the little old lady whispering hush....

Sometimes....

...I watch you and can't quite believe that you are mine. That you are my child. It's like I have this incredible daughter and I feel as if you have more fairy blood than my own.

I know that school has been hard. I know that your stomach hurts sometimes, but you just plug away and keep your head up. You will never know how proud I am of you.

I'm glad that you found Aaron, the nerdy science kid who agreed to be your lab partner and that you both have conversations on the phone about how cool it is going to be to dissect a frog and absolutely no inane conversations about kissing or liking each other.

I'm glad that you took it in stride when Constance dumped you for a group of girls who giggle all over the place about some stupid boy looking at them in the hall. I love it that you said, "Mama, I just don't feel all gushy about boys yet and I refuse to fake it. Besides they look idiotic. We are SEVENTH graders."

I'm glad that you have the girl who transferred here from Hawaii to eat lunch with. She sounds like a keeper. And yes, I know she is excited about seeing snow for the first time. She'll get over it, though. Trust me.

Mostly, I just love your attitude. I love how you are you and refuse to be anything that you are not.

I am thrilled that you love your Science teacher because she makes jokes about handing out "puke buckets" when it is time to dissect.

I'm SO glad that you said that you were not going to pretend to be all nervous about dissecting a frog like all those other girls, but that you are frankly curious.

I wish that you liked your Spanish teacher more, but I agree...she sounds like a poor teacher. Any teacher who screams to get attention is nothing too special. But, stick it out and you'll be fine. Some teachers you will love, others not so much.

I love it that you are crazy about Cornhusker football and the Mysterious Benedict Society books. I love it that you take pears and tuna fish sandwiches in your lunch and ignore Constance and her new found vapid friends who tease you about liking to eat TUNA and refusing a snickers bar because you prefer pears. I can't tell you how glad that I am that you refuse, just plain refuse to eat hot lunch when you find gluey macaroni and cheese and pepperoni pizza unappetizing.

I love it that you are refusing to back down and be someone you are not in order to fit in with a group of girls who will be making some really bad choices in ten years while you choose wisely. Girls like that? Liv, they are a dime a dozen. You are the real deal.

Sometimes, I look at you cuddling Socks and sitting curled up with a Trenton Lee Stewart book, eating an apple...and I feel as if my heart is so full that I can barely stand it.

I have never loved you more than I did today when I picked you up from school and Constance and her friends looked over at you and tittered and you could have cared less. You just kept comparing notes with Aaron about dissecting rules and didn't even look over at them. They were DYING for you to look over at them with hunger, you know. Girls like that want an admiring audience more than anything else. Your face lit up when you saw me and you said goodbye to Aaron and jumped in the car and kissed me hello right in front of everyone.

You are priceless, Liv. And I am so glad that you are my sweet daughter.

I love you. I ADMIRE you.

Sometimes I fairly stagger with all the love I have in my heart for you.

Maria and Harriet go to a sex toy party

I probably should change that title. I am going to get some really odd visitors on this one...

Harriet lives in suburbia. She is also a stay at home mom with children in high school, junior high and grade school. She has a toddler at home.

In her neighborhood are a few stay at home moms and she says that most are really boring, but a couple are interesting. One of the boring ones is a mom named Mari who wears too short shorts for a 40 year old woman. She also talks about her husband and in Harriet's opinion, gives out WAY too much information to people who barely know her.

"I mean, one day we were all at Mari's. She has the one pool in our neighborhood and you know how hot this summer was...well, we were watching our kids play in the water and were talking about how one mom was thinking about enrolling her child in a horse riding class and suddenly Mari just ANNOUNCES that Rex, her husband surprised her by bringing home a riding crop for them to play with when the kiddies go beddie bye." We all just sort of shut up and then gave weak giggles. I mean, honestly. TMI, lady. TMI."

Harriet has a lot of Mari stories. Apparently Rex can't get enough of her "love pot." And I have met Mari briefly. Honestly, all I could think of when I met her was that she looked like Anna Nicole Smith mixed with Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke. I told Harriet that I was dying to see Rex, but I have never had the opportunity. She says that he doesn't look like the hot he-man she describes, looks like exactly what he is: an actuary.

But, you know. I'm easy. Whatever works for people. No judging.

One day, Harriet calls me and says that she needs a favor. I tell her that yes, whatever it is, I'll be glad to help.

"I need you to go to a party with me," she says.

Silence.

"You promised, Maria!" she reminds me.

I hate parties. She knows this.

I sigh. Ask her what kind of party. This time, it is her turn to be quiet. She finally says, "Ok, promise not to freak."

My first thought is that it is a Halloween party. I have only been to a couple of Halloween parties and the last one ended badly for me. I walked around in my Victorian mourning dress and everyone had much more clever ideas. One rather rotund woman came up to me and swirled around. "Do you know who I am?" she asked in a whispery voice. I smiled. Said sure. "You're Miss Piggy!"

She was Marilyn Monroe. Let's just say that she and I did not become friends.

I do not like parties. There is always booze there. I like booze very much. Bing is usually with me. She doesn't drink and pretty much thinks no one should drink either, especially me. So, she monitors me. She will come up and smiling broadly, hand me a plastic glass of diet soda and ask me if maybe I'd like to trade my appletini in for that.

Ummm...fuck no.

She also counts my drinks. Any more than one and she rushes in like the booze police to remind me that I am on my second (or third or fourth) drink. She looks at me as if I am defecating in the host's living room instead of drinking a second glass of wine.

I don't like parties.

Harriet tells me that well, okay...it is a SEX TOY party.

I chuckle.

"No, really, Harriet," I chortle. "What kind of party is it? Halloween right?" See, I'm thinking that she is thinking that if she says a sex toy party then we can both laugh when she says, no it is a Halloween party and I will be less reluctant to go.

No, she says, it really is a sex toy party.

Mari is having a sex toy party and she has invited everyone on the block and they are supposed to bring a friend. I am Harriet's friend. Will I PLEASE come with her?

"Can't you just decline?" I ask her.

"Aren't you just a little curious?" she asks me. "I am. I wouldn't mind seeing what's out there. And just think," she goes on craftily, "it might be GREAT blog fodder....."

She knows that I have had a bad case of blogger's block lately.

I sigh. Agree to go.

When I tell Bing that I am going to a sex toy party she laughs.

"Good one," she says.

When she realizes that I am truly going to a SEX TOY party, she blanches.

"Don't bring anything weird home, okay?" she requests.

I shoot an eyebrow up. She and I are not sex toy people. We don't use them. I don't even talk dirty in bed. The one time she brought a vibrator home and turned it on, I jumped a foot because it sounded like our kitchen aid mixer. And when I saw what she had in her hand, I started laughing like a nervous hyena.

I am too sexy for my vibrator.

It sat in a drawer, unused, for years. We didn't even know how to get rid of it. Should we take it to Goodwill? No. I mean, I won't even buy a bra there, let alone a vibrator, even if it promised to be unused. I mean, people lie. I don't want my nipples in a bra that someone else has worn, why would anyone buy a vibrator that has been um...used on someone else's .......neck?

And then there was another dilemma. I called Harriet an hour before I was to come to her house to go to the party.

"What does one wear to a sex toy party?" I asked her.

"Silly girl," she answered. "You wear what I'm wearing, daisy dukes and go go boots!"

We agreed on jeans.

I showed up at Harriet's house and we walked over to Mari's house. We ran into Sadie and her guest on the way there. Sadie is a neighbor whom Harriet likes, even though she is sort of too green. She doesn't buy windex, but uses vinegar to clean everything in her house. Her kids wear only cotton. Sadie looks exactly like you'd picture a green girl to look like. She looks like a young Joni Mitchell. Her friend looks like a young Joan Baez. This party could be fun....

When we go into Mari's house, I am put off right away by the whole Pottery Barn look to it. Too I am trying so hard to look vintage and cool.

Mari greets us in capri pants and a clingy top that is at least one size too small. She looks like she is Adele trying hard to look like Laura Petrie. Except Adele is prettier. Mari just looks like the kind of woman who thinks that she is really, really good with makeup and fashion but she really, really is not. The look she is seeking just doesn't fit her.

We are ushered into her living room where about ten other women are sitting nervously. We are the last ones to arrive.

There is a table with peanuts, punch and cookies and I immediately gravitate toward there. I find food comforting when I am at sex parties, I think. It is like I suddenly feel the need to put something in my mouth and then when I realize how Freudian this is, I slither away from the table like it is on fire.

I sit down next to Harriet on the sofa; there really isn't enough room, but she squeezes me in. We are thigh to thigh and our bare arms are touching. It is just a little too warm in the room and I know that we will stick together. I have this crazy urge to hold her hand. I am that uncomfortable. I whisper this to her and she rolls her eyes at me, smiling. And takes my hand. She's a good friend. Other women give us a few looks and I can see them thinking, That must be Harriet's bi-sexual friend. My. I guess they really ARE close.

A woman stands up and claps her hands. She looks excited, as if Bon Jovi is waiting to come running out of the kitchen and give us all lap dances.

"I'm Janna and I am going to spice up your lives!" she says, beaming.

I think that she looks more like Phyllis from The Office and I whisper this to Harriet who has just taken a bite of her cookie. She laughs and chokes on it. Everyone looks at us as they are clapping politely for Janna.

Janna gestures to a long table with a sheet over it. And then she suddenly grabs the end of the sheet and whips it off like maybe Eric Northman might be laying under there, ready to leap up and do a naughty boy dance. He isn't. There are...things...on the table. I am not sure what kinds of things, but I suspect that we will be given a demonstration.

"Now, before I share my goodies with you," Janna says, "We are going to play a little get-to-know each other game!"

Everyone titters nervously. I whisper to Harriet, "Will you be my clit stimulating partner?" Her face reddens as she tries not to burst out laughing.

"Stop it!" she hisses at me. "You're making me laugh. STOP. IT. NOW."

Janna tells us that we are each to take the first letter of our name and use a sexy word of the same letter to describe us.

"I'll start," she says. "I'm Juicy Janna."

I lean over to Harriet. "I was thinking more like Jugs Janna," I say to Harriet. She gives me a shut up now look, but hides a smile.

We go around the room. This is humiliating.

We are:

Sexy Sadie
Exotic Erin
X rated Xaviera
Precious Pam
Alluring Ann
Racy Rachel
Tempting Terry
Yummy Yolanda
Manloving Mari
Healthy Harriet (and yes, I snickered)
Monkeyloving Maria

When I said that, Janna pretended to come over and swat my hand and said,"You're going to be my smart ass, I can spot your type a mile away, sugar! There's one in every group!"

She was smiling, but it was a fake one. Her eyes said, "No more fucking up my sweet deal, bitch. I am here to sell these dumb ass sex toys and you will buy one or I will ask you to be the one who gets to demonstrate the saddle girl outfit."

Janna took control again and said, "Now that we have gotten to know each other a little bit (huh?), let me introduce you to some of my little friends. I guarantee that by the end of the night, you are going to have some very happy husbands!"

"Or wives!" I added.

Janna flashed me another fake smile.

Janna asked Mari to kill the lights and asked us to watch the screen across the room.

"Oh, goody!" I whispered to Harriet. " Porn! Do you think it's "Debbie does Dallas"? Or maybe "Little Red Riding Crop and the Big Bad Dwarf"?

Harriet let a snort come out of her nose. She couldn't help it, she was laughing. And god knows we needed to laugh.

The show turned out to be an interview with a sex therapist named Charley something. A woman. She talked about how she had originally been a regular old couples therapist but one day a client and his wife had talked to her about his impotency and his desire to spank his wife. She asked the wife how she felt about spanking.

"I say it's fine with me!" the wife said.

So, Charley the therapist advised them to initiate spanking into their sex life and what do you know? Mr. Impotence was CURED! So, now she is a sex therapist and a strong believer in an attitude of anything goes in the bedroom.

Now, I agree with Charley. I believe in that too. As long as there are two consenting adults, I'm fine as long as it doesn't involve human sacrifices or hurting pets.

What I didn't agree with was Charley's outfit. She looked as if she were wearing a dominatrix outfit. I wondered if she wore that to her counseling sessions. Because that might be a little over the top. She also kept licking her lips as she talked to the camera and looking into the lens like Michele Bachmann on a Newsweek cover. And she kept interrupting the person who was interviewing her, even worse than Ann Colter. Plus, she had a little pink bow in her over ratted hair. It looked slightly obscene. I couldn't imagine sitting across her and telling her about my sexual problems. She looked like she might inclined to slap with a riding crop.

I was thankful when the video was over and wondered if now it would be time for cookies and punch because I was hungry.

Again with the need to put something in my mouth. Down girl!

Janna smiled at us. She stood up, strode over to the table and turned around brandishing something that looked like a dark blue contraption that a farmer might use on a cow.

No, it was called a "feeldoe strap on."

Oh. So, THAT is what they looked like. I always wanted to know. She gave it to us and encouraged us to pass it around. When it came to me, I was slightly squeamish. It was hard and jellylike at the same time.

Janna's eyes met mine. "Flip the switch, Maria!" she said.

I saw a small button and flipped it on. It vibrated in my hand.

Everyone went ooooooooohhhhh.

We then moved on to tongue and finger vibrators.

Now, maybe I am just a cranky old woman, but c'mon. Are you really THAT lazy that you have to have a fake tongue and finger do what you can do with your own fingers and tongue? I mean, okay. Maybe if you had a long hard day at work. I get it. I get saying, "Honey, you know I'm pooped. How about if we let Mr. Fingers and Tongue do the work out tonight?" Or, say...if one of you has a cold and you kind of want to breath instead of muff dive, this might come in handy. But, honest to pete...why not just use the real thing if you can?

There was a "g spot vibrator." Now, I am one of those doubting Thomas people. I am not certain that I have a g spot. I am not certain that you have one either. I think that maybe this is something that someone made up to make the rest of us feel like the village idiots.

We saw a latex boobless bra. I can just see THAT at my house. I don't have much in the breast department to start with. If I brought that to bed, Bing might just look at it and say, "God, did Socks get a hold of your bra again?"

There was a leather mini skirt. Yes, when I was 24. No, now that I am 53.

Something called latex gauntlets. They looked like black leather evening gloves. Although, I am pretty sure you don't want to wear them to the opera.

This was paired with a mini crop and a fur lined paddle.

Okay, I almost wanted to buy them just to wear them and scare Bing.

("C'mere, little pony. You are my slave now, capish? And bend over, because I have a vibrating butt plug with your name on it, missy!")

Latex open crotch panties.

Again, if I wore them, Bing would blame the dog. Because this actually happened once. Yes. When Socks was a puppy, he once found a pair of my used undies on the floor and yes, he ate out the crotch. Icky. Yucky. I know. And when I came home and discovered them and showed Bing, she said, "Great, now he has pussy breath, I'll bet."

A glass dildo.

Just the thought of that upsets me. I mean, c'mon. One wrong twist or move and there you both would be in the emergency room trying to explain that you needed some intern to get all those glass slivers out of your pussy.

Lots and lots of butt plugs. One large imposing one was called the ANAL INVADER.

Mari giggled and said, "Rex is going to have a fun night tonight!"

I looked over at Harriet and we both mouthed TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

There were acrylic anal beads, jelly anal beads.

A vibrating "bullet cock ring" looked like a pair of binoculars if you held it up the right way. I held it up to my face like I was trying to see something far away with it. Janna came over and took it not very nicely out of my hands.

I was the class clown. Nothing good ever happens to the class clown. No cookies for my bad ass. Maybe a good spanking with the fur lined paddle.

Janna often would describe objects as she held them up"

"This cock ring has a nice stretchy soft touch and look at the clitoral teasers! Yes, that is a little bull's face you see. GRRRR! That bull is coming right for your clit, ladies! See his horns. (Here she actually made bull horns and pretended to run at us.) Imagine how that will feel to ride back on forth on those horns! SWEET TIME! They run on 3AAA batteries and have settings for low, medium, high, surging, pulsating and super speed. Super speed will send you to heaven or...hell....YOUR PICK!"

Janna opened a jar of something called boy butter. This was to coat on your man's penis. She commented that it was made from "100% farm fresh, grade A boy butter!" The woman holding the jar, was smelling it when she said that and she actually winced and dropped it in the lap of the next woman.

"I'm kidding, silly willies!" Janna said. "It's made from coconut oil blended with organic silicone!"

Much better.

There was a glow-in-the-dark beaded penis sleeve.

This is exactly what it sounds like. A sleeve for the man to put on his dick like a condom, except this one had hard little beads all over it and when the lights were shut off, it glowed like a Christmas tree. How would you like to find that bobbling in the air at you in the middle of the night? Not me.

There were latex "penis pants" and a "mesh thong." Also a vibrating wireless thong. These did not look sexy to me, but more like Bruno wear.

Mari also liked something called a "fleshlight, ice mouth crystal." This was to be used like a dildo, I think except that when a button was pushed, the tip went ice cold. She was practically having an orgasm just looking at it. I was slightly repulsed. I mean, one of my problems with sex is that I get cold. Bing likes to romp around the bed naked together without covers. I like to be under the covers. Now, if I had to be cold on the outside, it would just be worse to be icy cold on the inside too. Maybe, if it had a heater....

There were "tit clamps." And they were surprisingly decorative. There was one with crystals dangling from the clamps. I mean, I could see me running around with my nipple clamps on and standing in front of a sunny window to let Bing see how when I shook my boobs, wow...those crystals just made the light dance all over the room. Others had pretty pink bells attached to them or streamers. You just had to hope that you wouldn't be getting something out of the fridge for an after sex snack and accidentally shut the door on your streamers and yank your boob right off. That would hurt, dude.

One nipple clamp set had what looked to be tiny vises on them, so that you could make them tight or loose, depending on your comfort level, I suppose.

Some had weighted nipple clamps. They actually had mini round weights like you see on barbells. I didn't get that. Was it like showing off?

"Look honey, I can lift FOUR weights on my nips!"

There were whips, but as Janna said, "they are tasteful."

I honestly don't think a whip is ever tasteful, even though the ones she had set out were what she called "sensual suede whippies." Those wouldn't hurt, really...unless you really went wild with them. But, somehow I couldn't picture Bing and I chasing each other around the room with them playfully.

"Come here, you vixen! I'm gonna whip you with my sensual suede whippie now!"

There were riding crops. I don't care how gentle you were. Those would hurt.

Paddles with "impressions" on them. I had no idea what this was and Harriet had to educate me. One of the paddles had the word "slut" on it. The other had the words "hot bitch."

"I think that you sort of spank hard with it and the um...word comes up on the ass or whatever," Harriet said, falteringly.

I looked her in the eye. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," I said. She nodded in agreement.

None of this looked fun. This looked torturous. When I mentioned this out loud, Janna frowned at me as if I weren't being a good sport.

"Sex is supposed to be about trust and fun," she said. "You should feel free to role play with your partner and some people like a bit of roughness. But it is TRUSTED roughness. You trust that your partner will not go too far."

I fake smiled back at her. "I don't think I would ever want to be hit so hard with a paddle by my partner that the word SLUT would be imprinted on my ass," I said sweetly.

"Well, speak for yourself!" Mari said, guffawing.

"Jesus," I said. "How desperate do you have to be to game play with that sort of shit?"

Mari playfully stuck her tongue out at me, but I saw most of the other woman nodding. This had moved to beyond sort of stupid funny to stupid torture device.

Janna thought we might like to move to some "special fun products for your special man."

There was a product called "just lips." This was for a man who wanted to get a blow job without the woman attached to the lips. Frankly, it looked like a little blowfish. Janna pointed out "the extra stretchy mouth" and I almost gagged. It looked almost sickening. Poor fishie.

There was a deep throat stroker, another thing with a mouth attached, except that it had a long, long sheath on it so that the guy could feel as if he were getting some deep throat action.

I wondered about this. Isn't the real thing better? But, well..ok...maybe if his wife is away on a business trip or something and he wants to feel like he's getting a blow job....ok. But, for couples sex it seemed kind of silly. What was the woman supposed to say?

Honey, I really fucking hate giving blow jobs, so see these little fish lips here on this little alien looking thing? Well, you just pretend that is me, okay? And I'm just going to go to sleep now. Have fun, honey!

The most bizarre things by far, though, were the life sized pussy and asses. These were huge pliable replicas of a vagina and an anus. The man could enter either hole.

But there was no body attached to them.

It looked like something you would see in med school, like a fake replica to operate on.

I had this bizarre thought of a man bringing his teenaged son into the room and saying, "Ok, son, I want to teach you how to fuck a woman. This is what her pussy looks like. Get a good close up look there. You should know now that this has no smell and a REAL pussy has an odor. But, see...this is what a girl's anatomy looks like. Now, I'm just gonna go outside and mow the lawn while you get some practice time in. And don't forget to run that through the dishwasher when you are done with it, okay?"

There were smaller fake pussies too. Called pocket pussies. I looked carefully at it and said facetiously, "Wow, what a great idea for a stocking stuffer!" Janna looked at me and actually praised me.

"GREAT IDEA, MARIA!"

Again, what the hell was this FOR? Did a guy bring it to work and suddenly feel the need to pretend to fuck someone under his desk? Could he close his office door, pop his little pocket pussy out and go to town? Or maybe Bing would like this. I could give it to her and say, "If you are ever missing me at work, honey...just put this in your desk drawer and after the kids are gone after school, you can get it out and go down on it. Or even better, here. Take a look now. I am going to demonstrate EXACTLY how I want you to go down on me, 'kay? Pay attention, now. I want your tongue to do this and then swirl up to the left and do this. See? Okay, now you try!"

Hey, there are commercials for erectile dysfunction with couples sitting in bathtubs next to each other on top of a mountain. When I was a kid, my parents would have been scandalized at those commercials. Especially the ones where the woman and the man's hands meet over the laundry basket and suddenly they are giving each other come hither looks and then suddenly...wham...there they are sitting in adjoining bathtubs on a mountain top and smiling at each other like, "Man, that was a good time!"

So, can't you just see a commercial for the pocket pussy? They could show a man sitting at his desk and daydreaming about his stacked girlfriend (you would see her in a cutaway running through a field of daisies, smiling seductively at the camera) and then, he sighs and pulls out his pocket pussy and gives a knowing smile at the camera. At the end, you would see him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and he would look right at the camera and say, "THANK YOU, POCKET PUSSY!"

Or as Janna told us: "Less is more with a pocket pussy!"

Janna saved the big guns for last. These were in Mari's bedroom and we all trooped in to see them.

You guessed it.

Blow up dolls. Laying on the bed. Side by side.

There was a construction man blow up doll called the "Big John" doll.

A woman doll with hair that worse than a Barbie dolls and a huge open slash for a mouth and a hole for her vagina. Janna flipped both dolls over to show us their "lifelike anuses."

They weren't. At least not a human anus.

In two boxes were a "fatty patty doll" (Janna sighed and said that these go over pretty big at the male sex toy parties she gives, but no..not with the gay men...I snorted at this and she gave me a long look) and a "fat ass doll."

She explained that for the dolls, you did need a bike pump to inflate them.

I swear to hey zeus that if I didn't have a child, I would have bought the fatty patty doll for us to keep in our living room to scare off robbers when we were on vacation.

It was finally time for the refreshments. Janna encouraged us all to have some "munchies" and then to find her in the kitchen where she would "discreetly" bag any goodies we'd like to buy.

I wasn't hungry anymore.

Harriet and I didn't buy anything. I don't think Sadie or her friend did either because we were the first to leave and none of us had sacks.

On the way home, Harriet and Sadie talked about how it would be just weird to see Mari now, especially knowing about her anal fetish.

We all talked about how we weren't prudes...but well, maybe we were because none of that had really appealed much to any of us. Sadie said she was fine with vibrators, etc. That she owned two and um...okay...yes, they were used with her husband.

"But the riding crops and those clamps...god...I just felt like giggling or crying, I don't know which," she said.

We all agreed.

When I got home, Bing checked my hands for bags. I told her that no, I didn't buy anything.

"Not even a finger vibrator?" she asked.

I gave her a look. "Do your fingers get tired?" I asked. She smiled, shook her head.

"Nope. NEVER," she said.

I told her that we were just fine. Well, I thought we were. Did she think so? Did she feel the need for...props? Sex toys?

She thought for a second.

"You know, in my other relationships I did use sex toys," she admitted. "But, with you...I sort of just like us in the bed. Or the floor. Or the shower. Anywhere. Alone. No need."

I smiled at her, kissed her sweetly.

Nice to be on the same page.

I guess the key is that you have to be just that. On the same page. I have no problem with sex toys, no problem with role playing, rough play, whatever. It just isn't me. In our bed, I like fingers, tongues, moans, rubbing, touching, probing. I like it all. But, I don't want my nipples clamped or beads up my ass. And I don't want to try to excite my lover by introducing Fatty Patty to our sex life.

I think I am pretty vanilla.

But, here is my question for you.

No need to tell us your name. You can be anonymous if you need to.

But, what is your opinion on sex toys.

Yeah or nay? And why?

The little things

I stumbled on this in my memory box in back of my closet.



Dear Mama,
LEAVE ME ALONE FOR ONE HOUR PLEESE. If you do I will be more swet.

Your dahter,
Livvy

I can't remember the circumstances behind the note now. I must have been nagging her about something. I think she was about 7 when she wrote it.

But, it had been that kind of day. The kind of day when I walk in the door and everyone wants a piece of me. Bing wants to let me know that I parked the car crookedly in the garage (again), Liv wants to know if she can get a bbq sandwich at the football game tonight (Bing is standing across the room shaking her head no at me, I know she thinks football game food is high in sodium, so a bad idea to let Liv eat it) instead of eating at home first. Socks wants a belly rub.

I had gone wearily upstairs to change into my jeans and a tee shirt in preparation of going to the game. I had told Bing that the car was fine, we were going to be leaving in five minutes anyway and she could park it correctly after the game. I ignored Bing and told Liv that yes, we could both get bbqs at the game. And I gave Socks an insultingly short belly rub. Now, I was looking for my sneakers and stumbled on my memory box.

I smiled. Picked up Liv's note, changed my clothes and went downstairs. I grabbed a pencil and crossed out the word mama and put Liv, Bing, and Socks on it. Crossed out your dahter, Livvy and simply wrote Mama, Maria and Alpha Woman.

Put it on the fridge. Then I slugged my purse over my shoulder and said, "I'll meet you two in the car. Let's get going."

So there.

What I should have done

I was driving home from work last evening. It was a regular day. Bing had picked up Liv at school since I had a late appointment. It was my turn to make dinner and I was wondering if I could talk Bing into going out for pancakes. (She has this silly rule about only dining out/ordering out occasionally.) I work in a rather hard area of the city and to get home faster, take a few side roads. The neighborhood is pretty downtrodden, but interesting. I often see a transvestite who honestly rocks clothes better than Beyonce. He is generally walking purposefully somewhere but once I saw him standing at a lamp post and he flipped up his skirt as drove by, flashing his penis at me. Yet there is a community garden that a church set up and the vegetables look gorgeous. I'm always telling myself to leave work early to stop and buy some. It never happens. I'm always running just a little late.

Yeah, it's an interesting neighborhood.

That day, I was waiting at a stop light and noticed a small family waiting at the bus stop. The mother looked like she was a teenager. There was a little girl waiting with her who was dressed like a miniature version of her mother. Okay. They both looked very, very trashy. Daisy Duke shorts (we are having Indian Summer here on the plains), hot pink top with spaghetti straps, hair pulled up in high ponytails and yes, platforms. Even on the child. They both wore dangly earrings. They both looked like they had candy apple red lipstick on. It looked hideous on both of them.

The mom (or maybe she was the big sister, but I am betting on the mom, she had that tired eyed look that moms get at the end of the day) was holding an angelic looking looking boy of about two.

He was dressed in shorts and a long sleeved sweat shirt and he looked hot. I would be hot in a sweatshirt in 87 degree weather. He had brown hair cut in a bowl cut and sweet eyes. I couldn't see what color. Wasn't close enough.

The little boy reached down and started playing with a big plastic daisy that was in the center of his mother's spaghetti strapped top. He was fingering it and smiling.

And then suddenly, the mother's face went from slack to furious in one fell swoop and she yanked him away from her and slapped him.

VERY HARD.

So hard that it shocked me. And the child. I flinched over my steering wheel.

She spat out something at him, I couldn't really hear what she said and and his face puckered up and he looked ready to cry. Then I heard her next sentence.

"Don't you dare fucking cry, pansy ass baby!"

The child tried hard not to cry, but...hey zeus he was like what? Two?

I don't know what happened then because there was a beep behind me and I realized that the light had changed to green.

I lurched forward and made it a few blocks and then stopped.

I needed to do something, but what?

I couldn't just drive away, could I? That would be wrong.

But, what should I do? Should I go back and try to talk to the mother? In THIS neighborhood?

I had no idea what the circumstances of their lives were. Maybe it had been a long, long day and maybe she was at her wits end. And then she had prettied herself up and decided to meet her husband (although, c'mon...we all know there was no husband) at that pizza place. And then, well, her son had almost popped the daisy off her shirt and she was so very tired of him yanking on her. Because, seriously. I've been there. Kids yank. By the end of the day, you are so tired of hearing the word mama and so, so, so tired of being pulled on, sat on, leaned against and yes..yanked.

No excuse for hitting. But, maybe she didn't know better.

So, what should I do? Go up to her and try to teach her a crash course in parenting. She would probably tell me to fuck off. She might try to hit me.

I glanced around to see if I had any pamphlets from work, those ones that say things like Never, ever shake a baby!

None.

I knew that there was really nothing I could do. Not in this situation. Not in this place. This time.

By this time, a sullen looking man had come to stand at his front door and peer out at me parked on the curb by his home.

I put the car in D and drove home.

But, that night, in bed, my last thoughts of the day were for that little boy.

Two bffs talkin'

It was a friday evening.

My bff, Harriet and I were having a slumber party. In the many years of our acquaintance, we have only done this three times.

This was our fourth. Her husband (and I can't remember what pseudonym that I use for him and am too lazy to look it up, so let's just call him Lon) had taken their children to his parent's home for the weekend for an early Autumn fishing trip. Even their toddler had gone. Harriet was tired, her husband knew it and wanted to make sure that she had a full weekend to herself since he is just that much of a good husband. Harriet figured he would make sure that they were home early Sunday morning, so she wouldn't get a full weekend, but it was fine.

She made appletinis. I have a weakness for this frou frou drink. A terrible one.

We sat outside on her deck enjoying Indian Summer. Her home is in the western part of our city and I tease her mercilessly about it. She and I met when her daughter was in pre-school and mine was in kindergarten at the Montessori school that they both attended. We both lived in an older part of the city known as Dundee and loved it. Then hard times struck for Harriet. Her sister died of cancer and since her husband is a dickhead and didn't think he could raise his own children, Harriet and Lon took them in. Two children to add to their two and then they had one more. They couldn't afford tuition for more children at Montessori and their tiny home couldn't accommodate three more bodies, so they found a large home in the western area of the city and put all the children in public school.

Harriet hates living there. We used to joke that we got nosebleeds if we traveled past 72nd Street and here she was practically in an area known as Elkhorn which was about 100 streets past that. So, I tease her. We call the western part of the city, Stepfordville or Plasticene City. Their family lives in a raised ranch house with starter trees.

But,you know...you do what you must and she did just that. She is raising five children instead of two and the last one took her by complete surprise. I admire her more than I can say and think she rocks. I honestly don't know how she juggles it all. She has one child in high school, two in junior high, another in grade school and a toddler. Holy shit.

She deserves an appletini or three and a weekend off now and then.

I had told Bing that I would be home late Saturday morning.

So, we had all night. So, we were drinking. Probably too much. Fuck it. Sometimes you just need a bff night.

We were sitting on Harriet's balcony, appletinis in hand and music playing. I had brought over my Lee DeWyze cds and Harriet had rolled her eyes but grudgingly agreed to play them along with our usual fare. And now, Lee's album, Slumberland was playing and she admitted that yes, OKAY, OKAY..it was very, very good.

Brilliant, I pushed her to say. She refused. Said it was very, very good and that was as far as she was going with it.

We talked about our kids (she thinks Liv is going to be a hell raiser in high school to pay me back for her angelic childhood, I think her oldest son is hanging around with the wrong crowd and she needs to lay down some extra smack on him), my job (she and I both agree that it is actually harder to be a stay at home mom than work but she thinks that I need to FIRE my secretary already and stop being such a fence sitter about this), our in laws (she knows that her mother in law wishes that Lon had married that nice, docile girl he dated before her and I think that my sister in law is seriously bi-polar and she scares the hell out of me because she is unmedicated, on the loose and just may go Dick Chaney on someone with a gun if she isn't treated soon) and ended up as we always do on sex and our spouses.

Harriet stretched out her legs and took a sip of her second appletini.

"Hey, I need you to ask you something about sex with a woman and I don't think I've ever asked you this one before."

I told her to shoot. But, that I couldn't imagine a question she hadn't asked. She is pretty open and so am I, well...with each other, not with others as a rule.

"Okay," she said, slowly. "I want to ask this: Do all women sort of smell the same or do they vary a lot? Because you hear all the fish jokes, you know, and Lon won't ever tell me about his experiences before me. Truthfully, I think I'm the first woman that he went down on, because he honestly didn't know what the fuck to do when he got down there. I had to be his tour guide."

I think about this.

"Well," I answer, "I think that there is a sort of...musty smell that just comes with it being a perpetually covered up place, you know? But, yeah..it varies. Bing says that I smell like the ocean, but I think she is just trying to make me feel sexy. She smells like...well, besides the always-there mustiness, sort of tangy, with a touch of patchouli and a little bit of fresh mowed grass. I've been with a few other women and they all smelled a little different. One woman had serious vag odor and I never knew how to tell her. Another kind of smelled like hot chocolate. Who would have guessed THAT?"

Harriet sits up straight. "I worry that I smell down there sometimes. I mean, Lon is good about reciprocating but he sometimes acts like it is something that he knows he has to do but doesn't really love it, you know? And he well...he has this licking problem."

I stifle a laugh.

A licking problem?

I just ask her. What the hell kind of licking problem?

She sighs. "He does this...lapping thing. Like my pussy is a bowl of milk and he is this thirsty cat. I like it sometimes, but other times I just wish he'd vary up his routine a little, you know? Jesus, it's like I came hard ONCE when he did that about ten years ago and now it is his go to move, like he expects me to come in waves every time."

"Do you ever fake orgasms?" I ask her.

She takes another sip. Says yes. She does.

"I don't like faking it, but sometimes it's been a long day and I didn't really want to fuck in the first place and I feel like...obligated to give him a bang for his buck, you know? So, I fake it. Do you? Wait. Don't tell me. I already know you don't."

I ask her why she already knows.

"Because Bing could probably tell. Women can tell,I think. Don't you think so? And you've always said that she is a really good lover, so I suspect that her being a woman helps with this. I mean, she GETS IT, you know? She knows that one needs to mix it up a little bit, I bet."

I admit that she is right. No, I don't fake. But, no..I don't HAVE to. Bing is really that good. I tell her that the truth is that I find this annoying sometimes.

Harriet laughs her big laugh. She really does have a priceless one.

"Only you would find it ANNOYING that you cum every time, Maria. Only you, sugar..."

I try to put what I am thinking into words.

"It's just....," I begin. "It's like I find it uncomfortable sometimes that she knows me THAT well, you know? I mean, she KNOWS that I like for her to pull back right when I am on the edge and make me whimper and beg a little bit. She KNOWS that I like that feeling and it well...BOTHERS me to have someone know me so well." I sigh. "It doesn't make sense, I know that. And I have no reason to complain. I know THAT too."

Harriet gestures to me to come sit in front of her on the lawn chair. She has her brush out. I do this and sit down in front of her while she carefully brushes all the tangles out of my hair. She is a practiced snarl slayer, it doesn't hurt a bit. Then we change places and I brush her hair. Hers is so much longer and thicker than mine, harder. Takes longer.

As I'm brushing, we discuss if we should paint each other's toe nails too. The last time we did this, when we woke up the next morning, we both looked like a drunk woman had painted our toe nails. Because she did.

We decide to do it anyway.

Harriet gets up to get a few bottles of nail polish while I make one more appletini for us both. We agree that three is the end of it. Any more and we will have headaches in the morning because we are getting too old for these sorts of shenanigans.

She starts in on my toes.

"Tell me what it is about me why you were never attracted to me," she requests.

She has asked this one before, but I indulge her. I tell her that I don't know why. I've never understood exactly what draws me to different people. Maybe, I say, maybe it is because I sensed that you were going to be my best friend and I didn't want any awkwardness to sully things up.

She says, "I have something to admit to you."

I say it before she can.

"It kind of bums you out that I wasn't attracted to you."

She smiles at me. "You are psychic. Get out of my head right this second, witch woman!"

We go on to talk about sexual positions. She says that recently she has been trying some new positions with Lon, just to spice things up.

The problem is that he isn't all that into the new positions.

"I tried to do the reverse cowgirl the other day and he told me that it made him feel like he was fucking a prostitute because he couldn't see my face, that it made him feel like I was servicing him." She makes a face.

I must have looked confused because she told me what a reverse cowgirl position was.

"You heteros," I chided. "You always have these odd little names for all your positions."

We think of sexual positions. She knows A LOT more than I do. I come up with 69, doggy style,, and missionary. Giving head. Muff diving. She says I am such a novice.

68
Bodyguard
Ear muffs
Lotus
Wheelbarrow
Prison Guard

Prison Guard?

I choke on my drink and we both laugh and laugh. I finally talk her into showing me what these positions are and she says to stand up and help her, because it takes two. I'm no prude, so I do this.

Well.

Let me just say that lesbians don't have the versatility or ability to think up asinine names as well as heteros do.

"Ok," Harriet says, smirking. "Now, just wave to all my neighbors. Thanks, Maria. Now, I'll never get invited to the koffee klatches at Barbie's house."

"Well," I respond. "But, you and Lon just might get invited to a swinging singles party! Look on the bright side!"

Harriet's deck is enclosed. No one saw us. Honest. Well, maybe some squirrels. And they probably went right back to their nest and had one good romp in the twigs.

Harriet and I always end up admitting truths to each other. This doesn't usually happen until after we have both showered and gotten into bed with each other.

Yes, we sleep together. In her big king sized marriage bed. And hey...we are bffs. Just because I am bi-sexual doesn't mean that I try to talk her into hanky panky any more than you would do that with one of your friends.

But, we talk. And listen. And we both need this so much.

Harriet tells me that while she loves all of her five children, that she thinks that she just might love her youngest the most.

"You know, I worried that I would never love my sister's kids as much as my own, but I honestly do," she says. "It didn't happen right away, but it happened. But, with Will? I can't help it. It's like he is my last true baby. I never wanted him, I admit that. I almost aborted him. But, then Lon and I got to thinking and decided that we had room in our hearts for one more and now I can't imagine my life without him. But, Maria? Truthfully? I love him the most of all my kids. I just do. We just click, you know?"

I say that I think that this is more true than not. That I think that most parents who have more than one child have a favorite. They just don't want to admit it. I know that my sisters won't admit it. They swear that they love all their children equally. I can't really give an educated opinion, though, because I only have Liv.

I tell Harriet that while I love Bing, I think that our marriage is not ideal. We are just too different. We don't argue much anymore but I think it is mostly because we know what to side step.

Harriet is quiet for a long moment. Then she agrees. Says that she won't lie to me, that it's obvious that Bing and I work at it. But, she tells me, too, that she has never seen anyone more devoted than Bing is and that in the last few years, I have started to settle into monogamy pretty well.

"You love each other, even if it doesn't always work," she decides.

We talk some more about how we wish we had enjoyed our bodies a bit more when we were younger.

"It's like everything is just...harder now," I say. "My knees creak sometimes. I am getting a little jowl to my neck."

"Mine is MUCH worse than yours," Harriet says. I agree with her because it's the truth. Her neck is more jowly than mine. But, my hands are veinier. She agrees. And we both know it goes without saying that her hair is better than mine. She hasn't gone grey yet and doesn't need to dye her hair. It is still bouncy and resilient. I still have good legs, hers aren't all that great anymore. But, then really? She never had the best legs.

"One of my mean ex-boyfriends didn't call me "piano legs" when we were having our last screaming break up fight for nothing," she says.

I tell her that Bing sometimes has really bad breath. That I wonder if it is a vegetarian thing. That I once dated a vegetarian before Bing and she had bad breath too. Harriet tells me that there are these magic pills called breath mints...

She tells me that she hates the way her husband can't seem to pick up his feet when he walks. "He looks like some shuffling old dude," she says. I tell her that I've always thought Lon had sexy man feet. She laughs.

"He does!" she says. "He shuffles those big sexy feet, though..."

We start to drift off.

And then just as I am almost asleep, Harriet mutters, "I worry sometimes that I won't go to heaven because I really, really detest my in laws and I don't even care that they don't like me back."

I snort. Tell her that if there is a heaven, she is going.

"You took in two orphans and are raising them up as your own," I tell her.

She says that doesn't count. It was what any decent person would do.

"You are the best friend in the world to me and I love you a lot. If anyone is not going to heaven, it's me," I say.

She doesn't answer and for a moment I think she has gone to sleep and then I hear her take a long shuddering breath. She's crying.

"Harriet? Sweetie?" I say.

She hugs me tightly. I hug back.

"I love you too," she says. "I think we will both go to heaven. Sorry to cry, I get mushy when I am tipsy. And I just love you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you and your smart ass mouth."

"Love you small," I begin.

"Love you big," she adds.

"Love you like a big fat pig," we both chime in.

We go to sleep then. I wake up at 3 a.m. and sit up for a moment, confused.

And then I look over at Harriet asleep in the moonlight and I right myself.

She is snoring. I will tell her tomorrow that I secretly taped her snoring and that now she needs to buy me something as hush money.

She will tell me to shut the fuck up and to eat my pancakes.

I will.

For now, I settle back down and touch the sleeve of her nightshirt and smile. Tomorrow, I will go back to Bing and Liv. But tonight is my slumber party with my bff.

Shit. We forgot to call boys and hang up, giggling.

Next time.