The Road Lester Traveled

Erin and Her Angels

2010-12-17T11:03:00.001-08:00

My daughter is a cocktail waitress at a cowboy bar. As I’m sure you can imagine, she has many stories to tell. So I suggested she start a blog. She said, “You do it.” So I might.

But let’s just start with this.

This cowboy bar is situated on the fringes of the San Fernando Valley. Recently, Erin’s baby brother started working there as a bouncer on Friday nights. Yep, he’s our 6’3” baby. And he’s making all the purrty girls swoon. I don’t think they have ever really had a bouncer there before. I think Erin usually winds up filling that role. Erin is no brawny girl. She’s a bright and shining light with a smile that can draw even the most jaded of characters out. But what she lacks in brawn, she makes up for in unwavering determination to keep things civil.

A few years ago, a very drunken patron decided he was going to start tossing bar stools. Erin backed him up against a wall and told him he was to leave immediately. He suggested that she try and make him, so she shoved him out the door and locked it, proceeding to call the police. All the while, everyone else stood in stunned silence. From beginning to end. This is not the type of situation where Erin waits to see if someone else is going to take care of the problem, she just steps up and starts doing it. Many a man would be happy to rush forward and take care of this ruff customer, but Erin just doesn’t give them time.

So Friday night, a fella who was so drunk he could hardly walk decided he was going to get on his bike and drive off. Erin followed him out to the parking lot, telling him he was NOT to drive. He said he was okay to drive and would be fine. She insisted that she was not about to allow him to drive off, advising him that she didn’t really give a shit if he killed himself, but he was bound to injure or kill someone else. He reeled and said to her, “Do you KNOW who I am??” She said, “I don’t care if you’re fucking Spongebob Squarepants! If you get on that bike, I’m going to knock you over!” He hollered back, “I don’t think so! I’m a Hells Angel!” proceeding to straddle his bike.

Now it so happened that there were two real Hell’s Angels in the bar crowd. So this happened to be a big mistake on the part of Mister Squarepants. These boys came forward, pulled Mister Squarepants off his bike and tossed him hard on the ground, letting him know that if he EVER claimed to be a Hell’s Angel again, he would be severely beaten.

After the dust settled, someone asked Erin’s brother why he didn’t get involved. He said, “I think she had it all under control.” And she did. But the boys were all there to back her up.

Years ago, I found myself in hostile bar situation. I was in the Philippines, Subic Bay. As always, the Marines and the sailors had marked their territories at separate bars in town. The Navy Seals had claimed a bar called, “The Rolling Stone.” (Big neon tongue was on the sign outside.) I was inside hanging out with the Seals. Everyone was happy, having a great time. Dancing and drinking. Suddenly, the mood changed. I saw these happy men’s faces change as they began to walk toward the door in a group. A young Marine had wandered in, not knowing he was hostile territory. But he found out soon enough. They surrounded him and started backing him up until he fell backwards onto the dance floor. The whole place was silently watching. I said to myself, “Fuck this.” I pushed through the mob of attackers and stood in front of the quaking Marine. I told the mob to back off and leave him alone, promising to escort him out. Now this could have turned out badly. They could have turned on me, too. But they backed off and I took the young man out, advising him to be careful about which bars are which before he enters.

I don’t know if I had any boys to back me up that night. I suppose you could say that the Seals did the gentlemanly thing by deciding to disburse instead of pressing on with their irascible plan. I left there amazed that a happy crowd could so easily turn ugly. And I didn’t like that.

Still, I’m glad that Erin isn’t afraid to rush headlong into danger, knowing she has the right heart motivation, fed with the right kind of anger.

And I feel secure knowing that there are always angels watching over her. In one form or another.

*This story is all true. Except for the Spongebob comment. We added that later. We think all stories should include a Spongebob reference. :)

A Whore By Any Other Name

2010-10-18T11:02:00.000-07:00

Labels. We all hate them. Yet we all use them. Even those of us who hate them intensely. But I want to talk specifically about the label of “whore.” Often interchangeable with slut, hussy, loose, immoral or scarlet woman. To which I say, I've always looked good in red. :)

When I was a young girl, I heard about “these” women. But I must say, in movies and tv shows, they were the very most interesting women. I was intrigued by them early on. They seemed to possess a confidence that other women didn’t. Still, you certainly didn’t want the stigma of being called a slut or a whore when you were in school. If you were smart, you could even be promiscuous (and by that I do not necessarily refer to sex, because you can obtain those labels even by kissing too many boys) as long as you were careful about who knew about it. However, at the very least, two people knew about it… you and him! And let’s face it; discretion isn’t exactly a developed character trait in young people. So, unless you were very prim and proper, you probably stumbled into the label on one level or another.

My first sexual experience (and by that I do mean sex) was when I was 18 years old. That might sound young to some, but in the culture I was in, I was a little behind my female comrades. My boyfriend and I had been dating for a year and a half. He was RELENTLESS in his attempts to get me into the fucking position. I wish I’d had the nerve to smack him upside the head. But, I was determined to wait until I felt comfortable and ready. And then the day came when I told him, “I’m ready.” Sex was good. Nothing sensational, just good. I did enjoy it but I soon discovered he had another “girlfriend” in another city. She and I happened to run into one another at a mutual friend’s house. It was really quite uncanny. We hit it off right away and started chatting. She was great, actually! And then…………. She mentioned her boyfriend. And told me his name. And I said, “um… that’s my boyfriend tooooooo.”

Funny. So, we sat together and compared a few notes and then, he showed up. Surprised as hell to find us there together. So that was the end of that. In the end, I certainly wound up liking her better than I liked him. Hee.

After that, I did a fair amount of experimenting with my sexuality. I never did wander too far there. Didn’t really have a desire to try out same sex or multiple partners. But I did enjoy the physical pleasures that men had to offer. There was never a concern in my mind that it was wrong or sinful, as I didn’t really have that sort of background. Our society (and especially the society in Utah where I was living) definitely tries to impress that idea upon everyone, but I had never really grabbed hold of it. And it never really grabbed hold of me. My family background provided me with what I feel is a large level of self worth and no religious hang-ups.

I had fun. Unabashedly. One night stands, trysts with married men, trysts with younger and older men. Sex with two or three different men on the same day. Fun stuff. Loving every minute of it. But, as is wont to happen to a young woman, some young man comes along and wants you to themselves. Well this is okay. I don’t have a hard time being a one man woman. It’s quite natural for me, as long as he’s taking care of me… if ya know what I mean. *wink wink*

It’s okay if this story is boring you and you feel the need to depart before having to swallow any more of it. (hee, I said swallow) In fact, it’s kind of boring me. But I’m going to keep rambling anyway.

So along comes this man (and yes, let’s go ahead and use the term “man” loosely) who wants me as his one and only. After we’d been together a little while, he decides that he needs to know how many men I’ve been with. I think this is none of his business. But, being young and naïve, I don’t really have the nerve to say that. So I quickly deduce how many men I’ve been with that really counted. Like, not including one night stands. I say “Three.” The guy looks at me with shock and disgust. He can’t believe it. He says something like, “Oh… my… God… you are SUCH A whore.” And then goes on to tell me that he may as well go fuck a hole in the back yard as fuck someone like me. I was fairly devastated. I did not at all think that I was a whore. I just thought I was comfortable with my sexuality and enjoying my body. Never once did I think of my behavior as being wrong. We won’t go into the moral burdens he procured from his Baptist background but suffice it to say, he was the one with the problem. Not me. BUT I fancied myself in love with him. He got over it and apologized. But I’m not sure you can really fully apologize for saying something so deeply and intentionally hurtful. If we must, though, we can zip on ahead to the not too distant future and see that I married this man. And on we went into happily ever after, right? It took me 18 years to finally tell him that it’s wrong to talk to people that way and that he wouldn’t be allowed to do it to me anymore because I was leaving. Yes, he had continued to do so in many other ways, shapes and forms, attacking my self esteem as if it were his highest goal in life to make me feel inferior.

Ah, fresh air. Breathing. The light of the moon reviving me. I touched everything I could because I could once again feel things purely and unadulterated (pun intended…hehehe). I was able to enjoy my own sexuality again. During the years I was married, I was made to feel as if sex were my job. I resisted this idea at first. This made me never want to have sex. But eventually I realized that the only time my husband touched me or showed me any affection was during sex. So I kind of grew hungry for it. Starved, even. This created a sort of faux intimacy. It made it seem like our relationship was fine because we were sexually active. Sex should be the expression of the intimacy that a couple enjoys, but we were just trying to create intimacy. And so went the ups and downs of married life. (Too punny??)

But now I was free to enjoy sex again. Just as I am. No pretending. No sin. Just sex. The enjoyment of the bodies of two people entangled. And it was great. A friend of mine at the time asked, “Doesn’t it make you feel like a whore sleeping around like that?” I said, “No. I felt like a whore when I was married.”

So, cut to today. Labels. Am I a whore or not? Of course I’m not. And of course I am. I playfully refer to myself as a whore. And I gladly say it out loud to those puritans who have an absolute need to call me something. Hey, if it makes them feel better, who am I to stand in the way of their happiness?

What did I learn from this ridiculously long lesson? That it’s cool with me if a man calls me a whore right up front. That way, I won’t have to worry about him trying to beat me with his own emotional chains that he so desperately loves. Because a man who has problems with whores, is a man who doesn’t really need to be in my life.

Easily Onward, Through Flowers and Weed

2010-08-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

This is my mom (on the right). Circa 1967. And this is how beautiful she is to me.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

I was thinking about my mom today while I was making my breakfast. When we lived in Japan back then, she learned to make an omelet in a wok. She would swirl the egg mixture around the pan and it would create a thin, thin wrapper for whatever you might want to put inside. She would put buttered rice inside of it for us and it was sooooo yummy. My sister, Tami, loved ketchup on hers. I hated ketchup. So I chose barbecue sauce instead. (You know kids. They think they need sauce on everything.) I know this sounds weird, but I love it.

This wok omelet is something I never learned, so I resorted to just making scrambled eggs on top of rice with bbq sauce drizzled over it. Still tastes like that great breakfast, sans the love. However, the memory of the love is there. In every bite. Every single time I make this, I remember the warm love of my mother. Today, as I drizzled the bbq sauce on my eggs, I had a little flashback to the sight of my mother doing this. She didn’t haphazardly toss it on my omelet. She made everything pretty and nice. I deeply felt that the reason she made things special was because I was special. She never complained about the terrible trial of raising four girls. I’m sure she had bad days, but I don’t recall her ever taking them out on anyone. She must have suffered in private. Because God knows, motherhood is full of suffering. But here’s what I learned from her:

Children ought to be made to feel important, but not most important. Children should not feel more important than their parents. The world (or the omelet) can be handed to them on a platter, but the world does not revolve around them. Parents should be given the position of respect. And it’s right for parents to respect each other. We were told when dad came home, he was tired and needed peace and quiet. She honored him highly. Never did she speak a disparaging word about him. By example, she made the demand that we respect him as much as she did. We got the same message from him. He revered my mother and by example, made sure that we respected her as much as he did. We were not given the first position. They were. But this made us feel no less important.

It’s tricky business, this. Friends and I have often discussed the issue that seems to come up when single parents date and develop serious relationships. Sometimes there are implications or full on accusations that “You are choosing your children over me!” First of all, if someone says that to me, it’s already over. Mainly because it is definitely not a matter of “choosing” but also because I think this makes that person a whiny bitch and I see no future for us. Most people respond with, “Yeah! Of course I choose my children over you! They are my children!” But as I said, I find this to be putting the concept on a level where it does not belong. And I refuse to put it there. Of course I don’t think it’s a good thing to put your children’s demands above those of your needs. The same goes for your significant other’s needs. I also don’t think it’s okay to put the demands of your significant other above the needs of your children. So you see what I’m getting at? Just as in the home I grew up in, my mother didn’t teach us that our father mattered more. Nor did she tell him that we mattered more. We all mattered. She just showed us that in different circumstances, some needs take precedence. And that love and respect should rule in all of these things.

So there you have it. Lessons from the wok of life. I love you, mom.

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Becky Jo and George ~ Happy Anniversary!

2010-05-16T06:49:00.000-07:00

If you ever start wondering if true love really exists in the world any more, check out these two. This is my niece Becky Jo and her wonderful and exceptional husband, George. You can also click on Becky Jo's blog on the sidebar if you'd like to know more about this amazing girl. Much love to you both! xoxoxoxox

Wonderfuller and Wonderfuller

2010-03-09T08:59:00.000-08:00

The new Alice in Wonderland. Brilliant, to say the least. In fact, I intend to see it again. And even again, if possible. It’s just that good. The kind of movie that has so many subtleties that I want to be sure I catch all of them! I was asked if any one character stole the show. I thought all of them were amazing and purrfect. But in my mind, the show stealer was the Cheshire Cat. Cause he was even purrfecter than purrfect. And I'm making everyone who sees the movie promise to think of me when they hear him say, "Goodbye, sweet hat." I dunno why, but I got such a kick out of that line. Like what cat would ever say that?

Many people are dressing up to attend. Here is a picture of my sweet Angel, dressed up in her “pushy cat” hat and her "pushy cat" eyes. Is she not the most cuddly thing?

But what I loved most about the movie was the message. Ultimately, you must live according to your own conscience. Because you may be surrounded by those who are supportive while you do their bidding. But when it comes down to the real battles in your life, you will fight them alone.

Meow.

Angels Can Fly...

2009-07-28T06:14:00.000-07:00

... because they take themselves lightly.

Remember the "Love Is..." comics from the 70s? And all of the "Happiness Is..." quotes that were being tossed around? It was a decade of love and happiness. Or at least it was trying to be.

I loved these trends. My father used to call me a Little Pollyanna. Which, of course, forced me to look up what a Pollyanna was.

But in the end both love and happiness are choices. We choose to love and we choose to be happy. I know... it's terribly cliche. But it's true. And these are not easy choices. Love and happiness aren't things that just happen to you. I'm afraid that most of us sit around waiting for them to do just that. But they don't. And then we're sad. And then we're bitter. And so we wind up with hate and despair. And we're sure it's not our fault.

Ugh.

So, if you can't muster up the strength today to choose to be happy or choose to love then at least remember not to take yourself too seriously. It's the first step in the right direction for both.

Hauling Ash

2009-06-24T11:21:00.000-07:00

Hauling Ash. Could be the story of a family who owns a crematorium. Could be a Cinderella story. So goes the confusion of ashes and dust.

Recently, I’ve been pondering death. It’s never really mattered much to me what happens to my body after I’ve died, since I don’t intend to be in it. I have always believed that those things are done for the living. Those left behind. Sometimes people just need certain things to happen in order to help them grieve the loss of that loved one. I would prefer to be cremated. I hate to think of people going to a lot of expense to put my useless body in a casket and plant it in the ground. The funeral biz is such a racket and I do not want my loved ones being taken advantage of when they are feeling weak. Plus, I hate the idea of my body being put into the ground. On the other hand, I think it’s wrong to make demands about the observance of my passing. After all, I won’t be there! ;) So…… that’s sorta where I’ve left it. Kinda nowhere.

A couple of years ago, on Memorial Day, my Tiny was working at a store where she watched people come in and pick out flowers to put on the grave of a loved one. It bothered her that they often chose the cheapest ones. A man had even asked her for advice and she suggested roses. After looking at the price, he settled on the cheap ones, too. So, the other day I was thinking about that. I know my Tiny would like to be able to visit me somewhere after I’m gone. I wondered where that would be. The first place I thought of was Santa Monica Pier. After my divorce, I met my friend Jack, who lives in a high rise apartment building at Santa Monica Beach. He very generously offered to let me stay in his guest room whenever I wanted to get away from it all. I would arrive in the late afternoon, he and I would go to dinner and then he would work long hours into the night, writing stories like, "Hauling Ash." When I awoke in the morning (usually around 7 or 8) I would take my book, walk down to a local restaurant (The Omelette Parlor) and have a quiet breakfast. Then I’d walk to the beach, sit down and read my book. This was a very healing and tranquil time for me. And my fondness for Jack, and Santa Monica, quickly grew to a degree of great affection. To this day, Jack still welcomes me any time I want to visit. Jack and I were never romantically involved, but we remain very close friends and he is a man I very much adore.

I’ve visited and lived many places in my life. But my favorite places have always been near the Pacific Ocean. So here’s my suggestion:

Let me burn and scatter my ashes in the Pacific. That way, anyone who wants to “visit” me can meet me anywhere that the ocean meets the land. I don’t know if I will be able to really go and meet them, but if things are anything like they are in the world of fantasy and fairy tales, I believe I will be hanging out at that Pier. ;)

And maybe somewhere, a sign can be planted that states my epitaph, which I wrote myself a number of years ago:

They say there is beefcake for every fine lassie,
As long as you promise to keep your fine chassis!
While his member is throbbing to enter a beauty,
He doesn’t care which… only knows it’s his duty!
So I’m leaving the men, to their own discredit ~
And what of my cake? I already et it!

And who’s to say that these things will even remotely come to pass? Check out what happened with Dorothy Parker’s ashes.

But just for the record, when I talked with my daughter, Erin, about this she said, “If that’s what you want, Mom, I will be sure it gets done.”

We've All Been Through Our Own Kind of Hell

2009-06-16T07:57:00.000-07:00

We are tempted to get into pissing contests over whose hell has been worse. But for each of us, it was hell. I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, a fella I met was trying to convince me that it was the biggest mistake of my life. He said “The laws here are very strict and you’ll spend all of your time trying to get out from under their thumb.” I said, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll do fine.” He kept pressing the point. “Oh no,” he said, “you won’t do fine. It sucks here.” I asked him why he didn’t move then. “I can’t. I can’t afford to. I have to pay fines…” and blah blah blah. He was completely boring me and I wanted him to stop talking to me and move on. I finally said, “Look! I’ve been to hell and back! I don’t think Virginia is gonna kick my ass!” That shut him up long enough for me to say so long.

I don’t like negativity. I think it’s rude to tell someone who just moved somewhere that they are not going to like it. Or to tell someone who is about to start a new job or move to a new place that they are not going to like it. I learned early on in my life that you can like it no matter where you are. Because you certainly cannot like it where you are not!

Still, we’ve all been through hell. The key word being “through.” Like the song says ~ if you’re going through hell, keep on going. There is absolutely no excuse for staying in hell. I should know. I stayed there for far too long. And I have nothing like a good excuse for it.

Let’s let JoDee have the last word on this:

I’ve felt the chill of this world cut down to the bone.
I’ve walked many a mile down this road on my own.
I’ve been through hell on my knees ~
Come face to face with the devil.
And I know that it’s hard to believe… but it gets better.

Things Don't Get More Beautiful Than This

2009-05-31T07:39:00.000-07:00

Sharing pics of the flower girls because well... two out of three of them are MINE! Little Lexi looks just like an angel. And my little Maori Princess, Bryn, is all set to grow up in a royal way to say, "Let them eat cake!"

LO and BEHOLD ~ today I received a message from Becky that the wedding video was ready! Woo hoo! Check it out.

Becky & George's Ceremony from Davey Orgill on Vimeo.

Amazing Grace

2009-05-06T07:00:00.001-07:00

Harmony Grace Lee arrived on Friday, May 1st. May Day baby. Her mum was also born on a Friday. Friday the 13th on a September day, 23 years ago.

Little Harmony’s mum is Gracianna. My sister Erika named Graci after our grandfather’s sister, Grace and our father's mother, Anna.

My mother says that her Aunt Grace was a saint, if ever there was one. A beautiful spirit who spent her days on her knees, praying for her baby brother (Grandpa) ~ a man who squandered most of his time on booze and women. Yet, he was a charming, charismatic soul and all who knew him loved his company. Perhaps her prayers were answered in that way. At any rate, he did finally turn toward sobriety when a picnic turned sour as he made a pass at his son’s wife and said son proceeded to knock him out, dragging him through the streets of town and dumping him on his front porch. Grandpa never had a drink after that. He settled down and became a very tame husband to his shrewish second wife. But he still told dirty jokes every chance he got. :)

Grace was twenty when Alva Lee was born. Rumors circle around the family that he was actually Grace’s baby and, given the fact that it was 1910, Grace’s parents chose to tell people that he was her brother. She took care of him as if he were her own, and she never married. Never even came close. Either way, sister or mother, she loved that boy until the day she died at age 88.

Now on to her namesake, Gracianna. Graci was born in adverse times. It’s a miracle that she survived the situation she was in. Along with her mother. There were times we thought someone was going to die and we dreaded every phone call. Graci’s father was severely abusive to her mother, my sweet baby sister. But Erika left him while Graci was still very young and they both moved on to live stable and unthreatened lives. Let it be said, though, that Graci’s father has never been anything but sweet to her and supportive in the best ways he knows how.

When Graci graduated High School, she went to San Francisco to attend culinary school. She does currently work in a field that allows her some small amount of opportunity to enjoy her craft, but she hopes to lean further on that dream in the future.

That brings us to Harmony Grace. I’m going to call her Mazie (short for Amazing Grace). We had thought to call Graci by this nickname when she was born, but it never stuck. We’ll see if it works this time, because three syllables are way to many to say! (I happen to know, though, that I will probably just wind up calling her “honey.” I do this so much, that my oldest granddaughter at one time used to refer to me as “Honey Grandma.”)

Mazie’s daddy is Scotty Lee. He is a stand-up comedian and quite good. You can read about him here
and do go see him if he’s performing at a location near you. From what I hear, Scotty is a wonderful and attentive father. At present, it is clear that this child has been born into a happy situation.

But thank God we know that grace doesn’t end there.

A Word from The Wise

2009-04-22T10:09:00.000-07:00

My oldest sister (yes, I'm talking about Tami, The Beautiful) gave me this advice years ago. She's always given me the most excellent and life changing advice. From the time I was a very young girl, on the brink of becoming a woman up until now. I'd like to share a little of that gift with you now:

It’s important for a woman to have a man who is strong and makes her feel safe and secure.
It’s important for a woman to have a man who cares about her feelings and responds to her needs.
It’s important for a woman to have a man who shows her new things in the world that she never noticed before.
It’s important for a woman to have a man who is passionate and adventurous and satisfies her wild side.
And it’s important that none of these men knows each other.

(More on Tami to come.) :)

New Tattoo!

2009-04-17T07:35:00.000-07:00

My son just had his daughter's name tattooed on his forearm. It's a blurry shot, but I think you get the picture. :)

I LOVE IT!!

Okay ~ I had him send a sharper pic. Here 'tis.

This is the Lord’s doing. It is marvellous in our eyes.

2009-04-08T13:12:00.000-07:00

Cate Blanchett’s Elizabeth shouted this out when she became queen.

I thought to myself ~
I like this scripture. I’ve heard it a million times.
But I think I should like to hear it a billion more.
At least.

Marvellous Perspective

Marvellous Patience

Marvellous Angle

Marvellous Weather

Marvellous Envy

Marvellous Wings

Marvellous Throng

Marvellous Leader

Marvellous Rest

Marvellous Love

Sweet Cherry Wine

2009-03-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Spring is nearly sprung. We all can't wait. We're slipping into sandals every chance we get. We're toying with the idea of scanty clothing. And depending on where we live, we are doing more than toying with it!

But spring is often the season that scares women. We've been able to hide our bodies under layers of thick clothing for months. Now we're afraid that our flesh is not only pasty but a little too jiggly. But we love the feel of that spring air on our skin. It just makes us want to take off our clothes and kick off our shoes. Yet we've been trained to be overly critical of our bodies. To see them as unsightly if they are not in line with a certain type of expectation. Regardless of how big or small a woman's body is, the average woman struggles greatly with her body image.

I say, let's give up on the hunger for acceptance from the masses who have a warped view of what is beautiful. Let's embrace who we are. Where we came from. And what made us the fantastical creatures we are today.

Let's drink it in. And pass it around.

And ever remember these wise words from one of the most beautiful women of our time:

~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes ~

It makes utter sense to stay healthy and strong, to be as nourishing to the body as possible. Yet I would have to agree, there is in many women a "hungry" one inside. But rather than hungry to be a certain size, shape, or height, rather than hungry to fit the stereotype; women are hungry for basic regard from the culture surrounding them. The "hungry" one inside is longing to be treated respectfully, to be accepted, and in the very least, to be met without stereotyping. If there really is a woman "screaming to get out" she is screaming for the cessation of the disrespectful projections of others onto her body, her face, her age.

The idea in our culture of body solely as sculpture is wrong. Body is not marble. That is not its purpose. Its purpose [is] to protect, contain, support, and fire the spirit and soul within it, to be a repository for memory, to fill us with feeling--that is the supreme psychic nourishment. It is to lift us and propel us, to fill us with feeling to prove that we exist, that we are here, to give us grounding, heft, weight...The body is the launcher of those experiences. Without body there would be no sensations of crossing thresholds, there would be no sense of lifting, no sense of height, of weightlessness.

The body is like an earth. It is a land unto itself. It is as vulnerable to overbuilding, being carved into parcels, cut off, overmined, and shorn of its power as any landscape.

There is a line in Ntozake Shange's "for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf." In the play, the woman...speaks after having struggled to deal with all the psychic and physical aspects of herself that the culture ignores or demeans. She sums herself up in these wise and peaceful words:

here is what i have...
poems
big thighs
lil tits
&

so much love

How to Say "Fuck Off" with Panache

2009-03-18T12:18:00.000-07:00

From Wiki:

Panache is a word of French origin that carries the connotation of a flamboyant manner and reckless courage. The literal meaning of the word is a plume, such as is worn on a hat or a helmet.

The epitome of panache and the reason for its establishment as a virtue, is Rostand's depiction of Cyrano de Bergerac. (Prior to Rostand, panache was not necessarily a good thing, and was seen by some as a suspect quality).

Cyrano's last words " ... yet there is something still that will always be mine, and when I go to God's presence, there I'll doff it and sweep the heavenly pavement with a gesture — something I'll take unstained out of this world ... my panache ".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I first became single, after 18 years of marriage, I knew I was going to find myself in a game that may or may not be fun for me. I had always had plenty of male attention, so it wasn’t like I thought I was going to have to go out and find the men. I can’t tell you the number of men over the years (namely, my spouse’s friends) who said to me, “What are you doing with this bum? I’d treat you so much better.” And I would invariably reply, “Really? Are you so sure you wouldn’t be exactly the same after 2 or 5 or ten years of marriage?” Part of the reason I stayed married so long was because I was convinced that all men would be the same. Once you married them. Of course I knew this was not true. I have known a number of wonderful husbands.

So back to singlehood. It became very quickly clear to me that I could choose any kind of man I wanted. For whatever reason I wanted. And I liked this idea.

It also became very quickly clear to me that men, in general, are pretty sucky at knowing how to woo a woman. For instance, a man would say he would call. And then he wouldn’t. It didn’t take long for me to recall that rush of a feeling when you are excited about a man calling you, and then the desperate lonely realization that he ain’t callin. These were in the days when I had no cell phone. The last thing in the world I was going to do was sit by a LANDLINE and wait for a call that may or may not come. Nosireebob! So, when a man asked for my number and said he was going to call at such-and-such a time on such-and-such a day, I would say, “Okay, I will give you a 15 minute window. If you don’t call by then, it’s so long dearie!” Always a woeful plaint would utter from said potential suitor at this news. “But…. But…… buttttttttttttttttt….??!!” I said, “No buts (and no butts either) I happen to firmly believe that if a man doesn’t call, it’s because he just didn’t want to. I will take it to mean that. Plain and simple.” (Rita Rudner taught me that.) Again, said suitor would ply me with the “buts.” Talk to the hand.

Silly rabbits. Didn’t they know that trix are for kids?

So here are a couple of stories about how this trouble with wooing would play out. Both of these stories involve online encounters. Men would often “find” me on Yahoo Messenger. They would contact me from places one to two hours away. Then they would say something like, “Let’s meet halfway.” I’d say, “No thanks. I don’t go to men. They come to me.” They’d likely move on. I have no interest in a man who can’t even drive to meet me. If he has trouble with that, then he has BIG trouble with the idea of maintaining a relationship with a woman. That’s a freakin’ easy test. So this one man was much like many others, but I will tell his story just the same. 'Cause he’s so special. :)

The man wanted me to meet him halfway. I said no. He pressed me to explain how that was reasonable. I told him I had no intention of being reasonable. If he wants reasonable, look elsewhere.

He said he really liked me and thought we would hit it off. He was just looking for a friend with benefits. No expectations, no commitments.

I said, “Well get in line, motherfucker. You do realize that I have a number of applicants for that job. And you are waaaaaaaaaay at the back of the line.”

He then asked how he could move up to the front of the line.

I said, “What do you have to offer that makes you exceptional, standing above all the rest?”

He said, "~ insert idiotic and lewd statement here ~"

I said, “Nope. Sorry. Back of the line.”

He said, “I’ve never been one for standing in line.”

I said, “Then why start now.”

The end. (Whew! It took way to long to shake that one off, in my opinion. Which you know to be so very humble.)

Another man contacted me and we liked one another quite a bit. We chatted a lot. About everything you can think of. He lived a mere 15-20 minutes away from me. We talked about meeting from time to time, but it just never happened. He was intelligent, entertaining, sexy… you name it. He had it. Well one day, he said he had nothing to do. Not a thing on his schedule. He suggested maybe meeting for lunch or dinner. I said, “That sounds cool.” He said, “Well, let me think which would work better.” I said, “You think about it. You have 30 minutes to decide what time you want to meet and where. After 30 minutes, whatever you decide you have to stick to, or you will never get another chance.” (Incidentally, he could also choose not to meet at this point and not shoot himself in the foot. The guy was just given ALL The cards.) He laughed. (LOL) He decided on a place (near me, of course ~ he knew the rules) and a time. It was to be dinner. Six o’clock. This was around one. Around five, he buzzed my messenger again (and no, it wasn’t the good kind of buzz). He sort of yawningly said he had taken a nap and now feels all lazy. Thought maybe he’d beg off the dinner and do some laundry instead. Laundry?! Are you fucking kidding me? As if laundry were something to “do.” Laundry is something to be done in between the things you “DO.” Anyway, I said, “Sure, that’s fine.” A little later, he messaged me again and wanted to make plans to meet some other day. I said, “Nope. No chance.” He was stunned. He said, “Are you serious? Because of that, I can never, ever, ever, ever meet you? Ever?” I said, “You got it, babe.” And so… we never did. But we still chat from time to time. And he’s still an intelligent, entertaining, sexy and cool cat.

Miao.
Panache Galore (her real name)

Just Another Of The Lights of My World

2009-03-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, my baby turned 21 !!!!!!!!

He's a fantastic man and one whom I am proud to call my son. He's always been a wonderful son, brother, friend, grandson, uncle (Purdy! ~that's what Bryn calls him~) and now he tops it all off by being a wonderful father. I feel bad for those of you who can't know him, 'cause you are MISSING OUT! Right now, he's laid up with a torn ACL. (Makes mama frown.)

Ever the one who doesn't let his bright light dim, even in the toughest of situations. These song lyrics remind me of the kind of attitude that keeps Brady going (you can hear it over there>>>>>>):

Well you know those times
When you feel like there's a sign there on your back
Says I don't mind if ya kick me
Seems like everybody has.
Things go from bad to worse
You'd think they can't get worse than that ~
And then they do.

You step off the straight and narrow
And you don't know where you are.
Use the needle of your compass
To sew up your broken heart.
Ask directions from a genie
In a bottle of Jim Beam
And she lies to you.

That's when you learn the truth ~
If you're going through hell
Keep on going.
Don't slow down, if you're scared, don't show it.
You might get out before the devil even knows you're there.

Well I been deep down in that darkness
I been down to my last match.
Felt a hundered different demons
Breathing fire in my back.
And I knew that if I stumbled
I'd fall right into the trap that they were laying.

But the good news
Is there's angels everywhere out on the street
Holding out a hand to pull you back upon your feet.
The one's that you been dragging for so long
You're on your knees
You might as well be praying.

Guess what I'm saying ~
If you're going through hell keep on going.
Don't slow down, if you're scared, don't show it.
You might get out before the devil even knows you're there!
Yeah.

Here's where Brady spent his birthday. He's a SoCal boy all the way and he ain't never leaving! And who can blame him?

Happy Birthday, Brady! I love you!

How Much Is Too Much? How Little Is Too Little?

2009-02-27T08:24:00.001-08:00

Over at Dadshouse, there has been much discussion on how much one should be involved in their teenager’s life. Where do they learn about sex and relationships? Are they learning the right things? Are they learning about how sex relates to relationships? Do they know they can come to you to discuss virtually anything? Do they know you are interested in them and care about their well being, along with the things they are interested in? All of these things are very valuable. There is no way that it is bad to make sure these things are in order. But are they necessary? How many fathers have really been involved in their children’s lives to this degree? How many mothers? Just consider the people you know who are exceptional people. People you admire with strong characters. Did they have this level of support, encouragement and involvement from their parents?

At our house, we were very involved in our children’s lives and activities (I mean ~ we homeschooled for six years! I’d say that’s pretty involved!) and in another house down the street, there was virtually no parenting going on. On any given day, you could enter that house and there would be a flurry of children getting ready for school. All the way down to the three-year-old, they were just getting their own breakfast and doing what they needed to do to get out the door. Mom was in a drunken stupor in bed. In my house, I was up and making a hot breakfast for my kids. We had a structured day and things went pretty smoothly. I talked to my kids. I was interested in what they had to say and they knew they could talk to me about anything. In the other house, the kids only had one another to talk to. And their friends. And their friends’ parents.

During this time period, our family was tending to our new litter of miniature pinscher pups. Tiny, fragile, little short-haired things. It was September in Southern California and it gets damn cold at night. So I set up a pen in the garage with a space heater blowing on them. I’m not shitting you! When they were weaning, I would heat up their food and mush it up. I kept their papers clean and let them out in the yard on nice days and just nurtured the hell out of them. Down the street ~ at the other house ~ they also had pups born at the same time. Rottweiler pups. Looked just like my pups, only bigger! Mom had been tossed in jail for public drunkenness and child endangerment and the children had been farmed out to relatives. I called the local whatever… pet place … so they could come rescue the mama rottie and her pups. Those pups and their mama had been in the back yard with no one tending to them for a week. AND THEY WERE FINE! And guess what… All of those kids… THEY ARE FINE!

What the hell? I worked so hard to take care of kids and pups and they just turn out as fine as the ones who were supposedly neglected? Ha! As parents, we are all fuck-ups, at best. We can always find "a family down the street" to compare ourselves to, but really we are all just trying to make it through the day.

Seriously, though ~ in the home where I grew up, my mother was at home with us until I was in junior high school. Dad was away a lot, because he was an Air Force Pilot. In fact, I barely remember much about him when I was younger. When I was about twelve years old, Dad retired. I started spending some time with him… talking to him and learning about him and the stuff he knows. I did NOT talk to him about me. I talked to him about him. I soaked up information like it was precious jewels. I did not talk to my parents about sex or relationships or anything like that. They told me when to be home. They provided for me and gave me room to grow. (In all fairness, though ~ I will say that my mom provided me with one important message about relationships when I was in sixth grade. She saw a boy slug me in the arm when she was picking me up. She said, “Oh, he’s doing that because he likes you!” Made NO sense to me at all!)

I can say with complete confidence that I have great parents who did a great job. They weren’t perfect and part of growing up includes accepting the fact that your parents are not perfect. They are human, just like you. (I know I just said that, but I still believe my mother is the most beautiful woman in the world and my father is the smartest man in the world.)

The real point is that there are so many ways to love your children. But if you do it with all your heart, they’ll know it. And that will matter.

Here's my Dad (far right) ~ Ya gotta click it and read the caption. And I kept Miss Kirtland on the page as eye candy for all you boyz and girlz who love the hotties!

It's Cold Out There But It's Warm In Bed

2009-02-04T09:26:00.000-08:00

Where the hell is Global Warming when we need it?

Here ~ Read this:
Southern Sage on a Tirade

I'm gonna ask BrynLeigh what she thinks, because:

I am not young enough to know everything. ~ Oscar Wilde ~

The Land of Oz

2008-12-01T07:01:00.000-08:00

There's no place like it.

Run... do not walk... to go see AUSTRALIA!

Love? LORD ABOVE!! Now You're Tryin' To Trick Me In Love!

2008-11-10T10:25:00.000-08:00

SEGUE ALERT (already?)

David, your wish is my command. (Although I have no idea how someone could say that I don't post enough hot women on here!)

Now... on to my real message, prompted at the request of The Exceptional One who has been drawing participants for a theme-based trilogy at her place.

It’s unfortunate that we don’t have several English words to describe the different types of love as the Greeks do. And even then, it’s hard to really put your finger on exactly what THOSE words mean. Since I don’t speak Greek, I am hardly an expert. But here’s my too brief summary:

1. Storge ~ It means “affection” in modern Greek. This is natural affection, such as that experienced by parents for their children.
2. Agape ~ This is the modern day Greek word for love in the sense of general affection felt for those you especially esteem. It’s a big love. The kind that gives that warm, surrounding feeling of comfort.
3. Philia ~ This is clean, friendly love. The type of love that loyalty springs from. It promotes equality and unity.
4. Eros ~ Passionate love. This is the love of most especial appreciation. The love of beautiful things. The things that make us stir inside. For most of us, this is our favorite. Only because it can be so strong at times. But so can the others. And not one of these types of love is more valuable than the others.

This thing ~ LOVE ~ is really all that matters. It’s really what we are all spinning our wheels looking for. Even though it’s actually all around us. (Man! I love that movie!)

And if love were something to find then there are a number of us who certainly should have found it! The fact that the seekers have not found is not for lack of trying.

But I’m afraid I must call this sort of seeking to be living chiefly from the ego.

Clarissa Pinkola-Estes says:
"Three things distinguish living from the soul versus living from the ego only. They are: the ability to sense and learn new ways, the tenacity to ride a rough road and the patience to learn deep love over time." ~ Women Who Run with the Wolves

Learning deep love. Whatever does that mean? Well, anything with the word “deep” in it, is nothing to take lightly. Or shallowly. :)

But even on the shallow level, I think we could safely say that love is something to learn.

Clarissa speaks in her book about the traps we find ourselves stumbling into. Some of these traps were haplessly laid by our own selves. We can spend years caught in them. And even when we get out of them, we are so comfortable with their snares, we stumble into them yet again and again. We look for them! We want them!

But there comes a time when you must draw into yourself. Recover your soul. Remember yourself. Own your own heart. And even there, you can find the comfortable trap. The temptation to stay there becomes strong. But that is where we stop feeding the soul, and start feeding the ego. The light must be sent out again in order for it to remain a living thing.

If only love were a static and tangible thing. I could find it, wrap it up, put a bow on it and set it on the shelf. When I find myself needing it, I could go to the shelf and take hold of it. Turn it around in my hands. Trace it with my fingers. And when I think I’ve had enough, I could put it back where it would wait for me to come another day.

This is what I think we often do with one another. We want love to live inside of the box of another human. And then we want that human to sit right where we left them. All pretty with a bow on them.

But love is not like this. It won’t live in a box. It requires nurturing attention. And just when we think we know the kind of attention it needs, it changes!

Love is a task of patience. The patience to learn deep love over time. And where does patience come from? The ability to sense and learn new ways and the tenacity to ride a rough road.

I hate it when she’s right.

See the posts on Skeleton Woman and Skeleton Woman Defined
for more of my feeble attempts at relating Clarissa’s genius of a mind.

And this ~ from Bernie (song available on my playlist at the sidebar):

Baby you're missing something in the air
I got a name but it don't matter
What's going on, it's cold in here
You have a life but it's torn and tattered
Maybe you're losing pieces of your heart
You have a world but it stopped turning
You lose the day and gain the dark
Love was a fire but it stopped burning
Spare your heart, save your soul
Don't drag your love across the coals
Find your feet and your fortune can be told
Release, relax, let go
And hey now let's recover your soul
Lazy old sunset sinking like a tear
Alone at night in a losing battle
That perfect world is never clear
You have to fight for the things that matter

A Wretch Like Me

2008-11-03T19:22:00.000-08:00

I spent a number of years studying men. So I could understand them. Or rather, understand one. I also spent those years studying women. You know… so I could understand them. Or rather, understand me! (I'm not kidding.)

You know what I figured out? Men and women alike… we’re just people struggling to understand our place in the world. We’re rather egocentric, at heart. We say we want someone to share our lives with, but what we really want is someone to fill up those empty places we feel inside. I once heard a very astute counselor say that most often when a woman and a man say those vows about how they intend to be the thing that is the thing and blah blah blah (okay, he wasn’t so cynical, but still…) what they really mean is that they will let that other person make up for what is lacking in their lives. So it’s like a tick on a dog. But what you wind up with is two ticks………………………………………………………………… and no dog.

I hear men say, “Well, women must understand that men are THIS way or THAT way.” And I hear women say, “Oh, but women are THIS way or THAT way!” Really? So there is no level of intelligence in the human creature? No measure of overcoming our natures? And have you ever seen a laddie or a lassie... go THIS way or THAT? ;)

Fuckin’ hell. If that’s the way it is, then I’m outta here.

Man says he can’t help himself from being a fucker. (In the literal sense.) Woman says she can’t help herself from being a bitch. (Also in the literal sense.)

Of course you can help yourself! Stop that shit!

Anyway… whatever.

On the lightest of notes, let’s leave all of that bullshit (er… horseshit…) behind and look at something that matters.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

2008-10-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

Went to Utah last week to visit my WHOLE family. Erin flew in, Brady drove in (bringing a friend and baby Lexi!) and so I got to see them all. Well, except for my youngest grandchild. There are hindrances there. But here is a picture of him a couple of weeks before when he was visiting me mum (his great-grandmum).

Had a great time, and here are some pictures!
This is BrynLeigh on the same swing at the same age as Lexi above.

Also, in our world, cats are part of family. So here is the newest addition, Thor (JP's baby). And the lovely silhouette is Fritz, Becky Jo's cat.

Beggars Would Ride

2008-10-07T07:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve been pondering this subject for a couple of weeks. I get calls from friends who feel alone. Especially if they are divorced. Oh wait. I mean, especially if they are married. No wait… I mean, especially if they are single.

FUCK! I guess I get calls from people who feel alone ~ especially if they are humans!

We all want someone to be there when we need… well… someone. We want that special someone. The one who we know cares about us more than anyone else in the world does. In my experience, the people I have generally found this to be true about have been my family and friends. They know me. They love me. Just as I am. And when I struggle, they are ALWAYS there for me.

Well except when they are not.

I come from a strong family background, with a strong belief that you just take care of family. That’s the rule. I also have a handful of very good friends. The type who believe you just take care of friends. That’s the rule.

So I always know that’s there. And there is certainly much to be said for that kind of security.

But what about intimacy? That great horse of an entirely different color. We are born with a place inside of us that yearns for that special one who will make everything matter more, will make every fire burn brighter, and will make every jagged pill easier to swallow.

Sometimes, as David at Dadshouse
mentioned this week, we just want a hug. We get busy. Time and responsibilities tie us down. We’re strong and independent individuals who just do the next thing without blinking. And from time to time, we want to collapse under the weight of it. We want someone there to catch us, or hold us, or just tell us they’ll take the mental reins for five minutes while we snuggle up to their warmth.

But strangely it seems, at those times, no one is there. Why is that? Where does everyone go? Family, friends, fuck buddies ~ all hidden from view. You could have two people in your support group, or two hundred. But those moments just happen when not one of them is available.

It’s a fact of life. We’re in this alone. Regardless of our situation. Yes, it happens less often if we have maintained a strong support group. David makes a comment that single parents have drawn the short straw in this sense. As married people, they lost contact with the huggers they knew as single people, and don’t have the free time to recreate a new store of huggers for those days. I’m going to call horseshit on this one. First off, single parents have the same 24 hours a day that everyone else in the world has. So you can develop friendships, but you have to make a concerted effort to do that. Relationships take work. And if you’ve done the work, then you have them. Secondly, as I said, regardless of how many of these relationships you have, people don’t just hang around in the woodwork waiting to hand out appreciative, heartfelt hugs.

So some of us are hardworking single parents who just want a minute to be weak. Some of us are stay-at-home moms who just want a break from the hectic life where everyone wants something from us so we can get something back. Some of us are single with no imminent partner on the horizon and we want some hope that someday that partner will show up. Some of us are in relationships, but apart from our loved one for one reason or another. We can’t go get an intimate hug from someone else, so we just have to make it through the yearning.

In the end, we find ourselves pleasantly surprised when a stranger tells us we look fantastic. When a cashier lingers long in handing us our change. When a little child gives us the simple gift of whatever precious thing is in their hand at the moment. Or when one of our grown children calls to say something unexpected and very timely like, “Mom, I just called to say that you are the most amazing person I know!”

We muddle through those alone times. They happen to everyone. And they make us strong. We wish there were another way to become strong. But if wishes were horses…

Am I My Brother's Keeper?

2008-09-26T08:19:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to address a subject like this one. Worldwide, there are people who have coupled with someone they are displeased with for one reason or another. Yes, we adore one another during the whirlwind romance. We rip one another’s clothes off whilst in the throes of passion. And then married life settles in. We eat more than we should. Laze around on weekends more than we should. Women have babies. Men drink too much beer. So what does this create? A huge fear in those who will potentially marry. Will she get fat and lazy? Will he become planted in front of the TV with his beer, while his pants begin to be hard pressed to stay buttoned?

Our good doctor, Annie, is polling a few of her readers on this subject. She asked me for my two cents, and I decided that I have a couple hundred bucks to put in. Check her out. She'll be writing up a post with her conclusions on this in the near future.

So let’s say you are a man. A decent man. A man who has not become the TV couch potato and is working to make a living to support a family. You stay busy on weekends mowing the lawn, water skiing, jogging. You’re an active man who is just doing what he’s supposed to do to contribute maturely and properly to society. And here you are with a wife who has no interest in jogging or water skiing or yard work. She has put on a good fifty or sixty pounds over these child bearing years. She’s pretty busy taking care of the kids and the household. But that’s no excuse. Lots of women are busy and taking care of kids and they can still fit into their prom dresses! Why not your woman? Is she not at all concerned about the fact that you hate seeing her naked? Does she not think about the fact that she has put you in a very bad position. You are surrounded at work by women who have remained active and sexy and who are even older than she is. Doesn’t she realize that you are just a man with basic desires and that it’s just a matter of time before you give in to the lust you feel for other women? The lust you long ago lost for her? Besides, there is the health issue. She’s not getting any younger and if she gains much more weight, it could lead to some serious health problems. I mean, after all, you’re really just concerned for her, right? She’s the mother of your children. You are right to be concerned about her health.

Pardon me, while I go throw up.

The thing is that when you choose a partner, you choose them for who they are and who they aren’t. The scary part about that is that you probably have only a tiny inkling of the reality of exactly who they are and aren’t. And, of course, this applies from both sides of the fence. The paragraph above focused on the “fat wife” issue, because that is the specific area that Annie asked me about. But I think it’s such an important and foundational lesson to grasp that when you are in a relationship, this does not give you the right to decide how the other person should be. If you have chosen someone who doesn’t suit you, that is your own damn fault. So my first advice would be to take great care in making a lifelong commitment with someone!

But apart from all this, I think we need to seriously consider what we see as “acceptable” and “desirable” in a person. We happen to live in a society that worships physical beauty ~ that is repulsed by the aging process ~ that doesn’t value the real and true things about a person. We are presented with the image of say, a woman who is young, beautiful and successful. She also has a healthy self-image. She’s supportive of her husband in every way and is a wildcat in the bedroom. Unfortunately, this is often just an image. An icon. Not unlike an icon you find on your computer desktop! It’s not the real thing. We compare our mates to others. We compare ourselves to others! In fact, I think this is the real root of the problem. When you consider a person who is constantly critical of their mate, it is likely they are overly critical of themselves. And they are fucking pissed off that their mate is comfortable with their flaws! How dare they! I walk in misery, constantly striving for unattainable perfection, and you just lie there sleeping well through the night? Why aren’t you up, trying to improve yourself? Or at least be up thinking about your imperfections and how you SHOULD be improving yourself?

It’s a sick world, I tell you.

The fact is that if you have a healthy love for self, you are on the right track. First, you must be a good mate in order to find a good mate. Then, you must be reasonable about the person you choose to spend time with. And why you choose them. But it seems to me that if you are two people who like spending time with one another and you have mutual respect and consideration for one another, that’s the large part of it. Of course, there needs to be attraction. Some chemistry. Maybe even a lot of chemistry. But chemistry is unreliable. It can’t be depended on to last through the years. Because it involves too many variables. Most people who have reached a level of relational maturity understand that this is not a thing upon which to base a relationship. And if you are a man who likes skinny women, then go out and fucking choose a skinny woman! Don’t burden an average or voluptuous woman with your ridiculous affections when you have no intention of giving her anything real and true.

And then, things change. We change. We all do. This is not a bad thing. I once heard that a woman marries a man expecting him to change and a man marries a woman expecting her not to. And they are both doomed to disappointment. So there’s the rub.

Let me conclude with some advice from my father, whom I consider to be the wisest of all men.

He says, “Never… and I mean NEVER… mention someone’s weight.”

Seems simple enough.

***************************************

A Person's A Person, No Matter How Small

2008-08-23T01:11:00.000-07:00

And So It Goes...

2008-08-18T07:10:00.001-07:00

Yes, it was Becky Jo's birthday this last weekend. She turned twenty. You may recall Becky Jo from a few posts ago in a Christmas video. She's such a sweetie pie. Here is a picture of her doing her part in carrying the weight of the world.Becky has always been a pleasure to know. She's just one of those people who brightens up a room and leaves it a little darker when she exits. She and my son, Brady, have always been close friends. Here is a picture of them together from a few years ago. They've both gotten older, but I think the difference in height is still the same. Hee hee.

Which leads me to the introduction of BRADY'S OWN BLOG! Yes, my friends... my son has entered the blogosphere and I would like to invite each and every one of you to visit his new space. Give a little hello and visit often. I think you'll be glad you did!

Nice Guys Finish Last?

2008-08-13T07:09:00.000-07:00

Recently, one of my baby mamas broke my youngest son's heart. She told him she was no longer in love with him. This has been no fun. At any rate, they have split now, but he still spends daily time with his most precious darling baby girl, Alexa Jade.

Brady has been posting at his myspace blog and I asked for permission to post some of his quotes here.

He has this to say about this hard time:

Thank Heaven for Little Girls

... you gotta try and stay positive because life will go on remember? Fortunately, I have my daughter around to help me. She doesn't really know it but I talk to her for hours while she sleeps. It's kinda my therapy. But there's also when she's awake, we hang out and play and that's where the real magic happens. She reminds me of all the good things in this world, the reasons to be thankful you're alive and breathing, to be thankful for hugs and kisses and laughter. So it's getting better with time.

But this one especially touched me:

Nice Guys Finish Last

It always seems like no matter how kind you can be in life, people still screw you over without even thinking about it. But you know what, when I'm dead and gone I want people to remember who I was as a person. How giving I was, how thoughtful I was, how much I cared, how forgiving I was and overall I want people to think of me as an amazing person. Now I'm not saying that everyone will think that because I'm not the best person out there, but I am the best I can be. So people who are ass holes in this world might seem to get ahead in life. They get the girl, the job, the car. But to me all that means nothin. What really matters is the impact you have on people's lives. So my saying is "nice guys finish last...but they have the greatest endings." Personally, I would rather have that being said about me than the so called "achievements" I had in life by walking all over people. Life's not about how far you get but the impact you leave on the people you were around throughout your life.

All The Pretty Kitties

2008-07-03T04:01:00.000-07:00

This is Amy.

She is my little "Juno" friend from the earlier post about teen pregnancy. She sent me an email and I asked if she minded if I shared it with y'all. She said she would be honored. Amy is now 22 years old. Her daughter, Abby (pictured here) is six.

Teri~

My Mamma Kitty. I just read your blog Where Have All The Young Girls Gone. I think it's really cool that you mention me in it.

It was all you that helped me make my decision. I never felt pressured or judged by you. You gave me all options and supported me with whatever I decided. (like any mother should). I remember the day you came to my rescue like it was yesterday. My mother and Suzanne kidnapped me taking me to Park City to talk me out of getting an abortion. I felt horrible having to tell my mother that I was pregnant. You, with no questions asked drove up to Park City and took me out to dinner. Told me your story of getting pregnant young and how you felt and your fears. It is the greatest feeling in the world when you (a parent) opened up to your child and tell all because you have been there too. You made me feel so much better, so calm. I knew then what I wanted to do. That night you gave me a necklace, of a gold heart. It was your heart, it symbolized how much you loved me and how you would always be there for me. I wore it for years and still have it. Everytime I see it, I think of that night and how much you saved me.

I loved the movie Juno but for at least a week I was a little off. It was all too real for me and when I saw it, I had Abby with me so that made it even more off-putting. It was weird looking at Juno being 16 and pregnant and saying to myself look how young she looks. And then saying to myself oh my gosh, I looked that young. Watching Juno go get the abortion and backing out. Telling her parents.... Then the process of adopting the child out. In the end when everything starts going wrong and she breaks down and cries. I could feel that same ache in my heart it was so strong. Your heart hurts so bad and you feel it breaking and tearing apart. From that moment on you would never be the same.

I love you Mamma Kitty thank you for being such a gift in my life.

Love Amy

Where Have All The Young Girls Gone?

2008-06-28T15:08:00.001-07:00

When I was twenty, I became pregnant. Impregnated. With child. This also happened when I was eighteen. I had decided that time to have an abortion, but miscarried before I had to consider it seriously. This time, there was nothing to consider. I was going to have a baby. I thought no further than that. There was no fear. No anxiety or trepidation of any kind. I was at complete peace.

It was simply not bad news to me. I have no idea why. I barely even liked children. In fact, when I walked by children playing, I would shudder. I’m not kidding. I hated babysitting children when I was younger. I had no desire to have a family. No desire to even have a husband. I didn’t really have any plans, but my desire for my life was basically to have a job, a car, an apartment, and lots of freedom!

So why wasn’t this bad news? Again, no fucking idea.

The ONLY bad part was that I would have to tell my parents. My parents would DIE. I was sure of it. They didn’t have any specific plans for me, but as parents, they certainly knew that having a child would set a tone for my future that would probably make for a great hindrance.

From the moment that child was born, my life was changed. That instant. That terrible and hard delivery brought forth a child that created a force in me that has not stopped stirring since.

The delivery was so exhausting, and I had been so ill with toxemia, that the nurses couldn’t even hand him to me. They had to set him on a stand next to me. I feebly reached out my hand to hold his and the energy of that touch was the greatest thing I had ever felt. I was nearly twenty-one. And that will be twenty-seven years ago this July 10.

He is my first born son. And he is amazing. He changed my life. And I have never once… not for one moment… thought of him as a hindrance to anything. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I have a close friend whose daughter became pregnant at sixteen. She was struggling with whether or not to get an abortion. She asked me what I would do if I were her. I said, “You know what I did when I was you!” But I went on to tell her plainly that there is nothing in the world as wonderful as rocking your baby. Nothing as amazing as watching her become a young lady and get ready for her first prom. And nothing as horrifying as finding out she was killed in a car accident that night. I told her there was no one who could tell her what to do, because these were things she herself was going to have to choose, and she herself would have to live through. That whatever she decided to do, I would support her in her decision. She spent a good month talking with friends and relatives about her options. She chose adoption.

The movie JUNO brought all of this back to mind. Very emotional for me to watch. The thing that happened to my little friend was almost identical to what happened with Juno. The people backed out, six weeks before the baby was due. She was devastated. She would not even attempt to try to find another family she felt she could trust to deserve her precious gift. So she decided to keep the little one. And precious she is. Adored by so many.

When my youngest son, at eighteen, told me his girlfriend was pregnant, how could I respond with anything but supportiveness? That baby has changed his life.

All of these children changed lives. And will continue to do so.

Does this mean I encourage teenage pregnancy? That I think the pact that the girls in the news made to have babies en masse is a good idea? Of course not. In fact, if you sat down and talked with me, you would soon discover that I do not encourage pregnancy for anyone at all! I still am not of a mind that everyone should have babies. That every woman should think of herself as incomplete until she’s a mother. That every man should think himself incomplete until he has a family. What wretchedness that sort of thinking brings. I’ve watched people fall to pieces in agony, just hoping for offspring. Children do not complete us. They are the manifestation of creative energy. They are the continuance of life. The outpouring of spirit.

And they are themselves. Not an extension of us.

When Is The Last Time You Felt Like This?

2008-06-25T19:33:00.001-07:00

My niece, Becky Jo, has the sweetest boyfriend in the world. For Christmas, he gave her an ipod, with this home-made video loaded onto it. Along with a note that said, "press play."

Honest to God... as it was passed around for all to see, every woman in the family was brought to tears.

And here is another of their shorts that I watch whenever I am down and really need to laugh. That girl has the most contagious laughter! She'll soon be twenty. And I can't believe that I get to be her auntie!

Auntie's Brag Book

2008-06-05T08:20:00.000-07:00

Graci is my niece.

Her mommy is my baby sister.

I adore them both.

Graci is the sweetest and most darling girl. She’s got a feisty temper, but when she cries it will melt your heart. She is always someone I can count on coming by to see me when I fly home for a visit. She is often there waiting at my parents house. No matter how late my flight comes in.

Once, when I answered the door, she was just crying her little heart out. She grabbed me and hugged me so tight, her body shaking from the weeping. She was dating a guy who, at one point, said he wanted to date other people. Which is fine. I mean they are young. (Graci is 22.) But the dumbshit doesn’t really know what that means. She had asked him if he wanted to hang out and do something that night and he said he had a date! A date! I just don’t get it. When you are dating other people, you don’t TELL them you can’t see them because you have a date with someone else! I know you guys are cute, but no one is THAT cute! It’s important to be sensitive. I don’t mean you have to lie. You can just say you have plans. You are busy. Whatever. But… I have a date???!!

So I took her shopping. Yeah, that’s what aunties do when their nieces are sad. Well this auntie takes you to the sex shop to buy something sexy. We picked out a few things and she went to try them on. At one point, I brought her out to the sales clerk and I said, “Look at this! Can you believe that the guy she’s dating said he can’t see her tonight because he has a date with someone else!” He said, “Who the hell does he have a date with… a supermodel?” I bought her the outfit. And I got her some really great high-heeled fuck-me shoes to go with it! I put one condition on the outfit. HE was never allowed to see it. She could show it off to any man in the world, except that one.Anyway, that was just one story of Graci. She went to culinary school in San Francisco. This was so hard on her, as she’d never been far from home. We are a very close family. My granddaughter (the first one to be born among us sisters) was born, Graci wasn’t there. This was very hard on her. When she came to visit on Thanksgiving, BrynLeigh was two months old. I will never forget the sight of Graci when she first saw that baby. She walked into the room, saw Bryn in her little seat and Graci just started to cry. Every emotion that she’d had while away from family was brought to the surface at the sight of that little face. Absolutely precious.

At any rate, Graci doesn’t just cry all the time. She’s vivacious and fun. She enters the room like a whirlwind. She’s impossible to ignore. And she has the greatest taste in clothes. Always unique and personalized... and she wears fun stuff like this:

Graci is now a very hard working, early rising girl who makes pastries at a bakery. I love going in to see her and she always gives me very special attention and something yummy to eat. She’s my little darling and I adore her!

I’ve always referred to Graci and my daughter as “the twins.” They are so much alike. It is their fault that I love Spongebob Squarepants. People had told me to watch the show and I tried. I just didn’t think it was funny. But one day, Erin and Graci started acting out scenarios between Spongebob and Patrick. Oh. My. God. I could have died laughing! And now when I watch the show, I think I actually think it’s THEM acting the parts! (But I don’t like Sandy… the Squirrel on the show. She bugs me. Wonder who could play her part and make me like it.) Erin and Graci are so much fun just to watch interact. I used to joke that we need to create a sitcom called “The Erin and Graci Show.” (This was several years ago, when Graci was a brunette. But when they laugh, you gotta laugh with them!)

So… this summer, Graci may be moving to Los Angeles to live with Erin. This would be so good for her. She does not belong in the middle (or the top, as we call it) of Utah. Not at all. She’s a California girl. That’s all there is to it. As homesick as she was, she had loved living in San Francisco and I know she’d love L.A. Plus, she and Erin would have so much fun! The twins, back together again! So if you see these girls in your wanderings, you’d just better get outta the way! Cause they haul ass to have fun! They love life and they are living every minute of it! Or, if you can keep up, you can join the parade! (That's Graci in the middle, and on the right is Becky Jo. The Becksta! She's another of my nieces, and just as worthy of adoration. I will write about her next time! The fella on the left is George, Becky's soulmate.)

You May Be Right ~ I May Be Crazy

2008-06-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

You know what I love about my kids? Not one of them is insecure about who they are. None of them goes about seeking approval. There really is nothing more that I could want for my children. They have hard knocks, of course. And it kills me. You always wish you could protect your loved ones from having to go through any amount of pain. Which is an odd mechanism we have, because we all know that it’s during the painful times that we really grow. Still… no fun.

Weird though. We want to deprive our children of the very thing that will develop a strong character. Fortunately, for them, we cannot actually accomplish this. If we could, we would wind up doing the opposite; creating a very unstable and insecure person who has no purpose. No purpose at all. I can’t imagine a more horrible type of imprisonment than that.

All of this self-confidence sounds very well and good, right? Well oddly enough, and as attractive as it is, I’ve found that others sort of bristle at this trait. They get pissed off because you are not miserable like they are. When someone tries to get you to do something “their” way and you refuse, people cry out, “Good for you!” But when THEY are the ones trying to get “their” way, it’s a whole different cry they make! They say, “Oh… so you think you are perfect? You think that just because I tell you that the way you are is not okay that you don’t have to listen?” To this I say, “Why the fuck would you want to tell me that I’m not okay the way I am???” And then they say, “Well no one is perfect.” So, let me get this straight. No one is perfect. And you think that because I say I don’t have to become the way you think I should be that I’m saying I’m perfect? And you also think that it’s your job to help me accomplish this perfection?

Seriously. Someone explain to me why this is made out to be a rational way of thinking.

Here’s what I say:

Society does very much try to impress its wily ways on us, so those of us who are parents try desperately to teach our children to have a strong enough character not to succumb to those ways. Those of us who are people just living in a society, try to spend our time strengthening our own characters so that those around us are not what we choose to let define us.

And who is society? Well we all like to think that society is “those evil forces around us.” When, in fact, society is us. I think it would be nice if we could stop behaving like the evil forces and make the positive difference.

Lexi in Converse Chucks!

2008-05-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

This kind of cute is enough to kill a grandma who longs to squeeeeeeeze her!

Gramma Loves

2007-10-15T10:35:00.000-07:00

So I went to see the movie, 3:10 to Yuma this weekend. Super good movie. Very thought provoking and full of insight into the lives of men. Not a lot about women, but that’s okay. What little there was about women was good. But I like the study of men. There was a serious struggle on the part of one of the main characters, played by the most excellent and superb Christian Bale. A father whose son sees him as a weakling. As a man who is unwilling to fight in the way the boy thinks a man should. And in the course of the story, the boy finds out a lot about the hardness of life. Russell Crowe is wonderful, as was expected. And full of his own demons (and angels). Highly recommended by the cathouse.

Got a call yesterday morning that my baby (The Sweet Light That Shines) was in the hospital. Her tummy was hard and distended and they discovered she had three days worth of food in her system. Not a good thing. They took x-rays. The nurse said to her, “We’re going to take a picture of your belly, okay?” Bryn says, “Oh goodie!” (Loves having her picture taken.) Nurse says, “Go stand over there and we’ll take the picture.” Bryn says, “Stand on the square?” “Yep.” (Anyone who has been around my blog for long, knows how fucking seriously Bryn takes her fucking shapes!) She stands on the square and says, “Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez!”

Then the doctors and nurses tortured her for awhile, taking blood tests and stool samples and inserting catheter and giving enemas. Poor thing. Makes me cry. I asked her mommy if she was scared and she said, “Yes, she’s was crying a lot.” Then went on to tell me that, at one point, they wanted to take another picture of her tummy, but she had to lie down on a table this time and a machine was going to roll over top of her. This upset her immensely and she didn’t want to cooperate. The nurse said, “If you sit still for the picture, I’ll give you as many of these stickers as you want!” Bryn says, “Can I have three of them?” (God love the little children. They think three is a lot.) Nurse says, “Of course you can have three!” Bryn adds, “Because I’m three!” And then, “Can I have the princess sticker? Because I’m a princess! Huh, mom, I’m a princess.. huh?” (nodding)

And she is. A real princess. Which is cool. We all think our daughters and granddaughters are princesses, but this one really is. So there.

She's okay now. Her mommy took her home after about twelve hours in the hospital. (They got her all cleaned out.) They wanted to keep her a little longer, just to be sure she was eating okay. Mommy said, "I can do that at home." I wish I was a brave mommy like that when I was her age. I thought doctor's were the bosses of me back then.

Also, if you all recall, a few months ago my other baby (The Precious Pearl) was going to move in with me, but events went a different direction. Now, plans are in order to get The Sweet Light and her mommy moved in with me at the end of November. Yay us!

POSTSCRIPT: BrynLeigh's daddy (Jake) just found out today that his wife is having a boy. I told Bryn's mommy (Tiny) and she advised Bryn that she's gonna have a baby brother. Bryn said, "It's my brother not yours, k?"

Can't You Hear the Angels Callin'?

2007-09-14T13:56:00.000-07:00

So yeah, I'm not really gracious at all. For instance, I have been exposed to the web world for a number of years. My profiles say that I'm in a relationship. Yet I still get contacted by men who say, "yr my kind of women u want a fuck buddy?"

I have a myspace account. All my old-school IT friends turn their noses up at me. They say myspace is for perverts and lame-ass uncreative people who don't know enough to make their own web pages. Well, it's entirely possible that I fit into BOTH of those categories.

But my experience with myspace has been very positive. Even though I still get the idiotic messages asking for a poke. Here is what I recently added to my profile, in hopes of deterring said messages.

Calling all dumbfucks! If you are a dumbfuck and perusing my profile, by all means, please do ignore the fact that I am in a relationship and send me a message advising me that you are looking for a woman. It goes over very well with me.

Not exactly gracious. Hee.

I started up a Myspace account at the prompting of my youngest son. But it turned out to be a really neat way to keep in touch with my nieces and the young people I know, as well. I have spent a life around young people. Honestly. I didn't mean for it to be this way. When I was a young woman of eighteen or twenty, I would walk by children playing and just shudder. I mean shudder! I did NOT want to have THOSE in my life. Apparently, the powers-that-be had other plans for me. I mean yes, I did get pregnant. And I had no problem at all being happy about the pregnancy. And I adored that child. Still do. I got pregnant two more times, even! Once, on PURPOSE! Sheesh! But just because you have kids, doesn't necessarily mean you have to HAVE kids! My house is where the kids of the neighborhood hung out. My house is where working mothers brought their sick children when the daycare wouldn't take them. My house is where the parties were. Where the moms gathered for coffee, while the kids played in the back yard. My house was kid central!

I really loved all of those children. As I got older, my kids got older, right? But my damn friends would keep having kids! So there were always babies to rock. Toddlers to enjoy. And now that my friends aren't having children any more, my children are having children!

And I swear to you, when I walk down the street, if children see me, they follow me like I'm the fucking pied piper! God put some sort of mark on me. Maybe it's a sign that says, "Kick me," I dunno.

I know women who are mothers of grown children who say things like, "Wow! Look at that baby! It's been so long since I've taken care of a baby, I don't think I'd know how!" I have never uttered those words. Once, a friend came over to my house. My kids were all teens at the time and off doing their own thing. Her little four-year-old was bouncing around, being all precocious and darling. My friend says to me, "Don't you miss having little ones around?" I answer, "When exactly would I miss it?"

So back to Myspace. I knew many young people. When I got a divorce, most of their parents shunned me. So my auntie relationship with those kids disappeared. Until they found me on Myspace. :)

Now I enjoy that contact. These young people have helped me through some very hard times. They alway tell me how much they love me and how I rock and what a lovely inspiration I am to them! Food for the soul... food for the soul...

Clearly, in the plan, it was for my benefit that all of these were put into my life. I suppose they benefit, too. But I think I'm getting the best end of the bargain.

Por Ti Volare

2007-08-29T19:39:00.000-07:00

I won't be posting for a few days. I think the sweet woman in this story deserves AT LEAST that from me. If you visit, it will be the same old sorrowful thing.

For you I'll fly
When I live alone
I dream of a horizon
with no words.
In the shadow and amongst lights
for my sight it's all black
if you are not with me . . . here.

You
in your world
separated from mine by an abyss.
Hear
call me
I'll fly
to your distant world.

For you I'll fly.
wait for me I'll arrive
my trip's end is you
for living it we two.
For you I'll fly
by skies and seas
up to your love.
Opening the eyes at last
with you I'll live

When you are far
I dream of an horizon
with no words.
And I know that you are always there, there
a moon made for me
always illuminated for me
because of me, because of me, because of me . . . *

For you I'll fly
wait for me I'll arrive
my trip's end is you
with you I'll live.

For you I'll fly
by skies and seas
up to your love.
Opening the eyes at last
with you I'll live.

For you I'll fly
by skies and seas
up to your love.
Opening the eyes at last
with you I'll live.

For you I'll fly . . .

The Sorrows of Hell Compassed Me About

2007-08-28T16:12:00.000-07:00

This is my son, Jake. He is a very special person. He is attuned to the world in an intense way. I wish that everyone could comprehend his specialness. But that is the way of specialnesses, right? It’s hard to understand BECAUSE it’s special. He's also the daddy of the swinging princess in the picture down below.

I love this picture of him, because it expresses so much of his capacity to feel. In it, he seems both desperate and hopeful. It’s a hard job feeling all the feelings of the world.

And if you could hear him play Clare de Lune on the piano, it would bring you to tears. My favorite is always Canon in D, though. I swear, in my darkest days, if he played that for me it would fill my soul.

If music be the food of love, play on!

Anyway, I’m sad today. And I feel like that picture of Jake.

Recently, I met a friend of my son (the other son). A very nice young man. Brady will soon be working with him. I met him when I was down south a week and a half ago. While we were talking, he started telling me about his mom and what she does. His eyes shined so brightly while talking about her. “She sells jewelry,” he said. And then he showed me some of her pieces. He got her on the phone to check to see if he could sell me certain pieces or if she could order one I wanted that wasn’t displayed. It just struck me how much he admired his mother and what she does.

And then Brady tells me today that she died in a car accident over the weekend.

Let the tears fall.

Introspective Three-Year-Old

2007-08-26T12:41:00.000-07:00

Photo Taken by BrynLeigh's Lovely Auntie Laura

Good Stuff, Maynard

2007-08-24T18:21:00.001-07:00

Okay, apparently they couldn't fit it onto one. (??) What the fuck do I know. I'm the retard, remember? Still worth it, even pieced together. I dun-wanna-nuther YouTube window here. So here's the thingy. (Say, "Thanks, retard." And then say, "Good night, Gracie.")

You Can't Make This Shit Up

2007-08-24T15:39:00.000-07:00

I once met a man who had been unhappily married for thirteen years. He said to me, "I wish I had met a woman like you thirteen years ago!" I said, "I wasn't even a woman like me thirteen years ago!"

Got a phone call one day at the office. When I told the man on the other end of the line what my name was he said, "Are you related to the Ahlstroms from Salt Lake City?" I said, "No, my grandparents didn't have any children that lived."

Another time, I got an obscene call at that same office. The man on the phone said, "I want to see three women sexually satisfying one another." I said, "Well who doesn't???!!"

I have a friend who is in his fifties. He's in great shape. A young man once said to him, "Man, I hope I look as good as you do when I'm your age!" My friend replied, "You don't look as good as I do NOW!"

I've spent a fair amount of time pleasuring men. One man said to me, "You are every man's dream!" I laughed and said, "I don't want to be every man's dream. I want to be one man's reality."

To those who are in pain today, emotionally, spiritually or physically. The thing about life ~ If you're gonna live it, you're gonna feel it!

My nieces and their friend, George.
May all of you have as lovely a weekend as they seem to be having here!

Wordy Wednesday

2007-08-22T10:05:00.000-07:00

Little Lexi Jade (my five-month-old granddaughter)

SO, I am sorta bugged that either a) no one watched that hilarious no-rack video on my last post or b) the hilarious no-rack video was watched and no one commented on it (which is beyond believing!)

I realize everyone was overwhelmed by shots of my rack (which rack would depend on your sexual preference ~ kitchen wizards are ... well we won't go into what sort of sexual preferences they have).

So get to it, people!

BST!!!

2007-08-21T01:50:00.000-07:00

Warning: Do not read this post if you don't like pornography!

So, Purrty Jami and I were talking about body shots. The conversation ranged from jello shots to the generic (hardly generic!) salt and lime with tequila body shots I enjoyed with a few fellas in Park City. NO, I won't be relating that story here.

But all of this really started when I showed Jami a picture of my rack. I've had many requests for a picture of my rack, so for your entertainment (and you didn't even have to ask!) here it is:

Yes, I love my rack. It's very useful, as you can see. Holds my microwave. It's important to be able to heat things up! And it's also very pretty, when adorned with flowers.

The truth is, though, that this really really all started when I sent Purrty Jami (whom I also refer to as Jammie or Jammies) a close-up photo, via text messaging, of my bosom. This picture was entitled, "Jammie Shirt," because I purchased this shirt in the Jammies department but I wear it as a shirt in public! Can you imagine that! I had also shared photos of my feet, face and hand with Our Miss Jenn of Holland on another day. So Jami and I decided to start a new blogging trend. You know, you've heard of Soap Opera Sunday (SOS) and Wordless Wednesday (WW) and Half Nekkid Thursday (HNT) ~ well... this is Body Shots Tuesday! (You can get drunk for this, too, if you like ~ isn't that nice of me to give you permission ~ or, as I like to say, purrrrrrrmission!)

Without further adieu, ladies and gentleman, in the soon-to-be tradition of BST, here is my "Jammie Shirt!"

AND this is my last-friday-shirt, sometimes called "The Oo La La Shirt."

Now, while I was wearing the last-friday-shirt, I drove to Southern California. I was there to get laid. And to move out of my place I've been renting down there. Not necessarily in that order, but yes, it was in that order. Now it's true I can get laid anywhere, ne c'est pas? But not like that! Non non, mon ami!

(Don't start answering me en Francais! I don't speak French!)

Anyway, the point is that I moved out of yet ANOTHER place. My boyfriend met me two years ago. I have moved eight times since then. I think. Seriously, I've lost count. He has never once said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

But no matter how many times I move, I have this feeling of melancholy on that last day of departure. There is a line in a song from the movie, "Evita," which always comes to mind at that moment and I feel exactly like that. In fact, I feel like that whole song. So I'm posting the lyrics here. If I was smart like you guys, I would just put the fucking song here, but noooooooooooooooooooooooooo... it's two a.m. and I just don't feel like figuring that out now.

Another Suitcase in Another Hall

I don't expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it -- wouldn't you?

Time and time again I've said that I don't care
That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through
But every time it matters all my words desert me
So anyone can hurt me--and they do

Call in three months time and I'll be fine I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion
But that's no consolation--here and now
So what happens now?

Another suitcase in another hall
Take your picture off another wall
You'll get by, you always have before

Where am I going to?

(My blues-y lounging picture while listening to and pondering the song.)

Now we can only hope that our ladies mentioned above will follow suit, and then the rest of you, I would expect!

Get creative! Don't do dumb "rack shots" like Teri did on the first day!

*Update: So Miss Jenn found some YouTube videos of the song. You can view either or both or neither! It's up to you to figure out which one is so very expressive of the serious melancholy mood I was trying to share. I had to let Jenn advise me how to embed them. Yes, we were embedding at two a.m.! We got pretty turned on.

(There are no racks in the second video.)

I Love To Go A-Wandering

2007-08-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

I was driving southbound on the 5 freeway in Los Angeles yesterday evening at around six p.m. This is crazy, you say? Of course it is. And I make this 450 mile trip at least twice a month! As I drove I watched the people around me. I saw a car going the other direction in which one man (passenger) was laughing uncontrollably and talking on a cell phone. The other man (driver) was completely stoic and looking straight at the road ahead. I thought, Hmm… those two men are having entirely different experiences here in the traffic today. I resisted the sudden urge to yell at the man driving, “Sucks to be you!”

As I drove, and watched everyone get all fucked up and frustrated because they can’t seem to get two or three cars further up in line, I began to wonder. Why is it that we get so angry when we’re stuck in traffic? Why, as two bloggers have recently pointed out, is a double drive-thru conducive to stabbings?

I was perfectly happy in my car, moving at a snail’s pace. But why? Well, I had great music on the stereo. I was comfortable. It was hotter than hell out there, but I had my A/C on. I had a full tank of gas. Now, don’t get me wrong! I was in a hurry, just like everyone else! I very much wanted to get where I was going! After all, I was gonna get laid! This is important to me! But I was okay right where I was, too.

So is that it? Are we all in a hurry to be anywhere but here? Can we not enjoy where we are any more? We seem to have never outgrown that impatient childish question, “Are we there yet?”

I’ve been a lot of places. Which means I’ve been on my way to a lot of places! My father taught me very early on that you should never wait for the merriment to begin when you get to your destination. You should start the fun when you leave the house. That too, is part of the pleasure. We have all read the quips about how it’s the journey that matters, not the destination. And we all know this is really a lie. If I’m getting all dressed up to go to a big event for which I purchased tickets months ago, I’m pretty sure that when I remember the evening, it won’t be the journey that stands out. But the journey can certainly be a part of the lovely, exciting or quirky story.

So here is my conclusion. I say we should just enjoy ourselves right where we are. Because we certainly can’t enjoy ourselves right where we are not! I’m tired of being in a hurry to get where I’m not. Over There is usually overrated anyway.

When Bloggers Collide

2007-08-16T05:36:00.000-07:00

OMG! BFF! Don't ya love meeting your blogger friends? I met up last weekend with Vixen, of the Bad Girls Guide. This was our second meeting. She drove out to my town this time and we had a helluva time. It just makes me sad that EVERYONE couldn't be there.
Our Miss Jenn of Holland read Vixen's post and said, "Ooooooooooooo, shoes!" So I took a picture of the shoes I was wearing and here you go! Feet up on the desk and everything!

Vix calls me a shoe whore. I do have a fair amount of GORGEOUS shoes. But only because I have a gracious friend who loves to make me pretty. She's always been that way, even in high school. It's nice when you have female friends who are not in competition with you. I think women should love seeing one another shine.

When Our Miss Bad Girl showed up on Sunday, she was shining! She's a beautiful woman and was dressed in one of the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen. It was handcrafted in Nigeria and the bright blue and red was stunning. We drove around town a bit until we found a lovely little Indian restaurant. We spent hours there talking about very real life. My favorite subject.

So, when it comes to meeting our fellow blog-writers, I'd recommend Vixen very highly. A true pleasure of a meeting. You can visit her blog to see her take on the visit!

And I expect to see all of you at her blog and commenting quite frequently from now on! I'll be watching you!

No Mo' Pretty Teri ~ Mos' Def'

2007-08-14T10:16:00.000-07:00

There’s something to be said for passion. I used to say that a lot. Mostly when Brady was three years old and I would be out in the front yard, talking with a neighbor. He would stop his playing and run up at me full force to hug me around the legs, nearly knocking me over! That was a passionate boy. He’s still that way. I had to stop the running-at-me-to-hug-me thing (since I knew he was bound to be over six feet tall), but he does it with his girlfriend (who is about five foot one and weighs about 97 pounds, soaking wet). She can take it, though. She’s a tough cookie. When their baby, Lexi, was born a month premature, the nurses would have her under the warm light and be beating her back with a little rubber pad to make sure her lungs were working. I would watch them doing this seemingly harsh thing to that baby who weighed just over four and half pounds and think, “Well, I guess it’s making her strong. Just like a baby giraffe.” Kick-kick-kick. “Get up! Get up and run! Before the lions get you!”

Brady also used to be behind me in the car, in his car seat, when he was less than a year old. He would be drinking his bottle and when it was empty, he would just THROW it. Not at anything specific, he just threw it. But I developed the habit of cringing and covering my head protectively as soon as I heard that end-of-the-bottle sound. At one point, I realized this was INSANE! What was I doing? I was frightened of an infant?? I decided to teach him to control this impulse.

Now, what do we do with our passionate impulses? Did anyone teach us to control them? I think it’s great to feel strongly about the things we believe in. But it’s a double-edge sword. We feel passionately excited about the positive things, and we are really really really really pissed off about the negative things that happen with the things we love. The scale is all over the place.

Let’s talk about the holocaust. Yep. People should have been outraged and reacted strongly to that. There should have been such an outcry from humankind that the earth shook. I think just about everyone agrees with this. People were dying and it was wrong. But what about abortion? War? Global warming? Should we be marching about grabbing people by the shoulders and shaking them saying, “WHY aren’t you doing anything about this??” We could say people are dying. We could say people will be dying.

I previously posted a comment by a reader who stated that (yeah I know I said we were going to be done with this, but we’re not!) when Natalie Maines made her statement about the Prez, she brought about confusion in the world about our country and caused the deaths of Americans. What? Fuckin’ hell.

Abortion doctors have been killed in the name of God to save lives. People have been burned at the stake, in the name of God again, in order to save souls. Soldiers are dying daily, in the name of ~ oh probably God again ~ in order to preserve life and freedom. Sheryl Crow jabs and grabs important people, in the name of um… I dunno… (starts with a Go__ … Al Gore? Hehehe) in order to save the earth.

So anyway, misplaced passions. How do we know when ours are defined thus? Well we really never do. We only know when others have gone wrong with theirs. Our own, we treat very delicately because our own precious egos are wrapped in them.

Just Bein' Pretty (And Dirty)

2007-08-11T09:39:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's a terrible thing when a girl like me starts thinking. In fact, it should be against the law. So enough of that!

I'm sitting in bed eating crackers. I have a feeling I will regret it. No matter how careful you are SOME crumbs get under those god damned covers! You could go around and seal them tight enough to bounce a coin off of them. As soon as you sit on top with a handful of crackers, the crumbs start crawling off the plate and searching for the smallest little opening to sneak through. Then, when sleeping that night, your entire bed could be crumb free ~ but if you roll over onto one or two of those microscopic things that sneaked in, it will suddenly be impossible to sleep! The princess and the pea? Pah! The queen and the crumb, I tell ya! ONE little crumb can make for a sleepless night! And just brushing the sheets off won't do. Even undoing the bed and shaking every article before making the bed doesn't work, either. They have GOT to be washed all over again. It's the only remedy.

So, why then, am I eating crackers in bed? I think I mentioned that my bed is the only piece of furniture in the house, because I insisted on spending a ridiculous amount of money on it.

The floor then? Are you kidding? I only sit on the floor when there is company over for dinner and we serve in the empty living room! Sheesh! Do you know nothing of etiquette?

So I was thinking about conservation. Honestly, this word and me have pretty much nothing to do with one another. We are not even acquainted, let alone friends~

I read a quote by Cameron Diaz (yes, her again!) in which she is responding to the question of what contribution she makes toward conservation. She says, "I turn off the water when I'm shaving my legs."

I'm with Cam!

And here's a little chuckle for ya:

Shut Up and Sing

2007-08-09T07:35:00.000-07:00

To speak or not to speak. That is the question.

I do NOT like to promote political talk here. Although I love a good debate! I made the mistake of wandering across that line in my last post and I would like to address some of the responses here. People are free to rant in the comment section here, but after this, we will let this subject lie, like a sleeping dog. Maybe. Probably.

Brad K. said:

About the Dixie Chicks... I served in the US Navy. And it seems to me that making a statement against the President, overseas, from an entertainment stage, ignores a lot of lessons learned. Natalie's statement surely created confusion among allies, weakened the President's ability to serve and protect America. She also increased the probability that foreign forces would shoot and kill American soldiers, and increased the number of Americans in uniform and civilian that would be killed overseas.

There are ways to prosecute attacks and complaints about our government that don't endanger American service men and women. The Dixie Chicks didn't use one of them.

I would expect no other opinion from an ex military man. You can take the man out of the military, but you can't take the military out of the man.

I grew up in that environment and I know it very well. I do not at all agree with what Brad K. says. I also don't agree with Sornie and Soccer Mom that you must vote in order to have the right to complain. I believe just the opposite is true. If you agree to participate in the voting process, then you agree to accept the outcome. If you remove yourself from that process, then you are not bound by that acceptance clause. But I will defend to the death anyone's right to speak their own passionate conscience. (When my children were at home, they were welcome to disagree with me. But all complaints had to be in writing. This cut the complaints WAY down! Hehehe.)

I would never begrudge someone their right to be strongly supportive of the war and George W. Bush. I would also never begrudge someone their right to be strongly against the war, as well as George W. Bush, etc.

My point was not that we should agree or disagree with what someone believes (and says in public or private, in country our out of country) but to stand beside them as fellow humans and say, "Give me liberty, or give me death!"

You may view my short article from some time past here ~

The Dixie Chicks

Georgia On My Mind

2007-08-07T10:36:00.000-07:00

I was gonna say George, but I like Georgia better.

2020 Presidential Candidate Diesel McPhlanigan (I think that's the best last name for a Diesel) has got me thinking about voting. Well first Hillary and Bob Loblah (that one guy) got me thinking about voting.

I've been listening to chatter in the background. The things people say. It does often amaze me that people let such things pour out of their mouths. Sort of like the day I was attending a local Baptist gathering in Southern California, when I heard member after member shout the plaintive cry, "Why, oh why, do we have to let all of these Mexicans live in our country? And seriously, why would we have to educate their illegal children?" They were right. I think we should throw out every single person in the country who is of foreign descent. And if we can't, then the least we can do is make sure that their children are not in school, but on the streets where they belong! Oh wait. The Mexicans were here before we were. Or at least before I was! Dammit, now I have to leave! Or toss my children to the streets.

Yes, I'm sure Diesel's Jesus quote was very close, only I think it was more like, "You will always have the poor with you, but be sure you keep them out of your country."

It's good to be a Christian.

ANYWAY, sorry to have gotten off track. The chatter I've been hearing has been like this:

1. If you don't vote, that's fine (which it's not ~ anyone who doesn't vote will tell you that no one tells them that it's fine) but you will have no right to complain about the elected leaders!

2. The Dixie Chicks had no right to bad mouth the president. They voted, and the one they picked didn't win. They need to accept it and stop complaining!

So which is it? If you vote you don't get to complain or if you don't vote you don't get to complain? I'm thinking the message is, "Sit down and shut up!" Which is of course the most American of messages, right?

Silly me. I always thought the American message was to speak up.

Vote for Diesel

Farrah Moans

2007-08-03T09:24:00.000-07:00

I attended a sex toy party while I was in Utah. Yep, right there in the middle of one of the most conservative spots in the entire country. (The C-Spot, if you will.) The next day, there was an article in the paper about the swarm of these parties sweeping the state. They said that there are so many children being born there that we can only assume that SOMEBODY is having sex! I told my Slumber Parties “sex consultant” that this was a good thing, since I once read (via Kevin Bacon) that the key to a lasting relationship is to “keep the fights clean and the sex dirty!”

They offered up all sorts of “romance enhancements.” One of them being bottled pheromones. The next day I received a text message from my sister that she used her “farrah moans” and couldn’t keep her honey-pie’s hands off of her! This is my clever sister. Once I was trying to check the volume control on my hands-free cell phone device. I called her and asked her to start talking so I could do some adjustments. I realize that as soon as you say this, people clam up, so I came up with a suggestion. “Recite the Gettysburg address to me while I work on this.” A moment of total silence. During which I remember that my sister knows as much about history as I do about nunnery! But she’s a trooper. Without a word of complaint she began…. “Fourscore and seven years ago… our Father, who art in heaven… indivisible… with liberty and justice for all… oh, and the home of the braves.” I could have died laughing.

Off the subject, I am tired of getting warnings via email. Warnings about everything under the sun. From “don’t walk alone on the streets at night” to “always wear a space suit when going to the moon.” I received a warning today from a very dear friend of mine. I do hope she doesn’t read this. :) This warning was about the dangers of using your cruise control on wet or icy roads. Are you fucking kidding me? Anyone who has ever actually driven under such conditions knows that the KEY to controlling your vehicle is CONTROLLING YOUR VEHICLE! No, no… let’s let the car control itself… that should do the trick! I mean really… the car wants to remain intact as much as I do, right? WRONG! The car LOVES to hydroplane. Loves, loves, loves it. It’s fun! And if anyone tells me that they have made this mistake, I’m gonna slap them fuckin’ silly!

Utah, Oh Utah, You Four-Letter-Word

2007-07-30T12:45:00.000-07:00

Hello from the land of Zion! I'm so sorry to my friends out in blogland for my absence. I KNOW how awful it is when someone seems to be on the dark side of the moon! It's been a trip full of stress, some good and some bad. But, I am leaving here day after tomorrow and will get back to at least a small amount of normalcy.

Thanks for your patience, everyone ~ for not forgetting about me! :)

Love and Hugs to all.

Okay fine. Here's a little something anyway. While out one night ~ in CLEARFIELD UTAH, of all places (Saturday, to be specific-er) ~ we met the comedian Jim Gaffigan. Here's a picture of him chatting with my niece. (It's an awful picture of him. He's plenty good looking in real life.) He and his friend bought us a couple of rounds of drinks. Very nice guy. Down to earth and friendly. Didn't behave like a drunken party animal or anything! (Which he could easily have gotten away with, since we were acting just LIKE that!)

Paddling on the Potomac

2007-07-23T03:26:00.001-07:00

Ah, this is the life. I'm visiting a friend who lives in Alexandria. We left from the marina and, once anchored, we dropped into the river on little chairy rafts. One fella was so cute, he would just pull us in by our ropes and refill our champagne glasses. Total ya-ya day. Fun in the sun.

Thanks so much to everyone for leaving your well wishes! It's odd to be so out of touch with my blog world. We're going back to Hampton today for a couple of days and then off to Utah for my REAL vacation. I'll be stopping by from time to time when I can. I'll expect someone to fill my glass. :)

Hampton

2007-07-16T17:12:00.001-07:00

Two weeks. :)

This Is Not About Diesel

2007-07-13T20:45:00.000-07:00

There's a man in the apartment building who walks his dog. I see him often in the elevator. He has a weenie dog. Yeah, I know what they're REALLY called, but this man is such a weenie, that I have to call his dog a weenie, too. ANYWAY, every single god damned fucking time I've seen this man, his dog wants to lick my feet. And the man spends he entire time in the elevator telling the weenie not to do that. Doesn't say a word to me. Just keeps telling the dog to stop it. The dog does not even pretend to start stopping. And it occurred to me that this man constantly gives commands to his dog and the dog never listens. "Ginger... blah blah blah blah..."

Comedians have something to say...

2007-07-11T17:52:00.000-07:00

No, seriously! They do! They are not kidding around!
Even Diesel has something to say! Go visit him at his mattress place!

As for me, I'm going to dinner.
BUT, as a comedian, I have something to say.

A man who loves money more than he loves his woman is an idiot!

That's all for now.

Love to all (as in Tiny Tim love.. Dickens' Tiny Tim, not the weird singer guy)

No, wait! That's not all for now!
I'm gonna be a grandma again! So there!

Which Way Is Up?

2007-07-10T16:02:00.000-07:00

Don't you think it's strange that people are willing to pay $20 plus per hour to someone to clean their house and they want to pay only $10 per hour to take care of their precious children? I always thought this was odd. My daughter sometimes babysits for a friend who pays her at LEAST $20 per hour to watch her son. She explains it just that way. "Why would I pay her less than I pay someone who is just cleaning my earthly possessions? He is the very most important thing in the world to me~!" No shit. That lady is right on.

So I was looking at a picture of my boyfriend today and it made my mouth water. Yes, he was fully dressed. Good thing I'm seeing him on Friday.

Sex, sex, sex all weekend. Then to the East Coast on Monday to work at our office out there for a couple of weeks (That's my birthday ~ I'll take sex for my present). Then to hit Utah for a few days on my way back here to the West Coast. So you'll just see me in snatches. (hehehe.. I said snatch..)

Let me see if there is a fun picture to post here. Hmmmm... no, you don't get to see my boyfriend. Some of you lucky few have seen him, though! Um...........

Okay, Marilyn. Who doesn't like to look at Marilyn?

Pieces of Eight

2007-07-06T13:58:00.000-07:00

A bad, bad boy rag-ama-tagged me. He knows better, too. :) But was so sweet of him to think of me, so I’m gonna let him get away with it. HOWEVER, rebel that I am, I shan’t be passing the tag on. So I assume that causes me to remain IT.

Eight Random/Idiotic Facts About Me Me Me:

Un) I’m obsessed with pens. So much so that, when I see someone writing with what looks like a smooth writing instrument, I want to snatch it out of their hands! I hate pencils and will only write with a pencil under great duress. I will write with a strawberry before I will write with a pencil!

Deux) If my bra and panties don’t match, I am quite put off. This is why I usually only buy white or black. Recently, I was forced to buy several colors because my favorite brand is now discontinued. (This always happens to me.) So you can now see why I’ve been put off a lot lately. It really pisses me off, too, that when I buy a bra from Victoria’s Secret, they rarely have panties to match. I fuckin’ hate that. It should be against the law. They have stupid panties anyway.

Trois) I hate chewing gum. If you ever see me chewing gum, it is probably because it’s some kind of bubble gum that I can’t resist putting in my mouth, but I almost immediately remove it because I hate how gum feels after it’s begun being chewed. And I think people can look really, really stupid if they are chewing gum and have been guilty of actually judging people based on that fact alone. Obviously, I don’t judge everyone that way, because almost every single person I know and love chews gum and offers it to me constantly and have never figured out that I hate gum, even though I always say “no” and sometimes even add, “I don’t chew gum.” Hehehe. I can relate to this, though. Because my sister has plainly stated that she hates coffee for years, but we still offer it to her.

Quatre) Even though I am the epitome of femininity in my style, I don’t wear earrings. In fact, I own a very small amount of jewelry. And what I do own is good jewelry. I am normally only wearing one bracelet and that’s it. A few men have purchased jewelry for me, one of them an engagement ring. He asked what I wanted and I said I didn’t care, as long as it was real and he picked it out. A male friend of mine once asked if I thought a woman would mind if, instead of a genuine tiny diamond, he bought her a very large and dazzling cz. I replied, “I don’t know, would you rather have a dazzling, fake woman or a simple, genuine one?”

Cinq) I wear my fingernails very, very short, with clear polish. I started doing this when I had small babies at home and found myself accidentally scratching them when changing their diapers. When they got older, I tried to start wearing longer nails again, but everyone I knew kept having babies, and so I’ve kept them short. Now I keep them short because when I give my boyfriend backrubs, I like to not give him puncture wounds in his flesh! (And my toenails are ALWAYS painted pink.)

Six) I would pay ten dollars per gallon for gas if they would pump it for me at the station.

Sept) You will never hear me say that I’m on a diet.

Huit) I don’t believe in the word, “please.” If you do see/hear me use it, it’s usually just for dramatic effect.

Speaking of babies…

A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankrolls smaller, homes happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten and the future worth living for.

What's the Buzz?

2007-07-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all. I loved your sweet comments! I do adore my children and yes, my daughter is quite the hottie! Too bad for the men that she's also smart. Purrty Jami asked if she uses the word "fuck" conversationally, and I would say yes. Doesn't everyone?

I've had a whirlwhind weekend, visiting Southern California and all. Arriving back here on Monday and taking off for a tour of Alcatraz that evening. Then shopping all day in San Francisco yesterday, where a good time was had by all. I'm just kidding, who the hell likes shopping? Who invented that as a fun thing to do? When I got to bed last night, those last few stumbling steps that landed me on my bed felt like I was surely weighing hope against hope that I would never have to wake again! Holy hell! I don't even like people, and I just spent several days doing everything I could to be where the people are!

You can be sure that today won't be a parade day for me.

But the company I was in made it all worth it. I found some nifty way that this lovely concept was expressed much better than I can do it!

I read an old post by Brad K regarding romantic notions on Valentine’s Day. I liked what he had to say about how romantic expectations are not mature, adult feelings. His concluding line, stating his idea of how to spend that day, is something I'd like to commit to memory.

Just one more day celebrated in each other’s company and regard.

The Light in the Darkness

2007-07-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

Here's my beauty.

I got to spend some time with her yesterday. We all went to the Charthouse in Malibu, which was quite lovely. (How could it not be!)

I talked her into letting me take her picture in front of the fountain-in-the-wall at the entrance.

Daughters don't get any better than this one! (Even in that uncomfortable moment when one of our dinner guests mistook my boyfriend to be with my daughter instead of me! I didn't correct the guest, but the look on my face made Erin have to walk away for fear she'd laugh much too hard and ungraciously reveal the faux pas!)

There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing. ~ Wm. Shakespeare

Okay, I Am a Retard

2007-06-28T23:10:00.000-07:00

It's almost midnight and my brain finally feels sorta clear. I realize now that my post was very confusing because, who are all those people?

I have three children. We are of mainly a scandinavian background.

#1 Son is Jake, soon to be 26. He is recently married. He is pictured with his new wife whose name is Mrs. Peterson. :) I really do know her name, but she loves this one so much. Jake is the father of BrynLeigh, the Maori princess who loves her bunny. Her mother (Jake's ex-girlfriend) is my Tiny, whom I adore. Tiny's mother's ancestors are from New Zealand. All of these previously mentioned people live in Northern Utah.

#2 Son is Brady, age 19. He is the father of Lexi. Lexi's mother is Laura, whose mother is of the Aztec heritage. (I just made that part up. Or at least I think I did.) He is a nanny, taking care of two boys who are a real handful, lemme tell ya! They live about an hour northeast of San Diego, but I am hoping he and his family will be moving up here soon!

#1 Daughter is betwixt the Sons. They are the stars and she is the moon. Erin is 22 years old living and loving and working in the Los Angeles area at, oh gosh so many jobs I can't name them... cocktail waitress, nanny, bookkeeper, the list goes on. These are current jobs. She is extremely diligent in her work ethic. There was a time when she had no car and had to walk to find a job and walk to work and walk everywhere she went. She had blood in her shoes. (Yes, she had to wear real shoes once she started that lifestyle.) She has no children so I can't very well state where they come from, whether real or imagined.

The end. (Or the beginning, depending on how you look at it!)

I'm Not a Retard

2007-06-28T09:23:00.000-07:00

So today I have a migraine. This is the me that people see when they walk into my office. (I think I'll keep the sunglasses on all day long.)

Thought I'd post a little post about the littlies. (The word "littlies" comes to us by way of Rebecca. Hi Rebecca!)

The oldest of my littlies got married on June 19. He called and said, "Mom, I'm getting married!" I said, "Okay, honey." And so he did.

People might think it's foolish. I'm no big fan of marriage, as you all know. But sometimes it just makes sense. She is happy to be his wife and he is happy to be her husband. I stopped thinking in terms of forever a long, long time ago. (Forever ago, in fact!) So here is the darling couple.

And then, this is the princess (with her Bunny). She really is a princess. She is from the Maori tribe called Ngai Tahu. Her mommy is my beautiful Tiny.

And then there's Littlie Lexi and family.

I don't have a picture of the middle of my littlies. Well yeah, I probably do. It's a few years old and she's kinda hammered after driving all night from Southern Cali to Utah, but it's cute. (She ain't really into wearing real shoes. Even in the snow!)

All typos are to be forgiven. I have a headache. And I'm not a retard.

Why Bother?

2007-06-26T22:56:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

I could spend all night typing my little fingers to the bone,
but if this Brilliant Woman says it all better than I can,
why bother?

Smooches, Embar! You're my hero... uh... ine... heroine!

Okay fine!
A couple of swimsuit pics, too!

What a babe!

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone!

There has been some questioning over who this hot babe is. Why, she's my granddaughter, Alexa Jade!

And this here is Little Lexi's Mommy!
Someday, when I grow up, I wanna be not-a-retard so I can post a few pictures without going through seven kinds of hoops!

Quick Post Script on the subject of "texting" ~ I do not have textual conversations with very many people. Yes, I'm fairly good at being speedy, but that's just cause I'm speedy that way! I was great, actually, at using the predictive text and then I got this new phone that flips sideways and has a keyboard. Well that's just fine and dandy, except that my fingers are the ones who know where the keys are, and guess what? My fingers don't fit on that fuckin' keyboard! Anyway, texting is mostly just fun for sending a quick (or down and dirty) message to someone. It is something that is hard to get used to. I taught a friend of mine how to do it, and after about ten minutes of watching her work hard at it, she turned to me and said, "Well I sent you a message. I was trying to say hi, but I think I wound up saying G4!" Ah well, at least she tried! :)

Oh Say Can You Say?

2007-06-25T18:39:00.000-07:00

Bro’s Before Ho’s
Sistah’s Before Mistah’s
Pals Before Hals
Chicks Before Dicks
It’s not who you know, it’s who you blow!
Wait… that’s not the subject.

So I was thinking. (Oh no! Not again!)
... after having visited sistah susie’s blog and hearing her complain about SOMEONE not answering her text messages. I’ve heard this complaint a lot from women. And you know what the weird thing is? When I send a text message to these SAME women, they don’t fuckin answer me back! (This is not directed at sistah susie, because I ain’t never had a texting relationship with her.)

But what the hell is that? I mean I have sat with women just sobbing… I mean sobbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbing……… Because so and so “hasn’t answered my special text that was just for him!” I will say something like, “Well maybe he’s busy, or maybe he doesn’t like texting!” And she will invariably say, “How hard can it be to just say ‘ok’ or just let me know he got the message??!!”

Uh, yeah bitch! How hard CAN it be??
I don’t like being ignored any more than you do!

So guess what? While I am typing this, my coolest girlfriend ever is texting me pictures of shoes, so that I can choose which ones she should buy me. She’s in Hawaii. She really is the best kind of girlfriend. And she never ignores me! Ever! But then again, we’ve known each other since we were 13, which was… wow… almost 35 years ago.

The point is, share the text-love! Make it a communicable disease!

And the other point is. Be kind to everyone you meet. You don’t have the market cornered on bad days.

Post Script: Texting really is a pain in the ass, as many of you have pointed out. Unless you know a lot of young people, which I do. Also, my boss is often more readily available via text because he's in the middle of many things. I don't blame people for not wanting to use the text portion of their phones. It costs extra. You can't do it (very well) while driving! And is it not enough that we have to answer phones and emails?? But, if I text you, you'd better fuckin' respond! :) Or what? Well ... or I'll be mad, that's what! So there!

Island Mentality

2007-06-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

There's something about islands. Makes us move slowly. Enjoy the moment. Look up and smile at strangers as you pass them by.

I overheard a man at lunch today, complaining about the 25 mph speed limit we have all over the island. He said, "They should have ONE street that moves 45, so you can get across these little five miles in a reasonable amount of time!"

I thought, "Hmmm... like an island expressway! That might be cool!" And then I thought, "No. It wouldn't fit in with the island mentality."

There really is no reason to have such a low speed limit on some of these wide streets. But it seems to really slow people down. To make them resist the urge to hurry. It affects the entire community. I like it.

So I've already fallen in love with my little island.

I come home from lunch and pick up watching "In Her Shoes." I love the movie. But I was watching Cameron Diaz. She is someone I admire. She is just so... HER. I once read a quote where she said, in effect, that a woman shouldn't worry about whether or not she weighs too much or too little. She should just be strong. That is what makes a woman beautiful.

Now I know that she's acting in this movie. But you can't pull that off without having something. And at the end of the movie, as I watched Cameron dance away in the final scene, I realized, she is slow and sure and strong and free. Just like my little island.

What we women need to do, instead of worrying about what we don't have, is just love what we do have. ~ Cameron Diaz

The Wild Woman Archetype

2007-06-19T09:17:00.001-07:00

I found this in an old post, while looking for something else. It is from Clarissa Pinkola Estes' book, Women Who Run With The Wolves. To explain the Wild Woman:

The archetype of Wild Woman resides in the guts, not in the head. She can track and run and summon and repel. She can sense, camouflage, and love deeply. She is intuitive, typical, and normative. She is utterly essential to women's mental and soul health.
She is the female soul. Yet she is more; she is the source of the feminine. She is all that is of instinct, of the worlds both seen and hidden -she is the basis.
She is intuition, she is far-seer, she is deep listener, she is loyal heart. She encourages humans to remain multilingual; fluent in the languages of dreams, passion, and poetry.
She is the voice that says, "This way, this way."
She is the one who thunders after injustice. She is the one we leave home to look for. She is the one we come home to. She is the things that keep us going when we think that we're done for.

To adjoin the instinctual nature does not mean to come undone, change everything from left to right, from black to white, to move the east to west, to act crazy or out of control. It does not mean to lose one's primary socializations, or to become less human. It means quite the opposite. The wild nature has a vast integrity to it.
It means to establish territory, to find one's pack, to be in one's body with certainty and pride regardless of the body's gifts and limitations, to speak and act in one's behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the innate feminine powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one's cycles, to find what one belongs to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as we can.

Blog Ratings

2007-06-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

Hmm... wonder what my blog is rated? Is this a great mystery? Purrty Jami has a rating of NC-17. When I sent my father to read my Father's Day Message, he said, "I had to cross off three fucks!" ~ Hee hee.

So without further adieu! My blog rating!

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

fucking (5x) sex (3x) hell (2x) fuck (1x)

(As if we didn't know.)

**KIDS, be sure and bring your parents when reading my blog!**

A Father Is As A Father Does

2007-06-17T04:28:00.000-07:00

Quick note to all the single parents who have to be both mother and father. It’s a big and dirty job, and thank God you are doing it! Don’t faint. You know that your labor is of the noblest kind.

I have the father of all fathers. He never lets me down. Never. There have been many men in my life (and I mean MANY) who have professed their undying affection. Who went to great lengths to let me know that they want to know me deeply. They want to be my heart and soul and comfort and protection. Their great cry is, “I want to do things for you. You are so amazing and wonderful and beautiful and you’ve sacrificed so much for your family and friends. I want nothing more than to give you all the things you deserve that no one has ever given you!” Oh, and if I say something like, “Yeah right. I’ve heard THAT before!” They get all puffed up and say, “No, really! With me it’s true! I am not like the other men!”

I’m not fucking shittin’ you. As soon as I get sick or something, I get, “Oh, I don’t really feel like going out and getting you some medicine. There’s all that traffic and I just got off work and I’m tired and … blah blah blah blah fucking blah!” In the name of all that is holy, why oh why did you say you’d be my one and only? These are the men who, like my ex husband, said, “No one will ever love you like I do!” To which I say, “God, I hope not! That almost killed me!”

ANYWAY, my father has always been there for me. After the loser won’t go to the store to get my medicine, my father will. After the fucking asshole is too busy to pick me up when my car breaks down, my father will. (And so will my mother and sisters and friends.)

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’ve known many good men. (In fact I’m dating one!) But they are not the ones who make these great oh-me-is-so-wonderful announcements. They are just humble men who say, “Here’s me… I’ll be there when I can… after all, I’m only human.”

So there’s my dad. He’s done all the things a man can do to be a man. And I know that I don’t tell him I love him anywhere near enough. One father’s day, I sent him Dan Fogelberg’s song, Leader of the Band. These are the words that say it so well:

A quiet man of music
Denied a simpler fate
He tried to be a soldier once
But his music wouldn’t wait
He earned his love
Through discipline
A thundering, velvet hand
His gentle means of sculpting souls
Took me years to understand.

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through
My instrument,
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man.
I’m just a living legacy
To the leader of the band.

I thank you for the music
And your stories of the road.
I thank you for the freedom
When it came my time to go.
I thank you for the kindness
And the times when you got tough
And, papa, I don’t think I’ve said
I love you near enough –

I love you Daddy.

From Your Sweetheart #3

My Meagre Life

2007-06-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

Now there's a word. It means "deficient in quality or quantity." My life is not deficient in either. But then again, some might think so. I am not wealthy, yet I am very rich. I have very little, yet I would be hard pressed to list the abundance. I grew up in a modest home, full of my mother's paintings. To me, that's just one small example of how rich I am.

So, here's the thing. I live in a two-bedroom place. There is not a bit of furniture in any room, except the bedroom. I already had a mattress set (queen-sized of course) but I was looking for a wrought iron frame for it. You'd think that I would spend the extra money I have this payday on at least buying a little furniture for... say... the living room. Or you'd think I'd save my money for the sake of emergency. But nooooooooooooo... I am of a mind that when you get home every day (even if you were gone only ten minutes) you should walk into your bedroom and say to yourself, "God, I love my bed!"

So today, I went shopping at the estate sale showroom mentioned in a previous post. I found a beautiful antique iron frame for my bed. It was a steal at six hundred and forty bucks. (Now remember, six hundred bucks in my world is a LOT of money!) It was delivered around 1 p.m. I made the bed and then went out for a bit. When I came home just now and walked into my room I thought to myself, "God, I love my bed!"

That's exactly what I was after. Remember, folks. The BED is the most important piece of furniture in your home! Here's a picture of mine. (Yes, the walls are all bare and the bedding leaves much to be desired, but that will come too, in time. And I am only going to have original art in my little dwelling. Hung from picture rails! I have fucking picture rails!)

Movie Quote

2007-06-15T21:35:00.001-07:00

People should not be afraid of their governments.
Governments should be afraid of their people.

What Do Men Look At?

2007-06-14T22:10:00.000-07:00

I don't really care. I don't dress for men. I dress for me. If I like how I feel wearing something, then I wear it. I suppose some women dress for men, but I've not heard of that as being generally true. What I hear is that women dress for other women. They know that men are fucking clueless about fashion, and a man is certainly happy just to know that you are naked under your clothes! Well I'm no fashion plate, so I don't dress for women either.

My OMG-LOL-BFF (she'll get a kick outta that) bought these shoes for me. We have matching pairs, but we don't wear them at the same time. (Of course it helps that we each live on different coasts!) Recently, we had occasion to spend a little time at a reception at the Capitol Building. You know THE Capitol Building. I was wearing some other shoes that my OMG-LOL-BFF had purchased for me to wear for that event. Very nice shoes. Quite comfortable. But also five-inch heels. After five hours on my feet, I was near fainting. I asked another attendee (a darling English woman) for directions to the ladies bathroom. She said, "Go down these stairs and... blah blah blah blah blah." I didn't hear the rest. All I heard was STAIRS. I said, "Oh, I won't make it if I have to take that many steps in these shoes." She said, "Well take them off." So I did. Before I walked away she added, "And next time, wear sensible, flat shoes. Men don't even see your shoes. They look at your eyes and your boobs!"

Too cute.

Skeleton Woman Defined

2007-06-14T14:25:00.001-07:00

The story expresses the way that a man might find a “good catch” and get all caught up in thinking how this one will change his life! He’s now found the good thing he’s been waiting for. But it doesn’t take long to discover that what he thought was beautiful and promised great benefits for him might be ugly and scary deep down. A man always stumbles onto a woman’s deep darknesses at some point. And it usually scares the shit out of him! He will likely run. But really, when he runs to what he thinks is safety, he is still confronted with the problem that, in order to have the sweet things in life with a companion, he must see the tangled mess in a softer light. His tender untangling will find a great reward.

This is what I learned from a wonderful story-teller in her book. Her explanation is much better said and encompasses much more. I find this book to be an essential bible for the spiritual health and growth of the wild woman. Anyone who does not have a copy, let me know and I will PROMPTLY be sure you get one!

"A person who has untangled Skeleton Woman knows patience, knows better how to wait. He is not shocked or afraid of spareness. He is not overwhelmed by fruition. His needs to attain, to 'have right now,' are transformed into a finer craft of finding all facets of relationship, observing how cycles of relationship work together. He is not afraid to relate to the beauty of fierceness, the beauty of the unknown, the beauty of the not-beautiful. And in learning and working at all these, he becomes the quintessential wild-lover." (pp.158-159) ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes ~ Women Who Run with the Wolves

Skeleton Woman

2007-06-13T17:26:00.000-07:00

There is a story told in folklore, set in Alaska. It is of a man who went fishing one day. He chose to fish in a secluded little cove which didn’t seem to be too often visited by other local fishermen. In fact, they never visited it. For they all knew the story. The story of a girl who fell in love with a boy from a tribe other than her own… many, many, many moons ago. And not just another tribe, but one at odds with hers. Her father forbade them to marry, but she snuck off in secret to do that very thing. Her father apprehended her in the midst of her escape and he took her and threw her off the cliff into that secluded little cove, to her death. The people had passed this story down through the generations, and no fisherman was to ever draw life from that water, as it was thought to be full of the evil of that terrible event. This poor fisherman knew it not. He didn’t have his line in the water long when he felt a great tug. Oh my! This had to be a big one! As he fought with the creature to bring it to the surface, his mind wandered to all the great riches this great catch would bring him. He had struggled for so many long and weary years. It would be great to have some relief. But as the creature came into view, he realized it was not a fish at all… it was a mass of bones and hair… and a skull! And it seemed the eyes of that skull were looking right at him! He panicked. He set his pole down in the boat and immediately rowed to shore, looking back to be sure that the monster was gone. But it wasn’t, as it was still attached to his pole! But, as it is with panic, he didn’t realize this. He just frantically rowed to shore, seeing behind him the dreaded thing bouncing on the water, appearing to chase him. Once on shore, he grabbed his pole and ran for home… again, looking over his shoulder to find that he was still being chased! He dove into the darkness of the little cave he called home and sat there panting, hoping the ordeal was over. He lit a candle and in the dim light, saw that the thing he had hooked was amassed in a pile in the corner. The soft light softened his fears and he approached and began to untangle the mess. He realized these were the bones of a woman and, after untangling her, he wrapped her in a warm fur and went to lie down on his bed to sleep. During his sleep, a tear escaped from his eye. She approached him and drank up the tear, drawing some life from it. She then put her hand on his chest and began singing a song to the beat of his heart. As she sang, all of her sinews and flesh and skin began to recover her body. And when she and the song were complete, she crawled under the covers and she and the man warmed one another. They warmed one another heart and body and soul for the rest of their lives.

(Anyone care to try to interpret that one?)

The Origin of Love

2007-06-11T20:46:00.000-07:00

A musical. I saw the movie a good three years ago and have listened to the soundtrack a good thousand times. And I oft quote the lyrics here.

He was a young man by the name of Hansel. He lived in communist East Germany and had a childhood that could be called nothing short of “very troubled.” He was seduced by an American G.I., who persuaded him to have a sex change operation in order to become his wife and go to America with him. Hansel wanted so badly to escape to the other side of “that wall.” His mother convinced him that this was a very good idea and that in order to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself. (Little?) She gave him her passport and her name, Hedwig. Unfortunately, his sex change operation got botched, his guardian angel fell asleep on the watch! Now all he’s got is a Barbie doll crotch! He was left with a one inch mound of flesh. (Six inches forward, five inches back!) In short, he was left to function as neither a man or a woman. Yeah, this would piss anyone off. Made his inch kinda angry!

So he said bye bye to mommy and East Germany. Went to live in a trailer park with the lovely man he married, who lost no time in finding another playmate and left. Hedwig is left to sit and watch the tv, where the news is showing the Berlin wall coming down.

He looks back at his life and at the future he has before him. He ponders the woman he’s become and how the strangest things seem suddenly routine. He decides to delve fully into becoming the caricature version of a woman. Fine! You made me a woman, and I'll be a woman, God damn it! (Note: I choose to call Hedwig a “he” throughout the story, because I am under the impression that he never really felt he was a woman. I don’t believe he would have pursued a sex change operation. He would likely have been very happy as a gay man, but I don’t think he felt he was a woman, except in the sense that he was an amazing person who engendered both sexes beautifully. But I have to choose one! Our dear and purrty friend Jami, on the other hand, I refer to as a woman, since she is one. And likely, as Hedwig, an amazing person by any measure. She was interviewed and clarifies the transgender issue better than anyone I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot! I read her interview to my family when I was in Utah and they loved it.)

ANYWAY, embittered as he was, Hedwig moved on in the world of musical passion, maintaining a deep, albeit hidden, sensitivity. A truly gifted songwriter and performer, he obtained a cult following. As with many a slave who has become a tyrant themselves, Hedwig married a Russian woman who was desperate for help with her own citizenship, and used this to control her. He forced her to dress as a man, giving her the same bondage he found himself in. Victim begets victim.

Hedwig sings the song “Origin of Love” to express his belief that there is some half of him in the world that he has yet to find. It is an unbelievably moving song and is full of the philosophies/ideologies/theologies of several paths of thought. But the jumble makes sense. It’s based, for the most part, on the Platonic philosophy that we were once made of two. And God, or the gods, split us apart. This is the explanation for that desperate attempt we make in finding our other half.

Hedwig finds his other half in an agonizing young man who admires him and wants to absorb all he has to offer. This other half then takes the good stuff and runs. He takes the musical talent that Hedwig offered and makes a name for himself. A big name. And not only that, but a name that Hedwig, in his brilliance, gave him. Tommy Gnosis. Gnosis being the Greek word for knowledge.

In the climactic end of the movie, Hedwig must come to grips with the fact that he has become what he hates. He has twisted the beauty that lived in him into wretched bitterness. He realizes that it is important to be whole all alone. He lets the woman he has wrapped in masculinity free. He lets Tommy go. And then he is free.

Why do I love this movie? Is it not obvious? I am ever preaching freedom. I think that those who have been in chains have the greatest appreciation for freedom. I have come to appreciate the place where I am today. The freedom I have is not able to be taken away from me. You could tie me up, put me in a box wrapped in chains and send me to the bottom of the ocean, and I’d still be free.

And again, I refer you to Jami, from whom we have much to learn.

Sidenote: I adore John Cameron Mitchell, whose purrfection created Hedwig. I have mentioned him before, but I’m sure no one knew who he was, or even noticed. He’s a beautiful man, and makes a beautiful woman, too! (Sort of like Patrick Swayze, who is also a beautiful woman! Hee hee.) If you have not seen “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” I would suggest you do. And see "To Wong Foo" while you're at it! :)

Here is my JCM singing a casual version of "The Origin of Love." He's just so darling! I wanna kiss him! AND, thanks to Purrty Jami, here he is in all his Hedwigian glory singing the DVD movie version.

Next Up

2007-06-09T11:09:00.000-07:00

Hedwig. Tune in later for the rest of the story. It will be long, so the faint of heart and mind (or tired of reading and thinking) should belay that request. (I just saw Pirates twice, so I'm using words like "belay.")

My Dear Vixen

2007-06-06T21:38:00.000-07:00

Such a sweetie pie! And if we would just listen to her advice. Not necessarily her specific advice, in the sense that not everyone agrees with those tenets, but at least listen to the fact that we should all be aware of one another's boundaries. So that we may all live in peace. (Yes, Jenn, I got your message of peace at your blog... and I believe these little things are the only real way in which we can effect such a thing.)

So go visit my lovely friend's blog (I would post a link here, but good God! Let's face it! How fucking hard is it to go over to my blogroll and click on Bad Girls Guide?? I mean, why did I go to the trouble of doing that if I gotta make it so you don't have to move your mouse another six inches or so ~ six inches... hee hee ~ to click!) and see what her phone rules are. I have posted my twist on them here. (Her rules are in bold.)

Phone Etiquette for Dummies

1. Do not call me after 8pm.

Me: You can call me anytime you like, day or night. If I am busy, I won’t answer. If I’m asleep, I know how to turn the ringer off so that I won’t be disturbed. Likewise, if I’m at a social gathering, I still know how to turn the ringer off.

2. If you do call, and I don’t answer, leave a brief message with your name and number.

Me: If I don’t answer, do NOT leave a message if all you want me to do is call you back, because when I see the missed call, I’ll know that! There is no need for me to dial up my voicemail and run through that deal just to hear, “It’s me, call me” (Unless you’re my boyfriend, in which case, I love every syllable of every word you say, so you could tell me to go to hell and I’d probably enjoy it!)

3. If you decide to call me back later on, give specific time and day that you will be calling back and honor that time.

Me: If you are a man who is interested in dating me (or anyone else) and you say you will call at a certain time, you’d better do it. Vixen gives you a thirty minute window. I’ll give you about fifteen, tops. I agree with Rita Rudner’s account of what it means when a man doesn’t call you. It’s not because he lost your number or his phone is broken, or his arm is broken or he’s in a coma,… it’s because he didn’t want to call you! Plain and simple.

4. If I’m interested and decide to call you back or pick up when you call, after the first round of pleasantries, get straight to the point.

Me: I don’t even know what to do with this one. Hard to make this one a hard and fast rule.

5. When you do ask me out, suggest drinks, coffee or a lunch.

Me: If you want to meet me (again, if this is a dating situation, especially a first “get-to-know-you” date) then you’d better suggest dinner or lunch or at least drinks. I have NO interest in meeting you at Starbucks! If I wanted to stand at a counter and make my own coffee, I could fuckin’ do that at home!

6. If I don’t want to date you, I will tell you that I’m not interested.

Me: Amen to that, sistah! Game playing is for losers. So if you think I’m playing games, then I think you’re calling me a loser. Or you are calling yourself a loser, for wanting to date losers!

7. If you do manage to keep me on the phone after we have confirmed date information, please do not talk about your mother, your ex, your baby mama or any sexual innuendos.

Me: It amazes me the things people ramble on about that really do not suite the situation. I believe that if you don’t have something interesting or important to say, then you should never let anyone persuade you to say it!

8. If you do happen to be a great conversationalist and we actually have good phone chemistry, don’t think you should sit back, relax and assume you’re in like Flynn – because you’re not!

Me: I don’t know who Flynn is. :)

9. The standard first phone call should last no more than 10 minutes.

Me: Shoot, I’ve spent hours on first phone conversations. I dunno how to make a limit on that.

10. As soon as you see me trying to wind up the chat, surrender gracefully and we might talk again.

Me: Chat-winding-up seems to be hard for people to pick up on. I don’t really expect people (especially men) to be savvy about that. If I’m done talking with you, I am very capable of saying, “Bye bye now!”

But let’s go over a couple more things. It is NEVER appropriate to sit and chat on the phone while out with someone. Doesn’t matter who they are. Even if it’s your mom or your sister or your best friend. I realize that important calls come in. You might be on call. Or be expecting to hear that a baby is born, or that someone’s condition has changed at the hospital, etc., but that is not the sort of thing I’m talking about. If you get a call, there is nothing at all wrong with saying, “Yes, I want to talk with you, but I’m with some people at the moment, what would be a good time to call you back?” You get the drift.

It’s also NEVER appropriate to chat endlessly on the phone when others are in a car with you. Whether you are the driver or not. You hinder virtually everyone else in the near vicinity from enjoying anything at all. They can’t talk, or they would be rudely interfering with your conversation. They could also not listen to music, for the same reason. They have no choice but to sit and listen to your lame-ass conversation, and only half of it at that! Ugh!

Ah well… we could go on and on. We could even go into email etiquette. But who pays attention to this shit anyway?

Why I Hate the Blog Exchange

2007-06-06T09:44:00.001-07:00

I'll make this quick, and don't think that just because you read this post, you can skip the last one!

It just sucks when you go to one of your regular blogs and find that someone else is posting there! The first time this happened to me, it was at Guntoter's blog. I thought, "Oh cool. I'll reply to this and then go to the other one and reply there and I'll have a new blog friend!" But noooooooooooooooooooo... all I got was ignored! I got no response at either fuckin' place! Okay fine. Then this month, I visited four of my regular blogs and found a different person there! Then when I went to the corresponding blog, my friend may or may not have posted yet! I get all discombobulated and believe me, I don't need more of that!! I was completely through one story and didn't discover until the end that it wasn't even by the person I thought it was by and so I had to re-read it from a different vantage point! Sheesh! Do you people think I have this kind of time?

So I decided that I fuckin' hate that fucking blog exchange! Fuck! :)

Also, someone tagged me (besides The Exceptional One) and for the life of me, I can't remember who it was or what the hell it was about. So if you dare to do it again, feel free! (Although you might pull back a bloody stump!)

This Fuckin' Baby...

2007-06-06T07:48:00.000-07:00

... is just so damn fuckin' cute! Yeah, I just got back from visiting that little face. Her comfort revolves around constantly naming everyone in the room, including the vacuum. For some reason, she's always had a fixation with this machine. It's my theory that she was somehow afraid of it when she was tiny and someone said to her, "It's just the vacuum." So now, if she's in a new situation, at a new house or in a new restaurant, she looks around and says, "Vacuum?"

Or maybe she's just smarter than the rest of us and realizes we live in a vacuum, who knows?

My favorite restaurant in Utah: (Has been for almost thirty years) The Old Spaghetti Factory in Trolley Square.

My favorite restaurant in San Diego: Dick's Last Resort (I'm not kidding. It's where my ex and I went for our last date.)

My favorite restaurant in Oakland, CA: Mezze ~ look it up ~ it's unbe-fucking-lievable!

My favorite restaurant in Murrieta, CA: Giovanni's. I love italian food, especially at little family owned places.

My favorite restaurant in Riverside, Seattle, Minneapolis, Sacramento, Newport Beach, etccccccc ~ The Old Spaghetti Factory! You simply cannot beat that browned butter and mizithra cheese! (Although we've learned to make it at home and so we aren't so desperately seeking them out now.)

That was in response to beinged tagged by The Exceptional One. Yes, it was supposed to be in my respective area, but I have never lived in a respective area, so I decided to make it a mish-mash of locales!

By the way, for anyone who is listening, I fuckin' hate it when people do that fucking blog exchange! There! I said it!

That's all for now, folks. Thanks for stopping by! Meow.

My Mommy's House

2007-06-02T10:11:00.000-07:00

Sitting on the bed that was my grandmother's. It's an old comfy bed. Like sleeping on a cloud. Some people would think it too soft, but not I! Has REAL springs from the old days! Snuggly nice. I wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking. Mommy singing, "Tessie boo! Time to get up!" Oh it's so fun to be loved.

Mom and Dad are fun to watch. They putter around the house, doing their little chores. At one point, I was cutting Dad's hair, when sister get-along-home-Cindy arrives with some sort of gadget in her hand. She says, "I don't like your nozzle, Dad, so I thought you might want to try this one." He looks at me and I say, "Cin, let's not talk about our father's nozzle!" Ha ha. After the salon session is over, we go into the kitchen and Mom is standing there with a ruler. She bends down to measure something around my father's ... well ... nozzle! He says, "What are you measuring?" She says, "I want to see how long your shorts are because I was going to buy you some new ones." (For those of you from foreign lands, we call short pants "shorts" here in the U.S.) She stands up and smartly states, "Seven inches." I can't even imagine what it would be like for someone to come up to me with a ruler for any reason at all. Silly people.

So today, we will have everyone over for hot dogs and hamburgers and margaritas. Probably play a board game or two. Oh wait, Becky isn't here. She's the board game queen. Maybe tomorrow!

But here's the real story. When I arrived last night, we decided to go to Applebee's to feed Graci, who was starving. Graci is my niece. Erika (baby sis and Graci's mum) and Katie (another niece) joined us. I wasn't hungry, but I did order their special white peach sangria. And the waitress asked me for I.D. I'm not fuckin' kidding you. Well of course, at 46, it's a pleasure to show your I.D., right? Well do you think I had my I.D.? Noooo! I used it at the airport, so I had left it in my other bag! Hahahaha. I swear to God, she almost didn't sell me the fucking drink! Everyone at the table said, "Well I have I.D.! Sell it to me!" Now don't get me wrong. This waitress was as cute as can be. And I began to nervously tell her the story of why I didn't have my I.D. (as if I were being interrogated by the FBI) saying that I just flew in and I live in California, and I was from here, and this is my sister and these are my nieces and I'm just visiting, as I said, but I grew up here, as we all did here at the table... and as I rambled, she became more nervous about having pressed me for my proof of age. I just kept thinking, "Can you just go away so I can stop this endless chatter that I can't seem to keep from pouring out of my mouth?" She finally conceded to giving me the drink, but only if I promised to eat food off of the other people's plates (Utah's other-plate law).

Erika said, "Teri, you went a little overboard with the TMI there."

It was a good drink, though.

I'm Off To See the Wizard!

2007-06-01T05:02:00.000-07:00

Ah, the Emerald City! How it shines! Yes, kids, I'm talking about Salt Lake City, to which I'm bound! I'll be there late tonight and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, I'll be coddled by the family-ness. And I'll get to kiss that sweet BrynLeigh Jade's face. I may be in blog-land from time to time, but I'm not making any promises!

So for now, I'll leave you with this ~ compliments of ba doozie! (I think I saw this restaurant on North Temple):

My Baby Girl

2007-05-31T09:43:00.000-07:00

My daughter phoned me at one a.m. Now some might think it is no fun to be awakened at one a.m. for any reason at all. I never mind it. Especially if it's my daughter's voice I get to hear on the other end. A lovely girl, who can't figure out why people never tell her what bugs them about her. I mean, honestly, there is nothing wrong with her! There is nothing unpleasant about being with her! She has an opinion, but she's not opinionated. She is friendly to a fault. Her smile lights up a room. And even when she has to be mean to the drunks at the bar, she is nice about it. Firm, but nice. She's had a couple of scrappers. One guy was tossing barstools around and while everyone stood there in shock, Erin pressed him up against the wall, told him he had to go, and then proceeded to press him on out the door (which she then closed and locked while the police were called). She's small of frame. I believe she's about 5'6" (taller than her mother by at least two inches). Long, blonde hair and BIG blue eyes. Eyes that stop traffic. Every woman she meets feels protective toward her and every man she meets dies inside at the knowledge that he can't possess her. She's sexy, she's funny, she's smart.

So there we were, on the phone together, she was on her bed, I was on mine. Together, apart. We laughed and cried. She's not much for small talk. Neither am I. So what we talk about matters. An hour and a half later, I chose to read a blog post to her as my parting words. You can read those Words of Wisdom here. :)

Teri Needs

2007-05-30T21:39:00.000-07:00

My Stalker (Jenn) said I should type those two words into Google and see what hits came up. Here are the top three:

Teri seriously needs to create a no-close-up-unless-an-army-of-photoshop-assistants-are-within-50m clause in her contract.

That's probably true. Wait. I have a contract?

Teri needs saving.

Mmm hmmmm. Teri needs to be saved from her own damn self!

Teri needs meat.

Can't argue with that!

Tutu Me, Tutu You

2007-05-30T13:02:00.000-07:00

Hey peeps! To enter the tiny tutu contest
Click Here

And give some love to Tutu Fantasy while you're at it!

While I'm at it, I'll tell you about my weekend. Well maybe not. I mean, after all that cuteness, I shouldn't talk about fucking. *wink*

God Is Not Mocked

2007-05-24T19:46:00.000-07:00

This post has nothing to do with that title. I just wanted to say that. Because... well... He's not! :)

You know what I hate? I hate comments by anony-mouses. I mean, talk about fuckin chicken shit! Get a damn name for your damn comment. When I come across those mousey comments, I don't even read them because if you can't claim your own words, I don't have any interest in them. Even if you are in the witness protection program you can have a fake blogger name! Sheesh! So if you want to be a mousey anony person, then just keep the cloak on and hang around with Murky and Lurky.

There, I said it.

Also, Part Deux of the world of gentle mans, I have a story to tell. (No doubt this shocks you.)

When my youngest was a newborn, I had occasion to ride a bus from Ogden, Utah to Santa Ana, California. My parents were living there and I was going to surprise Mom by showing up to ride with her on the trip back to Utah (they were moving back, God knows why... oh and by the way... God is not mocked). Dad would be leading the convoy of two with the moving truck.

I was not about to leave that baby, so I took him with me. (No, not because I nursed him. I never nursed a baby in my life and I never will. THESE beauties shall not be used for that!) There were several young men from the nearby Job Corps on the bus, too. They were lively things, as you can imagine. Good natured. They didn't pester me or anything. In fact no one did. It was a fine bus ride, me and my baby. (By the way, I can count on one hand the number of times I've taken a bus in my life, so this was no small matter!)

About the time we hit Vegas, a conflict began. There was a snarly old fella on the bus who decided he wanted a smoke. One of the JC boys piped in (hehe.. piped in) and advised him that there was no smoking on the bus, and besides, there was a young baby on board and it was just not appropriate. He was very polite in his approach. The man replied, "Who's gonna stop me?" JC said, "Well I'll tell the bus driver." and the guy said, "No you won't because I'm gonna kick your ass." Then the fight started. But you know what was so cute? One of the JC boys rushed over to my seat and shielded my baby and me with his body so that no stray punch could bring us harm.

Anyway, the bus driver wound up throwing them all off the bus, which I though was hardly fair. However, he did have a job to do and he didn't have time to sort out "who started it," like a playground guard.

But those JC boys impressed me that day. They saved me and my little baby. They were my heroes.

Where Have All the Gentlemen Gone?

2007-05-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

For those of you who tagged me, all two of you, I will be dutifully posting my taggy response in the very near future. But this was on my mind, so it took precedence.

This I started to say at Mister Write Now's Blog and decided to finish it up here:

I was walking toward the office building, after stepping over to the nearby deli for some nosh to go, hands full. A man and a woman were ten paces or so ahead of me. He was of the totally nerdy techie type and she was of the totally nerdy office dumbshit type. She was giggling like a schoolgirl at everything he said. I have no idea what he was saying, but she was clearly making far too much of it, in my estimated opinion. I thought, "I wonder if he's wooing her?" I was walking faster than they were (I guess they were out for a pleasure walk), so by the time we were at the door, I was fairly on their heels. I now knew what he was talking about, which was entirely unentertaining on any level, and decided that, yes, he was trying to impress her with geektalk and she was falling for it.

He opened the door (which opens OUT by the way) for her, held it while she walked through, turned his head aside to glance at my approach, walked through the door and let it close right in my face! Right in my fucking face! That rarely happens to me. Not only am I a woman (not that I think you should do that to a man) but I am a very womanly woman. And I don't expect men to fall at my feet and worship me, but it's clearly presented ALL the time in ALL ways that I am the weaker sex. This is not something that is missed! Oh man, I was just pissed. I stumbled through the door, and managed to catch up with them at the elevator, just as it opened. I half expected him to run in and close the elevator doors before I made it in, but he didn't. He kept up his idiotic talk (which could have been completely made up for all the ditzy head knew) and she kept up her giggling. I saw that he had on a wedding ring. I was sure this woman was not his wife. As I stepped off the elvator at my floor, I was so tempted to say, "I hope you are not thinking about entering into any kind of intimate relationship with this man, because a man is easily measured by how he treats strangers, especially female strangers."

I have noticed, of late, a decline in the gentleman's mindset. I mean the mind of the gentle man. No, I'm not talking about all the fucking fuss about women's lib and how-men-stopped-opening-doors-for-women-because-they-said-they-could-do-it-themselves-thank-you-very-much. That is WAY behind us now and it's high fucking time we stopped using it in a discussion. I have not seen men (of any age) stop behaving in a mannerly way. Until just now. I notice it happening, and this is not young men. Young men are very polite. I had a man in his sixties muscle past me between cars in a parking lot. I know for SURE that this man knew better!

So, give me gentlemen or give me death!

P.S. I am only using the "nerdy" term as a generic adjective, neither being positive nor negative. Only making a point that they were extremely thus, each of them. :)

Yay! Wordless Wednesday~!

2007-05-22T20:36:00.001-07:00

Never a sweeter thing was seen than this:

Never a sweeter sound was heard than this:
I_uff_oo.wav Serviced By

Ba Doozie...

2007-05-21T21:00:00.000-07:00

... is a floozie! (She's not really, but it rhymes!)

Here's something I never want to hear a man say to me:
"Which bus line do I take to get to your house?"

My sister was asked to participate in a fund raising event, in which she would have to play soccer. She said, "Can't you just put a little love sack out on the field and pretend it's me?"

I'm just rambling, because I want to try this linkage thingy that ba dooz sent me.

Here's where I'm going to buy all my furniture. One piece at a time.

Something to Sell About

Also (since I fuckin know how to do this shit now!) EVERYONE go read Diesel's commentary on a recently released movie: (Spoilers dead ahead... and I mean dead!)

Spiderman Fan Loses Heart

Vixen on the Loose!

2007-05-20T08:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I had a fun Saturday frolic! I've known Vixen for over a year now, in the blogosphere. She has a feisty blog where she openly talks about whatever might turn your crank! And if you don't have a crank, she'll help you know what to do with one when you happen to run across it! This little beauty has tons of knowledge about intimacy, women, men, relationships, etcetera and she's definitely worth a regular read.

So what happened yesterday? She and I met for lunch! It was fab! She chauffered me around her little city, which was beautiful, while we looked for the perfect place to eat. We did a lot of talking (ahem... I mean I did most of it) and laughing and even a little shopping on the side!

So, my friends, I'm here to invite you to her most excellent blog, The Bad Girls Guide, which is:

... a journal created by a woman for women. However, if you are a man in tune with your feminine side (or trying to get there), feel free to read on. It's mainly the stuff we talk about but that noone ever wrote down. It's all the stuff in all those self help books that we read, all the stuff that should be said but aren't. This is just a venting spiel, about the idiosyncrasies of dating and how to make it better.

Now, if she can teach ME something, then you know she's good! ;)

Thanks, Vix, for a lovely meeting and I look forward to seeing you again soon!

(I'm too retarded to know how to blogroll you peeps, so I'll just post her link here.)

Bad Girl Vixen

Get Up Lazy Mary ~

2007-05-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

We need the sheets for the table!

Me mum used to sing that song to me, while waking me on Saturday mornings. She was always so cute about that. I never had a single rude awakening in my life... until I got married.

So, today, Lazy Mary will be posting an entry from another place, from days gone by. Enjoy.

All I Need is the Air that I Breathe
Funny how you just go along in the drudgery of your life, thinking that something new could never come across your path. Well it’s true. There isn’t much that is really new. In fact it has been well said that there is "nothing new under the sun." And that was said a long, long time ago. But sometimes there is a breath of fresh air. It can manifest itself in a million ways and if you’re not paying attention, I’ve no doubt you will not even discern its difference among the rest of the air around you.

Last week, while I was working… sending faxes, making copies, giving directions, answering phones, weighing and shipping boxes… a woman came into the store, entirely unnoticed. She sat down at our little table and was going through some things. I didn’t really notice exactly what she was doing, as many people come in and sit at that table and do things. I did notice, however, that she was toting a large tapestry case. Or, what I thought was a case. On closer observation, I realized it was a pet carrier. It was somewhat elegant and of course I could only see the face of the creature inside. It was the frightened face of a cat. Some kind of a long-haired, gray-striped tabby. Soon, the woman got up and came to the counter. Her face was serious and drawn. I half expected her to be a bit of a snob. She dressed meticulously and she was very well kept. She was beautiful and yet not made up in any superficial way. She had long auburn hair, which was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was tall and thin and carried herself with a great deal of dignity and grace. She wore a long, straight skirt… burgundy in color, with subtle flowers on it. She had on a short sleeved mauve sweater, with a delicate belt over it. When she spoke, her speech was deliberate and confident. She asked me about a notary form, to give her son the ability to sell her car, as she was leaving the country for awhile. I said, "You mean a power of attorney?" She said, "Oh yes, that’s it. I don’t know what I was thinking." Her humility was unfeigned and I began to like her immediately. I showed her the different types of documents she could use, explaining that she could give him full power of attorney to act in her stead or just a limited one, which would allow him to only function as her representative in the instance she specified, for the specified amount of time. She decided to purchase the form for the full power of attorney, declaring she had full confidence that her son was trustworthy. But she added, "I did notice that it does not give him the authority to put me in a mental hospital, though. Which is good." She sort of laughed then. She talked about having worked in such a hospital, with people who seemed perfectly sane who said that their children put them there because "it was the best thing for them." Then she shrugged and said, "But I’m just teasing. My son would never do that to me." I asked her where she was going and she said, "Back to Prague." Now I can safely say that I have never heard that response before. I said, "Is that where you’re from?" She didn’t have an accent at all, so I would have been surprised if she’d said yes. She sighed and said, "I don’t really know where I’m from." Her sudden melancholy touched me and I told her, "I don’t really know where I’m from either." She eyed me with brief interest and said she didn’t have a home since her husband died. They had lived in Temecula for nine years. And recently she had lost her job (due to budget cuts) and then lost her apartment and now has no home. She’d been living in a tent in the mountains and was now staying with her son. She can’t think now of anything to do but go to Prague, which is where her husband is from, I discovered. I told her that I don’t have a home either. She gave me a kindred look and said, "You don’t??" I said, "Well I rent a room from a friend, but I’m really just sort of a gypsy." She said, "My son calls me a gypsy." When she quoted the way he says it, it didn’t seem to be a positive thing. I told her that I could tell she’s a gypsy like me. She said, "I think maybe you are right. I’ve been wondering if this is just the real me and it’s just coming out because it’s been hidden away." I said, "I think so." We talked a little about what she’d be doing in Prague. She wasn't altogether sure, but she did mention a plan to stay at least a year. She introduced me to her cat, which is a champion show Persian. She had shown him in Prague, but never here in the US, so she was going to show him in another country so that he could have international status. This was all Greek to me, but her relaxed, conversational abilities made it interesting. Alas, in the end, our business transaction was done. She thanked me for my help and my time and then she said, "Well good luck." I laughed and said, "Oh I don’t need any luck! My life is this way on purpose!" She smiled and said, "Good for you!" It was a strange lingering goodbye and as she left I felt a little bit of my spirit drift away with her and turn to tell me that I should have known her better.

Oh Dear... What Can The Matter Be?

2007-05-16T22:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, this is she. The baby who says, "fuckin." She's probably thinking, "How am I going to get that fuckin shoe?" This picture has nothing to do with this post, I was just in the mood to see this cuteness every time I visit my blog page tomorrow.

Seems a fascination abounds regarding my nombre of choice... whore. I have to say that I get a negative response much of the time when I refer to myself thus. I suppose in the days of Shakespeare, if you said you were a player in the theater... the arts, if you will... you were also thought of in a negative light. It was just not done among the rightly minded people.

And why is it so shocking for a woman who calls herself "Cathouse Teri" to say she's a whore?

I don't much like explaining myself. I prefer to let others figure out what they can about something and then settle on whatever makes them comfortable about it. But, since I'm in a sassy mood, I'll endeavor to shed some small amount of light.

I do not, I repeat ~ do NOT ~ believe I am in any way demeaning or devaluing myself by calling myself a whore. I do it to indulge those lesser spirited creatures who insist upon labels. I could just as well say, "You think I'm a bitch? Okay, call me a fucking bitch if it makes you feel better. I ain't gonna change."

Very sexually free, I am. And free in many ways. I will not be bound by a name or by a thought, or some societal righteous norm. And if I want to fuck a different man every night, I will. And I certainly have done that. If I want to meet a stranger at a hotel room, never even knowing his name, I will. And I dare anyone to tell me that I'm all screwed up because I might do such a thing. I have a perfectly healthy and intact ego. I am much averse to the idea that just because a woman likes sex, even casual and raunchy sex, she hates herself in some way. This is simply not true. It may be true in some cases, may be true in even most cases. I can only attest to the fact that it is not true in mine.

So if, in order to be free to express myself sexually, I have to be called a whore, so be it. In fact, I shall embrace it, thorns and all. I spent a great many years trying to be a "good woman." I found that this brought only bondage and despair. I shan't live under that dark shadow any longer. I had to redefine the good woman. I believe I'm an honest woman. I can't think of anything gooder than that. ;)

About the word Fuck

2007-05-16T03:23:00.000-07:00

It's interesting the response that word gets. I'm a mother. I'm a grandmother. I don't cuss around the children. But I have known people who do. I mean people who have a healthy view of things and who explain to their children that they don't get to say those things, any more than they get to have a glass of wine with dinner. It's all very natural. And those children don't wind up running around inappropriately swearing.

But it can be a bit of a problem around little ones. They cannot comprehend that one word is okay to say and another is not. They see their parents passionately express something and they pick up on that because it is passionate. They learn very easily when those words apply. And the reaction they get.

So, here's a story about my granddaughter. She is two and a half. And around the word fuck a lot. She knows exactly how to use it, too. Her daddy (my son) was changing her diaper one day and he was getting frustrated looking around for the baby wipes, which seemed to have disappeared. He said out loud, "Now where are those wipes?" She said, "Where are the fuckin wipes, daddy?" She KNEW he had left out that word! Another time, she wanted her mommy to participate in her game of naming shapes. She was holding up a triangle and saying over and over, "Look mama, a triangle! Look, a triangle!" Mama was tired of that game, having been playing it all day long, so she was no longer responsive to it. Then darling BrynLeigh said, "Look Mama! A fuckin triangle!" (That's my baby!)

At any rate, I've lost the need for feeling repulsed at a word. Every word depends on the tone and the meaning behind the sayer. A person can be entirely demeaning to you without saying a single cuss word. Yet, a friend could say to you, "Are you out of your fucking mind?" or even call you a "motherfucker" and not mean a bit of offense. (And what's wrong with a mother fucker, I might add?)

I once had a conversation with a man who wanted to live alone, and not have a roommate any longer. I asked why and he said he felt uncomfortable bringing women home. I understood. Or so I thought. He went on to explain that he thought it was an inappropriate thing to do in the awareness of others. What the fuck? I said, "So... you mean you think it's like... a sin or something to bring her home and you don't want him to know that you are a sinner?" He said, "Something like that." Then he added that his children are around a mother who brings men home all the time and they call their mother a whore. He felt oh so much more righteous because he takes his fucking to a hotel where he can do it in secret and in the dark. He prefers the message to his children that he is doing something wrong but at least has the decency to conceal it! Now, true, a woman should NOT bring a bunch of men into her home of children. This is bad on many levels. So I'm not advocating that. I'm speaking of hypocrisy here. The kids know he's a hypocrite. They are grown children. When I asked him what he would do if one of them wanted to bring someone home, he said, "I would advise them to do it in a hotel room, like I do." I said, "I tell you what. I have grown kids and I don't teach them that fucking is wrong. Because it's NOT! I mean, I do it! Am I to teach them that I go about doing wrong things?"

I think the thing that is wrong is that we indulge in the "sinful" things and think we're hiding it from them. We are not hiding it. We are just teaching them that it needs to be hidden.

My children absolutely adore and respect me. They wouldn't say a harsh word to me if their lives depended on it. And they don't care about what I do and say. Because what matters to them is that I'm happy.

It's a Morning in May

2007-05-14T23:23:00.000-07:00

And I'm running around looking for pieces of April.

So you know when you're lying there, sort of drifting in and out of consciousness, getting ready to fall asleep ~ and random thoughts just pop into your head? Here's the one I had: Why do people refrigerate onions? That just don't make no sense to me!

Continued randomosity:

I heard a line of dialogue in a movie once. I'll see if I can excerpt it for you. Dammit. That's proving to be more trouble than it's worth. Okay, lemme sum up.

Girl asks guy, "Why do you live out of your car? Why don't you just get an apartment or something?" He says (in effect), "Well, I have a key to my car, and if I get an apartment, I'll have another key. And then I'll have to have a job to pay for the apartment, so I'll get another key for work. Then they might give me different keys for varying responsibilities. And I might have a key for storage, because ultimately you do acquire things that may or may not fit into your apartment. And on and on it goes ... but I really like just having the one key."

I can relate. I want to have just one key.

Another favorite movie line:

"I want to stay here only marginally more than I want to die trying to escape."

Mother's (Grand) Day

2007-05-10T20:17:00.000-07:00

It's time to share my (grand)babies. Along with poems I wrote for each. Meow.

Alexa Jade

Precious pearl, such small perfection.
Couldn’t wait, her entrance hied.
Swaddled tight among so many,
Every night, her daddy died.
But now he holds her sleepy head
Brightened by the morning light.
Her eyes, her smile, his heart all warming
Making day’s approach his rite.

BrynLeigh Jade

Sweet light that shines from those bright eyes,
Makes heaven wish for bigger skies.
The sun could warm the darkest place,
Yet still not match that precious face.
And in her orbit, gorgeous moon,
Seeks to make a dim world swoon.
But all her efforts pale in vain
When those small sighs our hearts obtain.

It's Mom's Turn (Inspired by a true story. Or two.)

2007-05-09T12:21:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I’m not trying to ignore the value of a father here. But in honor of Mother’s Day, I’m going to focus on the woman, if you don’t mind. I am hoping not to be attacked with an onslaught of readers who think I’m dissing the male counterpart. I will write about HIM on Father’s Day. So, have patience, grasshoppers!

It’s been said that “A man works from sun to sun. A woman’s work is never done.” Now, I know men work hard. Some of them work too hard. (And they should get a regular blow job for that, but they too often don’t!) I also know there are lots of lazy women in the world. But that type of woman is not the sort of which I am speaking today.

Too often, when a woman is at home doing the “support work” while the man is out “supporting” the family, she gets overlooked. Yes, strides have been taken to get us all caught up on that. A working mother is a redundant statement. We all know that many mothers work outside the home, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t work in the home. And a woman who does not work outside the home is no less of a worker. That said, regardless of where or who you are, if you are a mother, your work is so all consuming that years go by and you don’t know where they went. You’re not even sure where YOU went. You remember a blur of events. You remember being behind the wheel a lot. You remember a lot of fast food. I think they should design a vehicle where a woman can leave her left leg out on the running board, so she doesn’t have to get entirely in the car before she just has to get out again at the next stop!

So a woman devotes these years, of her own free will, to the care and nurturing of the family. Then one day, she takes a breath. And then another one. She looks around to see if anyone saw that. No one did. A few weeks later, she does a quick twirl in the kitchen. Still no one sees. Wow. Where did that tiny spark of youth and life come from? She takes three breaths! In a row! Soon, she finds whole blocks of time where she has no demands placed upon her and catches herself even fully dancing for MINUTES at a time! From time to time, someone drifts in from another room. “Mom, what’s for dinner?” She replies and moves back into her routine.

One day, she has a whole day with NOTHING on the agenda. Kids are at camp. Dad is out of town. Whatever. Something happens and she’s alone. Does this feel good? She’s not sure. Wait. “I can take a bath with the bathroom door open and when I’m done, I can walk to my room with nothing on. I can even walk all over the house that way, if I like!” Or, “I can put something down and when I come back it will still be right in that same spot!” Wow. She likes that day, but it gets a little long and she gets a little lonely.

Next time a day like that happens, she calls a friend. The friend is alone because her kids are about the same age and her hubby is working late. “Let’s do something!” And so they do. This is fun.

Time passes. Mom has now found some things to do that are her own interests. She doesn’t share them with a single soul! They are all hers! And you know what? She can do them or she can do them not, it’s all up to her! She starts walking or working out. She goes on a diet. Dad comes home and wants to know what’s for dinner. She says, “Whatever you make for yourself. I’m on a diet.” He laughs. He’s a good sport because he knows she’s feeling good. And he likes seeing her feeling good.

On the weekend, big brother comes home from college. He sits down with his soon-to-graduate-from-high-school brother to play video games and they have a grand old time. Big brother goes in to the kitchen to get a snack. He sees a receipt on the counter and reads it aloud to himself, “Water, beer, soda, chicken wings.” Hmmm. Mom comes down the stairs and he says, “Mom, what is this?” She says, “A grocery receipt.” He says, “These are the groceries? Do we live in a dorm now?” Little brother pipes in and says, “Yes we do, and don’t try to do anything about it. Just live with it.” Mom smiles. It’s my turn.

Interview With A Gunfighter

2007-05-06T10:41:00.000-07:00

Here are the questions the Gunfighter sent me, along with my answers:

You like to swim every day... has that been a habit throughout your adult life? or is it a new-found favorite form of exercise? Are you a lap swimmer? or do you just have a set amount of time that you spend in the water?

I don’t like to swim, I LOVE to swim! :) When I left my husband, I moved into a guest house on a large property. There was an enclosed swimming pool on the property, as well. It was full of warm, salt water and I can’t possibly describe the soothing wellness this water offered. I would swim at night sometimes, but one day, I decided to swim before I went to work. I found this to be both meditational and exhilarating. Like a supercharge for the day. Letting that warmth envelope me as I stepped in. Beginning the slow, decided movements through the placid water and building up to a full lap swim, releasing those precious endorphins and giving my heart and body the exercise it craved. I used to take aerobic classes every day, and then taught for awhile. One day, my lower back decided it was time to stop. (I attribute this almost entirely to the epidural I had while giving birth to the third child.) The swim proved to be the perfect way to fulfill many needs in my life and still does so. I swim laps, without stopping, for twenty minutes at least four days a week.

During that time, I also fell in love with the moon, because she watched over me and bathed me in her light whenever I was outdoors. And as you know, I was fairly starved for the light. So the water became my sister that warmed me and the moon became my mother that fed me. And my bed became my resting place. People would ask me if it was hard sleeping alone after being married for eighteen years. I answered, “I much prefer sleeping alone to sleeping with someone and being lonely!” I’ve never felt alone since the day I left him. (After all, I now had the water, and the moon, and my bed!)

You mention in your blog that you were a military dependent for 27 years... was that because you were married to a military man? Were one or both of your parents military? Or was it a combination of those things? Where did your military life take you (geographically)?

My father was a pilot in the Air Force. My parents had four girls. I was born third in line in Kansas, moved to Arkansas, Alabama, Oklahoma and South Carolina all before I was four years old. Then we went to Japan for three years. I loved it there. Between the ages of eight and ten, we lived in Oregon, New Mexico and landed in Utah, where my dad retired from the AF. My family continues to live there to this day, all of them living within five miles of one another and seeing each other very often. I talk with one of them at least once a day. I visit every couple of months and spend major holidays there.

The year I turned twenty-one, I got married. Two weeks after the wedding, my new husband left for Navy boot camp. A month and a half after that, I gave birth to my first child. A boy. He was about two months old when we moved to Mission Beach (near San Diego) to join his father. We didn’t live there long before we had to move to Waukegan, Illinois (just North of Chicago). We then went to Bremerton, Washington and on to San Diego. We lived there for a couple of years, where he trained to become a Navy diver and he got his first assignment in the Philippines. By the time we left, I was pregnant with our daughter. She was born in Cubi Point Naval Air Station at Subic Bay. After three years there, the Navy stint was over and we moved back to Utah. I was pregnant with number two son when we arrived. While he was still an infant, we all moved to Sacramento, while daddy was going to the police academy for the CHP. After that, it’s been pretty much Southern California living.

You have three children. Do they live near you? If not, where are they?

My oldest son lives in Utah, near my Mom and Dad. He has a beautiful daughter. She and her beautiful mother live very near them, as well. He is a brilliant (and unemployed) pianist. He goes over and takes care of the little one, while mommy goes to work. My beautiful daughter lives in the L.A. area. She’s a cocktail waitress at a cowboy bar by night, and a part-time nanny by day. My youngest son is a nanny, too. And a new daddy. He and his girlfriend live closer to San Diego. I see my oldest when I visit Utah and I see the other two when I drive to Oceanside every weekend. I am very close to my children and I talk with them almost daily. I am also very close to the mommy of my oldest granddaughter in Utah. I haven’t had the opportunity to get close to the mommy of my youngest son’s daughter, but I see her often and we have a friendly relationship.

Tell us about your relationship with the word "Fuck"

Sometimes, just no other word will do! I like the word fuck and I love to fuck. So it is a purrrrrrrrrrfect word! Meow.

Please tell us why you decided on the name Cathouse Teri... was there some thought of flipping a philosophical finger at the sensitivites of other bloggers? Is there some work experience that you want to share with us? Was it just for laughs?

My nickname is a bit of the “philosophical finger,” to be sure. It would likely turn away those that are too sensitive for some of my subject matter.

There are many reasons for the origin of the nick, but mainly I am trying to convey two things: It always costs something to be with a woman and I want it known up front that I’m a whore (and by that I mean immoral woman) so there are no unreal expectations. I always say I’d rather have you think I’m a whore and find out I’m a saint, than think I’m a saint and find out I’m a whore!

I do have a bit of a fantasy about running a cathouse. I think I’d be really good at it. I would like to have all women know how important it is to give their man a blow job. Because if she doesn’t, someone will, and it will probably be me! ;)

Yes, a man says he wants a lady in public and a whore in bed, until one day he wakes up and says, “Shit! I married a whore!”

Who is Lester?

I have no idea who Lester is! Hehehe. I just randomly came up with it to go along with the play on words. I could have said, “The Road Leslie Traveled,” but then, since I’m a woman, people would think my name is Leslie or something. I love the Frost poem, and I also love the book by M. Scott Peck, where he borrowed the line from the poem as his title. It really is the road less traveled that makes all the difference, in my opinion.

You live in Oceanside, CA., home of CAmp Pendleton. Do you encounter many Marines in your day to day life? In what way? Is most of your contact positive or negative?

No, I don’t really travel ‘round the base. I mean, I guess I see Marines from time to time, but it doesn’t phase me, as I have spent a fair amount of years around military men. (And did a fair amount of drinking with them in the Philippines!)

I have never had a negative encounter with a Marine. I did one time have to rescue one, who had haplessly wandered into a Navy Seal bar.

Also, I don't live in Oceanside anymore. But, for personal reasons, I'd rather not make it too plain where I'm living now.

Do you have any tattoos? If so, where are they?, what are they?, and why did you get what you got?

I have one tattoo (pictured). I got it last summer. It is located on my right ankle and is about 3" x 2". I chose a Maori tribal symbol, in honor of my granddaughter’s heritage. She really is a Maori tribal princess. Having children is a hard thing. Having grandchildren is harder yet. You have even less control over their well-being and the things that will influence their lives. I have written previously that being a mother is like having a steel post driven down through your body and the only way it will kill you is if it’s removed. Being a grandmother is double that. So I almost chose the symbol that means, “sorrow.” Instead, I chose “hope.” At the bottom of the symbol are her initials, “BJ.” (to which my boyfriend said, “well if anyone needs BJ tattooed on their body, it’s you!) And at the top of the tattoo is a butterfly, in honor of her mother, whom I adore.

When my youngest told me his girlfriend was pregnant, my immediate response was, “Shit! Now I have to design another tattoo!” (And he’s gonna hold me to it, too!) It was a good way to break the strain of his having to give me the news. He has never been anything but happy about his child’s birth, even though he is young and unmarried. (I’ve written about that previously, too, but hell, who has time to read all of those old entries?)

In spite of everything I say, I’d rather kiss the face of a baby than do anything else in the world. It is the children that matter.

What I Wish I Would Have Done For My Children

2007-05-05T09:04:00.000-07:00

I have great kids. They are the light of my world. I wrote that on a card for each of them at Christmas and gave them a candle to go with it. I love light. And I wish I could have given them more of it when they were young.

I'm afraid I chose a man of darkness as a spouse, and parent of my children. That happens a lot. A person of light chooses a person of darkness because they think they can bring them out of it. It's stupid. It's a concept that is validated by movies like, "Sound of Music." You know the drill. Asshole man meets good woman and asshole man turns into perfect and kindly man.

So, we gave birth to three little lights. Still, not enough light to bring him out. I could never figure out why. But now I know. He loves his darkness. You can't take someone out of something they love.

The children are fine. They are beautiful human beings. I've written a lot about them here. And it's their light that saved me. But I wish I hadn't made them live so long in the darkness. I wish that when they looked back they saw more happiness and less misery. I wish I could have been the free mother I am now, back then.

Ah well. You know the old saying. If wishes were horses...

The MeMe Generation

2007-05-05T08:32:00.000-07:00

Obesity in children. No one can figure out how it happened or how to solve it. Everywhere I turn, I run into some new "healthy snack" idea. Little packaged apples, little packaged carrots, little packaged cheese cubes. (Gee whiz, I wonder what we did before those little packaged snacks? Oh I know! We handed them an apple!) And sure, a lot of kids will eat those things. And when they're done, they are still hungry for a more substantial and tasty snack!

I don't think the problem is really rooted in the snack choices we offer our children. I think it's that the Me Generation is raising a MeMe Generation.

I'm gonna blame public schools. (The blame goes way back before that, but we'll start here, because public schools is an easy target.) I'm afraid that parents learned early on that the schools would raise their children. That's why parents are so choosy about the schools in an area where they live. Because that's to be their child's newly adopted parent! It's all planned out. From the minute they are born, we are looking forward to getting them out of the house. I wish it were uncommon to hear a parent say (right in front of the child) "Oh! He goes to kindergarten next year! I can't wait to have the break!" And then we are so excited when they are in first grade, because they'll be in school ALL DAY! Even the most involved and loving parents are caught in this trap of looking forward to the break, because most likely they have been paying a babysitter or a nanny and now they get a financial break. And if that weren't enough, we started putting them in pre-school (for their own good, of course) at age two!

So then, they are in school, and we whine about their vacations when they will be home all day long. And how we can't wait for them to go back to school. We can't wait until they graduate and turn 18 so they can move out and we can get on with our lives that we've put on hold for them.

We've learned to put our children away from us. We figured out that if we put them in front of a tv or a computer, they will shut up and we can have some quiet and think. We've had people talking to us all day. We've had traffic and phones and deadlines all day. And now we come home and we have to help with homework! Good God! If a parent is lucky, they will have maybe an hour to themselves. Maybe. And all of this is done in a fragmented way. We can't stop to eat with the family. Everyone is grabbing something and running out the door. Soccer, football, ballet, music, yoga, whatever! Whatever we can do to essentially fill up every minute of every day with productive shit!

And we feed them. We feed them to shut them up. We feed them first at events or family gatherings. At home, we let them eat an entire bag of chips, because we can't be bothered with spending time training them to put some in a bowl and stop at that. Every once in awhile, we awaken from our coma and say, "Oh my! You can't eat just chips! Here! Have some carrots! They're good for you!" So they learn that, not only do they take precedence, but they need to be fed! And they need to leave us alone to do grown up things!

So what we've done is we've raised a generation of people who are entirely gluttonous. We neglect them, so we appease them. Then neglect and appease. They wind up with too many clothes, too many toys, too many gadgets and too much food! I thank God for parents who don't have the means to appease them in such a way! Single parents have become the best parents because they just can't fucking afford it!

So it's not really obesity that is the problem. It's that we, of the self-absorbed lot, have taught them to be like us. Even anorexic children are consumed with self. It's all rooted in this and there is no solution.

But we can start by having dinner with our children every night. At least they can learn some table manners.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

2007-05-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

First the Good ~

I just ate an amazing cheeseburger! I was at Albertson's, and decided I needed a burger. I'm staying in a hotel, so I couldn't just buy raw meat and cook it. So I stopped a young woman and asked her where I could get the best hamburger in town. She said, "Oh I dont' know. I don't eat hamburgers." I said, "oky doky..." and moved on. Not much later, I was in line to check out and she came up to me and said, "My boyfriend tells me that the best hamburgers are at Nation's." I thought that was so sweet that she looked into it and sought me out to tell me! :) At any rate, he was right. Superb burger. It was a little joint with a very small menu, and homemade pies. Lots of people stopping by to pick up pies. It was like an old diner. The layout was so genuinely nostalgic, that everyone there was nice. And by everyone, I mean even the customers! Every one of us was talking like we were afraid of putting the workers out by having them serve us! Now remember, I'm in California! It was such a breath of fresh air. I brought my order home, along with a piece of peaches and cream pie which I have yet to eat, and proceeded to eat that sloppy, perfect burger!

Now for the Bad ~
A List, if you will. (And even if you won't.)

Things that piss me off

Number One Thing:
Receiving forwards in my email box. I know, I know, they are so funny or touching or interesting or beautiful or whatever! And you just want to SHARE that with me. Because you just love me so much! But … well, let’s pretend that I have a wealth of information at my fingertips. I can look up any interesting/beautiful/funny/touching thing I want at any given time! So if you simply can’t stop yourself from sending them to me, then please try to follow two simple rules:
1. Make it a very rare thing.
2. Make sure it’s not a waste of my fucking time! (And by "fucking time" I mean, literally, FUCKING time!)

Number Two Thing:
Guys who know what pisses you off and then do those very things just to get under your skin. Strangely, they think of this as a good wooing tactic. I have no idea where they learned that. Maybe from their fathers? Summer camp? Idiot classes? I used to date a man who I think liked me quite a bit. He was older than me. I don’t usually date older men or even men my own age, because they can’t keep up with me! At like nine or ten p.m. they want to go to bed (and I mean to sleep). I just can’t hang with that sort of inactivity. Hehehe …

ANYWAY, he happened to be online once while I was online and he playfully (or so he thought) started hammering me with email forwards. I’m a good sport. I let him have his fun for the first one or two, but after that (and I mean there were about twenty-five after that) I sent him a message and said, “So, when I tell you something bothers me, you think it’s cool to do that thing?” He replied, “Oh I’m just having some fun.” I said, “And if I tell you something I love, will you begin a plan of withholding that from me? Will that be fun, too?” What a dork. As you can tell by my phrasing of “I USED to date a man…” he’s gone.

Number Three Thing:
When people give you a smartass answer when you ask a perfectly reasonable question. Like, when you work in an office and you ask someone if they’ve seen so and so. I mean really, it is highly likely that they’ve seen them, if it’s a small office. And they say, “I don’t know, it’s not my turn to watch him.” I need someone to give me a good reply to that. Something like, “Oh, I’m sorry for asking… fucker!”

Number Four Thing:
When people ask me to go look at their online photo album and it has 683 pictures in it! I mean, I don’t even like to look at 683 of pictures of my own damn life! These people have begun to be interested in photography and they even think a certain angle of the corner of the desk is worth sharing! My friend’s response to that is, “Don’t you have any pictures of just the ground?”

I have a niece who is into photography. I love her pictures. They are creative and pleasing to view. But she doesn’t hand me triple digits of them!

Is it beginning to sound like maybe I should just settle down with a man (a younger man, who’s not been to that idiot class) in an isolated cabin somewhere?

Yeah, I think so.

And now for the ugly ~
The ugly, ugly truth that I both love and hate humankind. Although the pie might be ugly too, since it was just on a little plate and was tossed about in a bag between there and here. But no doubt it will still be tasty! :)

Dear John... er... I mean, M. Night

2007-05-01T20:57:00.000-07:00

Dear M. Night Shyamalan,

I think you are a brilliant man! I think your character development is deeply amazing and superb! And the actors chosen to play the characters are unbelievably perfect for the parts! You are clearly a man who knows about life. You present the real struggles of people in the throes of battle, not only in the terrestrial and the heavenly things, but all those that lie between. It is truly a pleasure to be thrilled by your thoughts! To have my senses tingled and teased by your implications! You bring me to the point of… oh my… titillation… the point of… well… the point of… anti-fucking-climax! What the hell happened? You’re like a seer! Like a prophet! A man with eyes open to the universe, open to hell, open to inner and outer beings! Did you stop searching just short of finding? Every single time you tell a story, you draw me in. You make me be there with you. You drive me along the path you’ve trodden. I can’t wait for the next step. And bam! Brick wall! Every single fucking time! Stop that! Please. I beg of you. Stop telling stories until you really know how to follow through with something that is really going to mean something. Don’t show me meat, if it’s going to just disappear as I reach for it, mouth a-watering. If all you have to offer is straw, then just tell me up front. I can’t take the disappointment any longer!

I’ll be waiting right here to hear from you when you have finished with some things that have some finishings.

Your devoted servant,
Cathouse Teri

I'm Not Impressed with Jessica Alba

2007-05-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

I just read about twenty quotes of hers. She's almost empty headed. Very sweet girl, though. And I'm sure she's tons of fun. PLUS, she's hotter than fuckin hot. (God, I hate that term hot.) So I read some things about her at imdb.com. I always segue to different actors in there. I was originally looking to see who that guy is starring with Bruce in the new Die Hard movie. Then I followed to his next movie and she was in it, etcetera. I think she's a real beauty. Just yum yum yummy. Loved watching her in "Honey." Not a great actress. In fact, less than not great. But I appreciate her anyway. I mean, showbiz ain't easy. But I'm still not impressed. (Well clearly she's made some impression on me, for me to spend this many words on her.. ya know, I'm just thinking out loud.)

But you know what's dumb? How in her list of accomplishments, there is a plethora of which number of hottest/sexiest/baberooest she is on this list or that list or whatever the fuck list. How is that an accomplishment? Oh wait. I know. Because even as a girl, she shunned her family's meal offerings because she didn't want to be fat. I guess they were a bunch of fatties. She was anorexic for a bit. All that makes for a girl who is suited for the camera! Yay for the shallow beauties of the world!

All kidding aside, I am positive that she is the sweetest thing in the universe. Her smile lights up the entire screen. You can't help but stare at her. It is my hope that somehow she will find some depth. I have no idea how, in the biz that she's in. If she becomes friends with Salma, maybe. Yeah.. that's it.. Salma can make Jack's movie and Jessica can star in it! She'd be a changed woman after that.

Wait till you hear what I have to say about M. Night Shay... oh hell, I gotta look that up now... Shyamalan!

More about MeMe... Meow?

2007-04-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

So I was thinking about the whole thing where you are in a relationship, but you decide to give one another the privilege of being allowed to sleep with one of three famous people (if you ever happen to come by one ~ pun intended). My son and his girlfriend gave me their lists over breakfast yesterday. I began to think. Hmm… I just drove 450 miles one way to be with the man of my dreams. Why would I ever want to be with anyone else, famous or otherwise? (I’m not kidding, he’s that good.) But, just for the sake of brevity, on a day like today when there is really nothing good on the news, I’ll give you my three.

1. Morgan Freeman. There is rarely a man I meet or see (on or off screen) that makes me think, “Oh man! I’d love to fuck him!” But once, while watching MF dance (wow, I just realized what cool initials he has… I’ll bet Samuel L. Jackson is sooooo jealous!) at the end of the movie “Moll Flanders,” I observed that he would probably be a most excellent lover. So there you go. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to know him, in the biblical sense. ;)

2. Augustus McRae. Sure, he’s a fictional character, but one helluva fictional character! Once, I met a man at Temecula Western Days who was a Robert Duvall lookalike. I had stopped by an outdoor wine and beer garden with a friend and she said, “Teri… look over here.” And there she stood, chatting with Gus McRae. I had never experienced the feeling of being so entirely and deeply in love with a stranger upon meeting. Now I’m not talking about love at first sight. Everyone has felt that. But that is a shallow feeling, albeit a HUGE one. (Let’s just call it wide, but not deep! Horizontal, if you will… hehe) But I’m not talking about that sort of feeling. I mean when I looked up and virtually saw the greatest man that ever lived standing there in front of me (remember, it’s Gus I’m in love with, not Duvall, although I like him plenty) the deepest rush of emotion washed over me… and joy. My friend exclaimed to me, “Teri! Stop standing there with your mouth agape! It’s Gus!” I smiled. He said, “Well, actually, I’m not Gus today, I’m Boss Spearman, the man Duvall played in Open Range.” I gave him as sassy a look as I could muster and said, “You want a poke?” He said, “Yes!” I said, “Well then you’d better be Gus!”

3. Salma Hayek. There’s just something about that woman that makes me want to spend a night in bed with her.

Mi Mi Mi... Miao!

2007-04-26T10:30:00.000-07:00

So Vixen tagged me. With a meme about goals. I'm uposta list mine.
And here goes:

I’ve never been a goal oriented person. I’m not sure if that was born or bred in me. For the first 27 years of my life, I was a military dependent. My life was not at all my own. I just went where the orders took me. I realize this doesn’t mean you have to have NO goals. I mean, there is such a thing as personal goals. But I’ve just never consciously set any.

Just for fun (and for the lovely Vixen), I will do my best to feebly present something akin to a rendering of my goals.

I remember deciding early on not to let fear and anxiety be the boss of me. This intent was challenged in a big way(no pun intended)when I became pregnant with my first child. I was suddenly FILLED with fear. I had a little life inside of me that I may not be able to protect. I had always felt confident about protecting myself, but knew I had little ability to protect my loved ones. It’s been a long and constant journey overcoming that fear and not letting it rule my choices and actions. I have never been comfortable in new situations, but the course of my life was set to present me with consistently new things, on a rather large scale. Always moving to a new place. Spending much of my time just getting my bearings. Planting roots, just to have them pulled up and broken to pieces. So I learned that the roots are not in the places. They are in the heart. And in the family. I have poured my entire being into those things. Then I married a military man who plucked me up again, only this time, he wanted to alienate me from the family wherein my roots lie. He loved the fact that I was a nurturing, lively thing, but he wanted to plant me in the middle of his living room and tell me to grow. Unfortunately, for him, the old roots he despised were too strong and he couldn’t break them. He wanted me to learn to be independent and it worked! I stopped needing him!

So here I am today. Many years later and again, living in a new place (only this time, all the choices are MINE.)

Several years ago, I started swimming every morning. I happened to live in a situation which allowed me the luxury of swimming in a private, heated, saltwater pool every day. I fell in love with the warmth and energy and tranquility that this provided. I vowed to swim every day as long as I live (well not EVERY day, but pretty much). Of course, I’ve moved around a lot and had to find a new place to swim, and since the swimming pools are not on my doorstep (as that first one was), I’ve gone through some dry spells. My body and spirit do not like these dry spells, but c’est la vie! Can’t be helped. Again, anxiety wants to take hold of me and keep me from trying a new health club. Today, I had to overcome it again. But once I was surrounded by the loving water, anxiety melted away. (As we all know, it’s the first time that is the hardest.) So you could say that a goal of mine is to be healthy, in mind, body and spirit. In fact, that is THE goal of mine. And I spend as much time as I can in helping others to follow the same path. I would say “help others to accomplish it,” but I feel it is not something to be accomplished but more something to live in.

Honestly, I just go where the wind blows me. But not just any wind. The one that has my name on it.

Oh, and my other goal is to never get married again. :)