wishes and curses

Chikee may may sawy inna win

2006-12-07T10:27:00.000-08:00

There is a tree in my yard. It is an oak tree, and in tree age, it is just a young'un; maybe 15 or 20 years old. I have termed this tree a she, because in my head, she just is. When we moved in to our house, this tree struggled a little. It had been overshadowed for a long time by the poplar and sweet gum beside it and we weren't sure if she was going to survive. But in the past few years, she has THRIVED. She's getting taller and fuller, and in the summertime she provides a good bit of shade. I like that the tree has shown she has some mettle. She has refused to be pushed around by the other trees. So I guess that's part of why I term her a she. I want to see myself in the aspects of her I admire. So, "she" she is.

One of the things I have always been amazed about is that she never loses her leaves. Sure they turn brown, and a couple of them fall, but she holds tight to the majority, and then, in the spring, when the new leaves push out, she finally lets go of the dry, shriveled coverings, and seems to shake her limbs like a woman shaking out her long hair and says, "See? I was gorgeous underneath all that brown!" Until recently, I found that so admirable. That the stormiest winds could blow, and she held fast. That the cold rains and freezing sleet and even a couple of layers of ice could not persuade her to let go of what she held so dear. I imagined the leaves were her belief system, or were accomplishments that she was so proud of. Outward things the world could see that made her "special", and no matter what troubles came her way, she remained, unchanging, save the color of her leaves.

Lately, though, I have looked at her in a different way. I have realized how sad I am for her that she seems unable to let go. I give her human emotions- fear, uncertainty, vanity, and security- and I have come to see the act of her clinging to these leaves as an indication of her inability to let what life throws at her, shape her into a new tree. A better tree. A tree that gets changed every year by the cold biting winds of November. A tree whose branches sag a little less because the ice covered leaves did not weigh so heavy on her this year. I find myself looking at her at night, and wondering why she won't just let go of the last vestiges of the tree she was last year. And I finally know why she won't. Because we, as women, are afraid of change. And a tree is no different.

When a woman looks into the mirror, she wants to see a youthful beauty staring back at her. At some point, that just ain't gonna happen, you know? There will come a time when we will see grey hair, or loose skin, and we will know our bodies have changed, and I want us to be okay with that. The same thing goes for our lives and our accomplishments. We hold onto our leaves- whether they are our jobs, or our community involvement, or our family's approval, or whatever activities bring us recognition- so tightly, even when they are really making life harder for us. If we let them go, then who do we become? We're afraid of being bare and naked without the shelter of our leaves to hide behind. And what we never realize is that a bare tree is gorgeous. When you see the skeleton-like form of dark brown tree against the frosty backdrop of a winter morning, you would be hard pressed to find a sight more breathtaking. Because at that point, all you are seeing is the trees strength, not it's garnishes.
There are leaves I am holding onto, afraid to take the leap into naked. And I have friends who are letting their leaves drop one by one. I am so proud of them. Because I can now recognize the beauty of a naked tree. And I aspire to be one someday.

Shoo-Fly, don't bother them

2006-10-03T07:08:00.000-07:00

Someone please explain to me what on God’s green Earth could those Amish little girls have done to that sick psycho bastard that made him feel like he was justified in shooting them? I know he was sick, mentally. That much is obvious, and according to NBC news, he was taking revenge against something that happened to him 20 years ago. 20 YEARS AGO!!! Do you know how pointless that excuse is to me? How many of us have had something horrible happen to them when they were twelve? Eight? Six? Now how many of us intend on taking that anger and frustration out on people today? (Hopefully) Not one of us!!

Don’t get me wrong- I know kids can be cruel. I know this because for a short time I was a bully of the highest order in elementary school. It was a short lived reign. I was dared to do a horrible thing to another child who rode my bus, and I did it. I did it to be accepted, and I actually made myself sick. In ELEMENTARY school, my own actions against one child made me sick. I learned then and there that acceptance wasn’t worth the cost of my soul. I was lucky. Many, many years later (far too late in my opinion), I apologized to that child. I don’t think my words were eloquent, or even mildly sufficient, but they were heartfelt and even tearful, and he forgave me, and we are friends today because of the grace of that boy, and the understanding he had that was mature beyond his years.

My point is this. I don’t ever expect him to bust through the doors of my home and blow my kids away because I was mean to him one day 20 years ago. He functions with most of society in the way we can either a) forgive the hurts of childhood, or b) remain angry, but not act upon that anger. So, what makes the difference that puts this one man over that societal divide of decency? What was so awful that he decided to exact his revenge upon children that were completely unrelated to his personal incident?

I assume I am not alone in the fact that I don’t understand this. And I’m not sure why this one horrible incident strikes such a chord with me. Perhaps it’s because I have been to Amish Country (that county, in fact), and seen the beautiful and peaceful way they live with one another. I have the utmost respect for a group of individuals that hold onto their beliefs so tightly, in a society that runs so perpendicular to them. Especially when those beliefs are not harmful, or hateful, or hurtful to anyone. So maybe that’s it. Perhaps I am just angry at the carelessness of this man who brought the very nasty realities of the ‘modern’ world into the peaceful calm of that little school room, like a big unruly guest stomping his muddy boots on a little grannies tearoom rug. I wish I could go back and repair the calm that community knew prior to his intrusion. But I’m afraid that some stains will not wash out of a rug.

Pray- to whomever or whatever higher power you pray to, for the families of those girls. How bereft they must be. For the loss of their daughters. The loss of their way of life.

The loss of their innocence.

Just Leave Sexy Alone

2006-09-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

I didn't realize that "sexy" had gone anywhere. I certainly didn't plan on a former boy bander to be the one to try to bring it back, much less using a Casio piano beat that sounds like the Cha Cha Slide. That song is sexy in the same way that the people could really tell by the way they used their walk that the BeeGee's really were ladies men, no time to talk. It's just the most ridiculous thing I have ever been plagued by. I had seen other people on my friend list rip this song, but I had been blessed not to hear it... Yelch...

Where does it go?

2006-08-16T11:27:00.000-07:00

I'm wondering where two things have gone. Today I went to eat lunch with Dakota. I made one of those 'mommy' sacrifices, switching lunch with Dakota, because he thought he was supposed to get Tacos and it ended up being Taco Pie, which was nasty. But more about that in a minute.

Thing number one- As I was walking (in line, on the second square from the wall) I noticed two little girls in his class ahead of us. They were very sweet looking, and giggling, and whispering behind cupped hands. As we got to the lunchroom door, and the children didn't have to be so single file, these little girls, while walking and talking, side-by-side, held hands. Without a word to one another, they both just knew that right then, they were exactly where they wanted to be, and were with whom they wanted to be, and it was the most natural gesture for them to hold hands.

I suddenly remembered being in third grade, in a new school, and Amy Parks was my salvation. She was the first person to speak to me, and I don't think there was a moment throughout the rest of my school career when I didn't see her at least once a day. But that year- third grade- we were those two girls. I can remember walking from Mrs.Watts class with Amy. Laughing. Whispering secrets to one another. And I can remember holding her hand.

Where does that confidence with our friends go? At what age do we feel self concious about holding hands with our friends? I have noticed older women will old hands as well, so when does it come back? Because there are times, I think for all of us, when I think we need a hand to hold. Not for a romantic reason, or a grief driven reason, but just because we want an outward expression of the connection we feel emotionally- that comfort, that sameness. When (and why) do we begin to feel like that's an awkward feeling to have? I think if more of us felt the freedom to hold a friends hand once in a while, we wouldn't feel so... separate. So distant. So alone, even in a crowd. And I honestly think we all feel those things occasionally, but especially women. We are all so concerned with everyone's perceptions of us. We don't want to appear needy, or clingy. We don't want people to know there are things wrong in our lives. We want to appear to be these super women, and it's just not ever so. I think if you could just hold a friends hand, you'd get that connection.

Thing number two- Dakota loves it when I come to school to have lunch. Right now, it's the only time I can see him during school hours, since those are my work hours. But he loves it when I can be at school with him. I don't know if it is the change of pace, or the fact that he feels special that day. I don't know if he sometimes feels insecure, and me being there is reassuring, or if he just thinks I am a cool mom, and wants his friends to think so as well. I also don't know how long it will last. So where does the feeling go of wanting your mom there? I know by the time he's in middle school, he'll be mortifid if I try to come to lunch with him. I remember loving when my mom helped in class when i was a child, but being embarassed when I was a teen. I also know, that now, even as distant emotionally and physically as we are, I sometimes wish she would just come to lunch. And that's the rub for me. I am totally aware that these moments are fleeting, and I will soon be asking, "where did it all go" when I look at my two boys.

And I will need a hand to hold.

He should have been named Forrest

2006-08-08T10:26:00.000-07:00

My friend and I, when our children were very small, were amazed (and not in a good way) by this one child we knew (obviously not a genius like our children were) who, by the time he was three or so, still could not identify the color Purple. We got hung up on his inability to identify the color Purple. We held this as a gross deficiency in his mother’s ability to educate her own child. I mean, it was PURPLE for God’s sake! Who doesn’t know Purple? Well, this child evidently. So I worked with my kids. I made sure Dakota could say all his colors by the time he was 18 months, and he was good at it!! Riley too. I got the colors down with them. Colors we knew. Mission accomplished, happy healthy, smart children should now be assured. Oh-ho, not so fast.

I have come to realize that I may have misplaced the focus of their study, to their own detriment. Because, now that they are back in school, they both have homework. Well, homework is illuminating with Riley, who is in Kindergarten. I am now getting the opportunity to see why it might be frustrating to teach my child. It took Ri about 15 minutes to master his three sight words last night. And that was after I got him to sit down, which took 20 minutes in and of itself. Normally, most parents would feel like this is average for a child new to the whole "sight word" process. The catch is that the words were ‘I’ (as in I want the ball), ‘a’ (as in a book), and ‘the’. Two of them ARE LETTERS IN THE ALPHABET. One of which is IN HIS OWN NAME, which he can spell!!!!! Now, I am sure I have failed him, because I was so worried making sure he could identify Purple by the time he was 2 that i forgot to teach him how to do more than sing the alphabet song, I forgot to show him how to point to the letters while we sang it!! It is so sad... I am saying he could not point to the 'I' (the second letter in his name) for 15 MINUTES!!!! Oh, I was trying so hard to be patient. It was terrible.

The conversation went like this, "Ri-ri, show me the I- remember? Like R-I-L-E-Y. Can you do that?'
He points to the "a" grinning and looking oh so proud.
"No honey, (big intake of breath) that's the 'a', and there isn't an 'a' in your name, is there?" Shakes his head no.
"Right, so can you show me the letter 'I'?" I ask hopefully.
He points to the word 'the', with the eyebrows raised looking very sweet and hopeful.
"Aww honey- you're so cute. You should be able to get by on your looks for a while."

Cheater, cheater

2006-07-25T13:25:00.000-07:00

I have a confession. I have, sadly, been cheating on you, blogger. I have been having an intense relationship with... myspace. I know!! I know! you don't have to say it. I know you are disappointed in me, Hell! I'm disappointed in myself! But all of my friends knew about myspace, and I wanted to be like them, so I have been posting there some. Not a ton, mind you, but some. I just felt like I needed to come clean about all of this.

Right now work is... precarious at best. Life is excellent, but work has me stressed. To heed Dooce, let me state, very vaugely, that I am in HR, and frankly, my day to day office life is not much fun. I am, however very creative, and have about nine thousand psuedo business ideas that I am trying to pursue in an effort to make money by doing something I love. I have written two children's books, and have an artist illustrating them as we speak. I think they'll go over well, as my test group of children (4 neighbors and my kids) all liked the stories, even without drawings. I bake, as well, and I am trying to get a custom cake business off the ground. It's slow going, but the few I have made have been incredibly well received. The Ph says I am all over the place. That is not meant as a compliment. I just like to think I have trouble being grounded. So, in an effort to channel my positive energy on a day when I want to pack up my office and quit, I give you:

the top five jobs I could be doing and hating more than this one

Port-O-Let Dumper- I would not want this job. In the words of Bill Engvall, you'd be catching shit all day. The mere smell of these in a mile radius will change my mind about drinking at an outdoor concert. No thank you, life could be worse.
Accountant- picture, in your mind, that you have glanced up in your rearview mirror and glimpsed the flashing red and blue we all dread- NOW STOP! That feeling- right there, in the pit of your stomach at that instant- feel that? That is the feeling I get when I sit down with my checkbook to pay bills, do our investments, and balance our banking accounts. I get physially ill. To be more forward than I should ever be- it makes me have to poop, and I don't like that feeling. To think that I would have to have that feeling all day long for a career is horrific. It just doesn't add up.
Enema-ist- while we are discussing poop (well, we weren't, but I was), I don't know if this is a real job title, but I know there are people who hold (forgive the pun) this position. It is along the same lines as a proctologist, a phlebotamist, or a sperm bank teller. There are some positions, dealing with certain bodily fluids and functions, that I never want to put on my resume. This is one of them. I'll pass. (oh I'm sorry)
Super High Powered attorney- or his even moderately priced counterpart, low powered attorney. I am in the process of culling negativity from my life. That's one of the reasons I am doing this top five, so why oh why would I look to a career where i can argue all day long? Why pursue a job path that is frought with confrontation? For the almighty dollar, that's why- but, luckily, my peace of mind is priceless. Thank you, I rest my case.
Kindergarten Teacher- I love to draw and paint. I like to glue craft sticks together and make things. I love to see the look in my childs eyes when they see their seeds sprout for the first time. I like to sing silly songs, dance silly dances, and read silly stories. I do not, however wish to do this at the beck and call of 18 spoiled 4 and 5 year olds who are used to "mommy does it this way" and "I don't have to" and "I don't want to" and "you can't make me". You see, I like all of those things a lot, but I like not being in jail more, and between kids today and parents today, I would slap someone and that would land me in court dealing with a super high powered attorney, of course after the full body cavity search, for which they used the enema-ist, and in order to do any of it I would have to use the accountant to pay for it, and in the end I would end up in the slammer cleaning out shitters. Face it, my last job choice would put me in intimate contact with all my top fives, and that's a sure sign that the end of the world is near. I think I would like to decline, but thank you so much for asking!

Good to be back! Missed you all!

Thanksgiving comes early

2006-05-11T11:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, Why the Thanksgiving title you ask? Because it is completed. Done. Over. As the big JC once said "It is finished." Of course, I'm not capable of saving you all by dying, and I'm not sure I would anyway, but no, I am not talking about kicking the bucket. I am talking about M*A*S*H. Yes, people, the play I loved and longed for and worked at and then started to hate and then loved again is finished. We had all 4 shows this weekend, and now I know why people get paid to act because it KICKS YOUR @$$!!! Now, having said that, it was wonderful. The show went off pretty much without a hitch, I only screwed up once or twice, and the audience was none the wiser, thanks to my brilliant co-stars, and the Ph, although he hated wearing stage make-up, was really, REALLY good. Especially for an amateur. And while there is always sadness at the end of a show, because you are going to miss seeing these people with whom you have spent 15 hours a week for the past 3 months, there is relief. And that is where the Thanksgiving comes in. Because today, I give you my top five reasons I am thankful (at this moment):

1. I get to go home to my family each evening- There is nothing that is more tiring than having to go get your boys from school, go home, change, and immediately leave to go to practice. It makes you feel as if the whole day, you haven't stopped. And there were days that I saw my boys for maybe 2 hours total. No exaggeration. So, I am thankful to see my family again.

2. I have some of the best friends in the world- Not only did so many of my friends come and see the play, but so many called, or emailed or left messages and kept me in the loop for the last 6 months (2 plays back to back will do that) with very little reciprocation on my part. I love them all for loving me no matter how flaky I have been. Having said that, Tasha- time for my sorry butt to start making that trek to Gold's with you, Jill- when are we having lunch, Richelle- Stop laughing, we aren't having lunch no matter how many times you ask, but I will have dinner with you anytime we can get a moment, Coolwhack- I miss Screamer and the Big Head- I'll bring you chick-fil-A or Arby's, just tell me when.

3. I learned to let things go- One of the brilliant women mentioned above (richelle) sent me this this a.m., and it was perfect for me this week: "I crouched in the doorway of the airplane next to my skydiving coach. I held on to the doorway with my right hand for balance. With my left hand, I firmly grasped my coach's gripper, a padded piece of cloth on his jumpsuit.
It was up to me to give the count. "Ready, set. . ." I heard a snicker. "Get out of the plane," someone hollered. "Go." I released my grip on the door, closed my eyes, and dived headfirst into the air with my left hand firmly attached to my jump master's gripper. I was falling stable and holding on with both hands. He nodded, giving me my cue to let go.
I shook my head no. He looked confused, then nodded again.
I shook my head again, clinging more tightly.
It was almost time to pull. I released my grips. I just let go. It was time to save my own life. My coach backed away.
I signaled, and then pulled my ripcord. My parachute made that sweet whooshing sound, the one I had come to identify as the sound it makes when it opens correctly and fills with air, slowing my fall into a float.
Wow! I thought. This is really fun!
Sometimes we're so scared, all we can think to do is hang on. Hanging on in this case was a silly illusion. We were both falling through the air. Holding on to a relationship that's not working, a negative self-image, a job that isn't working, moments and times that have passed, or emotions such as fear and hurt can be silly illusion, too. To save our own lives, sometimes we have to let go first." This is so valuable. We hold onto things we think are so important, never realizing they are plunging us to earth so fast. I love what I learned from this.

4. I get to cook again- Some people hate cooking dinner. Some people flat out refuse to. For the most part, I love to. And for the last half a year, I haven't been able to cook like I wanted to, so I am so glad I get to cook for me, for my family, and for my piece of mind. It's all about that creative process that makes me feel centered and normal. Cooking really does nourish my soul, not just feed my hunger, and I love that.

5. Summer routine is about to begin- We all go swimming in the evenings, frequently with Brownie-loo and the Frudog and their beautiful girls. The days stretch out longer, so there seems to be more time. I play basketball with Dakota. Riley snuggles with me on the couch. In summer, we all seem to exhale, and be content with the low hum of crickets and katy-dids outside the windows, and the entertainment of bubbles floating on air currents. Summertime is the time when my family is the closest to perfect I could ever imagine. And it's all right around the corner.

I promise I'm not taking any other medication than I normally do. I swear. I've just come to realize how truly charmed my life seems to be right now. And I may have just jinxed it, but that's okay. Somehow, I think it'll all be fine.

Top Five Returns

2006-04-07T13:33:00.000-07:00

I havent been posting. I know this. Kill me later. Right now, there is so much happening in my silly little life, and its not even worth going into it, but there have been several things I wanted to blog about, and didn't get a chance to. So, here we go Top Five things I have been meaning to blog.

Dakota turned 7 on Tuesday, April 4th. He woke up with a smile on his face, and told every single person we met "Todays my birthday! Im Seven!" We had to go by Publix that morning, because I had not had time to make his cupcakes. (shitty mom, I know) As we walked in the cashier said "good morning", and Dakota said (not quietly), "Good Morning! Todays my birthday! Im Seven!" We then went to the bakery to get the cakes. "May I help you?" "Todays my birthday! Im Seven!" "Oh! Well would you like a cookie?" "Yes, please, since its my BIRTHDAY!" We then left, and walked into school. "Hi Ms. Meigs! Todays my birthday! Im Seven!" "Well Happy Birthday Dakota." A little further down the hall, "Hey Mr. Gibson! Todays my birthday! Im Seven!" "Happy Birthday Dakota!" About this time, his teacher is walking out of the classroom "MRS. BLAIR!! Remember?!?! Todays my birthday! Im Seven! And we got cupcakes!!" Jenna just laughed, and told him she remembered, and wished him a happy birthday. The whole time, Riley just walked with us, grinning, and hoping to get "Dust one cukcake, Koda?" So when we got home, sure enough, Dakota had saved Riley a chocolate one, and presented like it was Rileys birthday, too. I sat at my kitchen table and cried at how sweet they can be to one another.
I found an old CD. This is not remarkable, in and of itself. It is a CD from Shannon and Bo's wedding that they gave out as wedding favors. For some reason, it would never play in my car, so I hadn't ever heard it. Well, when I found it while I was cleaning my car out, I tried it in the player in my kitchen, and voi`la- played beautifully. And suddenly, my kitchen is filled with sweet, calm, movie wedding kind of music. I love this CD. I have had so much to do this week, and I have played it each night, and it is just peaceful, and makes me find my center. I think listening to music is the closest I come to meditation or yoga-esque enlightenment, so I love that this CD makes me happy.
I got dirty- No! Not like that, pervert. The Hunky Ph and I worked on our backyard a little, and one of the things I wanted to do was make a flower bed. I have wanted to do this and wanted to do this, so finally, I just did it. I finished at 10:30 p.m. but I finished happy, and content, and now I have butterflies and bumble-bees, and flowers, and I got my hands and knees dirty, and I used my body for something good, and creative and not repetitive, and all-in-all that flower bed filled a hole in me. And I love it.
The Ph apologized- I can count on one hand the number of times in 15 years when he has ever said I'm Sorry voluntarily. Normally, its a reluctant, we just had a fight, and neither of us wants to say it first, but eventually one of us (read me) does and then the other (read him) says "Well, Im sorry, too." After we had worked on our yard all evening, and he and my bro in law had laid down a cement pad that he had fussed at me about because he was so sure there was no way that it could all be done in one night, and why do I have these ideas about getting this big stuff done right before we have people coming over, blah, blah, blah. It all was finished, and we got our showers and were sitting in the bonus room watching Ghost Hunters on Tivo, and he just looked at me and said "Angel- Im sorry. I kept telling you it couldnt be done, but somehow, you always make it happen. Thank you." I acted like it was no big deal. Inside I was doing a Dion Sanders style touchdown Dance to the tune of 'Big Butts'.
Riley got deep- Ri-ri likes his cartoons. They are his shows. He used to really love Tom and Jerry, but lately its between Popeye or Avatar or Ed, Edd and Eddie (yuck). My point with this is that his conversations usually consist of questions that have plagued him about his shows. Well, on Dakotas birthday, Riley and I were riding home by ourselves, since Mom and Dad picked Dakota up from school to take him shopping, and Riley was asking questions "Mama? Whewe is Koda?" "He'll be at home when we get there." "Mama, did Koda get to go to Gwanmommies howse?" "No, baby, Grandmommy and Papa just took him to find a present, because they dont get to come to his party on Saturday". "Oh" Then a minute later, "Mama? Did NoSho (Pinocchio) get turned to a wood boy cause he was bad?" "No, baby, I think he started out wooden, and he had to learn how to be a real boy. That meant doing good things and bad things. He wasnt a bad boy." "But he had a faiwy Godmuver, and she fixed it all, right?" "Yes, she fixed it all in the end." "And den he was weal?" "Yes, baby." "But not weal in dis wold (world)?" "No, baby. Pinocchio isnt real in this world." "Okay." So we drive a little more, and I guess the Fairy Godmother term had him thinking, because he then asked me "Mama? How come God can walk all ovah da sky, and he doesnt shake owah wold (our world)? Cause you know, Mama, God is HOO-MUN-GOS!" And I had no answer. How do you explain about the physicality of God to a 5 year old? So I said "Baby, I dont know. Im sorry." And he scrunched up in his seat so he could look at me in the mirror, and "Mama, its okay dust to say that. Its okay if you dont know." Riley knows what it took me thirty years to learn. That its okay to say "I just dont know."

That has been my life the past few weeks or so.
It's been so good.

Medical maladies

2006-03-29T11:31:00.000-08:00

I have been very deep lately. Today, is not one of those days. Today is an "Oh-dear-Lord-how-is-this-possible-it-can-only-happen-to-me" post. I have boys. 2 of them. Right now they are 5 and 6. Very soon they will be 5 and 7. They are as different as night and day, sunshine and rain, beer and champagne...., me and the Hunky Ph. Par Example:

Ri (5): is loud and talks a lot. He eats everything in sight, and grins in the cutest way, and has a speech impediment or 73, making all of his non-stop talking almost incomprehensible. He is confident, and sure of himself. He is a flirt, and all the girls love him. He likes to play by himself. He has no idea how to save toys, or parts to a puzzle or god forbid you ask him to save his allowance. He has never had to go to the emergency room. He has never had an illness that has lasted longer then 3 or 4 days. He likes tv, and memorizes commercial jingles. He ponders deep thoughts like "Mommy? Why does Popeye talk with one eye shut?" He is incredibly fashionable but hates to actually wear clothes. Naked is his zen-like state. When it comes to school work, he is fine, but when it comes to common sense- he is not the brightest bulb in the box- if we are being honest. This IS the child who I have had to CUT GUM out of his hair not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES!! Ri-ri is... quirky. And I love him with my whole heart.

Dakota (6 and 3/4) is only loud when he's yelling at Ri-ri to be quiet. He goes through phases where he can't get enough to eat, and then he'll have months where he puts less in his mouth than the Olsen Twins do combined. He is skinny-skinny, and articulate when he decides to tell you something. He will hoard his allowance, birthday money, Christmas money, loose change from the sofa and has seriously taken to pulling his own teeth out to save money for whatever he gets it in his mind that he wants. (Totally serious, pulled a tooth out the other night that wasn't even close to loose enough). He is shy, and likes to be where his dad and the other guys are. He tries to save his toys, puzzles, and board games, but he lives with Riley, so that's a moot point most of the time. He loves to read. He watches tv, and memorizes the Sylvan commercials. (he wants to go so he can pass the gifted program test at school) He ponders deep thoughts like "Mommy? When the babies come down from God and go to their mommies tummy, is that when you see the lights come down from heaven?" (When the sunlight streams through clouds) He has no fashion sense, but he cares what he looks like. He has been to the emergency room 4 times in his life. His fevers frequently reaches the 104 mark in a hurry if he's sick. He has had all of his vaccinations and has still managed to get hand, foot and mouth disease 7 (yes seven) times as a baby, Chicken Pox as a 4 yr. old, pneumonia as a 5 year old and now, at 6 he has the mumps. THE FREAKIN' MUMPS!!!

I have to believe that he is unusual when his wonderful pediatrician tells me 'Mer- he's a medical anomaly.' For a child who is vaccinated against Chicken Pox to come down with a case of them is rare, but for a kid who has had all his MMR vaccines to come down with ANY symptoms of the mumps is close to unheard of. If his luck was good, I would take him to Vegas and give him all the money in my 401K, but as it is, I just feel I should make sure he's always inside in a rainstorm. Because if lightning is going to strike, it'll hit pretty close to home, I'm sure.

Winter of my discontent

2006-03-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

I have these moments. I'll hear a song on the radio and I am wishing it would play over and over before it's ever ended. The songs feel like home. They are comfortable. Growin' Up by Bruce Springsteen is one of them. It just feels like, when you listen to it, that nothing can go wrong. That as long as it plays, everything feels normal, and good. I had a pretty crappy day today. No one's fault. I get all caught up in my head, and I over think things, but it left me feeling unsettled. So I pulled out my cd case, and browsed. Sure enough, Bruce was there. For some reason, Rock and Roll High School by the Ramones hits the same spot for me as well. So does Criminal by Fiona Apple. All very different songs- all very different artists, but all songs that are a salve for my aching sense of well being.

I don't know what it is when I feel unsettled, but I begin to think about the inevitable changes that will happen for me as I continue to grow. Another one of my father's friends died this week. He was a man who had the kindest smile, and I always had a crush on him when I was a younger girl. Probably the only innocent 'school-girl crush' I ever had in my whole life. To think he is gone is a slap in the face to my sense of immortality. I am not delusional. I know we are not immortal; I know there is nothing I can to do prolong my life, save live healthier, and even then, I add a mere 5 years or so. It's not that I live with the whimsical idea that good people don't die. I have seen many good people die. But when I lose people who are my father's age, or people who had that type influence on me, I make another mental tick mark that says 'That's one more of Daddy's friends. Soon it will be him. And then you will have to be a grown-up.' And dammit man. I'd rather just put on my headphones, and listen to my music, and hide from all the emotions that are 'being grown up.' I am tired of depression, and despair, and sad. I want the good tunes, and the sun, and the spring. I am tired of this dreary-ness. I don't really expect anyone to soothe this. I just feel like if I type this and send it out there into myspace land, then it's not in my head. I think keeping the thoughts in my head just perpetuates the cycle. I don't want anyone to solve this for me. I just want my Peter Pan Complex to serve a purpose. So Far, it's only made me foolish.

Good People

2006-03-20T11:01:00.000-08:00

You hear that a lot down South. ‘He’s good people’ or ‘She’s good people’. I love that phrase on many levels, the least of which is when you refer to one person as the collective, but the most of which is I think what an honor to be called ‘good people’. In my head that says, ‘here’s someone to be comfortable with. Here’s someone in whom you can place trust. Here’s someone that I know, and like and respect.’ I am lucky. I have quite a few friends, alot of whom I think I would call good people on some level or another. I try to tell most of them anytime I think of it how awesome they are. But there are some folks that I’m not sure they know I think of them as good people. And I would refer to them this way for a plethora of reasons. What is sad is that I think none of them realize how much I like them, or admire them for the different reasons I do. So today’s Top Five- my top five ‘good people’ who don’t already know it:

5. My sisters- all of them. They have birthed children, lost children and been unable to have children. They have raised me, to the best of their ability, and loved me anyway, despite how I turned out. They welcome people into their home, even when those people are my children. They help out anytime they can. They support each other and me. They call if I am MIA for any length of time. They let me vent, and love me anyway. They are people that their friends count on. They are good people.

4. Tommy and Richelle- Now, at first glance you will think I am smoking crack. I’m not- just hear me out. These people are good people. I am lucky enough to be friends with these two. They have managed to stay friends through a ton of crap. I don’t know the deepest darkest feelings in either of their hearts, but I know this. These two have a kid together, and they put him first. They don’t argue in front of him, and they make sure he knows they love him. They consider each other when they are working out schedules, and they don’t try to use him like collateral, the way so many divorced people do. They are, simply put, two of the best parents I have ever seen. They are also good at being friends. Not only with each other, but to the rest of us. There are many of us who have been friends with them since before the split. I have never once felt like I was asked to choose sides. I have never once felt like I had to pick one over the other. Somehow they have focused on being decent people, and putting the hurt behind them, and they won my respect a long time ago for the way they handled possibly the most difficult situation two people can be put in. They have acted with a self-less attitude, and I think that’s something. I love spending time with both of these people, and if I can spend time with someone, and they don’t drive me crazy, then I know that’s something.

3. Matt and Tasha- These two people- God, they just love each other. You can’t be around them and not know it. They have acted like an old married couple since they were teenagers, and that much time together makes it obvious to the rest of the world that they love each other. And they aren’t fake and mushy and make you want to puke. They are real, true, bare bones ‘You go get Ivy some milk, because I just went upstairs to take Noelle toilet paper’ in love with each other. They are snarky sometimes and I laugh, but then they say something sweet, or smooch each other in the kitchen without it being a big deal, and you know. You just see it. Frudog will make a comment about her ass, and ask whoever’s in the room ‘Isn’t my wife hot?’ And he waits for an affirmative reply. Tasha will watch him play with the kids in the pool, and tell you ‘Look at my sexy husband’. These two know how to love each other the way people are supposed to love each other. For that reason alone, they are good people in my book.

2. Snotface, aka CoolWhack, aka Cathy- The woman is fun. She is fun fun fun on a very different level than any other girl in my life. She doesn’t care what she’s wearing, and if her hair looks good like that, or if people laugh at what she says, because frankly, people laugh at what she says most of the time. She intends for them to. She is good people because she does not care what other people think, really. I mean- tons of people say they don’t care what other people think, and then they spend 73 hours getting ready to go anywhere. Snotface, on the other hand, does not. She will put a clip or two that she bought for Chloe (and then they wouldn’t hold Chloe’s hair, so now she uses them) into her own hair, and make sure her shirt doesn’t have any visible stains or what have you on it, and she’s ready. She will have people over, and tell you upfront whether or not to bring your kids. You never wonder where you stand with Cathy. When I was little, and someone asked me who would be in my wedding, I said Cathy before I ever thought to include my sisters. When I actually got married, I had been out of touch with everyone I ever knew, and I didn’t ask her. I have always kicked myself that Cathy wasn’t my maid of honor. She should have been. She’s honest, and funny. She’ll ask me about what’s going on with our friends, but she never talks about them behind their back. I respect that. She is also stronger than most people would ever know. I have only seen her cry twice in my whole life. If I ever find out I have cancer, or some horrible inoperable brain tumor, or that I am dying from the bird flu, I will make Cathy go with me to the doctor because she is the strongest woman I’ve ever met. And I’m pretty butch, myself.

1. The hunky Ph- the hunky Ph is good people. And I don’t think a lot of people know that about him. He is quiet. He likes to hang out with his friends, and gets to do it way too little because most of his friends are as busy as we are. He loves to spend an afternoon fishing with a buddy or at the park with me and the boys. He can’t relax if he feels like there are things that need to be done, so he is always just finishing a task, or getting started on another. Anytime a friend needs him, though, they call, and he is right there. I don’t think he’s ever been asked to move furniture, or help cut down a tree, or build a fence or what have you, that he hasn’t said “Okay- when will you need me?” He won’t put that above his family, or time with his children, but he will help if he can. And he doesn’t ask for it very often in return. And he doesn’t hold a grudge when he does ask, and he can’t find a friend to help him. And that happens pretty frequently. He doesn’t have too many friends, but he values the ones he does have. And he values me above pretty much everything, although I don’t know why. He’s loved me with his whole heart since they day he laid eyes on me, and I will never understand why. I will always be grateful, but I will never understand why.

clever-less

2006-03-15T07:27:00.000-08:00

We have no clever ideas, no cool captions with which to catch your eye. Just joy. JOY JOY JOY (to quote Ren, or was it stimpy?) Sorry, Joy- because I got the part. I GOT THE MOTHER FUCKIN' PART!!

This is me excited. This is me oh so happy, this is me overjoyed.
so yeah-

I'm gonna be in M*A*S*H- Major Margaret Hotlips Houlihan.

In case you couldn't figure that out.

Other than that, I apologize for the loyal 2 or 3 of you who kindly check me out each day or so, for not having posted. But I have a job where I train new employees, and I have to make forms for employee reviews and we are re-vamping that system, so I have had a TON to do.

My very quick assessment of AI last night. The first half of the show SUCKED, the last half was wonderful. If Kevin Covais isn't gone after tonight, then America needs to seriously reconsider how they are voting for these people. AND I was dissapointed in Elliot. He should have shined last night and he barely glimmered. If you want a better recap, I'm sure Sassy will post a better one. (see link)>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

My favorites last night were Taylor, Chris and Paris. The bottom 3 for me were Kevin, Kellie, and Melissa.

my life is ruined...

2006-03-10T07:09:00.000-08:00

We’re down to the last moments of the show, the tension is high, and I am out of tivo fast forward time. And then, right as Seacrest goes to announce who the last guy to leave the show is- *bong* Delete this recording now? Don’t delete this recording now?

WHAT!?!?! Are you kidding me? This is no Ryan’s version of we’ll see you after the break. This is downright the rest of your tivo recorded program has ceased to exist. “Ph! What the hell happened to the rest of AI?!” I enquire oh so lovingly of my husband who just stayed home with our precious lovely children so I could go to dinner with a girlfriend. “What do you mean?” “It’s gone!!! The last three minutes of the show are just GONE!!!!!” “Oh,” he replied non-plussed “I let the boys have the remote so they could watch cartoons. They must have messed up the Tivo.” He then went back to the annihilation of some level 52 frogs or worm or something on EverCrack II. As I lay prone on the couch, agonizing over who may have just gotten the boot, and knowing I would have to wait until today to red Sassy’s post, (being diligently written by TheMikeStand this week), I pondered all the ruined moments that have happened since I had children and a husband. What moments you ask? Well, let’s give you the top five ruined moments:

Mother’s Day- I don’t expect a ton, maybe a homemade card or a small bouquet. but when my 6 year old asks me for the money to buy my own mother’s day gift, telling me “Daddy said he was working late so I should ask you to take me and RiRi shopping.”, it makes me wonder if they really have any idea that the fun thing about a gift is the not knowing what the gift is, much less, having to pay for it.
Waking up- Now, this, perhaps, is a bit overdramatic, but when you are never allowed to just wake up, but are always awakened by the yelling, or the poking, or the requesting of something, you really get annoyed that you never seem to just wake up anymore. I would like, just once, to be in my own bed, and just…wake up. Not have to pour the milk because the jug is heavy. Not have to mediate an argument over who gets to play Pac-Man world, and who gets to watch Power Rangers. I’d like to just wake up, and realize that no one woke me up.
Sex- The hunky Ph has not ruined this, let me clear this up right now. The children- the satan spawn with sexual esp have ruined this. Without a doubt, when the Ph and I have a quiet moment- the boys are upstairs playing nicely, no phone ringing, no computer games- and we are starting to hear Barry White playing in the background, we’ll sneak quietly to any room in our house with a lock on the door, and begin to… get acquainted… and before the underwear gets off (or even pushed aside!!) you see fingers sticking through the crack under the door, “hey mama- whatchoo doin’ in dere?” They know when sex is happening, and they are so against having any other siblings, their mission in life is to thwart it. They are have succeeded thus far.
Vacations- I love going on vacations with my boys. We have a wonderful time. I love how excited they get about anything new. Their wonder and awe is an inspiration to me to live each day, each moment, looking at things like they are brand new. But now, I can’t go anywhere for more than a couple of days without them, because I get miserable, and my heart aches that they are not there driving me insane. I am oh so pathetic….
Photos- Because no picture I can take (and I’m a pretty good amateur photographer) captures any of these amazing men in my life in the way I see them. The Ph hates photos, so there are only one or two that really freeze him in time, with his expression showing that emotion he was feeling right before he got annoyed that I was holding a camera. The boys are always just a blur, or else they are cheesy grinning for the camera. My favorite photos of Riri were taken by Dakota, when I let him have my camera one day, and he just took photos of what he thought was good. I’ll post his photo album one day (when I figure out how to upload photos.) These men will only be captured in their truest form in my mind. I’ll have to hold out hope that I can always hold those mental images clearly. They all pass so quickly.

So, ruined. Moments, so fleeting, all ruined by these… boys.

Thank God.

4077th

2006-03-07T13:17:00.000-08:00

Auditions last night. That electric charge, the nervous feeling in your stomach, the painful watching-a-car-wreck moment when someone auditioning messes up, and the self-loathing-hatred you feel for just an instance that you're glad they did, because, dammitt, that part needs to be yours. Theatre, acting, performing in general is a very selfish activity. There is a lot of self-analyzation, self-evaluation, and personal critique involved with the process. For me, this is an indulgence. I really don't like to think about me that much. I would rather muse about what music some obscure Brit-punk band might be coming up with, or what John Cusack is doing right now, or if I'm thinking about me, generally, it's about broader things, like what I'm going to eat for lunch, or do I have to go by the store on my way home. Well, last night, I did a lot of thinking about why i want this role in this play so badly. And I came up with an answer I'm not sure I like. On the one hand, my answer can be seen as sweet- a salute to someone special, but on the other hand.... she has warts. (sorry, something my mom used to say). On the other hand, I don't like that my motivation for this is not the shear passion for the role. You see, the play is M*A*S*H. If you were deprived of television as a child, and lack culture in any form and don't know the story line, this is the story of a group of Surgeons, some drafted, some regular Army, working in a field hospital during the Korean War. They are a motley crew, and range from very by the book, to fly by the seat of your pants. Anyway- I watched this television show as a child, and I watched the movie when I was old enough to rent it and my mother not think I was going to hell because they swore occasionally, and the whole Hot Lips in the shower scene. Bear in mind, I am not a huge war show/ war movie buff. But I've seen every episode of the tv show. So when I was trying to suss out why I was so intent on winning this role (other than my inherent competitive nature) I was driven to look at why I had watched every episode of this show, and I realized, it was Daddy.

He and I never saw eye to eye. We still don't. He was hard on all of us growing up. He yelled a ton. About things you weren't expecting, which made your stomach tense up, and your shoulders get all knotty anytime he came home from work. You were always waiting on the other foot to fall. But- there were shows and movies that were safe havens from that. He loved good movies- had worked at a theatre in high school, before he dropped out and joined the Army- so when one of our 4 (sometimes, on a clear day 5) channels picked up a good movie (usually TBS- Channel 17) he would sit back in his recliner, and for that 2 hour span, you were clear to walk into the room, sit on the couch, and just watch TV with him. No yelling at you to do something, get some sort of work done, quit wasting time, and yes 'burning daylight'. There was nothing but the characters, and the TV, and you two. M*A*S*H was one of those shows. And so, I'm afraid that part of me wants to have this role, and perform it well, so that when he sees it, it will make him happy. And I think that makes me a littlew bit sad. But- it also gave me a good idea for a top five. So today's Top Five: shows that remind me of Daddy:

1. The Andy Griffith Show: Daddy looks like a cross between John Wayne and Andy Griffith. He whistles through his teeth. He reminds me in general of Andy Griffith when he's in a good mood. Plus, he always loved this show.

2. MacGyver: This was the first show, that Daddy watched at my request. I had a HUGE crush on Richard Dean Anderson (still do). I knew nothing of the show, except that when I saw the advertisements for it before it came on, I knew I wanted to watch that bomber jacket wearing man for an hour. So we did, and it turned out to be this great show, it sparked an interest in science for me, it made me be creative, and I became more sexually aware (I still thought he was hot- I just found out he was hot AND smart). And daddy liked the show. I think he was surprised that he did.

3. M*A*S*H: I think Daddy thought it was a little too much for me at first. I think he thought I would pick up on the adult themes (I didn't, until much later). I just liked little Radar O'Reilly with his teddy bear, and Klinger with the dresses, and that Father Mulcahey was secretly the funniest one on there. And Margaret, and how she was the butt of so many pranks, and jokes, but she always had a comeback. I liked this show.

4. Cheers: I don't know what appealed to Daddy about this show, and I wasn't allowed to watch it until it moved to Fridays, because it came on at 9:00, which was past my bedtime. But we laughed at Norm and Cliff, and later at Woody. I still love the way this show felt like family.

5. The A-Team: This was a combined attack. Cathy and I watched the A-Team every week. We had cammo clothes and acted out our own versions of the episodes in the woods that we grew up in. We spied on neighbors with binoculars, we built forts, I was always Murdock, and she switched back and forth between Face and Hannibal. She could say 'I love it when a plan comes together' better than anyone in the world, and probably still can. Since we lived at each others homes in the summers (just a quick run down the short-cut) our families had no choice but to give in and let us have the TV for that time. After all, we had company!! Daddy watched this with us, calling her 'leggs' (pronuonced laiggs), and calling both of us 'gal', and then kicking us out of the living room when it was over, so he could watch some documentary or Austin City Limits on PBS.

So my real dilemma here is to decide whether it is good and honorable that I want to do this for Daddy, or whether it's sad and pathetic that I don't just want it for me. I'll have to think on that.

Don't talk back

2006-03-02T11:39:00.000-08:00

I seem to have a one sided conversation addiction. I have done this all my life. I used to wonder if I was normal or if I wasn't just a little bit touched because I would have entire pretend conversations in my head. Arguments that I would re-play where I would win, or smart funny things I should have said, but thought of too late. You know we've all done it... haven't we? So lately it seems I am doing this a lot with my television. Things will happen on shows, and I find my self talking to the TV- not to the people on the shows, but to the actual television- like it is somehow responsible for the events taking place in the shows. I am going to temporarily attribute this behaviour to sheer physical and mental exhaustion, but if it continues after next week, when things calm down for me, then I am going to have to call a therapist or a TV repair man.

The current target of my most violent accusations and conversations is American Idol or Supernatural. I yelled and whooped and hollered last night when I saw Bo Bice in the audience, and then I scolded the TV for not warning me about the psycho girl on Tuesday nights episode of "Supernatural" (I had TiVo time). But my point is, where does the passion for this fiction come from? How can a television show, or a book (which I have gotten so upset with I have thrown it across a room before) or a movie inspire me to such ire? I think it has to do with how I escape reality through these endeavors, and how I become a part of what's happening in my head. But I can't be sure. There is no psychology degree on my wall. But this is the topic of today's Top Five. Top Five works of Fiction that Suck Me In:

Any of John Grisham's Novels- I like the way this man writes. It's conversational, and intimate, and there's a lot of back story and thought process revealed. I just find myself reading along, and feeling like I am in Washington, or Italy, or Arkansas and when I have to stop to answer the phone, or look up and I realize I am not in Washington, or Italy or Arkansas, I am always shocked. I fully become engaged in what is happening, and it makes me feel like the characters a re going o continue on without me if I don't hurry back to them.
Star Wars, all of them- I think it's indicative of a story that spans so much time, but when you are watching, and you find out who's related to whom, and who knew who when, and how they all interrelate, you become a part of that in your head. I have always loved Darth Vader, and as a child I wanted to know what happened that made him so dark. So as I watched the last three movies in my twenties (and late twenties) I finally felt the closure as to why I always loved this character. Why, even though he was 'evil', I wanted to like him so much. And, nerdy or not, it spoke volumes to me about my own feelings of what is good and what is evil. There is a quote by Rumi "Outside the ideas of right and wrong there is a field. I'll meet you there." That sums me up in a lot of ways.
Mary Poppins- the book, not the terrible movie. In the book there are so many more stories and adventures, and you really feel like you've had an uptight, perfect, British nanny for a spell. I remember after reading it, I would attempt to be magical. Not to perform magic tricks, mind you, but to actually exude that magical something that made people everywhere know me, and made star sisters talk to me, and made me understand the conversations the birds and the wind would have. Whether or not I succeeded at being magical, I will leave as a question for you to ponder.
Friends- I watched this show every week. I never missed a story line, I taped before I had TiVo, then I tivoed all the re-runs so I could watch them over and over. I could not understand, on the finale, why they weren't telling me goodbye as well. I had been there the whole time! I had hated Rachel, and then loved her, and then been irritated with her. I had cherished Phoebe for her candor, and valued Chandler for his witticism. I felt like I had known all of these people for so long, and then they just left me! I was so sad to see them go.
ER- I am not going to go into whether or not it's a good show anymore. Because it's not worth it to me to try to justify why I am still so involved with all these Chicago doctors. But I will just say one thing. I cried when Carol and Doug finally got together and she went to Seattle to find him. I hurt when Carter struggled with drug addiction. And I honestly mourned when Mark died. Now say what you will about how lame it is that I involve myself emotionally with characters that aren't real, but I feel honest to God joy, and bliss, and hurt, and anger and pain when I watch this show. That, and I could save your life if you got stabbed or run over with the medical knowledge I have learned. 8 years of college and med school, please! I have 12 years of ER under my belt. I could be a surgeon by now.

If you find yourself getting lost in something you are reading or watching, just let it happen. If you want to re-hash that argument you had with your spouse while you are alone in the car, DO IT! If it doesn't make you feel better, it will at least make me appear more normal.

{proof} of life

2006-02-28T10:36:00.000-08:00

That I am sitting upright, typing, putting words together in a way that passes for the english language is, I believe, the first of my three miracles required for sacriligous sainthood. Yes, yes, I had children- which some fools will say is a miracle, but the Virgin Mary did that first, so I can't really take credit for that. I have a show coming up this weekend (and by show, I mean play- did I mention my love for theatre? Oh yes, only about 7,364 times, I forgot) and we are in the midst of hell week. Also know as Dress and tech week. Roughly translated that means that I wake up at 6:00 a.m., walk out the door at 7:00 a.m., and walk back in the door at 11:30 p.m. That leaves only a little over 6 hours for me to squeeze in a shower and sandblasting facial (stage make-up's a bitch), see the hunky Ph, unwind for three seconds and sleep. My schedule has virtually eliminated everything from my life right now that the body generally requires to function. Add to that that both of my boys have been ill, and you have for yourself a very tired, and very grumpy Mer. BUT- But, but, but- in order to combat the urge to let sleep/food/sex/Tivo depravation take over, I am making an upbeat top five today. Top Five little things that make Life GOOD:

Rold Gold Land O' Lakes Butter flavored Checkers- Our snack machine dispenses these. They have been they mainstay of my diet for the past 10 weeks. They are yummy and delicious and filling, and, without a doubt, have kept my body out of insulin shock more times than I can count. God bless the Rold Gold man.
Free Water- Right outside my office door is a Crystal Springs Water cooler. It's a free beverage. It's right outside my office. It is not three miles away from my desk, and down three flights of stairs like the Coke machine is. Considering my previously stated New Years Resolution (no, not sleeping with John Cusack) I have been dilligently avoiding the Coke Machine. Inside it's icy depths, Diet Coke awaits, luring me with it's silvery, sparkley can and phenylketoneuric warning. (to this day, I have no idea what that means). But my saviour has been the sheer exhaustion I am suffering. I just haven't the energy to make it all the way downstairs to the machine. So the Crystal springs water cooler has become my friend. And I love it.
Hanes® Casuals Cushion Lowcut ankle socks for Women- At $6 a pack/3 pairs per pack, I just keep a fairly constant supply of these in my sock drawer. Because when you've just gotten out of the shower, and your feet are cold, and you put on warm, comfy socks, your whole body gets warmer. And they are cushiony, and don't have a seam across the toe and they make my feet happy.
The fragrance counter- I hate shopping. I avoid it at all costs. I hate shopping at the mall more than I hated childbirth, which explains why I will only do it once in a blue moon, and not even once every 9 months. So, having stated that, if I have to shop, and it must be at the mall, I love the fragrance counter at department stores. You see, the sense of smell is the most connected to memory, and I love going in and smelling all the perfumes that my mom, or my grandmother, or my sisters wore, or still wear, and being transported to the most memorable time they wore it. To the places in my memory where they left an impression on me. I also like to see if I can find a fragrance that I like for myself. It's very rare- I don't like anything overpowering, and I will avoid anything that they keep a million bottles of, because I want my perfume to be remind people of only me, and not a thousand other women. (Hello! Victoria Secret Heavenly!!) It's stuck-up, I know, but it's just the way I am. But at the fragrance counter, I can find one that tons of people don't have, and try it on. If I like it both three minutes after I put it on, and three hours after I put it on I might buy it. But the fragrance counter is a nice little oasis in the retail hell that is the mall.
My warm car- I am cold all the time. I freeze when I have on layers, I freeze when I have on t-shirts, I freeze on stage, under 10,00 watts of light- hell- I was cold in Hawaii!! But at the end of the day, when my car has been in the parking lot for 8 hours, baking in the sun, and I'm cold, I get in and it's blissfully warm, and cozy and snuggly to the point that all I want to do is lie down and sleep. It's very comforting. mmmmmm

All things that cost almost nothing. All things that make me smile. All things that are, ultimately trivial. But, Hey! I never said I was going to change the world with my blog. The show I am in is {proof}, thus todays title. If you happen to be around Atlanta this weekend, stop by and catch a show.

Acronym Insanity

2006-02-23T07:54:00.000-08:00

Okay, so everyone likes HNT. I love to go and look at everyones HNT shots- Babs, Sassy, tons of people. BUT, but,but,but. I love Self-Portrait Day, or SPD. I did SPD last year, and it was the only time I got a lot of hits to my site. Well in support of self-promotion in all of it's forms, you will notice the link button on my side bar------------------------------------>
Also- you find out about everyone favorite sandwich from Self-Portrait Day, and really, once you know your sandwiches are compatible, wht else is there??? I would LOVE to see my new friends on Self-Portrait Day. Please?

Oh yes, no Top Five List today. Regularly scheduled programming to resume Friday.

Aloha OY!

2006-02-21T12:27:00.000-08:00

I just spent 7 days in paradise, and I’m exhausted. Among my many skills and talents (acting, public speaking, writing, etc.), I also am ordained to perform marriages. When one of my dearest friends asked me to marry him and his lovely girl in Hawaii, how do you turn that down? Well let me tell you how. By remembering that it’s a freakin’ TEN HOUR PLANE RIDE from home, that’s how! And that’s 10 hours if you have a direct flight. God forbid you have a layover on the way home… Then it’s 12+ hours in a space that’s usually suited to study the sleeping habits of monkeys on crack, otherwise known as coach. Now, bear in mind- I have never been a world traveler. I’ve been to LA, and Boston. I’ve been up and down the east coast and go west continually (as the Ph is from Texas), but long plane rides are not the norm for me. Add that to the fact that I was away from my boys for 7 days (longer than I have ever been away from them, and the oldest is almost 7), I was staying in what was supposed to be a 4 star hotel, and I was on Oahu, and you would think that I had a fabulous time. Yeah, on the whole, not so much. Before I rant about something most of you would like to shoot me for (going to Hawaii in February), let me go ahead with the positives. The Ph and I had so much time together, and I am so thankful for that. With both of our jobs and schedules, we are frequently like ships passing in the night, so it was wonderful to spend so much time with him. The North Shore of Oahu is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The sea turtles are amazing and the snorkeling in Hanuma Bay made for a wonderful day. The wedding (if I do say so my self) was beautiful, and simple and touching, and amazing. My friends and their respective families were so welcoming and nice, and we truly had a wonderful time meeting them. BUT (because you knew it was coming), there a few things I took issue with on Oahu. As a matter of fact, there are… FIVE THINGS I’d like to address. You guessed it! I am such a brat that I am going to top five the things I didn’t like about going to Hawaii:

Waikiki is the single largest tourist trap in the known universe- There are merchants on every corner, and there are tourists every square inch in between the merchants, and all the merchants are dead-set on taking every cent they can from said tourists by plying them with wooden tiki statues (the Ph bought 3- for $5.00 a piece as opposed to $7.00), puca shell necklaces (the Ph got one for $1.00, down from original offer of $2.50), Hawaiian or rather, to be more PC, Aloha Shirts (the Ph now owns one, for $7.50, haggled down from the original offer of $10.00, but we had to throw in the two sarongs we wanted at $3.50 each- originally $5.00), postcards, shot glasses, magnets, grass skirts, coconut bras, all manner of semi-precious stones jewelry, penis-in-grass-skirts ashtrays (I am totally serious about this), drums (2 for my boys-$ 7.00 each) T-shirts, purses, beach towels, and strange little wooden carvings of men in a barrel, that when you lift the barrel his dick pops up ($4.50- PLEASE! Like you could resist the man in a barrel??). At some point, the retail overload you experience equals that of the Olsen twins let loose on Fifth Avenue.
4 out of 5 stars doesn’t compare to my bed- I spare no expense on two things in my life. Toilet paper and my bed. My mattress and foundation are the most comfortable mattress and foundation on the planet, and I sleep like a baby on them. If I had a whole day to devote to lying in bed, I would do it. I don’t, but I would. And toilet paper must always, ALWAYS, be soft, and not lotion-ey, and leave very little lint, and be at least double ply. At a four star hotel (cough-Sheraton Waikiki) the toilet paper could have taken off paint, and the bed, supposedly a sweet sleeper bed, was NOT! I actually have slept in a Sheraton Hotel in Boston before on a sweet sleeper bed, and adored it. It was an amazing bed. It was the reason I thought I would book reservations at this Sheraton Hotel, so that I would sleep on a bed very similar to my own at home, BUT NO!! This bed was hard and the pillows were lumpy, and the blanket was itchy, and the bed spread was nasty polyester. All in all, I did not sleep later that 7:00 a.m. on my whole vacation. I always think 4 stars should be WOW, and this was generally just very ehh.
Breakfast should never cost $50.00- you think I’m joking. A buffet, a style of dining I generally avoid like the plague but decided to chance at a very upscale restaurant (cough- the Ocean Terrace) was fifty dollars for the two of us, and that’s without alcohol. No mimosas, no bloody Mary’s, just coffee, juice, and a (I will admit) very extensive buffet of food. They had Asian style food, American style, Polynesian style, and pastries out the ass, but FIFTY DOLLARS?!?!? I don’t think so, but thank you sooo much for asking. I will say though, that if you want really good food, at a reasonable price, Duke’s was awesome, and a teeny tiny sandwich shop off highway 83 on the North Shore called Ted’s Bakery makes the best sandwiches and burgers I have ever put in my mouth. I would almost make the trip for another Ted’s Crab and Bacon Sandwich.
I’m not good at math, so counting blessings isn’t my strong suit- we are, of course, talking about my babies again. I have spent several months of their lives, I am sure, if you add up all the time, wishing for some peace and quiet. But when you have no alternative but peace and quiet, I want my boys, and I want them now, and it doesn’t matter because you can’t just GO HOME- home is several thousand miles and many hours away, so it does you no good to leave now, because it would still take you until tomorrow to get there. I will admit, this is not Hawaii’s fault, but none the less, I will top five it because they should put that warning in the brochure somewhere- “Warning- prolonged exposure to relaxing atmosphere can be harmful to mothers of young children who are accustomed to chaos. Please indulge responsibly”
Jet-lag isn’t a real word- to lag means you fall behind, according to Webster. You have been delayed. Detained if you will. All of these things are normal sounding afflictions. What happens when you go backward over 6 time zones in 12 hours is called ‘jet-lay-down-on-the-floor-and-die-because-you-are-so-tired’, not jet-lag. What’s even worse is when you can’t sleep that night, because you’re body thinks it’s 3:00 in the afternoon, but you have to go to work anyway, so at 8:00 a.m., you’re body thinks it’s 2:00 a.m. and wants to know why in the hell you are awake at this hour?!?! For that reason alone, I could hold quite a grudge against Hawaii.

Seriously though, it was a lovely vacation, and I am glad that I went, even if it is just to say ‘I’ve been to Hawaii’ and show off my amazing photos. But the hugs and yelling, and smothering me with kisses when I got home was what I needed more than anything. Ahh, perspective.

CH-ch-ch-ch-changes...

2006-02-10T11:39:00.000-08:00

Useless. Today I am useless. I leave on Monday morning for the most exciting trip I have taken in a long time and I am so excited about that, that I have no business trying to string together coherent sentences in order to train new employees of my company, so I’m just not. I am wrapping up last minute things that need to be done next week and in doing so I noticed how many little details have to be taken care of just to be able to leave. As I was doing that I thought about what ifs; you know ‘What if I just died and didn’t have time to get the little things ready?’ or ‘What if I got fired and no one knew what needed to be done?’ Now, while I have never died, I have been fabulously fired from a good job before, and I know for a fact that what happens is your friend who still works there has to pick up your slack, and they try to unravel all the things you did wrong, or didn’t know to do at all. When I say fabulously fired, I mean it. FAB-U-LOUS-LY fired. I digress.

My point is this, why do we feel like if all the tiny little things don’t get done, the world will cease to rotate and all matter we know and love will go spinning off into the stratosphere? I am in the middle of a fairly big ‘task’ at work. I am paranoid that in my absence, it will be ruined. I know it won’t. There are capable people who will be handling questions, and fielding concerns from all parties involved. But I still worry. I am smack dab in the middle of rehearsals for a play as well. My understudy will be at practice all next week, the show will, literally, go on. But here I am, script in hand and concerned that the play will suffer without me.

The ego it requires to have these concerns amazes me. I try to bear in mind that, in everything, my part is just a small role, whether it is in my work organization, or my family, or my play. The removal of me from any of those institutions will not cause them to cease to exist. It just changes the dynamic, and I wonder if that’s what we all really fear- changes. We work tirelessly to make everything ready before we go, so that it can all be the same when we return. What is it about change we all fear so much?

I have no answer for this, and I’m okay with that. I know that generally, I love the spontaneity that change brings, and as much as I hate to use this phrase, when I was younger change was not so scary. So what were the changes that seemed… exciting? The ones that brought the promise of good to come? Today’s Top Five- Top Five Scary Changes in My Life That Have Brought Good Things. Random, I know, but I need to reflect, harness my thoughts and center my chi. So here we go:

Changing Grades and Schools- New pencils, and folders, and Trapper Keeper Notebooks. Several new sets of new school clothes, and if I was lucky, at least one pair of ‘name brand’ jeans, if we could find them at Rich’s Finale at Greenbrier mall for 75% off. And yes, it was scary to go to a new grade, or a new school, but you knew it meant you were so much closer to being grown. I had a saying when I was younger, and thought I would leave on the first bus out of Smalltown, USA, that “I would get grown and gone”. Each new grade took me closer to that, and I was good with that.
Changing the Status of My Virginity- I was too young. Maybe. But I was forward and direct and I knew what I wanted and when I wanted it, and luckily, teen-aged boys seldom argue when a cute teenaged girl makes the advances. SO I was able to make that change with little fanfare, and just an adequate amount of worship from the boy who was the recipient of said advances. He was shy, and sweet and quiet and TALL, and I loved that I always felt small next to him, even though I was 5’7”. He was the perfect person at the perfect time, and he made that change seem normal.
Changing Cities- I did not get grown and gone. I got grown some and gone just a little bit. I went to college in a town very near mine, but I was far enough away that it seemed to be a big change. I was on my own, and could stay out as late as I wanted. I could invite over whoever I wanted, and they could stay as long as I wanted, and generally, my most favorite things about that time in my life ended with the phrase “that I wanted”. It was a selfish time. A change that suddenly made me the most important person in my life. I have never been able to have that freedom again, but while I did have it, I loved it. I had boyfriends, and lovers, and made trips, and went to concerts and drank, and smoked, and was generally debaucherous. It was MAGNIFICENT!!!
Changing the Body through Childbirth- Well, let’s just say this was not an intentional change. I did not intend to become the hot chick trapped in a formerly hot chick’s body. I’m softer now, with curves a little more accentuated than I like, but not too much. But when you have 9 lbs of wriggling squirming yelling mass shoot out of you, and you have spent nine months making room for it, the hot chick’s body becomes the formerly hot chick’s body. I am okay with that now, because I am happy with my life and my sweet babies. I am happy with the hunky Ph who thinks I am the hot chick still. I am happy with the fact that he’s not the only one who notices, but he’s the only one I notice.
Changing the Nature of the Relationship- Once upon a time, I had a friend. He was sweet and funny. Our fathers worked together. He was goofy looking with curly, curly brown hair and big ears growing up, and never called me by my proper name. We rode bikes when we were 10 and 12, and treated each other like siblings. Boys were icky, and girls were gross. We never went to the same school, and as we got older, we stopped being friends. After college mistakes, and Army mistakes, our fathers found both of us recently un-engaged and moping about our respective houses. As sad as it sounds my dad asked his dad to tell him to call me and ask me out. And being the funny sweet friend I used to have, he did. I decided to meet him at his apartment for our first date, as I didn’t want to be stuck on some lame date with some goofy looking guy, just waiting to go home. As I rang the bell, I cursed my dad, and hoped for the best. When the door opened, I looked into a shocked face- one almost as shocked as mine was. You see, as a little girl with red hair and freckles and pudgy legs, I left an impression that was less than enticing. But that night, I stood there, all 5’7” of me, with a pre-baby, sexy hourglass shape, wearing cute jeans a regular sweater looking at all 6’1” of a muscled dark curly haired man with ears just right for his head, and a smile that could have melted my clothes off. And he was my friend. Over the next year we hung out and boycotted Valentines Day (and ended up in bed for the first time as a result) and in general enjoyed being with one another. It was the only time I was glad that I made a friend a lover. And although it ended, sadly, with bad timing, he will always be the most special not boyfriend I ever had.

This is the most I have talked about me in a long time, so forgive me, please. Vacation seems to have me pleasing me already. Feel free to tell me about a change you’ve had. I really do like to listen.

And so it goes

2006-02-07T05:57:00.000-08:00

I awoke this morning, and in waking, lost the dream of a child. The Ph and I have two boys, and have both dreamed (literally) that we had a girl as well. These dreams are recurring, to both of us. She looks the same in each dream, with soft red curls, and beautiful blue eyes like my babies always have. Last nights dream was so vivid, that when I woke, I expected to find her there. Consequently, my first waking moments were heart wrenchingly sad, as I realized I would not find a crib in the nursery, but would see my 6 year olds soccer trophies. The room would not be decorated in soft baby colors, but in the bright reds and yellows of his Race Car sheets. I wanted her to be there, but I know it's best that she isn't. I know it's best because I want to have another, but I'm not going to. Why? Because I don't want her bad enough and I am more selfish than I can believe. I think about how much I love the time the Ph and I spend to gether without having to constantly have wiggly little bodies right there. And then I agonize, because I hold my babies to take them to bed, and their legs hang way over my arms now, and even little Ri-ri's gotten so big it's hard to carry him up the stairs, and I want to feel the little again, and hold the sweetness, and smell that place in their neck, and I know I want her. But I know I'd damage her. I worry that I've damaged mine- I'm too hard. I don't just let them be enough. It's always 'Be Careful! Don't Spill! Riley! Take that upstairs! Take that downstairs! Your room is a mess! Koda!' I feel like I never let them relax- and I really need to do that. I'm more conscious of it now, and I'm getting better, but I already see Dakota- so emotional, so sensitive- and the way he reacts when I yell. It's fear, and I never wanted to do that to mine. Daddy was hard. He did that enough to me. I don't know. I just love them too much to treat them how I do sometimes. And I love the one I'll never have too much to do that to her.

So why, on the days when I'm struggling so hard with that decision, and being okay with that decision, do my children do and say things that make me want her so badly?? As I was driving the boys to school, 'American Pie' by Don McLean came on. From the back seat, as Don sang of pink carnations and pick-up trucks, Ri says 'Mommy- I wike dis song.' And I bawled, because he remembered. Some part of him recognized the tune, or the words to the only lullaby that he would listen to as a baby. I would stand in the nursery, and sway, and sing every song I could think of, and it would not phase him. He would push his tiny fists against my chest, and raise his small round head, and try to look around the room. But one day, this song was stuck in my head, and I figured I would give it a shot. I began- "A long long time ago..." and I sang all the way to when "the marching band refused to yield", and before it was over, he was asleep. His breath heavy and sweet against my shoulder.

Then here I am, 5 years later, driving through small town USA, and crying at a song on the radio. At American Pie, for Godssake! What is it about these songs that embed themselves into our psyche? Today's list? That's right! Top Five songs that make me remember. Here goes:

'Fast Car'- Tracy Chapman: I sang this song to the girls in my barracks during my brief stint with the USArmy. We couldn't have radios during Basic, so the girls would make requests, and I would sing. While I was there, they called me 'Radio', which I liked as a nickname until the Cuba Gooding movie made everyone think if someone called me that, I was 'special'.
'In Your Eyes'- Peter Gabriel: In High School, one of my best friends was my cousin Kelley. He and I, for different reasons, loved this song. (For my reason, please see numerous entries regarding my love affair with John Cusack). But ANYWAY, since we both liked it so much, and it was a really REALLY good song, when we would ride to school in his beat up VW Bug, we'd listen to this. It was a morning ritual, and to this day, that song makes me feel 16 when I hear it.
'Crash'- Dave Matthews: The first song one of my sisters (The one who hated me growing up) and I both sang simultaneously. It was a moment that we realized that we were more alike than either of us wanted to admit. It was shortly thereafter that I went to stay with her in LA, and had the plane home moment (see: 'I will remember you' post)
'Magnet and Steel'- Walter Egan: Still too hard to talk about. Moving on.
'And So It Goes'- Billy Joel: My mom and I listened to this when we would go to poetry meetings. Those were the nights when she was open, and gave over to the creativity. The gifts that were her secret desires, and the source of my gift to turn a phrase. It was in those evenings that she and I were both so free.

Am I the only one? Are there songs like this for everybody? Good bad or indifferent- I love these tunes. Wonderful memories, wrapped in melody.

Melody- what a pretty name for a girl...

DFACS is coming, I'm sure

2006-02-01T12:16:00.000-08:00

The Ph and I have been good for a really long time. Long enough now, that things seem routine, and I don't fear that he will always hate me. Long enough that my friends really like him again, and we have a good time hangin' with other people our age, especially the ones that are burdened with those blood sucking, soul draining, food grubbing, clone like creatures that look like their father and act like me. A.K.A our glorious children. It's hard to have a social life when you had children at a relatively young age, and half of your friends are still single and cool, and don't have to engage in the process of bartering with a 16 year old juvenile humanoid supervision technician for 30 minutes, just to go to Sonic and have a milkshake with another adult without having a game of 'He Pinched Me So I Punched Him' taking place in the backseat. That said, when you put my S.O (significant other) in a house with other adults he knows and likes- he is a lovely man to deal with. BUT when you ask him to deal with other peoples children and his own while playing a mentally taxing game like, say Beyond Balderdash- well then you have a different man to deal with all together. Generally, the way we deal with this is by having the understanding that when all of the children begin to annoy him, he gets a rather large alcoholic beverage, and I take that as my cue that I will be driving home, and consequently slack up on my alcohol consumption. Now, usually the Ph is a quiet man, who, if making a witty quip, makes it quietly, (and occasionally) under his breath. And that is rare, as I usually provide the humor in our relationship. He is obliged only to laugh and always value the fact that he is married to someone sooooo witty.

The other point to make is that I worked for quite some time for a non profit children's agency, and dealt with DFACS ( the department of family and children's services) extensively. It is, I am sure, how I have not been hauled off to jail when my children make statements at school that should have me incarcerated and forbidden from contact with anyone under the age of 21. Times like when my youngest was 4, and responded to his Pre-K teachers inquiry about 'what did you do this weekend?' with "When I was home, by myself, I just watched TV all day." Before I get bombarded with comments about the reckless nature of leaving my child by himself at such a tender age, to Ri-ri, to be in his room by himself is at home by himself. Or when Dakota's teacher asked if any of them knew what a 'drug' was during drug awareness week. "Yep- my daddy let me have one so I would never want them again." Now I know why they are so nice to me during parent teacher conferences- they don't want to piss off the coke-head mom!

Now the Ph and I have been baffled before as to why our children would make such outrageous statements, but I have solved the mystery. While we were at Game night at one of our friends homes with two other couples last week, there were four children running and yelling and playing and generally driving the Ph insane, so he proceeded to prepare a Spiked Sprite (meaning about 24 ounces of vodka and a splash of sprite). As we made up dirty definitions to words like clinchpoop, our oldest, Dakota runs in to the dining room, grabs the Ph's glass, and before anyone can say a word- glugg, glugg, glugg, half of the beverage is gone. We all sat stunned, realizing that my son (who obviously takes after me) just did, realistically, about a shot an a half of Smirnoff. As all 6 of us laughed at the hilarity of his glassy eyed stare, and watched amazed as he ran off into the living room, we resumed the game. Shortly, the younger, Ri-ri calls from the living room "Daddy!! Koda's huggin' all ovah me!!" As we all burst out laughing, the mystery of my children's outbursts in school was solved, as the Ph responded,

"He can't help it Ri-ri! Koda's drunk!"

Not an Expert

2006-01-24T06:54:00.000-08:00

So I’m no expert. At anything. I admit, I know a good bit about movies, music, John Cusack, human nature, and the male form and how to please it, but I would never consider myself an expert at anything. I am simply able to carry on a conversation, in most situations, with most anybody. Now, having said that, I am a person that most of my friends come to when they need to vent, to cry or for some reason, when they need advice. I LOVE this. If I had to fill out one of those Internet surveys that asked ‘what is your favorite trait about yourself?’ I would say ‘I love that my friends trust me to give them advice, and in general be their life coach, five minutes at a time.’ I have been counsel during crises of faith and moments of clarity. I have provided advice for my friends regarding weddings, divorces, job changes, betrayals, break-ups, and even a few breakdowns. I only help or advise or meddle when asked and I thrive on it. I feel more on my game when I am helping than I do any other time.

What is it about solving problems in other people lives that gives me such a sense of accomplishment? Even if I don’t solve the problem, to know that something I said, or some email I’ve written, has made a difference, for the good, in another’s day? I’ve had enough therapy, that I can appreciate that perhaps making sense out of a chaotic situation for other’s gives me a false perception of control over my own life, but the simple fact that I know it’s a false perception would make one think that that’s not it. I think that I genuinely like being someone that makes a difference. In honor of that I would like to recognize some of the people who have been the sounding board for me, at different times in my life. So the top five people who made a difference:

Kevin- the therapist. I haven’t had to go for quite some time. And even though I paid him (well, insurance did), he was the first person in my life to make me be accountable for my own destiny. For my own decisions. If I was unhappy about my job, it was my own fault for having not found a new one. If I felt like I’d made compromises in my life, well I MADE them. No one forced my decisions; all of the decisions that led me to this point in my life were made by me. Yes, awful, horrible things happened to me at different times, but how I let them control my life for a time was MY mistake. I was responsible for how I reacted to them. I have heard so many therapists telling people it isn’t their fault, and to blame other people. Not Kevin. He was no holds barred, and I loved that about him.
My mom- the spiritualist. She raised me in church. She raised me to have faith. And she never counted on the fact that ‘faith’ would mean so much more to me than just religious faith. Even now, when I don’t necessarily believe everything her church holds as church dogma, I have never lost sight of my faith. And not just in the God I believe in, but faith in the goodness of life. Faith in the fact that all things will eventually make themselves known, and we will understand why things happen in our lives only when they do. Faith that EVERYTHING happens for a reason. Faith that we aren’t all just spinning, out of control, waiting for some black hole to end it all. There is a purpose. There is a reason. I have faith.
Bitter O- the rationalist. She is my me. When I have confusion and need clarity, she provides it. When I am unsure, she brings to light my confidence. When I am not funny, she is hilarious. And when I thought it wasn’t going to be all right, she reminded me it was. She is my rock.
Clint- the realist. He gave me a love for rock and roll- real, true rock and roll. Led Zepplin, AC/DC, even Def Leppard. He was dark, and brooding, and countered my sunshine and posies idea of what life is. He insisted I learn about history, and battles, and the Art of War. He made me watch Shaka Zulu and taught me strategy and patience. Were it not for him, I would not have my biting sarcasm, which is my trademark. I would not be nearly so quick-witted, as he would have made fun if I hadn’t been. He made me act like a grown-up, because I wanted to be around him. He gave me balance- a balance that serves me well now.
Tim- the idealist. My brother from another mother. The one who taught me that I was better than giving up. The one who reminded me that it was important to be the person people have grown to respect. The one who saved me from the biggest mistake of my life. The one, who is so funny, and can cut you down with one remark, who when I needed it, surprised me with his compassion. The one to whom I am eternally grateful.

These are the people who made a difference in my life. They are the ones to whom I owe my gift of gab. They may want to shoot themselves now, because of it.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T (also known as b-u--l-l-s-h-i-t)

2006-01-16T05:21:00.000-08:00

I use humor to deflect attention from my flaws and to ease uncomfortable situations. Now, admitting that (and admitting you have a problem is the first step...) I tend to occasionally chafe others, you know- rub them the wrong way until their hard outer shell is red and raw and they hate me more than fat women hate short shorts. And don't be a player hating about the fat women comment. I hate short shorts because I am a fat woman, so shut it. My sweet, kind, loverly friend, Bitter O Hag, made the comment that her friends don't respect her, citing that I made a comment about her peanut board job. (see the Temporary Insanity Part Deux entry). This is just simply not true. BOH knows I love her. SHE KNOWS I go to her for serious counsel in dealing with all the finer points of life that I am not comfortable with (my addictions to a great dirty martini, John Cusack movies and Cuban IT men). She is my grounding rod. When I float away into the atmosphere of self-doubt and uncertainty, she consistently brings me right back to earth, generally by reminding me that I have a fantastic life, and wonderful boys, and a hunky hunky husband who, (although they are in a tiff right now) she tells me constantly is the only man I could ever be happily married to. (Sidebar- she's right. Even thought he drives me insane sometimes, there is no other man in the world who would put up with me). My point is- I would never solicit the advice of someone I didn't respect. Bitter has great insights about situations that don't involve her. Great objectivity. And she is truly the yin to my yang, the white to my black (cookies.. you know... Seinfeld?!?!?) the honey to my vinegar- wait, scratch that last one. Not exactly what I meant, but you get it. I count on her, she counts on me, and anytime we spend more than ten minutes together we end up in tears- mostly from laughing so hard, but sometimes because we actually got serious for a minute, and we have a revelation that borders on earth-shattering. I guess my point is this. I joke, incessantly, and sometimes without regard to the consequences of my words. But come on, admit it. If your best friend, who HATES germs and being dirty more than ANYONE in the world (short of Howard Hughes) got assigned a temp job at the MAINTENANCE DEPARTMENT- would you not see the humor in that???? I mean come on! That is the kind of irony life dishes out for people like me.....

Which brings me up to my top five list of the day- People like me who make jokes that are always funny, but at times are inappropriate:

Brett Butler- Southern and genteel sounding, but whose jokes always have a bite. Love her
Roseanne- Barr, Arnold, whatever. This woman is funny, and loud and brash and raw, but she is funny like the US had never seen funny before. And don't you dare get mad about that Star Spangled Banner fiasco- She told people she couldn't sing!
Elvira Kurt- you know all those things we think and know we shouldn't say? Yeah- she says them.
Denis Leary- the song "Asshole". Nothing more needs to be said.
Chandler Bing- I know he's ficticious, but "Friends" would have been dead in the water without him. I hope to grow up and be as funny about being dysfunctional as he is.

So there you have it. Funny people and big rationalizations for my behaviour. But let's face it, we're all thinking these things from time to time. I get burned as much as I burn others. And if I've ever gotten you really good, and hurt your feelings, I'm sorry. But you should have been born with a quicker wit.

To Do List '06

2006-01-03T13:18:00.000-08:00

I am cheating. I admit it. All those goals from before may be my resolutions, but Ariel, over at kenandariel.com gave me this idea (and one of the boys on it). This is my TO DO LIST. And let me tell you. I would LOVE to do everything(ahem, one) on my list!!

Christian Bale- Whatever he begins, I would finish....

HC Jr. Just a yummy guilty pleasure...

Just to show I have no problem loving him, even after Brokeback Mountain. It's his mouth. That's got to be it.

But see, I loved him before Grey's Anatomy, and that makes it okay.

Like I would ever, EVER cheat on him....

Now I must go, you know, get myself in hand. Rather, should I say, more composed. I love the new year.

Resolution: rez-o-lu-shun;(noun);promises to break

2006-01-03T05:43:00.000-08:00

Yes, dearies, it's the new year. Time to make all those promises to ourselves and see how long we can go without breaking them. I have never, I think, been able to make it an entire year without breaking the resolutions I make on New Years Eve. I am aware that this is nothing unique to me- people do this all the time- but I have decided to jinx myself by stating my resolutions on line so that the whole three people who read my blog can try to keep me honest. So, in no particular order, my top five resolutions for 2006:

I will make a concerted effort to make the job I have the job I want to have, not just the job I go to each day. I am lucky with my job. It's a position that is in the process of being created, meaning that what I do with it, will ultimately be the job description. I am determined to incorporate all the things I love to do into my day to day tasks and, therefore, presto-chango, I will like being in my cubicle everyday. I will not invent new and creative excuses to call in. I will not dread Monday. I will not keep a bottle of Vodka in my desk drawer. What? Who said that?
I will have only one Diet Coke per week. If you knew me, you would understand the dangerous addiction I have to Diet Coke. And yes, although I am southern, I do mean the actual Diet Coke, and not just any diet beverage that is fizzy (aka Diet Pepsi, Diet Dr. Pepper- although it will do in a pinch- or Diet Rite) There is something delicious and wonderful about the tang of the cancer causing agents in Diet Coke that make the taste of anything else just too sweet and moderately good for you. Because of this, I drink about 9,246 Diet Cokes per week. When I worked, previously, with one of my friends there were only two of us in an office, and she was able to start a recycling program just for my Diet Coke Cans. And it must be in a can. Anything else, will not do. So I have decided that I need to reduce my dependence on this blissfully amazing beverage. 1 per week. 1. I swear.
I will finish my book. I have been writing this thing for about 5 years, and I have yet to get it done, because I will not dedicate the time to it. Well, it is time to make it a priority. I have set up a timetable for myself. I have small, reachable goals established. I will finish this thing, even if it means that I spend next new years eve typing furiously. I will finish the book.
I will not cut more than 2 inches from my hair. This sounds like an odd resolution, I know. But I go to extremes with the hair. I will grow it out long, and then cut it off short, then grow it out medium length, and cut it off short, but really ugly, and then cut it even shorter trying to repair the ugly, then grow it out long again. The pity about all of this is, I don't know how to do anything with my hair. I can get it cut into a million styles, but it will ultimately fall into the off-center part, and be straight as a board. Short or long, there is no product that can make my hair do anything different, so I am just going to keep it like it looks best. Long, and straight, and parted off center, because really- who needs a hairstyle?
I will save $5,000.00 secretly this year by not buying lunch or stupid stuff I don't need, just to prove to myself it can be done. I have an addiction to self-deprivation (really) and I have decided that if I am going to keep things from myself just to prove I don't need them, then I might as well make some cash.

And that's my top five list of resolutions. Sure I have some that are loftier goals- I will make my friends know they are important; I will be more kind to my children; I will make the Ph feel special; I will post to my blog more frequently, but those are all things that can't be defined. They are just well intentioned missives, floating around in the stratosphere, and they are self-fulfilling. If I try any of them, I will succeed, even if it is just a small success. And this year will be that. My year of small successes.

WTF

2005-10-31T11:14:00.000-08:00

So, I'm driving home from Alabama saturday afternoon, having just taken the kids to Melissa's, and I'm listening to the Indigo Girls, and of course, I'm singing. Suddenly, it's like a freakin dam burst. I started having those 'photo memories' where I think of all the different moments that are tied to those songs, and I can't stop crying. I mean some were happy, and some were incredibly sad, some were just moving thoughts, but I swear to god, I was exhausted by the time I got home from the body wracking sobs that shook me from stem to stern. And as I pulled up in the driveway, trying to pull it together, because I just didn't want to explain this to ANYBODY, especially since I didn't even understand it myself, and I had the one thought that made sense to me. 'It's time to adjust the meds- it's got to be.'

What the fuck with that?

What exactly is a "peeve"?

2005-08-15T09:43:00.000-07:00

I'm really not sure. I am going to assume, from context clues, that a peeve is an irritation. An act that irritates you. A 'pet peeve' is an oxymoron. Something that is your least favorite thing for someone or something to do. Whether I am right or wrong, I'm assuming I'm correct. At least for the sake of this post. If I'm wrong, you can let me know with mean emails and comments. These are my top five pet peeves, at this moment in time, and bound to change at any moment, as many, MANY things irritate me.

5. Radio callers who have never learned the art of conversation. This is, I know, petty, but I hate it, HATE IT, when people call into a radio station and say hi 17 times, and giggle a lot, and have their radio turned up to OH MY GOD hear them selves on a radio show (gasp) to which they called in. Is there really a surprise there people? When you call a number, and they pick up, even if it was busy before, once they start talking, then YES DAMMITT YOU'RE ON THE FREAKING RADIO. Big Whoop. I love the Bert Show too, but get over yourself.

4. Shhh-ing Me.
I have a voice immodulation disorder. I am sure of it. Either that, or I really am deaf, but my husband who swears I hear every little thing he mutters under his breath, will argue with me there. Basically, what this means is that I am almost always LOUD. Like everyone-in-the-crowded-restaurant-or-theater-can-hear-me loud. This would normally be only moderately annoying to others, but mostly, what I am saying is really REALLY inappropriate, so it tends to embarrass my friends and family. Now, I admit that I need to speak more quietly, but for holy God's sake, don't shhhh me. I am not 3. I am not even a class of three year olds. I am 30. Tell me "Mer- holy God you're being loud!" or even "Mer- I think the table in the back missed that."
or for the really fanatical (mom) "Meredith, Sunshine, you're being a little loud." (yes my mom still calls me Sunshine- Rant Hag's mom still calls her Dolly so back the fuck off). But my point is, I'm cool with having to modulate my volume. Just tell me. Don't shhh me. I will probably cuss at you if you do.

3. Along the same lines- Don't tell me not to slam the door. Especially don't tell me that if I haven't even shut the door yet. I have entered and exited homes, apartments, cars, treehouses, and (to quote Tommy Lee Jones) doghouses and outhouses. Never once has any door I've utilized fallen onto the ground or hung crooked off it's hinges after I passed through. I have never broken one pane of glass in a door. Not once has a windshield shattered when I departed a vehicle. Why do you find it necessary, then, to tell me not to slam the door? If your door seems loud when I leave it, perhaps it's just in contrast to the silence you're experiencing now that I have left and taken my loud talking voice with me. Have you ever thought about that? Hunh? If it's in your car, you're just not used to hearing your door shut! How often are you still in the car when you shut the door from the outside? That's right!! NEVER!!! (shut up, I know you have to shut the door when you get in, but that's different than when you get out) The crux of the matter is that "slam" is a relative term (unless you've had sex with me). "Slam" exists on so many levels. It's all about your perception, and my perception. So lay off the door slamming mandates.

2. Email Boomerang
This is my least favorite game to play. This is for all the people who cannot leave an email well enough alone. If you send me something funny, I will reply once- ONCE- to let you know I got it, respond to your question or comment, and generally re-assure you that I enjoy speaking to you. At that point, I have not asked a question. I have not made a request for you to respond. I have responded to you. That is all that is necessary. Let it go dammitt. But inevitably, I have started a game of email boomerang, in which you email me back, and if I don't respond, i then get emails asking me did I get your email? Holy Crap People! Or my next favorite. I email you. Either something funny, or clever, or perhaps even a meaningful spreadsheet. Anything, really applies. You receive the email, and, whether it is merited or not, you send a response that especially is purposeless or meaningless. WHY????? If you are sending me a two word response, did that really need to be sent??????? I have an ego the size of Texas. I know you love me, or at least like me. You need not send me two words to re-assure me that you got my email. I have put my faith firmly in the god of the email server, and I'm fairly certain you have received my correspondence. That, my friends, is email boomerang. Cut it out.

1.The Duality and Unfairness of God
Now I will give you that this is a bit more than your run of the mill pet peeve, but I cannot be completely honest here without saying that this, THIS ONE, is my most annoying pet peeve. I do not understand how one moment God (or insert Allah, Yahweh, Higher Power for all our 12 steppers or whatever God you believe in)is blessing me in unimaginable ways and then two days later, or two hours later, or simultaneously there are awful things happening, and people being tortured, and people losing children, and people kidnapping children (extreme home makeovers last night- OMG) and people dying of cancer, or dying of a heartattack, or not dying, but being miserably mean and unruly alcoholics, or abusive husbands or abusive fathers, or warring in foreign lands, and I am left trying to rationalize my feelings of faith in the process and in God, with my irritation that I don't get why there has to be all the heartache. And the argument about the Devil is lost on me, because it's superseded by my Southern Baptist upbringing that God is All Powerful, All Knowing, and could change everything if it was to be that way, but HE DOESN'T and that pisses me off. I mean really- look at the course of human kind. We are going down the toilet, and taking everyone else with us, so it's obvious to me that we aren't learning to do the right thing. We aren't becoming- on the whole- a better society of humankind. We are teaching people how to molest and abduct and invade and destroy, so really- Why not just save us from ourselves or wipe us the fuck out? And I am okay saying fuck, because I think my God, the one I believe in and talk to all the time, knows that I'm pretty pissed off about it, and really don't feel like monitoring my language, and he's okay because he understands me. His actions still make my list of pet peeves though, no matter how much I love Him.

That's it. Respond, if you will. Just don't expect a game of email boomerang from me!

I will remember you...

2005-08-11T05:48:00.000-07:00

I have a photographic memory. Now, I do not mean that by looking at pages in a book, I commit them involuntarily to memory. No. What I mean is that most of my memories play back in my head like a photo slide show, as opposed to an old super 8 film. So the memories I have of people are like photo snapshots. I have often said before that I would love to, some day, have the technology to download the images in my head, and build my life's photo album. The following is not so much a top five or top ten, or anything. More just a list of moments that flash through my head when I am being reflective. I don't expect they will mean anything really to you, but my hope is that there are those of you for whom these memories will make you reflect upon your own mental photos-

and maybe smile.

My oldest sister sitting on her stool in front of her vanity, smelling of Pond's Cold Cream, and getting ready for bed. She was (and is) one of the most beautiful women in the world.
My mother at the top of the stairs, silhouetted in the light from the hall, telling me goodnight. She always used Noxema for her face and Jergen's lotion for her hands, and I can't smell either of those without feeling so homesick for her.
Cathy on a go-cart, taking a turn around the track we made in her yard, with pony-tails flying, and dirt flying out from under her wheels. She was maybe 9 or 10.
Matthew toddling out of the screen door, taking joy and delight in pushing it as far back as he could so he had time to get out of the way before it slammed with a bang like a gunshot.
Melissa curling her hair, and singing Dolly Parton into a Goody's hair brush.
The cast of my first play turning to applaud me spontaneously, without preparation or rehearsal. The footlights blinding me to the audience and the roar of their hands deafening me to anything but the joy I felt being with those kindred spirits and knowing my peers thought I had done something spectacular. I think it was, up to that point, my proudest moment.
The look of concern on Miranda's face as I boarded the plane. It was the first time I realized that she didn't just love me because she had to, but because she saw the promise of the person I was growing up to be, and thought she might like her eventually.
The way the gates at Fort Jackson looked when you were leaving them, shamefully.
Daddy's face when I first got back. Relief and disappointment all at once.
After a year of being apart, the look on his face when I said yes.
The wink I got going down the aisle.
The way he looked when he opened the rattle from Tiffany's, and it hit him what that meant.
tiny feet
Blonde hair and bubbles
Tears on a dark porch. Both the sad time and the happy time.
seeing the youngest overcome his fear and jump in.

These are just some of the moments that play in my mind. And in the background, I hear Sarah singing.

ballsy bitch

2005-08-09T13:36:00.000-07:00

Or maybe it's ballsey, I honestly don't know. What I do know is that I am frequently referred to as this. Now, excusing the fact that I would really prefer not to be called a bitch, I am more bothered by the use of the term ballsy. Ballsy. As in 'to have balls'. I cannot determine why this bothers me so much. I feel like a lot of it has to do with the conflicting feelings of growing up being a tomboy in a Princess Barbie world, and so I always felt out of place. Maybe it's the being around boys growing up. I don't know, but I think, most women want to feel- feminine, attractive- something. Instead, I generally feel like Kate Hepburn giving hell to Steve McQueen, or something.

The thing is, I tell the truth. Good, bad or indifferent, I tell the truth. And I'm not afraid when people ask me questions to which the truthful answer puts me in a bad light. Everyone has flaws right? But why, oh why, oh why, oh why do I end up feeling like a bitchy, butchy, masculine, she-man when I do this? And why do I feel like being ballsy is a bad thing (other than the fact that every woman wants to appear attractive, and being ballsy eliminates you from the attractive realm to most men)? In order to reconcile with the fact that being forceful, honest, and sometimes crude does not make you inherently evil, and un-woman-like, I am publishing my Top Five list of Ballsy Bitches:

5. Heather Armstrong- Heather writes Dooce. If you blog, you know her. if not, Dooce.com. This girl writes with brutal honesty, and wit, and she's slightly (ever so slightly) mentally ill at times, so, basically, right in line with me.

4. Katherine Hepburn- this lady was an amazing woman, and took hold of her own destiny when no woman in Hollywood would have ever done that. I was so sad when she went. But she is forever ours on celluloid.

3. Rosie O'Donnell- How is it that the funniest people can touch us the most deeply? She makes me laugh like no one else, but her art and her movies (on her blog) make me cry every damn time. But it's good, and I need that, and I love her for it.

2. Jodie Foster- my doppelganger. She doesn't compromise what she believes to make a buck. Her work is always so beautiful, and she has taken on a male dominated field and succeeded. She also has the ability to be forceful, and remain soft at the same time. She is pliant, not hard as nails. Jodie is, simply, Jodie.

1. Anais Nin- Diarist, writer, thinker, lover, mistress. She epitomized a liberated woman, but in contrast was deeply in love with a married man. She was a slave to the love, but never shackled herself to him. She writes "How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself". She knew what Women's Lib was way before our mother's and Grandmother's. And not once did she hide from who she was, or what she was, or how people saw her. She reveled in being HER. And that's what we all should do.

That's it. My list of ballsy women. Women that make me feel like it's okay to be ballsy. I like my list. If you don't, I really don't give a damn.

ditto

2005-08-05T07:07:00.000-07:00

Rant hag is to blame. She made a lust list, Now, I feel compelled to counter the Lust List with the Top Five Celebrity Men I Would So Sleep With Even If I Am Married. It may not be a catchy title, but trust me, it is a highly debate-able list. SO- here we go, in a VERY particular order:

5. Matthew McConaughey- On my list because oh my god he's yummy. And he seems very personable and funny in interviews. And, let's face it, any man that can get busted, naked, while high, for playing the bongos and making too much racket for his neighbors is right up my alley.

4. Will Smith- Will was on my original list, like 10 years ago, and he has played the on and off game for a while when he disappeared for a bit, but when you combine the body he has in "Ali", the personality from "Fresh Prince of Bel Air", and the wit from "Hitch", you have hit a goldmine. Ali+Fresh Prince+Hitch= YUM. End of story.

3. David Duchovny- I have a strong feeling that it's not so much that I like nerdy shows like X-Files, but I like the men IN the shows, and that makes me a nerd by proxy. Phil will argue that, 'No, Mer, you just like nerds'. He may be right. I don't know. All I know is that David Duchovny is Dee-Lish-Us. Watch "Return to Me". You will never see Fox Muldor the same way again.

2. Jeff Goldblum- YES. The guy that played 'The Fly'. Yes the guy in 'Earth Girls are Easy'. Yes the NERD, dammit from 'The Big Chill' (incidentally my favorite movie). I cannot explain it. I do not know what chemically makes me sooooo drawn to this man, but I sooooo am. Watch how he walks away from the spaceship at the end of 'Independence Day'. That swagger tells you he knows how to f**k. I'd certainly be open to finding out...

And my Number 1:
JOHN CUSAK!!! He was sweet in '16 candles'. He was adorable in 'Better Off Dead'. He made me cry in 'Say Anything', and he made me fear my High School Reunion a little less because of 'Grosse Point Blank'. But most of all he made all those feelings everyone has make sense in 'High Fidelity'. He questioned love, and talked to the Boss, and by the end figured out that love is knowing that while you'll never stop questioning and asking what-if, you know you're in love when you choose not to let the questions and what-ifs get the best of you. And it doesn't hurt that he makes me wet.

So that's it. My little ole list. Luckily, I probably don't have a lot of competition for a lot of these guys, so my chances are pretty good, were I to ever meet most of them. A girl can always dream!

and the curse

2005-08-01T13:56:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't have wished for it a thousand times. I shouldn't have been so quick to say it without thinking. I should have been more cautious with my words. But you say things, without even thinking sometimes that those wishes travel on the winds to the ears of the gods, and the gods... they have a sense of humor. As my baby, my Ri-ri, walked into school this morning, not letting me walk him in, looking very small and overcome by his backpack, and threw a wave at my car without so much as a hesitation as he disappeared through the school house door- Big school, not baby school- I thought of all the times I said those words, and I hated myself for just a little while.

"I can't wait to have some time alone."
"I can't wait until they both are at the same school."
"I can't wait until school starts again"
"I just want some peace and quiet."

It was so quiet in the car. Well, except for the sound of me sobbing.

...and stomped that sucker flat

2005-07-28T06:01:00.000-07:00

I have boys. Two beautiful, amazing boys, who drive me insane frequently, and always make me feel as if my life has a purpose. Mostly that purpose feels like it is 'to keep them alive, and right near me "Riley? Where did Riley go?? Riley!!!" but hey! that's a purpose. Last night though, I realized that I am not just the place keeper in my boys life, to keep them alive until Daddy gets home. You see, as they are boys, 4 and 6, EVERYTHING is about Daddy right now. He is what they want to be when they grow up. They want to go with him everywhere. He is their favorite playmate, and he is protection from me when they get in trouble. Daddy is god to my children. I mean, he's not the God, but he's a god, and most of the time, I am Satan.

But last night, as I dropped them off with my parents (about an hour and a half from home) to spend a few days with Granmommy and Papa, my oldest, my Dakota broke down on me. When we arrived, my parents weren't home yet, so we went in to wait, which we do all the time. The boys have made this very same trip, to do this very same thing countless times, without incident. Since my mom left dinner for us warm on the stove (bless her) I prepared some plates, and we went out to the sun-porch to eat. Half-way through his corn, my oldest looks at me, and his eyes are welling with tears.

"What's wrong, baby?"
"I j-j-just think I wi-wi-will miss you too much"
"Aww, honey- come here," and I let him on my lap.
"I wi-wi-wish you could stay and sp-sp-spend the night too, but I know you have to go to wo-wo-work" and he sobs and sobs and holds onto my neck, and sobs and cries, and sobs.

His brother- 4- continues eating corn, and singing an "I'm eating corn and it tastes good" song he's making up as he goes along.

"Koda- I will be back on Friday, honey, and while I'm gone you get to swim in the lake, and play with your cousins, and I bet Granmommy will even let you plant some things if you would like."
"I know, mom. I usually do okay in the morning, but at night times it's just hard not to think about you"

We talked for a bit. He finished eating, as did I. We cleaned up our dishes, and I let him dry them off, and then we turned on one of their movies. Riley continued to make funny faces and potty noises to try and make Dakota laugh, which worked a little, and Dakota laid down on the couch and put his head in my lap. He asked me to pat his back while we watched the movie, and I revelled in the fact that I made it better. When my parents got there, he was happy to see them, and sat with Papa for a little while, while I gave my mom the low-down on what was happening, and asked her to keep an eye out for his sleepwalking, etc. I went into the living room, and gave them hugs and kisses, told them goodnight and got ready to leave. Making sure he was settled in on the couch, I asked Dakota, as my last attempt before I left, to make sure he was okay, 'You gonna be okay?'

And he looked at me, with his big blue eyes, which are bigger and bluer than any other eyes in the whole universe and he said triumphantly "Mommy- I'm thinking of you less already!"

At which point he tore my heart out of my chest...

There is no cure but abstinence

2005-07-26T05:10:00.000-07:00

There are toxic people in our everyday lives. Yes, yes, I know you all thought this might end up being some racy post about sex or at least something funny about an std, but no. This is about toxicity. And how to de-toxify your life, for your own good. But first, my top five, most toxic people I ever allowed in my life:

5. Alanna Morris- We were in school together. She was wealthy and cool and I was poor and not. She was a cheerleader, I was Gifted program. But instead of me hating her for being all the things I wanted to be, she made it a point to ostracize me, mostly, I think, because of a friendship I had with a girl named Kate, who was nice to me. She was the model for 'Mean Girls' and although it is sad that I am 30 and identify with that movie, I think you get my point.

4.Jaime Prillaman- She was a smart, gifted, talented, priss, and for some reason we just didn't get along. But where as I would have rather just chosen opposite ends of the playground (this was elementary school) she tried, without success, to weasel her way into my group of friends. They liked me better though, nanabooboo.

3.Sheree W.- Single white female in college. Almost lost my then fiancee, now husband, because of her lies and deceit. She actually cut her hair like mine, bought clothes like mine, and freaked my family out.

2. Shawn- and speaking of family... The most beautiful woman I have ever seen in real life and the biggest user you will ever meet. I was under her spell for so long, I would do ANYTHING for her, and she was so gifted at directing her puppets. Fortunately, for me, it all blew up in her face one day, and I was able to recognize what she was. A user, who needed a follower. And I was able to realize what I was. A follower, who wanted, desperately, to be what Shawn was. A person people would do anything for. And that is the most dangerous kind of person to be.

1. Paul P.- You are still in my family. Still in my life. I hate you for that. I hate myself for letting you be. If I had been older and stronger, you would have been gone. Too little too late, I guess, but I will always know what you are, and one day, when you slip up again, I will be the nail in your coffin.

Now, on to the rambling post...

Do you know someone that, when you are telling them a story, they interrupt halfway through with a story of their own? Or they wait until you finish, while shaking their leg like a kid that has to pee, and trudge ahead with how that happened to them once, but it was far FAR worse? Them you have a low-level toxic friend. Everyone has one or two of these. They aren't inherently bad people, they just tend to irritate you, and after talking to them, you feel slightly less valuable as a person. These are toxic friends that you can live with. By now, you have probably built up an immunity anyway, so you'll screen your calls, and see them at the big functions, but all in all, they aren't your 'I can't live without them' friends. I see them the way I see pesticide. You know it's toxic, but you let it in your home because it does have it's advantages.

BUT if you have a 'friend' (and I use this term loosely) that
a) lies consistently to you,
b)competes with you in an effort ot make themselves feel bigger or better
c) goes after the men in YOUR life, or
d) says things to you to make you feel small and non existent,

then you are at critical toxic friend poisoning levels. You need to understand that a contaminiation of your social life has occured, and the only way to prevent the death of your personal relationships with every person this 'friend' comes in contact with is to CUT THEM OFF!!!!! There is no way to adjust to these people. If you let them close to you, they eat at your flesh until there is nothing left but big ugly raw red welts that sting and itch all the time, so you scratch and claw and try to soothe the irritation, but ultimately, you will die from this infection.

Now, excusing the longest run on sentence (with the most disgusting illiteration, EVER) I have come across this problem. My dearest friend is the antithesis of me. She is sweet, and kind to people. She spares their feelings at any cost. She has a wicked sense of humor, and once dedicated Van Morrison's "Queen of the Slipstream" to me, so I adore her, and I am a wee, tiny, tad, bit protective of her, as I have enough agressive nature for both of us. We have been talking recently about these people in her life that are toxic, and how I feel like she needs to cut them out of her circle. And I don't mean just biopsy them and see what happens, but amputate them at the nearest joint. What I realized yesterday, during the conversation my friend and I had, was that she feels bad cutting people out of her life, even though they make her miserable. She, with her huge big heart, is sympathetic of these people that hurt HER!! How blessed am I that she is my friend, but does anyone realize how big a person she is that she feels for people that hurt her??? That is like true-life, saint-hood, Mother Theresa kind of goodness, and i now believe that every time I touch her, her goodness will burn my skin like the fire of a thousand suns. She doesn't know how good she is, and she is tortured by the mean and conniving nature of these toxic people. And I have decided to be a better friend than I have been. I am going to try and support her decision, even if she maintains a friendly level of relationship with these people, without being too catty (even though it's in my nature to be). She doesn't need my direction. She doesn't need my judgement. She just needs me to be there. And she only just now knows about my blog.

Welcome, Jilly.

format

2005-07-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

I said at first that I would post as top fives, but that limits me when I need to get on here and just talk. So, while you will se top five lists occasionally, most of my posting now will be my views, my experiences, and my therapy. This blog is my outlet. Thank God, because I needed it.

Like a lamb

2005-03-31T08:07:00.000-08:00

Today always makes me sad. It wasn't just the last day of March. It was the last day of that feeling. That special thing. That resignation. So, my post today- the top five endings that sucked. Of course, these are movie endings, not real life. In real life, you took the prize for that one.

Message in a Bottle- to get the cheesy girlie flicks out of the way, this movie ending left you wishing for that bottle- so you could break it and use the ragged shards to shred your wrists. The movie's ending made the whole movie pointless. No one is better off for watching this, least of all the characters in the movie.
Gone with the Wind- Okay, yes, it's a girlie flick, but it's not cheesy! 'Tomorrow is another day'???? WTF is that? Margaret Mitchell needed to have the cahones to end the damn movie. (My ending would have Belle Watling and Rhett kicking Scarletts whiny ass to the curb, and living it up in that big damn house)
Close Encounters of the Third Kind- Far be it from me to criticize Spielberg, but COME ON!!! Richard Dreyfuss just gets on the spaceship???? His life, his fam, no big deal! He's going to go with the aliens!!! I was NOT amused.
ET- the extra-terrestrial- Okay Not only is this movie on this top five list, but my top five list for worst movies ever. I hated this movie when I saw it as a kid. I hated it when my kids wanted to see it. I have been informed that I am un-American, as this movie epitomizes what it is to be an American child, and to dream, and that I am going to proceed to the third level of hell for not liking this movie. Okay- fine. But I for one would have liked to see something more than Elliott and his brother taking this thing to forest and have it leave. How anti-climatic! Just another reason this movie did nothing for me.
Unbreakable- I love M. Night Shyamalan. I really do. I think he has made an artform of the surprise endings, so I look forward to them. Well what happened to the surprise here, M? I think everyone knew that Sam was the bad guy, Bruce was the good guy, and when you have captions tell the end of the story, there should be more movie. I was just so disappointed.

So that's my take on bad endings. I guess I should have given a spoiler alert before I just told everyone how these movie's ended, but, oh well.

Today, I need a top twenty.

2005-03-10T12:26:00.000-08:00

There must be something in the air. It's almost spring. They've been cooped up too long. The county is not spraying insect spray, but really just misting the neighborhood with a fine mist of cocaine, SOMETHING. My list today is the top twenty things I have learned from my boys lately.

1.) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.
2.) A 3-year old Boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.
3.) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Superman underwear and a Superman cape.
4.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on.
5.)When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit.
6.)A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.
7.) The glass in windows, even double-paned, is not thick enough to stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.
8.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.
9.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words "uh oh", it's already too late.
10.) Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old boy.
11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.
12.) Super glue is forever.
13.) VCR's do not eject "PB & J" sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.
14.) If you let them choose their own clothes, you will wish you hadn't EVERY TIME!
15.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.
16.) The fire department in Villa Rica, GA has a 5-minute response time.
17.) You can not blame your alarm system when smoke is rolling out of your kitchen.
18.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.
19.) It will, however, make cats dizzy.
20.) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

Lurker takes action

2005-03-08T05:52:00.000-08:00

I lurk. I have for years. I read, and laugh and comment occasionally. But today, in honor of self-portrait day, I finally decided to blog. My formats going to vary a little from there normal stream of consciousness style of writing I normally do. You can check here each day for the top five list of the day. Sometimes it will be nothings, and sometimes it will be deep, and always, I hope, it will be entertaining.

I have created top five lists all my life. Before John Cusack in High Fideltiy, although it is one of my top five movies for that and various other reasons. It's a way for me to prioritize. If somethings not big enough to make it onto the top five list, than there is no reason to get all riled up about it.

Today's top Five, since we're just getting to know each other, deals with music. What you have to understand about me is that music is it for me. I love music; almost every kind. So my top five list today is the one I've had since I was about 16. Top Five Favorite Musicians. Not bands, bear in mind, that comes later. Musicians. So here we go:

Tom Petty- I have loved every album this man has had a hand in from '1976' to the 'Traveling Wilburys' to 'She's the One'. He has such a laid back style, and is the perfect music to drive to. And face it, sometimes you just need to drive.
Erci Clapton- Slow Hand, the master, the most amazing guitarist to grace catgut. When you can rock it as hard as he does, and then rip your heart out with a ballad like 'Tears in Heaven', you are something special. I have touched one of his guitars before, and I swear, lightning bolts shot out of it. Of course that could have been the security system.
Bruce Springsteen- He's the Boss. I hate his politics, but the man makes music that grabs you somewhere inside. A lot of people thought he jumped the shark with Lucky Town and Human Touch, but I think there is so much good music on those albums, namely, my blogs namesake, 'With Every Wish'. If you've never listened to them all the way through, do it. You'll be glad you did. Or you'll comment here, and tell me I suck. Either way, Bruce will get heard.
Bob Dylan- He's a poet, and he turns a phrase in a way that baffles me. He can make "Go to the kitchen and get me a sandwich" in to some harmonica driven, acoustic ballad that will tear you up inside, and then make you think of all the oppressed people around the world, having to make sandwiches for people thy don't really like, but they have to to feed their kids, and sandwich making is the only way to do that... I digress. Bob's a rocker with heart, and I love that.
Roy Orbison- He's the reason my mom and I re-connected. He had the most amazing voice; one that is undeniably his, and no one will ever be able to duplicate his signature style, no matter how many dark glasses they buy, or black jackets they wear. He was a legend.

So those are my top five musicians. Don't get me wrong, there are a thousand musicians I love, but a persons top five are, well, a person's top five. Chime in if you'd like. List you top fives if you will. And don't worry- My Top Five Punk Bands are coming. It's not going to all be about guitar and classic rock.