A Lot of Layers

Reverse Bucket List

2012-02-06T19:26:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you remember that I don't have a bucket list. I don't even enjoy the concept. Or the movie (Sorry, Mom). I like the idea of doing a lot of fun things in my life, but not in relation to before I die. Life is complicated enough without having more pressure to do fun exciting daredevil shit.

Also, I don't like jumping off of things.
Or eating gross food.
Or working hard.
Or geriatric buddy movies.

I was thinking about the things that I will NEVER do. I don't dislike them, I just won't.
Not gonna.
Caaaan't make me...

1. Climbing Mt. Everest.
I have read Into Thin Air several times. I love it. The mistakes made, the struggle, the ego, the realization that we can't always out-do nature. But I am not going. No way, no how. Hard work and challenging your body against the biological makeup of your lungs is fun to read about, but not for this girl. A sherpa would be nice though, if just for groceries.

2. Sing in a Band
This is one I would like to do, but it's time to realize it is not gonna happen. In my alternate life, I learned to play the ukulele and such but now I just have to push my dreams on my kids. Sorry, kids. Now go practice.

3. Sleeping with my College Professor
This was something I thought I would do when I was young (Animal House reference, perhaps?) but I was a child-bride, didn't go to college as a traditional student and I re-watched the movie and that guy's sweater/ass combo is a little too weird.

4. Falling from height in any manner (Skydiving, bungee, Cliff Diving, Roller Coasters)

Yes, never. I have never thought this was cool. I like heights, planes, but have NO desire to jump off. I have cliff dived and ridden a roller coaster, but I lend those to peer pressure and lack of knowledge about spinal injuries from ill-depth water landings.

5. I don't have a #5.
See, I'm a quitter.

THose Su-hu-mer Niii-hights....

2012-01-12T23:42:00.000-07:00

Summa Lovin
Had me a blaa-ast.

Summa Lovin
Happens so fast...

In French. Why? Because its hilarious.

I crashed my banana seat bike down memory lane today when a blast from the past sent me a series of messages on face book.

This fellow was a friend of the older neighbor kid, sort of the pet of their family, the sidekick from a sitcom. He was a little strange and i found him annoying. He had a nickname that I thought lent to his annoying-ness. I spent a lot of time rolling my eyes at he and the neighbor kid, since I was pals with his sister. They did things like burn tattoos on their asses with firecracker punks and laughed hysterically at the similarities of the words
"Spam" and "Sperm".

Jerk-offs

(Why do I remember this shit? I can't even remember where I ate lunch yesterday. Wait, it gets worse.)

I will admit that we saw a lot of each other, but usually those idiots were flipping us off or spraying us with the hose while we worked on our sun tans. Occasionally we played evening games like "Hope to See the Ghost Tonight" (Ghost in the Graveyard) with the whole street, but we wouldn't hide with those dicks.

My memory pretty much fades here as I got older and too cool for neighborhood nonsense. Twin and the neighbor girl remained close, so she still spent a lot of time there, but I had melted into my clique of mean girls and breathed them like air. Mean air, but air nonetheless.

For whatever reason I don't remember, we decided to spend the night at the neighbors and sleep on their trampoline. (Remember when trampolines didn't have safety nets? Awesome.). The boys made a big game of usurping our plans and stealing the tramp. Dicks. We fought in spurts about it before dark, cussing at each other with our junior high vocabularies.

Fuck you you fuckin' fuckers! (sorry, Mom)

As it got later, we settled into sleeping bags and blankets, pillows and, I'm sure, a stash of junk food. We ignored them and they ignored us. It was a big tramp. Later, we found common ground on something and chatted while looking up. Several drifted off, but Skippy and I continued to talk in the dark.

And then it happened.
I kissed the neighbor kid's weird friend.
A lot.

For a long time.

((whispering)) Hours.

I have never said that out loud before.

And, I never really spoke to him again, and never told anyone. Those who shared the tramp inevitably found out, but we
just
didn't
talk
about
it.

20+ years later.

A Facebook message from the weird guy.

How's life been treating me?
(Benign convo, I like it..)

Very well, very well....

The weird kid was pretty much the same as I remembered, except it was strange to hear him talking the same way in his 40's as he did in his teen years, like Captain Cool Guy. He big-wheeled about being a musician and his rockin and rollin' lifestyle and inquired about mine.

I shared my less than rock and rollin' lifestyle. I hoped my friendly but polite responses would maintain a decorum which would allow a polite ~~avoidance~~ sidestep to our teenage encounter.

But, no. Skippy waded right in, telling me he has fond memories of me, especially the night on the trampoline.

Siiiiigh. (internal screaming)

There I was, 37 years old, embarrassed.

In my kitchen, I looked over my shoulder even though I was alone in the house.

I think I blushed. I know I did.

How does one respond to this forward discussion of a decades long make out session? I awkwardly continued the polite banter, saying "Ah, of course, the trampoline", and "thank you for your kind words", "crazy summertime", etc.

I didn't remember it quite this way, or as being meaningful. I changed the subject and we spoke about his music and his children, his parents whom I had met several times (his mother looked like Dolly Parton).

He told me I should consider myself lucky that we had spoken because he is very busy producing.
I smiled.

He also told me he is on a spiritual quest, and asked me about my faith. I said I was an Agnostic.
I didn't feel judged.

He said he appreciated the night on the trampoline and wouldn't take it for granted.
I wondered what that meant....

He said he does a cover of a song that fits the bill for him and I.
I cringed, see below.

I teased him that he was making much more of this event that I imagined he would, a traveling musician and producer, ; -) He wrote back about his nostalgia for the summers at the neighbors house, eating buttered popcorn and stealing sodas from the fridge when we all spent the night.

I felt bad for not remembering that part.

In those days, I considered myself out of his league. Yet, somehow in the dark, with the stars above and everyone else asleep, Skippy and I found some common ground that made us connect on a figurative and then literal level.

I still consider my old ass out of his league.

So why was I so flattered to be reminded of the episode 25 years later?

Probably because I am 25 years older and I blushed like I was still 13.

Thanks, Skippy. I think you might have made my day.

My Interest in Pinterest - Both of Me

2012-01-10T23:22:00.000-07:00

Happy New year...

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging much. I know my 2 family members, 1 friend and 3 foreign Facebook stalkers are missing my sparkling ((hack)) wit and humor *sniff*.

I haven contracted yet another crud from the baboos, who are apparently germ infested. This one has had me down; so housebound that I did something I said I wouldn't do.

No, not clean....

No, not work!

I've joined Pinterest.

As a friend pointed out, this was pretty much what it looked like:

www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com
Go there and die laughing.
Moum, I go parpy.

I chose interests like women's fashion, food, humor, technology and so on.

Since then, I have been inundated with beautiful photos of food, boots I must have, snarky quips, and some home crafts I will NEVER DO.

So now, I have no time for witty banter since I am very busy repinning things (I PIN ALL THE THINGS!!!) I like to my boards and thinking about cooking all of the food I shouldn't eat which is displayed on said boards. It's ludicrous.

I was sorry I had waited so long.

I sort of wish I had resisted.

A few friends -who-are-boys asked about this word "Pinterest" floating around our social networks and I tried to share the experience. But, most of my page included hairstyles, clothing sets, cute jewelry and recipes. I only saw one nekkid woman to which other Pinners were protesting.

Pinterest, in the interest (i did that again, see?) of sharing my thoughts with the government, has linked to my Facebook page, Twitter account and probably knows ~~all of the mood altering drugs~~ ~~I take~~ my address. It has smartly selected a few folks that I should follow based upon my choosing of a few basic interests like Art, Music, etc.

While I understand the kinds of things one would expect to find on MY page, I had a tough time 'splaining this to my friends-who-are-boys. Just what does a boy page look like? I set to find out.

Research: It's a layer, yo.

I can't explain exactly WHYYYYY I have a secret Facebook alter ego, but I do. MYOB. And, for all intents and purposes, this alter ego has also joined Pinterest from what I am imagining is a dude's perspective.

No stinking jewelry

No fa-rickin hairstyles

Nyet crafts!

Man Stuff. Special-Agent's-Rules-for-Manly-Manliness-approved SHTUFF. ~~Boobs~~.

My alter ego selected sports, cars, food, science, history, technology, etc. ~~Boob~~s. Stuff I thought Special Agent might select. ~~Boobs~~. I didn't even go too butch, picking food and men's fashion.

I fully expected to open my Pinterest boards to reveal ~~boobs~~, sets of tires, hot chicks, some racy cars and maybe a photo of Able Lincoln. I was feeling very manly and virile.

This is what was on my page:

What in THE hell?

Cardigan sweaters?
Sweet kitten faces?
Musicals?

The closest thing I found was something on BOTH of our pages.

My alter ego was pissed. It logged off for good and went to watch ESPN and scratch. Not one nekkid woman. Not even an arty one. Not One.

Manly Pinterest Fail. Don't bother, boys.

A Story That Needs to be Told, Again - Today of All Days

2011-12-29T09:29:00.000-07:00

Today is the 12th anniversary of my brother Jason's death due to HIV/AIDS related complications.

It sucks.

As I read through this again I was struck by how badly this post needs edited, but I hesitate to change it since it was 10+ years of repressed feelings rushing out like a tidal wave. The tide has come back in, but something in me feels lighter for writing this lengthy and scattered piece.

Share it with someone who struggles to accept, struggles to be tolerant. Time is short.

********************************************************************************************************
Two people have asked me recently about in a round-about way about my brother and/or why I post vehement messages of support of gay rights on my Facebook page often. While I don't think I need a better reason than the good ol' Golden Rule, like most, the events in my life have shaped how I feel.

My brother Jason was gay. He was always different, although we didn't realize it the way you would now that it is more accepted in our society (it is better now, I think). He was five years older than my sister and me, and was really a great older brother. We should have realized then that it was odd that he helped us cut and dye our Barbie's hair and liked to organize stage productions of "Grease" (1 and 2), and produced and acted in a live sitcom he created a la Partridge Family called "The Beckwith's"....A lot of times I was the dog, but I am over it. Yes I am. Really. I am.

When beard trimmers and markers go wrong..

While we were pretty Brady Bunch-like, Jason and my Dad had a tough time connecting on a man/boy level because their interests were so far apart, but not for lack of trying on my Dad's part. I was more of that person, since I caught salamanders and frogs while Jason cooked and Stephanie hid from the frogs. We had a pretty great childhood, so don't go there. Jason was very well known for singing and acting, and graduated high school "promised"...to a girl. Yep. You heard me. With the not-an-engagement-ring-ring. He was very popular with girls, which should have been another huge and glaring indicator. There were always rumors he was gay, but since he was always dating someone...

Beard
	Any opposite sex escort taken to an event in an effort to give a homosexual person the appearance of being out on a date with a person of the opposite sex. Half of the women on the red carpet at the movie premier were not real dates, but beards.

After High School, he toured with a musical group called Up With People *, during which his girlfriend broke up with him. She was still in school and he was traveling and performing all over the world (awesome!). It was pretty typical for the break up to happen at that age, and I think she probably realized what was up. He was devastated by the break up. I think the break up signified that he knew he could no longer travel down a path that wasn't his. He wasn't so great at facing things, so this was a tough time for him. I suspect he also found that when he left Wyoming, there was a whole world and many of the UWP cast who were having the same feelings he was, and FINALLY, he fit in somewhere. Still, he struggled with coming to terms with who he was and tried to fight it. He was still "in the closet" at this point, at least as far as we knew.

* Up With People is a great organization and will not, I repeat, will NOT make you gay. Unless you are already gay. The end.

After his touring year he left Up With People, a mistake I think. He went downhill from there and really struggled with drugs and bad relationships over the next 4 years. I was 5 years younger and went from thinking he hung the moon to being very disappointed in his drug use, lack of responsibility and continued lying to my parents, who didn't seem to comprehend the drug use, especially my Dad.

At one point I told my parents I suspected the money they were sending was going toward drugs and that I thought they should stop helping him. My Mom knew, but I don't think my Dad ever stopped trying to help him. I was about 16 years old by then, i guess. I was ultra responsible and possibly a little uptight (Read: SUPER uptight). I was worried and I wanted him to come home so we could assess him in person, but he kept saying he couldn't. We all knew he was gay but my Dad (who probably knew too - ignoring reality apple didn't fall far from that tree ) so during a phone call I finally said we knew he was gay, please come home. (He seemed genuinely surprised that we knew. Again with the reality - my Mom had thought it for years.) He came home alone for a visit, but he was a hot mess. He had a new partner who was also trying to straighten him out, who was off-putting on the phone and seemed not to realize that we were struggling with all of this too. This partner likely saved his life, so I thank him even though he really pissed me off. It wasn't a good visit.

My parents struggled financially in those years of the oil bust and I was very angry at my brother for making their struggle harder, by not paying car payments, continually needing money that was likely not used for dental bills, rent and other excuses and the CONTINUAL LYING. I was pissed at him, done dealing. I stopped talking to him. He wasn't invited to my wedding. This was hard for my parents, and I spent a lot of time being angry at my brother since they couldn't be. I was a bitch about it, and I am sure I added to their stress over the matter. Apologies.

Onion: I'm furiously angry! Grrr...
Jason: Palm Springs! Mimosa, please..

By then, he was still with his life saving partner who had moved him from AZ to CA to get him away from some of the influences that plagued him. I think he may have had to stake him in the back yard for a time in order to keep him from returning to his former life. Jason prospered there and we started talking. No more hard drugs, good jobs, they bought a home and had two dogs. Finally he was at peace with who he was and thought he deserved a regular life. My sister and I went for a visit in 1997, the first time we had seen each other since he had left Up With People.

While I was ok with the gay lifestyle, I will admit I was a little nervous about what it would actually be like to stay with a living and breathing gay couple. I am from Wyoming after all..it wasn't like I had ever really been exposed to it.

Wow, thanks for meeting us at baggage check...

Jason and partner Victor picked us up and we immediately started laughing hysterically like we were back in the day, sneaking cigarettes on the snowmobiles and saying "douche" a lot. Victor stared at us in awe, these people who had been so recently estranged and frankly, seemed like assholes. My sister and I were both married, and it was obvious that they, as a couple, were really just like us. They didn't stand around and make out in front of us, just like we wouldn't have in front of them. They argued about their checkbook (a lot) and made fun of each other (Jason called Victor's look "70's Bathhouse gay" and he had a point.) They bickered in the car. They argued about dinner. Victor was kind of annoyed at how noisy we were being while he tried to drive. It solidified how I thought I felt about a gay lifestyle not being so different from anyone else's.

My parents never talked the fact that Jason was gay. I understood it, but I didn't like it. They were accepting in private, more as time went on. Local ~~people~~ jerks would ask us "Is Jason Married?????? (they knew) and my parents would hem and haw about not finding that right person yet or whatever. I started just blurting out "no, he's gay...but you knew that, right?", to much sputtering of beverages. My parents did not appreciate this much, and I will admit I was being petulant because I was annoyed that people who knew damn well he was gay would make my parents uncomfortable by asking. Rude.

But the the thing I realized by being rude was that was when I said he was gay and asked if they already knew, most admitted they DID know, and then we had a nice pleasant conversation about Jason and his partner of many years. They were actually very accepting once we were honest. I realized that by acting like we needed to hide it, WE made it appear we agreed it was something to hide. When we were open about it, so were others. It was a much more positive experience. Like having a gay coke and a smile.

My brother and Vic joined us in middle America for my Granny Grunt's 80th birthday celebration a few years later. My husband and I picked them up at the airport, or vice versa, I forget. They immediately wanted to stop for drinks in podunk Missouri, so Special Agent liked them immediately. He surmised they were a lot more fun than my sister and her lame-ass husband (we don't miss him now that he is former, either).

It was a little tense, thinking about the elderly folks of the bible belt having to mix and mingle with a real live gay couple and we were all a little afraid of how that might pan out. But again, we were pleasantly surprised as shirt-tail relation referred to Victor as my brother's "roommate". They knew too, and once again I was reminded that:

a) being gay is not a new concept brought forth in the 70's

b) Everyone (I mean all y'all) have some gay people in your families

That Latino roommate of Jason's is a keeper!

It was a great trip, and sadly would be the last time we would all be together in person.

My brother died in 1999. I was pregnant with the first wisecracker at the time, and he was the first person in my family who knew about it. I am glad I told him early. He died of cryptococcal meningitis, which was related to HIV. He said he did not know he was positive, although he had told me he had been getting tested every six months. This was a lie, Jason was still not able to be realistic about being gay and the need to be tested often. I hate this. I would be mad at him if it helped at all. But being mad at a dead person is futile.

It was horrible and awful and there wasn't a damn thing we could do about it. My Mom and I went to CA on Christmas Eve, knowing full well we were not on a rescue mission. Special Agent brought my Dad a day or two later, something I will love him for until the end of time. Special Agent deserves props for being the manliest of men, who isn't afraid of a couple of gay guys, or to take charge of a scared and worried Father in law who desperately needs him to. And then to take said Father in law to a bar in gay town because they both really needed a drink.

On Dec 29, we discontinued life support and let Jason go. He was 29 years old.

The Onion, Jason and Victor
(see the 70's gay mustache? Do ya?)
1997-ish, San Francisco

I feel that the root of Jason's death was his inability to deal with being gay in a completely open way, which started in Wyoming, in his childhood, in religion, in society. Not my parents fault, as they accepted him wholly, but the arena of people and culture who saw his differences as something he should hide from. Of the many after school specials dealing with self esteem, none of them dealt with what to do when you didn't fit the sexuality mold.

I think Jason's shame for not being "normal" led him to drug use, lying, and a more dangerous and risky lifestyle than he might have if he could have just been himself, grown into his life, and tried to be happy. He got there, but about 15 years too late, and not without damage that would eventually be his undoing.

His story isn't unusual, you can hear the same from almost every gay person around. Hiding, lying, pretending...from an early age. Jason pretended, even to himself that he was being tested for HIV and might have been diagnosed and gotten the cocktail and still be alive today if he hadn't continued to hide in some way from the true reality of the risks he faced. It breaks my heart and frustrates me all at once.

This post surfaced partly due to a friend Jason went to high school with asking me about his death last week. She had "heard" a lot about it, but never really KNEW if he had died of AIDS/HIV. This girl's dad was my Dad's very close friend. My Dad's very close friend has no idea how my brother died. Even in death, we were still hiding the details, and only listed meningitis as the cause of death in the Obituary. I disagreed with this choice, but I also realize that everyone is not as accepting as I am. There were many who were afraid to shake hands with us after they knew we had been at his death.

:-( Uneducated, ignorant asses.

As far as not being in agreement on the lifestyle and sin, I can accept that religion and the bible dictate that homosexuality is wrong. I am not religious so that doesn't weigh heavily with me, except to say that according to the Bible, God made every one of us just as we are. But for those who are worrying about other people's so-called sins, I say "Let he who is without sin among you cast the first stone.."

We grew up as Methodists, and regularly went to church until my teens. The shine wore off over a few incidents and I could never accept that it felt like it was more a place of judgement than of community and acceptance. I saw even good churches do things I felt were not in the spirit of care for others.

My brother's partner was a Catholic, so they subscribed to a lot of religion, even in their own way. When my brother died, we had a hard time finding a local minister who was willing to perform his service, further sealing the deal that religion is not a path i wish to travel.

I don't think anyone chooses to be gay. Who would choose such a difficult path? I believe it isn't an option that someone suggested to you, a bored experiment, or because your Dad didn't spend enough time with you, or because as a girl, you played too many sports, etc. We are who we are, when we are born.

I have several gay friends and feel that there could be members of my family and social groups who may end up being gay as adults. I hope that those who are on that path can feel all of the ease and love possible and tolerance of something not quite the same, but not really that different. I hope acceptance will help them have a better start to an alternate lifestyle than my brother had.

I think the world is getting better at this, and I am glad.

You will respect my VERIFY

2011-12-27T00:16:00.000-07:00

Ok spammers:
I dislike the added step of word verification, buts you leaves me no choice.

Thanks for ruining it for everyone else.

And no, we do not wish to visit your online casino. Nor do we require Viagra.

And certainly not at the same time...

Gives whole new meaning to the phrase "five card stud", eh?

2011-12-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

It's here...

The holiday push. Now, for those of you who think that I am chock full of holiday marshmallow fluff (it only looks that way in swimwear), you might be surprised to learn that Christmas is NOT my favorite holiday.

Santa hates me.

No children were harmed in the posting of this photo

So do retailers.

All this for overpriced tank tops? No, no thanks.

Still, I know the social norms and have overspent for my children so they don't end up in therapy. I have even managed to wrangle a few high-tech gadgets for myself.

I set a budget, and have *finally* convinced the adults in my life that we don't need to exchange gifts to show how much we care about each other. WINNING!

I tried to be organized, but I am still rushing around doing some things I dislike, which mostly include going to big box stores full of chaos and crying babies, including me.

But yesterday, while on the hustle for some jello molds (jello salad is my assignment for Christmas and I may fail), I caught myself singing along with the Christmas carol piped in over the speakers.

I felt better.

I really, really like many Christmas carols. Maybe I am not so Grinch-y, I just dislike retail stores.

A few things on my list which will make my Holiday season brighter, despite my poor Christmas attitude:

Ringing the bell for the Salvation Army
The Baboos and I do this close to Christmas every year as a reminder to all of us that a lot of people have a lot bigger issues than getting the fruits of their overspending wrapped. We have standing-on-one-leg contests and sing Christmas carols poorly. We ~~I make them~~ work very hard to ring the bell in a non-incessant way which will not cause frazzled shoppers to snap. The Baboos are pretty charming, so I think we bring in a lot of dough.

One legged standing contest. I always win.
I have sturdy legs.

Drinking with friends and family.
There are always a few impromptu get togethers with friends and their children which are easy and include wine. One this year is going to involve a White Elephant gift exchange, so wish me luck there. I am striving to bring something which is a joke, but also doesn't totally suck. Quite a tall order in my rural town. I am researching it, so sue me.

Christmas food
Really, so, so much good stuff. I am all about making some sea salt truffles myself today, if I stop blogging and reading blogs so I can get them finished. I am also thinking a lot about my Mother in law's prime rib dinner and the brie I will make ~~and consume wholly~~ for Christmas Eve at my Twin's new MBD-free home.

Blogging is probably why Special Agent had to help me last year.
He didn't mind since he enjoyed saying phrases which included "my balls"
a lot. He wears gloves from his crime scene kit, which adds to the allure.

Running into folks who make your day
Although I haven't seen my crazy friend JJ this season (I am actually a little disappointed) I did ~~stalk~~ run into this guy in the dog food aisle yesterday. I said, "You look a lot like Santa", to which he responded "I AM Santa...". And he let me take his photo for the baboo who is still on the fence about the reality of the sneaky gift giver.

He told me he was watching me. And it wasn't even creepy. Santa, I am straightening up!

He was kind of the "oil field Santa", complete with Carhaart coat
and work boots, which was fitting for the area.

Crackberry Methadone

2011-12-11T14:48:00.000-07:00

I'm ready.

I'm going to do it this time. Deep breath.

I am trading in the crackberry. I will no longer be bound by the painful addiction I wrote about here.

Crackberry, ~~we can still be friends~~
It's not you, it's me.

My wrist is screaming ~~in pain~~ with joy at the thought of no longer having to feel the strain of my fingers typing away on the keyboard. We're going touch, baby.

Like a post-intervention target getting into the van, I am a little proud, a lot terrified and anxiously worrying about getting one more crack fix before it's no longer available to me.

I hope my interventionist is Jeff Von Vanderen from the
show and not that annoying lady with the smoker's voice.

People have said it will be better.. that I will be happier.
But what if I'm not?

Working as my own elf, I helped Secret Agent Santa upgrade and the device is en route (eek!). Shiny and black, this is one SH-MEXY telephone.

Our family is getting an ~~Angry Birds player~~ Ipad from Santa, so our foray into Apple is headfirst.

I am going to have apps for my apps.

I have spent the better part of the day looking for cool-without-trying-too-hard-but-trying-really-hard phone and Ipad cases and covers.

Boho and Arty?

High Fashion?

Earthy Bamboo?

Cool kids lunch table, here I come.

These Boots Were Made for Flooding

2011-12-10T09:56:00.005-07:00

Source

In the two weeks after my father died, I felt like I was living underwater. Voices took on that slow-motion, garbled quality and I struggled to breathe. When my Mother called on a Sunday to say the lower level of her home was filled with water, it felt..symbolic.

My Mother was beside herself, just not prepared to deal with one more crisis. We all just wanted to close the door to the house and walk away forever, but we knew we couldn't. We set to work. Facing reality had become all too required in our family.

We descended the stairs into water, the carpet squishing beneath our shoes. We sighed at the mess, at the mess of our family and got to work.

As I vacuumed the water from inside a closet, I found a pair of silver and gold cowboy boots my Dad had received as a joke. They were garish...and funny. I thought about the many times when it was least expected, my Dad did something silly, quietly funny and weird. It made us laugh. Even my Mother, who tried hard to reel him in.

Mooning the camera in the Easter egg hunt photos.

Inappropriately placing the carrot to identify our creation as a snowMAN.

Pretending to almost drop the collection plate during the quietest time at church.

Wearing a tie to bed over some pajamas my mother had suggested he start wearing.

I pulled on the boots. Just like my Dad, I didn't say "Hey! Come look at me in these stupid boots!". I just continued to work in them, four sizes too big, vacuuming lovingly like a cross between Donna Reed and Liberace, dumping the shop vac'ed water into the tub.

Special Agent rolled past the room I was in, stopped and backed up.
"Sweet boots", he said.
I shrugged.

Twin swished past carrying a load of items and stopped.
"Nice." she commented, cringing.
I smiled.

I felt better.

This post was inspired by a prompt from Write on Edge's RemembeRED: cleaning, which said Think of a time that you “cleaned house.” Consider the subtext—we’re not writing about Windex here. We’re writing about relationships. Or feelings. Or a captured moment in time. Consider how dialogue and body language bring the moment to life for the reader.

Beyond the Door

2011-12-09T15:25:00.004-07:00

The doorbell rang, sending the dog into a barking frenzy. She looked at her dough covered hands and glanced toward the door.

"Hey guys..?"
Silence.
"Hello? Hello..? Can someone get the door..?" she called over her shoulder through the house.
Nothing.

Scowling at her hands, she flicked her wrists to remove some of the gunk stuck between all of her fingers and her wedding ring. She should have taken it off to make the rolls, but hadn't.

"Kids -doorbell!"she yelled, listening for movement. She cursed the headphones she had bought for their new video game system.
The doorbell rang again. More barking.
"Ugh." she sighed. dang kids.

Holding her hands like a surgeon, she walked toward the door, looking at the dark form in the glass. The dog paced around the foyer.
She clumsily crossed her forearms to try to turn the knob, giving up and using two sticky slimy hands to try to turn the knob. The slippery dough didn't make it easy and she leaned over the knob trying to gain traction. She felt the knob turn. "Finally..", she muttered, swinging the door wide with her elbow, her hands still upturned to keep the dough from dropping.

She stared.

"Hi", he said and smiled, the sun shining around the back of his head like a halo.
Surprised eyes and a slow smile spread over her face. "Hi..."she said back, feeling tears as she stared at the camouflage uniform, weathered tan skin and complete and utter wonderfulness of reality.
She hugged him, smelling his familiar scent as she snuggled her head into his neck.

He was home.
He was safe.

Outside, the snow began to fall.

This post is dedicated to all those serving away from their loved ones this holiday season. It was inspired by the following prompt: use the holiday season to inspire you to write a
piece beginning with “The doorbell rang” and ending with “snow began to fall.”

All I Want for Christmas is NOT Thong Underwear

2011-12-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

See Video. Go ahead, watch it a few times...

Beautiful ladies.. Sexy kitten voices and spectacular undies. And jealousy of the alien forms wearing them (Talk about the 1%..).

The commercial asks men to do the following:

Tell me you love me.
Tell me you want me
Tell me you miss me.
Excite me.
Dazzle me.
Delight me.
Tell me there is no other woman in the world... like me.

Good stuff, right? So why is this video annoying me today?
I like pretty, sexy ladies.

I have received VS goods several times as a sort of "gift that keeps on giving" and I completely get it. But somehow the idea that the way to tell a woman, an EVERY-WOMAN that you love, want, miss, her, etc. is by ordering her tiny, uncomfortable underthings makes me think ~~man~~ someone, somewhere is missing the point.

I think whoever created this commercial knew the short staccato instructions produced are what men like, especially from half naked supermodels.

Good work.

But the person who wrote this failed to write a commercial with the gift recipient in mind because, if they had asked, would probably learn that women just want you to TELL them those things.

And not with underwear.
With REAL WORDS.
But that wouldn't sell much underwear, now would it?

*Overshare Alert*

Tough guy Special Agent wouldn't want me to tell you he is sappy and romantic, but he is. While he isn't afraid to buy some fancy underthangs, he has wisely done the pre-work to hopefully see such underthangs at a later date.

He also has good timing.

I was thinking of an earlier Onion, a post-partum onion who couldn't bear to look at VS catalogs (and certainly not commercials of anorexic women dressed as angels) when I wasn't too comfortable with my current state of being. At that moment in time, receiving anything where the exposure of midsection or thighs existed might have made me burst into tears, right there in my Mrs. Roper Mu-mu and nursing bra.

Special Agent recognized this and instead bought me jewelry.
He's a keeper.

So, male readers (all two of you), this year, before maxing out the plastic, tell your not-tall, not-thin, not-flawless woman that:

You love her
You want her.
You miss her.

Excite her.
Dazzle her.
Delight her.
Tell her there is no other woman in the world... like her.

TELL her all of that...and you won't need lingerie.

Layer Exposed: Looking for a Silver Lining

2011-12-06T11:06:00.001-07:00

Blogger is not working well for me today, and I am blaming my lack of success as a famous writer on this issue. (ahem). Moving on.

I am trying to fix it, so the comments section is more of a pop-up now instead. Please comment so I ~~can become a millionaire~~ know it's working.

A silver lining of poking around in the settings is that Blogger appears to have added an option to make my blog more mobile friendly! Everyone likes a mobile friendly blog, so please to enjoy on your I-phone or archaic Blackberry like all of the little people (me) still use.

And, because I hate to waste your time with multiple Blogger whine posts, here is a fun video!

I like to pull goat ears..

Blogger Blogger Short and Stout; Find Your Head and Pull it out...

2011-12-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

Come ON, man...

Blogger appears to be having some issues with commenting, in that some of my posts don't have a comments LINK, and won't let me choose a profile in order to POST a comment on other blogger's sites.

Annoying.

I am SURE that I would have gone viral by now if only it weren't for Blogger.

Yeah..that's it.

'Tis the Season to Catch Up with the Mentally Ill - Layers Rewind

2011-12-05T15:20:00.001-07:00

Hi to all,

The holidays are upon us (Happy Hanukkah!) and I am seriously thinking about making sea salt truffles and laying on the couch. Instead, I am working. Still, when I think of high-end chocolate, I can't help but think of JJ, and when I will see him again. I sure hope it isn't on the 10:00 news.

A post from last year about a chance meeting with my old pal.

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

I was in a rush this morning, and although all of you assume I go to the grocery store looking GREAT in my tiara and hotpants, today my hair was a bit of a fright. I was comparison shopping for high end baking chocolate to continue my love affair with the PW truffles and butter toffee and was literally RACING back and forth between aisles, muttering to myself like a crazy person with bad hair.

I made my selection and was headed back to put the non-sale candy bars back when I saw JJ (names have been changed to protect the mentally unbalanced..and me FROM the mentally unbalanced) racing TOWARD me down the same aisle. We physically collided. I smiled and said hi, as I have known JJ since junior high, and seem to run across him randomly about every two years. He looked overly happy to see me in my candy bar and bad hair frenzy and said "Hey, I was trying to chase you down!". Huh? While JJ and I know each other because he annoyed me daily when he sat behind me in Mr. Hall's 8th grade Social Studies class, we weren't friends in school. In fact, i don't know WHO JJ was friends with, as he was a bit of an oddity even then. He was a smidge of 'Bender' in The Breakfast Club, all about the inappropriate language and classroom outbursts and also like some of the folks I see on the 16th street mall in Denver. Except friendlier, like that guy who talks to you the whole flight. Mix that all together.

A little Bender, plus...

Talky guy on plane, plus...

This sweet specimen = JJ

This crazy JJ fellow is always happy to see me, and I must admit, it is always an adventure seeing him. I saw him many years ago when I had first returned to the area. I was working at a bank, which was the worst job I have ever held. It was stifling. From the lowly teller line, I could see JJ sitting, slumped in a chair in the loan department, looking bored, his foot up on a chair leg in the waiting area. He waved, I waved and then slunk back to my prison of a job. He didn't look nervous...just annoyed to have been kept waiting by the banker...at 21 years old. As I left for lunch, i caught a glimpse of JJ, riding down the road on a new (to him) motorcycle. It wasn't fancy, but he looked like a kid on Christmas Day as the wind whipped his Bender style haircut. He was grinning hugely, and gave me a big military style salute. The loan was for this bike, and he has gotten it. Of course he had.

In the grocery aisle, JJ didn't let my shock bother him one bit, and instead launched into a story about (I think?) quitting smoking. I smiled and said "good for you", which only inspired more talking about the following things:

(Please picture me smashed against the spice racks, holding 6 giant candy bars against my chest with a terrified smile on my face, trying to look relaxed. Add a lot of nodding)

- Murder (I suggested adding murder to his quitting smoking list since our reunion is in a few years, but he said it was OK, since no one would find the bodies. Seriously.)

- Dominating the scrap iron business - he felt his success could also lead to retribution by his competitors and would need to start "carrying a gun again." Yep, he said again.

- His Girlfriend - he loves this one, so they are NOT going the "ripping each other's clothes off" route this time. She has had an extended illness, so there may or may not be an issue with her legs - I was unclear on that. However, he did tell me she was beautiful with long blond hair (i thought of my own shaggy hair at this moment - WHY?), and that her t*ts were just were just where they should be (ahem.). Most Excellent. We agreed I had probably heard enough descriptors at that point. (OK, maybe I said that.) He threw his head back and laughed, saying "Stacie, you are cracking me up!"

- Several physical altercations - i can't really describe what I heard here, as he was getting pretty animated. I did hear every swear word I know, even the ones you NEVER hear...and especially not in the baking aisle at 9:15 in the morning. He was acting out some of the fighting, so he was pointing his finger one inch from my face as he demonstrated the tirade he gave to someone who had it coming. I know my eyes were freakishly wide, although I was trying to pretend this was all old hat to me. ((Nervous giggle, while looking around nervously)) Passersby seemed to be considering dialing 911.

- Drug use - not his, but a lot of other people who were "gobbling up 'shrooms in the poolhouse" (Poolhouse?? in Wyoming?) and "taking more than their TIME.. (wink!)", etc. I have some new catch phrases for drug use now, anyhow.

- Financial Stability - I should be honest and say that I know not a thing about JJ, including where he lived or lives. His father was also a bit of an eccentric, lived out of town on land with a spray painted graphic (and misspelled) sign to potential trespassers at the entrance. I can't say if either were financially set as I was told today. However, maybe they are? According to JJ, it's remarkable. And why wouldn't I believe it? He has told me everything else this morning.

Do you have a good visual? I hope so. Don't be afraid. Although JJ has apparently put the smack down on many, and seems slightly off balance, here is the weirdest thing:

Seeing JJ made my morning today. As I shared the story with others who knew JJ from back in the day, I couldn't stop smiling. As I write this, I still can't. JJ is a colorful character and a part of my history, and made the effort to chase me down at 9:15 am, even though he had finished his shopping JUST to share a bit of time telling me how things are going and even to ask a bit about me. JJ is a character, but one that made my mundane morning a little less mundane, you know?

Merry Christmas JJ. It was nice to see you. Please don't kill anyone in 2011.

Your Profile Pic Can Beat Up My Profile Pic

2011-12-05T13:42:00.002-07:00

I need to update my Facebook photo.

Sigh. Don't wanna.

I am starting to feel like one of those obituary photos of people who died when they were 90, but have a photo next to their life story which is of them when they were 30. I am the Dick Clark of profile pictures.

I loathe having my photo taken, mostly because I am then reminded that THAT is what i really look like. Photos taken of me, by me, are even worse. I clearly need to take a class from teenagers regarding how to take the perfect long armed, doe-eyed, side glance shot using a trac phone and some bad lighting.

Still, as I ~~troll~~ scroll through Facebook, I am ~~annoyed~~ astounded by the number of truly lovely profile pics people have posted on their page. Who takes these lovely shots on the fly and manages to look so beautiful, elegant and artful? Um..my friends.

Seriously, who is this fucking fabulous, looking like a shot from Mad Men?

Urban male species, looking hip and cool even while picking his fingernails?

Elegant and thoughtful, confident...what gives?

My long-lost friend E.J., who outgrew and out-cooled me

with little effort. Even the dog is cool.

I went back and looked at my profile pic options, straining to see a *glimpse* of what I see in the above photos.

My folders contains photos of me:

1. In a bar

2. Looking very Republican, wearing a name tag in a photo with a politician

3. Windblown hair on the back of a 4-wheeler.. (wait for it)holding a dog

4. A photo of a turkey

5. A photo of Wonder Woman (my favorite)

Facebook fail.

P.S. My friend over at Absolutely Narcissism wrote a HEE-LARIOUS post about working to get just the right profile shot taken by her unwilling family. Maybe I need to work harder. Read it here.

Lazy at the Layers

2011-12-02T08:28:00.001-07:00

Because I am still in my pajamas.
Because I am supposed to be in the car RIGHT NOW picking up the baboos from their Friday volunteer job at the Science Center

But mostly, because I miss my brother at the holidays, I wanted to share this with you.

I would say more, but this well spoken gentleman says it best.

For Christmas, I wish for a world where we didn't look for the differences in each other.

Tub Nostalgia

2011-11-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

The Onion and her ~~bad influence~~ friend, 2011

This post comes from a hot bath, about a photo in a hot tub. There's probably a message in there somewhere.

This is a new photo, but I keep stopping at it as I miss the girls of my youth and reminisce about the recent Way Back Machine trip. The one in the back is me. In the foreground, one of my best friends (and sometimes worst enemy) since grade school.

We met the first day of kindergarten, when she said to me at play time;

"Let's run."

I was the product of a strict mother and knew running was against the rules. Again, she said:

"Let's run."

So we did.

And, we got in trouble.

And, we had to sit in time out.

My twin sister watched with big eyes as I sat in the central time out chairs, looking like the dog with the cone around my head. We both knew our Mother would not approve. And that she would probably find out about this incident of time-out-ness.

The girl in the foreground?

She didn't care.

She didn't cry ( I considered it)

Look at her in the photo. That was the exact look she had on her face....

I was hooked.

This post was inspired by a Write on Edge prompt asking me to write about a photograph of myself. Apologies in advance for the swimwear.

Overnight Sensation

2011-11-26T08:59:00.001-07:00

Click to play for full effect, yo.

This week, The Red Writing Hood asked me to envision “making it big.” So big, in fact, that my great novel (yeah, right) is being made into a movie – my task was to envision the song that would be playing during the pivotal scene of a movie based on your novel . . . once you have the song set, write that scene.

In 300 words.

Of course, I went over. Like I care; I'm FAMOUS, people. Get me a Perrier.

((Click PLAY ABOVE))

The scene

Widescreen view of the open plain. The golden sun is sweeping over the late summer landscape, giving everything the look of morning, renewal. The camera picks up a car traveling down a 2 lane highway. A conversation is heard, growing more audible as the camera slowly zooms into the car as the opening credits fade in and out.

With the music and the garbled conversation in the background, the camera looms over the passenger seat area full of maps, a box of crackers, giant chai tea in the cup holder, unopened bottle of champagne sticking out of the mess, candy, gum wrappers, laptop computer bursting with paper, general messiness. Music fades as voices get louder in car.

Onion

Talking to speakerphone in car. ((excited)) I know.... I KNOW!

Friend #1

It's spectacular, it's fantastic, I am dyyyying of jealousy. Tell me all of it. Tell me EV-RE-THANG....what did Special Agent Say? What did you say? Who called you?

Onion

(quoting movie) "You must chill. You must chill. I have hidden your keys."

Friend #1

((laughing)) Ok, chilling. I am just so happy for you.

Onion

Well, the post had been getting a lot of traffic and frankly, I was a little surprised since it was a thrown together mess. But, apparently it hit a nerve somewhere and Shazam! I am driving to Denver to fly into LA for a meeting. Their girl called my gi.., er, me.

Friend #1

Random. WHAT in hell do you wear to a meeting with movie producers?

Onion

Yeah…that’s a problem. I don’t know why they don’t give you a stylist BEFORE you make it, or rather as you are TRYING to make it. That is when you really need it. The humidity is going to make my hair look like Rosanne Roseannadanna, dressed in a bad suit. I hope those What Not To Wear freaks are lurking around the office and snatch me up. Ugh - I can’t think about it. I guess writers can be ugly.

Friend #1

Stop it! You aren’t ugly. Besides, it might be refreshing to see someone with real breasts and their own hair. But to be safe, be sure to wear a push up bra.

Onion

(laughing) I am giving a shout out to the "organic look". Organic is SO NOW, you know.

Friend #1

Hahaha…you’ll be fine. ((phone crackling)) Quit being so hard on yourself! ((Service getting worse)) You’re AWE..(line crackles out).

Onion

((Frowning at broken connection and then smiles lightly, finishing friend #1’s word))..SOME.

The music returns lightly, as if on the radio. The Onion hums along to the tune, substituting the words “You’re awesome” for the lyrics.

Onion

You’re Awesome…youuuuu’re awesome. Awesome..awwwww.some. You’re-awesome-you’re awesome.....awesome-awesome-awesome-awesome....

The Onion stops singing but continues to tap inn rhythm on the steering wheel, staring out the window to the open plain. She’s smiling, still musing about being awesome.

The Onion

((sighing, says quietly.)) I guess she’s right; I’m kinda awesome.

(as the Onion is smiling dreamily, the car starts to shimmy, noises erupt and she stops smiling and grips the wheel as she maneuvers the car to the side of the road. The camera angle switches to the the tire, spinning in strips, around the wheel. The car stops.

Last scene is of The Onion, standing in the open prairie on the side of the road, thumb out.

The Onion

((mutters)) I’m awesome.

Fade to black.

Ahem. Some of the possibilities to play The Onion:

And For Bacon, err.. This, I am Truly Thankful..

2011-11-24T09:37:00.004-07:00

Now, come on. You didn't REALLY think I would let my favorite ~~Go away, Christmas Season~~ holiday go by without at least a short post about how lucky I am in my life. I am getting over the eaten post. With the 18 lb turkey waiting for a buttered cheesecloth blanket, I sit with the baboo watching the next Harry Potter installation and eating blueberry scones. I feel thankful.

I can't help but think of those who may not have the concerns of not having enough matching plates, not enough tupperware for all of the leftovers for all the food no one will be able to eat.

Some other things I am thankful for this morning, in no particular order. (this is my list, get your own.)

The Fam:

Special Agent: My true partner who doesn't mind filling non traditional roles in order to let me fill non traditional roles. We have certainly had our share of cobbled road, but we have something special and that guy makes me laugh, even after 20 years. He will also roll chocolate balls for truffles, even if only to use the words "my balls" inappropriately in every way possible. It's Thanksgiving, use your imagination.

The Baboos: I have so enjoyed being home more to enjoy all of the little things I was missing in their lives. They possess the wit and sarcasm that I have always hoped for in them, along with having kind hearts. They are rule followers like their Dad, which I am still trying to ruin.

Our Fam: We are everything a family is: Messy, dysFUNctional, and even have some wounds we hope to heal. Nonetheless, we love each other despite our differences and even have a lot of fun when we manage to carve out a meal together. Good thing for Thanksgiving.

Granny and the Baboo, and not even at a sports event!

MadMax: My niece Madigan is an inspiration to all every day. Her journey is one fraught with hard work, but you won't find a happier kid. She lacks the ability to feel sorry for herself, a blessing we should all be cursed with. She makes the saying" whatsamatta? Ya got half a brain or something?" seem like a compliment. She and her brother won't be with us for dinner today, which will be a break for her Mom and obsessive Granny, but will join us for dessert. Then, batten down the hatches.

Even rainbows can't resist this critter.

Flexibility: I am so, so fortunate to have been able to leave my job and become a consultant in order not to miss the little things. I know most don't have that opportunity, and I will try not to take it for granted.

Flavor: Chocolate and sea salt. Bacon and pecans. It's no wonder I am no longer a size 6.

DVR: I have never wasted time so efficiently.

Good friends, old and new: What can I say about those who knew me when, and those who knew me now? We share it all, and even surprise each other. We all have a niche with each other. They're special. They make me feel special. You know who you are.

Who you calling "old", friend?

One of us has had too much blueberry
beer in this photo, up to you to decide who..

Blogging: I know nothing I write here is earth shattering, but it gives me an outlet and has allowed me to think creatively again. And I get to give myself a nickname.

I could keep going, as I have many, many things to be thankful for. But that bird isn't going to butter himself. Hey, where'd he go?

Today and every day, I am thankful.

Reverse Thanksgiving

2011-11-21T13:48:00.000-07:00

I am feeling a little snarky and ungrateful about the world since my-probably-could-have-gone-viral-TDay-post was chewed up and swallowed by Blogger (and then handily saved over) last week.

I coulda been a contenda.. :-(

I write important shit here, y'know?

So my blog BFF and I Munch decided that we would have our own little challenge. He was avoiding work, so he jumped on it Friday and finished his this weekend. I was avoiding work, so I did laundry and packed for a ass kicking drive to baboo sports tournaments this weekend.

CHALLENGE TOPIC
Although it is rude, and will probably send an instant message to KARMA to kick me square in the bleacher butt (see below), Munch and I's challenge was to write a list of the things we are NOT thankful for. I haven't looked at his, or I will be tempted to plagiarize. His is here, take a look.

I know, I know....settle down Pilgrims. I have much to be thankful for, every day, every way. But today is not that day. Thursday is that day. Pay attention.

This is ((cue music)) The Onion's snarky-bad-attitude-having-does-not-deserve-a-visit-from-Santa-list of things I am NOT thankful for today . Ahem.

1. Road Trips to Sporting Events
2 hours of sitting in car + 9 hours of sitting on bleachers + 3.5 hours sitting in car + 9 hours of sitting in bleachers = bleacher butt. To super-size, add concession stand fare.

Dear Santa..

Accessories to Road Trip Weekend include: Bag full of my kindle, 3 containers of gatorade/water, kleenex for whomever bleeds, bottle of Tylenol for injured players and/or frustrated bridge-of-nose-pinching Special Agent, someone's shoes, someone's slippers, a random t-shirt, half eaten granola bar, a pen lid but no pen, some electronic gaming devices, a tourney program (at the bottom, wet), and something I think may have once been a banana.

2. Ring-Back Tones
You, my friend are not bringing sexy back. You ARE annoying the hell out of me with your ring-back tone. It's a little pushy to make me listen to a song YOU like while I wait for you to get finished putting styling product in your hair before answering, don't you think?
I was tempted to install a ring back tone which would cover the day's headlines, but then I remembered that is something I want to hear. So I just listen to it my damn self, capice?

3. Smoking on me
Don't get my wrong, like your porn addiction, I don't CARE what you do when you're alone. Live 'it up, suckas. But, DON'T smoke on me. I don't care if it is your office, car or Silence of the Lambs style prisoner dungeon. If I want to smoke, I will (Oh yes, I will). Those who want to smoke, do. Those who don't, don't want to smoke your backwashed air. And don't crack that fricking window a centimeter and then nod and smile like you just invented the cure for POLIO. In a moving vehicle, it just drives the smoke back into the car, Dad.

Whatever kid, but not by me, ok?

4. Those who refuse technology
You don't tweet? I don't care. Anti-Facebook? Whatev, but you are missing out. But those who do not check their email? Nor do they have text messaging on their phone? Seriously? Would you like us to drive to your house to let you know the event time has changed by half an hour? Perhaps we could update you on the weather by U.S. Postal Service? I appreciate all of your commitment to a non-technology life rhetoric, but you are creating a pain in the ass for the people who DO use it as a convenience for themselves. At least pick one.

5. The Affliction craze
Stop this. Please stop this immediately. I can overlook a few Tapout shirts for those of you who are using MMA as a methadone patch to Bloodsport, but angel wings? No. I can't decide if they are worse on men or women, but I am leaning toward men. Especially those who are wearing them painted on over Arnie-like spray tanned muscles. Men, please be men. Not frosted-tipped angels. You look like a douche. Please and thanks.

6. Twitter
I still don't get it.

7. Passive-Aggressive behavior.
Stop needlin' me people. Just come out with the bee that is under your bonnet and we can deal with it or agree to disagree. But stop blabbering at me with your, "that's an interesting idea, but.."s and a smile pasted on your face while we negotiate terms more difficult than NATO's. Just spit it out and then puleeze go away.

8. Pet hair
For Christmas, I am asking Santa for electrolysis for all of our pets who have a beacon for freshly dried laundry, my side of the bed and anything dark i want to wear.

I am going to consider this for my next
career move, right after I throw up.

9. Facebook Overshares
Funny, witty comments need not apply. Interesting articles and local event info, you are welcome here. Weird, vague or sappy posts regarding your skin condition, your self esteem, a low-blow shout out to your ex about not coming to your kids' science fair and 90% of jr. high kids posts, I am talking to you.

10. OCD
Because of my own OCD issues, it has taken me a while today to follow my own "fall" color scheme (please notice), while making sure to post an even number of entries. I am off now to lock/unlock the door 36 times.

What are YOU not thankful for this year??

The Onion, on Being Thankful - 2011 Edition

2011-11-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

This year I am thankful for self -control: I wrote a lovely post about some things I am thankful for previous to this one and Blogger appears to have eaten it. It was spell checked and ready to fly. I am tempted to hurl my laptop through the picture window in honor of the two hours I will never get back. Deep breaths.

Dear Blogger. I hate you.

Maybe Pilgrims did it.

Hillcrest Elementary Alumni are NOT Over the Hill...and My New Plan for Junk Mail

2011-10-30T17:45:00.000-06:00

I think I have finally recovered from the Way Back Machine girl weekend in Colorado, and I need to report back in for those of you waiting patiently with baited breath to hear all of the gory details.

All two of you.
(The short version involves mostly layer dip and wine.)

NO topless pillow fighting occurred.

The long version is a weekend remembering the awesomeness of friends you have had so long that they have become like cousins. We know each other's secrets, irritating habits and post-pubescent sexual experience, yet almost nothing about each other's present day to day lives. No matter, we love each other, and the years evaporate away as soon as we are all in the same room. In fact, I even caught two of them talking behind my back. Just like in 5th grade.

Nothing changes.

Being of legal age to drink IS something newer to our retro slumber party and we partook of many, MANY bottles of wine, margaritas MADE from wine, a few odd beers here and there and a mixed drink (someone just always has to be different). We didn't bother with restaurants, but noshed on crudites (look it up) I prepared lovingly...(wile many photographs were taken) with more wine, and some orgasmic Mexican layer dip made by a Gringo. I would share the recipe, but he says it has been in his family for WEEKS and he can't let it out.

I got nothin'..

There was definitely a "cutting
the cheese" remark here...

We discussed our career paths, children, marriages and which kind of Greek yogurt we prefer. We took exactly one hike (with roadies, def. #3) and someone overdid their roadie and wiped out hiking back down. (No injuries were reported.) Later, we tripped down to a bar just to break up the scenery and harassed the waiter while we watched the World Series.

It struck me several times throughout the weekend that through everything, each of us is still very much the same person as we were in our youth. I saw the same expressions, hand gestures (yes, that one too) and mannerisms I recognized from 30 years ago. Uncanny. The only thing we really are is older.

Miss Piggy, The Onion, The Doc and The Comedian

The last day in Way Back camp, we held our heads after a long and hilarious previous evening in the hot tub. All I can say is it was a DAMN GOOD THING that Winter Park was still in the off season and relatively empty or folks would have learned a little sum'pin, yo. We were in the tub so long, I may have developed a skin condition.

Brr! We assured our host friend that the tub would be warm
enough up there on the mountain....and not so much. The next
evening was hotter water and hotter conversation. And pruny fingers.

We love each other.
We annoy each other.
We surprise each other.
We make each other laugh.
We keep each other's secrets.

Girlfriends are truly the best medicine, even when didn't realize you needed it.

In other breaking news....

I traveled again this week for a board meeting of the Wyoming Women's Foundation (please donate) as I am all about furthering women and girls in my state, yo. The younger Baboo hugged me upon return and asked "Are you going to stay home for a while NOW?".

Silly boy.
Of course not.

I cannot be stopped, you can only hope to contain me.

In need for a last minute Halloween costume, Special Agent and I went almost as ourselves as an "under the influence Starlet and her Bodyguard". After a long drive across a big state, it wasn't tough to look like Lindsay Lohan's mug shot. Special Agent looked particularly dashing. We attended some friends' party and were (besides the host) the OLDEST ones there. Screw it. We played some Stray Cats on the Ipod and watched them scatter to the kitchen. Infants.

You can't see my prescription pill bottle or my
smeared makeup as well as I wish you could. I also skipped undies
in honor of celebrities who have bared it all unintentionally while
exiting the limo. Yes, I did! Prove I didn't....you can't.

Still trying hard to get on my blog-ness and write something interesting. I will join some of the challenges again someday and try to make magic.

Some other things you may have missed while I was gone.

- You no longer need TWO spaces after punctuation at the end of a sentence (this isn't new, but I am on a mission to stop). Originally intended to give a more visual break on a typewriter, they have gone the way of the Dodo...and Pluto. Good luck correcting this habit. I am in a 12 step program. Yes, I have to backtrack and remove spaces...a lot

- Occupy Wall Street has been in the news a lot lately, but rather than standing in the cold getting a sore throat, occupy your mailbox and use this guy's tactic for telling big banking what you think of them...on their dime.

The Way Back Machine Weekend

2011-10-20T01:45:00.000-06:00

I had the somewhat unusual advantage of starting kindergarten and graduating high school without ever leaving my school district.

No moving.
No new school.
I went from Elementary to Junior High to High School with all of the same group. Like a cult, but without plural marriage.

In first grade, I sealed the friend deal with several girls including twin, whose parents knew one another and therefore felt safe allowing all of us to attend birthday parties and eventually attend sleepovers at their house. Somehow, our group was named "the group". Not inventive, but it stuck. Not too many ever got in, and no one ever got out. Permanently, anyway.

My pals at the school track meet. We wore jeans and Twin and I
rocked the three-legged race. Go Panthers!

Twin and I in matching stripes at our birthday party with a
member of the fledgling "Group". Mandie is trying to steal
my Barbie. I am going to sock her in the chops.

There were bumps...oh yeah. 4-6 elementary-aged girls is a perfect storm for drama and we had plenty over the years. Many a slumber party ended in disaster as we worked our way through 'girl'dom.

As we grew older toward Jr. High and High School, we made other friends, but the bond of this elementary school group never really disappeared. Even completely pissed at each other, even for years, the friendship remains.We're like cousins, all knowing everyone's background, embarrassing family crap, and that they used to stuff their bra.

Not really.

The friend ship may end if she learns
about these photos, so..
don't tell her.
(credit to Funky Jocata for these photos)

We all had our graduation reception together, grew up and eventually married The Navy Man, The Politician and The Business Mogul and Special Agent, respectively. Two work in the medical field, one is in education, and I am still finding myself. Everyone had two kids, one having a third. I am literally tripping down memory lane while I gather up some photos for this weekend when I plan to see them.

Special Agent being a BADASS back in the day.
We couldn't stand each other in high school, and then..
we got married.

Me in high school, looking like I am dancing like George Michael in the Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go video.

I love these girls like family and the reunion weekend in ON. I am sneaking off with some of them this very day to stay at one of the group's new ski chalet in Colorado (maybe it isn't a ski chalet, but that is what I am calling it the whole weekend). I invited Twin, but she couldn't join us. She's scared.

While we all see each other off an on when they return to town, this group hasn't had a full on slumber party(there was never topless pillow fighting, grow up) in about, ahem, 25 years...unless you count Senior Party, in which we had a kegger in a field and passed out in horse trailers with about 100 of our closest classmates. One of the group drank way too much and threw up in the trash can the next day during graduation practice. We were awfully proud of our DARE student and Class President. Way to go!

You know who you are.

Our plans for the weekend are showing our age. Our host is threatening to drag us to an Arbonne party at the neighbors the first night in. She promised wine. Arbonne does in fact make me look youthful, since I break out like a pubescent teenager whenever I go near it, so I may not partake. Luckily, I am comfortable to lay on the couch and watch TV while they go. With wine. The rest of the weekend will be filled with a winery tour (see a theme here?), maybe a spa trip and if we feel ambitious and the weather cooperates a mountain hike.

I am totally singing Rocky Mountain High...or at least as much of it as I know. Which is only "Rocky Mountain Hiiiiigh, Colorado". That should be enough for anyone.

Happy weekend!

Dr. Onion's Fishy Experiment in Self Diagnosis and Treatment

2011-10-08T13:42:00.000-06:00

DISCLAIMER

(If I had an attorney, he would suggest I do this, among other things)

Although you may be inspired by this post, Do NOT try to remove your own appendix or perform your own rhinoplasty based upon what I hope are my positive results at self doctoring. This post in no way advocates the self diagnosis or treatment of you or others in your household. Don't even *THINK* of trying to sue me when your home amputation goes wrong. I'm rubber and you're glue, people.

________________________________________________________________

I'm sick.

"Puny", as Mae would say. I won't die of it certainly, but I have felt better in my life.

I am no good at being sick. Some actually enjoy wearing pj's all day, sleeping for long hours interrupted and watching daytime TV. Some even enjoy going to the doctor, which I think.... Is. Weird.

The Onion is enjoys none of these.

The Onion is a bit of a whiny baby pissy pants when sick...

Luckily, I am almost NEVER sick. But today, I am the epitome of "Sniffling, Sneezing, Coughing, Aching, Stuffy Head, Fever -I can't rest" that the medicine ad proclaims me.

They forgot crabby.

After self-medicating with whatever I could find in our over the counter supply, including a night with Prince Nyquil, I stumbled across some antibiotics someone didn't finish (I know...don't judge). Sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy headed-ness doesn't really bespeak antibiotics, but the popping ears and muted hearing sure does.

Yes, it does.

Why not? Threw a couple down my gullet. Amoxicillian. Relatively harmless.

Amazingly, I felt better that day. I continued to another dose and felt very smug that I had taken care of my own little self, and sniffed while I watched old DVR taped episodes of America's Next Top Model.

(I loathe Tyra Banks. Is there a more narcissistic person in the world? And that's coming from a blogger.)

The problem was...I only had a few left. Like a junkie (on antibiotics?) I shook the bottle, counted to see how long it would last. Not long.

This is the part where I have to admit that I am fortunate enough to have good insurance and plenty of money to go to a proper doctor. I also know that antibiotics are cheap, prescription-wise. The doctor who prescribes them just doesn't happen to be. I could go to the doctor.

I just don't wanna.

Since I was welded to the couch for days, I had a lot of time for ~~work~~the Internet. Just for fun, I looked up antibiotics to see if I could score some of my own and was terrified at the obvious overseas website designed to 'keep you healthy long time'

Um, no. Those could be sugar pills..or Drano.

But, what also showed up were sites from your friendly American SURVIVALIST, and those folks have done their homework on everything from dehydrated meals to stockpiling ammo to...you guessed it, medical needs for when the apocalypse or whatever arrives.

There was a lot of camo themed blogs and message strings about how to keep moisture out of gun powder and what not. I happened across some interesting information that prior to this couch-ridden day, I had not know before.

1. Fish require antibiotics.
2. Fish respond to the same antibiotics that humans respond to
3. The antibiotics that fish and humans take are made at the same pharmaceutical facilities
4. Fish antibiotics do not require a prescription.

~~Mom~~ People, stop freaking out. I am a research nerd and I have spent hours researching this topic. HOURS. COUCH PARALYZED HOURS looking up the pros and cons, possible medical issues one could have and even the pharmaceutical companies which produce them. I was able to look up the fish antibiotics, take the code off of the pill capsule, and then search for it on the AARP's pill identifier. I was also able to take the code off of the pill to look up the pharmaceutical producer and identify the pills there again, and see a little info about the company. It is not driven toward pets, in fact it never mentions it as a market, go look! It is the real deal, and is located in the U.S. from what I can see.

(I also read the reviews on Amazon, not very scientific, but usually accurate.)

Of course I looked at the downside. I play fair.

The potential risks of ordering Fish antibiotics are this:
1. Allergic reaction
2. Utilizing the wrong antibiotic for the wrong ailment
3. Growing gills (KIDDING!)
4. Building a tolerance to antibiotics

To be fair, here is an article about the negative side of humans using veterinary medicines, but still only list allergic reaction as the most dangerous side effect to antibiotic use. Did I mention, i will not try to take feline-leukemia pills to get high? I won't.

You know by now that I ordered myself some antibiotics. 100 250 mg amoxicillian capsules for around $20 with shipping.

Stop freaking out. I have some commons sense.

When the antibiotics arrived, I opened the container and used AARP pill identifier again. I looked it up on a few just because I'm thorough like that.

Maybe some of you know that my Dad was not a rule follower and that bending the rules is commonplace...so I quickly utilized my same life theory to justify that I would not:

1. Suffer allergic reaction, since I have taken amoxicillian before. If I did, it would be no different than when the doctor prescribed me cyclines TWICE with minor issues. ('Cyclines are not for me, but 'Cillians...oh yeah)

2. That there are 1,000 hits on Google for what antibiotics are needed for which ailment available to me online, many from medical texts.

3. I will not attempt to do anything further than treat minor ailments, not try to give myself an open heart surgery.

4. I already avoid going to the doctor and do not like to take anything beyond Excedrin. If a natural course of antibiotics taken did not have the desired effect (wellness), I would see a doctor. If I were taking antibiotics for ailments more than 2 x in one year, I would need to see a doctor.

Update: One week later

I am still alive.

In fact, I am much better. I took the fish antibiotics and..

I did not die.
I did not become a survivalist
I did not grow gills
I am not making fish faces...much.

I believe they are the same antibiotics I would have gotten from my doctor. From a pharmaceutical company just like the one I bought them from.

And, I feel better.

Nothing fishy about that.

When Eating Healthy Fails

2011-09-04T13:20:00.000-06:00

It's Fall.
I am a wonderful mother.
I feel like cooking.
I long to make delightful and healthy snacks for my family to enjoy.

And also, I have some ~~black~~ over-ripe bananas on the counter that are starting to look like a science project.

Please...kill us...

I made some smashing gigantic banana muffins for camping in a new pan my pals bought be for my birthday and hit it out of the park with regard to deliciousness.

Crispy Corners Brownie Pan - Bed bath and Beyond

So of course, I can't find the recipe.

And I suspect said recipe was laden with oil and sugar...and chocolate chunks. Chunks, not chips...you heard me. They were stellar and the campers descended upon them like a swarm of locusts.

I looked for a new recipe that was both delicious and healthy so I could ~~make my kids eat them for breakfast instead of cooking~~ provide healthy snacks for my kids to take to school. Some had oats, walnuts, carrot, and flax seed.

I had: flour, water, sugar, chocolate chips and some half dead bananas.

I came across one that received good reviews so I whipped them up. The batter seemed thick, but I didn't worry too much - these were healthy and devoid of tragic substances like oil OR butter! I even used whole wheat flour I had ~~hidden~~ found in the back of the pantry.

Guilt free goodness!!

I hummed while I worked, drank my tea and patted myself on the back when they practically LEAPT out of the crispy corners pan without effort. I sampled the fare and thought...........

Meh.

Not bad, but certainly not the delicious camping goodness. They were heavy and a little dry. :-( Just then the baboos and their cousin rolled in, a-starve. I offered the muffins and they cheered, suspecting the return of the camping muffins. I hinted these were a little different, and then lay in wait to see the response.

Meh.

They ate them, but not exactly ravenously. They watched TV and merely consumed them, in slow bits. One didn't finish hers, and she always finishes hers...

I offered some butter, therefore RUINING the healthy aspect, but the group declined. And discarded their half eaten gigantic muffins on the coffee table as I wept.

Muffin fail (cousin of muffin top, but that is another fail for another day).

What to do? Luckily, I made a DOUBLE batch of crap, so now what? Ah, Google, my dear friend.

A few clicks and I was learning more about simple syrup than I ever wanted to know. I few sites talked about how to avoid dry muffins and cakes next time, which I felt was rude. If I could go BACK, I wouldn't be trying to FIX my muffins, now would I? WOULD I? (ahem.)

Simple syrup is truly, simple. Equal parts sugar and water (and any additional flavor if you like) it can be added to iced tea, mixed drinks and of course, can be used to add moisture to baked goods ~~you have screwed up trying to be healthy~~ which have become dry.

I stirred some up and whisked it furiously, even the the recipe just said boil. I brushed it THRICE over the muffins and even poked holes in them to facilitate saturation. I put a little between my cheek and gum, and put a dab behind my knee just because.

Now i wait. Eating table water crackers. Why, because they are delicious and made with processed flour, thats' why! Duh.

The treated muffins smell good. They're shiny. The simple syrup has soaked the muffin papers on the second batch (round) and we may have to eat the wrappers too.

They look sticky on the top, which is an improvement over their first look of..

((all together now))

Meh.

When I squeeze them ever so gently, they seem to have a little more give and the syrup seems to have soaked into the holes I made with ~~corn cob holders~~ a very precise kitchen tool.

I want to suggest the baboos try another one, but I'm afraid of rejection.

And, it's lunch time.

I consider having one myself, but I am now stuffed like a Christmas turkey with Table water crackers.

It's stress eating. Don't judge.

I spy the smallest and kindest baboo watching football and ask him to help with an experiment. He loves science, so he agrees to help.

I explain the lengthy process of my corrective method while he listens intently. He says:

"ok"

I cut the muffin down the center and wait patiently while he dives in. I ask "is it better??" He says:

"sort of. Can I have some milk?"

Sigh.

The larger baboo and her ridiculously tall cousin sweep in and go for round two on the scientific muffin experiment. The baboo RAVES about their improvement, lauding their increased sweetness and increase in moisture. Then, she says:

"Will you buy us lunch in town?"

Sigh. Science is so subjective.

Fall is in the Air and So are Allergens

2011-09-03T12:13:00.000-06:00

Please to enjoy the adorable sneezing baby panda below and be assured that my continued sneezing is nowhere near as entertaining. I looked for a horse sneezing for a better comparison, but no. My allergies are a little flared today, as they are every year at this time. It's awesome.

After several weeks of high temperatures, it appears that Fall received the memo to start with the lower temps and wind TODAY. Normally it seems a little more transitional, but this morning was a tad frosty. I love fall, and I welcome all but the allergens every year. It's cool and breezy today and feels like football weather. It's delicious to get out of stagnant air conditioning (achoo!). Our autumn season is normally a shorter one, pre-empted by snowfall or a cold snap so I try to enjoy it while I can.

I worked at my Bountiful Basket Food Co op site today, and I was glad I am the type of person who doesn't clean out the car often, since I was able to retrieve a random sweatshirt from the rubble.

Achoo!

Achoo-achoo!

((sniff))

I thought it best to stay away from loading the baskets with produce, with all of the unsanitary sniffing and nose wiping. I am now looking at my "bounty" (I kind of dig saying that..) and deciding what we will and won't eat and what can be hidden in smoothies and lasagna. I feel like cooking some healthy muffins, and maybe a few pre-made lasagnas. The fam is hiding.

The baboos are back in school, which pleases me to no end. They are great to have around, but this life without ~~a day without laying on the couch~~ a schedule is a little weird for us all. I think we are all sort of sick of free time and we really want to feel the inflexibility of a rigid day to put a snap back in our step. Or, at least I feel that way.

We have been getting out of our pajamas for a whole week now and are no longer using swimming as a substitute for showering. I have begun the last of my classes toward my degree and am ignoring my homework right this very minute. The kids are sporting it up and Special Agent is fighting crime like he always does to allow us the opportunity to bitch about all of our free time.

Layers...out.

Five Solid Reasons to Love The GLEE Project

2011-08-15T21:23:00.002-06:00

1. Being uncool is cool
Just like its parent show GLEE, The GLEE Project embraces being a little weird, a little different, a little off. It reminds all of us, cool-kids-lunch table or not, that EVERYONE has worth. (Except for my former brother in law, he is seriously and painfully worthless.)

2. Awesome covers of songs you only belt out in the car
Feast your ears on all manner of song choices assigned to the cast. You can hear some awesome renditions of songs you used to sing into a hairbrush with your brother (ok, just me, I guess) like "Don't You Want Me" and Under Pressure/Ice Ice baby and Jessie's Girl.

3. Identifying with your favorite character
Because you get to know the cast, see their talent as well as their vulnerability, it becomes easy to root for one of them, or ALL of them. Fans feel the crushing blow when a cast member is not called back and elation for those who will make it through one more round..or those who quit on principle, and to save their friend from being eliminated. After singing a beautiful haunting version of "Blackbird".

4. No one gets called back based only on talent
After crooning out their best during the final three song showdown, you will think you know who is going to get the axe because their song was a little off, their moves a little stiff. Then, the sour faced director Ryan grills the terrified singers, digging into their soul to see what lies beneath a great voice and teen angst. He smiles like a Cheshire cat as he watches the kids sing for their supper. Damien's charm has carried him through many a rough final song performance.

Many times, the person who sang the best is labeled "least writable" and isn't called back. Sometimes this isn't fair at all and you yell at the sour faced producer Ryan. Even though he can't hear you.

5. There is no voting
Thank you baby Jesus, there is no secret voting by the members of the cast. There is very little back biting and since being awkward can be a bonus, there is little to be gained by Machiavellian tendencies.

This show has heart. It makes me want to cheer for it, for the cast members who are weird, heavy, gay, conceited, small, moody, angst-ridden and wildly talented. I would love to see all of them on GLEE. The next pool of kids at William McKinley High School is going to be one to watch.

The Kids are All Right...

2011-08-15T11:33:00.000-06:00

Although i don't remember it well (Twin probably does, she is a savant for that stuff) I have seen the "first day" photos of our gang standing on the step many times, Twin and I in plaid dresses which makes us look like Cindy Brady, school bags on opposite arms.

Although we are twins, my sister and I look like the photo negative of one another, one brown hair and brown eyes, one blond hair and blue eyes one right handed, one left-handed, one nice, one mean (you decide). Our brother stands over us in his Hobie surf shirt (Rock on, in Wyoming *snort*), hand on each of our shoulders, a knowing an experienced 5th grader with weird teeth and a bad part in his hair.

My brother had always ridden the bus and I was wildly jealous. He seemed so cool, strutting over the hill, his comb in his back pocket in case he needed to re-feather, walking with the neighbor kids. I stood in the driveway most afternoon days and waited to see his feathered hair come over the hill. He was so cool.

When it was our turn to go to school (we didn't need no stinkin' preschool, apparently), we were charged and ready to ride the bus.

But Red wouldn't let us!
She INSISTED on driving us to school the first day.
Booooo.

You couldn't argue or whine audibly with Red, so we exchanged looks in the back seat of the maroon Monte Carlo. At least with our brother on the bus (No fair!), we both got a window seat.

We arrived at Hillcrest Elementary and went into our classrooms. Red was worried about us.

Perhaps we were nervous or needed to use the bathroom before she left.
Maybe we felt a little scared of this big new school.
Maybe we would feel shy around all of the new kids.

Um...our group didn't really know the word 'nervous' or 'shy', as they didn't exist in our family. In fact, none of us has ever met a stranger, still. Red might have been projecting her feelings a smidge. Maybe red was suffering from PMS (Projecting Mother Syndrome)

Twin and I RAN to the big scary building (all of those tiny hooks, chairs and tables ARE ghastly) and put our things away. Red chatted with the teachers and other parents for a few minutes until she realized...we were gone. GONE.

Where had we gone?

She had meticulously monitored our whereabouts for 5 years and had somehow lost track of us the first day of school!

What if we were scared?
What if we were crying?
What if someone in a big white van, a la the "CBS After-school Special" was trying to ask us if we wanted to help him find his lost dog?

I can see Red quietly freaking out in her pantsuit and sort-of beehive hair, politely inquiring to the teachers, a little embarrassed..."ahem, excuse me...but...where are the girls?"

To which the teachers said "Oh, they went to the playground already".

Unbeknownst to Red, after situating our personal Kleenex box and pencil case with the strawberry smelling eraser, we then skipped down the walkway to the playground. Recess first! Yay!

Hell no, we didn't cry!
We wouldn't hear of lurking around on our mother's pantsuit leg!
So what if we didn't even say goodbye to our poor fragile mother whose chicks were leaving the nest?
It's RECESS, yo. We were getting our swings on.

I am totally the one on the right
Photo credit

And tomorrow, we were riding the bus.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
This post brought to you by a prompt from your friends at Studiothirty, which I see has been PLUS sized?

The Weight of Fear

2011-08-14T11:19:00.001-06:00

The concrete rushed up at me, blurred in the speed I traveled to it. I felt the grit and heft against my arms and chin, which took the brunt of the force. The slow spread of warmth and tingling pulsed at each area that struck and I was reminded of a long ago bicycle accident. Except this was not an accident. My jaw had jammed shut at the moment of impact and I felt a faraway ringing my ears. I was stupefied.

And terrified.

I blinked, trying to understand what had just happened to put me face-down on the pavement. I felt my purse being pulled away from my body. The strap jerked down my arm clumsily and I let it, without resistance. I thought foggily about the strategy of playing dead during a bear attack. I heard muted and dreamlike voices lilting up and down in tone, talking not to me, but to each other as if they weren't standing over a complete stranger.

Their banter reminded me of men talking at a poker game.

I tried to process what that meant to me, but my thoughts wouldn't calculate. I whimpered without intending to as rough hands felt down my body, in my pants pockets, my jacket, as they took the cheap bracelet I'd had since school, and wiggled the wedding ring from my finger. The banter continued and I listened to it without hearing, heavy as a stone.

I could feel my heart beating like a metronome in every part of me.

When my hair was pushed to the side of my head, my breathing stopped. The hands searched my neck and I tucked in my lips to keep noise from escaping as bits of my hair caught and pulled. The hands were warm.

I shivered anyway.

The hands finally felt the chain of my necklace and I felt it tighten. I tried not to react as my head was lifted by the chain. The twist became uncomfortable and then released me when the chain was broken from around my neck. I closed my eyes and waited. They stood over me, suddenly silent.

I tried not to tremble.

I listened to them turn and walk away, their light conversation peppering their steps.

Me, laying face-down on cold pavement. Unharmed and ruined.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I have lost the infamous purselet this week and I am being dramatic about how I feel about it.

You heard me. I had every other important piece of paper, card, receipt and a lipstick I will never find again...and a Starbucks gift card.

Thank God I wasn't mugged, but I still feel like it. Where are you, purselet?

MISSING

2011-08-08T20:38:00.000-06:00

Hello, excuse me for interrupt...

(Louder)I SAID HI - EXCUSE ME...

Oh hi. Say, I was wondering if you have seen my motivation?

Um, my MO-TI-VA-TION?

(slower) MOW-T-VAY-SHUN .....?

Yes. I can't seem to find it. I have looked everywhere.

Where have I been where I may have left it? Hmmm, gooood question. I have been quite a few places, but I haven't been carrying it with me much lately.

Nope, mostly just sunscreen and beer.

An ad is a great idea!

Ahem.

LOST: My Motivation. Comes and goes in varying levels.
Wearing argyle sweater and flip-flops. If found,
please return to www.alotoflayers.blogspot.com.
Owner will be home, you can count on it.

This little ditty was a prompt from StudioThirty, which said: Write a missing ad for something that you have lost in your life. It can be any of the aforementioned items (animate or inanimate), or something else you seem to have misplaced along the way.

Road trip, Runza, Raccoon and Remembering

2011-08-03T12:18:00.000-06:00

Tap-tap-tap...is this thing on?

I can't explain it folks, but I have lost momentum in my blogging since my return from way down South.
And East.
(and North, but it wouldn't fit)

It has been a vacation-a-palooza this first summer of non-salaried employment. Weird, right? Letting Special Agent carry the load has freed me up to do a lot of touring around, sometimes even with him. I seriously need to stop laying around by bodies of water (both nature and man made) and get to work on something.

Anything.

Oh well, blog it is. Except - I got nothin'.

Except a lot of crackberry photos and a deep tan and this lonnnng post. I decided that I would let my beloved crackberry tell the tale of the directions I have been going during my hiatus from blog-land. Its a little long winded - please to forgive.

A photo montage, yo. In two parts.

I swear, NO more pictures from the Dominican Republic. The Southern portion of this tour is over.

Let's get started, shall we?

A few weeks after my return from the South, I drove my Mother across several states to say goodbye to my Uncle Hugh, a really special man.

Dear Uncle Hugh, I'll miss you.

My mother had just bought a new car and she and I and the baboos hopped in for a thrilling 20 hour drive across scenic Nebraska, Kansas and Missouri. My Mom's new rig was well equipped with a movie player, so traveling with the kids was like traveling with deaf-mutes. Nary a word came from the backseat until I turned the car off and stopped the CD player. I occasionally channeled Clark Griswold, pointing out not very interesting landmarks.

But no one was listening. (Big Ben, kids...parliament...)

I pointed things out to my Mom, who played along nicely. Even though she has been traveling to this area for at least 40 years.

So....

Ahh....the open road. Yes Oprah, I was driving.
Look how straight and empty the road is!

We are a LOT of bad food on the trip. Traveling the open road is not conducive to healthy eating. By the time it was over I was craving salad. And that never happens. Except taco salad. Yum, taco salad...

Someone INSISTED we eat a "Runza burger" when in
Kansas. So we did. We gave it a thumbs DOWN.

This would APPEAR be the same shot as before, but look!
Construction cones!
Lots and lots of 'em.
And lots of 'em.....
And...well, you get it.

This was lunch in the Midwest. Not kidding. I stopped at
a roadside clinic for a coronary bypass and liposuction.

Once in Illinois, we went to my Granny's (My Dad's Mother) house to dump the baboos and I off, so my Mom could help with the arrangements and see her sisters who had also traveled in. The Baboos and Granny and I had a nice time catching up and showing the baboos all of the things I enjoyed when I spent time in the area each summer. Most importantly:

1. Lightening bugs

We don't have these in Wyoming,
what a shame.

2. Blue eagle-flavored* sno cones

*Not really flavored with eagles.

The next day we attended a few informal events in honor of my Uncle, including a moving, if not pulverizing-ly hot service with military honors. I did not know most of those in attendance, or had not seen them in many years, but I was very proud to say I was Hugh's niece...to 25 people who, after I left said "who the hell was that and why is she so dressed up?" I did a lot of nodding to strangers who knew me when as my heels sunk into the wet ground and I fanned myself like a crazy person in the stifling heat. The baboos looked like they might pass out. Wyoming kids are not built for humidity.

In short, we did not "blend".

While at a post-service luncheon at my Mother's childhood church (church ladies put out good grub, yo), a 50 year old group photo from the church surfaced. I enjoyed seeing the faces of my grandparents (who have been gone since the early 1990's), my Mother, Aunts and Uncles. Strangely, none of the family of 8 was standing together in the photo. I believe they must have all rolled out of the service, crammed together on the lawn and had the photo taken. And then I dream that they ate a huge lunch. I might be having flashbacks from my meal in the Midwest...

Grandpa Arlo, center.
He looks serious, but look closer. There is a smile in there.

My Mother, on the left. Sassy as always.

Grandma Mary, looking a bit like she was in charge. :-)

The evening service was hosted by some of Uncle Hugh's friends from AA.

Along with his memorable laugh, Uncle Hugh was an accomplished member of AA and spent the better portion of his week driving to several of the little towns near his, picking up recovering alcoholics in his big black Caddy and taking them to meetings. He traveled and spoke at national AA conferences. He worked the program, and truly believed in its success.

He was proof it could work.

It was very moving to hear the others in his meeting group speak very frankly to each other about how my Uncle had stumbled and fell himself, and helped others when they stumbled, dedicated to continuing with the program. They joked he was a great roommate since his hearing loss made a good match for snorers, and they knew all about his sisters. His family was there, among his AA family. We held hands with them and said the AA creed. I shook hands warmly with several when I left.

On the way home I was feeling nostalgic so I wanted to take my children by my Granny's old house so they could see where my Dad grew up and where I spent my summers. The problem is, you can't really SEE-see it from the road.

So I pulled in.

My Granny was a little mortified.

The Baboos were not surprised. They know me too well.

I met and explained my reason for visiting to a young pregnant woman in the yard, flanked by 2 little boys on bikes and a small girl in a dress and mud boots. All were adorable and had the dirt of the day on them. They were more welcoming than they should have been to two carloads of weirdos in funeral wear, barging into their evening.

The boys showed up how they used the walk to jump their dirt bikes and I told them about the swing we used to have between the yards in the largest tree (don't use old ski rope - story for another day).

The back yard where I used to collect lightening bugs and mosquito bites.

My Dad had kept a raccoon for a pet when he was small and had told me stories of his days with Charlie squirrel and Davy Crockett the raccoon many, many times. So, imagine my surprise when....

Yes. They had a pet raccoon!!!.
In 2011!
In the City Limits!

Baboo and Davy Crockett II and his small owners

Amid rabies fears, the Baboos and I held the raccoon, since it was karma-riffic about my Dad and all. I held him against my black dress, my heels killing me and tried not to think about washing all of our hands ASAP.

I had exactly the same look on my face.
And raccoon stink all over my black dress.

The family had saved him from drowning in a water barrel and he was completely tame. I just *KNEW* my Dad Mick was smiling down on my son holding a ~~probably diseased~~ raccoon.

Ah, Mick. This raccoon's for you.

We drove to Granny's smiling and quiet, nostalgic about the great stories shared by Uncle Hugh's friends, and the sweet visit to my Dad's childhood home and the one in my memories.

I felt lucky to get to spend a lot of downtime with my Granny Mae, my Dad's mother. She turned 92 in July, but is running at about 75, I think. She still lives alone and (gasp) even drives her younger neighbors to the doctor.

She is wise and fun and bossy. We are cut from the same cloth, looks-wise and personality both. Being bossy is something I have inherited from her and when she bosses me around and I boss her around... it makes me laugh.

Dear Mae. I love you. These will be my hands someday.

Even though my dogs were barking from my hooker heels, and we had decided we WOULD NOT go to church Sunday, Mae woke me at 6 am, telling me her conscience had woken her and she thought we needed to go to church. I tried to explain that we hadn't brought proper Sunday clothes, but she quickly reminded me that I had the clothes ~~and shoes, ugh~~ that I had worn to the funeral. Oh joy. 3 inch heels for a Sunday service.

Again with the blending.

My Granny has gone to Epworth Methodist Church all of my life, and I have sat in the pews on Sunday many times, through several ministers...one of whom kissed my father. That pretty much ended the church service visits to Epworth for him.

Yes, I took a photo during church. So sue me.

While most of you know that church is not my scene, I definitely get the community aspect of congregations, and this hometown church maintains all of the goodness that one would expect. Many came to meet and greet us during a portion of the service and shook our hands with both of theirs while they told us how much my Granny brings to their group and how much my Dad meant to them and how sad they were that he is no longer with us. They also told us how great we looked, which made my feet hurt a ~~lot~~ little less.

We think Granny brings a lot to our table too, so we kidnapped her and brought her home to Wyoming with us for a visit. The drive home was a little more grueling, since we had done it once and the novelty had worn off.

Ok, not all of it. There were a few more sights I just couldn't help but capture...

This is a FAMILY restaurant, ahem.

I have never seen such a comprehensive "don't pee in the pool" sign.

I had to see what "classy restrooms" looked like in a gas station
and I must admit, I felt like a debutante while I hovered.

More of this view...zzzzzz

More oversharing signs, this one for a bathroom in a miniscule town
somewhere on a detoured highway in Nebraska.

Some pretty views...I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

Some NOT as pretty.

Road warrior, out.

Be Kind, I'm in Swimwear

2011-07-31T17:38:00.000-06:00

I have somehow been re-wired into permanent vacation status. I am still finding it difficult to wear undergarments, and keep waiting for the cocktail waitress to show up. I keep asking what the "drink of the day" is today, but no one will answer me. Rude.

In our usual style, the trip to Punta Cana was done on a whim, and we didn't put a ton of planning or thought to the week. It turned out great, solidifying my theory of poor planning as a rule. Our fam works better on the fly with the flexibility. (This is the reason I can't get my Disney on. The Disney planning guides make me curl up in a fetal position, muttering "It's a small, small world...") Flying by the seat of our pants is a family layer, although I may inspire it.

I have had this post started for way too long now, and it just needs to get done so I can move on to other aspects of my thrilling life. Below are a few shots from the trip, to let you see the resort you'll be staying at on your next beach adventure. It was called Dreams, and it was Dreamy. And hot.

We upgraded to a Junior Suite. The Baboos immediately made themselves at home.

The robe was too long, but the slippers....ahhh.
He has a pretty rough life, you know! He needs
to be pampered.

We have an all inclusive package, which included 8 restaurants and all drinks. The food was pretty good, and offered the normal fare that kids like. The biggest downside was that there was something awry with the air conditioning, which made the restaurants *hot*, and not in that "this new restaurant is HOT" kind of way. The Baboos soon learned that room service was also part of the All-Inclusive package and preferred to stay in and order while watching I-Carly in Spanish.

"Hola Carly!. Donde esta su hijo?"

Special Agent and I sweltered through the sushi place, as well as a lovely Italian restaurant while the kids stayed in (don't judge, we had Walkie-Talkies). While trying to explain to the Dominican waiter that I wanted to sit by the window, since it was trying to storm and there was a nice breeze, or that I was enjoying some cool sea air, (or that I wanted to jump out of the window, who knows?) he misunderstood my excellent grasp of their language and shut the window. The rest of the guests were really happy with me. Fail.

Several bottles of wine later, Special Agent and I checked on the kids and enjoyed a walk. It was hot. Hot...hawt..hott..In my wine-fueled state, I decided a swim was in order. Except...

a) the pool closed at night

b) I was without swimwear

No matter. Special Agent laughed while he held my dress, looking around nervously and whispering "come on..people are walking by..." "don't go way over there, it's all lit up...." and sighing, "you have voyeuristic tendencies, woman.." The pool was cool and luxurious, and I had it all to myself. I do not believe for one second I am the first or last skinny (ok, medium) dipper they have had at the Dreams Resort and Spa.

I spent a lot of my days here (it closes at night), and one night fateful evening
while Special Agent held my dress. I could be on YouTube, but I am not looking.

The Layers family photo - someone is probably
peeing in the pool at this very moment.

Local wildlife

My bathing beauty baboo. Under the glasses, her
cheeks were a little scorched. Sunblock fail.

After getting scorched, we decided we had better find something to do that got us away from the pool for a day. (secretly, I think Special Agent was afraid the Dreams Police were coming to kick us out for my late night swim). So, we ventured off to do some zip lining.

The Onion clan, getting their Zip Line on. Yes, we
made the shorter one wear a helmet eventually.

Do I look afraid? More importantly, do I look like I have a beer belly?
While I do, I assure you, this level of belly was all shirt.

Special Agent, showing off his manliness. Note: no umbrella, straws or jewelry
unless you count his gear.

Although the guides sweetly attached my camera to the side of my helmet, I wasn't really into taking photos while we were zip lining. Suffice to say we zipped from one platform to another, rinse and repeat. The best part for me was the trip up and back from the zip lining site, with an excellent and informative guide, showing us what the real Dominican Republic looked like. The ride was bumpy and we smiled at each other as the bus heaved and leaned.

This darling came out to wave to the bus. We wanted to give him some items we had
brought along, but not allowed, for safety's sake. The host gave him a 2 liter of
soda instead and it made him smile.We gave our items elsewhere, but it felt like
a missed opportunity.

Back to the ~~Bar~~ Beach! Despite our still lingering sunburns, we hit the beach on the resort. As suspected, the baboos preferred the pool inside our resort, but we spent a little time wandering around, jumping on the water trampoline and being hounded by locals selling their wares.

MJ, I wasn't sure which. Nope, just a lot of bad art and some shirts and trinkets. There was an unseemly massage table tucked away in the back, confirming my suspicion that we could probably get just about anything one was looking for here. Special Agent bought a t-shirt to assist with the local economy.

This was the beachfront outside our hotel. I worked to keep the
guy with the jewelry saying " Hey you...nice lady" out of the shot.

Our next big adventure was to take surf lessons as Macao Beach. I won't lie, I was nervous. My lack of athletic ability is well known. I can swim, but coordination is a whole other issue.

After a prayer to the surf gods, my instructor taught me the basics. He felt my "pop up" was slow, so I had to remind him that I am 37 years old and wildly distracted by the fact he is looking at an unobstructed view of my 37 year old ass. Which ended up lobster red after this day of fun.

Macao Beach

Yes, this is really what a white girl's rear view looks like at my age.

I prefer me cropped, color changed and thigh-edited.

The good news was, we all got up on our boards and my non athletic ass was actually the first to do it in the class! I showed off a little, trying to channel the movie "Blue Crush". We were highly motivated, as you can see below.

The rest of our trip was spent within reach of the bar, below. In the instance that close chairs were "unavailable" (I hope you drown, Greek woman on the phone..) a lovely lady would also deliver to the pool. Even the baboos had some non alcoholic Pina Coladas.

Here is a shot of the bar, complete with swings instead of bar stools.
The *FREE* drinks were brought pool side, very dangerous.

Dreams Punta Cana: Highly, highly recommended. The biggest downside is that I am now warped and cannot seem to get my blog on. And I keep asking passers by for The DRINK OF THE DAY. At 10 in the morning. Don't judge.

Is anyone listening?

Look Kids...it's Big Ben!...Parliament....

2011-06-28T23:28:00.004-06:00

After several grueling days of catching up on laundry and lounging by the pool...I am headed back on the open road for a trip to the ~~farmland~~ homeland of my parents.

My Mother planned to make this trip on her own, as she has many, many times but flooding in Iowa has created a detour right in the CENTER of her route. The new route makes her a little nervous, so the baboos and I are jumping on board for the the trip.

Umm....yeah....no....

Eighteen marvelous hours with The Onion, her Baboos and her Mother. Instead of traveling through scenic Iowa, we will be heading south to trailblaze across beautiful Nebraska. ZZZZZZZZZ...Then detour further SOUTH - further into the Cornhusker state and then across KANSAS in order to get across the flooded areas..

Who knows, Topeka might be awesome. I have never been there, so...open mind.

You are HERE
But you can't go THERE
You gots to go around.

En route, we will stop by a major airport and gather an Aunt who is also coming in. We will see a lot of people who will all think my kids look like someone else. They will also remark on how big I have gotten.

*sigh*

I will bid one of my favorite Uncles a final farewell; I will miss his expressions. I will again suffer the loss of my own father as I watch my cousins say goodbye to theirs.

I will visit Huck's mini mart and possibly get a blue eagle sno-cone for old time's sake. My kids will hopefully catch lightening bugs. We will celebrate the 4th of July in a hometown that isn't ours. My hair will grow exponentially in the humidity. I will hug a lot of people I don't really know.

On the way back, we will be "plus one" my 92 year old Granny Grunt.

After a hiatus, I feel a blog coming on...

Back in the Saddle..in my swimsuit

2011-06-24T09:06:00.000-06:00

After quite a long hiatus, I am back in the blogging saddle. One would imagine that I am absolutely *bursting* with interesting blog fodder, but I will admit, I am doing a lot of blinking at the screen.

blink.

blink-blink.

I think I may be suffering from "Island-Brain", which causes the afflicted to suffer from bouts of continued laziness, desire to lay by the pool, swimming in place of showering and day-drinking.

The Dominican was a great trip. Very relaxing with a zip lining and surfing excursions (Yes, me too. In fact, I was a natural and will be joining the Rockies Chapter of the USA Surf Team). The kids were their usual level of awesomeness in the face of long travel days, and enjoyed many hours in the pool as well as the all-inclusive room service option.

The Onion family, surfing the baby waves..

Sweet Baboo #1 doing her thang.

Like real tourists, we Northerners got a little too red in spite of our continued application of SPF 1,000 sunscreen. The Dominican mosquitoes appeared to ENJOY my skin marinated in Deep Woods Off. We spent some time near some Irish folks, commiserating. We drank a LOT of free drinks by the pool, and on only one occasion did I hover near blackout status. It was pretty warm unless you were by the pool, prompting one moment of after dinner skinny dipping in the pool while Special Agent held my dress and played lookout.

I didn't blog.
I didn't check Facebook.
In fact, I didn't even turn on the phone.

Sweet Baboo #2 refused to cut his hair so he could have the right
surfer look for this excursion. I think he pulled it off, don't you?

It was both nice and a little strange to unplug entirely. When I woke early, I went for a walk, checked out the flamingos, read my Kindle. As the week wore on, I felt a small amount of anxiety about not being in contact with my family and friends AT ALL, but being cheap about roaming charges won out.

The only time I really cringed that I didn't have the phone camera was when I came across a fellow traveler sitting poolside in a Euro-speedo number, who looked like an elder Zeus with flowing silver mane, a smoldering pipe (you heard me) and giant headphones over his ears. It was a missed opportunity, for certain.

I am sure he is wearing a speedo in this. Add a pipe, some
giant headphones and a lilty Greek barrage of chatter and
you've got it.

It was interesting that during conversations, no one's phone rang, no one checked their messages. It was relaxing, uninterrupted. Why in the world are we always feeling the need to check in? In the Dominican, we unplugged for a week and you know what happened?

Nothing.

World still spun, work still continued. When we arrived in New York and turned on our phones the messages were not urgent and everyone survived without us for a week. We checked in, but I noticed we didn't have the death grip on the blackberry that we had when we flew out. I see it creeping back in, but I am trying to fight it.

"Island-Brain" isn't all bad.

So what if I sleep in my swimsuit?

MIA at A Lot of Layers

2011-06-11T07:44:00.000-06:00

My apologies, I have been utterly and completely MIA lately as far as posting goes. It has been several weeks of birthday celebrations, the end of school and other nonsense. I also needed a creep break after a bit of unpleasantness reminded me that truly ANYONE can read your posts. Eww. But, I am over it. Child predators, please kill yourselves.

I have been preparing and packing for our trip to the Dominican Republic, in which I have ~~been warned~~ agreed NOT to bring my computer (deep breaths). I have not traveled without a laptop since I can't-remember-when and it makes me feel a little veklempt.

This is the moment I realized I had tossed my Blackberry
in the suitcase at some point in the packing process 10 layers down.

Don't tell Special Agent if I post a blog from the Blackberry. Also, don't look closely at the spelling. It is tough to type a post on those wee, tiny buttons. But I just might do it.

Listen...can you hear typing?

I also need to sneak the computer with me so I can catch up with all of your blogs. I am way behind on your witty and interesting posts. I am sure most of you can relate that each new bit of great writing means you are now following another blog. When your blogroll feels like a "to do" list you are furiously trying to accomplish, The Onion needs to get a grip. On the upside of this, you are all hilarious.

As I lounge on the couch, watching informercials of 30-day body challenges, I realize that I am about 30 days behind in the process with regard to a beach ready body. Oh well, I purposely picked an Americanized resort after a bad experience with a lot of hot Europeans several years ago on our Mexico trip. I hadn't realized real people could be that good looking.

I have never felt so American....it was the mental equivalent
of wearing black socks with sandals....

This time, I am hauling my beach chair closer to this fella:

But....(and I mean that figuratively)..I think I will sit on his other side.

Happy weekend.

When Blogging Gets Creepy

2011-06-05T19:36:00.001-06:00

So, I should have know that writing a post about posing nude, even in the interest of ART or to build a better self body image might bring out the kooks.

So NOT pervy..

I received a message to my Facebook Page via my crackberry yesterday from an interesting looking fellow, who shared that he is a photographer, Optical/Aerospace Engineer...and Nudist.

and is 72.

The visual was distracting, but I pressed on.

He shared that he was willing to chat further about my interest in nude modeling. Of course.

I cocked an eyebrow at the crackberry. He seemed like an odd duck.

I kept reading. He was also from Wyoming. Hmmm.

Nude in Wyoming.

Brr.

I considered this "shared state" business. I wasn't sure if this was a good thing. I like lots of distance in FB stalkers, something I wrote about here.

I have also mentioned here that I have a little obsession with Google. When I got home, I Googled Mr. Nudie just to make sure he wasn't a dangerous somebody.

I pursed my lips and nodded slowly, feeling the eyebrows come out.

Ok, now I am pissed.

He was a dangerous somebody.

In fact, he was a registered sex offender in my fine state. Incest. Further Googling made me sick, and I shuddered that I had even entertained having a conversation with this person in any format. It also caused me to remove all identifying names and places from my Facebook and Blogger account, as well as blocking the writer.

God damn it.

Just made me want to take the whole blog down.

Take this blog and shove it.

Special Agent is going to flip. (Stop flipping Special Agent)

While the writer deserves to have his photo posted, I am not going to share it and exacerbate this situation.

I will however, link to the site where you can check to see the list of sex offenders in your area and make yourself aware of who may be acting like a benign and interested party, but who might really not be someone you want to share time with, period.

http://www.nsopw.gov/Core/Portal.aspx

Search by name, State, City, neighborhood, etc and then prepare to be pissed
off when you realize how MANY there are and how close they live.

Notice: If you are kind of strange, have a lot of layers but are harmless, welcome to my blog. If you have done harm to others, especially children, you can F*** off. Don't come here.

The Rapture is No Match for The Onion's Self Promoting Behavior

2011-06-01T11:52:00.003-06:00

My post is up on BlogHer (go look. I'll wait. Be sure to notice I am SPOTLIGHTED on the left of the page..) today, after they had a glitch in posting it last week. I blame The Rapture, since my post was not Rapture-supportive.

I was supposed to be featured on the Home Page as well, but that is still MIA.

I blame The Rapture.

In fact, I am going to blame The Rapture for everything that doesn't go my way for the next three months. By then, The Rapture, Part Deaux should be in full swing.

Cable bill is late? Rapture.
Laundry piling up? That's normal, no...RAPTURE!
Late to meeting....you know..it was THE RAP-CHA...

Harold Camping, thanks for being my scapegoat. Love ya.

Yes, I Love You. Now Leave Me Alone so I Can Watch Steamy Sex Scenes on Cable

2011-05-29T22:39:00.001-06:00

Someone shared this bit o' poetry tonight and I died laughing. Anyone who is a parent (I don't care how damn kind-hearted you are) has thought this at one time... or about twice a week like me when your kids absolutely will not go to bed.

I dedicate this to TWIN, who has given more drinks of water, something to eat, fear-of-dark soothings, stomachache discussions and other nonsense to her smart bird-loving whipper snapper than many. And just when she gets one to stay in bed, the other kid surfaces and probably throws her pajamas in the still-full tub. *Sigh*

Sleep tight Mick and Mads, and for God's sake....well, you know.

((click to open))

Open publication - Free publishing - More book

SatSnap Challenge - Locked Out

2011-05-28T21:35:00.001-06:00

She sighed and leaned against the wrought iron. Her face almost fit through the space between the rails and the cool of the steel felt calming. She inhaled deeply, sucking in the heavy air. "God, this place is damp" she said, her voice muted as the words traveled across space on the other side of the fence. He stood alongside her, watching her watch this place.

"So this is it..." he said. Without taking her face away from the rails, she replied, "Yes, this is the place. The old place.". She saw herself running around the grounds in happier times, in sunnier weather. She pulled her coat around her and blew hot breath into her hands.. She scolded herself that they should have come in the afternoon when the sun would be high in the sky and would have burned the mist away. She continued to breathe deep through the rails, smelling the grass and the tress and some other scent she remembered, but couldn't quite place.

"Those rails are going to make lines on your face.." he said gently, taking her arm. She gave him an annoyed look, but touched the two distinct impressions running vertically down her cheeks and smiled. "Melodramatic" she mused and leaned into him.

He whispered into her hair, "It doesn't have to be over. One chapter is ending, but there is always a next, always a new beginning; maybe even a new book. We can continue if you choose it." He was such a good man, her man. She hadn't made it easy to live in her life, but he was quietly stubborn. Damn, but he made it difficult to feel sorry for oneself, or wallow. And at that moment, she wanted to wallow. She didn't like change, she didn't want a new chapter. She wanted the old chapter, the one where the garden smelled of lilacs and not of wet leaves. Where the gate that separated her from her past would swing open at the sight of her, and not sit in it's current impolite stillness, locking her out of the life she once knew there.

They stood that way in the quiet, and as the wind picked up she turned and looked at this man, saw his strength, saw she would never be alone here with him. He would help her return to the memory of her time here and make her whole, patch her wounds. She smiled at him, and touched the back of her gloved hand to his jaw. He smiled back at her, and said over his shoulder, "We'll take it.".

SatSnap Challenge

The task is to write a post in 300 words or less using the image as inspiration. It could be anything at all: a setting description, character study, poem, essay, dialogue, short story, scene, etc. ANYTHING YOU WANT. Use your imagination. See the others at Thumbin' My Way

Indie Ink Challenge - Denial

2011-05-28T08:12:00.001-06:00

I should have paid attention, but I didn't.
She kept her cards to her chest, but still,
I should have noticed.
If I was paying attention.

When I thought there was trouble, I worked, toiled to fix it.
I knew exactly what we needed to do.
I told her so.
Insisted, even.

I was tireless, but she just seemed tired.
Or resigned?
I felt better.
I felt things were ok.
I told myself they were.

Mostly, because I wanted them to be.

One day, she said she was leaving
But I didn't believe her until she was gone.

I told myself it was temporary.
I told myself she would be back.
She said she wouldn't.

I told her I knew how to fix things.
To fix me.
I could be different.
She said she didn't want me to change
She said she just wanted a chance in scenery.
Scenery I wasn't in.

I told others she would be back.
They looked at me.
They didn't believe it.
I pretended not to notice.

They tried to help me see that she wouldn't be back
I knew that if I did all of the things I should have done
If I worked harder
she'd be back.
she'd come back.

She'd come back.

Time has passed, and she is still gone.
She has moved on to another place
and another person.
I hope in a few months she will realize that she misses our life.
Misses me.

I think she will.
I really do.

I really do.

This week's Indie Ink writing challenge came from Disease, who challenged me to write about Denial. This is hard for me, since after growing up to the tune of "everything will turn out ok", I am realistic and up-front to a fault, even with myself.

I challenged Michael Webb to write about Shame. Denial, Shame...we're a happy bunch over at Indie Ink, no? Next week we'll write about bunnies, promise. Shameful bunnies.

Post from the Past Friday - Rosemary'ing

2011-05-27T12:56:00.001-06:00

I am like a child when it comes to making excuses to do things I think are mundane. I swear, I would clean my andirons right now to avoid a specific project that needs me (and I need it!), if only I had a fireplace.
In case you HAVE andirons...

Others would push on through and get it done, but oh no...not me. I will instead do a little thing my Mom calls "Rosemary-ing", after a dear friend. I will start one project, then see something shiny that draws me to another project I have needed to consider for oh, about a year. Then, a butterfly will fly by and I will leave the second project to address something on the third. I will walk past project #1, en route to get a hammer and some duct tape for project #3 and stop for a moment to consider an aspect of #1 again. Sometimes I will stop and tinker with it, and then think "I had better put something out for dinner..".

I know what you are thinking. Yes, I do. You are seeing my mini projects all over the house, and wondering if my house really looks like the photo of hoarding I posted on an earlier entry to the blog. It doesn't. I will efficiently finish the projects, even late into the night. But only to avoid the thing I really ought to be doing. That can wait until tomorrow. Sigh.

The Rapture is Getting Back at Me.

2011-05-27T12:41:00.000-06:00

Comment Luv failed.

My Comment system is still wonky and may have been eaten from previous posts.

Now, I can't see my feature on BlogHer 's homepage, and I was denied access to the Feminism page where I see I am spotlighted.

Damn you, Harold Camping.

If I had the nerve and you weren't in hiding until October for "Rapture, Part Deaux", I would kick you square in the pants.

Second verse...same as the first! (I think Harold Camping was retiring from The Post Office about the time this song came out)

For the love of Pete, please comment on these posts so I can see if the Rapture backlash has ended.

Harold Camping, pick on someone else!

Better than Sex and Carbs...Almost

2011-05-26T21:59:00.003-06:00

Today was becoming one of those mornings. I had another meeting at a local coffee place with a potential client who can't make his mind up. Or isn't sure what he wants. Or neither. Or both. Or at least, can't make his mind up to the level which would facilitate spending money to see his ideas become reality. I am trying hard not to help him for free, but i have that can't-shut-up-problem.

So I am still at the coffee shop, wondering why this fellow can't make a decision to move forward. And planning yet another bday party for the other baboo.

I have been working for free quite a bit lately, of my own volition and sometimes because i am a know-it-all and I just can't help myself. I am hoping karma will catch me up with paying clients in spades.

Do you hear that karma?
I said DO YOU HEAR THAT KARMA?

Luckily my other paying clients and Special Agent are keeping me in electricity and the occasional Chai Tea.

I might have pouted a little, but I received an email from the wonderful and astounding Mona Gable from BlogHer who wrote that they "loved" a seriously half-ass post I wrote from the couch called literally..Posts From the Couch - Lucky Ducks.

I am to be featured TOMORROW on the BlogHer homepage (!!)) and in the BlogHer SPOTLIGHT (you heard me) on their Feminist topic area as a part of a new section called Funny Women.

Yay.
Yay.
Double yay.

Wonder and amazement! Laziness paying off! Again!

I think I owe some of those in the photos a doughnut for helping me in this endeavor. Unfortunately, The Rapture took 'em.

More doughnuts for me....