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

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

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. Boobs. 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

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

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?

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

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

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.