Starting Over

In the mid 90's my mother was diagnosed with Celiac Sprue, an intolerance to wheat. It was scary at the time because as diminutive as she is, she was always vibrant and healthy looking. No one knew what the problem was and she was wasting away in front of us. Gaunt, feeling weak and shitting at every opportunity, I feared the worst for her. Then the mystery was revealed and ever since she has been like a knight questing for the Holy Grail in creating wheat free delicacies.

Imagine never being able to have a slice of your favorite pizza, a crusty baguette, a rich chunky brownie, a dish of pasta! You can cheat, but in truth, it is like eating poison. Celiac destroys all of the little finger like protuberances in the small intestine called villi. When she was scoped, her small intestine was as smooth as a baby's ass. What that meant was that there were no villi to absorb the food passing through her system and everything was liquified and dumped at the end of the line.

If you're diagnosed (it seems to affect those of northern European descent the most), you think you can avoid the big things like those mentioned above. Yet in our hurried overprocessed and preserved society it appears in almost everything we eat, like ketchup, salad dressing, vinegar, soy sauce, canned soup, macaroni and cheese and almost anything you take for granted.

Returning from her week in the sun she looked frazzeled and fried. Mentally tired from being the escort to Big Pappy who ate and drank at every opportunity, she was ready for a change in her life. I think she's going through a huge realization that she hasn't acomplished anything in life. I try to tell her she DID by single handedly raising three boisterous kiddies. She did an outstanding job. She wants more.

She has decided to pursue opening a gluten(wheat) free bakery. Celiacs should be overjoyed by her succulent baked goods. What I think is wonderful is that it is just not Celiacs who benefit from a wheat free diet. People with fibromyalgia and autistic childeren have shown remarkable improvements in the quality of their lives by eliminating wheat. I think it would be so wonderful for a parent to bring a child into the the store and they can eat ANYTHING that's there!

How great would it be to be able to order them a birthday cake?!

The amazing thing is is that she has perfected so many things. It's very difficult to work with alternative flours and ingredients, but she has a knack for it. She makes delectible gingersnaps, angel food cakes, brownies, pizza crusts, waffles, pancakes, bread and rolls and so much more! They are seriously so good Snowflake and I prefer them to the real deal.

She has asked me to help her. How can I refuse? She thrives when she's making all of these goodies. She's like Wonder Woman. I think it would be a boon to her lagging self-esteem(mine as well) but more importantly, I think it would be an incredible example and inspiration for Snowflake. I am so proud of her and she gives me hope. She's turing 60 this April and I'm reminded of a magazine I saw with Lauren Hutton on the cover.

It said "Sixty is the New Thirty". Life begins again.

Snowflake Keeps It Real

Last night the padres came home early. They said it was just way too busy for them. Too many people, too many lines, overbooked hotels and too much traffic, especially through the fine state of Georgia. Could they be showing signs of crustiness?

I was more than happy to oblige my pappy by returning his snaggle toothed wonder almost as soon as I hung up the phone. I threw his paraphanalia(his dog bed, a huge thick terry cloth robe of my father's for him to smell while they were away and his little doggie bed pillow) into the car and we were on our way in a matter of seconds.

An ease of calm settled over me and I knew from the fact that The Chidler didn't even bother to see us off from his window perch that things were already back to normal. We arrived at the house and I hauled the baby n' things in.

Their driveway had a little dusting of unshoveled snow. I wore these suede clogs that have a toothed sole. We visited and I nibbled on fresh Pralines for awhile. I had to put a few things back into the car and returned with a bunch of snow wedged into the soles.

Of course Snowflake enjoys watching my every move. I left my shoes on the rug and went back into the den. Here comes Snowflake, like a playful puppy, hanging onto my old shoe.

But he had it flipped upside down and he was eating the snow off the sole! I gasped "What are you doing? Give me that!" and grabbed it from him, laughing nervously. I know ol' Snaggle Tooth pees in this general area. Could he have inadvertently eaten yellow snow? I truly believe in not freaking out unless absolutely necessary as I don't want him to be an anxious, nervous wreck over any little thing.

I convince myself no.

"What were you doing with that?" I say again.

"Tastin' shooz", he says.

I almost whizzed myself it was so funny and cute. His vocabulary and pronunciation are just exploding by leaps and bounds right now. I can't begin to imagine what will come out of his mouth next. He's just tellin' like it is!

Porcelain Goddess

I love to scrub my floors with my Hoover Floor Mate. It's so quick and easy and it actually does a great job. It doesn't recycle dirty water onto the floor, but rather sucks it up like a good little bitch. I'm feeling a little sassy this manana, and I don't have a functioning tilde. I don't know how to get it over the 'n'.

I have a thing for KABOOM! Bowl Blaster. I adore it's purple husky bottle with lime green twist off cap that doubles as a measuring cup. It takes the mundane job of cleaning the toilet to a new level. Normally, I use rubber gloves, bleach and a pumice stone when I'm feeling especially anal. It's very clinical work.

But with KABOOM! Bowl Blaster, I can let my softer side show. Pour a cup into the bowl and poof!, a thick foamy creamy head begins to build. Rising slowly, it stops just short of the rim. Sometimes I just let it sit and marinate, almost as if it were a spa treatment for that fine porcelain.

Other times, I like to get out the bowl brush and pretend like I'm frosting the most unusual cake, swirling the custard like conncoction in an artistc and loving fashion, leaving no spot unswathed. I may even repeat the process.

It's just so fresh, I could kiss myself.

Addict

I have a sickness. My impulse control can be as weak as a heroin addict's when I spy a deal. Was I really planning on buying anything at all this past week? Hell no! I despise materialism, yet I am a slave to the marketing schemes of that glorious sexy red bullseye. I know it's looking at me. I know it wants me BAD. I think I can resist and then it gives me a teasing slap on the ass, begging me to come hither.

Once a year, my favorite saucy catch all store has a collection called "World Bazaar". Maybe you know of it. Maybe you've lingered in the aisles, imagining yourself ringing the temple bell, weaving that carpet or viewing Kilimanjaro in the mist of the early dawn. You think, I must have it! At any cost! Not this little warrior.

I bought seven gorgeous handmade kilim pillows that were $59.99 each. My total for all seven: $42!(That's forking $420 dollars woth of Turkish delight, people!) Yes! A cool Asian table, round and wide at the top, tapering down and then flaring out at the base normally $129.99 was mine for a mere $12.99! I bought the matching stool $89.99 for $8.99. A wonderful oxidized Mexican glass mirror $59.99 for $5.99. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! I was on a crazy, rabid, free for all. 90 effing percent off! I'll take it. And I'll take some more of it, and some more. A-N-Y-T-I-M-E, sucka!

Baby Bean

Krispy and her Cream Puff

This is my friend 'Krispy' and her son, the Cream Puff. She asked me to take some photographs of the two of them and I really like the way some of them turned out, so I thought I'd share.









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Penny Lover

Snowflake did it again. Normally, he never puts foreign objects into his mouth except for boobs. Yesterday he was playing with a penny while I was changing him. I noticed he had it. After I finished, I asked him where the penny was.

"In-air", he says, meaning 'in there', inside of him.

"Open your mouth." I say. He does, but it's no longer there. He swallowed it. I wasn't too freaked out until I looked on line and it said,

One other point of interest. Old pennies made of pure copper are harmless if
swallowed by a child, assuming it does not lodge in the throat and/or wind
pipe. That is not true of copper plated zinc pennies. If the surface is
marred or scratched the zinc reacts with hydrochloric acid in the stomach
and forms zinc chloride which is very corrosive and can perforate the
stomach lining. So now a baby swallowing a penny is no longer to be taken
lightly and immediate medical attention should be sought should it happen.

I'm thinking that when I looked at that penny it was already a little teal colored. I start to get a little freaked. I call the Doc and she reassures me he will be fine. I'm happy to report that he had change in his diaper today so all is well. So I guess it has finally come to pass(no pun), The Chidler is not the only one who has strange objects coming out of his ass.

Skater Boy

Before Snowflake received his board, I took him to Old Navy and bought him a new hat. I was doing the dishes and I heard him mumbling to himself. I look into the living room and this is what I found. He had his hat ON backwards, all stylin' without any help from me. It was so adorable. Using my catlike reflexes, this was all I could quickly capture in the fading twilight. I hate using flash, but I had to. He was already wearing his VonDutch jeans and his SanFelipe Mexico tee. Coincidence?

Infinity & Newcastle Brown

I cannot believe this is my 100th post. I couldn't bring myself to post yet another photograph of Snowflake. Is it postworthy? Is anything? I'm going to the fridge and grabbing a Newcastle because if I don't do it now, I never will. I always say I'm going to have a cocktail and when the time comes I just want to go bed. Yum, yum delish! That's so, so nice.

My friend brought Snowflake a real baby sized skateboard today. It's so adorable. On the bottom it has "IMMORTAL" printed in gothic letters. I had to smile at that. We all think we're so bulletproof when we're young. Somehow, someday it just happens and you realize that you're older and nothing lasts forever. Sometimes I find myself in a state of tolerable high anxiety if I think too long of losing my mother or father.

I know it's inevitable and nothing will stop it. I still feel so immature and inept at times it's not even funny. I think everyone around me has these real lives and I'm still just playing. I've never studied Buddhism, but I love the idea of just going with the flow and letting everything be as it will be. Acceptance of the here and now. This mentality led me through single pregnanthood.

I had all three of the puppinos in those days and they would gather around me and cozy up as I balled my eyes out watching Adaptation anytime it was on HBO. As strange as this may sound, I don't think I feel certain things as deeply since my brother died. It never seemed real to me and I know it was. What I feel is that loss through death isn't as bad as we portray it to be. It is inevitable and I think that is why I was able to get over the loss of my dogs much more easily than I ever thought I could.

The tragedy is not living right now, in the moment. Some people say they want to be immortal and it has been said, you are only immortal as long as someone remembers you. I think about this and I have this weird thought everytime I travel. Like when I left a strand of hair in London, Istanbul or even Milwaukee. I was here, a piece of me will always be here even if no one is aware of it. And I had a damn good time.

The One and Only.

Color Me Yellow

War shmore. Today was absolutely all about pee-pee, wee-wee, and whizzing. I was so mad at The Chidler for making his opinion about the houseguest known. Now, I'm basking in the glow of the thought of a golden shower.

This yellow stream represents a milestone in development for us. Tonight as I was getting out of the bath, Snowflake approaches and says,"Pee?".

"You want to go pee-pee on the pot?" I mumble in disbelief.

"Ya!" Sven says.

I took his diap off and discovered a mess and he was immediately put into a fresh soapy milk bath laden tub. When it was over, he started babbling about the pot again. I flooffed his hair and rubbed him down. He grabbed his Baby Bjorn potty and regally claimed his throne. He tried, but no success.

Could he have been pondering his reflection as he gazed into the Phillip Starck toilet that awaits the big boy and thinking about the journey he was just about to begin? He peed on the floor. I blew it off. We discussed the use of toilet paper and it's pros and cons as he unraveled part of the roll. Once again to the breach, exclaiming, "Pee! Pot!" and plopping down with gusto. This time he produced a small pool of liquid gold. I've never been so excited by a bodily fluid before in my life! "Yes!" I encouraged him gentley.

"Paper?" he says.

"Yes, here is some paper for you", and he wipes himself! I was blown away. I showed him where to go with the wee and put it into the big pot. Is this really happening?
After a good ten minutes of reveling over his success I grab him and put him on the changing table for lotion and a diap.

"No! Pot?" he squeeks as he wrinkles up his nose. I try to convince him he wants a diap so he can go downstairs but he insists on going to the pot. I let him. My sweet little boy did a repeat performance, only this time when he was done, he grabbed the insert right away and flushed its contents away.

I don't think I've ever been so proud and so excited for someone in my entire life. It was the most amazing experience I have ever had and it included pee! We had to call the vactioners to tell them the news. He was so proud to tell them both, "Pee Pot!". I told him he should have a special treat so when we came downstairs I gave him a few of his favorite Jelly Bellies. I glowed as I reminded him that he did something incredible tonight. When I asked him what and why he beams,

"Pee!"

UPDATE! Snowflake did it again this morning! I hope this is a sign of things to come. You never know, I'll just follow his lead and let him chart the course.

The Fly

Ode to Bono

Canines 2 Human 1

My blockage failed in the wee hours. At approximately 4am I heard the crunch, crunch of that determined little mop trying to break on through and slide past the mylar balloon. When he made it to the top of the stairs I heard a little whine of defeat.

Living in an old house comes with trade offs. Most of the doors are out of square and don't shut properly. Luckily, I anticipated the willfullness of this crazy canine. Before I went to sleep I wedged a sock folded in two between the door and the jamb. A nice tight lockdown.

Not being able to fall back to sleep, I was forced to listen to him nibble and lap at himself. Charlie was pissed that Yasha made it upstairs and stayed there. The Chidler is not allowed up there save for a brief morning hello to the baby. When I cracked the seal on the bedroom door this morning, Charles bounds up the stairs to survey his invaded foreign territory.

That big bastard pissed a tiny puddle in the baby's room. In fact he peed on the Chihauhua calendar Nan gave Snowflake for Valentine's. Twisted revenge. I grabbed the wee white devil and carried him downstairs while shooing the Chidler ahead of us. What a sweet good morning. This definitely means war.

Devil or Angel

Heavenly sweet until exhausted and his evil twin emerges. Whether it's singing sweetly or destroying tv antennas, caressing The Chidler gentley or trying to shove the end of potato masher up his butthole as he trys to flee, I love him. Too young for a five o'clock shadow, he found some old ashes in the fireplace and played smear everything in sight. It occured to me he looked like Mickey Rourke in Barfly. He has a Bukowski like personality when he is past napdom. "Here's to my friends!" My little Henry Chenaski. Thankfully, the little poet did finally fall asleep after a little nip at the nip. Good thing, because the Maestro has Kindermusic tonight.

Portrait of an A-Hole

I couldn't leave my dad's psycho dog alone for two weeks, being let out twice a day and then back to the solitary confinement of their house. As a dog lover, it is just plain cruel, even if he's a little asshole. He's nipped everyone in the family. When he comes over I have to barricade the steps off. I don't have an extra gate so I must be creative. In the past, he has been so tenacious that he's leaped over barstools, small bikes and copper coils. As soon as the tick-tack-tap of his long nails clatter up the stairs I know my chances of languishing in bed are over. Snowflake is usually in that touchy state of near waking. Once he gets upstairs he likes to sit in my room and lick himself loudly. This destroys any plans of sleeping in as my co-sleeper's radar is bleeped and he smiles and says,"Yash?".

This time it would be different. Last night I did it right. Using a barstool, a laundry tub and a half deflated helium balloon, I foiled his evil plot to escape from the kitchen. I'm so glad I had that balloon. We were at lunch last week and the owner of the joint pawned it off on Snowflake, as is. I couldn't say no. Now, in it's semi flaccid stae, it was my ally. It worked!

However, my barricade did not stop that furry freaky mess from crying and barking at 3am to come upstairs. He finally quieted after 45 minutes and started again at 7am.

A couple of years ago I went with my mother to Petco to get his shots. We were standing in line and ahead of us was a burly woodsman with his young son and their German Shepard puppy. The kind of flannel wearing man who has tufts of hair growing out of his ears and a beard to match. The little boy couldn't keep his eyes off of Yasha.


"Dad! Look at that dog! Wow! He is soooooo COOL! Look at the way his tooth sticks out," he exclaimed as his father looked on in manly Northwoods disgust. He was a backwoods man who would never own a furry, fluffy toy dog. Way too warm and fuzzy for his type.

If he only knew that within the body of this white flopsy mass, beat a psycho heart very close to his own.

ASSembly Required

I thought I scored, BIG TIME. I found a very cool looking Isaac Mizrahi armoire for my bathroom. Normally eighty big ones, it was marked down to only $39.98. Snowflake and I came home after lunch and I decided to tackle the project. I felt up to the task as I normally like to put things together. This came in a small heavy box that I could barely get into the house myself. I should have known, I should have known.

I open up the box to find a set of instructions eight pages long, a full schematic and a blisterpack of parts with 12 different compartments. It states, "Note:This unit is heavy. Two people are required for assembly." I called a friend to see if he would help me put it together but he conveniently hasn't been answering his phone today. This could be suicide. It reminded me of the time I hoisted a huge Technics speaker up onto a high shelf while balancing on a plastic milk crate.

Even more intimidating to me was a tiny tube of glue that was included for securing fifty million fricking wooden dowels as you pieced it together. I had to call yet another handy friend and have her drop off some carpenters glue as I was fresh out. I put it together in two segments and carried the bottom half upstairs for completion.

I got the stupid bastard assembled and couldn't quite get the door attached with out stripping two screws. In the extra part package they failed to include any of these little fuckers. The "cam set" came apart on one side as it wasn't securely rotated into the locking position. I finally got it all worked out and used every bit of strength I had on those mashed and mutilated screwheads. I'm definitely going to have a cocktail. And no, I will not be going back for the other matching piece as I thought I might earlier.

I'm not even sure I like it now. It's like a big fat white and birchwood elephant sitting in the hallway. But, I did it and I didn't need two people. So what if the door is a bit off. Right now I have that old Target commercial in my head where they'd say "Hello Kitty." I however keep wanting to call the store and say "Hello Shithead" in the same melody.

Poquito Mas

Front Door

It's so cold I swear I could see my breath this morning when I woke up. Like Garrison Keillor wrote, I do believe there was a "sheet of thin ice across the toilet bowl", or something like that. Yes, these are the kinds of icicles that could kill you. These are not as big as they can grow though. A perfect weapon, just melt the evidence. Whoa, is that Spring I see in my crystal ball? Make it snappy.


Unusual Furry Frost Formation on Dead Vegetation

Weird frost, weird title. This was so soft and fluffy looking. It looks like something from outer space.


Determined Boob Man

This is a onesie that says,"BOOBIES! Because I like to suck them". I just liked the graphic quality of this photo. Snowflake's fleshy pink body paired against the curvey bold zebra and the shadows of the morning.

Boots

My mother has had her eye on these boots since before Christmas. Buttery Buckskin, they were rediculously expensive, even by TJ Maxx standards. They're a little funky and sassy, just like her. We don't live anywhere near Aspen, but I think being with in a few hours of the Canadian Border entitles her to wear them. She reminds me of a pint sized middle aged Bo Derek.

When we saw they were marked down to a mere $25, I told her she HAD to have them.

"They have two pairs in my size. Do you think I should wait and see if they get marked down some more?", she asks.

Sometimes I just can't understand they way her mind works. Both of my parents came from poor families so there are times when they're completely irrational towards making certain purchases.

"If you're not going to buy them, I'm going to buy them for you. They're only $25!" I say. She decided to get them. I thought Snowflake had a blowout so we had to rush out of the store ASAP.

It was a false alarm. When I came downstairs, she already had one boot entirely laced up. That alone is quite a feat.

"Can I just call you Trapper Jean?" I rib her.

I actually had to lace the last few eyelets on one of the boots because she couldn't get it through. When someone has to help you get something on because you just can't do it yourself, that shows a real commitment to fashion. She had no sooner put them on and it was off to our 91 year old Granny O.O.'s for a farewell before their trip.

We walk in to her fastidious and adorable apartment. It's always sunny and warm and she has the view of the old City Hall out of her window. My mom immediately plops down in the Laz-Y-Boy, crossing her legs as if to preen.

"You like my boots mom?" she says to O.O.

Wrinkling up her nose and holding back a laugh she quietly coos, "You look like an old Indian maid. Where on Earth did you buy those?"

Then she tells O.O. how she bagged them so cheaply. I could tell, O.O. thought they were hilarious and almost costume like. Snowflake and I brought her a box of Neuhaus truffles for Valentine's Day. My Granny loves chocolate so she opened them up and encouraged us all to have one.

My mother who swears she "just doesn't care for chocolate" had at least four pieces out of the box.

"I thought you didn't like chocolate?", I say.

"Well, I do today!"

Normally, O.O. will walk us to one of the doors of her building. When I suggested we exit by the main lounge where all of the crows congregate she pulled back like I was the garlic to her vampire.

"Aren't you going to walk down here with us? Don't you want to visit?", my mom says to her curiously. This is bizarre behavior for her. She always walks out with us.

"Nah, I'm going to go back into my apartment."

"Well then, lets just go out of the maintenance door. Come on, Troobee. Love you Granny" I say as we walk out. My mom repeats the same words to her.

We get into the car and discuss how strange it was that she didn't want to walk past the lounge with us. When you're 91 you do what you want without any explanation.

"I think she was embarassed to be seen with me wearing these boots!" my mother bursts out. We begin to laugh about it. Even Snowflake laughs.

These boots weren't made for walkin' with O.O. I guess. They look better on Snowflake anyway.

And They're Off!

In our family, there is no quiet reflection, no sober discussion of the present dilemma, no thoughtful consideration of the other person's feelings. If I didn't know better I would think we are old country Italians. In truth, we're just crazy polocks. There's loads of huffing and puffing, over dramatic eye rolling, voices raising to high pitched nasaly upper midwestern whines and dump truck loads of guilt.

Today Big Pappy and my mother were warming up the Pearl Caddy to head for the enchanted kingdom of the menopausal palaces. They've got the car, they just need to get to F-L-A. Checking over today's mail he hands a particular letter to me. It's from Social Services asking him to write a personal letter in detail about an employee who is seeking an adoption.

Scanning it over I ask him if I'm supposed to write this letter for him. Is that what you're asking I'm thinking, because you're not asking me. I am already agitated with him because he wants me to watch over his disturbed lhasa apso, Yasha. He nods affirmatively.

In my mind I'm cringing because in surreal slow motion I feel the hounds of hell stampeding right out of my big gob.

"Okay, so you're asking me to write this letter for you? What exactly am I supposed to say about his relationship with his son?" I erupt.

I've known this person since I was 14 years old. He's a good person but I'm not the one to be writing this letter. He has no relationship his 22 year old son. He paid child support but was never there in any way to mentor and guide his own flesh and blood. His son was going away to train in some military unit and he wouldn't go to the going away party because he didn't want to see his ex mother in law. Should a single mother be the one putting pen to paper here, Pappy?

I agree this lucky baby would be gaining a cozy, loving home. He's a completely different person now.

"What do you want her to do, Jim? Lie for him?", my mother says.

This letter asks you to describe their current relationship, their drug and alcohol use and everything someone would want to know when placing a sweet babe into a home.

Honestly, I would have to write something like:

To Whom It May Concern-

Babyseeker is generally a goodhearted individual. Please just look past the mood swings his habitual use of marijuana brings to certain, I mean any, given situation. He's usually very happy and then again you just never know. Although he's stolen from me, I consider him a great employee. I've caught him reading through confidential documents but I trust him completely. He's very handy also. Did I mention the time he left a company truck in the median of the interstate...

"No, give it to me. I'll take care of it. You don't have to do a damn thing!", he seethes at me.

He doesn't understand that this letter did not come to ME.

"You always have to have a little larceny in your heart, Heid," he told me as a fresh faced graduate, coming home to start work in sales for the family.

Maybe this is why I could never fit in with his little boys club at work. I just don't believe in that ethic, that fucked way of doing business. It's worked for him, but not for our family.

I leave the house with Snowflake and he doesn't even say goodbye to me. He's a hot inwardly raging inferno that with one look could zap my heart out with his red laser glare.

My mother calls me two seconds later on my cell to tell me that I've ruined their vacation and loads me up with a gigantic mound of smelly maggot infested guilt.

They're not even out of the driveway. I take a deep breath and I'm already a million miles away and my two weeks are looking mighty fine.

Vibrancy

It's high time I added these two inspiring and thought provoking links to my page. Granny is a ballsy artistical free spirit who has lived to tell many tales and is a dynamic powerhouse for all women to look up to. I know I do. You will want to hop in your car and drive right on down South, for the smell of that garden, the look of that food or the laid back hospitality. Even if you're not a woman you will enjoy her incredible down to Earth point of view.

Lotus is similar in her greatness. She doesn't posess Granny's experience with life as she is younger, but her point of view is West Coast savvy, flowing, with a quirky tang that only she could bring. I feel like she could be my long lost friend.

Bad Mam-A-Jamma, No Jam

Since I'm on "vacation", I stayed up late last night reading and enjoying the solitude of "my time". After yesterday's snowstorm we ended up with about six inches of light powdery fluff. We are predicted to have windchills today and tonight of -35 to -40! The sun is usually the brightest on these kinds of days. Right now it is piercing the living room and hitting the disco ball ornaments, causing an explosion of little dewdrop reflections all over the pale blue ceiling.

I felt lazy this morning after beautifying myself. Snowflake was already downstairs by the time I was finished. I had to get outside and blow the end of the driveway and the corner where the city likes to just ram it up hard. In the spirit of my new found hedonism I did what probably no good mamma does.

I gave Snowflake a Peanut's Thanksgiving for breakfast.

When he looked at me with his sweet beaming moonface and said, "Kissa-bows", how could I refuse?

In his lime green Baby Bjorn cloverleaf shaped bowl he had Rold Gold Land 'O Lakes Butter Flavored Checker pretzels, cubes of white Cabot reduced fat cheddar cheese, a few Nutter Butter Bites, a handful of Hershey Kissables and a glass of organic chocolate Silk.

If we would have had a bag of Target popcorn and some cold pizza it would have really been a spectacular banquet of the cartoon kind.

The Chidler Poses on his Throne

UPS dropped a little something off for me today, even in the blizzard!

Same Old Bath, New Camera

Curves

A.K.A

I always feel the urge to call people by special names I make up for them. My friend's name is Christie. I call her Krispy Kreme. Annie, she's Analita. My best friend Paul is Spaulo. Trudde is Trudith-a. Shelly is Shelita. Catina, I call her Catalina, like the island. Sharon is Charlita. She makes a special vodka drink we call a Char-tini. In general I seem to have a latin flair

It extends to restaurants as well.

Tony Roma's = Tony Scrotum's
Little Caesar's = Little Seizures
The Green Mill = The Green Swill
Applebee's = Shittelbee's
Pizza Hut = Pizza Slut
The Water's Edge = The Water's Sledge

Names I have for Charlie: The Chidler, Chidle-Bug, Chidelation, Charleston the Puck of Cheswick, Charles, McBee, Moogilah, Stink-Breath, Ass Breath, Belly-Bird, Slime-Ball, Kananga, Hong-go, and a zillion others I can't think of right now.

Names I have for True: Babu, Bean Dip, Snowflake, Troobee, Troubador, Chingo, Chongo, The Chongolesian, Goofalicious, Kookalabird, LoveBug, Boohgala, StinkBug and a zillion others I can't think of right now.

I have been known to call Charlie, True and True, Charlie. Some of the above names are interchangeable between them. It doesn't seem to phase any of us.

Thar She Blows!

Big Pappy and my mother are leaving on Friday for the land of geriatrics and termites, otherwise known as Florida. They'll be gone a few weeks. Big Pappy has to get away from the stress of the business which mainly involves sitting on his ass and watching his portfolio from his laptop.

After work he cloisters himself away watching Kramer on CNBC or some souless pointless action movie he rented, all the while enjoying a few hard earned cocktails.

The turtle only emerges from his cozy shell to eat the dinner that was prepared by my mother. If it's something especially tasty, unusual and gourmet, he makes it a point to pick at it like a little bird and say, "You know I'm just not into that crap."

Later on he'll come out of the cave once more to make himself an ice cream cone or popcorn. Poor little guy. Why am I feeling especially venemous towards my father? This morning I came into work and he was there. After a few instructions regarding his vacation, he says,

"You can just take some time off. You and Snowflake can go and visit Yasha(his asshole dog). Snowflake just can't be down here."

Co-worker looks on like a stupid fat cow caught in the glare of the headlights. Snidley glancing sideways at Big Pappy I feel like I am sometimes just the butt of their conversations. I really know I'm not but I hate being made to feel like my presence is just not necessary. I know this is directly related to my self esteem and my new fear of intimacy.

I mean if you feel like your own father doesn't like you, who on earth can?

It's very upsetting to me because I do love both of my parents dearly. I spend many evenings at their house. I cannot say that I am close to my dad, but I know deep in his heart he loves me and it's obvious he adores the bambino.

I can't understand why I can't just take it, enjoy the time with Snowflake and just forget about it. I tend to over-analyze everything. It's a bad trait.

"How much have I taken out of Steve's checks?" he asks me.

"I have no idea, I'm not thinking about that right now," I say.

"What are you thinking about?" he says sarcastically.

"How you make me feel like shit." I say, not even glancing his way.

Silence.

I can see CoWorker half grinning. I look at my dad and I know that my comment has hurt him, but in the end he just doesn't get it and probably never will.

"See you after lunch, Heid" he jokes to me, smiling on his way out of the door. He doesn't hold a grudge and moves on like a hummingbird.

Why can't I?


UPDATE: After a little breathing room at lunchtime, I came back refreshed and decided it is best to seize the moment, let it roll off my back and forget it. It just takes too much energy to be upset. They were leaving to look at a house and Pappy says,

"Can you hold down the fort?"

"I don't know but I'll sure try" I joke.

It just feels so much better to be happy and smile. I feel good but it still doesn't make me any less afraid of men and relationships with them. Thanks, Dad.

Love & Tragedy

Kitchen Window Paperweight

Today is the day for Luuvas everywhere, so Happy Valentine's Day all of you lovely lovers out there. Although I may not have a Lover, I have my beautiful Snowflake. He can say "Valentine's" perfectly. It is too precious. I think the last time I had a real Lover for Valentine's was my senior year in college.

Ah, my little Puerto Rican lovebug, Raul. He was the sweetest boy I think I ever dated. He would always answer me, "Si, mi amor", and I called him Raulito. That boy did my dishes, installed a power antenna on my old Saab and truly loved me. I wonder where he is now.

Then there was J. He was completely obsessed with me. He would have done anything for me. He brought me roses every single day, not just Valentine's. This was totally overwhelming to an 18 year old. He literally stalked me in a non-threatening, suffocating kind of way. After we graduated from college he wanted to take me to New Zealand. He's now a famous flyfisherman and married to someone at least ten years younger than him.

How can I possibly forget my favorite paranoid schizophrenic? He didn't flip out until after we were over. He was an incredible creative and highly functioning energetic individual. Let me just say he had boundless endless oomph in the boudoir. Being manic has some perks. He had such a terribly tragic life.

He grew up in Chicago, the son of a heroin addict. Thanksgiving Eve she got into a fight over food stamps with her "friend" and he slit her throat. Rob and his brother were upstairs at the time. Only four years old, he came down to investigate the noise and then ran upstairs to tell his older brother that "Mommy has ketchup all over her neck".

With both parents dead, the boys were sent to live with their father's brother in Florida. He was married with a few kids of his own. He worked for NASA and it was here that they were subject to his sexual abuse. When his Aunt by marriage found out, she didn't believe the boys at first. Eventually, she divorced him and took custody of the boys and moved back to the Northwoods. He worked hard to get through college but it was just too much.

We are seriously talking locked in a padded room, wearing a straight jacket, rocking back and forth with eyes shut as he converses with his family. After that he was never the same.

I was watching the news one night a fews years later when the reporter told me the sad ending to his life. He purposely ran out in front of a car. I'm sure he didn't even know what he was doing. He was 26. God, I hope he's somewhere peaceful now.

I honestly didn't plan on writing about him in such detail. I wanted to keep this light. After remembering him, I just can't seem to get back on the happy horse and write about any others. I wanted to write about Snowflake's Valentine to his Nan. How happy and proud he was when he gave her an adorable cotton candy pink seatbelt bag. Snowflake and I are off to Kindermusic tonight. He's really excited. I am too. It will be a nice Valentine's Day.

Camera Love

I sailed the high seas with the Captain on Saturday night. Enough so, that I had sea legs the next day, but not the sickness. My friend Krispy is the object of affection for a lad in a local band. It was a very loud evening. I saw many long lost pals that I haven't seen since Snowflake busted onto scene.

At 2am everyone came over to my house. By 2:15 I had to kick everyone out as I had just plain run out of steam. I have no qualms with my burgeoning crustiness in regard to wanting what I want when I want it. I had a great time but won't need to do that again until next year sometime.

One of my old aquaintances has a t-shirt company and it just so happened that I was buying a new camera. He asked me to take the photos for his next little catalog! I am thrilled to have such an opportunity! I already have a ton of cool locations in mind. He's also interested in possibly adding some onesies designed by me. I'm getting a little happy happy here.

I'm also doubley-goodly psyched because I ordered my camera today. I can't wait to get my hands on it. It has 10.3 megapixels of fabulousness and a really nice Zeiss lens. If I had a wee-wee I'm sure I'd be springing a big binger! I am THAT excited. I didn't blow the bank either just in case something really great comes along. To me, digital cameras are like computers. There is so much innovation that as soon as you buy one, something much more badass comes along.

I'm taking my chances.

My Closet, Myself?

I decided to scour the house this morning, leaving practically no stone or dustbunny unturned. I have to say I am impressed with myself. Things look good, they smell good and the laundry is almost completely done. The dark side is my lack of closet space, thus causing a constipation of unrelated objects clusterfucked with nary a sliver of breathing room. Here's the cabinet in The Chidler's room. My brother and I each painted one of the doors. His is on the left. Looks nice and neat.


And then BLAAAAAAAAHHHH! What relieved itself in here? Even The Chidler shows signs of concern. I'm not even sure of all the things I'd find in here. People are so much like closets. On the outside everything appears normal and put together. But then, WHAM! The mangled innards show their ugly faces. You just never know what's crammed in them.


My mother just came and picked up Snowflake for the evening. This is only the second night I have ever been away from him overnight. Not bad for almost two years old. I do miss him already. I just don't feel right without him. I'm scared though. Tonight it's a girls night out. The three of us will be getting together around 8pm. One of us will be leaving early because she's a breastfeeder to a newborn. Who knows what will happen to the two of us. I am such a lightweight. I rarely drink anymore and I haven't eaten yet today.

My plan is to eat something shortly so the bathroom doesn't end up looking anything like this closet.

Discovery & Self Preservation

Snowflake was MIA since we arrived home at 7pm. Per his usual modus operandi he refused all attempts at napping today. This makes for a very tranquil evening, spent in blissful silence, doing what else? Reading about fricking cameras. It was just me, my Powerbook and a fistful of chocolate. (It's all MINE, MINE, MINE!)

Around midnight, overcome with information and completely dazed as to what to do, I whipped out the old faithful Sony digital, a modern relic and my constant companion for six plus years. I began to fiddle and play. I never knew until tonight that there was a 'nightmode.' I began feverishly snapping pictures of everything in complete darkness much to my amazement.

I took this photo looking out of the living room window facing the park. Ooooooo! Damn! I just missed Officer Friendly flying by at mach one, spinning frozen blue and red Icee treat trailers. I will not miss the s-l-o-w shutter speed of this old brick.

I was going to say this 'old girl' but then a spurt of self preservation came over me and I refused to mock and knock the female identity. Why 'old girl', I thought? Is there a male equivalent? 'Old Goat" just doesn't cut it. It's too horny-old-manish. All I can seem to come up with is cocksucker or jackass.

Interestingly, I have called my camera a cocksucker on occasion.

Picture This

This is what Sid brought me back from Ol' Mexico. Kinda creepy, kinda cool. I have it sitting on the mantle for the time being. Reminds me a bit of Ms. Kahlo. I'm in a quandry. I want to buy a new digital camera, maybe two. One tiny and precious for incognito traveling, the other, a powerhouse for taking some amazing shots.

Right now there's a WASP video on VH1. It is pure cheese, rediculous and hilarious. Hairy serious eighties rockers out in the middle of what appears to be Arches National Park, jamming out hard. Cut to the twigish lead singer zinging down the road on his motorbike. Suddenly a she-devil dressed in red gauze appears high on a rock with a pitchfork. Then, Zap! She's gone! The sun is shining bright and hopefully they had sunblock on their pasty whites. At the beginning of the video my coworker says,

"Yeah, I really got into WASP. Did you?"

"Um, definitely, not!"

As the video goes on I can tell he's slightly embarassed. Halfway through he flips the channel and laughs, "I guess I really didn't get into them."

Now he's watching Beavis & Butthead. Then he's quickly flipping to the Dukes of Hazard and back. My picture is painted.

I've been reading camera reviews for the past week and I'm not sure if I want to buy a D-SLR and deal with all kinds of lenses. There's a feeling that D-SLR's are going to go by the wayside shortly for digitals that have amazing all in one lenses. I'm ready to spend some serious cash and I don't want to be disappointed. I am so sick of thinking about it I may go out and drink alotta maragaritas this weekend. That always makes things clearer.

This morning I noticed David had a little Snow Fro. Two inches of snow last night and a few flakes are still fluttering down this morning. I do love the snow. My only real problem with it is when I'm lazy and I don't clear the snow from the copper eaves on the second story. A nice little ice damn forms and when the sun hits it, they become slabs of death. You can never be sure when a chunk will let loose and fly off the roof, causing the demise of an unsuspecting visitor.

That wouldn't be a pretty picture. Winter in the Yukon. Funny in a sick way, when you come to my casa, you may never know what hit you.

Our Day of All Days

Last evening, Snowflake and I attended our first Kindermusic class. It was fun and I can tell he is going to blossom in this atmosphere. Then there was Timothy. Timothy is two and a half, devastatingly cute, the son of bashful fiftysomething parents. She is a very attractive Asian lady with shoulder length thick black bobbed hair. He is curly salt and pepper with an Austrian accent.

Timothy is running the show in that household, howling with the wolves and marching to his own drum. He was so animated he made Yosemite Sam look like a geriatric. 'Miss Angel' reassured them that it was fine that he couldn't sit still, but things became slightly distracting when lil' Timmy began to catterwal a loud yelping sound as he ran around the room, eventually opening up the door, slamming it and disappearing from the classroom. His parents just sat there momentarily, as if resting peacefully and taking a mini vacation. Then they were all gone, like they spontaneously combusted. I wonder if they will be back next week?

The class was fun but I felt inhibited. It's a big sing-a-long. Miss Angel and Miss Erin lead and sing the songs all of which reminded me of that song from the 60's by the Singing Nun. Funiculi or something like that? Completely castrado.

Leaving the Conservatory, we headed to The Mandarin for a delish birthday feast. We had a pleasant time together. It was late for the bambinos so Sid and I exchanged gifts in the parking lot and I headed to Big Pappy's and Nan's because Snowflake was determined to play some pool before the evening was over.

Courtesy of the padres I am the owner of a brand spankin' new Oral-B Triumph. No worries! I'm just "not that into it" much in that way. This morning I was stunned after using it. I seriously saw a sparkley twinkling glint reflecting off my canine as I smiled into the mirror. Somewhere a chime rang out.

I was suprised to open my present from my brother and find a Fajita Set. Yes, that's right, cast iron skillets with two wicker holders, a tortilla warmer and a small recipe book containing ideas for meats galore. I'm thinking he must still be hitting the kind hard! I delicately told him I would have no use for such a treasure and didn't want him to squander his hard earned greenbacks on such a regalo.

I bought him a gorgeous Michael Kors shirt and BCBG tie, a pound of truffles, The Art Book and a one handed spring action pepper mill. I thought he could take it with him everywhere he goes. His servers usually develop wrist dislocations or incur rediculous amounts of overtime from cranking the mill at his table.

Tonight he invited me over for some 'other presents'. He said he didn't want me to feel bummed out. I think he felt bad about the carnivores delight. We enjoyed a couple of quenching skunky Coronas with lime. It was great to spend time with him. I can remember when I was five years old and it was my birthday. I couldn't quite understand why I got dumped at my Polish granny's. She had this baby blue rotary phone which I now have in my bedroom and I remember my dad calling me on it and telling me that I had a new baby brother for my birthday. I told him to send him back, I didn't want him!

Maybe it's only once a year when I focus and reflect on it, but I love my lil' bro, my Aquarian five years apart twin. Katroo and life are especially festive on our day of all days. He is an artist, a musician, a father, a dreamer and somebody I would never send back, not in a million, trillion, gazillion years.

Fwipping Ova

Why is it that on the day you have an appointment for a cut and color, your otherwise unruly and somewhat lifeless mop turns out looking the best it has in months? It has fluff and it lays just right. Here I was all happy-go-lucky last night before dropping Snowflake off at the neighbors to go under the blades.

My hairdresser made me feel oh-so-good on my last evening as a 36 year old. She thought I was 31. I'll definitely take that! After being shorn, I forgot to buy some decent spray and stopped at the gas station where my choices were AquaNet or Suave Natural Hold. I went with the Suave. The stench? I thought I was hanging out at a Tupperware plant or in the enbalming room. It's worse than a vintage can of early 80's AquaNet. The hold? It's comparable to the lift of a 90 year olds boobs. It's just noxious spray in a can that does absolutely nothing! So here I am this bright and shiney mornin' not quite used to my new 'do. I feel all momly yet I asked for sexy! It'll be fine in a few weeks, back to normal shagginess.
I was very stunned this morning when sweet little Snowflake started blabbering in the tub, "No shit! No shit! No shit!" I asked him where he learned those words and he chirps, "Nan!" I told him we don't use those words as I ignored how hilarious it actually sounded. Tonight we have our first "Kindermusic" class at the Conservatory. I saw a partial roster and he has classmates with the names of Parker, Weseley, Ivan, Vanessa and Anastasia. He'll fit right in. Insider secret: His real name is True. Here he is looking serious:

I can't forget the other bambino in the household. He will be eight this summer and he still acts like a two year old. He really wanted to french me, but I kept him at bay. He almost gave me a big fat juicy lip here which would have been okay with me because I could use some plumping in that area.
So far so good. The shocking news is that tonight we're going out for Chinese. Big Pappy hasn't set foot in a ethnic restaurant since his beer-belly was a twinkle in his eye. My brother and I, along with my dad's sister all have the same birthday. Oh yeah, and Chuck Dickens, too.

Like a Malaysian Masseuse barking orders, at exactly 3:06pm I will officially "fwip-ova" into another year. I have decided to boldly go where I have never gone before. Stunned? Shocked? Unsure? Excited? Happy? Hopeful? I am all of the above.

Whiskas

Saturday Afternoon

"Can you take a look and see if this hair is gone?" my mother says tilting her head to the side and rubbing the lower part of her chin.

"Why? Got a little whisker there or what?" I say, immediately feeling my heartbeat skip from my assinine comment.

"Forget it! Just you wait, missy!" she shoots back agitated.

"Why?" I say.

"Oh, you'll get them, you will. Grandma had them and I thought, gross. But guess what? I got one and you will, too!" she says.

"Do you want me to see if it's gone?" I say, all frightened now by the curse of the witch whisker, "I mean, I'll pluck it out if you want." (secretly cringing)attempting to avoid inevitability.

"Just forget it. I think I got it" she says.

I'm already cursed with that lovely downey Nordic white peachfuzz face. Now whiskers? As far as I was concerned I thought that was just a catfood.

whiskas, whiskers, aging

Apres Ski

This afternoon Snowflake and I left the grotto and went up to the mountain. Looking down from the apex, the sun at our backs, enough blustery wind blowing out of the north to form small drifts, the young and old gracefully skimmed by with a gentle push from the lift.

Snowflake, snuggly cloistered in his seat stared out from the windows of our toasty Saab. He was mesmerized. I skied a few times when I was younger. It was at this midwestern hill that I took my skis off mid descent and walked the rest of the way down the hill. Earlier in the day I realized I didn't know how to skillfully stop and bareballed it down the hill skiing right over someone's skis until I crashed into the rail on the sundeck. Enough was enough.

I have higher hopes for Snowflake. We watched this little scene for about thirty minutes and then went to the base of the hill so he could see some real action. We found a parking space right at the entrance and hiked to one of the lifts. He was nothing but a cheeky googley grin from ear to ear. Little snowbunnies skied by and said "Hi Cutie!" to him. Needless to say he squawked like a crazed turkey as we left the scene. Next year I think I'll attempt to learn how to snowboard with him.

Snowflake suggested we go to a local Mexican joint for some guac. We had a nice little nosh and absconded just before he was about to go loco on his binge and purge routine. There's been some improvement. If I tell him that someone he adores disapproves of his behavior, he'll stop. Lately he's into my friends little girl who just turned nine. I say "You know, Thea thinks that's really sick when you do that." It may as well be Bitter Apple! Naughty lil' Mamma!

Whenever I eat pico de gallo, I can smell the onions immediately coming out of my pores. Maybe it's a vegetarian thing. It's like nasty B.O. and luckily I escaped getting fajita hair/head. Yay!

We were going to Sam's Club so it didn't matter. It's just an upscale Wal-Mart with fewer skanks and inbreds. I set out for Kashi TLC crackers and OJ. Per my lack of impulse control, $99.40 later I am 4 lbs of red seedless grapes, 2 - 300 thread count feather pillows, two bottles of Naked Juice, 216 1qt ziplock freezer bags, a big block of reduced fat Cabot cheddar cheese, a one pound bag of Hula Princess roasted salted macadamia nuts, a box of Hershey Kissables, two pints of fresh blueberries, and a club pack of Ice Mountain water richer. Oh, yeah, and OJ and Kashi crackers. God, I am so tight it hurts!

My sweet little crumpet is sleeping. I watched the beginning of the Superbowl and saw ABC's addy featuring Harrison Ford. My childhood idol, my sugary sweet crush. I was seriously contemplating naming Snowflake "Indiana Jo". Jo is my middle name and I thought it sounded so cool. I was so suprised to see how he's aged. I think I'm dreading my birthday. I don't feel my age whatsoever, but the number is looming like a guillotine over my head.

Life over the hill remains to be seen. Next year I want to be screaming down the hill telling the world to kiss my gorgeous, ageless, timeless happy ass, not sitting on it. For now I'll just be screaming.

Little Bit of Nothing

My sign is Aquarius, a laid back, good natured hippie girl but today I'm feeling like one pissed off anal retentive Virgo. I've discovered I spelled 'discarded' wrong in my last post. And I think the title is redundant so I wanted to nix "On the". Good mornin', Jethro.

The worst part is that when I try to edit the post from the page it tells me that the post does not exist. It doesn't show up from the dashboard either. Balls O'Reily! So, what I'm seeing isn't really there. Sounds like the story of my life!

But the sun is shining down golden delicious this morning, Snowflake smells like a giant vat of Burt's Bees and he hasn't crapped his pants yet. Life is good!

UPDATE: When I refreshed my browser the post disappeared. Now that's frickin' Magical Whacky Shit! So here are some photos from yesterday.

Framing the neighbors house from the sidewalk




A discarded Stargazer on the neighbors snowbank




Snowflake likes to watch the blowing action from his cozy living room lair




Gogi, protector of the front yard, freezing in his loincloth


Ironpet looking fabulous in Nature's Coat

My Kind of Baby?

Big Big Baby News seems to be the trend lately. Celebrities, neighbors, friends, they're all doing it because they did it. Here, deep inside the convent walls, I began to contemplate the topic.

I'm going to be 37 in a few days. Can that be true? I haven't had sex in what seems like an eternity. How can that be true? Will I ever have sex again?

If I dry up and blow away because I never have sex again, Snowflake is proof that I did INDEED have sex at least once. That counts for something. But what exactly?

Do I want more babies? Seems impossible due to the current conundrum. The early days of newborns are like being in college, but at least in college you get some sleep. No one is waking you up from naps to suck the life out of every cell of your body.

I really don't believe people can bond to somone else's child in the way that they bond to their own. I think men retain a primal territorial gene that makes them resent another man's offspring, no matter what they say. Deep inside I think they would love to club them down like baby seals.

Snowflake and I have such a harmonious union, I would never dare to fuck it up with a trendy desire to have a baby. I think I'm damn lucky to have just one perfect one. But the current baby fever gives me an undeniable hankering.

What I think we need is a new puppy.

Secretly, I've always liked dogs better than babies. The Chidler would love a new friend. Lonis(low-nis) and LuLu have been gone since September and I know he misses them. I miss the patter patter patter of twelve feet and 60 toenails scrapping across the hardwood. A new baby! Hmmm...What kind though?

I'm the DJ! I'm the DJ! I'm the DJ!

Snowflake is a musical lovebug. One of his favorites right now is "Big Rock Candy Mountain" from the "Oh Brother! Where Art Thou" soundtrack. He likes to share the song.

I sing: "One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was..."

Snowflake: "Bu-nin'"(burning)

Me: "Down the tracks came a hobo..."

Snowflake: "Hi-kin'"

Me: "And he says boys I'm not..."

Snowflake: "Tu-nin" (turning)

This song has been on repeat on the iPod for about two months now.

In the car we've been listening to The Smiths - The Best Of. I think he loves the happy little rhythms of Johnny Marr and Morrissey's loungy breathy swoons. If the radio is on, he starts to chant,

"Chom-in? Chom-in?"

Only a mother would know he's begging me for "This Charming Man". I oblige happily. Last night on the way to Target he begins to chirp,

"Comb? Comb? Comb?"

"Babes, I'm not sure what you mean." I say a little perplexed. Then it hits me. He's asking for "Girlfriend In A Coma."

"Girlfriend In A Coma?" I say.

"Ya!" he sweetly gushes.

He's got me under his thumb. Per the taskmasters orders, we go back and forth between these two songs every couple of seconds. If I try to change it up a little and play "Panic On The Streets Of London" or "Shoplifters OF The World", he's all...

"No! No! No!" as though it was the end of the world.

I am the DJ to his two song selections. It's almost like repeating highschool, over and over, and over...

Blowing, Peeling & Everything Inbetween

After asserting my alpha female dominance in the neighborhood this morning, Snowflake and I headed to work. Nana had a dentist appointment and said she'd pick him up here. Payroll is done old skool by yours truly. I've tried to bring Big Pappy into the new century, but like a old crusty mule, he's stubborn.

Everytime I've confronted him on technology for the office he points with his fingers and says, "Everything I need is all right here", motioning to his extra big head. Luckily he has made a killing on Apple and I have been fortunate enough to weasel a new Mac from time to time. I'll just keep on keepin' on.

Snowflake was suprisingly angelic while he was here. Nan showed up and raved about her new dentist. Her teeth apparently have never felt this clean. Like Pearl Drops, "It's a great feeling!" She's feeling frisky, foxy and prime. She tells me she called her Doctor to schedule a consultation for a chemical peel.

"Hi, I'd like to make an appointment to see Dr. Dontknowschit."

"Um, he hasn't been in in awhile. What did you need?"

"Well, does he do peels or microdermabrasion?"

"He does microdermabrasion, but gosh, he hasn't done that in a long time."

"Oh. (silence for a minute) Well, I think I need to recheck my schedule. Bye" Whew, she thinks, narrowly escaping deformation.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So what I need you to do is find me someone." she blings to me,"Find out what you think I need to do to my skin. Dr. Dontknowschit always said I had nice skin. See what you think I should do."

God, if only I could have this kind of influence on Snowflake's life decisions!

"Mom, I don't know what you should do. Get a consult. A doctor would have to analyze your skin. Go and see someone from the Plastic Surgery Group." I retort.

"Just see what you think I should do and who I should see" she says as her poufy blond bob headed petit body disappears into her Pathfinder and she drives away with Snowflake. Hello?

There is no raining on that hot-ass granny's parade today.