Hope

Sloppy

The online edition of our newspaper states the "weather is about to turn sloppy." I can't think of a more fitting analogy to myself. It was a long day at work with Snowflake. One of those days where you wake up with Mr. Super Incredibly Crabby Pants morphing into the Veruca Salt of the toddler world.

First he dumped his fruit on the floor. Then he spilled a complete container of chocolate milk in the carpeted office waiting room. The little television zombie just wasn't satisfied with any of the 100 plus channels offered by DirecTV. Next came riding on his new garbage truck that states right on the top "Don't use as a children's vehicle seat!"

Could you hear him across the miles screeching in his special teradactyl frequency?

Oh, I was ready to send him right to the moon in his adorable cardboard rocketship that "Santa" brought. Five o'clock came and we left, he of the demonic possession falling immediately asleep upon hearing the turn of the ignition.

Free at last, free at last!

On behalf of Snowflake I do have to say he isn't normally so bratty. What I'm worried about is what they say... "Two isn't so bad, It's THREE you've gotta watch out for".

Is three the magic number? Is it?

Yesterday I had the day off so I cleared the casa of every last remnant of Christmas, lights, decorations, garland. All packed away in trunks until next time. It looks positively Spartan in here. And I like it. I can breathe. I know for a fact that if I had the money, I would be a pure minimalist.

Like the impending weather, I'm not feeling minimalist. I could be a bit of everything. A little rain, a little snow, some ice. I'm warm and melancholy from a demijon of wine and the truffles, Zsa-Zsa.

Yeah, on a night like tonight, after a day like today, I could turn completely sloppy.

Saturday Drama

I Wish I Could

Gift

Christmas morning is quiet when it's just the two of you. The neighborhood was deserted and we were alone together. Snowflake got into his highchair and ate some fruit, not knowing Santa had marked the living room, like a naughty pug.

Stepping outside late in the morning, I noticed the crunch in the air. Slushy snow has now solidified into ice, trapping the important part of the pooper scopper until the Spring thaw. I took Charlie out first because he is The King.

I love that dog. He is virtually the same as the day I brought him home, only bigger. I was happy to have him by my side on this lonely feeling day. He sniffed around and did exactly what is expected.

It's weird not having plans on Christmas. Christmas at my parents was last night and today we had not one plan other than Snowflake unwrapping presents from Santa. I just felt very sorrowful being just we two. No visitors, nothing.

On the way back into the house, laying square in my path on the driveway was a delicate gorgeous bird's nest, bulit from grass and red pine needles. It was right at my feet. I couldn't believe it. I didn't see it on the way out. Timing, timing.

I almost started to cry, laughing, remembering years ago when my brother, his girlfriend and I went out to get Christmas trees. I picked this smallish, wispy Charlie Brown number and my brother cut it down.

On the way to the car, I spied the tiniest, most fragile bird's nest made out of thin gray blades of grass once green snuggled in my tree. We marveled at this demure treasure.

"That's a sign of good fortune in the New Year," Brooke told me, smiling.

I scooped up this intricate wonder off the drive way, walking with a spring back into the house, placing it on a branch that holds a small dried wasp's nest in my breezeway.

I couldn't help but feel hopeful.

In the Company of Pussies

Eight inches of heavy, wet snow. Slush at the bottom. Me swearing. Loudly. I tried to be the good mommy and make a snowman, but my hands got cold and all we have is a faceless snowthing.

If it weren't for my snowblower I probably would have killed myself. I'm just sad. And mad.

Pissed off because a present for my parents I ordered two weeks ago was just shipped on Monday and is now sitting in Chicago. FUCKERS.

Snowflake jammed the door on the DVD player and I called him on it. I told him his actions totally sucked.

This made me cry later and the pugs, who I am also currently pissed off at, tried to comfort me with a point blank sneeze of concern. I will not take it to my bald headed "amigo" who stood me up on Thursday to be fixed.

If it's one thing I can't stand it's men who are total pussies.

Neighbor's

Cake

Earlier this wonderful evening, my 27 year old 'still a virgin' neighbor "girl" delivered this unusual chocolatey surprise to my doorstep. She made one for Steaming Cup of Matt's house as well.

I haven't had one because I'm either going to leave it for Snowflake to witness, or most likely take it to work for our 'office party', telling the guys that these cupcakes were crafted by the hand of a 27 year old virgin.

These cakes are fresh and moist(I hate that word) with a heady aroma displaying a nice dollop of frosting. You can totally see the orgy going on with the candy. I can't imagine what they'll say...

I was so turned on I had to memorialize it into a holiday header.

We need more things made out of cupcakes.

Spirit

Here I am. A.L.L.A.L.O.N.E. for the night. You know the old line about dancing like no one is watching, well I seized the moment. Amid wrapping presents with SF tucked safely away at Nan's for the night, I jammed in my living room.

I BLASTED the Bose Sound Dock. BLASTED IT.

I danced like a rabid moshing coked up stripper.

Vertigo & Smells Like Teen Spirit.

That's all it took for me to break a sweat, take a break and smell like teen spirit.

Peels

Is it wrong of me to be sitting here, one Sam Adams later, contemplating a chemical peel for my 38th birthday?

I mean, who wouldn't want,
"...dramatic improvement in the surface of your skin - fewer fine wrinkles, fewer blemishes, and more even-toned skin. Your results will be long-lasting, although not immune to the effects of aging and sun exposure."

Right now, I want one. But then I think, "Remember that episode of 'Sex & The City'?"

Yeah, no thanks.(But you know, we probably have completely different skin...)

Just One More

I live in a state where the general population of its citizens think nothing of drinking to excess well into old age. When I think about it, they're damn lucky they've made it to old age at all.

The culture, with its glorious hop headed past(think Milwaukee, LaCrosse), revels in partying. I graduated from one of the top ten partying universities in the nation. I think the year I graduated we were #1. The Packers, your birthday, that zit finally being gone, funerals or any rough day after work can all be considered "just" catalysts to imbibe.

Habitual boozing always reminds me of a billboard in a small northern town where two factories employ the general population:"Life begigns with a bottle- Don't let it end with one".

I live in a town where the local paper prints the police log and county court cases. It is not unusual to find people being charged with their fourth or fifth, and once in a blue moon sixth and seventh OWI's. My dad, a Bud Man until the day he dies contests that locking these people up is not the answer.

I beg to differ.

How can habitual drunken drivers be left to their own judgement? they can't. EVER. Take for example the tragedy that befell an innocent soul just the night before last.

In the evening, a local Sheriff's Deputy noticed a truck driving with no headlamps and maneuvering erractically. He turned on his lights and pursued the vehicle that cruised right through two stop signs at fairly busy intersections before slamming into the passenger side of a van, killing the 34 year old driver. This took a mere 16 seconds from the moment the cop saw the truck.

The passenger in the van, along with the drunken driver and her passenger survived.

It turns out the 26 year old drunken driver had three previous OWI's and other charges involving cocaine. Her court case for these previous charges is scheduled for December 28. Oh, and P. Period. Fucking. S. ...they found a small amount of cocaine in her vehicle.

This girl will be the shining example to others like her. She is looking at 55years maximum based soley on these new charges.

I'm not a tea-totaler. There were numerous times when I was single and a little crazed and I DID drive when I definitely should not have. With a sweet two year as my ward now, how could I possibly EVER consider driving under the influence? I can't. No way, no how.

I can remember my parents driving home from my grandparents on the holidays(we lived about an hour and a half away) completely wasted in the seventies. It was just so accepted then. I would bawl and BEG my gradmother to let me stay. My parents taught me what not to do when you have a child of your own by their thoughtless actions.

I may talk like an ass and say I want to catch a buzz or get loaded, but the fact is, I've grown up. Not everyone does. If I'm not a good example for Snowflake, what chance does he have? Sometimes I think we're better off moving away.

What is the answer? As anyone with an addict in the family will tell you, each one has to hit their own bottom. How can we continue to support this "Culture of the Drink" while innocent people die everyday because of it?

Still Dreaming...

Of a White Christmas.

My backyard. The chairs came from someone's garbage. The screendoor, off my own casa. The address, off of my grandparent's old house. The door and the house plaque are wired to a wire fence that is thick with a scrubby grapevine in the summer.

Half Empty

I can't imagine my life without my mother. I hate to think about it. If I didn't have her, I can only really think of one other person who would give me emotional support and it's not my dad.

She stopped in at the office today after her physical just to "give Snowflake a hug". Nothing unusual or weird. Then she casually mentions that her new doctor said her cervix was inflamed and that he scheduled an appointment with a gynecologist for her tomorrow.

Tomorrow! He must think something is hideously wrong because that's fricking fast. Normally they'll say we'll check you in a month or two and blah blah blah. Not this time.

This combined with her constant lower backache and two other instances of weird unexplained abdominal pain lead me, Dr.-Heidi-Everything-is-Fucked-Up, to naturally assume the worst.

It's one of a few things I'm good at. So all afternoon I've been reading about inflamed cervixs' and thinking tomorrow my mother is going to find out she's terminal. Merry F-ing Christmas. As usual, Worst Case Scenario is where I've steered the ship.

As my polish grandmother would have said "So goes..." And now I wait.


PS... Sorry about blabbing about your cervix all over my little corner of the web, Mom.

Breaking the Silence

I've never been the kind of person to just rip big farts in front of the people I love. I would freak on a road trip or any trip with the family when one of them would let fly the stank of ass. I mean you should never shit your pants in close quarters where there is no escape from the stench! Geez, I was sooo delicate. I thought it was so rude. In any of the relationships I had, I never felt comfortable enough to just let it fly.

Funny how time and having a baby changes your perspective. When a good friend of mine went on a romantic trip to Mexico with the man she would marry(the first trip they took together, early in the relationship), they suffered Montezuma's Revenge. Taking a shower together, cringing at first when one of them "accidentally" let it slip and then deciding it was funny and beyond their control, they couldn't help it but gas it up. I told her that it must be true love.

I have chilled out on the functions of the human body. For example, on Thanksgiving I made these crazy delish blue cheese scalloped potatoes(which also contained a ton of caramelized onions). I was at my parents and everyone had left. My stomach was in knots. The first few times I ran to the bathroom in excruciating pain and experienced these ridiculous cartoon blowouts of enormous proportions. Gawd, where did that come from?!

I couldn't make it to the bano for the next wild backfires, so a few times I let it go in front of my mother. She was shocked.

"Geez, Heid! WOW! I thought you didn't 'do that' in public!" she sarcastically quipped.

I told her I thought I was going to die and apologized.

Last night I had dinner with The Godfather who was home from Miami. We went to this little place and I ordered the veggie kabobs as usual. When we returned to my parents cottage, I felt the need to crack one. It wasn't too obnoxious, sort of 'silent but deadly'.

"Did you fart?" he says surprised.

"Um, yeah. Sorry, my stomach hurts."

"I can't believe you just did that! Remember when we were in Target and you just cracked one? God, it was so loud!"

"Not really. I must have did it for the shock value. Don't you fart in front of A(his significant other)?" I ask.

"No, we usually go in the other room."

This is after dating/living together for three years. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I've never done it, but I always thought when you were in a real relationship this is something that you just did. I'm not talking 'dutch ovening' or anything, but if you go to the bathroom in front of someone, what's a little gas between lovers?

Obviously this is a highly explosive subject.

Snowy Holiday Balls

We have no snow on the ground


So I'm enjoying the past

Snowman

Two Years Ago, Sweet and Demure
Now a Yeti(sometimes abominable)

Boy Winter

Christmas Tree Farm

A Danish I Could Eat

Do I cook? Not often. Can I cook? Yes, for sure. Do I like pretty things even though I may not use them? Yes. It began in November when the Danish designer Tord Boontje graced Target with his gorgeous, old fashioned yet mod Christmas designs. Pristine and elegant paper chandeliers drip from the ceiling and his graphics sprinkle across every occupiable space.

It started simply enough. Oh, I'll just get some of this cool intricate looking paper garland for my Christmas party. I bought two. These look like the painstakingly paper cut out art known as scherenschnitte to me, only funkier. Then yesterday I decided to get this other funky red metallic garland with his cool trademark icons dangling out from the fluff. It looks so kick ass.

I obsessed all night. Looking at Target's website and then contemplating yet another trip to its delectable innards in the morning. I was contemplating the Christmas porcelain dishes he created exclusively for Target. Oh, I have Christmas dishes, cool ones. But not this cool.

If you want to buy Tord Boontje dinnerware at Unica Home or Modern Poverty, one place setting will set you back at least $100(one din-din plate is around $58). It varies, some sites are more expensive than others. How could I possible pass up the Target version, eerily similar, yet not of the same high quality to be sure for only $19.99 for four, on sale?! Damn, you Target, you filthy, lusty whore! You turn me into a junkie for design.

Design for all, indeed!

Tord isn't bad himself in that art school guy kind of way. Maybe you've seen him in the commercials. What struck me is what Linda Hales wrote about him in The Washington Post on November 26-

"Boontje was working at the cutting edge of minimalist design until 2000, when the birth of a daughter sent him on a search for fantasy and warmth. Four years later, at the Milan Furniture Fair, he hit his stride. At the invitation of the Italian design company Moroso, Boontje produced an installation of lighting and cutout fabrics, and the event, called "Happy Ever After," catapulted him to international stardom."

Should I say I usually find fantasy and warmth in a bottle of Vodka?

Oh, the mighty power of babies. Ahhhhhh...

As I was dreamily staring off into the kaliedescope of saucers, Snowflake dumped his entire bag of popcorn on the floor. A fat lady walked through it and said, "I wonder where that came from".

"From him," I smiled, distant and glazed, reaching for the first box to examine its contents. You cannot see just how cool this is from a photograph.

So yes, I now have service for four. And a candelabra. I had to substitute a few other colored bowls to complete the look as it was already partially sold out. Can you see where this is headed?

What if I actually have more than two guests one day? I'm definitely going to need service for at least eight. So tomorrow I am off to scour the countryside for the remnants of reasonable design. I want the wineglasses and more matching bowls as well. This could be an all day deal. I may just skip our chance to attempt a stab at the Guinness World Record.

Repossession

I remember when I met him. He worked for the city. He was that succulent shade of summer that you want to run your hands across barebacked. That was about all he had going for himself. Fresh out of a divorce, he was looking for a place to call home with his half pit-retriever and alley cat.

I sold him a repossessed 16 x 70 manufactured home. The floorplan wasn't bad but it had the previously trendy shade of mobile home mauve as its running theme. Mauve plush carpeting, mauve in the vinyl covered paneling and flecks of mauve in the formica. If mauve is indeed the color for romance and relaxing, he should have been blissed out.

But he wasn't.

He was a nervous chatterer. A lonely, thick haired natural blonde. Sadness. It was palpable in his Basset Hound eyes, glassy and desperate. A chain smoker whose lungs had to be the same shade as the roads he worked on. Tar lips. Kind of sexy in a rogue-ish way.

I smoked then as well and sometimes I was the recepticle for more of his miserable meanderings as we stood on the office deck in the fading hazy sun of August. I knew he was attracted to me. Somewhere I was thinking why me? My co-worker and I would make fun of his raspy voice after he left the office or called on the phone to check the status of his loan.

He got the house. That rieking house dripping of cat piss and pink passion. I was more excitied about the "bonus points" from the finance company for selling the repo. Yeah, I was finally going to get that fucking Nambe Tri-Corner bowl AND the kissing salt and pepper shakers for NOTHING. All because of him.

Then he asked me to dinner and I politely refused. It was after the loan closed and I turned him down that he called very pissed off saying the house stunk. Really? We had no idea since no mention was made before. In the hot stagnant air of August I don't know how ANYONE could have missed it. It made my eyes burn.

Last week he came into the office. It was almost like that line from the song by Dan Fogleberg that goes," Met my old lover in the grocery store, the snow was falling Christmas Eve" but it wasn't. So much time had passed it was weird. I had Snowflake and he had two heart attacks.

The sadness was still there in those brown Junior Mint eyes. He just kept talking and talking and talking. I let him. Have you ever felt that it could make a difference for someone if you just let them talk? It was that kind of sadness. He needed an appraisal on the cat piss house and I said I would have John call him.

He stopped in this afternoon. He was driving a mini hillbilly limo- an early 90's Ford Ranger transformed into a weird platform truck with one of those strange bars that come up behind the cab. I assume these are for busty redneck women to hang on to while 'mudboggin'. It was navy blue and rusty, the only shine coming from the plastic chrome naked lady silhouettes stuck on the back window. A Petronas like antenna reaching defiantly into the lower atmosphere proclaimed his subliminal manhood.

He was back.

I was busy retouching photographs and John handled the situation. No need for me to interrupt the dialog. He hung himself next to the door looking down at me. I could smell stale cigarette smoke emanating from him. With Snowflake perched on my lap, he joked and asked me if I was running a daycare and could he drop off his two granchildren named Blah and Blah. I was really trying to tune him out. I laughed in that spaced out 'I'm on the computer' kind of way and he left.

John and I laughed as soon as the door was closed.

"Jesus, Heid! How does it feel to get hit on by a grandpa! Holy shit", he razzed.

I was relieved he was gone. I almost felt sorry enough for him to invite him to my Christmas party. His presence felt like a repossession. Remembering how it felt to be around him or someone like him. Suffocating. It was heavy and forlorn.

I felt happy to eat alone tonight.

MsMamma A-Z

Thankfully Heidi & Christine sent this meme, since I am so devoid of postable topics and time lately. Thanks ladies!

Do you really want to know?


A - Available/single? Single, never marred by engagement nor matrimony.
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B - Best Friend? The Godfather AKA The Miami Manhunk
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C- Cake or Pie? cupcakes
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D - Drink Of Choice? usually agua, but if we're talking booze, a mimosa or red zinfandel or good vodka w/ seltzer, a little Rose's, a little olive juice and big fat olives.
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E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? Tooth floss at least 2x a day
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F - Favorite Color? green, dirty chocolate brown
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G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Neither. I don't like gummi candy or fruit roll ups or jelly beans etc.
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H - Hometown? Milwaukee Wisconsin
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I - Indulgence? Something Kind, just kidding. Hmm... Chocolate and if I could get some real clotted cream, well, I'd slather myself in it.
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J - January Or February? February is my month of "solar return" ha ha, that is my birthday.
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K - Kids & Their Names? I have a little guy that I call Snowflake, real name True. Shhhhh...don't tell.
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L - Life Is Incomplete Without? Music and chocolate. (I must add "laughter" as well.)
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M - Marriage Date? Hello~! Single girl here.
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N - Number Of Siblings? One (1) brother who shares my birthday(5 years younger), one brother deceased, aged 28.
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O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples, fat Granny Smith's fresh and snappy. Impossible to find here, so local Cortlands and Macs have to do. In general I don't like red apples.
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P - Phobias/Fears? Centipedes, other large bugs, bad teeth.
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Q - Favorite Quote? "Live! Live! Live! Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving" -Rosalind Russell as Auntie Mame
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R - Reason to Smile(or gag) - Something to blog about, a post for later just happened.
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S - Season? Autumn. Or Spring in Madison WI when the trees are blooming in front of the historical society.
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T - Tag Three or Four People? Give it a go. Leave a note and I'd love to read your list!
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U- Unknown Fact About Me? Although I'm a vegetarian, I love the smell of a steak grilling in the summer.
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V - Vegetable you don’t like? Love em all, babies!
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W - Worst Habit? Biting my nails(sometimes I grow them out), generally skeptical
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X - X-rays You’ve Had? Teeth
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Y - Your Favorite Food? pan fried noodles with chili sauce
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Z - Zodiac Sign? Aquarius.

Vote for Snowflake

Ugh. I spent the entire day processing photographs I took yesterday in CS2. I took Christmas photographs for two families and they turned out really, really well. I am excited for them to see them. As I am doing it as a favor, I just burned them to discs for them to take to a printer.

I took some photographs of Snowflake last night for, I don't know... Our Christmas card. I'm having a hard time deciding if I want to plague people with yet another photograph of him. I mean, I love him. I think the world of him. Is it getting old yet? I guess I don't really give a shit. I dig them. Maybe I could use some advice on which one to use this year. Nah. I also have ANOTHER series with him wearing a funky hat, but I did the hat thing last year. BORING but cute.


Snowflake says he's a aweet little dude


Cute, but too Calista Flockhart = Kinda Creepy


Chubby Cherub