Mambo

That's their name, don't wear it out.

Random Bites

Flying and clicking down the highway at 60mph.

I see glimpses of a life separate from Snowflake. It's fleeting though. Take for example going to work out this morning and putting him in 'mini care' for the first time. Needless to say, I got five minutes on the treadmill before they came to get me because he wanted to leave.

I wonder why I can't be more shallow. One of those who just glides along in their own bubblegum haze of happiness, never considering how beautiful the clouds are one day, and how they will never be seen that same way again.

There's a Boy in My House!

Samson at play...


Fare Thee Well, Lovely Locks.


Snip, snip. OMG! Is that a little boy?


Shampoo


It IS a little boy!


Snowflake with his cutter, Joy.


A celebratory ride down the slide.


My baby is a little boy.

Shitty Bagel

I'm in the mood for a bagel this morning. Since I can't pop over to The Bagel Chalet in Commack NY, I have to take a deep breath and head to 'Big Apple Bagels,' where the bagels are nothing like their namesake. They don't even have olive cream cheese! Oh the humanity.

In the Spring

That's how Lars found Ole.


Legs splayed, covered in dead leaves.

No one thinks much if a gnome goes missing through the winter. Some say they go south on the backs of the big birds for a warm sunny holiday. Imagine the shock when I snuck outside this morning and spied this unfolding in the side garden. They had it quarantined off with some yellow grossgrain ribbon so as not to contaminate the "crime scene". A large golf ball was dangerously close to the gnorpse, along with his faithful piglet who never left his master's side. Poor fella.

Wings

Earlier this week I saw a crow fly away, elegantly outstretching its wings, the perfectly engineered curve that makes flight possible disappearing in front of me. Tonight I was in the backyard with Frank. I could hear the muffled murmur of what sounded like far away whining dogs.

The sound moved closer and became more defined. You would recognize it as the sound of Canadian Geese. I looked up into the night sky, twinkling with stars and a crescent moon and saw them. A gigantic V formation illuminated and glowing powdery silver white in the moonlight, flickering. I watched them until they dissolved into the blackness. It was beautiful, magical, the wonder of the flight.

Self Portraits

Me in my car, transporting a huge round mirror.


Look! There's my 'starshine'

You May Want to Skip This One

At the behest of Curiosity Killer, I am airing the little known secrets of my former steamy and now non-existent sex life. Just move along to spare yourself the tawdry details.

1. HAVE YOU GOTTEN LAID IN 2007? Nope. I'm sex free for a good three years and nine months at least.

2. EVER HAD SEX IN A PUBLIC PLACE? Yes

3. EVER LAUGH DURING SEX? IF SO WHY? Yes, because we were having a lot fun and something funny happened.

4. EVER CRY DURING SEX? IF SO WHY? Yes, but not because it was "so beautiful." I hit a very emotional place and it wasn't the "g-spot."

5. DO YOU LIKE TO CUDDLE AFTER SEX? Sometimes. Then again, there have been times I just want to go my own way and be alone.

6. EVER REGRET SEX WITH SOMEONE? Beer goggles. Enough said.

7. EVER FAKED AN ORGASM? Yes I have because I was young and extremely bored.

8. DIRTY TALK, OR SHUT THE F*CK UP? I've done the dirty for someone who requested it, but it's not my bag. If you're talking about NASCAR I would then definitely say shut the $%^& up.

9. EVER HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX? You betcha.

10. EVER MASTURBATE TO YOUR FRIEND’S SIGNIFICANT OTHER? None of my significant others had delectable SO's, so no.

11. EVER HAVE A ONE NIGHT STAND? Nope. Plenty of mashing make outs, but no sex with complete strangers.

12. EVER HAVE A THREESOME? Nope.

13. EVER WATCH PORN DURING SEX? Not during sex.

14. EVER THOUGHT OF SOMEONE ELSE DURING SEX? Ye-eah.

15. HAS THE CONDOM EVER BROKEN? No.

16. WHAT IS YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING SEXUAL EXPERIENCE?

It wasn't really embarrasing. I took a wad in the eye and for 24 hours or so, the white of my eye was blood red. Nice reminder. Sort of like a scratch in the Kama Sutra, but way more unattractive.

17. HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU LOST YOUR VIRGINITY? 21 and it was incredible

18. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE SEX WITH RIGHT NOW? Jeeeeze. The first thing that comes to mind is my toy, but if I had to pick a person, it would be, I don't know, how about Bono. Um k?!

19. DO YOU THINK THAT NUMBER 18 IS POSSIBLE? I have no idea what this question means, sorry.

20. ARE YOU HORNY NOW? Not as horny as you are. I’ve got will power.(good answer CK, I'll use that)

21. HOW MANY SEXUAL PARTNERS? None, currently.

22. DO YOU LIKE SEX IN THE CAR? Sex is fun anywhere if you're into that person.

23. DO YOU STILL TALK TO THE PERSON YOU LOST VIRGINITY TO? I have no idea where he is, but he was the sweetest man I ever dated. Hola Raulito!

24. EVER HAVE SEX WITH A RELATIVE/FRIEND’S SIGNIFICANT OTHER? EWWWWWWWWWW — NO, NO, NO.

25. EVER BEEN WITH A CHEATER? No.

26. TOYS, GOOD OR BAD. Good.

27. LINGERIE. Yeah. It's alright.

28. EVER SLEEP WITH A CO-WORKER? No. Are you kidding? My cousin would kill us! It's slim pickings here at Quality.

29. WHERE HAVE YOU HAD SEX?

(X)park

( )church

( )cemetery

(x)beach

(x)boat

( )school

(x)parent’s bed

(x)your bed

(x)car

( )picnic table

(x)kitchen counter

(x)couch/chair

(x)dining room/kitchen table

(X)woods (open and/or in a tent)

( )hood of a car

(x)bathroom

(x)shower

(x)bathtub

(x)the other person’s bed

(x)porch/deck/balcony

(x)in a house with parents home

( )at a party

( )on top of the washer/dryer

( )with another person in the room

(x)hotel

( )concert

( )grandparent’s house

(x)field

( )bleachers

( )bookstore or stock room.

( )Linen closet

So…….. who’s game?

Breskist to Bureaucracy

I live with a three year old and three very hairy dogs. Thankfully the entire house is hardwood with a smidge of stick down black & white tile in the kitchen that will be replaced soon. I had the day off and we woke up early. Immediately we sprang out of bed as if it were the best day ever. Was this really me? I plied Snowflake with cold cheese pizza for 'breskist' and decided to bathe the furry freinds.

Two pugs and a boxer later, my gorgeous English made soaking tub looked like the bath scum of a caveman going through chemo. I had enough hair to knit sweaters for parakeets or maybe 100 mice. There was enough to make a Halle Barry in the short years style wig, multiple highlights and all.

The real work began by vaccuming the entire abode, depriving the plentiful dust bunnies of more wispy frolicking. I then scoured the bathroom upstairs and scrubbed all the floors. The windows were open and the house was a fresh as a virginal snow capped peak, or a dewy forrest glenn at sunrise, or a newly blossoming mountain meadow.

We walked the dogs and went for ice cream. At the last moment I sprinted like Superman into City Hall to apply for a variance so that I can put up a four foot fence in my backyard. I had to pay them $122 for something they will most likely not deny. I have to wait until almost one month from now because they only hear pleas from their loyal taxpayers once a month. Bullshit at its finest. Regardless, it was a most wonderfully productive day.

Dreamer

Nice Visual

Frank and I were walking up the street this morning. The UPS man was delivering a package across the way and his radio was blasting. Blasting like an old man hard of hearing. Ironically, the radio announcer had this to say:

"Old men. Guys get old and they have no ass. Just a hole at the end of their back."

Score one for the ladies.

Baby, I'm a Star

Joan was my muse.

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Today You Are Three

Born 03.18.04 6:19 am Happy Birthday!
Love, Mamma Birdie

St. Patrick's Day 2004

11:32 am Wednesday
This could be your birthday!
Come on out of there!

Well Bambino-
Granny and I are here at the hospital. They broke my H2O @ like 10:15 approximately. I am in this really cool hospital gown and robe- too cute. We had quite a few well wishers call us last night and this morning- they are surrounding us with love and hope for a safe delivery. I will keep you posted and get goin'!

Rosalie

I was outside with Snowflake yesterday afternoon, raking up debris from when they cut the beautiful and ancient catalpa down in our backyard. Rosalie came zooming up the street in her little silver Focus wagon. She pulled over to the side and rolled down the window.

"Can you come up to my house and hold Shadow's face so I can trim it? He has a bunch of cockleburrs and I need someone to hold his head," she squeaked softly.

I'm thinking about the senior Shadow, half beagle, half poodle tearing into my face as his elderly mistress eyes up his cheekfur with the Fiskars.

"You don't want to just take him to Petco," I suggest.

Definitely not she explains. I tell her I'll be there tomorrow afternoon. I have known Rosalie and her dogs, Shadow and Tiny, for thirteen years. The dogs are now 15 years old. Even in old age they are still scruffy and cute, resembling clones of the famous 'Benji'. Shadow is the male, chunky and portly from sabotaging the food from his now deaf and blind sister who is less than half his size.

Rosalie is a petite woman, 73 years of age, her silvery hair dyed a dark bottle brown. She enjoys life by vacationing and visiting her family in different parts of the country. She has three daughters and a son, none of whom live in this state. Her mother is alive and is almost 93. She was married to the father of her children for 16 years. They lived in Paris. He was an abusive drunk who threatened her life by putting a shotgun to her temple in the car after he picked her up from work and then one day(the last straw) the lives of his own children. She divorced him when she was 36. She thinks he died of some complications incurred from Agent Orange from his time in Vietnam.

She is little. She is strong and self-reliant. She mows her own grass and shovels. She trys to keep her house up in what she considers tasteful accoutrements. Actually she said she didn't care what anyone thought of her eccentricites. It is her domain, after all. She has moved around so much that when she bought this home almost 30 years ago, it was a treat to have 'things' she could keep and collect. You would be inclined to think of it as gaudy and maybe a little trashy-kooky.

In the past, I have taken care of her dogs when she went on vacation. It didn't take much as her 1920's bungalow has a couple of doggie doors that exit into the fenced backyard. I can remember the first time she asked me to do it and I was a bit freaked out. Rosalie is a retired hospital worker, now a cleaning lady for wealthy clients.

Her own home is cluttered with a collection of italian nativity pieces, angels, figural Avon perfume bottles, paperback books and other mismatched trivial paraphanalia that most people would consider junk. One eave of her house is completely lined with windchimes. On the side of her house is a small plexiglass case with garden dwarves protected inside. A rickety old wood snow fence surrounds the yard and a tattered plastic black and orange sign warns one to 'beware of dog'. Most people would find the condition of her home less than appealing in cleanliness.

She took me down into the basement, explaining things I can't even remember anymore. All I could remember is that her home was tidy(everything thing has a place), less than spic and span, less clean than what you would think of someone who cleans for a living. I was shocked. Time passed and I looked after the pups over the years and really didn't care about the condition of her house because Rosalie is a sweet genuine person who lives alone like me.

I had Snowflake and Rosalie has always made him or brought him something for Christmas and his birthday. She crocheted him this crazy mint green Care Bear with a shamrock on his belly for his first birthday. She explained he looked a little goofy because she screwed up the complex pattern. I thought it looked cool and quirky(slightly deranged).

I knew before I went to Rosalie's today that Shadow would not let us cut the 'cockleburrs' off of his cheeks. It took her a little while to answer the door. The overwhelming aroma of dander and decrepid dog intertwined with a few remnants of stale dog pee pervaded the atmosphere. I couldn't rush off right away so we talked a while and over the years, this is what she told me.

Hard Roll

I just ate a french hard roll that looked like a woman's breast, nip and all. It was delicious and perfect, although you had to gnaw through the crusty tough outer shell like a squirrel eating a nut. The inside was chewy, billowy and divine. It was worth the work, like most good things. I know I have miles to go before I sleep.

So Goes

I think this is just a bad month for me. Earlier this week my mother broke the news that my dad and my brother were going on a fishing trip to South Dakota and they were leaving on Snowflake's birthday. I'd swear profusely at the moment, but I just don't have it in me. My brother the Pothead scheduled this little adventure.

This morning when I came into work I asked my dad if they were still going. It's a go. I commented that it was so nice of them to think of Snowflake and my dad inflated like a puffer fish on the verge of exploding saying how could someone possibly remember that. I said gee, I don't know, our family is so fricking huge and all.

I sat in my office wrapping presents and sobbing here and there. Then I get a hold of myself and think screw them. I know my problem is that I want to have strong family bonds and all I have is something loosely threaded together. It frays, I fray, more and more each day. I almost feel like I hate them. I hate my dipshit brother who never takes responsibility for his lack of memory. It's always, "doh! I spaced that out."

That is just not acceptable to me anymore at 33 years old.

Part of me is jealous because he thinks he is bonding with our dad, and they are in their own booze fueled haze. They will have their "good times", something to remember each other by. I have my memories and they suck.

So I carry on as the single parent. I love my bambino and I wouldn't miss anything in his life for the world.

Ostrich

Proud bird and sweet.

Big Bird & His Shadow

Please don't eat an ostrich. They have eyelashes.

Raw Meat

Ugh. I feel like total crap. I know I sounded happy earlier, and I was/am, but I didn't want to mention I have been living with a terribly sore throat for most of the weekend. I never go to the doctor, but I had to this time. My throat feels like raw meat and to swallow is like someone is pouring a freshly made batch of acid all over it. Or ignited it with gasoline. Or is using a cheese grater on it. I cringe. I want to cry.

I don't have strep. My right ear is so full of garbage she could barely see my eardrum. So I was given a prescription for antibiotics, was told to take Mucinex(gross, icky little mucinex creatures), Ibuprofin(just in time for the cramps) and flush my ear with a mixture of water & hydrogen peroxide three times a day for a few days.

What? Huh? No need to comment(yeah, I have shit in my ears). I'm a big girl. It just sucks to be alone and sick.

Blinding Me with Science

Yesterday my mom and I stopped at the office. I told her to wait outside for a second while I hid the 'vehicle' I purchased for Snowflake's big day. I decided against all three of the previous choices and went for something much more mystifying and economical. It's called a Plasmacar.

Snowflake bounded into my office and immediately noticed something was amiss. Everything was rearranged and his eye caught the yellow of the end of the Plasmacar peeping out from behind the lounge chair. He's so much like his mother.

"What's that mamma," he sweetly chirps.

While my mother tried to convince him otherwise(that it belonged to someone else), I was the big pushover. I gave it to him early explaining that he found his big birthday present(oh he has more goodies coming, believe me). He was one hundred million degrees of excited. It made me happy to see him so happy. At about $50 it was a steal compared to the retro racers I thought about earlier.

We took the Plasmacar over to a parking lot and let him ride. He's in love. I'm in love. This sweet little buggy can hold up to 220 pounds on a smooth surface. Can you see where this is going? We rode around the living room all night, taking turns and then riding together, Snowflake cozied on my lap. Twisting, turning and propelling ourselves as if by magic.

This morning I had to bring the Plasmacar upstairs so we could get a little riding in. I seriously cannot wait to get home from work so I can go for a spin.

It is one of those things you emotionally attach to immediately. It gives you a feeling of happiness and freedom. It's one of the most amazing toys I've ever seen or experienced. Do you have a lot of hardwood? You need one of these. You won't be disappointed. Snowflake is spending the night at his grandparents. How convenient!

The One Person I Know

Who is sad to see winter go. Goodbye rosy cheeks. Until next year.

Adios

Last night you could smell the earth melting in the air. There was so much moisture from everything breaking down and getting ready to erupt once more(buds, branches, grass). This morning the sun is shining like it only can in the early Spring. There is a huge difference in its brightness and color compared to a sunny winter day. The gray and grime are slightly diminished. It's almost 50 degrees. I threw open one of my bedroom windows. You can hear the wetness of the road spinning off the cars as they hiss by. I changed the sheets. It's amazing how new bedding, open windows and fresh air can make you happy, especially when the sheets have traveling GNOMES all over them(Gracias Target. Note to self: Have bullseye tattooed on ass).

I won't miss you, Winter.

Food

Almost two weeks ago the loveliest Manitoulinian tagged me for this quick and easy food meme. Let's eat!


1. What's your #1 comfort food? Buttered Toast with Tea


2. If you were on a deserted island, what one food would you want to have with you? Almonds


3. What is/are your signature dishes? (What dishes are you 'known' for?) I'm known for steak au poivre although I haven't had it in over seven years. I like to cook and am actually very good at it, I just don't do it enough.


4. It's Friday night, you don't know what to cook. You opt for...panfried noodles w/ chili & soy sauce


5. What's your biggest weakness when it comes to food? Pizza, pizza, pizza. I'll do anything for a pizza, almost. Pizza is my substitute for sex and this is why I seem to have maintained some baby phat.


6. What food can you absolutely not eat? Uni, sweet meats, innards, tongues, etc.


7. You need a drink. You grab a....bottle of agua, maybe some Orangina if I have it. When in Rome, it's definitely red wine. If I'm feeling like working for a drink, I make the best margaritas, maybe on the whole planet.


8. What's the most decadent dish you've had? Bananas Foster flamed table side at the Old Towne Inn in Montego Bay. It's not that they were so decadent as it was the gorgeous surroundings combined with the fact that Ian Fleming among others was a regular diner here.


9. What's your favorite type of food? Hello! Pizza Slut, here. Mexican, too.


10. Favorite dish? I love romaine lettuce with toasted pecans, apple chunks, red onion, a few golden raisins, a fistful of blue cheese crumbles(Black River) topped with raspberry vinagrette.


11. If your partner could take you to any restaurant you wanted, which one would it be? I would love to go back to Nirvana at the top of one of the Helmsley Hotels overlooking Central Park.


12. Are you a soup or salad person? I think salad, but I could change my mind.


13. Buffet, take-out or sit-down restaurant? I like to be served and served well. Buffets are for oinkers unless it's some primo pizza bonanza. Then I'm an oinker, BIG TIME.


14. What's the most impressive dinner you've ever made? Chicken Kiev with Twice baked Potatoes, Caesar Salad and Espresso Cheescake.


15. Do you consider yourself a good cook? I think I'm okay :) Actually, I think I'm pretty darn good, but I just didn't want to sound like a snob! I don't enough.


16. Do you know what vichyssoise is? Uhhh...yeah!! I never made it though.


17. Who's your favorite TV cook? I loved PBS' Kitchen Sessions with Charlie Trotter. But if I had to pick now, it would be Anthony Bourdain.


18. Can you name at least three TV cooking personalities? Let's go old skool with Julia Childs(rip), Jacques Pepin and Wolfgang Puck.


19. Homemade or homemade from a box? Homemade from scratch, of course! I have a microwave in the basement for popcorn, only(okay, sometimes nachos).

20. Name 3 or more other foodies you are going to tag. I'm tagging J, even though this is a little simple for what I think she is like as far as "foodieism" is concerned and she deserves the link love for her fabulous non self absorbed blog.

Lotus(are you out there?) because she too has great taste, an experienced pallete and takes amazing photos of her freshly prepared eats.
And how about Jimmy, because don't we all want to know what Jimmy eats? Oh and Annie because she's attempting to blog for a month straight. Good luck! If anyone else wants to throw in their two cents(Gemellen, Cynical or Curiosity(although I kind of know your tastes) I'm just spreading some link love to my bleeps(like peep although someone somewhere has probably coined this) please do because I'd be fascinated!)

Taboo

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you're abandoned in a red tagged stinking shitheap. My brother left a Post-It note on my desk one morning after some break-up I had. It said-

"Funny morning people will laugh louder than broken love will cry the next day."

I still have and treasure it. People don't want to confront the sadness, the depression the it's not gonna be alright. They don't know what to say. Being depressed and sad is like talking about sex in this country. Those items are far too sticky, gooey and complex for most fluff tops to digest. Can't we all just be happy? Euphoric in the face of demise? If it's not in your life, right in front of your very eyes, people are usually blind to it. People ignore what they need to confront thinking it will magically resolve itself.

I don't like to dwell in the dumps, but it is a part of life. I allow it because it is natural and healthy to a certain extent. Purging. I know I suffer from bouts of depression. It's all in the family. I'm thankful that I don't have to take medication. It's pounded into our psyche daily that to be sad is to be damaged in some way.

I have never been in love, but I equate it somehow to the feeling of deep sadness. There is something really shitty yet really pure about it. It is something you feel so primally and the cathartic release of sacred tears is beyond description. I feel sorry for the self absorbed happy horseshit eaters. They lack empathy. They just mindlessly nod and agree with you while they're really thinking about their kids upcoming basketball tournament or their pending dinner date at the all you can eat Chinese buffet.

Lambchop or Oscar?

It's 9-ish and I'm at home. Yesterday my mother brought Snowflake home(she had him overnight for two nights), and she complains she has no time for anything, she looks like shit and blah blah blah. Did I tell myself this shit would happen, of course. Sometimes I really despise having such a teensy microcosm of a family. She informed me that I wouldn't have to work Thursday or Friday.

I am a 38 year old puppet and it sucks. Although I have a Bachelors degree, in this town that translates into jack shit. When I graduated I applied for a job at a big insurance company here and they wondered if I was interested in a janitorial position. I know why this town suffers from Brain Drain, IT SUCKS!

Ideally I'd like to be Photoshopping and Illustrating in some little cubicle, that would make me happy. Unfortunately, my mortgage wouldn't handle the drop in salary. I make more working for my family. I could refinance my house for 30 years, but I only have seven left on the current one. So I am fucked. When will I ever not be?

On top of it all when he wakes up this morning, Snowflake says he wants to go back to his Nana's house. He has told me more than three times that he wants to live with her and he doesn't like me. Ouch. OUCH.

Did I mention how much I adore my meez?

My Meez

Check out my 'meez' right over there under The Chidler. That's me, at least how I imagine myself. I saw Stylin's meez, and just had to investigate. Addictive! Yes, it may be a very tween thing to do but it's fun! The possibilities are endless. Check out the Brad Pitt arm candy. Now go and make yourself!

One-Eighty

I stopped to get one of my favorite vegetarian subs last night. It's called a "Jacob Bluefinger", hold the mayo, add onions and oil. There's a cute dude listening to Janis Joplin (Take a Little Piece of My Heart) behind the counter, wearing a chunky brown knit cap pulled down low and two layered tees: one longsleeved and black the other a green faded pigment dyed short sleeve. Sandy golden short curly locks peeping out and sexy rectangular wire rimmed glasses. He had to be mid-twenties, tops. I told him my order and he says,

"Cool. Would you like vinegar on that?" smiling.

"Sure" I smile back.

He asked me how the roads were and we chit-chatted mindlessly for a few minutes. I noticed a sign- "Try Our Hummus".

"I didn't know you guys had hummus. Do you make it yourselves?" I say to my college grunge dreamboat in days of yore.

"Yeah. It's pretty good. Cool. You like hummus? We don't make it here, but I make my own at home," he illuminates towards me, bagging up my order.

I'm intrigued and thank him for my order. He tells me to take care and drive safe. I head out the door into the cold snowy blustery night and jump into my big ballsy vehicle and drive away with a little warmth in my heart. A spring in my step. A submarine on my mind.

Tuesday's Child

Today went well. I was able to make a few little pieces of art for a friend who is having a baby. For her shower we are supposed to bring something that begins with the first letter of our names. I took some photographs of a Schleich hippo figure that I bought Snowflake at Target. I Warholed it with Photoshop. I found the perfect frames at where else, the Bullseye.

My coworker was pleasant save for the fact that he took a monstrosity of a dump and contaminated all of the clean air in the joint. I had to throw a copy of Wired over the duct in my office. He knows there is a definite science to crapping here. I assume he did this just to piss me off. Payback for my blogging. That's when I left to get some breathable oxygen frames from Target.

I bought Borat and rented Stranger than Fiction. I'm as happy as a hippo.

PS... I love SBC. The DVD for Borat is in a slipcover. When you take it out, the hardcase looks like a bootlegged russian blackmarket copy. It's hazy, faded and everything is written in cyrillic. The disc itself is a "Demorez" brand right off the spindle with Borat(the 'r' is backwards) written with a Sharpie Marker. Brilliant.

Here is the original and the Photoshopped:

Feeling Like Lorena

Recently someone had the audacity to suggest that maybe it was time for me to touch a penis again. The phone rang this morning and it was my mother, claiming she would take Snowflake because my father had a bunch of stuff to go over with me at the office. Immediately I was skeptical but I went with it. I dropped him off to meet her and went to work.

I arrive at work and I immediately notice my co-worker/the son my father never had/mentally thick meathead’s car wasn’t there. Another red flag as the bald headed italian is ALWAYS early on the mornings my father returns from a vacation.

“He went to get the mail,” my sperm donor says. Yeah, right.

“And, your mother is going to watch Snowflake from now on and you’ll be here five days a week. This is an office and not a daycare,” he affirms.

“Right. What a bunch of bullshit!”

“I knew you’d react like this. Like a little girl. I think I’ve been more than generous with you and you said when Snowflake was pottytrained he’d go to daycare,” he snaps.

“Fine whatever. It’s slow down here and this is not a typical ‘professional’ office,” I shout.

“Well, that’s going to change. It is going to be and that office is going to an office, “ he says.

“Well, tell me this, did you tell Paco(co-worker) before you told me?”

“It doesn’t matter, I knew you’d react like this,” he skirts.

“Did you?!”

“Yes, I did,” he says.

“Yeah, fuck you! Of course you did because he’s your main concern” I say.

From there I went into my office and tore down any semblance of my personality rendering a completely neat and sterile environment devoid of any trace of Snowflake. Motherfucker. I threw out five bags of shit that had accumulated in there. Some of it wasn’t mine. Some of it was the pigishness of others. I usually clean up the mess down here anyway, including the bathroom where the stench of my coworkers ass can hang for hours.

I found this cheap little stuffed pink bear in a gift bag my father gave to me once. This in itself was so out of character for him. On the bag it said”For Someone Special” and the hand tag said “love, Dad”. I sat it in front of him and told him to give it to Paco. Later I grabbed it off of his desk and threw it in the garbage.

It will be only a matter of time before my mother says again that she has no time for herself and I have to find someplace to take Snowflake. Or they go on vacation and Snowflake will come with me to work while they're gone. All I have is Snowflake and now I will get him at the end of the day when he’s tired, cranky and ready for bed. I know how the masses feel and it sucks.

Oh I’m ready alright. Ready to touch a penis only if it includes hacking it off.


*That picture? Me circa 2000. A different co-worker(different office) brought some guns to work so I had him take my picture. I hate guns, too. Love the hair, Heid.

Did You Ever Have to Make Up My Mind?

I think I'm losing my backbone because I have come humbly before you, my Dear Reader to ask your opinion on something some of you may think is an entire waste of good money. As you may or may not know, Snowflake's third birthday is coming up shortly. I have a notion to purchase him a pedal car. You know, like the cool reproductions from the 40's.

I have a sick obsession of searching and sucking up the web to find the most unique and/or coolest item of its type. Since I can't afford a really cool antique one or a Postman Pat Mail Truck, I found a little shop in the Motor City that does custom paint jobs on pedal cars. I found this amazingly smokin' little hot rod. It would cost me about $100 more than the Chrome model.




Comments? Suggestions? Wanna hurl a rotten tomato at something kinda frivolous? I mean, WWJD?

My Love

My current affair began a very long time ago. It's going on seven years. I still love the way these light tappy keys feel beneath my fingers as if they know exactly what I'm going to type. They lead me onward with their smoothness. It still feels new and fresh, it's screen still bright. It takes all of the demands of the modern world(at the same time teaching me patience with it's internal dial up modem) while handling my personal needs. It's a major hardworking, knucklegrubbing, comes in early and stays all night, mighty workhorse. If it were a person we'd totally be having lots ands lots of sex, even after all of these years.

Sorry I Couldn't Help You

When someone googled "why do interior doors shut when furnace kicks on" they were directed towards this post. I'm fifth on the page! Right. It made me laugh. Or if you'd be looking for "Eagle Pack anal glands" I'm your girl at #9. We've come along way, Snowflake.

White Out

It's late, after midnight. I'm here in Dairyland hunkering down for another early Spring blizzard. I know it's not actually Spring, but years ago it used to be. Thousands of chubberifics will be whining and complaining tomorrow about all of the snow. Some may even fall over dead due to the strain on their cheese encrusted arteries as they shovel the mess away.

I like getting all of this snow. I love to look out the window and see snowbanks that rival the size of those in photographs of my father as a child playing. This is not a bunch of 'white powdery beef'(quoting Binky from Shakes the Clown) like snow, but rather, heavy duty, sloppy, wet, messy, chunky shovel until you throw up good and hard precipitation.

This is the kind of snow that makes everything look quaint and cozy, picture perfect. For some it's a blessing, covering a seasons worth of laziness. I would hate to be the neighbor of the house up the street where four dogs have shit all winter with no pooperscooping whatsoever when the thaw finally comes.

For the moment, everything is Kinkadian. Although I would have to add a few hand-touched dog shit piles just for authenticity.