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.

Virtual Vacation

I added a link to the Burj Al Arab the other day. Someday Snowflake and I will book our trip to Dubai, flying first class, woops, I mean on our own private jet and stay in one of the penthouse suites. Burqa free, too!

I am a serious freak for architecture. If you like design, you will drool uncontrollably, witnessing the opulence of ancient days in the palaces of the Sultans reinterpreted for the modern sophisticate. While you're at it, hop on over to the not yet built Hydropolis for some underwater adventure.

Enjoy your little escape! See you there. Sincerely,

-MsMamma, directly from the wi-fi lounge at the Holiday Inn (Airport)

The Gap

Two weeks ago:

"Your grandmother asked me if you were still nursing and I told her not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'? Why'd you say that? I just nursed him over here last night!" I said to my mother in disbelief.

"He only nursed for a few seconds and he fell asleep and you really only nurse him at night"

"Well, mom, that's still nursing! You're wacky. You must be embarassed." Silence.

Today:

"Do you sleep naked with the baby?" she says initiating another classic conversation.

"What?!? Why?" I say stunned. I mean where did she come up with this idea?

"Well, I was trying to make him take a nap and we were laying down and he pulled up my shirt. Then he poked my tummy and my bellybutton. When I asked him what he was looking for he said 'butt'. And he's always grabbing at my skin".

"No, I don't sleep naked with the baby! He's very tactile and curious. I think he's most attracted to flab, it fascinates him the way it bounces and ripples when you touch it."

"Just what are you saying?"

"Nothing, he just likes skin alot," I say steering away from my faux pas.

Changes

In another life I was a graphic designer. I love to play with Photoshop. Changing my blog header is like re-arranging the furniture, it's a compulsion that I have and it must be done frequently. I can't seem to find my perfect expression so I will keep on playing. Playing is what it's all about at this point in life.

I've said it before, not having a significant other allows me to focus completely on Snowflake. He is my attached co-sleeping breastfeeder. I agree with Dr. Sears that life is a series of weanings... from the womb, from the breast and from the family bed. I can't imagine what it's like for a couple that practices this. I suppose you can get very creative. I can't wait to sleep alone. Snowflake is a complete bedhog, somehow managing to stake the entire queen size to himself whilst leaving me a sliver the width of an ironing board.

Let the broken record play once again. They are little for such a brief period of time, I feel that it is my duty to be beckoned by his every reasonable whim. It has been worth it. I don't believe he has had a real meltdown, YET. He likes to share with others. He is not attached to material objects in any way. It's amazing the impact you have. One day he is going to be someone's partner and I hope I served them well.

I read him a spanish language storybook called "Frida", all about Frida Kahlo. It's his current favorite. Last night while I was doing the dishes he was leafing through it and I heard him say "Chihuahua. Chihuahua. Chihuahua. Chihuahua." I was floored! He said it so perfectly and it sounded so damn fricking cute I almost wept tears of joy. Calmly I assured him he was doing a great job. Internally I was screaming and doing backflips.

When I was younger I thought I would get married out of college and have lots of children. Time passed and I did pretty much everything I said I wouldn't do in life(another post for that one). I thought I would never be a mamma. I became one of those people that gave dirty looks to parents with those bratty screaming "creatures".

That changed and here I am. It has been the most amazing experience. Now I just feel sorry for them, wearing their black turtle necks and fitted leather jackets as they look down from their lofty modernist mid-century perches. Sure, their furniture will always be impeccable, but who are they going to leave it to?

A pity they may never know the sublime joy of having one of the greatest gifts life can bring you.

Poser

After snowblowing, I found Snowflake curled up on the couch lounging with his crackers and pepper jack cheese.



I asked him if I could take his photo. He said "Ya!"



Then he became squirrely, grinning mischieveously.



Having had enough, he made like a snobby movie star and harassed the paparazzi.

AM Frolic with The Chidler

Yesterday rain. Last night, snow. Our weather has a little split personality.


Fun this morning, sniffing for bunnies...


Looking very noble in the snow.He just needs a rustic booze barrel around his neck.(for me)


The little trike in the backyard


Waiting to go inside


For my morning chow.

Drizzle on my Psyche

This weekend has been like living in the Pacific Northwest. Temperatures in the 40's and it's raining and gray. Sometimes I can be easily influenced by the weather to feel blue for no particular reason. I ignored the urge this morning.

Snowflake and I were up at the crack of dawn. He was excited to take a bath with his new giant rubber duckie. After bathing and breakfast we went to Target where I set out to buy only diapers and garbage bags. I ended up with three hats, a cashmere scarf, some Ghirardelli milk chocolate caramel squares, four long sleeved t-shirts, two mini notebooks, a stainless steel mixing bowl w/ rubber non-skid bottom and a fake pair of Robeez. God, I'm thrifty and frugal!

Driving downtown on the way back to the casa in the rain, I did a double take. I do believe I saw Snowflake's Y walking down the street. Pony tail, bucket hat, clean shaven, looking in the record store window. My heart sank.

The weather, along with a lot of other thoughts came pouring down. I didn't cry, but I felt so sad. I never thought in a million years I would be a single mom. I was thinking, WHY? Why did things have to turn out this way? Snowflake is such an amazing, sweet and loving little boy, my heart breaks when I think I have no one to share him with. I know I am enough, but there is no one that cares about him like I do.

Damn, the rain!

The Effect of Sunlight

Today was a beautiful and gorgeous day. Thanks to global warming, it was a balmy 41 degrees here, just south of the Yukon. This is January! When it's this warm, you see the locals busting out from cabin fever and going coatless, or jogging in shorts. Silly, but necessary. The winters can be so long. Gray endless sunless days that start in October stretch into March and sometimes April. Not on this day, though.

The sun was bursting through the sky, warming everything with it's golden honey dripping dazzle. I saw a tiny young Redheaded Woodpecker in one of the Catalpa trees this morning drumming away. It was a day that could bring the crocus' up through the frost. Hope was blooming.

Snowflake and I went to visit a brand new baby girl that was born just over 24 hours ago. She is perfectly exquisite, a full head of downy brown hair, a button nose and pink rosy cheeks. She is so so tiny compared to my Jolly Green Giant. Life changes so quickly.

I see a mother and her firstborn toddler son walking through the park together, alone. Delighting in eachother's presence, enjoying this precious moment of time. You can tell she is not a good, but a great mother by the way she responds to him, by the way she anticipates his needs. He in turn has prepared her well for the baby that's not seen but on the way.

Next year everything will be different. Different but just as beautiful as today. Hope will still be blooming.

Peeping for Jesus

A few minutes ago I was lounging on the living room floor, nursing a sleepy Snowflake when all of a sudden The Chidler starts going really berserk. I'm thinking someone is walking their dog on the sidewalk.

Tap Tap Tap Tap From an unfamiliar place. Someone is knocking on the door inside of my screen porch that looks right into the living room where I'm currently splayed out half topless. God! They must have seen what I'm doing. No one in their right mind would walk onto the enclosed porch and knock on the interior door.

I quick get up pull down my shirt and see two dark shapes standing on the other side of this all glass door. I turn on the red exit light that serves as the porch light and find two well dressed young men. Yeah, you know the ones.

I motion through the glass pointing for them to go to the regular door. They nod, obligingly. Sticking my head out the back door as one of them pops into the entrance I ask if I can help them. I'm a little pissed and feel slightly exposed.

"We're from the Church of Jesus Chri..." he says as I cut him off and say,

"Thanks, but I'm not interested", shutting the door.

I have lived here 12 years and no one has ever knocked on that door. It just freaked me out a little, I guess. Never say never or ever.

Shitiquette

Evolving from the Pioneer's Conestoga, the modern mobile home is more than affordable housing on semi-permanent wheels. Some are cute little weekend cabins. Some beaters are actually used for chicken coups. Our office is one such tubular ground hugging structure.

Let me say a little about airflow in a 1992 14 x 70, there isn't any. What there is, is the stagnant recirculation of the same old air over and over. This particular dilemma is the catalyst for cerain bathroom dynamics between coworkers. To some, this may be in bad taste, but to me, it is a matter of survival.

We call this 'shitiquette'. We have the follwing rules between the two of us when you have to take a dump in the office bathroom.

1. If the furnace or central air is running, SHUT IT DOWN. If one skips this crucial all important step, the entire office ends up smelling like an airplane bathroom on the way back from Mexico. FOR HOURS! This is completely unbearable in winter as we cannot open doors or windows.

2. ALWAYS double flush. The first flush should occur as the majority of the mother lode is coming out so as to eliminate any noxious hangtime. We all know what happens when the furnace kicks on.(see #1)

3. Spray lots of citrusy or lineny air freshener LIBERALLY. I cannot stress this enough. Also, avoid any air fresheners that smell like something you actually eat, cinnamon immediately comes to mind.

When a customer comes in and asks if they can use the bathroom, we give eachother a nervous look. Will they drop a bomb? Once someone emptied their colostomy bag in our bathroom while the cental air was on in the humid high 80's.

That was enough for the two of us to pick and choose who actually gets access to the bathroom and shitiquette was born.

Doodie vs. Duty

I breathed a sigh of relief returning my dad's dog yesterday. I thought The Chidler would be ecstatic to see him go, but none such luck. I think I felt his heart sink when he saw me put ol'snaggle tooth into the car, his huge glassy Milk Dud eyes begging to come with as he stared out the window watching us leave.

When I returned home I was greeted by a couple of stale turds on the kitchen floor and a small puddle of pee. Naughties! I know he might have thought this revenge was sweet, but it was short lived when he realized I was not going to give him his evening cup o' chow. The war was by no means over.

Two weeks ago I bought Snowflake this damn charming little goth bandana to wear. It was black with the Jolly Roger and hearts where the crossbones meet. He wore it once and it will never grace his neck again. I came downstairs this morning and found one teensie shred on The Chidler's fainting couch.

Where did it go? Somewhere I am all too familiar with. That's right, it is peristalsing it's way down through The Chidler's bowels. With no Catalpa leaves to serve as paper towel, I am praying that it works it's way out of his asspipe without any assistance from me. My anticipation is palpable. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

On top of this duty, this is my week in the pool for jury duty, that civil doodie everyone seems to love to hate. I was not selected this morning but have to return up to three more times this week.

I was thinking, hmmmm, you never know, I could meet some cutie. Ah, WRONG! I sat next to a gentleman in the gallery who was wearing a tight green stretchy vintage like work ensemble. Scruffy, thick oily hair with full on bedhead and reeking of cigarette smoke, the bailiff asked him if he needed a work excuse to which he replied in that scratchy whiskey drinkin' voice,

"Nope, I'm self employed."

I mean there is duty and then there is doodie. I have my hands full of it.

A Pisces This Morning

Bathroom Confession

This morning after brushing Snowflake's cute tiny teeth, I put him down and gave him the usual I love you and he says,

"Wuv you mommy"

WHAT?!?!?!?

My heart stopped. That's me over there on the floor in a little puddle, he melted me. Forget all of our battle of wills this week, it was the sweetest thing I have ever heard, EVER. As far as I am concerned, he is absolutely, one hundred percent perfectly and positively angelic! Was that me whining earlier this week? I must have been experiencing delirium leftovers from Sunday night.

Being a parent is so amazing if you truly embrace it for everything it is. It feels like being the first and only person to REALLY know what it feels like. These moments in time are so sweet and so brief, I feel I have to grab on to them, cherish them. I'm sure this little love high will wear off, like the next time he bites my leg and I'm not expecting it.

Right now, life IS beautiful, Mr. Benigni.

Catching a Snowflake

In a parallel universe, Snowflake and I live in the panhandle of Idaho. We have an organic farm where we raise free range chickens, alpacas and pugs. I have a great affinity for spinning and a talent for growing hydroponics in my greenhouse.

Along with knitting chunky, funky sweaters for Snowflake, I paint landscape portraits featuring pug bacchanalias. Snowflake is the ever obedient child who attends an exclusive pre prep school for pre preschoolers just a spell down the road. Fluent in Japanese, he has just mastered the art of Origami and is proficient playing classical harp. Ahhhhhhh. What a sweet, sweet child I smile to myself.

AHHHHHHHHH! Today I felt like Sara Goldfarb in "Requiem for a Dream". Instead of being in Idaho, I was confined to a tin can loaf pan with no escape from the Non-Napper. The only free range was the office oven whose pilot light went out thus causing a noxious stench to fill the air until a sweet old man came in and offered to light it for me.

Snowflake was more than creative today in his mischief. The mini blinds hanging from the office windows all have knotted cords so that the aforementioned doesn't somehow strangle himself. Leave it to Snowflake to find a new hidden danger. Sticking the cord into his mouth and leaning backwards, he managed to lodge the string's last knot behind his two front teeth.

Strung up like a fish and half dangling from tippy toes he says,"Mom? Mom? Mom!"

I actually had to lift his body up to get some slack in the cord so I could pull it out.

It was like REALLY catching a live one.

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

Photoshopped Onlooker Eyeballing Interesting Stranger NYC 2001
(Onlooker's Face Courtesy of American Ex-Pat Dude Living on Vancouver ISland)

When MacGyvering Fails

Bringing Snowflake to work has been a bit challenging. So far I've had to put all wheeled office chairs behind closed doors. If he has access to them, he pushes them over to the counter, scales the cupboard and turns on the faucet in the kitchen area. He has figured out what the spray attachment does. It's definitely not a lo-flo nozzel. He completely soaked me twice.

I've had to MacGyver the oven door. I cut the cord off of an old telephone and wired the door shut. If the door is not tied, Snowflake's main desire is opening it, standing on the door and jumping on it like a trampoline.

Other amusements include sticking forks into the back of the copy machine, spraying various chemicals at himself, dropping coins, keys, gourmet jelly beans and pens down the heating vents, pulling plaster bits out of a crack in the wall and stuffing other objects back into the gaping fissure he's created, pouring his drink all over the floor or spitting it on himself, and pulling and tearing posters and photos off the walls.

On a more positive note, he likes to Swiffer.

The Shark

As I was leaving the office today, I saw "The Shark" pull out from the credit union. That's what he called his car. There was no mistaking that two tone blue 1987 Chevy Caprice Classic, a black and white skull sticker on each side of the front fender panels. I nostalgically longed for the cool baby blue crushed velvet upholstery in prime condition. Could it possibly be HIM?

My co-worker dubbed him, "The Play-ah". So let's just call him that. The Play-ah would never be caught dead wearing pants. The day I met him, February 1, 2002 he was wearing some army green cut offs with some ripped long underwear. This was topped by a grey flannel button up and a well worn leather motorcycle jacket, a "Motorhead" pin on the lapel. Maybe it was Grunge At First Sight. The way he looked at me made me feel like I was 22 years old again.

My ex-boyfriend Todd, and I went out that evening to our favorite blues dive and when we walked in and sat down, my eyes hit The Play-ah's and it was like that old 80's tune "Magnet & Steel". That was the only time I've ever met someone's eyes and felt like I was struck by a lightening bolt. I still feel tingly just thinking about him.

I fell hard for him and he was moving to the hill country of Tennesse, just west of the Smokey Mountains to blow glass in a few weeks. This is sounding like a hillbilly love song. I still have a sticker on my back door that he sent me that says "Protected by A Glass Blower". I however chose to cut out the "Gl" for some reason and it now says "ass Blower". We had a crazy exciting intense whirlwind fling.

He moved away and called me all the time. I sent him nude photographs of myself! Believe me, I'm not that kind of girl. Twice he showed up for no reason. He brought me beautiful quirky trinkets and flowers. He gave me a real Munachi Love Charm. I swooned. It's sitting on my kitchen windowsill. In August he showed up again to tell me he was moving back.

Strangely, we couldn't seem to pull it all together. We just faded away, quietly and never attempted to connect. The last time I saw him he came to a rummage sale to pick up a rug my mom gave him. It was a cool handmade carpet made by my now deceased uncle in Portland Oregon. He brought his dowdy girlfriend along and her eight year old son.

It wasn't as bad as it sounds. Snowflake was five months old and we were ancient history that really never was. I still have this feeling he might just show up on my doorstep one day.

I see a man in plaid flannel, very much past prime, wearing a baseball cap and sporting a fuzzy mustache and thick glass block spectacles. He's commanding The Shark and he is definitely not the recipient of my photos.


timing, passion, nude, photos, lost, loves

Feeling Funked Up

Sunday night at about 10pm all hell broke loose biologically. Snowflake sleeping peacefully at my side, I sprinted to the bano and began an evening of body shaking wretching. The yaking continued well into the next morning although there was nothing left to hurl. I forgot what it felt like to be out of control in that way, just perched over the loo letting your body go to work, ridding itself of some Godforsaken poisonous mystery. I don't think I have been that sick since I was a little girl.

This morning brought relief, I finally started to feel "normal" again, except for the jack hammer splitting pain rocking my head. That too, now is fading. Thanks be! I think Snowflake has been spared the misery!

A Cowpoke and his SideQuack

Here's the lil' cowpoke this morning, all fresh and fruity after a bath.

Cheesy but Real

Tonight Snowflake and I ordered a thin crust cheese pizza for din-din. We hung out and shared, cozied up on the brown leather nailhead loveseat in the living room. We were in such a harmonius little sync, our bond is so strong.

Putting the rest in the 'frigidaire' as my polish granny would have said, I noticed the pizza box had tips for parents and children encouraging them to ask one another questions, thus sparking a meaniful attempt at true interaction. At first I thought, has it come to this? Some people are taking the advice off of a pizza box because they are so out of touch with one another. That is so pathetic!

Snowflake and I have a symbiosis of mutual respect for one another. I can't imagine ever being out of touch with him, even though he's just a wee sprite. I thought of my dad. I read those questions again. Maybe if my dad had read a pizza box like this, everything would be different between us.

My dad won't buy shoes that lace up because he has difficulty reaching over his old school beer belly. He is easily irritated by computers, cellphones and dvd players and he uses them habitually. He shakes his head 'no' alot, rolls his eyes and humphs. Yet, I do know how he would answer all the questions I would "ask" him. He wouldn't have a clue to mine.

I'm waltzing here, but then I thought if this sparks some absent or aloof parent to intereact with their child, or the child, rebellious or content to return to the bonds of family, fantastico. Everybody needs to know they are truly loved and respected in this world by their nearest and dearest.

I feel this with Snowflake and it is powerful. Warm thoughts tonight courtesy of Pizza Hut. I can't gag, it just gives Snowflake bad ideas.

Just You & Me, Kid

Tomorrow everyone begins to desert us. Our entire teensie familia is going south of the border. It is a company trip and everyone is going. Big Pappy just kept drilling it over and over into my skull how he thought it would be a bad idea to take Snowflake. "What if he gets sick? You wouldn't want a sick baby in Mexico! I don't want to hear about it if he gets sick." He's so child friendly, bless his heart.

Snowflake and I are taking care of his psychotic, snaggle-toothed lhasa apso while they're gone.

Sid and Nancy asked me if I would assume the responsibility of raising their five month old bambino in the case of their untimely demise since they decided not to take him. Of couse, of course.

"But we would want him to eat meat, okay?" Sid said.

He can eat whatever he wants, I assured them. Then they gave me a notarized copy of a living will. It's queer to imagine myself, as a single mother of two and no immediate family. I would definitely have to move to Miami to be by my best friend or start a boarding house for wayward orphans and pugs.

Everytime my parents go away this conversation always occurs:

"You have the keys to the lock boxes, right?"

"Yes"

"If something happens, go down there immediately!" (With this type of urgency it can only be weapons grade plutonium)

"Okay"

"You know where my jewelry is, right?"

"Yes"

"Okay, good. Maybe you should just stay here while we're gone."

My mother worries that Snowflake's Y is going to show up and wreak havoc. She thinks we'd be safer at their house. We can even bring The Chidler, she entices. As dangerous as her worrisome mind thinks it is, I am happiest sleeping in my own comfy but apparently bacteria laden, may as well be a thousand pound flophouse mattress.

With everyone leaving, it is like life flashing before my eyes. A mind wanders when left alone. It is a mini lesson in survival, I mean what if?

Rigor Mortis & Tenderness

Like an addict for smack, I headed back to the closing bookstore today to make absolutely sure I left no curious tome unfound. I grabbed an interesting volume by Dr. Miles Bader entitled, "10,001 Food Facts, Chef's Secrets & Household Hints."

Being a vegetarian I found it oddly provoking that the page I flipped open to was in the "Meat" section. My eyes were immediately drawn to a paragraph, "Rigor Mortis and Tenderness".

"The process of rigor mortis occurs in all animals and is characterized by the stiffening of the meat and occurs a few hours after slaughtering. If meat is not consumed immediately after it is slaughtered then you should wait at least 15-36 hours which gives the enzymes a chance to soften the connective tissue."

I never really thought about this happening to the meat we eat(or used to eat). Instead, I associated rigor mortis only with the death of a human being.

My mother found my brother after he died. She stopped at his house on the way back from their cottage to check in and instantly thought it was odd that just the screen door was closed, the front door open. He was laying face down on the rug, like he had just gotten up from the sofa and fell flat forward.

Five years have gone by and I still cannot even fathom the scene. The shorts he was wearing, his legs blue, his shoes neatly placed to the side of the couch. His body stiff and cold to the touch. None of this I saw with my own eyes. My mother, running to him and crouching down, lifting his head up as fluids fell from his nose. "Oh Thommy, get up! Oh, Thom! Thom!" She rocked and held him, her lifeless first son.

My father called me on very sunny and beautiful summer Sunday. Wincing he told me he thought we had "lost" Thommy. What do you mean lost? He was headed to my mother. To pick her up.

Calling my mother's cell phone the voice of a man I did not recognize answers.

"Who is this?" I say, pissed off.

"This is Officer Blahdiddy-Blah. Who is THIS?"

"Let me talk to my mother!" I heatedly reply.

"Mom?"

She is not there. There is nothing but the sound of primal, gutteral sadness, horror, loss and disbelief. There is really no way to describe it. It was the deep and soulful wail of a mother in dire distress. Gurgling, groaning and grunting and then, a few almost undiscernable "Oh, Thommys", sporadically.

The image I live with is one I never witnessed, only imagined. The feelings I have are so painful and horrifying they make me feel like I am suffocating. My mother, how can I even begin to know what she felt and still feels like? The bleak and unbearable image of my mother holding and gentley rocking my brother in her arms back and forth, over and over, there is nothing she can do but grieve and wail. Wailing to will the life back into her baby.

There is nothing more tender and heartbreaking to me.


death, child, brother, wailing, mourning

The Chidler Bejeweled

Tonight Snowflake and I found this cool Isaac Mizrahi rhinestone leather collar for our furry family member on clearance at Target.(Yes, yes, I have a thing for Target). Snowflake calls him "Charles", but it sounds like "Chaahhs". Too precious. What a proud, regal and handsome pup. You'd never guess his breath smells like assrot!

Shredder

My beautiful Snowflake this morning before we headed off to work. I wish he could stay this size and this age forever(almost 22 months). I get so misty when I think of my only bambino growing up at warp speed. Where is the emergency stop button?

The Ugly Side of Cute

Snowflake is on the fast track to becoming the world's most famous baby bulimic, at least in my book. Sunday we went to Target where we indulged in a feast of popcorn, craisins and V-8 Fruit Punch.

After wandering for awhile he begins to stick his hand in his mouth. I ignore it. However I cannot ignore the gagging sounds coming from his mouth. People are staring. They hear this wretched sound and they look, horrified at this cute little demon smiling at them, drooly spittle running down his chin. He laughs wickedly right at me as I attempt to chide him. This energizes him.

I am getting a little embarrassed at this point and whisk him away to the check out so we can hightail it the F out of there. Big mistake. He feeds off my recoiling negativity. He is reveling in his purging. The girl at the check out says, "Awww, he's so cute!" And then her gaze turns to disbelief as he horks up his snack with an evil giggle.

I look at it running down his red corduroy coat. I mumble that I don't know why he does this and tell Snowflake that everyone is going to think he's freaky.

He smiles sweetly and squawks "Freaky! Freaky! Bye-Bye" as I quickly swab him down with a fresh baby wipe and we exit the scene.

Twats in Paris

A new season of The Bachelor started tonight. Snowflake and I only get five local channels on our bright yellow 13" Sponge Bob and it happened to be on ABC as I placed my last post. Yes, we's livin' lage! You may guess we're a very TV oriented twosome.

While Snowflake slumbers I hear the whores of America shrieking and cooing in disbelief that they are oh-my-God-in-Paris and he's a (BIG-HYPERVENTILATING-GASP) doctor! Doncha think there has to be something wrong at the very CORE of these people? Amusing and hideous. As they say, there cannot be great beauty without ugliness. In France of all places! They just LOVE us there. Goodluck, dipshits!

Confessions of a Former Mall Rat

In this average size midwestern town, city planners talk of downtown revitalization. They try, but a few ecclectic shops can't make up for the massive mistake so many towns their size made in the 80's: knocking down the core character of a cool place to build a mall.

I spent every Saturday at this place when I was in highschool cruising the circuit with my girlfriends. Claire's Boutique sold jelly bracelets. I actually worked at THE LIMITED! I can still remember everyone wearing their Forenza V neck sweaters backwards. It was the era of "Weird Science" and "Sixteen Candles".

I went to that same mall today with my mamma. She was looking for some things to take on a trip. I NEVER go to the mall. Unlike malls in major metropolitan areas, this mall is a dinosaur, a ghost-town of it's former glory days. There are so few stores it's almost pathetic. There are even fewer customers.

The majority of the stores, minus The Gap, cater to teensie tinsie weensie woo woo's. Hollister, Aero Postal, AE, everything is the same, the only difference is the logo. I really wanted to gag myself but had to hold back so Snowflake wouldn't follow suit.

It's strange getting older. You think you're somewhat hip and then you go to this mall-shanty and realize you are on the downside of our insane youth culture. OUCH! It kind of hurts! Sometimes I just want to go and get a chemical peel.

Maybe a little ass & thigh suck. Why not a great boob lift to take away two years of breastfeeding?

Then I think NO FORKING WAY. I LOVE my thirties! And I love me. They have been the BEST years yet. This is coming from a single mother, all! The mall will always be a shrine to little titties and small waists. I wave goodbye and say thanks for the memories, but NO THANKS.

80's, mall rat, limited

Fried, Too

I completely spaced. I also watched most of "Kill Bill Volume 2". Although "Resevoir Dogs" is my favorite Tarantino film, there is something beyond delightful about a woman just kicking pure ass. Thumbs up, fo' sho'!

Extra Well Done

I used to consider myself highbrow when it came to film. Until today, I hadn't seen a movie in almost two years! Well, today was a day of complete laziness and film debauchery courtesy of satellite tv at the padres casa. I was skeezing, slumming and thoroughly wasting the day. What fine contributions to the world of entertainment did I entrance myself with? I am almost embarrassed to say!

I started the afternoon with "Wedding Crashers". I used to love Owen Wilson and now I am beginning to think I must be losing my sense of humor because I just didn't find it that pants-splitting. The funny thing is, I realized the end of his nose really looks like a penis.(I'm not just saying that because I've been in the convent for so long! Look at it sometime!)

Falling further down the trail of indulgence, I watched "13 Going on 30." This starred Jennifer Garner in a poorly written but happy go lucky formula film with a heavy nod to the 80's and all of it's glorious music. It was all saccharine sweet. Can I have a slice of cheesecake?

Next was "The Butterfly Effect". This was quite the load of butterfly guano. It's amazing the way someone can lose all of their sex appeal when they don't have all their parts. Of course there is NO WAY Hollywood would let Ashton remain a skanky handless disabled shell of a hero! All's well that ends well. More cheesecake anyone?

I finished out the evening watching "Fargo". I've always liked the Cohen brothers films and I think this is definitely the best. Has there been a more spineless cad in a film since William H. Macy's Jerry Lundegaard? Francis McDormand as the pregnant midwestern lady cop as hero was a refreshing change. Or it could be Steve Buscemi's foot sticking out of the woodchipper. Maybe I'm just partial to that sexy Minnesotan dialect. Ya. I think it's more the common bond we share living in the frigid tundra.

I feel over exposed, satiated and bloated from a 36" Sony flatscreen Wega. I'm seeing trailers, tracers and little flying dots. Stick a fork in me, I am DONE.

Ahora Mismo

The simple joy of silence, the tone of the furnace running. A fruity tasty glass of cabernet, slowly sipping. A candle burning, soft and glowy, the scent of creme caramel. Twilight fading, fluorescent grey. Violet, periwinkle, a burst of vibrating electric neon watermelon as the sun melts away. A child sleeping peacefully, rosy flushed cheeks, as in a stillife. The twinkly magic sparkle of any natural diamond. Black soft cotton tshirt so velveteen and suedey against skin. Skin against skin. The hum of a body in sync with the moment. Like the vibration after a great massage or a relaxing soak or amazing sex. A beach with southern exposure at approximately 7pm in the summertime. A night overlooking and being a part of NYC from a rooftop. A sweltering crowded evening drink in Little Italy at 11pm. Feeling energized and completely alone walking down 42nd Street at a ghostly 5am. Snuggling down into sumptuous silken gazillion thread count sheets. Hearing the bustle of life awakening again, it is the same hush tone of the furnace. The vibration of the Earth. You are a part of it. This is the moment.

Turning Japanese

Ever since I was a wee sprite I have always been fascinated by Orientalia. My brothers and I watched kungfu movies with wild abandon and re-enacted each scene in our mother's bath robes in the living room using wrapping paper tubes as our honorable swords. We watched dubbed Bruce Lee movies over and over, developing and perfecting the art of talking when your mouth wasn't moving and vice versa.

A child of the 80's, I could never forget Richard Chamberlain(aka sexy Father Ralph of the Thornbirds) in the miniseries Shogun. I loved the scenery, the kimono, the society steeped deep in their ancestors traditions. It is elegance in simplicity. Happiness in simplicity. Or stabbing yourself simply.

So the other day I picked up a Pimsleur's Japanese CD. Snowflake and I are listening to lesson one every morning on the way to Nana's do-jo. Pimsleur is the same method they use in the FBI & CIA.

Already I'm asking Snowflake if he's American and if he understands Japanese. Of course he nods "HI" like good little baby sumo. That is progress! I'll have Snowflake post in Japanese when we're fluent. Or when were in deep cover at the sushi bar.

PM update: Snowflake is enthusiastically pronouncing ee-ay, which he now knows means NO in Japanese. I asked for it.

Holics

Reflecting on New Year's Eve, I am so thankful that I'm not "out there" anymore. That was only the second time in two and a half years I've gone out and it was my first night away from Snowflake! It was fun for a carefree night, but I'd rather be holed up in our swanky cozy casa. I'm not missing anything except being hit on by damaged alcoholics.

Speaking of -ics and -isms, I have passed one on to Snowflake. He is a certifiable BIBLIOHOLIC! Yesterday I went loco and bought a bonanza of gorgeous hardcover books from a bookstore that is closing. I felt like a crazed pirate who had just found booty galore! Lovingly perusing pages, flipping and fondeling, drooling over make believe, I could imagine my little Mini-Me combusting with excitement as he dove headlong into a treasure trove of new fantastical worlds.

"Tommy DoLittle" is the laziest boy in the world and now he is Snowflake's constant companion. We must have read it thirty times last night. Switching to "My Car" didn't last long.

"Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom!" Snowflake sweetly chirped.

How could I resist? It brings absolute joy to my heart when Snowflake gets so excited and turned on by books. I read "Catcher in the Rye" aloud when I was pregnant and I have read to Snowflake everyday since he was born. If that translates into a life long passion for books I am beyond words, beyond proud.

One Night StandUp

My friend Marilyn is hilarious with a capital H, so when she said she'd go out on New Year's with me for awhile, I was thrilled. Marilyn is a very petite, stacked and vivacious fortysomething who definitely doesn't look a day past thirtysomething(and we know all of us beautiful thirtysomethings REALLY look twentysomething anyway). Confident in her sexuality, she makes no apologies for her tigress-like libido.

She has been hanging out with this guy who just isn't for her. The night before New Year's she had him over for dinner. Although she didn't buy him a Christmas present, she was the lucky recipient of a maple cured spiral sliced ham. How romantic, I thought. If someone gave me something like that I would definitely have to cannon ball it right up their ass. I suppose there may be some sort of primitive charm in this gesture.

Ms. Marilyn made this delicious feast and he ended up staying over night for the first time. I guess that's what men expect when they give you a ham? Anyway, she commented that he was less than stellar in the boudoir and I could tell she was disappointed.

"You don't snore", he said the next morning.

"You don't either, you ERUPT!", she non-chalantly said.

Then she told me how she imagined him wearing one of those creepy sleep apnea masks when he's at home alone.

"You know, alot of guys in their forties wear them. You'd be suprised," she told me.

I never really thought about it, I guess. Is this what I have to look forward to? Interesting. Creepy is right on the money.

Creepy, cramped, smokey and dark, we began our New Year's at a local blues pub turned alternative for the night and skee-daddled after just one drink. Ms.Marilyn suggested we head to the new funky jazz bar. It was a smokeless hip little joint with a granite U-shaped bar, italian pendant lighting and Vodkas galore.

It was here we met Dave, a chap who was in town closing his seasonal store. After a few Ciroc screwdrivers and lively conversation, the three of us went to a different skanky subterranian grotto. It was here that I knew I was the third wheel. No, they never made me "feel" that way, I just felt weird standing there as they tried to "stealthfully" dry hump one another in the dim light.

I got home at about 2:30am and felt pretty good.

BRRRRRRRING! BRRRRRRRING! BRRRRRRRING! It's 9am. "Yellow?"

"Good morning! How are YOU this morning?", Marilyn chirps.

Man, she's so chipper and she was just so buzzed, "I'm great", I say, "You?"

"I just had WILD MONKEY SEX with Dave!" she laughs giddily.

"Good for you. He was cute and funny", I say.

"Yeah, we started making out on the couch and I wasn't about to take him into my bed and have him smell aftershave from the night before so we stayed in the living room!"

I laugh alot. We agree that Spiral Sliced is no longer curable.

"You know, I should really call family planning and get myself some EZ-EC! My doctor told me that women in their forties are always shooting off eggs and that's why you see all of these older women with happy accidents. I'm either going to wind up pregnant or with an STD", she says.

I agree with her and laugh some more. EZ-EC, is that just funny to me? That's like EZ-Cheese.

"Can't you just see it? Good Morning America... a midwestern woman is going to be a mamma with twins and a grandma! She and her 23 year old daughter both got knocked up New Year's Eve,"she rattles.

"Yeah, and if you're shooting off all of those eggs, it could be like puppies, you know, a different sire for each pup", I say, "What a scandalous paternity nightmare!"

We laugh some more. She says she could never do it, be a mom again. I personally think she'd be an amazing mamma again, but I think she'd miss her cocktails too much.

She has this really nice next door neighbor who is always doing little things for her. She won't take a chance on him. He brings her bottles of his homemade wine and shovels for her sometimes. An hour into our conversation she mentions that he just brought her some cookies.

"I guess I better go and fuck him", she deadpans.

I laugh so hard I ALMOST pee my Nick & Nora's.


sex, one night stand, emergency, birth control, wild, girl, humor, new year