Gramma Loves



So I went to see the movie, 3:10 to Yuma this weekend. Super good movie. Very thought provoking and full of insight into the lives of men. Not a lot about women, but that’s okay. What little there was about women was good. But I like the study of men. There was a serious struggle on the part of one of the main characters, played by the most excellent and superb Christian Bale. A father whose son sees him as a weakling. As a man who is unwilling to fight in the way the boy thinks a man should. And in the course of the story, the boy finds out a lot about the hardness of life. Russell Crowe is wonderful, as was expected. And full of his own demons (and angels). Highly recommended by the cathouse.

Got a call yesterday morning that my baby (The Sweet Light That Shines) was in the hospital. Her tummy was hard and distended and they discovered she had three days worth of food in her system. Not a good thing. They took x-rays. The nurse said to her, “We’re going to take a picture of your belly, okay?” Bryn says, “Oh goodie!” (Loves having her picture taken.) Nurse says, “Go stand over there and we’ll take the picture.” Bryn says, “Stand on the square?” “Yep.” (Anyone who has been around my blog for long, knows how fucking seriously Bryn takes her fucking shapes!) She stands on the square and says, “Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez!”

Then the doctors and nurses tortured her for awhile, taking blood tests and stool samples and inserting catheter and giving enemas. Poor thing. Makes me cry. I asked her mommy if she was scared and she said, “Yes, she’s was crying a lot.” Then went on to tell me that, at one point, they wanted to take another picture of her tummy, but she had to lie down on a table this time and a machine was going to roll over top of her. This upset her immensely and she didn’t want to cooperate. The nurse said, “If you sit still for the picture, I’ll give you as many of these stickers as you want!” Bryn says, “Can I have three of them?” (God love the little children. They think three is a lot.) Nurse says, “Of course you can have three!” Bryn adds, “Because I’m three!” And then, “Can I have the princess sticker? Because I’m a princess! Huh, mom, I’m a princess.. huh?” (nodding)

And she is. A real princess. Which is cool. We all think our daughters and granddaughters are princesses, but this one really is. So there.

She's okay now. Her mommy took her home after about twelve hours in the hospital. (They got her all cleaned out.) They wanted to keep her a little longer, just to be sure she was eating okay. Mommy said, "I can do that at home." I wish I was a brave mommy like that when I was her age. I thought doctor's were the bosses of me back then.

Also, if you all recall, a few months ago my other baby (The Precious Pearl) was going to move in with me, but events went a different direction. Now, plans are in order to get The Sweet Light and her mommy moved in with me at the end of November. Yay us!

POSTSCRIPT: BrynLeigh's daddy (Jake) just found out today that his wife is having a boy. I told Bryn's mommy (Tiny) and she advised Bryn that she's gonna have a baby brother. Bryn said, "It's my brother not yours, k?"

Can't You Hear the Angels Callin'?

So yeah, I'm not really gracious at all. For instance, I have been exposed to the web world for a number of years. My profiles say that I'm in a relationship. Yet I still get contacted by men who say, "yr my kind of women u want a fuck buddy?"

I have a myspace account. All my old-school IT friends turn their noses up at me. They say myspace is for perverts and lame-ass uncreative people who don't know enough to make their own web pages. Well, it's entirely possible that I fit into BOTH of those categories.

But my experience with myspace has been very positive. Even though I still get the idiotic messages asking for a poke. Here is what I recently added to my profile, in hopes of deterring said messages.
Calling all dumbfucks! If you are a dumbfuck and perusing my profile, by all means, please do ignore the fact that I am in a relationship and send me a message advising me that you are looking for a woman. It goes over very well with me.

Not exactly gracious. Hee.

I started up a Myspace account at the prompting of my youngest son. But it turned out to be a really neat way to keep in touch with my nieces and the young people I know, as well. I have spent a life around young people. Honestly. I didn't mean for it to be this way. When I was a young woman of eighteen or twenty, I would walk by children playing and just shudder. I mean shudder! I did NOT want to have THOSE in my life. Apparently, the powers-that-be had other plans for me. I mean yes, I did get pregnant. And I had no problem at all being happy about the pregnancy. And I adored that child. Still do. I got pregnant two more times, even! Once, on PURPOSE! Sheesh! But just because you have kids, doesn't necessarily mean you have to HAVE kids! My house is where the kids of the neighborhood hung out. My house is where working mothers brought their sick children when the daycare wouldn't take them. My house is where the parties were. Where the moms gathered for coffee, while the kids played in the back yard. My house was kid central!

I really loved all of those children. As I got older, my kids got older, right? But my damn friends would keep having kids! So there were always babies to rock. Toddlers to enjoy. And now that my friends aren't having children any more, my children are having children!

And I swear to you, when I walk down the street, if children see me, they follow me like I'm the fucking pied piper! God put some sort of mark on me. Maybe it's a sign that says, "Kick me," I dunno.

I know women who are mothers of grown children who say things like, "Wow! Look at that baby! It's been so long since I've taken care of a baby, I don't think I'd know how!" I have never uttered those words. Once, a friend came over to my house. My kids were all teens at the time and off doing their own thing. Her little four-year-old was bouncing around, being all precocious and darling. My friend says to me, "Don't you miss having little ones around?" I answer, "When exactly would I miss it?"

So back to Myspace. I knew many young people. When I got a divorce, most of their parents shunned me. So my auntie relationship with those kids disappeared. Until they found me on Myspace. :)

Now I enjoy that contact. These young people have helped me through some very hard times. They alway tell me how much they love me and how I rock and what a lovely inspiration I am to them! Food for the soul... food for the soul...

Clearly, in the plan, it was for my benefit that all of these were put into my life. I suppose they benefit, too. But I think I'm getting the best end of the bargain.

Por Ti Volare

I won't be posting for a few days. I think the sweet woman in this story deserves AT LEAST that from me. If you visit, it will be the same old sorrowful thing.

For you I'll fly
When I live alone
I dream of a horizon
with no words.
In the shadow and amongst lights
for my sight it's all black
if you are not with me . . . here.

You
in your world
separated from mine by an abyss.
Hear
call me
I'll fly
to your distant world.

For you I'll fly.
wait for me I'll arrive
my trip's end is you
for living it we two.
For you I'll fly
by skies and seas
up to your love.
Opening the eyes at last
with you I'll live

When you are far
I dream of an horizon
with no words.
And I know that you are always there, there
a moon made for me
always illuminated for me
because of me, because of me, because of me . . . *

For you I'll fly
wait for me I'll arrive
my trip's end is you
with you I'll live.

For you I'll fly
by skies and seas
up to your love.
Opening the eyes at last
with you I'll live.

For you I'll fly
by skies and seas
up to your love.
Opening the eyes at last
with you I'll live.

For you I'll fly . . .

The Sorrows of Hell Compassed Me About


This is my son, Jake. He is a very special person. He is attuned to the world in an intense way. I wish that everyone could comprehend his specialness. But that is the way of specialnesses, right? It’s hard to understand BECAUSE it’s special. He's also the daddy of the swinging princess in the picture down below.

I love this picture of him, because it expresses so much of his capacity to feel. In it, he seems both desperate and hopeful. It’s a hard job feeling all the feelings of the world.

And if you could hear him play Clare de Lune on the piano, it would bring you to tears. My favorite is always Canon in D, though. I swear, in my darkest days, if he played that for me it would fill my soul.

If music be the food of love, play on!

Anyway, I’m sad today. And I feel like that picture of Jake.

Recently, I met a friend of my son (the other son). A very nice young man. Brady will soon be working with him. I met him when I was down south a week and a half ago. While we were talking, he started telling me about his mom and what she does. His eyes shined so brightly while talking about her. “She sells jewelry,” he said. And then he showed me some of her pieces. He got her on the phone to check to see if he could sell me certain pieces or if she could order one I wanted that wasn’t displayed. It just struck me how much he admired his mother and what she does.

And then Brady tells me today that she died in a car accident over the weekend.

Let the tears fall.

Good Stuff, Maynard



Okay, apparently they couldn't fit it onto one. (??) What the fuck do I know. I'm the retard, remember? Still worth it, even pieced together. I dun-wanna-nuther YouTube window here. So here's the thingy. (Say, "Thanks, retard." And then say, "Good night, Gracie.")

You Can't Make This Shit Up

I once met a man who had been unhappily married for thirteen years. He said to me, "I wish I had met a woman like you thirteen years ago!" I said, "I wasn't even a woman like me thirteen years ago!"

Got a phone call one day at the office. When I told the man on the other end of the line what my name was he said, "Are you related to the Ahlstroms from Salt Lake City?" I said, "No, my grandparents didn't have any children that lived."

Another time, I got an obscene call at that same office. The man on the phone said, "I want to see three women sexually satisfying one another." I said, "Well who doesn't???!!"

I have a friend who is in his fifties. He's in great shape. A young man once said to him, "Man, I hope I look as good as you do when I'm your age!" My friend replied, "You don't look as good as I do NOW!"

I've spent a fair amount of time pleasuring men. One man said to me, "You are every man's dream!" I laughed and said, "I don't want to be every man's dream. I want to be one man's reality."

To those who are in pain today, emotionally, spiritually or physically. The thing about life ~ If you're gonna live it, you're gonna feel it!


My nieces and their friend, George.
May all of you have as lovely a weekend as they seem to be having here!

Wordy Wednesday


Little Lexi Jade (my five-month-old granddaughter)


SO, I am sorta bugged that either a) no one watched that hilarious no-rack video on my last post or b) the hilarious no-rack video was watched and no one commented on it (which is beyond believing!)

I realize everyone was overwhelmed by shots of my rack (which rack would depend on your sexual preference ~ kitchen wizards are ... well we won't go into what sort of sexual preferences they have).

So get to it, people!

BST!!!

Warning: Do not read this post if you don't like pornography!

So, Purrty Jami and I were talking about body shots. The conversation ranged from jello shots to the generic (hardly generic!) salt and lime with tequila body shots I enjoyed with a few fellas in Park City. NO, I won't be relating that story here.

But all of this really started when I showed Jami a picture of my rack. I've had many requests for a picture of my rack, so for your entertainment (and you didn't even have to ask!) here it is:




Yes, I love my rack. It's very useful, as you can see. Holds my microwave. It's important to be able to heat things up! And it's also very pretty, when adorned with flowers.

The truth is, though, that this really really all started when I sent Purrty Jami (whom I also refer to as Jammie or Jammies) a close-up photo, via text messaging, of my bosom. This picture was entitled, "Jammie Shirt," because I purchased this shirt in the Jammies department but I wear it as a shirt in public! Can you imagine that! I had also shared photos of my feet, face and hand with Our Miss Jenn of Holland on another day. So Jami and I decided to start a new blogging trend. You know, you've heard of Soap Opera Sunday (SOS) and Wordless Wednesday (WW) and Half Nekkid Thursday (HNT) ~ well... this is Body Shots Tuesday! (You can get drunk for this, too, if you like ~ isn't that nice of me to give you permission ~ or, as I like to say, purrrrrrrmission!)

Without further adieu, ladies and gentleman, in the soon-to-be tradition of BST, here is my "Jammie Shirt!"




















AND this is my last-friday-shirt, sometimes called "The Oo La La Shirt."


Now, while I was wearing the last-friday-shirt, I drove to Southern California. I was there to get laid. And to move out of my place I've been renting down there. Not necessarily in that order, but yes, it was in that order. Now it's true I can get laid anywhere, ne c'est pas? But not like that! Non non, mon ami!

(Don't start answering me en Francais! I don't speak French!)

Anyway, the point is that I moved out of yet ANOTHER place. My boyfriend met me two years ago. I have moved eight times since then. I think. Seriously, I've lost count. He has never once said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

But no matter how many times I move, I have this feeling of melancholy on that last day of departure. There is a line in a song from the movie, "Evita," which always comes to mind at that moment and I feel exactly like that. In fact, I feel like that whole song. So I'm posting the lyrics here. If I was smart like you guys, I would just put the fucking song here, but noooooooooooooooooooooooooo... it's two a.m. and I just don't feel like figuring that out now.

Another Suitcase in Another Hall

I don't expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it -- wouldn't you?

Time and time again I've said that I don't care
That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through
But every time it matters all my words desert me
So anyone can hurt me--and they do

Call in three months time and I'll be fine I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion
But that's no consolation--here and now
So what happens now?

Another suitcase in another hall
Take your picture off another wall
You'll get by, you always have before

Where am I going to?


(My blues-y lounging picture while listening to and pondering the song.)

Now we can only hope that our ladies mentioned above will follow suit, and then the rest of you, I would expect!

Get creative! Don't do dumb "rack shots" like Teri did on the first day!

*Update: So Miss Jenn found some YouTube videos of the song. You can view either or both or neither! It's up to you to figure out which one is so very expressive of the serious melancholy mood I was trying to share. I had to let Jenn advise me how to embed them. Yes, we were embedding at two a.m.! We got pretty turned on.

(There are no racks in the second video.)




I Love To Go A-Wandering

I was driving southbound on the 5 freeway in Los Angeles yesterday evening at around six p.m. This is crazy, you say? Of course it is. And I make this 450 mile trip at least twice a month! As I drove I watched the people around me. I saw a car going the other direction in which one man (passenger) was laughing uncontrollably and talking on a cell phone. The other man (driver) was completely stoic and looking straight at the road ahead. I thought, Hmm… those two men are having entirely different experiences here in the traffic today. I resisted the sudden urge to yell at the man driving, “Sucks to be you!”

As I drove, and watched everyone get all fucked up and frustrated because they can’t seem to get two or three cars further up in line, I began to wonder. Why is it that we get so angry when we’re stuck in traffic? Why, as two bloggers have recently pointed out, is a double drive-thru conducive to stabbings?

I was perfectly happy in my car, moving at a snail’s pace. But why? Well, I had great music on the stereo. I was comfortable. It was hotter than hell out there, but I had my A/C on. I had a full tank of gas. Now, don’t get me wrong! I was in a hurry, just like everyone else! I very much wanted to get where I was going! After all, I was gonna get laid! This is important to me! But I was okay right where I was, too.

So is that it? Are we all in a hurry to be anywhere but here? Can we not enjoy where we are any more? We seem to have never outgrown that impatient childish question, “Are we there yet?”

I’ve been a lot of places. Which means I’ve been on my way to a lot of places! My father taught me very early on that you should never wait for the merriment to begin when you get to your destination. You should start the fun when you leave the house. That too, is part of the pleasure. We have all read the quips about how it’s the journey that matters, not the destination. And we all know this is really a lie. If I’m getting all dressed up to go to a big event for which I purchased tickets months ago, I’m pretty sure that when I remember the evening, it won’t be the journey that stands out. But the journey can certainly be a part of the lovely, exciting or quirky story.

So here is my conclusion. I say we should just enjoy ourselves right where we are. Because we certainly can’t enjoy ourselves right where we are not! I’m tired of being in a hurry to get where I’m not. Over There is usually overrated anyway.

When Bloggers Collide

OMG! BFF! Don't ya love meeting your blogger friends? I met up last weekend with Vixen, of the Bad Girls Guide. This was our second meeting. She drove out to my town this time and we had a helluva time. It just makes me sad that EVERYONE couldn't be there.
Our Miss Jenn of Holland read Vixen's post and said, "Ooooooooooooo, shoes!" So I took a picture of the shoes I was wearing and here you go! Feet up on the desk and everything!

Vix calls me a shoe whore. I do have a fair amount of GORGEOUS shoes. But only because I have a gracious friend who loves to make me pretty. She's always been that way, even in high school. It's nice when you have female friends who are not in competition with you. I think women should love seeing one another shine.

When Our Miss Bad Girl showed up on Sunday, she was shining! She's a beautiful woman and was dressed in one of the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen. It was handcrafted in Nigeria and the bright blue and red was stunning. We drove around town a bit until we found a lovely little Indian restaurant. We spent hours there talking about very real life. My favorite subject.

So, when it comes to meeting our fellow blog-writers, I'd recommend Vixen very highly. A true pleasure of a meeting. You can visit her blog to see her take on the visit!

And I expect to see all of you at her blog and commenting quite frequently from now on! I'll be watching you!

No Mo' Pretty Teri ~ Mos' Def'

There’s something to be said for passion. I used to say that a lot. Mostly when Brady was three years old and I would be out in the front yard, talking with a neighbor. He would stop his playing and run up at me full force to hug me around the legs, nearly knocking me over! That was a passionate boy. He’s still that way. I had to stop the running-at-me-to-hug-me thing (since I knew he was bound to be over six feet tall), but he does it with his girlfriend (who is about five foot one and weighs about 97 pounds, soaking wet). She can take it, though. She’s a tough cookie. When their baby, Lexi, was born a month premature, the nurses would have her under the warm light and be beating her back with a little rubber pad to make sure her lungs were working. I would watch them doing this seemingly harsh thing to that baby who weighed just over four and half pounds and think, “Well, I guess it’s making her strong. Just like a baby giraffe.” Kick-kick-kick. “Get up! Get up and run! Before the lions get you!”

Brady also used to be behind me in the car, in his car seat, when he was less than a year old. He would be drinking his bottle and when it was empty, he would just THROW it. Not at anything specific, he just threw it. But I developed the habit of cringing and covering my head protectively as soon as I heard that end-of-the-bottle sound. At one point, I realized this was INSANE! What was I doing? I was frightened of an infant?? I decided to teach him to control this impulse.

Now, what do we do with our passionate impulses? Did anyone teach us to control them? I think it’s great to feel strongly about the things we believe in. But it’s a double-edge sword. We feel passionately excited about the positive things, and we are really really really really pissed off about the negative things that happen with the things we love. The scale is all over the place.

Let’s talk about the holocaust. Yep. People should have been outraged and reacted strongly to that. There should have been such an outcry from humankind that the earth shook. I think just about everyone agrees with this. People were dying and it was wrong. But what about abortion? War? Global warming? Should we be marching about grabbing people by the shoulders and shaking them saying, “WHY aren’t you doing anything about this??” We could say people are dying. We could say people will be dying.

I previously posted a comment by a reader who stated that (yeah I know I said we were going to be done with this, but we’re not!) when Natalie Maines made her statement about the Prez, she brought about confusion in the world about our country and caused the deaths of Americans. What? Fuckin’ hell.

Abortion doctors have been killed in the name of God to save lives. People have been burned at the stake, in the name of God again, in order to save souls. Soldiers are dying daily, in the name of ~ oh probably God again ~ in order to preserve life and freedom. Sheryl Crow jabs and grabs important people, in the name of um… I dunno… (starts with a Go__ … Al Gore? Hehehe) in order to save the earth.

So anyway, misplaced passions. How do we know when ours are defined thus? Well we really never do. We only know when others have gone wrong with theirs. Our own, we treat very delicately because our own precious egos are wrapped in them.

Just Bein' Pretty (And Dirty)

Yes, it's a terrible thing when a girl like me starts thinking. In fact, it should be against the law. So enough of that!

I'm sitting in bed eating crackers. I have a feeling I will regret it. No matter how careful you are SOME crumbs get under those god damned covers! You could go around and seal them tight enough to bounce a coin off of them. As soon as you sit on top with a handful of crackers, the crumbs start crawling off the plate and searching for the smallest little opening to sneak through. Then, when sleeping that night, your entire bed could be crumb free ~ but if you roll over onto one or two of those microscopic things that sneaked in, it will suddenly be impossible to sleep! The princess and the pea? Pah! The queen and the crumb, I tell ya! ONE little crumb can make for a sleepless night! And just brushing the sheets off won't do. Even undoing the bed and shaking every article before making the bed doesn't work, either. They have GOT to be washed all over again. It's the only remedy.

So, why then, am I eating crackers in bed? I think I mentioned that my bed is the only piece of furniture in the house, because I insisted on spending a ridiculous amount of money on it.

The floor then? Are you kidding? I only sit on the floor when there is company over for dinner and we serve in the empty living room! Sheesh! Do you know nothing of etiquette?

So I was thinking about conservation. Honestly, this word and me have pretty much nothing to do with one another. We are not even acquainted, let alone friends~

I read a quote by Cameron Diaz (yes, her again!) in which she is responding to the question of what contribution she makes toward conservation. She says, "I turn off the water when I'm shaving my legs."

I'm with Cam!

And here's a little chuckle for ya:

Shut Up and Sing

To speak or not to speak. That is the question.

I do NOT like to promote political talk here. Although I love a good debate! I made the mistake of wandering across that line in my last post and I would like to address some of the responses here. People are free to rant in the comment section here, but after this, we will let this subject lie, like a sleeping dog. Maybe. Probably.

Brad K. said:

About the Dixie Chicks... I served in the US Navy. And it seems to me that making a statement against the President, overseas, from an entertainment stage, ignores a lot of lessons learned. Natalie's statement surely created confusion among allies, weakened the President's ability to serve and protect America. She also increased the probability that foreign forces would shoot and kill American soldiers, and increased the number of Americans in uniform and civilian that would be killed overseas.

There are ways to prosecute attacks and complaints about our government that don't endanger American service men and women. The Dixie Chicks didn't use one of them.


I would expect no other opinion from an ex military man. You can take the man out of the military, but you can't take the military out of the man.

I grew up in that environment and I know it very well. I do not at all agree with what Brad K. says. I also don't agree with Sornie and Soccer Mom that you must vote in order to have the right to complain. I believe just the opposite is true. If you agree to participate in the voting process, then you agree to accept the outcome. If you remove yourself from that process, then you are not bound by that acceptance clause. But I will defend to the death anyone's right to speak their own passionate conscience. (When my children were at home, they were welcome to disagree with me. But all complaints had to be in writing. This cut the complaints WAY down! Hehehe.)

I would never begrudge someone their right to be strongly supportive of the war and George W. Bush. I would also never begrudge someone their right to be strongly against the war, as well as George W. Bush, etc.

My point was not that we should agree or disagree with what someone believes (and says in public or private, in country our out of country) but to stand beside them as fellow humans and say, "Give me liberty, or give me death!"

You may view my short article from some time past here ~

The Dixie Chicks

Georgia On My Mind

I was gonna say George, but I like Georgia better.

2020 Presidential Candidate Diesel McPhlanigan (I think that's the best last name for a Diesel) has got me thinking about voting. Well first Hillary and Bob Loblah (that one guy) got me thinking about voting.

I've been listening to chatter in the background. The things people say. It does often amaze me that people let such things pour out of their mouths. Sort of like the day I was attending a local Baptist gathering in Southern California, when I heard member after member shout the plaintive cry, "Why, oh why, do we have to let all of these Mexicans live in our country? And seriously, why would we have to educate their illegal children?" They were right. I think we should throw out every single person in the country who is of foreign descent. And if we can't, then the least we can do is make sure that their children are not in school, but on the streets where they belong! Oh wait. The Mexicans were here before we were. Or at least before I was! Dammit, now I have to leave! Or toss my children to the streets.

Yes, I'm sure Diesel's Jesus quote was very close, only I think it was more like, "You will always have the poor with you, but be sure you keep them out of your country."

It's good to be a Christian.

ANYWAY, sorry to have gotten off track. The chatter I've been hearing has been like this:

1. If you don't vote, that's fine (which it's not ~ anyone who doesn't vote will tell you that no one tells them that it's fine) but you will have no right to complain about the elected leaders!

2. The Dixie Chicks had no right to bad mouth the president. They voted, and the one they picked didn't win. They need to accept it and stop complaining!

So which is it? If you vote you don't get to complain or if you don't vote you don't get to complain? I'm thinking the message is, "Sit down and shut up!" Which is of course the most American of messages, right?

Silly me. I always thought the American message was to speak up.

Vote for Diesel

Farrah Moans

I attended a sex toy party while I was in Utah. Yep, right there in the middle of one of the most conservative spots in the entire country. (The C-Spot, if you will.) The next day, there was an article in the paper about the swarm of these parties sweeping the state. They said that there are so many children being born there that we can only assume that SOMEBODY is having sex! I told my Slumber Parties “sex consultant” that this was a good thing, since I once read (via Kevin Bacon) that the key to a lasting relationship is to “keep the fights clean and the sex dirty!”

They offered up all sorts of “romance enhancements.” One of them being bottled pheromones. The next day I received a text message from my sister that she used her “farrah moans” and couldn’t keep her honey-pie’s hands off of her! This is my clever sister. Once I was trying to check the volume control on my hands-free cell phone device. I called her and asked her to start talking so I could do some adjustments. I realize that as soon as you say this, people clam up, so I came up with a suggestion. “Recite the Gettysburg address to me while I work on this.” A moment of total silence. During which I remember that my sister knows as much about history as I do about nunnery! But she’s a trooper. Without a word of complaint she began…. “Fourscore and seven years ago… our Father, who art in heaven… indivisible… with liberty and justice for all… oh, and the home of the braves.” I could have died laughing.

Off the subject, I am tired of getting warnings via email. Warnings about everything under the sun. From “don’t walk alone on the streets at night” to “always wear a space suit when going to the moon.” I received a warning today from a very dear friend of mine. I do hope she doesn’t read this. :) This warning was about the dangers of using your cruise control on wet or icy roads. Are you fucking kidding me? Anyone who has ever actually driven under such conditions knows that the KEY to controlling your vehicle is CONTROLLING YOUR VEHICLE! No, no… let’s let the car control itself… that should do the trick! I mean really… the car wants to remain intact as much as I do, right? WRONG! The car LOVES to hydroplane. Loves, loves, loves it. It’s fun! And if anyone tells me that they have made this mistake, I’m gonna slap them fuckin’ silly!

Utah, Oh Utah, You Four-Letter-Word

Hello from the land of Zion! I'm so sorry to my friends out in blogland for my absence. I KNOW how awful it is when someone seems to be on the dark side of the moon! It's been a trip full of stress, some good and some bad. But, I am leaving here day after tomorrow and will get back to at least a small amount of normalcy.

Thanks for your patience, everyone ~ for not forgetting about me! :)

Love and Hugs to all.

Okay fine. Here's a little something anyway. While out one night ~ in CLEARFIELD UTAH, of all places (Saturday, to be specific-er) ~ we met the comedian Jim Gaffigan. Here's a picture of him chatting with my niece. (It's an awful picture of him. He's plenty good looking in real life.) He and his friend bought us a couple of rounds of drinks. Very nice guy. Down to earth and friendly. Didn't behave like a drunken party animal or anything! (Which he could easily have gotten away with, since we were acting just LIKE that!)

Paddling on the Potomac

Ah, this is the life. I'm visiting a friend who lives in Alexandria. We left from the marina and, once anchored, we dropped into the river on little chairy rafts. One fella was so cute, he would just pull us in by our ropes and refill our champagne glasses. Total ya-ya day. Fun in the sun.

Thanks so much to everyone for leaving your well wishes! It's odd to be so out of touch with my blog world. We're going back to Hampton today for a couple of days and then off to Utah for my REAL vacation. I'll be stopping by from time to time when I can. I'll expect someone to fill my glass. :)

Hampton

Two weeks. :)

This Is Not About Diesel

There's a man in the apartment building who walks his dog. I see him often in the elevator. He has a weenie dog. Yeah, I know what they're REALLY called, but this man is such a weenie, that I have to call his dog a weenie, too. ANYWAY, every single god damned fucking time I've seen this man, his dog wants to lick my feet. And the man spends he entire time in the elevator telling the weenie not to do that. Doesn't say a word to me. Just keeps telling the dog to stop it. The dog does not even pretend to start stopping. And it occurred to me that this man constantly gives commands to his dog and the dog never listens. "Ginger... blah blah blah blah..."

Comedians have something to say...

No, seriously! They do! They are not kidding around!
Even Diesel has something to say! Go visit him at his mattress place!

As for me, I'm going to dinner.
BUT, as a comedian, I have something to say.

A man who loves money more than he loves his woman is an idiot!

That's all for now.

Love to all (as in Tiny Tim love.. Dickens' Tiny Tim, not the weird singer guy)

No, wait! That's not all for now!
I'm gonna be a grandma again! So there!

Which Way Is Up?

Don't you think it's strange that people are willing to pay $20 plus per hour to someone to clean their house and they want to pay only $10 per hour to take care of their precious children? I always thought this was odd. My daughter sometimes babysits for a friend who pays her at LEAST $20 per hour to watch her son. She explains it just that way. "Why would I pay her less than I pay someone who is just cleaning my earthly possessions? He is the very most important thing in the world to me~!" No shit. That lady is right on.

So I was looking at a picture of my boyfriend today and it made my mouth water. Yes, he was fully dressed. Good thing I'm seeing him on Friday.

Sex, sex, sex all weekend. Then to the East Coast on Monday to work at our office out there for a couple of weeks (That's my birthday ~ I'll take sex for my present). Then to hit Utah for a few days on my way back here to the West Coast. So you'll just see me in snatches. (hehehe.. I said snatch..)

Let me see if there is a fun picture to post here. Hmmmm... no, you don't get to see my boyfriend. Some of you lucky few have seen him, though! Um...........

Okay, Marilyn. Who doesn't like to look at Marilyn?

Pieces of Eight

A bad, bad boy rag-ama-tagged me. He knows better, too. :) But was so sweet of him to think of me, so I’m gonna let him get away with it. HOWEVER, rebel that I am, I shan’t be passing the tag on. So I assume that causes me to remain IT.

Eight Random/Idiotic Facts About Me Me Me:

Un) I’m obsessed with pens. So much so that, when I see someone writing with what looks like a smooth writing instrument, I want to snatch it out of their hands! I hate pencils and will only write with a pencil under great duress. I will write with a strawberry before I will write with a pencil!

Deux) If my bra and panties don’t match, I am quite put off. This is why I usually only buy white or black. Recently, I was forced to buy several colors because my favorite brand is now discontinued. (This always happens to me.) So you can now see why I’ve been put off a lot lately. It really pisses me off, too, that when I buy a bra from Victoria’s Secret, they rarely have panties to match. I fuckin’ hate that. It should be against the law. They have stupid panties anyway.

Trois) I hate chewing gum. If you ever see me chewing gum, it is probably because it’s some kind of bubble gum that I can’t resist putting in my mouth, but I almost immediately remove it because I hate how gum feels after it’s begun being chewed. And I think people can look really, really stupid if they are chewing gum and have been guilty of actually judging people based on that fact alone. Obviously, I don’t judge everyone that way, because almost every single person I know and love chews gum and offers it to me constantly and have never figured out that I hate gum, even though I always say “no” and sometimes even add, “I don’t chew gum.” Hehehe. I can relate to this, though. Because my sister has plainly stated that she hates coffee for years, but we still offer it to her.

Quatre) Even though I am the epitome of femininity in my style, I don’t wear earrings. In fact, I own a very small amount of jewelry. And what I do own is good jewelry. I am normally only wearing one bracelet and that’s it. A few men have purchased jewelry for me, one of them an engagement ring. He asked what I wanted and I said I didn’t care, as long as it was real and he picked it out. A male friend of mine once asked if I thought a woman would mind if, instead of a genuine tiny diamond, he bought her a very large and dazzling cz. I replied, “I don’t know, would you rather have a dazzling, fake woman or a simple, genuine one?”

Cinq) I wear my fingernails very, very short, with clear polish. I started doing this when I had small babies at home and found myself accidentally scratching them when changing their diapers. When they got older, I tried to start wearing longer nails again, but everyone I knew kept having babies, and so I’ve kept them short. Now I keep them short because when I give my boyfriend backrubs, I like to not give him puncture wounds in his flesh! (And my toenails are ALWAYS painted pink.)

Six) I would pay ten dollars per gallon for gas if they would pump it for me at the station.

Sept) You will never hear me say that I’m on a diet.

Huit) I don’t believe in the word, “please.” If you do see/hear me use it, it’s usually just for dramatic effect.

Speaking of babies…


A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankrolls smaller, homes happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten and the future worth living for.

What's the Buzz?

Hey y'all. I loved your sweet comments! I do adore my children and yes, my daughter is quite the hottie! Too bad for the men that she's also smart. Purrty Jami asked if she uses the word "fuck" conversationally, and I would say yes. Doesn't everyone?

I've had a whirlwhind weekend, visiting Southern California and all. Arriving back here on Monday and taking off for a tour of Alcatraz that evening. Then shopping all day in San Francisco yesterday, where a good time was had by all. I'm just kidding, who the hell likes shopping? Who invented that as a fun thing to do? When I got to bed last night, those last few stumbling steps that landed me on my bed felt like I was surely weighing hope against hope that I would never have to wake again! Holy hell! I don't even like people, and I just spent several days doing everything I could to be where the people are!

You can be sure that today won't be a parade day for me.

But the company I was in made it all worth it. I found some nifty way that this lovely concept was expressed much better than I can do it!

I read an old post by Brad K regarding romantic notions on Valentine’s Day. I liked what he had to say about how romantic expectations are not mature, adult feelings. His concluding line, stating his idea of how to spend that day, is something I'd like to commit to memory.

Just one more day celebrated in each other’s company and regard.

The Light in the Darkness

Here's my beauty.

I got to spend some time with her yesterday. We all went to the Charthouse in Malibu, which was quite lovely. (How could it not be!)

I talked her into letting me take her picture in front of the fountain-in-the-wall at the entrance.

Daughters don't get any better than this one! (Even in that uncomfortable moment when one of our dinner guests mistook my boyfriend to be with my daughter instead of me! I didn't correct the guest, but the look on my face made Erin have to walk away for fear she'd laugh much too hard and ungraciously reveal the faux pas!)



There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing. ~ Wm. Shakespeare

Okay, I Am a Retard

It's almost midnight and my brain finally feels sorta clear. I realize now that my post was very confusing because, who are all those people?

I have three children. We are of mainly a scandinavian background.

#1 Son is Jake, soon to be 26. He is recently married. He is pictured with his new wife whose name is Mrs. Peterson. :) I really do know her name, but she loves this one so much. Jake is the father of BrynLeigh, the Maori princess who loves her bunny. Her mother (Jake's ex-girlfriend) is my Tiny, whom I adore. Tiny's mother's ancestors are from New Zealand. All of these previously mentioned people live in Northern Utah.

#2 Son is Brady, age 19. He is the father of Lexi. Lexi's mother is Laura, whose mother is of the Aztec heritage. (I just made that part up. Or at least I think I did.) He is a nanny, taking care of two boys who are a real handful, lemme tell ya! They live about an hour northeast of San Diego, but I am hoping he and his family will be moving up here soon!

#1 Daughter is betwixt the Sons. They are the stars and she is the moon. Erin is 22 years old living and loving and working in the Los Angeles area at, oh gosh so many jobs I can't name them... cocktail waitress, nanny, bookkeeper, the list goes on. These are current jobs. She is extremely diligent in her work ethic. There was a time when she had no car and had to walk to find a job and walk to work and walk everywhere she went. She had blood in her shoes. (Yes, she had to wear real shoes once she started that lifestyle.) She has no children so I can't very well state where they come from, whether real or imagined.

The end. (Or the beginning, depending on how you look at it!)

I'm Not a Retard

So today I have a migraine. This is the me that people see when they walk into my office. (I think I'll keep the sunglasses on all day long.)

Thought I'd post a little post about the littlies. (The word "littlies" comes to us by way of Rebecca. Hi Rebecca!)

The oldest of my littlies got married on June 19. He called and said, "Mom, I'm getting married!" I said, "Okay, honey." And so he did.

People might think it's foolish. I'm no big fan of marriage, as you all know. But sometimes it just makes sense. She is happy to be his wife and he is happy to be her husband. I stopped thinking in terms of forever a long, long time ago. (Forever ago, in fact!) So here is the darling couple.



And then, this is the princess (with her Bunny). She really is a princess. She is from the Maori tribe called Ngai Tahu. Her mommy is my beautiful Tiny.



And then there's Littlie Lexi and family.




I don't have a picture of the middle of my littlies. Well yeah, I probably do. It's a few years old and she's kinda hammered after driving all night from Southern Cali to Utah, but it's cute. (She ain't really into wearing real shoes. Even in the snow!)


All typos are to be forgiven. I have a headache. And I'm not a retard.

Why Bother?

Seriously.

I could spend all night typing my little fingers to the bone,
but if this Brilliant Woman says it all better than I can,
why bother?

Smooches, Embar! You're my hero... uh... ine... heroine!

Okay fine!
A couple of swimsuit pics, too!

What a babe!

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone!





There has been some questioning over who this hot babe is. Why, she's my granddaughter, Alexa Jade!

And this here is Little Lexi's Mommy!
Someday, when I grow up, I wanna be not-a-retard so I can post a few pictures without going through seven kinds of hoops!

Quick Post Script on the subject of "texting" ~ I do not have textual conversations with very many people. Yes, I'm fairly good at being speedy, but that's just cause I'm speedy that way! I was great, actually, at using the predictive text and then I got this new phone that flips sideways and has a keyboard. Well that's just fine and dandy, except that my fingers are the ones who know where the keys are, and guess what? My fingers don't fit on that fuckin' keyboard! Anyway, texting is mostly just fun for sending a quick (or down and dirty) message to someone. It is something that is hard to get used to. I taught a friend of mine how to do it, and after about ten minutes of watching her work hard at it, she turned to me and said, "Well I sent you a message. I was trying to say hi, but I think I wound up saying G4!" Ah well, at least she tried! :)

Oh Say Can You Say?

Bro’s Before Ho’s
Sistah’s Before Mistah’s
Pals Before Hals
Chicks Before Dicks
It’s not who you know, it’s who you blow!
Wait… that’s not the subject.

So I was thinking. (Oh no! Not again!)
... after having visited sistah susie’s blog and hearing her complain about SOMEONE not answering her text messages. I’ve heard this complaint a lot from women. And you know what the weird thing is? When I send a text message to these SAME women, they don’t fuckin answer me back! (This is not directed at sistah susie, because I ain’t never had a texting relationship with her.)

But what the hell is that? I mean I have sat with women just sobbing… I mean sobbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbing……… Because so and so “hasn’t answered my special text that was just for him!” I will say something like, “Well maybe he’s busy, or maybe he doesn’t like texting!” And she will invariably say, “How hard can it be to just say ‘ok’ or just let me know he got the message??!!”

Uh, yeah bitch! How hard CAN it be??
I don’t like being ignored any more than you do!

So guess what? While I am typing this, my coolest girlfriend ever is texting me pictures of shoes, so that I can choose which ones she should buy me. She’s in Hawaii. She really is the best kind of girlfriend. And she never ignores me! Ever! But then again, we’ve known each other since we were 13, which was… wow… almost 35 years ago.

The point is, share the text-love! Make it a communicable disease!

And the other point is. Be kind to everyone you meet. You don’t have the market cornered on bad days.

Post Script: Texting really is a pain in the ass, as many of you have pointed out. Unless you know a lot of young people, which I do. Also, my boss is often more readily available via text because he's in the middle of many things. I don't blame people for not wanting to use the text portion of their phones. It costs extra. You can't do it (very well) while driving! And is it not enough that we have to answer phones and emails?? But, if I text you, you'd better fuckin' respond! :) Or what? Well ... or I'll be mad, that's what! So there!

Island Mentality

There's something about islands. Makes us move slowly. Enjoy the moment. Look up and smile at strangers as you pass them by.

I overheard a man at lunch today, complaining about the 25 mph speed limit we have all over the island. He said, "They should have ONE street that moves 45, so you can get across these little five miles in a reasonable amount of time!"

I thought, "Hmmm... like an island expressway! That might be cool!" And then I thought, "No. It wouldn't fit in with the island mentality."

There really is no reason to have such a low speed limit on some of these wide streets. But it seems to really slow people down. To make them resist the urge to hurry. It affects the entire community. I like it.

So I've already fallen in love with my little island.

I come home from lunch and pick up watching "In Her Shoes." I love the movie. But I was watching Cameron Diaz. She is someone I admire. She is just so... HER. I once read a quote where she said, in effect, that a woman shouldn't worry about whether or not she weighs too much or too little. She should just be strong. That is what makes a woman beautiful.

Now I know that she's acting in this movie. But you can't pull that off without having something. And at the end of the movie, as I watched Cameron dance away in the final scene, I realized, she is slow and sure and strong and free. Just like my little island.

What we women need to do, instead of worrying about what we don't have, is just love what we do have. ~ Cameron Diaz

The Wild Woman Archetype

I found this in an old post, while looking for something else. It is from Clarissa Pinkola Estes' book, Women Who Run With The Wolves. To explain the Wild Woman:

The archetype of Wild Woman resides in the guts, not in the head. She can track and run and summon and repel. She can sense, camouflage, and love deeply. She is intuitive, typical, and normative. She is utterly essential to women's mental and soul health.
She is the female soul. Yet she is more; she is the source of the feminine. She is all that is of instinct, of the worlds both seen and hidden -she is the basis.
She is intuition, she is far-seer, she is deep listener, she is loyal heart. She encourages humans to remain multilingual; fluent in the languages of dreams, passion, and poetry.
She is the voice that says, "This way, this way."
She is the one who thunders after injustice. She is the one we leave home to look for. She is the one we come home to. She is the things that keep us going when we think that we're done for.

To adjoin the instinctual nature does not mean to come undone, change everything from left to right, from black to white, to move the east to west, to act crazy or out of control. It does not mean to lose one's primary socializations, or to become less human. It means quite the opposite. The wild nature has a vast integrity to it.
It means to establish territory, to find one's pack, to be in one's body with certainty and pride regardless of the body's gifts and limitations, to speak and act in one's behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the innate feminine powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one's cycles, to find what one belongs to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as we can.

Blog Ratings

Hmm... wonder what my blog is rated? Is this a great mystery? Purrty Jami has a rating of NC-17. When I sent my father to read my Father's Day Message, he said, "I had to cross off three fucks!" ~ Hee hee.

So without further adieu! My blog rating!

What's My Blog Rated? From Mingle2 - Free Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

fucking (5x) sex (3x) hell (2x) fuck (1x)

(As if we didn't know.)

**KIDS, be sure and bring your parents when reading my blog!**

A Father Is As A Father Does

Quick note to all the single parents who have to be both mother and father. It’s a big and dirty job, and thank God you are doing it! Don’t faint. You know that your labor is of the noblest kind.

I have the father of all fathers. He never lets me down. Never. There have been many men in my life (and I mean MANY) who have professed their undying affection. Who went to great lengths to let me know that they want to know me deeply. They want to be my heart and soul and comfort and protection. Their great cry is, “I want to do things for you. You are so amazing and wonderful and beautiful and you’ve sacrificed so much for your family and friends. I want nothing more than to give you all the things you deserve that no one has ever given you!” Oh, and if I say something like, “Yeah right. I’ve heard THAT before!” They get all puffed up and say, “No, really! With me it’s true! I am not like the other men!”

I’m not fucking shittin’ you. As soon as I get sick or something, I get, “Oh, I don’t really feel like going out and getting you some medicine. There’s all that traffic and I just got off work and I’m tired and … blah blah blah blah fucking blah!” In the name of all that is holy, why oh why did you say you’d be my one and only? These are the men who, like my ex husband, said, “No one will ever love you like I do!” To which I say, “God, I hope not! That almost killed me!”

ANYWAY, my father has always been there for me. After the loser won’t go to the store to get my medicine, my father will. After the fucking asshole is too busy to pick me up when my car breaks down, my father will. (And so will my mother and sisters and friends.)

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’ve known many good men. (In fact I’m dating one!) But they are not the ones who make these great oh-me-is-so-wonderful announcements. They are just humble men who say, “Here’s me… I’ll be there when I can… after all, I’m only human.”

So there’s my dad. He’s done all the things a man can do to be a man. And I know that I don’t tell him I love him anywhere near enough. One father’s day, I sent him Dan Fogelberg’s song, Leader of the Band. These are the words that say it so well:

A quiet man of music
Denied a simpler fate
He tried to be a soldier once
But his music wouldn’t wait
He earned his love
Through discipline
A thundering, velvet hand
His gentle means of sculpting souls
Took me years to understand.

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through
My instrument,
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man.
I’m just a living legacy
To the leader of the band.

I thank you for the music
And your stories of the road.
I thank you for the freedom
When it came my time to go.
I thank you for the kindness
And the times when you got tough
And, papa, I don’t think I’ve said
I love you near enough –

I love you Daddy.

From Your Sweetheart #3

My Meagre Life

Now there's a word. It means "deficient in quality or quantity." My life is not deficient in either. But then again, some might think so. I am not wealthy, yet I am very rich. I have very little, yet I would be hard pressed to list the abundance. I grew up in a modest home, full of my mother's paintings. To me, that's just one small example of how rich I am.

So, here's the thing. I live in a two-bedroom place. There is not a bit of furniture in any room, except the bedroom. I already had a mattress set (queen-sized of course) but I was looking for a wrought iron frame for it. You'd think that I would spend the extra money I have this payday on at least buying a little furniture for... say... the living room. Or you'd think I'd save my money for the sake of emergency. But nooooooooooooo... I am of a mind that when you get home every day (even if you were gone only ten minutes) you should walk into your bedroom and say to yourself, "God, I love my bed!"

So today, I went shopping at the estate sale showroom mentioned in a previous post. I found a beautiful antique iron frame for my bed. It was a steal at six hundred and forty bucks. (Now remember, six hundred bucks in my world is a LOT of money!) It was delivered around 1 p.m. I made the bed and then went out for a bit. When I came home just now and walked into my room I thought to myself, "God, I love my bed!"

That's exactly what I was after. Remember, folks. The BED is the most important piece of furniture in your home! Here's a picture of mine. (Yes, the walls are all bare and the bedding leaves much to be desired, but that will come too, in time. And I am only going to have original art in my little dwelling. Hung from picture rails! I have fucking picture rails!)

Movie Quote

People should not be afraid of their governments.
Governments should be afraid of their people.

What Do Men Look At?

I don't really care. I don't dress for men. I dress for me. If I like how I feel wearing something, then I wear it. I suppose some women dress for men, but I've not heard of that as being generally true. What I hear is that women dress for other women. They know that men are fucking clueless about fashion, and a man is certainly happy just to know that you are naked under your clothes! Well I'm no fashion plate, so I don't dress for women either.


My OMG-LOL-BFF (she'll get a kick outta that) bought these shoes for me. We have matching pairs, but we don't wear them at the same time. (Of course it helps that we each live on different coasts!) Recently, we had occasion to spend a little time at a reception at the Capitol Building. You know THE Capitol Building. I was wearing some other shoes that my OMG-LOL-BFF had purchased for me to wear for that event. Very nice shoes. Quite comfortable. But also five-inch heels. After five hours on my feet, I was near fainting. I asked another attendee (a darling English woman) for directions to the ladies bathroom. She said, "Go down these stairs and... blah blah blah blah blah." I didn't hear the rest. All I heard was STAIRS. I said, "Oh, I won't make it if I have to take that many steps in these shoes." She said, "Well take them off." So I did. Before I walked away she added, "And next time, wear sensible, flat shoes. Men don't even see your shoes. They look at your eyes and your boobs!"

Too cute.

Skeleton Woman Defined

The story expresses the way that a man might find a “good catch” and get all caught up in thinking how this one will change his life! He’s now found the good thing he’s been waiting for. But it doesn’t take long to discover that what he thought was beautiful and promised great benefits for him might be ugly and scary deep down. A man always stumbles onto a woman’s deep darknesses at some point. And it usually scares the shit out of him! He will likely run. But really, when he runs to what he thinks is safety, he is still confronted with the problem that, in order to have the sweet things in life with a companion, he must see the tangled mess in a softer light. His tender untangling will find a great reward.

This is what I learned from a wonderful story-teller in her book. Her explanation is much better said and encompasses much more. I find this book to be an essential bible for the spiritual health and growth of the wild woman. Anyone who does not have a copy, let me know and I will PROMPTLY be sure you get one!

"A person who has untangled Skeleton Woman knows patience, knows better how to wait. He is not shocked or afraid of spareness. He is not overwhelmed by fruition. His needs to attain, to 'have right now,' are transformed into a finer craft of finding all facets of relationship, observing how cycles of relationship work together. He is not afraid to relate to the beauty of fierceness, the beauty of the unknown, the beauty of the not-beautiful. And in learning and working at all these, he becomes the quintessential wild-lover." (pp.158-159) ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes ~ Women Who Run with the Wolves

Skeleton Woman

There is a story told in folklore, set in Alaska. It is of a man who went fishing one day. He chose to fish in a secluded little cove which didn’t seem to be too often visited by other local fishermen. In fact, they never visited it. For they all knew the story. The story of a girl who fell in love with a boy from a tribe other than her own… many, many, many moons ago. And not just another tribe, but one at odds with hers. Her father forbade them to marry, but she snuck off in secret to do that very thing. Her father apprehended her in the midst of her escape and he took her and threw her off the cliff into that secluded little cove, to her death. The people had passed this story down through the generations, and no fisherman was to ever draw life from that water, as it was thought to be full of the evil of that terrible event. This poor fisherman knew it not. He didn’t have his line in the water long when he felt a great tug. Oh my! This had to be a big one! As he fought with the creature to bring it to the surface, his mind wandered to all the great riches this great catch would bring him. He had struggled for so many long and weary years. It would be great to have some relief. But as the creature came into view, he realized it was not a fish at all… it was a mass of bones and hair… and a skull! And it seemed the eyes of that skull were looking right at him! He panicked. He set his pole down in the boat and immediately rowed to shore, looking back to be sure that the monster was gone. But it wasn’t, as it was still attached to his pole! But, as it is with panic, he didn’t realize this. He just frantically rowed to shore, seeing behind him the dreaded thing bouncing on the water, appearing to chase him. Once on shore, he grabbed his pole and ran for home… again, looking over his shoulder to find that he was still being chased! He dove into the darkness of the little cave he called home and sat there panting, hoping the ordeal was over. He lit a candle and in the dim light, saw that the thing he had hooked was amassed in a pile in the corner. The soft light softened his fears and he approached and began to untangle the mess. He realized these were the bones of a woman and, after untangling her, he wrapped her in a warm fur and went to lie down on his bed to sleep. During his sleep, a tear escaped from his eye. She approached him and drank up the tear, drawing some life from it. She then put her hand on his chest and began singing a song to the beat of his heart. As she sang, all of her sinews and flesh and skin began to recover her body. And when she and the song were complete, she crawled under the covers and she and the man warmed one another. They warmed one another heart and body and soul for the rest of their lives.

(Anyone care to try to interpret that one?)

The Origin of Love


A musical. I saw the movie a good three years ago and have listened to the soundtrack a good thousand times. And I oft quote the lyrics here.

He was a young man by the name of Hansel. He lived in communist East Germany and had a childhood that could be called nothing short of “very troubled.” He was seduced by an American G.I., who persuaded him to have a sex change operation in order to become his wife and go to America with him. Hansel wanted so badly to escape to the other side of “that wall.” His mother convinced him that this was a very good idea and that in order to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself. (Little?) She gave him her passport and her name, Hedwig. Unfortunately, his sex change operation got botched, his guardian angel fell asleep on the watch! Now all he’s got is a Barbie doll crotch! He was left with a one inch mound of flesh. (Six inches forward, five inches back!) In short, he was left to function as neither a man or a woman. Yeah, this would piss anyone off. Made his inch kinda angry!

So he said bye bye to mommy and East Germany. Went to live in a trailer park with the lovely man he married, who lost no time in finding another playmate and left. Hedwig is left to sit and watch the tv, where the news is showing the Berlin wall coming down.

He looks back at his life and at the future he has before him. He ponders the woman he’s become and how the strangest things seem suddenly routine. He decides to delve fully into becoming the caricature version of a woman. Fine! You made me a woman, and I'll be a woman, God damn it! (Note: I choose to call Hedwig a “he” throughout the story, because I am under the impression that he never really felt he was a woman. I don’t believe he would have pursued a sex change operation. He would likely have been very happy as a gay man, but I don’t think he felt he was a woman, except in the sense that he was an amazing person who engendered both sexes beautifully. But I have to choose one! Our dear and purrty friend Jami, on the other hand, I refer to as a woman, since she is one. And likely, as Hedwig, an amazing person by any measure. She was interviewed and clarifies the transgender issue better than anyone I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot! I read her interview to my family when I was in Utah and they loved it.)

ANYWAY, embittered as he was, Hedwig moved on in the world of musical passion, maintaining a deep, albeit hidden, sensitivity. A truly gifted songwriter and performer, he obtained a cult following. As with many a slave who has become a tyrant themselves, Hedwig married a Russian woman who was desperate for help with her own citizenship, and used this to control her. He forced her to dress as a man, giving her the same bondage he found himself in. Victim begets victim.

Hedwig sings the song “Origin of Love” to express his belief that there is some half of him in the world that he has yet to find. It is an unbelievably moving song and is full of the philosophies/ideologies/theologies of several paths of thought. But the jumble makes sense. It’s based, for the most part, on the Platonic philosophy that we were once made of two. And God, or the gods, split us apart. This is the explanation for that desperate attempt we make in finding our other half.

Hedwig finds his other half in an agonizing young man who admires him and wants to absorb all he has to offer. This other half then takes the good stuff and runs. He takes the musical talent that Hedwig offered and makes a name for himself. A big name. And not only that, but a name that Hedwig, in his brilliance, gave him. Tommy Gnosis. Gnosis being the Greek word for knowledge.



In the climactic end of the movie, Hedwig must come to grips with the fact that he has become what he hates. He has twisted the beauty that lived in him into wretched bitterness. He realizes that it is important to be whole all alone. He lets the woman he has wrapped in masculinity free. He lets Tommy go. And then he is free.

Why do I love this movie? Is it not obvious? I am ever preaching freedom. I think that those who have been in chains have the greatest appreciation for freedom. I have come to appreciate the place where I am today. The freedom I have is not able to be taken away from me. You could tie me up, put me in a box wrapped in chains and send me to the bottom of the ocean, and I’d still be free.

And again, I refer you to Jami, from whom we have much to learn.

Sidenote: I adore John Cameron Mitchell, whose purrfection created Hedwig. I have mentioned him before, but I’m sure no one knew who he was, or even noticed. He’s a beautiful man, and makes a beautiful woman, too! (Sort of like Patrick Swayze, who is also a beautiful woman! Hee hee.) If you have not seen “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” I would suggest you do. And see "To Wong Foo" while you're at it! :)

Here is my JCM singing a casual version of "The Origin of Love." He's just so darling! I wanna kiss him! AND, thanks to Purrty Jami, here he is in all his Hedwigian glory singing the DVD movie version.

Next Up

Hedwig. Tune in later for the rest of the story. It will be long, so the faint of heart and mind (or tired of reading and thinking) should belay that request. (I just saw Pirates twice, so I'm using words like "belay.")

My Dear Vixen

Such a sweetie pie! And if we would just listen to her advice. Not necessarily her specific advice, in the sense that not everyone agrees with those tenets, but at least listen to the fact that we should all be aware of one another's boundaries. So that we may all live in peace. (Yes, Jenn, I got your message of peace at your blog... and I believe these little things are the only real way in which we can effect such a thing.)

So go visit my lovely friend's blog (I would post a link here, but good God! Let's face it! How fucking hard is it to go over to my blogroll and click on Bad Girls Guide?? I mean, why did I go to the trouble of doing that if I gotta make it so you don't have to move your mouse another six inches or so ~ six inches... hee hee ~ to click!) and see what her phone rules are. I have posted my twist on them here. (Her rules are in bold.)

Phone Etiquette for Dummies

1. Do not call me after 8pm.

Me: You can call me anytime you like, day or night. If I am busy, I won’t answer. If I’m asleep, I know how to turn the ringer off so that I won’t be disturbed. Likewise, if I’m at a social gathering, I still know how to turn the ringer off.

2. If you do call, and I don’t answer, leave a brief message with your name and number.

Me: If I don’t answer, do NOT leave a message if all you want me to do is call you back, because when I see the missed call, I’ll know that! There is no need for me to dial up my voicemail and run through that deal just to hear, “It’s me, call me” (Unless you’re my boyfriend, in which case, I love every syllable of every word you say, so you could tell me to go to hell and I’d probably enjoy it!)

3. If you decide to call me back later on, give specific time and day that you will be calling back and honor that time.

Me: If you are a man who is interested in dating me (or anyone else) and you say you will call at a certain time, you’d better do it. Vixen gives you a thirty minute window. I’ll give you about fifteen, tops. I agree with Rita Rudner’s account of what it means when a man doesn’t call you. It’s not because he lost your number or his phone is broken, or his arm is broken or he’s in a coma,… it’s because he didn’t want to call you! Plain and simple.

4. If I’m interested and decide to call you back or pick up when you call, after the first round of pleasantries, get straight to the point.

Me: I don’t even know what to do with this one. Hard to make this one a hard and fast rule.

5. When you do ask me out, suggest drinks, coffee or a lunch.

Me: If you want to meet me (again, if this is a dating situation, especially a first “get-to-know-you” date) then you’d better suggest dinner or lunch or at least drinks. I have NO interest in meeting you at Starbucks! If I wanted to stand at a counter and make my own coffee, I could fuckin’ do that at home!

6. If I don’t want to date you, I will tell you that I’m not interested.

Me: Amen to that, sistah! Game playing is for losers. So if you think I’m playing games, then I think you’re calling me a loser. Or you are calling yourself a loser, for wanting to date losers!

7. If you do manage to keep me on the phone after we have confirmed date information, please do not talk about your mother, your ex, your baby mama or any sexual innuendos.

Me: It amazes me the things people ramble on about that really do not suite the situation. I believe that if you don’t have something interesting or important to say, then you should never let anyone persuade you to say it!

8. If you do happen to be a great conversationalist and we actually have good phone chemistry, don’t think you should sit back, relax and assume you’re in like Flynn – because you’re not!

Me: I don’t know who Flynn is. :)

9. The standard first phone call should last no more than 10 minutes.

Me: Shoot, I’ve spent hours on first phone conversations. I dunno how to make a limit on that.

10. As soon as you see me trying to wind up the chat, surrender gracefully and we might talk again.

Me: Chat-winding-up seems to be hard for people to pick up on. I don’t really expect people (especially men) to be savvy about that. If I’m done talking with you, I am very capable of saying, “Bye bye now!”

But let’s go over a couple more things. It is NEVER appropriate to sit and chat on the phone while out with someone. Doesn’t matter who they are. Even if it’s your mom or your sister or your best friend. I realize that important calls come in. You might be on call. Or be expecting to hear that a baby is born, or that someone’s condition has changed at the hospital, etc., but that is not the sort of thing I’m talking about. If you get a call, there is nothing at all wrong with saying, “Yes, I want to talk with you, but I’m with some people at the moment, what would be a good time to call you back?” You get the drift.

It’s also NEVER appropriate to chat endlessly on the phone when others are in a car with you. Whether you are the driver or not. You hinder virtually everyone else in the near vicinity from enjoying anything at all. They can’t talk, or they would be rudely interfering with your conversation. They could also not listen to music, for the same reason. They have no choice but to sit and listen to your lame-ass conversation, and only half of it at that! Ugh!

Ah well… we could go on and on. We could even go into email etiquette. But who pays attention to this shit anyway?

Why I Hate the Blog Exchange

I'll make this quick, and don't think that just because you read this post, you can skip the last one!

It just sucks when you go to one of your regular blogs and find that someone else is posting there! The first time this happened to me, it was at Guntoter's blog. I thought, "Oh cool. I'll reply to this and then go to the other one and reply there and I'll have a new blog friend!" But noooooooooooooooooooo... all I got was ignored! I got no response at either fuckin' place! Okay fine. Then this month, I visited four of my regular blogs and found a different person there! Then when I went to the corresponding blog, my friend may or may not have posted yet! I get all discombobulated and believe me, I don't need more of that!! I was completely through one story and didn't discover until the end that it wasn't even by the person I thought it was by and so I had to re-read it from a different vantage point! Sheesh! Do you people think I have this kind of time?

So I decided that I fuckin' hate that fucking blog exchange! Fuck! :)

Also, someone tagged me (besides The Exceptional One) and for the life of me, I can't remember who it was or what the hell it was about. So if you dare to do it again, feel free! (Although you might pull back a bloody stump!)

This Fuckin' Baby...


... is just so damn fuckin' cute! Yeah, I just got back from visiting that little face. Her comfort revolves around constantly naming everyone in the room, including the vacuum. For some reason, she's always had a fixation with this machine. It's my theory that she was somehow afraid of it when she was tiny and someone said to her, "It's just the vacuum." So now, if she's in a new situation, at a new house or in a new restaurant, she looks around and says, "Vacuum?"

Or maybe she's just smarter than the rest of us and realizes we live in a vacuum, who knows?

My favorite restaurant in Utah: (Has been for almost thirty years) The Old Spaghetti Factory in Trolley Square.

My favorite restaurant in San Diego: Dick's Last Resort (I'm not kidding. It's where my ex and I went for our last date.)

My favorite restaurant in Oakland, CA: Mezze ~ look it up ~ it's unbe-fucking-lievable!

My favorite restaurant in Murrieta, CA: Giovanni's. I love italian food, especially at little family owned places.

My favorite restaurant in Riverside, Seattle, Minneapolis, Sacramento, Newport Beach, etccccccc ~ The Old Spaghetti Factory! You simply cannot beat that browned butter and mizithra cheese! (Although we've learned to make it at home and so we aren't so desperately seeking them out now.)

That was in response to beinged tagged by The Exceptional One. Yes, it was supposed to be in my respective area, but I have never lived in a respective area, so I decided to make it a mish-mash of locales!

By the way, for anyone who is listening, I fuckin' hate it when people do that fucking blog exchange! There! I said it!

That's all for now, folks. Thanks for stopping by! Meow.

My Mommy's House

Sitting on the bed that was my grandmother's. It's an old comfy bed. Like sleeping on a cloud. Some people would think it too soft, but not I! Has REAL springs from the old days! Snuggly nice. I wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking. Mommy singing, "Tessie boo! Time to get up!" Oh it's so fun to be loved.

Mom and Dad are fun to watch. They putter around the house, doing their little chores. At one point, I was cutting Dad's hair, when sister get-along-home-Cindy arrives with some sort of gadget in her hand. She says, "I don't like your nozzle, Dad, so I thought you might want to try this one." He looks at me and I say, "Cin, let's not talk about our father's nozzle!" Ha ha. After the salon session is over, we go into the kitchen and Mom is standing there with a ruler. She bends down to measure something around my father's ... well ... nozzle! He says, "What are you measuring?" She says, "I want to see how long your shorts are because I was going to buy you some new ones." (For those of you from foreign lands, we call short pants "shorts" here in the U.S.) She stands up and smartly states, "Seven inches." I can't even imagine what it would be like for someone to come up to me with a ruler for any reason at all. Silly people.

So today, we will have everyone over for hot dogs and hamburgers and margaritas. Probably play a board game or two. Oh wait, Becky isn't here. She's the board game queen. Maybe tomorrow!

But here's the real story. When I arrived last night, we decided to go to Applebee's to feed Graci, who was starving. Graci is my niece. Erika (baby sis and Graci's mum) and Katie (another niece) joined us. I wasn't hungry, but I did order their special white peach sangria. And the waitress asked me for I.D. I'm not fuckin' kidding you. Well of course, at 46, it's a pleasure to show your I.D., right? Well do you think I had my I.D.? Noooo! I used it at the airport, so I had left it in my other bag! Hahahaha. I swear to God, she almost didn't sell me the fucking drink! Everyone at the table said, "Well I have I.D.! Sell it to me!" Now don't get me wrong. This waitress was as cute as can be. And I began to nervously tell her the story of why I didn't have my I.D. (as if I were being interrogated by the FBI) saying that I just flew in and I live in California, and I was from here, and this is my sister and these are my nieces and I'm just visiting, as I said, but I grew up here, as we all did here at the table... and as I rambled, she became more nervous about having pressed me for my proof of age. I just kept thinking, "Can you just go away so I can stop this endless chatter that I can't seem to keep from pouring out of my mouth?" She finally conceded to giving me the drink, but only if I promised to eat food off of the other people's plates (Utah's other-plate law).

Erika said, "Teri, you went a little overboard with the TMI there."

It was a good drink, though.

I'm Off To See the Wizard!

Ah, the Emerald City! How it shines! Yes, kids, I'm talking about Salt Lake City, to which I'm bound! I'll be there late tonight and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, I'll be coddled by the family-ness. And I'll get to kiss that sweet BrynLeigh Jade's face. I may be in blog-land from time to time, but I'm not making any promises!

So for now, I'll leave you with this ~ compliments of ba doozie! (I think I saw this restaurant on North Temple):






My Baby Girl

My daughter phoned me at one a.m. Now some might think it is no fun to be awakened at one a.m. for any reason at all. I never mind it. Especially if it's my daughter's voice I get to hear on the other end. A lovely girl, who can't figure out why people never tell her what bugs them about her. I mean, honestly, there is nothing wrong with her! There is nothing unpleasant about being with her! She has an opinion, but she's not opinionated. She is friendly to a fault. Her smile lights up a room. And even when she has to be mean to the drunks at the bar, she is nice about it. Firm, but nice. She's had a couple of scrappers. One guy was tossing barstools around and while everyone stood there in shock, Erin pressed him up against the wall, told him he had to go, and then proceeded to press him on out the door (which she then closed and locked while the police were called). She's small of frame. I believe she's about 5'6" (taller than her mother by at least two inches). Long, blonde hair and BIG blue eyes. Eyes that stop traffic. Every woman she meets feels protective toward her and every man she meets dies inside at the knowledge that he can't possess her. She's sexy, she's funny, she's smart.

So there we were, on the phone together, she was on her bed, I was on mine. Together, apart. We laughed and cried. She's not much for small talk. Neither am I. So what we talk about matters. An hour and a half later, I chose to read a blog post to her as my parting words. You can read those Words of Wisdom here. :)