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.

Introspective Three-Year-Old

Photo Taken by BrynLeigh's Lovely Auntie Laura

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