Blessingwhat?

I was invited to a blessingway a few months back. 

It's sort of like a hippie babyshower but you lavish 

attention on the mom and not the babe. This event included:

A Bead: To be used by the mom to string a birth necklace. 

I thought this would be a fun craft time. Or something. What it actually involved was "warming" your bead in your hand, telling of it's significance (why you picked it/ symbolism), and offering up words of encouragement to the mother-to-be by praising her spirit, yada yada yada... I am not good at this. I was very out of my element. My heart pounded. My beads were bells and I just thought they sounded tinkly and that led me to think of how one might pee oneself during birth. I guess you can see why I was hesitant to share this with a group of unknown hippies. I almost passed out but it passed, as did my turn, without much hubbub.

Sacred Objects along with sacred massage.

I don't know much about sacred massage. It's all I can do to get a good shoulder rubbin' from Joe every week or so. I know this particular massage involved a bowl of cornmeal. I didn't get that. Cornmeal is grainy. But whatever! To be honest, I lost interest at this point. I wandered off in the kitchen where I began to work on a mandala with more hippies.

That was fun and there was weird and wonderful food in there too! 

After killing as much time as I could in the kitchen, I revisited the living room. The sacred stuff seemed to be over. I walked over to my friend and started to fiddle with the doo dads on the table beside her. I picked up a fan of feathers with a braided leather whiplike tail. I started to fan the air with it most vigorously. Just as I was about to gesture to the whole room and make a very funny joke comparing it to a butt plug, someone spoke up and said quietly, "That item is very special to Sally and she holds it sacred." So I didn't tell my joke. I got the point and put down Sally's thingy. I now know it was a smudge fan used in rituals and rites. 

I hope I did not cast any spells unknowingly and if so, I hope it was a spell to garner me some damn couth.

The Incident At Sam Flax

Sam Flax is an art supply store in Atlanta. They have locations in New York and Orlando too. After a face painting gig few weeks ago, we stopped in for Leah to pick up some illustration boards. She's working on a top secret project that's more promising and cohesive than anything she's done before. I'm really proud of her but that's about all I can say about it. It's her baby after all.

I don't know if art stores excite everyone like they excite me but each and every aisle makes my heart race a little. Leah had a special size request so we had to wait around (FOREVER) for the boards to be cut to those specifications. In the meantime, I found some acrylic enamels for use on glass and metal. And then I found these:


They are magnetic balancing peoples. They were so cool and I heard them calling from across the store. Yoooooooohooooooooo!?! they said. Leah followed me over. We discussed them in depth. And then I reached out and touched them. My podnuh stepped back. For once, she was not involved in the spillage. And that was a lot of falling, rattling and scuttling on the part of the magnetic peoples only to be outdone by my own stumbling, fumbling and muttering. When we all came to rest, Leah bent over and picked us up one by one.

The good news? Immediately after the incident we were presented with our items and hastily helped out the door. It did not hit us on our asses on the way out.

Whatchu Talkin' 'Bout, Willis?

Do you think Gary Coleman had or exercised a great deal of common sense? I'm not sure he did but it's not my place to condemn him for it. He had his struggles. He was a human being after all.

We humans are a fallible and fragile bunch. And we are easily traumatized by physical and mental horrors. A week ago, I was impressed by the hard work my Dad was able to do at the age of 69 (almost). But he seemed saddened by what he can't do any longer. He talked about it quite a bit. He stopped to rest in the shade at regular intervals. He's never had to do that before. He's wearing down and he knows it.

My Mom expressed her desire to go tubing with us on our vacation in Pigeon Forge the week of the 4th. She's never gone and she's afraid it's already too late. We'll take the kiddie run but if it requires any walking in the water to get over shallow spots, it's out of the question. She can't walk without her brace and her brace won't work in the river on rocks. She urged me to do as much as I can right now. They both agreed it doesn't get any better. That I should jump in with both feet while my feet still work.

All of a sudden, I felt shot through with life and energy. I felt the need to grab the bull by the horns. I stayed up late and laughed and swam with naked friends. I ate and drank and was merry. I've been working on being more socially at ease so I accepted the invitation to the movie party. I was really excited. I said so on FB so you know it's true.

I have a right knee that pops, grinds, catches funny. I had to drop my Glide class because it stirred it up more than it helped it. I injured it roller skating as a child and it's never been any damn good. Except it has. It's gotten me everywhere I've ever wanted to go. I lost weight to help it out. It's been a good knee. I've talked about having it looked at and possible surgery. I talked about it and chugged along. It took me to the party. It took me to see a movie I've never seen. And when it was my turn to get on the trampoline for my jumping photo, it climbed up there with me. It climbed up to jump. To feel free. To have fun before it's too late to have it. To be like everyone else.

My husband didn't say much when it happened. He'd had some beer and I'm told I was very matter of fact and stoic. I simply said, I fucked my knee up. I thought that was detailed enough. When he came home last night, I asked him if he was angry with me. He said, "No, but I do wish you'd used a little more common sense." That pissed me off a little. I showed this photo to him and I'll show it to you now.


Does this look like a man using his common sense? I think it looks like a man buffered from danger by alcohol. I was stone cold sober. That was my problem. After showing him this evidence, I stuck my tongue out at him. I thought it the only sensible thing to do. I love him but sometimes, I'd like to sic Gary Coleman on him.

Bush Meat

I have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. I have a party trick where I stick my whole fist in my mouth but that tends to attract people. This is different. This is a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person. It's not attractive. It's offensive. Please, if you will, note the following example:

J and I were invited to a party by a couple of girls. They were not a couple but were prone to couple here and there, if you get my drift. They were very close and the best of friends. They lived in a small house in the next town. They owned a number of cats between them.  Let's call these girls, Sally and Cathy.

Sally and Cathy and myself were Facebook friends. A couple of weeks before the party, Sally's cat died.  I was very sad when I learned of his passing. He was a pervert, though. He once watched with the keenest interest as J and I engaged in a hot lovin' moment on their couch 'o love. I mean he sat and stared as if he was a sophisticated recording device covered in fur. I digress. The cat died and I knew Sally must be very sad.

The next week, I see pictures on Cathy's profile of a campfire and an obvious cat burial. Why do I say obvious? Because of the shovels and holes and dead cat featured in the pictures, that's why. And drinking. There was some drinking, some laughing and some crying, too. The photos gave me great pause. I studied them for a very long time. I thought they were extremely moving and genuine and true to the people participating in them. But I was shocked to see them posted in that manner. I left a comment that read something like Hey! Wow! Seeing this makes me feel a whole lot better about myself and my proclivity toward the bizarre. 

Fast forward to the night of the party. We're sitting there. Just the four of us. Drinking, talking and listening to music - all the normal things. Someone mentions wild times on the couch 'o love. HaHaHa we say. Sally tells us her cat is dead. She is obviously in a strange place regarding the deceased. She reveals some weird hypothesis about how hard it would be to get the flesh off of the bones to make a marionette puppet of the dead cat. She makes puppeteering motions with her hands. It weirded me out but you don't complain out on the edge. You're supposed to hang on and keep your mouth shut.

I couldn't keep quiet. WHOAH! YEAH! WHEW! I tell ya what! When I saw those pictures of ya'll doing that weird drunken campfire cat burial thing, I couldn't believe it but I think this is even weirder! Sally looked at me, instantly very serious and level headed and asked, "What pictures?" I looked at Cathy real quick and she looked at me with eyes that said a big, scary monster was behind me. Cathy answered that she'd posted some photos. Sally demanded to know if the cat was visible. She looked like she was going a little crazy inside her head. I lied and told her that I just deduced from the accouterments that a burial had taken place. I apologized for causing trouble and when Cathy excused herself to "go to the bathroom" I could only hope she was deleting those photos. Joe gave me his Good going, babe! look.

Now, I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn't mean to reveal any secrets. Jesus! The woman was talking about picking him clean to make a puppet. I had no idea she would draw any lines anywhere! And they were best friends! I thought best friends looked at each others social networking profiles. Apparently not so for these two ladies. And this all brings me to my point. I didn't intend any harm. I assumed I was doing the right thing and I still caused a big ruckus. I've been censoring myself in one way or another for some time now. In an effort to protect the innocent, play fair and honor my fellow man, I've done myself a disservice by ignoring my instincts and intuition. If I'd followed my gut, so to speak, I don't think it would have gotten so far. I would've asked Cathy what motivated her to post those pictures and I would've told her that it seemed to be the wrong thing to do. 

I think change is a good thing. We must change or die. If one can change into something, one can change out of it. I'm going to work on it. I'm going to work on being true to myself and respecting the other guy in the process. Before things get out of hand and into my mouth again...

                                                       

Tuesday = Second Monday

Last night, Zoe fell asleep in her highchair while eating a lovely supper of fried chicken, big boy peas, hashbrowns and cornbread. (Thanks, Mom!) Sam fell asleep soon after. And since we were free so early in the evening, Joe agreed to watch The Darjeeling Limited with me. We've had it from Netflix for at least 3 months and it just became ridiculous not to watch it after holding onto it for 3 whole months! 

So we did and we both enjoyed it very much. (Thanks to whoever recommended it to me!) And then we went quietly to bed. Joe fell asleep but I was wired. So, I got up and surfed the internet while having a drink. I had another drink after that. And another....until I found myself eating poptarts and writing poetry with a crayon at 2 am. This morning, I felt as though a truck had spun it's wheels on my face all night. My reflux was at full tilt and all of my drunken poetry turned out to be illegible in the early morning-after light.

Zoe, on the other hand, awoke bright-eyed and bushy tailed. She enjoyed a lovely breakfast of toast and fruit and then went into the bathroom and stuck her head through the brand new potty seat. I bought it to help them both feel more secure up there and decrease the risk of injury. And she stuck her head through it. All the way through. As in, a potty necklace. She was screaming and I was panicking so I am unable to offer photographic evidence. 

It doesn't matter. Photograph or no, the trauma of my late night and her early morning still lingers...

I'll leave you with this: Ears. Why must they stick out so?

If At First You Don't Succeed...

Try and try again.

Zoe pointed out a recipe in a cookbook showing some cupcakes made with ice cream cones. I thought they were especially cute and would be easy to handle so rather than expending too much energy on cake prep, I took the easy way out. Or so I thought...

I guess I didn't fully understand. I naturally assumed the batter would be poured into the cones to bake. So right after I read, "Place baking cups in each muffin tin..." I tuned out, jumped the rails and eagerly slopped the batter into the cones. Then I put them in the oven. Then I read the recipe in full.


And I was doing it WRONG! So I removed the first tray from the oven and started all over. I never would've imagined you turned the cones upside down on the batter but it makes perfect sense. Birthdays make me batty.


The second batch baked beautifully and as you can see, all's well that ends well. Please pardon the icing violation in the picture. It was a three year old's party. Between the kids and Joe's Mammaw, we're lucky any of them lasted until the party!

*I am waiting for the photos Melody took with her fancycam. I can't wait to share them with you!

I Like Mine Roasted

Upon first, second and third glance at the google thumbnail, I fully believed this to be a  photo of a chicken.

I mean, I didn't look at it and say, Hey! He looks like a chicken! 

No, no...I looked at it for a long time and I thought it was a chicken!

Heat has scrambled my brains...

Me Me Me Meme

So, you know me. Miss popularity was tagged by Miss Smith in New Zealand to participate in this ol' All About Me Meme. The last one I did garnered about 1 comment so I imagine this one will be just as popular.

What is your current obsession?
Roadside flora and fauna

What is your weirdest obsession?
looking for ingrown hairs

Recall a fond childhood memory. 

Camping in the mountains in Maggie Valley, N.C. and tubing down the river. My dad procured huge tubes and sawed discs of plywood and strapped them to the bottom of the tubes. We thought we were invincible! Now, my father says he has chills thinking of some of the rapids we went over but God! It was some of the best fun I've had my entire life!

What's for dinner?
Roasted chicken, mashed potatoes w/ nutmeg, green peas, garden salad, cornbread.

What would you eat for your last meal?
Five shots of tequila and the worm

What's the last thing you bought?
These lovely ladies. The photo only makes them seem creepy. They're actually quite pretty.

What are you listening to right now?
Feet running, Logan roaring, ninnies screaming, Joe playing the violin (very badly).

What do you think of the person who tagged you? 

Well, she's from New Zealand which makes her awesome from the get go. Plus, she's smart, crafty, witty and has a degree in Botany. Who wouldn't think she was fabulous?

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Next door to Nigella Lawson's house.

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Amsterdam...

Which language do you want to learn?
Spanish. I NEED to learn Spanish. Oh, it would make life so much easier at work AND at Walmart.

What's your favorite quote (for now)?
"A little while, and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.

A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.

Farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you. It was but yesterday we met in a dream. 

You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky.

 But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer dawn. 

The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part. 

If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.

And if our hands should meet in another dream we shall build another tower in the sky." - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

What is your favorite colour?
I like primary colors and black. Always black.

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?
My black wrap dress

What is your dream job?
CDC, bio-terrorism

What's your favourite magazine?
House Beautiful

If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

Diet pills.


Describe your personal style?
Bohemian butch

What are you going to do after this?
Our sink is leaking. I have to clean the kitchen, plus mop up all the leakiness and make an appointment with our friend and trusty plumber, Ed. He doesn't fix. He only diagnoses. That's how we keep it friendly. 

What are your favourite films?
Full-Metal Jacket and The NeverEnding story. Just like my profile says.

What's your favourite fruit?
Cantaloupe, blackberries, ripe peaches

What inspires you?

Namely, Joe and the children. My friends inspire me. Flora and Fauna (I told you I'm obsessed).

Your favourite books?
The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, The Search For Signs Of Intelligent Life In The Universe - Lily Tomlin's one woman show written by Jane Wagner, Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut

Do you collect anything?
Memories

Any advice that’s come from bitter experience?
If you think it absolutely can't wait, it should.

What makes you follow a blog?
I like blogs by people who seem very much like me or seem very different. I like to learn something new. I like to be surprised.

Now, I must tag you...

So, I tag Melody, Dave, Bless Our Hearts, Wendy, Praise The Mother, Pru and Sarcastic Bastard. That's all I've got. The rest of you have otherwise been tagged elsewhere.

The rules:1. Respond and rework; answer the questions on your blog, replace one question that you dislike with a question of your invention, add one more question of your own.2. Tag eight other people.

If You Can't Set Your Husband On Fire...

*Disclaimer: I wrote this about two years ago but I've never shared it here. I thought it was funny and telling.

Joe and I were sitting on the sofa a while ago, enjoying a lazy afternoon. Joe had only been home for an hour or so from his regular Sunday date with a cart and a bag of clubs. He was watching yet even more golf on TV and I was preparing to rub his feet. Now don't get me wrong; I really do enjoy rubbing his feet but I also do it for a more selfish reason. It keeps my hands and mind occupied and out of trouble.

All was going along fine with the rubbing of Joe's feet and the occupation of my mind. At least, I thought it was…until I found myself deeply studying the cotton strings hanging from his jeans. There were so many of them and some of them were very long. Too long, in fact. I thought I would count them. I began counting but then I lost track. I tried again and couldn't seem to keep my place. I found myself becoming somewhat anxious about the strings and my failure at counting them. I stopped rubbing altogether and it struck me that I was in The Place. Action must be taken soon!

At this point, I noticed my cigarette lighter on the arm of the sofa and without much forethought, I picked it up. Then it came to me…"I'll start burning the strings off. If I burn them, it will kill two birds with one stone. When the strings are gone, his pants will look tidier and I'll have no need to count them!" It seemed perfectly logical at the time. I leaned over. I touched the flame from the tip of my lighter to the fattest, longest string I could find. And then…

...you guessed it. POOOOOOOOOOOF! I set Joe's pant leg on fire. It went up in a slow-motion blaze of glory. I beat at it with my hand while Joe shook it in some sort of "been there, done that" frenzy (Joe was unlucky enough to be burned in a house fire during college). It really only burned for a moment or so. But when it was all over he was giving me The Look and refused to allow me further access to his newly singed lower extremities. I guess I can't really blame him but…If you can't set your husband on fire, who can you?

I Feel Like A Real Turkey

I'm a real piece of work sometimes. When I first started my MySpace account, I did the "Friendfinder search your email contact thingy" and found a few folks, both male and female, from my past that I'd lost touch with. About every year, I happen upon someone like this that I'm interested in hearing from. Sometimes, I will think of someone and google their name. you know you've done it, too. I certainly don't send requests or messages to everyone, just the people who had some sort of impact on my life. Well, early last year, I sent a message to a guy I'd known, asking how things were going, telling him of my family and developments in my life. And he responded warmly and that was that. It's been at least a year since I had any contact and it's been long gone off of my radar.

It seems my old friend has since married and he and his wife are expecting a baby. I did not know that until this morning, when his new wife emailed me to basically tell me where I could stick my nostalgia. She even attached a photo of the family, blonde and beautiful and smiling. I can only imagine she happened upon the old message and didn't feel it was nearly as benign as I did.

I was surprised and embarrassed and I can't blame her, really. I responded with an apology because that was the right thing to do. But boy, do I feel like a turkey.

Thanks, Universe. I'm sure I needed it.

*That's not me in the turkey suit (it's my friend) but it might as well be*

TMI Thursday: I'd Rather Kiss A Goat

I don't have the body and Joe is too modest for Half Naked Thursday soooooo...
I made a brand new category.
Too Much Information Thursday.
Hereafter, I will use the standard abbreviation of TMI, if you don't mind.

Now, for this week's installment:
I'd Rather Kiss A Goat

When I was fourteen and a freshman in high school, I managed to talk my mom into allowing me to attend my first "real" party. It was hosted by a senior who happened to attend our church. I can't remember now how I accomplished tearing my mother's guard down for that one evening. It really doesn't matter. She not only allowed me to go but she dropped me off at the top of the girl's driveway and went back home to patiently wait for the phone call I was to make at the end of the party.

I wore my hair back in a ponytail clipped with a big, white bow. My sweater was blue and white and mint green. It was covered in white Scottie dogs. My glasses had those over-sized plastic rims but they were nothing compared to the big golden cross hanging around my neck. When I walked into this girl's house, I might as well have been crossing over into a parallel universe.

The place was packed. I scanned and scanned the room for someone familiar. Finally, I saw a girl I was vaguely acquainted with. I rushed to her side. She handed me a beer. I didn't drink it. I wanted to but it was smelly. I was afraid of my mom's blood-hound nose. I didn't have a clue what to do or what to say. I was bobbing to the music, beer in hand. I wanted desperately to not look like a fool. A fairly cute guy, I'd never seen before, materialized at my elbow and whispered his friend wanted to talk to me. I was to go with him. He wanted to talk to me down the hall.

(This is when you scream at the computer screen as if watching a horror movie: "Don't go, girl! "They're gonna getcha, girl! Didn't your momma ever tell you to stay away from strange boys/men who had been drinking? If you do anything, you should run call your momma right now...before anything happens.)

Well, I went.

I followed old boy down the hall. It was dark. The music stopped and we had to wait for a huge crowd of people to clear the hallway before we could pass by. Prince was playing in the background. Old boy stopped and leaned over as if to tell me something. I leaned in. It was so loud, I could barely hear him.

Then the door we were leaning against opened and I fell backward only to be caught by someone. I saw old boy's face illuminated in the doorway for a moment and then he locked the door. The guy holding me tried to turn me around. I was as stiff as a 2 X 4. Prince was belting out 'Purple Rain' and old boy was laughing. I genuinely was frozen in place and was just waiting........waiting for what?

The guy holding me said he wanted to kiss me. His body was big and soft. His breath smelled funny. I told him to let go of me and got some life back into me. This is when he swooped in for the kill and started to suffocate me with his big, slurping kiss. Prince was just finishing up Purple Rain as I found my knee and put it in Big N Soft's groin. He let go of me and I almost knocked the door down getting out of there. Oddly enough, they ran out after me and when I turned to see if they were behind me, they were.

And that's the worst part of it. In the light, I saw Big N Soft, the french licker. He was someone's older brother and a special ed student. He'd just returned from a long stay at a quiet place for troubled youth. His sister was a friend of mine and we all knew he had a serious problem. He had been found having inappropriate interactions with the family pet; a goat named, Nanny.

That's right, folks. My first kiss was in a dark closet, under duress, from a guy with an IQ of 90 and a special affection for farm animals.


Now, you might ask yourself why I would bust this little gem out on you for the very first installment of TMI Thursday.
The answer: Big N Soft sent me a friend request on Facebook today.

Good On The Green

We decided to drop the kids on the grandparents and go to Atlanta this past Sunday. Something, anything, to brighten up the dismal day. We made it as far as Little Five Points. The rain let up while we were there and we actually had a nice time shopping and people watching. We went to The Yacht Club for some beer and burgers, then we headed back to the car.

We were parked in the "secret" back lot because we didn't have any cash to pay to park. As we were walking toward the car, a guy started to walk toward us...he was looking at us very intently. Or at least, I thought so. When he was just a few steps from us, he said, "Hey man, are you good on the green?" and Joe didn't miss a beat...He said, "Yessir, we're good." and the man just nodded and walked on.

We walked on toward the car and when I was sure he was out of earshot, I asked Joe what he meant. Joe laughed at me then. And I mean, he really, really, laughed at me. I started thinking maybe Joe knew him and he was inquiring about his golf game or something...but then I decided against that scenario. I began entertaining the idea that he was begging in reverse when Joe stopped laughing and looked at me and shook his head. That's when he told me the man was trying to sell us some reefer.

Maybe I'm getting old or going stupid or worse because I had NO idea that's what he meant. Odd things have been happening more and more when we go out. The other day, someone approached me and asked if the tragus piercing in my right ear was a hearing aid.

Just call me Granny...

Attack of the Cauliflower...I mean, Radishes...

I just ate a medium sized bowl of raw radishes. Dipped in salt.

It's 12:20 am.

I made a poor choice.