backing in. slowly.

backing in. slowly.
and oh so very carefully.

Come on in. Relax. Put your feet up.

Wine? Coffee? Tequila?

August 11, 2010

Growing up Girl

Musings of a Princess.
My life:
The youngest. The only girl. Three older brothers. Two or three neighbor boys. My mother spent the first few years of my life trying like hell to get me to play with dolls, wear dresses. Hair ribbons were a biggie. Reality? Skinned knees, running around the farm chasing "The Boys", somehow feeling like I lacked a certain "part" of my anatomy. (I would have given just about ANYTHING, for a penis.) I literally peed standing up one time. Hell of a mess.
OK. Finally realized I can't do a damn thing about it. My school years? My teachers called me Chris. My brother's name. My formative years? Hanging out with my Mom. She would introduce me to her friends. Their response? "I didn't know you had a daughter!". Self-esteem-enhancing, this is not. My teen years? Let's just not go there...
Fast forward. Life is good. Despite being born without a penis.

July 13, 2010

sometimes life just up and smacks you upside the head

Sitting in the party garage Sunday evening...and, yes, drinking a beer...
Can't draw breath. Can't move. Can't talk. Felt like someone reached into my chest and squeezed. Hard.
Duane grabs his phone to dial 911. All I can do is wave a hand in the air...NO!NO!NO! (I'm a bit stubborn. No one's taking ME to the hospital. Not until I have time to think this over.) 5 or 10 minutes later--I have no idea how much time passed--it's over. Duane is white as a sheet, darn near ready to cry. My own eyes are leaking, apparently from god-knows-what. I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, think about getting out of my chair.
Fast forward to Monday morning. Now, mind you, I gave up doctors 5 years ago. They hurt me. They take all my money. Just don't like 'em. But I'm scared. And poor Duane was up 3 times in the night, checking on me.
I haul my ass down to the local clinic, walk in, announce I think I had a heart attack last night. The receptionist's eyes go all big and she literally pulls away from me. Checks with the Practitioner, comes back, tells me to continue hauling ass--straight to the ER. OK. No problem.
Long story short...3 hours in the ER. Everything's just fine. No sign of a heart attack. No tumor. No lung clot. Blood pressure, excellent. They even left a cute little electrode-thingy under my arm. (souvenir?) I'm now the proud owner of 2 full sheets of "How to Quit Smoking", and the most adorable little bottle of baby aspirin. (chewable. orange. nummy).
Please tell me peace of mind is worth $1000. Please.

May 6, 2010


Far be it from me, to try and explain the ills of this world, with references to a simple Hollywood movie.

Seen it?
Just finished watching it myself.

I feel, somehow, that I now know James Cameron's "take" on all sorts of topics:

This film covers an amazing array of social views. The annihilation of the American Indian. The war in Iraq, (or ANY war on "foreign" soil, if you will). The word "Valkyrie" is even utilized in this flick. this point, I have to climb down off my soapbox, for just a moment...
GREAT line. In the movie.
Delivered by "The Ultimate Biker, aka Chopper, Beeyotch":
"You're not the ONLY one with a gun, Bitch." 
OK. moving on... 

I have been trying my very best to "un-learn" what has been hammered into my brain, since the day I was born. Think of all the history books crammed down your throat, the propaganda drilled into your subconscious, the "Red/Blue States" crap delivered directly into your inbox, ad infinitum. Can't even BEGIN to list it all here. Kinda need to go to bed, ya know? 

Haven't seen the movie yet? Have no idea what I'm yammering on and on about? Go see it. Rent it. Buy it. Open your mind. Open your eyes. Open your heart. 
Learn, Baby, Learn.

Those Who Consciously Ignore the Past 

Condemn Us to Repeat It


(The above is JMHO. I welcome any and all discourse)

April 26, 2010

Speaking of cleaning. NOT L(ing)OL. ;(

Has this ever happened to you? Am I just extremely weird??? (don't answer that, plz)

Woke up yesterday, stretched, padded into the kitchen. Snarfed my java, smoke-smoke-smoked my cigarette. Time to clean up the kitchen. Crap.

Opened the dishwasher, (I seem to be fixated on the dishwasher, I know. Just plz let it go. lol), looked up and around, trying to remember....What the hell WAS it? I was supposed to load into this damn contraption?

I think, at this point in time, I finally woke up. Did I really dream about LOADING THE DISHWASHER?!!

I've finally lost it. Send help, plz.

Not the slightest bit important.

Cleaning the sink. Again.
Since purchasing a dishwasher, it occurred to me that the sink never gets cleaned now. (you know, doing dishes scrubs the sink, automatically! how kewl is that?)...errrrr....WAS that.

anyhoo. scrubbing the sink. thinking.

Back a few(?) years. My dad and mom come over for coffee. (Well, mom does. Dad's just snooping). Daddy dearest walks into the kitchen, scopes out the sink, grumbles, takes my mom aside.
"Doesn't she ever clean the sink?"--mind you, back then it was the old ceramic-type-sink, lots of stains and pits--

Seeing how dad's whispers tended to boom out, unbeknownst to him, I heard. Hurt my feelers. (Remember back? When the slightest disparaging comment, from your parents, could cut to the core?)

OK. Enuf whining. Now for the Rest of the Story...

Thanks, Dad. You left an impression on me. I believe, after all these years, that you taught me to NOT "critique" (sp) my children's cleaning habits, lifestyles, and overall life choices. I've tried hard to keep from hurting their feelers. Oh, sure....I've crossed the line at SOME point. (What mother hasn't?) Gimme a break, kids. I'm trying, and, hopefully, succeeding. For the most part.

April 22, 2010

Just a thought.

"Those who don't perceive beauty in the face of a Down's Syndrome person are blind to all beauty and are so fearful of difference that they must at once turn away from every encounter with it. In every face--in even the plainest and the most unfortunate countenances--there is some precious aspect of the divine image of which we are a reflection, and if you look with an open heart, you can see an awesome beauty, a glimpse of something so radiant that it gives you joy." (1)

"There's a reason they say that love is a two-edged sword, rather than a two-edged Wiffle bat, or a two-edged Fudgsicle, because love is sharp, it pierces, and love is a needle that sews shut the holes in our hearts, that mends our souls, but it can also cut, cut deep, wound, kill." (1)

(1) excerpt from "Seize the Night". Dean Koontz.

April 13, 2010

I'll admit it.

I'm a bona fide graduate of the Women's Movement. I fought the good fight, in my day.

Listening to the Bob and Tom Show this morning, while showering, (to be all sparkly and clean, to take my mom to the DMV). Bob/Tom etal are always good for a laff, IMHO.

The topic this fine morning? The space station. And the difficulty level of outside repairs. Specifically, repairs allocated to the "Womens" aboard the station. You know...waiting for them to get ready to go outside and all.

"Does this spacesuit make my butt look big?"
"Just a sec. I'm having a bad hair day, hon."
"Is this color good? I mean, for me?"

Don't know about you, but me? Laffed-my-ample-buttinski-off!

I realized how much I've, (for lack of a better word), "matured". In the good ol' days, a few short years ago--(ok. ok. 20, even 30, or so years ago)--I would have shouted to the rooftops, concerning the "INJUSTICE OF IT ALL, DAMNIT!".

In conclusion, and in the interest of brevity:
If you can't laff at that, you seriously need some kind of intervention.
A "Funny-Bone-Type-Intervention", if you will. A sort of internal check, for that elusive "what's really important, anyway?" gene.

Laff and the world laffs with you. Grumble and complain, and you do it alone.

April 10, 2010

51 years young...

...and STILL a Work in Progress.

It recently occurred to me to have a chat with my son.

Concerning the importance of being a Giver, not always a Taker. Now mind you, I don't mean a Giver of "things", or a Taker of "things". I was speaking of the giving of emotions, feelings, hugs, kisses, and kind words. In short, being a Giver of small pieces of yourself.

Uh-oh. Suddenly, I was re-thinking that particular chat.

You see, I was raised by a man who built a wall around himself, constructed bit by bit over many years. Built by the blood, sweat and tears of failed dreams and broken hearts. His was a story so complicated, it would make a therapist run screaming into the night.

The kicker? I AM my father's daughter. The wall I myself built has yet to be completely dismantled. Thanks to the love of a wonderful (and very patient) man, I slowly realized that something had to be done. About that wall. I'm working on it. Why, just this morning, I gave him a hug. For no reason at all.

I understand the need to impart this particular bit of wisdom to my children. But maybe I need to fix myself first. In the meantime, I'll be sure and hug them every time I see them.

And, about my father. The last time I saw him, we were alone together. I was giving my mother a break from caring for him in his last days on this earth. As I was just about to finish up giving him a sponge bath, I impulsively reached for his hand. I looked him in the eye and told him I loved him. I was scared, so scared. You see, he had never told me he loved me.

He squeezed my hand, looked at me, and repeated my words back to me. He then let go of my hand, and loudly announced that he was "hungry, damnit!". I made him some lunch, served it to him, neither one of us able to look each other in the eye. As uncomfortable as it was, it was so worth it. AND it was my last chance. I never saw him alive again.

As I said. I'm a work in progress. Aren't we all, really?

April 6, 2010

Not important. But possibly of interest.

For all you wine conno-sewers, or just plain winos:

How to Properly Taste Wine

1. Give the wine in your glass one of three names: "Gary," "Darryl," or "Garryl."

2. Bring the wine glass to your right eye and stare deeply into it for at least 30 minutes, until you can no longer tell where the wine ends and you begin.

3. Starting with your left pinky and moving right, fully submerge each of your fingers into the wine glass until all fingers are in the glass.

4. Take a sip and slosh it around. When someone gives you some surprising news, spit it out.

5. Put all of the wine from your glass into your mouth, but don't swallow. When all the wine is in there, open your mouth and say, "Keys. Once angry keeping flagrant." Enjoy the wine that is left in your mouth.

March 22, 2010

Not to brag or anything...

A good time was had by all.

(we love our kids enough
to combine their parties)

it's the least we can do.

March 20, 2010

Couple of Things...

You just KNOW you've reached a whole new level of weight loss,
when you can tuck your shirt into your sweats. I'm just sayin'.

I'd like to formally give thanks for all my followers. I cancelled my therapy appointment.
(and to those who have neglected to comment, PFFFFFTTTTT!) hee.

REMINDER: feedback, people, feedback. don't make me start leaving my OWN feedback...
(I just want to see how it works)


March 16, 2010

Things your (70ish) parents never dreamed of hearing...

"Crap. My phone fell out of my bra while I was jogging. But, it's OK.
I've only had it 3 months. I needed a new one anyway."

March 15, 2010


I have a follower.
Always wanted one.
Wondered what it would be like. To lead.

I feel so empowered.

It's Monday. So much to do. So little time.

Brush my chompers.
Climb on the scale. Just gotta. *sigh*
Coffee. Lots.
Utter sarcastic comments to Better Half.
     (if I DON'T, he thinks I'm sick)
Kissy. Huggy.
"Wave 'bye to/Slap butt of"  Better Half.
Let the dog in.
Hug the dog.
Feed the dog.
Waste huge amounts of time, on the 'puter.
Goof with the budget.
Wii Tennis. Pretend I'm a SUPA-STAR!
Kick the dog out of the house.
Tidy up the party garage.
(why is it always such a mess? after a party?)
Let the dog back in, cuz he's whining at the door.
More 'puter-goofin'.
Bundle up for a walk.
Kick the fat dog out again.
Stagger home, dog lagging behind.
Fill the dog's water bowl. He seems to be parched.
Let the dog in.
Kick the dog out.
Read book. Fall asleep while reading book.
Wake up slowly. Glance around, confused.
Gardening, depending on the gale-force winds here in Utopia.
Kick myself for forgetting to thaw something out for dinner.
Quickly clean SOMETHING, so it looks like I actually did something today besides eat and sleep.
Frantically search 'puter for dinner ideas.
"Throwdown", Bobby Flay style, some kinda dinner.

"Hi, honey! How was YOUR day?"

It's a great life. Really.

It's late. I'm out of wine.

Great day, again. nite!