Saturday, November 29, 2014
But today I'm talking of Christmas.
I did not understand, as a child of the 80's when on the news people would speak of not being able to afford a Christams tree. I lived and live in Oregon. When I was little, trees were as little as $5 or free. My parents, loving the Grand Nobles, spent more in the area of $15. But until my Dad explained to me that Christmas trees in other parts of our country were actually expensive did I grasp my fortune.
We would get our tree. And than the waiting and whining would start. My Mom would take what felt like forever but was probably no more than a day, do put on the lights. Plastic flower petaled ensconced plastic lights that she meticulously put on, making sure each branch was represented.
Once that was done, the decorating would begin. Supervised by Mom. Making sure we didn't put all the ornaments on the front and equally distributed the bling. There would also me the the cardboard Christmas village set up on white glittered batting to give the effect of snow.
We opened our presents from Mom and Dad on Christmas Eve, saving the Santa gifts for Christmas morning. Christmas Eve was the big haul. I don't actually remember believe in Santa. Maybe it was because I was deathly afraid of Santa. That carries forward to today. I still do not understand why we ask our kids to go and ask a perfect stranger in a stupid costume for presents for Jesus's birthday?? Why?
But of course I digress, because this wouldn't be my blog if I didn't get off track.
Now where was I...oh ya presents!
Now as an adult, and after reviewing all the financial records from my parents, I have no bloody idea how they afforded the Christmas gifts they gave us, as well as the rest of the year. It wasn't on credit cards, so I can only assume they sacrificed all y ear long. Which makes sense because I don't remember either of the parents ever buying themselves much if anything. They gave Steve and I their all. Looking back we were both dressed and afforded a lifestyle that only our more wealthy friends had, even though our parents, a truck driver and custodian worked dearly for it. I think that's why now I am willing to sacrifice so much for Iron Man and Pinky.
Aaaand now again back to my point. What was my point ??????
Oh ya it was Christmas memories. After the Christmas Eve dinner and present opening we would go to sleep. Hoping that on Christmas morning whatever Christmas wish we had, that hadn't been satisfied would be filled. And usually it was.
Than after Christmas morning presents we would load in the car and head to Centralia for the extended family celebration. Where food would abound and more presents would appear. Essentially it was a cousin fillled mad house.
For all of us cousins to be together, was and still is a case of beautiful chaos. Lots of love, tiny bit of rule and a whole lot of fun. Not so different from now. Except now, it seems we only see each other and funerals and weddings. Which frankly sucks!
Sunday, November 16, 2014
What exactly does "one size fits most" really mean to clothing manufacturers...to me it means if you have boobs or an ass it will make you feel like a tuna boat.
Why if I wax my brows at night do I swear I grow em back by morning.
How did I ever miss "Gilmore Girls" when it was in primetime? I love it. Just like me I don't find a series until it's over, think "Firefly"
Mean girls? What's the purpose really? When you mean girls, you know who you are, snigger at someone in public or roll your eyes and look over at me, are you expecting because maybe we dress alike that I'm going to smile and agree with you? No you will get the patented Bacongal "eat shit and die" look. Graybelle named that look back in the late 80's, so I'm very good at it.
Oh and more about the above...mean girls. I think they exist for two reasons, separately or combined....you are mean because you are hungry and therefore bitchy or because your mom's let you be a mean girl. My mom, she told me I had two choices, be nice or be quiet. Ha!
Jalapeno spiced sweet potato chips...someone please make them, I'll buy them in bulk.
Why at the end of a 5k do people anchor it right at the finish line to take a selfie? Why? You know that chip that you ziptied to your shoe, well it times you and some of us really care about our time. I swear I'm steamrolling the next selfie taker. Look for news at 11.
Soooo if I get a bikini wax, do you actually have to see my junk?
Really? I like my junk it's pretty and all and useful but I think it's just for me and Riddick
Thursday, October 23, 2014
If you drive a Prius, good for you, but if you live in a 3500 sqf home and keep it at 72 degrees year round, your carbon footprint is not offset by the car you drive. Remember this as you look down your nose at other cars.
John Kitzhaber cut your losses and kick Cylvia to the curb. If you were a semi-retired Emergency room Doc from Bend she would not be sharing your bed. She's the type that survives life by her brain and body, me I use my brain and heart. She's cray cray
There, their and they're, know the difference. I'm a horrible speller but please, please don't mess those up.
Trust me, you don't mess with the Jews. I read my bible, I believe it. I'm not speaking of the debate over the West Bank. I'm talking of outside forces that threaten Israel. Even if you don't believe the bible, would you really pick a fight with a whole country that requires all citizens to serve in the military.
At 4:40 AM as I enter my van after getting coffee at 7-11 and you role up behind me all quiet like on your bicycle to ask for money. When I turn around and scream because you scared the hell out of me, it's not because you are Black. It's because you just rolled up on me all quiet on your bicycle. So don't make it a race thing.
I don't go to haunted houses. People are scary enough without me paying them to do it.
And remember as my Mom used to tell me...."No is a complete sentence"
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Don't get your shorts in a wad, I would never let another man touch me inappropriately.
Friday, Mama (aka G. Mama....Mama G. or half of the "prentals") had lunch and than got a pedicure.
Mama was the first person to introduce me to the joy and elation of a pedicure. I immediately loved it. And being that, as I've stated before on this blog, I may not be much of a runner, but my feet show the extent to which I attempt to be a runner.
We arrived and the nail salon was busy, busy, busy. A young gentlemen got us seated, a cup of water, and hot water added to soak our tootsies in. I admit I was hoping that he was just doing the prep work and someone else would take the tools to my hooves.
He sat down and started to slowly and meticulously trim my disgusting overgrown cuticles and dry skin and ill-shaped, home trimmed nails. The nice, twenty something man, masculine, gently chastised me for trimming my nails so short and leaving sharp ends. He's totally right, when I trim my toenails I'm usually doing something else, listening to music or Riddick and not at all paying attention to what I'm doing.
The bliss continued as we got to the massage part. His massage technique was very, very firm. I could feel the tender spot where I slammed my shin into the trailer hitch the weekend before. But the most glorious thing was the moment when he pressed his thumb into the arch of my foot......Oh mercy, holy buckets, it was not as good as sex, not even close, but it was very relaxing.
The whole experience was almost ruined when he actually popped my big toe. I hate having my toes popped, I mean who, besides Riddick and this salon dude, think it's pleasant to give the distinct impression that you are going to rip my toe off?
Other than that minor digression, it was a wonderful pedicure. And I bet when you saw this headline you though I went-a-whoring :-)
Thursday, September 11, 2014
My first introduction to the "Jack the Ripper" mystery was in the form of pure 80's television.
"Fantasy Island" season 4, episode 6, original air date of November 29, 1980. The episode title was "With affection Jack the Ripper/Gigolo". It was a strange pairing of a authoress that wanted to go back to 1889 White Chapel to unmask Jack the Ripper and some meek little guy who wanted to be a gigolo to get some confidence with women. Really? confidence with women, obviously written by a man.
I'm sure I had no idea what a gigolo was and the questions probably prompted answers that as a 8 year old I wasn't at all interested in. I don't remember that part of the episode.
But I do remember a immediate fascination with the idea that someone so long ago, in the "Laura Ingalls" of my brains history could also be a killer. I grew up with stories of "the green river" killer. A monster serial killer that was yet to be caught.
And all this interest was started from a evening soap opera where Charlene Tilton could be a figure skater, they had little cars for Tattoo, and you could time travel. Who said 80's television wasn't educational.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
I had such jealousy of my friends who passed by the bullshit of teen years and got to know their Mom's as fellow adults. Cohorts that supported each other. In reality of my three closes friends none of them have had that much extra time with their Mom's. Missy and Prissy lost their mom to cancer not long after I did. Graybelle has lost her mom to the absence of other distractions. But still I ache.
I want to know what my Mom's favorite color was. I want to know what she wanted to be when she grew up. I want to know how she felt about gay marriage. My gut tells me she wouldn't have given a fig, which is how I feel.
But mostly I want the warm embrace. The hug she gave me when I started my period at Burgerville. I wish she would have lived long enough to stop me from marrying my first husband. Because I know that she would have raised holy hell if she had been alive.
What I do remember of my Mom, she was kick ass. She loved me like crazy. She was kind to my friends, and never let me be a "mean girl". In fact she would jerk my chain if I tried. She knew what was classy and hated my "guess" jean mini skirt. She wasn't afraid of a fight, but wouldn't pick one. In all she was amazing. If I am half the women she was, well than I'm doing well.
For all of you that have your Mom still with you, please be grateful for her. Even if she is a roaring pain in the ass. For the rest of us, that are missing our Mom's, just be understanding that part of our hearts have gone ahead of us to heaven.
Friday, August 22, 2014
To believe that Riddick and I our raving proud geeks . Behold our new to us industrial sewing machine. Formerly owned at some point in the far distant past by Pendleton Woolen Mills.
It works great. Riddick was so excited to show me how many layers of fabric he could sew through. So much more powerful than my weiner sewing machine
Sunday, August 17, 2014
I've wanted to post this for so long but hesitated on the off chance that any one actually reads my blog.
When I see a picture of trayvon Martin I see my step son ironman. Trayvon was black and ironman is white. And although I'm not ignorant of racial strife in our country, to me they are the same. Both are boys. Sweet boys. I realize that any young men that reads this may not like the reference of sweet boy....but that's what they both are to me.
The person that ended Trayvons life does not warrant naming in my blog.
What I know is this. Our boy, Ironman goes to the local mini mart to get a snickers and Mt. Dew..not so different from Trayvon.
Not 1 month ago Riddick and I and our neighbor were hanging out late in the evening and three boys walked by. One of them said something to our neighbor that was not very hospitable. Riddick stood up and said " you guys should probably just go home" .
And that's what should have happened that night the Trayvon lost his life. I'm not assuming that Trayvon did or said something. My view is that the adult in the situation should have greeted him, and if said adult was concerned should have sent him on his way.
As adults in this society I believe we have a responsibility to watch out for children in our vicinity That doesn't mean you should discipline them it means you keep them from harm.
Let me be blunt. We are the grown ups. We have to act like it. I cannot imagine or condone shooting down a child. No matter how tall he is. He's still was a boy.
I realize there are differences of race in this situation. However I think it's the media that wants to make that a difference. For those of us that parent teenage boys its really very simple.
For me and Riddick, had this been our boy shot down I believe and fear Riddick would be in prison. I hurt so very much for Trayvons parent. And I also am awed and applaud their handling of their heartbreak. I'm not sure Riddick and I would be as capable of that grace
Habits. ..habits are hard to break. My habit of drinking 5 diet cokes a day was broken by doing a "whole 30 " diet. And what really killed the habit is when I sneaked a diet coke and got a raging headache. ...it just took the fun out of diet cola.
I just told Riddick to please put the dog nail clippers back in the drawer under the phone. There has not been a phone on the wall in this home since Riddick moved I here almost 5 years ago
But like I said habits die hard
Friday, August 15, 2014
All the time. At any one moment I have at least 2 different stories going in my head. If I ever successfully get them into novel form I probably won't have to worry about how much siding is going to cost on our home.
There are to me very different types of blogs that I read. There are the ones that are meant to shock so they get lots of page hits. There are honest blogs meant to loft others up like booshay.blogspot.com.
There are others that just give some bullshit version of someone's life that they wish was true.
Where does this blog fall into that? Well its honest. I don't try and shock but if I do its true. And it's real
I am a short curvy dark haired 42 year old that lives and works in Oregon. I'm a wife and I love that part of my life. Riddick and I aren't perfect but we are kick ass. I'm a step mom and right now that part of my life is creating some frustrations for me
My promise is if you read it here. ..not that anyone reads this. But if it's here its true. It's not mean. It's not a passive aggressive slam on any other human being. It's my little tiny insignificant voice on the Internet
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Monday, August 11, 2014
I believe it stems completely from not being a mother. I'm always sucking hind tit so to speak when it comes to a place in the lives of the children I have helped raise.
That point has been brought home to me very clearly in the past 24 hours. Right now I can best describe my feelings as feeling like I have mosquito netting between myself and my step kids. I am not in control of that netting, and neither are they, but it exists and all it does is filter out what each of us has to say.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
I remember the entire Mia Farrow vs. Woody Allen saga that went down. Partially because I am a "People" magazine reader and mostly because at the time my husband (not my husband now) had been accused of molesting his prior step daughter. Another long story for a different post, that may or may not get me sued...what the hell.
Here's my thoughts in summary:
Woody Allen: most likely not a classic pedophile because if he was there would be more than one little girl coming forward, at least you would think so.
Mia Farrow: yes of course she was pissed when they broke up, he took up with her adopted child, but most likely didn't plant the whole abuse idea because if she was out to destroy the man, she has other daughters she could have included in the complaint.
What I think: Woody is a arteest...yes I'm being facetious. With wealth and fame come invincibility. Something that happened in that attic room frightened that little girl. Whatever it was has stuck with her for years. Why did she just now right the open letter? Easy...she finally has felt comfortable enough to say what she feels.
Should we believe her without a doubt..no, but it's not my place to plant guilt or doubt. What is fair is that Dylan Farrow has written a letter, knowing that it would bring attention to her claim. She isn't asking for money, she's asking for people to recognize that the person who makes films we enjoy maybe has done something that was terrible and harmful.
My opinion is that at the very least the world should give as much credence to what Dylan has to say, as to what Woody has to say. You can decide which rings a louder bell of truth.