We have 2 new members in my little family. Their names are George and Kelly. They both have six legs and mandables that Bruce Campbell would be jealous of. They're big and black and shiny. They're beetles. My Boy put his name in a raffle where the prizes were 5 crawdaddys. He won. however one died last night. The other winners got to them first, so instead of having one large crawdaddy, we are blessed with 2 large beetles.
I can hear the eeewwws from Johnson County.
I'm glad to have these things instead of the other. And it's not because it grosses out grandma either. I already have one tank of watery life. I don't need another. Now I have this terrarium thing that completely encloses the lifeforms inside, AND I don't have to buy food. I just have to supply tree bark and water, and since we live next to a forest....wood smorgasborg! Cheap and contained! Slightly gross for the old folks. What more can I ask out of a new pet and habitat?
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Hell Yah! to all and to all a good night!
I went to another Christmas party one night after the Goddess Christmas party. I'm tired. I'm getting old. I'm alive, and thankfully I'm still learning about myself and others. Like this: Goddesses are WOMEN! The girls at this last party are just that girls. Young and immature even for their ages. Almost all are English majors. Some seriously ruin the sexy librarian fantasy.
I learned a few things last night.
1. Virgin 26 YO who is afraid of sex and/or intimacy will seem infinitely more immature than Fiddler 26 YO who enjoys both of those things.
2. Virgin 26 YO wears Big Boob shirts but runs from sexy little Adrian Brody lookalike!???!
3. Knitting at a drinking party should be banned. It's too dangerous and a bit of a wet blanket.
4. My 15 year highschool reunion is next year.
5. That makes me an "adult".
6. I had to sit in the "adult" room where the 20 somethings were afraid to go. Kinda like their sex fear but funnier.
7. I am soooo glad I'm an "adult". I'm not afraid of sex. I'm not afraid of intimacy. I've been that way since teenage years.
8. Dancing should not be a thin cover up of a taught phobia.
9. Grumpy-pusses should not go to Christmas parties. They kill the holiday frivolity with their smelling of pooh everywhere they look. Go home, take laxative, blow your nose, and watch that stupid romantic comedy.
10. Fuck your idea of looks and age. Your gorgeous and everyone knows it! So let it hang out and jiggle those Christmas Tits!
Not all of the girls are prude. Some are seriously "I don't remember his name but his tatoo is cool". Ah, youth. They'll figure it out. Until then they'll run towards bad or away from good. Some will just run until their prince comes and they get married and never have to worry about life/love again.
Oh, wait. Sorry, that was mean. Back to Christmas Spirit and all that.
I just love being an adult (like I'm really that smart about relationships). While I saw 2 good friends from highschool and one great woman (Fiddler 26 YO), I still missed you grown up, gorgeous, intelligent, sassy fucking women that I celebrated with on Monday!
I heart yous!
I learned a few things last night.
1. Virgin 26 YO who is afraid of sex and/or intimacy will seem infinitely more immature than Fiddler 26 YO who enjoys both of those things.
2. Virgin 26 YO wears Big Boob shirts but runs from sexy little Adrian Brody lookalike!???!
3. Knitting at a drinking party should be banned. It's too dangerous and a bit of a wet blanket.
4. My 15 year highschool reunion is next year.
5. That makes me an "adult".
6. I had to sit in the "adult" room where the 20 somethings were afraid to go. Kinda like their sex fear but funnier.
7. I am soooo glad I'm an "adult". I'm not afraid of sex. I'm not afraid of intimacy. I've been that way since teenage years.
8. Dancing should not be a thin cover up of a taught phobia.
9. Grumpy-pusses should not go to Christmas parties. They kill the holiday frivolity with their smelling of pooh everywhere they look. Go home, take laxative, blow your nose, and watch that stupid romantic comedy.
10. Fuck your idea of looks and age. Your gorgeous and everyone knows it! So let it hang out and jiggle those Christmas Tits!
Not all of the girls are prude. Some are seriously "I don't remember his name but his tatoo is cool". Ah, youth. They'll figure it out. Until then they'll run towards bad or away from good. Some will just run until their prince comes and they get married and never have to worry about life/love again.
Oh, wait. Sorry, that was mean. Back to Christmas Spirit and all that.
I just love being an adult (like I'm really that smart about relationships). While I saw 2 good friends from highschool and one great woman (Fiddler 26 YO), I still missed you grown up, gorgeous, intelligent, sassy fucking women that I celebrated with on Monday!
I heart yous!
Monday, December 18, 2006
Warning: mood swing
I woke up with the Shitty Life Blues this morning. Actually I went to bed with them. Blah. It took a full half hour sitting in the bathtub breathing and thinking before I remembered something small that lifted my spirits and energy level.
I am alive.
I have wonderful blessings in my life. I know and am loved by wonderful people. I get bored and amused easily. That keeps things interesting. Guess life can't be too crappy when you're fed, clothed, sheltered, loved, and needed.
not to mention breathing.
Can't wait for the Christmas party. See you all there!
I am alive.
I have wonderful blessings in my life. I know and am loved by wonderful people. I get bored and amused easily. That keeps things interesting. Guess life can't be too crappy when you're fed, clothed, sheltered, loved, and needed.
not to mention breathing.
Can't wait for the Christmas party. See you all there!
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Poisoned Bechemal
I love my mother, but she's crazy. She's making me crazy. She's made all my brothers crazy. And their wives and old girlfriends. My old boyfriends and PA would be inlcuded in that too.
I had dinner with her and the kiddos on Friday night. Her persistent whining and nagging prompted me to take her to a restaurant that I knew had great food, but had "elements" I knew she would find disturbing. We went to a Palestinian owned place. Muslim Palestinian not Christian. I have to make the distinction here because it's a small but important difference in that culture that I don't believe she knows about. She would be happy if they were all wiped off the planet so the Isrealis could take over completely thus expediating a jesus cameo.
Ok. Back to the story.
They (the restaurant) know me there and proceeded to give me my usual table. A family came in behind us. The regular "salaam" greeting between the host and the family followed while my mother looked on with apparant disgust that over the course of the evening grew into outright fear. I sat quietly giggling inside. I know, it's a sick humor that I have, but she's silly.
She kept staring at the family and the waitstaff and the decorations. Ooo. She was angered by a poster about Jerusalem that hung near our table. How dare they! I guess she forgot that these people lived there before the Jews and consider it just as holy, and she doesn't understand that it's a type of protection in very conservative predominantly Christian county.
I'm going back to the fear topic. She didn't look afraid just hateful, but I noticed she whispered "Praise Jesus. Thank you Jesus." while we waited for our food, she asked about the owner, about the arabic grocery store 2 doors down, whether or not they were jewish or muslim, and if that building down the street was a post office. I answered her Q's best I could and then ended it with a "Mom, there's the police station right across the street. You're safe." "Am I?" was her retort. Wow. If we were in Nazi Germany she would have been acting like this towards Jews. When the food came she picked it all apart and refused to eat anything that had a sauce on it.
I'm sorry, but all her actions stink of paranoia. Like she thinks they were trying to poison her or trick her mind with some muslim potion.
All these sides to the Great Human Drama, and I only get to view just this side. People people people. What are we to do with you?
I had dinner with her and the kiddos on Friday night. Her persistent whining and nagging prompted me to take her to a restaurant that I knew had great food, but had "elements" I knew she would find disturbing. We went to a Palestinian owned place. Muslim Palestinian not Christian. I have to make the distinction here because it's a small but important difference in that culture that I don't believe she knows about. She would be happy if they were all wiped off the planet so the Isrealis could take over completely thus expediating a jesus cameo.
Ok. Back to the story.
They (the restaurant) know me there and proceeded to give me my usual table. A family came in behind us. The regular "salaam" greeting between the host and the family followed while my mother looked on with apparant disgust that over the course of the evening grew into outright fear. I sat quietly giggling inside. I know, it's a sick humor that I have, but she's silly.
She kept staring at the family and the waitstaff and the decorations. Ooo. She was angered by a poster about Jerusalem that hung near our table. How dare they! I guess she forgot that these people lived there before the Jews and consider it just as holy, and she doesn't understand that it's a type of protection in very conservative predominantly Christian county.
I'm going back to the fear topic. She didn't look afraid just hateful, but I noticed she whispered "Praise Jesus. Thank you Jesus." while we waited for our food, she asked about the owner, about the arabic grocery store 2 doors down, whether or not they were jewish or muslim, and if that building down the street was a post office. I answered her Q's best I could and then ended it with a "Mom, there's the police station right across the street. You're safe." "Am I?" was her retort. Wow. If we were in Nazi Germany she would have been acting like this towards Jews. When the food came she picked it all apart and refused to eat anything that had a sauce on it.
I'm sorry, but all her actions stink of paranoia. Like she thinks they were trying to poison her or trick her mind with some muslim potion.
All these sides to the Great Human Drama, and I only get to view just this side. People people people. What are we to do with you?
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Some traditions are best left behind
Last night I almost felt that holiday cheer I keep hearing about. You know the one that consists of sugar plum fairies, bright shiny packages, and cut down trees. It takes great while for that Christmasy feeling to enter my crusty soul. It almost got there. I wrapped presents, and that usually puts me in the mood. The problem was I wanted the kids to experience a KC Christmas, so we went to Crown Center and the Plaza.
Don't ever do this on a Saturday night. I knew it was going to be bad when the traffic around that area was clogged worse than my pooper mid-chemo. Crown Center was packed, and I had no liquor to calm my anti-social, anti-ultra-American-Consumerism tendencies.
Not only the crowd bothered my sensitive nerves. There is a ginormous Christmas cone thing that dangles from the ceiling. What could possibly be more Christmasy than a 2 ton tree covered with ornaments hovering menacingly over your head as you eat? It reminded me of the pressure to make every Christmas the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER. Do it or the tree will smash you flatter than crepe suzette. Merry Christmas.
We escaped there with only candy. That was good. However leaving the place was about as painful as pooping mid-chemo. It took ten full minutes to exit the parking garage. I'm claustrophobic. I hate parking garages especially ones made before my time on this planet and are made for people shorter than 5 ft tall.
Now it's 7:17 pm. It takes maybe ten minutes to get from Crown Center to the Blahza if you hit every light imaginable. We got there at 7:49 pm. Every fucking Christmas fanatic was out there doing the exact same thing. And on top of it a few morons were causing wrecks to slow up the hell of driving thru The Blahza even more. Another ten minutes and we got away from there with only skirting the outside of The Blahza.
I mentioned I had no liquor, right? The kids were all hopped up on sugar. The sound in the back seat was deafening. Ahh Christmas carols sang by chillins who love 'em but don't know the lyrics.
I'm proud of myself. I cussed other drivers by using only a few profanities. We got home, watched Spongebob, pet the pooch, and I drank a bottle of wine. It ended up good. But I still wish I was Jewish.
Don't ever do this on a Saturday night. I knew it was going to be bad when the traffic around that area was clogged worse than my pooper mid-chemo. Crown Center was packed, and I had no liquor to calm my anti-social, anti-ultra-American-Consumerism tendencies.
Not only the crowd bothered my sensitive nerves. There is a ginormous Christmas cone thing that dangles from the ceiling. What could possibly be more Christmasy than a 2 ton tree covered with ornaments hovering menacingly over your head as you eat? It reminded me of the pressure to make every Christmas the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER. Do it or the tree will smash you flatter than crepe suzette. Merry Christmas.
We escaped there with only candy. That was good. However leaving the place was about as painful as pooping mid-chemo. It took ten full minutes to exit the parking garage. I'm claustrophobic. I hate parking garages especially ones made before my time on this planet and are made for people shorter than 5 ft tall.
Now it's 7:17 pm. It takes maybe ten minutes to get from Crown Center to the Blahza if you hit every light imaginable. We got there at 7:49 pm. Every fucking Christmas fanatic was out there doing the exact same thing. And on top of it a few morons were causing wrecks to slow up the hell of driving thru The Blahza even more. Another ten minutes and we got away from there with only skirting the outside of The Blahza.
I mentioned I had no liquor, right? The kids were all hopped up on sugar. The sound in the back seat was deafening. Ahh Christmas carols sang by chillins who love 'em but don't know the lyrics.
I'm proud of myself. I cussed other drivers by using only a few profanities. We got home, watched Spongebob, pet the pooch, and I drank a bottle of wine. It ended up good. But I still wish I was Jewish.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Lo, and God will smite thee for thy shoes.
My favorite Mother story involves shoes. Back in the day (college) my mom decided that I needed new shoes , and that she was going to provide them for me. She was generous in that she took me with her so I could pick out my shoes. The story goes like this:
One cold Saturday morning the Judybat and Old Man came out for a parental loving gesture. There was a basketball game going on, so Old Man was more concerned with that instead of the lunacy that followed. This was the time when the Rivermart was a mall and not a hotel. Old Man stayed out in the main hall listening to the game while the Judybat and I looked shoes.
Since I'm an extremely picky lady I slowly walked the store, conscientiously surveying the wares. I came to the Converse section. I love those shoes. Yes, that dates a person, but who cares? I looked for my color (black) and size. Great! My shoes were there. My Mother was dismayed. "Those are men shoes!" "No, look, mom. See? Men's, women's, and European sizes. It's ok. It's unisex."
Big mistake I used the "s" word. My first year at college she noticed a small hickey on my neck and treated me like the whore I was for the entire Christmas break. I think she was just jealous cuz my sexlife was great and interesting. Hers consisted of sex with only one man for a lifetime. YUCK!
Ok. So I walked around the ailse and noticed walking shoes. Great! The walk up KU's hill demands sensible walking shoes. I thought I was being smart, and that she would notice and compliment me on my very mature purchase. No. She was distraught now.
"I don't know what's wrong with kids these days. Girls want to look like boys. Men want to look like women. THAT'S why God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah." Notice the diminutive on the "girl" reference.
"Mother! I do not think that God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah just because I wanted to but these shoes!"
Please understand my volume levels. I started the statement out at a very strained whisper and ended in yelling it. I was also stomping across the store up to the counter and practically threw the shoes on the counter. I ended the tyrade with pointing at the shoes and yelling "I want to buy THESE shoes!" at the poor cashier. The entire store was staring at me and my Mother. She would not look up she just kept her head down and whispered over and over, "Just shut up. Just shut up."
I love that story. I have many, many, many more. It's kinda funny. She thought I was sleeping with everything. She probably thought I was doing things non-human. I wonder at what people were telling her about the dormitory I lived. You know all the orgies and drug parties. Well, ok. We did have those, but we were kids and no one got hurt. I wonder if she thought I had turned gay. I had been accused of that by straight and gay because of wearing things such as sensible shoes. I made many lesbians angry because I wasn't gay. False advertisement. I guess. I love ambiguity. It messes with people.
One cold Saturday morning the Judybat and Old Man came out for a parental loving gesture. There was a basketball game going on, so Old Man was more concerned with that instead of the lunacy that followed. This was the time when the Rivermart was a mall and not a hotel. Old Man stayed out in the main hall listening to the game while the Judybat and I looked shoes.
Since I'm an extremely picky lady I slowly walked the store, conscientiously surveying the wares. I came to the Converse section. I love those shoes. Yes, that dates a person, but who cares? I looked for my color (black) and size. Great! My shoes were there. My Mother was dismayed. "Those are men shoes!" "No, look, mom. See? Men's, women's, and European sizes. It's ok. It's unisex."
Big mistake I used the "s" word. My first year at college she noticed a small hickey on my neck and treated me like the whore I was for the entire Christmas break. I think she was just jealous cuz my sexlife was great and interesting. Hers consisted of sex with only one man for a lifetime. YUCK!
Ok. So I walked around the ailse and noticed walking shoes. Great! The walk up KU's hill demands sensible walking shoes. I thought I was being smart, and that she would notice and compliment me on my very mature purchase. No. She was distraught now.
"I don't know what's wrong with kids these days. Girls want to look like boys. Men want to look like women. THAT'S why God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah." Notice the diminutive on the "girl" reference.
"Mother! I do not think that God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah just because I wanted to but these shoes!"
Please understand my volume levels. I started the statement out at a very strained whisper and ended in yelling it. I was also stomping across the store up to the counter and practically threw the shoes on the counter. I ended the tyrade with pointing at the shoes and yelling "I want to buy THESE shoes!" at the poor cashier. The entire store was staring at me and my Mother. She would not look up she just kept her head down and whispered over and over, "Just shut up. Just shut up."
I love that story. I have many, many, many more. It's kinda funny. She thought I was sleeping with everything. She probably thought I was doing things non-human. I wonder at what people were telling her about the dormitory I lived. You know all the orgies and drug parties. Well, ok. We did have those, but we were kids and no one got hurt. I wonder if she thought I had turned gay. I had been accused of that by straight and gay because of wearing things such as sensible shoes. I made many lesbians angry because I wasn't gay. False advertisement. I guess. I love ambiguity. It messes with people.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
INCONCLUSIVE Hairy Santa Fun
"Inconclusive" is what doctor # 7 said about the bubble on my neck. I was worried both doctors # 6 and # 7 were going to have to operate on me at the same time. However, he's going to check me out in a month. That seems like an eternity to me that I know will go in a flash. I'm beginning to hate doctors. I already hate hospitals.
On the lighter side of things...I love my hair. Thank you, Bertha, for the wonderful color! You deserve an Oprah moment on the subject of female social hubs, connections, support, and friendship.
Santa Claus! I'm trying to get a very kid friendly party together complete with a St. Nick. I think it will be at LuLu's, that infamous home of The King and absolutely perfect place for any gathering of women with their kids. Anyhoo...It will be on Friday the 22nd. We haven't discussed time. There will be little gifty baggy things for the youngsters, and some spirits for the Goddesses and any Humble Servants that might want to attend. POTLUCK! Bring yummies. I adore any holiday cookie things with jam, but you can make what you will. I do have one stipulation though. No Gizzards! You know who I'm talking to, Rosie.
I sent an email out, but I don't have some folk's email, so here you are. The invite's out on the wide world of net. Since there's items to be distributed, please email either myself or Lu with your RSVP. And a Jolly Chrishanakwanztivus to everyone of us!
On the lighter side of things...I love my hair. Thank you, Bertha, for the wonderful color! You deserve an Oprah moment on the subject of female social hubs, connections, support, and friendship.
Santa Claus! I'm trying to get a very kid friendly party together complete with a St. Nick. I think it will be at LuLu's, that infamous home of The King and absolutely perfect place for any gathering of women with their kids. Anyhoo...It will be on Friday the 22nd. We haven't discussed time. There will be little gifty baggy things for the youngsters, and some spirits for the Goddesses and any Humble Servants that might want to attend. POTLUCK! Bring yummies. I adore any holiday cookie things with jam, but you can make what you will. I do have one stipulation though. No Gizzards! You know who I'm talking to, Rosie.
I sent an email out, but I don't have some folk's email, so here you are. The invite's out on the wide world of net. Since there's items to be distributed, please email either myself or Lu with your RSVP. And a Jolly Chrishanakwanztivus to everyone of us!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The love of money is the root of all evil. Or was that just love?
After a tiring day I come home to no lights and house sans everyone else. Yea! A night free of pestering old people and whiny young people. Say "hello" to my dog and proceed to look for my mail. Something shiny catches my eye and I investigate.
It appears to be a plastic gold coin with words and images on it. The side I see first has a dove with "peace, love, good will"....good liberal hippy shit. I flip it over. There's a picture of a person with the words "David slew Goliath". hunh? I flip it over "peace, love, good will". I flip it over "David slew Goliath".
I didn't read it wrong. It said that. It got me to thinking about the absurd "reality" in which my old folks live. The one where hate and destruction = divine love only a male desert god could provide. However my contemplation doesn't rest there, so I sit here still contemplating it. I turn the phrases over in my head. There are so many meanings that you can read into. But I can't escape the origin of the thing and that clouds whatever good message I could possibly get out of it.
The coin comes from their church as a way to entice young hapless victims into their belief system. Their church is very much a Fundamentalist/Zionist church where they're giddy for the destruction of the MidEast and the return of their Lord and the rapture (of course). Get them with promises of love and then burn hate into their little minds. Then call it good.
I just find the coincidence and irony of the object fascinating. While I was revulsing (is that a word?) in the monetary attempt at washing my children's brains and hearts, the JudyBat called home, screaming at me to deliver it and other fake church money to her church or risk never receiving any help from her ever again. I kid not about this. She actually threatened that.
I feel like the sane cityslicker from Green Acres that has to put up with low educated, bumpkin, crazies. I'm going for a glass of w(h)ine. Goodnight.
It appears to be a plastic gold coin with words and images on it. The side I see first has a dove with "peace, love, good will"....good liberal hippy shit. I flip it over. There's a picture of a person with the words "David slew Goliath". hunh? I flip it over "peace, love, good will". I flip it over "David slew Goliath".
I didn't read it wrong. It said that. It got me to thinking about the absurd "reality" in which my old folks live. The one where hate and destruction = divine love only a male desert god could provide. However my contemplation doesn't rest there, so I sit here still contemplating it. I turn the phrases over in my head. There are so many meanings that you can read into. But I can't escape the origin of the thing and that clouds whatever good message I could possibly get out of it.
The coin comes from their church as a way to entice young hapless victims into their belief system. Their church is very much a Fundamentalist/Zionist church where they're giddy for the destruction of the MidEast and the return of their Lord and the rapture (of course). Get them with promises of love and then burn hate into their little minds. Then call it good.
I just find the coincidence and irony of the object fascinating. While I was revulsing (is that a word?) in the monetary attempt at washing my children's brains and hearts, the JudyBat called home, screaming at me to deliver it and other fake church money to her church or risk never receiving any help from her ever again. I kid not about this. She actually threatened that.
I feel like the sane cityslicker from Green Acres that has to put up with low educated, bumpkin, crazies. I'm going for a glass of w(h)ine. Goodnight.
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