….but I couldn’t resist! It was only $5 at Target.
I’m so sorry Noodle…really I am.
….but I couldn’t resist! It was only $5 at Target.
I’m so sorry Noodle…really I am.
“because fire is the devil’s only friend”
To those who may be worried, this is not about Don McLean, the devil or even that guilty pleasure of a movie, “American Pie.”
See, I lived in Southern California from 1985-2000. Some formative years in my life, let me tell ya. As I watch the coverage of the fires out there, my heart is breaking. I stayed up all night last night, with small fits of sleep, watching wall to wall coverage of the fires on CNN. So many familiar places, even the familiar name and face of a high school friend’s brother who is now a Public Information Officer for the LA County Fire Department.
I hear them talk about Malibu and I remember a friend and I jumping into my 1970 red VW bug and driving up there to see what all the fuss was about and to give us time to smoke our beloved Salem Menthols. I think of driving along the Malibu coast and trying to escape whatever was plaguing my mind with thoughts of living in those huge houses on the cliffs and along the beach. I wonder how many of those houses are now damaged.
I see the fires in San Diego county and I just stare. I stare at the places that are on fire, places where I spent lots of my wasted youth, well, wasting my youth. San Diego was always this complete oasis that was only 2 hours down Pacific Coast Highway. Lots of boys, lots of trouble to get into, lots to do…and at one time or another, I probably did it all. Now I hear of these places not as recreation spots, but as refugee shelters for people who may or may not have a place to go home to. There is talk of the San Diego fires just burning until they hit the beach. With all the development, there is still plenty of green areas left in SD and those areas may fuel this monster and put in peril the little beach cities that I love so much.
Even if you aren’t specifically threatened by the fires, you are effected. My mom is having horrible respiratory problems. Her car is covered with soot. The sky at her house is an eerie yellow. She says it smells like she’s in the middle of a big campfire. She is a good 40 miles from the closest fires and is near the beach, but does that matter with these fires? She works for the city she lives in and a large portion of their fire department is out helping other departments try to reign this thing in. However, they can’t help but wonder if those guys can make it home in time should the large peninsula right by their home town should go up in flames….which is entirely possible at this point.
The last couple of days here in Nashville have been pretty dreary. Rainy and cool and not too motivational to anyone. But as I was sitting at lunch, lamenting the fact that I wasn’t at home on the couch reading and enjoying this weather, I stopped and realized that at least I have a couch to go home to tonight and I tried with all my might to make the rain take a hard turn West and not stop until it reaches the ocean. I figure it can’t hurt.
It’s sort of a big day for me. After nearly 34 days on this planet, I have come to terms with my breasts. I’ve more then come to terms with them, I’m accepting them. I am understanding that they are mine and they fit me.
I remember my teen years when I held out hope that they would get larger, even with all the genetic evidence to the contrary. Then there were my 20s when they were just there, I didn’t really think about them negatively OR positively. I’ve never had to “deal” with them much. Never had to worry about how a design on a t-shirt would be deformed by them. Never had to find ways to control them should I decide to run. Never worried about their sheer strength allowing them to make a valiant escape from a swimsuit.
Once I hit my 30s, the idea of surgically enhancing “the girls” consumed my mind. I’m sure it had NOTHING to do with the preponderance of TV shows where people were getting sliced and diced in every way imaginable to be more acceptable to society. It seemed like it would soon be the case that I would be the only woman in the US with small breasts. I didn’t want that to be true. Luckily, I was in no financial situation to take such drastic measures. Then I had some “non-elective” surgery and was so terrified at that whole process and had such struggles with recovery that there was no way I was going to CHOOSE to go under the knife.
This past summer I have worn deep v-neck shirts with little camisoles under them. Sure, I don’t have any real cleavage (or Cleveland as my little cousin calls it) but “the girls” are perky and stay where they should be without any sort of flying buttress type of contraption. I now don’t even LOOK at the many undergarments that are on the market with gel, or water or other fillers that plump things up and push things together. It just doesn’t feel normal for me at all.
I will never have to worry about shuffling down the hall of a nursing home kicking my boobs with my knees. If there is a chill, they are super responsive (as the coolness doesn’t have to go through much flesh to get a reaction). If a fella is a “boob” man, he won’t be interested in me, but I think that might weed out some of the, well, “weeds.”
Boobs sag and such, but my bright blue eyes and quick wit will be where they are supposed to be, right along with my “girls.”
So there, I’m cool with my ta-tas. My mini-melons serve me fine. My chi-chis are cute. All is good with my chesticles.
It being breast cancer awareness month…this seems even more timely 🙂
Now on to the million other parts of my physical and mental being that I need to accept….a woman’s work is never done!
I just got home from seeing the movie Once . If any of the following things ring true to you, RUN to see this movie, drive a couple of hours if you have to:
Seriously, I LOVED this movie. If I had seen this on a date, I can’t even imagine how the rest of the night had been, but I guarantee I wouldn’t be writing this right now. I saw it with my Dad. He paid AND bought me killer chicken fingers afterwards. He liked the movie OK, but wasn’t as enamored as I was. He was irritated that a movie so focused on music had three basic songs that were played over and over. I get that. Life is like that, three songs, played over and over, each time the words take on new meanings and importance. I SO get it. There is also the aspect of unrequited love and words unspoken. The male lead kind of throws it all out on the table early on in the movie, but it’s out of a kind of desperation, a desperation you feel when you first meet someone and they make you happier then you have been in awhile and you might say things because you fear you will never get another chance to say them. It’s an honest desperation. As the film progresses, he says less and less in words, but the desperation never leaves. It starts to invade the movie-goer’s stomach and draws you even further into this simple, sweet, complicated story.
I can’t even begin to go into how much I enjoyed this film and how it seemed to take over my being while I was watching it. I can, however, discuss how it made me think about some things in my life, mostly (this is a big shocker) boys.
Things I wish I hadn’t done (situations that involved boys I’ve liked only) :
Things I want to say or do every time I see a boy I like (and know):
The end of “Once” was quite ambiguous. I have already come up with about 10 scenarios as to what happened next. My life these days has been quite ambiguous also, but I have only a couple of good endings for that.
So, while taking the long drive from Chicago’s Midway airport to the Skyway last week, I saw a billboard for this. That’s right cats and kittens…Budweiser mixed with Clamato juice. (go ahead, vomit, it’s expected)
Apparently this is being marketed toward the Hispanic/Latin/Whatever-is-PC-for-people-from-Spanish-speaking-countries population as the billboard was in Spanish and the drink has a Spanish name (which I am assuming loosely translates to “you must be DAMN drunk to drink this”).
I have always had issues with tomato juice in general. There was one weekend in Vegas where I acquired a taste for Bloody Marys, but some food poisoning at the Subway in O’Shea’s cured me of that. The idea of CLAMATO is purely terrifying. Perhaps in a nice sauce over some pasta I can deal with clams and tomatoes…but even then, probably not.
More then my fair share of Budweiser products have passed through my lips. I’m not proud of it. Much like the redneck boy I hooked up with once, it didn’t seem like a HORRIBLE idea at the time, it was readily available and I was already piss drunk. If they are the King of Beers, I’m either starting a revolt or building a boat and finding the New Country ASAP. The idea of adding a clam and tomato juice combo to this canned swill is an idea that sends a shiver through my body.
I’m all for ethnic tastes and cultural difference, but seriously people….this is just WRONG WRONG WRONG.
I was sent a link about Blog Action Day and the idea of it seemed both intriguing and a challenge. Since I am normally talking about boys or dog or inane things like that on here, the environment seems a tad “deep” for me. But you know what? I care about the environment…and not just like everyone SAYS they care about it, I vote on environmental issues and for candidates to share my environmental views. (Please disregard the huge number of plastic water bottles I use and discard…..I’m working on it!)
I also like the idea of a huge number of bloggers blogging about the same thing and having that subject NOT be about some people’s inability to wear panties or “keep it in their pants.”
So, here are my thoughts on the environment.
This past weekend I was in Southwestern Michigan for a family funeral. After all that stuff was taken care of, my mother and I went to the Elk’s Fish Fry…I’m sure you’re jealous. Many long time friends were there, including one who is in charge of a large plumbing company in the area. He and I got to talking about a recent trip he took to Wyoming and Utah and how lovely those areas are, etc… He then mentioned that he is going to a conference in Colorado to learn about “green” building practices. He thought it was funny since Michigan is one of the worst polluters in the USA. His words were “Seems kinda stupid to build a green building by a coal plant.” I told him I thought that was the PERFECT place to build a green building. These little pockets of the country where green building has become “cool” are not going to fix the larger problems. If we can start moving into industrial areas and show folks that building with an eye on the environmental effects is not only beneficial to the future, but not a big pain in the ass right now, then folks will do it, or at least not fight it so much.
The environment is not the worry for only the tree-huggers and hippies. We all live on this planet. All those conservative types with roman numerals after your name….want those numbers to stop getting bigger with future generations, ignore the environment. Blind people who are protesting electric cars (seriously!) seem to be missing the forest for the trees. I know, they are blind and such, but seriously, BIG PICTURE people. Perhaps electric cars will take away the urge for the government to drill for oil in protected lands?
I don’t have a fancy powerpoint or a Nobel Peace Prize. I don’t have a lot of facts and figures to back up my ideas about the environment. I try to read as much as I can, I try to limit my impact where I can. I try to do anything I can so I can take a nice long walk with a cute dark haired boy and my dog in a field of flowers, or go canoeing with friends in a river that doesn’t have more paint then water in it, or walk outside without needing a breathing treatment. If we all do little things, big things can happen. It’s really the only way.
I got home about an hour ago from Niles, MI the birthplace of my parents and most recently, the final resting place for my mother’s oldest sister. Her death was unexpected, but I was never close to her and mainly went to the funeral to support my mother (you have to do that when you are the daughter of the black sheep of the family). I have to say, after the death of my dear friend’s pre-mature baby, my grandmother and a family friend recently, it was kind of nice to have some organized grief.
It was great to see my cousins, who are much older then me and their kids, who are much younger then me. We actually had a lot of laughs and such. However, to see my six second cousins (age 13-23) act as pallbearers at their grandmother’s funeral was pretty tough. I couldn’t imagine, even at 33, having that responsibility.
I will admit that I was kinda ticked at my grandma for not wanting any sort of funeral, etc… It’s not about the person, who dies, it’s about the people who remain. Who will miss this person and share memories. I know my little second cousins got some closure that I don’t think I have, but that doesn’t mean they needed to carry that casket.
The good thing about all of this was that I got to spend an evening with friends that I have had forever. Friends who are more family to me then any of the countless relatives I had seen the previous few days. Friends who I can not talk to for months or years and it simply doesn’t matter. There is a comfort in these friendships that I cannot even begin to explain. It’s like I don’t actively think about them a lot, but they are always on my mind and in my heart. I know how lucky I am to have these friends and that not a lot of people have that type of friendship. I only wish that we had had more time then the few hours we had at the fish fry at The Elks (Lodge 1322)—-not really my scene, although I’ve known the current “Exalted Ruler” my whole life. I also got hit on my a cute corn fed midwestern boy, who ended up being about 24 years old. AWWWW YEAH, too bad that is 2 years below my arbitrary minimum age limit, but he did buy me a drink.
All of this funereal fun made me miss the big anniversary party at work. That sucked big time. I didn’t have the “escort” I wanted lined up or really anything to wear, but I am pretty sure I missed a good time. I was tempted to call and get a report, but I figured that will give me something to look forward to at work on Monday. I also was so wiped out from the last few days that I skipped the costume party/wedding shower I was supposed to go to tonight. I had high hopes for that party too…. but, alas, I fear those hopes were not meant to be, at that party, or anywhere else. OK…that was a bit dramatic, but these last few weeks of death have got me questioning my place in the world.
I’ve been wondering what the point is of my life. If I don’t “breed”–then what am I here for? I don’t think I’m going to cure cancer or write the great american novel or travel around the world by myself in a kayak. I listened to the TERRIBLE “eulogy” at my Aunt’s funeral and wondered what people would say about me. “She was alright. Could hold her vodka, but don’t give her shots. She loved her pets and her purses. Could shoe shop like nobody’s business. That’s about it….” I mean GOOD GOD! The best quote anyone came up with to tell the pastor about my Aunt was “Don’t eat the potato salad at a picnic.” When I heard that I thought I would rather nothing be said if that was the best people could come up with for me, but then I wondered if there was anything better to come up with. I don’t know, all this death makes ya think a lot about life—isn’t THAT ironic (probably not…Alanis has confused me forever on the whole theory of irony) and all this thinking is wearing me out.
I think I’ll go let my dog love me. I bet he would give me a GREAT eulogy, you know, if he could talk.
int: Semi-crowded bar, night. The post trivia crowd has started to dissipate, but the air is still charged from the marriage proposal that all had just witnessed. A girl, brown hair, cute top, huge smile and stomach ache from the evening’s laughter is deciding if she is ready to leave or not. She looks across the table at the boy, dark hair and eyes and a sly smile, who consumes her thoughts as of late.
I think I’m going to head out
(extends hand in a gesture that is asking for “five”) Be good, be safe.
(gives him “five” but grabs his hand and uses it to pull herself closer)
I can’t leave without a hug.
(Pulls girl tight and squeezes, pulling her face into the crook of his neck where she becomes intoxicated with his smell)
But I might not let go.
Would that be so bad?
(She looks up from where she is buried in his neck into his sweet, happy eyes)
(shrugs and pulls her back in to him)
Uh, well, some of us have to work tomorrow…….
ext: girl finds herself walking down the street to her car wondering WHAT THE FUCK HER PROBLEM IS!!!
I saw a title of a blog that said “The beauty the mirrors don’t reflect.” It was categorized under “religion” and as a result didn’t interest me as I am not in the mood to read about anyone’s religion today.
It made me think though. I don’t think mirrors EVER reflect beauty. At least no mirrors I look in. This isn’t a “poor me, I’m not a total hottie” post, quite the opposite. When I look in mirrors I tend to be looking for flaws, or looking to see that I have primped and prodded and covered and contorted myself so that physical issues are not as pronounced. The times I have seen beauty in a mirror was more because I saw myself as happy. I noticed I was standing taller or had a flirtier look on my face or some other random thing like that.
True beauty is really reflected all around…just rarely in mirrors. Next time you are out with a group of friends or just one friend, catch the beauty reflected in the windows, or the silverware, or the glasses or the happiness in your friends’ faces. Say something silly or stupid (intentional or not) and see your beauty reflected in the laughter on someone else’s face. Beauty has so little to do with hair, clothes and makeup, but so much more to do with personality and strength and courage and weakness and openness.
A friend told me I looked beautiful this past weekend. As I am wont to do, I said something that completely disagreed with him or pointed out how I was a sweaty as a whore in church and my hair was a disaster, etc…. He argued with me and said that there was no way that anyone who was as happy as I was at that moment could be anything but beautiful. It’s times like that I wish I could see myself through other people’s eyes. I think I miss the good things about myself a lot of the time. I think most people miss the good things about themselves a lot of the time.
Earlier in the week I was out with some friends at a bar. We were on the patio since Noodle was with me. My intentions had been to stop by to wish someone happy birthday, drop off a gift certificate I had to the bar for the group to share and be on my way. I figured no one would be all hyped on sitting outside with me and my dog. Slowly but surely, they all came out and we took over the patio. I know that the main draw was Noodle, he’s so dang cute and all, but it ended up that it was more important that we were all together having a good time then it was to be sitting in our favorite booth inside where one of us (me in this case) couldn’t be. THAT is beauty to me.
Physical beauty is so subjective and so fleeting. I tend to find beauty in “less then lovely” things and sometimes people. Show me quirks and flaws and idiosyncrasies and I’m all over it. The beauty from these things can’t be reflected in a mirror, it can only be reflected through understanding and appreciation.
Today, and as many days as possible, I will try to catch the reflection of my beauty. I will try to reflect the beauty of my friends. Seems like a worthy goal, no?
I have the urge to write tonight.
I want to write lovely words.
Words to inspire.
Words that reflect who I am and who I want to be.
However, the only thoughts that come to mind are the fact that involve a “trip to South America” (aka, the horrors of a Brazillian wax) and the fact that I enjoy “playing the skin flute” and would like to have a recital soon. Really, it’s true, all thoughts seem to be about genitals, mine as well as others. Access to them, conditions of them, fun with them. I’m usually not one to focus so much on the “nether regions” but this seems to be the theme for the day as of late. It may be out of sexual frustration or some hormonal surge. It may be that I am turning into a teenage boy. I don’t know what it is or where it came from. I don’t really care that these thoughts consume my mind, but it is simply hard to be an intellectual when all you can think of is “cooch-a-nannies” and “joysticks.”