The dog, who is rolling around in ecstacy as I furminate his fluffy ass. Pictured: approximately the same amount of hair as is in my backseat after one car ride. I jest, or do I??!?!
Mable, being awesome & chillaxin’ in her favorite chair. She likes it best when I clean the chair, so she can immediately furball it up. If you’re sensing a pet-hair theme now that the warmer weather has hit, BINGO.
Party time! A gift (hours of sewing but I didn’t take a photo, oh well!), & a three-layer chocolate cake with cheesecake filling and cream cheese frosting:
& the pièce de résistance, our uteriñata! The first-ever piñata I’ve made, as far as I know… it might have been Ralph’s first too. Ribbon-pull method, as nope, there won’t be any beating of a uterus up in this household.
At the party, our children – being beautiful, being themselves.
TWEEKERS SUCK then, clearly added later, YOUR [BITCH] TITS
It’s cold as hell and the bus “shelter” provides no respite. I tap on my phone and look online expecting to see the bus here any second; instead I find we will have to wait fifty more minutes and I’m like, stunned with despair.
I want to cry. My serenity vanishes and I am completely pissed. I will spare you the details; it’s ugly and trifling, but yeah I’m angry and I’ve already figured out how everyone is to blame. And with every ounce of self-restraint I do not say or do anything shitty out of this mental place and instead I zip my coat and I walk alongside my husband and I tell him, “I’m very cold.” He’s a cheerful bastard and has his metabolism so in a single-layer cotton hoodie he’s fine. He and my kids, I’m telling you. Their bodies ramp up and they are like hot little bread loaves in the bed at night, ask me how I know this. But I’m cold, cold, always cold.
A man gets on the bus and then another, and I recognize them from Treatment. They perhaps don’t know me or are too busy. One looks good though like he might not be drinking. Last time I saw him he was all yellowed up even in his eyes.
One thing about being wet and cold and out in the elements, we’re finally home over an hour later, and I am so pleased to be back inside. My daughter brings me a blanket and a pillow and asks if she can remove my shoes, and I’m so grateful and she blushes, pleased with herself she could make me so happy.
My daughter. This morning, first thing she said to me, she pulled me in close while she was still in bed and whispered her good dream she had. It was the most stunningly beautiful handful of words I’ve heard in a while. And I knew it was a secret only for me the moment she told me. It brought tears to my eyes; the dream and its sweetness, and amazing thing that she shared with me because she trusts me.
Things were different for me when I was her age. It’s hard to believe in something better, even when it’s right before my eyes.
I wrap up in blankets and I rest. A friend picks me up and takes me home, later. Simple things, those little things that help me. I am very grateful for these.
I’d wondered what happened to Miguel Ángel Fuentes, the let’s-face-it de facto centerpiece of the 1980 silly “superhero” film Pumaman. I mean, I didn’t wonder about him enough to Google it or anything (he’s actually been getting plenty of work, thanks*). I was pretty inspired to see Rifftrax’s latest cinematic offering, The Bermuda Triangle (1978) featured this delightful man. Most of the time he’s in the bilge getting soaking wet and – here’s where I sat up and paid attention – wearing a very impractical tiny babydoll crew tee. And not just one crew tee. But two!
Then – wait for it –
So one thing after last night’s viewing of this cinematic turd, Ralph and I decided we had to make those t-shirts (so wedid). And then I thought I’d post the um, artwork, for the shirts, in case anyone else had to have them.
The Bermuda Triangle isn’t the crappiest film I’ve ever seen by any stretch (um, but just to be clear, it’s really, really bad). As far as movies go where you know everyone’s doomed, this film had me at the “OK let’s get down to it then” place within the first few half hour… then just dragged out. I think they also murdered a few actual sharks, put scuba-stuntmen at real risk, and littered a lot in the ocean, so that was kind of gross.
Anyway for anyone else who’s a little b-movie freak, here you go.
* And he was in “The A-Team” pilot! I’ll bet playing a generic Latino bad guy who has no lines and gets blown up. I haven’t watched an episode of “The A-Team” ever, but, that’s my guess.
Today I was ill, in only one regard I can identify: I slept so incredibly poorly last night, not falling asleep until long after sun-up. So I put one foot in front of the other, literally, once I got up. I walked as much as I could. I walked with my kids and dog downtown on business- and pleasure-errands. I walked with my kids and dog (and one other child) to a meeting, then back. I made some food and did some chores and rested and watched a made-for-TV movie.
A bit ago Nels calls me from the bathtub, because he does not like being alone when it’s nighttime. I go in and sit down and he’s floating in the bath in the warm red light of the bathroom and he’s beautiful. So in a minute he tells me his penis is like a boat, bobbing in the water like a raft, and he does these little ocean-waves with his hand. Then: “What’s on the raft… a germ?” he asks. I’m like, Yeah, imagining a little germ with a captain’s hat standing like a coxswain on (what would be to the germ) a massive penis raft. And Nels says, “Two germs and a flea…” (we’ve had horrid flea problems with the new dog, which are finally abating thanks to a kindhearted-soul’s donations to our family) then while I’m still thinking on this ludicrous image Nels sits up very serious and says, “Can fleas see germs?”
CAN FLEAS SEE GERMS, this seems entirely reasonable. Holy shit, it’s like, I have been high a few times in my life, but my kids come up with these questions and/or observations straight-up sober, and pretty much any time you have a conversation with them.
Tonight is night two in a row of children camping in the backyard. A neighbor child D. is over here whenever he can be. He stayed last night, ate a great deal of food here today, and is staying tonight. I really would take him in and raise him but you’re not allowed to make those kind of overtures where I come from. So instead it’s like, I have this extra little guy with me. I wonder how he’ll remember our family. I wonder what the future has in store.
Today Phoenix and I are walking with the dog while the boys trail behind us. And I say, “I think D. has a crush on you,” and she says, “Obviously,” and flicks the dog to attention and bangs on the button for the crosswalk lights. OBVIOUSLY, spoken with a thousand percent aplomb. She really kills me.
Me. Ten hours ago via email to Ralph: “I want that salad with fruit, garbanzo beans, and homemade bread rolls stuffed with ham and green beans”
Well while I was craftblogging and doing a bunch of other stuff, Ralph made dinner. Do you know what he made? He made all of it. Homemade rolls. This awesome salad. Roasted garbanzo beans. And fresh green beans sauteed with ham diced so fine it was like angels were in my kitchen.
It was the best meal I’ve had in forevvvvvveerrrrr
More stuff that got said today. On a long walk the kids and I and the dog, plus an extra kid, took.
Nels: “What you just said was so boring, a vulture squawked somewhere.”
Phoenix, later: “I’ll have a Virgin Mary because I’m a virgin. You have a Bloody Mary on the account of the miscarriage. Also your middle name.”*
I’m very tired. Insomnia quite a bit over the last week-plus. & last night just after falling asleep my neighbors got up to REAL rowdy and drunk at 2, 3, 5 AM. Going to the doctor tomorrow. About the insomnia stuff. About the neighbors, I may call the police since it’s happened like three times in the last ten days. Anyway, wish me luck with both!
The trouble with kids today. OK, there’s so much to love about this post. I cringe-laugh at the Connery interview. I know I shouldn’t feel bad for him, publicly airing his ignorance and fear, but I kind of do. And it’s ironic our macho, best Bond (well, I like all the Bonds, but got a soft spot for Mr. Connery) is in reality a frightened person, who hits and then justifies hitting as making sense. But I really liked all the quotes at the bottom. “Get off my lawn”, the world is going to the dogs, “kids today”, et cetera. Good stuff.
I haul my daughter out of the house full of kids, and one parent in the back room smoking pot. I’m pissed even though I know this person is just getting by. It’s nothing personal and has nothing whatsoever to do with me. That said, in my field I do with regularity hear about the kind of stuff that goes down in homes where the adults in charge are Lotus Eaters, and heck I lived a bit of it. Are my kids in danger? Probably not much. Possibly not at all. But you’ll excuse me if I’m not always entirely sanguine about it all, 24/7. Sometimes my tolerance is a bit low. My kids are still little, remember?
Just getting by. I get it. Today I got a text from another friend, relapsed/relapsing, out drinking and/or drugging as I type this, asking for a ride earlier – I suspect, to find more substances to put in his system. Lest you think this isn’t a big deal, it is my opinion this young man may very well die a young age. Or he may never drink again and live a long fruitful life. Anything could happen. I’m thinking of him as I lie on a cold slab getting a picture of my insides. The x-ray technician and/or radiologist and I talk a bit, and pretty soon we have a few laughs. She is sweet and kind. As per usual when I leave, she wishes for things to get better. This is a lovely thing. You’d think people would get bored or apathetic but usually medical staff are kind. Usually people are kind.
Later in the day at an appointment with my specialist he laughs handsomely and tells me the latest about my kidneys. It’s not great news, but it’s much better than it could be. For this I am grateful. While he taps on the laptop I notice a striking piece of jewelry; I ask if the feature setting is an opal. He tells me it’s an elk tooth – “elk ivory”, he corrects himself. “Oh, did you take the animal down yourself?” I ask. He tells me yes. “With your bare hands?” He laughs again. He probably thinks I’m being a jerk. But I am just irreverent at times. He looks like a stock photo picture of a handsome doctor, and I like the image of him grappling like a caveman.
Home, and in the afternoon four kids from other families streamed over at our house. Arts and crafts! One of Phee’s very off-hand dragons:
The children all did a lot of drawing (Each child is so expressive! It’s cool.), and then they played this game where they said existentially-silly sentences and then laughed with much gusto. Nels was in the forerunning with, “I don’t believe in soup.” I thought that one was pretty good. And let me tell you, the kids played this game for several minutes running. I’m folding laundry now and a bit later I hear my son regale the crowd with, “I forget to close my eyes when I run into walls, because I’m allergic to semen.” So at that point I think maybe we should have a walk, play a different game.
The last few days I’ve thrown myself into new work with addicts and alcoholics, giving rides here and there, buying breakfast for the flat-out underemployed, caring for other people’s kids, teens and pets, taking a friend on a birthday date, and helping those who have a hard time making ends meet.
Plus all that other stuff of caring for my own kiddos and husband and pets and household as best I can. And having a bit of a social life, and a sewing life, to boot!
So, I am behind on both writing here, and responding to comments. I apologize.
One thing I want to point out is the few people I’ve helped recently, or a handful of them, have given me a valuable lesson. A friend I took a dozen eggs to yesterday because she didn’t have food money until today, the difference between she and I (back when we couldn’t afford food and utilities and our lifestyle, and were bouncing checks and igorning collection bills because it was all so overwhelming), is this friend asked for and accepted help. Asking for and accepting help, in appropriate ways and from appropriate parties, has been a new(-ish) cornerstone of my life. Let’s face it, without help I was flailing at best and often a Toxic Asshole either running from, or attempting to selfishly dominate, many of life’s challenges.
The Toxic Asshole part of me is still live and kicking and surfaces more often than I’m proud of, but there’s another presence within that I like a lot more. She’s like a Baby. Baby Awesomesauce. Baby Awesomesauce is growing up just fine, but things take time.
Of course giving back gives me immense rewards so it is in itself a selfish activity of sorts. One of the hardest things going right now is to know when to give freely to others, and knowing when if I were to do so, it would rob my family of something I should be giving them (time, groceries, mostly).
I put my faith in the path set before me and I know that one day I’ll look back and see with clarity where my life is heading, and why.
In lieu of Friday links I have two pieces of local interest:
First, Ralph and I put together a collection of my sewn pieces for sale at the On Track Art Walk tomorrow. I would love to earn money for my craft, to have my pieces find gleeful homes, and – most of all, to find a sewing community. If I had a dream it would be to be involved with a community center/studio where I could create, and help others do the same. I don’t have the resources to start this myself, but perhaps someone out there does. In any case, I’m ready to be Out There a bit more.
Second, our local town’s annual festival came out with their official t-shirt. Many HQX residents do not endorse the shirt and are taking actions, including boycotting, writing letters to the editor and City etc, and printing a better shirt and donating profits (you can read more about it here, if you have Facebook).
From my G+ post here are some of my thoughts:
“I love my town and I love my country. One thing I love about both is the right to protest ideas and products that are violent, offensive, and bad for children and grownups and probably even small puppy dogs. Yay local Jokay Daniel who’ll be selling the alternate shirt & donating profits; also J. for being instrumental in creating alternate shirts.”
Reading the comments in the Facebook group is pretty darn cool and makes me proud of my HQX peeps.
CRAFT linked to a Baby Shower Donut Tower. I have to be honest. This gives me THE SHIVERS (plus that’s not how I spell “doughnut”, but the same woman’s posted manicure truly works for me). I am passing this on for those who might find it inspiring. I am a good cook but not much for presentation.
I’m suddenly into my cars, as progress has been made recently, and I’ve been watching stuff like this, and this. Is it just me or are the dudes doing these tutorials adorable? Gee, and I thought the field of car fuckery was heavily populated by mansplaining blowhards (of all genders). Guess those who care enough to tutorial, aren’t so bad after all?
My Name is Mud at Medrie’s blog Our Rags of Light. Always lovely reading.