Best adult Halloween in my universe: 3 years ago, local attorney's annual Halloween bash... black geisha wig, blood-red cheongsam with gold frogs, black hose & kick-ass heels, lots of black eye-liner & vivid red lipstick...
A good time was had by all and the costumes were fabulous... super-sweet commonwealth attorney as The Hulk, local bad-boy attorney as Ricky Bobby, a certain judicial assistant as a busty school girl, a Mary Poppins public defender...
And then, there was a certain someone whose name AND profession will remain unspoken... one prone to being a little condescending, not always the most sincere of fellows, one who rarely remembered my name... dressed as a doctor... offering check ups... mmm, how original... ::yawn::
And the good doctor - checking out what I ultimately described as my-sphinx-meets-the-orient-express costume since neither me nor anyone there could decide if I was an egyptian or a geisha - would not move along...
The good doctor came back again and again, intrigued because he couldn't place me... though he'd seen and spoken to me for a year and a half in the course of our work... and the more perplexed he seemed, the funnier it got and the more determined I became not to tell this nerd who worked with me regularly who I was...
His frustration that he was not only unable to place me but that neither I or my friends would reveal who I was just made it better and better... it was like watching a cat with tape on its paws walking around shaking its feet and trying to figure out what the hell was going on and why it couldn't relieve itself of the nuisance...
I did finally let him off the hook and told him who I was... and once revealed, I got the impression he couldn't back-pedal fast enough... I think the good doctor actually had the good grace, unexpected good grace, to be a little embarrassed.
He did, I'll also note, remember my name after that.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sex, Lies and Headlocks...
(This entry was gonna be about something other than what it's morphed into and it was gonna be called Sex, Lies and Videotape... but when I Googled the title to confirm whether there was an 's' on the end of Videotape or not, I found there's actually a book by the title I'm using and it somehow seemed more fitting...)
OMG! There's a full moon and with it apparently come naked penis cell pictures and utter instanity.
Naked penis cell pics... like skeezy little business cards, if you will... harbingers of ill, bearers of bad feeling...
Maybe you've gotten one from someone you've met casually who asked for your number, you get a text, flip your phone open and VIOLA! Jim Dandy's Yankee Doodle staring back at you with a caption to "Call me!". Or maybe someone you already know in some capacity does it... friend, co-worker, school mate... 'normal', conversational texting back and forth and then BAM! Penis cam, anyone?!
::shudder::
SERIOUSLY??
And in expressing my incredulity at the phenom, two friends have told me it's 'normal' (aaaaand we're back to Doc Kyle using the word healthy because what passes for normal these days is inSANE!)! One friend's my age and said he's had multiple women tell him they've received them... randomly, new acquaintances, BOOM. Another friend, nearly young enough to be my daughter so apparently it's not a generational thing, says yup... she's gotten a handful as well (again, SO sorry about the pun).
Brain bleach and smacking the 'erase' button as fast as your little ham hands can hit the button are the short term solutions... but what about the long term and what it says? About him? About you/her?
And THIS is where this blog's broken down...
It was going to be a deep introspective about how one of these beastly little skeezer-cards puts the recipient into a headlock of sorts; held immobile by a brain-churn that takes way too much energy and time wondering what deeply rooted dysfunction it spells out about the sender and what the recipients reaction says about them...
But frankly, I've decided I just don't want to look at it that closely any more. I've spent a week with this muddying my thoughts, trying to turn it over and examine it and find a way to loosen the headlock...
And all I've done is spent good energy after bad...
There is no explaining it, rationalizing it, making it anything other than what it is... I think, instead, what I will do is simply vent and maybe point and laugh a little... isn't that what you're supposed to do when someone flashes you?
Now I know that people in committed, romantic relationships do things like send pics of their naughty bits to their beloved and I'm not commenting pro or con on that topic... but SERIOUSLY, what in the hell can make a mature adult commit said naughty bits to the infinite universe of 0's and 1's in megabytes and teleport them to a mere acquaintance or someone who's a friend/co-worker/school mate and think it's a good idea? What about it says anything other than "Hi... I'm a boorish, self-indulgent, unaware, disrespectful, adolescent. And also, I'm in love with my winky."
You open an innocent text message expecting some mundane missive and what you get is something that sets your brain churning and leaves you feeling the need for a Silkwood-style scrub down...
EWW! What'samatta, you? Were you raised by wolves for crap sake? You gonna hug your mama with the hands that did that?!
Oy!
I suppose if you've had a history of bad relationship choices, have insecurity and damage and are always seeking and wanting the wrong approval the wrong way, letting it drive you to do things you don't even care to do, then it's not to hard to imagine responding in whatever flirty/sexy way you think the sender's expecting. I certainly know gals that would...
But it's equally easy to imagine ultimately being left feeling empty, disappointed, embarrassed and/or hurt when the crass reply comes back to that would inevitably follow...
With the failures and insecurities that litter my life's path, I still very much want approval and love and support... but what I also know is someone centered so squarely on their own indulgent wants that they would do something so questionable is NOT prepared to offer any of those things and I don't for a SECOND think that there is ANY sentiment behind something like that EXCEPT skeeze. Hellooooooo, McFlyyyyyy...?! Duh!
And you remember it too girls... you're worth FAR more than responding in any way other than the one suggested by a friend... "Wow, that's crass... and classless... all at the same time...", and it's SO important no matter how much forgiving and/or forgetting you're willing to do that you take a moment, rap on your own forehead Biff-style and see the real picture and KNOW, without a shred of doubt, if he sent it to you he's sending it to others. Bank on it.
And since, in my universe, there is only me and I don't always share well with others, I say slip the headlock and walk away...
OMG! There's a full moon and with it apparently come naked penis cell pictures and utter instanity.
Naked penis cell pics... like skeezy little business cards, if you will... harbingers of ill, bearers of bad feeling...
Maybe you've gotten one from someone you've met casually who asked for your number, you get a text, flip your phone open and VIOLA! Jim Dandy's Yankee Doodle staring back at you with a caption to "Call me!". Or maybe someone you already know in some capacity does it... friend, co-worker, school mate... 'normal', conversational texting back and forth and then BAM! Penis cam, anyone?!
::shudder::
SERIOUSLY??
And in expressing my incredulity at the phenom, two friends have told me it's 'normal' (aaaaand we're back to Doc Kyle using the word healthy because what passes for normal these days is inSANE!)! One friend's my age and said he's had multiple women tell him they've received them... randomly, new acquaintances, BOOM. Another friend, nearly young enough to be my daughter so apparently it's not a generational thing, says yup... she's gotten a handful as well (again, SO sorry about the pun).
Brain bleach and smacking the 'erase' button as fast as your little ham hands can hit the button are the short term solutions... but what about the long term and what it says? About him? About you/her?
And THIS is where this blog's broken down...
It was going to be a deep introspective about how one of these beastly little skeezer-cards puts the recipient into a headlock of sorts; held immobile by a brain-churn that takes way too much energy and time wondering what deeply rooted dysfunction it spells out about the sender and what the recipients reaction says about them...
But frankly, I've decided I just don't want to look at it that closely any more. I've spent a week with this muddying my thoughts, trying to turn it over and examine it and find a way to loosen the headlock...
And all I've done is spent good energy after bad...
There is no explaining it, rationalizing it, making it anything other than what it is... I think, instead, what I will do is simply vent and maybe point and laugh a little... isn't that what you're supposed to do when someone flashes you?
Now I know that people in committed, romantic relationships do things like send pics of their naughty bits to their beloved and I'm not commenting pro or con on that topic... but SERIOUSLY, what in the hell can make a mature adult commit said naughty bits to the infinite universe of 0's and 1's in megabytes and teleport them to a mere acquaintance or someone who's a friend/co-worker/school mate and think it's a good idea? What about it says anything other than "Hi... I'm a boorish, self-indulgent, unaware, disrespectful, adolescent. And also, I'm in love with my winky."
You open an innocent text message expecting some mundane missive and what you get is something that sets your brain churning and leaves you feeling the need for a Silkwood-style scrub down...
EWW! What'samatta, you? Were you raised by wolves for crap sake? You gonna hug your mama with the hands that did that?!
Oy!
I suppose if you've had a history of bad relationship choices, have insecurity and damage and are always seeking and wanting the wrong approval the wrong way, letting it drive you to do things you don't even care to do, then it's not to hard to imagine responding in whatever flirty/sexy way you think the sender's expecting. I certainly know gals that would...
But it's equally easy to imagine ultimately being left feeling empty, disappointed, embarrassed and/or hurt when the crass reply comes back to that would inevitably follow...
With the failures and insecurities that litter my life's path, I still very much want approval and love and support... but what I also know is someone centered so squarely on their own indulgent wants that they would do something so questionable is NOT prepared to offer any of those things and I don't for a SECOND think that there is ANY sentiment behind something like that EXCEPT skeeze. Hellooooooo, McFlyyyyyy...?! Duh!
And you remember it too girls... you're worth FAR more than responding in any way other than the one suggested by a friend... "Wow, that's crass... and classless... all at the same time...", and it's SO important no matter how much forgiving and/or forgetting you're willing to do that you take a moment, rap on your own forehead Biff-style and see the real picture and KNOW, without a shred of doubt, if he sent it to you he's sending it to others. Bank on it.
And since, in my universe, there is only me and I don't always share well with others, I say slip the headlock and walk away...
Friday, October 15, 2010
What Goes Around...
Summertime, 1982ish...
My dad was an agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms... he'd briefly served as a Secret Service agent for President Ford... and, as a matter of fact, he'd been in law enforcement since I was a baby...
I'd been sent to live with my dad Christmas of '80 because my mother said she 'couldn't handle [me]'... I was actually pretty normal, I think, in terms of teen experimentation - tried some alcohol and tobacco and had dabbled with pot smoking the few times I was around stoner friends... I never really had a burning (pardon the pun) desire to really smoke it but I damned sure didn't want to be considered the huge dork I actually was... that and I'm a total follower... ;) I also clearly wasn't normal in terms of thinking ahead... but I'm gettin' a little ahead of myself...
I had neighborhood stoner friends who regularly 'burned one', but I'd never been brave enough to do much more than buy the ocassional joint... soooo... it was pretty big stuff for me to decide I would buy a 'nickel' bag of pot for my very own... I got my five whole dollars (saved, ironically, from the lunch money my dad gave me each week) and went to my friend, Greg, and as calmly and coolly as a dumbass such as myself could, arranged 'the deal'...
Now honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what the hell I'd do when I actually got it - again, I'd only dabbled up to that point - but whooooaaaa, Nelly, did I feel WAY cool when the expected delivery date arrived! Of course I had to ACT cool - no mean feat when you're nearly running in place from nerves and anticipation - because I did NOT, of course, want him to know what I giant dork I was when he put it in my hot little hands (as though that wasn't probably abundantly clear to him already... we did, after all, 'hang out' daily!)!
Delivered... ::heart palpitating:: now what... ::hands sweaty:: shit... ::eye roll:: I didn't EEEEEEVEN think of how to actually smoke it once I got it so all I had was a baggie full of pot and... well... nothing... no bowl, no papers, no nothing... and frankly, I was such a rube I really didn't know where to GET any of those things either! ::sigh::
I couldn't tell you where I got whatever means I used to smoke my treasure... I couldn't tell you whether I even smoked much OF it... what I CAN tell you is that somewhere down the road, weeks later, I still had probably half of what I'd started with... and I realized something... after time spent in my purse and back pack, the clumps of pot had broken apart and there were tiiiiiiny little seeds in the corners of the baggie that looked much like the seeds in corned beef...
Hmmmm...
Now, my gramma was an amazing woman and well rounded; read to the handicapped, president of her NOW chapter, golfed, etc... and that woman could make anything grow... ANYthing... I, howesomeever, had a thumb equally brown to her green one... buuuuut... if I could just remember what she'd taught me and take those little seeeeeeds and make them groooow... <eg>
::music swells to a crescendo::
::music peters out::
Actually, I didn't have a clue what I would do with them if I could make them grow... it really just came down to wondering if I could... a challenge, if you will... =D
Soooo, I got my American Freedom Train coffee cup from the kitchen where it hung on a wooden peg rack over the sink...
And I'll digress here for a moment... the American Freedom Train was a 26-car train pulled by three newly restored steam locomotives that toured the country in '75-'76 for the Bicentennial... it came to our area and I toured it on a school field trip, buying my coffee mug (white with red/white/blue steam locomotive logo and - though I did not drink coffee at the ripe age of 11 - the only thing I could afford since my mom was notoriously cheap. I mean thrifty.) in the tiny little train car gift shop... it was one of the few things in my father's house that was 'MINE' and I was proud of it...
Anyway... so I get my cup, I fill it with some soil from a bag in the utility room, I push half a dozen little pot seeds down into the soil and I water it lightly. I don't know where my folks were but I was totally covert anyway and I took it to my room... eyeballing my space, and decided that out of the two outer wall windows I had since I was on the corner of the house, the one overlooking the side/back yard was primo! After all, since the driveway pulled up right under my front window, ANY Bozo could see it if I put it there... ::huge eye roll here::
So I tucked my little cup neatly behind the bottom edge of the priscilla curtain hanging in my window and left it to incubate with the water and sun to germinate what I considered my status boosting seedlings...
Now I can't tell you how long I left that cup there... I know I checked it daily and nearly fainted from shock and panic when the little green tipped plants actually began to poke their little heads from 'neath the soil... "They're growing!! Wait... THEY'RE GROWING?!!"... and I know that I made sure to remember ALL the pointers my grandmother'd given me about growing...
Poke your finger in the soil to make sure it doesn't get to dry...
Poke your finter in the soil to make sure it isn't too wet...
Make sure it gets enough sun to grow...
Make sure it doesn't get so much sun as to burn...
I cringe in my gramma's memory relating that part, I know she'd've been much more impressed with some lovely snap dragons or pansies...
Anyway, I was a very dedicated plant mama and my little seeds turned into little spikes, spikes into little two-leafed plants that turned into three-leafed ones...
And then it happened...
While my front window was directly overlooking the driveway and, therefore, a monumentally bonehead place to hide my contraban... my side window overlooked... are you ready for this... the side yard... where the pool was... where the grass grew... where my dad got on his riding mower and mowed... my dad... the ATF/Secret Service agent...
::sigh::
And now we're back to "And then it happened..."
I came home from school... Pop's at work, step-mom & l'il bro' are either out or downstairs... I go to my room... I put my stuff down and kick off my shoes... I putter for a few minutes... laallaaaa laaaa... I lift the edge of the priscilla curtain to check my little plant that I hadn't looked at the day before... had I? Had I checked it and moved it? Had I forgotten and stuck it somewhere else for 'safekeeping'? Shit! Ok. Now I was REALLY running in place. It was utter disbelief for a few minutes... I tore my room apart and went through every drawer, nook and cranny multiple times, SURE I'd just missed it and rolling a thousand scenarios over in my head hoping I'd just forgotten that I'd done something smart and purposeful with that damned little cup of trouble...
::sigh::
Nope. I knew it. It was gone. And I knew who had it.
Pop.
But I hoped. If there's one thing I've always been it's stupidly optimistic and the QUEEN of compartmentalization (read: ignoring)... I hoped that maybe my step-mom'd taken it and tossed it thinking it was trash and wouldn't think to say anything... I hoped I really HAD done something dorky with it and just didn't remember... again, a thousand scenarios.
But I said nothing. Noooo need calling attention to myself if it hadn't been found, right? Oy.
I don't remember, again, how long aftewards it was that my dad called me downstairs... I think it was a few days... of twisting in the wind... agonized... sweating bullets... and then "THE TALK"... "WHAT were you DOING?! You know I work for the United States Government, don't you?!!", "Alcohol.", "Tobacco.", "Firearms" he recited staccato, as though speaking to the biggest imbecile in the world (yes, yes, I know)... "I knoooow, I don't knooooww what I was doing... I really didn't think they would grow!"... "Then why??"... "I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
No, Pop never believed me. It was true, but he never believed me...
Now the saaaa-WEET part...
Flash forward to about 2001...
My daughter's bedroom...
I'm cleaning and picking up dirty clothes for the laundry and I notice one of the drawers about halfway up her chest of drawers is sitting about half open...
I go to close it and realize it's nearly empty... save a small container... a small Wal-mart container... like the ones they package potato salad in from the deli... and it's got something in it... "Hmmh... looks like dirt... wait... and there's something gree... WHAT the HELL??!!"
Em's pot plant.
I took it out. I took it to my room. Eyeballed it. Thought long and hard about it. Emily came home from school. I was still in my room. On the floor, cleaning out on of my dresser drawers... and I call her in.
She comes to the door and sees me in the floor... and I ask her... "So, whatcha got in your dresser?"
She eyeballs me warily and says "Huh?" (my favorite slack-jaw teenage response)
I ask again. "I don't know, what're you talking about?", she says with the look that tells me my princess, my delicate flower, knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about...
So I take it out. The container. And Emily, who's always been FAR more brazen than I ever hoped to be just stands there looking me in the eye. A little defiant, really. And I was the one who couldn't stand it... no twisting in the wind for her... no agonizing... sweating bullets... and no real "TALK"...
But...
I did ask her exactly what Pop had asked me all those years ago... "WHAT were you DOING?!" "I don't knooooww... I really didn't think they would grow!", she said... "Then why??" I asked... just the same as my Pop...
and as I sat in my floor, looking up at her and waiting for her answer, ready for the discipline I'd have to mete out, I heard it...
It was the most surreal moment of my parents-coming-back-to-haunt-me universe... and the most amusing... I truly felt my Pop's pain for the first time in my life and I couldn't do a damned thing but laugh...
"I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
Wait. What?
And I knew it'd come back around...
My dad was an agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms... he'd briefly served as a Secret Service agent for President Ford... and, as a matter of fact, he'd been in law enforcement since I was a baby...
I'd been sent to live with my dad Christmas of '80 because my mother said she 'couldn't handle [me]'... I was actually pretty normal, I think, in terms of teen experimentation - tried some alcohol and tobacco and had dabbled with pot smoking the few times I was around stoner friends... I never really had a burning (pardon the pun) desire to really smoke it but I damned sure didn't want to be considered the huge dork I actually was... that and I'm a total follower... ;) I also clearly wasn't normal in terms of thinking ahead... but I'm gettin' a little ahead of myself...
I had neighborhood stoner friends who regularly 'burned one', but I'd never been brave enough to do much more than buy the ocassional joint... soooo... it was pretty big stuff for me to decide I would buy a 'nickel' bag of pot for my very own... I got my five whole dollars (saved, ironically, from the lunch money my dad gave me each week) and went to my friend, Greg, and as calmly and coolly as a dumbass such as myself could, arranged 'the deal'...
Now honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what the hell I'd do when I actually got it - again, I'd only dabbled up to that point - but whooooaaaa, Nelly, did I feel WAY cool when the expected delivery date arrived! Of course I had to ACT cool - no mean feat when you're nearly running in place from nerves and anticipation - because I did NOT, of course, want him to know what I giant dork I was when he put it in my hot little hands (as though that wasn't probably abundantly clear to him already... we did, after all, 'hang out' daily!)!
Delivered... ::heart palpitating:: now what... ::hands sweaty:: shit... ::eye roll:: I didn't EEEEEEVEN think of how to actually smoke it once I got it so all I had was a baggie full of pot and... well... nothing... no bowl, no papers, no nothing... and frankly, I was such a rube I really didn't know where to GET any of those things either! ::sigh::
I couldn't tell you where I got whatever means I used to smoke my treasure... I couldn't tell you whether I even smoked much OF it... what I CAN tell you is that somewhere down the road, weeks later, I still had probably half of what I'd started with... and I realized something... after time spent in my purse and back pack, the clumps of pot had broken apart and there were tiiiiiiny little seeds in the corners of the baggie that looked much like the seeds in corned beef...
Hmmmm...
Now, my gramma was an amazing woman and well rounded; read to the handicapped, president of her NOW chapter, golfed, etc... and that woman could make anything grow... ANYthing... I, howesomeever, had a thumb equally brown to her green one... buuuuut... if I could just remember what she'd taught me and take those little seeeeeeds and make them groooow... <eg>
::music swells to a crescendo::
::music peters out::
Actually, I didn't have a clue what I would do with them if I could make them grow... it really just came down to wondering if I could... a challenge, if you will... =D
Soooo, I got my American Freedom Train coffee cup from the kitchen where it hung on a wooden peg rack over the sink...
And I'll digress here for a moment... the American Freedom Train was a 26-car train pulled by three newly restored steam locomotives that toured the country in '75-'76 for the Bicentennial... it came to our area and I toured it on a school field trip, buying my coffee mug (white with red/white/blue steam locomotive logo and - though I did not drink coffee at the ripe age of 11 - the only thing I could afford since my mom was notoriously cheap. I mean thrifty.) in the tiny little train car gift shop... it was one of the few things in my father's house that was 'MINE' and I was proud of it...
Anyway... so I get my cup, I fill it with some soil from a bag in the utility room, I push half a dozen little pot seeds down into the soil and I water it lightly. I don't know where my folks were but I was totally covert anyway and I took it to my room... eyeballing my space, and decided that out of the two outer wall windows I had since I was on the corner of the house, the one overlooking the side/back yard was primo! After all, since the driveway pulled up right under my front window, ANY Bozo could see it if I put it there... ::huge eye roll here::
So I tucked my little cup neatly behind the bottom edge of the priscilla curtain hanging in my window and left it to incubate with the water and sun to germinate what I considered my status boosting seedlings...
Now I can't tell you how long I left that cup there... I know I checked it daily and nearly fainted from shock and panic when the little green tipped plants actually began to poke their little heads from 'neath the soil... "They're growing!! Wait... THEY'RE GROWING?!!"... and I know that I made sure to remember ALL the pointers my grandmother'd given me about growing...
Poke your finger in the soil to make sure it doesn't get to dry...
Poke your finter in the soil to make sure it isn't too wet...
Make sure it gets enough sun to grow...
Make sure it doesn't get so much sun as to burn...
I cringe in my gramma's memory relating that part, I know she'd've been much more impressed with some lovely snap dragons or pansies...
Anyway, I was a very dedicated plant mama and my little seeds turned into little spikes, spikes into little two-leafed plants that turned into three-leafed ones...
And then it happened...
While my front window was directly overlooking the driveway and, therefore, a monumentally bonehead place to hide my contraban... my side window overlooked... are you ready for this... the side yard... where the pool was... where the grass grew... where my dad got on his riding mower and mowed... my dad... the ATF/Secret Service agent...
::sigh::
And now we're back to "And then it happened..."
I came home from school... Pop's at work, step-mom & l'il bro' are either out or downstairs... I go to my room... I put my stuff down and kick off my shoes... I putter for a few minutes... laallaaaa laaaa... I lift the edge of the priscilla curtain to check my little plant that I hadn't looked at the day before... had I? Had I checked it and moved it? Had I forgotten and stuck it somewhere else for 'safekeeping'? Shit! Ok. Now I was REALLY running in place. It was utter disbelief for a few minutes... I tore my room apart and went through every drawer, nook and cranny multiple times, SURE I'd just missed it and rolling a thousand scenarios over in my head hoping I'd just forgotten that I'd done something smart and purposeful with that damned little cup of trouble...
::sigh::
Nope. I knew it. It was gone. And I knew who had it.
Pop.
But I hoped. If there's one thing I've always been it's stupidly optimistic and the QUEEN of compartmentalization (read: ignoring)... I hoped that maybe my step-mom'd taken it and tossed it thinking it was trash and wouldn't think to say anything... I hoped I really HAD done something dorky with it and just didn't remember... again, a thousand scenarios.
But I said nothing. Noooo need calling attention to myself if it hadn't been found, right? Oy.
I don't remember, again, how long aftewards it was that my dad called me downstairs... I think it was a few days... of twisting in the wind... agonized... sweating bullets... and then "THE TALK"... "WHAT were you DOING?! You know I work for the United States Government, don't you?!!", "Alcohol.", "Tobacco.", "Firearms" he recited staccato, as though speaking to the biggest imbecile in the world (yes, yes, I know)... "I knoooow, I don't knooooww what I was doing... I really didn't think they would grow!"... "Then why??"... "I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
No, Pop never believed me. It was true, but he never believed me...
Now the saaaa-WEET part...
Flash forward to about 2001...
My daughter's bedroom...
I'm cleaning and picking up dirty clothes for the laundry and I notice one of the drawers about halfway up her chest of drawers is sitting about half open...
I go to close it and realize it's nearly empty... save a small container... a small Wal-mart container... like the ones they package potato salad in from the deli... and it's got something in it... "Hmmh... looks like dirt... wait... and there's something gree... WHAT the HELL??!!"
Em's pot plant.
I took it out. I took it to my room. Eyeballed it. Thought long and hard about it. Emily came home from school. I was still in my room. On the floor, cleaning out on of my dresser drawers... and I call her in.
She comes to the door and sees me in the floor... and I ask her... "So, whatcha got in your dresser?"
She eyeballs me warily and says "Huh?" (my favorite slack-jaw teenage response)
I ask again. "I don't know, what're you talking about?", she says with the look that tells me my princess, my delicate flower, knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about...
So I take it out. The container. And Emily, who's always been FAR more brazen than I ever hoped to be just stands there looking me in the eye. A little defiant, really. And I was the one who couldn't stand it... no twisting in the wind for her... no agonizing... sweating bullets... and no real "TALK"...
But...
I did ask her exactly what Pop had asked me all those years ago... "WHAT were you DOING?!" "I don't knooooww... I really didn't think they would grow!", she said... "Then why??" I asked... just the same as my Pop...
and as I sat in my floor, looking up at her and waiting for her answer, ready for the discipline I'd have to mete out, I heard it...
It was the most surreal moment of my parents-coming-back-to-haunt-me universe... and the most amusing... I truly felt my Pop's pain for the first time in my life and I couldn't do a damned thing but laugh...
"I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it!".
Wait. What?
And I knew it'd come back around...
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Kids Say the Darndest Things...
The grandboys, Thursdays w/ me and Eye Spy:
I get my grandboys every Thursday while their mom works her 'late' night... I often deliver them to her at work to facilitate an earlier arrival home for them...
Me: I spy something blue... (sitting in mom's work parking lot, facing and choosing a small, metal handicap parking sign)
Elijah (5) and brother Matthew (7) make multiple guesses until mommy comes out of work...
Me: Ok, guys, mommy's here... give up?
E&M: YEEEEESS!! What IS it??
Me: See the sign over there...? It has blue with some red writing on it?
E&M: Looking everywhere but where I'm pointing, of course... "No, what is it??"
Me: (realizing maybe using the correct label of what I've 'spied' will be more recognizable for them) "See the handicap parking sign over there...?"
Elijah: (leaning up between the seats, very excitedly exclaiming) "YES!! The one with the GRAMPA on it!!"
::fade to black with loud laughter and one puzzled 5 y.o.::
Me, Emily and Tacos:
Emily, age 4ish... I would drive her to daycare each morning, hand jacked back between the seats so I could hold her hand all the way to 'school' (losing ALL feeling!) and then pick her up each evening and hear all about her day...
Em: "Mommy, mommy, I leawned a new nuwsewy whyme today at school, you wanna heaw it??"
Me: "Of course I want to hear it, go ahead!"
Em: "Ok... Maaawy, Maaawy, quite contwawy, how does youw gaah-den gwow? Wif' silvew bellws and taco shellws an' pwetty maids allw inna wow...!"
::uncontrolled laughter, baffled toddler::
Michael David Awful Dean and Budding Independence:
Michael, age 6ish, hands on buffet, feet back and spread so he's almost doing a push-up, one leg swinging back and front... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "Michael, I said yes..."
Michael: "Noooo, mommy..."
Me: "Michael David, I said yes!"
Michael: "No, mommy, I don't want to..."
Me: "And why not, Michael David...?!"
Michael: "Pee-cause me saaaay so, mommy!"
::stifled laughter from behind my hand::
Emily Sarah and Budding Independence:
Emily, age 7ish, butt leaning on the side of her bed, arms folded across her chest, me standing in her doorway & her back to me... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "No, Emily..."
Em: "Yes, mommy!"
Me: "I said no, Emily, and I mean it and I don't want to hear another word about it!"
::I turn to leave the room::
Em: (muttered under her breath to my back) "Yooouuu bitch!"
::stifled guffaws from the bathroom where I sequestered myself as I marveled that not only did my 7 year old SAY what she said, but with appropriate application and vehemence::
Michael David and Pirate Ships:
Michael, age 7ish... insanely proud owner of an enormous Fisher Price pirate ship with lots of lovely, losable little men and pieces that he played with night and day... discussing some topic with his step-dad, Mark, who's made some point to Michael D...
Michael: "No it isn't, new-Mahk"
Carlock: "Sure it is, Buddy..."
Michael: "Nuh uh, new-Mahk... liar, liar, BOAT's on fire!"
::peales of laughter from both adults, another perplexed young'un::
The Ponies:
A former co-worker's friend recently took her granddaughter to the mall to ride the hobby horses. The grandmother put several quarters into the machine but nothing happened and finally, she had to tell her granddaughter she didn't have any more money. That evening when the granddaughter's parents picked her up, they asked her what she and her grandmother had done that day.
Her reply: "Well, Grandma lost all her money on the horses." =D
Radio Edit...
I took the grandboys with me to my son's final (senior year) parents' night band presentation (senior year)... the entire band marches in the public entrance to the auditorium behind the audience, drum corp first and going directly to the stage, the rest of the band behind them and ringing the auditorium and essentially giving us a concert 'in the round'...
The band plays full volume as though they're on the field and it's thundrous and absolutely resplendent!
The boys, now 7 and 5, were TOTALLY mezmerized and never moved except to stare in awe around the auditorium at all the teenagers playing their hearts out at full volume...
I often, on our way to meet their mom at her work, put on a few of our favorite "toe-tappin'" songs and me and the boys will sing along at full volume with them often asking me to "Play it again, Grammommy!"...
So at the end, of the parents' night band concert, as the last notes were fading away... the littlest grandboy turns to me and says, "Hey, Grammommy..."
"Yes, Elijah?"
Elijah, continuing to look wide-eyed around the auditorium at all the band members, "We should get that music for our radio!" =D
**** I'll continue to update when I think of more or when more material's made available to me but in the meantime let me say that here's one of the many reasons I love to be around kids... there is NO better laughter or enjoyment in this world than the usually unintended humour of a child and I, for one, love to soak in the joy it gives my little universe. ****
I get my grandboys every Thursday while their mom works her 'late' night... I often deliver them to her at work to facilitate an earlier arrival home for them...
Me: I spy something blue... (sitting in mom's work parking lot, facing and choosing a small, metal handicap parking sign)
Elijah (5) and brother Matthew (7) make multiple guesses until mommy comes out of work...
Me: Ok, guys, mommy's here... give up?
E&M: YEEEEESS!! What IS it??
Me: See the sign over there...? It has blue with some red writing on it?
E&M: Looking everywhere but where I'm pointing, of course... "No, what is it??"
Me: (realizing maybe using the correct label of what I've 'spied' will be more recognizable for them) "See the handicap parking sign over there...?"
Elijah: (leaning up between the seats, very excitedly exclaiming) "YES!! The one with the GRAMPA on it!!"
::fade to black with loud laughter and one puzzled 5 y.o.::
Me, Emily and Tacos:
Emily, age 4ish... I would drive her to daycare each morning, hand jacked back between the seats so I could hold her hand all the way to 'school' (losing ALL feeling!) and then pick her up each evening and hear all about her day...
Em: "Mommy, mommy, I leawned a new nuwsewy whyme today at school, you wanna heaw it??"
Me: "Of course I want to hear it, go ahead!"
Em: "Ok... Maaawy, Maaawy, quite contwawy, how does youw gaah-den gwow? Wif' silvew bellws and taco shellws an' pwetty maids allw inna wow...!"
::uncontrolled laughter, baffled toddler::
Michael David Awful Dean and Budding Independence:
Michael, age 6ish, hands on buffet, feet back and spread so he's almost doing a push-up, one leg swinging back and front... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "Michael, I said yes..."
Michael: "Noooo, mommy..."
Me: "Michael David, I said yes!"
Michael: "No, mommy, I don't want to..."
Me: "And why not, Michael David...?!"
Michael: "Pee-cause me saaaay so, mommy!"
::stifled laughter from behind my hand::
Emily Sarah and Budding Independence:
Emily, age 7ish, butt leaning on the side of her bed, arms folded across her chest, me standing in her doorway & her back to me... each of us asserting some long forgotten point...
Me: "No, Emily..."
Em: "Yes, mommy!"
Me: "I said no, Emily, and I mean it and I don't want to hear another word about it!"
::I turn to leave the room::
Em: (muttered under her breath to my back) "Yooouuu bitch!"
::stifled guffaws from the bathroom where I sequestered myself as I marveled that not only did my 7 year old SAY what she said, but with appropriate application and vehemence::
Michael David and Pirate Ships:
Michael, age 7ish... insanely proud owner of an enormous Fisher Price pirate ship with lots of lovely, losable little men and pieces that he played with night and day... discussing some topic with his step-dad, Mark, who's made some point to Michael D...
Michael: "No it isn't, new-Mahk"
Carlock: "Sure it is, Buddy..."
Michael: "Nuh uh, new-Mahk... liar, liar, BOAT's on fire!"
::peales of laughter from both adults, another perplexed young'un::
The Ponies:
A former co-worker's friend recently took her granddaughter to the mall to ride the hobby horses. The grandmother put several quarters into the machine but nothing happened and finally, she had to tell her granddaughter she didn't have any more money. That evening when the granddaughter's parents picked her up, they asked her what she and her grandmother had done that day.
Her reply: "Well, Grandma lost all her money on the horses." =D
Radio Edit...
I took the grandboys with me to my son's final (senior year) parents' night band presentation (senior year)... the entire band marches in the public entrance to the auditorium behind the audience, drum corp first and going directly to the stage, the rest of the band behind them and ringing the auditorium and essentially giving us a concert 'in the round'...
The band plays full volume as though they're on the field and it's thundrous and absolutely resplendent!
The boys, now 7 and 5, were TOTALLY mezmerized and never moved except to stare in awe around the auditorium at all the teenagers playing their hearts out at full volume...
I often, on our way to meet their mom at her work, put on a few of our favorite "toe-tappin'" songs and me and the boys will sing along at full volume with them often asking me to "Play it again, Grammommy!"...
So at the end, of the parents' night band concert, as the last notes were fading away... the littlest grandboy turns to me and says, "Hey, Grammommy..."
"Yes, Elijah?"
Elijah, continuing to look wide-eyed around the auditorium at all the band members, "We should get that music for our radio!" =D
**** I'll continue to update when I think of more or when more material's made available to me but in the meantime let me say that here's one of the many reasons I love to be around kids... there is NO better laughter or enjoyment in this world than the usually unintended humour of a child and I, for one, love to soak in the joy it gives my little universe. ****
Revolutions...
I just have never..." ~Neo
"Heard a program speak of love?" ~Rama-Kandra
"It's a... human emotion." ~Neo
"No, it is a word. What matters is the connection the word implies. I see that you are in love. Can you tell me what you would give to hold on to that connection?" ~Rama-Kandra
"Anything." ~Neo
Simply stated, this is what every human wants, I think.
What I can't fathom is... we all seem to want that amazing connection but so often are just flat unwilling to do the work to achieve it... to hold onto that connection...
To quote a friend "Some [people] see beneath the surface and love that aspect of connecting mentally. Others just want to touch the surface."
Yep, because to see beneath the surface and connect mentally takes effort, dedication, purpose... touching the surface, not so much. But the reward... man, oh MAN... our folks always told us anything worth doing is worth doing right... right? So the reward has got to be amazing for the effort, right??
I've spent so much time in relationships that never connected it's sad, really... I appreciate that I learned from each one and I wouldn't trade the experience, but the time invested was not always positive or productive... the first one was because I was young and didn't think I had anywhere to go and was too inexperienced, insecure and just plain scared to try to stand on my own; the second was because I was pregnant & depressed and thought it would be stability for my daughter and unborn baby; the third was because he had doubts, I walked away, he didn't want anyone else playing with his 'toy' and came back, and I 'won'. Didn't I? Um. And those were the ones I made legal... the last one was 5 years. I was totally committed. May as well have had the paper but wasn't sure I'd ever do that again. Net, net... same result... it was, again, for the wrong reasons. And each one had the same thread... I thought I could change them... fix them... save them... and there was ultimately no connection. ::sigh::
So these days, the whole subject of love and connection fascinates me in a way it never has before... is it my age? My 'experience'? Desperation? ;) Over the last couple of years I've done some soul-searching, some introspection, some working on me... I've looked at my past motivations... I've looked at what I rationally want and expect from a partner. I've realized that to settle because something is comfortable and safe is not where I want to be ever again because while comfort is wonderful, boredom is inexcusable...
Boredom means lack of connection...
A conversation with another friend wrestling with connecting had each of us defining what it is to be a savior versus a 'fixer'. I think we're both fixers. He feels he's more a savior.
savior - a person who saves, rescues or delivers (from harm)...
fixer - a person who desires to fix, rescue or support something/someone that's broken...
I think it's essentially the same.
And on inspection, I think rationally what we really want is to be and have a partner...
partner - a person who is associated with another in some action or endeavor; a player on the same side or team as another...
His thoughts on partnership hit it on the head and I'll paraphrase... [we all seem to want] a partnership so strong neither can imagine it being any other way... where not being together is unthinkable... and I'll add, one in which it cannot be imagined that any aspect of your life good and/or bad happens without the other a part of it, sharing it. Seeing beneath the surface and connecting... love... the connection that the word implies...
To make that deep, meaningful, can't-exist-without-you connection... to see beneath the surface and connect mentally... to make the effort, have the dedication, have the purpose... because the reward... man, oh MAN... to be joined together in the endeavor... to be on the same side as another... to do it right because it's worth it... to connect, to protect, to be protected... amazing reward... that's what I want in my universe.
"Heard a program speak of love?" ~Rama-Kandra
"It's a... human emotion." ~Neo
"No, it is a word. What matters is the connection the word implies. I see that you are in love. Can you tell me what you would give to hold on to that connection?" ~Rama-Kandra
"Anything." ~Neo
Simply stated, this is what every human wants, I think.
What I can't fathom is... we all seem to want that amazing connection but so often are just flat unwilling to do the work to achieve it... to hold onto that connection...
To quote a friend "Some [people] see beneath the surface and love that aspect of connecting mentally. Others just want to touch the surface."
Yep, because to see beneath the surface and connect mentally takes effort, dedication, purpose... touching the surface, not so much. But the reward... man, oh MAN... our folks always told us anything worth doing is worth doing right... right? So the reward has got to be amazing for the effort, right??
I've spent so much time in relationships that never connected it's sad, really... I appreciate that I learned from each one and I wouldn't trade the experience, but the time invested was not always positive or productive... the first one was because I was young and didn't think I had anywhere to go and was too inexperienced, insecure and just plain scared to try to stand on my own; the second was because I was pregnant & depressed and thought it would be stability for my daughter and unborn baby; the third was because he had doubts, I walked away, he didn't want anyone else playing with his 'toy' and came back, and I 'won'. Didn't I? Um. And those were the ones I made legal... the last one was 5 years. I was totally committed. May as well have had the paper but wasn't sure I'd ever do that again. Net, net... same result... it was, again, for the wrong reasons. And each one had the same thread... I thought I could change them... fix them... save them... and there was ultimately no connection. ::sigh::
So these days, the whole subject of love and connection fascinates me in a way it never has before... is it my age? My 'experience'? Desperation? ;) Over the last couple of years I've done some soul-searching, some introspection, some working on me... I've looked at my past motivations... I've looked at what I rationally want and expect from a partner. I've realized that to settle because something is comfortable and safe is not where I want to be ever again because while comfort is wonderful, boredom is inexcusable...
Boredom means lack of connection...
A conversation with another friend wrestling with connecting had each of us defining what it is to be a savior versus a 'fixer'. I think we're both fixers. He feels he's more a savior.
savior - a person who saves, rescues or delivers (from harm)...
fixer - a person who desires to fix, rescue or support something/someone that's broken...
I think it's essentially the same.
And on inspection, I think rationally what we really want is to be and have a partner...
partner - a person who is associated with another in some action or endeavor; a player on the same side or team as another...
His thoughts on partnership hit it on the head and I'll paraphrase... [we all seem to want] a partnership so strong neither can imagine it being any other way... where not being together is unthinkable... and I'll add, one in which it cannot be imagined that any aspect of your life good and/or bad happens without the other a part of it, sharing it. Seeing beneath the surface and connecting... love... the connection that the word implies...
To make that deep, meaningful, can't-exist-without-you connection... to see beneath the surface and connect mentally... to make the effort, have the dedication, have the purpose... because the reward... man, oh MAN... to be joined together in the endeavor... to be on the same side as another... to do it right because it's worth it... to connect, to protect, to be protected... amazing reward... that's what I want in my universe.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Truth or Consequences
Building on a comment from a previous post... I believe firmly in truth. And if I don't get it or give it, I believe firmly in manning up and taking your lumps. I try to give and I expect truth from everyone in my life; I am often disappointed.
I've always told those around me... "Tell me the truth up front no matter how much it sucks because I may get pissed but I'll work through it and I'll get over it; if you lie to me and I find out, though, I'll be WAY more pissed and you'll have a FAR bigger problem on your hands (and we always seem to find out, don't we?)."
Funny thing about that? In my teens I was an aaaaMAAAAAZING liar! Lie about anything. Color of the sky, whether I'd brushed my teeth, whether I'd walked or run home... you name it. In our household were my mother, me and my younger brother and sister and, looking at a snippet of time when I was about 14 and my brother and sister were ages 4 and 1, here's how it'd go...
MOM: "Sarah, where are my tan corduroys and my white banded collar top?" ME: (indignant, of course) "I don't know, why would I know??"
MOM: "Because they're not in my drawers, they were yesterday, you've worn other clothing of mine, I haven't worn them and no one else in the house would!"
ME: (totally pissy now) "Well I don't knooooow, Mooootheerrrr, I wouldn't wear your stuff anyway, I don't like it!" (yes, totally ignoring the fact I'd been previously busted)
MOM: "Well who WOULD then?!"
ME: "I saaaaid I don't knooooow... maybe Ren or Jen did something with them!!! Why are you always accusing me?!!" (sheauuh, riiiight... what the hell was I THINKing?!)
This back and forth, I'm sorry to say, was often daily and how my mother kept from putting me in a sack and dropping me in the closest river, I'll never know.
::sigh::
The silver lining? I developed an intolerance for my own bullshit... good thing since I have ZERO tolerance for it from anyone else...
This intolerance applies, too, in the case of omitting or dissembling... all too often (usually in the midst of a problem over information not divulged) I've had people say to me, "I thought you knew ABC...", "No, why would I know...?", "Well because I said XYZ." Nope. Didn't have a clue and there's no reason I should. In my universe, if you mean ABC, you say ABC. I try to so I assume everyone else does; I'm not a between-the-lines- or mind-reader and I take things said to me at point-blank, face value.
Truth: IF you say to me "I can't wait for you to get the hell out of my truck!", I take you at your word...
Consequence: I will-by-God-get-the-hell-outta-your-truck, maybe out of your life, and I will NOT understand that you didn't reeeeally mean for me to get the hell out of either.
Truth: IF you tell me you don't like drama, can't stand lies and would never tolerate cheating, it will not occur to me you might dabble in any of the three...
Consequence: I will be utterly shocked and rocked to the core when you create the drama, lie through your teeth and exchange sexts with your 20's-something-cousin's-wife and I will never fully forgive or forget, bank on it.
The converse is also true, of course...
Truth: If I say "I've daydreamed about having more kids.", I do not mean "I want you to be my sperm donor or adoption partner.", but only that I imagine scenarios in my life same as anyone. If I grouse that "I've paid all my bills and I'm a little tight.", I'm not saying "Hey Boyfriend, hand me some money," because I'm proud I can pay my own bills and still provide a descent home for my son and I really just need to grouse and have you sympathize because some days are better than others. If I say "I'm not mad that you'll miss my friend's wedding because you didn't ask off in time but my feelings are hurt so let me deal and I'll get over it.", I don't mean I'm secretly pissed, I really do mean I'm not mad, my feelings are hurt, I'll deal and get over it.
Consequence: If you try to read between my lines, you will be wrong and there will be misunderstandings and probably some arguments.
And the final truth is, the consequence will ultimately be your failure in my universe.
I've always told those around me... "Tell me the truth up front no matter how much it sucks because I may get pissed but I'll work through it and I'll get over it; if you lie to me and I find out, though, I'll be WAY more pissed and you'll have a FAR bigger problem on your hands (and we always seem to find out, don't we?)."
Funny thing about that? In my teens I was an aaaaMAAAAAZING liar! Lie about anything. Color of the sky, whether I'd brushed my teeth, whether I'd walked or run home... you name it. In our household were my mother, me and my younger brother and sister and, looking at a snippet of time when I was about 14 and my brother and sister were ages 4 and 1, here's how it'd go...
MOM: "Sarah, where are my tan corduroys and my white banded collar top?" ME: (indignant, of course) "I don't know, why would I know??"
MOM: "Because they're not in my drawers, they were yesterday, you've worn other clothing of mine, I haven't worn them and no one else in the house would!"
ME: (totally pissy now) "Well I don't knooooow, Mooootheerrrr, I wouldn't wear your stuff anyway, I don't like it!" (yes, totally ignoring the fact I'd been previously busted)
MOM: "Well who WOULD then?!"
ME: "I saaaaid I don't knooooow... maybe Ren or Jen did something with them!!! Why are you always accusing me?!!" (sheauuh, riiiight... what the hell was I THINKing?!)
This back and forth, I'm sorry to say, was often daily and how my mother kept from putting me in a sack and dropping me in the closest river, I'll never know.
::sigh::
The silver lining? I developed an intolerance for my own bullshit... good thing since I have ZERO tolerance for it from anyone else...
This intolerance applies, too, in the case of omitting or dissembling... all too often (usually in the midst of a problem over information not divulged) I've had people say to me, "I thought you knew ABC...", "No, why would I know...?", "Well because I said XYZ." Nope. Didn't have a clue and there's no reason I should. In my universe, if you mean ABC, you say ABC. I try to so I assume everyone else does; I'm not a between-the-lines- or mind-reader and I take things said to me at point-blank, face value.
Truth: IF you say to me "I can't wait for you to get the hell out of my truck!", I take you at your word...
Consequence: I will-by-God-get-the-hell-outta-your-truck, maybe out of your life, and I will NOT understand that you didn't reeeeally mean for me to get the hell out of either.
Truth: IF you tell me you don't like drama, can't stand lies and would never tolerate cheating, it will not occur to me you might dabble in any of the three...
Consequence: I will be utterly shocked and rocked to the core when you create the drama, lie through your teeth and exchange sexts with your 20's-something-cousin's-wife and I will never fully forgive or forget, bank on it.
The converse is also true, of course...
Truth: If I say "I've daydreamed about having more kids.", I do not mean "I want you to be my sperm donor or adoption partner.", but only that I imagine scenarios in my life same as anyone. If I grouse that "I've paid all my bills and I'm a little tight.", I'm not saying "Hey Boyfriend, hand me some money," because I'm proud I can pay my own bills and still provide a descent home for my son and I really just need to grouse and have you sympathize because some days are better than others. If I say "I'm not mad that you'll miss my friend's wedding because you didn't ask off in time but my feelings are hurt so let me deal and I'll get over it.", I don't mean I'm secretly pissed, I really do mean I'm not mad, my feelings are hurt, I'll deal and get over it.
Consequence: If you try to read between my lines, you will be wrong and there will be misunderstandings and probably some arguments.
And the final truth is, the consequence will ultimately be your failure in my universe.
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