Thursday, December 31, 2009

When we look up at the same bright moon



Color me shmoopy. Say I'm hypnotized by the glorious full moon. This song just popped up on my playlist. It's as lovely as the moonlit night.

My NYE Earworm

This has been melodically looping in my head since early this morning.  I finally had to listen to it. I think it shall be my new ringtone.  2010 (twenty-ten? two thousand ten?) will be a year of positivity and good vibes, my friends. This should start it off quite nicely.

"How can I tell you about my loved one?"

2010: A Riss-Odyssey

It's officially New Year's Eve '09.

Currently, I am overcome with a fit of the weepies.  Waking at 4:00 AM might have something to do with it. Sleep deprivation seems like a good source of blame. But that's not why I feel overwhelmed with the power of emotion.  My heart and soul are whirling in a cacophony of feelings. All of this was set forth after a morning of volleying emails with that friend I've reconnected with after years of wondering how he has been since graduation.  For that alone I am glad I couldn't sleep in this morning.

While I am looking forward to what 2010 will bring, I am riddled with anxiety to bid 2009 farewell.  That's not to say '09 has been nothing but a big party.  This year has been a psychosensory roller coaster.  But on that ride of twists and turns there has been tremendous personal growth.  I think this has been my best year ever in that regard. That is not to say '09 hasn't been difficult.  Two close friends have said their final good byes to their mothers. That's an experience I wish upon no one -- having gone through it myself at age 15.  However, because of that I was further able to deal with grieving my Mom.  It's a process that never ends.
We bid farewell to my Unca Chunk -- there's a life story worth re-telling. He was so close to my Mom. This year was the first year since '81 none of us received a call from him on her birthday.


I've watched my family grow ... and grow ... and grow.  It's a thing of beauty.  I want to make a collage of my family. All of them. Seriously, it will blow your minds. My hope for the coming year is that my kinfolk will manage to keep open hearts and minds so they might experience the growth more richly.
My sister Maureen's battle with cancer continues, but miracles never cease.  She's the happiest I've ever seen her in her adult life. Whoddathunk it, ya know? But that's her story to tell ... perhaps she'll grace all of you with more detail by being a guest blogger on WILDHAIR in the coming year.

I can't let another sentence be written without talking about Mancub. All the credit isn't on me, mind you.  He's an amazing boy who hasn't been without challenge, but he rises above each and every instance.  I joke that I believe God knew I'd be raising him alone.  As a result, he's the easiest child to rear. Oh sure, maybe he spends more time on video games and less on studying, but he's not a speck of trouble. Period. He has the respect and adoration of his teachers and administration.  Transitioning into high school hasn't been without faults or drama, but he's not begged to stay home. He faces each day with a new outlook.  I admire him.  I hope one day I will manage such a mindset.  How many parents can say their children are their heroes, huh?

This year has helped me open myself up to friendship.  That is not to say I shunned people before, but I started opening up to the possibilities of developing long term relationships.  The razor wire fortress I once wrapped around myself is far less forboding.  You can laugh and point fingers of stupidity at the use of Facebook, but the connections I've made through that once silly social networking site only teens used has been a major player.  EASTRIDGE CLASS OF '83 RULES! If you were ever a Raider you'll understand.

So, while my heart is rather heavy to say bon voyage to 2009, by midnight tonight I'll manage to muster the excitement for 2010: A Riss-Odyssey.  ........... stay tuned! This is gonna be great!!


Wednesday, December 30, 2009

New Year's Eve and the Angry Girl

The new year is quickly approaching. In fact, it's so close I can hear the clicking of its stiletto heels on the pavement. New Year's Eve is very much like a Hollywood starlet with all the glitz and glamour of a red carpet event.  In she strolls and all the attention is on her.  So much is expected from this beauty.  Then, at least for me, reality strikes when she opens her mouth ... all the build up was for naught. She's just another girl wearing a form fitting designer gown on loan from Valentino and borrowed jewels from Harry Winston. Stripped down and without all the hype, we realize it's just the turning of a page on the calendar.  Well, that and we have to get accustomed to writing another date on checks.

I do not fancy New Year's Eve.  There. I said it. Call me envious or jaded.  It's rare if ever that I have plans to celebrate the new year.  In this decade there has been only one occasion that I wasn't at home with my son.  It was 2001. December 31, 2001 was rolling over to January 1, 2002.  Dating a guy in Savannah -- remember him? Savannah Blue Eyes. After claiming our kiss at midnight "the best kiss ever in the history of kisses" he broke up with me three weeks following -- for an ex-stripper he met on a dating website .. a site he'd been perusing the entire time we dated. Nice guy, huh? Did I mention he wasn't man enough to face me? He tried ending it over instant messenger on AOL. HA!! He's what we commonly call an asshat, today.

OK! I'm not still pissy about that incident. It's merely a Riss-tory lesson.

I've not compiled a list of Rissolutions.  I find that making assertions that I'll actually stick with them is hogwash.  Committing to myself has always been a downfall.  I just vow to work on being better than the past.  We'll see how that goes.

I haven't bothered with my horriblescope in quite awhile.  It's not that I lead my life by them, but interesting food-for-thought is often sprouted from those inane babblings of some overpaid intern at the house of Yahoo. Yes, I know most interns aren't paid and that is the joke of it.

Here is today's invocation of insight: Wanderlust has grabbed your fancy and won't let go. Maybe your nose is pressed hard to the grindstone at the moment and you can't whisk yourself away on an impromptu adventure, but you can liven up the day-to-day routine with some creative thinking. One option is to start planning for the trip of a lifetime. Just collecting travel brochures and reading about exotic places will help channel your longing. With the right planning, you can achieve this dream.

"...Liven up the day to day with creative thinking" ... hello!? Have we met? That's daydreaming and I already do a shit-load of it. It's what maintains my relative sanity.  ".. start planning for the trip of a lifetime." I certainly hope that the winning Lotto numbers are coming my way in a yet to be released horriblescope. I can barely afford to drive to work let alone plan and pay for a trip.  *snort*  Silly interns!

"... channel your longing." Sweetheart, if I channel it anymore my head will do an impression of Scanners. It's a good thing I have a regular dose of reality to set me straight.


WOW! I just read what I wrote above. I am a tad angry, aren't I? I believe I have a viable explanation for what's pushing it all up toward the surface. The Wii Sports pack that came with Mancub's Wii has been providing me with hours of working off aggression. Boxing is my favorite.  The pent up anger is oozing from my pores right now. I never realized just how much vitriol I had cooped up in my system until I started beating the snot out of virtual opponents.  I visualize the face of the people who've rattled my cage or hurt me or my loved ones ... then BAM! BLAST! My body aches currently as a result of this Wii therapy. A once dormant volcano needs to let off steam .... ssssssssstttttttttteam heat.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

After glow


It's Sunday.  Oh how I love this day of rest ... wait a minute! I don't get to rest today. The work schedule demands that I be there.

The after glow of Christmas day remains.  It was filled with surprises for Mancub and me.  Christmas eventually proves to be a special time of year once you cut through the layers of impatient shoppers, shifting of funds and frustration of not being able to find the perfect gift for someone on your list. 

Mancub wanted me to make it clear that he didn't completely say the word crap in his excitement over the Wii. "I stopped myself mom." To him, it's a swear word even though it's commonly thrown around (even by yours truly). He didn't want it on record that he sounds like a degenerate. As if!

The warm embrace of the words written in the book I received for Christmas continues to envelope me like a warm bubble bath ...

.... I hope it can keep me warm as I step into the 16° temps to make my way to work today.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Holy Crap! You got me a Wii!

So, those are not the most eloquent words ever exclaimed on Christmas morning, but it was a sentiment of true surprise. My son had no idea what he was getting today. He's fully aware of the challenges I meet each month financially. He's never been a gimme gimme kid. He's joyful no matter the gift.

I gave him games to go with the Wii before he unwrapped the console. I feigned surprise that I grabbed the wrong game system versions."Oh, poo! Well, you can exchange them for PS2."

His reply was not surprising, "Well, my cousins have Wii systems. Maybe they'd like them as gifts."

It was then when I got up and reached behind the couch to reveal yet another gift. He noticed how heavy it was when I sat it on his lap. He screwed up his face in wonder. Here's the result:



Additionally, Mancub is the proud owner of a Trek bike. Santa has some amazing elves, let me tell you. I prefer to call them Heaven's angels on Earth. This spring I hope to write about our many journeys on our bikes -- I inherit the hot red bike he got last spring.

Before all the excitement over the Wii and the bicycle began, I had a few hours of quiet time. Earlier this week, a gift traveled over the ocean to get to me, but instructions were that I couldn't open it until Christmas. It wasn't easy abiding but I managed. Knowing there was a gift in the box for Mancub, as well, I considered waiting for him to wake up. With coffee brewing, I opted to give in to my anxious, child like excitement and carefully cut the packing tape that came between me and my gift.

Tears flowed bountifully. It's not so much what took residence inside the box that turned me into an sobbing mess in my kitchen. A few words inscribed in a book took my breath away. Words having the power to reach into my soul and embrace me ... a much needed hug that reached me from the other side of the world. The true beauty of Christmas and friendship ... and yes, love.

Merry Christmas. ∞♥

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A holly, jolly video Christmas card!

Merry Christmas.  Go grab a cup of cheer, sit back and listen to me babble on video. As usual, I had nothing planned beyond my bedazzled attire.  May this not bring you nightmares of gorged sugar plum zombies. 



I'll try to be funnier next year.

Merry Angstmas


I'm feeling anxious and full of angst.  My pulse is racing but not in an excited, joyful manner.  I'm pretty sure it's not a rush of caffeine. I had less than usual. Maybe it's just residual spazattack from yesterday's onslaught of visually impaired people requiring new spectacles two days before Christmas. Perhaps it's concern over the weather (ice storm and flooding) potentially preventing Mancub and I traveling on Christmas day.  Possibly -- most likely -- it's caused from not being able to afford gifts for my family members.  Normally I would overextend my checking account just to save the embarrassment of admitting I don't have money to make purchases for anyone other than my son.  With the cutbacks at work, that was hardly manageable and I thank God for the angels in my life.

This year I baked.  As I said in an earlier post celebrating our cookie creations, I've never made sugar cookies from scratch.  We baked a fresh batch and colorfully decorated them.  Today will be my inaugural attempt at making fudge.   More shortbread cookies with the dot of chocolate in the center will also be prepared.  But the question remains: Will my family consider these baked goods acceptable gifts? They are, after all, a labor of love. Mancub and I have enjoyed this domestic time together.

I've pulled out scraps of festive fabric and wire trimmed ribbon so the treats can represent the spirit of the season.  I also discovered that I have ornaments that I bought post Christmas with the intention of giving them as gifts.  Like many things, they slipped into the abyss known as my closet. I had no idea all the clearance items I picked up at Michael's, Kohl's, The Dollar Tree and Carlton Cards. Booyah! It's a regular smorgasbord of whatsits and doo-ma-jigs.

If you need me I'll be in my living room watching a marathon of "White Christmas" and putting together tins and bags chock-full  of treats ... and lots and lots of love.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Just listen



This song was part of a program encouraging adoption. "A Home for the Holidays" was a presentation lead by Faith Hill to honor The Dave Thomas Foundation. When the singer/songwriter Michael Franti told his own story about being adopted, it brought a flutter to my heart. Then, as he sang this beautiful song there were snippets of children awaiting adoption ... children who've been in over five homes in a year's time. That's when the tears really began to flow. The lyrics of this song are simple; yet, they speak volumes. He's managed to put to verse what I feel in my heart about close friendships that simply cannot be defined or labeled.

Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Where are your wings?


Both of my parents instilled in me the belief in miracles and angels.  My mother was more likely to tell me a story about a harrowing event in her life where her guardian angel protected her from harm. My father, on the other hand, was more philosophical in his telling of incidents that solidified his belief in a higher being.  Our family was loosely Catholic. Read: Lots of the guilt inducing practices and none of the church-going, sacramental requirements.  Regardless of the methods and theories taught, we were a spiritual clan with the ability to find reason and cause to why we were fortunate in the face of often dismal times.

I recall as a little girl my mother telling me to always listen to the little voices in my head because that was my guardian angel giving me direction. "She knows better than you do. So don't ignore her."  In my child-like mind's eye, angels have always been filmy, beautiful, ethereal beings with wings and halos.  That is, after all, how they are artistically rendered in books and movies ... unless, of course, you consider Clarence from "It's a Wonderful Life." 

As a grown up, I have learned that the holographic depiction of heavenly creatures is not wholly true.  It has become apparent that I live amongst the angels.  They have fully functional cardio-vascular systems.  They speak to me not in echoing sounds within my head, but directly to me interacting on a day to day basis.  Their clothing is no different than mine. They have jobs and toils of daily life just like me. 

If not for these angelic souls I wouldn't be able to give Mancub the Christmas he is about to behold.  Additionally, if it wasn't for the angels who greet me each and every day, I would feel less accomplished and far less fulfilled in my life.  Without their reminders that I am not only permitted to admit that I am a human requiring unconditional love and affection but encouraged to embrace that aspect of myself, I would not be able to be so open with myself here. 

Those angels are my friends. It doesn't matter whether we've met face to face or I encounter them at work. Our connections may be limited to words in an email or a limited number of characters in a text. All the same, they are able to lift me up with their wings of compassion. Their humor pulls me from sadness. 

This brings to question, what have I done to deserve this?  All too often that phrase is accompanied with someone's declaration of bad luck following them around.  Though I may often be considered a cynic, I know that we have to seek our good fortune and find the bright speck no matter how gray the day may seem.. So, tell me? What have I done to deserve such graciousness and generosity?  I do question why I strike my friends as someone special enough to receive a bounty of gifts for my son.  This isn't me looking a gift horse in the mouth, mind you.  It is simply a concept that perplexes me. It's easy to question why me when negative circumstances infiltrate our lives. 

My parental units were big supporters of the golden rule.  Though, I don't remember them telling it as such.  Rather, they took a more philosophical stance on it.  "You get what you give in life."  If that's true, I don't feel like I'm fulfilling my end of the bargain. My sister tells me stop questioning the why.  She adds that I'm not nearly as prickly as I view myself.  Are my friends just that intuitive? Maybe I should heed sis's advice and just know that I'm loved. Unconditionally.

Angels? Santa? Do I believe? Of course I do ... wouldn't you?

This is dedicated to those who've enriched my life with your love and support ... even when I tried to push you away. Thank you for sticking by my side -- just like Mama said.

Friday, December 18, 2009

A Muppet Death??

I pray that PETM (People for the Ethical Treatment of Muppets) doesn't come hunting for me.  I'm convinced that one -- or four -- of Jim Henson's creations was killed to make my warm, cozy, very pink house socks (that's what the tag read -- house socks).  Is it possible that a cute and delightful entertainer of children was sacrificed for the comfort of my tootsies? Perhaps a kinfolk to Elmo?


I'm no domestic goddess, but ...

A couple of weeks ago the temperatures here took a swift dip into the danger zone. Like it is often, the wind chill factor was the real culprit.  Gusts up to 50 mph hour were predicted. Business at the work place was dreadfully slow.  So slow that my presence was not required.  Suddenly I had a free day and the baking bug bit me.  Beyond boxed brownies and a bi-yearly batch of Toll House Cookies, this girl doesn't bake.  My kitchen is lucky if it ever sees a spatter of olive oil. I cook out of necessity. But holiday baking? Get out of the city!

I bundled myself up and head out into the blustery, frigid day.  My intention was to buy the pre-fab sugar cookie dough in the tube, but as I made my way through the store I had collected ingredients to bake from scratch.  I felt my head for fever. Then, I thought perhaps all of this was a dream and I'd awaken in my warm cozy bed.  Upon departing the store it was obvious that I was wide awake because the strong winds nearly had me falling backwards.  Pushing the cart against the wind proved to be quite a workout.

Once I made it back home, I immediately turned on the oven and got to measuring and mixing.  There was disappointment when I realized that not one cookie cutter was to be found. Duh! Why would there be any, moron!? You don't bake.  A tumbler cup would provide circles and the squeeze tubes of sugar cookie frosting would have to be decoration enough.  Sorry, no gingerbread boys or snowmen to grace the plate.

Just as the first batch was about to go in to the oven, Mancub arrived home. He was not only shocked to see me baking, but happy we'd get to decorate them together. It always does his heart good to hear that I'm not required to work the closing shift.

The tumbler used was quite large. Because of that, the quantity of cookies per batch was decreased, but oh boy, they were beautiful, chewy and delicious.  Bigger is better, right? Am I right?  Proudly I offered them to  co-workers. While my coworkers are known for eating just about anything put on the table, I am confident their praises were honest.


Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Say Thanks

This hardly takes any time to do and it might mean the world to the recipient.

Monday, December 14, 2009

She's fierce!

Sue Ellen practiced in the mirror for months prior to her Senior photo shoot. I think she nailed it.



Work it, super girl!

photo found on http://www.pizzacomedy.com/

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Small Appliances and the Single Girl

It's Sunday morning and all I hear is the hum of the furnace. When I awoke before 6 AM, I got my coffee brewing and crawled back into bed. A half hour later it was apparent that dozing off wasn't going to happen.  Once my brain is alerted that it's a new day it just won't shut off.  By nature I am not a list maker, but jotting mental notes is not unheard of. The bad thing about that is the task needs to be committed right away or it will be forgotten. 

Tiny Post-It Notes line my computer monitor. Sometimes the notations actually make enough sense to jar my memory.  One of them says "new coffee pot."  The current model makes the java juice OK, but it leaks all over the counter.  I have an incontinent coffee maker.  Bounty Paper Towels to the rescue.  While laying in bed, the thought occurred to me to price Keurigs.  I know they are pricey, but a girl can dream.  This line of thinking drove me to daydream about other small appliances that would do me good -- not that kind of small appliance.  No really! It's a neck massager.

I've been threatening to buy a George Foreman Grill.  We have a couple of them at work that get lots of use provided someone cleaned them after using. I don't own a grill, but pan frying a steak or chicken breast isn't the same without the grill marks. And the broiler is a royal pain the tushy! The smoke and clean up is a total bitch. No thank you.  Since there are two residents in this household, I require the bigger one. Grilled veggies are so tasty, too.  I was perusing a couple different store sites and was surprised by the number of models available. Like Foreman's kids, they all have the same name, but different.  I'm particularly fond of those with removable grill plates -- easier clean up.

Bread makers.  OY! I thought there were a lot of Foreman Grills on the market. Egads! I am not Suzy Homemaker nor do I have the inclination to perform the toils required to make bread.  I watched my Dad for years puttering around the kitchen kneading the dough, letting it rise, kneading it some more. The house was permeating an aroma that could be smelled a block away.  I have to question how much I'd use a bread maker after the novelty wore off.  If you own one, do you still use it often enough to justify the room required to store it?

So there you go. My Sunday morning though processes shared. The Wedding Singer is on and I think I'll watch it ... for the 30th time.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Life imitates theater

Twenty-six and a half or so years ago I stood alone on a stage wearing a lovely costume while a spotlight shone upon me. My character, Helen, had finally come to grips with the fact that the subject of her affections would never be hers to have and to hold.  She gracefully accepts her fate and with morose resolve sings :

I have wished before,
I will wish no more.

Love, look away!
Love, look away from me.
Fly, when you pass my door,
Fly and get lost at sea.

Call it a day.
Love, let us say we're through.
No good are you for me,
No good am I for you.

Wanting you so,
I try too much.
After you go,
I cry too much.

Love, look away.
Lonely though I may be,
Leave me and set me free,
Look away, look away, look away... from... me.

There's no psychotic outburst that one might see portrayed today.   Helen, dejected, walks away with only the memory of hope ... her head held high.

Little did I realize when I was cast in that role that my own life would lead a similar path. It's as if Rogers and Hammerstein wrote that part just for me. Chasing the impossible; completely aware that it is nothing more than a wish.  A dream. Faith in hope. Having such a mindset is like sucker punching yourself repeatedly.

The wind is knocked out of the sails that were blindly guiding my heart, but there's another course for it to travel on.  No doubt that I'll be fine. I'm a survivor, at the risk of sounding cliché. It's a misstep that I made. Letting the heart get control over the head is a foolish error. I admit it wholeheartedly, no pun intended.

Why am I so willing to air it in the open like this? I'm a masochist amongst other choice words I like to call myself. This also provides me with an outlet to prevent me from sending off an email where I blather and spew vitriol. This way, I maintain a level (shoddy as it may be) of class and dignity -- yes, I realize this format also reveals that I'm a self-deprecating woman.

I can't hide behind the fantasy anymore.  Sure, I was enjoying romanticizing that I might finally get a stab at love (cue the shrill Psycho theme music).  A chuckle rises from my belly as I type that.

Reality's overture is playing ...



Love Look Away from the musical Flower Drum Song by Rogers and Hammerstein

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Where'd my little boy go?

If good parenting was judged by the number of photos of my child scattered about the home, I would be one giant failure.  Oh, it's not that I don't have pictures of my son.  I have tons of them ... in a big box in the closet.  There's a most recent photo of him that sits on my bookshelf.  There are always promises made to myself that I'll get photo albums and frames, but that's yet to happen.  One day ...

What brought this line of thinking about was my scrounging through the big box of photos this morning. With Christmas staring me in the face, I remembered the cutest pictures taken of Mancub when he was 5 years old. A photography studio was called upon at his pre-k to take memorable Christmas photos.  Seeing them always brings forth a giant puddle of tears.  Where has that little boy gone?

Imagine Chevy Chase as Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation when he's holed up in the attic ... blubbering like a fool as he views a movie from his childhood.  That isn't too far from what it looked like as I sat on my living room floor digging through the corrugated brown treasure trove of memories.  Sans turquoise turban, of course.

The last time I gushed over the photo featured in Mancub's presence, he rolled his eyes and implored me to stop being such a dork.  Then, he saw the tears in my eyes and hugged me.  He sees the picture and asks what was up with his hair.  I look at it and see the excitement of Christmas.  Innocence of childhood.

And the spirit of the season takes hold.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

What not to buy ... part 1

Fun Slides Carpet Skates :

Make sure your insurance is paid up and get your stories straight before taking the kids to the emergency room. I'm sure my brother would just love if I sent his 3 boys each a pair of these to use in the same room the HDTV is housed.

HD Vision Night Wraparounds This item is perfect for the guy who buys the sports car when he's in denial of his mid-life crisis. All the young babes will be salivating when he walks through the doors of the club wearing these over his no-line bifocal specs. Nothing says "I'll be your sugar daddy" like these urine colored lenses.

Lens Doctor DO NOT USE THIS CRAP! I cannot stress this enough. You might as well throw the $14.95 it costs directly into a shredder. Your lenses will be ruined and then you'll come to me at my place of business frustrated that I can't remove the dried goop on the lenses that causes you severely blurred vision.

S'Mores MakerReally? Are you that much of a dimwit that the concept of making s'mores requires a
gadget? Since chocolate met marshmallow people have been creating this sweet treat with nothing more than a stick and fire. It's so easy a caveman could do it. Besides that, it looks like Mr. Potato Head's cousin from Ecuador.

The Magic Bullet -- I still say this was a vibrator experiment gone wrong. Having already patented the name, they kept it. I imagine the test subjects for this pleasure item gone wrong have a suit pending for destroyed va-jay-jays.

Wood Bed Lifters I have to know if these come with warnings: DO NOT USE during raucus sex as severe injury might occur. Do not use these if your bed is near a window during even mild sexual encounters. Do not use these on tile or hardwood flooring as a Linda Blair Exorcist situation may occur during restlessness. I can appreciate the need to use the space under the bed for more than harboring dust bunnies, used tissues and an array of other misfit items. I've lived in places with very limited storage. However, I'd fear rolling over too quickly in my sleep and KABLAM!!!

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Trimming the tree and fa-la-la-la

Last year I didn't even bother putting up a Christmas tree.  The year prior, kitties decided that knocking ornaments off and destroying them was a far better idea than just admiring them as they dangled from the twinkling branches. 


With twenty more days before the mythical fat-man descends from his toy shop in the frozen tundra of the North Pole, I figured my weekend off could be spent trying to turn our domicile into a place of festive lights and adornment.  The tree will likely be left out another year.  Our cats may be older, but they are still creatures of nature with an inclination to climb and toy with anything that wiggles. So, with Mancub's small collection of nutcrackers displayed, I think we can make a go of putting forth the image that the Christmas spirit is alive and well at Casa Marissa. I'll string lights where the cats can't bother them, as well as, garland around the tops of the windows.  Majestic? Not hardly.

I know for certain that my one wish for this Christmas won't materialize, but I'm determined not to let the news deter me from having a joyful season with my son.

So, with Bing Crosby crooning the tunes of the season, I'm off to Dasher and Comet ....

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

A moment is all it takes


A moment is all it takes. This is not a new concept, but it's something requiring self reminding.  In the blink of an eye tragedy can strike. That's the way of the world.  When that happens we often reflect upon the importance of the people in our lives. A life altering incident causes our lifetimes to flash before our eyes as we grasp for something positive.  Such a situation didn't happen.  This isn't a cause for concern out of the norm.  I apologize if this initially heightened your worry censors. I'm fine. Mancub is doubly fine.  The moment in time that is the subject is the good moments.  We all (hopefully) have those seconds in the day that manage to put a beautiful spin on what seems to have been filled with sighs of mundane.

Earlier this morning I took a silly Facebook quiz to determine my real age.  Biologically I'm 44.  I have no qualms about aging, but it was something fun to do that my life long friend had already participated.  Her age was 23. Mine was 34.  Being overweight and a self-described couch potato adds years on, but my overall happiness gave me 10 years youth.  That Internet moment of bonding with my friend was one of those minuscule strands of time I speak of.  Additionally, she posted a photo of herself and husband taken by her sister-in-law.  If a picture speaks volumes, then that snapshot tells me how ridiculously loving they are to each other.

Yesterday was our annual Hometown Day.  A company wide day of giving.  That in itself is cause for joy, but there were seconds within that occasion is what pushed my sluggish mood up and over the hump to full-on laughter and exhuberance.  A conversation from an unexpected phone caller lifted my spirits and aided me in being far less cranky than my aching, tired body and mind wanted to be. Sixty seconds to change a day.

Additionally, nearly each weekday morning I spend about an hour and a half corresponding with someone whom I adore beyond the boundaries of words.  It doesn't matter what the subject is in our emails, those approximate 5,400 seconds give new life and meaning to my day.  The vitality between the syllables shared is caffeine to infinity.  There are 24 hours in a day, but the most meaningful part of the day consists of moments.

What I'm saying is that while people want to look at the big picture. We don't always take the time to see that it's the tiny pixels and specks of brilliant, opulent colors that give us hope, joy, laughter ... the moments in life that often take our breath away.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

All I want for Christmas ...

I just called work to see when they'd need me today.  My original start time of 10 AM is being pushed back to Noon. While the rest of the retail world is being given a jump start by Black Friday, the world of optics takes a crash course in the harmonies of crickets chirping.  I've already showered.  Sitting here in my robe with wet hair; a cute kitten curled up on my lap, I have to ask what else do I need?  Another cup of coffee preferably delivered to me by a loving, hunky man who understands that kittens on laps are best left undisturbed.  Yep. I'm daydreaming again.  While I know there's a perfect bra out there for me so is the ideal man.  Perhaps the two will be found on the same day. Choirs of angels sing as the heavens open up with a hallelujah chorus.

The playful melody of "All I Want For Christmas Is You" keeps ringing through my head.  I can't help it. There's no shame in having a one track mind, is there?  After all, it could be slithering about in the gutter.  The tune changes from that to "Please Come Home For Christmas" and "Merry Christmas Darling."  Yeah, this middle aged often times cranky woman is really a romantic at heart. But I'll bet you already knew that.  Nevermind the razor wire, alligator infested moat and towering wall made of nearly impenetrable steel.  There's a key to the secret door.

OK, my mind just drifted off into lolly lulu land. Back to reality. The kitten hopped off my lap leaving a slight puncture in my thigh.  My lukewarm coffee isn't going to heat itself.  Cartoon Network was just flicked on the telly. My wet hair is air drying in a most unbecoming way.  Add to it my need to put on a bra because the droopage of the boobage is causing a sensation that is less than comfortable.

Have a groovy weekend. The holiday season has officially begun.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Unconditional and infinite

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be." -- Douglas Adams

That quote was on my Facebook page today. I have a feed from the "quote of the day" website. On this Thanksgiving it seemed perfectly suited for me ... for anyone, really.  Think back to your teen years, twenty-something, thirty-something, etc... are you exactly where you dreamed you'd be? I'm most certainly not, but there's no question that we can't predict the future nor can we count on tomorrow.  Am I disappointed that my aspirations of being a doctor of psychology didn't pan out? Sure. Am I aggravated that I'm still not with the father of my son? Sort of. There's no going back -- only looking forward and dealing with the here and now.

Today brought a painful reminder of something I said only moments ago: Tomorrow is never guaranteed. I visited the cemetery again.  The purpose was to fulfill a promise made to a very dear friend.  ∞♥ There was no sense of obligation.  I've found going there quite calming.  I guess when it comes to those we love their departure from our lives is always too soon, but when they are taken from us in their youth or prime of their lives, it's even more devastating.  The indelible mark left on the living of the passing of a loved one ... a vivacious woman with two sons and a devoted husband. Or a lively, six year old boy who was the living embodiment of joy.  A mother in mid-life or  mothers with many years and children in her photo album ... gone but never forgotten.

Today I celebrate all the joy and happiness bestowed upon me.  When I consider all that I have to be grateful for I long a bit less for the things I wish for and find contentment that I'm where I'm supposed to be  ... for now.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

mmmmm noggy

I get geeked out on some unexpected things.  Some people get razzle dazzled over new tech devices. Others do a dance of joy over the crossword in the New York Times.  I, on the other hand, get a badoozled and dillywomped over eggnog.  Eggnoggity goodness of any variety: Ice cream, cheesecake, McDonald's Shakes.  That's what brought all of this on today.  I stopped by McDonald's to get Mancub a burger (icky, I know) and a chocolate shake.  It's a big dealio for me to get him this. So, don't call the Department of Children and Family Services on me just yet.  When I saw the words "EGG NOG SHAKES NOW AVAILABLE" I nearly piddled on my heated leather seats.  I practiced restraint and only got a small. mmmmm noggy.  I was full from my late lunch (3:30 PM) and had no desire to eat anything at 5:00 PM, but good giggly goo! I could easily sip the frosty beverage.  I was wet from the pouring rain and chilled to the bone, but with the heat cranked on high and the seat warming my tushy, I relished each and every sip of my shake as my cranky ass mood from the day was beaten off by my first taste of the deliciousness that brings forth many a childhood memories.

Enjoy the recycled story I wrote a couple of years ago when I first started writing this blog.  I love and miss my mother every day, but this time of year makes me particularly melancholy and wishing she could be here with me and Mancub.

~~Momma's Christmas Eggnog~~

Ever since I can remember I have loved eggnog. While passing Fannie May Candies I eyed a sign in the window advertising their new item: Cheesecake. Like Homer Simpson spying a donut I muttered, "mmmm cheeeeesecake..." I adore cheesecake, too. Fannie May has brought together two of my favorite holiday treats! Eggnog cheesecake! Again, I mentally take on another character; Will Ferrell's Buddy the Elf. I was subconsciously singing in the mall, "CHEESECAKE! I loooooooooove cheesecake and eggnog..eggnog cheesecake.. I-WANT-TO- EAT- IT- NOW!" I'm sure my co-worker was unaware of the scenario blaring through my head. Had this truly happened I'm sure I'd still be explaining to mall security how I managed to escape from my straight jacket.

When did the love affair between eggnog and my taste buds first blossom? I can't recall the first time my tongue lapped up the delicious dairy-nog, but I assure you it was non-alcoholic. I do know that my mother

made it from scratch. I cannot tell you how she concocted my most favorite and beloved holiday beverage. The treat she made far surpasses any gunk you can buy pre-made. Her's was smooth, not too heavy or thick. My taste buds were doing the dance of the Sugar Plum Faeries as it slid down my throat. She'd dollop frothy egg whites on top with a light dusting of nutmeg. My eyes would dance wildly with excitement just awaiting that first sip. Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve were the only occasions eggnog was brought to the buffet table. I suppose that made it all that more special to me and still is to this day.
Each Christmas season I am rabid for eggnoggy products. Eggnog to drink. I cut the commercial stuff with 2% milk...too thick. Eggnog Latte' at Starbucks. Eggnog ice cream at Oberweis. I bought a quart of Oberweis eggnog to add to my coffee in the morning. And now, Eggnog cheesecake at Fannie May. I'd probably use eggnog flavored toothpaste if it were on the market.

Eggnog brings me back to the happiness that was my childhood. The thrills of traditions created by my beautiful mother. Her image in the kitchen; singing her favorite Christmas songs. Her voice a sweet sound. Her song erased any sadness or disappointment I may have felt. Momma's Emeraude perfume lofting in the air. It's melodically stuck in my nasal cavity.

You see, drinking eggnog is more than just consumption of a holiday beverage for me. It's chocked full of beautiful memories. It's not only a memory of a punch bowl filled with a creamy concoction; it's recollection of admiration and love. Not only my regard toward my mother, but her regard to me as her child. She created memories that are sacred.

Everything was perfect at Christmastime. She taught me that wrapping a gift wasn't just a means to keep it secretive, it was to be done with loving care. Each fold of the paper was her way of giving of herself. Every gift inside was a piece of her heart and soul. My mother didn't haphazardly slap on wrapping, sloppily apply the tape or smack on a bow without care. She was an artiste.

She worked in customer service at Montgomery Ward when I was a wee tot. I loved going to see her there at Christmas. She was the master gift wrapper. I think people came to know she'd not only don their package with the shimmering foil paper, but she'd treat their purchases as if she'd bought them herself for someone special.

There was a lot to learn from my mom. I often wish she was here to counsel me in my day to day life. I suppose in many ways she does. She had far more patience than I. Mom could turn around any one's frown, sadness or dismay. I think over time it became a curse. No matter who she encountered, people loved her.

My Dad wrote a short Christmas story with my Mom as the main character. I hope to find a copy of it and share it here. After years of observing how my Mom pulled together Christmas (even if the money wasn't there), my Dad speculated that Santa had to be a woman; his wife. Mom created magic at Christmas. It was truly the most incredible homage any man could pay to his wife; the mother of his 8 children (after her death he remarried an extraordinary woman; through that union 2 more children blessed our family and new traditions would be made.)

Christmas is a glorious time overflowing with memories. Love is what abounds in my heart because of the unconditional love bestowed upon me by my parents. My enchanting mother taught me that Christmas is magic. It's not magic that comes from a wand or a potion. It's the magic you feel in your very soul.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Shopping is not my bag

I've probably given the impression that I'm not a shop-a-holic. Finding styles that I like in my size isn't limited to bras. I'm tall and have plenty of junk in my trunk.  That combo makes finding really stylish clothing a hassle. But my dislike of shopping isn't limited to personal fashions.  What's involved in shopping is a lot of math. Meaning I deliberate thusly: I worked X number of hours to earn the money item Q costs. No item is alluring to me unless a deep discount is attached to it.  If I'm not going to get tons of use out of the item I usually pass it by.  Grocery shopping makes me break out in hives... Thank you ALDI for making this experience less itchy and scratchy.

I'm big fan of shopping online. Quite often I can find items far less expensive than what's available in stores. I watch for FREE SHIPPING and easy returns.  A rush overcomes me when I get to the check out and it ask "do you have a coupon" -- and I DO!! But when I don't, I feel defeated.  Where do people get the savings discount codes?? I have the answer.  CouponCode.com!  Yes, even coupon codes for amazon.  Speaking of Amazon.com, this week is BLACK FRIDAY WEEK.  Special values abound on everything.  I use it mostly for mp3 digital downloads. The powers that be are giving you a jump start savings of $3.00 instant credit.  There are 500 downloadable cds for a mere $5.00. Hello! The newest releases by Rihanna and Adam Lambert are only $3.99.  You get an entire compilation for only 99 cents. That's what most single downloads cost. Woo! Now would be a great time to buy tunes for your Christmas soundtrack. 

This has been my public service for the day.  You're welcome ... keep an eye out for more shopping advice from yours truly.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

I'd be thankful if ...

With Thanksgiving quickly approaching we're reminded that it's not about an endless buffet of food, football and sleeping on the couch in an upright position with our pants unbuttoned. Nor is it about plotting and planning the insanity that is shopping on Black Friday.  No. We're supposed to count our blessings and remind ourselves of the sacrificed our forefathers made to build this country -- and to give thanks to the Native Americans who were duped into giving it all away, but I digress.  All you history majors just put a lid on it. I'm on a roll like Bluto in Animal House.

But I like to be a visionary.  I don't want to blather on about the typical thankfulness for my family, health, friends and roof over my head. Isn't that a given? Gratitude is tallied up daily for all the things I do possess. It would be too predictable for me to wish for world peace, the end to hunger and prejudice -- this isn't a beauty pageant, after all. Don't get all high and mighty with me.

Suck it, Trebek!

What I want to share with you are the things I'd be thankful to never see again.  Those nagging irritants that just seem to never go away.  Like seething pustules on the ass of society, culture and entertainment, the items on my list just fester. And when you think you've lanced the bastard -- it comes back and often with a vengeance. Here are my top 10 randomly placed Things I'd Be Thankful for if They Disappeared:
1.  Vampires.  Sparkling, love making, swoony moony faced creatures of the night with 6 pack abs.  Go the fuck away. I'd love to be the one who rams a stake into each and every one of them and shoot their hairy little companions with a silver bullet. Movies, television, print ... oversaturation is not a good thing. No offense to anyone who is just madly in love with the Twilight series. You're entitled but it's all gone haywire. Enough is enough already.

2. (a)  Kardashians and anyone remotely related to them. That even goes for Olympic wonder boy Bruce Jenner and his douchey Bromancing son Brody. 
   2(b) Most of E! Network's programming should be silenced. How entertaining can Hugh Hefner and his gaggle of augmented platinum blondes be? They aren't! Word to the Lamas offspring: You're moronic and there's a reason you're D-listers. You're assholes! Ryan Seacrest needs to have less money so he's no longer able to produce diddly.  Denise Richards? Really?
I admit that I've watched the shows out of morbid curiosity. No. They aren't in my guilty pleasure line up. I'm still wondering why they continue to be on the air.

3.  Theatrical remakes.  Stop screwing with my teenage angst! You cannot improve upon them.  Television shows that were a hit 30 years ago do not belong on the big screen.  Also, not everything is better as a musical. Stop it. That High School Musical dude needs to be bitch slapped and fast. If Hollywood would spend half as much on decent scripts as they do high tech special effects then there would never me another lame remake. In fact, I can give them the name of a fantastic writer.

4.  Mary Murphy judge of "So You Think You Can Dance" -- I want her flipping head to explode in Scanners fashion.  Stop screaming! No one dances that well.  NO.ONE!

5.  John and Kate and all the other multi-birthing-your-uterus-is-not-a-clown-car families. I don't watch those shows but some how I know more about them than I ever wanted.

6.  Facebook games.  Please stop sending me invitations for Mafia Wars; Farmville: Cafewhatsitsface and the like. While I can appreciate your desire to earn points, collect rare animals and kill off another powerful family, I don't give a rat's ass.  I have music to listen to and blogs to write.


7.  Wendy Williams: What in the name of all that's holy!? Someone tell me how that happened! And is she a Drag Queen?

8.  Spray tanning.  It doesn't look authentic. Skin is not intended to be that hue. Oompa loompas didn't even want to be that shade. .

9. Rachael Ray. There. I said it. Her Muppet like face is everywhere.  Her voice is even worse. Her catch phrases Yum-O! Sammies, Delish, EVOO (and then explaining what it means) make me want to jab myself in the ears with hot pokers and then rinse out the pain with rubbing alcohol.

10. The Today Show.  Whoa! It's like 5 hours long. Meredith Veira and her pack of babbling boobs make The View seem intellectually stimulating.

Traditionally untraditional

Ho, ho, ho, and falalalala abound no matter where I turn.  Santa made his arrival at the mall yesterday. I thought the old, jolly fat man wasn't allowed to make an appearance prior to Black Friday.  Economic strain has overridden tradition, I guess.  Christmas parades are commencing a week early, too. Once again my holiday equilibrium is thrown off.

Growing up, our household traditions were upheld by Mom. We always turned to her to keep the season merry and bright.  When she passed away after a short battle with cancer, nothing was the same. It was enough to attempt to pull ourselves together emotionally let alone try to carry on the traditions that Mom made so perfect. Those traditions couldn't be carried out if she wasn't there to execute them.

As I've matured and built a household of my own, I've been incapable of duplicating the spirit that Mom embodied.  When I was married and had a newborn child, the hope of creating our own traditions filled me with such elation.  What ensued was decorating a tree, mostly by myself, while listening to Christmas tunes. Mancub has never been giddy with excitement over decorating a tree. In spite of my efforts to create tradition, we're lacking in having year in and year out expectations.  Maybe in turn Mancub won't have a major adjustment when he sets out into adulthood. Perhaps when he is with a significant other he won't impose upon them "my Mom always ..." sort of situations that lead to argument and holiday stress.

Please don't let any of this imply that I'm a Scrooge.  Indifference is really what this time of year evokes within me.  Besides, Scrooge had tons of dough. He was just stingy with it.  I'm broke.

Do you have traditions that you absolutely cannot live without? Did you start it or is a carry over from childhood or handed down from generation to generation?  I'd love to learn what puts the cherry on your holiday sundae.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Beware the stare

When I read the first 3 words of my horoscope this morning my heart went pitter patter. It was quickly replaced by a sense of panic. I work in a mall. Do you realize the number of freakazoids who meander the corridors of a mall? I work where we're on display like poo-flinging monkeys in the zoo! I have no idea who might be gazing at me. I'd die a thousand deaths if it's Mullet man. Seriously, if that was the case I'd pull a Samurai suicide with a dull butter knife.
A certain someone -- after yet another day of boring through your soul with their penetrating glances -- will finally approach you and say what's on their mind: you! If you're unattached and interested, this could be the one. You know, The One! For good measure, how about returning a few intense stares yourself? Just don't be surprised when once the staring begins, few words are exchanged.
I've not been feeling a penetration of any sort lately... glances or otherwise. There's no doubt that I'm often clueless or just assume no one in their right mind would be interested in me. So even if I do feel that a 'certain someone' is looking my way I rush to a mirror to see if I have the toilet lid protector hanging from my wasteband. Yeah yeah... self-esteem smelf eshteem. I can't help that my parents gave me an overdose of humility in my formula.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Bra Humbug

I realize the content of this blog, lately, is best described as textual boredom. I'd offer an apology, however, I am one of those people who can't force inspiration. And to be quite honest, I have no idea if anyone beyond a handful are continuing to read my personal blathering.

When your life consists of getting up, making coffee; checking (and hoping) for emails that aren't spam ie. Urban Word of the Day, Amazon.com or forwards about it being the 52nd friendship week of the year; getting ready for work; working; coming home from work; making dinner... you get the idea. My life isn't action packed. I could piss and moan about work but that doesn't bode well when you're trying to make the workplace more harmonious. Not to mention comments would come from the wood work to chastise me for not being more grateful at this time of year. To which I would annoyingly reply, "suck it, Trebek!"

Mancub is fantastic and performing phenomenally well academically. There are few complaints nor do I struggle with single parenthood beyond the financial constraints. It's been a couple of months since he's heard from his dad. DNA does not a father make. Christmas is approaching. Perhaps he'll show up unexpectedly to throw a monkey wrench in our my holiday cheer.

With all honesty, at this moment I wish the holidays would not exist. I know it's selfish thinking. Lucky for you all I don't have possession of three wishes or Clarence.  Even reaching deep I am finding it difficult to find the spirit of the holidays.  I know very little can be purchased for my son.  Buying for anyone else holds absolutely no bearing in my shopping.  Seriously, who the hell needs another trinket o'marketing bliss just so they can't tally up the number of gifts for post Christmas bragging rights??  Again I say, "suck it, Trebek!" I'm returning to the days gone by.  Remember those times when our elementary teachers would hand out materials for a project and we'd construct gifts for our parents? Yeah, it'll be something like that. Maybe. If I find the motivation.  Otherwise, just be joyful in knowing me -- and I you, friends. I'll tie a big f'ing red bow on my head -- found on clearance last year at the dollar tree, naturally.  How's that for presentation?

In closing, I am going to share my horriblescope of obscurity.
It's finally starting to dawn on you that it's over, and that you've actually gotten yourself out of a really tough situation. You're feeling free -- like it really is the first day of the rest of your life. Well, don't stop now. If you have a couple of other changes in mind, this would be a good time to give them some energy and consideration, too. Why not make it a clean sweep?
I have no idea what it really means. What's over? I've not sung yet. So that son of a bitch is NOT over. Maybe I've been struggling with something subconsciously and not been aware. In turn, my subconscious mind had finally dealt with "it" and accepted "it".  Yeah, yeah. I know c-h-a-n-g-e.  I changed my underwear; brand of deodorant; body lotion; toothbrush; switched out razors.

That'll do pig. That'll do.


image borrowed from AnneTaintor.com

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

No more commando hands!

Handerpants! Handerpants!! HANDERPANTS!!! Great for the aspiring magician, magician's assistant, booger flicker, gardener, weed wacking (not recommended for other wacking -- the cotton is soft, but not that soft -- wink wink.)

Folks, this is for real. It's no Chia Pet or Pet Rock, but wouldn't it make a perfect stocking stuffer for that friend who has it all? And while you're wasting your money, order a Snuggie! What a great companion piece :P


Cosmic thing

You need a change of scenery. Sitting still has always been a challenge for you. But at the moment, it's going to basically impossible. Why fight it? Get out there and mix it up. Someone special would like to spend some quality time with you right now. Whether it's an old friend, a new flame or a long-neglected family member, share yourself with someone you adore. They'll appreciate the gesture and you'll increase your cosmic connection with this person.
Increase my cosmic connection ... bring it! C'mon!! This is something I can fully grasp. Well, in an outer dimensional method of thinking. Let's dance this mess around.

I have to do laundry today. Doubt is on the horizon of actualizing this horoscope there. I'm avoiding the big laundromat just in case Asshat Running Man gets the same idea. That is one person with whom I do not have a cosmic thing
.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Working on Sunday = hate


I do NOT ... I repeat DO NOT LIKE WORKING SUNDAYS!! This is all the energy I can muster.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

At a loss

For the past two days my Facebook status has expressed that I have nothing to say. That's not wholly true. Plenty of thoughts swirl around in my head like a cyclone; yet, I'm unable to express them.

This is often a startling concept to people who see me as someone never at a loss for something to say. I'm a known babbler. Often in that babbling comes insight and or profound revelations. However, there are circumstances which leave me dumbfounded. Incapable of channeling a great poet to offer words of hope and wisdom, I remain silent amongst the bounty of tears that flow.

How do you offer comfort to a friend who has just said goodbye to his mother? How do I appear selfless and sympathetic while I mourn an amazing woman? A rush of personal experience of loss leaves a feeling of complete uselessness.

This outstanding woman wasn't simply my friend's mom. She was Mama Nelson to all who knew her. She embraced each of us as we walked over the threshold of her home. Never did we feel unwelcome. Always greeting us with a smile. We weren't just Tom's friends. We were her kids by association. For me, the association goes deeper. Mama knew my mother and uncles. Catholic school kids. I felt a great kindred spirit with her for that.

Mama managed to raise four very unique children on her own. Little did I know 30 years ago that she'd be a spectacular role model to me as a single mother. She gave her kids the best possible. My friend Tommy has her love and compassion. I can't imagine what my life would be like had we not become friends. Every body loves Tommy. Trust me that if you met him you'd understand why. He's a loving reflection of Mama.

Tomorrow I will go to her visitation. I don't know if I'll manage to find the right words to offer comfort. I may only cry and embrace my dearest friend. I hope that will be enough.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Love and honor


It is with a humble heart that I give thanks and honor to our nation's veterans. My gratitude for your dedication and selflessness is infinite.

Happy Veterans Day.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Just give me a 'shy boy'

Hey! I stumbled across this while exploring my latest addiction : lala click the link on the player. Look me up and we can be friends. You know friiiiiieeeeeeends.



You might remember Katie Melua from an earlier post. She did a cover of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" that, in my humble opinion, encompasses far more emotion than the original. It's just an opinion. Don't tar and feather me.

There was a time in my life when I was drawn to bad boys. The hard to attain boys. The guys who made me jump through hoops for their attention. In other words, total asshats. Then, I married one. hahahahahaha OK, not really a laughing matter. He wasn't a bad boy. He was a do-whatever-I-want-to-boy; without-facing-consequence-boy.

Believe it or not, I'm a shy girl when I truly want to pursue a relationship. I'm ballsy and forward when there are no stakes. Flirting without fear of rejection is second nature if I'm not being serious. When a girl is shy. And the boy is shy you end up with a very quiet prom date filled with sweaty palms and moments of silence that seem to last for hours ... until the music starts and you both dance your asses off ... and 20+ years later you find you have a ton to say without enough hours in the day to say it. Go f'ing figure!!

So, I heard this song and loved the rhythm and kitzchiness. I hope you enjoy it, too. I've included the lyrics. Song along. Tap your toes.


"Shy Boy"

I'm sittin' in the window of a street cafe
Watchin' you walking by each day,
It seems that you always wanna look my way
Hey, you can't deny, boy,
You're such a shy boy.

So good looking you seem to be
But you're too tongue-tied to say hi to me,
You could make it happen so easily
Woah, I'll tell you why boy,
'Cos I'm looking for a shy boy

Most guys advertise
By making eyes and telling lies
If you only knew,
You could make your dreams come true
All you gotta do is ask me to

If this was a quiz on a TV show
And the prize was a guy who would love me so
Whatever they ask, the answer I know
Hey, my reply boy
Is gimme a shy boy.

Most guys advertise
By making eyes and telling lies
If you only knew
You could make your dreams come true
All you gotta do is ask me to

Some guys act a bit too sure
And maybe you're thinkin' that less is more
But Honey, you still gotta knock on my door
Hey, just try boy,
And you could be my boy

I'll tell you why boy
I'm looking for a shy boy,
Just try boy, you're such a shy boy

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Let's do caw-fee

The people you encounter today are going to love loving you. Everyone who thinks you're cool is ready and raring to let you know it. Accept compliments graciously, because you'll get lots of them. But try not to let it go to your head. Vanity is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but it's something to indulge in with careful consideration.
There you have it.  My horoscope for today.  I read it after making the following video.  Y'all know what you're obligated to do now.  Hey, we can't go upsetting the stars and proving them wrong, now, can we? We, of course, being you :) I'm graciously awaiting

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Brain fart



Tuesday's blog post has been temporarily interrupted by a wall. Enjoy the music while I gather my thoughts.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

"Are you proud?"

Where do I begin?

You're all probably aware of how exceedingly proud I am of my son.  He's made great strides in his career as a student.  I've written briefly about his ability to overcome the many challenges a child with Asperger's Syndrome faces.  Rather than go into a dissertation on AS, I've provided the link. Just know, for the sake of this post, that for Mancub it has imposed upon his social interaction, concentration and coordination.  Never has it been my desire to make that the focus of why I bask in his accomplishments.  However, today's post deems it necessary.

Big changes can often disrupt the balance an Aspie has persevered in managing.  Taking on the basic tasks of changing schools and tackling harder studies of being a freshman put me on high alert for Mancub.  He's always had to deal with kids who don't like that he's different from them.  That's not to say all kids who endure the bullying of such neanderthals are Aspies.  How Mancub reacts in these situations is what often sets him apart.  He becomes visibly agitated and, oftentimes, emotionally erupts.  I've faced facts that I cannot always protect him nor can the teachers.  He must consciously process everything and then categorize it so it's less troubling.  Keeping focus on his studies in class takes a lot of effort.  This is especially tricky when the class is over crowded and disturbances abound ... even worse if there are students who know how to goad him to the point of an outburst.

Freshman year started out quite well.  His grades were high.  Then, Labor Day rolled around.  Along with it came increased enrollment.  Class size increased.  With that came more disruptions and less one on one time.  The result was falling grades for Mancub.  Weekly I receive a progress report from his case worker (who is phenomenal and I'd love to give her an award for it).  I freaked upon viewing his Science and Global Studies grades.  I've always been accustomed to seeing As and Bs and maybe a C, but never did a D cross his path.  A stern discussion took place between mother and son.  Emails were written on his behalf to the teachers and copied to his case worker.  Pleas that missing work would be accepted with a lowered grade.  Denied.  Rules are rules.  We signed the agreement when the class syllabus was sent home.  All that could be done at this point was diligence.  It came to light that he wasn't handing in work because he hadn't completed every question or problem.  He was putting completed work in the wrong baskets.  Work was being lost. 

Over the course of a couple weeks we reorganized his binders.  Homework was being done immediately after school.  Due to parent teacher conferences nearing, weekly progress reports halted.  I was in the dark but Mancub assured me all was well.  Rather than question his word, I had faith that he was telling me the truth.  I took him at his word when he said homework was finished.  Although, I do admit this is terribly difficult to do.  He needs to taste success without mommy running to the rescue or helping just a little too much. 

Fast forward to October 29.  The date of my parent-teacher conference. I was wringing my hands with nervousness and anxious anticipation.  I was encouraged by his case worker to bring Mancub along.  So, I convinced him to tag along in order to be part of any discussions mandated by his grades.

Upon checking in at the high school I was handed his report card.  I glanced at Mancub who was smirking as if he knew already.  Tears. I had to breathe deeply and fight back tears of what I read.  No longer did I see the little boy who'd have tantrums because the din of the cafeteria was more than he could bear.  A young man who is capable of holding his own put his arms around me and asked, "Are you proud?"

As we sat at the table labeled with Mancub's name and our appointment time, teacher after teacher sat down to sing his praises.  With each encounter more tears would well up.  He's not only bright but respectful to everyone.  There's a newfound comfort zone in socializing appropriately.  His Global Studies teachers says he often makes everyone laugh with him via his unique sense of humor.  His Spanish teacher says he is the only student who greets her each day with vivacious "buenos dias!"  The D that had sullied his progress report was turned into a B!! The C is now a B+.  The rest is all As!!! My son is getting an A in Algebra.  I'm so mathematically challenged that I had to beg my teacher for a D, for pity's sake. 

When we'd spoken to all of his teachers his case worker remained behind.  I took the opportunity to praise her for being proactive and for taking a personal stake in Mancub's success. She calls me at home to follow up on things we've discussed.  She'll have conversations with Mancub and listens to what he has to say.  Through all of this many tears flowed.  Mancub's reaction to it all? He turned to the case worker and said, "I think my Mama needs a hug" and he proceeded to envelope me in his arms.  The babe that I once cradled in my arms is now offering me comfort.

I would be remiss not to mention that upon returning home I emailed the special education resource teacher who was instrumental in getting Mancub tested for Asperger's in his repeat year of kindergarten.  She wouldn't accept that his previous school had categorized him as behavior disorder.  None of his tantrums were deliberate means of gaining control.  He was sweet and compassionate, but obviously lost and confused in the sea of chaos that existed within his mind.  We've shared many struggles, as well as, triumphs in Mancub's education.  Her unyielding determination to seek out the best avenues and accommodations for him has been vital.  I thanked her for becoming a teacher. Thanks was given for writing out his first IEP (Individualized Education Program). That single document has been a blueprint for his achievement. She wrote me back in a matter of an hour.  She said my email brought tears to her eyes and that she would love for me to remain in touch.

We owe so much. Thank you seems to not be enough, but words really fail when I attempt to express my gratitude.  Mancub is living proof of what a difference one teacher can make.  Yet, we've been blessed with countless educators.  For that, I am truly left ........

speechless.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Fraidy Cat!

Tom and Jerry (the vintage episodes) is one of my all-time favorite cartoons.  This particular episode is spooktacular!  Special thanks to Adam aka Slimer on Plurk for finding it and posting.  I looked for it yesterday and couldn't find it.


This one is just f'ing scary

Listen to your heart closely today, because it's going to alert you to a new romance or love opportunity. This might not involve romance in the terms of a significant other -- it could very well mean that more romantic ideas and concepts are becoming more prominent in your life. But either way, you should keep yourself open to new opportunities and do whatever you can to honor a recent commitment you made with someone you have known for a very long time.

....and right before Halloween. Maybe this would be more appropriate on April 1.  For as long as you've all known/read me, you've probably gathered that I am a hopeful sort.  While I get discouraged and over-think e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g, I still keep the faith that one day my time will come to have all the warm fuzzy feelings of romance and not find them skipping town at the first notion of me reciprocating.

I don't like being toyed with.  For sure there are people who get a thrill from that cat and mouse game.  I don't.  There's no doubt in my mind that you've all come to the conclusion that I don't put up with bullshit for very long.  In my marriage I had to tolerate a lot because of the messy legality of being bound together.  That doesn't explain how I put up with it while we dated.  There is no reasoning for that beyond being lost in any abyss of youthful stupidity, residual grief and fear of loneliness.  Blah blah.  We're living in today.  On ward!!

OK, so romance hasn't been my bestest friend as of late. OK, that might not be all together true, but romance within my control.  It's been many, many, MANY years since the spark of romance has tickled my fancy to such a degree that I can view someone beyond knocking boots for a few weeks before becoming mightily bored. And that's not romance. That's lust.  And my boots haven't been knocked or remotely nudged in a .... what year is it?  At what point can a woman be considered a born again virgin?

Due to that great length of time between ... ya know, I have to tread carefully.  If ever there was a time that I need to over think a situation it's now.  This is not a cry out for pity sex nor is it an invitation for every lonely goober to come knocking on my door thinking I'm hard up enough to take whatever crosses my path.  No, this isn't about getting my groove on, y'all. Though I do think there's probably some debate on whether I'd be less of a bitch if someone was permitted to clear out the cobwebs. The debate will have to continue (and no, I doubt it will change a thing about my nature.)

I want to also clear up that I am not a cougar and I find the term irritating and tremendously overused.  In fact, add the person who came up with the term to the list of people I'd love to punch in the face.  I did the 'cougar' thing before it had a label. Long before Demi and Ashton hooked up and Tweeted their every thought, I dated men much younger than myself. Beyond trysts it all became boring very quickly.  To be honest, being able to get a young guy interested isn't rocket science.  There's not a lot of effort necessary.  It's like tossing raw meat into a den of wolves. So, the fact that women my age are high-fiving each other for getting some young beefcake to partake in bedroom frivolity is just ridiculous.  

So yeah, this road diverted.  I apologize about that.  That's the risk you take when you read my blog.  You're bound to find yourself  cruising on Randomosity Drive.


Happy Halloween!!