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!! 

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I'm a genius of imagination

Here it is:
"Your imagination is quite vivid right now, but try not to let it lead you too far into a fantasy world, particularly when you meet someone new. You need to keep your feet on the ground and base decisions only on the facts at hand -- drawing conclusions or making any type of assumption could take you a long way down the wrong path. But just because you have to keep it cool doesn't mean you can't have fun! Unleash your charm, and you will be the life of the party."
Unfortunately, my imagination almost always gets the best of me.  Undoubtedly I daydream more than the average person.  I can't scientifically prove this, but when you lead a romantically solitary life as I do, you tend to let your wily side run amuck in the abyss that is your waking mind. However, due to my attempts to keep this blog along the lines of PG-13, I won't go into details.  Let me just say if these thoughts were ever put to the reality challenge someone might end up in traction. At the very least days of rest would be required.

Unleash your charm.  C'mon! I ooze the stuff. Except when I mostly need it.  I don't think that's particularly Leo-like. Do I exude confidence? Sure. In the work place.  Online? Of course. Personal relationships? ACK! A bundle of nerves and a puddle of rippling self-doubt.  As far as assumptions may go, they are typically toward the more negative side of the road.  I know it's unfair to the person whom I'm dealing with to ass-u-me. Felix Unger did a fine job of spelling  it out.

A very wonderful friend shared with me the wisdom bestowed upon him as a young boy by a neighborhood elder.  " life...not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived" I need to wrap myself up in that sage advice.  Though it shouldn't be a task to relax and learn to enjoy that which has been given to me, I tend to jump to pessimistic conclusions out of internal fear.  There's no way I can skip chapters or turn to the last page of the book of life. It is a novel that is being continuously written.


Monday, October 26, 2009

Bondage and torture -- saga of a bar wench

This was originally written 2 years ago before this blog was up and running.  I sat at the computer with nothing more than a photo of the costume I wish I could wear on Halloween.  The rest, as they say, is fiction ... or was it?

So, I had been perusing Halloween costumes online. They always show these very thin women dressed in the sexy outfits. Some ads will say "Plus Sizes Available." Oh groovy! However, they don't often show what a pleasantly plump, fully bosomed woman looks like in said 'plus size' costume.

It's a harsh reality when you take the "bar wench" costume from it's hermetically sealed plastic wrap. You attempt to work out the creases and folds from the acrylic fabric in a steamy shower. You use all the hot water trying to fill the bathroom with enough steam to iron it out. To no avail you're left with, at best, a slightly damp wrinkled garment.

While donning your flesh tone 18-hour bra and granny panties, you slip into your fantasy wench attire. The capped puff sleeve goes up on one shoulder, then the other. You look down to find your 18-hour bra doesn't want to be discreet. You attempt to pull the top to cover the bra. In doing so, the lace-up bodice slides upward to the center of your ample bust. You're feeling more than plus-size. You think Omar the Tent maker might be getting a call.

You strip and go in search of that horrific yet slut-a-rific get up you bought in hopes of wearing it one day to turn on your man. However, the man never came along and it was too much sweat and tears to get it on. This modern day version of medievil torture looks far too complicated. The hook n' eyes on the BACK of the bustier/girdle/torture device mock you. You think to yourself that you once conquered those second skin Levi's that were too small.

You realize that you're not as limber as you once were. So, stretching is in order. Afterall, you have to manage to get your arms behind your back. The art of dislocation isn't your strong suit. Therefore, you seek out that yoga DVD that's only gathered dust since you bought it from that annoying, yet convincing skinny bitch who swears (at 3 am on a paid programming ad) you'd lose weight in the first week. You skip putting on the special yoga outfit. Your 18-hour bra and granny panties will suffice.

Sweating and feeling worse than you did before the DVD, you head to the shower. However, there is no hot water because you wasted it all on trying to get that bar wench costume steamed out. So, you just towel off and head back to the torture chamber where the bustier and her friend, the mighty girdle, await you.
With a lot of wriggling and bouncing you manage to get the girdle pulled up over your butt. In the meantime, you've knocked every knicknack off the dresser from bouncing. You stop for a moment and rest on the bed's edge. You look down to find that this girdle is clearly forcing your internal organs to jut upwards and spill over the top of the girdle. You find solace in knowing the bustier will give you an over all smoothness.
Standing up you face the hook n' eye challenge. Sucking in your organs, you manage the first couple hooks. You feel behind you to make sure it's not cock-eyed. Awesome! You're on a roll. Now, only 20 more to go. On hook 8 You need a breather and water. The heavy panting has left you breathless and parched. With both breasts waving to and fro you head downstairs to the kitchen. You realize the curtains are open so you drop to your knees and crawl like you're in Army boot camp. At the refrigerator you find a bottle of water, but don't stand up in fear that the neighbor could be out there. Leaning against the wall you drink your water and pray your efforts will be worth the pain.

Shimmying back upstairs you face the enemy. Five hooks down. However, the blood has left your arms and shoulders and you feel a tingle. You wonder if this is a stroke. You shake it off and continue. Alas the final hook is hooked, but your boobs are still dawdling above the cups. You adjust and cram them where they are supposed to reside. You look in the full mirror hoping to admire the fruits of your labor only to realize your back fat is now fully pushed to the brim of the bustier and you have a lovely Quasimoto hump working back there....and you have to pee thanks to the bottle of water you chugged an hour before.

Downstairs you go. Completely not caring about the neighbors seeing you in this get up. If they dare to peer into your windows they deserve to be frightened! You wiggled and squirm trying to get the girdle down far enough so you can go to the bathroom. Relief! You do your business and get the girdle back up. You figure you might as well put on the super support queen size pantihose before you put on the fishnet stockings that were supplied with the costume. Another triumph and lots of sweat! You chuck the fishnets because they aren't intended for anyone over 5'0" and the crotch hits you about mid-thigh.

At last! You get the costume on and you get a call that your friends will pick you up at 7pm... TOMORROW NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!! You tell them to forget it! You're certain you'll be in traction and unable to attend.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Golden leaves and bright sunshine expose my disposition

I sit here as the sunlight peeks through the slits on my mini-blinds that cover the bay window in my oh so humble abode.  There's a lovely autumn hue that coats my living room thanks to the sunshine casting light through the mighty maple in my front yard that has turned gloriously golden.  The days of bright sun and barely cloudy skies are limited in autumn; yet, I find myself loving the season for its crisp temperatures and smells.  My mind knows what will follow. Winter. The shortened days wreak havoc on my state of mind.  I try not to think ahead, but rather enjoy today.

Here I sit.  The aroma of tonight's dinner from the crock pot fills my home.  The appliance is rarely if ever used during warm months.  But a chilly fall day calls for it.  I love the idea of managing a delicious meal for my son without doting in the kitchen.  I'm freed up to go out for a brisk walk with my camera in hand (before they turn numb). 

I woke early out of habit.  Last night I fell asleep on the couch in an attempt to watch a movie with Mancub.  It's rather nice because I can get the most out of my day off before the time-clock strikes its hammer down telling me duty calls.  Once the sun broke over the horizon it shed light on the fact that my teen ager had cleaned up after I had gone to bed.  He folded the comforter I used.  He put my glass and bag of Twizzlers in the kitchen.  I'll make a point of expressing gratitude for completing a household task without my expectation or coaxing.  These are the little surprises that make me so proud to be a parent.

Happy Sunday.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Boulevard of Broken Pumpkins

Today is Saturday and next Saturday is Halloween.  I requested the day off.  It wasn't really necessary since my son is 15 and no longer dresses up and sets out as a beggar for the night pleading for candy.  Those days of knocking on doors and holding out your bag (in my case a pillow case) seem to be dwindling.  Because of the lack of porch stomping, costumed children I make certain to buy candy we like. Left overs must be pleasing.

It's a shame that the children of today have to miss out on the random hijinx of days gone by.  Maybe I'm off base and the kids from less fortunate areas are taking a charter bus to the affluent neighborhoods.  I know we weren't above that.  We'd convince someone's parent or, more likely an older sibling who could drive, to take us out where it was rumored that full size candy bars were being handed out.

The last year I took to the streets on October 31 was my 8th grade year.  I dressed as a girl from the '50s.  I had borrowed an authentic poodle skirt years prior from a neighbor and failed to return it. So, that became the article of clothing that I would build my costume around.  We always used whatever we had to dress up.  If we purchased anything it meant a trip to the local Salvation Army Store.  Very little money was spent on costumes.  That is with the exception of my friend Renee'.  She was an only child and always had top of the line everything.  She set out with my 'hood friends and I that final Halloween.  Renee' had long moved out to the budding suburban sprawl of Bourbonnais -- a town that has the French pronunciation phonetically spelled out on it's welcome sign.  Ya know, so you realize it's fancy. Anyway, Renee' in all her traditionalism insisted on carrying her blasted freakin' orange pumpkin bucket she'd carried since she started trick or treating.

My junior high friends and I were toting the respectable pillow cases.  We were just slightly embarrassed to be strolling along with plastic orange pumpkin girl.  It wasn't even a gigantic pumpkin. It was less than average sized and incapable of carrying the hefty load we intended to gather. Knowing this would be our final year to ring doorbells for free candy, we were determined to make it bigger and better than ever. No house would go un-treated. Not a porch we would not occupy (briefly).  Pillow cases would be filled, dropped off and dumped only for us to set out again to collect more more more.  Curfews? Bah!! It was a shop til you drop moment, baby.

Or so we thought.

Trailing a few steps behind we heard the whines of a pumpkin toting princess... "I'm tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired."

She was my guest! What the hell was I to do? I couldn't tell her to go wait at my house while I finished conquering the neighborhood and plotted to get a ride to another neighborhood.  Doing my best sales pitch, I convinced Renee' that the end was near.  She reluctantly followed but continued to lag behind.

Then. it happened.  Like a lion attacking the weakest member of the herd, two boys came running from the darkness and ripped that little pumpkin from Renee's grasp.  CANDY SNATCHERS!!!!!!!

We all started screaming for help and Renee' was in tears.   Not for the candy lost, but the single piece of her Halloween nostalgia. It was as if her childhood had been violently stolen from her hands. Her little pumpkin was gone.

Sans a white steed and horns of triumph bellowing, a man came bolting from his house and a foot chase ensued down the dark street.  A ruckus could be heard.  Then, moments later a figure emerged from the shadows.  The stranger was carrying a slightly tattered orange pumpkin. There was no consoling her. We thanked the man for his kindness. Rather than continue our quest for confections, the hero of the night safely escorted us back to our homes.  Cradling the pumpkin now with a broken handle, Renee' called her mom to retrieve her.

We never did trod back out into the night.  It seemed wrong even though our fun had been hampered by the less than enthusiastic Renee'.  After we cut her loose we very easily could have taken our pillow cases back out for refills, but it was clear that our Halloween days were over.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

'Time For Miracles' aka being runner up doesn't suck

No, Adam Lambert didn't technically win American Idol Season whateveritwas.  Kris Allen was crowned the winner.  But he's kind of under the radar right now.  Being runner-up isn't as bad as it may seem, ya know.  This is a track off the John Cusack blockbuster 2012.  It appears California is crumbling into the Pacific Ocean or something.  It's likely I won't see it until it comes out on dvd and is available on Netflix. 

While many of you might not be Lambert fans, I do like his flair.  Yeah, I said it. I do admit the song is a formula tune. It's very Aerosmith circa "Armageddon" love theme, don't ya think? You'd be hard pressed to  find something on the radio that isn't formulaic. Especially when it's being churned out by the American Idol master machine operators.  It'll get plenty of airplay. I'll sing it. Or rather I'll attempt to emulate the wail of Lambert. To anyone over hearing it they might be inclined to call 9-1-1.

Today is Wednesday.  By now you know what today means to me.  GLEE.  Get over it. I like the show.  No need to be hateful if you're not a fan.  You know who you are. If for nothing else (you naysayers) it's worth watching for the talents of Jane Lynch aka Sue Sylvester.

I'm a fan of the musical.  People break into song where an unseen full orchestra backs them and everybody, even the old people, know the choreography.  Shut. Up! Life would be a hellalot more pleasant if we were accompanied by song and dance. Someone said they would like the show a lot more if it wasn't for all the singing.  UH, it's about a glee club.  A show choir.  Singing while dancing. It's what they do. Sheesh. That's like saying you would have enjoyed THE SOUND OF MUSIC if they didn't sing so much.

Anyway, I'm done venting and look forward to the end of the work day.  I'm finally off work tomorrow. YEA!! Mancub and I have dental cleanings scheduled late in the day.  And, I believe the gigantic capacity washers are calling my name.  Bleah. 

Monday, October 19, 2009

I don't care if Monday's blue

Nope. I don't care at all.  Monday gets a bad rap because it marks the start of yet another work week or a return to the rigors of school.  That's not the case in my line of work; however, I do feel for my son who has to become vertical after 48 hours of taking the video game posture.  It's interesting to watch him move from the long couch to the loveseat and then, eventually, to the floor where all the back couch cushions have landed. It's a hard knock life for the boy.

Working all weekend didn't afford me any time to think.  For those of you who know me well you realize that's a blessing.  It was busy enough to keep me motivated and moving.  With the decrease in spending, we're adjusting accordingly by cutting hours worked.  That means those of us fortunate enough to be working have to kick it up a notch like Emeril. BAM!! And boy did we.  A lot of laughs were had thanks to my hilarious lab partner.  Even while stressed we managed to crack ourselves up. 

Too exhausted to think, I was equally unmotivated to stand at the stove and come up with a nutritious concoction for dinner.  There is no recollection of cooking a meal all weekend for Mancub.  He ate.  But nothing that was prepared lovingly by your's truly. I'll make up for it during the week.  Campbell's and the Chef of Boyardee treated him kindly -- ugh. 

So, here we are facing Monday.  Even though I worked my hiney off all weekend I am not free for the day.  I have to put in another 8 hour shift.  I won't have a reprieve until Thursday!! Pre-TGIF!! Then, I work Friday and finally get to the weekend where I can pretend, for at least 48 hours that I'm like most of the work force and enjoy the weekend.

Aroma Park Fire Department is having their annual Haunted Woods.  That has promise.  Additionally, St. Aquinas is hosting Haunted High School.  Mancub and I have never been to a haunted house together.  With consideration to his love of reality ghost shows, I think he'll get a kick out of the choreographed fright fests.  Our favorite show is GHOST HUNTERS.  We're most freaked by A HAUNTING because their reinactments make us jump out of our skin.  Laughter is shared when viewing GHOST ADVENTURES.  Those guys are such goobers.  Particular douchebaggetiness exudes from the overly hair gelled tool of a host, Zak Bagans.  His name is even easy to convert to Douche Bagans.  It's just so humorous. 

Anywhooooo, we'll definitely find something fun to do while I'm off this coming weekend.  With daylight being limited, it's necessary to chase away the seasonal blues.  Even when it's supposed to be daylight, the sun is shrouded by looming rainclouds -- an overcast of autumn's funk.  When the weather is determined not to provide sunshine, we have to cast our own rays of light ... smile.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

I'm less loathesome of Sweetest Day now

Before you get all excited and look for pictures of the flowers, candies and stuffed animals hugging sateen hearts, I haven't changed my view about Sweetest Day (3rd Saturday of October -- this year Oct 17) because undying love and devotion were bestowed upon me by means of materials expressions of love.  That didn't happen, but I'm far less angsty over it because I was linked to the origins of Sweetest Day

"Once known as a day to spread love and cheer to the unfortunate..."
I suppose some one might consider me unfortunate in my unattached state, but I don't see it that way.  If I'm given a gift, I want it to be from the heart not just because it's a nationally recognized calendar holiday.

According to the article in Wikipedia...
 It is described by Retail Confectioners International as an "occasion which offers all of us an opportunity to remember not only the sick, aged and orphaned, but also friends, relatives and associates whose helpfulness and kindness we have enjoyed."

What's unfortunate is that the day has been hijacked by a case of the gimme-gimme-gimme-LOVE ME-LOVE MEs!! mentality. It's no wonder I started calling it Autumn's Valentine's Day.  Most people I know call it a Hallmark Holiday. Basically it has become commercialized. ARGH! The shame.

Reading the article got me thinking about how I might personally make a difference on Sweetest Day.  Not owning a confection company or even having enough spare change to provide gumballs from the old fashioned crank machines, I released the squirrels in my brain and the wheel started spinning.

We really don't need more stuff.  Landfills are overflowing with unwanted or unnecessary stuff.  I thought about the FREE HUGS guy and how that concept has grown worldwide. Quite frankly, I don't want to stand on the street hugging strangers. While I believe in speading love and goodwill amongst my fellow man, that's just not my bag. I'm real big on personal space. Almost ocd about it.

I'm going to have to think about this one. Feel free to express your thoughts on the matter.

Just remember next year if you are approached by a strange, tall, dark, Rubenesque woman just accept the gift she hands to you with a smile. Say "thank you" and pass it on -- it's only Sweetest Day.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Semi-silent Saturday

I am having a moment of ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhm. While I'm not physically sitting in the lotus position, it is happening mentally. With an aside of a hissing cat, it's very peaceful. Nudged out are the feelings of angst and deliberation over questions about having said the wrong thing or taking a misstep.


What comes after that? Hey nonny nonny?

This peacefulness may erupt into a barrage of incessant, stupid questions once I step off the porch and make my way to the insanity of retail workery for the next eight hours.  But for now ....


With consideration to my co-workers, the following should be a warning:
Whether you feel comfortable doing it today or not, you have to start expressing yourself more clearly. Share your feelings! If you are feeling good, let folks know. And if you are feeling grumpy, let them know even sooner! Keeping people informed about your every emotion might seem self-involved, but it's not. Right now it's important that when you are working in a group, you make sure other members of that group know what mood you're in.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Just Like Heaven

This is simply exquisite. I literally swooned when I heard it. It's not often that a singer and an arrangement of a song can reach so deeply that you feel you're experiencing the aural prose.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

The trouble with being earnest

Growing up the youngest in a family of eight kids left ample opportunity for someone else to do things for me. I had brothers and sisters who taught me to tie my shoes,cheer me on when I learned to ride a bike (that was an all neighborhood affair)and learn my multiplication tables. It is family urban legend that not only my siblings were involved in naming me, but also the neighbor kids.  Throughout childhood someone always had my back.  Plenty of free reign was given and I ran wild in the 'hood with my posse of Big Wheel riders. But someone always had a close eye on our whereabouts.

As maturity increased it was only natural that I'd learn self reliance.  Mistakes were made along the way. Human nature is defined by such.  When my mother passed away in '81, maturity had to speed up.  Without digging through the trunk of broken dreams, I moved in with my Maureen who is 10 years older.  Though she didn't make much money, we managed miraculously.  I wasn't allowed to skate free.  A job was obtained at Monical's Pizza -- the best job I have ever had. period. Between that job and the escape the Celebration Singers (show choir) allowed, I maintained some semblance of order and sanity.

What my early struggles taught me that I had to take ownership of my life.  The one factor that would always be constant was my self-reliance. As the years progressed and I met and married Mancub's father, it was evident that I had to be the stable one in the relationship. Our marriage wasn't a partnership.  Increasingly, I began feeling more like a parent than a spouse and lover.

Our little family packed up in '97 and moved to Georgia.  It was meant to be a fresh start. A new beginning.  My spouse felt I relied upon my family too much for advice, particularly my sisters. They were the problem in our marriage.   Further evidence was given that family had been more of the glue.  WE were the problem.  Together we killed our marriage.  Yes, I do take some responsibility.  After all, it was I who walked down the aisle rather than bolting out the back door of the church when I had my chance.  Even my father suggested I make a run for it when the wedding was delayed over 20 minutes because the best man hadn't shown up. I jest, sort of. But Mancub's existence helps wash the pain away.

I digress.

December 1999 our divorce was final.  With a little help financially from my eldest sister, I rented a little house for Mancub and me.  It was quaint and cozy.  I left the past behind me and started anew.  Struggles haven't been few.  God knows that I ran into plenty of issues both personally and financially.  Relying on other people for help watching Mancub, for rides when my car wasn't running seemed to become second nature. I loathed asking for help and was always relieved when it was offered before pleading began.  I've made stupid mistakes in the face of fouled judgment.  When I felt I was on a party girl roller coaster, it came to a screeching halt and threw me.  After smacking into the proverbial wall, consciousness set in.  I was dazed to realize that I'd been living in a box.  Maybe it was denial as a means of survival, but it was surely not the life I had envisioned post divorce ... or ever, really.

Of the friends I had made, I kept them at arms length.  I never wanted to need anyone. Ever. If someone was part of my life it was based my desire to have them around.  Need wasn't part of my vocabulary.  My thought was that if I needed no one, in turn, no one would need me.  Not a soul would I be responsible for other than myself and my child. Nurture? Not on your life, bub. If someone required nurturing they (he) could go talk to  mommy. But not this mommy. With such an attitude, it became overwhelmingly apparent that I was considered aloof.  That wasn't part of my strategy, but it was a marginal benefit. I learned to walk away from people.  Cold hearted, I wasn't.  I just knew that investing completely in someone would have no pay off.  If I left first, then I couldn't be abandoned.  Though I have lamented curiously and repeatedly over my semi-solitary life, it seemed to leave me unscathed. 

Of course I now know my thinking is as clear as a mud puddle.  I didn't sit down and devise a plan. It's all part of a defense mechanism.  It took admitting that I needed someone (recently) to realize exactly what it is that I've been struggling with for so many years.  Needing someone is not a sign of weakness.  Though it is leaving me feeling quite vulnerable and struggling. In the face of that, I have a sense of personal liberation.  I'm not going whackadoo and thinking I am capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound.  It's far from that level, but I could probably clear an ottoman.  Initially I wanted to run and hide -- cower in the corner and shut down. Again. Bail out before I could be hurt. The trouble with being earnest, my friends.

To my surprise, I've yet to be abandoned; left dangling in despair.  The exact opposite is occurring. I ask you to recall how the Grinch Who Stole Christmas reacts when his heart begins beating and expanding after Whoville isn't deterred from joyfulness in spite of his dastardly actions?  Yeah, it's something like that -- but less furry and green.

What's more important is that none of this diminishes the friendships I've made.  That speaks volumes for the people I'm blessed to be associated with.  I've come to realize that some people didn't buy the bullshit facade. Though I tried to keep people at a safe distance by remaining in a superficial state of mind, some of those people saw beyond the veneer. Or maybe I just assume too much??

Admitting that it feels good to be needed by someone is ... cathartic? I'm not sure that's the precise word to be used. I don't feel afraid.  Knowing that I make an impact in someone's life has opened up a doorway that I'd long ago locked.  The key was destroyed.  Yet, my attempts to keep it bolted were futile.

Perhaps when one door closed it isn't necessary to find another door to open. The key holder just needs to open it for you.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Agitated at the laundromat

This morning I dragged myself from the coziness of my comforter to haul sorted laundry to the laundromat that is only 2 blocks from my house. Knowing that the place opened at 7 AM, I wanted to be first to claim the large washers. Forgive me father for I have soiled. It has been two weeks since my last tumble and fold.

In the tiny wash and fold establishment there are only 8 regular capacity washers and 2 triple capacity units. Each washer has a matching size dryer. Without question, this place is not intended for two week's worth of dirty loads from a family of eight including bedding. I represent a family of two. I left the bedding for another day.

When I arrived, no one else was there. That was my intention. With swift motions the two large capacity washers were loaded. By the time I was shoving the last sock in the second washer, a couple had come in. With several other washers open for use, the woman placed her baskets in the same small area where I'd occupied. My purse, keys, baskets and laundry detergent were on the table closest to the washers I was using. On the hook attached to the table she hung her coat and purse.

Violation number one. There is another folding table complete with coat rack.

Two regular capacity washers were utilized by the 1st offender. Her other baskets sat blocking me from my washers.

Normally after I load up my washers, I vacate for the 26 minutes it takes for the washers to complete the cycle. Remember, I only live 2 blocks away. Today, I remained. There was a point to be made about "first come; first served." My space was being invaded.

Once my wash cycles had finished, I promptly took the wet articles and put them in the adjoining large capacity dryers. Before I could even yank the last sock from the washer bin, the 1st offender was shoving her bulky items in the washer. I'm twice her size and surely could have taken her out with the flick of my finger, but I resisted. With great power comes great responsibility.

Before taking a seat to amuse myself with games on my iPod, another woman walked in. With an armful of bedding, she made a direct line to the other available large washer. She and the 1st offender exchanged a pleasant "Buenos dias!" and went about their toils.

Several baskets later, the 2nd offender has now crowded my folding table and access to the large capacity dryers.

The caffeine hadn't yet made it to my blood stream but my blood was reaching a boil. It's not as if there's a line of rabid people with pockets of quarters just waiting to take the big washer and dryers. We're talking laundry, people. It was clear that these two women had no desire to use the 6 other washers and dryers available for use. They'd rather wait all day to use the big units. Even in my most desperate days I wouldn't wait for a big one of anything!

I got up early and hauled my tuchus out in the cold to assure use of the machines I needed to get my task completed quickly. There are dozens of laundromats in Kankakee County. I've used one that is miles away when I have a ton of laundry to do. I get there early on a weekend day. Duh! Most people do laundry on a weekend. The 'mat that is further away is where I go when sheets, comforters and blankets need to be washed. Why? They have triple the large washers and dryers. Simple math.

What's questioned here is consideration. To add to my ire, the 2nd offender had one of her dirty comforters splayed out on the chairs. I'd already claimed a seat next to a little table. So, at least I had that going for me, but who wants to sit next to someone else's funky assed bedding?

When one dryer stopped, I immediately pulled the clothes out. There were items still damp, but I figured I could just hang them up at home. Out of spite I did consider just putting in another quarter without even bothering to check for dryness. Before I could get that load folded, the 1st offender was pointing at my second dryer which had just barely come to a halt. She jabbered in a tone not unlike Andy Kaufman's Latka. I shot her the look of death and said, "I'll get it in a minute."
I made my way through the maze of an obstacle course these two idiots had made in order to get to the dryer. A furious, "for God's sake" eeked from my lips. Shoving the hot clothes into my basket and, for effect, a hearty harumph as I toted it to my folding table.

Knowing very well that the items shoved in the basket would wrinkle, I didn't bother folding. I hate to iron, but there was no way I could maintain cool if I stayed there another moment. Fortunately, that wrinkled load was comprised of pajamas, underwear and socks. The first load was sloppily folded and thrown in another empty basket and loaded in car. When I returned to get the remainder of my things, the two women were babbling in their mother tongue and pointing at my bin of wrinkling apparel. To which I shot another dirty look and made a grand gesture toward the folding table, "it's alllllllll yours!"

Other expletives were muttered under my breath as I flung open the door and made my exit.

I guess it could have been worse. Asshat Running Man could have been there to annoy me with his Zoolanderian looks.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Saturday's Song

Here you are now
Fresh from your war
Back from the edge of time
And all that you were,
Stripped to the bone
I thought you­d want to know

That when you feel the world is crashing
All around your feet
Come running headlong into my arms
I'll never judge you
I can only love you
Come now running headlong
Into my arms

Lay down your guns
Too weak to run
Nothing can harm you here
Your precious heart
Broken and scarred
Somehow you made it through
I only ask that you won't go again

When you feel the world is crashing
All around your feet
Come running headlong into my arms
I'll never judge you
I can only love you
Come now running headlong
Into my arms

So glad to see you smiling
So good to hear your laugh
I think that you've found you even
Missed yourself
I'm only asking this because I think that
Truth be told
Oh, you'll never go again

When you feel the world is crashing
All around your feet
Come running headlong into my arms
I'll never judge you
I can only love you
Come now running headlong
Into my arms

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Yesterday was GLEEday

No, I didn't fall asleep at the wheel nor did Rissy fall in a well. I knew yesterday was the day of GLEE. On dual levels. I was a happy girl. Jumping for joy kind of girl. Plus, at 8 pm central GLEE, the show, was on. I didn't send out my usual reminder because I had other pressing things going on other than writing about why Glee is my favorite not-so-guilty guilty pleasure. Nope. I had another totally unguilty pleasure to attend to. So there! Plus, my cold-funk was getting the best of my and it required a hot shower lasting close to 30 minutes to help break up the junk in my head.

Indeed yesterday was Glee night and I managed to leave work early enough to catch 30 minutes of the hour long program. Speaking of programs, my boss needs to get with the scheduling program and give me Gleeday night off. Sheesh! I don't like watching shows online that I can very well view on television. And NO! I don't own a DVR but you're welcome to buy me one for Christmas if it'll ease your conscience and give you a sense of ho-ho-ho holly jollies. If possible, you'll need to be available for connection because I am that dim when it comes to technology instructions. Hey! I got the kid's PS2 and dvd player hooked up without shorting out the household wiring. Give me some credit.

This song clip isn't from last night's episode. Last night it was a friendly competition of mashups between the girls (Halo/Walking on Sunshine) and boys (It's My Life/Confessions). Way cool! You do know what a mashup is, don't you? Just click the linkadinkadoos and you'll be treated. LOVE! The following song was performed in the pilot episode. I think. I'm confused. Anyway, it's when Finn (the football hotty who, deep down, has a heart of gold but is with a lying biotch of a girlfriend and all confused about what he wants and what he thinks he should do .... i digress) -- anyway, it is discovered that Finn can sing. In the shower. From that he's recruited to join Glee Club. Much singing and comedy ensues. Get it? Got it? Good. Now, one of the mighty might key elements of GLEE is their ability to entwine new music (Gold Digger, Take a Bow, Rehab) with old stuff (Don't Stop Believin', Somebody to Love, Leaving On a Jet Plane). That's stuff from my teen years, thank you very much. This clip happens to be one of those tunes.

This song speaks to me. So, bite me if you don't like it. Just don't click play. It's all up to you.

and as much as I do not like Avril Lavigne, this particular song jumped out at me while I was clicking the tunes on youtube.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Be brave; be an adult

Today's horriblescope is brought to you by Liquid Courage. The fine makers of tequila, vodka, bourbon and on extra special occasions, Dom Perignon.

They say (who are they anyway?) "actions speak louder than words." Another good one is "silence is golden." But I do suspect there are those times when a person just needs to allow some transparency. The assumption that one's mind can be read has long been the cause of broken relationships or missed opportunity.

Leo (7/23-8/22)

Try saying what you feel instead of hoping someone close to you will read your mind. Not only will it save lots and lots of confusion, but you'll feel brave and adult for actually facing this situation head-on rather than trying to pretend it's not there. The other party may not respond in the way you would hope, but you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you did everything you could in the most honorable way possible.
What I'm not afraid to say is that today is the last day for BOOBIETHON -- go pony up your donations and check out the tatas! The rest of the month remains a tribute to Breast Cancer Awareness, but don't let your dedication to finding a cure stop when you don a freakish Halloween costume. Keep up the fight all year long!

Monday, October 5, 2009

Sugar and Spice hot-cha-cha

"People will be projecting their own issues onto you, today -- so don't listen to those who are pointing out your faults. They're either jealous of you or worried that they themselves are failing. It seems like everyone has issues right now, and their insecurities could start to get on your nerves. Before you lose your temper and tell them off, it's best to go off by yourself and be alone. You can't get caught up in feeding the egos of other people."
This particular horriblescope can apply to nearly any day of my work week. However, I don't believe it is jealousy that triggers behaviors from others that raise my blood pressure. I confidently ascertain that some people are just assholes. And while I spend much of my day placating the childishness of some, I tire of it. My attempts to remain professional are tested. Unleashing the honesty beast gives me satisfaction and stops the whining in its tracks.

Mancub hit his freshman year with strong strides, but when Labor Day rolled around and the enrollment increased, his grades started slipping. Apparently a lot of parents pay no attention to the start date or they move here from the Chicago area where school starts after Labor Day. Regardless of the reason, additional students in already crowded classrooms has also increased discipline issues and distractions.

A couple of his teachers will not accept work late. Bellwork assignments have to be handed in at the end of the class. If he'd not completed the work he wasn't handing it in and, in turn, would receive a big, fat ZERO. He's learned a valuable lesson. We've also come to recognize that his test taking skills need some tweaking. He'll do well in all the course work, but fizzle out during tests. Parent-teacher conferences are at the end of this month. I hope we'll devise a means of getting my son's grades on sturdier ground. I don't want him to be one of those kids who just gets by. I was one of those students. And while I appear to have managed in adulthood, I still suffer from inferiority and failure complexes.
October Breast Cancer Awareness is off to a bodacious start! Many of my gal pals are contributing their beautiful bounty of boobalas to the Boobie-thon fund raiser. Even a couple of the men have submitted their pecs for the cause. There is a rising number of male breast cancer. Like I've said before, cancer doesn't discriminate.

On my previous post about my personal contributions to Boobie-thon, a comment was left asking me for clues to finding Thelma and Louise on the site. I thought I had sneaked in a couple clues already: Glitter powder, one hands on pic followed by sexy brassier shots (my cups seriously runneth over). However, because I am feeling generous today, I will give another clue. It's a visual clue. Are you ready? Click this link.

Now, even if you don't find my girls there, donating generously will give you an eyeful of courageous babes taking it off for a worthy cause.


Sunday, October 4, 2009

Me? Kreativ?

I was given this award by a fellow blogger who is out of this world funny, smart, list-a-rific and just an overall wonderful lady. And yes, she's quite creative (I'm struggling with the award's spelling of the word.). I'm talking about Angie Bailey at Eclectic Catladyland. Say that 10 times fast.

When given such a prestigious award, naturally there are conditions and rules to be followed as a recipient. They are as follows:

1. Thank the person who gave this to you.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link the person who nominated you.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that no one would really know.
5. Nominate seven 'Kreativ Bloggers'
6. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them.

Numbers 1-3 are completed. Now, to share seven things you probably don't already know about me. Hmmm This is going to be a bit of a trick. I kind of put it all out there, but I'll do my best.

1. I lived with my sister after my mother died. I was still in high school. Yes, my father was still alive at the time.
2. There are five girls in my family. I'm the only one who isn't blond with blue eyes.
3. I learned how to sew out of necessity at an early age. From mending socks and sewing on buttons to stitching up hems or a ripped seam in hand-me-downs, we had to make the best of what we had in our household of eight kids.
4. I once took all the clothes that fit me and stuffed them in the bottom of a toy box in my closet in order to get to stay home from school in 2nd grade. It was my moms day off from work. She eventually found them and sent me to school in the middle of the day. I hated my second grade teacher.
5. I was incapacitated for nearly two weeks early in my pregnancy because of caffeine withdrawal. I went cold turkey when I found out I was pregnant. Memories of that keeps me from kicking the caffeine habit today.
6. We used to get lovely evening gowns for dress up from my uncle's "lady friend." I later learned that the "lady friend" was my uncle's alter ego, Sophie St. Claire songstress extraordinaire.
7. I worked at a fast food restaurant for a total of 2 weeks. Hardees was brown polyester wearing hell. The manager who interviewed me had a booger hanging from her nose the entire time. She was also missing part of an index finger. I figured the two were related in some strange twist of fate.

Now to give you seven blogs that I read -- Can't I just insist you scan your view over the right of the page and scroll down a bit? There's a list of some fantabulous blogs right there. I read them. Perhaps not daily, but most certainly with some regularity. About as much as grandma poohs without help of Grape Nuts and Metamucil, that is.

How's that for being creative?

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Thelma and Louise exposed!

If you're a long time reader of this blog then you know who Thelma and Louise are -- I'm not speaking about the duo played by Susan Sarandon and Gina Davis. Thelma and Louise are my chest dwelling friends. Like many men nickname their tallywackers, I named my breasts. I know a lot of women who have. Stop giggling! This is a serious matter.

Who of you doesn't like to look at bare chests? This isn't limited to men (or women) who like to gaze upon breasts of all shapes and sizes. This includes male chests. Hairy or smooth, well defined or fleshy. There is a site that suits every desire in this realm. I often catch myself admiring a well defined set of shoulders and pectorals.

What's most spectacular about this site is that it's for a noble cause: Raising money for breast cancer research!! Yes, in celebration of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, the website Boobie-thon is doing such a thing. Real people anonymously exposing their pecs and funbags. Ante up the dough and set your sights upon a plethora of bountiful babes and beaus.

This has been fun for me. Everyday I walk around giving away free views of my tatas under wraps. It's not as if I flash in a grand gesture to win beads a la Mardi Gras style. I joke about my breasts because they are so in-your-face. I figured it's time these ginormous gazongas did something positive -- other than igniting arousal *snort*.

Naturally, I am not alone in this venture. Men and women are contributing. Survivors also post pictures. Tears immediately streamed from my eyes when I viewed the symbols of such bravery, courage and determination while facing a undetermined fate. There is such beauty in the photos of breast cancer survivors. Their scars tell a story.

My hope and prayer is that you'll take your monthly coffee money or pack your lunch every day this month in order to donate generously to such a bodacious cause.

I wouldn't consider myself an exhibitionist. Big fan of turtlenecks, here. In fact, I'm quite modest when it comes to nudity. The first photo I submitted to Boobie-thon was fully adorned. Completely covered. After viewing the other submissions on the site, I felt as if I'd not done enough. This morning I awoke very early. Pre-coffee I stripped off my nightshirt in the dark of the early morn. With my pink Sony Cybershot in hand, I set the 10 second timer.


That was easy. Maybe another.

Flash again

Hmmm maybe a sexy bra shot

Flash, flash, flash, flash

Luminescence would be nice

Dust on shimmer powder

Flash, flash


Crop. Edit. Save. Send.

Go on. Go find me. Donate graciously and compassionately. doesn't directly take the funds. You get to choose either Susan G. Komen for the Cure or Paypal DaGoddess Fund.
Personally, I wish I had an award to give out to anyone who correctly identifies Thelma and Louise in the raw. But when you think about it, isn't helping save lives prize enough?

Thursday, October 1, 2009

I touch my boobies!!

When a blog's subtitle is about bras, it would be remiss to not discuss the importance of taking care of the matter that takes up space in said over the shoulder boulder holder. Breasts make up a large portion of my proportions, but size doesn't matter to cancer. It doesn't care if you're rich or poor; enhanced or natural; a mouthful or a handful.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It's not the only time of the year a woman (and men) should be checking their breasts for malformations and lumps. Nor is it the only time we gals should be getting mammograms. I'm not a health care professional, but I do tote around some of the biggest, natural boobs of anyone I know. So, I feel completely at ease and within my right to speak out on behalf of breasts everywhere.

Help raise awareness for research to find a cure and also make it possible for ALL women to receive free mammograms. Young women need to learn how to properly perform self breast exams. As mothers, older sisters and aunts, it is up to us to give our girls reminders. Early detection is our best defense!

Breasts can be fun and often a silly subject that I touch on frequently, but this is a serious matter. The best place to start understanding how you can help, is the official Susan G. Komen for the Cure website. The site is chock full of ways you can contribute donations, purchase products to support the cause, as well as, which companies apply a portion of their profit toward breast cancer research and programs.

Every day of October I will be wearing pink as a show of support. My yogurt will be Yoplait -- save your pink lids! Save Lids to Save Lives. Each lid equals 10 cents. Yoplait promises to donate a minimum of $500,000. but with our help it reach up to $1.5 MILLION!! (through December 31, 2009). Had I planned ahead, I would have started team Wildhair, but per the norm, I am a step behind. If you're a member of a Save Lids to Save Lives team, I'd be happy to join!! Or, if enough of you express interest in participating, I will gladly create a team for us. Just leave a comment or email me: wildhair65 at gmail dot com.