Natural Woman

Returned the videos to the library, and checked out four more. They don't have a huge selection, but I'm getting to see some old classics-- and they are FREE, so I ain't gonna bitch (too much).

About 6 I finally went out and finished mowing the rest of the yard. Poor mower is on its last legs, so to speak. The damn thing was vibrating so much that by the time I shut it off my teeth were chattering and my hands were numb.

Gee, that sounds dirrty.

Anyway, had another row with the Mom, ate an Eddy Murphy hamburger, and then hung out on the porch looking at the moon as it lit up the sky over my backyard. It was quiet, and peaceful, and beautiful and made me feel wistful.

But happy.

Not Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, but happy enough.

I also took a long shower, which means I finally managed to shave the pits and gams. What is it about shaving that makes one feel feminine? Wouldn't it make more sense to feel like a natural woman when we don't shave? Seriously-- when did it become natural to pluck, wax, nair, and shave ourselves to smoothness? Who woke up one day and said:

"Self, if we apply this hot wax to our bodies and let it cool we can then just press on a strip of cloth and simply RIP the fucking hair from our bodies. And NOT only on our legs, lets go for the eyebrows- the upper lip- the armpits. In fact, lets go all out and tear each hair follicle from our groin area too! Ya, you betcha, this will make you SEX-HAY"
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ANSWER to EMAIL QUESTION
The polish I'm wearing in my pedicure photos is "Not Just a Waitress" by OPI.

Heh.

Strangely enough, I have actually been asked twice in my lifetime if I would let my feet be photographed. Not slammin' ya if that's what floats your boat, mind you. But to ask a complete stranger you see in the mall or at the park? That's quite pervy, really.

And yes, those are the first allowable pics ever seen of my metatarsals & phalanges.
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Bunny called me from the Prince concert last night. She had a great time and when she called me back after the concert we laughed our asses off talking about Prince memories. When Purple Rain came out, we bought the soundtrack on cassette and played it over and over again in the car. The Mom didn't appreciate the song "darling nikki", so of course we had to keep rewinding that one just for her. (can still remember most of the lyrics, oi)

Man we were shitty kids (and I'd do it all over again).

The summer before Purple Rain came out was the summer I went to Europe with my friend's French class. I had taken French too, so I got to go. Don't know how in the hell the Mom scrounged up the $$, but she sent me on that 3-week trip and now I've got lots of stories that I'll write about later. This snippet is about my gold hoop earrings. I got these nice huge gold hoop earrings during the trip, and I wore them everyday thinking I was the shit. I thought they made me look exotic and mysterious and original. Then this movie came out and as much as we girls squealed for Prince, I couldn't bring myself to continue wearing something that resembled the earring he tosses to that skank apple chick.

Sigh.

But that was the last time I let my feelings (about what others were thinking) influence my choice of jewelry, or wardrobe. Today I am influenced purely by comfort and price!

I ran across some large silver hoops back when I still had the long locks, and thought of picking them up for nostaglia. Then I realized that I didn't have the fearlessness of a 15 year old and was now well aware that there are waaaay too many things that could get caught in my hair and tear my ear and ohmuhgawd that could HURT.
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It's another awesome day today. It's sunny (gasp) but with a nice cool breeze (ahhhh). Would be a great day to paint some For Sale signs.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

Lessee, what have I been doing for the last few days...? Ah yes, sleeping-- but I finally got out of bed. Went to the library. Two actually. Turns out the library here in town, well, SUCKS even though I did get a couple great books on crime scene evidence/forensic studies, etc. And two smutty ones. The other library had better internet access and more books and videos, so I brought home 4 movies for the Mom.

The GOOD
Saturday the Mom cleaned a bit in the house, and Sally & ET came by to help me with yard work. It's looking good! The grass is getting very green and now with it mowed and the weeding and whacking done, it's almost showable. I have only the front 1/4 acre left to do. But, of course, instead I spent all day Sunday reading and eating. Cookies and ice-cream and hot pockets. I am Queen of the Sludge.

The BAD
The downside was the continuous harranging from the Mom about what I am doing to sell the House.

Mom: What size sign do you need?
Me: About the size of this coffee table.
Mom: Well how big is that?
Me: I don't know, the size of this coffee table.
Mom: Well, this footstool is about 1 foot by 1 foot-- I don't know how big the coffee table is.
Me: It's RIGHT THERE less than 2 feet in front of you. How BIG does it LOOK to you?!?

Ten minutes later:

Mom: what size sign are you planning to make?
Me: OHFORTHELOVEOFGAWD I'll make you a deal, quit asking me about the house and I promise to work on this shit on Monday!

The UGLY
So I get up this morning and hear her in MY den on MY computer using MY phone talking to MY escrow company getting a package mailed out for me.

This immediately fires me up, yet she doesn't understand why I'm cranky at her. She's just trying to help. Really Mom? Like the way you "helped" me before? I like to think she's truly helping, but at the same time she's pushing this so hard I'm wondering if there's some hidden agenda in it for her.

I then get online only to receive an email first thing that says I sent the beagle virus in a zip attachment to the ASL club at school. As I have current anti-virus software on my system, that makes me doubt that. Oh, and the fact that I did NOT send those people an email. SO, does this mean that THEIR address book was hijacked or MINE? I've called my sisters, and they didn't get an email from me. Gar. I know this is a common situation, but it's completely frustrating. Now, I know to not open an email attachment unless I trust who its from. But if they think it's from me, wouldn't they open it?

Hey, if anybody reading this gets an email with an attachment called price.zip DO NOT OPEN IT!

Plus, it's entirely possible it's a pure coincidence, but since she was using my system all weekend (and I wasn't), I am no longer able to open TWO of my software programs.

Again I say grrr.
(Kill em Gert, Kill em!)

The cherry on top-- Looks like I have termites AND ants.

All this without a cup of coffee.

Back to the GOOD
Esteban dropped Sadie off on Thursday morning. He and Bunny were going on a boat trip and I had promised (and thusly forgotten) that I agreed to dogsit. He gets here at 6am (blech, what an awful hour to rise. Much easier to enjoy when that's the time one is GOING to bed). He left, I went back to bed. I get up at the more civilized hour of 9, walk out to the living room, and don't see the dogs. I ask the Mom where Sadie is, and she tells me that when she put Molly in her crate, Sadie went in to lay down next to her.

Awwww, that is so dog-dang cute.

OH!

Did I tell you about the grapes growing in my yard?

I have grapes! Not that I'm gonna eat these things, but I think it's fascinating to see all this stuff pop up. I have wild flowers, climbing roses, grapes, walnuts-- all stuff that was part of the property that pops up on it's own.


The USUAL
I need to finish the mowing, dump the weed buckets, clean the bedroom and the litter box, return the books to library one, get a frontal lobotomy, return videos to library two, make house flyer, take the Mom to Gmas, yadda yadda yadda

Gladys and Catherine

I want to tell you about my Grandmas. My immediate family always refers to both ladies as Grandma, and just somehow everyone knows which one they are talking about. Now, for those who wouldn't automatically know, my great-grandmother will hereinafter be referred to as Gladys; and my grandmother is hereinafter referred to as Catherine.

As a young child, I remember Gladys as this colossal woman. She always seemed to overwhelm me, and I think I might have even been a little bit afraid of her. I was fifteen when Gladys and Catherine finally moved up by us and “suddenly” I realized that this fearsome Great-Grandma was actually just a wee bit of a thing.

Gladys could infuriate me like no other (I was a teenager after all)—and yet she always had a way of making me see things from a new angle. Everyday I would walk behind the fence of our home over to their apartment. Once, I walked in the door to find her standing and waiting impatiently for me. She crooked her arm and said, “Follow me.” She shuffled down the hall to her bedroom, walked up to the window and proudly presented to me HER view of the mountains. Her grin was ear to ear and contagious—and I was amazed at the pure joy she got just from looking at something I’d seen almost every day of my life.

I was working at a grocery store that Christmas, and they were selling Teddy bears that were enormously soft, adorable, and affordable. I asked my mom if it would be an okay gift for Gladys. Mom told me she’d love it—and she was right. Gladys cried and said she’d never had a bear before. She kept that bear with her until she died.

One morning I heard the phone ring, and Mom yelling that “Grandma is unconscious and they are calling an ambulance”. We were dressed and out the door in 10 seconds. Gladys had slipped into a diabetic coma. The paramedics managed to revive her, but later at the hospital the doctors discovered a brain tumor. She was moved to a nursing home where Catherine went to visit everyday, and I would go after school or before work.

For a school assignment, I chose to compile stories about Gladys’ life, using audio tapes she recorded in 1965. Gladys and the family would sit and visit with each other, each telling stories about their lives—all the while recording away. It was fascinating to hear stories about Gladys and her sister “stealing” peaches; Gladys breaking her arm twice and seeing the most beautiful quilt patterns when the doctor gave her something for the pain (heh, she was HIGH!); her Mama making the kids walk up the hill instead so the mule wouldn't have to pull them; having to pick out the switch for your own whoopin'; and the heart-wrenching tales of both her beloved brothers that died as young children.

One day I brought a certain tape to the nursing home for Gladys to hear. At the very end of it you could hear my late Great-Grandfather (who's voice always sounded a bit like Henry Fonda). Gladys was so surprised, but also so happy—and she died the next day.

Grandma Catherine taught me that you CAN do anything you put your mind to. When we lived on the Island, many of the neighbors were so amazed that this woman could do yard work, cook the meals, take out the trash, AND balance the checkbook all by herself. In their households, men and women each had different and separate chores.

She has shown me that being a single woman is a beautiful and powerful thing, and that you don’t need a man to complete you.

Compliment you, yes.

Complete you, no.

When I moved in with Catherine, she had Alex. I had my “boy” StanLee, who was only 6 months old but even larger than Alex. Those two circled each other for twenty minutes— hissed a couple of times, and then decided to be buddies. They would often play chase all over the house, and it would sound like a herd of elephants. StanLee wasn’t a tidy eater, so after meals Alex would hold his face with his paws and lick it clean.

Years later, back at Catherine’s, I had a new addition — a little ginger tabby named Ramona. Now, she liked to hunt just as much as the boys. One night we were sitting in the family area, when Ramona jumped up on the balcony and came in through the open sliding glass door. She promptly dropped a “gift” at Catherine’s feet: a very large, dead mole. Ick.

While Ramona headed to the kitchen to snack, Grandma reached over and handed me a tissue and said, “Here, pick that up”. Pick that up!?! With only ONE tissue!?! Hell No— I wanted a shovel and long gloves that go up to my armpits! But of course, I did as she said. And then it started all over again the next morning, but this time we got a LIVE rabbit…

I have been lucky to have a unique relationship with my grandmother, Catherine. I remember bundling up in blankets and sitting on her porch as we watched the Northern Lights. We drank coffee like it was the “nectar of the gods” (even though it was half decaf) and we often stayed up late just talking. I didn’t meet my Great-Great-Grandmother, so I couldn’t tell ya if she too held the gift- but I definitely inherited the “gift of gab” from Catherine and Gladys. Man, can we talk! (Until her recent illness, Catherine and I were still either emailing each other at 2 a.m., or connecting online through instant messenger).

One night, as I lay in bed down the hall, I heard Catherine cry out. I went in to check on her and we soon figured out that she was having a heart attack. The Island is a small community, so with just one phone call I had all the Volunteer EMTs, Firemen, and Paramedics at the house. They took her to the hospital to perform some tests, and they decided to admit her to ICU.

They were wheeling her up to the unit, and she noticed the photographs on the wall and said, “Those are pretty tulips, but not as pretty as the ones in my garden”. She’s had a heart attack but can still critique the artwork! Anyway, we set her up in her room, and I’m waiting for the doctor to come talk to us. Cath is fidgeting, exploring all the stuff around her. She makes me climb up on the bed with her, and we are checking out her tubes. Well, one of those tubes was oxygen and when she put her finger on it, it stopped the flow of oxygen. Next thing we know there are alarms going off and we are busted!

She recovered well from that heart attack, eventually moving from the Island into town with her daughter and son-in-law (the assfaces). We collaborated for almost two years making a book about our family history, and it’s fascinating and beautiful, and she’s very proud of all the hard work.

Catherine has just spent a year battling pneumonia and TB, but has made a remarkable recovery and is now FINALLY living on her own again—in her very own apartment. Woohoo! Can’t wait to tell her tomorrow that she’s been posted on the internet…

Precipitated Precipitation

I actually LIKE rainy days.

I like the smell of rain.
(because I'm in the country I get a fresh smell and not the city "worms on wet pavement" smell)

I like the sound.
(except when it starts to randomly trickle on my bedroom window making me feel like I'm enduring an ancient form of water torture)

I like the darkness.
(it allows me to lay in bed for two days and be blissfully depressed)

I like the coolness.
(it allows me to lay in bed for two days and be blissfully depressed, with the covers on)

An added bonus-- my lawn should be completely green within the next two weeks and when this place is all green, it looks so beautiful. And THAT hopefully translates to quicker selling of the homestead.

I have spent the majority of the last 24 hours laying in bed asleep. I've been very dreamy lately so either I'm heading for a bout a depression or there is a lot my sub is trying to tell me that I have been ignoring. I'm exhausted when I wake up, like I've spent the last few hours living an entirely separate life. So with the onset of a stress-induced headache, I decided to take to bed and ride this one out.

I'm supposed to meet Sally for a movie this afternoon. Might be good to get out of my cold-dark room and go sit in, well, a cold-dark room showing a movie.

Sigh.

That bed looks so comfy though-- there's even a cat of smooshiness on it.

Maybe tomorrow I can get up and face the world.

Hush Puppies

I started to write this entry, (well actually it was more like a rant) regarding child-raping priests not being criminally prosecuted but instead "who may not call themselves 'father,' wear priestly garb or present themselves as Roman Catholic priests in any way...[because] "After a lifetime as priests, that restriction is a considerable punishment for them..."{read article here}

However, thinking about this sort of shit causes these weird little popping sensations in my brain and I start to smell burning feathers.

SOOOOOO

instead I am going to write about the puppies.

In 1992, Bunny was living with Bambamb (shouldn't have that extra "b" on the end, I know, but that fucker was so stupid that's how he spelled it on his license plate. I digress). He had a black Great Dane named Susie. She was a fabulous dog, and so gentle for a beast of her size. I wish I had pictures of her playing with that baby potbellied pig (Hamlet).

Damn, I'm digressing AGAIN!

Anyway, one day Susie comes home wagging her no-longer-a-tail tail with paw prints on either side of her, um, hips. Bunny quickly realized that Susie had been whoring it up with Harley, the neighbor Rottweiler. Papa didn't preach, so Susie became the proud Mama of 6 little babies.

Unknowingly, there was another one stuck inside-- causing Susie to get seriously ill. Bambamb had to rush her to the vet (she was sick for quite some time), and Bunny & I henceforth got to raise a litter of 2-day old pups. They were so little we used ID bracelets as collars. We had to number them in order to keep track of their eating and pooping.

First scary moment was when the puppies wouldn't eat from the bottle. You feel so helpless, knowing that they NEED to eat-- and not being able to get them to JUST DO IT. Sitting on the kitchen floor, crying in frustration, I noticed that though the puppy wouldn't take the bottle, it would suck away on my finger. Took a moment to dawn, but dawn on me it did. The nipples were too small! I mean--Susie was a great-dane, she had huge nipples (here come the google hits), stands to reason the puppies were designed for them.

So Bunny and I went to the store and purchased infant formula to supplement the VERY expensive puppy formula, and normal human bottles/nipples, and baby wipes.

We needed the baby wipes because the puppies had to be "stimulated" in order to poop and pee. Apparently the mother does this by licking them. Fu-huck NO mister, I drew the line there. So baby wipes nuked for 10 seconds, and voila surrogate mommy-tongue.

They started eating like crazy. And pooping. And there were six of them (until, sadly, Amanda died). So by the time we'd finish doing the feeding and cleaning, there'd barely be time for a nap (theirs not mine) and it'd be time to feed them again. As this was November, we kept them warm by placing them in rubber trash cans in front of the oven at Bake 350. Awww, our very own Hush Puppies.

Bunny named them all because SHE could tell them apart. It took me a couple weeks, but I eventually recognized them too. In order to help everyone else keep track on the feeding chart, we gave each of them a corresponding colored collar.

Jake (light blue)
Braxton (lime green)
Harley Rae Jr. (purple)
Bernie (pink)
Clayton (dark blue)

Bunny's dog Sadie acted like their Aunt, helping to entertain and keep them corralled. It's funny to look back and see how they were so much smaller than Sadie, yet by six months SHE fit underneath THEM.

At 2 months, Bunny found homes for Jake and Clayton. She kept Bernie, and then for various reasons got both Braxton and Harley back. Now as the puppies got bigger, meal times were quicker and potty time was certainly easier. But when you have that many animals, you still need a routine.

Braxton grew to the height of a Dane and the brawn of a Rotti. All 165 lbs of sweetness, he never realized just how fucking big he was.

When Bunny and I drove back from Virginia, he rode in the front of my little pickup with me. He'd fall asleep with his long legs dangling and I swore my right thigh was two inches bigger just from tensing it to prevent his leg from hitting the gas pedal.

When he'd wake, he'd bolt upright and people on the highway would freak out.

He lived for cheese, able to smell a package being opened from a block away. He was calm and patient, letting Sadie sit on him so her Princess ass wouldn't touch wet grass. Eventually we just started calling him "Sadie's Dog". Braxton was the last one of the litter to go-- passing on just this last October.

Braxton
November 1992 - October 2003

Untouchable

Watching a video the other night--the previews showed that Costner movie with Kelly Preston, where he's a major league baseball player...

Me: Man, just how many baseball movies has he made?
Mom: who?
Me: Kevin Costner
Mom: Oh
Me: I mean, there's THAT one...
Mom: Yeah
Me: and Field of Dreams. And Bull Durham. That's three.
Mom: and Untouchables
Me: What?
Mom: ya know, The Untouchables
Me: *blink* *blink*
Me: Uh Ma, just cuz they used a bat to smash in someone's head
doesn't make it a baseball movie.

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Friday I ran a whole bunch of errands, and then headed over to Sally's to help her set-up her home office. Guess she was feeling antsy-- she had us leave the house instead, wanting to head up to the antique mall. But when I suggested a pedicure at Bunny's new place, she opted for that.

Ooh la la. They put you in a chair with its own water tub, hot and bubbling on your feet. They scrub your calves and feet with these loofah mitts and then use a salt scrub. Then they wrap them with hot towels and massage in the lotion. I loved every single part except when they were pounding on the feet, as my right foot is still quite tender.

I got my toes painted RED!



And yes, I realize the these are two different shots, but I had to cut & paste or you would have seen all the dirty laundry sitting on my floor. Sheesh.

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Boxes, I need more boxes.

I hem and haw for more than three years about whether or not to move . Now that I've made the decision, I want to move YESTERDAY. Ahem, Gertie dear, you have FIVE MORE MONTHS!

{whine}But I want to have everything divided up and ready to go-oh-oh {whine}.

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Had THE most wicked dream about Julian McMahon last night.

Usually I can diagnose/analyze my dreams (like getting 50 hotel shampoos from Bunny and then having this) but for this one I have absolutely no reference point in which I can match to. I haven't had TV since February, so I don't see Nip/Tuck or even Charmed or Profiler re-runs.

Don't get me wrong, it may be puzzling but I am NOT complaining because while I may not know why this man is lurking in my subconscious I certainly know what he is doing there-- and I'm ready to go back to sleep now thank you.

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It's finally raining.

And cooler.

Me so gawdamn h-ha-happy.

My grass is even sprouting up green all over the place!

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I am off to find something either fun, or at the very least interesting to do/see/be.

Til tomorrow...

Water Baby

I mentioned the other day that Sherri gave me her old cellphone, and that I was gonna play with it til I broke it. Well...

NO, I didn't break it

I'm starting to like it.

I keep turning it on/off though cuz when you first turn it on, the color screen shows fish underwater. Then it shows a lighthouse while it's searching for the network. And then it settles on my wallpaper (on the phone!!) of a ship on the ocean. And it moves.


Oh, yeah baby!

Even though I haven't swam in years, don't live near the water, and can't even operate a sailboat--I was BORN for the water. (i've always WANTED to learn sailing, just never had the $$)

If I can go to the ocean just once a year and put my feet in that cold salty water, then my soul is content. The sounds of the waves crashing, the gulls, the wind; the smells of the sand, the water, and the air-- soothes away my anxieties and takes me away better than Calgon ever could.

Over the years I started to place items of the sea around me (Painstakingly avoiding tchotchkes). I've added shells in an aged boat-shaped basket. A plain lighthouse. Pictures of waves and sand. Shades of blue mixed in with the whites. The silver clock that faintly resembles a porthole. Even this journal reflects my need for the sea.

Sigh.

I'm just waiting until after Labor Day, when the beaches will be empty. Then Miss Molly and I are off to Ocean Shores for our annual fix.

There'll be pictures (OF COURSE)
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The Mom is working from (my) home today.

Translation= I am working on HER shit today.

Ya know, it's bad enough when you do a bunch of work and don't get paid for it, it's quite another when you have to keep REPEATING your efforts because of someone else's fuckup. I have NEVER understood why she CANNOT keep the most current file. She gets "delete happy" with the wrong files.

I thought I corrected this problem by keeping all the copies myself. But what she likes to do is get frustrated and "just fix" the last file she has. The fact that I may have spent 10-20 hours formatting the latest version and will then have to repeat that effort doesn't factor in. "I'm paying you, so it shouldn't matter."

Really.

You're paying me.

Huh.

Duh, of course I have money, I still have checks left!

ARGH.

I told her she could stay til the end of September, but I'm afraid I may just have to kill her before then.

Or be a grownup and tell her no and then leave the house to go to an actual PAYING job.

Guess I'll take door #2-- as I'm not really looking to be a bitch for some woman named Big Buela.
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Here's a shot from one of those family roadtrips that movies always make fun of. I have no idea where we are or where we're going. I can guess at the year (1971). I've always love this shot because it's of Sally and me in front of a GIANT Mr. Poh-tay-toe.



Just brought the Mom in here to look at the pic. At first she said Idaho, but now she can't say for sure. So if anybody knows where this is-- email me puhlease.

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I'll leave you with this shot of the water by my family's place in scotland...

Creature Comforts

As I gazed out the window yester-eve and my eyes settled onto the lawn, my first thought was "huh, snow". Once the neurons of my brain finished firing, I was able to have the coherent thought "fuck, Molly ate a pillow!". She had found my Mom's neck pillow and killed it-- killed it dead I tell ya.

Services were held at sunrise.
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Last night Ramona wanted to "help" me with my work by laying across the laptop. Whenever I've tried to get her to just lay on the chair next to me, she snottily declines. What I didn't know was that she'd be more than happy with the chair next to me-- as long as I provide plenty of important documents upon which she can lay. THAT's the ticket to her comfort level. I'd like to call her a picky bitch-- but I look around my boudoir here and note that I'm reclined against the headboard with my many layers of pillows against my back, another one beneath my knees and still one more beneath my laptop-- and realize that I have absolutely no room to talk.
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Made major headway on separating photos on the computer, clearing 4GB space on my hard drive. I named all pics and even dated most of them. Today I am going to scan in the last of the photos and then save them all to a DVD/CD. I have photos all the way back 7 generations man.

Who's the boss?

YOU'RE THE BOSS GERTIE!

Damn right I am.





More chatter tomorrow...

What Dreams May Come

I had some seriously fucked up dreams last night. One minute I'm having my period and baking a birthday cake for Eleanor Roosevelt on the Pirate Ship-- the next minute I'm showering down at the Country Club with Chris Isaak while hiding from the Nazis & frantically trying to decide which shampoo would leave my hair the softest and shiniest.

WTF?

As if I'd ever be at any country club!


Should probably stop sucking on the crack pipe before bed...
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With the Mom here, I find myself watching more movies than I have in a long time. Last night she brought home Hidalgo. Now, I don't mind looking at Viggo, but I'd heard this movie sucked-- so I wasn't too enthused.

Hey, I LIKED it: cute guy, foreign lands, great horse, and action/adventure.

What I really WANT to see is Garden State. It requires a trip into the "city", but from what I hear from other bloggers-- it's more than worth it.
_______________________________________

Started packing up the den yesterday. I'm gonna sell/give away the bookcases- so I thought I'd just put all the books in boxes, yadda yadda.

Holy Cow Batman, I have a LOT of stuff!

5 (that's FIVE) boxes of books just from the CLOSET in the den. I have given away probably 20 boxes of books over the years. How is it I can have this much stuff? I guess I'm better at hiding organized than I thought, cuz it sure don't look like I have this much crapola. Guess it's a good thing I'm starting on it now. It might just take me 4 months to sort this all out.
_______________________________________

Is it wrong to offer a charity a used bed and couch? I'm not going to store them, and I certainly doubt I can get anyone to offer me money-- I was just thinking that maybe a charity could use them, but I don't want to seem all Marie Antoinette about it, ya know?
_______________________________________

Bunny bought me the cutest little bracelet (uh, hello country club- sheesh). It's silver and has 6 small picture frames. Yeah, something your great-grandma would wear but also PERFECT for me to take to Scotland. I'm trying to economize on the stuff I'm taking. For instance, I am going to make mix CDs of all the songs I like from my 200 CDs. That way I will only have to take a couple instead of, well, 200. Kind of like choosing my favorite album if stuck on an island, etc.

Heh. I made a funny.
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I could probably just keep babbling away, but we all have work to do.

I'll see you here tomorrow.

Is it Monday already?

Man, the last few days have just flown by!

I'm laying in bed while typing this entry. I was too lazy exhausted to go sit in the den and log onto the system, but apparently had enough energy to get up, dig out the realllly long phone cord, disconnect the phone line in the living room, run the cord across the bookcase thru the kitchen and into the bedroom where I sit hovered over my laptop on a 2x2 space because the phone cord stops right there.

Was up til 7 this morning working on files for the Mom. Nuf said on that.

Went to bed, but wasn't quite sleepy (probably the 40oz coke I drank), so I watched The Weight of Water with Sean Penn and Elizabeth Hurley. Never heard of it, but Bunny had it at her house, so I snagged me a free watch. Pretty entertaining. Certainly more so than Ned Kelly. That movie did nothing to entertain me, save the irish accents. Not sure when I became so hard to please. Used to be any movie was entertainment enough. Now I'm a gawddamn critic. In fact, I still think Heather Graham owes me my money back for "killing me softly". No link-- it's that fucking bad. Not even the soft porn shots with Joseph Fiennes can save this flick. Crap, I think that's the 2nd time I've bitched about that movie in an entry. Let it go Gertie.

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Had a moment of mild alarm this morning when I spit into the sink (don't ask) and there was this horrible olive green and red stuff coming out of my mouth. Then the ol' gray matter kicked in and I remembered I had been eating smartees while watching my movie. Heh.

=========================================================

Gma moves into her very own apartment this morning. Apparently the Aunt liked the idea of it being cheaper than a nursing home.

Yes, that WAS the idea my mother and I had been working on but she dismissed. That's because she's a stupid fucking dumb fucking @#$@%^$%.

But Gma is SO VERY EXCITED. It only took her 7 years and nearly dying to be released from the Aunt's clutches, but she's been pardoned and can't be happier. Gma is even dressing again. Pants Bridget! For the first time in almost two years. She's putzing around like a little kid at christmas. She can't wait to get her webtv hooked back up so she can email and surf the internet again.

=========================================================

On Friday, my friend and I went with Bunny to her Themed dinner party. Once a month a bunch of Bunny's friends get together to make a dinner based on whatever movie they've selected to watch. When they watched Lost in Translation (awesome movie), the made sushi. This time the movie was the original Friday the 13th, and they were making Bloody Mary's (and breakfast). I didn't watch that shit when it came out, so I certainly wasn't going to now-- so while everyone else watched the horror, Bunny and I watched a slide-show (on her laptop) of her pictures from Peru. Awe-suh-ome. Man, she got some of the most incredible shots. The scenery shots were great, but the ones she took of people were unbelievable. These should be framed. In fact, I am going to frame a couple for my house. And I want her to sign them. Yes, THAT good.

=========================================================
On saturday, I took my friend to the airport-- so she has gone back to NM.

:<(

Weird, I have just one friend left here. (yeah, I know, I need to get out more)

I write letters now to Dublin, Inverness, Cromarty, Virginia, California, New Zealand, Denver, and New Mexico...

=========================================================
Gave up on my original reading list. Don't have much time for reading this summer after all. I will continue to go thru my classics list, but I can't see putting all that pressure on myself. Instead I culled a couple of titles from Robyn's list and will have to settle with checking them out from the library when I can. What I need to be doing is getting rid of all the extra shit I have, selling what I can... condensing down to the bare minimum for storage.

Storage?

Yup.

I finally got up the nerve to call my Cousin in Scotland.

Of course, the number I had written down was wrong.

So I called the hotel back, but no one would answer.

Then I got onto the internet and looked up the scottish white pages.

Couldn't find his number, but did see another cousin's in there.

Except that number was busy. Continuously.

Knowing my nerve was going to fail unless I could talk to him NOW, I looked up another website and BINGO, there it was. The first couple of digits had been off, but the rest was the same.

I dialed.

It rang.

HE answered.

I told him I wanted to come home.

I attempted to blurt out all that I wanted to do, he attempted to keep up with me. He told me "don't be ridiculous" when I made the comment that while I could count on my sisters for help, I didn't want to be presumptuous that just because they were family that they should help me. He told me to send him my CV (resume) and school transcripts because he knew several people and would start the process for me.

I was shaking when I hung up and got quite choked when I spoke to Sally. I was reiterating the entire conversation, became verklempt, and had to hang up for a while to clear my head.

So this week I have to revamp my resume and print out a transcript and finish gathering the necessary components.

Woohoo!

Should I stay or should I go?

Lazy day yesterday.

Today I'm gonna start going thru more of my shit.

I've been living here for 4 years, and I've accumulated a lot of stuff.

Even if I don't move, I feel the need to purge.

Either that or I am feeling the unease of my inner turmoil and cleaning is a way to take control.

I've been yakking about whether to go to Scotland or not. I pretty much talk myself out of it, but then find myself saying things like "when I go to Scotland" instead of "if". Does this mean that subconsciously I've already made the decision? While I thrive on a certain amount of external chaos (like work), I don't like it much on the homefront. I want my life to be stable, comfortable.

Me no likey change.

So I created a gameplan in my head that would allow me to take this dramatic step. I would move over there, but live and work at my cousins hotel until I got into school. Pretty safe. I'd rehearsed and dissected this scenario so many times, I almost believed it was an absolute. I finally worked up enough courage (go team!) and called my cousin. It's 8 hours ahead there, so I'm past sleepy when the manager answers the phone. I tell him I want to leave a message for my cousin. Great. Whew! I did it. Yay me.

Hadn't heard back, so yesterday morning I called again. This guy (in a sweet and soothing brogue) says, "Did they not tell you the last time you called that your cousin doesn't own this hotel anymore?"

Uh, NO.

He then gave me their home number. I've been staring at that post-it ever since wondering what in the hell I'm gonna ask my Cuz now. The script has changed and I no longer know what scene I'm supposed to be playing.

How can I possibly think of going over there without a place to live, without a job, and without any money? I feel like I'd be there in a heartbeat if I was 20, but for some reason think that being 35 means I'm way too old to be so fool-hearted.

Hmnf.

I know I'm afraid of taking chances. I've never been one to "date". I meet friends of friends and things happen. It's safer that way, no agitation, no butterflies in the stomach. No having to get dressed up and put myself on display (to be rejected). And I, of course, stay with them loooong past their expiration date. Don't want to stir up any conflict. I've never really taken a chance on jobs, just keep accepting the ones that I'm overqualified for-- not moving on until life circumstances force me too.

Over the last couple years, any time I've thought of going it would have been to escape something here. Now, for the first time in my life, all the immediate drama has already played itself out. It's just me and my life the way we are (uh, that shouldn't be plural Sybil). And maybe that's what scares me the most. I'm on the edge of finding myself and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to handle that.

I know that almost every time I force myself to do something that I balk at, I end up enjoying myself immensely.

So I'm gonna keep blabbering on about this til I force myself to go.

Unless I talk myself out of it.

Or not.

Prose of the Pathetic

The angst I felt as a teenager evolved into the drama of my early twenties, as evidenced by my writing the following:

©Monday, July 8, 1991

Poetic phrases leap to mind
But not to paper
Incantations; mantras; chants;
All a skipping record of
broken vows once
great promises to self
If; only;
great beginners of reasons for
not doing
not being
not anything
Affirmations of the soul
crushed by silent fears in the mind

I find it easier to read if I say it out loud with the voice of Captain Kirk.

=======================================================

In 1993, Bunny and I drove my pickup across the US from Washington to Virginia. It's 2800 miles of blur, since we made the trip in 3.4 days only stopping one night. We still managed to visit (drive-thru style) Yellowstone, and stop by Mt. Rushmore. Literally. We drove into the parking lot, got out of the truck-- took our pictures in front of the damn thing-- got back into the truck and sped off.

Being from the Pacific NW, driving across miles and miles of flatland was weird. At night there weren't any shapes on the horizon, just complete and utter darkness. Then the lightning storm started, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had a cheap little 35mm camera and I used up a whole roll of film trying to get a gawddamn picture of the lightning filling up the sky. Bunny considers this one of my finer moments of idiocy, and will still tease me about it despite the validity of my defense.

When I got my cheap little digital camera 2 years ago (THAT was my "severance package" when the company closed- cheap bastards) I found myself taking shot after shot trying to capture the brilliance of the full moon. Course, cheap digital means you click and 10 fucking minutes later the camera decides to take the picture.

Last week I FINALLY got this shot from my back porch (tee hee):


========================================================

Yesterday I picked my friend up from the airport and we drove straight to the bar. After putting in a whole work day there-- we realized that her loaner car should not be driving back to my place. Many drinks last night translates to very little movement on today's agenda. She gave me her old fancy cell phone, so I'll probably just be playing with that until I'm ready to huck it across the room.

Good Times...(Sigh)

Out of Africa

Oi, sooooo hoooooot yesterday. I can't believe I'm happy that its only going to be 85 today-- because HELLO!-- that's STILL 15 degrees higher than my comfort level. Whine, whine, whine.

okay, now that's done with, on with the entry...

Lemme see-
OH! I updated my Prom entry. Been cleaning out stuff and found the magazine page I've been saving since I was 16. This is what I had envisioned as my 'look' for Prom. Of course, reality had a way of totally harshing that buzz. You can view my teenage angst here.

I also found a picture of me from 1989. How do I know its from 1989? The enormous height and volume of my hair dahlin'.


So either it's the 80s, or I'm getting ready to accept a country music award.

What is it about journaling online that makes you want to share these tragic (but damn funny now) life experiences with complete strangers?

===========================================================
!Laughter alert!

here is part of an entry from Invincible Girl that caused a hot caffeinated beverage to spring forth from my nose:

“You motherfucker! Why don’t you learn to use your goddamned turn signal!? You know we’re all trying to get somewhere, right, you fucking asshole? You know that my fucking mother could be in the goddamned hospital, dying of fucking cancer and I’d still remember to use my signal. Because I learned how to drive from someone who wasn’t functionally retarded. Goddamn. I hope you get in a wreck and your head gets partially caved in and then you spend all the rest of your days drooling out of the side of your mouth and thinking that everything smells like roadkill. I wish you were roadkill, asshole. Fucking fucking FUCKING asshole! GOD.” “Honey, could you please not shout quite so loud? All the windows are up, and I’m sitting right next to you, and it’s kind of making me deaf.” “Oh. Shit. Sorry, honey. Where do you want to get lunch?” “I don’t care.” “Sweet, Chinese buffet, then.”

Recognize anybody in this? I'm still laughin' here...

===========================================================
I've been told my face is an open book. Which is to say that I'm not very good at lying because my true feelings are right there to contradict me. So yesterday-- I was sitting in the waiting room of the ER-- having my stitches removed IN PUBLIC (hell, it's just my foot), and I'm thinking "Pain is MY bitch. I'm a badass, this don't hurt for SHIT"

however my face must have been telling the truth: "ow, ohmygawd, whatareyoudoing, this hurts soooo muhuhuch"-- because I looked up at the other people in the waiting room and EVERY one of them had this kind of sympathy grimace on their face.

But the one that got to me was the look of condescending pity, from a two-year old!

Hey, Fuck you junior, see how YOU like it when they stab you with that really really really big inoculation needle.

===========================================================
My friend is flying in today. She hates flying, and I hate picking people up from the airport. Actually, I don't mind getting them from the airport, I just hate parking and going into the terminal. In my family we just pick everyone up outside of departures. It's fast and not-so-furious that way. Of course, we can do this since we pack so light. Two weeks in Europe and I had just the two small carry-on bags. My friend is arriving with suitcases, so she wants me to meet her in the baggage claim.

Yes, that was suitcase-plural.

And she's only here for FOUR days.

When she called this morning she let me know she was now only bringing one small suitcase and one small carry-on. Asked me if I was proud of her.

Yes, daniel-sen, We make sacred pact. I promise teach karate packing to you, you promise learn. I say, you do, no questions.

============================================================
Gonna pop the Gypsy Kings into the stereo and finish cleaning the house now. And when I'm done with that I'm gonna go clean the car. Hopefully this will leave me enough time to clean MYSELF up before I head to the airport.

Gotta be clean if I want her to buy me a drink.

(grin)

I am Pooh

Yeah, last entry was a bit of a rant. Though my response to the situation was completely justified, it may have been somewhat heightened by the (as Nance would say) whore-moans. I was unaware I was suffering PMS until later in the day when I realized that all I wanted for dinner was a salt-block dipped in chocolate pudding.

Anyway, after all those hours of searching for apartments for Grandma, my Aunt decided that she was going to put Gma into a rehab facility instead, and then a nursing home until such time as Mom can get a place for them both. This means my Aunt now has to drive over to this facility THREE times EACH day to check on Gma. Somehow that stupid broad finds this better than letting Gma move back into the bedroom she had at my Aunts that STILL has all of her stuff.

I prefer to think that selfish c*%nt is not really related to me. Only consolation: once Gma is with Mom, I'll never have to deal with that side of the family again.

========================================

Last night I popped outside to get something out of my truck. Realizing that I forgot my keys, I headed back inside.

Uh, oh.

Slight problem.

I apparently locked myself out of the house.

Had the cell phone in my pocket and thought of calling and waking up Mom, however this happened to be the night I turned off the ringer to the home line (I was avoiding the incessant ringing from a person I didn't want to talk to).

Allrighty then.

Thankfully it's hot out, so both the kitchen window and living room window are open. Of course, they both have screens--which appeared to be fucking welded in. I scrambled around to the front of the house -- since that is the wider window, and the one closer to the damn ground. Using the rake (see, forgetting to put away your toys CAN be a good thing), I pried the screen off the window. I dragged a planter over to the window, and narrowly missed smashing it onto my unclad and recently injured foot.

At this point you'd think the noise would have woken up Mom. Try to sneak in after a night of binge drinking with all the other high school kids, and she's waiting for you at the top of the stairs. Twenty years later when you're too old and creaky to spend the night on the porch, and she could sleep thru an air strike.

While trying to strategize how best to wedge my fluffy ass thru the window without getting stuck (visualize Winnie the Pooh), I notice Mom's keys sitting within reach. Wheee!

========================================
My wild Saturday night consisted of thinking about cleaning the den, and then giving Molly a long overdue bath. Problem with bathing waterdogs, it takes forever to get them wet enough to lather up some soap. Usually I just get into the shower with her, since I end up just as wet-- but have less bending over thus less back-ache. Plus, she doesn't "argue" as much, like it's more FAIR because we're BOTH having a bath.

This time, I wasn't sure my foot could handle it, so tub bath it was. After 20 minutes of trying to wet her down I finally get to start in with the shampoo. She's okay until it comes time to clean her hoo-ha (heh), and then she starts squirming around-- looking at me like "hey, you might be my mom but you are NOT my gynecologist" or maybe "hey, can you at least buy me a couple drinks and gimme a kiss first?".

Damn dog, it took me almost half an hour to rinse her, & then 3 oxycodon to get my back to work again. I don't care if I have to turn tricks, I will raise the money to have her bathed from now on.

=========================================

Speaking of Molly-- I've mentioned before that she's had a couple episodes of hating her kennel. On Thursday, after spending 25 minutes trying to wrap my foot (I’m not as flexible as I used to be, ya know, like when I was fucking THREE), I didn't have time to fuck around with trying to get her to go into the pen. My bad, I know, but I just grabbed a hotdog and headed outside. She took one sniff of that and bolted for the pen & was grinning and waiting for me to catch up. But when I got there and gave it to her, she spit it out and looked at me like "what the hell is THAT?".

Let me get this straight Molly, you will eat litter covered Cat shit-- but you do NOT want to eat a hotdog? They are the SAME fucking THING!

That's what I get for never feeding her people food-- she's become an elitist snob.

============================================

Wanna know how to blow $39 without even trying?

Huh, do ya?

Welllll, lemme tell ya.

Verra simple kiddies, simply be ONE day late in paying your credit card bill.

That's right.

The simple pleasure of knowing you are a complete idiot is available to you for the low LOW price of $39. Thank YOU Bank of rhymes with schmerica

============================================

This last winter we had some severe ice storms and I lost the four trees in my front yard. My buddy had cut the trunks down, but I've been waiting ever since to get the stumps out. It's one thing to mow around a tree, quite another to try and mow over a small stump.

This weekend he came over and pulled out two of the stumps. Probably would have done all four had
1) I been able to help at all with the digging [damn foot];
2) the sun not decided to come out at that precise moment and beam it's rays of hot fucking death on him.

I, of course, floundered trying to figure out my duties as a "girlie girl for the day". Sadly, I couldn't offer him a beer (bad hostess), but DID keep the ice water flowing. And a towel to wipe that shiny bald head. OH! and I also helped by holding the chain taught.

The chain, you say?

Why, yessirreebob. See we here in elksnout use chains to get stumps out of that thar yard. We dig around the stump, wrap a chain around it, hook said chain up to the 4X truck, and yank that ol' stump right out of the ground. Yee Haw.

The roots were huge on these things, and I try not to think about them screaming...



============================================

Well, I'm off to the ER to get my stitches out. No charge for the follow-up, it's inclusive to the first charge. Uh huh, like I can pay THAT anytime soon. Now, if they would fucking HIRE me, I'd be more than happy for them to garnish my wages baby.

After that, I get to hit the water store. Some dang hick drank up all my water...

Isn’t it Ironic

”In Dadeville, Ala., in 1999, Mr. Gabel Taylor, 38,
who had just prevailed in an informal Bible-quoting contest,
was shot to death by the angry loser.”

Heh. It always cracks me up when I read about the self-rightous fucking themselves up.

Now, what's NOT funny is Medicaid deciding that a 78 year old woman who has been hospitalized since May for TB (and pneumonia since Sept) is no longer eligible for coverage. She is NOT cured from the TB mind you, so she's still contagious. She's also broke, as is (of course) any of her family. And now Medicare says that she's used up any of her benefits. They made her cancel her health insurance back in April because it was considered a conflict and NOBODY would cover any of her medical expenses. What does this mean? Well, it means that I somehow have to try and find my grandmother a place to live by this Sunday (yup, in 2 days) because the hospital will be kicking her out. Literally. If she did NOT have any family, they would stick her on the sidewalk. I thought they were joking, but apparently Hospitals do not joke when it comes to not getting paid.

We can bring her to my house, where I already have my Mother living with me. However, I have not tested positive for TB and they have which means that it would be ME having to live inside a mask. Not to mention I have a friend that is flying in next week and was supposed to be staying here & she's unable to stay somewhere else or reschedule her trip (legal shit).

To say the least, the VERY FUCKING LEAST, I am pissed OFF. I am angry to be awoken by this urgency and mad as hell that I have to be a 35 year old woman living with my mother and my republican grandmother AfuckingGAIN. Bush has really helped YOU out, huh Grandma!? You worked/slaved your entire life and don't have any healthcare. Your granddaughter (ME-who has worked since 11) is STILL unemployed after 2 years, although she IS hoping her 18+ years experience in management and customer service will eventually translate to a fucking job working the fryer at McfuckingDs.

ARGHHHH.

So, I get awoken my by mother yelling that she needs me to fix this (a little FYI, never wake me up in this manner-- sure fire way to make me want to kick you in the head). I get out of bed (again, very little sleep because I've been helping OTHERS), saddened by the fact that I don't get to enjoy this beautiful rainy day (and that is not being sarcastic, I think the rain is awesome).

I go online--sludging through the apartment rental places. I print out THREE PAGES of possibilities to call. My mother then informs me that we need to check something a little further south. Why? Because my AUNT, who is the one that kicked my grandmother out in the first place even though my grandmother was PAYING RENT to her, wouldn't be close enough to visit (translation: she'd have to drive more than 15 miles, but still less than 30). Grandma could finally be centrally located between me, my two sisters, and my mother-- and we are worried about putting her near that fucking woman?! So, my mother has me call this apartment building that is in the SAME fucking complex as my Aunt's townhouse.

Now THAT is fucking ironic.

Flick This

After a day of napping, I was then up until 6:30 this morning-- NOT because I couldn't sleep but because my mother needed me to fix/format some documents for her that she just HAD to have. I have gone down this path before, in fact I am currently still owed for THREE WEEKS of work that I have done for her. WHY do I continue to help her? Gah, she's my mom. And to be truthful I DO like fucking around with layout shit.

So I was quite tired when the phone rang this morning, prompting me to answer "somebody better be dead". Course then the GUILT set in at the thought what if someone WAS dead?
_______________________________________________

I've been promising Lab Partner we'd go to a movie. I don't have the money, but we'll hit a matinée. I managed to talk her out of seeing Catwoman or Spider Man 2. What's the fascination is with all these superhero flicks? I don't have tv, so I miss most of the ads, except when I'm surfing on IMDB. She and I have compromised on The Notebook. I already know the ending, thanks to Bunny, but this has got to be better than some of the other crap they are advertising (yeah, Hilary Duff anyone?).
_______________________________________________

My foot is really starting to piss me off. It hurts MORE everyday. I guess one could argue that this means its healing. I, however, argue that this is the cosmic universe looking for one more way to kick me in the fucking head. Grrr. I tried cleaning it last night, but it is so hard to separate the toes without ENORMOUS amounts of pain. I sucked it up and did it anyway (cuz I am a grownup- heh), and now today I can barely walk on the damn foot. The hypochondriac in me wonders if they screwed up and DIDN'T give me Tetanus, and now I am going to get lockjaw. I've stopped short of surfing the web for symptom information, so I believe I will be back to normal sometime after this rant.
_______________________________________________

Checked my grades... only one class has posted. Organic Chemistry (B+).

DIS-AP-POINTED!

I wanted an 'A' damnit. I'm going to get that in both the other classes, no mystery there, but there is something of a perfectionist (OCD?) in me that just knows I could have done better. Hmnf. I really should get out more.
_______________________________________________

I've mentioned Uncle Bob. He didn't post for a few days, and everyone went nuts speculating on what happened to him (811 posts in his comments section). People kept giving out personal information about him, talking about news reports involving him, etc. I enjoy his journal, but I comprehend that he doesn't sit down saying "heh, how can I entertain Gertie today". So, unlike so many others, I didn't have this freaky need to know. Truth be told, that funny fucker what just trying to have a vacation.

Then I read Robyn's journal today. And Nance's. They too talked about people who find it necessary to criticize, judge, or condemn. To all you assfaces out there, fix your own life-- and when that's perfect, we may have something to talk about. Until then, just enjoy a nice big cup 'o Shut the Fuck Up.
_______________________________________________

The weather has been nice-- much cooler. I have the doors open promoting the influx of fresh air. This, however, also brings in a couple flies. As I've mentioned before, I absolutely detest flies. I believe that I snapped my elbow outta place trying to hit the flies with towels (Molly ate the flyswatter last summer). Is it so wrong that I got enormous pleasure from killing TWO flies (at once) that were copulating on my couch? Like somehow my life is better now that THEY aren't getting any kinky insect love?

OH. MY. GAWD.

I really must leave the house more.

Now I lay me down to Sleep

Yes, it is the first official day of my "summer vacation". As with the end of every quarter, I find myself feeling unwell-- usually due to relief from self-imposed scholastic stress. I prescribe for myself a long nap, rousing only for sustaining cookie consumption, to be followed by continued slumber.

So what have I done in the last 24 hours? I have been reading! Like a 2-bit whore craves her some crack, I craves me some books. FINALLY was able to indulge in the much talked about naked by David Sedaris. This fucker writes so damn funny that I laughed OUT LOUD in the public LIBRARY.

I also read Lord John by Diana Gabaldon. LURV her Outlander series, so I though I'd enjoy this spin-off. While it was entertaining enough, the book failed to capture me in the same way as the original. Lord John was an esoteric creature, yet with this book he morphed into something commonplace.

Daaaamn, looked at the pile and realized that I had breezed thru two others: In Fidelity by M.J. Rose and A House Named Brazil by Audrey Schulman.

Gah! No wonder my eyes feel like dry wood.

Got any literature recommendations for me?

Referred by BOTH Uncle Bob and Robyn I checked out the Find Your Spot website, where you can "Discover perfect hometowns rated to match YOUR unique interests". Does it bother anyone else that these places want your address (some even want your birthdate). I don't like giving that shit out to anybody. Hmmm, based on my answers given, I should live in either Oregon (zero snow) or Wisconsin (60" snow).

WTF? Maybe I was too unclear with my answers. Or maybe I don't really give a shit since it didn't say Montana or Scotland? Heh.

Well--it's time for me to strike that horizontal pose.

til tomorrow....

Pretty in Pink

My friend Sherri left behind a couple of formal dresses for me to take to the consignment shop. That got me thinking about prom dresses and, more specifically, MY prom dress.

I was a sophomore, my boyfriend was a senior-- and we were going to his prom. (I was so thusly traumatized that I never attended my own prom. I digress...)

At that time, I wore a size-5.

But a DD bra-cup.

And we were poor.

So, the only place I could find a prom dress was Frustration City.

I eventually found an affordable dress that fit my boobs. A size-13, off-the-shoulder with lace, PINK, polyester dress.

WITH matching earrings!

Oh yeah baby, I was HOT.

(I won't even begin to explain/defend/deny the hair)

BF and I were doubling with another couple we'll refer to as Ken & Barbie. Barbie was 5'7, tan, blue eyes, manicured fingernails, long natural blonde hair-- and was wearing a short, white, sleeveless gown that her mother had custom designed JUST for her. Oh goody.

[BF was obviously impressed, because he could NOT stop complimenting her the ENTIRE evening]

We get to the hotel, unload all the snack-food and booze, and head for the restaurant.

BF ate both his peppercorn steak AND mine, 3 salads, 2 baked potatoes, and a piece of cake. I just wanted to chain-smoke and contact my self-esteem. We stopped back at the hotel for a few shots, and I guess that's where BF miscalculated and exceeded the 'few'.

Until then, I was unaware that he was extremely jealous of a photograph hanging in my room, from a school-dance I had attended with my friend Mitch. He decided that we were “damn well gonna replace that fuu-cker”.

We pull up to the country club, alongside the many limos, driving a fancy rented Town Car. The boys escort us inside to view Wonderland, completely decked out with cheesy prom decorations and,

wait for it...

Oingo Boingo!

(an 80's band for those that are shorter toothed)

As BF and I are dancing, I notice that he is getting progressively uncoordinated. He has managed to completely tousle my hair and lick all the makeup off my entire face. I sense we might have to split early, but he's slurring that we HAVE to get our picture shot.

I maneuver him over to the ORDER line, dig through his back pocket, pull out his wallet-- and get the order placed. We then stagger over to the picture LINE. Oi, the line. Even though they have two separate photographers, it is LONG.

It is also very warm in there.

BF has consumed HUGE quantities of food.

and ALCOHOL.

Just as its our turn, the photographer tells us to hold on-- he has to reload film.

Irrevocably, BF has reached maximum overload and proceeds to spew forth on said photographer and set.

Ken sees this from across the room and helps remove BF to the bathroom, where he continues to evacuate the contents of his stomach. Half an hour later, Ken gets BF cleaned up and back out to the photo area. They, of course, put us on the second stage.

BF, who's a foot taller than me, clings to me in a vain attempt to remain upright. The photographer endeavors to keep this G-rated by moving BF's hands to my waist. I fear we've reached a stalemate and am smirking to the photo man to "shoot the fucking picture"-- just as the flash goes off.

So, we now have THIS precious, cringe-worthy moment captured for all eternity:



Heh.

Shhhh...Study group in session

I am running out of time to nail this test. I was completely confident in my abilities to blast thru this test-- until sometime around midnight last night I started to hyperventilate and forget everything, even how to name a freakin' alkane!

ARGH.

Friday was the send-off party for my friend Sherri and her man-- they have now moved to New Mexico. Sniff. I went with the full intention of getting drunk and weepy, but instead left at 9:30 quiet and sober. My foot hurt quite a bit, so I came home and popped some meds and lay down on the couch for awhile. Got up the next morning to shower, and apparently I've already managed to pull out one of my stitches.

My abilities continue to amaze me.


I've got to go hook up the coffee IV now.


My final is at 5:30 tonight.

Thank gawd it's cool today. I actually turned the fans OFF this morning.


Here's a pretty picture of my roses -- just ignore the dead thing in the back, I'll be cleaning up the flower beds after tomorrow.