Monday, August 31, 2009

Bacon Boy on Wife Swap

I ran across this on YouTube and had to share it. This is hilarious!


Sunday, August 30, 2009

More Tide Pool Pictures

Margo takes beautiful pictures. I wish on everything holy that she would do something with this talent, something that makes money, I mean. She's especially good with children. She can get kids to make the perfect face. I also wish I felt more comfortable with showing you examples of those perfect faces but, alas we don't live in a perfect world.

When she posted pictures from the tide pool (speaking of perfect), she left out some of my favorites.
I swear Ray is one of the funniest people that has ever stomped this planet.

Saturday, August 29, 2009


I'm not cured, but certainly better. I can still feel the catch in my back, but the horrible stabbing lightning strike of pain associated with that catch yesterday is all gone. As my friend Curious would say, "I've got a hitch in my giddy-up."

Dawn's at work, so the kids and I are going to load up in the Old Slow Coach and see if we can find any yard sales. Then we're going to the Used Book Store to sell our finds and hunt for treasures. I LOVE the Used Book Store, which refers to itself as an Index which makes me love it even more. Index is much more romantic than Used. Doesn't it call to mind a dusty forgotten library where our hero finds the last of the clues that will deliver the world from certain evil? Yes, it does.

Fall has started straining at the womb that Summer has made for it. She will soon be here, and we will hang orange garlands to celebrate. Until then, I hope you all enjoy a restful Saturday! Don't forget to revel in the last days of Summer. In a few months, we'll all be bitching about how cold it is.


Friday, August 28, 2009

Debilitated, Damn it

I have hurt my back. I'm not sure how badly yet, we'll see. When we got home from picking up the kids from school, Dawn parked on the street and hopped out and ran into the house because she had to poop. The 3 little kids and I were left to carry in a few odds and ends. I'm in charge of the Scholastic Book Orders for Ray's classroom which involves putting together fliers which are bundled in big blocks. While simultaneously trying to keep the kids out of the street and gather the bundles and the small bag of groceries, I heard and felt something pop. Pain, immediately. I sort of collapsed onto the car seat and told Faith and William to go and get Dawn right now.

Several minutes of pretty severe pain later and still no Dawn, I managed to find one of the cell phones on the floor of the car. I called the house. She was laughing when she answered, "Yes?" She came running. She carried me into the house which is no fall feat considering that our driveway has a pretty substantial slope and there are several steps up to the porch and then several steps down into the den. She said she never saw Faith, and William came in singing, "It's a Small World." Thank God for Cell Phones.

So now I'm confined to the bed. Dawn is very sweet to me. She's got me set up with the laptop and has even gotten it rigged up so it's not burning the skin off of my legs. She changes out my ice packs regularly. And when I threaten to get up and help with the nighttime routine, she reminds me that she has to go to work tomorrow and that I HAVE to rest and get better or the children will burn the place down in the morning and I'll have a hard time getting myself out a window to escape. sigh.

I HATE being immobile and useless.

She's been giving me regular updates on the kids, the hysterical kids. She said William left his shoes right in the middle of the kitchen floor. When she asked him to pick them up, he said, "OK, as soon as you give me some cash." What the hell?

Ray comes in to check on me and put his little chicken head on me. A few minutes ago, he came in with chocolate in the corners of his mouth. I asked him if he had cookies for dessert. He said, "Yep. All done. My mouf" and then opened up to show me the Oreos ground into his precious teeth. Lord, how I love this baby.

I can hear the kids running up and down the hallway. Sometimes I can figure out the gists of their games. Sometimes I just catch a few words, "Charge!" and "You're under arrest!" Lord, how I love these kids.

It's strange to experience my life from behind a door.


Thursday, August 27, 2009

Thursdays' Treasures

It's been a rocky couple of days. Lots of high highs and a few low lows. I'm pretty tired. On these days it's the little things that really count. So here's my list of the Little Things that Make Me Feel Rich.

1) A brand new fridge pack of Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. Oh, the Luxury!

2) A shared snack of chips and salsa. Faith and I looked at catalogs while we slurped and crunched. She's chosen a most horrible costume for Halloween, but she has a fabulous giggle.

3) Ray's hugs - His little chicken arms are so skinny and cool. He wraps them around my neck and squeezes, and nothing could ever be wrong in my world.

4) Curbside Recycling - The Fair City of Pensacola has finally seen fit to pick up Recyclables. I have a special bin and everything.

5) Unlimited Long-Distance - And it's really come in handy here recently:) The Circle of Love expands and unlike a balloon only gets stronger when it gets bigger. Thank Goodness.


Wednesday, August 26, 2009

In Respect of a Great Man

Disclaimer: I have an unabashed obsession with the Kennedys. I forgive their faults and wrong-doings and celebrate their victories. I am totally convinced that they as a family have affected far more good than the individuals have committed wrong.

I think I have a unique perspective on the Kennedys and what they have meant to America and what they continue to stand for. My father was 12 when President Kennedy was killed. My father lived in the Mississippi Delta, which is to say that his mother's family had lived there for generations. He was entrenched in the culture of 1960s racial politics. Of course, to a 12 year-old, it was simply his daily life. President Kennedy was going to integrate the schools, by force if necessary. It was a welcome fight in rural Mississippi. He certainly didn't understand the enormity of the moment that he was experiencing. What he recalls is this -

He was sitting in the bleachers of the gymnasium at school. He must have been adjusting his sneakers because everyone else was already on the gym floor. An announcement came over the PA system, "President Kennedy has been shot and killed today in Dallas, TX." He says that he looked up and saw the gymnasium erupt in applause and cheering and high-fives. Something about the exuberance struck him as wrong, but he was quickly caught up in it. School let out so that the children could go home and celebrate with their families.

He went home with his friend, Thumper who had always been called Thumper, and never by his given name. The boys walked through the back door to find Thumper's mother busy in the kitchen. Thumper rejoiced, "Yeah! Somebody finally got that bastard!" Thumper's mother responded sharply, "That is quite enough, Hamilton." Those are the only words in pseudo-respect for our President that my father heard in the days after.

This really stuck with my father. In his adulthood, he has read every book, seen every documentary and researched primary sources from the President's assassination in broad daylight in one of our nation's largest cities. He is far from a conspiracy theorist. The facts, Ma'am, just the facts. He's my guy Friday.

I spent my teen years which saw the release of Oliver Stone's movie JFK idealizing my father's interest. I imagined him as a great, unheralded detective - the one who would uncover the truth and bring the killer to justice. Quite a romantic vision.

I joined in the quest. I wrote essays and exploratory letters to the Library of Congress. I urged my dad to do the same. I was JUST SURE that the secret files would be opened to the 2 of us if we could just reach the right person - the sympathetic ear of a lowly archivist who shared the passion. I was a moron.

In my adult years, I have educated myself about the history of the Kennedy family. I have acquainted myself with the ins and outs of individuals, and joined the causes of the ones who shone. I have taken days from work to mourn the crash of JFK Jr., and his beautiful wife and the passing of his mythical mother. Just recently I have reached out to a virtual stranger for comfort in the death of President Kennedy's sister, Mrs. Shriver. I asked her for and got affirmation that yes, there are people in America that remember and revere the golden days of Camelot and what could have been.

And now Senator Kennedy has passed, peacefully, as I understand it. For that I am grateful. Our nation today has lost a great man, the ultimate citizen, a lion of a statesman - one who took and held close and defended unapologetically stances that were not entirely popular. He did it with grace and composure and respect. On NPR this afternoon, I heard Senator Kennedy's biographer say something very close to this - "If you asked all 100 Senators who the toughest legislator in the Senate is, 99 of them would say, 'Senator Kennedy." He went on to say that Senator Kennedy, who comes from the most charismatic family in United States political history, managed to be boring. "And that is a good thing."

The biographer related a story from Senator Kennedy's first campaign. He was seeking to fill his newly elected brother's vacant seat in the Senate. A poor farmer came up to him after a speech and said something like, "What do you know? You've never worked a day in your life." And the then, Mr. Kennedy replied, "Well, yes, I guess you could say that." The farmer shook his hand and said, "You're not missing a thing."

Our nation has lost a great man. And our community of Gay, Lesbian, Bi-Sexual and Transgendered kin has lost a friend and great ally. I am truly grieved.

Senator Kennedy will lie in repose in the Kennedy Library until he is laid to rest on Saturday in Arlington National Cemetery where he will join his brothers who went before.

I imagine that the Eternal Flame will burn ever brighter.


Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Stop with the Memes! I mean, after you do mine, of course.

Sweet People Who Tag Me with Memes, please know that I love you and appreciate your interest in me. However, I have to say that I honestly don't give a rat's ass who your favorite movie star is. And what's more is that I don't believe that you actually care who my favorite movie star is.
I know I'm being blasphemous, but I'm sort of on a roll these days. (I recently made a fervent Baptist choke on her lifesaver when I said, "I hate the Reverand Lou Dobson.")

In pseudo-protest of the recent slew of memes, I have decided to post and challenge you chosen few to a real confessional.

Are you ready? (At Ole Miss, we responded, "Hell Yes! Damn Right! Hotty Toddy, Gosh Almighty! Who the Hell Are We? Hey! Flim Flam Bim Bam, Ole Miss, by Damn!) And I digress.

1) Why are you here, right now, at my site? And don't be cute. Tell the truth.

2) What is something that you left undone today? Why did you leave it, and what is the consequence?

3) If you saw a child about to lick a cut lemon, what would you do? Again, don't be cute.

4) Willie Nelson. Backwoods Redneck or God Among Men?

5) If I asked your Momma, "What is the greatest thing that you taught your child?" what would she say?

6) Recently, you saw something fabulous. What was it?

7) Have you ever "almost died"? If yes, how?

8) Halloween or the 4th of July?

9) Everyone has something memorized. What do you have memorized? Your PIN is not an acceptable answer.

10) If you had to be homeless in a U.S. city for one year, which city would you choose, and why?

I challenge these women to enter the confessional -










There are no rules.


Monday, August 24, 2009

Forever Young

The First Day of School is always emotional for me.

Sorry about the whole diaper thing.


Saturday, August 22, 2009

Propane's Warm and Fuzzy Award

And there are 3 rules.... Link back to the person who gave it to you, give the award to 10 people, and tell 10 things about yourself. So typical . . . I get an "award" with strings attached :) I'll take it . . . you knew I would. Thanks, Moonshine.

10 people? I'd have to get out more. And since I was not on the 1st tier of recipients, some of the people I would award have already been awarded. So I'm going to disregard that fact and re-bestow the award.

1) Jude - Loves me some Jude! Who doesn't? Honestly, is there a single one of you who doesn't want to dry hump Jude? I dare you to show your face.

2) Ms. Moon - I know, I know. You're all all done with the forced voyeurism on my intense adoration of Ms. Moon. But seriously, y'all, she is wise. If you have resisted her thus far, be done. Relinquinsh your soul-care to Ms. Moon. You'll feel better soon.

3) Downtown Guy - She has offspring. Yes, he's Ms. Moon's kid in Real Life. He's eloquent and brilliant and loves some biscuits and gravy. AND he knows the worst name you could name a child without naming them something overtly obscene. Interesting, very interesting.

4) Solo - She lets me call her Maureen. She coaches all of us to be better and stronger. And she's in love - as if she couldn't get more adorable. I'm so happy for you, Maureen.

5) Rocket - I believe she's gotten this award from everyone that I've seen give it out, and who am I to buck tradition? She had the fortitude and heart of a true friend strong enough to pull her into her dear friend's estate sale. And then had the courage and clarity to share it with us. Did I mention how phenomenally talented she is?

6) G - Her posts are less than regular here recently, but worth the wait - I promise. She has a way with self-reflection that makes you run for a mirror.

7) Dena - She's the coolest straight girl I know, and she's threatening to come and visit me. Lord, I hope she does. This lady is funnier than all of us combined. And that's something.

So that's it. Go forth and multiply.

I suppose that since I only gave the award to 7 people that I only get to tell you 7 things about myself. God knows how I love to talk about myself, so this is taking true restraint.

1) My fingernails are remarkably strong. I can't cut them myself - Dawn does it for me while I cringe.

2) I have an unhealthy obsession with The Real Housewives of Anywhere. I especially love NeNe.

3) In our den, we have a vintage travel poster from every state that allows same-sex marriage. There's plenty of room left.

4) I know a very lengthy poem, The Shooting of Dan McGrew, by heart. There's hardly any way that the San Diego crew is getting out of hearing it - I do it best with several drinks in me.

5) I have an eyelash on my left eye that grows in totally white. I have no idea why.

6) I had New Year's Eve twice one year because I flew to Hawaii from Australia and crossed the International Dateline.

7) I was almost killed by a home-run. Brian Jordan hit one out while I was just settling myself and my brand new 32 oz. beer onto the green green grass in the outfield of the Braves Spring Training facility in Orlando. Instead of being struck in the head, I was tackled by a 300+ lb man who caught the ball. My beer spilled. I was pissed. The man next to me helped me up and bought me a new cup of frothy deliciousness. I was NOT on ESPN.


Friday, August 21, 2009

Thursdays' Treasures

I have been negligent about posting my Thankful Thursdays or Things That Make Me Feel Rich. Maybe that's why I haven't been feeling so rich here lately.

1) My children's school - School starts on Monday. I spent a good bit of yesterday in the classrooms and getting things together. I hadn't realized that I missed the people there over the summer. They are an amazing group of women who have come together with the noblest of intentions - the respectful nurturing of a child's innate curiosity. They do it with warmth, gentle and quiet words and easy smiles. This school is easily on the list of the top ten best things that has ever happened to me.

2) Tax Returns - Dawn just had her taxes done and got a whopper of a return. We were able to pay off a good bit of the yearly school bill. The monthly bill will be significantly less than last year which means that I won't be sweating so profusely on the 14th of every month.

3) Good Coffee - I make a great cup of coffee, mostly because I buy really good coffee (on sale, of course). I like thinking about the lives of the coffeepickers and wonder if they think about the lives of the coffeedrinkers and if either of us is even close to imagining the other's life as it actually is.

4) Lightning at Bedtime - Our window faces East. We lay in the darkness last night, snuggled together watching for, waiting for and ahhhhhing when the lightning struck and lit up the room. She is beautiful in lightning light.

5) Books and Children Who Love to Read - Faith and William and I have read through #14 in the Magic Tree House series this summer. Dawn has read Runaway Ralph by Beverly Cleary to anyone who would listen. Bedtime Stories is a most precious time of our days. I especially cherish the nights that William falls asleep next to me in the glow from the aquarium, just pages away from the end of the book.

Addendum - William has been especially loquacious this summer, as I have noted here before. He has just now said something perfect, and I had to come back and include it here. He asked Dawn if he could use the flashlight he found when we go to the beach tonight. Dawn said, "We're going to the beach tonight?" He said, "Yeah, to check on the moon."


Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Mystery Solved - Part II

This always happens to me when I begin a story in parts - my days are so full of noteworthy happenings that I have a hard time getting back to the the original story. I had intentions of sharing insights gleaned while spending time with my birth family. I had revelations if not epiphanies. But that was days ago and I have stuff to do, so I'm just going to sum up and explain the title. You won't hold it against me, will you?

Why can't I help but believe that Amy has that terrible song, "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" going through her mind?!

My folks split up when I was just a little girl. My mother quickly remarried and took me with her. She and her new husband liked to travel and eat at fabulous places. For as long as I can remember, she has asked the band to play "Darktown Strutters' Ball." It's her song. Everyone knows it. I never thought about how it became her song - it just is.

I sat with my dad while he packed up his things this weekend. I told him that I was at Commander's Palace in New Orleans when I found out that my sister was missing. After we get through that, he said, "I bet your mom has told you this a thousand times . . ." Let me say right here that these are some of my favorite stories. There is a group of people on this planet that know me only as the "miracle baby" because there was a big joke when my folks were dating that they were so different, like a cat and dog, that they couldn't possibly breed and produce viable offspring. Hi.

He told me that back when he was "in his prime" he and my mother were at Commander's Palace and he was "cutting up." He said the bandleader said, "Hey Son, if you ever want a job as a jazz band singer, you come and see me." I asked him if he was full of shit. He said, "No! He was being sincere. I had just finished a mean rendition of Darktown Strutters' Ball."

I gasped and said, "Is that why Momma always requests that song?" He threw his head back, laughed and asked me if I was full of shit. I assured him I wasn't.

So there it is. The answer to the mystery of my mother's favorite song - my daddy sang it way back when and caused a ruckus at Commander's Palace. I like that story.


Monday, August 17, 2009

Mystery Solved

This may be a long post. We'll see.

I left Pensacola on Saturday morning with a new book on CD, a travel mug of delicious coffee and a funeral dress I wasn't sure I could zip by myself. I'm such a gambler. After an oil change and a fill-up, I was in line to buy a fountain diet Coke, my crack cocaine. The gentleman in front of me was buying a Natural Light and a Slim Jim. It was about 10:30. It reminded me of my Dad and I had a chuckle.

I finally got on the road. Dawn and I soon had to make rules about talking on the phone. This was supposed to be my return to solitude, you know? Not 5 minutes later and in clear violation of the rules, Dawn called and asked if I noticed anything wrong with William's hair before I left.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like his bangs" Dawn replied. I told her that yes, actually, I had noticed his bangs were a little wonky but I just thought he was hot and sweaty from playing outside. She did a big sigh and said she would call me back.

The next thing I heard was that they were all loading up to go to Target to buy a pair of clippers - William had, in fact cut his own bangs to the hair line right in the center. Dawn said he looked like he had fangs on the forehead. Another good chuckle.

My book on CD was Hot Mahogany, by Stuart Woods. It's one of the Stone Barrington Series. He is a cad, a NYPD Detective turned semi-slimy attorney. He's adorably arrogant. I read the entire series before I met Dawn. Since then I've given up crime drama books and TV, my past crack cocaine. And I am lighter for it. So Stone really was quite a turn from the norm. I was loving it!
My intention was to go to the Kiss-In in Piedmont Park when I got to town. But because I took my time getting there and ran into stand-still traffic on the outskirts of Atlanta, I thought I should get on to the hotel, get cleaned up and over to the visitation. I checked in right at 4:00 which is when the visitation was scheduled to begin. When I got to the room I dialed Dawn to say I had made it. When she answered I caught sight of the clock on the bedside table - 5:08. FUCK! I forgot about the time change!

I quickly hung up with Dawn and started scrubbing my pits, dry-shaving my legs and painting my big toenail (it was the only one that was going to show in my cha-cha shoes). I slithered into my torture chamber aka girdle and bustier, took a deep breath, prayed to the goddess of fashion aka Jackie O and put the linen LBD over my head. The zipper is on the left side so I reached over and calmy pulled up. So far so good, so far so good. CRAP! A snag, just as I anticipated. Back down. Another breath, another prayer. Retry. Good, good, good. FUCK!

I looked in the mirror and saw the zipper was pulling away from the seam. Panic set in. Sweating began. More panic. Just as I had settled on throwing something, I noticed a little card by the phone. Care line 142. It went something like this - "We here at the Doubletree want your stay to be as carefree as possible. If there is anything, absolutely anything we can do to help you or make your time with us more pleasant, please don't hesitate to call." So I did, and said something like "Hi. I know this is amazingly awkward and embarrassing and I would appreciate it if you remember that it is even more so for me. I cannot zip my dress that I need to wear to a funeral that I am amazingly late for. Could you please send a member of the housekeeping staff up to help me?" He paused, gulped a breath and said, "Wow. OK. OK. Um . . . . Would you prefer a female member of our staff?" I laughed and said that yes, I would.

I poured myself a beer. That seemed like a good idea. I leaned over the desk, stared at myself in the mirror and reflected on how pitiful I was at that moment. Maybe it was the shame, but some kind of lightning bolt struck me. For my last ditch effort, I took the dress off and zipped it all the way up. Then with much grunting, swearing and tugging, I got the damn thing over my head and pulled on over my sizable boobs that I just knew were going to again derail my best intentions. (I have something of a tenuous relationship with my tits.) TA DA!

About that time, the most adorable woman knocked on my door. After I told her that I was in my dress and didn't need her attention, she assured me that she had not drawn the short straw and that my plight was nothing to be embarrassed by. I thanked her for lying to me and sent her on her way.

My arrival at the visitation went without fanfare. My dad introduced me once as his sister and then again as simply, "Rebecca." I was unfazed. After the affair, the directors asked us if we wanted to take any of the flower arrangements with us. My aunt, the widow didn't seem to want to deal with it, but there was no way in hell I was leaving those lilies, so I employed the help of all the penises in the room. They carried them out as I pulled the car around. I pulled random clothes and towels from the trunk and made a layer on the back seat. I instructed my dad on buckling the vases into the seat belts. When we finished, he said, "It seems like this ain't your first rodeo, so you might want to come and check mine."

I adjusted his and we prepared to drive away. Just then, the funeral director came to the car window carrying a leather case. With much reverence, she bowed her head, passed the box to my dad and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss." He thanked her, held the box steady several inches from his lap and turned to me with eyeballs the size of saucers. He said, "What do you think we have here?" I said, "Oh, shit. Do you think that's Mary?" He said in a rather panicked way, "I don't know. Pull over there by Lea Baby. Hurry up."

I did, and he held the box out the window. "Lea! Lea Baby!" She looked over and said, "Do you want me to take that?" He said, "No. I mean, if you want. I just want you to know that we have it. I don't want you getting up the road and peeling back in here to get it." She stared at him and then laughed and then said, "Well hell, Wally, it's not Mary. Is that what you thought?" By now we were all laughing. It was hilarious.

To be continued . . .

Dawn has to harvest Farm Town or she'll waste raspberries. Damn you, Lesbo!


Friday, August 14, 2009


Tomorrow morning I'm driving to Atlanta all by myself. I'm spending one night in a hotel all by myself. At first, that prospect was at best, boring. I wasn't really thinking about the trip at all. I had already made plans for when I get back. And then last night Dawn said, "Is there anything about your trip that you're excited about?" I quickly answered No.

But then I said, "Well, yes, I'm excited about my new book on CD."

And then perfect Dawn goes on to list things I could do in Atlanta before I come home. The one that really piqued my interest was a severely over-priced Heineken enjoyed in front of the whale sharks at the Aquarium. I said, "I can't go to the Aquarium by myself." She asked why not. I didn't have an answer that made any sense.

I have forgotten how to be alone. And what's more, I feel guilty about needing time alone. I know that They with a capital T say that everyone, especially stay-at-home mothers, needs time away. It just doesn't seem feasible or fair. And now that the time is all but forced on me, I have no idea what to do with myself.

Is this how women get to be so boring? By taking no time for themselves? When asked if I'm aware of a current issue or a movie or popular singer I very often reply, "If it doesn't happen on Dora, I don't know about it." It's a joke, but one that today is striking me as rather pathetic.

So, sweet ladies, here's the question - What should I do with my very short time in Atlanta?


Thursday, August 13, 2009

Refocksa Chicks DO IT AGAIN!

There was some misunderstanding about my post yesterday. I wrestled with it and turned it over in my mind and questioned not only what I had written but also what I really feel about the spending of money. I second guessed myself for a moment.

And then I got Kimber's donation notification. Girls, we have donated 6 Flocks of Chicks!

And then I thought, "Fuck it! Misunderstood or not, it resulted in 4 new happy faces in the world."

And after all, that was my whole point anyway. Be happy, do what you gotta do, by all means. Buying chickens makes me happy, and I'm really happy about that.

Thank you Sweet Friends! YOU make me happy, too!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Health Care: An Oxymoron and other Things That Are Pissing Me Off Today

And my love affair with Ms. Moon continues . . .

Speaking of the oxymoron, I'm again at Barnes and Noble today trying desperately not to listen to the wingnuts. And again, I'm failing. But I think I did find one of the people that Ms. Moon is asking for. She's at the table behind me, well now she's in front of me because I had to turn around to look at her. She has just made a phone call to a doctor's office to set up a consultation for a "mini facelift." I wonder what that means. Does she have a small face? Does she imagine that gravity has done her less a disservice than others? What I'm sure of is that "mini" has nothing to do with what she will be paying for it.

Whenever I think of people having voluntary surgery, I can't help but think, "I wonder how much that is going to cost. I wonder how many flocks of chickens that would buy. I wonder how many pairs of shoes that would buy. How many vaccines? How many school books? How many mosquito nets?" I hate to be judgemental, I swear I do. But the frivolity and arrogance of many Americans really gets my blood boiling.

I wonder if this woman here, Kathy with a K, has thought about the mosquito nets. And if so, how did she decide that her neck flab was more offensive than the wholly preventable death of a child? How? And if she hasn't thought about the shoes, I say to you "How didn't she?" I find it absolutely impossible to buy anything for myself without thinking about other mothers who cannot. And I'm only buying $19.99 Crocs that are on clearance! How did she buy that Polo shirt and those designer jeans and those snazzy leather flats? My guilt would be crippling if I was shuffling around in those things.

Maybe she is a generous soul. Maybe this neck shrinking is her gift to herself after all the good things she's done this summer. Maybe she just returned from Africa or the 9th Ward or Guatemala. Maybe she has been busy nursing the sick and clothing the poor and shoeing the unshod. She must feel great, really thankful. She has earned this little indulgence, right?

If all of that is true, then she must be well aware of how far a little money will go in these impoverished places. She knows what the Dollar can buy. She knows the difference that the 9 cent vaccine makes in the jungles. But she did good work. The village that she just returned from is a better place now, healthier and cleaner and safer.

But what about the village around the bend? And the one around the next bend? And the child that was 101st on the list of folks to receive the 100 vaccines that she brought with her?

I have to go and buy a flock of chicks now. I thank Kathy with a K for reminding me.


Tuesday, August 11, 2009


Sweet, sweet Dawn has sent me to Barnes and Noble for some solitude. I have the laptop, my phone and an Iced Mocha. What did I forget? What? Oh! Right. The iPod.

I have an eerie ability to eavesdrop. I can follow several conversations going on around me and not miss a beat in my own conversation. It can be fun, but it is also annoying as hell when I can't turn it off. Today, my brain got trapped a few tables over.

4 slightly older than middle-aged Republicans. 2 couples. Hetero, of course. They were bitching about the Stimulus Package.

"I heard a car dealer the other day saying that he's already collected $150,000 in cash for clunkers vouchers. Of course, he hasn't seen a dime of that money, yet."

Oh, yeah? Well that's because the program just started a week and a half ago. $150,000? He can't wait a few weeks for $150,000? It's a voucher backed by the government of the United States of America. Shut up.

"And now the dealers are having a hard time keeping cars on the lot. What are they to do?"

Oh, yeah? That's a great problem to have, dumbass. The answer? Order more. The dying automobile industry will be more than happy to crank out a few for him. By the way, are you a car dealer? No? Well . . . Shut up.

"And what about the cars that are getting traded in? They're just going to sell those, too."

No, moron. They're not. That would be in violation of the cash for clunkers program, thus negating their handy dandy vouchers. You don't actually know anything about this, do you? So Shut up.

"And what about the ones that won't sell? The junk dealers are just going to love that. Our nation's junk yards and landfills are going to be overflowing with beat up cars."

Actually, no dickfuck, the bleeding heart Dems have an answer for that, too. This administration has an exit strategy for these vehicles. Was that a dig? Yes, and just when I was thinking that maybe you weren't so good with subtlety and I might need to lay it on a little thicker.

And as long as we're talking about the landfills . . .that bottle of water that you're drinking will be there for the next 94 million gazillion years or so. Get a cup, ass wipe. Oh, and Shut up.

And now for my favorite quote of the day -

"You know I saw on CBS the other night about some folks going down off the cape of Africa and going out in a boat to watch sharks eat seals. The sharks jump out of the water and devour poor little seals. I say to you, What is this world coming to when people will pay thousands of dollars to see animals tortured?"

OK. Wow. Hard to know where to start. First of all, you didn't see it on CBS. It was on Discovery. And they're not "sharks." They're GREAT WHITES, the most perfect predator the world has ever known. They have remained largely unchanged for 400 million years. They predate the dinosaurs. They are living breathing fossils. These living breathing fossils weigh up to 5000 lbs and are longer than 4 of you laid tiptoe to stupid bigoted brain. They are so powerful and well adapted that they can propel their massive heft 12 ft from the surface of the water in their pursuit of a seal. Poor seals? Yes, they're cute aren't they? The island that the seals live on, has a population of about 6 million seals. They're OK.

By the way, that turkey croisandwich or whatever yuppie thing you just ate had turkey in it. That's how it got its name. That animal was raised in horrifyingly disgustingly unsanitary conditions. It was probably kept in the dark or blindfolded. When it was time to be "harvested" it was strapped by its feet to a conveyer belt that carried it upside down through a factory where it was plucked and decapitated after it spent the last hour or so of its life hearing the screaming of the ones that went before it.

If it was me, I'd choose being ambushed and swallowed in one big bite everyday and twice on Sundays instead of the horror of life and death in a meat factory, not to mention the indignity of ending up on a plate in front of someone who has no regard for the life that I didn't get to lead. Where is the honor in that?

And one more thing, fuckface, the people that spend the thousands of dollars to witness this miracle of nature are contributing to the conservation of our oceans and its inhabitants. Where do you vacation? I'll bet Cancun or the Bahamas, places that hardly resemble themselves now that the American Bastards (you) have done their Extreme Makeovers. Ancient ruins demolished, reef systems that took 1000s of years to form decimated in decades, native peoples exploited.

So long story short (too late) and not that I would have missed this opportunity to lay your ignorance bare, Fuck off.



Sunday, August 9, 2009

My Hidden Talent

I can't video my Hidden Talent, but I think the stills will suffice.
Lots of people can do this, right?

But can you do this?

My wife loves me, too.
Thanks, Kimber. This has been uberfun!

Saturday, August 8, 2009

More Funny William

No idea what they were talking about but here it is.

Dawn: Do you think that's cool, William?

William: Yeah. Cooler than Flapjacks.

Dawn: Flapjacks?

William: Yeah. That's how you say pancakes in Spanish.


Red Letter Day

I wrote to Jude and asked her what she construed as a dumb question. She wrote back to me in Red Letters, as if for emphasis or to say, "Hi. We've already covered this. Keep up, Becca."

Does anyone else find this snippy?

Does she have a mean case of the crotch rot going on? Did Dawg get a hold of her toothbrush? Has Deliverance Man moved in next door? Maybe she is worried that we're going to spend the entire San Diego trip listening to a few resident horn dogs get it on. Trust me, I'm sweating it, too.

What's going on, Sweetie? Perk up or I'll start writing to you in Pink and Purple:)

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Come in, Come in!


If you are a dreamer, come in, / If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, / A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer . . . / If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire / For we have some flax golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in! .Shel Silverstein

Our front door has looked like this since we bought this house a little over 2 years ago. Boring, boring, boring. Very un-us.

Dawn changed that yesterday.

A little backstory first. We, with a lot of help from my mother, bought this house basically blind. It was bulit in 1953 and we are only the second owners. We bought it from the daughter of the previous owners. She had never actually lived here and knew nothing about the house. The disclosure statement was all but blank. We got a great deal.

It's been an adventure. Flooding, vermin, a questionable AC system, to say nothing of the painter who managed to spray the entire house pink.

As Dawn recently told you, it's been a labor of love. I've painted everything that will stand still. We've arranged and rearranged the rooms. We've salvaged shutters, bricks, and furniture. We have poured our life blood into this house to make it our home.

Recently, we thought we were going to have to move to take care of my mom. That may still happen, but for now it's on hold. The joy of staying here for even a little while longer inspired this project.

Dawn painted.

She has a way with trees.


And painted some more.

This is what it looked like when I got home, sweet home.

We fed and bed the kids, had our dinner and went back out on the porch . . .


to paint by lamp light. Shut up! I know it's a flashlight, but lamp light is much more romantic.

Isn't our porch cute?


Dawn's turn again.

Finished project.

A tree house, a free house
A secret you and me house
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house

A street house, a neat house
Be sure and wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all -
Let's go live in a tree house.

Shel Silverstein

Red Rover, Red Rover, Anybody want to come over?


Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Jiggity Jig

I'm home. I know, it's a little sooner than I anticipated. Dawn's going to have to tell you about that. I'm too tired.

I was only there for about 48 hours, but each one hung heavy. Madison, a northern suburb of Jackson where my mother's house is, has grown up a lot since I left there in 97, so I'm not very comfortable with getting around. All of that was to explain how I ended up at the grocery store .25 mile from my Dad's house instead of the one .25 mile from my mom's house. Honestly that one is only about 2.5 miles from my Dad's house, but every inch counts in this relationship.

I imagined myself alternately as a mouse in a maze and some sort of night-vision-goggle bespecled Special Ops recon scout type. I was armed only with my buggy, a hastily compiled list, and the intense desire to survive a.k.a get the hell out of there with everything on the list and without seeing anyone that I know, or knew as the case certainly is.

I did my dead level best to keep my head down, only lifting my eyes at the top of each aisle to check the item sign and make sure the coast was clear of familiar faces.

By the time I got back to the car and had conned a poor passerby into taking the buggy for me, I was sweating, shaking and hyperventalating. After I wove my way back to my mother's house I opened a beer, lit a cigarette and all but cursed her for forcing me back to this hell-hole of a geographic dot.

God, how I hate Mississippi!

Leave it to my Mom to alienate the last person who gives a rat's ass about her. So I got to come home today. Dawn was happy I was coming, of course. When I got here, she was waiting on the porch with a pair of beers, hanging up with Propane. She had a paint brush in her hand.

Pictures of the complete project tomorrow. If you're prone to vomiting brought on by intense sweetness, skip tomorrow's post.


Monday, August 3, 2009

2 years

2 years ago today, Dawn and Storm and Faith came home. To stay. William and I went to get them from the airport in the late, humid afternoon. Storm and Faith ran all the way down the terminal. Storm tackled me and Faith tackled her twin. Dawn, weighed down with 2 kids worth of entertainment for an international flight, including 2 carseats, took an eternity to get to me. But when she did, she dropped everything. I'd be lying if I said that she grabbed me first. She, of course, scooped up William and tickled him and turned him upside down and covered him with kisses. Then she grabbed me and enveloped me in a hug remarkably tight for someone who should have been in muscle failure. She picked me up and twirled me around. She looked deep in my eyes while squeezing my face and said, "Take me home."

I confessed this about it just a few days later.

I did once call you my partner.
Strangely enough, I was
Responding to the USO booth lady's
"Who are you waiting for?"

Seizing my chance though
With great trepidation,
"My partner and my other children."

She politely answered,
"Awww . . . that's nice."
(Though I'm sure she didn't think so.)

I slank (Is that the past tense of
Slink? And if one
Reflects on slinking and so
Requires the past tense, isn't it
Probable that the very act of
Slinking was something else

As anyone does at the end of
Polite time-passing with

I didn't get to see her see us.


Sunday, August 2, 2009

Truth, Truth and Nothing But

Here it is. I have to go to Jackson, Mississippi (F*#k!) armed only with a Power of Attorney. I have to take control of my mother's finances, put her house on the market, file her taxes, apply for a mortgage and somehow get her back in the car to bring her back to Florida. I'm doing this because she has just in the last few days revealed that she has been diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer's. Again, F*#k!

Complication: I have to take William and Ray with me because Dawn has been called into work this week. Attorney, Accountant, Banker, Realtor with 2 toddlers in tow.

I sat down with Dawn to try and think of someone that could care for them for a few days.

Options: 1 set of Grandparents live right down the road in the next town. They're out of town until tonight and are somewhat infamous for their lackluster enthusiasm for extended visits from the boys. They're more the get them for the afternoon and bring them home sort. So, moving along.

Option 2: My dad and his wife and their 3 semi-adult children all live in Jackson. Perfect, right? Not so much. I'm pretty much totally estranged from them. (I'm gay. And I divorced a member of the service to be gay. Oh! And my new love interest has 2 brown children. AND as if all of that isn't scandalous enough, Dawn's ethnicity is also in question. You all know about those black folks that live in the frozen tundra of North Dakota, right?)

I finally just cracked up. Dawn said, "What is so funny?" I said, "You want to hear some real shit? Listen to this."

I reviewed for her the above options. We again came to the conclusion that both were no-gos. I said, "We are all but totally surrounded by blood relatives that should be jumping at the chance to have these boys for a few days, but instead I'm over here wondering how much it would cost to fly in Nanny Lesbo or Jude's R from clear across the country. That's messed up."

And that, my friends, is the truth.


Saturday, August 1, 2009

William: Our Comedian

William called to me from the tub. I walked back there to see what he needed. He was in the tub, crunched up with his knees in his ears holding a toy boat under his feet. He said, "Mom! Look at me riding this tiny vehicle!"

Later tonight, he was sitting with his grandmother watching a cartoon. Out of the blue, he said, "Hey Nana, what's a tornado's favorite snack?" She said, "I don't know. What is a tornado's favorite snack?" He cracked up and said, "Popcorn! Is that funny?"