Hey You! Remember Me?!

Enough dammit!

2009-04-23T11:46:00.001-07:00

Hey you, remember me?

I'm the ticked off lil mama that decided enough was enough dammit!

If you're feeling a little disgruntled about this crap - go here! And dish out an earful.

And here's a couple more in case your steam has yet to be let off..

If you have a daughter that you'd rather not see squatting down in booty shorts and bouncing up and down for viewers...go here!

If you're tired of corporate America hijacking childhood? Go here.

and 'end tirade'

that girl

I'm with the band..

2009-04-10T11:15:00.000-07:00

(this post brought to you courtesy of the afternoon smoke break in the out-of-business A&W parking lot)

Dude, ...I just love these guys.

Had I been alive, I would have jammed so hard with them... we would have rocked OUT!

You hear me?

I would have -

What do I play? That's a good question Internet..predictable, but appropriate. No, no, I don't 'play' anything. I really meant more along the lines of getting really drunk and dancing around them with a long flowy skirt and maybe a flower in my hair..something like that. But, not here:

That's definitely not my scene, I have something a little different in mind... I'm thinking a bonfire,..in the middle of a pasture, dirt road leading in, cars parked right up on one another, like a little thrown together, in-a-hurry junkyard. Excitement. Tailgates down. Ice chest hopping. Some place like Mindenhall's. Remember that? Who was Mindenhall? I never knew. But answer me this: How many people can fit into the cab of an early nineties model S-10?

SEVEN. That's how many. Yes, Seven. Get yourselves a good mental picture of that for a minute. Now picture six of those seven trying not to mess up their hair...and smoking cigarettes. And talking all at once. And now I want you to consider the fact that it was a standard..meaning someone who wasn't actually driving had to shift on command by said driver...who was probably drunk..I don't remember, maybe he wasn't drunk on the way there. Anyway, seven..seven can fit in the cab of an old school S-10. But only spur of the moment. Only after getting an invite at nearly midnight. Only after rushing in the house to change out of pajamas and into 'out' clothes, only after GiGi puking in the driveway real quick, wiping her mouth and saying "okay" (she did that sometimes when she got too excited) only after Keri's boyfriend went home unsuspecting...and Hannah's boyfriend promising not to tell..Only with the right amount of thrilling, teenage anticipation - adolescence's own version of fairy dust y'all.

Thank goodness for the junk-yard effect of all the cars. Because lord forbid we had had to endure the embarrassment of piling out of that truck like a fucking circus clown car. Lord forbid.

And you were there. All night. Stolen glances. Wasn't that the bulk of us? Poorly hidden adoration..Wasn't it? Stolen glances. Mine. Did you steal glances at me? I can't imagine you needing to. What with my bigger than life, pride reducing, all-consuming crush. But maybe. I like to think, maybe that night. Maybe you watched me across the fire - watched me feign interest in conversations. Watched me swish around in the Arctic waters of the ice chest, watched me stumble into the darkness on my way to the outdoor ladies room..giggling, leaning on friends. Maybe.

Maybe now we sit there..together? Me and you and those Allman boys too? Lounging in pastel green lawn chairs..their criss-crossed seats battered and worn. Maybe they play us a tune that makes us feel young and old all at once? Maybe I'm their muse..just call me Penny Lane - without all the casual blow-jobs. Just call me sweet, and desirable. Call me irresistable. Call me innocent. Let me dance around the fire giggling and drunk. Let me sit under a guitar and sing my little heart out. Let me be funny, and sarcastic. Let it sting a little bit. Let me play with your dark hair. Let me pull you in, twirling the string tighter and tighter around my finger, completely unaware. Let me ride this wave of dark night and fleeing sparks. Let me hang on a little longer, let me be surprised by your kiss. Let me get lost in it. Let me get lost. Let me find myself.

Let me find myself.

Boy-oy-oy-oy-oy-oING!!!!!!!!!

2009-02-13T14:19:00.001-08:00

That was the sound of Cupid's little bad-ass arrow landing on your backside. Try to conjure up Beavis making fists when you read that title, eyes all crazy-wide, head tilted back. That's what I meant. Happy Valentines' Day! (Is that spelled right? I never know where to put the (') and I'm too lazy to give it much thought...although not too lazy to write the never ending parenthesis statement..huh)

Anyway, If anyone remembers this from many, many, many days ago - this here's the follow-up. I asked some of my favorite Internet people if they had a similar "mmmm" experience with their significant other..and if they'd like to share it.

So, here we go!

The Bloggess chose to describe her attraction to Victor in a very simple and understated way:

"Sure.
What's that 'thing' about your spouse?It's called a penis.
Love, Jenny"

Miss Carolyn is hilarious. But in a totally unexpected way. Somehow she's very authentically funny and interesting. Carolyn NAILED this assignment. Although, in light of what I just said - it's NOT funny. Not even a little. Wow - insert foot in - okay, but it's really good. I hope Carolyn's husband visits -

" The first time I saw you across that room I knew. I knew the way my stomach felt calm. For the first time. As if unbeknownst to me it had been searching for you all this time and when I caught your eye my self went, ahhh there you are. Finally. We talked. We danced. We talked some more. But the thing that got me. The thing you still do without even realizing it, was the way you grabbed my hand. As if it was yours. As if the idea of questioning whether or not it belonged to you was ludicrous. Of course it was yours. That confidence. That assurance. That's what got me. I always knew you were mine because you immediately knew I was yours. "

This made me all weak knee'd. Especially the part about loving to argue. Muskrat's wife, you better be glad Mr. Mustang can MMMMMmmmm like nobody's business!

"I think about the top Polaroid all the time--her fit arms; her breasts; her lips; her spunky, confident, intelligent demeanor. But past the initial physical attraction, it's the fact that after a couple hours of conversation, I could sense that she had the one quality I'd been searching for in my bachelorhood for the past 10+ years: she appreciated in me that which I appreciated in myself. I loved arguing with her and discussing important events and being able to tell that she not only heard, but listened, and that she cared about the living behind the content. Did I mention I hadn't been back from war all that long when we met? There was a lot going on behind the curtain back then, and she was able to see it, appreciate it, respectfully differ with it at times, and all the while look so hot I had to try and tackle her on an air hockey table to kiss her. "

And from the Mister? Just for you lil'Mama Pam:

"The next night I picked her up and we went to Denny's for a plain old no-ulterior-motive cuppa and sat and talked for hours. Somewhere in there she got to a point in a story and her eyes were flashing. They were huge and excited and pointed right at me. She was fairly glowing with excitement about whatever it was that she was talking about.
For my part of it I was trying desperately to not fall in love with her. I figured there was no possible way it would ever work out. We hated each other in high school, and she now lived four hours away and wasn't around that much. No, absolutely, positively, DO NOT fall in love with this girl. I managed to carefully construct this idea of infatuation, yeah that's it, I'm not in love.
It didn't work for a second. She started being in town a lot more frequently and we always hit the town together, usually for a pint at our favorite pub. Those blue eyes would be flashing at me constantly. I gave up. I fell. I told her. She told me she just wanted to be friends. I didn't care! As long as I got to sit across from her once in a while and take in those eyes!"

And this last paragraph? sigh...

"In addition to being wonderfully witty, intelligent and loving, my darling Missus also has this marvelous ability to transform herself from a tired, worn out mama into the sexy girl I fell in love with just by smiling. Even with no makeup and flat hair she's gorgeous when she smiles. Whenever she gets excited those baby blues start flashing at me again and I'm utterly lost. I fall. Again. mmmmmmmm,"

Pamela is very pregnant, so there's a good chance she's going to translate that into him telling her she has flat hair. . . But in a few months she can come back here hormone free and be all happy and touched.

And from Badass Geek? (Who by the way, refers to his wife as "The Boss" I really like men that tell the truth..)

"What's that "thing" about my spouse? That "thing" that solidified my previously unsteady thoughts of love for her? Here's the story: We had been dating for about three months before I took her out to dinner at a restaurant. She surprised me by ordering the same thing as I did: a bacon cheeseburger and a beer. She finished before me, and after wiping her mouth with her napkin, let out a hearty burp. It was clear that she knew what she wanted, and wasn't shy about letting others know. There wasn't enough time for her to say "excuse me" after that praise-worthy burp before I knew that she was the one for me."

And from Scott...this was so beautiful to me. I saved it for last. I'm infatuated, and fascinated with the way this man describes his wife.

"Being a simple sort of man, my desires and tastes trace along the lines of familiar patterns. It might not surprise one to discover, therefore, that my desire for the woman who has now been my wife for eighteen years was first stoked by common things. She was a girl, a young woman. She was nearby, within arm's reach. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair, elfin eyes, fair skin and a body that made me want to... well, it was very nice.
Of course, she was also quite intelligent. I've never been able to connect well with people who aren't smart. She had a quick wit and a thoughtful personality. These are just prerequisites, however. They set the stage. My good friend Carl has a quick wit and a thoughtful personality, but I've never been attracted to him. With Susan, therefore, her mind just greased the wheels for my intellect to consent to allow my body enter into a long relationship with hers.
Being a woman, in one sense, is a very objective and scientific thing. Who cares, really, about that technicality? In a more interesting sense, being a woman is a very subjective thing. For me, my wife has always been an archetype of what I consider feminine, of my idea of the beauty of women. She can, when her mind wanders into carnal notions, take on a curve that boils my blood. It's a sort of sweeping in of the small of the back, a turning up of the bottom, a raising of the chest, a slight shift of balance to one side. You would know it, I'm sure, if you saw it. When she does this I forget whatever I was thinking. My priorities realign. My voice falls quiet. My breath quickens. My eyelids slide down to half mast. Usually the closest thing I can manage to verbal communication is a low growl. The time for talking, after all, has passed.
Many things have changed in the eighteen years of our marriage, but this curve and its effect on me has not changed at all."

Happy Valentine's (?) Day y'all. Kiss your babies and your better halves.

Oh Izzy, simmer down..

2009-01-28T06:12:00.000-08:00

Izzy, my dear, simmer down. Yes, you're dying, but, more importantly, you're going to get to have 'the sex' with Denny..forever. The sex, Izzy, ...lots and lots of the Denny sex. Let's try and get a grip on things shall we? Priorities? Ever heard of them?

Mr. Mustang rolls his eyes from the corner of the room. "Oh shit" he says in his disgusted, dismissive-OMG-how-retarded-tone.

If you only knew Mr. Mustang, if you only knew. I'm infatuated with Denny, because I love you. He has your deep voice, and your full lips. All stubbly and manly and shrugging your thick fingered hands into your jeans pockets. All leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually over your white t-shirt. Vibrating unintentional rugged, broad-shouldered energy into the room. Calm about it though.

Have I ever told you my dear? What did it for me? In the beginning? Surely. But I guess the question I'm really trying to ask in a way that won't offend you is this: Do you remember me telling you this? Like most events of our past I wonder if you remember. Did this conversation happen on a day you were wasted? Is it a blur? Or a surreal, moving moment? I want desperately to sift through your files. Peer inside just for little while and review what you've got stored up there. Dammit. Which parts were real for you? Which parts do you remember? Which do you try and forget. If you don't remember and I do ...what, then was it? Was it real? Never mind - I'll just tell you again. Like with the rest of our lives, we'll just start over. Relive it through my recollection,.

I was out. I was out in my white, collared, button-down shirt. My "damn-your-butt-looks-good-in-those" jeans, my hair down, straightened. The Rainbow Room was packed. It's low ceilings looked like they were being pushed upwards by the dense cloud of smoke. Generations of names were scribbled on every inch of the plywood walls. Mine was in the back corner where the band was playing. Written when I was eighteen. Such an odd mix in there. I scanned the room for my friends. No luck. I was there to hear Brian's band. Unfortunately, Brian was playing already and I didn't want to sit alone. To appear alone. The truth hurts. I saw you sitting in the corner w/ a couple of people who were also w/ the band. I took a deep breath and came to say hi. I sat there pretending to be focused on the band. Smiling at Brian, raising my glass sometimes. You sat there doing the same. I thought back to that first time we met a year or two earlier. You sitting at my kitchen table, my mom at the stove fixing lunch for you and my step dad. Me stumbling downstairs, barely awake, walking in and becoming acutely aware of myself. Embarrassed. No make-up, bed head, t-shirt and boxers. . . Everyone knowing how late I slept. I was angry no one woke me up, heard me coming and told me y'all were there. You looked thoroughly amused as you shoved fork after fork of peas and cornbread into your mouth. I knew your story. You knew mine. Two broken people - recently broken. Pain still fresh. I recognized it in you and it comforted me somehow. I thought about calling you a few times back then - seeing if you wanted to do something. Those days it hurt to be around normal people. Only my kind would do.

But I didn't it was too much...just too much. Too sticky.

I thought of these things as I sat there making loud small talk w/ you. You seemed so relaxed. I wondered about that. The night stretched on. I remember driving across the street a couple of times to purchase 1/2 pints of Jim Beam. How many? I wonder. It seems weird to think of those days doesn't it? I'm such a lightweight now huh? The Rainbow Room only served Beer and wine and I didn't care for either. I remember playing Pat Green's "Wave on Wave" on the juke box in between sets. We were in a smoky sardine can, maneuvering around pool tables and bar stools. Squeezing in and out of the tiny bathroom w/ the uneven slope. More black sharpie graffiti. I vaguely remember someone driving me across the street to Po'Boys at closing time. Was that you? Or Brian? Po'boys where everything continued. Endings and beginnings. And then, somewhere in the blurry, smoky night there was shift. My attention, no longer divided but focused, zeroed in on you. As tipsy ushered in drunk I excitedly said "Let's dance!" Fortunately drunk hadn't made himself comfortable yet, because that would have sounded more like "Lezz danth"? But, by the time we actually did the dancing deed, drunk had stolen my sight. My memory sight anyway. I have no recollection of how you looked, what was said, what was playing. Only this: Your arms felt huge and powerful around my body. Moving seductively, teasingly up against you to the music.

One can only hope said music fit the way I was dancing. And one can deduct from later experience that you were dancing however I was dancing,..letting me lead..lol You're a good man Mr. Mustang, you're a good man with a clear understanding and acceptance of your woman.

You've told me that I kissed you then, kissed you like there was nothing else in the world to do. That we just stood out there kissing. But, sadly, I don't remember that. It's a big black swirly hole that stole it from me. Here's the important part though. Somewhere in all that, I remember a deep, growly, rugged "mmmmm" sound. That's it. Just that one little sound rumbling up out of of your throat.

See Mr. Mustang, that was what did it. It undid all consideration. It was a declaration of enjoyment, of possession.. eons of testosterone howled into the night. Request wrestling demand. "mmmm" That little "mmmmm" fueled my thoughts, my fantasies, my focus for weeks afterwards. It ruled my concentration. It scared the shit out of me, and tempted me. It lured me towards something that nearly did me in before. Something that should have sent me screaming in fear, now called my name seductively, incessantly. . . It became my constant companion. And it stays with me still. It tells me to kiss you in the dark and have your babies. It tells me to trust you and love you.

See Mr. Mustang, there's a lot you could learn from Denny and Izzy. Actually, there's a lot you could learn from my attraction to them. You could learn so much about me by studying what fascinates me. Asking yourself why these things catch my attention. You roll your eyes at this. And I stop short. I remember you're a husband now. You think you know all there is to know. In the next room Comfort and Condescension are stabbing Mystery to death and we change the channel. We ignore her screams. Click.

Out of the Closet

2009-01-09T19:00:00.000-08:00

(present that girl) "Hey you"

(past that girl) "gasp.." "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I didn't mean to scare you. We need to talk."

"I'm in a hurry. And I don't feel like this now. I'm finally having a good day."

"I know. Hey, I've missed this car. You look hot in it. "

"No you don't. You don't know shit. You're here to bring me down."

"You had a dream about him."

"Get in, I want to be there before dark"

"Afraid they're gonna run out of cheap bouron?"

"Funny. Oh good grief, is that why you're here?"

"Hey, don't I look kinda tan in this? I just feel good you know? Excited, anxious.. and I don't even know why? It's been so long since I've felt this happy.

He's thinking about me. I can feel him. "

rolling my eyes "That's sort of what we need to discu-"

"He is isn't he?! I knew it! Dammit I hate that you won't tell me things! Why are you torturing me? You know we hate the not knowing part! That's the worst part for us. You're just mean."

"Okay, then, I'll tell you things. But you're not gonna like them."

her face falls, stomach knots up..the eyes harden

"You need to breathe."

deep heated exhale "Are you fucking with me?"

"No, it just makes me fucking sick that you can't even remember how to survive..literally SURVIVE: Eat, sleep, breathe,.. that you don't know how to continue living , continue being a decent human being when it comes to him! I mention his name and you stop breathing! It's not normal. He's BAD for you. "

eyes widening, tears welling, ..she's stung, she's stunned. "I can't take this shit right now. I'm so tired of crying and tired of hurting all the time..and I just feel empty and I don't need this shit right now I - "

"I'm sorry., but I wish so badly that you would listen to me."

"Then fucking talk. Say it. What is so important that you have to come at me now? You know what, whatever, just get it over with because I have somewhere to be."

"I want you to stay home"

"why?"

"please? You'll thank me later."

"no way"

" Why do you have to be so freaking STUBBORN! Why can't you appreciate the fact that I am LITERALLY traveling through time to give you the benefit of hind sight. Do you know how valuable that is?"

" I'm going."

"It starts tonight"

pitifully hopeful voice "what does?"

"The part you'll regret. The part that haunts you..the excruciating part that you can't disect into separate blame. It's communal blame from here on out. No good guys left. "

"You're talking like we're going to hook up and go on a killing spree." she smirks..still young enough to have filed away Bonnie and Clyde as romantic

"You're the only one that's going to get hurt. It's going to hurt. Worse than now. Much, much worse."

"You know what? screw you! I don't want to hear any more. We're connected, we're meant to be.. he loves me. He's hurting right now too.. We WILL end up together..we have to. I don't want to be here if we don't. he's my person! And why are you being so hateful?"

"I'll tell you why. You're the weakest we've ever been. And it makes me SICK. You're not in control! Your heart is in control most of the day and fucking Kentucky deluxe is in control every night! You can't stop going there can you?! Don't deny it! I know you! You're going there every.single.night. You're waiting for him to come back! And it's stupid! He was BAD FOR YOU! He's the wolf that girl! He.is.the.wolf. Yes, I know it's like a damned gravitational pull. But you have to, at the very least, accept the fact that he's the wolf."

pulls car into space in front of local bar

"Oh please! It's not that simple. You don't believe that! There's no way you've forgotten it ALL. No way. You know how strong it is. You know you're trying to divide it all up into neat little black and white categories to make it easier to remember. And it's bullshit." slams door in my face

"Wait! Please, come back! Don't go in there! It's a mistake! Please! You're going to regret this forever. You're right! I am confused about it! I've been writing about my past and I keep trying to leave him out, but I can't stop thinking about it, so I've come here to see if we could try and do some damage control. Please, help me! You can stop this next part and no more harm done! Nothing changes except your guilt! My guilt! Help me help you!"

spins around before she opens the door

"You're writing about your past and you're leaving him out?"

"What? Don't look at me like that! There are reasons! I just need you to hear me out, please just turn around, get back in the ca-"

she flips me the bird and opens the big glass door. I run after her and make a grab at her arm, but it's too late. She's seen him. I watch her skinny little Olive Oil frame freeze..she stops breathing. Her gray skirt gives one last swish reminding me time and space aren't actually frozen, just her. She wears her violet v-neck tee. It hugs her tiny torso..her tiny frozen torso that won't breath. I want to run in and yank her back out..throw her over my shoulder.. I want to save the day. The bartender who pretends to be her friend looks at her and sighs. The wolf turns...their eyes meet and electricity crackles and skitters all over the room. It vibrates the floor, the ceiling, the door and I take a quick step back. It won't get me. I'll be damned. It won't get me. He walks the few yards to her and stops.. he smiles. she breathes.

2009-01-09T06:36:00.001-08:00

Hey you! Remember me?

I dreamt of you the other night. One of those significant ones. Can't get it out of my head. You and I and Rachel were in some kind of apartment building. It had a modern theme. I hated it. Everything was white and I half expected to see that couple from Saturday night live sitting on their weird little chairs. Everyone there was young, our age. Not our age now...the age we used to be. The inside age. You sat down in the floor Indian style and I sat in front of you. You cried. I held you against me in a hug. I vividly remember the feeling of you shaking and sobbing..hard. I can close my eyes and I can feel how it felt. We didn't talk.

At some point we noticed a commotion in the hallway. We opened the door and were whisked away into the herd. Everyone was leaving at the same time. As the elevator door closed I looked over at Mr. Mustang holding both our children, worried look on his face. You vanished from my mind. Erased. We weren't leaving we were evacuating. "What happened" I breathed, as the door slid open again. Someone answered with a word I didn't comprehend. Didn't matter anyway because I could see for myself. The structure was surrounded by water. It was rising or we were sinking. I'm still not sure. People dove into the water on all sides..easy, smooth, like little penguins sliding off the edge. They were immediately eaten by something. Sharks? The fuse lit and panic exploded. It was chaos. Water was lapping over the only walkway leading to safety..to land. Either the building swayed, or the water receded and I used the opportunity to jump into a muddy spot. I looked back unsure if that had been right. I realized the kids now had to be thrown..could I catch them? Would a better mother have thrown them first? What about the sharks? Who would've caught them? It was such a short window to jump. Did I think of myself first? NO, no, no. I was just acting on instinct. Doesn't a mother's instinct apply to the children first? What had I done?

I don't know what happened to you. I didn't care.

Please resist the urge to dissect this, to jump start the engine. It doesn't matter what it meant. Just a stupid dream. I don't know which night.. I don't work that way, remember? Maybe you don't. My internal clock isn't really attached to time - more to feeling, sighs, breaths of air. That's where I live. Not a solid straight line, just a maze of memory..a labyrinth of ancient, beautiful, crumbly walls.

Don't worry, I'll keep your secrets there.

Hello Darlin.....IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME - -

2009-01-07T11:31:00.000-08:00

Hmm..

I don't' know what to say.

I never do in these sort of situations. Yes, this a pattern..

Yes, I'm that friend.

I'm that family member.

I'm that acquaintance.

The one that disappears for long periods of time w/ out explanation. Who avoids contact when something's wrong. And then doesn't know how to show up again. And then that becomes the new what's wrong.

I don't know why. I'm sorry.

Initially, yes, there was a plausible reason. There were many.

But they seem distant now,and I don't feel like talking about them. Does that sound selfish? It does in my head..It sounds exactly like when 5 yr old doesn't feel like picking up his toys.

It's not that I don't feel like talking about them so much as there's just so much to talk about that it makes every individual thing seem very, very irrelevant. And it sort of puts a knot in my stomach. I don't' know why I'm this way.

I hate this kind of thing. This conversation (ironically one sided as it may be) is making my stomach hurt.

Screw it. Okay listen, we're just going to pretend like this whole conversation..this whole lame, unproductive attempt to explain things didn't happen. I could make it actually not happen..just press delete right now..But if I publish it, I think it'll make me feel a little better.

Also, I love y'all. Thank you for concern..your suggestions...the award...the hugs..and for coming back to see if I'm back yet.

And also, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. (I'm well aware of how lame that was..Don't expect your birthday cards to be on time either..yes, I'm that girl)

(This is me and Mr. Mustang dancing at the company Christmas party.. Mr. Mustang is doing his signature dance-behind-me-with-his-arms-up move. See how my arms look like two blurs at the bottom? That's how my brain feels today. By today, I really mean lately. But today I'm choosing to blame Pearl Jam..for all the confusion, nostalgia, emotion, defeat, introspection. Some would say the blame belongs with me for inserting the old burned CD into my player at lunch,..and then turning the volume up really loudly.
But I blame Eddie for writing "Footsteps". It's all his fault today.)

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-...

2008-11-18T10:47:00.000-08:00

I'm painfully aware that the you all have either cast me into the slacker/she's-bored-with-this-already/non-commital-underacheiver category or are concerned there might have been a tragedy...and while I'm not sure either is entirely true...they both might be a little teesy-tiny, eensy-weensy bit true (except for the 'bored with this' thing) Although the sun is out over here in that girl's neck of the woods it's cold as shit and she's still feeling the effects of "Hurricane October", whose damaging winds have knocked the breath slap out of this small community of one and certainly dampened her spirits..

On the heels of Hurricane October came the nearly devastating F5 which was previously refered to as "Early November Bi-yotch" but in her refusal to let up has been aptly renamed "November Bitch"..we're still not sure if there will be anything left of that girl in the aftermath of such an exhausting 45 days.

Whaa? You don't believe me? Okay, I got your disbelief right here!:

mmmm, hmm..who's doubting her word now..huh? here you go, here's another one just cause I'm nice:

And this one. See that lonely little pair of bananas? I'm trying to keep snacks close because I've been getting dizzy spells out of the fucking blue! Spent a whole weekend wondering if I was pregnant..and blinking...through the tears...and mourning...mourning the 6 hours of sleep a night I've finally mananged to wrangle for myself.. blink,..blink...and then shaking with fear at the thought of having a girl..that might be like me..that will hate me..for having a daughter just like me...

I'm trying not to blink today though, today there's migraine fighting it's way into my world and I refuse to let that old bitch put me down!

As you can see there, I've chosen to fight with huge sunglasses - inside even - and as you cannot see - two Aleve (at the same time..gasp), strong coffee, my husband's sweat shirt, and an ornery spirit. Oh, and blogging..because not blogging has put another knot in the knotty stomach I'm carrying around these days. So there, scratch that off my list and exhale..whooosh.

P.S. - don't send hugs..send energy and perhaps a personal assistant who is young and eager, and energetic...and plain, if anyone sends me a young, energetic, BEAUTIFUL personal assistant I will hunt you down and pretend like you're Mr. Mustang's old pill dealer.
kisses.

I have a DAMN good idea...

2008-10-17T08:54:00.000-07:00

Actually, Badass Geek had a damn good idea, and I am taking the liberty to expand on it a tad. He wrote something bad-ass and I truly, truly, from the depths of my being believe we should all copy, paste, insert our various names, print it out on actual paper, put it in an actual envelope, press an actual .42 on it and send it off. Prepare yourselves dear Internet, this will be an action requiring you to briefly (oh-so-very-briefly) take our fingers off the mouse/keyboard and maybe turn slightly to the side...some of you might have to make a trip to the post office, or the junk room to find the stamps and an envelope that doesn't have the window from some bill you paid online instead of using that window endowed envelope. Although, by this point in the post you might be rolling your eyes thinking "dadgummit, didn't I just have to do something like this for my candidate of choice? and to get 'my' senator to vote down that fucking highway-robbery, reverse-robinhood-bailout-bullshit?!" But listen up y'all, this is IMPORTANT. Do it for your children, who just want a fucking hot-fudge-sundae and a little red slide action, do it for your sanity on a busy Tuesday morning when you're hungry enough to eat a horse and they're danglin that breakfast burrito riiiiiiiight under your nose, do it for my red-headed mother who nearly lost it last week and has staged a one woman boycott that's costing her tremendous stress and suffocating guilt every time my children beg for "I-tce-crwm, Meemaw, peeees?" Do it for her dammit..do it because it's just the right thing to do!

*If you are reading this from some nice ass neighborhood where the public schools rock and the social service office-workers are bored because things are gravy and the fast food service is spectacular..you should immediately STOP.READING.THIS.BLOG. because, to put it mildly, I hate you. (giving you the Stanley look (from the office idiot - you've never had to 'work' have you? Get the fuck out of here before I knock your head clean off your shoulders!))

From now on, we'll just call it "the Stanley"

The source of my irrational anxiety..

2008-10-15T10:43:00.000-07:00

This chick asked me to guest post...yes, that's right..her..one of the coolest bloggers I've encountered..mm hmm, and after happily agreeing I immediately shifted gears into neurotic-not-good-under-pressure-OMG-what-if-it-sucks!-mind-going-blank-stomach-turning-and-churning-must-rock-or-hopes-of-blog-popularity-will-plummet mode. Then, the theme came to me and I was extremely happy with myself and in total bliss..for a few minutes. The first few times I got stuck I went back to her blog and researched..cruised for inspiration. Then I stumbled upon the fact that her family's from Arkansas...now the pressure was really on, on as in the weight was crushing.. Bone by bone, I began snapping under the weight. By yesterday afternoon I was seriously considering doing away with the blog altogether, pretending that you super cool, smarty-pants, heart-warming, hilarious, awe-inspiring, feeding my soul, awesomely supportive, infinitely interesting and informative, fancy-writing, kick-ass people with your moving determination didn't even exist!....kind of like college. After chewing on that old nasty, stale piece of gum for a few days..I plum spit it out. done. Fuck it.

Then, I wrote this, hope y'all like it.

Honey didn't..

2008-10-07T12:39:00.001-07:00

So, last weekend I had the pleasure of attending a Honey-do for some old friends who are FINALLY getting married. (I'm not sure if this is exclusively a Southern-redneck thing, but for those of you who don't know what this is, let me elaborate: A honey-do is for those who wish to trade the stuffy, frilly, silly wedding shower with all the china and cloth napkins for a good old fashioned guy/girl party..usually held outside, no honey-do is complete with out a bonfire and large quantities of alcohol..mostly BYOB alcohol, which requires crowds carrying ice chests and lawn chairs.. Rather than fancy china and crystal vases - the honey-do invites gifts of a different sort..Any item that might assist your spouse-to-be (honey) with household, and or, outside chores that you might ask them to do (do) is acceptable. I brought towels..which might be used for any number of chores..and will surely be laundered. Then my old friend Jim and I became reacquainted..

Have you met Jim? He's the best. He makes me feel so alive,..and young,..and beautiful,..

so free. I don't let him come around much anymore - I'm afraid he's going to make me look stupid in front of my kids..but when Mama gets a night alone, we make up for lost time. Coke gets to come along too..but to be honest, I give Jim most of my attention.

Anywho, this was one of those sacred occasions. Events like this are the stuff of movies, and thirty-something. Now, there are different approaches to said occasion: There are those who have shown up with the intentions of showing everyone how far they've come in life and how responsible they are and exactly how 'grown up' they have become. Then there are those that have come to forget exactly how grown up they have become, who delight in checking that heavy coat of responsibility at the door. They don't want to talk about how far they've come in life..they don't want to discuss potty training or weddings, or heaven forbid work! eck! What we do want to talk about is that time when you did that thing and so-and-so laughed and then what's-her-name smacked him and then he jumped out the window and landed on that cop car and then we had to run half-naked through the woods and then...yeah, we're all about discussing that.

And getting a little googly eyed..

We also want to laugh at the irony of things..we want to soak up old friends and quirks we have missed. Like wearing weird gypsy scarves and needing to put one's head inappropriately close to other people's heads..

We want to pretend we really are at a luau..we wear our flowers and stupid hats with pride dammit!

Because we know that all this crap about 'honey' doing jack squat because 'honey' was asked is a load of shit! We know that a week later we're going to be drowning in a tidal wave of laundry..we're going to wonder how we missed the giant crowds of people simultaneously stripping off their clothes and leaving them for us in miscellaneous foul smelling piles all over the house - as if it's been discussed and decided that yes, indeed, you are the person..the laundry person..from now on, from her to eternity. We know that gasping for air and struggling to get to the turkey meatloaf before it burns we will ask that doomed question: "Honey, would you put up this little bit of laundry..it's already folded, I just need it to be off the dryer to make room for the 50 loads I have to do tonight" (hint,..cough,..hint. hint.) We know we'll be a fool for even asking, but most especially foolish for expecting a result from the asking. We know that 2 hours and 4 meals and 3 baths and 2 clean mouth fulls of teeth and 1 late bedtime later we'll be racing through the room looking for the most valuable edition of "What was I scared of?" and dropping off a couple pair of clean underwear in 'honey's drawer and we'll run into that little pile of laundry on the dresser. We'll look at 'honey' with incredulous furious eyes and 'honey' will innocently say "those were yours babe" and then honey will realize you should have come with a stamp on your back that says 'do not expose to heat' 'will explode under pressure' or something like that. The honey that didn't will wish that he did...but it will be too late.

So now you know why my kind like to party like it's 1999. (or earlier) We know our time is limited. We know it could end so fast, and we know there's no point in pretending to be a far cry from your original self. We also know that honey probably won't, but we're too polite to tell the happy couple, so we kick it with Jim and show Coke a little love now and then.. we lean on good friends and think about different days..

UPDATE: Mr. Mustang and I have been engaged in a housework stand-off. Unfortunately I am the weaker of the two when it comes to grit under my bare feet...I could not stop picturing it transferring from my feet to my sheets, into my shoes...and embedding itself in my rugs. I could not stop analyzing the grit..it's origins..best case scenario? dirt..worst case scenario? dog feces mixed with cat vomit. Our cats stay outside, but all grit comes from outside and here you see my train of thought. I'm saying all that to say this: Little one and I had a vacuum/sweep/mop party today while Mr. Mustang was at work. I feel both defeated and extremely happy about this. I also did 6 loads of laundry. I did every bit of laundry that he might not need. NONE of his.. The clothes of his that were already clean have been thrown (rather violently) into a laundry basket and positioned at the corner of the bed where Mr. Mustang might trip on them...I'm seriously thinking of hiding towels for me and the kids. Oh, and I didn't cook. When I left he had put out some freezer burnt sausage to thaw on the counter..ahahahahaha! This is his attempt to be just as passive aggressive as I. Well, I say find your own tactic asshat! Mama's eating at taco bell and not bringing shit home for the family. That's right, not one crumb.

(*note to Internet: I am not an awful, petty, dramatic wife. I have tried repeatedly to speak calmly with Mr. Mustang about getting a little help around the house. Obviously that didn't work. Mrs. Mustang is taking a stand.! (just not with the floors - for reasons mentioned above)

*UPDATE: Mr. Mustang has found his cleaning mojo, we're back to a civil arrangement and have even consumated the deal ;) This might just lead to more male cleaning..which might lead to more consumation..which might lead to more male cleaning..which might lead to even more consumation and so on and so forth..

Glittery Pieces

2008-10-01T06:12:00.000-07:00

Hey you! Remember me? I am warm and nostalgic every time I drive by your white doors. The sound of gravel under my tires prompts me to turn my head and take you in. I'm usually inclined to slow down,.. but never stop. Your peachy-cream bricks,... I see ghosts standing and talking on your green carpeted steps. I see hands shaking and brides waving and suited mourners. I see pot-lucks and fund raisers and teenagers checking their watches... The me inside of me pushes open the heavy doors that creak and squeak when you're late. She walks across teal carpet and takes her place on the next to last pew. She is eleven. Wood the color of honey and sea-foam upholstery..she leans forward, picks up a tiny pencil and begins doodling in her bible, the one she received when she was baptised..full of tiny red and black words, numbers, artwork and truth. She again flips to the first few pages. Her favorite. Heavy pages containing lines for personal information. Her mother's neat cursive writing fills most lines, her childish chicken scratch fills the rest. Again she reviews herself. This is who she is..full names, dates, family tree, records of births, deaths, anniversaries. Wait,..something she never noticed before. Date of birth....skip down...fathers full name, mother's maiden name, anniversary...anniversary,...back up...date of birth. date of birth. anniversary,..Date.of.Birth..count the months..count the months, over and over, count the months, breath, breath. The sound of the sermon is drowned out by the choir, then the choir is drowned out by the wind..the wind swirls and swirls..blows her hair, delicate bible papers flap and roar in the wind, bulletins and tiny pencils are picked up, tiny red and black type is circling the room.. She squints to read what it says, they're moving too fast. They're singing...wait they are the choir? The literary choir is suddenly illuminated from above, she lifts her face to the light,..the choir and the wind begin a soft climax. They harmonize..they buzz..The light is bright, but her eyes can't get enough..it's warm. The radiant light blows her a kiss..it floats like a glittery leaf. Weight-less, it dances through the air..when it gets too close to the edge of the circle of words, they gently nudge it back to the middle. She watches this luminous floating thing with anticipation. She extends her eleven year old hand. It lands softly, and her heart leaps as she realizes it's not a leaf at all..it's a puzzle piece, the very last one. All dazzling and golden sparkle. She knows where it goes, she knows it belongs to her. She closes her hand protectively around it, no one would take this away. The golden light chuckles. She slips her hand under her dress, quickly tucks it into her heart. She looks back up and exhales long and deep. Questions, confusion, prolonged mourning of a love that never was, self defeating prayers pour out in that breath, they float upwards..dark and menacing, she watches the radiant light gather it up in one brilliant hand, and throw it over one shoulder. Gone for good.

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. John 8:32

The rest of the story..

2008-09-25T06:04:00.001-07:00

So, Filthy Cheater watched me closely all the way home.. He and Hannah and I were folded neatly into the cab of his S-10 truck, puttering down the highway in silence..the two of them needed to feel/see/taste my reaction to losing it. I was (apparently) uncharacteristically quiet and they pondered and fretted at this. Filthy Cheater was uncharacteristically concerned. He needed to know I didn't regret it. I wasn't sure if I did or not. Something held for nearly 16 years tossed into the wind in one night.. But wasn't this something I did deliberately you ask? Why yes, my dear, it was and how can I regret such things? That would be a bit like admitting a mistake and I wasn't real fond of that concept. So we drove through the night, gas stations and pine trees lit by street lamps blurred by my window and I entered our town a different person than when I left it..just 3 hours ago? Was that possible?

We never did it again after that. At a New Years Eve party, two weeks later, I poked my head in your bathroom door. It was nearly midnight and I needed my kiss. There you were. She was short, plump, curvy, brunette...she was my polar opposite and she was giggling while you made shushing sounds and edged her out of my line of sight. I turned around dazed, confused, angry, walked to the porch. A guy that would later become a good friend was just walking up the steps, those steps I nearly got my ass kicked over you.. he was just walking up and apparently ("apparently" because I have zero memory of this and only believe it because of numerous eye-witness accounts) I jumped up and straddled him - told him Happy New Year and kissed him. He put me down and I walked away to cry. I see that smirk creeping it's way across your face, could I have been more dramatic? lol

You ended up with a little hellion named Jessica. Jessica hated me, but tried her best to be buddy-buddy with Hannah. Hannah was in a weird position and I never blamed her for having to be around Jessica and you. I blamed Filthy Cheater. The next summer you and Jessica were on a break and you and I found ourselves in a caravan headed to Lake Greeson. Jon Anderson's Seminole Wind was blaring from your vintage baby blue muscle car..the windows were down and I watched you for a long time. The sun was setting and your face was golden. I knew that song meant personal things to you, it was your swamp, your alligators in the dark, it was mystic nooks of cajun country I can't even imagine. It's the kind of song that I would normally roll my eyes at and change the station..but this memory keeps it ligitimate and meaningful to me. I can't hear that song without thinking of that day. That night we made love in a tent. I told you you'd always be special to me, and you whispered "I know." The next afternoon I drank too much and fell asleep on a camper-couch next to another guy in our group. You walked in the camper, looked down at me, muttered obscenities and walked out. I looked over confused and my stomach knotted as I realized what the picture looked like from your angle. You brooded the rest of the trip, you glared at that guy and me when you weren't avoiding us. I was surprised to see this reaction. I wanted to explain to you that nothing happened, it was just a party mistake..but I didn't. I rode back with Filthy Cheater and Hannah. You rode back with a buddy and reconciled with Jessica.

The next fall you found your last fight. Cars lined the dark highway, two clusters of good old boys congregated on either side of the highway throwing insults and threats. You took fateful, angry steps across the pavement. And engine roared. Someone from the other side whipped his truck out and ran over you. He then put it in reverse and ran over you again. Your head was under there. I heard the boy who drove you to the hospital held your head in his lap. I heard you uttered perfectly coherent phrases as he held your brain matter in his hand. You were airlifted to Texarkana. You suffered multiple strokes as your family and Jessica and Hannah and Filthy Cheater visited your bedside. In my mind I imagine you floating above this scene, holding the hand of an angel, inhaling all the prayers and love swirling the room. In my mind I know you felt overwhelmed and saddened by all this love you never knew was there. And in my mind I know you knew Jessica was pregnant with your baby boy. I know you kissed him on the head in that golden place and finally realized God is Good. God is love.

Josh Cont'd

2008-09-23T06:07:00.000-07:00

Okay dear, so where where we? Oh yeah, you and me speeding down Main St. in your teal Camaro.. The next couple of months found us riding, making out, double dating with Hannah and Filthy Cheater,me proudly showing off the Letterman's jacket with your complicated French name on the back that no one could pronounce. But for the most part they found us partying. Your house was party central and I loved being in the middle of it. Loud, rousing games of quarters, dominoes, spades..played on a glass table pulled into the center of what should have been the living room..gigantic speakers and ratty couches squeezed in all around..tequila slammers, Boone's farm, anything really, anything alcoholic - we were too young to even care. I remember one night in particular we were playing some drinking game that involved shooting Tequila and Mountain dew (?) and I ran out the back door, puked my guts out, and came back in to finish the game. All the while Al Green pled his case through the blaring speakers.. At the time, I didn't realize what good money you made in the oil field..I can only imagine what percentage of your income was spent on partying.

We always slipped into your room about an hour before my dreaded curfew for a little hanky-panky. Remember the black light and all those psychedelic posters? And the trippy candles from Gadzooks or some shit..lol. You knew I was a virgin and you never tried to take it too far..At the time I thought that was really sweet, but now, as I'm typing this, I'm wondering if you were just too drunk..or if someone came over after I left? Never mind, I don't want to know. We had fun. I loved that house, it dripped with teen spirit and freedom. Oh, I forgot about it being right across the street from the county jail! Remember that night Edward went to jail and we partied on the porch so he could see us? Ahahaha! Oh my gosh that was so funny.. We could see his profile looking down on us and we'd holler over at him.. good times.

In retrospect, I should have expected much, much more from you. I should have expected real dates, flowers perhaps? You meeting my parents..more phone calls, you driving the 30 miles to pick me up instead of Filthy Cheater and Hannah swinging by...should have asked myself if I loved you? Or you me?.. and I should have payed attention to your anger. You were an angry drunk. But I didn't even notice, or maybe I noticed, I recognized it. I knew exactly when we needed to leave a party, or when I needed to distract you - it was just a subtle shift in bleary beautiful blue eyes, but I recognized it. You were never angry with me, but you craved a good fight and you would shove your way to it. You always won. Looking back, that should have worried me, should have sailed the red flag high - but it didn't...it was the least important thing on my radar.

Most important was my decision to make you the first. Now, truth be told, I had been feeling very, very left out of girl talk. All of my friends had done it..except me. Months and months of listening wide eyed to stories of things I had never done. I had to catch up. But no one justifiable had come along, until you. Now, I realize most girls are coerced into losing their virginity...it's usually just something that sort of happens in the heat of a moment buckling with pressure. But not me..I basically planned it out. Hannah and I arranged it, and I'm pretty sure she told Filthy Cheater and he told you what was about to go down. Wow, with my control issues and your anger we would have been a train wreck huh? I wonder what you thought about all that? Me planning everything out - me choosing you, did you feel special?

It was such an odd night. We all met up. We drove out to this pimp-ass deer camp Filthy Cheater was a part of. We drank Crown Royal and coke. We seemed nervous. And excited. Eventually it happened in a long room filled with bunk beds. It was pitch black. We were on one end of the room and somewhere out in the black abyss that was the other end of the room were Hannah and Filthy Cheater. The part of it all that jumped out at me as monumental was the sensation of being so close to another human being. All that skin on skin was so intoxicating and soft. Maybe from where you are, you can appreciate what I'm saying. I close my eyes and I can feel my hands running through your hair, up and down you back..I remember you asking if I "was sure?" In a whisper that didn't hesitate at all ... "was I okay?" I can hear giggles from the far end of the room, but they just bouce off of us - we're somewhere else. And then it was over, it was getting dressed and hurrying out the door and frantic goodbye kisses trying to make curfew. . .

Josh

2008-09-22T06:39:00.000-07:00

Hey you! Remember me? I know you do..sometimes I think I feel you thinking of me. No way to really know, but maybe. To be honest, I really don't remember the first time we met. Odd. But that wasn't really the compelling part of our story anyway huh? I do remember Hannah wanting me to go out with you..you were good friends with her boyfriend, or "filthy cheater" as I like to call him. Okay, I know, he was a good friend to you and the filthy part is just plain catty...but it's my blog and I don't care. He hurt her so bad...screwed her up, made her feel like not enough for so long. . .anyway, apparently those two thought we might just be perfect for each other and they set it up. Hannah loved you so much. She described your big muscles, your tattoos, your beautiful blond hair and tan skin...hey, you sound like something out of a trashy novel, I can give you more than that..don't get frustrated. After her detailed tribute to your physical glory, Filthy cheater, rather hesitantly brought up your stutter. To which I ignorantly replied, "Wait, is he...um,..slow?" He took that as a personal insult and painstakingly explained to me that no, you were one of the smartest people he knew and that you didn't exactly stutter like someone they're making fun of on TV, and then sighed an exasperated sigh and told me I'd just have to wait and see. He loved you too. (Is it weird that I remember the ride to meet you, but not the actual meeting of you?)

I think we must have met in the parking lot - and apparently I did, in fact, like you and thought you were every bit of that romance novel guy. The "stutter" proved to be more of a hesitation before speaking, than an actual stutter..I would find out later that the real stutter only really came out when you were mad,..and drunk,..and about to stomp someone. I'll bet you had a shitty time growing up. Wish I had asked. The icing on the cake was that you originally came up from Houma, LA and that made you mysterious and interesting. Your accent was so charming to us. We came back to that little ratty party house you and Edward rented on the South side of town. It was filled with furniture destined to break, and be rearranged for party purposes. Little, old-timey gas heaters populated every room - before y'all, some mamaw must have been pretty cold. I vaguely remember sitting on the couch, listening to music. For once (I would come to find out) there was nothing going on there and we decided to go ride around. You swung open the front door to six girls heading up the steps looking extremely pissed. You put your arm in front of me like mama's do to kids in the front seat when they think they're going to have an accident. You scooted me back in the house, told me to stay there and disappeared out the door. This was crazy. I decided to go see what was going on. Bad idea. (Not my best assertion of independence) Six angry girls glared at me, insults and names flew. I stood by your side while you argued with one, rather large-boned girl (note to Internet - that's not my bitchy way of saying she was overweight - she really was big boned,.. kind of stocky, emphasis on the boned, not the big) From what I gathered, you two were 'friends' and she had strong feelings for you and apparently (according to you) she had gotten the wrong idea..now she was running with this wrong idea in the direction of possessive. (I just want to take this moment and bust you out...we both know WHERE she probably got the wrong idea..rolling my eyes at you as I type) Some tall bitch from out of town showing up on a night you hadn't answered her pages was just enough to send her over the edge. Walking outside was a bad idea. I was scared of these girls. They were scar-y. At one point, some little scrappy thing stepped up to me with some harsh words and questions. I plastered on the poker face, raised an eyebrow and put my face as close to hers as it would go. I tried like hell to make my voice steady and solid, while telling her to get the fuck out of my face. She looked me in the eye for a minute and then stepped down, talked your "friend" out of this silly little endeavor and they left. I remember you apologizing over and over as we climbed into that old Camaro of yours. You were quiet in the car, but you put your hand on my knee and my fifteen year old self thought "Finally! A boyfriend..Finally Is this really happening? If we had children they would be the most beautiful little blond haired angels.." Down Main St. we went, in a teal muscle car. I kissed you at the red light...there we go..Can you see us from where you are?

To be continued.. (I'm sorry internet - my bosses are giving me all this crap to do..it's like they want me to use this thing for 'work' or something..sigh..I'll be back tomorrow, I promise..kisses)

The bitch is dead...

2008-09-15T13:53:00.000-07:00

and she'll have no chance of resurrection after 2 more days of antibiotics. Mommy is tired..but back at work. In true Monday spirit we overslept this morning..We woke up at 6:56, by 7:16 we were out the door having ingested chocolate poptarts, blue powerade, assorted prescription medicines (the pediatric kind - what's wrong with you people?!), back flipped into our clothes, scribbled out a signature on a progress report, and brushed away our collective morning breath. WE ROCK. We rock so hard that we avoided any and all meltdowns..the grown-ups happy that this little face is back

The kiddos are happy to be reunited after a weekend apart. They're happy about the bad-ass, just because toys mommy got for them this weekend.. Mommy never does that - she's too worried about us growing up in a materialistic, wasteful society...she's too worried we're going to expect a new toy every time we turn around. And when Meemaw and assorted other family members are always finding excuses to buy toys, mommy doesn't really ever get a chance to do the just because toy. But this weekend? Mommy said screw that! This weekend, mommy decided we were going to have some just because fun...and mommy has decided she likes being the good guy.

All is good people, all is GOOD.

Thanks for your sweet thoughts over the weekend.

Love y'all.

Excused Absence

2008-09-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

Hey you! I know I've been all mia today, and you're thinking, "Man! You can't depend on that girl for shit!" No comments, no e-mails, no post (big surprise).. But listen, I actually have an excuse this time..no really, and unfortunately a good excuse is a bad thing..baby's sick. And I mean sick. Sick is upon us. And she's a bitch. Crazy little peaked eyes, pitiful voice capturing an even longer draw than usual, red nose and cheeks, ...poor baby, she's doing a number on both of us.

Last night as I settled in to sleep next to him, Sick sensed it and decided to have some fun with us two. She started by making him moan and pitifully howl, she pierced his head and ears. Mommy tried to fight back with neon pink motrin..no good. Ten minutes later she let out her war cry and jacked the temperature up so high he started seeing snakes on the bed.."Snake, snake! Snake Mommy!" "Where? No snake baby, see?! (oh God, please help us, fever this high does brain damage) Mommy runs for the cold rag and Tylenol, she strips him down, tortures him with the rag...Sick laughes in her face. Mommy holds and rocks and thinks..think, think, think..ER's useless - they can't give him anymore medicine - I've already brought out the only viable weapons..Sick's going down - it's just a waiting game and stamina..stamina, stamina, stamina..."Dear lord Jesus, be with my baby, put your hand on his head like that other time..Sick is stronger than me, but I know in my heart you're stronger than Sick..please, please, give me knowledge, give me a reassuring poker face, hit me on the head with the keys and my glasses if we should be going to the ER right now..Amen" At that moment Sick lets out the big dogs, Sick vomits mucous and motrin down my chest..she shakes precious baby boy and raises an eyebrow at me. We take this fight to the bathtub and I silently send up a prayer of thanks that the support shelf in my tank-top has finally been put to some good use. We take a quick torturous shower, I don't think the baby can shake anymore... Baby's eyes are so red and glassy I check his pockets expecting to find rolling papers and a zippo.. I glance at jeans thrown across the bed and survey for vomit on the lamb..negative, thank you again tank top support shelf.. Sick revels in our pain, she taunts me.. and then we hear it "Scooo-do Mommy,..scoo-do". Her head whips around, she screeches as she melts into oblivion. Releived mommy presses play on Scooby Do DVD..collapses on the couch with exhausted baby. Thank you Jesus..

Today we are better armed for Sick, she's battling with anti-biotics, vazobid?, and tylenol cough syrup.. She's hanging on tight to two infected ears, sinusitis and a tooth that she refuses to let break the gums. But we're going to win the war.. Thank you Jesus for late night answers and doctors who'll work us in.

Peace.

Details..

2008-09-08T06:32:00.001-07:00

Hey y'all, remember me? That girl who spills her secrets and weird experiences all over the net? That girl who will tell everything but her real name? That girl that loves y'all to death and wants to invite everyone over for a freak'n barbecue in the backyard, but can't figure out how to do that without Mr. Mustang finding out about the blog? Well, she's about to rock this meme from ChurchPunkMom.. she's about to get personal and tell y'all some shit my real life people don't even know. Because isn't that the fun of all this? Here we go..there's only 6, so don't change the channel dammit.

1) I have fucked up feet. I danced in high heeled tap shoes as a young child and although I now have the highest arch in all of humanity, and can wear the highest of heels without discomfort, the shape of the shoes sort of molded my young, still growing feet crooked..and they're ugly...and I go to great lengths to hide them...Case and point: When I slid my bare feet into the stirrups in my labor and delivery room (first son), the guy that accidentally knocked me up got a shocked look on his face and blurted out "what happened to your feet!.." As I began to explain, he again burst out with a horrified "Did you break them or something? When did that happen!?" As he had seen me naked numerous times, this was a testament to how talented I am at hiding my feet. Or at how little he pays attention.

2) I have to eat a bowl (sometimes 2) of cereal every night before I go to bed. It's not supper..it's just an extra meal that I must have in order to survive. Any cereal will do, but I usually stick with Lucky Charms or Honey Combs.

3) I once had an affair with a married/separated/married man. I loved him. I still believe that he loved me along with manipulating and using me. I don't think he meant to love me. I didn't see my part in it as being wrong until I was myself married.

4) I've had a thing for Venicio Del Toro since I was 16. (I know???!!!??)

5) I secretly feel like I should have been a child of the 70's. I identify with the music more than the music of my own time..and the hair..

6) I like to be on top. But I feel guilty about it, because I know it's just another indication of my control issues within our marriage. On the upside, Mr. Mustang is totally willing to ignore the control-issue aspect of it.

Well, that's that. Don't hate me. Or if you do, leave a comment so I can vehemently defend myself and we can start a little comment war giving me a record day of comments.

I'm tagging: Jasper, who hasn't been writing shit lately (lazy butt).
Candace, who I love to read because it's like talking to someone from my hometown.
Tracee, who was my first bloggy friend.
TheMister, who is always a hoot.
Pamela, who's barefoot and pregnant - but still sassy as hell.
And Ciii, who's name I don't understand, but pretend I do... (does that make 7?)
Peace.

Dear Mrs. William Banks,

2008-09-04T06:17:00.000-07:00

Hey you, I know it's been a long time..but I need a little favor. I need you to do me and you a little favor. I need you to have sex with your husband. Hot, steamy, make-up, it's been a while, up against the wall, you-don't-have-to-be-quiet-because-the-kids-aren't-here sex with your husband. Yes, that's right, I'm getting all up in your business. Try to skip on over that, and listen because it's for your own good. Trust me. I know, I know, I know what all he's done to you. I know the thousands of ways he's hurt and abused your heart and your trust. I know he's let you down and teased you and treated your love like garbage..I know. But here's the thing. You need to have sex...with your husband...immediately.

At first I thought maybe you'd lost your spark for him. I get that. I get that we're women and our sexual desire is all wrapped up in emotion and sometimes the brain turns off the chemistry switch after you've been hurt so much..sometimes the fire is put out by so many tears... If that were the case I would be all "Give it some time, let your brain come to see him as safe and strong again and it'll give you back your spark" But, I saw you two on the couch that morning. And sweet pea, you're not fooling anyone, there's nothing wrong with the spark.

So this is what you need to get through your pretty little exhausted, wrung-out, emotionally terrified, sex deprived head: Just do it. That's right, listen to Nike, listen to your body, listen to me..Just.Do.It. kay? I can see you're not buying it. I can see you're clinging to delusions. Let me try this a different way. Doing the big nasty with your husband does NOT mean all is forgiven or forgotten,..it does NOT mean you are lying down your guard. It does NOT mean he will stop trying, sex with you is not his only motivator. It does NOT mean your heart is once again on the chopping block. I know it feels that way, but honey, in reality, it never came off the chopping block. If it had, even for a moment, you would be married to another man by now. I know it feels like surrendering the fight, the "good" fight, but that's just your pride playing games with you. You CAN, and you must, lie down with that man while standing your ground. It is not letting go of the fight, it is simply letting go of the present just a little tiny bit in order to reach for the future..normalcy. Peace. Isn't that the life you've prayed for? A peaceful, normal one? Well, sweetheart, I know it's hard..I know you've been in this hell so long it's almost comfortable, but if you want that thing God's trying to hand down..you're going to have to let go just a little and reach up and grab it. You need it. He needs it. There are voices clawing at him day and night trying to convince him there's nothing fun or enjoyable or bearable about this life. The battle is raging inside him...and I'm pretty sure you know a good orgasm can drown out everything. You need this too. Your brain is tired..your voices are nagging and worrisome and they exhaust themselves trying to build a house of cards around that damn chopping block. So listen to me carefully, the next time you find yourself tangled up on the couch with the man you love, with the man you love minus the drugs, do him. For the love of Bob, DO him!

In the words and wisdom of Nappy, "hump and hope."

And William, if you happen to find yourself on the couch anytime soon..Do not, under any circumstances, stop what you're doing to ask if she wants to go to the bedroom..the voices in her head will rush in again disguised as common sense and it will be over before it starts.

Also, if you sleep with that sneaky little Asian girl you've got puppy-dogging after you, I will allow the monster to devour you.

Note to internet: I missed the last episode..if they did, in fact, do it, ignore this post.

Monster

2008-09-03T12:50:00.000-07:00

Hey you! Remember me? I know, I know, you've decided to pretend you don't..you've decided to avoid eye contact the few times we've met since that night. I can't decide if it's because you actually have a conscience and feel ashamed, or if you're embarrassed that a girl stepped up..

It was mid winter, which meant deer camps all over the South were in full swing. Me and that girl I almost never hung out with were invited (through her older brother) to a party at that dingy little trailer-camp. I'd heard stories of parties out there, but they usually involved older, more country people that I almost never kicked it with. In fact, there were some older, country girls there and honestly, I was pretty scared of them. Let's just say they were the type to make an appearance on Jerry Springer now and then.

It was such a weird mix of people that night..but there was plenty of alcohol and I was staying with that girl, and she didn't have a curfew, so that pretty much spelled fun for me. We spent most of the night rotating in and out..out to the bonfire to stand in circles and talk and smoke cigarettes and then back in the trailer camp to talk and smoke cigarettes. I felt odd without my usual circle of friends, somewhat insecure, a little more free. At some point the music was turned way up and people started dancing in the living room. By that time I was pretty lit, but having a blast. I remember having an in-depth discussion with Bradley McKafin..but I don't' remember about what. Bradley was Mr. Mustang's age, and so I really only knew him through these types of parties. If I had been a fly on the wall, I would have said that Bradley was hitting on me..but I would have been a mistaken little fly. In fact, in all the years I've known him I've never seen or heard of Bradley seducing anyone..period. I'm not drawing conclusions here, I'm just showing the cards I hold. Bradley was a hoot, his monstrous frame served him well during high school football games, and I'm sure didn't hurt in college either. . He was big in some fraternity, but was surprisingly down to earth, not at all like the self-absorbed fraternity assholes I'd encountered.

Anyway, during this conversation the older brother of the girl I came with interrupted our conversation to get me on the dance floor (sardine box/living room of camp trailer). We slow danced to country music and the room spun with me. I wondered (probably out loud - drunk ass) what the girl I came with would think of her brother holding me like that and flirting with me like that moving with me like that in the middle of a spinning room, to an old country song.. Then I felt it.. on my ass. Actually, it wasn't exactly 'on' my ass. That makes it sound like a hand was tactfully placed there. It was actually more like a hand made it self comfortable with my ass then went in for the crotch grab.. Startled and confused I wondered what the hell was going on, my dance partner's hands were accounted for. He saw me jump and said "what?" as I turned around to the sea of swaying sardines. At first I thought, "wtf!? Did I just imagine that? Am I drunk?" Then I caught your eye..your creepy, exhilarated, oh-so-proud of yourself eye. And your smirk. To tell the truth, your smirk's what did it..your smirk reached on over and painted me a nice little shade of furious. You were a good head taller than me, and even though this was our first encounter I knew you drove an old beat up truck and confidently approached women in bars with corny pick-up lines while wearing a cowboy hat. I knew your favorite movie was Urban Cowboy and I knew you still expected your mama to cook supper for you every night.

I leaned in on you, I told you not to make the mistake of believing that that shit was cool, not to assume I was the kind of girl that would put up with that. And for damn sure not to try it again.. I'm pretty sure I called you derogatory names also, but the details escape me. All during my little hot-headed rant the smirk mocked me. You were amused. You were amused, I was furious and my dance partner was urging me to let it go. As I turned back around to face him I said "you don't understand, he didn't just 'touch' my butt" "He took a big old healthy handful of everything" "That shit pisses me off, what makes him think he has the right to -" And then, and then, my eyes narrowed, my jaw set and my fist clenched. In my memory, it's all slow motion. It's one continuous motion,. It's me dropping older brother's hand..his eyes wide, me swinging around, arm raising up through the smoky air, it's the room no longer spinning, but silent and still, holding it's breath until my fist made contact with your face, it's me lunging at you like an animal it's rage and red and beautiful..my cheeks are hot just thinking about it..it's the smirk giving way to shock and confusion and disbelief, the monster in me roars with satisfaction...the smirk is dead, but the monster wants more, it needs to smash it's anger into your face, it needs to make contact.. and just as I am nearly upon you, almost able to devour you and that face that once held the smirk, a monstrous hand catches the arm mid-air and jerks the little body that holds the monster back, back, back, kicking and screaming and cursing the tease. The monstrous hand talks sense to the monster and she doesn't want any part of it.. the monstrous hand makes the smirk apologize while the monster scowls at him. The monstrous hand holds back laughter that might set the monster off on another war path.

I'm getting to a point creepy-Smirk, maybe I had an angry monster inside me back then, I'll give you that, maybe I was a loose canon...but I've changed. Really, I've chilled out a LOT. Here's the thing though, with all that 'change' and 'growth' and 'healing'... I still want to hit you. I want my fist to make contact with your face. I want to stun the pig right out of you. Just this morning I was reading things you've said about some lady politician..Sarah Palin? Nasty things, things you have no right to say, things you would "do" to her were you not the biggest loser in the world, things that disrespected her as a person, as a mother, as a wife, as a person..and as I read these things an uninvited hand reaches up from underneath my chair and has the nerve to grab my ass again..and once again I see red. I'd recommend you rethink yourself creepy-Smirk, because one of these days Bradley McKafin isn't going to be there to protect you from the monster.

Road Block

2008-08-27T06:03:00.000-07:00

Hey you! Remember me?!

That girl that used to come see you and leave feedback on your blogs every day? That girl that keeps changing up her profile picture because she's not sure which one might be less recognizable? The one that keeps wondering "Is today the day that someone from high school stumbles here and sees my face?! Would that be so bad? Would the shit hit the fan? Am I crossing the line of paranoia? Does my work know where I'm going and what I'm doing everyday? Would they care? Do I care? Can I get away with it until we move?" Anyway, here's the deal:

I've hit a road block with the blogging thing. It seems over the weekend our network updated it's firewall or whatever..It seems I've been firewalled out of my own blog. And anyone else's blog that uses blogger. I can no longer view my own blog, or any other blogspot.com sites. I can no longer comment, but I can use my dashboard and write new posts. And all of your comments are sent directly to my gmail account, so I can reply to each of you personally, just not on my blog. I. Am. So. Pissed.

But, I'm gonna roll with the punches and keep writing and hopefully everyone will stick around. I really love this you guys. I haven't written anything besides the occasional letter to the editor of the tiny-town paper since college and I'm loving this blogging thing. It feels good. It releases something inside me. It captures something I don't want to lose. And probably the best part of it all is getting to 'meet' and get to know all of you.. Really. No, none of you know my real name, or come over to grill..none of you get that late night, pissy phone call when Mr. Mustang and I bump heads (did you think I was going to say bump uglies? Get your pervy minds out of the gutters, damn)...none of you know how beautiful and funny my children really are, but we're connected just the same. Some of you know me better by this point than most of the people that see me day in and day out. I'm loving that connection and I'm gaining things from it that I can't quite articulate.

Anyway, just thought I'd let everyone know why I've been kinda MIA this week. Also, if anyone loves me enough to cut and paste some recent posts ...that would be sweet, because, yes, I'm that anal about keeping up.

Love y'all.

Peace.

Rowdy Country Girls..

2008-08-25T14:21:00.001-07:00

Hey Hannah! Remember me? I don't even have to question that with you..You cling onto every little tidbit of memory that ever existed. You were the teenage girl with the camera in your purse at all times, ready to capture a moment, and embarrassment, and achievement. Oh, how I'd love to take trip down your memory lane. Maybe one day I'll leave the boys to fend for themselves and you'll let me spend the whole day peering into the memory part of your brain.

As previously mentioned five year old has started Kindergarten, at a different school than last year. He may or may not be having a tough time making friends. All this internal drama has got me thinking about that first day of fifth grade. I was new, from a rival school, and gawky as hell. Who the hell is that damn TALL in fifth grade!? Oh well, I was tall, GiGi had boobs already and you were country as the day is long. You were so warm and friendly and made a point to be my friend. Knowing you inside and out like I do now, I'm well aware that your competitive nature was in fact claiming me before anyone else could, but I don't care. I love you. You're ornery as hell, but I love you.

We were both teachers' kids, but other than that our upbringing was so different. You were raised in the BOONE DOCKS..BFE..Middle of Nowhere. I can't believe your parents still live out there. I was country, but not that kind of country. Those first few years we traveled everywhere on four wheelers..ATV's for my more refined readers. We sped through the night, raced down county roads, chased cows in that old man's pasture. When I think about it now, I ache to be back there. One night in particular, me and you bundled from head to toe, idling on the edge of that pasture. Full moon shining down powdery warmth on everything. I taught you to smoke on that four wheeler and you taught me to hunt..

Being an only child I loved the fact that your house was always loud and thriving. I loved sitting around that big wooden table and laughing with your siblings and all of their friends. There was always some kind of drama, and lets face it, that was our bread and butter. You loved my house too, it was quiet and we were the center of attention without having to work quite so hard. And you loved being in town (keep in mind internet, this "town" consisted of about 1000 people) I remember that night before we left for Disney world, you and I walked to the hill across from my house and sat out there till after dark discussing the tragedy of your yet to come period. I tried and tried to assure you that it was something that would come..and furthermore, it was not something to long for. But, in true 'you' fashion, you felt left out..almost like a failure. Sixth grade and no period yet, Oh the horror! Yeah, Disney World. Me with the freakishly long skinny legs and you with your fanny pack and rolly polly belly hanging over your bikini. We were a pair.

We've been through so much together. We're not really friends anymore so much as sisters. In inextricably bound by pages and pages of material,..proof, ..pictures, comfort, love, tragedy, laughter. We've gone months without speaking, not on purpose, just busy with our own little lives. But, when something valid..something monumental happens, it hasn't really happened yet until we talk. We must talk. We must be there.

In a lonely hospital room a new mother held her second baby. His father snored on the foldout a few feet away. She cried because her legs were still numb from the botched epidural..She felt embarrassed and all alone and she needed to put the baby down and get some sleep. But she couldn't walk. Her attempt to make it to the bathroom failed miserably, and she wasn't going to try with the baby. She cursed the car wreck that pulled her night nurse to the ER. She cursed the handful of pills her husband had taken, and she cursed the mother in law that slipped them to him in the hall. She cursed the broken promise he'd made. Guilt gnawed at her skin until it was unbearable. Guilty for being so angry while holding such a precious blessing. Such a precious, healthy, beautiful blessing. Exhausted from the fight of her life, she felt hopeless and alone. Then you walked in. You walked in and the sun came out. You walked in and oooh'd and ahh'd and held the precious blessing and expressed your envy. You walked in and listened and comforted. You walked in and held my hand, led me away from that horribly heavy, itchy fog.

You're always my sister. I love you dearly. An only child should be so lucky. Anyone, should be so lucky.

Kindergarten angst

2008-08-22T12:42:00.000-07:00

Brushing 5 yr old's hair this morning...

5yo: "Mommy, don't do it spikey."

Me: "Why?"

5yo: "I like it down flat"

Me: (you have my hair and flat is very, very hard to acheive) "okay"

Me: "Hey, have you learned anyone's name yet at school? Like the other kids? Any kids you've been playing with?"

5yo: "No" (puts head down,blinks a lot, searches for the right words) "I, ..I asked one person if they wanted to be my friend and they said no"

Me: (I try to keep a poker face while some huge hand reaches into my chest and squeezes the life out of my heart for a moment, it twists and mangles it. It hurts. It hurts in the helpless, horrific way watching babies - sweet little babies like mine - slowly starve in Africa hurts. ..Please, please little kids, I know you're inclination is to be little asshats to anyone you don't know..but please don't be mean to my kid. ) "What!?...are you sure?"

5yo: Nods his head, looks at me for a reaction, and or explanation.

Me: "Baby, you're the coolest thing in that class, they just don't know it yet."

5yo: "It was a girl."

Me: (flooded with relief) "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?! Honey, you know a lot of kindergarten girls just don't like boys yet."

5yo: "Why?"

Me: They just like playing with other girls...It's kind of the same thing as when you were proud of the fact that there were mostly boys at your table.

5yo: "hmm"

Me: Maybe the next time you see someone you want to be friends with you can just start talking to them about Thomas or Transformers or something.

5yo: "Okay."

How do I teach him to be popular? Is that something I would even want to do if I knew how? No, it's not. No, definately not. I don't want him to be popular...just have a few good friends. I just don't want him to be the opposite of popular. I just don't want him to feel rejected, or lonely, or embarrassed...ever.

I retell this story to Mr. Mustang in frantic whispers behind closed doors. We exchange a look that says he understands and feels it too. Then sensing this might be one of those events that might melt the ice queen he smiles and says "It's gonna be alright.." "he'll be fine mama"

Dear Hazem Moham

2008-08-21T06:18:00.000-07:00

In my inbox this morning: (from Hazem Moham)

The Irish Lottery
P O Box 1010 11 G
Lower Dorset Street,
Dublin 1, Ireland (Customer Services)

Ref: UK/9420X2/68 Batch: 074/05/ZY369

WINNING NOTIFICATION:
We happily announce to you the draw (#1004) of the IRISH LOTTERY online Sweepstakes International program held on Teusday 19th August, 2008 - 9.57pm. It is now available for claims and you are getting the final NOTIFICATION as regards this.
Your e-mail address attached to ticket number:56475600545 188 with Serial number 5368/02 drew the lucky numbers: 06,09,21,28,35,44 Bonus Number 01, which subsequently won you the lottery in the 1st category i.e match 5 plus bonus.
You have therefore been approved to claim a total sum of € 4 Million Euro. (Four Million Euro.) in cash credited to file KTU/9023118308/03, your winning ticket in this category i.e Match 6 plus bonus.All participants for the online version were selected randomly from World Wide Web sites through computer draw system and extracted from over 100,000 unions, associations, and corporate bodies that are listed online. This promotion takes place weekly. To file for your claim, contact our fiduciary agent:
MR Mongan Lee Tel: +44 701 113 3308 +44 704 572 6455 Email:irish_mongan11@live.com

Hey Hazem! How's it hangin? Good to hear from you..what? You don't remember me? Come ON! Seriously? Well, I remember you.. We've met before. Many, many times before. Sit down, have a drink, lets catch up shall we? Let me take you back, way back. I think the first time we met was back in 1997. You and one of your buds pulled up to that gas station in my tiny little town. If memory serves me, you two were driving that beat-up old white van with no windows in the back. Remember? How could you not?! You two just pulled up there beside me, blocking the store's view of my car. Just as I was about to hop out, something deep inside said "wait, look up". Y'all just glared at me with hungry eyes. And then we had that long stand-off. You two waiting for me to get out, me frantically waiting for someone to walk by..inner voice going apeshit. Sorry if I snubbed you guys, but you understand, no one wants to get beaten and raped and left for dead. Apparently your plans were blown to shit when a guy from my school pulled up beside me and walked to the front of my car. I think he must have recognized you from somewhere because he just stood there and motioned for me to come on. You guys sped off like the place was on fire.

Then there was that time in Mexico. Mexico was so much fun..good times, good times. What? You've never been to Mexico? Cut it out. Quit playing Hazem, you're so crazy. You were selling pot on the street a block away from Carlos and Charlie's. You tried to get me and my friends to come back into the alley to make our purchase and again, we were all "I don't know Hazem, we like you and everything, you seem cool, but this is feeling kind of shady" You know, you blew that deal. You could have sold a LOT of pot that night. We were hanging out with a whole group of guys on their senior trip and you could have overcharged the shit out of them. Oh well, thems the breaks huh?

How about that time in Amsterdam? What?! No? You whisper-shouted in my ear, over and over and over again.."co-caneeee"..."extahseeeee"..over and over, slithering in and out of earshot.. Even when I tried to pass on the other side of the path you and your friends would zero in on me.."you try extahseeeeeee" Did I look like I had money? You were everywhere there. I gotta say you freaked me out a little.

But, nothing was as bad as our last rendezvous. That one took the cake. I know me Hazem, and I'm still not sure how you finally got me.. I guess after all those years of failed encounters you just realized my weakness, you realized what I needed to hear, what it would take. You used me up and threw me away and I can't even articulate all the different levels and layers of me that you exploited. But I don't' really have to I guess..you know already. You know what you did to me, you know the dirty aftermath, you planned it didn't you? What you didn't plan on was getting sucked in too. You didn't plan on this one draining you emotionally huh? I take solace in that. You set out to use and manipulate, exploit my soul and you thought you'd walk away from that endeavor scott free? It doesn't work that way my dear. There's a back draft that burns the shit out of your skin..it's not a wall of fire, it's a ring. You tried to push me in and you got burned. See, that's my silver lining Hazem. I'll always recognize those scars. Hurt like hell didn't they? Take long to heal? Mine too.

You'll never sneak up on me again. Game's over for us. We're done here.

Stepping off..

2008-08-14T16:00:00.000-07:00

Hey you! Remember me?! Your little 'punkin'? You little hyper, chatty, never-ending barrel of snuggles and hugs and adoration? I thought so. I remember you too. You were my hero.. my first love. Before love was a sexual thing - back when it meant safety and security and simplicity. Before my world became shifty and unsure, before the rug was yanked mercilessly from my four year old feet. After the big bang, mama and I rented that little trailer on the other side of town. She was sad, I was sad, maybe you were sad?..I'm not sure. I missed you so much. Weekends were never long enough. They were like a minute of healing laughter after a long, long day of crying.

Although I never knew the details I always assumed the divorce was mama's doing. Isn't that awful? How unfair. But, you were incapable of transgression. I wore my rose colored glasses with a vengeance. I have an old murky, memory of a tornado sweeping through town. You were at work. Mama stuffed me and older brother into the bathtub and covered us with a huge brown sleeping bag. When you finally came home,the terror just fell away. Your presence was safety. It didn't matter if it came and took the house at that point - daddy was home. When we moved out it was like all the security was sucked out of our lives. Things felt unstable. That's how good of a daddy you were. You stabilized.

We went swimming, we went camping, we played tennis, and we fished. Good Lord! Did we fish!? You and me hiking through pastures of tall grass with poles and tackle, smelling like OFF. Happy. You made me so HAPPY. We had Burger King Friday nights and Spudnut Saturday mornings. You endured a sea of tutu's and taps to watch me dance. You came to every badly rehearsed school play. I peeked through the curtain right before my big 2nd grade, Annie Oakley debut and there you were, arms crossed, patiently waiting, the tallest man in the room. We stayed up late eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches, drinking purple cows, watching Miami Vice. When I was sad you quietly listened as I shook and sobbed. You always made time to listen. You were patient and kind and open.

One summer day I turned to see you walking across the yard in a white tuxedo and sunglasses. Apparently you were a groomsman. Grandma wanted a picture. That's the snapshot that bullies it's way to the front of my mind when I think of my daddy. You were so handsome standing there, all six feet, five inches. You were a tall, dark, handsome giant and I wanted so badly to go to the wedding with you and hide behind your legs and dance on your feet.

You never seemed fazed by the divorce. No tears, no depression, no regrets I guess. You started that health club in town, you went out with friends. I remember women coming at you from all sides. Somehow my little senses could detect desperation on this one, slutty on that one. But you didn't seem excited about any of them. You were nice, but you always had the upper hand. And, most importantly, you always seemed to usher me in front of these women. For the most part, weekends were our time.. I was still your little girl. I was just as important to you as you were to me.

When I was 10, I recall studying what looked like a street sign hanging in your apartment bedroom that read:

This spot

reserved for

The 80's Ladies

Very puzzling, I didn't have a good feeling about that one. Looking back I realize that wasn't just a sign, it was a sign. But, at the time I brushed it off. Two years later you moved off to make more money. I was beyond sad. Only four hours away, but it might as well have been another planet. I didn't hear from you for nearly three months. You finally sent a letter telling me all about your wonderful new girlfriend and her wonderful kid and all the wonderful fun you all were having together. I was crushed, but I didn't let on.

That Christmas was the first one in history you didn't work something amicable out with my mom. You demanded to have your time..you demanded my whole, uninterrupted Christmas break. My discomfort with all the ripples you were making was overridden by my relief that you still loved me.

You came all the way down to get me. You seemed so excited. There was a twinkle in your eye just for me.We loaded up in your little white Mazda truck and headed for Jonesboro. We talked and caught up and all things seemed to be sifting back into their rightful places. Then you dropped the bomb. (Let's call it the R-Bomb) You informed me that not only would I be meeting the amazingly wonderful girlfriend, but that I would be staying at her house. Apparently her house was nicer than your apartment and (little did I know) you planned on us spending the entire time there anyway. My heart sank. The tears welled. You seemed confused. I explained to you that I wanted no part of that plan. I would be fine at your place. You were concerned, but unmoving. I cried a river of tears and begged and pleaded and sobbed uncontrollably. I told you I wanted some time with just you during this stay and I knew damn well that wasn't going to happen if I was staying at her house.! I told you how much I had missed you and how much it hurt my feelings when you didn't call or write.

I hung my head and cried. Silence filled the car. I slowly raised my head seeking the love and validation you always provided. What I found instead was was you calmly driving along, ..that stupid glint still in your eye. A wave of nausea hit me as I realized not only was the glint not about me, the damn thing was blinding and unstoppable. I winced and turned away, it was so bright and unexpected.. I put my hand over my face, peeked through squinted eyes, just in time to see you move closer to the edge.. She appeared at the bottom, her hand outstretched, one acrylic fingernail beckoned you. You couldn't turn away from her hypnotic stare. A scream caught in my throat as I watched the horrific sight unfold. One slow nod from the ground and you just spread your arms and stepped off. No parachute, no glance back at me.. just a goofy grin and a ridiculous, excruciating free fall. I lunged for my heart that casually fell from your hand as you dove. Maybe you noticed the emptiness of your hand, maybe you started to look back, only to jerk your attentions back downwards at the snap of her finger. Maybe that part was only my imagination. I clung to the edge of the pedestal with white knuckles and waited for the splat.

My number was up.. no longer in the equation. Merry Christmas.