Only Hours To Go!

Like I said in my last post, April has been sucky on a host of levels. After I wrote that, I got more bad news - my dear friend Gigi has to have triple by-pass surgery. She's one of the loves of my life. She's 88, the most liberal being you'll ever meet (from Boston, of course, with a delicious accent), she's an old vaudeville performer, and spunky as the day is long. She delights at playing the piano, and does so for the "senior center." Whatever! She goes to play for people who are younger than she. She's just an amazing gal - she got good ju-ju. Anyway, the doctors gave her an 80% success rate for pulling through the surgery well. She feels positive about it. But the whole thing still rips.
And then, the other night, while driving to rehearsal, the car in front of me hit a cat on the highway. It wasn't instant. I had to stop and be with this animal as it suffered itself into death. I placed my hands on it until it died. Just touching it in the hopes that having some love would help. Then I took one of Roxy's burp rags out of the back of my car and moved the bloody body off the road. It was a disgusting image that I will have stored in my memory banks forever - destined to suffer the anguish when it decides to flash to the forefront. I took a sleeping pill that night.
So, today is the last day of April. The shittiest month I've had for a really long time. Actually, I don't think I've ever had a shittier month.
And tomorrow is May 1st! MayDay! Yes, we still celebrate MayDay in my family. We take flowers to people and leave them on their porches. My dad brings me flowers and tries to sneak away. That's the tradition - you leave the flowers and try to get away before the recipient catches you. Last year he almost got away and I chased him all over my front yard. If you catch them, you have to give them a kiss. I slobbered!
This year I cheated and tonight, left him his on the back porch. He called me, "It's not MayDay yet!" "Yea, well I'm 7 hours and 10 minutes early - get over it! I got you!" I'll wake up with flowers on my porch in the morning. And they'll be beautiful. And I'll love them. And they'll signify the fresh start that I'm in such need of. And I won't get to chase him because he'll probably come by tonight after he gets out of rehearsal. But tomorrow, I'll kiss him.
Oh, and on a final note. Keeping true to the "April sucks" theme. I got my period today.

April Sucks - Somethin's Gotta Give

April SUCKS! I don't know what's going on with the cosmos, but it's not in my favor. And here I thought this was going to be a great year - MY year - Year of the Dog! Ha, frickin' ha ha. My hope is when April leaves, the bad ju-ju leaves with it.
It's been one thing after another. Both the boys and I were sick. I rarely get sick and this time it was a doozy. So bad it was, that all three of my kids spent 3 days with my parents while I fought horrible body aches, chills, etc. I would have given anything to have just barfed the crap out, but Noooooooooooo! It thought I needed it to linger for a good 8 days.
Sadly, the day I came down with the shit was the day Chris' sister Sheri died. She was 45. She died of cervical cancer. Can I just take the time to tell everyone how important it is for you get your annual. Don't EVER skip one!!! We buried her last Tuesday. It was very hard. The whole thing is a tragedy on so many levels. She left behind three children and a husband who loved her very much. Her oldest daughter is pregnant with her first grandchild, a boy due in July. And her son is set to graduate in May. She was one of the kindest, sweetest people you could have ever wanted to know. The world needs more people like her.
And then today... my phone rang at 3:30. It was my biological dad calling to tell me something "really bad." My thoughts flashed to my grandma - the one I was supposed to take Roxy to go meet when I got sick. Then it flashed to my brother who is over in Iraq. Then the words came. "Denny burned to death last night." Denny, my cousin. He's younger than me. And from what we know, his apartment caught fire and he didn't make it. "Fuck!" That's all I could get out. And I cried. Denny - the second half of Shannen (his sister)& Denny. Denny. Who while in the service, was included in the annual picture of the grandkids because we held up the phone (with him on it). Denny. That blonde haired, big ass goatee sporting guy with the sparkle in his eyes. Denny. The daddy to two little girls. Denny. The good guy.
Denny and I split center behind my grandma
April has been exhausting. Doesn't look like it's going to slow down either. I just really want to get back to my boring, mundane routine. Sickness and death have been this months theme. And I'm ready for it to stop.
So let me take this time to wish anyone who is reading this good health, good love, good laughs, and good ju-ju. Go kiss someone you love.

Truth Be Told

Okay, I have two confessions to make. They aren't great earth shattering confessions, but they need to come out. First, I am a happy person.
Really I am.
I love my life. I feel confident in the person I have become. I like who I am and what I stand for.
I don't feel like I'm lost or trying to figure anything out. I don't feel like I have all the answers either, but I'm definitely not wandering - floating maybe, but not wandering.
See, I told you it wasn't that impressive.

And second, I'm addicted to buying clothes for Roxy.

Now some of you might interpret my clothes buying obsession as a sub-conscious need. Nope. I don't go shopping for the sake of shopping. I go to the store to purchase specific things. Usually the likes of laundry detergent and diapers. And then I float (oh oh see where we're going here?) over to the baby clothes. Inevitably, I find something that I love.
But here's what I do. I put it in my cart and then walk around with it for awhile. After a few minutes the thrill and love fade. And nine times outta ten, I put the item back. But sometimes the item makes it home. And here's where it's gotten really bad. I have bought Roxy things for when she's 2! The child is 4 months as we speak! I have things that will be hanging in her closet until December 2007! But you know what? I look at them and I still love them, so the purchase was right on. Potentially, we could have a basement full of clothes and be flat broke. Na, just kidding.
My theory on this whole thing is I love good design and style. And right now, I'm not able to buy things for me that I love (I'm using the baby fat "reason" for this one). So, I buy things for Miss Rox because I know they will fit her.


So there you have it. My dirty little secrets. Mama has a good life. And her daughter has a groovy ass wardrobe!

Payback's A Bitch

Roxy's 3 month picture

The other day my mom commented on how she thought it funny I dressed Roxy in pink. Funny because I NEVER wore pink - HATED IT WITH A PASSION! Pink to me represented all things sweet. I hated sweet. Pink represented all things cute. I hated cute. Pink was all things darling. I despised darling. Why? Sweet, cute and darling were things I would not/could not ever be. My mom hated the fact that I opted for the black leather jacket with spikes and studs. She cringed when I dyed (and subsequently fried) my hair. Repeatedly. She laughed when I brought people home named "Trash" or "Spit." But we all know, inside, she was gasping for air.
My poor mother. She was a trooper. I put her through the ringer. All she wanted was for her little girl to be "pretty." She didn't want to have to explain to people that underneath all the "stuff" was a good person who knew right from wrong. And she didn't want the world to think ill of her, because, after all, I was a reflection of her. She didn't want to be embarrassed of me. But she was embarrassed of me because she just didn't get it. She was a product of the 50's - when the world was "put together." And she was CUTE! DARLING! She just didn't get how I was different than her.
So, here we sit, some 20 years later. And the fact that I dress my daughter in pink befuddles her. The fact I (and believe me when I tell you this one stumps me too) put pink bows in her hair, throws her for a loop. I can't tell you why I do it. It's fun. For the same reason people dress their dogs in little outfits. There's absolutely no good reason, other than playing. And I'm playing. WHILE I CAN!
One day I will post pictures of Chris & myself when we were teenagers. Then you'll understand. There is no doubt in my mind that Miss Roxy will opt for the fringe too. And I hope to God she does. As long as Roxy, or the boys for that matter, know what's good. As long as they DO what's right, then I will have no problem with them looking bizarre. I will deal with the comments or the looks from others. I will. And I won't care. Really. I think.

Silly Me!

Okay, I'm a little pissed. Which doesn't take much on a good day. I went over to Mom-101, and left a comment on her post on Feminism. An innocent little comment. And from what I hear, someone from across the pond thought me full of shit. Apparently they weren't really mean about it, but they popped over to my blog and seemed to be irritated that I was "beautiful" (thanks, I think), and that I wrote about how women have hair. And how feminism was so much more than my comment on hair eluded. I never got to see the comment because the person deleted it before I got a chance. But they did leave another one explaining how they just felt that Feminism, to them, means equality, plain and simple. Okay?

How dumb I must be. Silly me. Silly me for thinking I was a feminist because I want to instill in my sons the fact that women have hair growing in all the same places men do. How silly of me that I want them to understand women aren't slick and slithering at all times. How silly of me to be open with them that I have hair on my lip, my chin, my toes, my crotch, my pits, my legs, under my belly button, the random one that sprouts outta my cheek on occasion, and yes, Virginia, that I have nose hair! How silly of me to stink after a day of living, and not try mask it with flowery perfumes and deodorants. How silly of me to air out my foul feet in the middle of the living room. How silly of me to fart and burp in their presence. How silly of me to not wear make-up except on occasions like my sister-in-laws (Chris' sister) funeral (yes, where the picture of Marcie & me was taken). How silly of me that I want my sons to understand women are just the same as men in these respects so when they are older, they will look for a substantial woman - one who doesn't subscribe to female objectification. (Because THEY don't subscribe to female objectification!) Silly me that I want them to look for a partner who values thought, and goodness, and equality. Not one who is so insecure in her own skin that she can't face the real important issues of life. Silly me that I want my sons to be advocates for women's equality (anyone's equality for that matter), so they will be the one's to stand for what's right and noble and help in a bad situation. How silly of me to want my sons to look past physical appearance and appreciate someone for who they are. How silly of me.
And never mind the fact that I am the sole legal owner of this house. Never mind I make more per hour than my husband. Never mind I own my own car. And his. Never mind I have my own personal checking account with my own money. And my own business with my own money. Never mind that. No, I'm not a feminist. I'm not living a life women before me dreamed and fought for. I'm not in a loving relationship with a good man, who's name I did not take. Nope, that's not me.
It's just that I'm not taking on the world anymore. I'm not losing sleep over the things I can't change. I'm not going to let things like The Promise Keepers impact my life. I'm going to raise children who can think for themselves and understand how organizations like this are dangerous. That's how I'm a feminist. I'm not going to go looking for a fight, but I will jump in when a good cause needs me. I understand the world isn't fair. I know there are horrors and unjust acts committed against women. I've been there, thank you very much. You're preaching to the choir on this one. I hate the fact that women walk in a world different from the one men walk in. I hate it! I hate the fact that the porn industry is an industry! I hate the fact that everything you see objectifies women - that we're All victims beause of it. And that we're all so immune to it! I hate anything that is unfair and hurtful to anybody! Period! We're the far side of left in this house. Have been for many years, and will continue to be regardless.
So my fight for Feminism is a quiet one - an internal one. My fight for equality is not subscribing to sexist notions and raising children who do (or don't do) the same. My fight is by teaching my children (and students) as we go and as things arise. My fight is by trying to be a living example.
Sorry if this seems shallow to some.

And When You Smile For The Camera....

Okay, so the last picture I posted of Marcie and myself was daaarrrkk - soooooo dark - very dark. Well, we're out of the cave now, and in the bright ol' midwestern sunshine. Cheese!

Happy Easter!

All things good & sugary to you!

Tag! I'm IT!

Hey! The great and powerful Izzy tagged me. It took me awhile to figure it out, but I think I did and here goes - SIX THINGS ABOUT ME!:
1) I love the smell of dogs feet. I know this is weird, but they just smell dry - like salt. Plus, they're soft. Try it.
2) Just recently I had to make peace with Proctor & Gamble, and I hate it! I'm an avid label checker - I refuse to buy an of their products because of their (past?) policies on animal testing. This means no Tide, Charmin, Bounty, Puffs, Bounce, Swiffer, Pringles, and a huge list of other everyday items. However, in my old age, I have developed skin that is incredibly sensitive to fragrance and have had to start buying Tide Free. aaggghhhhhh!
3) I laugh in my sleep and it wakes me up. Last time it happened it sounded like I was crying. My husband was very concerned until I told him I was laughing. He asked what about, and I didn't know. And along this note, when I'm pregnant - I laugh a lot!
4) I'm not afraid to ask for things or demand them, if necessary. My ex used to say "There's Cameos line and then there's everybody else's line." That's because if there are 42 people waiting and only one line open, I will be the one to say something. But I'm also not afraid to bypass 100 who are waiting in the proper place and go to an open VIP line to get help. Do I take 22 items to the 12 & under lane? ABSOLUTELY NOT! But I will go with 15. Provided there's nobody in the line.
5) And while we're on that subject - I HATE PEOPLE WHO JUMP AHEAD OF YOU WHEN A NEW LINE HAD JUST OPENED UP!!!!! This just happened to me the other day. This lady behind me, tried to go in front of me! I told her that "we" (the guy in front of me and myself) had been waiting longer than she had. When I passed her, she said, "I didn't know there was a rule about it." My response? "Yea, it's called etiquette - manners! It's why grade school children get in trouble for cutting in line!" You picked the wrong woman to make a snide comment to, bitch!
6) I love cilantro.

Truth Hurts

'Nuff said!

One Drink Maximum, Please!

Well, as irony would have it (and it always does) my big gorgeous hunk of a husband and I went to see a show last night!!!! And here I was thinking that I wouldn't be going out for a long time. HA! We went and saw the Neville Brothers. It was my birthday present to Chris who turns 39 on Sunday!!!And it was a blast. It was my first time seeing them - it was Chris' 2,000th or something. Anyway, keeping true to the fact that I hadn't had an alcoholic beverage in just over a year, and that I hadn't eaten since 1pm , I was flyin' low and happy with the world 45 minutes prior to showtime. Being the ever responsible one, I did down a piece of pound cake, so as not to barf at a later time. And then I kept on going. Well, only two more drinks really - Rum & Coke. But DAMN if I wasn't lovin' life. I was best friends with everyone there! I danced! I molested Chris!! I soaked up the light show. I enjoyed all the different types of people and their energy. Everything from silver haired old ladies to privilidged "hippie" college kids. And for some reason, I was dying to hear Aaron sing the cotton song (the touch, the feel of cotton. the magic of our lives), but he didn't. Go figure. Anyway, it was a great release. And after a week of sick kids, mommy needed a release! BIG TIME! We had almost 4 hours of adult time. Almost 4 hours of self-indulgent time. Almost 4 hours of freedom. And the topper of the evening was (drumroll please)....... we came home to a barfing kid, yet again! It was fun while it lasted.

Remember When?

This picture was taken in 1993. Vince, Chris, Me & Melisa (plus Amy but you can't see her) all crammed into a photo booth in Manor Square. Vince & Melisa have since moved out of state - to the same state, but not together. Chris & I are obviously married w/kids, but when this was taken, we hadn't spoken but two words to one another in the 10 years we had known eachother. When we started dating, I found this picture tucked away in an old photo album. Imagine how excited I was to find it. I forgot it even existed. So, there's a small flashback. Happy day to you!

Isn't She Lovely?

I'm gonna love this hat till the day I die. It's just too cute. I wish I knew how to knit, then I'd make one for myself too!

Have a Nice Trip - See You Next Fall

I don't read too many blogs. Just a couple that I check on a daily basis. However, I noticed this weekend that the ones I read seemed to be taking a little time off. And you know what? So was I. Well, all I have to say is GOOD FOR US!!! We have a life. Whatever those sassy women (bloggers) were doing on their absent days, I hope it was fun. As for me? Well.............
My beautiful husband and I were strolling down Matrimony Lane the other day, when out of nowhere, the man tripped me! And down I went, face first, into the saturated ground of fatalism and absolutes. Oh, I clawed my way back up (nobody puts baby in a corner!) Sinking every claw I have into him on the way. Hissing as I went. It was exhausting. It was painful (at the moment). But it was productive, and enlightening, and necessary. We're all flawed creatures. And when somebody impacts you, and it hurts, you are forced to evaluate and support your standards. You're also forced to recognize your shortcomings. If the one you love cares, they adjust. If you love them, you adjust. And each time you do, you take one step closer to eachother. One step closer to that magical thing that happens when you have a true life partner. I have one. And I'm so damn happy about that.
So, we both cleaned eachothers wounds. We kissed and made up. We are actually both thankful that we hit this bump in the road. It sent us to a smoother side of Matrimony Lane - until the next pitfall. And we all know there will be more. But today I love him a little bit more. Because now I understand a little more about this complex creature I get to share my life with. Today, his eyes are softer. His mouth - a little prettier. His voice is gorgeous. Kind of reminds me of that line from "Sex, Lies, & Videotape, " - "Men tend to fall in love with the women they are attracted to - Women tend to become more attracted to the men they love." I used to really believe that. But now I don't know if I do so much. I think the later is true for both the sexes. When you continue to discover more about the person you love, and as a result, more about yourself, the whole process is sexy. You have more in common. You have a longer shared history. You have comfort. And that's enticing. So the pitfalls are a necessary evil (cuz nobody said life was perfect). But when you find the right one, everyday is absolutely fabulous - even when your face hits the dirt.

Skate A Little Lower Now...

It was nearly TWENTY years ago (oh no you din'nt!) that Marcie and I would drive the city with absolutely no plan or destination listening to Renegade Soundwave ("are we gonna have some...are we gonna have some fun?"), Ice T, Zeppelin (Kashmir's musical orgasm, and that poor man with that tiny lemon), Paul's Boutique ("girl....you're a dog on a leash like a pig in a pen"), Jefferson Airplane ("if only you believe"... DAMN!!!!!), etc. She was the only other person my age who knew show tunes. We bonded over the "Telephone Hour" from "Bye Bye Birdie" ("hi marcie, hi cami (ughhhh), what's the story morning glory...?")
She has always had this amazing knack (still does) for understanding the lyrics to songs. Hearing the funniest little things that slip past the average listener (me). And occasionally I have that honor ("do you remember the 21st of September?") That song turned out to be pretty important in her life. Our lives have been shared over an absolutely fantastic soundtrack!
It's a daily occurrence for us to sing with/to eachother over the phone. You know what I heard today? What? 10cc! sing Little River Band! sing Air Supply! sing Maureen Muldare! sing Atlanta Rhythm Section! sing Loggins and Messina! sing She always knows who sings the songs. ALWAYS! She sings Loretta Lynn and then break right into Jay-Z. When we reminisce, one of usually remembers what was playing in the background. Steely Dan at the grandparents pool at night. Radar and the Lemon Song. Plus a million more.
Our parents share a great love of music too. Her step-dad and my mom are the only two people we know that owned the "Beautiful Day" album. My mom believes (as do I) that Rubber Soul was the best Beatles album. Plain and simple, we grew up on good music. Our friendship grew on great music.
We have talked about putting together a CD of Marcie & Cameo songs, but truth be told, it would probably turn into a box set. We laugh about that darling boy from Incubus (and yes, there's a memory for that one too). We sing along with "Willy & Waylon and the boys." "And you won't need no camel baby when I take you for a ride." But ironically, I don't believe that we have ever gone to a show together! Go figure! Oh there have been plans (or better said - wishes) to go see Loretta, or Dolly, or Bob. But our reality says nope! So, we sing with eachother. She's something else, my Miss Marta. She makes me laugh all the time. She is my best friend - for a hell of a long time! How lucky!
Anyway, enough of that! So, I was thinking about what shows/concerts I've been to in my lifetime - thus what prompted the ode to Marta above - and thought I'd try to see if I could remember them. So here goes, in no particular order: Duran Duran, Van Halen, X, The Cult (3x I love me some Ian Asbury), Divinyls, Modern English, Metallica, Beastie Boys, Kix (don't ask), Norah Jones, Blondie, Red Elvises (FUN FUN FUN!), Fishbone, Simple Minds, Ian Moore, Nikka Costa (flippin' love this chick!), Dwight Yokam (shake those hips), Primus, Stone Temple Pilots , Violent Femmes, Shaggy, Black Crows, Billy Idol, Cypress Hill, Santana, Sheryl Crow, Skinny Puppy (3x), Peter Frampton, Hank Williams III, New Order, Pixies, Thrill Kill Kult, P.I.L. (Johnny Lydon is such an ass -I LOVE HIM!), Romeo Void, Ministry, The Turtles, Don McLean and Sade. I'd like to add more to this list, but with a new baby, there's bound to be a few shows I'm gonna miss. Oh well. I got Marcie to sing to me. I'm set.