July 31, 2012

The start of the New Year {-Fiction-}

For Christmas, Beth got me the complete first season of The Soprano’s on Blu-ray. I got her Nothing. And despite that, she was so happy as we sat together on a Lazy-boy in her uncle’s family room on Christmas Eve with her family.

It freaked me the fuck out.

So I avoided her the next several days at work, and left New Year’s Eve to go up north to my cousin’s house for the start of the New Year.
What a fucking mistake that was. I was miserable that week. There was no weed and no Beth.  And my cousins were fucktards who wanted to play hockey all day and party all night. The fuck do I wanna play hockey for when it’s ice fucking cold out? Just get me some weed or Beth already! Yeah the girls and the parties were great but there’s only so much Pabst Blue Ribbon I could drink and bitches I can mess around with.
It was a long week for me, and I pretty much regretted going the day I left because without some bud, I would think too much. And when I started thinking too much, I’d always end up thinking about Beth.  
She just had this magical way of pulling me in. I mean, yeah I wanted to bang her and all, but it was more than that. It’s always been more than that with her. She was my girl, but she kind of scared me, too. She was just so into me. And it didn’t matter if we were stoned or not, she just wanted to be with me. But the fact was, she deserved more than a Nobody.
Instead of telling her this, we’d spend day in and day out together. We’d drive for hours around town and outside of town just talking and laughing and singing. Some days we’d get baked, other days we’d just hang out. She’d lay in my arms on the couch in her parent’s house while watching TV or just looking out the window. Fooling around with her was always so fucking enjoyable, of course, but it really was more than that.  Couple that with the Christmas thing and … I remembered why I had to leave.

When I finally saw Beth at work that first day back, I thought for sure we were done. I thought for sure she’d want nothing more to do with me. After all, I didn’t get her a Christmas present and I vanished for a week.  Still, I stupidly asked her for a ride home and she obliged. And then I stupidly told her I loved her when I should’ve just gotten out of the car.
The next thing I knew, we were back inside her uncle’s house like a married couple eating dinner with them yet again! What the fuck was I doing?

More from these *fictional* characters here, here, and here.

July 30, 2012

stick a fork in it

It's Monday so why not talk about stuff that bugs the crap out of me... more specifically, sounds that annoy me:

NAIL CLIPPING in a public area. Do it in the privacy of your own home, asshat.

CHEWING WITH YOUR MOUTH OPEN. Come on. I don't need to wonder if that's peanut butter you're enjoying with your chips.

WHINING. Child or adult, or even cat. Young or old. STFU already.

DORA. If you tell me one more time to "Say it with me" I'll scream.

DIEGO. If you tell me one more time to "Shout it!" I'll cut you.

CAILLOU. See Whining.

HIGH PITCH, NASALLY TONES from the lady that sits behind me at work. I'm not sure how I haven't screamed at her yet.

MOTORCYCLE MUFFLERS. Too loud for my old ears.


KIDZ BOP. Really?

July 27, 2012

TILTW: 7.21-7.27

* Telling Lovie she can "do my hair" if she lets me do hers while watching Little Einsteins is what it takes for her to let me do something... anything... to her hair. I tried braids last weekend that looked super cute until the hair fully dried and the braids shrunk up into her scalp.

* I'm really loving the "I do it all by myself!" stage we're in. Please by all means- DO IT YOURSELF!

* Bath time immediately following dinner is so much easier than after dinner and TV/before bed. That way she can fart around as long as she wants, which has been up to an hour most nights lately!

* Lovie starts back with her "gymnastics" classes on Saturday. I took her out for the summer thinking we'd just go to the park (for free) but it's been insanely hot and we've barely done anything outdoors. I was going to sign her up for soccer (because my kid WILL play soccer) but she's become this jumping bean lately and talks about Gymnastics a lot so... gymnastics it is. Soccer can wait for now.

RWH: Longhand {-Fiction-}

I started to ignore her again when she told me she was taking the job. It wasn’t as easy as it was back at New Year’s when I took off for the week. This time, I still had to see her every day at work. It kind of sucked, to be honest. I kind of grew attached to having Beth around. She wasn’t like any of the other girls I’d been with who would open their legs to anyone. And she didn’t freak out when I ignored her. The others would go ballistic on me. Constantly trying to call and talk to me. I don’t know what they didn’t get. Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I just don’t want to smoke with anyone else. Why is that so difficult to understand? 

Beth’s last day in the center was pretty awkward as everyone was sad to see her go. At the end of the day, I watched her say good-bye to some of the residents and staff before I followed her out to the parking lot.

“Can I get a hug?” I called as she opened her car door.

She looked at me and tried smiling, her eyes bright and watery. She wrapped her arms around me and buried her head into my chest while I rested mine atop her head, breathing her in. This was going to be harder than I thought.   

“I really do care about you.” 

“You deserve so much more than me.” 

She didn’t say anything but I could feel her shake a bit and I could feel dampness seep through my shirt. 

“I do love you,” she said into my chest.

She broke free from our embrace, took my hand and put a note inside it and closed my hand into a fist to cover the paper. 

Beth turned away, got in her car and started it, and pulled out of the parking lot never looking back.

After I got home and finally smoked a bowl, I unfolded the letter:

Dear Dan,

Our time together was really special to me and I won’t ever forget it…or you… though you will probably forget about me. : (

I tried so hard to talk to you… We had some really good times but when you shut down… it’s hard. It’s one thing to need space or something, but you got to tell a person that’s how you feel …Unless… Maybe you were embarrassed by me or something. I haven’t a clue... I guess that’s my point here. What the hell, Dan? Why couldn’t you ever tell me what was going in that head of yours? Why did you just have to shut me down all the time? If you didn’t want to be with me, that’s fine…JUST SAY SO.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I really do care about you… more than I may let on. I will miss you a lot. I already do. Take care of yourself.


More from these *fictional* characters here and here. 

July 26, 2012


A week from tomorrow, I'll be here:

Paradise, if you will.

It will be the first time in four years since hopping on a plane.

It will be the first time in ten years since vacationing without my husband.

It will be the first time in two years, seven months, and twelve days I'll be overnight without my Lovie. (This one scares the shit out of me to the point of making me feel a little ill when I really think about it. I love her so friggin much and it hurts to think about being away from her so I do my best not to thinking about this.)

I'll be meeting up with my BFF/cousin. She's flying in from NYC, I'm flying in from Chicago. Two big city girls, who happen to turn 40 this year, getting away for a long weekend of doing absolutely nothing but lay by the ocean for three days... to celebrate each other and our lives. And hopefully another 40 more years together.

Cheers to 40 years!

the absolute best thing to ever happen to me in almost 40 years... so glad to be doing this trip before my
bday so i can celebrate my actual bday with her by my side. i'm such a sap. and??

July 25, 2012

i could be making millions right now

There’s a reason why I’m not in a Nike or Gatorade ad.

There’s a reason why soccer teams are segregated into Boy and Girl teams, something that bugged me when soccer finally started getting more popular in this country. Why couldn’t a girl play just as hard as a boy? Be just as awesome? All on the same team?

Then I started thinking about my time as a little soccer star and it hit me: BOOBS.

As small kids, there was always a soccer ball being kicked around either in the basement, backyard, or on TV. And when I was 6, I was finally old enough to join a soccer league. It was the 1970s and I was the only girl in the entire league. At first it didn’t really bother me because I loved the game; plus, I was one little shit of a tomboy who wanted to prove to everyone that I could, despite being a girl, play soccer.

i NEVER wore dresses but .. you get the idea

I like to think that my love for soccer meant I kicked ass at it, but I blew the one chance I had to prove to everyone how awesome I was when I missed scoring at the most inopportune time. It was the one game where coach swapped me from the back of the field to the front in a matter of minutes.

I was on the right side of the field. There was only one opposing team player and his goalie before me, hounding me with questions: “Are you really a gur-url?” “Is it true?!”

Suddenly I heard screaming from behind and turned to see a ball flying toward me.

It was my time to shine… my time to prove to everyone that I deserved to play an offensive position.

The ball flew closer to me, and soon it was just me and the goalie; all I had to do was stretch my leg out at the right time for my foot to tap the ball past the goalie.

But instead my leg and foot completely missed the ball.

Mortified, I still kept playing and stayed with my team in that league as the only girl for several years. I was, after all, one of them; we ran laps together, we scrimmaged together, we conquered (or lost) together.

Soccer was my life.

Then one day, things completely changed: I woke up bleeding from my crotch; my stick straight, thick hair started getting curly; and I had boobs that required an actual bra opposed to an undershirt.

I was 10 years old and often got leering glances from men my father's age. It was quite disgusting and humiliating, and I soon quit playing soccer because of the lingering looks to the front of my shirt and the teasing I heard when I ran during practices and games. 

I hated my boobs so much.

July 24, 2012


Please go HERE to read the re-write of this post.

When we were small, my dad used to play soccer with us in the alley behind our house on summer evenings as the street lights came on. There was always a soccer ball being kicked around either in the basement, backyard, or on TV. We even went to a ton of Chicago Sting games where we chanted “Let’s Go Sting!" and, when they scored, threw around wads of confetti that we spent hours the week leading up to the game making from newspaper.

from google images. my favorite (Sting) player.

When I was about 6, I was finally able to join a soccer league and compete. It was the late 1970s. I was the only girl in the entire league, and I loved it because I loved soccer.
I like to think that my love for soccer meant I kicked ass at it, but I always seemed to end up playing a defensive position... save for one particular game. The coach had me switch positions with a midfielder and then with an offensive player in a matter of minutes. I was on the right side of the field. There was only one opposing team player and his goalie before me. Suddenly I heard screaming and turned to see a ball flying toward me.

It was my time to shine.

It was my time to prove to everyone that I deserved to play an offensive position.

It was my time to score.

The ball flew closer to me, in slow motion, and now it was just me and the goalie. All I had to do was stretch my leg out at the right time for my foot to tap the ball past the goalie.

But instead my leg and foot completely missed the ball.

I was mortified and avoided eye contact with everyone as I ran off the field to be replaced by someone who deserved to be on the field in an offensive position.

Still, I stayed with my team in that league as the only girl for several years. For the most part, being the only girl became an issue only during our practices because I inevitably always had to be  member of the Shirts team (versus the Skins team who didn’t wear shirts). But other than that, I was one of them; we practiced together, we ran laps together.

Soccer was my life.

And then one day, things completely changed: I woke up bleeding from my crotch; my stick straight, thick hair started getting curly; and I had boobs that required an actual bra opposed to an undershirt.

I was 10 years old and often got second glances from men my father's age. It was quite disgusting and humiliating and I soon quit playing soccer because of the teasing  I heard when I ran laps.

I hated my boobs so much… still kind of do, today.

bubble chasing girly girl best get ready cuz she will be kicking that ball around soon! ;)

Please go HERE to read the re-write of this post.

July 23, 2012

before 40, again

In January I started thinking about things I wanted to try to accomplish in the nine months I had left before turning the big 4-0.

I updated the list at the end of April. And now, a month and a half before turning the big 4-0, I'm updating again because I have a hellacious headache and can't really think of anything else to write I can it's Monday and that means it's LISTICLES time! (comments in RED are from April, comments bold and in PURPLE are from today)

* finish Lovie's 1 year book (up to 9 months now) and 2 year book
* go down two pant sizes (not even close to this- ugh) (down one size and am pretty sure i'll make it down TWO! by my bday)
* get new wedding/anniversary bands for our 5 year wedding anniversary in June (we'll have been together 12 years) (this is happening but hasn't yet since it's not June so can't cross off yet) (done!)
* start being more active again- walking when i can, taking the stairs (haha. no... hahahahahaha. ugh) (it's been like a 100 every day for ever now- fuck activity!)
* do something ALONE at least once a month- even if it's running out to Target (this has happened a couple times! and even though i was home alone while the hubs and Lovie were out, it was still ... nice!) (ongoing/done!)
* get out to a dinner at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse with the hubs alone (it's our favorite and we haven't been since days before Lovie's birth) (done!)
* take a weekend trip to NYC to visit my BFF/cousin - alone - to celebrate our 40th birthdays (she's 6 months older than me) (should be booking this trip today as a matter of fact- WOOT!) (2 weeks from today, i'll be packing up to head back home from our Fierce and Forty trip to Paradise for a long weekend!)
* start knitting again- and reading more (reading more when i can but that knitting thing? not sure when the hell that will happen) (no. the only reading i do these days are blogs and no knitting either.)
* start writing more again (this is ongoing here on the blog- though not much fiction) (ongoing/done! including fiction!)
* and, again, the number one thing to do before turning 40 is get myself healthier (this is ongoing. i've already gotten a physical, gotten a mammogram and i'm trying to eat better.) (ongoing/done! lost nearly 25 pounds to date, eating healthier)

July 20, 2012

TILTW: 7/14-7/20

* Just because she's uber girly girl and wants to dress in a "princess dress" (tutu) and wear a "super power bracelet" (slinky), doesn't mean she can't play with tools. Make a mama proud, she does.

* If you peel a bit off both the narrow and wider ends of a hard boiled egg and blow into the narrow end's hole, you can un-peal the egg very easily. Youtube it if you don't believe me.

* I'm in desperate need of a pedicure. shudder

* Two weeks from today, this moment, I'll be up in the air in an airplane getting ready to meet my BFF/cousin in Paradise for a long weekend to celebrate that we're Fierce and Forty (she is already, I will be in September).

RWH: The Secret Sits {-Fiction-}

“…um, I’m kinda new to all this.”

“You’re a virgin?” I rolled back on to my side, smiling. No way could I have scored a virgin. No fucking way!

“Well yeah, but…” she covered her face with her hands. “I’m just not that experienced with any of this.”

I gently kissed her head. “That’s fine.” Are you shitting me?

She just laid there.

“Can we... still? Kiss?” I asked. I mean, what the fuck? You’re not 12.

We started making out more and it was good and nice but really? What the fuck? This chick was 22 years old with a huge set of knockers. How the hell could she be “new to all of this?”

I didn’t deflower her for another month.

We made out a lot. We took off our clothes and came so very close more than once, but I didn’t have condoms and Princess Purity didn’t either. Fuck, I wanted to get laid so bad. And I hated fucking condoms. So I went down on her. More than once. And she gave me hand jobs. More than once. Did she go down on me? No. Little twit never went down on me. I mean, how about you give a little with all that take, right? One day after we smoked a bowl and started kissing, I even tried pushing her head down. She looked at me in horror so I told her I was kidding. But really? What the fuck? I can’t get my dick wet in your pussy or your mouth?

So I started ignoring her. Like on New Year’s. I just took off for a week with my cousins. Yeah I thought of her, she was my Beth. But she wouldn’t go down on me and there were no condoms, and I was gonna explode if I spent more time with her.

The week after New Year’s we talked in her car after work one day. She cried and told me she really cared about me but that she couldn’t take the “lack of communication.” She asked if she should drive me home and I agreed.

We got to my place and just sat for a moment with the car still running.

“Just go,” she cried. Her face was all wet, her eyes all red and puffy.

“You really want me to?”

She didn’t answer me, wouldn’t look at me.

“I love you.” What the motherfucking shit did I just say?!?

She didn’t look at me, thankfully, so I opened the door to get out and she grabbed my hand, holding it so hard I sat back down.
“Please don’t leave,” she whispered through her sobs.

We hugged and wiped each other’s tears.

This piece is a continuation of last week's piece. Both fiction. I'm stepping outside of my comfort zone big time by trying to write from a male's point of view.

July 19, 2012

peace, quiet, and kinda creepy

A log cabin with fine amenities tucked far off a country road.

A large living room that opens into a bright and airy dining room that leads into an ample kitchen with a round table set in front of sliding glass doors leading out to the deck that wraps around the west side of the house- the perfect spot to sit and watch the sun set. Just outside the deck off the kitchen is open space with luscious greens and a vast wall of pine trees blocking any views into any other homes that may or may not be neighboring.

A glistening, small, hand-made lake sits a bit further away where the kiddo can play in the sand, splash in the water… where we can just sit and be.

Huge windows in the living room overlook open landscaping of green grass, looming trees, and gorgeous hills off in the distance that fold into the sky. In the fall, those hills are littered in reds and yellows and browns and oranges. The view is like a painting and anyone and everyone ever sitting inside the house comments on how breathtakingly beautiful it is.

Because it truly is.

There’s no cars, no neighbors, no stores nearby.

My make believe vacation home is Peace and Quiet and maybe even a little creepy in the dead of night.

note: i shit you not that after i wrote this i googled "log cabin in woods" and "log cabin by lake" and found it! my dream vacation home is in Michigan (i thought i was in Maine but Michigan will do, too)!

July 18, 2012

Jackpot moment

It’s obvious to me that we’ve hit the jackpot with her; I think about it every single day.
We’re halfway through the Terrible Two’s and, not to gloat, but it hasn’t been terrible at all. Not one bit. There have been some not-so-awesome moments, of course, but more than not, the days are absolutely beautiful with her and it’s all because of who she is, who she’s becoming.

She’s a lover, this one. She adores animals and babies and will often talk about “how coot” they are. She loves her friends and her teachers, and she also loves her Mama and Daddy, too- which rocks our world, obviously.

Lovie adores being in contact with us. Not in an unhealthy way, I don’t think. She doesn’t freak out if one of us leaves the room or the house.  She’s content with being near either of us, and especially loves sitting right on top of our laps. We could be playing on the floor or watching TV and she’s always climbing on top one of us to sit or lay, or at least placing her hand on us.

It’s like she’s letting us know that she loves and appreciates us just as much as we do her, and it makes being a parent to this little chica an indescribable joy.

I feel like she’s a really happy and content little girl; she’s always smiling, she’s always so happy just being.

And she’s always doing these sweet little things like climbing into the side of a restaurant booth that her daddy is sitting in just to give him hugs and kisses, just to be near him.

i mean, how cute are they?!? god bless the cell phones of today!!

Ack, she’s just so damn amazing. And we’re so damn blessed.

We’ve totally hit the jackpot with this one.

July 17, 2012


We sat on the bed waiting for breakfast to arrive with piles of cards, cash and checks, and a small frame of my grandfather between us. The wedding day two days prior, was everything I had hoped it would be. I felt like a rock star.

I glanced down at the photo of my smiling grandfather and asked if he had a good time, too.

It had been less than two years since Ota passed away and the thought of not being able to dance with him on my wedding day sickened me. So I made sure to find one of my favorite photos of him and placed it into a tiny frame and carried it with me to the banquet hall. I had my niece hold it during the ceremony, and during the reception, Ota sat at the head table between me and my maid of honor/cousin.

Oma and Ota, Christmas 2003 (?)
My new husband, my cousins, my siblings and I all had at least one of Ota’s favorite drinks- a “Highball with no ice!”- in honor of him.  
I asked the DJ to play the Chicken Dance and smiled at Oma’s reaction when she heard it. I knew we were both thinking of him and his love of life and polka music. 

My mom called me at about 11:30 on the first Tuesday night in November. I knew the moment I recognized her voice on the other end that something was drastically wrong.

“Ota fell,” her voice shook.
I shot up into a sitting position in bed. She was calling me as the ambulance was taking him to the hospital. She called me again a couple hours later to confirm he was gone.
I was alone in my condo, in my bed. I couldn’t speak. I nearly vomited. I don’t remember hanging up the phone, I only remember feeling this incredibly deep pain and sadness. The tears flowed so freely. I screamed out loud several times, trying to stifle some of them into a pillow. I hadn’t felt that alone in a very long time.

The next several days were hard… and long and very sad. My cousins and I created four large poster boards full of pictures of Ota’s life to display at his memorial. He lived a long, full 89 years. He lived through and survived the war (WWII). His story was one that was repeated time and time again any opportunity he had to tell it. He even spent several years typing his words onto paper in both English and German, his native tongue, so that he could turn those words into a book about his life, his history… and ours.

We each have a copy of that book, each individually handmade and assembled by Ota, and while it’s not an easy read because of the language translation, it’s one of the most amazing gifts I’ve ever received.

July 16, 2012

Long Live Summer Photo Contest

In case you haven't figured it out by the 100 degree temperatures invading some parts of this country, it's Summer. And that (most likely) means BBQ's, beach trips, ice cream, catching fireflies, running through sprinklers, getting pummeled by water balloons... Hopefully you're capturing all of these fun Summer moments on camera!

If so, you should definitely check out Shutterfly’s Long Live Summer Photo Contest on Facebook, which launched on Monday July 9th (and runs for 5 weeks): http://bit.ly/sweepS

Long Live Summer Facebook Photo Contest details: July 9-August 12, 2012. Multi-week summer themed photo sweepstakes with instant win prizes. http://bit.ly/sweepS Win a trip for four to The Bahamas and a professional photo shoot so you’ll remember your vacation forever. 

All you need to do is upload your favorite photo and caption based on the theme of the week.  Get a gift from Shutterfly just for entering! You can enter at any point during the 5-week sweepstakes period.

•       Week 1(7/9): Americana
•       Week 2 (7/16): Great Outdoors
•       Week 3 (7/23): Water Fun
•       Week 4 (7/30): Sports & Activities
•       Week 5 (8/6): Parties & Celebrations

•      Instant win prizes just for submitting a photo!
•      Weekly prizes (contestants can enter one time/week)
•      Weekly featured photos: up to 5 weekly entries will be selected from the gallery and featured on the Facebook fan page and awarded a $500 gift card on Shutterfly and a copy of the new Lonely Planet travel photography book.
•      Grand prize: trip for 4 to Bahamas, 4 nights, family photo shoot
•      Shutterfly Sweepstakes - Official Rules

in exchange for posting about this contest, i'm getting a promo code for a free 8x8-20 page hardcover Photo book(plus free shipping). squee!!

It's time to get up!

When Lovie was only a couple weeks old, I went out and picked up the Seahorse, a beloved little stuffed toy whose tummy glows a soft yellow and plays soft lullaby music for about five minutes.

I'd wrap Lovie up tightly in a swaddle and place her in her crib, press the Seahorse's belly and Lovie would watch her Seahorse and fall asleep. Oftentimes I'd have to press the belly more than once as the light and music lasted only five minutes, but Lovie adored her Seahorse.

In fact, I used to say that the Seahorse and ceiling fan were Lovie's first BFFs.

Lovie still has her Seahorse but now she calls it her pet: "Say hi to Little Pet," she'll tell me as she cradles the thing like a newborn baby.

The batteries in the Seahorse died long ago and she stopped caring much about it (the pet thing came about recently when she found the Seahorse amidst her toys in a box in her room).

Forever now, Lovie's had to get up at 5:30 weekday mornings so I can drop her off at school by 6:30 so that I can make it into work by 7AM so that we can be home by 5PM and have some time together before bed. After about 13 months, Lovie started sleeping later than 5:30 and I would have to wake her. After a couple times of having one hell of a time getting her awake without her wanting to kill me, I learned to ease her into waking up (I open her door, turn on the closet light, turn off her noise machine while I continue to get ready- making as much noise as possible).

On weekends, she would generally sleep for 11 to 12 hours, very rarely waking before 7.

But then she started growing and growing and with that, she needed less and less sleep. Or something. And soon, we were waking before 6AM on weekends, too.


So enter The Owl. An uncle to the Seahorse, if you will.

I read lots of stories online about getting some sort of (alarm) clock in her room and telling her she couldn't get up before X time. Lovie's known her numbers for a year now, including by sight, but I still wasn't sure if this would work because her room is very dark due to black-out curtains (HIGHLY RECOMMEND). Well, then I happened upon The Owl and I thought back to the Seahorse days and I just had a good feeling The Owl would work.

Basically, The Owl is a stuffed toy (but not soft like a normal stuffed toy) with a clock inside that can be set and locked for certain wake up time or wake up nap time. The tummy of The Owl can be pressed (though Lovie can't do this since you have to press a little hard) and if it's not time to wake up, The Owl's belly turns yellow and says "It's not time to wake yet, go back to sleep now" (or something) and plays soft bedtime music. If it's closer to the wakeup time that's set it says something like, "It's not time to wake yet, just a little bit longer" and, again, plays soft bedtime music.

When the time is reached that's set for wakeup, The Owl turns green and stays lit for 20 minutes (I think) or until you press its belly. Then, when you press the belly, The Owl says, "It's OK to wake now!" and plays an upbeat song before turning off.

Lovie ADORES when it lights up green. It could be 5:30 in the morning during the week and if she sees it's green, she instantly smiles and asks me to press the belly to play the music so she can dance along with it (incidentally, if I press the belly at bedtime and it turns yellow, she doesn't like it all and asks to shut it off immediately).

It took several weekends before she'd stop calling for us if she woke before The Owl turned green, but once she realized that she had to stay in bed till it was green, she learned to just chill out till then. And once it's green, she lights up (along with The Owl) and shouts out, "Mama! Daddy! It's green! It's time to get up!" which Mama can handle much better than at 5:45AM.

Amazon (where I purchased The Owl) and the makers of The Owl do not know I exist. I'm not being compensated in any way to review this. These are just my opinions.

July 13, 2012

TILTW: 7/7-7/13

* I freaking love playing Hide n Seek with Lovie. She's hysterical. I love the way she always hides in the same exact spot- huddled up into a ball in the middle of her oversized bean bag chair in her playroom just off the living. Every single time she tells us, "You count to 20 and I hide!", she then runs right to bean bag chair. Sometimes after we say, "Ready or not, here I come," we take our time looking around saying, "Where is she? Where's [Lovie]?" Sometimes she'll start giggling, other times she'll bounce up and and tell us, "I right here!"  And then when the tables turn and she looks for us, she runs from room to room, always checking the last place she found me, after counting to 20 (sometimes she will do the whole counting thing, other times she will say "1 and 20!" {smart ass already!}) and saying, "Ready or not here my come!"

* We went to the zoo last Sunday.

The 100 degree temps finally broke (praise!) so we went for it. The high was 82 but it was super sunny and the zoo has little shade. We roasted. But it was fun. And it was spur of the moment and it all made it seem like we were on vacation. Fun times. But I think we won't be back till it's below 80 out there.

* Very random, but apparently, as long as you were married for 10 years, you can collect on your ex-spouse's social security. Even if you haven't been married to them for 30 years, you can collect on their social security once they die.

The Forbidden {-Fiction-}

I was captivated with her the moment we met. Rather, the moment I saw her glide into the dining room that first time: Her long dark hair, her bright eyes, her full lips, that plump ass, and those boobs. Fuck me, her boobs screamed for me to manhandle them… to grab a hold and squeeze… to plant my face between them and let each tittie slap me on either side of my face while I breathed in her essence.

She was fat though.

And fat chicks don’t cut it with us most of the time. (Truth is, though, that we all like some meat, we all like to grab a hold of something. Fuck yeah.)

Anyways, so, Beth walked in and the more she moved, the more her hair bounced, the more her boobs jiggled… the harder I got.

But I had no idea who she was and couldn’t ask Brad or Chuckie- though I’m sure they woulda loved to talk about her tits. So I just watched her any chance I could- like when she’d walk into the break room. Man, I loved watching her bounce. And I also started chatting it up with Marilyn, the old lady with sagging boobs that worked at the front desk who knew everyone and everything about the nursing home.

Several weeks after seeing Beth that first time, I was leaving and noticed Marilyn sitting alone at the front desk so I asked if I could use the phone.

“Dan, you know I can’t let employees use this here phone,” she replied.

“I know Miss Marilyn, but my grandma’s been real sick and my phone is dead,” I replied, holding up my turned off cell phone.

She looked at me and nodded her head for me to come behind the desk. I dialed the number to my own cell and asked my ailing grandmother if she needed me to bring anything during my visit that evening. I thanked Marilyn after hanging up with grams and left. And the next day, when Marilyn asked how my visit was with sick old grams, I asked about the new chick who happened to be talking with one of the residents near the piano in the community center.
“Oh that’s Beth,” she smiled, turning back to me. “She came in from one of the agencies to help with marketing. She seems real nice.”

Marilyn’s bloodshot blue eyes studied me for a moment before she added, “Are you sweet on her, Dan?”
I told her I was, but that with my sick grandma and all the moving I’d done over the past couple years, I was a little rusty in the making friends department.

July 12, 2012

I Am

I am sarcastic and kind
I wonder why some people are so stupid
I hear her amazing laugh
I see her beautiful smile
I want this to last forever
I am sarcastic and kind

I pretend that my feelings don't get hurt
I feel fulfilled by her life
I touch her sweet soft skin
I worry what will happen when we're gone
I cry when a soul passes on
I am sarcastic and kind

I understand she's what it's all about
I say to enjoy every moment like it's your last
I dream that my hair wasn't so gray
I try to stay positive
I hope all of her dreams come true
I am sarcastic and kind

July 11, 2012

such a shame

My mom likes to tell people that when I was a newborn, I was so tiny that she’d tuck me into a shoe box inside an open drawer to nap. I was her third and final baby born and I "slid right out.”

As a small child, I was a shit of a kid wanting nothing to do with baby dolls and girly stuff and everything to do with soccer and boy stuff. I didn’t watch a lot of TV; instead, I was always outside playing with friends. But then my parents split when I was 9 and absolutely everything changed. I didn’t know what was going on because nobody explained anything—they just told me what to do and I did it. Like go to three different grammar schools and four different high schools. As a result, I had no friends.

No friends but food.

I've recently lost nearly 20 pounds of this bullshit fat, but nobody can notice. Twenty pounds is nothing to sneeze at but nobody can tell I've lost it because I have so much more to lose. It's disgusting, really. And sad.

I try so hard not to dwell on how much more I need to lose to be closer to an average size. Instead, I try to focus on the fact that I feel really great right now: My energy is up, I sleep better at night, I'm more active with my Lovie when it's not 100 degrees out. But then something like yesterday happens and I get slammed into the reality of it all: I'm morbidly obese.

I got certified in CPR yesterday afternoon.

When it came time to kneel on the floor in front of our victim (a dummy) to check for signs of life and/or perform CPR, I knelt just fine. Yeah it wasn't comfortable to kneel but it wasn't comfortable for any of us. When it came time to join our hands together to perform chest pumps, I did just fine. When it came time to lean in to the victim to check for air, I nearly fell over. Literally. And when it came time to breathe into my victim, I simply couldn't do it.

I couldn't bend over enough to give my unconscious victim mouth to mouth resuscitation. My huge boobs and big fat belly stopped me from bending over enough. I tried with all my might to force the fat to move, but it wouldn’t budge and I couldn’t pinch the victims nose and breathe into its mouth at the same time.


I could feel my face get hot and refused to look up from my dummy.

While I’ve been fat most of my life, I’ve never been one to let it define me. It’s a part of who I am, yes, but it’s not all of who I am… until a moment pops up when shame seeps inside of me and takes over.

July 9, 2012


We celebrated the end to the disgusting heat wave with an impromptu trip to the zoo. It was still hot (in the sun) but we had fun and somehow, it made the weekend seem like a little vacation. Hooray.

July 6, 2012

RWH/WOE: Freedom {fiction}

Nobody ever told me it would be like this. Nobody.

They all said that time would go by so fast, that I should enjoy it all while I had the chance.

Enjoy what? The screaming? The crying? The endlessness to it all?

Time couldn’t possibly move any slower; I don’t understand what the fuck everyone was talking about it “going by so fast.”

I’m so fucking tired.

I don’t want this.

I’m not strong enough for this.

And where the fuck is Hank in all this? Why the fuck can’t he ever get his lazy fucking ass out of bed and help me? How the hell can he sleep through the screaming and crying? Even when she’s not screaming and crying, doesn’t he still hear it? Am I the only one that hears the screaming and crying 24/7?! LUCKY ME!

When Hank’s gone and she’s crying, I strap her in the swing and take a shower. I didn’t always do this but she doesn’t move. Only her mouth moves when she’s screaming and crying. And sometimes her head moves and her hands and feet wiggle. But it’s not like she’s going to fall out of the swing, crack her head on the floor and finally shut up. It’s just not going to happen that way.

At first I tried picking her up and feeding her or holding her or rocking shushing singing to her but she doesn’t shut the fuck up once she starts. So now I just lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower. Sometimes I get in the shower and just let the water run over my body, hoping that each spray of water are knives slicing into my scalp and skin.

But I can still hear the crying. Motherfuck, it doesn’t ever stop.

And when I finally unlock and open the bathroom door, there she is tucked in the swing. Nobody came and took her. She didn’t fall out. And she didn’t shut up.

When I move in closer, I can see that she’s still. She looks rather peaceful. Her lips are pursed together, her eyelashes curl over her silky skin.

She’s not crying, she’s not screaming, but I swear to god, I can still hear her.

Dear god, I feel so motherfucking trapped. How the hell did I get into this fucking mess?

TILTW: 6.30-7.6

* This Summer is only technically a couple weeks old and, once again, it's proving that I'm just not a Summer person. I hate the heat and humidity. And, apparently, so does Lovie. Have you seen the photo above? That was taken last Saturday (or maybe it was Sunday) when it wasn't even 90 yet, wasn't even 11AM. She lasted a whole 20 minutes before saying, "I wanna go inside and watch TeeBee."

* I'm not a compulsive overeater like I thought I was. I overeat, for sure, but after seeing the movie Lbs on July 4th while Lovie was napping, I'm certain mine isn't as severe an addiction as some. I still feel that food can be addictive because we absolutely have to have it to live, but I just don't feel like I'm as addicted as some. Lbs is one of those movies that sticks with you well after it's over... I really recommend anyone seeing it.

July 5, 2012

the Fourth

Independence Day has never been a big deal in my family growing up. I think divorce will do that to a family. From what I can recall, I generally spent most July 4ths with my dad who is very much a get-outside type of person. He hates staying inside; he's always got to be doing something.

I remember visiting some people who were somehow related to his mother's cousin on a couple different July 4th holidays. Their house was one of about a dozen or two that circled around a little lake. We'd eat BBQ and pasta (of course), play with sparklers and water, ride paddle boats. And at night, we'd watch the fireworks over the lake. Looking back it was pretty damn cool, but as a preteen and teen, I hated it. I was so bored. I knew nobody but my dad. Yippee. I wanted to be out with friends partying. But I didn't have many friends because of how often my mom moved. Besides, my dad was/is great at laying on the guilt trips about seeing him.

When I became an "adult," I still didn't do much on the Fourth; I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen a fireworks display on the actual Fourth- or in honor of it. 

I just hate the crowds of people, the sweat, the smoke, the clusterfuck of ...everything.

Now that we have Lovie, however, I'd really like to change some of this. I'd love nothing more than to have some sort of "tradition" for something we do on or around the Fourth. But I don't have any family related to my mother's cousin who live on a lake to visit and neither does my husband. (Actually, Taye probably does since both of his parents are one of eleven children {could you imagine?!} but there are so much family it's confusing.)

July 4, 2010
Lovie was only 6 months old on her first July 4th in 2010 so we treated the day like any other weekend day off with her and just hung around at home.

July 4, 2011
Last year I insisted we do something so we packed some bags and headed out to the park for picnic (with McDonald's) and play. But Lovie was quite off and it got hot fast so we were back home by early afternoon to discover Lovie had a 103 temperature! It was horrible and I felt awful for dragging her out in the hot just to start some sort of tradition.

July 4, 2012- hey, at least it was a red, white, and blue bath!

This year... well, this year the 4th fell smack dab in the middle of the week. As you're well aware. We had no plans going into it but I did look up some parks and pools nearby in the hopes of having some sort of plan. But as the day neared and the damn heat rose, we ended up doing nothing. It was just too damn hot to leave the house.

Instead, we woke early, watched TV, had some breakfast and then just did whatever which consisted of painting with water colors for about an hour, painting with finger paints for about 10 minutes (never again- will leave that for school), took an hour long bath, watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, had a hot dog for lunch,

is there anything more American than a hot dog, Cheetos, and applesauce?

took a two hour nap, made pancakes with playdoh, ate popsicles, watched more MMCH, ate dinner, watched Olivia, and went to bed. Well Lovie went to bed. Then Taye and I chilled out on the couch not touching one another, not moving, trying not to sweat even though the air conditioning hadn't shut off once all day.

It was like any other day in our house when we're all home together.

So actually, it was damn lovely.

Even without any BBQ or water play or watermelon or fireworks.

July 3, 2012

things that make my hair gray

Sitting on the couch together watching TV like we do every evening, Lovie pops her head up and asks for more milk, smiles big, and lays her head full of tight curls back on my chest. I rub the beads between my fingers and tell her she’s got to get up for a minute so I can fulfill her request. She sits up and I leave her there on the couch, alone, completely trusting that I’ll return.  
I’m her provider of food and clothes, rest and shelter, love and guidance; I'm her Mama. When she sees something new, she always asks, “Mama! Did you see it?” When she sings to a song on the radio, she demands, "Sing, Mama!" When I cuss at another driver on the road, she scolds, "Mama!"
She's my world, the air I breathe. My life.
I remember updating my Facebook account days after first being home with her to include a quote: "This is what it's all about."
I meant her.
She's the reason I was put here on the earth…the reason I lived the shitty times…the reason I kept going. This became clear the moment she was placed in my arms.
I imagine that every parent feels this way, right? I mean…they must.

My mom was barely 18 when she had my sister. The first four years of my sister's life was spent with my grandparents. After my mom met and married my dad, my sister moved in with them and my dad adopted her. My parents then had my brother, and years later, me. We lived the American Dream in a suburban bungalow. When I was 9, my parents split and my mother morphed into a partyer. I became the parent while both my siblings escaped by joining the armed forces as soon as legally possible.
By her mid-20s, my sister had her first two kids. When they were pre-teens, she left them with her soon to be ex-husband, seeing the kids when it was convenient for her. Years passed and she remarried and had a third child whom she left when he was 11. She still has a relationship with all of her children (and a grandbaby), but, again, she’s flying solo these days.
My brother was a daddy by 23. Several years later, his wife left the boy with my brother and the two became inseparable. About eight years later when the boy started becoming rebellious, my brother allowed him to live with his ex-wife. My brother then moved thousands of miles away and it’s been years since he’s even talked to the boy, now 20.

I know these lives are theirs and not mine, yet I still can’t help but wonder if I will follow this same path. I pray daily that it stops with me.
It must stop with me, I think as I sit back down next to my lovebug. “Thanks, Mama!” she beams, taking the sippy cup from my hand and laying her head full of curls back on my chest.