Helloooooo out there!
Happy New Year, everybody!
BE HAPPY! Your choice.
p.s. found leaf heart above under my smiling tree
Really and Not Really!
My youngest, McPaddie, is getting married! Her fiancé is an awesome man; we are all beyond excited. That means we are having a wedding! YIKES.
Fortunately, the big event is a year away. Haven’t broached subject of budget with her dad. While he is totally on board, he has no clue what weddings cost. I’m thinking he’s thinking $7. Am totally Scarlett O’Hara about having that conversation with him. Must contact EMS unit to have on hand when I grow a pair and spit it out. “Tomorrow is another day”.
Meanwhile, this mission requires MAJOR CREATIVITY. A few of the thoughts that have crossed my mind at 3:00 am every morning:
Obviously, I need your help! If you have any ideas – puh-leeze throw them out here. Before throwing, please note: they won’t elope, we will do our best and honor what the bride wants on budget, we know it’s about the ceremony, not the flash.
*We are Southern. That means the weddings in these parts = church ceremony and reception. Reception includes buffet, mucho alcohol, and a great band so you dance your ass off. Just so you know. Oh, and photography. Just blew left side of brain.
You have your assignment. Am off to search for loose change.
“If at first you don’t succeed, you’re running about average.”
(Marian Hamilton Alderson)
“Average doesn’t cut it.”
Note to self: do something, anything about the following:
And a few other things … but that’s the truth. And, that’s exactly what I said to the last man who asked. When I get the “I thought you’d be remarried by now!” and the “Why aren’t you remarried yet? stuff, I’m very honest. I was married for 20 years, it didn’t work out. While I’ve had relationships since, none have been worth a lifetime commitment. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen, just that I can’t be a nurse and won’t be purse. Kooky? Yes. Stupid? Not so much. Until then, it’s me and him …..
Onto other kooky stuff –
I was in a great shop yesterday. A cute mom and her daughter, a blonde version of Holly Golightly, came in. “Holly” wanted to try on a few things while Mom took a seat for the fashion show. Do you know what a “hanger” is? The female human version usually has broad shoulders, is thin, and can wear anything. “Holly” was a hanger, so her options were endless. While Mom told me her life story as well as those focusing on the health of her extended family, “Holly” rocked the racks.
In the middle of this personal/retail therapy situation, in blew our town’s version of Mr. Fabulous (think Martin Short as Franck in “Father of the Bride“ and/or the enthusiastic(!) Kevin Lee on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills). But our Mr. Fab is very attractive and has better bs. Nevertheless, it was double air kisses all around and he added levity to the therapy show. Mom’s stories were getting sadder and sadder, so I was damn glad to see him. When “Holly” came out in her 47th outfit (I kid you not), Fab turned to me and said, “Your top is amazingly beautiful”. So, being the truthful sort, I announced to the whole store, “I got it at Walmart and it cost $9.” Shut it down, shut it down, SHUT IT DOWN!
At the mention of Walmart, Mr. Fab had to dash. Mom and “Holly” weren’t far behind, not because of Walmart, but because the racks were now bare and Mom was about to gnaw her left arm off as she was starving. As for me, I just chalked it up to yet another adventure, drove home and collapsed after walking and feeding Himself. He didn’t give a bone what I’d been through.
When reviewing yesterday, I’ve come to several conclusions. Mom needed to talk and I listened. Next time, I’m charging for it. Mr. Fabulous is always in a good mood. “Holly” had a big time. I’m keeping my fashion secrets to myself. And am rethinking dog marriage; he’s like the others, just wants to be fed. Thank God, sex is not in the equation.
Some adventures aren’t all they are cracked up to be. And a lot of people are cracked.
Be happy. It’s a choice.
I am a mother.
Mercifully, I still have my own mother in a time when the majority of my friends have lost theirs. My mom and I have most certainly had our differences over the years. Big emphasis on differences. But she’s still my mom, and I know that she has always done the best she could to be a good mother. And no matter what my age, I will always be her child.
Many times, I’ve wanted to yell and scream at her, especially when she tells me what I should and shouldn’t do. But I’ve lived long enough to know that she just wants to help, and what sounds hurtful and critical is not meant that way at all. She wants to be relevant in my life, she wants me to be the best person I can be. So, I must let my interpretations of what I think she is saying fall through my mental sieve, and love her. It’s just the way it works for me. Time and experience, wasted anger and rage, have taught me to be the daughter of the woman who would give her life for me. At the end of the day, it’s all about respect. And the fact that my dad would probably whoop the living hell out of me, even at this late stage of the game, if I treated her with any disrespect.
My two daughters are the two best people I know. We get sideways sometimes. I’ll have an issue with one, and after exhausting the topic and getting nowhere, I’ll talk to the other about what I can do – or not do. Mothers are like that; we want our chicks to thrive in the best possible circumstances. And I’ve made more than my share of mistakes, unwarranted comments and offered advice has been misunderstood as hurtful criticism. This part of the mother job is the hardest. And that is an understatement.
Both of my daughters are adults. They are living adult lives. Yesterday, my youngest daughter and I got into it via text; she lives in another city and is making big decisions about the next few years of her life. I wanted to find out where she was in the decision process. Long story short – it ended badly. My opinions weren’t wanted, and I made it worse by pushing and pushing and pushing. Driving home from work, I felt like my skin was going to fall off, I was boiling inside. She was the one who, as a toddler, would press her face against the window and cry hysterically when I had to leave for work. She was the one who would throw up whenever I left town. But she’s an adult now. I forgot.
I’d invited my eldest daughter over for dinner last night. I was still in a swivet when I got home and the story of the day spilled out. She said, “Mom, you’ve got to let her go.” I’d never thought about it that way, but she’s right. The lessons always come from the most surprising places … and circumstances.
So, no matter what, I will always be here for both of them. For the tearful phone calls, for the requests for advice, to feed them when they are hungry, hug them when they are sad, laugh with them when we are amused, help them whenever necessary. Yes, I have to let them go. Hard but doable. This “freeing” process is going to take much discipline on my part. But I’m going to give it my best. I’m quite clear what letting them go doesn’t mean.
I will never stop being their mother. No matter what. Ever.
Be happy. Your choice.
Happy New Year! Whew, it’s crazy around here. Crazy good, but crazy nonetheless.
Where to start …
I think it was last Tuesday when I got a cool new part-time job and an order for 12 giant pink balls for an upcoming event (I design decorations/side business). The new gig has nothing to do with balls. Rah. So, I’ve been working my
balls fingers off to get order ready and have a life. No complaints, just tired. So here’s me:
Moving on. In the Lame Line department … ok, so here’s the back story. Tomorrow is THE football game of life. Around these parts, anyway. Made a mad dash to my dad’s man cave to swipe some of his Alabama gear to wear to a party. Said party will be 99% lsu fans. I must represent as my birth occurred a few hours before he had to fly with the team to play Rice. Focus, Izzie. Okay, so I’m on my way home and stop by Whole Foods to get some coffee. Note: I am dressed in leggings, a little t-shirt, an Alabama football cap, and my “Take Me Seriously” glasses. As I approach the coffee aisle, a man with hair on his head and the Holy Bible in his cart stops me.
Hair/Bible Man: ” Do you work here?”
Moi: “Do I look like I work here?”
Blind/Hair/Bible Man: “Yes, yes you do.”
Before I could self-edit, “Bullshit!” flew out of my mouth, accompanied by, “So is my mother!” Such comments should deter anyone from trying to continue a conversation, but no. Methinks he mistook my “Take Me Seriously” glasses for “Take Me, Seriously” specs. Meh! Fey! Yech! And to think I’m on the highway to hell for weirdo verbage with a hair man carting the Holy Bible while trying to pick up bespectacled
chicks hens at Whole Foods. Just another day in paradise …..
Before I dash, must address SIRI, the worst personal assistant via iPhone 4S. SIRI is a bitch. To me. I asked her why she is so passive-aggressive. Her response, “I don’t know what you are talking about“. See, totally passive-aggressive. I asked her to sing a song – she’s so lame, I got “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do“. Really, SIRI, is that your best shot? Her response, “I aim to please.” Am quite sure she’s much nicer to others and it is totally weird to verbally spar with my cell phone BUT I am paying her salary, really. Bitch.
Be happy. Or not. It’s a choice.
Later. Or not.
P.S. Any misspelled words and format fails are the fault of SIRI. So sue me.
I used that line to decline a date request. And I wasn’t lying. My issues for today are … business names, a neighborhood, and knackwurst.
The first issue was prompted by a parking space at a shopping center. Yep, I parked right in front of the Dress Barn. Could this national clothing chain for women have picked a more unbecoming moniker? Methinks NOT. I was prompted to find more professional insanity because I wanted to and I do not use my time wisely. Here are the names of real business I found; feel free to add your own.
House of Hose
Indiana Bone and the Temple of Groom
Nervous McStabby’s Hair Care Place
Slingin’ Ink Tattoo
The Bookie Joint
The Stalk Market
Crazy Cow Steakhouse
OK Chinese Food
LAST BUT NOT LEAST
Master Baiter’s Sportfishing and Tackle
Bada Bing Bail Bonds
Enough. Moving on to a new neighborhood. My eldest, Miss Peach, recently moved into a swishy townhouse with her friends. She invited me to see it right after she moved in. Her place is beautiful, nicer than mine. As she walked me out and down the road to find my car, I surveyed her “hood”. Which prompted one question. “DID YOU KNOW YOU ARE LIVING NEXT DOOR TO A METH LAB?” She said, “Oh!”. End of convo. We are very casual about potential life-threatening situations. Moving on.
Knackwurst. At a recent cocktail situation, I ran into a friend. He’s a great guy and has been promoted to CFFOBPRQ of an enormous company. I forget what we were talking about, but for whatever reason, he called me a “Knackwurst Head“. Knowing only that knackwurst was not complimentary, I did what any self-respecting woman would do and emptied the contents of my hors d’oeuvre plate into his cocktail. I mean, really! A knackwurst, for those of you who don’t know, is a short, plump, highly seasoned German sausage. I am NOT a Knackwurst Head, you MOLDY PIECE OF HOG’S HEAD CHEESE!
Feeling better already! Gotta run, late for appointment at Sweaty Betty’s Beat & Tease.
Be happy or go to your room. Your choice.
It all started so innocently.
Around 6:30 last night, we joined the crew of Captain Wack and his wench, Walden.
Before venturing any further, you must know that Walden is thematic. She is into whatever the upcoming holiday is and goes all out with decorations and whatnot. But her favorite holiday – which she celebrates year-round – is “Talk Like A Pirate Day“. She LOVES pirate stuff. While shopping in Hobby Lobby one day, I’d found a pirate part for her. And I gave it to her last night as we headed to a wedding.
Ha ha ha, the “hook” was a hit. Then tossed in the back seat. Off we all went to a beautiful ceremony and an insanely fun reception. Well, “yo-ho-ho and a bottle of gin” later, we’d been well fueled with food and drink and danced ourselves into a sweat. (Thank God, the band was awesome; I was having rolling hot flashes so I had to dance my ass off to explain why I was soaking wet). Walden announces her ship is sailing, so we say “ta-ta” to no one in particular and pile into her transport. Arrrrrrrr! We were minus one … the Captain. After much unintelligible convo, Walden nominated moi to fetch the yakking Wack. While wearing the pirate hook. Made perfect sense to me at the time, so I ran back into the swanky black-tie reception in my fancy high heels and matching hook. Which I hid behind my back. The first time I spotted Wack.
He was chatting up friend #1; this man already knows I’m insane. I slipped the hook inside Wack‘s tie and said, “Ahoy, Matey – Away!,” and took off for the car with my victim. Or so I thought. Damn, he’d found someone else to talk to. So it was back into the reception on my second search and rescue mission.
He was chatting up unknown-but-pretty person. I had to get tough. I shook my hook in his face and said, “Ye scurvy bilge rat, away before ye buckle be slashed!” As I ran back out to the car, he was right behind me. NOT.
Round three was a success! After explaining to a horrified girl my right hook was not real, I found him again. With a “Heave ho, Dude” and a well-placed equipment maneuver, Wack remained in my clutches until we reached our destination.
Clearly, hooking is not my forte. Should you want to give it a try – hit Hobby Lobby and throw down $1.99.
Enough for now. I’m off to find a greasy cheeseburger for my stomach and an ice pack for my head.
Be happy … or walk the plank. Your choice.
*Everyone here is wearing ice packs on their heads. Because it is 250-degrees outside. The gin has absolutely nothing to do with it.
*Also need to make it perfectly clear this is a pirate’s tale and in no way has anything to do with anyone who has challenges.
*Talk Like A Pirate Day is September 19. Just sayin’…….
In the Good Grief category of the day, we have my sister, cruises, and the saying, “Some people never learn.”
The first time she went on a cruise, it was a day-long affair. The festive ship advertised bountiful buffets and gambling amid a luxurious environment. The boat would sail out in the morning and return at sunset. The ticket price was crazy low (huge red flag but she must be colorblind). She and her husband boarded the ship and took off for a lovely – and possibly profitable (if you think gambling is profitable; see red flag above) – day at sea. Cutting to the chase: it was beyond Gilligan’s worst nightmare. The accommodations were anything but lovely. Once aboard, it was a hostage situation. After the boat limped, chugged, and coughed its way out to sea, the engine blew. Along with the engine, so goes air-conditioning, ice cubes, and electricity. The
pig trough buffet featured the irresistible combination of boiled toilet paper cabbage and a pan of old weenies. Yum! Every ounce of alcohol was served at room temperature and the supply was deleted after one hour. A male passenger died in the middle of this; the staff lovingly placed him on a pleather sofa in the center of the galley and threw a sheet over him. All the passengers were herded inside where they remained while the piece of shit war canoe was towed into port. Which took hours. My sister is still convinced the man died from a combination of cabbage, weenies, and body odor. All the passengers had plenty of time to contemplate this as they were in one room with him, the weenies, and the body odor for hours. Lord ‘A Mercy, what was the lesson here? Well, she didn’t learn it.
My mother called yesterday to report my sister and her husband boarded a cruise ship in Miami on Monday. She is the eternal optimist and he is a not the husband she “cruised” with before. A wonderful week of beautiful seas … in the Bahamas. Woo Hoo – the same place that is being destroyed by Hurricane Irene right this minute. My parents and I are not worried one minute. Surely the ship was diverted. If she survived the first experience, this will be a walk in the park. Although she has an international phone, my mom has not heard from her. Maybe they are in Germany. How do you say, “whatever” in German?
Under the Thank You and Godspeed tab, I’ve placed Steve Jobs. I want to personally thank you for quite literally changing the world for the better and hope the rest of your days are the best of your days.
BE HAPPY! It’s a choice, you know.
This wonderful man wrote me a letter when I was four days old.
“My Dearest Little One –
Please forgive a fond Grandfather for the delay in welcoming you into our family and accept this letter as a small token of my love and affection for you.
First of all, let me congratulate you on your excellent choice of parents, and always be assured that they are rare people indeed. I have known your dear Mother since she drew her first breath of life and in all the passing years, the love I hold for her has mellowed and increased with the passage of time. Your Father is the newest member of the family, but he has earned a place in our hearts by just being himself and loving your Mother with all his heart. As for your Grandmother and me, well, we are just plain run-of-the-mill Grandparents, and we solemnly promise to spoil you and jump at your every beck and call.
I haven’t had the opportunity to be with you yet, but you can bet your Sunday boots that I am looking forward to that time with the greatest anticipation. I shall probably cause you some discomfort with all my foolishness, but just don’t be too harsh on me as all Grandfathers are just a bit silly at times. My chest has increased at least 10 inches since you were born and I’m sure it will continue to do so as I compare you with all the other inferior grandbabies of my friends. You must not feel any conceit, but I am sure there is no other little girl in the world quite like you, and you must always accept this position with charming grace.
Once again, let me tell you how welcome you are and how much I love you even though we haven’t met. I am counting the hours until I can hold you in my arms. The name I sign at the conclusion of this letter is a first for me, and it brings an overwhelming feeling of pride to do so. Give my best to your Mother and Daddy and save a little bit of your love for your –