I held the blade in trembling hands.........

prepared to make it but just then the phone rang, I never had the nerve to make the final cut - Pink Floyd - The Final Cut - 1983


Maybe because I've been a bit bitchy, maybe because it's Halloween and you kiddies have been good all week-----either way, go here:

http://www.theoworlds.com/halloween/


and have some fun. Create monsters and princesses and cats and goblins. Make a really vile carving of your ugly boss and e-mail it to all your co-workers. Have a party. It's all paid for. I didn't have enough rope to make a costume for everyone, so this will have to do. It's my very special gift to my Blog friends.



So don't ever let me hear you say I never gave you anything............ you ingrates.

It don't come easy....

you know it don't come easy - Ringo Starr - Ringo - 1971



It's not so simple to find an appropriate music title or set of lyrics to match the content of the daily Blog. So if you think it is, it's not, O.K? Just sayin'.













And so what?

It's the same old story......

same old song and dance, my friend - Aerosmith - Get Your Wings - 1974

Howsa' bout a little book review to start our week off righty-tighty? I just finished reading this:




















I found it on my whirlwind October 2006 tour of Barnes and Noble. It sure did look promising. Gore and guts and doctors and forensics. All the stuff I (((heart))) in one tidy literary package. How could a girl possibly go wrong with this purchase?

So here's my review:



"Dead Center. Sucks. A big, ugly one".



OK, so on to more interesting topics.


Don't have any. When I get over being pissed about wasting my money on literary garbage, I might be in more of a mood to converse. Until then, please talk quietly amongst yourselves. Have a nice day.

Makes me wanna' holler....

and throw up both my hands - Inner City Blues - Marvin Gaye - 1971

Just a little rant to start off our weekend on a charming note. Why the fuck can't people call someone back????? Are they deaf and don't have a













stupid and don't have a













ignorant and don't have a


















or lazy and don't have a















to get them up off their fat asses and dial the phone? I just don't know, but I'm really sick of leaving messages for people......supposed professional-type people.......and they don't bother to extend the common courtesy of a response. I mean, how much more concise can I be?

The scenario starts like this:

Me : (affecting my very best worker-bee happy girl attitude....do not try this at home)

" Hello, this is Avalon from Roxyville Hospital. I faxed you a project request for review 3 weeks ago and I was calling to follow up on the status of the request. My number is 555-roxy. Since time is of the essence in this project, you can reach me any weekday between 8 and 4:30, or leave a voice-mail message after hours. I look forward to hearing from you. Thanks, and have a great day!"


Seems pleasant and clear enough, right? Apparently, it is not. It is ugly and murky and unworthy of attention because I receive ABSOLUTELY NO RESPONSE! NONE. Which pisses me off. I wait 5 days.

Call # 2:
Me: " Hello, this is Avalon from Roxyville Hospital. I was hoping to speak to someone about the request I faxed over almost 1 month ago. I have a looming deadline that needs to be met for this project, so I would like to discuss the results of the request and review as soon as possible. You can reach me .....blah, blah,blah".

OK. A bit more forceful. Not quite as cute and charming, but hell, they probably don't even listen to the messages anyway, judging by the clear LACK OF RESPONSE! I wait 4 more days. NOTHING! Now I am not only pissed off, but I am pissed off ROYALLY! And since we all know what the Queen did to poor Diana, you NEVER want to piss anyone off ROYALLY!!

Call #3. "Hello, this is Avalon calling once again from Roxyville Hospital. I have yet to receive a call back in response to my two requests. I either need a response within the next 48 hours or I will be forced to terminate the contract and consult with another company who will accommodate our needs. If, for some reason this is not the correct number to address this issue, please immediately advise me of the name and number of the supervisor of the department and I will be glad to discuss my concerns with that person. The number to reach me before Friday at 4:30 is.... blah,blah,fuckin, blah"!

Guess what kids? 6 hours and counting! They have 6 hours to get back to me. I am NOT a gambling person, but I would definitely lay bets that my phone will not be ting-a-linging anytime soon. And this is a company WE ARE PAYING!!! This is the number they provided for, in the consultant's words, "immediate response". Fuckin' A! that's the way to run a business. And they have us by the balls because we have a deadline to meet, so hiring a new company now would cause us to be late. AND------they came highly recommended by 3 other departments!

I don't have the patience for this shit. Truly I don't. I would rather drive over there, throw myself a bitch of a hissy fit in the lobby until someone, anyone, comes to speak to me. Demand that the work get done. NOW.

Alas, I know my ass would be thrown in the clink for the weekend and then I would miss the deadline anyway.

Shit, do I ever HATE people!!!









***BTW, that first picture, for those not in the know, is a Telecommunication device for the deaf. It allows them to have telephone conversations by typing. The 4th photo is a Cattle Prod and I just might place a bid on it. For work purposes only***

There's just one thing left to be said.....

Say hello to heaven - Temple Of The Dog - 1990

Yes, please all respond with a resounding "hello" to my idea of heaven. At least one of them. Here is what heaven looks like to me:









And another:













And one more:




















Now, that is about as close to heaven as, well, say a peach covered-cheesecake. Kinda similar to a sweat-covered beefcake. Kinda the same. YUMMY!

For those of you unsure of who THAT man is, look no further. He is Julian McMahon of the FX show Nip/Tuck......

http://fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/niptuck/

to which I am unabashedly and unapologetically addicted. I sit expectantly in front of my television every Tuesday night at 10. I demand complete silence from the dogs. They are all safely ensconced in their crates, the phone is turned off, emergencies be damned. Julian is on the screen! IN MY ROOM!!!

By 5 minutes into the show, my eyes are glazed over from the sheer delight of seeing him on camera. I also happen to enjoy the show itself, but that is secondary to his pretty-boy beauty. Julian plays Dr. Christian Troy, one half of a plastic surgery duo. This season focuses on Dr. Troy's self-doubt about his sexuality. That's A-OK with me as, from a young age, I have always preferred rather androgynous type men.

Now, now, don't all go trying to climb inside my cranium at once. It's already crowded with too many useless and exhausting thoughts. I LOVE MEN. Always have, always will. But-----I have always found something oddly sexy about metro-men....long before the phrase was coined. My very first crush on a metro-man was Rod Stewart, seen here in his flagrantly androg days:





















My Mother took me to see him in concert when I was 10 and I was hooked. A man in Spandex........give um' to meeeeeeeeee!!! . Now logically, we all know dirty Roddy is a whore-master of the worst kind, but it didn't matter. He was a girly enough man for me!



Next was Paul Stanley from KISS. I was 11 when I discovered him:










Spandex AND makeup. YUM That obsession only lasted one year because, when I was 12, my life took a turn for the better. I discovered the LOVE OF MY LIFE. The man who will one day dump his bitch of an Ethiopian wife and come to be with me, his true soul-mate..........DAVID oh-my-fuckin-god-it's-him BOWIE!!!!!






Spandex AND makeup AND puffy sleeves, oh my!












I love him with an intensity that borders on psychosis ( or maybe it is psychosis, I can't really tell without touching him first). He is my idea of the most perfect, most beautiful, most talented man/child/girl/sexgod EVAH! In my 99 things (sidebar), one of the confessions is that I dumped a friend at a concert to get closer to the stage. Guess who????? Yep, I think you all get a prize AND a lovely parting gift - Carole, show em what they get. It was Mister Bowie himself. In his "Tin Machine" days:


















The band was only together for a few short years, but they came to play at a relatively famous club in my hometown. I was there, front and center. Left my best pal somewhere at the back of the club as soon as we got there, made my way to the front of the stage and bathed in Sir Bowie's spittle and sweat for 2.5 hours. It was glorious, it was magnificent, it was downright scary. I was so afraid of myself. Afraid that if I reached out to touch him ( and I easily could have...he was 2 feet away), I would latch on to his pants-leg like a vicious Pit-Bull and never let go. Afraid that I would have to be dragged away screaming and thrashing after scaring the poor gent half to death. Afraid that I would POSSESS HIM. I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself once I touched him, so I kept my hands in my pockets all night. Just in case.

I still love, LOVE, LOVE him to this very day. I have seen him in concert over 12 times. I want him to move next door to me so I can watch him get his morning paper with my spy-binoculars, maybe invite him for the 4th of July barbecue, share a cup of tea when he's home during the day. I PROMISE I WILL NOT TOUCH MR.BOWIE.....I PROMISE I WILL NOT TOUCH MR. BOWIE.......I PROMI....................


Back to the story. Folks, please feel free to reorient me when I get that far off track. When I start to think too carefully about David Bowie............................................................


OK, back again. So, there have been several other crushes on she/men over the years. A few shining examples:

Michael Hutchence from INXS:




















Paul Weller from the Jam and Style Council:








and my most recent rock-star crush, Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots. Onstage, the guy literally oozes sexuality out of his friggin' pores. All over the stage. All over the adoring audience, including moi'. He is an amazing showman and he fits right into my little spot in heaven:












So there you have it folks. My personal vision of heaven. Girly men bouncing on clouds. As far as the eye can see. Only problem is, I don't really believe in heaven. I guess I'll have to settle for Tuesday nights at 10.

Don't call, I'll be busy.

Yesterday I got so old I felt like I could die

Yesterday I got so old it made me want to cry ~ The Cure ~ Inbetween Days ~ Head On The Door


Ever have one of those days? When you just feel like a steaming pile o' crap. Maybe worse. Maybe a lukewarm pile o' crap. So crappy that you can't even manage a good head of steam (my, I am awfully witty sometimes!)

Lately, that seems to be the pattern of my life. Tired. Worn out. Weary. OLD.

I HATE old. It may be fine for some other people. You know, like the *old* ones, but it's not great for me. In a few weeks, I will be 41. What's that you say? Still young. Why, you are all my best friends ever, and attractive too, I might add. And....that color looks great on you. Is that a new hairstyle?

Back to OLD. 41, in the grand scheme of things, is prime, or so I'm told. I'm told that mainly by my Doctor and my Mother, so I'm kinda' not buying that story. They have their own motives for wanting me to stay young. His is for the added years of co-pays, hers is for the lawn-mowing, garage-cleaning, project-doing type needs. Otherwise, most of the people who find out that I am nearing the precipice of 41 say something like this ( and I am NOT being vain for those of you who will instantaneously jump to that erroneous conclusion) "Wow, you're 40 ! You don't look 40!"

This, however, is almost inevitably followed by the question " And, uhhhm, HOW old is your daughter?" Which means that the subject of my looking young is dropped, post-haste. These people, vultures if I may, are more interested in digging around in my personal life, doing some quick math and making near-silent clucking noises with their black and pointy tongues as they come up with the calculation of my age when I gave birth. Suddenly, I'm not looking SO DAMNED GOOD. Suddenly, I take on the persona of an aged hussy. Suddenly,there are no more compliments to be doled out. I am a marked woman. As far as they are concerned, I DESERVE TO BE OLD. The nerve of me, trying to pass for 40!!

But, alas, I am, ladies and gents. I am 40, barreling toward 41 and I am feeling, oh, maybe about 62-----nah, closer to 64. Don't know why. I just do. My doctor assures me that I am healthy aside from Chronic Anemia, but I think he may be a compulsive liar. Maybe it's just my life that makes me feel old. When I was much younger, I was a daredevil. I LOVED a good thrill. Lived for adventure, and not like hiking-in-the-mountains-and-camping-in-the-wild adventure. More like riding a motorcycle at 80 mph with no helmet adventure. Driving down a winding mountain at night with the headlights on/off, on/off, on/off for fun. Hanging out in punk clubs when I was 14, 15 years old. What? Bars? Nah, we were just there for the music. Dangerous......NO WAY. FUN! That's what it was. Good old fashioned fun. I miss it sometimes.

Now, I don't have a motorcycle. They cost too much and tuition payments get in the way. I can't drive down a mountain with the lights off. If I crash, I have a 1000 deductible for repairs. Partying. Who would come home to feed the dogs? Punk clubs. Too late for me to stay up. I gotta' go to work you know. And, the leather spiked jacket is just not PC.

So I guess it is my life that has aged me. It just gets in the way of fun. All these damn responsibilities. I guess I should consider myself lucky that I don't feel 90. Blech.





*****EDIT****
For those of you feeling piteously sad over my age-related funk, please don't fret any longer. I have the solution. Go here: http://www.subaru.com/
order me this ,










in Blue please and I promise to feel oh, so much better!

I'm Afraid I Can't Help It

~ I'm Afraid Of Americans - David Bowie -1997




Trevor,



















snagged again. Licking no longer suffices. HE MUST BITE THE FOOD. He can no longer control himself. This time it was lasagna. On the kitchen table. Near the edge. Enticing him. Mocking him with it's cheesy goodness. He cracked. Broke his solemn vow to keep the monkeys off his back. He took just a nibble.

My heart is broken.





I'm also hungry for lasagna but the bastard got to it first!

Don't worry about a thing, 'Cause every little thing gonna be all right

~~Bob Marley, "Three Little Birds" 1977

Is it truly terrible to wish that bad things will happen to people you love? Even if your intentions are good? They really are......good intentions I mean. As some of my loyal readers will recall, I had written in my previous Blog (that was unceremoniously stolen by that dirty Blogger.........I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN!!!!), I have some "issues" with my daughter's boyfriend. I know, I know...you don't have to browbeat me......she's almost 23! It doesn't matter to me. She is still mine! All mine!! And he is not *the one* for her. She may not know it yet, but Momma always knows. Add that to the fact that Momma is always right and my feeling is, she should simply dump him on the sheer weight and volume of my unsolicited advice. There now, don't we all feel better?

The problem is, she doesn't really see it. At least not clearly. He's not a bad kid....just very immature and unmotivated. And my kid is just the opposite. I would love to take the credit for her maturity and motivation, but seriously, she slid out of the womb that way. A little furrowed-brow baby frustrated with things taking TOO DAMNED LONG. From birth. Really.

So now she's with the beau and I swear, he is draggin' her down. This weekend, he came up to her apartment from his college to spend some time with her ( first time he has ever done that. She usually initiates all the visits). She had planned fun activities for the entire weekend. Her favorite holiday is Halloween, so she planned a visit to Sleepy Hollow NY for the two of them to tour one of the "Halloween mansions". She also made reservations for dinner. She was driving because *the lumpkin* does not drive. Too afraid. Wuss. His co-piloting made them 45 minutes late for the tour, he complained about his food in her very favorite restaurant ( where she was extremely excited to finally take him), he failed to give rave reviews to her first stab at making homemade Chili ( which her roommate and she both LOVED) and probably generally acted like the lazy, unmotivated ass that he is....but who am I to say!

She seemed to think the weekend went well, but as she was relating the events to me on the phone last night, I was plotting his departure from the scene. If my kid is too blinded by love to see the reality of this skewed relationship, well then, I will have to take matters into my own devious little hands. Isn't that what mothers are for....to protect their young? I thought you would agree.

After much thought, here are some helpful scenarios I have been formulating to rid our lives of Lumpkin:


Pay a big, ugly, mashed-nose man to threaten Lumpkin into leaving my bitchy-Princess alone. Make him tell her that he just realized he is gay.

Or:

Have same nose-impaired man tell Lumpkin that Princess is no longer available to date as she is marrying schnozzy-man himself. Next weekend. And she is pregnant. With big-nosed triplets.

Or:

Hire an off-duty police officer to call Princess and inform her that Lumpkin has gone missing and cannot be found. I will profess complete innocence and ignorance when she calls to tell me.

Or:

Have same Police Officer inform Princess that Lumpkin is a wanted fugitive in Algeria, or maybe Bosnia, and has been deported.

Or:

Hire a little hussy to call Princess and say that Lumpkin has sired 4 of her 7 children and has refused to pay child support. Princess will be mighty unhappy about that.

Or:

Hire studly young man to woo and flirt with Princess until she forgets about Lumpkin. May take a while, so studly young man will be on retainer.

Or:

Threaten Princess myself. Tell her that if she doesn't wake up and drop Lumpkin like a hot potato, her peeper will fall off. Oh wait, nope, that was Trevor. Princess will be told that her brain will turn to mush. That might work cause' she's pretty fond of her brain. She has spent a LOT of time improving it.

Or:

Wait it out, pray that she realizes that Lumpkin is not the *man* for her and moves on.

Actually, none of the options are perfect. I think perfection would go something like this:

Me ( on a call to Lumpkin): Hello, Lumpkin, this is Princess' Mom. How are you?

Lumpkin: Oh, yeah, hi Ms. Mom, I'm uh.....

Me: Great, glad to hear it. Listen up. If you don't leave Princess alone, I am going to make good and sure that your peeper falls off. Slowly. painfully. Got me?

Lumpkin: Uh, yeah, I guess so. Did I do somethi.......

Me: Lumpkin, shut up, OK? Cause the next sound you hear when you say another word to me or Pricess will be the sound of your peeper hitting the floor. Understood?

Lumpkin: ( silence... he does have some smarts).

Me: Have a nice day. CLICK.


I think that will work. Whadya' say my faithful friends?

I Did It.......

It Was me Right Or Wrong - Dave Matthews Band

A little meme stolen from the Net. Consider yourself invited if you are reading. My adventures are outlined in bold.

01. bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. swam with wild dolphins
03. climbed a mountain
04. taken a ferrari for a test drive
05. been inside the great pyramid
06. held a tarantula
07. taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. said "i love you" and meant it
09. hugged a tree
10. bungee jumped
11. visited paris
12. watched a lightning storm at sea
13. stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. seen the northern lights
15. gone to a huge sports game
16. walked the stairs to the top of the leaning tower of pisa
17. grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. touched an iceberg
19. slept under the stars
20. changed a baby's diaper
21. taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. watched a meteor shower
23. gotten drunk on champagne
24. given more than you can afford to charity
25. looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. had a food fight
28. bet on a winning horse
29. asked out a stranger
30. had a snowball fight
31. screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. held a lamb
33. seen a total eclipse
34. ridden a roller coaster
35. hit a home run
36. danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. adopted an accent for an entire day
38. actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. had two hard drives for your computer
40. visited all 50 states
41. taken care of someone who was drunk
42. had amazing friends
43. danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. watched whales
45. stolen a sign
46. backpacked in europe
47. taken a road-trip
48. gone rock climbing
49. midnight walk on the beach
50. gone sky diving
51. visited ireland
52. been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. in a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table and had a meal with them
54. visited japan
55. milked a cow
56. alphabetized your cds
57. pretended to be a superhero
58. sung karaoke
59. lounged around in bed all day
60. played touch football
61. gone scuba diving
62. kissed in the rain
63. played in the mud
64. played in the rain
65. gone to a drive-in theater
66. visited the great wall of china
67. started a business
68. fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. toured ancient sites
70. taken a martial arts class
71. played d&d for more than 6 hours straight
72. gotten married
73. been in a movie
74. crashed a party
75. gotten divorced
76. gone without food for 5 days
77. made cookies from scratch
78. won first prize in a costume contest
79. ridden a gondola in venice
80. gotten a tattoo
81. rafted the snake river
82. been on television news programs as an "expert"
83. gotten flowers for no reason
84. performed on stage
85. been to las vegas
86. recorded music
87. eaten shark
88. kissed on the first date
89. gone to thailand
90. bought a house
91. been in a combat zone
92. buried one/both of your parents
93. been on a cruise ship
94. spoken more than one language fluently
95. performed in rocky horror
96. raised children
97. followed your favorite band/singer on tour
98. passed out cold
99. taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. walked the golden gate bridge
102. sang loudly in the car, and didn't stop when you knew someone was looking
103. had plastic surgery
104. survived an accident that you shouldn't have survived
105. wrote articles for a large publication
106. lost over 100 pounds
107. held someone while they were having a flashback
108. piloted an airplane
109. touched a stingray
110. broken someone's heart
111. helped an animal give birth
112. won money on a t.v. game show
113. broken a bone
114. gone on an african photo safari
115. had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
119. had major surgery
120. had a snake as a pet
121. hiked to the bottom of the grand canyon
122. slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. visited more foreign countries than u.s. states
124. visited all 7 continents
125. taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. eaten kangaroo meat
127. eaten sushi
128. had your picture in the newspaper
129. changed someone's mind about something you care deeply about
130. gone back to school
131. parasailed
132. touched a cockroach
133. eaten fried green tomatoes
134. read The iliad - and the odyssey
135. selected one "important" author who you missed in school, and read
136. killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. skipped all your school reunions
138. communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. been elected to public office
140. written your own computer language
141. thought to yourself that you're living your dream
142. had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. built your own PC from parts
144. sold your own artwork to someone who didn't know you
145. had a booth at a street fair
146. dyed your hair
147. been a dj
148. shaved your head
149. caused a car accident
150. saved someone's life


OK peeps, your turns!

Oh, The Shark, Babe, Has Such Teeth, Dear

And He Shows Them, Pearly Whites - Bobby Darin - Mack The Knife, 1959.

Today is October 20, 2006. One hundred years ago today, my maternal Grandmother was born. October 20, 1906. Today, for me, is a melancholy day, filled with some sad thoughts, and also with many years of wonderful memories. Growing up, I can honestly say that my Grandmother was by best friend. Very best. She understood me and accepted me in a way that I felt no one else could. I still miss her every day. Here is a little bit of her story:

She was the second daughter born of Irish Catholic parents in Connecticut. Her older sister was studious and serious. My grandmother, Dorothy, was the life of the party. The girl who loved to dance and talk and have fun. Her father was a jack-of-all-trades. He bought and sold many properties, was involved in politics and was also the jailer for the city of New Haven. As a child, my Grandmother and her sister would tap dance for the inmates as entertainment (I know it sounds strange, but those were verrry different times in the early 1900's!)

Her mother died when she was a pre-teen, so she and her sister were raised, at home, by a spinster aunt who came to live with them. She had several *suitors* as a young woman, but decided to settle down and marry my Grandfather when she was 29......when she was considered near-spinster age herself!

My Grandmother and Grandfather were to have 5 daughters, my Mother being the 4th of 5. My Grandfather was not a healthy man. He was afflicted with chronic bleeding ulcers, Emphysema and other illnesses. He still managed to work every day for the railroad, but my Grandmother was in charge of the house and the kids. She also worked part-time to help defray the medical bills once her kids were in school during the day. According to my mother, my Grandfather (who died before I was 4 so I do not have any memories of him) was a very, very regimented person. He craved schedules and routine and order.

My Grandmother, however, was the opposite. She liked music and parties and dancing and social events. She LOVED to have her kids and their friends over. She was the person who encouraged her girls to tap dance for her in the kitchen, even when it ruined the linoleum. She simply went out and bought a scatter rug to cover the evidence from her husband. She was the Mother who rented a cottage every summer at the shore, told each of her 5 daughters that they could invite a friend to come along, and then promptly blew her entire *summer allowance* to stock the cottage with potato chips, ice cream and 45 records for the girls to enjoy!

Once her daughters were grown, my Grandmother went to work full time at the local fire department as her husband was becoming more and more ill and was unable to work. She LOVED her job and was to stay on there for almost 20 years. When my Grandfather died in 1969 at age 65, my Grandmother was only 62. After years of taking care of a sick husband and 5 kids while working, my Grandmother began to travel. In the next few years, she also retired and found a soul mate in a fireman who she dated until his death in the early 1980's. They became inseparable, and my Grandmother and he enjoyed many years of traveling together.

My Grandmother was an extremely young person at heart. In her 70's and 80's she belonged to several senior centers. She attended all of their parties, trips and dance clubs. She was rarely home during the week, but was always there on the weekends when her family gathered at her house.

Between her 5 daughter's, my Grandmother had 22 grandchildren. I was the only grandchild who had no siblings, and who also had no father in the home. In some way, I think my Grandmother always tried to compensate for that, so she and I became fast friends and accomplices from the time I was a toddler. I do not hesitate to say that I was her favorite out of the 22 grandchildren, but that has more to do with the amount of time we spent together than anything else. She never failed to invite me along to visit her friends, to serve as the *barbecue girl* for her monthly Club meetings, to go to the beach on a summer day instead of staying with a babysitter while my Mom worked. She was 58 when I was born, well into her 60's when I was a kid, but it never dawned on me that there was anything odd about wanting to spend more time with your Grandmother than with anyone else. She had a way of making me feel good about myself, no matter what.

In my teenage years, as I struggled to gain direction and stay out of trouble (not very successfully!), my Grandmother continued to stand behind me. She believed in me and I knew it. When I got my license, I took her out to the movies. When I went to my Prom, it was her that I wanted to take my family pictures with. Even though I lived with my Mom and she was there for every step of the journey, as a teenager my Mom and I had a very tumultuous relationship. My Grandmother took up the slack and always gave me a soft place to land.

A few years after my daughter was born, my Grandmother got a call from the elderly housing complex nearby to say that they had an apartment available for her. She had placed an application years earlier. After deciding that she wanted to move, she also decided that she wanted me, my Mother and my daughter to live in her home. We had always lived in an apartment, and my Grandmother truly wanted my daughter to have the opportunity to grow up in her own house with a yard and a swingset......all the things I had not had as a child. We still live in the same house today.

My Grandmother continued to live and love life....traveling......dancing......having a ball until she was 83 years old. That year, she was diagnosed with Colon cancer that had metastasized to her Liver. True to her spirit, she decided that she wanted to fight this disease, and chose to undergo surgery and chemotherapy treatment. At that time, my daughter was in elementary school, I was working the evening shift, so I was the person who took my grandmother to her weekly doctors appointments. After every appointment, we went out to lunch. At a different spot each time. I put her in charge of selecting the place we would eat and in the 18 months from her diagnosis to her death, we made the rounds of many dining spots in the state. We drove, we ate, we talked......just the two of us. I learned more about my Grandmother in those precious 18 months than I ever had, and those memories that I will treasure. She never complained about her illness or her treatments no matter how hard it was on her. She enjoyed every minute, and oddly enough, it was not the cancer that eventually claimed her life, it was an internal blockage caused by adhesions from her surgery.

My Grandmother died in July of 1991. She was a few months shy of 85. I was 25 years old. I barely survived losing her. She had been my friend, my confidante, and my most ardent supporter. It has been 15 years since her death and I still think about her every day. I still miss her every minute. I am a better person for having loved and been loved by her.



Happy Birthday Dee. I hope wherever you are, Bobby Darin is playing on the radio and you are dancing.

It's Gonna Take Time, A Whole Lot Of Precious Time....

It's Gonna Take Patience And Time To Do It Right. - George Harrison - Got My Mind Set On You - 1987

My Mom and I took Trevor to check out a new Obedience class last evening. We were just visiting to see if the makeup and focus of the class would be a good fit for my boy and I. The evening went something like this:

Get home from work at 5:00. Eat dinner, feed dogs, clean up yard, take Trevor downstairs for a little grooming "clean-up". He always needs to look his best for public appearances. It may help distract onlookers from his unpredictable social behavior.

Get treats and other necessary stuff ready. Try to surreptitiously remove Trevor's leash from the closet so that he doesn't enter *excitable boy* zone. Fail miserably when I knock my elbow against closet door frame and yell something unseemly. Trevor takes note and spots leash.

Attempt to clip leash on *excitable boy*. Give up when EB jumps straight into the air from the anticipation of RIDING-IN-THE-CAR-OH-MY-GOD!!! and smacks me under the chin with his rock-hard skull.

Load Trevor into his crate in the back of the SUV while rubbing sore spot under chin and checking to be certain that my jaw still opens and closes as necessary.

Arrive at Recreation Center, release Trevor from crate/SUV. Encourage him to potty quickly. Realize, just as quickly, that *excitable boys* have great difficulty concentrating on potty-issues when in a strange place. Say a silent prayer that potty-issues remain on hold until after class.

Walk Trevor into Rec Center after assuring him repeatedly that the Halloween decorations in the front lobby are neither meant to scare the living bejeezus out of him nor kill him.

Walk into classroom full of already palsy-walsy group of dogs and owners. Feel like complete interlopers, but smile brightly while trying to remove Trevor from beneath my left ass cheek. "Yes Trev,new dogs are scary!"

Try to sit on bleachers to observe class while simultaneously shooing a 52 lb Poodle off of my lap, out from under the bleacher benches and off of the lap of a stranger sitting 10 feet away. Repeatedly untangle feet from leash ( mine, his and strangers).

Periodically toss Trev some treats during the all-to-brief moments when he is not climbing into someones lap. Tell him what a very, very good and brave boy he is. After all, these dogs are gynormous and probably vicious. Some of them are over 25 lbs!!!

Follow blindly when instructor picks us out of the appreciative crowd and insists that we *try* the little obstacle course she has devilishly created. Say another silent prayer to the *potty-issue* gods that Trevor's bladder will survive the exercise.

Complete the course with amazing success! Marvel at the fact that Trevor is able to go through the ladder, the tunnel and heel at my side while consistently looking over his right shoulder and ducking his butt from the killer Bulldog behind us.

Sit back in the bleachers for the remainder of the class while Trevor snoozes off his terrifying debut.Debate whether or not his Liver treats are actually as tasty as they smell. Decide to leave that one alone while people are watching.

Thank instructor, take Trevor outside to potty before loading up. Bladder shyness issues win out, but *excitable boy* makes another sudden appearance when Trevor realizes that OMG-WE-ARE-GOING-HOME-AND-I-DIDN'T-DIE!!! Carefully step away to avoid repeat of head-to-chin assault.

Get Trevor home. Empty pockets of treats and sundry garbage, hide leash away and ponder the question:

"So, does he really need to take obedience anyway?"

Go to bed.




***NOTE***I have sent the requisite enrollment form and my check to reserve our spot.

Dreamed a little dream....

Made my own pretty hate machine ------ Tori Amos, Boys For Pele

My ride into work every morning is a daily plunge into an abyss of frustration. I may have mentioned before that I have road rage. Terrible road rage. I try to control it, honestly I do, but nothing seems to help. I leave early for everything to make sure that I'm not in a rush. I play cool CD's to chill me out in the car. I even changed my hours at work to chop 30 minutes off of the morning/afternoon rush hours. Doesn't matter. Driving to work makes me want to harm people. Lots of them. Slowly.

It doesn't help that my town is bridge-locked. If I need to get anywhere near work, I have to cross a bridge. No other choice. They are all under some form of construction until the year quazillion and the largest bridge with the most direct route is notorious for it's traffic jams and accidents. Apparently, the Helen Keller School of Driving uses this bridge for it's daily rush-hour-tap-your-cane-not-your-horn-driving-lessons.

So, to make my commute a Zen experience on a daily basis, I have started to make mental lists of the damage I would like to inflict on all the idiots who have somehow managed to hijack my happy, blissful life. I imagine, if you will, creating a persona who will terrorize stupid people at will. Kinda' like a demented female version of this guy:




















Except that I wouldn't use my power to avenge the good guys. I would simply use it at will to deal with anyone/anything who annoyed me. And, I wouldn't need a gun. C'mon, I'm not gonna' kill anyone. I just want to have a little fun with them. Like:


1. My neighbor's 18 year old son. A wannabe thug. Makes my storm windows shake with his tacky music. Drives like an asshole. Thinks he is God's gift to the feminine persuasion. Except, he doesn't know that I know that his Mommy had to wipe his ass when he pooped until he was 9! I also know that he used to wear her satin nighties and slippers in the privacy of his own room. So me, Mrs. Dirty Harriet Callahan, would like to show up at his next driveway-party and advise all of his thuggy friends of these lovely tidbits. I'm sure they will be very interested.

2. My Aunt *bitchface* who keeps showing up at all my departmental sponsored medical lectures, pretending to be friendly to me. The truth is, she can't stand me, but not nearly as much as I can't stand her. She intentionally hurt my Mother ( her younger sister) and my Grandmother ( before she died), but acts like Mother Theresa to the viewing public. Maybe at the next lecture, after I announce the speaker, I will also announce that 6 of her 9 children are either drunks, junkies, sexual perverts and the rest are just plain losers. To be certain that the audience is totally entertained, I will also add the tag that her husband had serial affairs over the 40+ years of their marriage and she knew. She condoned it, all the while belittling other women for staying with unfaithful men.

3.My new-ish next door neighbors. Well, not actually them, but their yard. They NEVER mow their lawn. Only when it is about 2 feet high do they consider that it might need a little trim. Since they are not bothersome in other ways , I would like to dump a few cans of napalm on their lawn and allow them to start over, fresh as a daisy.















Maybe they will get the hint. If not, I have an asphalt truck all lined up.


4. One of the people in my office. She seems harmless enough at first glance, but SHE NEVER SHUTS UP!! Literally. She has chronic and acute verbal diarrhea. She prattles on and on and on, and keeps friggin' talking even as people are running to hide. Begging for mercy. Closing their office doors when they hear her approaching. Then she has the audacity to complain about another employee being too "chatty"! For her, I would like to employ a handy-dandy roll of this daily:




















I will be certain to match her lovely attire in a complimentary color, but I may need more than one roll because I really hate the sound of muffled screams.

5.The financial aid guy at my daughter's college who finds it ever-so-amusing to be contradictory and belittling to anyone who has the audacity to ask a money-related question. For him, there is a special place in my arsenal of treats. Just for him, I would like to employ this enforcer:



















It is lovingly and appropriately coined " The Thunderbolt". For those of you not in the know, that little lovely is a one-woman battering ram. Yup, I want Mister-Smug-O-Matic to be sitting primly at his very organized desk one day, only to hear a gentle knock on the door. Before he can garner up all the snottiness in his soul to yell " come in", KABLAMMMMM.....the door will explode and splinter, and there I will stand in all my glory ( and my tactical attire ). I can only hope, at that point, Mister Snob-O-Riffic will fall over dead from a coronary, but if not, I will be prepared. I will Taser him until he gives me a refund on the money HE OWES ME AND MY DAUGHTER, and then I will continue to Taser him until he proffers an appropriate apology. Which, of course, means that I will have to Taser him until he falls over dead from a coronary.....so either way, I win.

That was my short list from this morning. By the way, you should know that today's drive into work was unusually short and sweet, hence the pared down version of the list. Just wait until the next accident on the bridge!





(FYI-I do NOT own a Taser, so don't go tipping off the authorities that I am trying to make someone die by shocking them. It's all in my head - fools!)

Let's go outside in the sunshine

I know you want to but you can't say yes~~~~~~~ George Michael ~ 1998

That's what we all did yesterday. Me and the Poodle crew spent the entire day outside in the sunshine. Me cleaning and organizing, them creating havoc. A typical day except for the one "incident".

Now, you may be asking yourself "self, what is this incident that Avalon is referring to?". I will tell you ( because I'm sure you want to know, although I'm not so sure you will have wanted to know after you actually know, O.K?) It's a bit, um, well, uh......graphic......gross....... grand

The "incident" started innocently enough. The Poodles were romping around the backyard, generally acting like, well, like dogs. Sniffing and sometimes barking and eating twigs and watching for Squirrels. But then, one of them must have given another one the "evil Poodle eye" and the chase was on! Four little Poodles chasing Trevor, the Standard. Around and around the yard, on the deck, off the deck, across the dogwalk, over the Agility jumps, onto the cellar doors, back onto the deck. It was a rollicking good chase and .....boy-oh-boy....it was obviously verrrrry exciting to Trevor. Exciting in the way that a trip to the front of the classroom is for a teenaged, hormonal boy. Get my drift?

OK. Obviously some of you have never met, raised or threatened a teenaged hormonal boy, so I will be a bit less obtuse ( like that dictionary word.......I'm not just another pretty face you know. I have a brain too!). Trevor got a woody,............ a boner, a flag pole, a stiffy, a chubby, raised the flag, pitched a tent, he was AT ATTENTION!!!!!! Sir, yes Sir! Need I be any more descriptive or have I covered most of the choices? Please feel free to advise me if I've left anyone's favorite terminology out. I hate to have disappointed fans.

So, in and of itself, Trevor's little, ahem........problem.......not so terrible. I mean, he is neutered, so his condition was much more of a goofy-boy overexcitement than it was anything lurid. Had the episode ended at that point, well, we wouldn't be here waiting with baited breath to find out what the actual "incident" was, now would we, because the woody was not enough to qualify as an "incident"? We have a much higher threshold for entertainment in my house. The woody was only the precursor to the "incident". What happened next was far, far more bizarre, and simply serves to illustrate just how far my life with this pack-o-hooligans has sunken.

You see, Trevor is not used to his body betraying him in this manner. He is typically in full control of his faculties and functions ( except, of course, in the presence of Butter, but we are working on that. Don't hassle him.....he's fragile!). This unexpected development was a shocker to little ole' Trev. As he was running, he glanced under himself to discover, I'm assuming, the source of this new-dangled ( NOT a typo) sensation and spotted SOMETHING THERE!!!!!! Under his belly!!! Hanging there!!!! Clearly meaning to kill him !!! It was chasing him as he ran so he ran faster. And faster. All the while, stealing furtive and panicked glances at the red THING that would NOT LEAVE HIM ALONE!!! It was on him and it wouldn't let go.

He was utterly unaware that it was his own body part. In between clenching my Kegel's to keep from peeing my pants, I kept trying to call him to me, but Trevor was far too busy trying to escape his own appendage and obviously couldn't get appropriate blood flow from there to his ears. I was finally able to grab him and calm him down a bit, but he was still convinced that his peeper was like some giant, lipstick-shaped tick that was attached to his underbelly.....TRYING TO SUCK THE LIFE RIGHT OUT OF HIM........so, panicked he remained. I sat with him for a few minutes, but by now, he was so stressed that his peeper just kept peeping. It wouldn't go back inside. The turtle was out of the shell and that's where he was staying. None of that "Franklin In The Dark" stuff for him. Uh, uh......that peeper had seen the light.

After several more minutes, it dawned on me that this might be unhealthy or painful for Trevor. I wondered, should peepers be exposed to the sun? Will they burn? Crack? Shrivel from the cool air? Do they need Chapsdick ( another non-typo for you astute readers)? What should we do? I couldn't see dragging this poor schlump to the Emergency Vet for this. Everyone would laugh and then he would have peeper-induced-trauma and might need doggie Psychotherapy. So.... I did what any good mother of a dog in distress would do. I grabbed a hunk of skin and hair and pulled. Gave a good tug until the skin was back in place. All while looking around furtively and saying a prayer that none of my neighbors were witnessing this bizarre act.

He was fixed! Blessed be the saints and stars and the sun. Trevor was restored! He was so thoroughly relieved to have that "thing" off of his belly that he started to run, and run and run. Until, of course, I yelled to him something that sounds eerily familiar to any parent of a boy........."Trevor, you'd better stop that or your peeper will fall off!!!"

I have already made my own appointment with a Psychotherapist. I can't take much more of my life.

And here's to you Mrs. Robinson

"The Graduate"-----Simon and Garfunkel

My littlest Poodle girl is an official alum of the Agility Basics class~~~~~again! She graduated to "big girl I'm gonna-growl-and-bite-your-ass-if-you-don't-let-me-in-that-damn-tunnel class. With honors. Alright, alright, maybe not exactly with honors, but that's what I told her because we always wanna keep Sadie happy. At all costs. ALWAYS. Because she truly is a bitch and that's what I love the best about her. You don't want to be pissing Sadie off. It's not a pretty sight.

So I'm sure everyone out there is thinkin' yeah, yeah, whoopdeedoo,your wonder-dog made it out of a basic agility class. I can actually imagine the eye-rolling and the whispers about my complete lack of shame or sanity. But----it really is a pretty big deal because this barely 2 year old puppy has had one helluva ride and not only has she hung on, she's now drivin' and we are going mighty, mighty fast.

Short and skinny (no lumpkins, not me......the story!!!!)

Sadie was bought by a family when she was 8 weeks old. They had never had a dog before, the husband and kid were full of promises about how magnificently they would care for her, how utterly devoted they would be to her training, how she would never want for a single thing. She would be the Baron Trump of baby Poodles (except, of course, she is a girl and baby Baron has a baby trumpet. Sadie does not.)

Within 4 weeks, this wild-child of a puppy was being locked in a bathroom all day while the family worked, was destructive and had already been labeled "untrainable". Long/short...... Sadie was given to us at 13 weeks old to foster temporarily. Short/short.....she never left. My freebie stayed with us.

She was a sickly puppy. Had not been fully vetted, had all sorts of nasty buggies in her gut, made my other 3 ill in the process. But she was full of piss and vinegar. Afraid of nothing. Ready to conquer the world. And smart. Like almost creepy smart. Like the kind of smart that makes you worry at night and check the lock on her crate door...... obsessively.

We got her better and I decided that she definitely needed an outlet for all that "crafty" she was carefully nurturing. We joined Puppy Agility and she was a pro. Fast and driven and a friggin' breeze to train. She wanted to run. More than that, she wanted to be first....get the applause and the laughter and the high from winning. She loved it and since I am even more ridiculously competetive than any human I know or admit to being related to ( not my fault), we were starting to make a great team.

Then, as quickly as she took to agility, she started to turn off from it. Blowing me off, ignoring her commands, refusing to work. But only intermittently. Other times she was fine. Short/short again.....at 13 months she was diagnosed with a debilitating and extremely painful condition called Legge Calve Perthes disease in which the head of the femur, for reasons not totally clear begins to lose blood supply. The bone begins to crumble into a pulp. Then blood supply resumes and symptoms go away. Wash, rinse repeat until there is bone on bone in the joint, there is acute pain and eventually, in many cases, lameness that becomes permanent. The dog becomes crippled.

One year ago this week, my puppy girl had the entire top of her femur sawed off, a false hip joint was created out of a flap of muscles in her ass, she was stitched back up and sent home with a leg that resembled a plucked chicken leg hanging off of the plucked chicken's body. Yup, the leg just hung there. If she moved quickly, it flapped around like a Raggedy Ann arm. It was awful.

We did 4 months of intensive canine physical therapy, and so much for Poodles being water-dogs. The first go-round in the wave pool, my girl bit the vet's hand when he submurged her quickly. Atta' girl!

After 4 months, she was discharged to normal activity. The typical recovery period is a full year, but we were blazin' in recovery just like we had in agility. Momma don't play. The only problem was, my little freebie had cost us over $4500 (!!!!!!!!) dollars in Vet, surgery and recovery bills, so we couldn't afford to even pee a lot. That damn double-ply Charmin ain't cheap! What was I gonna do? Leave that puppy in constant pain? Not me. So what I'm not idependently wealthy? I'm cute and that must count for something.

It has taken us another 8 months to make a dent in all the bills and start training again. This little Poodle is again kickin' ass in the classroom. She has forgotten NOTHING she learned over a year ago as a puppy. However, I have forgotten a few things. I have forgotten the importance of winning. Now I just wanna' see my girl run around the room, ears a-flappin, without pain. I have also forgotten about pushing to compete in a trail or match. Now we push until my girl's leg gets tired and then we stop. Matches and trials be damned!! ( shhhhh... I was only kidding. I still wanna kick ass on a course. I just don't admit it out loud cause then people will think I'm mean......makin a gimpy puppy race for her life).

So that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Here are a few photos of the girl as proof cause' I'm sure a few cynics are doubting this sad tale(or again, my sanity)
Feast your eyes on Sadie the three-hipped wonder! These are a few days after surgery ( collective groans of pity are acceptable).
















So see, I really was telling the truth. She really did have a bum hip. And we really did graduate from Basic Agility again. Aren't you all proud of us?

Sadie has requested a Rolex as a graduation gift. She wants to make sure I am as slow on the course as she thinks I am. I have requested a wheelchair.

Lets give em' something to talk about

Bonnie Raitt---Luck Of The Draw-----1991


C'mon peeps.....show me a little love in the comments. I KNOW somebody out there is reading. Anyone? Don't be afraid. I only bite when provoked. I only snap when aggravated. I actually love, love, love confrontation. Nuthin' cleanses the palate like a good go-round. Speak up!

Whenever I'm alone with you

you make me feel like I am fun again

ala: The Cure, Disintegration















I had the day off yesterday, somewhat unexpectedly. Came into work on Wednesday and the boss informed me I needed to be out the following day because we are all working another health fair on Saturday. It was kinda' like a surprise gift. I hadn't planned for it, so I decided to take the gift, run and hide in my room while I opened it, and refuse to let anyone else touch it until it was broken or sufficiently filthy.

Instead, I couldn't get past the old Catholic guilt-thing that hammers at my brain anytime I am doing *nothing* and there is *everything* to be done. So I did it. All of it. I washed and I cleaned and I laundered and I groomed and I exhausted myself to the point of sheer bitterness on my lovely, lovely, relaxing day off. Yep, I about killed myself getting a weekends full of work done in 8 hours. I did about skeighty-eight loads of laundry......including dog stuff like bedding and blankets and crate pads and towels. I bathed 5 dogs and touch-up groomed the 2 who were going to Agility class.

I also cleaned up *stuff* around my house.....ya' know, the kind of stuff that multiplies in secret like subversive little rabbits. You start with 1 cell-phone charger....they apparently do the horizontal bop over the course of time and suddenly you have 4. 1 broken dog-toy becomes 7. 2 pair of shoes on the porch magically procreate into 4. That kinda *stuff*. I cleaned it all up, gave it all a hearty tongue lashing on the indignities of multiplying before commitment, and put it all away. I even entertained the thought of vacuuming, but then I found this and was stopped dead in my Electrolux tracks:













Apparently Annie, my free-spirited Mini Poodle was ferreting all of her most precious items in the bathroom as I cleaned the rest of the house. It was like the Febreeze commercial where the lady puts all the toys away only to turn around and find them back on the floor behind her. Only Annie is the one jail-breaking them from the toybox and stashing them in the loo. Made me laugh out loud and put an end to my Cinderlla complex. I was done.

It must have taken her quite a bit of planning and an equal amount of time to sneak them past me 1 by 1. Really, she only weighs 11 lbs. She's pretty petite and that's quite the pile of goodies. There was more in the hallway, but it had apparently decided to avoid my potential wrath and was silently migrating back to the toybox, likely tittering the entire way about it's ingeniousness.

Annie stood by, attempting her best "sweetness and light" pose, but it was clear that she was the culprit. She refused to leave the pile. It was hers... dammit...... and it was staying. So, the vacuum headed back into closet isolation and we turned on some music instead. Every Poodle got a good dance with Mom, except of course for Maisie who thinks that dancing is both undignified and nauseating, so she stayed floor-bound with a mixture of terror and revulsion in her eyes. Trevor loves to dance so much that he shows his sheer joy by giving you a complimentary and mostly unexpected slap in the vacinity of your face every few seconds. I've considered doggie-freestyle-dancing with him, but gave up over worry about the inevitable black-eye vs. doorknob stories that would have to be told.

All in all, it was a good day. Lots of stuff got done, lots of fun was had and no one was maimed. Today, however, I feel like I need a 2 day vacation from my vacation day. Next time, I'll just stay at work.

But there's no danger, it's a professional career

Okay, so today will be a bitchfest about my job. Yeah, yeah, yeah, blahblah, blahblah, blahblah, I shouldn't be complaining. I know already. I should be ever so grateful that I am employed when there are wars, diseases, Americans begging for work......all that shit that people throw at you whenever you have the unmitigated friggin' gall to complain. Ya' know what peeps.......I don't really give a big shit! Nope, don't care. I've heard all of the rationalizations about why I should be happy to have my job, and guess what.......not helping. Not making me feel one bit better about the state of my employment. So, keep it to yourselves cause' it's really starting to piss me off. If I want to complain about the stupidity of work, let me, O.K.? I promise not to piss in your apple juice if you do.









Guess it's a deal. See, the real problem is that I have zero.......the big fat "O" desire to work at all. Not cause' I'm some kinda' lazy slacker. No, I don't want to stay at home and lay on my couch watching Jerry "look at me I can't dance but I get the pity votes" Springer.....eating Bonbons in my robe. Nah. I just hate working. I've been doing it for a while now and I'm really sick of it. All the routines. Clothes and showers and commutes and "good-mornings!" and work and expectations and hassles. Yup, it's so passe now.

My job in particular isn't so horrible. I find myself cracking up at this guy

and thinking " see, I don't have it so bad", and then I wake up and have to start the mind-numbing routine all over again. I just think working, in general, is stupid. I mean, I can and I do volunteer. That makes me feel great and people are getting served......for free. Why all the worry about work?

I need to find something that requires minimal effort but returns maximum benefit. I don't want to have to think much. I don't want to tax my brain or my body. I don't care what people will say or what they think of me. I don't want to have to be particularly qualified. I don't want to worry about rush-hour traffic or being nice to the boss. I want a company car.


WAIT!!!!!! I THINK I'VE FOUND THE PERFECT JOB!!!! It meets all of my specifications listed above!!!








HAIL TO THE BITCH!!!!

Hush my baby,baby don't you cry

This, my friends, will probably be an unusually emotional post from me. I don't want anyone to be alarmed. THIS WILL NOT BECOME A PATTERN. Do not contact the authorities! Not for me anyway. I prefer myself wrapped in snarky, but as you may recall, the Queen came home yesterday.....just for the day, and her visit stirred some shit up for me that I don't normally like to think about, nevermind discuss, nevernevermind write about to virtual strangers. However, virtual strangers are better than anyone else because anyone else would have to be people that really know me in life and then I would have to be mad that they were critical of what I wrote, or I would have to care that they were upset by what I wrote, or I would have to turn around and delete what I wrote.....so virtual strangers with whom I have no allegiance.....yep......those are the right people to dump it on.

Back to the arrival of the Queen. She was only home for about 6 hours. Most of that time was spent, she and I, rummaging through Rubbermaid bins in the basement looking for vital *stuff*. Stuff like gloves and sweaters and quilts and books and such. Because the Queen ( hereafter know as HH- Her Highness) has moved about 37 hundred times in the past 5 years for college ( it's like a sick dance....move her in, move her out, move her in, move her back out, twist to the right, step to the left.....over and over again) lots of her stuff is still packed away in boxes, lots has been lost forevermore in the many moves, and more is skulking away somewhere in the basement just waiting to be rediscovered and again packed away for posterity. My kid, she's a keeper. No, not for me. I mean SHE'S A KEEPER. Of things. Many things. She hates to part with anything. She likes to be surrounded by her *things*, most of them strange but endearing tchotkies.

So there we were, in the basement, rummaging through a former lifetime of stuff ....oooohing and aaahhing at long-forgotten treasures. She and I chatted as we hunted. She confided that she can't use the oven to cook in her new apartment. It simply doesn't turn on and her roommate said that it's been like that for a while. My girl has recently discovered that she LOVES to cook and she was just beginning to experiment with all sorts of recipes before moving to this place. She was having fun with it.......but now that hobby is gone. Then she told me that she has been more tired than normal lately. It seems that several of her neighbors, including her landlord, have lawn services that arrive VERY early in the morning on the weekends to get their work done.....like 8 AM. Since she is usually up late every night getting assignments done, has to be up very early everyday to student teach, and spends most of her evenings in classes, weekends babysitting for money to live on, HH gets precious little extra time to catch a few extra winks. She is also being plagued by allergies from all the *stuff* that is being kicked up under her windows as she tries to sleep. Seems like no big deal, right?

Wrongo!! For some reason, it was enough to push me over the edge into a guilty abyss. I don't know why, but the sight of this kid packing up to go back to her apartment, air ionizer under her arm, homemade toaster oven-able meals in a bag sent me into a true funk. I felt terribly guilty. Yup, me. I know it may be hard to believe, but I did. Logically, I know she is 22 and will not suffer permanent damage from a bit of pollen or a few microwaveable meals, but her latest hardships really got to me.

I guess it's because life has never been easy for her, and as her Mother, I sometimes feel that I've failed her. Sure, I can say that I have tried my best......I think most people can and will. The fact remains that, because of my choices as a 17 year old, her life has been a struggle. And I wanted more than that for her. Still do. Desperately.

I wanted to be able to give her not only the things she needed, but some of the things she wanted too. Some of the luxuries in life. That hasn't happened. I wanted her not to have to worry about money all the time. That hasn't happened either. She has to work her ass off to just get by. I wanted her to have the time and ability to enjoy life.......maybe travel, maybe spend some fun time hanging out with friends. Instead, because of my choices, this kid has to work and work to get what she needs. And so do I. I will work my own fingers to the bone if it means that she will eventually have an easier life than me, or my Mother for that fact, but so far, all the work and hopes and dreams in the world haven't changed the basic reality that, by having a baby at barely 18 years old and alone, I destined all of us to a harder life.

I don't ever regret having her, but I do regret that I didn't wait until I was in a position to give her the things she deserved. To not watch her *settle* for the things she gets because we can't afford any better. To have handed her an airline ticket and itinerary for a dream vacation as a graduation present instead of a stupid watch. To not have to say, one more time "you know Christmas will be tight this year". To be able to assure her " don't worry about it, I will take care of that for you". The decisions I made as a teenager have left all of us treading water, our heads barely above the tide for the past 22 years, and for that I am so terribly sorry. I wish I had done better.

I know it is not realistic to think that we can give our kids everything, but for my girl, all I wish for now is a place where she can cook, sleep in peace and hear a voice in her ear that whispers " don't worry about it, I will take care of that for you". I hope one day that voice will be mine.

Until then, I'll keep working at it. .

I've been poking around

And I discovered that I actually like some of the *themed* Blogs that I'm seeing out there in Blogville. Please note that I said some. Not all. Many of them are pukey.....in my opinion but since my opinion is the only one that matters to me, I guess it's the best opinion now, isn't it? Anyway, I have decided to try being cute and creative. This may not work out well at all because I am generally a bitch and bitchiness often gets directly in the way of cutesyness and creativity.....but c'mon folks......I'm tryin here!

Since my Blog does not follow much of a theme other than music, I am going to try and find song titles or lyrics......EVERYDAY......to describe what the daily Blog is about. Now, at first blush (and I don't blush easily except if there are sex scenes on a TV show and my Mother is in the room) this may seem muuuuuuuch easier said than done, but I think it will be a challenge for me. Actually, most things are a challenge for me, but that's a whole other song.....badump bum.

Maybe, if I really feel like making life harder for myself....and we all know I'm a pro at that.......I will try to find a picture of the artist or the album or whatever because.....again......stay with me here.......IT'S MY BLOG AND ICANDOWHATEVERIDAMNWELLPLEASEIFYOUDON'TMIND THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

Get ready. I think this is gonna be stupid.