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Showing posts from May, 2011

Watch out for that tree.

Freddy paces from door to door. He hops on his hind legs to alert me. He needs to be let out. He runs round the side of the house and barks with his buddy, Bella. Sometimes, they bark at the pack of dogs living in the yard behind us. Sometimes they bark at people walking along the sidewalk. They particularly like to bark at the other dogs as they dare to walk their owners in front of our house. Bella likes to bark at the falling leaves. They are a fine team.

A ridiculous number of dogs reside in the back neighbor's yard. Truly, there must be close to 8 dogs sharing that small world behind a shabby fence. Noisiness is the aim of a poor man's alarm system. Quite efficacious, too, as I can't imagine why anyone would want to break into that house with all that racket. I don't even want to go into my own backyard.

My high maintenance boy is perpetually annoyed. It's an irritation, true, but dogs have a job to do. In their view, as I understand it, it is dire to protect…

When I say Not That Good I mean lazy.

• It's been over 24 hours since I washed the drapes in the front window but I still haven't put them back up.

* To be fair, I had good intentions yesterday but couldn't do it alone.

• The litter box is not right.

• My car still has yellow dots from the birthday messages left by a friend in the wee hours of the morning. In April.

* To be fair, I have a Groupon thingy for a car detailing and that oughtta do it.

• I have failed to make an appointment with said car detailer even though I confirmed the Groupon purchase during my birthday week. In April.

• I started 2 books and have finished neither.

* To be fair, I am very close with each but lost interest in both.

• I have entered the Boy Part of the house only briefly and only twice in the last week.

* To be fair, I am not certain I have the immunities I need to go near a Boy bath.

• The above statement embarrasses my high maintenance boy.

• I thoroughly dusted the bookshelves but not the picture book section.

* To be fair, …

Happy Birthday, Sixteen.

My high maintenance boy is the sweetest heart. He only groans the tiniest bit when he sees the trying kid down the street coming around for the 12th time today, needy. This kid's a Special One, blissfully entrapped in a man sized body and an island of Self. This time, his bait is Aunt Marli's cornbread. She's baked it up fresh and doesn't my high maintenance boy want some? "No, I've already eaten, thank you, but why don't you tell us about your graduation, Carter?", deftly changing course.

Last week, high maintenance boy waffled slightly over attending Carter's graduation before devoting his entire Saturday to the Big Day. Now he assumes a proud parent's tone as he brags on Carter's mainstream diploma despite his special ed status. Carter is incapable of offering companionship to him, only a mirror that exposes one's soul. So my boy shares without assumption and gives without restraint because this other high maintenance boy is despe…

Wordless Wednesday: Wide Open

Having a set.

"Don't you set down on the steps cause you finds it's kinder hard."
~ Langston Hughes

The sky is green. It appears as if through green hued lenses. At least, that's how Man Child describes it. He keeps up a running commentary on the State Of Things while I rush through the dinner prep of spicy beef stir fry with eggy rice, recipe compliments of Jamie Oliver. The dish, newly christened Ginger Beef, is almost perfected but, tonight, I burn the rice and the rest is too greasy. I am nervous and wondering a) when Lovin' Man will safely return from the outside world of thunder storms and sirens and
b) when/if we should take shelter in the master bath.
Lovin' Man is an armchair meteorologist and I barely know how to read a radar so I am relieved when he comes in and gives the All Clear. I trust him more than the weather man and Jamie Oliver.

Now it's quiet again after an eventful post storm frolicking of neighborhood kids running around getting pjs muddi…

NTGOAP

• Efficacy and I are at an impasse.

Night prowling.

As I walk through the house, I pass a dog at the foot of the bed, a dog on a couch, a cat on a dog bed, a cat on a brown chair, a cat on a desk chair.

I need water because I thirst. It's one of Those Nights. I am miserable in a cyclical battle of fluid.



I can't sleep with the water coming and going all the night and my feet are swollen. So are my hands. I am in the bed, on the couch, too hot, too cold.
I drink and drink. Look around and note dusty things and cluttered shelves. I'm gonna get to that. Soon. But for now, I need rest because I have to get up early and proctor an achievement test so I shuffle back to my bed and Lovin' Man's tiny snores.

I pass a cat on a desk chair, a cat on a brown chair. Double take at a cat now on a couch and a dog on her bed. Henry the Cat is out prowling. Maybe for water.

Freddy has Lovin' Man sleeping in a Z.

A little less overcompensation.

I realize it's 2011 and we are Woman and such. I just can't embrace the neofeminism that protrays every woman on the big screen as sexual predators, overbearing, materialistic or physical assailants. Society may have overcompensated for the victimized. A wholesome role model is not to be found for my daughter.

• Is it antiquated to be soft and gentle while maintaining dignity?
• Do all women have to have "guns" in place of lovin' arms?
• Is it necessary for pregnant celebs to sport 4 inches of cleavage? (Take a break from bringing sexy back while your body is doing life.)
• Doesn't it still make sense to save Some for later, girls?

• Cat fights...Really???

Wordless Wednesday: Kinda worthless but I let them sleep on my bed

My pilates instructor is trying to kill me.

If it weren't for the endorphins, I would continue to wallow around in my self loathing of a Monday night instead because it's really brutal. I'm scandalized by the ladies 10-15 years my senior who are throwing down!

I've made up my mind to embrace the pay off. I just feel better. My mind can abandon it's trickery when my body is demanding it's attention.

And I'll have my Extreme Moose Tracks in peace, thank you.


A haiku by Man Child.

The time passes on, very soon the year will end, the clock is ticking.

- M. H. 2011












Daybreak.

I planted the lilies because I needed something to make me feel better during some trying mornings.

Hopeless, desperate, and needing something pretty to share in, I planted two bunches purchased from Lowe's. The reddish ones didn't make it and I haven't seen them since.
But the yellows...

A high maintenance boy says I'm not a real gardener because my lilies didn't originate from seed but isn't that like saying an adoptive mother isn't a real mom? They've matured and expanded and blossomed in my garden and I couldn't ask for more.
Buttery Rich and lovely.

Hmph. High maintenance boys don't know the difference between Origination and Maintenance.


Wordless Wednesday: Mighty Mississippi

A fine piece of liberal proproganda and true dat.

Hello, Drug Company. You make good drugs. It helps us all cope better and provides much needed relief. We have tried other drugs but yours...well, it is better suited for the likes of us. However dull and drowsy we are rendered, we find your product essential for Life, Liberty and the Pursuit.

Regardless of at least a partial commitment to capitalism, I would be remiss not to illuminate the inhumanity in pharmaceutical costs.

It's mysterious how one little pill could cost so much to produce. One would assume such an expense was a luxury item if it was not marketed for purposes of physical and mental wellness.
With a full commitment to giving all the benefit of grace, I am nevertheless perplexed by a single pill valued at upwards of $25. A nefarious disparity? Or as another exploited customer describes it,

A Moral Outrage.



Fly

"You can come
while your heart feels numb;
You could just lie down;
And rest.

Or lift your eyes
To the open sky;
We could come alive."


-M. Gungor



I often credit having to sing to all the birthday boys and girls while waiting tables at Spaghetti Warehouse for propeling me, at least partially, out of my introvertedness. The first time, I was terrified but determined. Being highly motivated by tips, I threw caution to the wind, took command of my station by enlisting everyone to sing along. We sang Happy Birthday to Stuart Somesuch but I was celebrating the Moxie of Me. It was a big deal. Not as big as I thought at the time, as it turns out.


Nineteen can conquer the world with a birthday song.
Forty stills agonizes over every social gathering:
Hat Wearing -
What Was Said -
What That Meant -
My Feet Are Too Wide
agony.

As it turns out, you just can't cure crazy.