Category Archives: Friendship

The Hunger Calls


It is a time for new resolutions. Paying off debt, losing weight, being kinder- that sort of thing. Lucky for me, I’ve come to realize that New Year’s Resolutions are bullshit, so I don’t have to do any of those things previously mentioned. HA

Sadly, my credit cards are pretty much maxed out, so I do  desire to pay off my debt. Buuuut, I also desire to go to Rocklahoma, and hang out with all of my favorite bands. I also desire to buy (what many people would consider) unnecessary decorative items for my home. So I don’t know if I’m going to pay off debt this year or not, ok?

I am also of the age where my weight doesn’t much bother me anymore; though I do, at times, want to be an uber-hot mama that people gawk at. Fortunately, DDD boobs and a penchant for brightly-colored duds can accomplish pretty much the same thing.

However, my best friend is getting married in the end of February, and asked me last year to be one of her bridesmaids. Note, I said she asked me last year. Which means I had over 365 in which to shed the 65 or so pounds that would inhibit me from being one of the sexiest bridesmaids that ever lived. (Hey, just dream with me here.)

As if being on the chubby side wasn’t enough,  her other bridesmaids could fit into a pair of my pants all at once. Dammit.

Now my bestie has always been quick to argue when I’ve been down on myself, so my fears of looking like a heifer in wedding pictures have naught to do with her. In fact, my girl even let us pick our own dresses- to let us show off our own personal style and not have us despise her for picking something we all look like shit it.

No, my insecurities are all of my own making.

So like any normal person, of course I took that year I had to slim down and buff up.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Just kidding.

Knowing myself as I know myself, I bought my dress (from China) in the size that I was at the time I bought it. Last year. And now, less than two months away from the wedding, I’m exactly (or maybe a tad bit more) the weight I was then.

It had been over nine months since I tried my dress on initially when I took it to the alterations lady a few weeks ago to get the tail bustled. After much sucking in and pulling back, it zipped, but just. After she measured for straps to hold up the busooms, I was thinking that, HEY! I look pretty good! (Yeah, ok, so I had to have her take my socks off because it was too tight to bend down. Shut up.)

Sadly, the next day, my neck and shoulders were completely jacked up from sucking in and bunching up. So, instead of being the super-sensuous bridesmaid I imagined in my head, I’ve settled for being able to sit during dinner and still being able to breathe, and maybe avoiding my armpit fat from photobombing the wedding party.

The thing I’ve discovered, though, is that the will power that once made me only eat three saltine crackers and a grape each day back in ninth grade has gone on permanent vacation. The simple fact that I’m trying (ok, not really) to lose weight makes me completely ravenous, to the point that I want to eat every single order of boneless wings that I serve to a table. (GAAWWWWWD, boneless wings sound amazing right now….)

I’ve told myself for the month of January, I will focus on eating less, and worry about shaping up in February. Unfortunately, since my daily diet rivals that of an African elephant, I’ve got quite a bit of cutting down to do.

To help keep my stomach from crying aloud with his own voice, (which I imagine sounds very like Boris Karloff) I’ve taken to drinking copious amounts of coffee mixed with way too many pink packets. Coffee is supposed to speed up your metabolism, they say. What they don’t say, is that coffee makes you pee like you’ve been drinking booze for seven days straight. And it probably doesn’t help that the sleep I’m supposed to be getting to help me trim down is interrupted by caffeine.

I just…. I just want to be skinny like I was when I thought I was fat.

(On the plus side, whenever I’ve shown a picture of me in my dress to anyone, their first reaction has always been, “Geez, your boobs look huge!” )

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November the First


Hmm. I don’t write on here so much anymore. This makes me sad. So I shall begin anew.

I suppose I would do well to update you all on everything that’s been happening in the last, well- the last really long time. But in the words of Inigo Montoya: “No, there is too much. Let me sum up.” –

My baby is a seven months and a little bit old. Holy shit.  And even though I lost every bit of weight I gained when I was pregnant with him, I do not find myself motivated enough to lose the extra 50-60 lbs. I had before that. So sadly, I have not yet reached my goal of ultimate M.I.L.F. status. But, ya know- I’m still awesome. And I have the best kid who is so smart and funny and adorable. And I’m not even being biased. Let me prove it:

IMAG1125

 

Things between my Rockstar and I have not been the stuff of romantic comedies of late. Unless you’re thinking of the part in the movie when the couple argues and breaks up. No, we haven’t broken up; in fact, I suppose technically we’ve never even argued- you can’t argue with a person who doesn’t respond to your gripe. But in recent times I find myself bitching to myself over his lack of interest and general laziness in the relationship. After having expressed myself to him, I realize I’m kinda over it. A person can only take so much disappointment. And since his daughter now lives with us full-time, I am not in quite as good of spirits as I once was. Boo.

On a lighter note, I now work with an adorable hot chic that says I’m her favorite, and I have been approved for six new credit cards in the last two months, which is something I’m not quite sure is a good thing yet- other than the fact that finally after six years, I actually CAN get approved for things. Sadly, in those six years, I have not learned restraint, and also not-quite-but-almost maxxed out all said credit cards. BUT! I have a beautiful new copper loveseat in my perfect library that’s sitting in front of my very expensive electric fireplace I ordered with my Menard’s card.

Also, my most amazing friend Delightfulness is almost engaged, and apparently has a ridiculously large wedding budget that I get to help her plan with. Such a wedding will have no room for chubby bridesmaids, so I must force myself to not eat in the coming year, which will help with the whole M.I.L.F. thing.  Life is good.

Too, I am completely re-inspired to finally finish writing my book, though since I have an adorable little boy who has inherited my need for attention, the only time I have to write it is after work, when I sit down in front of my computer and get distracted by Facebook and Pinterest. Aye, me.

XOXO

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I’ll Ask You Only


Writer, teacher, student, daughter,

introvert, lover, poet, scholar.

All these describe you, but in the end,

I’ll ask you only to be my Friend.

 

A person who shares my deepest sorrows

and comforts me with fresh tomorrows.

One to who, I too, can lend a hand

when the ground around you is sinking sand.

 

Your passions, above all, I beg that you reveal;

and every stir of your soul they make you feel.

Your worries, also, please always expose;

my duty as Friend is to lighten that load.

 

Times of madness, times of brilliance,

ideas, wishes, dreams, experience.

Heavens and hells, comings and goings,

I pray you have these to overflowing.

 

The hurts will happen; don’t quake, Dear Heart!

They arise to make you more stalwart.

Without anguish, we would never see the Light.

Without pain, blessings wouldn’t burn nearly as bright.

 

The delights of your life I hope are so many

they drown out the heartaches you have, if any.

The tears you shed, some will be sad,

but with my help, joyful ones even more will be had.

 

We two, so different, and yet just the same

walk paths unalike, play contrasting games.

Our lives go on, ever changing, but in the end,

I ask you only to stay my Friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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For Grampa


I noticed the sky this morning,

the morning you left us.

It was beautiful;

rose-colored and coral.

I thought of the old saying-

you know the one-

Red sky at morning,

sailors take warning.

And I started to cry.

It wasn’t warning sailors,

and I knew it.

It was warning us,

all of us that are left

that the world would be a little bit darker soon,

because you were going Home.

I knew;

that was why I held your hand maybe a little bit too tight

right before I had to go.

I figured it might have hurt,

but I knew you wouldn’t mind.

You would have done the same

if you’d been able to.

Now I have to figure out

how exactly my little boy is going to

grow up knowing just what a great man you were.

He’ll only see pictures of you,

the ones that prove me right-

that you were the best-dressed man that ever lived,

and so handsome.

(More handsome than all your brothers. Shhh.)

When he grows up,

he won’t get to remember what it was like

to wander through your garden with you,

admiring the stunning array of flowers

you and Gramma worked so hard on.

My son will never watch

Gramma, with the most tender of touch,

comb back the glorious strands of white and grey

from your forehead.

You know, I didn’t mind it a bit

when you missed a haircut or two.

There are far too many balding older men in the world.

It always seemed a shame to clip

the admirable abundance of hair you retained.

I’ll tell you a secret now.

Don’t be mad.

I always hated your favorite hymn.

In the Garden was never quite grandiose enough for me.

But you know I’ll play it for you anyway,

when it’s time to say goodbye.

The words, I really don’t mind, though.

And when I am digging in my own dirt,

I’ll sing them to myself

and think of you.

“I come to the garden alone,

when the dew is still on the roses…”

I maintain my opinion that

Crystal Gayle was always prettier than Loretta Lynn.

I keep saying it,

hoping you’ll come back and argue with me.

Loretta never knew what she was missing,

but all the rest of us will,

until we see you later.

 

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A Letter To My Baby


Dear Baby,

I would have addressed my letter “Dear Little Bastard”, but there are those who might have taken offense. Luckily, I am your momma, and shall teach you to have a great sense of humor, and to never be ashamed of who and what you are.

So, hello, baby. I’ve been waiting a really long time to be able to write a letter to you. You would think I’d have given a bit more thought to what I would write, but considering that I never actually thought I’d have an opportunity to write such a letter, you will understand my faltering. It seems very cliche’, but I love you, baby. I’ve loved you for a very long time.

I promise you will be the most loved baby there ever was, (I know that seems pretentious, but you will learn soon enough that I am very exactly that). And don’t worry, I promise to teach you what pretentious means, and how to spell it, because I don’t want you to be one of those silly people who only use simple words and nod stupidly when educated people talk to you. You will know many many things, and the things I cannot teach you, you will learn from other people who love you dearly, like Auntie Delightful, who will be your Fairy Godmother, and who did a happy dance in public when your existence was confirmed; she will teach you all about poetry and to love books like I will, and she will never run out of crafts for you two to o together. And my godmother Auntie, who has been waiting for you for a long time too. She will teach you to accept everybody, and to be kind to people you don’t necessarily understand, and, if you ask her to, she will teach you to quilt beautiful quilts that will keep people you love warm.

Your daddy will love you too, even though he might not say it. (You and I will get him to eventually, though, I know it.) He will teach you all about music, and how important it is, and how rockers wearing women’s makeup is not only funny, but very cool. He will also take you to car races, and watch football with you, and will play with you even though he is kind of old, and really just wants to take a nap. Don’t get mad when he doesn’t respond to all your questions- he doesn’t have as many words to use as I do; but that just means you have to listen closely when he does talk.

I have always hoped you would be a boy, because dinosaurs are so much cooler than Barbies, and teenage boys are less of a pain in the ass than teen girls. But if you are a girl, I will teach you to love dinosaurs anyway, and to not be a pain in the ass.

The most important thing you need to know is that life is beautiful, and all people are beautiful in their own way, so you need to treat them like they are special, because they are someone’s baby, too. Also, God is a cool Guy, but He sometimes will do things you don’t understand just because He can; don’t get discouraged, because you are tougher than anything He will throw at you.

I’m sure there will be many more letters for you, baby, but for now, I should really work on my book, so I will have more time and money to spend on you when you get here.

Love You Forever,

Mommy

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Xanax VS. Books


I was texting my friend Cat Woman last night, and since her life is in crisis at the moment, the conversation turned to shrinks and happy pills. I myself am a firm believer in just ignoring problems until they go away, and imbibing copious amounts of alcohol to aid that process. Luckily, most of the normal world, (including Cat Woman) does not share this belief, otherwise we’d be a planet filled with angsty drunkards.

Anyhoo, when Cat Woman offered selling me some Xanax at fifty dollars a pop to better cope with my ignored issues, I refused profusely, stating what a large number of books fifty dollars would buy me. She then asked an interesting question: What can a book do that Xanax cannot?

Well. You Book People out there already know. Clearly, my pal is not one. So, to quote my favorite character Inigo Montoya in the greatest movie of all time The Princess Bride: “Let me ‘splain. No no. There is too much. Let me sum up.”

A book has no adverse side effects. Sure, if you read a sad one, you may shed a tear and suffer post-reading depression, (this has happened to me after reading Where the Red Fern Grows, yet I’ve read it again and again.) but you have no worries of urinating less than usual or not at all, or becoming jaundiced or twerking unintentionally. (All possible side effects of Xanax.)

A book will calm you down. I am aware that Xanax is meant to do the same thing. However! A book may also excite you, or anger you, or frighten you! I’m not going to go through all the other emotions, because, well, we’re not in the third grade here. But you get the point.

A book may cost you fifty dollars a pop, but generally those are only those pretentious coffee table books not many people look at anyway. Yes, ok, if you are like me, you may find yourself spending fifty dollars every time you exit a bookstore, (a used one, it is hoped) but what do you have to show for it? At least twenty-four hours of reading, and after it wears off, you have the memory of what you just read, instead of the anticipation of an anxiety attack until you read another.

Depending on the book, the use of one will not cause controversy with other people who don’t believe in Western medicine. Not that we’re trying to keep Eastern doctors in our good graces here, but you know, it couldn’t hurt.

A book will distract you from your problems. Sure, Xanax will do the same thing, but only temporarily, and when you are done with it, there is no plethora of knowledge swimming around in your skull. If you find yourself sinking down into the depths of despair because the euphoria of finishing a book has worn off, read another. And incidentally, there is a whole Self-Help genre that will probably do the same thing Xanax will.

Well, there you have it. I may not be your first choice for the debate team, but I think I got my point across.

P.S. If you really think you’ve got it bad, read a book about the Holocaust. Then you might think to yourself, “Hey, at least I don’t have to stand in the sun for thirty-six hours before some Nazis gas me and my kids.

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Things One Thinks In a Dark Theatre


This past weekend, I got a chance to hang with my homie Delightful and experience an incredible production of the musical rock opera Rent.  I was surprised such a small-town theatre could do such a superb job putting on a Broadway musical, but there it was. It was so good, in fact, that the adorable gay couple next to me cried for the entirety of two songs after Angel died, and so amazing that I am dragging a few of my peeps to it again this Sunday.

Anyhoo, it seems a writer’s mind (or a psychopath’s, if you prefer) is never silenced, even when faced with a much-younger gorgeous man singing about his fictional druggy skank of a girlfriend. Here are just a few of the things I found myself thinking…

The guy playing Roger is beautiful. Like, for real, a curly-headed somewhat scrawny Adonis, who can sing. What?! This is only his second role in a stage production ever?! He’s so gorgeous. 

I should really take voice lessons. It’s utterly ridiculous that I’m not performing in plays of this caliber.

The guy playing Roger is beautiful. I wonder what he’d do if I just ran out on stage and kissed him….

Ok, who am I kidding? I can’t sing like these people, even with voice lessons. I could at least play the keyboard. Yeah, I should do that.

Oh! We’re going to Half-Priced Books after this! WOOHOOO!!!!

The guy playing Roger sings like an angel. I really wish he’d quit kissing that girl in the fishnets.

I wonder how many of these actors watched the movie version of Rent a million times. It’s uncanny how closely they sound like the actors in that when they sing.

Oops. I wonder if that old couple in the front row over there were expecting the facefull of ass they just saw?

I really wish the guy playing Roger was named something other than Roger. What kind name is Roger for a rock god?!

I honestly don’t know where to comfortably put my legs. I didn’t realize “front row” actually meant “center stage”.

OK, do the actors think its weird that I’m staring at them when they sing? I mean, if I were a few rows back, it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but yeah, I can practically smell Tom Collins breath here…. but where else am I supposed to look? There’s no one else on stage.

The guy playing Roger is so beautiful. I wonder if he needs someone to help him get into costume… (I’m quite aware I sound like a complete nincompoop, but you didn’t see the guy playing Roger, so shut up.)

I just got chills when that girl hit that note. I want to be able to give people chills, dammit!

I’ve just decided Rent is my favorite musical.

I wonder if this theatre realizes how completely white all their characters are. Wasn’t that the whole point of this play? To show diversity? Fuckin’ Minnesota, I tell ya.

The girl playing Mimi has the tiniest hands ever. I think her fingers are shorter than mine.

La vie Boheme? More like, la vie the guy playing Roger!

For the record, Delightfulness agreed with me on the beautifulness of Roger.

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