What Are You Waiting For?

With the excitement of buying the cabin, we knew we wanted a boat. A few family members and friends thought we could wait until next year because the season is so old, but we were hellbent to get one. Now. So we did.

A pontoon. Super cute. Super huge. Super learning curve!

Our cabin is on 3800 acres of lakes. A huge chain of lakes. We're located at the bottom of the chain in a rather marshy spot. Lots of otters, Lots of mushy ick just waiting to get stuck in your outboard. Which happened to us repeatedly.

So endlessly we're checking to see if the engine is peeing. "Is it peeing?" Do you see it peeing?"

We had Mikey with us to help us with the launching, starting, and general learnage of our huge, lovely boat (tentatively named "Flipper." Pup isn't all in on that name. I am.).

It was over 90 degrees and the dewpoints were in the 70s. Yeah, Minnesota/Wisconsin can get hella hot. People from other parts of the country find that hard to believe. But we don't. We were all sweating like whores in church. Oh wait, that's a horrible metaphor. But we was sweatin'. Like everythang. And I sweat the most. Always have. There's just something about a high dewpoint that makes me feel like my skin cannot breath. I'm just damp and sweatin' and miserable.

So we loaded up the boat with all of us, Pup, me, Lorenzo, Bella, Spud, Lorenzo's friend Rey (who was hungover as hell, poor sweet girl).

We tried to stay in what Larry (former owner) called the "driveway." The place in the marsh where you can see other boats have gone over and over. So there's a path of sorts right through all the wild rice and stuff.

But we got off course and mushed up the motor.

Finally we're out in the great expanse of lakes and Mikey's giving us updates.

"She's not peeing."

"She's only peeing a little."

So we'd stop, poke the peehole with a stick and start off again.

Flipper stops peeing entirely.

We're wondering what to do. So Mikey waves down a couple of young men on the shore.

"We have some trouble. Could you tow us to the boat launch? We'd pay for your trouble!"

The boys say sure!

We putt over to their dock. We're discussing what and where and how when a head suddenly appears from above us on the deck. A neat, athletic, head.

"What's the trouble?" He asks.

We explain.

Before you could think about all those whores sweating in church, he bounds down to the dock and leaps onto our boat. A 5'4" bundle of Guido. All muscles, colorful tanktop, athlesure pants, and white Addidas. An ass I could not take my eyes off of. Seriously! We all thought so!

He took charge. Not peeing? Simple! Suck on that thang!

"Boy!" he hollered, "suck on that for these guys."

I laughed to myself thinking, "That's never going to happen . . . "

But it did. His kid sucked on the intake (or whatever the hell it is) and cleared out the muck. Beyond the call. What the hell? How wonderful are these guys?

The athletic, hot, Guido-dad ran down the length of Flipper and made a three foot leap from our boat to the dock. A collective sigh went up from the female portion of the observants (well, maybe it was only me). I think the guys were a bit impressed as well. They would lie if asked wouldn't they?

:)

We putted home happy and peeing like crazy.

As we entered the long driveway leading to our dock we saw people checking us out. Mikey said, "Hi! These guys are new to the lake." And the people replied, "Oh! Larry's people!"

Nice to know we're home. I rather like being "Larry's People."

Mood

I've been in one. Maybe for 15 years! It's not a bad mood, yet it's not sugary, sweet goodness if you get me. I know you get me.

I'm in love with living and wish that along with that I'd GET what is and what cannot be. I'm annoyed half of the day and ecstatic the other half. I see things with great clarity, yet cannot put into words clearly what I need to say.

Crap!

I must be a woman.

Snarky and snarked upon. Obsessed and obsessive.

Oh to say what I mean and mean what I say - without second guessing myself! My poor husband! He's the one that hears the aftermath. I love him! Just yesterday as we were getting ready for a family party, he had offered to vacuum if I'd go with him for pedicures. Yes, that man adores getting peds! And it was wonderful. Relaxing. And now I have cute feet. Plus +

His vacuuming left something to be desired. And even though my house never looks perfect, all I saw were the flaws when he was finished. Woe is me! I am a snark-monster. Keep working on that girl! I am waiting for this revelation that comes with age, but it's not happening! Ha and ha! I am laughing here because I have such clarity after the fact. And blurt in the moment.

Blurting just may be the thing that murders me in the end. I'll blurt to the wrong person in traffic or on the phone or at the grocery store and BAM! You'll read about me in the newspapers. A random act of violence. Only me and the killer will know the truth.

What a rambling going on here! We have a few things happening as everyone does at times and we've gotten good news, waiting for good news, and longing for the good news.

Meanwhile, this happened not long ago -

My beautiful daughter married her much-loved-by-all-who-meets-him man. In Mexico. On the beach. It was perfection and maybe the best time we've had since my first daughter got married six years ago. Now I have two sons along with two daughters.

Congratulations Lorenzo and Randalian!

Story from the Z Files

Z means nothing. I'm just not that clever this morning! I was attempting to find a connection between X Files and Z files which could be hard because I'm too lazy to look anything up on the X Files and I never saw one episode. Wha?

Hopefully the story is more entertaining than that sentence.  :)

Yours Truly on phone with friend. We're having a little kiki. I'm hesitating saying my next sentence that is hilariously rolling around in my head. About a particular situation.

Friend says, "If you're worried about going to hell for saying anything, know that you will not be alone."

We FELL out laughing. I am so very easily amused.

The End of an Era - Stolen from Kirky

My yapping sure ended abruptly! I'll have to add a couple of penance-posts because of my lack.

I'm not sure what the heck is going on with me, but I have the start of what just may be, perhaps, my fourth cold in as many months. Gah and ahhh!

But that's not the reasons for my disappearment.

Pup has sold the house that his parents owned since 1960 or so. 55 years! Pup lived in that house only as a child growing up. I'd have to sit and do the math for the many places I lived in as a child.

Pup and I nearly bought it as investment property, but in the end we sold it to a client of ours. He's a money guy and real estate is his thing. He owns many properties around the Twin Cities and either rents the properties or flips. This house he's going to flip.

He works with partners and sent a couple of them out to inspect the house and the offer was proffered, bartered, and accepted. His thing is the money - not the design of the place. His partners evaluate the space, come up with a budget for the updating, and Dan then does his math to discern if this is a win-situation or a skip-it situation.

I love Client-Dan. He and I have had a couple of meetings in my tiny office and I can tell he and his wife would be fun to hang with. Talented, aggressive, fun-loving, and smart as HELL! I get a mind-boner from smart people.

Client-Dan has never even laid eyes on the house. Isn't that crazy?

I don't know his process exactly, but since this is a client I'm thinking he will let me in over there to document a bit for Pup. I'll be curious to see what they'll be doing to modernize the space. It's a modest rambler, but has great bones. Hardwood throughout, potentially three-plus bedrooms, basement has high ceilings, and several years ago all the mechanics were updated - roof, furnace, windows, siding. It will be lovely when complete!

Pup has seven brothers and sisters so there was a good-sized crowd yesterday to empty the house. We had a HUGE dumpster in the driveway, a plan for a local charity to pick up donatable stuff, and a Uhaul to move the one brother that was still living in the house. Pup being the coordinator for all of this. My Pup is the youngest boy, but a rock with this type of stuff. And it's tax season people!

We had moved Momma Betty out of the house two years ago into a lovely apartment in a senior living complex. She kinda went kickin' and screamin' as normal, but now rather loves her new home in her same neighborhood. And even though she is the most introverted introvert I've met she has made a couple of friends and she spends a portion of each day kikiing like the senior-set sometimes likes to do.

Pup and I had toured through the house a week or so ago and had thought it would take two days to empty because 55 years! That's a lot of stuff.

We had the lion's share completed by noon! Teamwork really does make the dream work.

It was an emotional day for several of of the family. It was very emotional for Pup.

He and I took the family kitchen table. A very very old (I couldn't make out any markings on the fly, but will check again), solid, round, oak, pedestal table that has four chairs from the 80s with it. Perfect! We're buying a cabin after tax season is over and we thought it would be perfect to sit at his family table playing games like he did as a child and young adult.

I packed up and cleared out all the kitchen cupboards. As I was working I was thinking about Momma in that kitchen doing her kitcheny thing and wondering what thoughts she had as a momma for her children. What thoughts did she have for herself? What were her passions and how did she want to change the world.

We might not think it, but I believe all of us want to change the world in our way. We might not even know that's what we're thinking, but our scent is left with everything we do.

As I worked I thought about what my children would think of me in a similar scenario. Would they shake their heads at choices I had obviously made? What scent would I leave?

I'm hoping cinnamon. That's a lovely scent and has the promise of a baked good.

How you superbowling?

Sleeping with the Television On

That's never a good thing. I fall asleep every night with the television on. Lately while watching Hot Bench, my new obsession. These three judges are so adorable! Especially when one of the judges says, "We've reached our decision," with her Brooklyn (I think?) accent.

It's Pup's busy time of year. Now that we own our own biz and I'm involved a bit I'll be working more in a few weeks or so (I'm there at the office a few days a week during the day), but right now Pup is the talent and works longer hours. He loves what he does and frankly doesn't mind having to work long hours during the dark and cold winter. He always says he has the best job ever. All summer long with an easier schedule and time to relax and have fun.

But right now he's very busy. Meetings with clients, pre-work, doing the groundwork for future weeks of work.

So I'm a bit of a winter-widow.

Which doesn't bother me at all! Occasionally I'll head out to hang out, but mostly I'm home doing this or that. Taking a bath. Laundry.

My favorite thing to do around 8 or 8:30 is head upstairs to our loft with a cup of sleepy tea, putz around doing things up there, put on my jammies, get ready for bed, then hop in it with magazines, a book (that I might read for five minutes),  and a few episodes of Hot Bench or Bewitched (still!).

Pup gets home around 8:30 so he comes and hangs out for a few and then heads down to The Big Room to relax for a bit.

By 9 or 9:30 I'm sleepy. During the winter months I have a hard time staying awake by 9 or so. It's been dark for hours by this point and cozy is all I want to be.

What an exciting time I'm having! Heh!

What a rambling post here.

Oh yeah . . . sleeping with the television . . . not good. Pup comes to bed probably around 11 or so and turns the damn thing off for us luckily.

We do live in an interesting part of the country. As I've said, it's very very dark around this time of the year, yet in the summer months it's light outside until nearly 10:00 p.m! Those months it is very difficult to get to bed! Who wants to go to bed when it is light outside still!

This is why we are all so crazy flexible and congenial. Hehehe!

How you sleepin'?

Oh oh!

Nearly forgot! Sheesh.

I just cleaned out my refrigerator and used up a bunch of vegetables before they went bad. For once! Made myself some damn good veggie soup; cabbage, carrots, celery, table onions. Simmered until soft, added some organic chicken bouillon. I just had a bowl. Mmmm nummy nummy nummy as Spud and I sing every day he's here.

Vegetables really are good. It's the prep that bugs me, yet just now when I was prepping and listening to the radio (local station The Current is celebrating its 10th year - wow!) I realized just how calming and rather enjoyable prepping veggies actually is.

Numm and yumm.

No photo, of course. Apologies for the repeat (or maybe not?), but Lorenzo has been known to wonder aloud, "Why does everyone feel the compulsion to share photos of their food?"

We just do! It is rather idiotic.

Instead, here's a photo of something lovely.

Because what is better than a baby eating an orange?

That's My Name, Don't Wear It Out

Pup wants a tattoo. Yeeeesss?

I'm joking of course. The best way to jinx your relationship is to tattoo your love's name on your body. Instant death. Ask Nick Cannon (Maria Carey's soon-to-be-ex-or-maybe-ex-already?). Or ask anybody that has done such a thing.

We should speak of tattoos at some point though.

But I wander off of point . . .

My name is Deborah. For real, not just for blogness.

Deborah

When I was a child and young adult I was called Debi. When I was really little my momma spelled it Debby. When I got to my "creative" phase in middle school I switched up the spelling to Debi to differentiate myself from the millions of other Debbys. There were so many! And I always knew I wouldn't be Debi my whole life. I remember being 14 and just KNOWING that by the time I was 40 (40! Would I live so long??) I would be Deborah.

I always, secretively, loved my given name. I loved how it looked written out. I loved how it looked written across the top of a page. When I worked for a publishing house my name as typographer/interior book design was written on the copyright page along with everyone associated with the creation of the book. I can't lie; it was thrilling to have my name connected with dozens and dozens of publications I had typeset. Thrilling especially that first time.

When I fill out paperwork I use my given name. When I sign I use my given name. I never use Debi or worse; Deb. I've never been Deb in my life!

It's a tricky name for people. No one wants to say it. Or write it. Just a month or so ago when Pup and I signed up for our new gym I filled out the paperwork with the recruiter. Spelling my first and last names as I always do. He shortens it to "Deb."

"Wait," I say. "You spelled my name wrong."

"Oh, is this a big deal?" the young recruiter says.

"Yes, that's not my name."

He looks at me blankly.

Repeat this scenario a million times.

After I quit my biz and got my corporate job (which was another thrilling job - kinda loved that job) I, again, filled out everything with my name. DEBORAH. My sign for my office arrived with DEBBIE written on it.

Grr! I sent it back.

Just a couple of weeks ago Pup and I ran into an old neighbor of his from his little boy days. I introduced myself to her as Pup's wife.

"Hi! I'm Deborah."

"Do you go by "Deb?"

"Deborah, I go by Deborah."

Blank stare.

A blank stare I've seen so many times!

Pup says the name Deborah is puzzling to some people. They don't know how to pronounce it. It seems too formal.

I call crap!

If someone introduces themselves to me as Thomas I wouldn't take it upon myself to call him Tom. He didn't say Tom. He said Thomas!

These are the things that fill my brain. It's not the end of the world or important to anyone but me, but it does have the bug factor.

It's a lovely name! And my name is a huge factor in the names Wasband and I picked out for our two girls. Names that couldn't easily be shortened. Names that would be their names! Lovely names!

But I won't share them here! The blogness-life isn't for them.

Smooches and happy Saturday y'all!

Quote

Isn't that lovely?

Lovin' Tater Tots

Half-hearted apologies for yesterdays video of Spud. I find all things Spud fascinating so it's hard to push the edit button. The good news is no one is forced to hit play. Gotta love that!

I do find that little Spud-Muffin the center of everything. When he wraps those little arms around my neck and clings to my waist with his strong little legs tears mostly always squirt out of my eyes. If that feeling could be packaged and marketed there would never be need for any type of depression medication. Who can feel sadness when someone that adorable, tiny, and dependent on you looks at you and loves you that way. I swoon.

Spud loves to vacuum. I'm kinda serious. Do you love the plaid jumpsuit?

Squeeze!

No agenda today. Just lovin' on my little Tater, lovin' on my Pups, and lovin' that yesterday felt like Monday and it was actually Friday! Score!

A Post a Day Keeps the Januaryitis Away

That's what I'm thinking. I'm writing every day this month just to see. Some of you may want to look away. It could get mesmerizing, oops, I might have meant, mortifying.

I weighed myself a few minutes ago and I was neither horrified nor satisfied! Which means I'm the same and that seems like a New Year Celebration right there. No damage! I am dancing in the form of walking lunges right now. Because, like it or not, January First is a good time to reinforce improvements.

January Pledges

• Write more.
• Read more.
• Laugh more. 
• Stop stressing out about people that you don't even like. Address and dismiss girl. They're fine where they are. Leave them there.
• But be nicer. Guess what? It's nice to be nice. Today was day one - Nice!
• Allow no doldrums this month. No, the sun probably won't shine, but who cares! Life is fantastic! The so-exciting-I-might-pee parts and the it's-Tuesday-and-I-get-to-watch-RHOBH parts. All good. 
• Deep as a puddle can be entertaining, but maybe only to you.
• Chubby and aged is prized in some cultures. You might want to move there! hehehe
• To fight sadness about the above, remember the lovely doctor that repeatedly hit on you during Pup's stay a couple of months ago. Took me until hit #3 to get it. #notverybright #somelikeityourway #itdidtakemymindoffwhatwashappening #deepasapuddle 
• See above and alleviate the #deepasapuddleitis you can have. Find meaning.
• With this thought, leave the hashtags to others. You are annoying more than just yourself.  :)
• Again, with this said, never give up your mad love for the emoticon. Some things are classic. Plonk!

It's a beginning. 

A Pendant for Your Thoughts

Do any of you guys Houzz? It's one of my favorite ways to relax and ideaize. Along with Pinterest. Hanging out on Houzz, getting ideas, placing ideas in your idea books, can be the best place to research and relax.

During our Pup Family Christmas, (35 to 40 people I think) along with the normal chaos, one of my kitchen pendants got broken in a can't-ever-replicate-that kind of accident. I did kinda love my pendant lights, but the opportunity to get something new is never a bad thing in my mind.

Seeing this, I am really going to miss these globes. It will last one minute after I put the new ones up. 

So I'm paging through Houzz and Pinterest looking at globe after globe.

Pup wants to go for something similar with what we had in the beginning.

I say he doesn't get a vote.

:)

Okay - of course he gets a vote. Although we all know what that means. No vote. Vicious!

I say switch it up Deborah! There are two newish globe styles that are interesting to me. The problem is, as it always is, to not fall into trend-traps. I'm highly gifted there. At spotting trends. I start doing and wearing things a bit before they hit main-street. I don't know why I have this gift. Maybe there is a little bit of the Psychic Network working in this vast noggin? Or I'm a bit of an idiot savant in this. Although I do not have a good memory. Okay - I'm just an idiot.

Either way - I have a gift. Hey - I avoided those bowls on top of sink cabinets didn't I? Brilliant! And I've only bought a vintage leather skirt and saved about $200 on that particular trend. Sexy as hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy New Year Friends-in-My-Head!

Once Bad Always Bad?

Seeing the world in black and white. Do you think you do that? Once someone is deemed bad they can never again be seen as good? Or are you gray? Seeing things from both sides?

Gray is my favorite color of late around my house and around my person. What does this say about me?

Grey or gray (see spelling differences) is an intermediate color between black and white. It is a neutral or achromatic color, meaning literally that it is a color "without color." It is the color of a cloud-covered sky, of ash and of lead.

A cloud-covered sky.

Pup and I are watching The Affair. At first blush; from just reading the title; you, and I frankly, may think, "Nope, I don't want this. I don't want to be witness to something uncomfortable. Something so bad."

And then you watch. It's complex. Layered. Showing over and over how things are never, ever black and white. No one correct way. No one wrong way. Not that once an asshole always an asshole. That once you think this you can never think that.

The sad situation in Ferguson, the personal violence erupting in sports, immigrants in your town, young, troubled boys looking for an anchor - looking for their place, bad parents. My list could go for miles.

Or when you think about opinions you have formed about events, people, areas of the country, family. Once you think one way can you be swayed into thinking another way?

I remember a story my dad told when I was little about a girl he was dating before meeting my momma. The girl was pretty and he liked her very much. One night out on a date, they were tickling and wrestling as young people in the beginnings of a relationship do. The girl farted. My dad broke up with her. Just like that. His opinion of her changed. From infatuation to distaste. Plonk.

I was a little girl that was always in her head and that story changed how I thought about people. I began realizing that there are reasons for experiences, reasons for change in your life that you will never know about. Why you didn't get that job, why that boy broke up with you, why a friend stopped calling you back, why you don't feel close, why someone loves you.

I've changed my mind about people and situations a million times over. Sometimes it pisses me off and sometimes it makes me happy. And sometimes it makes me wonder if I do not have a backbone. If I am easily swayed. Or if I am ornery in my singular and lonely thoughts.

I mean, once at a family meeting here at Chez Emerson, I stood up from my chair and shouted at a sister-in-law, "You're WRONG. This is what is right."

What.the.hell.

We laughed about it in the moment, but that has harassed my thoughts from time to time. Filling me with laughter and tears.

Once again, I am working through something here on paper (sic). Something I didn't even know I needed to work through! Oh the magic that early morning can provide!

I wish this would start a dialogue. I long for a dialogue! Do any of you feel similarly? Do you covet a black and white approach or do you want your mind blown open for possibilities? Possibilities seem wonderful, but they are limiting in their limitlessness.

Oh damn!

"You Are a Bitch!" "No, That's Just My Face."

I have resting-bitch-face. I didn't know this was a thing. I knew something was wrong with my face (easy there . . .) a long time ago, but until I actually saw this phrase I didn't know what to call it!

It catches me off guard at times. I'm happily in, say, Target. Shopping, putting crap in my cart, wandering around in the office supply area (obsessed), or looking for 3 oz cups for the bathroom (where the hell are they anyway??) when I catch sight of my face in an unexpected mirror.

Aaah! There is my face. Frowning. Brow wrinkled. Mouth turned down. It always catches me off guard. I look closer into the mirror. There it is. The face. The face I'm presenting. What is going on? I'm happy in this moment. I'm wandering and thinking and shopping. Why the face?

I look again. I adjust my posture. I relax my face. I put on a pleasant expression. Now I look more like I feel. What is going on?

I think it's partly an introverted thing. Introverts get entirely lost in their own thoughts. Lost and unaware. The awareness that is lost expresses itself across the face. Resting Bitch Face. I think it's that simple.

Gah - I get headaches sometimes worrying about shit like this. Self-awareness woman!

I found this fantastic article about introverts on playfullytacky.com that I could have written. 

Originally found here.

Things You Should Know About Introverts

1) We need to recharge alone. This right here is the cusp of the entire introvert vs extrovert debate (if there is one, anyway) – Introverts need to be alone to recharge. We tend to get completely worn out by socializing. This is basically what it means to be an introvert.

2) We don’t hate being around people, but we probably hate crowds. I love being with people, but if you drop me into a large crowd I instantly feel like I’m alone and invisible. I try to avoid situations where I feel that way, so I may decline your open invitation to some random event. It doesn’t mean I don’t like to be around you, it just means I like to have more control over my surroundings.

3) We don’t mind silence. I can sit beside you in silence and not think we are having a bad time. This is especially true on road trips and can be a little confounding to true extroverts. For this reason, I especially like going to the movies where it is already considered rude to chat. Rule for dealing with introverts – don’t tell me I’m “too quiet.” I hate that. Sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, but you really don’t get to decide how much I have to talk.

4) Just because we are introverted doesn’t mean we are shy. Introvert and shy are actually two different things.

5) We can turn on an extroverted personality when necessary, but it is especially draining. I have no problem getting up in front of a group of people and giving a talk. I don’t even get nervous by a question and answer period. But, here is the thing, I will need major recharge time afterwards and I won’t be able to keep up this extroverted illusion all day. I can turn it on to dazzle a crowd, but if you take me out for lunch afterwards, I’ll probably just listen to you talk. I am an excellent listener.

6) We aren’t judging you. Did I get quiet? Do I have a mean look on my face? I’m not judging you; I’m just wrapped up in my thoughts with my bitchy-resting-face on. I might have even forgotten you were there. Sorry, just poke me. I didn’t do it on purpose.

7) We secretly love it when you cancel plans. I like being with you, but finding out I suddenly don’t need to be “on” and it wasn’t actually me that backed out? – priceless! Don’t worry if you have to cancel, I’m probably thrilled to be able to stay in my pajamas.

8) We can get very wrapped up in our own thoughts. My inner monologue is epic. When you have a strong monologue constantly running in the background, it is pretty easy to settle-in and listen for a while. I have to work through things in my head before I proceed, so I usually need a few minutes. When I’m ready to move forward though, I am 100 percent on top of it!

9) We can be pretty bad at connecting. You know when you have had a really bad day and you just want to call up a friend and chat? Yeah, I’m bad at that. I tend to wait for extroverts to reach out and include me, so when the time comes that I need support, I can be a bit lost.

10) We don’t like to hang around. That time after an event or meeting ends and stragglers hang around to talk – yeah, I know this is the perfect time to make more plans, connect with new people, and get involved with future projects, but I really really really hate this. I’m probably already checking my phone in my car before you have even picked up your purse. Small talk with strangers is my kryptonite.

11) We have strong opinions. Just because I have difficulty sharing them sometimes doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions. Give me an extra minute to compose my thoughts and I will continue to push myself to speak up sooner. It is a give and take here.

When in Doubt, Write It Out

One thing you can say about me is . . .

Oh wait . . .

I think the truth of it is either nothing would be said or lots would be said. Never one thing.

I was thinking the other day about how I have a level of awareness around my annoying ways. Yet speak of my annoying ways always. If I'm annoying, and believe this to be true, then the annoyance should be owned and not qualified.

If you made it through that then I'm in love with you and you need to be my new best friend.

The date today is 26.07.14. I find this shocking.

Comic Relief 

I have no job.

Yes, I work for Pup and watch my Spud-Muffin, but I bring in no money on my own. Initially this didn't bother me much. In my two marriages there has been an ebb and flow with finances. Especially in my first marriage. I was a stay-at-home-momma and brought in nothing other than random part-time gigs that I would find to bolster up the monthly receivables. And eventually I had a corporate job where I made more than half of the monthlies. So for a great portion of my first marriage my Wasband made the lion's share of the dough-ray-me and for about six years I made a bit more.

But, either way, it never mattered. Wasband and I didn't butt heads too much in this part of our financial planning. Maybe in other ways, but not in this way.

Marriage #2 has been much different. I lost the corporate job a few months before we got married. I went back to school for a period (disaster) then eventually found a job in my field at what I affectionately called "The Tumbler." Again, disaster. Hilariously so, but wow, disaster. I recently found a tongue-in-cheek job description I had written for my replacement and laughed out loud I'm so damn funny. But it spoke to my level of unhappiness with that horrible job.

I ramble here . . .

Then I worked for a lovely consignment shop in a chi-chi neighborhood for a couple of years. Made NO money, but made friends that I will have forever and had a blast working in one of my favorite fields. Fashion and hunting. Because what is more gratifying than the fashion-hunt? Consignment/thrift isn't for everyone, but I love it so.

Then we bought The Firm and we decided I'd watch Spud and work for my darling husband, Pup.

All well and good.

Except I bring in no money.

It's a weird thing.

I don't think she meant any harm, but once during a conversation with a friend we were bantering about any "work" we might want or need on our person (ahem) and I mentioned a few things I wouldn't have any bad thoughts to having done. I said, "Yeah, I've heard that ________ wouldn't cost me so much and have good results." She said, "You mean it wouldn't cost Pup so much."

I was taken aback.

Pup and I are a family, but my contributions are entirely service-based, not financial. Aaaah!

And it struck me hard . . . I have no money to call my own. Probably for the first time, actually, yes, for the first time in my life.

Gah

I gotta say, writing all of this out is enlightening. This is the reason people, some people anyway, write. You can have all of these thoughts in your fucking head, but until they are written out you don't know what you really think.

Thanks my invisible community!

Ooops! How did that get in there?

Okay, that's better.

Smooches my hooches. I hug and love.

Maybe I Am a Douchebag

Before I start . . . I heard the other day that Kelly Osborn of Fashion Police and Ozzy made mention (probably tweeted) that she wanted kids, but didn't want a flappy vagina. What the hell . . . doesn't she know that the vagina is the world's greatest elastic? Go to biology class Kelly. You douchebag . . .

On to my douchebaggeryness.

I'm in the middle of a pickle. Funny - pickles are made with vinegar - real douche bags are filled with vinegar sometimes. Hmm . . . the silence you are hearing is me thinking . . .

Back to my pickle.

Before I begin; can a woman be a douchebag? Maybe I should be going with asshole? Hmm . . . yet another thing to slow the process down with my thinking. We can't have that. Aha.

Again, the pickle

I'm in a tussle with a woman in my life. A woman in a leadership position. A woman who could be one of the women we think about and say, "She's a leader. She fosters communication. She delegates tasks with authority and clarity." Or maybe I'm the only one that wants to state things like this about women in authority.

Before I go any farther - I have no desire to be a woman in authority. I've known this all my life. I'm totally cool with this. I like being the workings behind the machine. It's how I am. So my intent is never to BE the woman in charge. But I have worked for many fantastic women in charge. Women that showed grace under fire and had the ability to nurture abilities rather than feel threatened by abilities.

This woman in a leadership position hired me to do some design work for her company. Our interactions have been puzzling.

My first meeting with her I brought a project I had been working on with one of her teammates. She took a cursory look and tossed it on her desk. Dismissed! I thought to myself, Well, let's listen to what she has to say about it. She had nothing to say. She was only dismissive.

And so it began. Ignored emails. Phone meetings set up and ignored by her. Criticism about the "verbiage" I used, yet I experienced her using it in other pieces. Proofs sent, call to action requested, and no reply.

This situation is working my nerves. I am using it as a test. A test to see just how I can contain my douchebaggeryness. I respond to emails slowly; I reread them to make certain I have let no hidden douchey get through. She discovers a kernel of douche and pounces. I respond. I'm frazzled.

Here is why I'm even talking about this today. Here is what I do not understand about my own gender. This will sound douchy to the max, but it is my experience. As my smart husband says, "your experience is reality." This doesn't mean it's right, just that it is right as YOU SEE IT.

Again, I do not understand why my own people, women, battle against each other. We fight about men, we fight about talent, we fight about situations. I'm sick. Sick sick sick. Let's allow each woman in our life to OWN their shit. Good shit and bad shit. Arg!

Let's foster ability. Let's foster a good job. Let's foster everything. Attractiveness, smarts, funny, mothering, creative, and every other damn thing I'm not remembering in my writing sprint here.

Be a douchebag if you must, but be a douchebag with vision.

That is all.

What's on My Samsung?

I'm annoyed.

I cannot understand why so much energy from everywhere is being focused on one murder trial. I don't understand why so many are giving this horrible situation even one minute of their precious time or why they are drawing more attention to it.

From California to New York there are trials going on. For horrendous crimes. Murders, rapes, arson, robberies. Things that some of us can't even imagine because they are so horrific.

I'll make the one change that I'm in control of. Me. Sometimes I'm not even in control of her! Meaning me. Or whatever the hell I'm trying to say. You know, be the change you want to see and all that crap.

Ha! The most repeated and quoted things are that way for a reason.

So . . .

Extremism

Some of my weekend was spent reading and watching coverage of the Boston Marathon tragedy. Many times I had to stop reading or turn off the news channel I was watching because it floods into me and I get overwhelmed. I do not like the 24 hour news cycle. I feel as though I cannot get all of what is happening - I get that particular talking head's points of view and so many of them talk way too much.

But that is definitely my problem; more than likely rooted deep within my AADD. Because it must be working for most others. Just not this other.

But I read, and listened, and waited. For the fear to begin tumbling out. And I have seen it here and there. Okay - more than here and there. It's everywhere.

I am not a good debater. I have opinions, but many times in the moment, I cannot make helpful use of the facts that my opinions are based in. I know what I believe.

I also know what I don't believe.

I don't believe Muslims are what we need to be fearing. I just read an article in The Washington Post that put a period at the end of that sentence for me.

‘Please don’t be a Muslim’: Boston marathon blasts draw condemnation and dread in Muslim world

In this article Qasim Rashid, the chairman of the Muslim Writer’s Guild of America, was reported to have tweeted. “Whoever the culprit, no religion justifies this act of violence. We must remain united against extremism.”

United against extremism.

That's the message I want to take with me.

Extremism is the thing to fear. Not Christians, not Muslims, not Jews, not Buddhists. None of them are to be feared.

I get enraged frankly when the fingers are pointed. And they do get pointed. I have pointed as well at times. I'm not proud of that. Ever.

We react and need a place to put our fear and anger. Then we calm down and try to sift through the fear-based ramblings to get to the core of it. I'm never certain if I get to the core.

I live in a colorful neighborhood. Not quite, but very near, the inner city. I am a white, Lutheran, middle-class, middle-aged, woman with blue eyes and white skin. There are plenty around here just like me. There are plenty around here not like me at all.

I have some friends that think my area isn't the safest or the toniest. I admit to having a few thoughts in these directions myself from time to time. But it is my city. I see the reasons people could be afraid. But I also see neighborhoods that are living their lives. Good people. It's just a neighborhood.

Doesn't mean I don't pay attention to the thugs. Doesn't mean I float through my day-to-day with a misplaced feeling of safety, but I also don't want to walk under the cloud of fear.

Frankly? I am shocked from time to time at the things that people fear.

They fear gays, they fear blacks, they fear Jews, they fear Muslims, they fear any damn thing that might be different from them. And then, when the unthinkable happens, when someone just like THEM does something heineous, well, then they point fingers at the parents, at the schools, at whatever they have to so they don't ever ever have to look and realize that sometimes people do bad, horrible things.

People do bad, horrible things. But this doesn't mean I'm going to stop being a person. I don't fear people. I fear the reaction behind people's fears.

Extremism is so easy. You've got your position, and that's it. It doesn't take much thought. And when you go far enough to the right you meet the same idiots coming around from the left.
(Interview, Time Magazine, February 20, 2005)
~ Clint Eastwood

Keep Looking Back

No reason for this photo except these pillows made me laugh so I got them for Pup. This is his favorite phrase. 

I played the trombone all through school. I think I started in the 5th grade? I don't quite remember why I picked it, but I do remember walking down the rows filled with instruments, gazing at all the gleaming buttons, valves, silver, brass, and bone.

My dad kept pointing out flutes and clarinets. I kept walking back, time after time, to the trombone. It looked beautiful; shiny and complicated. I dug in my heels. I went home with the trombone.

I had a few lessons from a really crabby teacher and found myself in band. I had no idea I would be one of the only girls back there in the brass section. My best friend at the time played trumpet so she was at least down the row from me.

I turned out to be pretty good at playing. I had good, strong embouchure for the most part and while my tone was at times thin, I had good control and a good ear.

I really loved playing even though I had to carry that damn thing to and from school every day. It was rather heavy, but I got used to it. I also had to practice every day; something my dad wasn't too fond of. At Christmas I would play a few carols on Christmas Eve if you can even imagine something so strange.

I joined a jazz band and we met every day for an hour before class began so we could practice. I loved every time we had a performance. I was totally in love with hearing applause. We even made a record - I wish I knew where that was!

Why am I thinking about this I am wondering.

I believe that sometimes you are drawn to a choice and even though many around you are saying, "Why on earth would you want to do that??" you keep looking back at it and decide you have to do it. And it turns out fantastic.

Like the times when I left my first husband, started a business (even though it ultimately failed), went back to school (even though I was horrible at accounting), got my dog, got married for a second time (love you Pup). Every milestone-type decision made eventually became a good thing. Even the decisions that were made for me turned out to be the best.

If we could listen closely and filter out the crap, what a joy that could be.

But, of course, we can't and sometimes we don't get it until later. But when we do get it - whoooo ha! Let the party bus pick up my arse. I'm ready to get my bourbon on.

I am still wondering why I'm thinking about this. I do have a couple of work-related decisions to make in the next week or so, that has to be it. Gah! Why can't things be smooth?

Oh yeah! I know why. It would be boring! Ha!

Are you sleepy because you lost some sleep? I'm right there with you. Smooches and rock it today!

Talk Like Sir Paul

I love Downton Abbey. And, after every episode I find myself trying to sit like Lady Mary and speak like Lady Mary. Yeah. Lady Mary. I'm a bit obsessed.

And longing to work a bit of British-speak into my life.

Arse - I have loved this word for years. Sounds so much better than, "Move your ass you f-ing dumbass." This is usually said while I'm driving.

Bum or Bottom - What do we think? Would we rather have, "I have a big ass"?

Knickers - the perfect replacement for that word, panties (shudder).

Bloody - well, this one is self-evident. It's perfect. "Bloody hell. Bloody marvelous. Bloody awful. Bloody brilliant."

Brilliant - this one as well. It's brilliant!

Tidy - what do we have? Neat? Neato Frito? "He's so neat." Unless he's really special I'd rather know he's tidy.  :)

Twit - love this one. Much better than idiot. And doesn't sound as mean. Maybe? Ha!

Suss - figure something out. I love to suss around. Do you?

Blow Me! - I guess I won't be using this one. Simply means, "I'm surprised!" Heh!

Cheeky - I love to be cheeky. Doesn't have anything to do with my big arse. 

Fancy - desire something. I fancy you. I fancy some tater tots. What? No tater tots in England?

I'm Easy - hmm . . . we better not use this one. Actually means, "I don't care." This wouldn't be good to say if someone fancies you.

Posh - I do fancy that posh pocketbook.

Pocketbook - handbag

Puff - such a good word for flatulence! Although in my house it's "toot". As in, "Pup? Did you toot?"

Hoover - Vacuum the rug. "I'm hoovering today. Pick up your room."

Rubbish - This one really appeals to me. Much better than garbage. "It's Friday! Is the rubbish all in the bin for pickup?" 

It's at the weekend hooches! So pull up your knickers, be cheeky, and suss something out.

Knee Deep in the Bootla

Well, not exactly. It's snowed a bit here and there, but not the pounding I'm desiring. It's winter! Let's get our snow on!

We have passed the shortest day which always makes me happy because now we're heading back to longer days of more light.

I do kinda cocoon in during these dark dark days. Very reflective. Maybe even a touch down. It's my nature. I'm mostly happy, but have never minded nurturing a down day here and there. It just feels right at times.

So I pad around in slippers and flannel, enjoying my SAD experience. If that makes no sense, well then welcome! You are beginning to get it!

All of that aside, let's enjoy a few shots of our Eve Eve.

Wow! Is that my house? I like it!

See the workout outfit hanging on the door at the top of the stairs? Yeah, it's been hanging there for more than a minute. Heh!

George is waiting for everyone to get here already. Don't they know he's waiting to hump them and jump on them? Bad dog.

The meatballs. I only ate one while making them. That might be the first time ever.

Load up the tray to set the table.

Simple, but so pretty.

We all have feet.

George might be pouting. He really has no idea that his life is perfect.

But the Squeekers get it.

I hope your days were merry and bright.

Smooches all my holiday hooches.