So Sunday was Momma's Day. I had plans to spend the day - not with my mother who lives 1000 miles away, but cleaning out my closets and weeding the wardrobe. I started the morning with coffee and storage containers full of summer clothes. I always forget what I have in the months between seasons and so it is a little like shopping - without going broke.
So I opened the containers eager to see what I had forgotten. As I laid out each item, covering every surface in my bedroom, I realized I HATE my summer wardrobe. It was depressing to see the explosion of multicolored fabric draped throughout the room and not see anything I was excited about.
Just as I was about to retrieve some lawn and leaf sized garbage bags, the phone rang. It was a very sleepy (and maybe hungover) M, my son, on the other end wanting to have lunch together. So, I left the mess in my room, closed the door on my wardrobe woes and ran off to a little English pub for some mid-afternoon ale* with the son and future daughter-in-law.
We met up at the tiny little pub that was surprisingly packed with thirty-something aparent orphans listening to live music and downing bloody marys where M presented me with a card in which he had written, "To my ultra-chic mother, have a wonderful Mother's Day!" He obviously hadn't seen the contents of my summer closet.
Anyway, the three of us drank up a couple of cocktails and rolled out for some Thai food. We started with some saki, drank some wine, ate some tofu and discussed all sorts of things. Toward the end of our meal, I got on my soapbox about the state of the western meat-and-preservative-laden diet. Of course I discussed this between bites of coconut cake topped with a five year old marischino cherry. Ha!
Then we went down to the river front and sat in the warm sun to discuss our next destination. Just after we sat down, an old tug boat pulled in to dock. The boat was filled with partiers - inebriated partiers - tooting horns, shouting, waving arms and whatnot over the side railings.
As the revelers began to disembark, a 200 year old horse-drawn hearse clicked up and stopped in front of us. The hearse was outfitted with glass, black plumes, a metal cross spire, and a red cadaver bed. Driving the carriage was the grim reaper. The reaper beckoned from his seat to one of the boat people. Evidently, we had an "over-the-hill" party gag unfolding before us.
The birthday boy was loaded into the carriage to lie-in-state as the revelers began to form lines behind the hearse. The whole party then pulled out and ambled down the brick street in a very noisy funeral procession. I wish I had my camera on me as it was quite a to-do.
Watching the whole scene must have made M's fiance, B, nostalgic for horse carriages because she suggested that we take a carriage ride through the city. M was quite opposed to the idea. Although he didn't say it, I know him well-enough to know he was thinking that he would die a thousand deaths if anyone he knew saw him riding in a tourist carriage through the city streets.
After much begging from B, he agreed and we climbed aboard the white carriage and listened to the driver's spiel laced with bits of history, bits of fantasy, and lots of architectual information. The tour guide seemed particularly fascinated with tales of the courting practices and sexual morrays of antebellum society. He tried to pass them off as being so gentile and proper. He pontificated on the rash of teen-pregnacies today and that it was unheard of in those times. I, not being able to resist the temptation to point out the fallacy, pointed out that girls were often married off at 14 and 15 in those days in the South. And that teen pregnancies were in fact quite common. He tried to contradict me - but recognized that I was right and dropped the subject quickly moving on to tales of accepted marital infidelity common among both sexes..
I actually learned alot about the construction and history of my little town. Even the very reluctant M was enthusiastic about the trip after it was over. I thourouly recommend that you play tourist for a day in your city as it really opens your eyes to all the beautiful things you miss as you rocket around the city trying to accomplish the tasks of daily life.
After we left the carriage, we ambled down to a biker bar for a couple of beers and a discussion of the musical genius that is Kid Rock. Yeah yeah yeah - did I mention that we had had a bit to drink by this point?
The last stop of our day ended up being a tiny little hookah joint where we smoked God knows what. Thankfully, the hookah place serves no alcohol. An actress, Sophia Bush I think - or someone Sophia Bush-like, came in and took a hit from our hookah before deciding to have what we were smoking. She seemed very laid back and friendly. Her companions, on the otherhand, were absolute douchebags. While she tried to enjoy the collective conversation, they wanted to turn their noses up at everything and talk about money and how much each had made on this "deal" or that "deal" or who lost how much in Vegas. How tedious for her!
Also in the joint were some rasta kids. They were cleanish and friendly and such wide-eyed innocents. It was quite the eclectic mix of people.
We left well after midnight. And I came home - to my destroyed bedroom and collapsed on top of my bed full of clothes. What a perfect mother's day. Just my speed. Just my style. Perfect.
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*So Sug and I were playing Scattergories the other day. The category was Things found in the refridgerator. The letter was "A." My answer was "ale." Sug thought that was uproariously funny and began taunting me asking, "Who the hell says 'ale' anymore? K! Can you put the ale in the fridge; it is getting warm!" So I just had to prove that "ale" is a word used in modern vernacular - even if I was the one that had to use it.
How many pair of shoes do you have? Out of those pairs, how many do you wear more than a few times a year?
Submitted by fightinggale.
Oh boy........I have well over 100 - probably over 150 - pairs of shoes. I am going to edit this post with some pictures of some rocking and unusual shoes. Please do not check back if you have a problem with leather, snake, alligator, or crocodile skins being used for purely vain purposes.
Some time ago, my friend, Electric Firefly lamented
about losing her mojo. Well here I am, just minding
my own business when I found it! Although she would
probably prefer I hadn't found it for a few more months.
Mojo
A Seasoning Sauce recipe from Cuban Home Cooking by Jane Cossio.
3 tbs pure Spanish olive oil, heated
2 tbs finely chopped onion
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 tsp ground oregano
1/4 tsp cumin
Dash ground bay leaves
Dash black pepper
1/8 tsp salt
1 tbs orange juice
1 tbs lime juice
2 tbs water
1 tbs Sherry
1/2 tsp vinegar
Mix the onion and garlic, along with the spices, salt and pepper in a bowl, and then add to a pan with the heated olive oil. Cook just until the onion becomes translucent and then add juice, water, wine and vinegar and simmer about 5 minutes. Allow the Mojo to cool slightly before serving.
Yields 1/2 cup
I am assuming that this would be great added to beans and rice or stew or used anywhere you would normally use a hotsauce at the table or as a topper for baked fish or chicken or even a marinade for pork and beef.
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Amazing "Day In the Life" style video......
More great videos follow. Usher, Panic at the Disco, etc. etc.
Went out last night.
A good friend was at the bar with his wife, my Ex, and another fellow. My friend and I walked in, were invited to sit down and were served beer. The conversation was good. Until......
Good friend tried to pick a fight with his wife by putting her down and telling all of us that she often talks about things that she knows nothing about.
Then, after my Ex left, he tried to talk crap about him.
Then, he told me that my relationship with Sug would NEVER work and that he would leave me and break my heart. (He has never met Sug.)
And then he asked me if I have ever heard of a diet.
I stood up, politely said, "Fuck you" and started to walk out. He told me not to talk to him that way. I responded with another "Fuck you." And left.
The friend I came with walked out shortly thereafter and told me he was surprised that I didn't put up more of a fight. He also told me that I should have responded like a guy and ripped on him. Maybe I should have asked him whether he had ever heard of Rogaine or platform shoes.
Women just don't think like that. We just don't think that those kinds of personal attacks are okay.
What do you think?
Wow! Thanks to all of you who responded to my Darkest Heart post. I really appreciate the valuable insight and advice. I took it.
I spoke with dearest Sug yesterday morning - before he read the post. After much thought I realized that the whole tangled mess that is my emotional state is really (mostly) my own creation. So, I broke it down for Sug and for myself. He was wonderful and understanding - as always.
As many of you know, I sleepwalked through almost ten years with my Ex. It is hard when you suddenly decide to let yourself feel again because after a lengthy period of living among the undead, feelings are strange and sometimes unidentifiable. So it takes me a while to work through and classify what is travelling the highway between my head and my heart.
It boils down to this:
I am terribly, terribly afraid of my heart being broken. That is probably the one thing that all humans in relationships have in common. Deep down. If we are honest with ourselves. I am afraid that my newborn heart will get dropped on its head and irreversible damage will be done.
So......I keep trying to look into the crystal ball and see what life will be like when I am 60 or 70 or 80. This desperation to see into the future is ludricrous of course. No one knows what the future holds. No one knows if I - or anyone else - will make it to 40, let alone 60 and beyond.
What I know now is that I love this man. I know he loves me. That is all there is.
It is impossible to forcast and pre-empt heartbreak. I am not following any pattern previously established in my life. I am not repeating old mistakes. And I simply have to trust that this new path with provide me (and him) with countless precious moments of happiness.
No doubt I will have moments of uncertainty and hesitation in the months and years to come; but hopefully I will remember that life is but a river of moments and though we can look down the river a little bit, we really have to focus on the spot we're in right now - whether that be flowing with a gentle current or navigating some rapids.
So there you go. I will, for now, just be content to float in my little innertube next to Sug and push the rest from my mind allowing us to enjoy the sunshine.
I know everything will be okay in the long run.
And if it is not okay - I have prepared by tying a floaty cooler full of beer to my ankle.
Here's OJ in what appears to be a commercial from 1883:
And here is his mother
So what is the worst sin that one partner in a relationship can commit against the other?
Is it sex with another?
Is it forming an emotional connection with another not your partner?
I say it is being taken for granted; taken as a given, as an "of course." Although, emotional and/or physical infidelity is impossible unless one partner takes the other for granted in the first place. Ungratefulness or ingratitude may just be the root of all evil in all life.
I have made my disdain for this sin of ingratitude known to every man I have ever been in a relationship with. I have asked that I simply not be last on his every list. Last on every list - all the time. I am not a monopolizer. I don't expect to be top priority every minute of every day, however, I would like to enjoy some time away from the caboose. I always start at the front of the train and end up in the last car. Why is that? Maybe it is that I am riding in the caboose on my own train too.
I also don't expect a man to thank his lucky stars that I have graced the same planet, country, or room that he has. But there has to be some appropriate middle ground. Somewhere.
Despite my symbiotic simultaneous warning and plea: every man has violated my simple request that he remember that I can and will walk away if I am taken for granted. I have thus walked away from every relationship I have ever had. The other party always seems shocked - or outraged. Well, always except for the one I accidently caught in an intimate position with another. He was pretty understanding about my refusal to discuss the situation further. Besides that one, they have always been shocked. Especially the one that said, " I just always thought you'd be here!" And another one that proclaimed, "If I'd known it'd be our last Christmas together, I would have bought you a present!"
So, I have been beaten, cheated on, and forgotten about. Seriously - what the hell. I understand THAT which we most fear comes to pass. But I have never been afraid of being taken for granted. I have never believed it inevitible. I have always known that I did not have to and would not accept being a doormat. Yet, it always comes to pass.
Sug is walking dangerously close to the line. I am upset because he has started forgetting that we made plans together. He makes plans with me and then ditches me to go out with his buddies. This has happened several times now. I understand that this may be due in large part to his age. I truly want him to go and see and do all those things that we all went and saw and did. But I am so torn. I don't want to give him up, but I think I have to. For his sake and mine. He needs to have the time to be a flakey twenty-something and I need to get on with things before I get to the end of my thirties.
Guess I'll be torn and thinking about the future tonight - and making my way back toward the engine of my own bullet train.
