Reptiles in the Ice Cream

Do you like the wine?

2012-01-23T19:52:00.000-08:00

I have the job that I am bad at, it leads me to people I would never meet or talk to without it. One of the side effects of my job is I am on call a lot, even when I am not on call. People always ask, "you do staffing? How can you be on call? What could possibly come up? "

Well, I can have to ~~fire~~ end the assignment of someone who doesn't get off until 1 AM, OR they could fall down, OR they could fail a drug test OR they could get run over by a 460T haul truck. That only happened one time, and he lived; just so you know.

Anyhoo...

I was sitting at the office when I was called and told the ambulance was transporting one of my associates from a mine site. I got to the ER to check on associate who was fine.

He is a young boy, and raised in a community that values work, work and religion. So I was surprised to say the leasst when the young man looked at me and asked, "Do you like the wine?"

"Why yes I do. I am kinda known for it."

"I will bring you some wine from our colony. My grandfather was chief winemaker, but I will warn you, it is kind of strong. I once gave a bottle to a friend before the Super Bowl. We stopped by the day after to see how he was doing, and you could tell his hair was all messed up that he hadn't been up. I asked him what he thought of the wine. He had drank so much he missed the Super Bowl."

And in my head I was thinking, bring it on, I have been training for this my whole life.

As I dropped the young boy off after the ER visit he said I will bring you some wine. I told him to get some rest and start feeling better.

A week later the young boy with the big grin came walking through my office door with a recycled plastic bottle with clear packing tape around the lid.

The wine was dark, like grape juice. It was sweet too. I opened the screw top lid, and poured a small glass. You could smell the alcohol.

I poured loving husband Raynard a glass. Blondie, my neighbor from down the street came over, I poured her a glass. And as we sat there sipping I realized this wine was kicking my ass, and I had not yet finished a glass. I started cutting mine with boxed wine, then dt. mtn dew.

Ya, a little lite on the wine, heavy on the shine... if ya know what I am saying.

That is when I realized I was burning dinner, so I jumped up and ran for the fish that I was burning when Blondie shouted, "You look like the Six-Million Dollar man... you are running in slow motion and my head still couldn't keep up."

Training starts again tomorrow, darker reds seem to be my calling.

It's the first blog of the New Year

2012-01-09T18:49:00.000-08:00

and it's late, I know. I don't even have an excuse. There was no term paper to write. There was no tragic sickness. There was just nothing, nothing to write. Nothing inspiring. Nothing so peeving or thought provoking enough to sit down and ask you to read about it.

Guru Annie has a New Year's challenge for us to be healthier.

But the most inspiring thing I have read was a question posed by a girl I went to HS with on FB. It said what would you do if you were't afraid?

EVERYTHING.

I am scared of everything, from spiders to flying, I am scared. The irony is most people's worst fear, speaking in public; I do just for giggles.

So this is my New Year's Challenge to myself and you. What would I do if I wasn't scared? Let's make a list shall we? And I will take you along for the ride. There has to be a story in there somewhere don't you think?

Little Thoughts, that go on and on and on

2011-12-16T13:31:00.000-08:00

As I sit here tonight making artisan bread for Loving Husband Raynard to give away to his peers, I have been thinking about the small life I lead. I finally got through the semester that almost killed me, I turned in both my final assignments this week and I am done with this semester of college. There is nothing left to do 'cept sacrifice a puppy to increase my grades. I am at a precipice, considering not going back for another semester.

That being said, I feel both remorse and relief. School's out, it was effin hard after 20+ years to get back into a groove. Honestly, I never really found my school groove, not even back then. I got close enough to smell it this semester... but honestly it smells like nonoxynol-9 and acne cream, and I am not sure I am cut out for this "college" stuff.

So, as I sit, ponder, bake and drink a glass of wine... I think about all the stories I should have written this last semester. They are old by now and only snippets remain of the stories they once were, the rest has been erased by wine.

#justsayin

My D&D Nerd, Squints, went to Vegas over the summer. He got an education I didn't guess he would know for years. The best part is he texted me that he saw Mick Jagger walking down the street in Vegas. But because Squint's is only 18 and has not listened to most of what I have said about music and art during his lifetime the text came through like:

"I saw McJagger."

--as if he had seen a McNugget-- that may have been more appealing to him; the thought of Ronald and his McNugget's walking the streets in Vegas. It would have been the trifecta if Mayor McCheese had been trailing behind like Obama's secret service.

I got caught by the Lebanese buying tampons. (bowing my head in secret shame) If you have been here since the beginning you will know that what I am known for is: Magic Bullets and Diva Cups. My Lebanese girlfriends caught me walking out of a store, with tampons in hand and then broke my jelly (that is not a euphemism.) After I researched more about the diva cups, and the measuring and if you have had kids up it a size, but I didn't have kids "that" way... and I didn't carry the one. Well, I lost interest, but my New Year's resolution will be to buy that cup, and since there are only two sizes I will go big.

My BFF Cal told me her life had become more complicated and tiring since she met me. She does not believe it to be my fault entirely; it is just something she had randomly noticed.

As I was being introduced to my co-host of an event I was emceeing it was stated, "You should see pictures of her and Cameron as Sonny and Cher."

I said, “My surrogate gay husband and I have performed a couple times, people seem to like us.” and I showed this gentleman a picture to which he said....

"YOUR HUBAND IS GAY? By the way he has great legs."

“NO! I have a real husband, with a mortgage, kids, rings and dog. Raynard, my real husband is an introvert. He would be happy only to leave the house to stockpile weapons and scout out 'hole up' spots for the Zombie Apocalypse. Then I have a surrogate GAY husband, he's a drag queen and very pretty, changed my life, getting a gay husband."

"What does your REAL HUSBAND think of him?"

"He loves my surrogate gay, saved his marriage. He is my date in public and Raynard never has to worry about him hitting on me.”

My co-host looked at me with amazement and said, “I think you have the start of a sit-com, not enough for a full season but at least four episodes.”

I reread some old me, and realized people see me as totally different than what I am; and may be confused by my personal life. I am not Lebanese, not even for Paula Poundstone; but I play one on TV (and karaoke nights at the bar). Because of statements like that I think there has been some puzzlement of my personal life, so I will go over the Cast of Characters:

Loving Husband Raynard: real husband, introvert, man who helps me raise my children, budgets wine and loves me anyway.

BFF Cal: My BFF who encourages me to succeed and be a better person, and loves me anyway.

Surrogate Gay Husband: not my real husband, date in public, boy that is prettier than me, we do not have babies or mortgage together, and loves me anyway.

College Boy/Blue Haired Boy/Skud: oldest son

D&D Nerd/Squints: middle son

Stinky Pete: the child that still believes there is hope for me as a mother

Guru Annie: inspiration and calm ear in crisis, and loves me anyway.

Onion Girl: brilliant lady and our fathers were BFF, we have a new found admiration for each other with our aged wisdom.

Trixie: first true fan, lady on speed dial with the right words always, grammar coach and confidant

My Hero: Guy I made out with in HS that now everyone wants to date and texts me to see what he’s up to. Oh, he also runs marathons with Guru Annie.

Jake Green: First Spotlight Blogger and date from my junior prom.

One man's junk, so they say.

2011-12-06T19:24:00.000-08:00

I went to a white elephant party. It is the second year of participating in this new tradition for an ambassador group I am in. I never understand traditions, 'cause my family had so few. I must say having no tradition is a tradition I carried forward to my children.

Unless you include cursing at Loving Husband Raynard as we string Christmas lights.

The point to a white elephant party you probably know, but I texted my kids to tell them I got the MOST AWESOME WHITE ELEPHANT GIFT.

blink

blink

?

They had no idea what I was talking about.

"You know you go to a party after you grabbed something out of the attic and you wrap it real pretty and make someone else take it home, so you don't have the guilt of throwing it away."

Still, blank stares.

As they walked off you could hear them say, "Adults parties are weird."

Maybe so, and I am only two years in to this tradition, but I have to say, everything I have ever gotten I LOVED.

Last year...

Everytime we have people over I try to find something to put in here, oddly enough people never comment how cool it is.

BUT THIS YEAR....

and it's framed.

I know, initially I was horrified too. But like all art, I won't go so far as to say GREAT art, the purpose is to make you think, maybe change your perspective a little.

And I fell in love.

Think about the perspective of the mouse.

Think about the cat.

What if the cat has a piece of Christmas brie for the little darlin', and just wanted to share....

I have a couple people who were actually interested in some of the good gifts, as they had parties to attend, so Toni, here are some of the top gifts:

1. Brief Case

2. Naughty Apron
I couldn't find a good photo Toni, but try one of these:

3. Elvis Purse, stuffed with condoms, if you want to be evil maybe it should be laxatives instead of condoms.

4. And this was the best, a local dignitary (with little dignity) life size poster.

An old friend becomes new...

2011-12-04T17:49:00.000-08:00

Isn't Facebook and interesting thing. As Americans, based on a quick google search (SO YOU KNOW MY STATS ARE DEAD ON) we waste approximately 1.7 hours each work day, surfing the internet, Facebooking, Twittering, applying for other jobs on line and socializing with our co-workers.

But it has opened up a whole new world.

Raynard doesn't get it. He keeps threatening to shut his down. He only posts once a quarter so I don't know that anyone would truly miss him. I don't Facebook like I should, or used too. I found there are ways to get lost in that unreal world. Add the voices in my head that tell me to "do stuff", let me just say, I feel that restrictions are in very good order for me.

Without the ingenuity of Facebook, there are so many people I would have never connected with (Joy Judge ;-)) OR reconnected with. Last week I got a friend request from Jake Green. I let it sit on the sidelines for about 36 hours. I couldn't remember a Jake Green.

And then people I knew kept friending him. Well, they couldn't be wrong? I know they don't drink like I do. I texted people I did know for sure and was assured this IS a guy I went to JR HS/HS with, some even remembered him in specific classes. So I accepted him. Turns out, he was already a fan of Reptiles in the Ice Cream. Honestly, that kinda freaked me out... until I realized he was my 150th fan. That is like a sign from something bigger than my hips. GO WITH IT SADIE. I friended him.

Upon further research, I think I went to my Jr. Prom with him. Nice enough guy, didn't try anything sexual... so I am sure I booted him immediately. (If anyone can find a photo of us at JR Prom I would pay big money to see it.)

Turns out this dude gets me. So my first question... would you be my first? Ummmm... guest writer I mean? And what he came back with was dark and brave and I loved it. Everything we were too scared to talk about in HS, but maybe we are brave enough now and willing to look at people with a whole new perspective.

Thanks Jake! Here is what Jake sent me:

I am not a writer by nature. I have always wanted to be a writer, and I have a notebook full of scraps of paper and outlines, detailing the stories I want to share with the world, but when I actually attempt to coherently put my budding thoughts to paper, I have a tendency to get lost in the details. Also, my lack of ability in the realm of spelling slows and frustrates me. So, bear with me.

When Sadie asked me to write something, I was flattered. "She must think me interesting, worthwhile, a man among men", I thought. Then reality set in and I realized she probably just needed a break, maybe some quiet time to get Raynard into a candlelit tub.

After the sense of flattery wore off, I forced myself to sit down and write, again dreading my eminent failure. Don't get me wrong, I write all the time. At my fairly fun 9-5, I write a ton and voluminously document the things people say, exhaustively researching the bullshit they feed me in an effort to "find" the truth in a labyrinth of lies. So, basically, my qualifications for the task assigned to me by Sadie is that I can type.

And type I did. Sadie gave me no guidelines, which is difficult for a person like me. I like to know what my assignment is. I am a person who gets things done, no matter what the obstacles between the beginning and the end. But in this case, there was no defined end... just a nebulous beginning. So, at first, I figured I would write about one of the several things that I feel defines me. I thought I would write about the importance of loyalty over all other human qualities. Then I thought, I would write about "perspective" and how we all see things from different angles. I thought, after that, perhaps I should write about fatherhood, and how that struggle has profoundly changed the person I am. As you can see, I was starting to loose it.

After writing and discarding, I now have several things that I could polish and send off to Sadie, should she ever ask me to write something again, but after putting some of those ideas to paper, it made me feel preachy. I mean, who is going give a flying F about my belief system? So, in the end, I decided to change direction and write about dreams. I don't mean the silly, sappy, aspirations we all have for our lives. I mean DREAMS, the odd and often scary shit that run through our subconscious minds while the sun hides behind our side of the planet. Why dreams? Well, dreams are weird and interesting.

When I was in college, I lived with the person that I considered my BFF, who in all actuality never considered me his BFF, but that is a theme for another day. Anyway, this person had had a rough life in ways I couldn't begin to understand. In an effort to comprehend human existence and the crappy way things sometimes go down, my BFF-1 occasionally spoke to a therapist. That therapist told my BFF-1 to keep a dream journal, and after my friend told me about it, I started one too.

I have always had vivid, bizarre, gory, and sex-filled dreams, but it wasn't until I started writing them down that I realized they were telling me something. Many of my dreams involve sex. In my dreams I have had sex with women I know and women I don't know, including my current wife and old girlfriends. I have had homosexual dream-sex with my BFF-3, who I met and lived with on my first real adventure away from home. My dreams are, more often than I feel comfortable admitting, violent. For several years I experienced a reoccurring theme in many dreams where I was in possession of a silver automatic pistol of obviously large caliber and a gigantic silver knife, both of which I used to lay furious, bloody waste to those deserving. Being chased, and sensing overwhelming fear of the unknown are also topics that regularly show up in my nocturnal ramblings.

So, as an introduction to the mind of me, I thought I would share an example of one of my recorded dreams from nearly 20 years ago. Prepare yourself for jotted notes, poor spelling, and a disjointed story. Reader beware.

12 March 1993: "... I was living with (BFF-1) in an upstairs apartment. We were not getting along well so I spent much of my time working in a library. There was an evil presence in the apartment. One day I received a phone call and a police investigator told me that (BFF-1) had been killing people in our apartment and burning the remains. I rushed home. In the dim light I found that all of the walls were red and there were several smoldering oil pot in the room. The house smelled of decay and the evil presence whispered to me that everything was my fault. I panicked and ran from the apartment. Even thought we lived upstairs, I left from the downstairs apartment at (insert real life address where BFF-1 and I lived at one time). As I ran, the evil spirit told me that my friends hated me. As I stood on the back steps, looking at the garage (of a house where GF and I were living), I saw all of my friends in a translucent doorway desperately trying to get away, but there was something clear and solid stopping them from exiting. It bent outward like a big bubble but they could not pass. I clearly saw (BFF-2) and my cat, Ali Pasha of Yanina, squashed within the mass of people. As I watched, the evil presence told me that they were running from me."

What in the world could this dream possibly be trying to tell me? Dreams are very personal, and in order to make any sense of it, I had to look at what was going on in my life at that time. First, in March 1993, I had been back from my travels for less than a year. I had moved into an apartment with GF. I felt somewhat abandoned by BFF-1, whose C-word of a wife had driven us apart based mostly on her knowledge of my infidelity to GF while away on my world adventure. This sense of abandonment had pushed me closer in my friendship with BFF-2. I think this dream was bourn of my anger toward BFF-1, a sense that he was wronging me and that his wife was a rotten cooze, but also a manifestation my own feelings of guilt at my disloyalty to my GF. I believe the dream was dredging my soul, showing me that I felt as though I did not deserve to have the people, and animals, in my life that were important to me. I was a bastard and deserved the contempt and abandonment of the ones I loved. The me in real life was immature and inconsiderate, but at the same time, I was at my core a loyalty guy, so my subconscious was reaching out to me to show me that I was on the wrong path.

Dreams are difficult to remember and even more difficult to understand, but dreams are powerful. That is why keeping a dream journal, and looking back over my subconscious roving, is such an important exercise in my life. Now if I could just figure out what it meant when I dreamed of 13 corpses crucified on my dorm room wall...

An unexpected gift at an unexpected time...

2011-11-11T19:28:00.000-08:00

If you have been here for any amount of time you know I love:

1. Paula Poundstone

2. Lewis Black

3 Fight Club

4. My Dog, Kids and Loving Husband Raynard

5. Sex, swearing and my box o'wine

6. Music

7. Those clever munchkins that live in my head, ride unicorns and piss glitter. It is one hell of a place in my head, I wish I could convey in words what goes on up there.

Another movie I LOVE is Finding Forrester. I love that it is about writing. I love the music in it. I love that Sean Connery is in it. I love that there is redemption for all people. I love that the characters break color, age, and social barriers.

I love when Sean Connery's character is trying to teach "Jamal" to free write he screams, "PUNCH the keys...... you're the man now Dawg." So that's the back story you need to know.

The fore story is I had a shit week. One of those weeks that not only did I consider, but actually told my BFF who has the authority to put me away if she feels I am a threat, that maybe she should consider "options" for me.

She sent me flowers and left me to roam the streets.

So I went to my English writing class.

A writing class that is KICKING MY ASS.

Writing.

Really? I am failing Freshman WRITING? I have to work SO HARD. A class where my teacher said, "I know some of you think writing for fun is just that, but there is so much planning that goes into it." -And gave us the outline of a novel. Then my teacher went on to say, "I know you want to think it is perfect, because it is your soul, but you would be wrong."

And then she picked me to be one of five to discuss our research paper that apparently I am failing. What I have heard over and over is, "You are a really good writer, but you have to stop blogging this out. If you write something that is entertaining, no one will take you seriously."

I should mention this is the same teacher that I ran out of class doing the snotty cry. She tries really hard to be gentle with me, even though she is just barely reaching puberty. I am a big girl. I can take you saying I didn't get it right. I will try again. Plus, she is really easy to work with and offered me more time to get it done.

BUT what I don't think she understands is I WILL never be an academic writer. I have no desire to be such. I read things like Seinfeld, DeGeneres and Poundstone. I truly don't believe their books were outlined and mapped to death. I do believe they wrote from a stream of conscientiousness. And once they free wrote shells, edited from there. I believe there is a way to write from both sides. But that is only my belief, and I should preface by saying I do not have a degree.

I have, however, passed some really intense insurance classes.

So please keep in mind, this is the place I am writing from tonight. I can never be a writer, 'cause my local community college thinks I have the skill, but not the knowledge to do so. I am of a "more mature age" (that is what we call it in human resources) if I ain't got it by now, I ain't gonna pick it up in a 1010 course.

And maybe that is okay.

I don't have to be "known" for this, not anymore. I always thought I would be, but I am okay with not being known for it now. And if you are one of the two readers, you know it too; make a commitment to me now; to speak at my wake will you?

So, HERE'S THE POINT, as I walked in from a class that told me I couldn't, Loving Husband looked at me and said, "There is a package for you."

"I swear, Mr. Ramsey, I did not order anything..."

and then I got REAL excited, 'cause it meant loving husband got me something.

WRONG AGAIN.

Raynard shouted a quote from Finding Forrester; 'cause my kids did not understand why people would inadvertently send me a book of all things. Raynard shouted, "an unexpected gift at unexpected time" the context was trying to win a girls heart. That is not what is going on here. The context was just more like, I was thinking of you, hope you are well, here is something I think you will get.

And I thought it was SOFA KING COOL.

Who sends a book? Who knew I needed HOPE that badly, that day.

I smiled at Raynard as I explained, "Somebody sent me a book. One I have never read. It is about a serial killer, I think."

Raynard stated, "I have read it Sadie, I will want to see 3 archetypes and three 3 literary devices you find when we discuss it Tuesday; and yes, it is a good book."

It was a used book. From Cornelius.You remember him, secret agent 006.35 that moved across the ocean. That I never spoke to in HS, 'cause he was cute, and I was... well, me.

It is a Chuck Palahniuk (he wrote Fight Club, if you didn't see the connection) book, RANT, to be precise.

The final review on the back of the cover is, "He writes at the edge of crazy," well, that gave me hope. And that is what I am leading with.

CRAZY

HOPE

And I again say, there is a place for all of us, even if we are not well thought out.

Our special place...

2011-11-04T16:22:00.000-07:00

Raynard and I have been together so long I cannot remember anything else.
Sometimes it's a good thing.

Sometimes I am like an alzheimer's patient, and pray for the cure.

I have always said if you HAVE to have a husband, you should be so lucky as to have one like mine. He budgets for wine and pedicures. He is never malicious. He never discusses my down falls or gas. Overall, he is a definite 8.5.

But this blog is not about shiny happy people.

--It is about me.

So, it will come as know big suprise that I recently presented my Loving Husband Raynard with a throw down challenge. Spend more time me.

BFF Cal texts me every other weekend that she is having naked day with New Husband ~~just to make me jealous~~ 'cause she is dealing with co-parenting issues and gets every other weekend off.

I try to keep in mind she has a lot of ~~Bruce and Demi moments~~ co-parenting things to deal with like her X:
Brings the kids home dirty on Sunday night
...without their homework done.
He bawks about paying for dance lessons he agreed to, even though she runs them to and from.
He asks her to watch his cat while he is on vacation with NEW WIFE AND CHILD

PLUS

and this one will blow your socks off...

The bastard bought the house across the street.

Can you say stalker children? (In Fred Rogers voice) Of course you can!

So keep in mind, I know that I am blessed the losers I let inadvertently impregnate me never took that kind of interest in our children.

Not so much as a birthday wish, and though that makes me sad for my children, I never had to deal with "Dad doesn't make me eat broccoli at his house..."

"Well, I guess your Daddy just loves you more than I do darling. We can see that with the constant barage of garbage food and not brushing your teeth he allows on weekends..."

But back to the point, Raynard needs to spend more time with me, in the 2.74655 minutes per day I have left over after:
Job that I am bad at
School
Homework
Bitching at children that there is pee on the seat...AGAIN
Dog wanting out
Dog wanting in
Dog wanting out... again
Bitching at children that there is no toilet paper... AGAIN
Dinner
If I get to it, blog
Community activities
...and let's not forget...WINE

And don't get me wrong, after 14 and one half years ~~of bitchin~~g asking for him to take a day off to spend together with NO KIDS Raynard said as we were drifting of to sleep one night...

"You wanna take Friday off? You have lots of vacation time. I can take off Friday and we could spend it together..."

"I will ask NEW BOSS tomorrow."

To make a long story not short, but less long, ~~Blue Haired Boy~~, ~~College Boy~~, first child I gave birth to, is moving back in.... and turning 21. There was A LOT of discussion Thursday night, plus we are showing him the Dave Ramsey rules of living in the basement...

I cannot confirm or deny, I MAY have imbibed wine while the discussion ensued.

But it didn't matter, 'cause I got to sleep in, and spend the whole day with my husband, love of my life, man I am tethered to, ball and chain for an entire day.

We gave the older kids 36 hours notice, "I don't know where you are gonna go, but you can't be here at 8:30 AM tomorrow morning. Take Stinky Pete to school and don't come back until Stinky Pete comes home from school."

The next morning I got up and went to my tub, grabbed my tiara and settled in.

Raynard caught up, post haste.

And while in the tub I looked down and saw....

(get your minds out of the gutter, you dirty bastards....)

A golf ball size protrusion extending from his foot.

"How does your foot feel today love?" I asked as I poked it. 'Cause in true Raynard form he would not bring this up to me on naked day unless it was gonna kill him.

"Huh? Fine? Why do you ask?"

"UMMM, 'cause you have a golf ball sticking out of the side of your foot."

"I hadn't notice."

"REALLY? Your shoe has worn the skin off the golf ball."

BLINK

BLINK

"You are going to the emergency room."

"No, I will go to the foot Dr. next week, it'll be fine."

DEATH STARE

"Let's see if we can get an appointment with the foot doctor, if not, I will go to the emergency room."

I drove him to the foot doc. They scheduled him an appointment at 2 PM. I had community service meeting at noon during naked day. Just enough time to get him back to find out he needs to have surgery to have golf ball removed, during Christmas break for teachers.

There will be no naked day then either... turns out.

So, as I was scheduling the day off with NEW BOSS to drive Loving Husband Raynard to the hospital and home from surgery it came up:

Anniversary = Emergency Room

Naked Day = Surgery

Maybe the Dr.s office is OUR special place.

I think they should have better flowers in the waiting room and possible some mood lighting.

--and something a little more provocative in the reading materials.

#justsaying

Following closely on the heels of the reflective Sadie...

2011-10-27T12:43:00.000-07:00

I originally meant to tell you this story, but I didn't think you could grasp the depths of my humiliation without telling you the last story.

The only certainty in my life is change, and my life has been changing so fast. Crazy Grandma has quasi resigned her position of being my co-worker. I really don't think that has anything to do with me, but it does leave me alone, to do the job I am bad at; that is a lot of pressure. I have had chest pains all day from it.

I had this crazy dream of going back to college and changing the trajectory of my life. I went thinking I would make things better for myself--not worse. And since I left class doing the snotty cry I have been coming back to a story from my youth. A story written by Jean Shepherd (Jean Shepherd wrote A Christmas Story. Luckily, as far as I know, no one shoots their eye out in my tale.)

Jean wrote a book with lots of short stories called In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash. In that book you will find an amazing short story that has stuck with me despite the wine I consume. The story is called, "The Endless Streetcar Ride into the Night, and the Tinfoil Noose."

It is the story of love and friendship. It is a story where two best friends are going out on Friday night. One has his regular girl, the other (that is me) is being told he is “doing a favor” going out with the best friend of the girlfriend. You think you are being the good guy, giving of your time and energy and realize by the end of the evening that... YOU ARE THE BLIND DATE.

You were the agenda item your BFF presented at the sit down with someone normal while trying to talk that "normal" person into being seen with you. BFF surely had to say something like, "She's a little brash, but has a good heart. No, she isn't much to look at, BUT if you look past the drinking, smoking and profanity she can be really funny; if she doesn't pass out first..."

The line I remember is the main character coming to a huge realization that he is the blind date is: "Do I offend?"

Duckie said it in Pretty in Pink.

I say it almost every day.

You have met me.
The answer is yes.

So when I went to my BFF and told her the story of my humiliation and heartbreak in English class of course she would laugh, even with my eyes enveloped in tears. And she would yell out, “You are the stinky kid!”

And all I could do was laugh, ‘cause it was true. I am the stinky kid. I am the kid with the lazy ~~one good~~ eye ~~from drinking~~, the one that no one would sit next to. Yep that is me. I knew the moment the 12 year old English teacher handed out the assignment, there had never been a more fulfilling prophecy; not even in Clash of the Titans.

Here’s the rub, now that I see it; I see it everywhere. I am like that little kid in The Sixth Sense. I see dumb people; but that dumb fucker is me.

EVERY.

STINKING.

TIME.

Case in point: I had FOUR FRONT ROW STAGE LEFT TICKETS TO PAULA POUNDSTONE, I could not give them away. The caveat, you had to go with me. Yes, I will admit, I have taken the Paula thing too far, Paula even said so last time I saw her. BUT, people this was a night out of town, paid for tickets to see live one of the most brilliant minds on the planet.

Raynard has already been there done that. He wouldn’t go.

Surrogate Guy Husband got called to work unexpectedly after we planned for a month to go together.

I got desperate enough I called family to go with me. Family said no.

Unknown persons who read the blog, who I have never met, but love Paula maybe more than me, told me I was crossing lines asking them to go.

I ended up going with a mutual friend who maybe enjoyed her morning “cup of Joe” more than she enjoyed Paula Poundstone. In fact, we were three hours into the six and one half hour trip before she mentioned she didn’t know who Paula Poundstone was.

I sat front row stage left with two empty seats next to me.

UMMM, that draws stinky kid attention people.

I asked my BFF to go with me during lunch. She couldn’t go, ‘cause she has kids, a life, and obligations all at the same time. We were having a deep discussion lunch when I asked her to be my date. We were having one of those meaningful, no holds barred, I love you no matter what lunches; a lunch that stinky kids should not be allowed to attend without a parents’ permission slip.

And the conversation drifted. It drifted to a weird place, and looking back I can’t tell you the exact phrasing or even how we got there. But she had said something about different personality traits about our little group of friends, from her husband’s perspective.

So naturally and stupidly I asked, “What does your husband think about me?”

“UMMMM.”

BLINK.

BLINK.

“Ummm, you have never come up in conversation.”

“What? In 3 years, my name has never come up? Really? I find that hard to believe. So what does your husband think of me?” I wouldn’t have pressed the issue, except by her response I could tell, it wasn’t gonna be good.

“He really likes your husband.”

If I weren't such a cold bitch, that coulda hurt.

And that is true. Everyone likes my husband.

It hit me. I am the stinky kid in my own group of friends.

Do I offend?

Of course, I most certainly do. Keep in mind, those are some of my proudest moments.

Sadie was being reflective, that is not always a good thing.

2011-10-12T22:39:00.000-07:00

So, I told you I ran out of a college classroom doing the snotty cry. It is as embarrassing today as it was the night I ran out. Total humiliation, and I knew it was coming.

I wasn't gonna tell this story at all, 'cause I come off as the dipshit. I usually do, but I was recently invited out by the cool kids from HS to have drinks on Friday afternoon. I revel when I am invited to sit at the cool kids table. It only took 25 years but I made it. (I think there may have been a suicide and a couple coronary by-passes from my graduating class already; so there may have been an opening. Plus,) it may be worth me pondering-- I am just cheap entertainment for all of them.

Either way, I got to saddle up.

I went out drank a dt. mtn dew --'cause I did not plan for designated driver-- and sat and visited with old friends. They all were pre-occupied with a classmate from out of town who had no interest in talking to me, in fact he denied my existence from back in HS and now; but that is not the point.

After about an hour, I thought "I have sh!t that must get done." I said my good nights and headed to my home turf. I got to the door before I got called back by the English teacher that is not my husband. She said, "Sadie, I have to know, what made you run out of class crying?"

"The story is literally too stupid to tell."

"I want to know."

"I am old. They don't like me."

"What?"

"I am in an English class. I am the ONLY non-traditional student in the class, moreover, out of the class of FOUTEEN, not only am I the only non-trad, 5 of them are concurrent enrollment students. Meaning, five of these little fockers are still in HS. They don't want to talk to me, I My kids have callouses older than they are."

"What happened?" she asked.

"Our first assignment was to find a peer group. We had to write a paper on why you should pick me as a person to help you get a passing grade in the class. I wrote a paper based on me being a responsible person, who raised a family, kept her kids from being picked off by vultures, showed up at less than stellar jobs; just to earn the mortgage and OH YEAH I write just for the fun of it."

"And...?"

"And, I knew it wasn't gonna be enough so I ended my paper with this statement:

'And finally, if you still need a reason to pick be to be in your peer review group, keep this in mind; I am old enough to buy beer for the study group.'

Which I thought would kill. I have been wrong before."

"And?"

"And, no one would talk to me. Not only would they not talk to me, but the second half of our assignment was to go up and introduce ourselves, when I approached people they would turn away, as if they didn't see me, so they didn't have to talk to me. Finally, there was another girl in class, that no one was talking to, so I went and sat by her. I showed her mine, she showed me hers and I said, 'Would you like to be in my group?'

She said in the good lutheran half whisper, 'I am going to go talk to someone else now.' And started to get up, feeling the awkwardness that was now palpable she turned and said, 'You want me to sign you sheet, like I would want to be in your group?'

And it struck me so odd I laughed out loud as I replied, "no. OH GAWD NO!"

My teacher, the 12 year old that I have kinda grown to love, witnessing the whole mutalation of my inner ego came running over and said, "I will be in your group, there is another girl, she hasn't showed up to class yet but it has all been excused... the three of us could be a group."

"That is a great idea." I said, feeling the I was gonna lose it at any moment.. I looked at Ms. B and said, "I am gonna get up and walk out of class now. I will be back."

I was almost to the door when the flood gates opened. And just like some broken hearted eighth grader I sat in the bathroom and cried. F!

Over unnamed HS kids. Literally unnamed 'cause I don't know one of them.

I ran to the girls bathroom and checked for feet under the stalls as I sat and wept. It was just like Jr. High. All those feelings of being the outcast and not fitting in came back in a hurry. I sat there crying and kept telling myself, "Get up and walk out of here. You are better than this."

All I can tell you, I could not do it. I never walked back into that classroom. My teacher, the twelve year old, moved me. I am now the midnight special, on Monday nights.

My secret shame

2011-09-14T21:39:00.000-07:00

Ok, keep in mind I am real fragile right now. I think I had a nervous breakdown over the weekend.
I had a very bad 2nd week of college classes leaving me running from the classroom doing the snotty cry. It is not my proudest moment, so at this point I have chosen not to discuss (Eventually, I tell you all my embarrassing moments, I am sure I will one day spew all the humiliation I put myself through before my self imposed exile.)

So I have officially laid in bed for 5 days, not showering, not going out in public, not doing what I do ...anywhere. I was not able to eat or drink ~~wine~~ for the entire 5 days. I didn't leave my house because of my fears. I didn't leave the house since one of my fears recently came true in public and in a college classroom. Damn those matriculation gods!

But back to the point, my shame: I never learned to ride a bike.

I will give you 30 seconds to mock....

Yeah, it something you don't lead with in conversation and as I got older it came up less and less; until Stinky Pete began to learn to ride his bike. Of course like all 8 year old boys he wanted to know how I learned to ride a bike.

"I didn't." was my reply to his inquiries.

I can honestly say you could see 8 year old gray matter on the side of my walls. I blew his mind. Pete just could not comprehend this thought. I mean, he was EIGHT and HE could do it, why couldn't I?

And as it always is in my life, whenever God presents me a challenge my whole world seems to revolve around it. Everyone brings it up. You notice bikes at the gauntlet warehouse store. Conversations years gone by, that never happened, seem to pop up and explore what I should know.

Raynard and I stood in the alley watching Stinky Pete try to dodge half inch steel protrudences when Raynard looked at me and I said, "You can never tell BFF Cal that I don't know how to ride a bike, she will put it on my list of things to do." I went inside crawled into my bed and started this blog. I was gonna out myself before ~~Stinky Pete outted me~~ Cal found out.

Cal called me that very night to see if I was getting through my nervous breakdown. She was genuinely worried and wanted to help.

"I am fine, I will get through this." is all I could say. Cal moved on to other topics.

"I bought a bike today."

"OOOOOOOf course you did."

"It is really pretty, it's a cruiser."

"Raynard and I were just looking at those at the gauntlet warehouse store."

"We should go bike riding together!"

"You know, sometimes it is like your in my f*&king head, knowing everything I don't want to talk about."

"You don't know how to ride a bike do you?"

.........silence.

"Did you just never learn? How does that happen?"

"I grew up in a city. My cousin was hit by a car on her bike when I was very young. It was in the days before helmets. I was afraid of falling. I was afraid ~~of everything~~. I just never did it."

"I have an old bike I could teach you on that. You can't ride the new one, it is pretty."

"Yes, we will have to do that right away. Being on the plus side of 40 that is the first thing I should get done, right after my homework."

I think she sensed my tension towards the subject and was gracious enough to change it yet again. We said our good nights and that was the end of it, or so I thought.

Pete needed a new bike. He had outgrown the one Grandma had given him. Raynard and Pete had been working diligently on learning. Pete was having so much fun but could not do much more on the undersized bike. We had to go to the gauntlet warehouse store to get a new one. Pete picked a Mongoose. Apparently it is real cool and has pegs on both the front and back tires. I will be happy if he can stay out of the protrudences in the alley.

And about the 437th time Pete begged me to ride with him, or announced he could do what I can't, or said something to the effect of "just coast mom, I am sure you can figure out balance, you already can steer a car..." I got pissed.

I texted Cal and asked if I could borrow the old bike. "Of course!" she replied immediately.

So I spent the weekend learning to ride a bike with my kid. But I did it. 1 fear down, 946 more to go. My butt hurts today. Apparently you use different muscles riding a bike than you do laying horizontal in a bed cursing your own existence ~~or doing the homework I should have done last week~~.

Oh, Raynard is taking me out to buy a pretty bike on Thursday, one that looks just like Cal's.

I will scar you emotionally

2011-08-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

I was scared about restarting my academic career for a myriad of reasons:

I am outwitted at home all the time.
Loving Husband Raynard comes bearing a masters degree.
BFF Cal has a masters and law degree.
The whole brood of children that destroyed my stomach muscles: each of them funnier than myself, and because of their gender --can pull off the fart joke.

Last night was the first of my night classes, I sat still waiting for class to begin. I beat the teacher to class. I smiled politely when the twelve year old entered the room. "Are you Miss B?"

"Yes."

As the rest of my class filed in it was obvious I was to be the ONLY NON TRADITIONAL student enrolled.

F!

I shrank a little.
No one sat next to me.
I shrank a little more.

There were times the twelve year old inspired me, not to be outdone by the times she scared the shit out of me. Her best quality? She swears as much as I do. I could really like this woman. Her biggest flaw of the evening, she laughed out loud as she discussed grading our WRITING assignments as she said "I will scar you emotionally"

F!

I am already scarred, emotionally and otherwise.

I'm gangsta, for a white girl, who has driven a minivan, from Nowhere, WY. I have the equivalent of Tupac's "Thug Life" tattoo on my stomach, mine is just masqueraded as a c-section scar.

I am a Sven & Ole Joke Pt. II

2011-08-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

Not that you would know this but I truly have done a lot of writing on this subject. I just didn't publish it.

Why?

Because I bang my head on my desk everyday when people try to tell me what they WANT me to hear vs. what I have ASKED them to tell me. So I decided not to waste your time, though in a moment of desperation I may publish it.

To make a long story, not short but less long, I decided to go back to college. In part 'cause I am married to an Educator. He has a Master's Degree. I have stretch marks from all the babies. I have a BFF Cal. She has a Master's Degree and a Law Degree. I have skin that flaps in the wind.

They LOVE their jobs. I am bad at mine.

And since the renewal of the Dave Ramsey Budget (Raynard made a powerpoint presentation... I thought the laser light show was overboard... but it did add to the experience) I know I have to work for a long time. Even when our debt is paid, I will have to work to support my retirement and wine. I decided IF I have to work for the next 20 years maybe I should do something I got a shot at being good at. Plus, I am taking classes in small affordable increments so I will be in college until I am dead.

I called the college just to see what it would take to start again, you know just on a whim. I talked to a very nice woman that told me I had to take an entrance exam. "When could I schedule that?"

"We don't make appointments, just come down over your lunch hour."

"Really?"

"Yeah we are always here. Just bring your fees and we will get you in."

That was the part that I believed, they would have no trouble taking my money. But I also believed if I chose not to take the entrance exams they still would have no trouble taking my money for the classes.

I had mentioned in passing to Cal that I might take some classes this fall.

Cal texted to ask, "So when does college start? What classes did you register for?"

"I called the college and tried to set up an appointment, they don't do that. There are a lot of people out of my office this month, I am going to take a day off and get it all done."

"You can do it on your lunch hour."

"I know but that would be several days. I would prefer just to take a day off and get it all done."

"You are procrastinating."

I probably was. I was never a good college student. I was great in classroom participation and excelled at keggers and hickeys... but the studying? Not so much. I am literally scared sh*tless of registering for classes.

I took the time off work to get this done, just to see if I should go back. What harm could taking the exam do? I was naive to think someone my age, who drinks like me, with ideas as wildly optimistic as mine should broach the boundaries of higher education.

I was told everything wrong. I went in without an appointment, I needed the appointment. I went to see my advisor, they were not available. I went to the bookstore to buy books they wouldn't help me. It took FIVE, yeah, count 'em five visit to the community college to enroll one old gal in TWO nights classes.

Well, I can be a bitch when my limits are tested. Nowhere, WY community college tested mine. It is was if at every communication they said, "Sadie, you can't do this. You are old and dumb. Go home, it will be easier on all of us."

In truth, it probably would be. I still fear the possibility of failure. I am not entirely convinced I can do this well.

But you know I like nothing more than telling someone to F%ck off.

So I kept going back, mostly to see if I could make the little girl behind the counter cry. (I recently made a young man on a customer service line from my former bank cry. I see it as total victory.) When you push me too far nothing gives me greater pleasure than tears.

So tonight let's all drink a toast to Nowhere, WY Community College, December we will see who endured my torture.

I am the Sven and Ole Joke Part I

2011-08-17T20:29:00.000-07:00

Remember the joke that starts out with the two of them sitting on a roof overlooking their town? And Sven says something to the effect of "Why so serious?"

Ole retorts with: (and you must forgive, I don't tell jokes, I only forward them. Plus, this is much better with the accent.)

"Look down on our town, I built many of the roads, I laid the bricks by hand. Do they call me Ole the brick layer?"

"No."

"No they don't. Look at the roofs. I laid the tiles on those houses. Do they call me Ole the roofer?"

"No."

"No they don't call me Ole the roofer, but apparently you F*CK just one sheep..."

I don't have a scarlet letter on my chest but apparently I am infamous enough I don't need one. I did not cheat on my husband, I did not "do" a sheep, nor was I caught in compromising positions with Guru Annie or My Surrogate Gay Husband, but I am officially Sadie the bitch.

I don't mind the title, at least I have one. BUT I DON'T SEE IT.

I am boisterous.

I am rude.

I am loud in public.

And I don't mind being an ass if it gets my point across.

#justsaying

I TRY never to be a bitch without provocation. My first defense is, I don't hear well. Many times I simply didn't hear you say "Hello, would you grant an autograph...."

Secondly, I see many shiny objects throughout the day. I will always go with the one that gives me the biggest giggle, or the one that comes up first on my calendar. I don't mean to offend.

So when I decided to enroll in college classes this coming fall who would have thought our little community college would have tried so hard to keep me out.

--My reputation may have proceeded me. If it didn't, it does now.

So much has happened.

2011-08-15T19:09:00.000-07:00

When I started this stream of consciousness I was gonna write every day.

The best part of that, I feel like a better person when I write every day.

The worst part, I fail, often; which defeats feeling better about myself.

But, so much has happened since I popped in last time. So much that has worried many people, for that I am sorry. My silly little life is still trucking along on my wide path (it is much wider this year to accommodate the hips) just as it should.

I went away for the weekend; I got to reconnect with Guru Annie. It was great, things I forgot -or was confused on, well she was my memory and got me back up to speed. Plus we bought new dresses. --that comes into play later.

The following weekend my only intentions were to test the gravity that exists around my sofa and make sure for some unknown reason my living room did not enter into a worm hole. My job would be to make sure my sofa did not float to the ceiling. My plan (I spent a lot of time figuring this out too, don't scoff) was to lay on it, nap, match some socks and watch Twilight ...again.

Yeah that didn't happen. The universe, not unlike my children, does not listen to me.

I will admit I have been in a funk. I have not been a lot of fun to be around and apparently I have stopped shaving my legs. ---Others, like BFF Cal and my boss noticed WAY before I did.

and that can be embarrassing.

Skud got a new car, we had to deal with that.

Brother came to town and took ME to a family picnic, that was not my family. Also, I was not invited. He did not tell me that until we were driving into the 1/2 mile driveway said to me, "BTW, Billy is the salt of the earth, great guy BUT would have no problem burying you on the mountain he owns if you offend him."

"WTF? Have we not met? I offend everyone. You hated me for the first 35 years you knew me. Why are we going here? Never mind, I won't talk."

I listened to the Pixies, "Where is my mind" 752 times looking for deeper meanings....

I also listened to Kinsey Sicks "Parody of Mama Mia" a lot if that helps bring you back to me...

Like I said I have been busy.

So when my BFF Cal called to say she was worried about me and that she would like to have me and Loving Husband Raynard over for dinner it was not a total shock, she was checking in on me. She had NO KIDS that weekend. I had mine. So we decided to do dinner at me house.

I was tired. I really didn't want to do the dinner thing, but I say that before EVERY dinner thing. And I had to feed my own children anyway, so we decided to make an evening of it. We invited another couple and starting cooking ribs.

The evening was beautiful and we ate, sat, talked and drank. (It was at my house after all.) And in the middle of all this Cal announced she not only has the ability to lock me up if she feels I am a danger to myself or others BUT SHE NOW HAS THE AUTHORITY TO MARRY PEOPLE. If your BFF could marry people wouldn't you want to be her first?

Me too.

She already had a wedding scheduled. This added pressure. What is a girl to do 'cept put on a dress and have an impromptu wedding at the dinner party that has officially gotten out of control?

So we got remarried, Loving Husband Raynard and I, not BFF AND I.

I had tiaras on the tub combined with cheesecloth from Raynard's beer making supplies made a lovely veil. New dress from excursion with Guru Annie, CHECK!

No bake cookies that BFF Cal brought was a nice substitute for wedding cake. We needed flowers, CHECK! It was dark how hard could be? We have neighbors with a lovely flow garden.

Approximately 10 PM a group of women WAY TOO OLD to be stealing flowers out of the neighbors flower beds were trundling through the neighborhood looking for a bouquet.

BEST IMPROMPTU WEDDING EVAH.

#justsaying

I only wish you coulda been there to watch me walk down the aisle to this song.

In my head it was so funny we thought it would be a hoot to change my relationship status on FB from "married" to "it's complicated."

And it was complicated. Until FB gets their act together and makes a FB status for "got remarried to my husband while under the influence of adult beverages at a dinner party that got out of control," the story will remain complicated.

Plus, Raynard had just gotten me an iPhone and my fat fingers always hit the wrong buttons when I am drunk texting.

But within minutes I had people calling, texting and praying for me.

I was veklempt.

BFF Cal the next day told me I had to make it right, and change my FB status back. "Not until I write the blog that goes with it."

"People are praying for you Sadie."

"I know, they should have been praying for me all along if you wanna know the truth. They have met me, plus, my life seems better today with all the extra support."

So I lived my complicated lie for a month, and then, since I don't check into FB as often as I used to, I realized it's not complicated. People stopped praying, 'cause my life went back to exactly what it was.

In the end we got to straighten a lot of things out, like:

1. He vowed to love me FOREVER
2. He promised to see a Dr. after 48 hours or it is grounds for termination
3. NO MORE KIDS

These are things that really should have been discussed years ago, but now they are legal ('cept for us all being under the influence) and witnessed (yeah, they were under the influence too.)

Now, knowing all this, who would like to be on the guest list for our next dinner party?

So the guy from High School came to town.

2011-07-10T15:15:00.000-07:00

You may remember, you may not ~~because I drink,~~ I rarely remember (what's your excuse?). I was supposed to interview this guy from High School that never talked to me ~~or I him~~. back in February when I was in the town he lives in. I wanted to sit down and talk to him 'cause every one of his FB photos looks like he is standing on a mountain in Nepal, plus he says words and quotes I have to look up. I just post old Monty Python references. #Iamnotthatdeep

He is moving across oceans to places I will never venture to in my silly little lifetime, so he made a special trip before he left the country to sit and talk with me.

--And catch up with the people he did talk to in High School but we will say me. He came for me.

(oh and he brought me homemade wine!)

Let's call High School boy Cornelius who is a special agent 006.35. I don't think he is licensed to kill, but he is real special if you talk to government people. I try not to make direct eye contact with gov't people for fear of the audit. He admitted his job was kind of low key, more on the technology side of things but every now and again, he gets to stand behind the guys with guns.

This is the first tandem undiscovered talk I have done, his wife came with him.

--and kids

--and dog.

Can I just say that all of them were beautiful? Even. the. F'n. dog.

And I brought them back to my little, tiny, filthy home. --much to Raynard's chagrin (plus Cornelius said "You must be Raynard" as they shook hands. Raynard hates thinking people know his secrets). Yep, I brought them to the home that sits on the poor side of town.

After about an hour of talking I am not sure I know much more about Cornelius than I did before, EXCEPT and this is the important part if I had it all to do over again, these are people I would get to know as much as they would let me. Their whole life was inspiring to me, down to

the.

f'n.

dog.

Cornelius is one of the guys that protect us as Americans. Cornelius is watching out for MY personal freedom and protection every day, much of his job he cannot discuss openly. And thankfully did not. 'Cause y'all know I cannot keep a secret.

Cornelius is a boy, that I had not one class with in high school. I have no reason to talk to you about him other than

-- he reads me.

I find that adorable.

I remember two two things about from him in High School:

1. He has the most beautiful blue eyes ever.
2. I don't know which year it was... but he came back after summer vacation one year... and you took notice.

The 3rd thing is post High School:

1. His wife looks like a Brazilian swimsuit model.

--when I mentioned it to her, she said it was a really good photo. I told her I am mistaken for a lesbian a lot, so we were on an even playing field. ('Course in my head... that playing field was for Lacrosse. #justsaying)

All of us: Cornelius, Wife, Dog, Kids + my crazy brood that understands not what I do... sat and talked, tried to get to know each other. My kids don't get me. They find me weird and intimidating. I can only assume Cornelius' brood do to. I wanted to know, "your dad is moving you overseas? What do you think about that?"

They smiled, "It is fine."

"What do you think of your new school?"

"We haven't told them they will have 3 hours of homework every night yet."

Kids give me sullen look.

"It's a really good school."

"I am sure it is. Tell me one event that changed the trajectory of your life?"

"My wife, she got a job. I moved to be with her and it lead me to a career that has brought us a good life."

All whimsical, floating on a feather like Forest Gump; that too gave me hope. I am whimsical, floating on a cloud like Forest's feather... without the master's degree.

Cornelius shared with me; his parents weren't much into education, until after he had received his master's degree. Neither were mine, sure they encouraged it. My parents had gotten along fine without the education they set out for. My mother was from a large family. She was the 3rd of 5 girls, 7 kids total. She was told, "we didn't send the other girls to college... it is more important that the boys go."

And that is kinda the place I was raised from, though my parents were willing to pay for my tuition when I didn't earn the credits. When I failed they did not chastise me.

I just needed to find a better husband, luckily I did.

So after Cornelius left my question really was... "what encouraged you to succeed? What made you go for the degree? If it was not important to your parents?"

To paraphrase the answer was "LUCK." He had a scholarship someone else did not take advantage of. When he graduated, the college gave him a scholarship for a master's degree. He had really low rent and worked for a place that let him take home leftovers. When Mrs. 006.35 took a position somewhere else he was educated enough to go and make good. Cornelius admitted he had accepted a position he knew was not the right choice for him and was just few days from starting the wrong position that would tantamount to a death sentence; he was recruited by the government agency that keeps us safe.

Forest Gump: "I don't know if Momma was right or if, if it's Lieutenant Dan. I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time."

So I took in all this information, the beautiful wife, the job he loves, the kids he loves and the Tuff Mudder competitions on weekends and realized how inspiring it all was. That Cornelius made a destiny that he did not set out for but was happy with.

Still, when I go to bed at night... if the room ain't spinning... I sleep better knowing Cornelius is watching.

The lessons of Lewis Black.

2011-06-26T20:37:00.000-07:00

I don’t think Raynard or myself has totally recovered from wrecking the big anniversary weekend; there are household references all the time. Raynard is an English Major; we don’t count on him for math. The munchkins that live in my head always keep me from carrying the one, numerically speaking. I think that is why my credit score was so low for so long.

I may have inadvertently passed this trait on to my brood. I did not mean to. In my head I was striving to raise a free spirit; someone who could think for himself was more important than raising an evil genius. I didn’t want the raise the perfect child. I wanted to know he had found that path on his own and his life was wonderful in his own twisted landscaped way.

I was wrong.

There is no road further from the road that you want your child to travel as the one you mapped out for him.

#just saying

So I live with a lot of regrets as a mother. Hell, I live with a lot of regrets as a person who has two legs. But the only thing I can do is move forward from here, one foot at a time.

I watched a pseudo-documentary on Lewis Black yesterday. I love him. He says the F word enough to ground me. He comes up on my iPod more frequently than Freddie Mercury.

Here are the take-aways:

Loosely translated: Kathleen Madigan said, “The difference between Lewis and a homeless man… Lewis has a manager.” I have Raynard, he is my acting manager. I have tried to fire him but I never file the paperwork (mostly ‘cause he is the one who knows where we file it), plus the reality is I am better off with him

--and I love him.

The second big learning moment, I never realized Lewis was young. I know in my rational thinking mind he had to be, once. You never saw him young. Lewis never set out to be a comic. And he was the kind of young that when I saw the photos I did not realize it was even him.

And with much deference I yielded to the final lesson of Lewis Black. His mom was funny. Lewis’ mom would have preferred having dogs as children. I was asked not to come back to Lamaze class 21 years ago when I said that out loud. In my head it was funny, but it was true. Mrs. Black went on to become a legend at his local high school as a substitute teacher who told it as it was.

I was too young, I had little support and no job. I made it though. I have great kids.

And hopefully one day in the near future one of ‘em will decide what challenges him to succeed and he can afford to pay for my retirement.

#justsaying

my silly little life...

2011-06-25T20:21:00.000-07:00

So I thought it would be in my own best interest to stop taking the I sh!t myself in public pills. Now really, who could have guessed that decision could be wrong?

#NOTME.

But Friday about 10 AM I got an email from BFF Calico Shurtz asking how I was.

"Really, I feel like I am having a heart attack, aside from that I am well. Thanks for asking."

"Really?"

"Yes really. All the way down to tingly arm pain. Plus I never sweat. Elayne Boosler told me in the early 80's I should never let people see me do it. So I don't. Today I am sweating. #PSIamalwayscold."

"Should I come get you?

Are you okay?

Hey where are you?

Why won't you answer me?

If you don't call me I am calling you in three... two... one..."

I was outside smoking when I got a phone call from BFF Cal.

"Should I come get you?"

"I am sure it is just anxiety."

"What are your symptoms?"

--You know she was putting them into WebMD.

"I don't feel good. My chest hurts, and my left arm is kind of numb and tingly."

We decided instead of Crawfish Etoufe Friday... we should have blood pressure check Friday.

She took me to the clinic where I always go. They were closed for lunch. They never do that. She took me to the clinic Loving Husband Raynard took me to; when I had the bladder infection they wouldn't treat me for.

Cal buried me the entire way there.

"My sister Sadie 2's birthday is tomorrow. She is coming from 3 states away to see us. Please don't die. Or at least write her a really nice note. Something funny, if you are feeling up to it. Plus you CAN'T die, I need you."

"Quit saying that. I am not dying. It is NOT a heart attack. It is just stress."

"OK, I would have felt real bad if you DIED. I don't think I hugged you goodbye last time I saw you."

"I know you love me anyway. Every morning when I get up, I know it. Plus, you took the wrong exit. It is going to take way longer to get to the clinic now."

"Please don't die... I don't think I can deal with that. Traffic is moving. I don't think you can blame me if you die.... "

None of that made me feel any better.

And none of the treatment at the clinic made me feel better. I had two EKG’s, 3 blood draws, aspirin, whale spunk (lidocane mixed with Maalox –but I am pretty sure that is what whale spunk tastes like) and nitro glycerin. All the while the Physician’s assistant treating me was saying to me, "We are gonna rule out everything that will kill you today..."
“I am sure it is just stress.”

“Does your job stress you out?

“I was two seconds away from shitting myself in public. That stressed me out.”

That wasn't designed to make me feel good.

#justsaying

Plus, no one checked the traffic report before I left?

The nurse warned me not to swear in front of the PA. “I don’t feel good and now you are asking me not to say F#CK? Are ya kiddin me?”

“I am stressed and someone gave me all this f*&king paperwork? Who should I talk to about that?

-she was not amused.

I can tell you that deep down I was SCARED. My family history, I heard myself say it out loud and I cringed:
“Family history?”

“Well my dad had his first heart attack at 36, and my brother had his first at 34. But I am 40+… I totally missed the window.”

--not amused.

“You don’t smoke do you?”

“Not more than a pack a day…”

--again not amused. People please; this does not make me feel better.
And all the while my BFF sat with me, knowing she had a job and a life of her own, she sat there. I can’t express in words how much that meant to me. I really thought we were gonna get the bad news…

and she stayed.

She stayed up until the time we had to let Loving Husband Raynard know where I was. This trip was not in the #DaveRamseyBudget.

And Loving Husband Raynard would have been totally okay with me checking myself out… ‘cept for the fact that we had a mutual friend leaving town with a man (not a felon) for the first time. We were both excited for Blondie and her new adventure, plus she was not DOING a felon. BFF Cal and my thoughts turned to the hedges.

“are you well pruned?”

“affirmative…”

“There is lingerie we can wash before you leave town…”

“Isn’t nothing the first time sexier?

And Cal’s response of “Yes, overnight --nothing works….”

Would have been fine… had she sent it to Blondie… and not Loving husband Raynard, who now was convinced I was on life support and dying…

I had purposefully not told him. Raynard was teaching summer school and has trouble with bleeding ulcers anyway, last thing he wants to know is that I am screwing up Father’s day weekend with stuff he has to do for me.

The PA at the clinic got tired of me, plus she did not make me feel any better. After 2.5 hours she sent me to the emergency room. They could process me better. Plus there was a guy I went to high school with and one of Loving husband Raynard’s students working there who got to see me without a shirt having 3rd ekg being hooked up --and my left nipple, what did I have to worry about?

Since I have no sense of self preservation anyway, why would that be embarrassing?

In the end they decided I should learn to take things with a grain of salt… “Is that salt with a margarita?”

I have to learn to loosen up and enjoy it as it comes.

“OK… can you write a script for the children… that says they can only ‘splain their lives in small doses? Or that dipshits at work can’t tell me they will do anything… ‘cept what I am asking them to do?”

No one was willing to do that. #justsaying.

Now everyone treats me with kid gloves like at any moment I am going to grab my chest and start screaming “Elizabeth… this is the big one… I am coming to see you.”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnfflRNpwKA

#Iamfragile

#apparently

I hate that.

Turns out, I was just stressed. Like I thought.

Life has not changed.

I still work the same job that I am bad at.

My kids find me intimidating.

Raynard loves me… anyway.

And today, I kept control of my bowels all day.
--it was a good day.

#justsaying ;-)

I DO feel better about my life.... YESTERDAY.

2011-06-19T19:16:00.000-07:00

K, sometimes I don't think about the AMAZING stuff that the Good Lord has granted me. That is my fault, though I am starting to think I am predisposed to this line of thinking.

I got a fortune cookie about 3 months ago that said: "Practice an attitude of gratitude."
It inspired me. I taped it to my phone, so I would remember.

I have a great life, kids, husband. I want for very little. I am luckier than most. I don't worry 'bout where I am getting rent money or crack money (Loving Husband Raynard thinks I should tell you the crack part is a joke, 'course if you don't know that, you are already smoking it....) The wine money is in the #DaveRamseybudget. My car is paid for. My husband pays for the rest. My money is just for food and fun.

#PSIgaveupcontrolofthattoo

It is all in someone else's hands, Raynard is more diligent with it anyway. Plus he makes sure I have gas, wine and dt. mtn dew.

I got to see Paula Poundstone twice last year... so neither one of us can be doing too bad budgeting.

With all this to be GRATEFUL for, I struggle. I think that is where my DNA comes in. So I had a health care provider suggest anti-depressants. I love this man. He changed my life. Why would I not listen to a man that has given me hope?

He gave me a pill that will make me happy.

I was skeptical. It took me six months to take said pill. I have been down this road before.

SIDE EFFECT OF PILL: tummy aches.

I have tummy aches anyhoo. I stress about everything. My neck literally freezes as if I am posing for a muscle magazine twice a month as I am talking to people. I am part poodle.

#highstrung

In all fairness, I was in insurance for a long time. I don't see things the way you see them. I think of things in risks and liabilities. I weigh all things, is it worth the risk? Risk being what you/I could lose. Is it worth the liability? Liability being what someone could sue you/me for IF I do it.

My business mind does not see things through rose colored glasses. I find that sad.

My artist mind sees the world as Munchkin Land. Everyday is happy; even if the Wicked Witch of the East lands... Dorothy is gonna deal with her. People sing and dance. And those people are little (possibly gay, did you see their shoes?). I LOVE that.

So that is why it took me 6 months to decide to swallow the little pill.

I don't want Munchkin Land to go away. It is colorful. I love those little guys and the flowers on their shoes... (shoes worth dropping a house on you for... #justsaying)

Well, I decided if I didn't feel good enough to drink a glass of wine or write... life wasn't worth living.

I swallowed the pill.

Next day at the office, NEW BOSS asked, "Are you alright. You look bad today."

I look bad everyday... if you are taking notes at home. I just looked like a girl with a tummy ache that day. A girl that didn't wanna be there, a girl that wanted to be at home with her little dog under the covers crying.

But, I will always show up if that is the best choice, and it was.

My tummy hurt and I thought if I make it until 1 pm NEW BOSS will let me go home.

11 AM I felt like SH#T

12PM I felt a little better.

12:30 I felt like I could eat for the first time in 28 hours

1PM I felt real bad again... as I had eaten at 12:45

And T minus 3... 2... 1... oh holy sh*t.

--Literally.

1:30 PM I had appointment with crazy man that kept saying things like, "I think you are an honest person. How do you feel about me personally?"

1:31 PM I feel like you are the kind of guy that would waste my time with stupid questions. Don't you have some place important to be?

1:35 PM HE SAYS, I think you are under employed. You are smarter than the job you have.

#DUH

1:36 PM That is really inappropriate. If I am any good at what I do, I should be able to employ you whether I like you or if I don't. It should depend on your skills.

--I can't employee him... I don't like him. Plus, he has NO skills.

Dude, you are creepy and you need to leave.

The Wilson's as a family have a rule about expelling solid waste in public. I am not proud to say I broke our family rule that day. I am not proud that it took me almost 20 minutes.... 'cause I couldn't stop pooping in public. And as I was sitting there, in a PUBLIC receptacle with the water running wishing I could just die I thought to myself, "That pill does make me feel better about my life.... YESTERDAY. Oh good times, back to the days of when I could control my bowels in front of people."

Now do I continue to take the pill? Or do I invest in adult diapers and get on with my life?

I need another perspective.

2011-06-16T19:42:00.000-07:00

About 6 months ago as I walked by the men's underwear aisle in the Gauntlet Warehouse store, I saw this...

and I died laughing. This thought was so funny to me I texted to all my besties asking, "Why do you think he would advertise? Surely, there are some things you just let her 'find out.' Don't lead with it..."

#justsaying
I apparently didn't get my point across, 'cause none of my besties knew why I would be photographing underwear at the Gauntlet Warehouse store. Or why I thought that would be funny.

but in my head... RIOTOUS LAUGHTER.

Even Loving Husband Raynard LOL'd, and he was in public.

#justsaying

So I am a mother of nerds. I may have mentioned this? I know all the mythology about all things not pertinent to the real world. But if you want to know why the phrase "Hey Aqua Man need a hand?" is funny, I know the answer, or at least know which direction to look for the answer at the dinner table.

So I give the besties a pass on not finding this funny. I mean I know more than most 40+ women know about comic books, that is the only dinner conversation I have had for 15 YEARS...

#eventhoughihaveonlybeenmarriedfor14

So imagine my surprise as I was folding the college boys laundry. Guess what I came across?

Things they don't tell you about in Lamaze Class

2011-05-23T17:44:00.000-07:00

1. When they send them home with you it's FOR-EV-ER

2. Get the child support now... however noble you think you are being living up to "your" mistake will not pay for the therapy later.

3. When I say therapy later, I mean mine not his.

4. You can go to jail for running away from home. You can also go to jail IF he runs away.

5. When he tells you he loves you, you will forget most of this.

6. Co-workers will tell you grandbabies make it worth it.

7. You will have to attend soccer; in the rain.

8. You have to get up early on mother's day to read the cards.

9. They fart in public.

10. By the time the child outgrows you, outsiders will be able to tell you are a mother by the lines in your face.

I ended up in the ER for big Anniversary weekend. part IV THE FINALE

2011-05-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

*****I need to preface this whole story by telling you, the only thing that makes this story worth telling, worth sacrificing my/Raynard's dignity; is a simple prayer. I went to lunch with my BFF Cal Monday after the weekend and at the table she prayed: "Dear Lord, thank you so much for letting me know people like this. It makes me feel better about my own life." Know that I expect great things from you people, as I have given you so very little to live up to.

Actually you need to know this story before you know the next story. There is nothing Loving husband Raynard would not do for me. And because of this Raynard is easily led. Many years ago prior to the time my parents moved away and orphaned me in Nowhere, WY; our anniversary was coming. My parents always kept the kids so we could get away. My parents were preparing to orphan me, because of this and because they were looking to bolt at anytime there was some trepidation regarding the no kids anniversary evening. We had double checked, my mother was on board with taking the kids.

My mother called my husband in a panic, to let him know she was sorry that she forgot about our special evening, there was a bottle of wine and flowers on her kitchen table for him to pick up, if he would just bring the kids over. Loving husband Raynard showed up at my office disheveled, with flowers, no kids and announcing HE HAD NOT FORGOTTEN OUR ANNIVERSARY. And of course he had not, since it was not until that same day, next month.

--like I said, he is easily led.

It was a glorious morning.

The kind of morning where your kids let you sleep in and when you wake up with your guy, your soul mate, the man you are tethered to for all of eternity is there snuggled tight against you. "Happy 15 years baby." It made me smile.

Loving husband Raynard was "happy" if ya know what I am saying (wink, wink). It was 15 years and all. He should be happy in the morning. The next part gets XXX rated, and ya'll have imaginations so, go big. We will skip over that part until we get to Loving husband Raynard's guttural noise, which I thought meant it's over.... and in a way it did; just not how I expected.

I looked up to see Loving husband Raynard bleeding profusely.

"What the f&$K? Nosebleed? Who does that?"

Raynard ran to the bathroom.

I went to my tub. At least I should get one tiara moment after 15 YEARS and all.

So when I came up from the tub primed and neatly shaven I expected Raynard to call out, "Game ON!"

Not see him sitting where I left him, still bleeding.

He bled some more.

We went to WebMD dot com.

We did all the tricks. He was still bleeding. The final sentence said if you cannot get the nosebleed to stop within 1 hour you should seek medical treatment.

It had been three.

We decided it would be in Raynard's best interest to stop the blood loss. Also mine, as we have not yet up'd his life insurance to a place I am comfortable with him leaving. And as he was dressing to go to the ER --yes I am married to a man that won't go to the ER in sweats... the D&D Nerd said "happy anniversary mom."

As we sat there waiting for loving husband Raynard to be ready for the ER triage, D&D Nerd started asking me questions about the wedding. That is when I told him, "Nerd, you were so funny. You had found a toy at the back of the church and you didn't want to carry your pillow down the aisle. So, we let you carry the moo-ing farm down the aisle and as you took off someone shoved your ring bearer pillow on top of the toy. You were three, it was so cute. We have a picture....."

WAIT, YOU WERE THREE, YOU ARE NOW 17. THE MATH DON'T ADD UP.

FFFFFFF***********$$$$$$$$$$kkjkkkkkkkkk~~!

"Loving Husband Raynard!!!! It has not been 15 YEARS!"

"What?" he said pressing the good towels up against his nose.

"D&D Nerd was three walking down the aisle... he is 17 now, if any anniversary deserves a DO-OVER it is this one, we have only been married 14 years!"

We drove to the emergency room, in somewhat silence. Knowing we had alienated surrogate gay husband on Friday, left Stinky Pete in public on Saturday and done the math wrong for the last 3 months on Sunday. Curiously enough there was not a line for triage.

We walked in and were seen right away, the nurse looked at Raynard bleeding and then at me, "Did you punch him?"
"It's our anniversary."

"Did he forget?"

"Only which one..."

The very efficient ER Nurse surmised he had a bloody nose and sent us to check in. The admitting clerk was the lady that set us up for the worst honeymoon known to man, "Did she hit you?"

"It's our anniversary," Raynard said.

"Did you forget?"

We got moved right back into the little ER Room. It was very little. Enough room for the blood and my big ass and that is about it. We sat there for another hour.

The DR came in. "Did she hit you?"

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" I said.

"It's our anniversary." He said.

"Did you forget?"

"Only which one..." we said in unison.

"I don't think that bodes well for the post trauma investigation."

So we sat for two more hours. The infinite wisdom of medical science fixed his nose. My Hero, happened to be working that day. He stopped in to say hello, draw a picture of his family wreath... yes you heard me... a tree branches, wreaths go in circles.... and they sent me home with Raynard, after all their suspicions, they released him to me.

He took a nap.

I internalized everything and ate.

At the end of the day, we still loved each other and were thankful for the FOURTEEN years we had been given.

On the way home Raynard said "You shouldn't tell anyone about this..."

"Which part?"

"Any of it..."

"Raynard, after 14 years, who would I tell?"

I ended up in the ER for big Anniversary weekend. part III

2011-05-19T22:14:00.000-07:00

So Saturday we woke up slow. Loving husband Raynard and I had lots to discuss after the college boy went to bed. We pointed fingers and blamed each other for what we have done wrong as parents. We blamed the school system for its inadequacies training this kid up right. We wondered what is it in his head that makes him think....... those thoughts?

Did I mention we both had a little to drink during this portion of the evening? That is why we woke up SLOW.

At twenty I was so reasonable. I listened to my parents, asked their advice......

('Course I was pregnant with their illegitimate grandchild #justsaying)

But none of that mattered. IT WAS FIFTEEN YEARS TOMORROW. Loving husband Raynard and I were so proud. We don't know many people that made it to 15 and still talk. And we went ALL out. 15 was a big deal. Any of those anniversaries or birthdays with a 5 or a 0 at the end, always a big deal. Loving husband Raynard and I are the money management cult, so we would not have spent so much money, had it not been for the big 5 at the end.

Raynard and the College Boy took Stinky Pete to soccer practice. I took the D&D Nerd to the grocery store to make BFF Cal's favorite for her birthday; crab stuffed mushrooms. I make them better than the restaurants. #justsaying

We also had to run to the pedicure place and get a gift certificate for her birthday. Birthdays are all about pampering your girl. (Boys, if your reading this; you can never go wrong with a gift certificate for a pedicure.) And I wanted to give her this photo that had recently been taken of us. I loaded to a jump drive and went to the one hour place. It wouldn't read the jump drive. I went to the next 1 hour photo place, it wouldn't read the jump drive.

I bought ink... I have a printer. I will print the damn thing myself.

I got right to work on the mushrooms. I have T minus 53 minutes before party, I have not showered, need to install new printer cartridges, make mushroom stuffing, de-stem mushrooms, bathe, brush teeth, BFF Cal's whole family is showing up.... do you think I have to wear a bra? (I should say her family let ME be on the Christmas card, I have only done that with Loving Husband and the spawn, never with my own parents.)

...Get clean bra...

I ask the children, "Where is your dad?"

"Sleeping."

So I keep going, at 25 minutes 'til party time I decide to wake up loving husband. "You should really get going. I have a lot to do."

D&D Nerd did not want to go.

So it was just Loving husband Raynard, College Boy, Stinky Pete and myself headed over to Cal's. The party was at 1 PM, we were there by 1:30. We are never late. Cal is always late. We compromised.

Usually, I don't drink in the middle of the day, but this was a special day. My bff was turning 40 in a couple of days but today was the party. She had already texted me earlier that she was drinking at the gauntlet warehouse store. I had to live up. Plus her parents love and accept me in a way that mine never will. They let me be in the Christmas card and everything. Some of their DNA kids didn't get that privilege.

So I let my hair down, showed them pictures of me and the surrogate gay husband doing Sonny & Cher (I was Sonny, if you are wondering) on stage. Showed them how much prettier surrogate gay husband is than me. I use it as an ego builder really. I think it HAS to be a girl with really big balls to walk into a bar with a boy that:

1. is prettier even as a boy

2. smells better

than I do. Though I may have just promoted my lesbian status unbeknownst to me once again.

Cal has cats; all my kids are asthmatics. Raynard took the college boy home early while I entertained the troops.

When loving husband Raynard came back I was happy. I was not schnockered, let me get that point straight. Raynard was not drinking at all, 'cause that is how we roll.

And we ate lots of food, had lots of fun and were ready to get home to OUR BIG CELEBRATION... if ya know what I am saying (wink, wink). In my head, I was building a list.

I need to:

1. bathe
2. shave my legs
3. hedge the bushes (let your mind wander... yes, that was supposed to be dirty.)

We said our good-byes hopped in the car and stared starry eyed at each other while Raynard drove me home. We talked, laughed, promised to behave; when I started doing that sucking in breathing like you are just about to be hit by a MACK truck.

Loving Husband Raynard just yelled at me and said, "Sadie there is no traffic on this street... what are you freaking out about?"

"We left STINKY PETE at the party!"

I can honestly say, I have never done that. And I have raised two other children to adulthood.

And we both freaked as we were turning around --and then we started laughing. 'Cause if you are gonna leave a child behind, let it be the one that they MIGHT keep. Stinky Pete is rarely a problem and enough of a geek, most people like him. Plus, if you have a freezer full of corndogs and the channel that gets iCarly he is very low maintenance.

As we pulled up in front of BFF Cal's house, Raynard looked at me and said, "I am not going in. You go get him."

Note: I was the one that had been drinking... though I was not schnockered. I mustered up all my confidence, held my breath and walked in. Yeah, they were waiting for me, with Pete.

They all shouted, "She is back! She came back for him!" --like I had a choice? Cal can have me committed if she feels I am a threat to myself OR others (like Pete.) and her boss THE JUDGE (that I cannot confim or deny I made inappropriate comments in front of during jury duty) was there.

So when I walked in the all screamed "We didn't expect anything from you Sadie! But tell Raynard we expected him to remember." That has been the story of my life. They expected more outta Raynard....

Poor Guy, saddled with me for all of eternity.

Stinky Pete (who was fine, and with responsible, though somewhat innebriatated adults) was fine. The kid that had given me panic attacks for the last 19 months over his separation anxiety that I MIGHT LEAVE HIM IN A PUBLIC PLACE thought it was hysterical, and covered for me in front of the adult children.

"Nothing happened!" He would say giving me a wink and the thumbs up. Assuring I felt like an a$$hole.

So you will have to tune in, same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel to see what happens Sunday.

I ended up in the ER for big Anniversary weekend. part II

2011-05-16T19:48:00.000-07:00

Honestly folks, this one might go on for a while. #justsaying

So my surrogate gay husband left me on Friday. He is coming back in four months. How can I be sure? He left me the good hair and the fake boobs, they are all tucked away in a duffle bag in my entry way. He told me I could use what ever I wanted, boobs included. But who are we kidding? He is only a b-cup, the stuff that flaps under my arms is bigger than a b-cup. The only real use for them would be to prop up my own.

Oh and --his smell like chocolate. But as we have discussed, mine smell like chocolate too if there has been an unfortunate snacking incident late in the day....

So I went into big anniversary weekend with some remorse and some renewed vigor; for the next FOUR months I no longer have to worry about dividing my time between the two husbands. I should be able to concentrate much harder on the real marriage. One would expect me to do it well, with all the extra time, but then you have to factor in we are still talking about me.

"Fool proof" just shouts challenge to me.

The good news along with chocolate boobs --he left the hair. I have never had good hair and was really looking forward to surprising Loving husband Raynard with a new girl in the bedroom. You know after FIFTEEN years and all, mix it up.

He left me the girl next door hair...

And my favorite, the one that makes me look like a really pale Connie Chung....

Either way does not compare to surrogate gay husband...

Yes he is the pretty one in the middle.

But the college boy came home Friday, we are getting a new computer system at work and I still have the inner turmoil over paper or plastic (though I generally take my own bags to the grocery store, I still feel bad when I forget). There was a lot on my plate. There was a lot to be distracted by. There were A LOT of shiny objects on Friday.

I had the best of intentions... and tomorrow was a new day. I would get it all done tomorrow. How could I fail? It was BFF Cal's 40th birthday and that didn't start until 1 PM...

That sounds FOOL PROOF to me.

I ended up in the ER for big Anniversary weekend. part I

2011-05-15T16:59:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I don't know if I in fact have the clarity, fortitude or stamina for this whole blog.

It may come in sections.

Wait for it. It will be worth it.

Honestly, when I tell you these stories I don't care if I come of as stupid (usually). But this weekend turned out different some how.

I am the punchline EVERY. STINKING. TIME.

I am not sure I am okay that.

Plus, I have been rereading me. Sometimes I am funnier if I am short, cute and to the point. Lately, I have been going on and on showing you that I have depth and intenstinal fortitude; worth making me worth reading.

I don't.

Really, I am just silly and kind of egotistical.

I went to BFF Cal's 40th this weekend. I saw a guy I keep running into this guy from HS, Radio Dude was there. He and his wife go to Cal's church. He kicked my ass Indian Leg Wrestling about 5 months ago... and really finds very little reason to converse with me. I know I make him uncomforatable, so I generally push the issue. I told him my anniversary is this weekend. 15 YEARS!! 15 years 'cause everytime I say (as I shouted across the room for effect), "Hey Raynard, I have liked you all day today...."

Raynard replies with, "why do you think I am on the other side of the room. I am shutting up. The less I say the better off I will be later."

And that is true. It works for us. And really that is what marriage is about. What works for us. Me & You. No one else should really weigh into this equation.

We went home uber quiet (for reasons I will explain in different blog) and still in love. Raynard has to fight his way back for me the next day. (so there is upcoming drama.)

Stay Tuned.

the coolest thing for an old gal

2011-05-15T16:40:00.000-07:00

Please forgive the spelling and capitalization errors in this one. Loving husband Raynard brought home an iPad from the office for me to play with. It is a test, a test of the emergency old gal system. This is only a test.

My iPod is crapping out on me. My iPod is literally an extension of me. I can't be without it. The thing is --it has been crapping out for the last six months to a year.

We are in the money management cult. So when the iPod started freezing for days at a time, I called an emergency budget meeting. The iPod NEEDS replacing.

"You can borrow mine."

Now in his head he was being kind. In my head he was being kind-- of an asshole.

Loving husband Raynard and I couldn't be more different musically speaking. He loves heavy metal thrasher music from the 80's. I had a hard enough time living through that the first time 'round; when I looked more like Stephen Piercey, than Stephen Piercey did.

He really means to be sweet, but does not appreciate me loading his iPod with things like Maroon 5, Lady Gaga and P!nk.

So he brought home the iPad as a test. To see if I could pass. Will I get an iPad, iPod or iPod Touch for the big anniversary? We will see what transpires this weekend. If I end up in the Emergency Room assume I failed me test...

The Storm

2011-05-04T11:59:00.000-07:00

The Onion Girl got me hooked up with this site.

I know I have to write, and there is nothing real in my life to write about, the best part of this website is it has prompts. Prompts for a girl who has nothing to say, no time to say it but the need to sit down and let people stare into her feeble little mind.

Even if your mother always told you "it is not polite to stare", stare away. It is fascinating the sh*t that goes through my head. I only wish I could project it sometimes.

I don't watch the news, 'cause it makes me cry. I know tornadoes have devastated parts of the country and I am sure that is what the storm prompt relates too. Here in Nowhere, WY we haven't even gotten our spring storm yet, the storm that shuts down the whole town. So I am a little low on motivation in this prompt.

I know there was a frenzied storm of paparazzi surrounding the Royal Wedding that I didn't watch. I didn't watch the parade of hats. I really could care less what Kate's dress looked like, or now 5 days later you can purchase a replica for your summer wedding. --Yeah good luck getting the Duchess title.

And now amidst the debate of which President did more in the war on terror there is a new storm in the east. I hate it when the sh*t blows from the east. It changes the horizon, just saying.

There is another storm brewing I fear, but the disturbance is inside me. A squall of where I am, where I want to be and how will I get there? Who do I devastate along the way?

Not that me leaving really ruins anything. I used to think that it mattered. I used to think I was so good at my job if I left it would create an impact. It doesn't. We are all replaceable.

The great news is rebuilding always creates jobs.

Somewhere over the Rainbow...

2011-05-03T21:28:00.000-07:00

Let's hear it for Judy Garland folks. She got me through a lot in my youth.

I refer back to the Land of Oz often. It is where I grew up. It was the fantasy of my youth. I loved the songs and they flying monkeys scared the shit outta me.

--And we all learned it was INSIDE us the whole time.

I am probably not a good:

1. Employee
2. Friend
3. Wife
4. Mother
5. Blogger

... though I will say I try real f*cking hard.

I should at least get the PARTICIPANT badge.

I will show up to participate... and not even to further my political career. (I say F*CK in public, there is not political career in my future.)

But I will try real hard.

I have decided to quit everything --that doesn't pay money. I don't even know what to do with myself. I hung up all my clothes tonight. Loving Husband Rayard will be so pleased.

Even with no extra-curricular activities I had so much to do tonight. I did dishes, I checked my FB (don't laugh; I haven't checked that in months.) I voted. I wrote 3 times this week. And I caught up on some really good blogs I haven't paid enough attention to as of late.

I went to Stinky Pete's soccer game... ummm last night.

It was real cold tonight. I hate being cold. I am really selfish. Plus, all that shit bores me, so I didn't go tonight. (I did however grade 10th grade poetry and that makes me want to shoot myself in the head) PLUS he has 3 games this week, it will be the same game Thursday that I saw last night.

NEW BOSS recently told me I am a bad mom. Yes, I know, I got the memo from the people that live in my household and share my DNA -- but thanks for chiming in. I was on the phone with Skudro Bodine and told him what NEW BOSS had said and Skud said, "Well, that was not designed, to make you feel good."

"I know right?"

That is when Skud said, "You were a pretty good mom. (As if my job were done) You hit some snags along the way but I would rate you somewhere between good to great."

And when I told Crazy Grandma we had a soccer game tonight that I didn't want to go to she looked at me like I was crazy. Even Raynard asked "what don't you like about it, they have so much fun?"

"The voices in my head people!"

I have laundry that I haven't hung up for 3 weeks. Raynard will surely want a blow job if not full on sex. I haven't cooked in four days. I don't think I own clean socks anymore. I want to write totally for myself. I ordered more money for the college kid, the D&D nerd wants me to drive him to fail his driving test for the fourth time. There is a graduation party to plan and I have to pee.

Did I mention the goalie picks his nose and Maize did the unseemly poop on the sidelines last night?

Why would I want to go?

That is when Crazy Grandma said, "I know that is when the kids have fun. It is not about winning or losing. We actually had to stop a soccer game one time 'cause there was a rainbow. So everyone got a chance to see it."

I thought that was sweet.

I stayed home anyhoo, and I will go to bed with the knowledge that the college kid (who may or may not be failing his classes... but that is okay I sure he learned something) rated me a solid 8.

Prom

2011-04-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

I never had a good one.

I had two really average ones, by Sadie standards. I have recently come to learn things that happen to me don't necessarily happen in most people's lives, but that is a blog for another day. I don't think you are supposed to enjoy them. (I am not naming names of dudes I went to prom with many years ago... 'cause they were both really good guys, their weakest moment was asking me out. It ain't their fault folks.)

My first prom I went as a sophomore, with the nicest guy who may have really liked me. But as I have said, IF you were a nice guy and IF you treated me well, I tossed you quickly. I had no time for all that mushy stuff. That date actually ended so badly he looked at me at the end of the evening and said, "would you mind if I dropped you off and went out with friends?"

"No" and that was a true statement.

It was not bitter or devastating for either of us and we still chat on the rare occasions we run into each other.

I didn't go as a Junior.

I wasn't going to go as a Senior, but then I got talked into the pageantry of it, the meaning, the blah, blah, blah, blah. I am easily manipulated + I had recently seen Pretty In Pink.

So I asked a boy I really liked, we will call him Pooky. (REALLY LIKED.) He lived far away and was gonna travel to come see me, and we were talking about me going to his.....

And then I had car trouble and another really kind hearted boy in my Greek Myth class offered to give me a ride home. He was/is still the nicest guy, I think, judging by what he has posted to FB and the fact that I have never seen a blurry photo of him on Good Morning America in a ball cap walking away from a mall after leaving a paper sack behind.

So on the ride home he asked what I was doing for prom and I really wasn't paying attention... since I have the voices in my head and they are distracting and all --so I said "I don't know." --'Cause was I going there... was Pooky coming here? Were we doing both?

Have I mentioned I ain't quick on my feet?

"Would you like to go with me?"

OH Sugar Honey Ice Tea! I can't say I have a date... I just said I didn't know. I will look like an a$$hole.

"Yes?"

And then, Game. On.

Like I said, he was a real nice guy, one I never gave enough of a chance too.

I designed a dress and had a local lady sew based on a drawing I sketched. Nice Guy #2 got the matching corsage and boutonniere. And I was HOT... 'cause the day of Prom I woke up with 104 degree temp and tonsillitis so bad you could see them sticking out of my neck. Don't tell me he wasn't stoked to see me. My neck was so swollen I actually choked on a shrimp during dinner.

Good times right?

It took all my energy to get through that GD dance. It took everything I had left to go to the midnight showing of Beetlejuice at our local theater. -Ya know, there may have been a double feature that night directly proceeded by Some Kind of Wonderful, with Eric Stoltz.

Poor guy, I think I probably told him not to kiss me 'cause he might get infected. -- that sounds like me.

Flash forward 20+ years: Squint's had prom two weeks ago. I should have written this long before now... I am still trying to catch up BFF Cal and I are walking... We are "training" for a half marathon. The walking kind ... and I say "tomorrow's prom ya know."

"No."

"D&D nerds are having a big PROM party in the basement. We should have prom in my kitchen."

"Yes." We had already decided to have dinner as two couples for that night anyway, but figured it would be cheaper (thank you Dave Ramsey) and more fun in my kitchen. Then being the a$$hole I am said, "We should wear our party dresses LIKE PROM."

Cal, being who she is, pays attention to all the dork stuff I say and not only loves me for it, takes me totally serious. She showed up in party dress, wearing make-up, having recently bathed and looking gorgeous. Guess who had not bathed that day? Guess who had a little enchilada sauce smeared somewhere sickening yet you could not keep yourself from looking?

"Oh you wore your dress and everything!"

"Yes. Like I was instructed to do" was Cal's reply.

F!

I put on my party dress and dress tennis shoes and joined the party. Can I just say, BEST PROM EVER! Not just 'cause I was old enough to drink, but 'cause my best friend and the man she loves were there. Plus, my own loving husband Raynard was there. Stinky Pete went to bed. Nerds stayed in basement all night, unsure of what spells Call and I had mastered and we ate, drank and were merry.

Even when Cal started reading a book at the table.

STILL

Best prom ever.

And the night slipped away from us. Even pretending to be young we were all in bed by midnight. (I am a little ashamed to admit that...) BUT before the night ended I hit shuffle on the iPod one last time.

Wouldn't you know this song came up. Just like back in the day. And we two couples danced in my kitchen.

Yep. Best. Prom. Ever.

.... and dontcha just love the shoes?

What me worry?

2011-04-18T22:12:00.000-07:00

Stinky Pete is an ostentatious child. At seven he is reviewing my writing with Loving Husband Raynard's help, telling me why the semi colon was the correct choice over my comma.

Thank you, child and state mandated curriculum, Step up to Writing; that I nurtured in my womb so you could ~~live, breathe and~~ talk down to me.

I have taken on ~~a new job~~ an obligation; that pays no money --in my over committed life. I write a business column for a NEW local newspaper. Why did I think this would be a good idea? Newspapers that have been going to press for decades are scared and looking for ways to keep writers working.

I decided to beat all the odds --again.

All I can say is one day, the team I bet on in the Super Bowl is gonna make me a ton o' money in the event that I:

1. actually know who is playing in said Super Bowl
2. actually find a bookie who will take my Money Management Cult Voucher.

When that day comes... use my bookie, 'cause we are gonna change lives with all the money we make.

#jussayin

So, tonight NEW BOSS let me leave work an hour early:

1. 'cause we were slow and 'cause I have a 4 PM deadline tomorrow.
2. I did the interview a week ago.
3. ALL the people I have interviewed totally inspire me.
4. I love writing my little column.
5. I find much stress in my column.
6. I have neglected my own writing 'cause of my column. --that no one reads.

Much like this blog.

I came home grabbed a Dt. Mt. Dew and my iPod. I got straight to work, when Stinky Pete came in.

Over the past couple months when I drop Stinky Pete off in the morning we have a new daily routine:

1. He does not let me walk him into safe place where he goes before school
2. He does not kiss me goodbye
3. He does not let me say "I love you."

Instead, he looks at me and says, "I know mom, you love me. I woke up this morning and I knew you love me." Somehow, him saying that to me every morning is better than me saying, "I love you" to him.

He already knew. He does not need all the pageantry, but I try.

When Pete came home tonight, I was not in the pageantry place. I was in the very selfish I gotta get this sh*t done place as Stinky Pete was telling me about his day, that I glossed over.

I smiled and nodded through his whole story, never hearing a word. And he was talking with real enthusiasm about reindeer, Einstein's theory of time, easter bunnies, nouns, math facts or some other such nonsense. UNTIL I heard "Today in intervention we........"

OH PHUCK, shiny object.

"Did you say intervention?"

"Yes, we do it in the morning and afternoon, Mom."

"What are you intervening?"
"We do it in the morning and afternoon..."

"BUT what are you intervening?"

To which, Stinky Pete had no answer. Now, Stinky Pete is 2nd in his class in Math and first in his class in English/Writing. So, in my very rose colored world that exists in my head, Stinky Pete is in a state mandated time to catch other kids up and just gets to play Diary of a Whimpy Kid games on the computer, while the teacher works with the needy kids.

But it does give me a moment for pause. He is sitting in intervention twice a day, does not know what he is intervening....

What are ya teaching my kid?

And, he and BFF Cal, who has the authority to have me committed talk to each other in a secret language; much like the Parseltongues of Slytherin.

I guess the point, while I am drinking the wine and finally writing just for myself... it gave me a moment of pause, what are you intervening?

And is it wrong to reach out to the school counselor tomorrow? Or do you suppose I will just be in more trouble?

It's effin cold today and will probably be cold tomorrow too.

2011-04-03T17:37:00.000-07:00

It's effin cold here... and will be cold tomorrow.

~~I am a sun person.~~ I am a spring person. I don't know if I could exist in the city by the sea like Guru Annie does. When I am not cold, I overheat easily. But I do enjoy the sunshine. I enjoy long walks in the evening and pina colodas.

I so want to take my dog Maize on these walks with me. But I have had to resort to walking indoors at our local rec center. That could sound tragic, but keep in mind my city just spent 50 Million on a new faciltiy, it is state of the art and we are the envy of 4 states. Just the way my city council intended.

I got Maize in November. Next day it snowed, it hasn't quit snowing since. She is a small dog with a weight problem, like her mother. She has gained a couple pounds since she has come to live with me. And I promised I would not let her get fat.

I don't feed her table scraps... that should count for something.

Here is the purpose of this writing. The snow has drifted, as it always does into my back yard. It is about 4 feet high. Weather forecasts snow this evening, snow tomorrow, snow the next day. I have resorted to having to dig pathways in the yard for Miss Maize to ponder. She stands at the backdoor with a magazine under one paw waiting for me to put her winter coat on so she go outside to her P-gloo.

Literally had to dig her a 4 foot by 4 space in the backyard....

On the nice days she likes to run 'longside the house to do her business. She eats a lot of fiber. She is not far off the ground which leaves interesting (at best) architechure in my backyard.

My back yard looks like the Stone Henge of poop.

I was going to put a picture here... but I am learning to hold back.

Insanity VS Opportunity.

2011-03-29T21:01:00.000-07:00

I am impetuous. I jump into things headlong without thinking and then come to ask... WTF? WTF was I thinking? Why would someone who has smoked for the last 25 years choose to sing on stage? In front of the movers and shakers of the community? What were you thinking child?

And the simple answer is, I was thinking that I could do a good thing. I could help, lend a small part of me to the community I love and believe in. A community that has given me not just a house but a home. A community that has given me not just security but the opportunity at sustainability. I was thinking I owed something, for many reasons.

Dave Ramsey told me to repay my debt whenever possible.

I also believe in the My Name is Earl philosophy: "Karma: do good things, good things will happen."

I have spent the last two decades trying to be the bigger man. I try to turn the other cheek. I don't sweat the small stuff. I recycle. I still live on the poor side of town, City Council has decided to no longer invest funds on my side of the tracks. Though I am not political, I am officially poor, white trash.

And because of my personal beliefs I am okay with it... mostly. I am the bigger person to drive the paid for car and bank the car payment. I feel that ONE DAY IN A LAND NOT SO VERY FAR FROM OUR OWN it will have been worth it to be modest now and kick ass later. I am okay with life knowing the end result will bring something grand. Something worth waiting for.

Pray I don't break a hip or get Alzheimer's and forget my pin number would ya?

So when my blogger buddy, The Onion Girl and I started talking about blogging conventions and where we should go to learn how to do this right... we both said, "There is a strictly enforceable budget."

I replied, "I can afford to go across the street... for an hour, but that is about it."

We started looking for other opportunities. We got so far as to plan a lunch date, which happens to be tomorrow for those of you taking notes at home.

AND THEN....

The Onion Girl sent me an email.

There is a new local newspaper. They are looking for writers. I sent a link to "The Blog."

He called back.

I was so excited! I cannot confirm or deny, but I may have peed a little.

And when the call was over, I told ~~everyone~~ the three people I know ~~who actually answer my calls;~~ I was a real Bona Fide writer. I had a job, writing. ~~Even if~~ they ~~don't~~ pay me for it.

I was supposed to meet with the mysterious caller later, when I got off from the paying gig. All the while I am getting messages from The Onion Girl, who is now Copy Editor.

How do you get that gig?

We all know that is not my calling. I can't spell and until I overcome my there/their/they're disillusions I should stick with trying to make people chuckle. Plus, I think I may have a dangling participle. I have an appointment with a specialist; I hope that is covered under wellness in my HMO.

When push came to shove I decided this is opportunity. The chance to exceed at what I have the potential to be good at. The thing I have been praying for. I only have one skill -- talking to people. I should have had belief in that potential 3 years ago. I can put people at ease enough to tell me not only the mundane details of their lives, but also the very fascinating ones.

So Nowhere, WY has a new reporter of Community Business. It is me. Be it what it will. Succeed or fail it is written from a place of love. It is written from Nowhere, WY.

Overheard Scenes from an American Kitchen

2011-03-28T11:19:00.000-07:00

Loving Husband Raynard: "Hey Squints, when you do laundry do you use something to measure the amount of soap you put into the washing machine? Or do you just use the Force?"

Squints (my D&D Nerd): "Um, the Force... why?"

I am covered in crap and really quite proud of myself.

2011-03-22T20:26:00.000-07:00

I had had some trouble with a home improvement project a couple weeks ago. I was gonna tile behind my upstairs bathroom toilet. I live with boys, a lot of them. All of them have piss-poor aim. (he he)

Whenever the subject comes up they all look at the little one. He is an easy target and loves when anything is totally about him, so he will willingly takes the blame.

EVERY.

STINKING.

TIME.

But it ain't just him folks.

I know this, 'cause Stinky Pete gets up after me. When I sit in the morning there is already a puddle. It chaps my ass --literally. And it does not matter to the occupants of this house what I threaten. They all look at the little one and say, "It wasn't me."

"Really, the one sleeping with the still full bladder, should I beat him?"

"YES!" They shout in unison.

And it isn't just what's on the seat people. I am clever (not really, but even sleep deprived I tend to wipe with an antibacterial cloth before sitting.) and wiry (in a chubby, well nourished sorta way). It is more what IS NOT on the seat that is the issue. (since I have the valid, working, aforementioned solution.) It is what misses both the water and the seat completely that has become my new albatross. I should not have to worry about what I may step in, in the bathroom. We don't live in the Stone Age; there should be a clear and present path.

Plus, we have access to modern science. And I feel there should be a sense a pride about where my family lives and disseminates waste. I should not be able to take biology samples for the local high school kids from my bathroom floor on any given day of the week.

#justsaying

I decided anywhere near a toilet should be an easily wipe-able surface. (Since they were making the paint next to the toilet bubble and peel.) WTF? What are they doing? Peeing around corners?

The older ones I haven't seen naked in years, as it should be with any mother. But don't you think the Dr. would've handed me a note on the sly?

It is real crooked. I think you should have it looked at by an EXPERT. How do you keep the bathroom clean? I had a hard time keeping a straight face.

Plus, if it was THAT CROOKED, don't you think they would learn to compensate. Just follow the Cupid Shuffle... to the right, to the right, to the right, to the right, to the left... and so on. I have seen them all play shooter games, I know they know how to aim.

#justsaying

So I did what any broad shouldered girl does, I took matters into my own hands.

No, I did not "straighten" things out, so to speak. That is just weird.

I tiled all the surfaces surrounding the toilet.

I had the floor professionally done two years ago. That got me a really nice floor and a stolen wedding ring. You may remember.

I thought I can do the rest... how hard can it be?

I talked to Cal, my bff, she LOVES (uneasy, almost sexual whimper) LOVES home improvement. I am sure her nipples got a little erect as we spoke about the best ways to tile around my toilet. Cal also loves to know stuff. She knew a lot. She brought out books and used industrial jargon as we ate lunch. I paid little attention, as she spoke my mind was racing with things Crazy Grandma had told me.

Crazy Grandma had told me of this new tile she found. It was the peel and stick kind, but you grouted around it... so it looks like real tile. But it was easy to cut. She had me at easy to cut. I am afraid of power tools.

So I sat, ate and nodded as Cal tried to instruct me. The whole time I was thinking... I have this under control. She did give me helpful pointers, like start on the back wall, not the sides. The back wall is the part you look at. "Well not me. If ya wanna know the truth I spend my time looking at the cupboards. I hardly ever see the back wall."

Cal loves me anyway, even though I am a smartass in her presence. #thankyoubabyjesus

So I went to the home improvement center, found the sticky tiles that could be grouted. Raynard pulled the toilet and I went to town. I was SO proud of my accomplishment. Stinky Pete had helped, so that slowed down my productivity.

And as I laid down to sleep I kept hearing this weird sound.

Pop...

Klink,

…klink

Pop

Guess what I found on closer inspection?

YES! Those damn sticky tiles were popping off.

I would not be bested. I went and bought adhesive for sticky tiles and redid the tile job, well sort of. I got pissed and Raynard took over.

We didn't hear any popping that night!! YAY!

Well, we heard no popping... 'cause one sticky tile just slid one on top of another before it formed a good seal. There was adhesive everywhere and tensions were high.

PLUS

we were minus a toilet.

I was taking sh*t, literally, even from the 7 year old.

My one day project drifted into 7.

I am not the most popular mother on the block. I am even less popular when I take away the most prestigious room in the house for a young boy.

I decided to go by the real tiles, that don't have sticky backs. Cal was so excited she met me at the home improvement center on our lunch hour. Like a twisted liaisons meeting at a hotel midday.

I wore dark glasses.

We had a fight right there in the aisle of the home improvement store. Cal looked at me and said, "But what are you going to use for finish tiles?"

"Nothing."

"But it won’t look right. You have to buy a finish tile.”

“No I don’t. I don’t want spend $4 a tile that triples the cost of the project. I only care about clean-ability. I don’t care what it looks like.”

Cal looked me dead in the eye and said, “Well, you would be wrong.”

I hate being told I am wrong.

I hate being wrong more.

In the end Cal came over and cut all the tiles and approved my positioning and buttering process. There was the added bonus of chocolate.

Life was restored for the boys of the house...

.... and the final product...

PRICELESS, and easily wipeable.

I am one of THOSE girls.

2011-03-04T15:53:00.000-08:00

Yep.

After the starter kit marriage ended, I moved back to Nowhere, WY. I had this job that was supposed to work into a career. I was a pharmacy tech for a local supermarket. And I worked for one of the most officious pricks I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I had left a bad marriage in the middle of the night with two kids in tow.

I had recently checked out of a battered women’s shelter.

I had some scary stuff happen. Several months after I left Starter Kit, my job, the town I had lived in; I got a call. Starter Kit was in town. He wanted to sit down and talk about us…. could I meet him at the bar? I hung up the phone, packed up the kids and left town again. Not far away and not for long, just far enough he couldn’t find me and only for a couple days. I knew Starter Kit had to get back to his girlfriend.

But because of this, I had to miss a day of work at the local pharmacy.

When I came in Monday I was working with the Pricky Pharmacist, not the one I had called and talked to on Friday. He asked me why I had missed work and as I explained my situation he looked at me and said, “Oh, you are one of THOSE girls.”

One of those girls?
The kind that wears comfortable shoes?
The kind that can laugh at herself?
The kind that knows when she is being talked down to by a condescending asshole?
Or most importantly the kind that when she sees her children in danger chooses to leave?

No matter the cost.
No matter the threats.
No matter the condescending assholes you will meet and who will judge you along the way.

(Aside: My choices were made easier by the fact that my parents were willing to take me and my children in, at the same costs.)

Fast forward to last night; I am tired, worn out, probably getting a sinus infection and people keep commenting on how bad I look.

I am in a community organization that every year donates their time, energy and talents or lack thereof to raise money for our local Abuse Refuge Foundation. We have been working on our skit for two months. So as we were running through our act for the fifth time last night I had made a comment that we needed to get going so I could get to my next practice.

“What do you mean your next practice?” the man next to me said.

“I am in two other skits.”

“What were you thinking and why?”

“Well, they called and said they only had 4 acts. They asked what I could pull together. I pulled together two, that’s what I was thinking. The why, is ‘cause I used to be one of those girls.”

It struck me odd to say it out loud, but it was the truth. I had been one of those girls. Now I am just one of those girls that allows herself to be out there for public humiliation for a worthy cause.

Did I mention I am gonna sing?

I have a new follower, she posed a question. I have a response. No one said it would be good.

2011-02-24T22:06:00.000-08:00

I have a new ~~critic~~ follower. I am glad Krissy is here. She posts COMMENTS PEOPLE! Step up your game. #justsaying. She wrote, posted a challenge, I listened and responded.

1. If you have pets, do you see them as merely animals, or are they members of your family?

We recently adopted Miss Maize, who's name was Sadie and I changed to protect the guilty (namely me.) Maize was a lap dog for a little old lady. Lady died. No one wanted Maize, so they shipped her to prison. (No kill animal shelter, but it is really at a prison.) That is where my brother (who gets me all my dogs found her.) My last dog exhausted me. Some how I am renewed with Maize. She loves me... anyway. Even though I am who I am. Few can say that.

2. If you can have a dream to come true, what would it be?

we may have to come back to this.

3. What is the one thing most hated by you?

Me, hello. I am the poster child for self-loathing. That is what makes me funny. I adore that about me.

4. What would you do with a billion dollars?

I am in a cult, so the right answer is pay off all my debt. I cannot pay off yours however, cult leader says if I pay yours and don't teach you about money I will give you a curse. I can't have that on my conscience. I am a smoker and have all that 2nd hand smoke to answer for already. I can't add one more thing to my own list of guilt. My days are full thinking up interesting ways to make my children feel guilty. #Iaintthatdriven #justsaying I would find the time to be in Guru Annie's pushup challenge though.

5. What helps to pull you out of a bad mood?

Freddie Mercury
John Lennon
Paula Poundstone
Lewis Black

Plus I have tons of really good people programmed into my phone. So if my ipod is not near by, I will text you and tell you I need a little Johnny joke. Pray I don't lose my phone, I lost it 3 times last week. Raynard even noticed.

6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

I am sure loving someone else is the right answer. I really like being right. But I would like to get laid in this equation also. If there is an algorithm to squeeze both in, let's do that.

7. What is your bedtime routine?

Write and drink until bedtime. Publish. Go to bed. Pray for the best the next morning. Editor's notes the next morning can be harsh, but daytime Sadie has to deal with her... so what do I care? #justsaying

8. If you are currently in a relationship, how did you meet your partner?

I walked in on him and my college roommate having sex. #truestory

9. If you could watch a creative person in the act of the creative process, who would it be?

Alive, Paula Poundstone, obviously. I think she is smart and quick to the mark. Paul McCartney would be a nice runner up.

Dead: Freddie Mercury or John Lennon.

10. What kinds of books do you read?

I have the best of intentions to read, but not the time. Books I have read and loved: Alice Walker's The Color Purple. Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club. Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone. If I get the chance to read now I usually write instead. I cut out watching TV to try to incorporate reading. It didn't work. #justsaying.

11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?

Old.

I would hope to see myself happy, beautiful on a beach spanking a cabana boy. At this rate I just see myself as old, saggin' boobs, thick ankles and liver spots.

12. What’s your fear?

Everything.

But mostly spiders. But we have met, you know this.

Oh and failure. But how could I fail? I have purposefully set NO GOALS. My whole life, a clever ruse.

13. Would you give up all junk food for the rest of your life for the opportunity to visit outer space?

I am afraid to fly, so no. But the thought of feeling weightless IS alluring.

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married but poor?

Either way, as long as I have control over me. Money means very little to me. Money means much more to Raynard. He pays the bills, so I try to accommodate. He seems to like me, and he pays all the bills on time. At this point I couldn't ask for much more.

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

Pee. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to do it. It means that much.

16. If you could change one thing about your spouse/partner what would it be?

Every night when he came to bed I would make him say "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

17. If you could pick a new name for yourself what would it be?

I already picked one, it is Sadie Wilson. That is the person you get to know here. It is NOT the complete me.

18. Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?

Yes, done it. Proved it. Many times. Let's move on shall we.

19. If you could only eat one thing for the next 6 months, what would it be?

Broccoli, but I get wine with that right?
Avocados would be a close second.
I hope that you learned something you didn't know about me. I hope you felt inspired to write something down today. I hope that you felt the need to send your wife flowers... (yes I AM looking at you.) I hope you hug someone today that makes you wonder what compelled you to do that. And I hope that the first song that comes up on your iPod brings that smile to your face, like a secret joke, just between you and me, but everyone else laughs, just 'cause they don't wanna get left behind.

I got your back... and your little dog too!

2011-02-21T20:35:00.000-08:00

Cameron and I have had a wonderful time lately going out, carousing, singing, causing hate and discontent. But I think I may be the girl that can take a good joke too far.

You should know, if I am going to get hit on it is going to be by the gross dude. The one with little hair, little deodorant and the one thinking to himself, "She ain't cute but no one else is talking to her, she just might go for it."

So Cameron and I went to Karaoke night, except it wasn't. Cameron got the days confused and it wasn't until we were 20 feet from the bar in a snow storm that I realized, "There's no Karaoke, it's Thursday." And I remember looking at Cameron telling him, "I don't want to be the girl known for hanging at the scuzzy bar on a Thursday."

Then Cameron bought shots and I don't remember much after that until-- this guy started hitting on Cameron in front of me. Which I totally get, 'cause Cameron is real pretty.

We both just sat there with a private chuckle waiting to see what was going to happen next when Cameron looked at me and said, "Cover me, I have to pee and the door doesn't lock."

So I did what any broad shoulder girl does.

As I walked up to the door of the men's bathroom the old dude came across the room, got real close to me, looked deep in my eyes and said, "Don't go in there, it's real gross, there's a nicer one over there PLUS that's the men's room."

I looked at him and in my deepest smoker's voice I said "Dude, I am guy." And in my head I was laughing my ass off, thinking I am so funny.

"Don't say that..."

"No really, I am a guy."

And Cameron walked out of the bathroom and we sat back down and laughed and laughed and laughed....

UNTIL

About 30 minutes later I realized across the bar every man was standing in a line watching our table. All of them had their heads cocked to one side, like a dog that has heard a really high pitch. You could see they were contemplating something very puzzling, maybe even taking bets. They sent the smallest, drunkest one over to our table.

"I have one question for you," the small drunk one said.

"You are wondering if I am a boy or a girl, huh?"

"No. Really I am just wondering if you are INTO boys or girls....?"

OH MY!! I thought this was the funniest, most wonderful compliment... until 2 weeks later. When a person walked into my office "looking for work." It was about 15 minutes before quitting time, and this person walked in and had a small dog tucked under the plaid flannel coat. A very cute dog, but not exactly appropriate for a job interview.

I looked at this person, who upon closer inspection was a woman, something that was not obvious when she walked in, and asked, "how can I help you?"

"I need a job."

"What kind of job are you looking for?"

"I don't know."

"What kind of work have you been doing?"

"Ummm.... I don't know."

Actually, I hear that a lot more than you think, but it is usually code for I just got out of the penetentiary. So I went through my prelimenary questions and told her I would be out of town for a few days, she should make up a resume of her job experiences and come back.

She left seeming happy and I started to clean up my desk when I got an email. An email that said, "Sorry for the ruse. I just wanted to meet you. I have wanted to ask you out since I saw you singing Karaoke. I noticed you were wearing a wedding ringing. So I would just like to hang out with you and your friends platonically. ;-) Let me know if that is okay."

How do I respond?

I am not offended that I was hit on by a woman. I myself inadvertantly hit on Paula Poundstone while she was at work. I was more concerned by the fact that she hunted me down, like a dog. I never drink and drive, so I never have my car. I don't hand out business cards when I am out carousing. My job is very into being approved. Singing Karaoke is not generally the "approved" thing to do.

And with my recent joke who can blame her right?

I told you this story to tell you the next story Part II

2011-02-21T07:20:00.000-08:00

So, we are all on the same page right? I am crazy. Ain't nothing can be done about it. I have tried.

I drink more... at times that helps, but I digress.

So I got the okay from the lady at the counter to move to the security line. Did I mention I live in Nowhere, Wyoming? The lady manning the counter had just come in from fueling the plane AND could possibly be co-pilot?

And just to catch us both up, I told you all not only I don't fly, but I 'm skeered of it right?

That's what I thought.

We are all back up to speed.

Why do you suppose it is that if you tell someone your worst fear; is say spiders... they offer to bring in their pet tarantula to sit on your lap while you work? Aversion therapy never helps. Regurgitation therapy will get you there much quicker, especially if it proceeded by Patron.

So when I said I had to fly to Denver everyone told me their worst story about flying out of the Nowhere, WY airport. Got it folks. I was already skeered, don't matter if you frequent karaoke nights with the pilots... don't make me any less skeered. And I love(d) Karaoke... until recently. But we will get there too.

So, I am off to training in Denver, that I am not particularly pumped for. I have to fly there.. hate that. When I get there corporate office is paying someone who just moved to the area to shuttle me in downtown Denver through noon traffic on a Thursday to my sanctuary. The spot I don't have to move from. But I have to get through security first.

I took off my shoes. I did everything I was told and was supposed to do. Apparently TSA takes the girl with the snotty nose, shaking the hardest, that took the longest to check in through the feel up chamber.

Now normally, I would not mind getting felt up by a strange woman.... but she put gloves on and pressed me up against the plexiglass to protect my privacy and all. Gloves made me wonder "what part are you searching?" Plexiglass was just good fun for the people waving us goodbye. Crazy Grandma's husband, the Tim Man was in that lot. He made eye contact, briefly; before he realized this may be embarrassing for both him and myself at the next office Christmas Party. He was kind enough to pretend to shield his eyes.

That's when someone started screaming "Who's purse is this?"

Of course it was mine.

Crazy Grandma said, "It's Sadie's purse. She will help you when they are done patting her down."

I may have mentioned I already started the snotty cry right?

I walked backed after the frisking. Which may I say, if you are gonna publicly search me... press a little harder. Let's make it worth both of our time.

"It's my purse."

"I need to search this region of your purse," he said drawing a circle around the lower left quadrant.... "You don't have anything in there that would hurt me or explode do you?"

The question sounded so accusatory it set me back a little, "No, it is either a lighter or my name tag." Forgetting that I had just seen Paula Poundstone, the week before. And that I had had a whole landscape of writing in my head to go with what I had stowed in my purse that I only carry with me on every 13th day or when I need to travel, otherwise I just carry stuff in the recessed regions of my bra.

So TSA gloved up, again.

And dug deep into the recesses of my purse.... kangaroo keeper aside, keeping it all organized. And through all the scare tactics what do you suppose they found? That's right. My magic 8 ball.

"Is this chubby crazy lady trying to blow up the plane?"

"Better not tell you now" was the reply.

The TSA agent looked at me and said "I haven't seen one of these since I was 12."

The meanest head agent started screaming, "Swab it down...."

So they brought out the swabs, to make sure it was truly a Magic 8 Ball. --And it was.

So they got me through security ready to load the plane now with everyone staring at me, trying to figure out my affliation with Osama Bin Laden. Which is: I have seen news reports on him; I have seen reports of "spider holes" that he lives in, and I am scared of actual spiders. And sometimes when I get out of the tub, I do wrap a towel around my head, but that is where the similarity ends.

So take it from me, if you are gonna fly take the Magic 8 Ball out of your purse BEFORE going to the airport.

#justsaying

I told you this story to tell you the next story Part 1

2011-02-15T20:28:00.000-08:00

And not just out to a networking event, community board meeting, or stalking Paula Poundstone... just outta the house.

I am really bad at it.

I have told you that I have a multitude of fears. I am afraid of almost everything. Oddly enough most normal people's worst fears I am okay with; speaking in front of strangers, sales calls, wardrobe malfunctions at the community theatre level.... totally okay with. Mostly it is my need to feel ownership and control in my own destiny.

I don't like to fly, 'cause I can't fly a plane. And to be real honest, I think the Wright Brothers might have been wrong about man's ability to fly. Kinda like the Bumble Bee theory. You know, a bumble bee by all physics cannot fly. It's body is simply too big for those little wings --I myself have really big hips. I had the idea and started writing a children's book years ago... about a Bumble Bee that flew until someone clued him into the fact that it was a physical impossibility for him to fly. That knowledge made him impotent in the flying department. And that was before the invention of the little blue pill for "lift." #justsaying

I don't like traffic; I am afraid of semis. When I was young I had a belief that I would be run over and squished by a large vehicle. That was how I was gonna die. I have lived with this fear most of my life. Now that I have children it has exponentially grown.

I can't bear the thought of not knowing the end result of their life. Not hearing, seeing, being there. In my brain I know, I don't have control over this. I just want to prepare them for it. I keep thinking I should make a playlist for my funeral so my loving husband Raynard does not need to worry himself with such details. I have already told my BFF Cal I would like all the women to wear tiaras and I know that Raynard would never express such a silly request.

Because of my fears I don't do much outside the realm of the little imaginary world that exists in my head. So when corporate office said I HAD TO GO TO DENVER for training I said nothing. I figured I would get sick, Stinky Pete would need me, whatever... life would happen and I wouldn't have to go.

I had to go. They don't excuse you for crazy. Believe me, I tried. I got a Dr.'s note and Paula Poundstone's manager sent a cease and desist order, what more do they need?

In my head I thought wouldn't have to go, 'cause I don't get on planes. Don't believe in them... it is like a religion.

I wouldn't have to go, 'cause I don't drive/ride in traffic. I don't think the coronary is covered by worker's compensation. Surely this kind of crazy is a protected class, like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia. Plus the only positive was the guy in HS that never talked to me said if I EVER made it to Denver he would drink with me and let me interview him for the undiscovered talks.

Yeah, he was somewhere tropical. It was 4 degrees in Denver. And that was the good weather day.

So it was with some intrepidation I drove to the airport Wednesday morning. I live in Nowhere, WY, so the airport is small. I stood in line to board the plane and Crazy Grandma's husband came to stand with me thinking he could help calm my nerves. I have not flown since pre-9/11, a lot has changed. A lot that no one bothered to tell me.

I had been late. I had a good reason. Paula Poundstone's manager commented on the blog... I lost my mind. I forgot to go to the bank and get cash for my trip. So the next day as I was walking out of the house and realized I officially had .37 cash to my name. I panicked.

"OH Sugar Honey Ice Tea!"

"What?" Raynard asked.

"I didn't go to the bank. I have NO cash."

Raynard opened his wallet and handed over $12.00.

"What the phuck am I supposed to do with $12.00? Twelve dollars is barely enough to buy a lipstick. What am I supposed to do, sell myself on the corner? All I am saying is, you give a man a fish he will eat for a day. You give a girl a lipstick... she will make the best of things."

#justsaying

So as I stood watching other passengers check in/weigh their baggage. There is a weight limit? NEW BOSS told me, "No dyke shoes," so I packed 5 pairs of shoes for the 2.5 day trip. Also seven different outfits. I typically don't fit in. I tried really hard to fit in there.

Crazy Grandma's husband was nice enough to stand in line with me. He knew I was nervous and trying to calm me down. He reassured me, "Your bag is the same size as Crazy Grandma's... you will be fine."

"Would you picked it up and see?"

The Tim Man lifted the bag looked at me and said, "How many bodies do you have in there?"

"Just the one, I thought I would pull the OJ thing and dump the evidence at the airport when we land."
The Tim Man leaned over to me and said, "BTW TSA doesn't have a sense of humor. Don't be funny."

Okay, given any Friday at open mic night that is not a problem, but when I don't try I am hysterical. Which made me more nervous. By the time I got to the counter I was near tears. I finally got someone to confirm me and send me to security.

I am a mom. I have not peed without having someone coming in to...

have me sign a report card

show me the new slides for the money management power point

tell me something I promised not to tell dad

share the worst thing that happened in the second grade cafeteria

or tell me it smells funny in the bathroom...

...in 20 years.

I no longer have a sense of privacy or shame. (Obviously) Plus I have no filter. In my head everyone reads the blog AND would want to. ~~Including Paula Poundstone,~~ We know that is not the case.

Oh Holy Sheets... I OWN a Paula Poundstone trading card.

2011-02-10T19:21:00.000-08:00

I am a simple girl, with barely any goals. If I show up to work in the morning with matching shoes, I am high fiving people all day. I feel, with these very low expectations in both myself and others, I find so much less disappointment with the world.

So, when I launched the new me... almost two years ago, I put absolutely no expectations on myself.

My goal was to write everyday. I hit that goal one month.

It has been realized there is no way for me to accomplish my goal of writing everyday, work a 40 hour week, eat, bathe the important areas daily, dishes, vacuum, sort socks, travel to trainings for job, be a community volunteer, make sure the kids eat... something real (Annie I swear we are working toward whole foods) workout, take the dog for her weekly toenail clippings that I have missed for the last 3 weeks, laundry, satisfy husband and wipe the pee off the seat. Oh, I could give up sleeping but I have decided to draw a line with sleep. Plus, occasional I need to squeeze in some tweeting.

So I write when I write. I shoot for 1 time per week. But let's face it. I have failed there as well.

My loving husband Raynard and I recently had quite the unfinished discussion about the new me. After I was asked by a friend to perform my little blog in a local talent contest Raynard laid down rules. Rules he had never verbalized before. Rules, that to this day have not been entirely worked through.... what I can tell you was I was ready to give it up, writing and all for good.

Then I received AN EMAIL FROM ~~WHAT WE CAN ONLY ASSUME IS~~ PAULA POUNDSTONE'S MANGER ~~'CAUSE SHE SAID SO~~.

The email read:

Hi. I'm Paula's Mgr. (for real).

I really enjoyed reading your column.

I never heard anything about a heckler - honestly, she gets so few of them and I've never heard of ONE that she couldn't handle.

I am intrigued w/the trading card.

Is that for real.

I like the idea.

Nice writing on the blog.

Made me laugh.

Good luck with your talent.

Clue me in on the trading card if it is not a joke.
(Since you are stalking her, I hope you are on our mailing list: www.paulapoundstone.com). We let you know every month where she is performing (only blast once a month) and when she is on Wait Wait...

Have fun.

Sincerely,

Bonnie

It very well could just be one of my friends phucking with me. I know ya'll think I am stalking her, but I don't know the details people. If I was really peeping through her dining room window, I would be able to CONFIRM that Bonnie Whats-her-name really is her manager, worked there X amount of years, went to ABC University to Study Dr. Seuss but was disillusioned with the redundancy of rhyme and found a position with http://www.paulapoundstone.com/ reading obscure blogs for reference points.

I cannot officially confirm that Bonnie Whats-Her Name is Paula Poundstone's manager.

I cannot deny it either.

Doesn't matter. Either way someone went far enough out of their way to create this clever hoax that Paula Poundstone' manager

talked

to

ME.

From Nowhere, WY.

ON MY BLOG.

She left a comment.

On work I wrote.

You always remember your first time... SIGH

2011-02-07T22:43:00.000-08:00

So I got to see Paula Poundstone again. This time it wasn't a bucket list thing, just sharing a good thing.

Raynard went with me, so there were some ~~adjustments to my personality~~ hard and fast rules involved.

It was great.

Not as great as my first time. In Bozeman. Last September. (Melancholy squeak.)

Also, I failed miserably at open mic, retelling the story of my first meeting with Paula Poundstone. I came off somewhat stalkerish, and people were more repulsed than wanting to share in the fun. It was a hard lesson. I myself find it amusing, since it is the joke I started.

But somewhere the lines have blurred, no one really knows where the blog ends and I begin.

That point was made abundantly clear when I was told I have to go to Denver this week for training at the job I am bad at. NEW BOSS said, "business attire."

I said, "Define that please, 'cause I have googled it.... and it looks different depending on the company, the region and the position."

He said, "No Dyke shoes... other than that you look fine."

I said, "Lesbian footwear, Dyke sounds so harsh."

So, I am the straight girl who likes comfortable shoes. We have discussed this. I am also the girl that INADVERTENTLY offered to leave my husband for Paula Poundstone while Paula was on stage. That is true... I know that sounds crackers. Keep in mind, sometimes I forget, not everyone reads the blog.. I have this internal dialogue going all the time in my head, not just when I am writing you. Apparently, Paula Poundstone does not read the blog. Who knew she would not be as invested in my life as I am in hers?

I can no longer justify that she never bought my book not only 'cause I haven't written one... but 'cause she wasn't interested. I bought hers twice. It is not a contest. That is just one more life lesson. I learned something and that is surely worth the public humiliation, right?

So I took the beating from my family for the 3 days prior to seeing Paula for the second time. Even my dad thinks I am "teetering" on the edge of lesbianism. I am okay with it. Raynard is okay with it... mostly. I feel that if I have to be discriminated against in this life, I would like to be discriminated for being gay. I know too many wonderful gay people. I will help fight their fight, carry their load. Only 1 problem... I ain't gay.

Fake Lesbian wedding aside.

Some days, wish I could be, but just plain ain't. And that is okay, 'cause I know that Lucy, Ethel and Cameron are all okay with me "coming out" straight to you.

Though I think Cameron will be a little sadder than most. Also, it makes it weird how badly I want to be a drag queen... mostly 'cause my mother did not want to help me learn to wear make-up or care about shopping for prom dresses.

But back to the point. Paula Poundstone.

As Raynard and I drove to MT, I received a tweet.

PP: It'll take someone bigger than you to stop me from going to Billings, MT today. 6:21 AM

PP: The thing about me is that I'm actually in Billings, MT right now. 12:32 PM

PP: I am in a hotel in Billings, MT, where the soda machines and ice machines are on separate floors for safety. 12:32 PM

Raynard and I got to Billings, went shopping, checked into the hotel and in the elevator we found this sign:

Ice Machines: 5, 7, 9, 11, 14, 16

Coke Machines: 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 15

I immediately tweeted: I think I am staying in the same hotel as Paula Poundstone!

Guru Annie, who was in charge of the Reptiles FB page sent out: Sadie may be staying in same hotel as Miss Poundstone. We should start taking up a collection for bail. I will keep you posted.

I don't think anyone donated. If you did let me know, I will at least get you a tax deductible receipt.

Afterwards everyone has asked, "Did she remember you?"

"NO? Phuck no. She meets 1,000 people a week. What makes me special?"

Then they ask, "Was it as much fun as your other trip?"

"No."

The crowd was WAY different in Bozeman, MT as opposed to Billings, MT. Sadly, the crowd in Billings was much more like the crowd in Nowhere, WY might be. They were disrespectful. Getting up in the middle of her talking to buy another beer kind of crowd. Or drunk hecklers... who when they saw themselves being bested just shut up, instead of letting Paula do what she does best.

I was disappointed in most of humanity.

And as I have mentioned have become a little verklempt in Paula's presence. Not that I believe her to be all seeing, all knowing, all powerful Paula Poundstone, just better than most.

I fall into the most category.

I refuse to make an ass out of myself in front of her. One thing I have learned if you let me continue to talk I will surely make an ass outta myself. So I quit talking.

Also... I had an aisle seat. Then Raynard. Then special needs heckler, who heckled through the ENTIRE SHOW. I am pretty sure due to the lighting Paula could only see me, on the aisle. So when I went to talk to her after the show, she thought I was the slow witted heckler. Me. Who is verklempt in her presence.

Also, it didn't help, as we were standing in line for her autograph I had this whole idea for the blog mapped out in my head head. I had my Magic 8 Ball , camera, Paula Pounstone trading card and a wad of cash in my purse.

I looked at my loving husband Raynard and said, "I want my first photo to be Paula and I looking at the Magic 8 Ball, 2nd photo of me, Paula and the trading card, 3rd photo touching her hair, 4th photo we will get security to look like they are kicking me out and then we will take a photo of you, holding the wad of cash in front of Paula like a bribe....'

And in my head I was laughing my a$$ off.

Raynard said, "Stop it Sadie. Don't be stupid."

So, I wasn't stupid. I was just Silly Sadie, with my Paula Poundstone trading card. And Paula looked at it and said, "What the hell is this?"

"My Paula Pounstone trading card."

Raynard: "We are really hoping it isn't a fake."

('Cause the night before we left I had this terrible dream where she cussed me out for having an unsanctioned trading card... that I had received as a gift. I was very worried that I may be psychic.)

All was well, and in the end, Paula was kinda under the weather and not so much in a talking mood as she had been in Bozeman. Plus, if she thought I was the heckler all night would make sense she didn't want to talk to me a whole lot.

Raynard and I walked back to the hotel. We sat in the lounge and had a drink and then...

PAULA POUNDSTONE walked through the lobby.

I did spend the night with her. In completely separate rooms. Unbeknownst to her, but my story is complete. AND I TWEETED THE WHOLE THING LIVE and carbon copied a few of my nearest and dearest.

Next day I woke up to:

My Hero: Lobby huh? Did you guys do a round of shots?

Me: No, but I got a hair clipping... (teasing)

My Hero: Just remember the restraining order limitations.

Wesley: How was the stalking?

Me: ok. Got a hair clipping.

Wesley: With or without permission?

Me: Does it matter?

Wesley: I guess not.

Me: I would rather ask for forgiveness and mercy than permission.

#thatisatruestatement

The Dhara Bum

2011-02-02T21:37:00.000-08:00

I am not that impressive. It was the word of the day, and I really liked it.

Dharna: In India, the practice of exacting justice or compliance with a just demand by sitting and fasting at the doorstep of an offender until death or until the demand is granted.

Ok, so we’ve met. We know that very few of my requests are “just demands” and there is no way I would fast to death, unless there was chocolate involved.

Which brings me to the other night; I am all bloaty, bitchy and crampy. And possibly hard to live with, I don’t know, Raynard has not spoken to me in a couple days. The last thing my loving husband Raynard said to me was “I know you aren’t feeling well, is there anything I could bring you?”

“Chocolate.”

"We don’t have any, remember Sadie, you said you didn’t want chocolate in the house.”

“Don't give me your rational justifications.... just get me some.”

And after some solid looking and what I imagine was Raynard fighting with a small child, he brought me back chocolate. It was a Hershey Kiss from a Christmas stocking. Not just a Kiss, but one of those huge ones that comes in it's own box. The box was still intact, and I scoffed at it.

I have always wondered, who in the hell eats those things anyway? They are huge.

Well, when I woke up the next morning there was Hershey Kiss wrap all over my night stand. And I can only assume that the ROUS's from The Princess Bride made it into my bedroom late at night... 'cause that thing was gnawed on and widdled down.

It no longer looked like a Kiss, not even a sloppy one.

BFF Cal took me to a Chocolate Party tonight. What the hell is a chocolate party? I had to ask.

"It is like a Tupperware party, but chocolate, with samples. Did you hear what I said Sadie? SAMPLES!!"

We had to go around the room and tell what we liked most about chocolate and how it made us feel... Cal's answer was directed towards me. Simply stated she likes me better post chocolate.

She invested in the company and all.

She is now my pusher. I think it may have been a sound financial investment.

I ain't that bright.

2011-01-24T19:53:00.000-08:00

When we worked insurance together my dad used to always say, "I ain't that bright, I just surrounded myself with good people."

Works the same for me.

One of my favorite FB posts, for those of you who don't know me personally, was one back in August. I had had a really bad day. To compensate, I ate chocolate, apparently I ate it badly. The following is where it went from there.

SADIE WILSON was wearing lowcut shirt, found a new mole... realized it was chocolate. *SIGH*

Charlie Brown's Little Red Headed Girl: I call that snack time!

Boy from HS that didn't really speak to me: chocolate + cleavage = date night

SADIE WILSON at first thought it might be WillyWonkanoma, very scared...

SADIE WILSON turned out, WONKA-LICIOUS!

SADIE WILSON ‎....and tastes way better than the Schnozzberries.....

Skudro Bodine (#1 son) Thanks you know that that is something that i can never unread... NEVER!

SADIE WILSON do I need to send you the STALKER SON link?

Skudro Bodine ‎...

SADIE WILSON hehehe

Anastasia This is one of the funniest posts and conversations I've read! LOL!

SADIE WILSON good, you are missing a lot in CA

SADIE WILSON imagine the stupid stuff I am bound to do tomorrow Anastasia.

Twin 2: Well at least it takes the worry out of the situation! ha ha

Anastasia: I just don't post all the stupid stuff I do! It's a lot! It might be too overwhelming...

BFF Cal: Now, now, that is not stupid, just good common-sense... and with healthcare reform, I suspect we'll all be doing a lot more self-diagnosis. Mental note everyone: "lick before heading to dermatologist"

SADIE WILSON: okay Miss Cal, again, best response ever!!

Two Socks: I heard of a guy who got his skin cancer diagnosed because the dog would stop sniffing at a mole on his arm. Maybe it was gravy and he could have saved thousands of dollars if he had just talked to you first.

SADIE WILSON: Very good point Two Socks.

AC: Sadie, cleavage is the catch-all, isn't it? I miss the days when I could eat without worry. I haven't had soup in years...

Thank you to all my funny friends... for keeping me on my game, and finding humor in me.

O EMMM GEEE

2011-01-21T07:47:00.000-08:00

I have 1 rule:

~~No sex until the 3rd date, or at least 1 show with live actors.~~

I never drink and drive. I will make plans way in advance to be drinking out in public. I am really fun to have around with a couple drinks in me. And by drink three, I will start licking people until someone calls the cops... which makes the latter half of this story uncomfortable for me. You know, the equivalent of a hounds tooth thong and all.

I went to lunch. That's all I did. I sat at the stop light waiting to turn right on red when a red pickup truck went flying by.

Mother Response: what an a$$hole. I bristled.

Then I turned right... so I was directly behind said a$$hole, in 6 lanes of traffic. Who tried to merge to the left but there was no room so he just kept swerving at them. Then he tried to merge to the right. There was no room there either. So he did what no rational thinking person would do, he sped up to cut across two lanes of traffic to merge in font of a commercial vehicle and enter the on ramp to the interstate. We have not had a clear sky in this town for 45 days. It's slick. He was not that capable of a driver. He lost control. He crashed into a fence, where he got stuck.

I drove by.... and then dialed 911.

I dialed 911 mostly 'cause I never know what to do in an emergency. And the media has lead me to believe 911 people have been trained and all. But then my mind wanders... and I was pretty sure there was a dead body in the back of his truck and he was trying to get out of town. And I sat thinking to myself, "If I had a dead body in my trunk, and DNA under my fingernails, I would make sure I paid attention to all the traffic stops and adhere the proper speed limits. 'Cause that's how I roll."

And as I curled into my bed to cuddle my new dog Miss Maize I thought, I hope he was still stuck with the dead body in his the bed of his truck when the cops showed up. That would make me feel better about my impetuousness to dial the 3 digits.

Then Squints and a friend walked through the door. Early release, I forgot. "Hey can MC Football hang for awhile?"

"Is he Team Edward, or Team Jacob? 'Cause that will determine if he can stay? And is he willing to do dishes?"

-In case you are keeping notes, MC Football: Team Edward and totally did my dishes.

At the end of the day, as I was walking out of the office I got a call from the cops. They know me by name. Partly, 'cause of the ring incident, party 'cause of the aforementioned licking, and partly 'cause I have lived in this town the better part of my life and I party with the corporal on Halloween every year.

They wanted to know if I would be a "witness." Like all official and stuff.

Gut reflex: PHUCK NO! I saw what happened with the dude that stole my wedding ring. Ya'll don't care about me, but made sure his rights were protected.....

And then they said it to me, "The man driving was arrested for driving under the influence."

Now, I am no one to pass judgement on ANYTHING, let alone those who may imbibe spirits...

But my mind went back to sirens, lights, trucks and ambulances years ago. I was bringing Skud and Squints home from Tae Kwon Do practice, and we had to deviate from our normal route. The next day I learned a very young person in our community was in a hospital with her brain swelling. They didn't think she would ever recover, her dad had recently taken over the insurance position and office I had just held. We had been friendly for years. At that moment he and his wife were deciding whether or not to take their daughter off life support.

'Cause some arrogant a$$hole decided to drive drunk.

In the following weeks, you heard a lot about the accident. The young girl passed as her parents did take her off life support. I sat through the funeral holding Skud's hand. It was horrible and my heart breaks every time I think of their family. I also envy how strong they are. I am not that assured of my stamina or faith facing similar circumstances.

What I remember most, was the woman that killed that small child. She was drunk. She was driving. She was wrong. She was a MOTHER.

It was also her children that paid. I remember hearing stories of how her children were being taunted at school, about what their mother did. Their mother had made a legacy for them, not one to be admired.

This is my worst fear.

I have a lot that I would want no one to KNOW me for. I have aspirations of what I would like to be known for in my community. None of my aspiration entail my children defending my actions to their peers.

So when the cop asked me "Would you be willing to testify? You may be subpoenaed to court..."

My thoughts were selfish. I don't want to use my personal time off to go to court and testify. I was not hurt, I merely was driving behind him. This really does not involve me. Why Sadie? Why did you call the cops?

And then I thought about Squints and MC Football walking in the house 15 minutes behind me. And how grateful I was that said a$$hole had wrecked before they crossed paths. And my faith and fortitude don't have to be tested today.

And for that I am willing to testify.

Elvis VS. Costello

2011-01-16T14:58:00.000-08:00

I have an infinite love of Elvis Costello.

Raynard was dressed like Elvis Presley the night we conceived Stinky Pete. I will say it was a costume party, not just a bedroom game that we play.

Stinky Pete got Raynard's good gene's. He is smart, determined and I hate to say at 7 makes lists of things he needs to accomplish. He got strep throat last week and was pissed that missing school meant he would miss MAP testing. (That is the equivelent of Iowa Basics to us.) He had a goal set to do better than he had last year.

F! I am out smarted, out organized and out ranked by a seven year old.

But occasionally I will see a glimmer of my influence on Stinky Pete.

Raynard and I were sitting at the island in our kitchen having a conversation about nothing substantial enough for me to remember, but Elvis came up.

Hearing the word Elvis, Stinky Pete looked at me and said, "Costello?" My cold heart melted a little. I texted my BFF Cal and said,

Me: Raynard said Elvis and Stinky Pete said Costello. Warms a mother's heart.

Cal: Who is Elvis Costello? Part of Abbot and Costello?
Remember Cal is very smart and not like me at all.

Me: What did you do with your teenage years? Spend them in the back of cars doing homework?

Cal: Sadly those were the George Strait years

Me: Who's George Strait?

Deep Dark Truthful Mirror

2011-01-16T14:38:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite Elvis Costello songs is Deep Dark Truthful Mirror, in my head it fit so well with what I learned.

I will start by saying it is really hard to get random strangers to sit down and tell me the story of their life.

• Maybe 'cause I am so intimidating, just ask my children.
• Maybe 'cause I am too masculine.
• Maybe 'cause it is just weird to walk up to a random stranger with a tape recorder and start asking questions. Apparently most people don't want me to talk about them.

Which I find weird... 'cause really if you act interested and ask people to talk about themselves you can't shut them up. If you don't believe me, next time you have to pee ask someone to tell you what the funniest thing their kid said that day was. They won't stop until you have finished cleaning the puddle by your foot. And the wet spot on your pant leg will remind them curiously enough of their Aunt Mable....

So the brilliant idea and the point 3 months ago, have a glass of wine with stranger every other week for 1 year, and learn about someone I normally would not get to know on a personal level. And hopefully through this process I would learn mysteries of the Universe. I would learn things, life lessons if you will from other people’s mistakes.

I spent two months trying to get someone to sit down with me and the last month trying to write the guy that finally showed up. I have written two others and learned a ton. But My Hero is different, as I knew him prior, not well, but I knew him. We went to high school together, and apparently we made out one night, but I will take My Hero's word for it. He could identify a birth mark I have... so it must have happened or he got a hold of those photos I posed for in college-- but I digress.

So a month ago My Hero and I went and had dinner together, and I have been walking around for a month trying to figure out how to write him. How do I both pick apart and respect the information he has given me... plus I forget stuff. I am old. I keep thinking we might have to do a second dinner to recap all we talked about last time.

And we talked about SO MUCH.

Then I got an email this morning from my BFF Cal, it said:

I learned yesterday that a woman I used to know killed herself. Hadn’t even thought of her in years. I was wondering about her and her family, and I googled her. First thing I see is “body found”. It happened 2 ½ years ago, she was missing for almost 3 weeks before they found her. At the time I was in the early throes of the divorce, and I wasn’t hearing or seeing any local or state news really.

She was a mom of 3, a few years older than me, outgoing and vivacious, well-liked by everyone, husband an orthodontist and she did not work (at least when I knew her) and came from a very well-to-do family….high society by Unnamed Town’s standards. During time she was missing, husband told media that she had history of depression and might be suicidal. She bought a grill, went into the mountains and parked, and used the grill inside the vehicle, and died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

We weren’t terribly close or anything, but friendly, I think I am just struck by how people can hold so much in, be so different on the inside v. the outside. My ex is an example of that too I think, in a different way, but similar in that he has an ongoing internal battle between who he is and who he likes the world to think he is. And really everybody is like that to some degree, I guess.

Honestly, I have no idea what my point here is, or even if I have one.

And the story resonated with me, and echoed my conversation with My Hero.

1. I am the outgoing person that everyone thinks they know, but no one really does.
2. 3 great kids, great and loving husband
3. Good job
4. Lovely dog
5. Nice enough house
6. Commission from Money Management Cult.
7. and yet I am still constantly searching….

What more do I hope to find?

My Hero is a paramedic and recently has moved back to our community and created quite a stir with the single ladies. I get random texts to tell My Hero hello, who is he dating? or wanting to know if the paramedic’s butt photographed in the paper next to the child hit by the car is his? Or just to let me know they saw him in public and boy he sure is cute. –And he is.

I texted My Hero and told him I was going to be his pimp, so at least I could make some money off the interactions… he thought I was joking.

So as I sat down to visit with him the question I most wanted answered is “Do you have a God complex?”

“Maybe, but let’s talk about you Sadie. You are always on this reporter mode.”

So I hit the highlights:

Made out one night with My Hero in HS, he moved away
Fell in love, he died
Went to college, got knocked up
Starter kit marriage, got knocked up
Checked into battered women’s shelter
Divorce
Married Raynard, got knocked up
Having dinner with My Hero

“Now let’s get back to you… you are happy with your job, and feel that you are in the place you are supposed to be right now.”

“Yep. So how did you and Raynard meet? What is the point of these talks? What do you want to know? Are you happy?”

Contemplative look…

We agreed that My Hero sees him more as the Silent Bob character; says little so when he does speak it will somehow have more of an impact. And through the whole 3.5 hour conversation, I learned very little about My Hero.

I learned more about myself.

I learned that I try too hard with my children and that I probably have been a helicopter mother, always trying to save them from the pain. Now that I am trying to distance myself from that and letting them fail or succeed all on their own, they don’t like me for it. Also, it sucks to watch them hurt and fail. And when they succeed they will probably never tell me, they will share it with the people who were there to see it.

I learned that I have the greatest husband on the face of the earth, though Guru Annie thinks she does. So we will call it a tie. After a 20 year separation I am not fighting with her about a boy again.

I always thought it was a good thing to be empathic, to be able to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. Wearing someone else’s shoes WILL hurt, even pinch your toes. Just ask Cameron, his glitter pumps take some getting used to. Guru Annie, well she runs barefoot and at the end of the day you will be exhausted trying to deal with things that the Universe has presented someone else to learn from. They are not all my dilemmas to fix.

And that was the point. I was trying to learn from other people’s mistake, triumphs, joys and near successes. I was trying to take the shortcut when I know I have to make the mistake and success all by myself and learn my own path.

I had to look into a very ugly truth telling mirror and I did not like the reflection looking back at me. I saw my human failures. I saw my spiritual failures. I saw my path and direction and did not like what I see. I see that I struggle mostly with what I believe myself to be in my head and what the world sees me as. Somehow I am going to have to make amends with both reflections.

Out of the closet and into the box

2011-01-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

I am not sure I have ever come right out and said this to you, but I am a fan of the gays. (I wrote that in italics, 'cause if my grandmother would have said it, she would have said it in a whisper.) They are fans of me too. Mostly I love the gay people I know for who they are as people and support systems they represent in my life; but also I love them 'cause there is not a thing I could say to one of my gay friends that would make them flinch. They are used to the ridicule and the judgement from society. I have to say a lot of my straight friends flinch when I tell them the sad little details of my life.

There are a lot of sad little details to my life. Gay friends just make me wine glasses and truffles and we all move on.

And I am the luckiest girl in the world, 'cause my loving husband Raynard not only indulges my connection to the gay community, he genuinely likes all my gay friends as well. We have holiday dinners with them instead of family members, maybe 'cause we live so far away from family, maybe 'cause my gay friends like us more than most of our family members. My lesbian friends are not attracted to me as a girl because I am too masculine. My gay boyfriends are not attracted to me because I am too masculine as well. So the best part is Raynard is never threatened by any of them, Cameron has become my surrogate husband: my date in public for national holidays.

My thinking truly shifted about 15 months ago when Lucy & Ethel were getting married and I announced I was an honorary lesbian for the evening, and not met with the response I had expected from my extended family on FB. I really had thought this is the 21st Century, no one cares about that stuff anymore. We all view each other for who we are as people, not who we are sleeping with.

I know, for being so jaded, I am quite naive. I am not sure how that works out either.

So flash forward to my birthday at the office this year. I no longer have a 0 after the number I am. I now have a 1. I don't know which is worse. The 0 birthday bothered me big time. The 1 I barely have time to think about... I am too busy looking for my keys, my kids, trying to remember if I had my fiber pill and ibuprofen that is gonna get me through my day.

But I digress. Point is at Forty-ONE, I forget things, a lot. So if you have wronged me somehow in my past, drop me a quick hello; odds are I won't remember the infraction. But I digress...

So for my birthday this year NEW BOSS bought me a cookie, 'cause I don't eat cake. I was so happy and then I realized the cookie had RAINBOW icing. I was so excited. "You bought me a gay cookie! That was the very best part!" And no one up to that point had noticed, it was the first thing I saw. (Shift in my reality)

Did I mention we have had an extra person in the office, the details of how Country Boy came to be there are not important, what is important is he looked at me and said, "I thought you called the cookie gay?"

"I did. It has rainbow icing. The gays love me and I them."

Country Boy looked very uncomfortable and walked off. And that is just fine, because I wholly believe in his right to be small minded about such things.

But later that week Country Boy locked himself out of his house. Now me being the person I am will be the girl that will invite you over for dinner, fill up your tank with gas and darn your socks if you tell me you had a bad day. Country Boy looked at me and Crazy Grandma and said, "if I show up on your doorstep you know it is 'cause I was not able to break into my house..."

I looked at him and said, "Come on over, there will be cocktails and drag queens at my house tonight!"

"I will just sleep in a box."

And that is funny because pondering it later Raynard pointed out most boxes you can sleep in are about the same size as a closet.

The Color Purple

2010-12-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

Is my favorite book… well that and Fight Club. I read them and re-read them all the time. Both have totally changed my belief systems, my visions of life, love, happiness and consumerism.

It brought chills to my spine the first time Celie said:

Celie: The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Then I met this guy… he was so BEAUTIFUL I had to ask him to come home with me. We drank, and drank some more. I asked him to tell me secrets.

Then I asked him to teach me how to walk in high heels.

Yes, Cameron is a drag queen. And I learned SO MUCH!

Cameron put on Lady GaGa and beautifully strutted across my living room in 6 inch gold glitter heels. Everyone else in my household went to bed. Cameron showed me how to start on the down beat and walk across my living room in my fancy schmancy 1½ inch Mary Jane’s. And I have to tell you I did alright. Not great, I certainly wasn’t jumping off the steps in my living room the way Cameron was. But in all fairness to me, Cameron does not have the large child-bearing hips or the 40 year old knees.

I asked Cameron to teach me things my eyes would not normally be open to that is the whole point of the Undiscovered Blogs. Boy, did he teach me. Cameron said I could tell you he is a drag queen if I thought you could handle it. He would also like you to know, he has titles. You get Tiaras with titles. I have two tiaras in my basement right now… they are only bathing privileges--and I didn’t have to beat up a drag queen in Iowa to get one of them.

So, some stuff I know now, that I didn’t know last week.

1. There is a whole underground pageant system like Miss America for boys with boobs.

2. Most drag queens are gay while most transvestites like women.

3. Other than that, Drag Queens aren’t a whole lot different than any one of us. Cameron still puts his skirt on one leg at a time like anyone else.

4. Cameron has AMAZING eyelashes.

5. When you become a drag queen you take on your “Mother’s” last name. Mother meaning the first person to dress you in drag. It is sort of a faux pas not to do that. Cameron did not follow the rules and still succeeded.

6. When you dress in drag you have to be very funny to diffuse situations and usually have to work as a waitress to make your living.

7. When you waitress a long time you know what the really good shots at the bar are.

So I have been walking around for a week worrying about what I will write about Cameron, ‘cause really there ain’t much different about him—other than he is so pretty.

Young Celie: Nettie. Write.

Nettie: What?

Young Celie: Write.

Nettie: Nothing but death can keep me from it.

Well death and this crippling depression….

I asked Cameron, “if I had the means to buy a billboard and tell the world what you wanted people to know about drag queens, what would you want it to say?”

Cameron said, “I would just want people to know drag queens are people too. All we want is acceptance.”

Shug: More than anything God love admiration.

Celie: You saying God is vain?

Shug: No, not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don't notice it.

Celie: You saying it just wanna be loved like it say in the bible?

Shug: Yeah, Celie. Everything wanna be loved. Us sing and dance, and holla just wanting to be loved. Look at them trees. Notice how the trees do everything people do to get attention... except walk?

[they laugh]

Shug: Oh Miss Celie, I feels like singing!

Cameron and I sat for a long time and talked about my love of the book The Color Purple. We also talked about the fact that I am married to Raynard who has ruined every song I have ever loved making up inappropriate lyrics and the fact that I love books for no reason other than the story. I don’t look for archetypes. I don’t look for conflicts, imagery, illusions, symbols or even methods of characterization. I just look to see if the story speaks to me. If I finish the book it has spoken.

I used to work with one of Raynard’s students in insurance. She would come in after school to do filing and what not. She needed to read a book for Raynard’s class, but Raynard only allows students to read classics. I fought to have The Color Purple on his list. It is a fast read and I love it. I help out where I can folks.

The student came to me two days later and wanted some insight for a book talk. She was talking about the color purple, and that Celie’s bruises are purple and that the color of royalty is purple….

I had never thought of any of that before, that is not what spoke to me or made the story beautiful in my eyes. I just got it, and loved the words.

That is when I really learned how obtuse I am. How I am sheltered in my belief system. How I am a simpleton. How could I love a book, song, poem without knowing what the author’s intentions were? OH YEAH, maybe they wrote for the sheer joy of writing and other people analyzed that other crap out of it.

And I realized walking into a bar with Cameron the other night, it takes a strong woman in comfortable shoes to be okay with walking into some place with a man that:

1. Looks better than she does

2. Smells better than she does

3. Has boobs that smell like chocolate. Mine only smell like that when my Reese’s Peanut Butter cup lands in my cleavage.

Turns out I am not so far from Celie, and my ankles are The Color Purple from practicing in the Mary Janes. Apparently I need to go to the tub and soak wearing the tiara, ‘cause….

Celie: [on leaving the farm in Shug's car, shouting to Albert] I'm poor, black, I might even be ugly, but dear God, I'm here. I'm here.

The Bucket List

2010-12-13T22:18:00.000-08:00

So I drove 400 miles: over hill over dale, passed semis, went out alone and YES saw Paula Poundstone live.

I am still giddy.

Got to shake her hand.

Still giggling.

Did she mention me on stage? you ask.

Why yes. And I WAS SPEECHLESS. ME! I am never speechless.

Smartest woman I have ever seen off the cuff, and I was terrified of making an ass of myself, which is funny 'cause I do it everyday-- and then talk about it on the Internet.

I made friends right away... with the entire theatre. Or at least the 7 most influential people right off.... 'cause they made sure she talked to me. And I can die happy.

After her performance she actually talked to everybody. Anybody that wanted to... she stayed and talked to everyone; took pictures, signed autographs, shook hands, and gave her complete attention in that moment to that person. It was amazing. After a two hour performance; she stayed.

So every one says, I can't believe you haven't written about this yet. I can't believe you haven't told us everything. Well, there ain't much to tell. I sat in awe of her for two hours with a dorky grin on my face. That was pretty much it.

EXCEPT... I think I scared her. Keep reading, we'll get there.

I got to the theatre two hours early.

1. Because I thought it started an hour earlier and

2. 'Cause I had left my tickets at will call. So I wanted to get to the theatre and have the fight I knew would inevitably happen prior to her performance. I was the first one at the theatre. I asked random strangers on the street to take photos of me with the posters.

I went to will call and they FOUND MY TICKET, right away without a fight. I didn't expect that. I visited with the staff, talked about the beauty of this historic theatre. I listened to the stories of how this showroom was once owned by a prominent family, whose mother loved theatre.

They built it for her.

It had it's own dining hall. Where the family had dinner before the shows.

It was awe inspiring. And I loved every moment of it.

There was a couple talking to the box office inquiring about tickets to the "sold out" show. What would they have to do to get tickets? Besides wait all night, and they were told, "wait all night."

So I wandered the streets of Bozeman waiting for the show to start. And can you believe I passed a record store. They had stuff on vinyl. I had to go in, just for the nostalgia of it. They had Ray Parker Jr. on vinyl, and it wasn't even the Ghost Busters album. I was in over my head.

I turned to leave and caught that the entire West wall of the store was gag gifts. Now, my best intention for the evening was to have a gift basket full of Paula's favorite things; like Pop-Tarts, Play-Doh and Ring Dings. Ring Dings if you don't know are like a Hostess Ding-Dong but apparently better. If you are from the East Coast you know this. I have never been to the east, I only know the Ding Dong. I had googled the Ring Ding on the Internet and got a deal on them, but since I am in the Money Management Cult and Raynard was not at home to approve the purchase...... I forgot.

I got all the way to Bozeman, ticket in hand and forgot to bring anything for Paula to remember me. And I thought hair clipping might be inappropriate without being formally introduced and all.

So I looked at the wall of gag gifts. The first thing that caught my eye was the 4 foot fake beard. Who wouldn't want a 4 foot fake beard, right?

They of course had fake vomit, fake poop... how cliche. Last thing I want Paula to think is that I am cliche.

They had fake candy cigarettes, which is no longer politically correct. The sticker you put on the mirror to make it look like a crack and they all seemed lame.

Then I saw the crazy straw. To this day I still love the crazy straw. But this crazy straw went up and made glasses of themselves. If nothing else, I thought her son would love it. Mine would... even the college one. And a simple pack of stickers called 'In-Animation' that you could stick on your stapler and such to give it personality. If anyone could make this fun it would be Paula-- she has a cat cam.

I bought the items and a couple of eyeballs to put on your fingers for my kids so they could make hand puppets whenever.

I went and took my seat in the theatre and who should I see sitting stage LEFT in the very first row but Kurt & Kinga who DID NOT HAVE TICKETS TO THE SOLD OUT PERFORMANCE, who was coincidentally the couple mentioned earlier in this story, that was trying to buy tickets. I went over and introduced myself and asked "How the HELL did you get those seats?"

"Someone called and said they weren't gonna use theirs, and we bought them."

"But you got better seats than me, and I bought mine two months in advance?"

Kurt and Kinga were adorable and told me a story of how their very first date ever was in this same theatre back in 1987. They saw the movie The Outsiders, one of my favorite books from childhood; so I couldn't write them off. So I did what any crazed non bunny carrying stalker would do. I made friends--friends who were not Paula Poundstone fans. I told them, "You are sitting front row stage left at a Paula Poundstone concert she is gonna talk to you. And when she does you need to tell her to talk to me, Sadie Wilson. She is my bucket list. I drove from Nowhere, WY all day to see her." They agreed-- without me having to threaten bodily harm.

I took my seat.

I made friends with two park rangers sitting next to me and the mother-daughter team in front of me.

Then the show began. Paula came out and spoke for about five minutes when she went to the audience. She is big on talking to her audience. And who did she talk to first? Kurt & Kinga. They had about 10 minutes of banter before Kinga got real uncomfortable and shouted out.... "Talk to Sadie, you are her bucket list."

"I don't want to talk to Sadie." I will be honest, I died a little.

Kinga called out again, "Talk to Sadie!"

Finally Paula came stage right and said, "OK where's Sadie? Who is Sadie?"

I stood up. Of course I was wearing all black and she couldn't find me. So she walked off. I sat back down and died a little more.

And they screamed again, "Talk to Sadie, you are her bucket list!"

Paula came over and asked "Who is Sadie?"

"Me"

"Well Sadie, what do you do?" (this is always Paula's first question)

"I work in staffing"

"Boy are YOU in the wrong job @ 10% unemployment."

"I know, right? Do you need an assistant?"

"Well yes, I do."

"I will give you my card."

" I am telling you right now, the commute is gonna kill you. You are gonna be LATE A LOT."

Now keep in mind for the next part, I forget ~~NOT EVERYONE~~ HARDLY ANYONE reads the blog. Especially Paula AND the lady sitting behind me.

"No worries, I will leave my husband. He will totally understand." Which in my head was effin funny, Raynard would have snorted.

Then I heard the gasp from the lady sitting behind me... "Did you hear what she said? She said she would LEAVE her husband." I also should tell you, almost anyone I told I was going to see Paula Poundstone in concert told me how gay she is, as if it would be a shock to me.

1. It would not be a shock to me if The President, and I mean any of them, told me they were gay. It simply doesn't matter.
2. I have been a fan of Paula Poundstone since 1991. Now, I am not the world's leading expert on her, but I know stuff.
3. I am also unwaveringly faithful that what people tell me is the truth. I would not lie. Especially about something as insignificant as my sexuality. Paula has spoken openly since the early 90's maybe even before, that she has no interest in sex. Not with a boy or a girl. She has also spoken openly about being an atheist. Now, without moral/religious implications-- why hide it?

Anyway, none of that matters, 'cause when I said I would leave my husband, she stopped talking to me.

So I sat there, quiet for the rest of the evening, not making waves, not heckling. My mother would have been proud... well after the part where I said I would leave my husband.

And afterwards, true to my word I stood in line to meet her. I was middle of the line, but I kept hopping out to catch glimpses of her. I wanted to see how she interacted with people. If she was just pompous, shake hands and then "NEXT..."

She wasn't.

She sat there and talked to each fan as if they were the only person there.

I found the mother/daughter team that had been in front of me in the theatre, they said I could stand in line with them. It was sweet. We had a long talk, the evening had been a gift from the daughter to the mother. She had 5 more surprises in store for her mother. It was inspiring. Did I mention when Paula left the stage, the mom screamed, "I LOVE YOU PAULA!!" NOTE: I did not scream anything.

I waited patiently in line.

I was, as it turns out, the very last person in line. The mom was in front of me, and her and Paula talked for 20 minutes. Apparently the were swapping Christmas Card lists, 'cause someone came around and told me Paula had to go, it was time to wrap it up.

And I felt just like Ralphy on A Christmas Story, trying to climb back up the slide to tell Santa I really wanted the Red Ryder BB gun with the compass in the handle. It couldn't be, I was this close... and she was gonna leave.

The mother looked up from her tears (yes tears, she had shed with Paula) and saw me and said, "Oh talk to Sadie. You are her bucket list. She drove all the way from Nowhere, WY to see you."

Paula looked at mom and said, "Sadie will be fine."

"Take all the time you need mom, I am going to follow Paula through the parking lot anyway, we have lots to talk about."

Finally...

Paula looked at me and said, "We should probably take a picture together or something."

She signed a CD and a copy of the poster. The CD says: Sadie, you're on my list. PP and the poster says: Sadie, may things always strike you funny. PP

I could have walked away at that moment and held the very last shred of self respect I had left, instead-- I dumped my purse out in front of her, and mumbled "I bought you something."

Keep in mind it wasn't just the stuff I bought for her that spilled into her lap. No, her CD on tape, my billfold, keys to the car and hotel room, tampons, box of Motrin, receipts from the money management cult, AND her gifts spilled in front of her.

"I got you this crazy straw, see it makes glasses...." F! that sounded lame. "And these stickers, you can put them on your stapler or your cell phone and give them names..."

"Boy, you REALLY no how to live."

And at that moment, in front of my idol, I realized what a true asshole I am.

Anyway, she is coming to Billings in January. Guess who is gonna be in Row H with the 4 foot beard?

I finally got to be there.

2010-12-05T19:14:00.001-08:00

You may remember the debacle that almost created the demise of my marriage last year. Skudro

Bodine was in a play. I made several dates with my loving husband Raynard to be there and see him perform. I never got there. In the end there were many reasons.

But this weekend I got to be there.

I got to see Skudro Bodine perform on a college stage. The set was fabulous. The sound was amazing. Skud was wonderful. Skud was a character I had never seen before. He was without pants. I should say that was in the script-- not just the DNA.

It was a great weekend, Raynard and I got to travel. No one puked. Raynard got to catch up with old High School friends. I got to meet new people, have a great dinner and see Skud on stage. I almost cried. I can’t tell you more than I was the very proud mother of the boy on stage without pants. THEN…

I met the director.

It is the directors first year. He told me how talented my son is… “uh, yes. This I know but keep going. I would like to hear everything you have to say about my talented son and what I did RIGHT as a mother.”

“I just saw something in him. He gave a TERRIBLE audition; but I went with my gut and it turned out for the best. Skud was really able to work within my ‘crazy’”.

BIG CHEESY GRIN FROM ME.

“I get to take full credit for the crazy.”

I'm in love! I'm in love.... again.

2010-12-05T17:50:00.000-08:00

So I got a new dog, she has unnatural feelings for me. I am quite the Casanova of Canine’s as it turns out. I have unnatural feelings for her too. I can’t go anywhere without worrying about her. I call home to check ~~on her~~ the kids.

Here is a small glitch in the system. Her name WAS Sadie.

I had nightmares of the neighbors listening to my loving husband Raynard scream “Sadie, stop scootching on the carpet.” Or “Sadie quit humping my leg…” and all the while the dog was in the yard. I don’t need another reason for neighbors to call the cops.

So meet Ms. Maize.

It is not unusual for me to text my besties before work with some quippy little thing like, "I think she is cold during the day... Raynard will not let me turn up the heat for her. Do you think a skull sweater will make her look slutty?"

Guru Annie: Awesome Guru Husband says you shouldn't be drinking so early in the morning.

Cal: Well, she is YOUR dog...

Me: Did I mention the sweater is pink? Too much?

Cal: Well that changes things.

Me: Did I mention ~~she~~ I am spayed?

Cal: spayed = license to be slutty.

Me: Plus I took out the nose ring. #justsaying

So... write you own blog.

2010-11-25T20:14:00.000-08:00

A lawyer, a mixed martial arts champion and a drag queen all came to Thanksgiving at my house.

Punch line to be named later...

I will tell you there was one bloody lip...

One really drunk person...

One person sleeping on the sofa...

A lot of spilled drinks....

and no one had a nose ring.

250 words or less. GO BIG.

Diary of a wimpy mom.

2010-11-23T19:45:00.000-08:00

So, I found a list book. I told you Raynard makes lists. Because I am married to Raynard, I try to make lists. I am real good at it if I do the task on the list right away. If I put it off, I forget.
I forget what my list was for. Making cake? Or sex?

Whip cream
Chocolate syrup
candles
cake decorations
funnel
garden hose

…was all that was on that list, it could go either way. Just saying.

Turns out Stinky Pete is a lot more like Raynard than me. He loves lists, he loves doing homework, he has to stay home and go to bed on time to function right the next day. Stinky Pete is a weird kid.

So I have a small list making book that I lose quite often… and there is no list to tell me where I put it. I found the book on my desk the other day. In it Stinky Pete had started his own wimpy kid diary.

1st entry:

Dear Diary, (I edited the spelling… yes me. Otherwise you would have seen Daer Dairy)
I be good every day.

AWWW Sweet boy…

2nd entry:

Dear Diary,
I feed the dog ketchup. And let her lay on the sofa.

I giggled so hard I peed a little.

But with Thanksgiving right around the corner, it got me thinking of all I am so very grateful for. Some Diary entries I could have run across:

Dear Diary,
The dog tells me to do stuff… bad stuff.

Dear Diary,
I pee when I laugh.

Dear Diary,
I run away but the chip from my anal probe always leads me home.

Dear Diary,

I start fires when they are not looking.

And at the end of it all I am reminded of the many blessings of my life: the family, the security, the friends, the food, the wine, the large hips, the health of people I love, the job I am bad at and the adult diaper.

My super-cali-FABULISTIC-expi-ali-do-cious life.

2010-10-24T01:13:00.000-07:00

I have asked you guys to TRY to understand not everyone can have the FABULOUS life I lead. Not all of us have the genetic code to make waking up to fart noises from a seven year old while he waves a dirty sock in your face a moment for pause. And it has taken me years to find comfort in the pee on the seat I will inevitably sit in every morning. I know not everyone has the intestinal fortitude to overlook the flaws of this household, grab a quick smoke, and wave good morning to the people of this dynasty with my one good eye as we start the day. I just am working with what I was given folks.

Enter fabulous-super-uptown-date-night-Friday…. exit loving husband Raynard. I asked him to go, but alas had to post in desperation to my Facebook, anyone wanna be my date?

I got one reply. Turns out she was a super cool lady that I really didn’t know up until that point. But after Friday and almost getting to third base… I think we could be kindred spirits.

As I waited for my date to arrive I posted to my twitter:

is very hoity toity... attending fabulous art gala slash wine tasting

possibly meant sloshed wine tasting.

Less hoity…

more toity…

if ya hear what I am saying.

…’cause let’s face it; not only is it true, but also that is FUNNY.

We were going to a wine tasting, so I promised to TRY not to get handsy. The drinking was for charity folks, not my idea. I just happened to buy tickets… to support the arts; not for me. It’s an annual event here in Wyoming. All different vendors come in and donate different wines, different restaurants donate hors d'oeuvres, and local artists donate art.

Great wine, great food, great art… what could be better right? Then I walked outside to grab a smoke and ran into these two yahoos.

Who says my life ain’t fabulous? I know you are totally jealous. Who wouldn’t be?

This was THE BEST part of my evening. Super-cali-FABULISTIC art gala and I get to have a smoke with the leg humper and his friend. This evening was about supporting art. There is NO ART in a stuffed olive or a stuffed SHIRT, no matter how much money he donates. Art is spur of the moment reflexology. Nothing was more indicative of the evening than this event.

It was a couple hours later when the leg humpEE came to me and said, “you are a beautiful woman, and I suspect a bit of a perve…”

Thoughtful pause….

“But you are too MAINSTREAM for this crowd.”

I had to walk away. I was totally offended. Mainstream?

Perve I am okay with, I am a total perve but MAINSTREAM? Please.

Innovate or Die

2010-10-22T16:50:00.000-07:00

I went to a luncheon hosted by our Economic Development Corporation today. I was inspired. I was transformed for two minutes.

Our keynote speaker was a girl I went to high school with, meaning just that; we showed up at the same building. We did not share classes, we did not socialize, I don’t even think she dated my brother and almost everyone dated my brother. Plus she was a track & basketball star. She was and is amazing. And guess what, at forty years old has outperformed all of her goals.

I loved listening to K talk. She had a great power point, was well spoken and knew her stuff. And towards the end it sounded as if she has had an epiphany with her life too and is seeking a direction of art and change. Kudos K! Maybe in another 20 years you will be sitting in a conference listening to me speak. (Well, K said I shouldn’t take no for answer.)

K talked about the global companies she had been recruited by, worked with and made changes in the course of their history and fashion. AMAZING.

I have changed diapers, tires, jobs, addresses and last names. Not quite as stellar.

Here is the thought that intrigued me; it is a quote from Steve Jobs. In 2005 Steve Jobs spoke to the graduating class of Stanford.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

(Why are all those graduation speeches so damned inspiring? It is a lot to live up to.)

I was recently trying to “describe” the Undiscovered Talks to someone. How I feel truly led that there are lessons that God or the Universe would like me to learn. While I have been on this journey of self discovery, I have retouched “dots” in my life. (In my head I saw them more as poles sticking out of the water to cross a stream… but metaphorically speaking I think it is all the same.)

And then there it was on K’s power point just staring at me; I have to trust the first dots lead me forward and that they all connect and make a beautiful canvas someday. Also recycle, reduce, reuse.

So after lunch walking out to the car I thought about the simple dots of my life and wondered if they didn’t really look more like Pollack No. 5, instead of the simple follow the number dots on the kids menu at Denny’s.

How will I ever find the purpose? How will I keep the stamina to the end? How can I keep moving forward with no more results than I have at this point to show for it?

And then my mind was led back to a recent conversation with Ethel regarding Pollack No. 5 and how people look at it and assume anyone could generate such a masterpiece. Most people don’t realize the painstaking efforts that went into every drop of paint. And that they were all put there with purpose, not one of them out of place.

So I guess I will just have to know that my canvas may be cluttered, but all the dots have been painstakingly placed there. Be it the large childbearing hips, the varicose veins, the bad singing in public, my unwillingness to say no to community functions or my telling dirty jokes on stage. (And let me say, some of the jokes are more painful than others.)

I may never change the history of a multibillion dollar company, but maybe if I change the history of one of you for the better it will be worth it.

Land of Oz, part II

2010-10-07T20:49:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned I am not corporately approved. I work for a company with very strict guidelines, about how I dress, how I talk, how I present myself, what pen I use, what type of notebook I write in, that there is NO COLOR in my manila folder or what I can keep on my desk. It is exhausting. I am not corporately approved. I do, say, act the wrong way all the time. I am constantly in my boss’ office learning how to be me-- better.

Now, I do try very hard and much to my chagrin, I am getting better at it. There are things that pop out of my mouth that make my boss SO HAPPY… at times. So I know there is hope for me learning how I am supposed to be.

I am much like this at home too. I try real hard and fall real short.

But my greatest hope is not to be THE BEST ME it is to be THE TRUEST ME. I grew up being a very good girl, but I am not sure that was my truest self. I was always trying to please someone else; in my later years I care very little about making people happy. I am a little naughty. Well, I am a lot naughty. I poke people in public. I say the wrong thing. I drink red wine with fish.

I no longer search endlessly for people’s approval… or so I had hoped. (Like I said, occasionally shit flies outta my mouth that make NEW BOSS so happy and I don’t even know what I have said.)

So I went home for Granny’s funeral. I knew it was coming. Grandma had been in the hospital about two months. I went back to OZ mostly for my mother. She is the person who takes care of everybody and very few give back to her. Grandma did not even know I had visited her last month, she sure as hell wouldn’t know I made it back, now that she is dead and all. Plus, Grandma went back to work the day she got married. I think she would have forgiven if I didn’t make it home.

It was a hard trip for a lot of reasons.

1. My mom was very sad that her mom had passed away. I get it. I can’t imagine life without my mom, even though we hardly talk anymore. But on the flip side, Granny had dementia. In her moments of clarity she got to relearn Grandpa died 2 years ago. (I think by definition that is one of Dante’s levels of hell. Relearning over and over your husband of 70 years is dead.)

2. I went by myself.

3. I am not only not corporately approved. I don’t have the Land of OZ stamp of approval either.

4. When you stand me next to the cousins, I just don’t fit. Remember Sesame Street? One of these things is not like the other… one of these things just doesn’t belong…. (PSST It’s Sadie! I guess that Sadie does not belong—and you’d be right.)

5. Land of Oz is far away. And my Ruby Slippers are missing since Raynard insists on picking up after me.

I went to sit beside my mother.

I had gone to the talk with the minister earlier that day, I got up, showered, shopped for a dog and a truck and went to meet my mother at the church. I did not put on make-up. I did not dress up. I did not see the need; apparently, I was wrong.

Later that day my mother and I went to the viewing. My father is not good with these things so I figured my mom needed me. I went and stayed as long as she was there. My whole family was there.

Family is a weird word, and denotes weird things in my head. These people are family, but I don’t know them. I had a chance at knowing a lot of them 20 years ago, but as I said I am not OZ approved. And I KNOW it is not out of malice that we don’t know each other; we just all grew up in different places.

I saw lots of people that I share DNA with, but few whom I truly know. And at 40 what I know for sure, I can come off as brisk and offensive to some. Today was not about me, it was about my mother. I was on my best behavior.

My aunt walked in and looked at me. She had been at the talk with the minister earlier. Auntie looked at me and screamed, “Sadie! You are beautiful! Make-up does wonders doesn’t it?”

I batted my eyes.

It made me wonder if all my mother’s left-handed compliments were in her genetic code.

My mantra:

“Today is not about you Sadie. Don’t upset people. Your mother is here. And for Fuck sake, don’t say Fuck.”

“Oh Sadie! You came! How nice! Are you alone again? Your family couldn’t come?” each person would ask.

“Yes, the kids have been sick… Raynard was out of town when Grandma passed… I was just here 3 weeks ago, you should have come over. I know my children would have loved to see you. I had already driven the 650 miles, thought you could have made the last 4.”

“Today is not about you Sadie. Don’t upset people. Your mother is here. And for Fuck sake, don’t say Fuck.”

After a couple hours I waited quietly for my mother to say she was ready. I sat in the corner… ‘cause Cal had talked me into wearing heels.

“Today is not about you Sadie. You can wear heels. Your mother is here. And for Fuck sake, don’t say Fuck.”

That is when my Uncle looked at me and said, “Sadie, I don’t believe that I have ever seen you this quiet in my whole life.”

“I am trying something new.” I said as I made sure I kept my knees together in my skirt.

“It’ll never work” he said with a chuckle in his voice, “you should just be yourself.”

“I am not sure any of us are prepared for me to go that far.” I said with a grin.

Later that evening, when we weren’t at a church I was relaying this story back to my Uncle and my father. We were all drinking and laughing, it was possible for me to do so, now that I had taken off my pantyhose and all.

Uncle said, “Sadie, you shouldn’t worry… just be yourself, people love you!”

“Truly Uncle, I was just trying not to say Fuck.”

That’s when his wife said they should leave for the evening.

Next day, at the funeral, I sported my best lesbian footwear and I didn’t say Fuck.

The Land of OZ, part I

2010-10-05T20:19:00.000-07:00

Well, Grandma died last week. I didn’t know her well. Which is exactly the reason the Undiscovered Talks are so important right now, think of all the wisdom I could have garnered from a spirited conversation with her… 10 years ago. Within recent years, that conversation would have done no good, as I am sure her last words were close to “Well, isn’t that nice.” I just saw her last month, she had no idea who I was or why she should be holding my hand. As Raynard and I sat next to her bed telling her about our lives, the weather, the fact that the cows were out… all she had to say was—“Well, isn’t that nice.” But it was still worth the effort.

So I went back to the Land of OZ for the funeral. Not because I was overcome with grief, mostly I went for my mother. Don’t get me wrong, it was a very sad day, she was the last of my grandparents. It was the end of an era. That in itself is sad. And I do love her very much, learned a lot from her and wish I had had the forethought to ask a lot more questions before she died.

But I no longer allow myself to be mired down by what I didn’t do.

I drove 11 hours 1 way to be there, by myself. I got to the land of OZ way past my dad’s bedtime. This is the one thing about me that will always irritate my father, my brain does not really kick in until about two in the afternoon, by that time, my body is worn out by exhaustion… but I will be willing to talk. He will forgive I am sure.

Plus, I have specific family obligations back in real life before I leave town. I don’t think it would be right to hand Stinky Pete cab money and pin a note to his sweater that says, “if found without a Pop-Tart and walking the streets please call 1-800-REPTILE” before I leave town hoping he’ll figure it out. Hell, I can’t do that for the one that is in college.

So next day, I got up early for me, plus there was a time change. Point is, I was up before dad.

I decided to buy a dog. (Well, the dog that has unnatural feelings for me, she is gone.) My brother got right on the search for a new dog and we went shopping. It was a family day. Brother, father, Orbitz Lady and me—all in the search. It’s a small town in the Land of OZ, there were only two dogs: a 50 pound Chihuahua and one that had no interest in me looking at it. Raynard is happy to report to you I am still without any four legged beings taking up my time.

My brother decided to buy a truck. So we did some more shopping.

Raynard just bought a truck last month coming home from the Land of OZ. This purchase had us teetering on the verge of being kicked out of the money management cult, but Raynard re-shaved his head and all is well. After searching for trucks for the better part of a day and discussing payments my brother looked at me and asked, “which one would you choose, Sadie?”

“The most expensive.”

“Why?”

“It was the only one I saw…”

That’s when Uncle Buck dropped the bombshell on me, “I don’t know about the payment. Porky is getting ready for college, I don’t make that much money AND I am $1,200 away from not owing anyone any money.”

“IS THAT INCLUDING YOUR HOUSE?”

“Yes.”

“What the F*CK are you doing looking at financing a truck?”

And let me just say, this was after a long day; Uncle Buck, my dad and I had all partaken in the “spirits” of the evening. Uncle Buck went home to think about which truck to buy. I tried to write, with no luck and dad had snuck off to bed hours earlier.

I didn’t get up as early the next morning, but soon Uncle Buck arrived and the Orbitz Lady arrived. Uncle Buck went back through the list of all the trucks the pros, the cons, the prices and announced: “I made my decision on which truck to buy.”

“Really which one?”

“Well Sadie, I took your advice.”

“You are buying the expensive one?”

…BIG GRIN FROM THE ORBITZ LADY…

“I am not buying a truck. I don’t want a payment.”

“I think that could earn me a merit badge from the money management cult!” And I was so happy for Uncle Buck and his good financial decision as he will have a challenging next year with his only child in college. We got off subject and started talking about other things.

And when everyone else left the room to grab another cup of coffee Uncle Buck looked at me sheepishly and said, “You don’t really earn a merit badge for talking me out of the truck do you Sadie?”

Amazing Karessa, how sweet the sound

2010-09-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

So I finally talked, begged, pleaded my way into an evening with a willing participant to sit down and learn about myself reflected through someone Else's image. A great idea, harder to put into practice.

For those of you not in the loop, this was the amazing idea that I stole. I have a glass of wine every other week for 1 year with someone I don't know, to see how their life experience impacts me. Looking back now I see I stole the idea from both Raynard's grad student and Paula Poundstone.

1. the grad student is having a cup of coffee every week for a year... read here.

2. Paula Poundstone just wrote her life story by telling the stories of great people in history, see here.

I figure we all are great people in history, just on a smaller scale. We all are great to our parents, our spouses, our kids.... or at least that is our hope. So I am going to tell my story, from my perspective through you. What I learned from your mistakes, your triumphs, your quietest moments and the music, art, theatre, family-- whatever it is you love.

And just like John Hughes taught us back in 1985,

"You see us as you want to see us... in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning. We were brainwashed."

Well, I was privileged enough to meet a young woman that encompasses all those categories, just like we all do.

Karessa and I met at open mic night, she sang and I now have a new girl crush to deal with. Not the sexual kind-- not that there's anything wrong with that. (Thank you Jerry Seinfeld.)

Karessa and I spent about 4 hours together mostly talking, Karessa did little drinking. (Note to self: buy tape recorder for these sessions.) Karessa was amazing and I fear I will not do her justice, as I did not switch to root beer as she did early in the evening.

This is what I learned:

1. We both believe in a higher power.

2. We both are grateful for the Grace that saves us.

3. Our ideologies differ, but we agree to disagree

4. She has the voice of an angel and sounds like Janis Joplin when she sings.

5. Karessa is currently recording an album, I have been promised the third copy.

6. I also get to be her cook when she makes it big.

7. She has promised to teach me how to play Wreckless Eric on the guitar.

So all in all, good evening. Here's the static. Karessa is pursuing the Divine. It is my guess that THE DIVINE is why I was lead to Karessa for my first talk. I am a sinner and I have strayed from the teachings of my youth. My beliefs are not the same that they used to be, but there is a spirituality that is lacking from my daily life.

Karessa is a woman that has overcome a lot in her lifetime, as have I. And though the circumstances may be vastly different I think the life lesson may be the same.

We are both women that grew up not wanting people to be attracted to us. That is something hard to overcome. I know that sounds weird... but it is much harder than you might think to start valuing yourself after years of self-loathing. And VALUE is what this experiment is all about.

We are both women that grew up believing drama equals love. Ya know, if the dude doesn't beat you in a jealous rage, the relationship probably isn't worth pursuing. I have stories I will probably never tell about that, but I have a theory on the subject. Meanwhile, the guy that is even keel and loves you unconditionally is probably the hardest to love back (cause he is horizontal and snoring on the sofa at the time you make that realization.)

And at the ripe old age of 21 (she learned far sooner than I) we both believe there is a place for redemption for all of us. And that there is life after chaos.

...cause in the end we all understood John Hughes message:

Brian Johnson: Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong...but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain...

Andrew Clark: ...and an athlete...

Allison Reynolds: ...and a basket case...

Claire Standish: ...a princess...

John Bender: ...and a criminal...

Brian Johnson: Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

Can we talk?

2010-09-18T01:19:00.000-07:00

I was recently asked to host a red carpet event in our community. At first the thought made me giggle and then I thought why not? That sounds like me. Interviewing people on the red carpet... ya know, like Joan Rivers. I can do that.

Then they reiterated, red carpet. "You need to wear an evening gown."

Thoughtful pause.

As if they didn't trust me. And if truth be told, they shouldn't. I really am not a girly girl. I drink, smoke, curse like a sailor and we have discussed the fact that I like comfortable shoes. Plus, the Dr's notes on my missing X chromosome-- illegible.

Enter my BFF Cal. Now, I do have other girlfriends like Amy and Guru Annie that would be willing to weigh in on my decisions for "formal wear." But they can't be trusted due to nothing more than their lack of proximity. They cannot possibly be expected to judge my ass in an evening gown from afar. It's not fair to them or my ass.

So it's down to me... and Cal. Who we may have to rename, "Honest Cal, seventh cousin to Abe." Now in all fairness, Cal has brought me a long way. She has me doing pedicures, she is encouraging me to continue seeing Fabulous New Gay Hairdresser and maintaining the real estate. Apparently, there are hedging issues... and she keeps me in the know. (She wanted me to bedazzle it... but there is a line.)

I went shopping online. I found this. I have been wanting to buy it for 3 years, but cannot justify the price tag. I know it is not really red carpet. But this is not LA, it's Wyoming. Plus there was a great skirt that goes with it and so I texted Cal, "What do you think? Plus I could wear it with my brown sneakers."

Cal often finds little humor in me, but insists I am worth the effort.

"Sneakers? Seriously?"

So I brought them over, 'cause I thought maybe she had gotten them confused with another pair of shoes that I have, that look identical, just a different color. Curiously enough, she knew exactly which shoes I was talking about.

I told Cal, I had worn the black ones that look identical the last time under my formal wear. To which she replied, "Of course you did." Ya gotta love that BFF honesty.

Cal: "If the shoe has writing on it, it is not FORMAL wear."

Me: "What about that shoe bling you can buy? We could strategical place it over the writing?"

Thoughtful pause.

We went online to look for shoes. I don't want to wear shoes for an evening that have me all pinched and hurting --and I don't want to pay $100 for the pleasure. Plus, I have way big hips. You cannot have that kind of weight bearing down on the ball of your foot for 5 hours. It ain't healthy. We shopped and shopped, the only shoes I found remotely interesting looked like a man's business shoe, with laces. Cal mentioned I dress like a lesbian.

And really I took it as a compliment. Some of my best friends are lesbians. They are ADORABLE.

Which brings me to my point, I saw on stage and met Paula Poundstone tonight. Paula was wearing wingtips. Not only was I really impressed with her being smart and funny, but I kept thinking.... I wonder where she got those shoes. (BTW, this in NO WAY implies Paula is a lesbian. As far as I know she has no interest in sex whatsoever, and I may have inadvertently hit on her while she was performing. So if she was/is a lesbian, I would think she would at least have the courtesy to tell me I ain't her type.)

Shortly before I took off tonight for the theatre to see Paula perform I had to send a text to Cal:

ME: Forgot to pack black socks... sigh. Lesbian shoes--- Check.

Cal: Surely there is a Gauntlet Warehouse Store nearby.

ME: think Gauntlet Warehouse Store carries the matching tie?

Cal: Really?

ME: NO

Cal: Good.

Cal: After brown shoe business I take nothing for granted.

Cal: writing on shoe does not = evening wear.

Me: Loving husband Raynard says I should tell you I am wearing his flannel shirt, 'cause it matches my suspenders.

So I guess you guys know what I am wearing on the red carpet.

Flannel.