Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Death's Door & my Final Wishes

First things First: I'm not dying.
Well, not currently. But this will All be Really freakin' strange if I go soon. 
P doesn't like to talk about death. He thinks it's morbid and uncomfortable. Well, of course it is, a bit. But isn't it That much More uncomfortable if you Don't talk about it, then it happens, and your left with some Really uncomfortable concerns? My thoughts on this are, wouldn't you rather Know, than not? And in terms of writing a living will- this should  probley be done once you own anything of value that you worry about where will it all go. I have always said that my single biggest accomplishment was to ask my Dad everything I ever wanted, and said everything I ever wanted to him before he went. Wouldn't it suck if your final words on the table were, "Can you pick up peanut butter on the way home?"
 
I know that I grieve differently, and That's okay. I absolutely Do not Memorialize on the Date or "Anniversary". That's actually quite morbid to me. I guess I consider my memories and reminders throughout the day are more dutiful and more memorable than any annual memorial.
P likes to say that if I go before him, he'll have to hang out at Target, or flea markets or other "Tinky" places, that people like to buy stuff and re-do it. That's his word for when I'm puttering around, "Tinking" around.
 
So upon the day P has specific instructions:
1.All the purses will be divvied up between Laura and an awkward 13 year old girl that could use some confidence and popularity leverage going into high school. The shoes and nail polish go to Zoe in Faquay.
2.Sell All the houses. All of them. The last thing I want him worrying about is collecting rent in bad times. Even though the rental income is great, still Not worth it. Especially if he does #3.
 
3.Quit your job and move up north. With or without a job lined up. You can swing a hammer anywhere. P knows if he were to go 1st, I'd move immediately. What would I stay Here for? And Mom's always a plane ride away.
 
4. Run a resort. Sometime in this lifetime. Run a resort like Big John's and give kids pocket knives. And keep your facial hair. You're much more attractive with it. Use the #2 guard. And get those eyebrows waxed at least once a month. Even if you have to drive into the Big City to do it.
 
5. And as for Annie Francais Bean, either give her to my Mom, pending Charlie(her attack cocker spaniel) gets into some serious behavior classes. Or keep her and Never, Ever, leave her out of your sight. Put the blue drops in her ears every few weeks and brush her teeth every Thursday.
 
So I hope this makes for some interesting bedroom conversation for ya'll tonight! And you can decently discuss what happens if Deaths Door closes quicker than you anticipate.
 

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Seeing Stripes, and People you'd rather Not

It's Something that happens to Everyone.
Think about the last time you saw someone, you Really didn't Want to. Not just casual caught from the corner of your eye. Smack, right in front of you, cannot avoid, Run into. This is the reason that I have been deliberately private on select social media sites, and definitely absent from any type of "Reunion". My thought has Always been, If I Really wanted to still be in contact with you, I would. Somehow the need to break bread with someone I didn't like in my past, doesn't appeal to me. And I have an extremely hard time trying to be interested in hearing updates about these people. These are the things that are the bloodline of this little Bloggity. No matter what the timing, or how prepared you are, you're Never ready. Your always left with the feeling like you may have just eaten rotten food and you wonder how long it will be before it comes back to haunt you. There's 2 ways to handle it. I've used them both with results that were unrewarded.
 
1. You Can Hide. And by hide I mean, you let the person in front of you know that years earlier you were in a motorcycle accident and your long term memory has been a bit off ever since. When they ask and say, "Aren't you,, or didn't we used to go to,,," Just admit, Yes, this is who I am,, and "who are You again???" All and maybe some of this is true. I try to exit stage right immediately following this interaction as I'm Sure they can see right through the story.
 
2. You can take the High Road. You can be the one to approach, let bygones be bygones, and extend you hand and smile. You can forget that maybe indeed you actually hated this person, and Hey, why hold onto That for your next lifetime. Get all Kumbaya with it. Just be prepared at this point the person Will ask about you, and "What are You doing" and all that non-sense meanwhile preparing what canned response they'll give you. That is, If you ask. I suggest not. Move along little doggies...
 
I hated High School. Ok hate Is a strong word, but I really freakin' disliked it. In a "I'm never gonna use this sh*t, let me outta here so I can go learn what I wanna" . Insert every Math teacher you'd Ever met, sparring in an argument with you about how Geometry is Essential in pattern making. Nope. You loose. Geometry is Not an essential skill for this girl, unless I need to make a space shuttle re- orbit and well then I'll call Ed Harris to figure it out. Heck,, I'm on a Roll tonight!! Back to the school thing. Yup, aside from my 3 other girls in my 4x1 relay team, or the other 12 leotard loving gymnasts I spent 4.5 hours with every day, I hated it. Funny thing is, no one in high school tells you that you were meant for better things.
 
To make matters worse, there was The Girl. Or maybe unfortunately several girls that made the routine of it all religiously horrible. So I have seen this Girl now with regularity. I have moved cross country, came back, built a life and home at Least 45 minutes away and she haunts me. Haven't seen her since graduation day and Now I have to be near her weekly!!? This was one of the girls that I traded math homework for, in turn for writing her love letters from her "Boyfriend" for years. (Read Blog: Love Letters). And on a Sunday to boot. No family, no friends, no plans. Other than just to creep around and invade my Nirvana. This was the girl that dumped bleach into other girl lockers during gym class and ruined their clothes. This is the girl that used permanent marker to draw on someones grey shorts the coordinating body parts that lay underneath said shorts and what should be "improved on". This is the girl that apparently had such deep seeded ugliness inside, she just had to let it spill onto others.
 
So you probley dying to know which route I decided to take.
I have chosen the road unpaved. This monster doesn't deserve to hear about my motorcycle accident. And there's No way I can take the high road with This One. In all of the speeches I have prepared for when running into ex's(I've got a few doozies!!) I have nothing to say to this someone. Even though there are many miles between what she did years ago, I still see Red lights when she's near. And today I was Seeing Stripes, and People you'd rather not.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Shorelines & Sick Days

It's That time of year.
No, Not the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,, but that's soon to follow. Just as soon as the schools have filled up, the petri dishes and the doctor's offices are soon to overbook. In my neck of these woods, it's just about the best weather time. And then it happens. Someone gets "it" and is all too willing to pass it on. And it spreads faster than jelly on a peanut butter sandwich. Just this past weekend we had a respiratory infection sweep through our house. Yes, 74 degrees and I'm in bed stacked with 3 sweaters.
 
I get sick. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I get sick far too often for my liking. A respected friend of mine just said to me, "Your the sickest person I know"..Umm Thanks? Perhaps it's a product of getting older, but Yes. I get sick. I also don't really take days "off". Sure there are days I don't go to work. But this control and project freak is always doing Something. I don't just sit around and eat bean burritos and watch Netflix on my days off. No shame to those who do, it's just not my speed. I prefer 75 on a dirt road and a throttle under my thumb. This is perhaps why I get sick. I even have a special concoction that I've recently developed to drink. Hot water: Steep 1 bag of lemon tea, steep 1 bag of Throat Coat, 2 sugar cubes, and drop in 1 honey-lemon cough drop before drinking.
 
I also work with the public. Constantly. And let me enlighten you, if you don't know. The general public is Filthy. If you've served, stood at a counter, or had to share a public bathroom with the general public, you know exactly what I'm speaking of. I see people go into the restroom frequently throughout the day. And because there is one of those turbo hand dryers instead of paper towels, I can tell you with all certainty, 95% of hands don't go near that hand dryer. Which also means, the sink stays empty also. So everyone around you going to the bathroom? Yup, they don't wash their hands. In a strange coincidence, just a few weeks ago the soap disappeared from the bathroom! Shockingly, this wasn't the first time that has happened! These people have a Special place waiting for them.
 
There are no sick hero's. Superman probley never had strep throat. And if he did, I doubt he headed into Gotham City telling everyone How sick he was. That's the strange thing. People wear sickness like a badge. They apparently Love getting out and letting everyone know exactly how sick they are. They want everyone to know how exceptionally committed they about their job, or running car pools, that they cannot possibly take a day Off. I remember in grade school, the kid at the end of the year that got the award for perfect attendance. Did I also mention he was the resident nose-picker and consumer? Gross.
 
I'm asking early, and I'm asking nicely. This season, do us all a favor. If your carrying around all your un- used sick days like a trophy, perhaps it's time to cash those in, eat some bean burritos, and fill you night with Netflix

Monday, September 22, 2014

The 2 of us, on our 2 year

Sunday September 21st , P and I celebrated 2 years, just the 2 of us. We originally planned to go to a fancy dinner at the place we had our reception, but they were closed! After a great breakfast, we headed(in the rain!) to a local pumpkin farm to deck out our front porch.
P got to pick the 1st one(traditional and orange) and after that I followed suit. I had No idea when I lifted the huge white pumpkin, that it weighed 50 pounds! Good thing we got a cart!
After visiting the pumpkin farm, we made our way to our favorite town about 10 minutes away. They were hosting their annul Wine & Harvest Festival. The city streets shut down and local artisan's and farmers come to sell their wares. We were actually suppose to get married at the festival at a blacksmith shop turned restaurant, but last minute changes forced a venue change.
So in the end there were no fancy romantic meals, no fireworks at dusk, but I Was seeing stars all day, Just the 2 of us on our 2 year Anniversary   

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

This Hair of Mine

This Hair of Mine... where do I even begin?
I guess I knew from the beginning it was going to be an all or nothing deal. I came out with a marginally good head of hair, lighter, much lighter than anyone else in my family. Which if it pertains to you, the joke about having the Mailman's kid isn't funny. To Anyone.
I was an active kid, and preferred making forts in the woods, raking leaves and arranging rocks to form pathways through our backyard. (for the record I still don't see this as "normal girl" behavior") All that fort making, and tree climbing, took it's toll on these tresses of mine. Every night, every single night I would come in and have to sit through the very painful ordeal of having my Mom comb through my hair to remove the sticks, twigs, and most awfully the burdocks. There we sat for hours undoing what the day had seen and sent into my hair. Sometimes it would seem like hours, sometimes just a few minutes. But each passing minute, would solidify my decision to made a date with the scissors.
 
It's been cut, and colored. Crimped, combed, braided and bleached. Its been blonde and brown and red. Hues of Cherry Coke, and Pumpkin, and Strawberry. It took me a long time, far too long to realize that my hair was different than the girl's with the fat pony tails in banana clips(aging myself here). It was too many years that my blond-ish silky hair was manipulated and man handled into something that it wasn't, and was never going to be. Keep in mind, I shared a house with a man for over 10 years that had Long hair!! Long hair in the Bad Michael Bolton kind of way! Even today, when I see a man with long hair I am immediately disgusted. Every time I got a hair cut he told me I looked like a 13 year old boy. Evidently, I didn't respect his opinion, so I cut it even more!
 
And of course, the do- it- yourselfer in me, took matters into my own hands. I started box coloring my hair in about 11th grade. Yes, 16 and I thought this was something I could master in Joan & Fred's blue bathroom sink. Ohh,, the towels I ruined...I still went for some regular haircuts, but continued to color on my own, sometimes outside the lines. Somehow, I always had the forethought that, I needed to maintain somewhat of a respectable hair color, in order to stay employed. And working was what I wanted to do. What wasn't working was the application process. I was applying the color and no additional product or toner, or changing my shampoo. What resulted was the yellow ring at the top of my head that resembled in what I like to call the "Dog Urine Halo" effect. You can see this in full regalia at any a local County Fair.
 
Even as an adult, it's taken me more time to find the right partner in crime for this hair of mine. I made the grave mistake of going to a younger gal in the last few years. She was just getting started and had her hair dryer at a shop that resembled something right out of Steel Magnolia's (dating myself again) Every time she would start doing my hair, she would have to ask for directions from another stylist. Soon enough my scalp was burning and she was telling me "Beauty is Pain!!". Did I mention I shit- canned That place? Ohh,, and Yes, she's Still doing hair!
 
But I have found my Female. I have found The One. I have found the magic worker that makes this hair better than anyone's hair in a banana clip! She has made it long and chopped it short. I know I am Always in the best of hands in her chair. If I could only tell every 16 year old girl and everyone with the "Urine Halo" about her I would! She has talents Beyond anything I could have ever hoped for this hair. Best part is, she's also one of the coolest people I know.
Just 1 evening before this last photo was taken, I got one of my favorite do's of all time done.
 
So this hair of mine? Its here to stay. Just the right amount of, "I could just have come from backstage", I "could have just wolk up" or "I could  have just walked a runway". Shouldn't everyone have hair like That?!