Archive for May, 2011

I thought I would skip Thankful Thursday today due to the late hour. It’s after 11pm and I’m beat.

However, I have to print out the week’s NY Times crosswords, so I may as well get down to it.

Grateful that someone picked up my kid this morning to take her to school, so I didn’t have to drive at 8:15.

Grateful for the bright orange poppy that opened in the front perennial bed this morning. I took a bunch of photos of the flowers in my garden this morning, due to the fact of not having to drive my kid to school, walking around like a crazy person in my nightgown with a yellow zippered sweatshirt over top. I don’t think I’m crazy and I don’t think I look crazy, but I know what most people think when someone walks around in broad daylight in pajamas. I grew up in a household where pajamas were an acceptable form of day wear, and I’ve never seen fit to break the pattern.

Grateful for crossword puzzles.

Crossword puzzles put me to sleep. They have for years. They are my nightcap. The only stress they cause is when I am without one for long. I can almost practice complete detachment from crossword puzzles aside from the actual ironic fact that I need to have one in my possession on any given night of the week. Peace, man, peace. Crossword puzzles are like peace in my soul.

I could post a jpeg of a crossword puzzle from google images right here, but I’m not gonna. Or a jpeg of a carpool sign. Don’t think I didn’t look, because I did.

Another thing I love?  Carpools and carpooling. Like crazy, like crazy with a yellow hooded-sweatshirt that zips up the front.

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It was only a matter of time. I am not sure how many days in a row we’ve had rain. I know we’re on at least Day 992 of overcast skies. I used to think that New England was really sunny compared to Northeast Ohio, but that only lasted about 4 years. Since March of 2005, it’s just as cloudy here, I swear.

I am generally thankful for cooler temperatures because my body is happier when it’s below 85 degrees outside; but finally, yesterday, I’d had enough. One crabby pre-teen, one crabby teen, one crabby me. One of the annuals that I bought and planted only 2 weeks ago has drowned by the roots in spite of my water-dumping efforts to save it. My flowers are blooming, but how? Can’t bike. Can’t hike. Can’t walk. Can’t garden. The sodden temperament of my household needs something to kick it out of its current state, only there’s not enough energy to be summoned from anywhere to make the necessary change.

No matter. Life goes on and we’ll soon have record-breaking temps and sunshine the Valley over, sending me indoors yet again.

I love this song, with its trippy ’60s sound and quirky but classic Beatles’ harmony. John on vocals so it’s not completely “moving in the positive;” always an edge to his voice.

The video is punctuated with commentary by George Harrison, which is both odd and funny. The Fab Four are dorky, young, and beautiful, a bit more staid than when performing their usual antics in front of the camera.

P.S. I have a vague awareness of a Broadway show about the Beatles and I know it’s called “Rain,” but that is NOT in any way related to this post, ‘kay?

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Cats are girls, dogs are boys.

All butterflies are female; moths, mostly male, but sometimes a moth with female-coded DNA slips in.

Lesbians do not use cucumbers to masturbate themselves or others. Hetero women? Different story.

Misspell looks misspelled and I think we can all agree that it should look like this: mispell. Are they just fucking with me on this?

If you are gender-confused at the time of the Rapture, you will probably go to Hell. Same goes for those of us you who have ever had sex without trying to procreate. Sorry that this is only suppositional and not factual.

I saw a couple of Greek guys on a video that someone linked to on Facebook and they were playing a piano, a duet actually, with their penises. That must have been hard!

The plural of penis is actually penisii.

How can a woman play a kazoo with her cookie muscles? Is there still time for me to learn?

You know how I said that thing about all butterflies being female? What about a proboscis? Does that confuse you as much as it does me?

Even though the phrase “tongue-in-cheek” sounds vaguely sexual, I don’t think you’d get far using it as dirty talk in the bedroom.

Wait, how about this: oh, baby, please put your tongue in my cheek, on the inside 

I know I have strayed from the fact part of the post, but you have to admit that these are important things to think about.

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Sometimes I have something prepared for this day, sometimes not. I get nervous, even panicked, and think, what if I can’t find something for which I am grateful? I think for a few days. I take notes.

Sometimes nothing occurs to me. I know I have to wake up and muster out the gratitude. And sometimes, a gem falls in my lap, petals descending from the cherry tree.

This is that day.

I have recently re-established contact with the oldest friend I have, someone I have known since we were 4 years old.

I am filled with an incredible sense of connection and ease.

And that is enough for today.

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I can’t quite shake this listening since my recent re-delving into the Stones, especially their Gram Parsons’-influenced era. I can’t find my CD of Exile on Main Street either, though Hubby swears we own it. I am pre-iPod, it’s true, but I am not ashamed, more living in a state of bewilderment. I’m a dinosaur in my own time, a perpetual “woman of the last century.”

Though it may be sacrilege, I tend to like other people’s versions of GP’s work more than his own.

Here’s one. It’s on the slow side, but damn worth the wait. Gillian Welch melts me like butter hitting a hot cast iron pan (okay, that was really bad, but I couldn’t resist).

There’s no video, just the song.

In South Carolina there are many tall pines
I remember the oak tree that we used to climb
But now when I’m lonesome, I always pretend
That I’m getting the feel of hickory wind

I started out younger at most everything
All the riches and pleasures, what else could life bring?
But it makes me feel better each time it begins
Callin’ me home, hickory wind

It’s hard to find out that trouble is real
In a far away city, with a far away feel
But it makes me feel better each time it begins
Callin’ me home, hickory wind

Keeps callin’ me home, hickory wind

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If you must know, The Rolling Stones used to be my favorite band of all time. While I’m not actually ashamed of this, I would say my love for them hit the skids for over a decade.

The other day, in my car, this is the song that brought me back after my long departure from listening to the Stones.

I’m basically gonna keep my mouth shut about everything I could say except that in this recording, Mick’s still pretty (really pretty) and has a voice with which to sing.

If you want to go a bit further, look up “Loving Cup” or “Dead Flowers,” live, from the same era. Sweet indeed!

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Warning: Salty language and adult themes. Or adult language and salty themes. You decide.

Last week it was bees and beekeepers. Today, something less, um, politically correct; or at least less noble.

Here it is, my newest purse:

It’s a beauty, isn’t it? It’s orange, as you can see. Orange is not generally my favorite color.

That’s another thing I love. Color. Colors. Almost all of them. I love looking over paint chips at the hardware store. I even save paint chips just for the color. I have been known to save a photo from a magazine just for the color on a wall or bedspread. I love looking at yarn at the yarn store. I hate knitting, but oh my god, those colors. So yummy. I don’t have a great memory for many things, but I do have an amazing ability to recall colors in my mind. That and I can remember names pretty well and if I don’t remember your name, I probably remember some strange, minute detail about your life. It may be very personal, like your cat died when you were 7 and in the bathtub at your grandma’s house or you and your older brother shared a room in the attic but now he’s got esophageal cancer. Stuff like that. Because I tend to ask a lot of questions when I meet someone; personal, homey questions.

Anyway, back to my purse. I am not normally attracted to orange things. I can’t really wear the color, though I did buy a fabulous v-neck, cotton shirt at Old Navy in a sort of deep tangerine last year. It almost matches my purse which means if I wear them at the same time I look like a real lunatic. Except that the orange shirt looks fabulous on me which sort of saves me from looking too crazy. I have a decent enough decolletage, and I have taken to wearing v-necks almost exclusively as I advance into middle age. Shit!

The purse has amazing fabric inside. A sort of cotton twill that’s covered in a lovely floral pattern. The purse was made in the USA. Yes. It was not made in China! But it seems Italian. The soft, buttery leather, thin but strong, with a mild crinkly texture. It’s delicious!

I love the sound of people speaking Italian.

But that’s not all about the purse. I got this purse on clearance at Marshall’s for 39 bucks. It’s huge. It holds everything. I can even use it as a temporary shopping bag for little purchases from the dime store (okay, from AJ Hastings, but they do have candy that’s less than 10 cents a piece) and if I don’t have enough bags with me when I am at the grocery store, I can throw a couple of Granny Smiths and a half-and-half in there, too.

You know what Freud said about a woman’s purse, right? Well, I’m sure I don’t really know. Maybe it’s just hearsay. But you could fit a helluva lot of sex toys in this thing. You really could. Are you listening, EOB? Orange silicone ones, purple latex ones. Blue. Stainless steel. Glass. WHATEVER you love.

There is something even more amazing about this purse. Something hidden even from me for over two months of owning it. IT HAS A SECRET POCKET! The coolest thing? The pocket is on the OUTSIDE of the purse’s huge zippered compartment. That means you don’t have to open the purse to access your secret stash of gum. Or Burt’s Bees lip balm in watermelon. It might even be able to hold a pocket vibe. Get it? Pocket, pocket vibe. Funny. As I’ve mentioned, it does hold my CHEWING GUM! Right now, there’s some Teaberry in there and the last of my Dentyne. Also, some TROPICAL-flavor LIFESAVERS. Remember those? GODDAMN IT, this purse rocks out with its cock out.

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Happy Mother’s Day, peeps (a day late).

Every year, I think it’s not only for mothers, but for all women, because it really doesn’t matter if you never had a kid. Maybe you didn’t know your mother or you lost her young. Maybe you were pregnant and then weren’t pregnant. Maybe you lost one or more. Maybe you never wanted one. So what? We’re half of the world and we all have the seeds inside.

Bow down, get low, dig deep.

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When I posted my first bunch of bits from our local weekly paper’s Police Blotter, it was quite a popular read. Mind you, I peruse the Police Blotter every week, but nothing much happens around here. Only a few drunk-driving arrests, violations of noise ordinances, and over-crowded, drunken parties needing attention.

I try to save the odd bit that deserves space on my blog, but the news has been so predictable of late that I haven’t been able to muster a Police Blotter post.

Here’s the bare minimum for now:

Saturday, April 23 Category: What did you do for the environment today?

1:45 am A man walking with a hubcap on Meadow Street told police he discovered it on the ground and was just going to properly dispose of it in celebration of Earth Day.

Friday, April 29 Category: There’s a kink in your alibi, sir

2:09 am A man who was given a courtesy escort inside a police cruiser after allegedly being the victim of an assault was arrested a short time later when police determined he had stolen a pair of handcuffs from inside the vehicle. Police discovered the theft after a woman called for assistance when the man placed the handcuffs on her and then had no way of getting them off.

That’s all folks. I suppose I should be grateful to live in a small and safe town.

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