Thursday, October 29, 2009

Mold Mobile Update

Yes, we are still driving the "Mold Mobile." If you are unaware of what this means, it means exactly what it says: our dear Saturn is full of mold--on the ceiling, on the floors, on whatever (hopefully not on the driver). There have been other posts about the Mold Mobile but for now, suffice it to say we do indeed have our own little petri dish on wheels.

I work with a very witty young lady who thinks she's funny. (Okay, she's funny.) Yesterday, when I went to my mailbox, I found this photo (of which I am not pleased with but will sacrifice my pride for the entertainment of blog readers). She gleaned this beauty off the Internet from a recent television interview. (Can you imagine that this stupid photo is on the web for all to see/enjoy/steal?). She include captions, as indicated below. You can pick which caption you like the best. I can never resist the opportunity to make fun of myself and of the mold, so here you go. Thanks, Nutrition Grrrl.
















"The claims of mold growing in my vehicle are completely false."

"For the last time, I do not have mold in my vehicle."

"It depends on how you define mold."

"Okay, I have mold. I experimented a little but never inhaled."

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Ease of Funding

I dedicate this blog entry to Argo WP, Three Hawk, Pastor Master Reiki and Blue Eyes--for reminding me I have the power of creativity and am surrounded by abundance. Thank you, oh spiritually gifted friends! Create a nice day.

I also dedicate this blog to all of you who called or wrote the Governor of Illinois in regards to funding for senior services. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am here to tell you that your efforts have apparently paid off...and, for that, I am overwhelmingly grateful. While I won't do a happy dance until I see it in writing, the news from Springfield is hopeful. (Illinois politics remain ridiculous. We are indeed a laughing stock. I will work on envisioning a successful, fiscally-responsible, caring, organized, honorable legislature.)

This picture of Freckles Warrior Princess & Lucy Bark of Poteidaia has nothing to do with anything except that it makes me smile. Thanks to Wild Mama for sharing this photo. Look--Freckles eyes are open! A rarity in the Addiverse dog photo collection.

I am happy to report that the wife is upright, albeit slow and crabby and in pain. Bulging disks and sciatic pain do not make for a fun person--and, who can blame 'em? Not much has changed except she is going to work and generally not taking it easy. I am so glad she is on the mend. I don't think she sees any progress and thus she is very frustrated. The wife has the patience of a flea when it comes to this type of thing. I'm guessing the Universe thinks otherwise and that patience will most certainly be a virtue. At least she didn't try to mow the lawn. I am proud to be back on "Operation Housewife" duty. I'm not very good at it but I do a mean load of laundry when forced into the corner.

For the past several weeks (months?), I have been consumed by various funding issues, mostly about the place of which I do not speak. It's been a tough couple months and even though I try not to get on the "crazy train" that Illinois politics pull into the station, I keep hopping on. As I do not speak of work, I can't really tell you the whole story, but suffice it to say that seeing senior citizens being "forced" into more restrictive environments due to state funding woes is quite distressing.

Because I felt I had fallen off my "path," I decided to pay a visit to Three Hawk.
She's a good friend and life coach and I knew if anyone could slap me into shape during one 50-minute visit, it'd be her. Instinctively, she asked me just the right questions. She jump started my brain. I felt a zillion pounds lighter, very hopeful, very excited and much calmer by the time we finished the meeting. The right side of my brain fired into action and I knew that it was all going to be okay.

Three Hawk reminded me of things I know to be true. For instance, I am a huge vision board fan. I believe in the power of creativity, the power of thought, the power of attraction. So, when she suggested I make a vision board about my funding concerns, I immediately knew that was a great place to start. I could immediately envision the actual board and what it would look like. She challenged my placing of limitations on potential available funding--why was I focused on three or four measly avenues of funding when funding sources are limitless? She asked me to envision ease of funding--remembering that it funding is abundant, limitless, comes to me with ease. It was time to change my thinking and my approach.

Ease of Funding. And so, the vision board creation commenced.

I know some of you are thinking this is crazy, but I am here to tell you, Madonna has it right: if you thought it, it better be what you want. You regular readers know that I am all about the Universe and those new age thingies that confuse left-brained people like the wife. Just go with it... or dissociate for a bit. I suggest you go eat some chocolate and come back tomorrow.

I marched right home and made my vision board, as illustrated here in this blurry cell phone photo. You get the idea. I included Madonna and Oprah because they are two rich bitches with lots of business sense and lots of cold, hard cash. I put that puppy where I could see it. I showed the wife and explained it to her. I felt such relief I cannot explain it. I believed this to be true and then went on my merry way. I put a photo of the vision board on my cell phone wallpaper. I look at that picture at least a dozen times a day. I dismissed anything but the positive. It sure made my days a lot happier and a lot less crazier.

I have never been happier to be off the Illinois Politics Crazy Train.

You know how much better I was feeling today? I didn't even complain once when they were singing yet another new Jesus song at work. I just laughed and thought, "if there were ever a time I could probably use a Jesus song, it's now." No, it wasn't as good as the "Jesus Jive," but it was good enough for the time being.

Call it crazy, call it genius, call it coincidence, call it exactly what I created...

.....call it whatever you want.....

....I was at the place of which I do not speak today, preparing for yet another audit, when the really important person of the company of which I do not speak called my cell phone. This in itself is a very unusual event. She was calling to give me surprisingly positive news about our major funding source. I mean REALLY positive news. (To her credit, she was also calling to inquire about the wife. That kind of thing makes me want to weep with gratitude.) The whole time she was talking, all I could "see" was that Ease of Funding vision board. It was a powerful, fun, joyous thing.

Skeptics will say that my vision board creation was "just" timed with the inevitable announcements about the budget. They will say that my positive thinking had nothing to do with any of this, that I had a 50/50 chance of "good" news. I'm all good with whatever anyone says, because I am one happy camper. Not having to lay off people, not having to stop services to those who desperately need it, not having to struggle through any of this has created one very nice day for me. It affirms what I believe. It makes me want to go make another vision board......

....This time, I think I'll make a vision board featuring a very healthy, pain-free wife. I hope you will envision this, too.
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P. S. I'm going to envision us on a warm beach, swine-free and not in Mexi-louis. Get the sun tan lotion packed.
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Friday, October 23, 2009

Oh my achin'........

Hear that sound?

No? Me neither.

That's the sound of the wife sleeping.

She hasn't slept in almost two days, so it is a wonderful sound, that silence. Music to my ears. Just small, cute snoring. I'm so relieved I could just cry.

This morning was the last straw for me. The wife had not slept all night. When I went in the room, I found her sobbing, shaking, hunched over, still unable to move, still unable to function. Her pain level was at a "9" and had been there for over 24 hours. She was not getting better. I could not let this go on.

As it is always helpful, I began our day screaming and yelling at her. I begged the wife to go to the doctor. Begged! Threatened! Shamed! I paced, fretting aloud the whole time. I had to go to work, but I couldn't leave her like this. I paced some more. In the meantime, she decides she has to send an email to her school so she can cancel class. The next thing I know, she is on the ground, on all fours, sobbing while trying to type an email.

It was unbearable. Her hysterectomy ain't got nothing on this pain.

She promised me she'd set up a doctor's appointment. I went to work after ensuring she had ice packs on her leg and her cell phone next to the bed. I knew she wouldn't sleep but hoped that the pain would subside just long enough for her to at least relax. I also knew I had to get work done before the big inspection. She texted me, assuring she had a 1:45 pm doctor appointment and a 4 pm chiropractor appointment.

We never made it to those appointments.

When I came home to pick her up for the doctor, she was still crying, still sobbing, still unable to move. I chastised myself for letting this go on for so long. We both thought it would subside but we were wrong. I muttered aloud that I would never let this happen again.

When I saw her try and get in the car, I thought my heart would literally break.

I had no idea how we were going to get from the car to the doctor's office. I had no idea of anything. I just drove. Unfortunately, the bumps in the road were sheer agony for the wife. She screamed and tried to move around. That's when I decided we weren't going to the doctor--we were going to the emergency room.

Words of wisdom: do NOT go to the emergency room during swine flu hysteria. It's busy, it's full of sick people, it's slow because they have to super-sterilize the rooms, it's just not fun. You'd think the wife would've gotten in faster, seeing as she was crying in the waiting room and was bent over a chair....but, no. She got to be miserable for almost an hour. We watched masked-flu-filled people wander in and out while the wife got to be in agony. Here's a lady who obviously can't sit down, stand, walk. If it had been heart attacks and appendicitis knocking her down the list, that would be one thing. But, to be put on hold for a bunch of flu-filled folks, I was not amused. To distract her, I was a big help: I spent my time telling her every 10 seconds not to touch anything. "Don't touch your face!" was my mantra. (Side note: earlier in the day, the doctor's office tried to talk her out of coming, as they suggested anyone "not sick" with the flu not come to the office. Great. Here I am taking her to an ER full of swine-filled-contestants....)

Suffice it to say, the doctor diagnosed an unidentified bulging disk and a full scale episode of sciatica from hell. Two luscious shots--one for each butt cheek--and two prescriptions later, the wife was able to gingerly put her clothes back on. Although she was still in pain (at a "6"), she was able to tolerate the pain. I got her home and she moaned as she got into bed.

That's when the glorious sleep came her way.

I never thought I'd be so happy to see someone sleeping. I'm trying hard to stay quiet--I've turned off the cell phones, I'm typing as quietly as I can. In the meantime, I hear that cute little snoring sound and all is good.

As the injections aren't going to cure anything, we are still open to any and all suggestions. Physical Therapy, energy work, acupuncture, heavy drinking, stretching, medication, shopping, exorcisms....you name it, we'll try it. Just don't mention a chiropractor. I do believe my beloved lady chiropractor is history in the wife's world....and, I don't blame her. With a bulging disk, one wants to run quickly away from anyone or thing that is making the bulging disk pissed.

(This means I get MBLC all to myself again....but, as the wife has reminded me, this is not about me. Just a thought I had.....hmmm.)

I'm not afraid to ask: I'd love for you to send Good thoughts, warm wishes, healing vibes, words of wisdom to the wife. She can use all the help she can get. Just don't call on the phone right now. Anyone who wakes her up will be faced with the wrath of Addi Warrior Princess.....

....and, since I'm sleep deprived and haven't had any chocolate yet today, you SO do NOT want to mess with that.
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Thursday, October 22, 2009

Sigh.......atica

Is anyone else confused? Adam Lambert's photo shoot features him licking tongues with a woman; NWA airline pilots forget to land at their destination airport (I would have loved to hear what the hell they were talking about that was so intriguing that they forgot they were flying the plane), people pretend to fly their children in Jiffy Pop balloons.....what IS going on around here??


Here's a photo of Fatty Patty (aka Pan Face, aka Freckles Warrior Princess) trying to steal
Brown Dog's food. This has nothing to do with Adam Lambert, pilots or hoaxes, but it's a great photo, so how could I resist? As you can see, the food is not easily stolen, which is good news for Brown dog. It sucks to be short. Thanks to the Cheeseball neighbor & Queen of Connections for texting us this photo while we were at the LLL last weekend. It gave us a good laugh. (BTW, we sense an accomplice in this action.....are those little fingers I see holding up Freckles by the belly???)

Cheeseball Neighbor & QoC were letting the dogs out while we were busy feeding our faces & watching Einsteina get her tattoo during the LLL event. They are supposed to let the dogs out three times a day and throw food at them once a day, but being the dog people that they are (and, being the good, decent human beings that they are), they spent more time with our dogs than they did with their own dog. We cannot thank them enough. Lucy loves this "spoiled dog" arrangement because it gives her unlimited access to Brown Dog's squeaky toys. Freckles would be happier with the arrangement if she could only reach the food in the elevated bowls.....

I got a new hair do today. Although I love it, I'm thinking it's probably a good thing that I was interviewed on TV yesterday, not today. I'm not sure the masses are ready for my fake cherry red, glow in the dark hair. I'm not sure my boss will be ready for this hairdo, either, but I think it rocks. I took this photo of myself so you can see the color. Of course, in person color is always brighter and more fun than some lame camera phone shot. It's pretty funny trying to take a photo in a mirror. I thought it was funnier making sure the camera phone was prominently featured in the illustration. Red hair dye doesn't usually stick around very long, this may be a very temporary look. I haven't had any fun hair for awhile, so it was about time.

In an effort to prolong my red color, I'm not supposed to wash my hair tomorrow and am supposed to wash it only every other day. People will die if I do that, as I have a really smelly head. If you think I'm kidding, call the wife.

My.head.smells.

It's embarrassing. As long as I wash my hair every day, I'm good to go. I can't even imagine not washing it. So, if you see me in a few weeks and my hair dye is still looking bright red, don't get too near to me, as I can almost guarantee I smell like stinky hair.

Sigh. The wife remains in absolute misery. She missed work for the first time EVER at this job and for her to miss work is really saying something. Her hysterectomy was nothing compared to this. She can't sleep, move, sit, stand, crawl, roll or basically breathe without being in sheer terror. She can't get comfortable and the pain is so intense at times that it literally makes her nauseous, cry and shake. I feel so helpless. The pain looks absolutely horrific.

What's the matter, you ask? Her Sciatica is in full bloom, I answer.

I came home from a short trip to the suburbs last night to find the wife in bed, sobbing. The pain was so intense that she just couldn't take it anymore. I slept on the couch so she'd have plenty of room to flop around and groan. I was a nervous wreck, worrying that I wouldn't be able to hear her if she yelled for help. Suffice it to say, neither of us got much sleep. (Well, Lucy got sleep. She was sawing logs for hours. Damn dog.)

I went to work as scheduled, leaving the wife to fend for herself. Naughty Addi WP. Sigh. I highly doubt she had a very good day. Being the good spouse that I am, I spent hours cooking her some comfort food (okay, I went through the drive through at KFC), fluffed her pillows, pressed her pressure points and promised to do things like take the garbage out. It doesn't help her feel any better but at least I'm trying.

Freckles spends her time looking really, really worried. She stares at the bed with a very serious dog look on her face. At this moment, she is in bed with the wife. Yes, that is completely against all our dog rules, but it appeared to be the only way Freckles was going to live through this. She is literally guarding the wife right now. Don't be messing with her, she says.

It appears my beloved lady chiropractor has been of little help to the wife. (This makes me sad. I like to think MBLC can cure everything, anything, everyone.) Actually, nothing has been of help to the wife. Right before I wrote this blog entry, we were on the phone with a friend who talked us through using pressure points to decrease the pain and to get the energy going. Unfortunately, I'm thinking it hasn't helped as the wife continues to writhe in pain.

If you have words of wisdom that will help the wife decrease her pain, we are all ears. We don't have a hot tub, so don't suggest that. Beyond that, I think she's willing to try anything. It can't involve riding in a car, driving a car, standing up straight, carrying anything or wearing real clothes. I can go get whatever supplies are needed, so make a list of things I need to buy and contact me. If any of you are Reiki Masters, I'm sure the wife would be open to the Universe sending healing vibes her way.

Addiverse readers, don't let me down. If MBLC can't help her, I'm hoping you can. Send your ideas....and, make sure to stand down wind from my head.
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Sunday, October 18, 2009

Report from the Love Loft: Nifty Fifty

Before I get to the Nifty Fifty, here's an illustration of the "Boss' Day Dunkin' Donut Overload,"
as promised in the previous blog. This phone photo was taken before all the donuts had arrived, but you get the idea.

Thanks to Phlange-a-slam for the idea to include more "home taken" photos in my blog entries. My plan is to use my camera phone to capture the moments. Those of you who are creatively challenged stand to benefit the most from this project.

Einsteina Vagina, illustrious member of the LLL (Love Loft) is turning 50 is just a few short days. Now, some of you couldn't care less about 50....for a variety of reasons: because 50 is so far away you can't even IMAGINE being that old; because 50 is so far away from where you are that you can't even REMEMBER that long ago; because 50 is a reason to celebrate with your closest 200 friends; because 50 means you can take a fabulous trip somewhere exotic and get drunk so you don't remember turning 50.....

Ah, but for some of us turning 50 is the perfect reason to get a first tattoo.

To her credit, Einsteina has been talking about getting a tattoo for many years, so this was not a last-minute-I'm-getting-crusty-rash decision. Also to her credit is that she wanted to take me, Queen of the Tacky Tattoos, with her for the momentous occasion. Also Also to her credit is that she thought long and hard about what she actually wanted tattooed on her very being, that being the Anhk, Egyptian symbol of eternal life, which is perfect for such an event. Here is a photo of an Ankh so you can have a visual. Actually, this is the exact photo of the ankh the tattoo assistant suggested, but the size of the planned tat prohibited the detail included here (or, so said the tattoo artist).

Getting a tattoo during the Love Loft is genius in many ways: you have the loving support of dear friends; it's a great way to spend time between meals; it's something none of us will forget; it's something we can make fun of; it's something near and dear to my heart (being that I adore getting & sporting tattoos); it gives you a break from eating non-stop (it's good to pace yourself); it's cheaper than losing all your money on the gambling boat down the road; it's something that leads to story-telling about Love Lofts come and gone.

How can you have a bad day when someone's getting a tattoo? You can't!

Einsteina thought long and hard about where she wanted the tattoo on her body, on how big she wanted the tattoo, how she was going to put her hockey shin guard on the next day after getting the tattoo. She had called the local tattoo parlor and checked it out before coming to this weekend's LLL. Einsteina actually made an appointment and didn't just show up unannounced. She even made sure she could roll up her pant leg so the tattoo could be placed on her being without having to disrobe. I love a grrrrl with a plan.

I love going to tattoo parlors. Call me white trash, call me tacky, call me weird, sick, whatever--I love the smell of tattoo goop, the site of "flash" on the walls, the photo albums of tattoos gone wrong and covered up, the sound of the tattoo machine buzzing in the background. I also love getting tattoos, even though I already have enough tacky ink to satisfy three big bikers. The thought of accompanying a beloved friend to get a tattoo is heart-warming; the invitation to be present during the virgin tattooing experience of a friend is so warming of the cockles that I can barely stand it.

I'm guessing the wife had a pool going with the other members of the LLL that I would come back with a new tattoo of my own. Had I an idea or inspiration, this probably would have been a good bet; however, I don't have any ideas at this moment and I've learned my lesson that spontaneous tattoos are not usually a good thing.

This tattoo parlor was nothing spectacular--it's an "old school," no-nonsense kind of place, which is a good thing in my tattoo book: white walls, lots of flash covering every available space, The two tattoo artists were nicely covered with various forms of ink. There was loud rap music blaring from the stereo. The artist areas were filled with photos artwork they had created. A recipe for an orgasmic experience!

Einsteina was understandably very excited and very nervous. Those of us who know Einsteina know that she is a pretty chatty girl. Okay, she's a really chatty girl. I am here to tell you that she did not shut up once during this whole event, and when I say never once did she stop babbling, I mean she did not stop babbling at all. It was truly hilarious. She asked questions about every detail of the blessed event, she fretted over the design, she spoke aloud her every thought. As she is also one of those "talk with her hands Italian, I'm not sure how she even held still while the guy was tattooing her leg.

Einsteina's gal pal, Pee Pee Peeker, appeared very enamoured with the happening and also asked many questions. I think she was pleased to not see very much blood, as a previous tattoo witnessing had left her woozy from the "leaking of the plasma." I thought she might jump in and get a tattoo of her own, but she left the experience to for the soon to be 50 year old.

The whole ordeal took less than an hour, from design of the tattoo to the last wipe of the plasma, which is relatively short in tattoo time. The result was a fabulous rendition of the exact thing Einsteina had envisioned. (Very reasonable priced, I might add. This made me want to run in there and demand a tattoo. The price was more than right!) Before we knew it, we were in Wally World looking for anti-biotic, non-fragranced soap and some Lubriderm lotion. (Side note: it's really hard to find soap without fragrance; even the old-school Dial has fragrance now. Go figure.) We were soon back at the Love Loft, just in time for dinner, with Einsteina proudly showing off her acquisition while seated at the dinner table.

I know Einsteina is not thrilled about turning 50 but I think the tattoo will make it much easier and palatable. (Fifty. Sigh. Can we really be that old? Is that really grey hair? Are we really in our fifth decade?) I wish her a very happy birthday.....and look forward to turning 50 so I can take her with when I get my own "I'm turning 50 please distract me" artwork of my own.

Yum squared!

Friday, October 16, 2009

Happy Bosses' Day, Boys and Girls



The Addiverse expresses no opinion on the Health care debate; we're gonna stick to making light of the Swine Flu instead. If you think the Swine Flu is no laughing matter, I apologize in advance. Please know that if I get the Swine Flu, you can all make fun of me.

Today is Boss' Day. Or, is Bosses Day, Boss's Day, Bosses' Day?  I never know. So far today, every employee has walked into my office, one by one, and handed me a little brown paper bag from Dunkin Donuts...each giving me one donut! It's given me quite the laugh (and quite the load of donuts). I am soon to have a desk covered with donut-filled bags. I'll have to take a photo so you get the full effect. I'm surprised anyone has given me anything, considering how ogre-like I've been over the past few weeks. It's been a ball of stress. No one has tried to "save" me today or has given me anything religious in honor of this day, so I'm thinking life is all good. Donuts for Jesus? Nah, I think these are just good ol' fashioned, non-religious-based confectionery treats. Makes me smile.

It's Love Loft weekend, so stay tuned for some fun and adventures. This means I will be faced with a weekend of good friends, good food and good clean fun, emphasis on the food. Love Loft is known for food comas. Those of you not familiar with Love Loft weekends, be patient--I will fill you in during the next blog entry.

For now, I wish you a very happy Friday and a Happy Bosses' Day. I know I'm one happy puppy that it's the weekend....may your supply of donuts runneth over.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You are

I dedicate this blog entry to all the judgmental Christians I work with day in and day out. May I suggest you focus on your own 50% or more divorce rate, your wearing of mixed fabric clothing, and un-piercing your pierced ears instead of worrying about my queer-assed soul. Please spend your time and energy praying for the end of Swine Flu instead of the saving of all those sin-filled gay people you fear are taking over the world.


Today, October 11, 2009, is "National Coming Out Day." Don your rainbow flags and boas! This annual international celebration, as "created" in 1988, aims to raise awareness and give a "familiar face" of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning community. Yippee Skippee!

Who needs the Lambeau Leap when when we can have a day of gay people LEAPING out of closets?

In this day and age you would think a Coming Out day would no longer be needed for the "other-than-heterosexual" world--most of you beloved straight readers are probably like, "What's the big whoop? We love Ellen and some of our best friends are gay." Most of you couldn't care less if I'm gay or not. (What do you mean you didn't know I was gay? Ha ha!) Most of you just want to read stories about me stuffing myself through a window or enjoying a good mouse surgery saga. True, true....but, with hate crimes on the rise, states revoking anything related to gay this or that and continued hatred/judgmental behavior spewed forth by those "saved" by my pal Jesus, it seems to be something we still need to have around. I think my own place of which I do not speak (the place where I spend my weekdays during regular business hours) is proof positive that there are still plenty of those left who seem to think gay people are only those who are also identified as child molesters and serial killers.

Besides, National Coming Out Day gives me a day to come out.....as a potential Republican voter.

GASP!

Or, maybe it's time to come out as a member of Unity Church.

GASP SQUARED!

I am hoping Republican thing is just a passing phase. It's hard to admit to all my liberal friends that this might be more than a whim. I won't know for sure until I cast my next ballot but I am having leanings to the right in regards to funding-oriented issues. It's a choice, it's a lifestyle to be Republican.

This is so much worse than being gay (which does not appear to be a passing phase).

I really have joined the local Unity Church, so that coming out is valid. Of course, I was born a Catholic and now I'm hanging out with the Unity-ans, so there is no telling if I am Unity-staying material or not. For now, I'll come out as a member of the Unity Church and be proud of it.

Side note: If I EVER come out as a White Sox fan, just slap me as hard as you can and ban me from the Friendly Confines, because I will have certainly lost my mind. It is NOT a choice whether your are a Cubs or Sox fan--you are BORN that way.

National Coming Out Day gives me a vehicle to thank all of you straight allies for your support. I am so grateful to you. Thank you for being there, for accepting me, for loving me just the way I am. You are such a powerful force, whether you realize it or not. Gaywads like me aren't going to "get" anywhere without you. Thank you! I promise to invite you to any wedding we might have.

I have previously spent much time serving as the poster child of the local gay community (and, as a proud, loud wild-eyed Democrat, I might add). I often kidding that I was a "professional lesbian." I enjoyed participating in marches, parties, rallies; I was glad to speak at various events;I loved the chance to write whatever needed to be written. I didn't think twice about taking the wife to work events....once I was able to come out to my family, I was just who I was and I was fine with that.

So, how the hell did the closet suck me back in? Why aren't I doing a big gay dance at the place of which I do not speak? How did I personally revoke my professional lesbian status? Why did I start wearing straight girl shoes? (And, how did this Republican-tinged thinking start? Are the two potentially related?)

I got wimpy in my old age and let judgmental people get to me, that's how I ended up behind last year's sweaters. I think it was the surprise element of going to a new place of which I do not speak and finding it to be a climate of which I had never seen. Ever! I didn't know what to do. So, instead of being me, I retreated to the place I had not been in a billion years; a place I never planned on returning to. I gave up my power. I lost my pride. I gave up an integral part of who I am. I surrendered before even taking one step further. I let them get into my head and let them think I was less than who I was. I gave up my favorite shoes for them. I gave them one full year of my life and I am way too old for that.

There is only one thing to do: come out of the friggin' closet and get over it. Thus, I pledge to you that I will no longer do anything less than be myself at the place of which I do not speak. If I haven't earned their respect and loyalty by now, being in or out of the closet isn't going to hurt that. If they want to focus on my sins instead of the good person that I am, so be it. If they don't like that I bring my significant other to the next holiday party, I won't sit at their table. If they start leaving more Bible verses and Bible quotes and Bible cards in my office, I'll throw them away and release the power I have given to them. I will go out and buy new shoes and enjoy them because they are super comfortable and look awesome, heels be damned.

Boy, this is going to be fun! (And, so much cheaper than therapy.)

As for the Republican-flavored thinking, I'm pretty sure it IS just a phase. I'll outgrow it. I think a new pair of shoes will cure me. I've heard there are places you can go to change your political orientation. I'm sticking with the Unity-going-church members until I decide if I am Unity or not.

So, happy National Coming Out Day. As HRC says, "Whether you're lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or not, be proud of who you are and your support for LGBT equality this National Coming Out Day."

Stand back, cause here I come.
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Friday, October 09, 2009

Wide Awake on a Friday Night

It's 10:30 pm on a Friday night and I can't sleep. Most of you would laugh if I told you this qualifies for insomnia in my world, but it does. Since I went to bed at 8:53 pm (because I have to get up at 5 AM) and because I am still awake at this moment, I can call it whatever I want. I decided getting out of bed and writing a blog would be better than lying in my bed, listening to the irregular beat of my heart and potentially keeping the wife awake by my awake-ness (who is thankfully asleep despite her painful bout of sciatica). I think I have chosen quite wisely in getting out of bed and the dogs are very happy as they love when I retire to the couch instead of the warm bed. Besides, I was fretting about not having written a blog entry this week, so this kills two birds with one stone--get up AND write a blog. What a great world! I could easily seek pharmaceutical intervention, but decided to wait until midnight if I should remain awake at that bewitching hour.

Here's a photo of an art piece I recently completed, called "Grandma's Bowl." I was once again invited to submit artwork for a silent auction for the regional food pantry, with the only requirement for any art is that it be or contain a bowl. This year, as well as last, I gave "up" on making a bowl and instead made "drawings" involving bowls. The way I make these pieces of art is via a new technique for me--I tell you no secrets but admit that I like the product and it's easy to create. It's been a long time since I said something like that, so it it makes my heart warm to know I have created something of my liking. (I'm a tough critic and usually don't like anything I make.) This piece is also unusual in the fact that it is quite small--it's only 8.5 X 11, which for me is like making a postage stamp. Alas, my art appears to be evolving as I evolve. I will tell you it's a ass-backward way to make art for a silent auction--I have to provide a title to the sponsoring parties before I actually make the art. I'm guessing some people plan ahead or use art that they have already created. Me? I like to procrastinate to the bitter end.

I decided this year's bowl would feature lasagna, made only the way my grandmother could have made it. No wimpy cottage cheese for her; it's all ricotta, baby. When I think of lasagna, I think of the early 1970's, sitting at the kiddy table on Christmas Eve. Although the presents waiting upstairs were the big draw, the lasagna was a close second. I had considered making a bowl that represented "The Cottage," but that seemed less conducive to making something that would be universal appealing. (Man, am I profound at 10:30 pm or what? This sure beats harvesting my cotton on Ville de la Farm on Book de la Face and it's hands down better than being totally distracted by the whole loud heart thing. May I add that Watching "Seven Pounds" before bed didn't help my sleeping abilities one bit.)

Since this picture was relatively easy to make and because I like the final product, I am planning on making a whole bunch of drawings over the next few months. I go on "art dry spells" for long periods of time and usually only surface for art air when "forced" to choke up something creative. I've got some nifty ideas and plan on doing a "piece a day" starting next week. They aren't too messy and contain no glitter, so that is all good with the wife (who, by the way, absolutely abhors when I include glitter in my artwork). Of course, the road to hell is paved with good intention and I have several evenings next week which are already booked, so it may have to be "a few pieces a week" until further notice.

Now that I have babbled on about art (for no reason but my own--I am a self centered wench), I am feeling a bit more tired. I'm not sure I'm ready for sleep but the dogs are snoring, the lights are off and I am comfortably positioned on the couch. Why I go to the couch when there is another bed is beyond me, but it's where I always end up when I can't fall asleep. It's nice to have canine camaraderie....and, it does give me access to things like the computer and chocolate.

I'm hoping this "insomnia" I've been experiencing over the past many months isn't something I will be experiencing over the next ten years (perimenopause--it's always something; but, judging from the volume of same-aged Book de la Face friends who make notes about being awake and having insomnia in the wee hours, I'm guessing I am not alone. Alas, if I am not alseep in an hour, I will indeed take some form of pill, havest some farm products and call it a night, awake or not....

.,,,less caffeine and more exercise tomorrow will help my cause, but what fun is that?
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Monday, October 05, 2009

Closure

This photo of madonna has nothing to do with anything
except that if you look reeeeeeally closely, you'll see Freckles Warrior Princess and Lucy Bark of Poteidaia on her t-shirt. Is that hilarious or what? God, I love computers.

I have plenty of time to write this blog, as the wife is busy being miserable while watching the Packer/Viking game.
Her misery is twofold: she hates Brett Favre/entire Vikings franchise; and, her sciatic nerve is out of control, so she can't stand up straight/sit comfortably/move fast/move at all. I highly doubt watching the game will help her sciatic nerve (or, her well being or her blood pressure or anything in general). The game would have been bad enough without the physical pain....I am going to sit quietly in the corner and type and say, "Yes, Dear" whenever applicable.

Shameless plug: By the way, if you want to read a book my cousin wrote, go to Lulu.com and search "Offing Miss Nevada." Five bucks for a downloaded copy of her first novel. I downloaded my own copy and will let you know what I think. Remember, tho: if you buy a copy of her book, you BETTER buy a copy of my book when it is in print. I'm counting on you, beloved blog readers.


The 25th college reunion has come and gone. Although only three of us from the Class of 1984 managed to make it back to campus, it went swimmingly and fun was had by all. I gotta tell ya, though--the Class of 1979 looked like they were having an awesome time. Music, tent, gatherings....Good for you, party alums! The Class of '84 could learn a thing or two from you.

I am happy to report that the wife and I had plenty of time to hang out with Alum 2/3 and 3/3 on Saturday afternoon and evening. We had time to walk around the campus (albeit in the rain), participate in the taping of alumni telling tales of their days at the school, hang out in one of the student lounges, and....plenty of time to make amends and find closure. As Alum 3/3 said, "it meant a lot to me to come back to campus and have some closure--you and I are both very different people than we were back then--or, better, we kept the best part of ourselves and allowed the rest to grow the hell up."

Ain't that the truth.

When Alum 3/3 says we are different people than we were in college, she isn't kidding! It's not about jobs or master degrees or types of cars--we are different, better people. Although I'm an alumna-slug , I like to believe I am relatively stable, much nicer, much more socially conscious, much more reflective, definitely healthier. Alum 3/3 is in a much better place, is an eloquent speaker, incredibly knowledgeable, profoundly comfortable in her own skin. I sense Alum 2/3 has found a sort of peace. (If you're wondering, I'd say college found one of us a loud drama queen, one of us a drunken ball of emotions and one of us a confident-less, quiet loner. I'll leave it to you and your imagination to figure out who's who.)

Alas, youth really is wasted on the young. :-)

I like the word "closure." I've been thinking about what word might sum the reunion up and that's it...so, thanks Alum 3/3. I have a lot of amends to make and I'm glad these two classmates didn't pound the piss out of me when we re-united. I would have deserved it. (Thank you for being kind.) It's always a wonderful opportunity when there is a chance to find closure and to make amends. (I'm really, really am sorry I hid in the back of a closet during that really loud dorm party so you wouldn't see me when it was my job to stop the party. More importantly, I'm really, really sorry I was a jerk.)

Enough sappy dribble. Let's go back to the wife and her Monday Night Football game. I think the wife is seeking closure about Brett Favre betraying the Packers. I think she'll find it if the guy throws a bunch of interceptions and the Vikings lose. Or, she'd be happy if the Pack knocks the pound the piss out of ol' Purple Number Four. He can go back to Lambeau Field for a reunion but he can forget about making amends--those Packer Fans aren't EVER going to forgive him.
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Saturday, October 03, 2009

Alum-na-slug

Before I get to homecoming reporting, I need to speak of Madonna's newest album, "Celebration." How I have failed to mention it before today is beyond me. I may lose my status as a Madonna Whore for such ridiculousness. Here I am, holding the poster included with the CD. I'm not sure why Madge picked this particular image, but she did and thus I am displaying it with true blue Madonna pride.

My only complaint is, "Ester, why do you continue to boycott the song, 'Rain?' I don't get it. The song has an incredibly awesome video, it's a fabulous song, you sound great on it, it's one of your many hits....and, yet you continue to ignore it. What memory does it have that you refuse to include it anywhere? Is it like rain, rain go away? You know, you could leave that stupid La Isle Bonita song off one of your tours or greatest hits album and put 'Rain' in its place--no one would be the wiser. Please--don't dis the Rain!"

As for the first of many 25th-year homecoming/reunion events this weekend, I am happy to report that last night's dinner & awards ceremony went swimmingly and very fun, full of memories. There are only three classmates from my graduating class participating in the event, despite this being our 25th reunion/homecoming. We three are an interesting mix because we really didn't know each other (and certainly didn't hang out with each other) while at our alma mater, which is actually weird because our school is so small (only 300 or so people lived on campus back then) and you'd think we'd have known each other better despite having diverse interests. As for the lack of 1984 alum-returnees-for-the-reunion, I don't get that almost as I don't get the whole Rain/Madonna thing; there are many alums still in the area....I mean, for gosh sakes, if an alum from our class flew in from New York, can't ya drive seven minutes from your house?

Anyways, the wife and I got all doodied up (she insisted I not wear jeans and a t-shirt, so I donned a business suit with school-themed-colored turtleneck, accented by a pair of my "work shoes") and we wandered in to the social hour. The wife, by the way, really dislikes such events. She wants to stand in a corner, unnoticed. None of this socializing for her. It's like pulling teeth to get her to these things, even though she always ends up having fun. (For the record, the wife was correct about my attire--everyone was wearing business suits or nice pants outfits or other non-jean-fashions.) For visual purposes, picture me wearing a name tag with a big silver ribbon with silver writing hanging from it, proclaiming this to be my 25th year homecoming. (Oh dear, I wasn't anticipating the broadcast of my silver anniversary.) Gift bag in hand, we wandered the crowd looking for a familiar face.

The wife knew several people, as she works at our alma mater. (I'm not sure if that was helpful or not for her.) We found Alum 2/3 (I get to be Alum 1/3, as it's my blog) and quickly settled in to catching up and sharing stories. It's a small world and since she still lives in the area, it turns out we have mutual acquaintances. There were a few moments I think we were all incredulous in relation to this small world thing. Alum 3/3 and gal pal didn't show up until we were seated for dinner, but you can't blame her as she was traveling from New York and flew in to O'Hare, which is always entertaining and certainly never on time.

As it was quite the crowd, Alum 2/3, the wife and I grabbed a table, saving seats for Alum 3/3 and gal pal. As there were three chairs left, three strangers plopped down at the table (grads from the late 60's, that's all I'll say, to protect their guilt); one lone guy and a husband/wife team. The lone guy seemed friendly and normal enough--business casual kind of guy, fun stories, approachable, cool glasses. He had many accomplishments, had traveled the world, was known in many upper circles, etc. yet he was still down to earth and certainly not there to impress the five ladies seated at "his" table. The couple, on the other hand, were definitely ready to impress the crowd--not by their looks but rather through their stories, accolades, accomplishments, contacts and experiences. The wife was very meek and mild and had little, if anything to say; she left it all up to her husband. Ugh! Mr. Husband-alum was all puffed up, talking about his incredible accomplishments--in college and after graduation, business ventures, this and that experience, world conquests. All I wanted to do was talk to Alum 2/3 and 3/3 but this guy was interfering with my efforts. Yes, he had stories that merited sharing (to someone else besides me), but I really didn't care that he returned to Italy 25 years after going there in college and getting a personal tour from some famous Italian or that he opened a senior day care in Japan or that he.....blah blah blah. He was boring. Someone else sharing these tales might have made it much more palatable. Thankfully, the wife got stuck talking to him most of the time, while us three Alums shared stories of our antics while in college and our experiences since graduating.

Did I mention the sexual orientation of we five ladies seated at the table? If not, you go right ahead and guess. I'll give you a clue--the meek and mild wife looked shell-shocked by the end of dinner. It wasn't planned this way and it certainly wasn't related to the reason any of us came to the reunion--it was a nice "surprise" to us.....but, not such a nice surprise to the mortified meek/mild wife. Alumna-wife had nothing to say. Nothing. She just kept that half smile plastered on her face, eyes turned toward the table, shell-shock glaze covering her whole being.

As I listened to the various alums receive their awards, I began to realize: I am an alum slug. These people have done all sorts of truly amazing things; I basically get tattoos, whine about my weight, lust my chiropractor and write a blog. My master's degree, middle management job and board-membership on one local not-for-profit board paled in comparison to the people on stage.

Slug, slug, slug!

Now, I am not complaining one bit about my life, because I am one lucky, happy camper and truly have a wonderful life. It's just that I haven't exactly accomplished the things these overachievers have pounded out, year after year. They weren't braggy or showy--they were just amazing people who happened to graduate from the same school as me. I know, I know--accomplishments aren't everything.....but, when you are sitting there, it's hard not to feel like a slug. I kept thinking, "these people graduated from my college?" From almost unbelievable missionary & volunteer work to major television top executives, it was a parade of incredible people.

Sigh. Slug. I am an alumna-slug. Such a small cog in such a big world.

To my delight, my alumna-slug-ness was wiped right off the map when the five of us decided to go to Shake-the-steak for ice cream and milk shakes. It was back to the real world, with real people. Despite it being 11 PM, I downed a delish hot fudge sundae (against all food rules I have to eat so late) and enjoyed the tales being spun. Before I knew it, it was almost midnight and my brain had turned to a sugar-saturated ball of mush and we had to end the evening. We bid adieu and made plans to meet mid-afternoon on Saturday.

Each of us took such different "things" from our college days; each of us had such different experiences. Each of us are very different--and, yet the same-- as we were 25 years ago. We look the same in many ways; yet we look different (and, that grey hair we all have betrays our internal youth!). We all ended up in such different places but, no matter where we go or where we've been, we will always have that one thing in common: our college.

And, for that, I am grateful, alumna-slug or not.
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Thursday, October 01, 2009

Coming Home

Ah, yes--homecoming weekend. A tradition for many, a trauma for some, a non-event for most no longer in school. Eldest niece, a junior in high school, will be going to her school's homecoming this weekend. Hope she has lots of fun and no drama. High schoolers today have the right idea--if you don't get asked to the dance, you go as a big group. Even if you do get asked to go to the dance, you can still go with a big group. No sitting home and feeling sorry for yourself, no getting left behind, no feeling like a loser or lonely girl. It's equal opportunity dancing. What a great concept!

To all you high school homecoming participants: Be safe! Have fun! Don't drive drunk. Don't chew gum when wearing braces. (I just threw that it there for my niece. As I was an orthodontic assistant in a previous life, I believe it is my moral obligation to warn braces-wearing persons of dangers related to gum-chewing.)

It's my homecoming weekend, too.....I'm dragging the wife to my 25th college reunion/homecoming weekend. As you can imagine, she is so excited she could just pee. (I think going to this event is right about "gouge my eyes out with hot pokers" on her things to do list.)

I know, I know--you just cannot believe I am old enough to have graduated 25 years ago. Well, I did start college when I was seven years old....

To get you in the mood for college homecoming babbling, I've included the photo of our senior year dorm t-shirt. Please ignore the stain on the shirt--after all, the shirt IS 25 years old AND survived a year in college. I drew this image, which features our Resident Assistant and a flock of unexplained farm animals (complete with a pig with a wig). Notice the chickens are drinking TAB soda--I am truly aging myself. For those of you who are wondering: I will NOT be wearing this shirt to this weekend's homecoming activities at the college. Yes, it would still fit--I weighed a lot more in college than I do now, so that's a good thing....I gained the "Freshmen Fifty" instead of the Freshman 15, which means I have plenty of room in that shirt if I wanted to wear it now. Maybe the wife will want to wear it....

High school homecoming meant marching in the band during half time at the football game (which was awesome, I might add). We'd do a special marching routine designed to make a big heart around the homecoming queen. I know--gag. Worse than the heart, the band captain would lay this gross, wet, obscene kiss on the poor queen. How or why that tradition started, I do not know. I think we also did a rendition of "Let me call you sweetheart," but I might be delirious. Anyway, the game was awesome....the homecoming dances were the traumatic part. I was only asked to go to the dance my senior year dance and thus had to sit home and mope the other three years. I think the pain of not being asked to attend the high school homecoming dance was exasperated by hormones AND because I could see the high school out our back window...which means I watched the people in their formal wear entering the school to enjoy the dance. You didn't go to the dance unless you had a date and I can't say dates were flocking to my door.

Side note: You could NEVER pay me enough to return to high school age. NEVER. Don't even get me started on the whole homecoming court trauma.

I have never gone back to high school to attend any high school homecoming events. I suppose there is still time, but if I haven't done so in 29 years, I don't think I'll be starting this year. Maybe I'll ask my Book de la Face friends if any of them return to the Mecca every year.

When I went to college, homecoming was much different. We didn't have a football team--we had a soccer team--we didn't have a band, no one was slobbing kisses on the homecoming queen and there was no painful dance to not be invited to. I can't say I remember many alumni ever showing up for homecoming weekend back then, but that doesn't mean they weren't there--it means I was too drenched in alcohol to notice. Being that it was such a small college and being that there was no official dance that I know of, homecoming was a fun event. I even got to be on the Homecoming Court--that's how little the school was.

I have been to many college homecoming/reunions, as I always partake in the softball alumni/student softball game (see previous blogs, complete with photos). I am way too smart (and too old) to play, so I spend my time coaching one of the bases, harassing the current students, and making obnoxious announcements on the loud speaker. It's a great event, not only because it's fun but also because softball is how the wife and I met and thus it's always nice trip down memory lane. (It's always those damned sports.)

When the wife is less than enthusiastic about the homecoming/reunion dinner, I remind her that I paid $20 a person for us to eat cafeteria food, so we are going and we are eating and we are going to have a good time. I don't think I'll see many alumni from my era, so that's not the draw. I already can see the college whenever I want--the wife works there and it's only a few miles away. I still see the people I'd like to see. There's still no marching band, but....

......there IS a football team.....

and, there is a homecoming queen....

and, one of my peers will be flying in from New York, so it will be nice to see her..... (Actually, we are the only two people from the class of 1984 to register for the weekend)......

.....and, the wife and I will have the chance to eat dinner in the cafeteria, which I find super romantic......

....I don't have to wear a dress.....

.....it will give me oodles of good fodder for the blog.....

....and, it will take the wife's mind off of the upcoming Packer/Vikings game this weekend. THAT makes it worth every minute. Suck it up, Purple Favre.
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Happy Homecoming, DKM! Kiss kiss.
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