Sure, that might seem extreme, but this is me, the tv addict, remember?
RESCUE ME starts its third season tonight!
I hope they don’t show too much of Tatum O’Neal though. As you know, I loved her in Bad News Bears (one of my first ever girl crushes) but I don’t like her character on Rescue Me. Probably because of her character’s name. I don’t drink that much.
Lucy and her bitchin’ bike. It’s a purple Trek, with a removeable basket, plus a license plate that has her name on it, PLUS a doll seat on the back to take her dollies for rides. I love how she is such a tough, strong girl, and also loves her dolls. She is too cool.
Here’s GMan thinking he looks so cool. Layin’ on the hammock, groovin’ to the Stones with mom’s iPod. And his favorite beany babies. Umm hmmmm.
My two favorite guys. Do you think they look alike? Everyone tells me they do, but I think GMan looks like me to the point that I believe he was immaculately conceived.
Thursday night was American Idol night in our backyard.
The judges.
On The Big Lake
In The Big Lake
In the best interests of everyone, but especially myself, I am going to install a breathalizer on my computer. No more drunk blogging! god!
Sometimes the stars and planets align, and Mother Goddess smiles upon us. Today was such a day. And I know this ends up being boring blog fodder, but damn! I want it on record.
Work was good today. I had on a perfect dress. Made my big saggy boobs look perky and great, just the right amount of cleavage without looking slutty. My Jergins instant tan lotion is at the perfect amount, not streaky, but actual tan looking. No nylons needed at this job! Black material of dress covered up perfectly those couple of flabs of baby fat that refuse to go away.
I looked good, I felt good, and people noticed. I did a great job at work, solved some hard issues, made people happy, and had a few people call me for advice because of my knowledge. I LOVE that.
Then I played with a friend over email, and it was fun and soul enriching. I still feel it in me to this moment. Sometimes it amazes me how much one person can offer another.
Came home to my lovely, dear husband. I walked in the door and he took my purse and handed me a beer. I went outside, sat in my backyard and downed three of them in succession. He made dinner (running to the store for tortillas AND hairspray! Gotta love that!). Lucy and I put on our iPods and sang tuneless songs for the neighbors. (Her: Laurie Berkner’s “Chocolate IceCream”. Me: The Allman Brothers “Ramblin’ Man” and Aretha Franklin “Say A Little Prayer”) GMan and DTE came out along with dinner, and as a family we ate and talked.
Our conversations started on who would be whom: DTE would be Santa, I would be Mrs. Santa, GMan would be head elf, Lucy would be Rudolph, Bear would be ?. I protested that I didn’t want to be the damn stay at home wife who did nothing and got no glory. I want to be Santa. So we rehashed the scene many times, then decided to table the discussion for 30 years until DTE really IS completely white haired and actually old enough to play Santa.
Next topic: Why lesbians are gay. How gay originally meant happy, and merry. How lesbians are happy. How the best men in the world are like lesbians, and love women. How my best male friend, Marc, is such woman lover in the true sense of the world, and how he idolizes my husband and thinks them to be soul mates. I told GMan nothing would make me prouder than for him to be a lesbian. And by that I meant, nothing would make me prouder than for him to be a fine man, who loves women. Or, have a sex change operation and love women. It was actually a light, funny, yet sincere conversation. He’s old enough to know these words, but from a 12 year old perspective in Grand Rapids, MI he does not know lesbians. It was the first time we just talked naturally, about how we (DTE and I) have friends who are gay, and how they are just like we are: some happy, some sad. Some neat, some assholes.
And now I can barely type because I’m done with the third beer and I’m a lightweight. I love my backyard. I love my family. I love my friends. Today, I love my life.
P.S. In the back of my mind all of tonight were Paula and Ellen and Sabrina. So this is a tribute to them, and how they helped me become the woman that I am.
I cleaned her room:
Here she is more naturally:
On my third beer, which might as well be my 17th.
The last 6 songs on my iPod as I cleaned the kitchen:
I Walk The Line by Johnny Cash,
Walk The Line by Johnny Cash (earlier version),
Straighten Up and Fly Right by Dianne Reeves,
It Ain’t Me Babe by Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon,
a lovely ballad by the Rolling Stones, sung by Keith Richards, called Losing My Touch,
and then Blue in Green by Miles Davis.
You see why I love the iPod?
Tonight DTE picked me up from work and we went to Costco to buy dinner. Geez. We bought:
a chicken,
a case of yogurt,
a case of of Oberon
a case of LaBatt Blue
Sundried tomatoes (why?)
and a box of 90 mini creme puffs.
We sat on the new chairs in the back yard and enjoyed life, dinner, and beer. And creme puffs.
Last night I had a dream about Colin Farrel. I think I just spelled his name wrong, but it wouldn’t matter. He was intense, and we certainly didn’t speak to each other. mmmm.
Does anyone else out there know that at the beginning of the concert tour of the Rolling Stones for the Tattoo You tour, they played the opening bars of “Take The A Train” and then the announcer would say “Thank you very very much ladies and gentlemen, and would you welcome please… THE ROLLING STONES!” and they would launch into “Start Me Up”. Unfortunately, “Start Me Up” has been ruined by overplay at every frickin’ NFL game ever broadcast on tv. But, interestingly (or not) I can’t listen to “Take The A Train” without thinking of the Stones. Duke Ellington is playing it now on the iGod iPod (Irish Goddess IPod, duh). Which means I better finish my beer and go to bed, because this post is silly.
First, though, a picture of the lovely view in my backyard from my new chair:
Oh my god, you know how when you meet a new guy (or gal) and just can’t get enough of them? Well, I have fallen hard – I am addicted to my new iPod. It’s Irish Goddess’ perfect music world. I can’t get enough.
Yes, I’m wearing a Cayman Islands tshirt, a red and white zebra striped bandana as a sarong, and shamrock socks from the Irish store while eating peanut butter with lone chopstick, why do you ask?
I need your help. Pretend you had a job, and were really good at that job, and had some friends at that job. You worked with these friends, drank with them and shared many, many secrets with them. You brainstromed together, and cried together. You went on trips together, and shared hotel rooms together.
And then those friends betrayed you. What would you do? Enough time has passed that the pain of what they did has subsided, and you miss them. You want to call them, pretend like it never happened. Even though you will never work with them again you wish you could have those fun times, those drinks, that companionship.
Is it foolish to want that? Is it setting yourself up to be fucked over again if you were to forgive them? They really aren’t good friends, if they did that to you in the first place, right? So why do you miss them? What would you do? Seriously…tell me…what would you do? What should I do?
