Wednesday, July 31, 2013

When your tattoo artist smells like Axe body spray.

     Out of nowhere Husband said he was planning a date for us, he had arranged for an ALL DAY sitter, and it was all a surprise. WHAT??? The reason? Because "You need to get out. You deserve it." Uh, okay! I feel weird about the "deserve it" part, because nobody deserves anything, really. You get what you earn, but mostly in life you just get what you get. But if Husband thinks I am so awesome that I deserve a day of fun and rest, I shall not argue. ;)
     First he took me to get a tattoo I had meant to get before our wedding but never got around to. Our last name on my arm, to match the tattoo he has on the same arm. And then...oh wait I have to get into that. Hahaha. SO. Our wedding tattoos were done by one of my very best friends back in California. I LOVE this chick.
Our wedding tattoos.

Our "rings"
     We have been through roller derby, two divorces, reproductive nightmares, breakups, deaths, babies, political debates, para-psychological journeys, drunken nonsense, the short period of 7 years. It's intense. So anyway, we're at this studio that Husband made my appointment at, and the guy that's supposed to do my work is the most Bro annoying fuck ever. The dude is all white hat and black socks, if you get me. He talks INCESSANTLY about nothing. About himself. About other people. It was exhausting. And then he starts talking shit about my work! He said my previous artist must have had something against me because they were terrible, and nobody should ever do finger tats, etc. I told him we were aware of the issues finger tattoos come with and still wanted them. He acted like we must have been duped anyway. I kind of wanted to walk out, because if you have to talk shit on other people's work to make yourself look more qualified, then you're an idiot. But I let the first few comments go without acknowledging them.
     So he starts my work and he's talking throughout the whole thing, and not to me. Just like, to the air.  About himself. Sooo annoying. I decided to get my "Wife" touched up while I was there, and once he started, Husband went out for a smoke. He looks at the lettering and declares it to be fucked up, and whoever did this to me was a dope. I had had enough. So I informed him that my previous artist was also my best friend, and that she did exactly as I wanted, and that ALL of my tattoos rejected some ink and had to be retouched, not just this one, and that he should probably stop bashing my friend and my other tattoos. He half-ass apologized. It sucks though because Husband put a lot of effort into finding a decent studio, and this guy was just unbearable! Next time I think I'll try the owner of the shop. But even he annoyed me by rolling his eyes and asking why I got an Italian phrase on me when I'm not Italian. Are people not aware that some phrases are inter-changeable between languages? Do you know what "Menage a trois" means? Of course you do! (No, that is NOT what I have tattooed on me)

     In the end, douche-bag did a good job on my new work, and I love it. That's the important thing.

     Next we went to have a couple drinks downtown, and then to dinner on the beach. And I mean right on the beach. The restaurant had tables out back in the sand, so you could eat with your feet in the sand! So nice. I stuffed myself to the point of pain and had to go home and lay down for a couple hours, but whatever. We ended the night by taking the Rhino to a nearby bar, where we had some delightfully strange bar conversations with patrons (one of our favorite things about bars), and then went home to bed. A perfectly perfect day!
At the restaurant

     The women in my family invited me to get a pedicure with them tomorrow. Like a freak, I asked for the name of the joint so I could call and quiz them about autoclave procedures, water filters, and disposable client packs. They answered all my questions correctly, thank goodness, because I haven't had a pedicure in YEARS and I'm really looking forward to getting one again. The last time I went, in California, I ended up with a terrible fungal infection which resulted in the loss of some toenails and a whole bunch of medication. And I got that infection from a salon I had been going to for 3 years with no problems! I swore I'd never do it again. But man, a pedi sure sounds nice!

     Oh I must update on Bug's not talking. I had an initial evaluation done with her to see if she has a speech delay, which she does appear to. So far, the rest of her development is right on track, so that's a relief. The next step is to visit a speech pathologist next month, who will determine if she will benefit from speech therapy. Even if she doesn't, the doctor will be able to tell me how to help her get talking, so I'm really happy about seeing him or her. I feel so bad when she gets frustrated from not being understood. Poor thing. My family thinks I'm crazy and over-reacting, but I am trying not to give a shit. I am the one who's with her all the time, I'm the one who has taken countless child development classes and done endless research on the subject, I will always be Bug's best advocate, and I'm the one with Mommy instincts that tell me something's wrong, so everyone else can kind of just fuck off on this one. I love them, of course, but I have to look out for my Number One first. And that's my Buggie Boo.  :)


Wednesday, July 17, 2013

I thought for a time that I would be the female Bukowski.- A love letter.

     I love Charles Bukowski for so many reasons. He is... a reluctant anti-hero for the common man. He turns ugly into poetic. Literally. Oh but his words are so truthful. So honest and wise and beautifully packaged in a mess. He is never embarrassed. He sometimes wants you to hate him. Once I start reading his words I can't stop. He was a drunk, and some have called him a womanizer, but when you actually read his stuff, you realize he is a true romantic, but one who has been disillusioned and sold out so many times that he became hardened. In any case, he is hyper-aware, sometimes to his own detriment. He reminds me of Husband on an intellectual level, minus the whores. Well okay...ONE whore. That's good numbers though.

For those who don't know, here is Wikipedia's description of him:

Henry Charles Bukowski (born Heinrich Karl Bukowski; August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of  Los Angeles. It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty books. In 1986 called Bukowski a "laureate of American lowlife". Regarding Bukowski's enduring popular appeal, of wrote, "the secret of Bukowski's appeal. . . [is that] he combines the confessional poet's promise of intimacy with the larger-than-life aplomb of a pulp-fiction hero."

     I found Bukowski by accident, when I was about 29. Late, I know. I had started writing again after a decade of hiatus. Browsing through the bargain section at Barnes and Noble one day, I came across You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense. I thought, wow, whatever this book is, it is exactly my explanation for my whole life right now. It was like finding religion, I imagine. At the time he wrote this book, he was delving into his childhood and how some of those experiences had brought him to the many self-administered adventures in his adult life. Wow. It just couldn't get any more meaningful for me at the time. I bought it, along with a collection of Pablo Neruda, whom I also adore.
     Neruda is Chilean and lived there during the time his country was going through many changes. He was political, serving as a Senator for a while. He was romantic. He wrote these fluid, sweeping accounts of nature and love and corruption. Gorgeous. Pablo makes me want to learn Spanish. One time I had a few too many beers at a BBQ at home (I know, shocker) and my friend (who speaks Spanish) asked what I was currently reading. Of course, I ran inside like my hair was on fire and grabbed my Pablo Neruda collection, and made him read like, 14 poems to me in Spanish. Party foul! Everyone else was falling asleep. I did not give a single fuck, though, I had been waiting for years to hear Neruda's works in his native language, the way they were meant to be heard!
Here is a Neruda poem I love, in English then Spanish, and you tell me how much sexier it sounds in Spanish.


 Full woman, carnal apple, hot moon,
Thick smell of seaweed, mud and light entwined.
What dark clarity opens between your columns?
What ancient night does he touch with your senses?

Oh, love is a journey of water and stars,
Of suffocating air, and brusque storms of flour:
Love is a battle of lightning
And two bodies--lost by a single drop of honey.

Kiss by kiss I travel your little infinity,
Your margins, your rivers, your tiny villages,
And the genital fire transforms, delicious,

Running through the narrow streets of blood,
Until pouring out as a carnation at night,
And being and not being is but a flicker of shade.

The Original - In Spanish

Plena mujer, manzana carnal, luna caliente,
espeso aroma de algas, lodo y luz machacados,
qué oscura claridad se abre entre tus columnas?
Qué antigua noche el hombre toca con sus sentidos?

Ay, amar es un viaje con agua y con estrellas,
con aire ahogado y bruscas tempestades de harina:
amar es un combate de relámpagos
y dos cuerpos por una sola miel derrotados.

Beso a beso recorro tu pequeño infinito,
tus márgenes, tus ríos, tus pueblos diminutos,
y el fuego genital transformado en delicia

corre por los delgados caminos de la sangre
hasta precipitarse como un clavel nocturno,
hasta ser y no ser sino un rayo en la sombra.

Dude. Give me your panties, you know that shit was HOT.

 Back to Bukowski. I love him, and I've been thinking about a quote of his:

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”
―Charles Bukowski
     Isn't that amazing? I feel so sorry for those who "know" all the answers! Their lives are limited, because they are not allowed to learn any more, they are not permitted to consider, or dream, or debate, or even think about all the amazing ideas and discoveries our race of humanity comes upon. It must be terrifying sometimes, for them. They fear for the rest of us. They fear for their younger generations who view everyone as equal and who are excited about science. They fear for themselves. How do they handle a world which is changing so rapidly? They try harder to be "right", and miss the mark, consistently. It hurts people. Because being so rigid when the world is naturally so fluid, is painful. I think they DO know they hurt people with their insistence that everyone be the same, but their fear of hell trumps their love of humanity. But, I see that these people are struggling. They worry. They post hundreds of Facebook statuses about how we are losing America. How God will send us all to hell because we want everyone to be equal. It is so.....hard for them.
     I have to mention the religious folk who embrace learning, and knowledge, and who know for themselves that God loves everyone and isn't stupid enough to create people he hates. Those who believe in a God that did all that amazing scientific shit that created the world, and it wasn't as easy as, "Okay day 6, there's light. Done deal." People like my Mom. She is rad. She raised me to be a thinker, and not to just go along with the stuff other people tell me just because they have "authority". Because, "Everybody puts their pants on one leg at a time."

     I just ordered "Barfly" the movie. 2-4 days shipping plus the extra 3 to 7 days our post office takes because driving to the end of a cul-de-sac is strenuous, apparently. Floridians...

    That's it. Just over here, being smart and shit :)

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Just kidding, I'm not gonna slaughter a damn sheep.

     I've been wondering if I could live in a different country. My first thought about it is no way, since I am such a fucking baby about living only 2500 miles away from my friends and Mom. How would I function in a culture that's so different from mine that the language is different, when I can't even understand a southern drawl?? I bitch about everything Florida related, down to the street lights (that one is hard to explain, but trust me, they're fucked up). Husband lived in Sicily for a while when his Dad was in the Navy. I've heard wonderful and terrifying stories. How would I handle driving down two lane roads on a cliff with no speed limit and the likely reality of having to wait for 150 sheep to cross the road in the middle of my journey? My journey to the ONE store in town, which doesn't even sell loaves of bread. Because people bake their own bread...duh! And the electricity is iffy. Do people have running toilets or outhouses? I can't remember...I'm pretty sure he said the weather is just like California except people don't have air conditioning there. WTF.....I seems like I'm too American for all that. Ugh. How gross of me to say that! I want to experience as much as possible in this life, and not limit myself to my small American life, but I know that what is most important to me is family (which to me is the same word as "friends") so what to do??

      And then there's Bug. I'm already sad she can't grow up with my California friend's daughter who is the same age, if I leave the country she will be missing out on growing up with Princess L too! I have a few friends that I have known since kindergarten, and I cherish those friendships so much. I know how hard they are to come by. I wish that for Bug too. I know her life can be just as wonderful without those kinds of relationships, but it still makes me a bit sad to think about. Alright, I am WAY ahead of myself now. Anyway, it is a thought in the back of my mind. Where would I go? We love France, and hope to at least take Gage there for graduation.
Nice, France
      Italy sounds interesting to me, or we both like Spain. Husband likes Portugal and Austria too, but I don't know what the fuck he's talking about there. Gage wants to go to Canada. Hm. That could be cool. There is the little matter of which countries would take us, too. Other countries are smart enough to make sure you're an asset before they let you live there. Unlike the US. As we all know.

     Maybe I watch too much Anthony Bourdain.... I have this admittedly unrealistic view on these places, like when I go to Spain I will help herd 100 sheep and then snack on the soft, sheep's milk cheese and freshly baked bread that someone's ancient old wife made for our trip, and pair it with regional wine from a handmade canteen. Then I'd slaughter a lamb two minutes before I cook it in a delicious stew, and spend the rest of the afternoon getting stuffed and drunk in a meadow full of wildflowers, with handsome native people who all wear the same white flowy shirt and black vests, and who speak in their romantic language that I don't understand but consider mounting my husband while they talk because it is THAT sexy.. Maybe afterwards someone would break out a guitar and sing Italian folk music, and I could nap......sigh....
Anthony (My hero) with the sheep in Spain
     In reality, it would probably be me blogging every 40 minutes about how much I miss 7-11 and sliced bread. That is, when my Wi-Fi worked...eek.

     It is a possibility that we could move out of the country, though. We've discussed it before. It is a desire we have both for us and our kids. By that time Gage will be grown, but to have a foreign country be the place he gets to go to visit us would be wonderful for him. I think he'd love that. Of course, if he has kids I'll wanna go live down the street from him, but we'll deal with that when we get there, right?
I dunno. It will take a lot of thought. I'm the hold up in this venture. I know that.

     I wanna be Anthony Bourdain I think. He lives a charmed life. The dude has eaten the best, drank the best, and met the most interesting people in the most interesting of places. He IS the most interesting man in the world.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Have some shame, sir.

     I have to say this before I start. If you write a blog and allow comments in it, and someone actually comments on something, FUCKING RESPOND TO IT. You are not that cool, chick. Yes I like those cheerful juice glasses, and the lecture about feminism as it relates to bikini's, but I will no longer let you know that I like your shit or your blog, because you fucking ignore me! I'm also, BTW, the only person who comments, so I know it's hard for me to get lost in the mix. P.S. I do not care about your green wedding plans. I'm sorry, but it's an irrelevant venture, in my opinion. That's great if your invitations are made of recycled toilet paper and you don't use plastic cups at the reception, but your recycling habits and quest for a smaller 'footprint' are not an interesting wedding theme. Have you seen "My Fair Wedding"? When you change your theme to Alice in Wonderland meets African safari, THEN I will be on the edge of my seat for updates.

     I turned the corner after doing dishes the other day to find this:
Notice the look of regret. It's fake.

      This was just some of the toilet paper. The rest of the brand new roll was littered throughout the bathroom. I used to think this shit was cute. Now it's just annoying. But what can I do? Kick her out? No....Instead I grumble and make a half-ass attempt to roll the paper back up.

Close enough.
     Our 4th of July was really weird, by the way. Husband and I were trying to cope with the absence of our friends and traditions we held back home, and reminding ourselves that we have plenty of time for new traditions as time goes on. Normally we would be having a BBQ or be at the bar with everyone, but this year it was just us, with a sleeping baby and some shitty Walmart fireworks. We tried to make the best of it, but for me especially, nothing worked out. I took Bug to the fair downtown and it would have been cool if she was like, 3 or 4. She was too little for any of the rides and bounce houses. There were too many people bumping into us and knocking her down because these are the rudest people in America, so it just thoroughly sucked. For reals, watch where the fuck you're walking. It's a petting zoo. There are toddlers here, and you are 40 and drunk. Why didn't your wife stop you from going into the petting zoo? Why is she standing there behind the fence with the rest of the Mommies while you pet goats?? Look at yourself, sir. Have some shame, for Christ's sake.
Here is me last year at our 4th of July BBQ
Here is me this year on the 4th of July. Those are my jammies. On the right is our fireworks. I'm really glad I shaved my armpits.

     Bug still doesn't say much. We think she might say "HI" sometimes now so that's improvement. She just started copying our actions though, and it's pretty amazing. She pretends to clip her nails, tries to brush her hair, clean the tables, stretch her neck like I do, etc. The other day she got all upset and started pulling on my pants leg to get my attention. I told her to wait a minute so I could finish making her sandwich. She got even more mad and ran past me to her room, found her swim diapers in her dresser and brought them back to me. Then she opened one and held it over her crotchal region, while still yelling at tell me she needed a diaper change!! I was so happy! I discovered when I opened her dirty diaper that she had smoothed out the HUGEST turd, so it's no wonder she was so insistent I clean her up. Friend says this is a sign that she may be ready to potty train. I don't remember such cues from when Gage was little. It was long ago, and I didn't get him trained until his 4th birthday. I had to tell him, "You are not allowed to turn 4 unless you use the potty every time, no more diapers, ever. If you don't, you won't get a birthday party because you'll have to be 3 for another whole year!" And that was that :)
I'm pretty sure he didn't get potty trained sooner because his bio-dad was inconsistent while I was at work. I always came home to Gage in a diaper, when I left him in underwear. Ugh, whatever, he's potty trained now, so why stress it, right?

     Oh Oh OH!!!! I made that brunch dish that I had chosen to shame the playgroup Mommies! Except I made one pan for Husband's co-workers/my family, and the other pan I made for Friend and her family just for themselves. I wanted to do more for them. Losing a parent is so horrific. If I can help anyone through such a terrible time in any way, even by providing home cooked food, I always will. Losing my Dad was fucking awful. I couldn't think. I was never hungry, but when I was, I needed something to automatically be there, no effort on my part. So I gave them a casserole (Strata). How 1950's, I know, but what else could I do? But anyways, the strata was GOOD! And sooo easy! You can make it the night before and bake it in the morning. Perfect for Christmas breakfast, so I'm going to consider this and similar recipes for the future. Every Christmas I make a huge breakfast, which is great except I spend way too long cooking and not enough time enjoying my family. So make ahead breakfast is the shit. Recipe? Okie dokie!

Country Sausage Strata
Servings: Serves 8
  • 8 ounces turkey sausage , casings removed
  • 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
  • 1 medium onion , chopped into 1/2-inch pieces (about 1 cup)
  • 1/2 loaf egg or country bread (preferably 1 to 2 days old), cut into 1/2-inch-thick slices
  • 1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary
  • 2 cups heavy cream
  • 1/2 cup half-and-half
  • 8 eggs
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
  • 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
  • 2 tomatoes , sliced into 1/4-inch slices
  • 12 ounces Fontina or Swiss cheese , grated (4 cups)
Butter the bottom and sides of a 9" x 13" or 8" x 12" baking dish.

In a large skillet over medium heat, break up sausage and sauté with olive oil and onion until golden brown, about 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside. Meanwhile, if using fresh bread, lightly toast and set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk rosemary, cream, half-and-half, eggs, salt, and pepper, and set aside.

Lay half of bread in buttered baking dish, sprinkle with half of sausage mixture, half of tomato slices, and half of cheese. Repeat layering with remaining bread, sausage, tomato, and cheese. Slowly pour egg mixture over top. Cover and refrigerate 30 minutes or overnight.

Preheat oven to 350°. Uncover and place baking dish on a baking sheet to catch overflow. Bake 40 minutes, or until golden brown. Allow to sit 10 minutes before serving.

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Drunk. Forgive my mistakes ;)

     Please appreciate that I am a grown up, and I generally no longer get to have moments of drunken prose and reflection due to the task and joy of raising children and needing to be "ON" at all times. But here I am. And it is SWEET. My wonderful, hard working, thoughtful and perfect for me Husband and Bestest Friend is at a sports bar watching the UFC fight. I was actually excited to tell him, "Go watch the fight, I'm fine here. You need some YOU time to do whatever", because he deserves it and never takes the opportunity. he always prefers to spend his free time with me, his "roll dog".. It felt good to see him go and feel a little weird about it though, I admit. We're pretty much a disgustingly beautiful love long. *sigh*

     My hometown, the one I didn't live in until I was 30, and the one where everyone knows everyone else and it is actually a good thing, is currently celebrating the Jamboree days 4th of July weekend (aka Jam Days) and I am missing it. It's a giant 3 day party for the whole mountain, and last year I had a huge party with everyone I love including family and friends at my house. This year, I am in another state, alone. One that I still pretty much hate, and my only friends are my in-laws who are working themselves to death and my sweet new Friend who's mother died unexpectedly yesterday so she is flying back to Cali in a couple days. The similarities between us are getting weird. She's been here a couple months and a parent dies??? Whoa. My life. Anyway, my heart breaks for her and the whole thing is bringing me to a fucked up place. I need to visit this place on occasion, but that that doesn't stop it from sucking. Fuck it sucks! I miss my Dad. Fucker. God he was such a dick sometimes. But he was absolutely the best grandfather anyone has ever had. My son is a better person because of my Dad. I can't be mad at that. Okay I don't wanna cry - cuz if you start crying when you're drinking, you probably will never stop...

     Aw shit. So I started downoading music, and I have a long list of artists to get. I started at Ministry and now I'm at Ani Difranco. In general, that means that Kerry has gone to a dark place. Hahaha. She's brilliant though. I think she's why Husband thinks I'm a closet hippy. LOL. I want to give you a song of hers to represent her, but that's like giving you one Zeppelin or Beatles song and saying, "THIS is Ani Difranco", and it just would not be entirely accurate. But here goes:

     That's kinda how I feel tonight. Ani has chronicled my painful and joyful trek through love and life, as she has for many others. And now, it's sort of ...funny. Because when you finally get it right, it is so embarrassingly simple, you wonder...Why in the fuck didn't I get it sooner?! I do not know! All I can do is laugh, because it's the only power over the situation I have left. Whatever works, right? In the end, I did what I thought was right. That's all anyone can do. Wow that was rather vague...Probably won't even make sense tomorrow. Eh. Fuck it.

     Okay one more, because this one fucks me up pretty gnarly when I hear it. No, I don't give a fuck if you actually listen to it, ultimately this blog is for ME when I'm old and can't remember the details anymore. Isn't it funny how accurate a song can be to your life, while so many other people can feel the same connection? It means we are not special snowflakes. Life continues, and it repeats, and we never know we should have listened to those before us until we are 36 and drunk with our laptops all alone on a Saturday night, anxiously awaiting our spouse to come home and cuddle us in the exact way that nobody else figured out.. Sweet dreams on that note, kids...I hear the door of his truck slam shut :D