Déjà vu

I got myself a cup of decaf tea this morning, and as I was steeping the bag, the Kinks “Lola” started running through my head (“El Oh El Ay”). Then I went back to my desk, and opened an email from a co-worker wanting me to investigate a client’s account.

The client’s name?

Lola.

I finished examining the account and sat at my desk thinking how much better and more fulfilling my life would be if I was an artist. A flesh-and-blood artist, and not just someone who knows how to make obscene stick figures. How I could never be, because I was so old. Remembered that Grandma Moses didn’t start painting til she was, what, 80 years old? That made me feel better. I bumped into a co-worker of mine a few minutes later who teaches special art projects at her kids’ school. I asked her who the next artist would be that she’d introduce to the kids.

The artist?

Grandma Moses.


“Yes”, I said to Suicidal-Guy-In-Loveless-Marriage during our IT Projects meeting this morning, before he even said, “Are you done testing the email project?”

“He’ll be late today”, I said to myself before I called the extension of the warehouse guy who let us run out of Kleenex…and the phone rang and rang….


I now have a funny feeling in my stomach, a Christmas feeling, a vacation feeling, a lightheadedness of delight sprinkled with anticipation.

Maybe I should play the lottery….

I Have a Case of the…

I actually had a non-sexual fantasy driving to work this morning (I know! Shocking!). My fantasy was…I’d approach the building in my car and wonder, Hmmm, why is traffic backed up?, and then wonder, Hmmm, why are all those fire trucks in the parking lot?, and then wonder, Hmmm, does a fire in the warehouse give us two paid days off or three?

Yes. I’m a mental arsonist.

Unfortunately, or rather, fortunately for my future paychecks, the building was not on fire.

My brain is.

I feel like a lion tamer, pushing back the thoughts with a whip and a chair, wearing a top hat, howling, “Gee-yah! Get back theah!”, in some vague East Coast accent.

Here’s what I’m obsessed with so far:

1) Projects for Marketing that are so ill-conceived and so far behind schedule, I shouldn’t even have had to work on them. But I did. And I’m about to wash my hands of the whole sordid affair. Feeling relieved but strangely frightened about what I’ll be thrown next. That guy who draws Dilbert MUST be working here.

2) This made me laugh. So, now, let me get this straight…your buddies were FINE when they fought alongside you in Iraq, when they made sure you came back alive, when they fought for ‘freedom abroad’. Now you want to punish them for being in gay porn? What the faaaack??? What business is it of yours? What do you care? Jeebus on a popsicle stick, get OVER yourselves. What consenting adults do is between consenting adults. If I want to tie Sergei up to the tree out back and slather his naked body with coconut oil and prance around in front of him wearing only a small grass skirt, and slap out "Lady of Spain" on his yarbles, and he’s okay with that, that’s OUR business. Butt out. Butt. Out.

3) From afterschoolsnack comes this. Again, what’s with the spying thing? What do you care who I am? I don’t want you knowing my personal intimate details. That’s what blogs are for!

4) I need a new tattoo. Serious, man. Not want…NEEEEEEED, like air, like fresh water, like sun on my back and sand in my sandles. It’s obsessing me. I have an idea for a big tattoo, but that will wait until my fantasy boyfriend does it (or until I break down and have Local Tattoo Guy do it). Right now, I’m longing for something Japanese. But what? Koi fish? Dragon? Kanji? One of my dear cousins is dying of a brain tumor, I’d like to get something that says “family” + “protection”, but I have no clue where to look for characters that mean that. Any clues, my fine intellectual friends?

5) This guy SHOULD be the next James Bond. Sergei and I watched “Layer Cake” last night, and all I could think about was, is this guy 007 material? Oh yes. If I were Pussy Galore, I’d do him in a sec. Definitely a possible Fantasy Boyfriend.

6) Elliot speaks!

7) This just saddened me to no end this morning. I love Wendy Wasserstein. Loved? Love. I was an actress in "Uncommon Women and Others" back in the day, and I grew to love her writing, her witty banter, the way she held women up as the amazing, complex, loving creatures we are. (Plus I had the best line in the play..."I just tasted my own menstrual blood!" But that's for another post.) Rest in Peace, dear Wendy.

8) I’m bummed because some of the blogs I frequent are closing up shop. Luckily, though, some new bloggers are becoming known to me, and I can’t wait to see how they grow! Hey now, I missed ‘lurker’ day…if you’re reading this and haven’t commented, throw me a bone here. Let me come see your stuff!

Hang in!

I Got the Will to Drive Myself Sleepless

My insomnia manifests itself right after the will to sleep springs on me, like a cat uninvited, digs its claws into me for a brief shining moment, and then scurries away to some hidden room, scarcely to be found. Insomnia then enters the room ghost-like, curls its tail around my leg, and purrs, “Hey, I’ll stay up with you for a while….”

And I always let the bugger stay.

Two nights this week, two school nights/two work nights, I’ve stayed up til 1:30 a.m., or 2 a.m., I dunno, I stopped checking the clock after a while. And then the alarms would start to go off at 6 a.m.

I’m decaffeinated. But I get through the days as normal.

Granted, I could have moseyed off to bed at some graciously gentle hour, oh, say, 11 p.m. But that only leaves me maybe one hour between rushrush kids and rushrush dinner and rushrush bathandbed and cleanthehouse and dothelaundry and paythebills to do ANYTHING for Mona.

I have
books to read
movies to watch
plans to make
fantasy boyfriends to lust over
feet to stretch
sheer quiet to enjoy

Why the hell should I sleep?
I really go to bed only to be near Sergei's warm body.

I strapped my mp3 player on here at work and called up Soul Coughing just now to hear these lyrics. Most fitting today. Have a good weekend, y’all!


Sleepless
(M. Doughty)
I got the will to drive myself sleepless.
So much time is cashed.
So much smoke is wasted.
Sudden disappearance
In the air is thick and cool.
I can't approach myself
Skidding over this perdition
And now I'm out on the verandah
When I should have gone to school.
Well I call for sleep,
But sleep it won't come to me.
Shuffling in the hallway,
I can hear him on the stairs.
I hear his lighter flicking.
I hear the soft sigh of his inhale.
And the whole width of my intentions
He exhales into the air.
I got the will to drive myself sleepless.
Skeedunt, stunt the runt,
Smoking buddha blunt.
I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

Rented Lips, Brain on Layaway

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and call myself a fairly articulate girl. I’m pretty smart, I do crossword puzzles in ink (though not as quickly or succinctly as Orange or Francis, but they’re celebrity wordgods). I write a fair piece, and have lust in my heart that can translate to steamy blog posts.

So WHY the frickin’ hell do I have problems with common words?

Okay, there are some words my mouth just can’t form. The most confounding is the word “rural”. Say it. “ROOOOORULLLL.” All my tongue does with that is twist backward at an alarming angle, threatening to choke off my air supply. Dagnabbit, I grew up in a RURAL community! And I can’t even say it! Do I have to move to Germany or Russia to get that guttural linguistic fluidity?

There are other words that I can’t say, not because my mouth doesn’t contort right, but because my brain can’t decipher them because it’s damn confused. All it takes is one person to pronounce something a different way, a way that I think is wrong, but that others don’t correct, for my gray matter to cramp and go…uh…wha…??...

Example one: What’s the hanging thing you put over a crib, with animals or pictures or pretty birds on strings, that rotates around and around sometimes with music, that amuses your wee babe? Is it a “MOH-BEEL”? Is it a “MOH-BILL”? Is it a “MOH-BULL”? What the FUCK IS IT????

Example two: When your stomach is really upset, do you complain of “NAW-ZEE-AH”? Or is it “NAW-SEE-AH”? Or would you say “NAW-ZHA”? How about “NAW-SHA”??? Goddammitfuckjeebuschrist.

Example three: When your blood sugar gets all outta whack, do you have “DIA-BEE-TEES”, or rather “DIA-BEE-TIS”? Faaaaack.


I’m sure the dictionary has multiple pronunciations of these, but I don’t care…what do YOU say? ‘Cause, really, I’m sick of sounding like an idiot….

I Love a Bass Guitar

Truly.

There’s something about the low, sneaky build of a bass riff that gets my juices flowing.

THOSE.
Juices.

It’s like a lover waking you with gentle kisses on your back.
Hands finding the curve of your hips
The curve of your belly
The curve of your breasts
down to thighs
fingers exploring moist lips
the air fills with exhales
the wind rushes through your spine
And stop
And start
And please
Do
That
Again
a-gain
Ah-again
Strings in limbs vibrate
Hard
Steady
Skin is electrified
Waves in the distance whooshcrashspread
Waves pulses strumming
Constant
Beating
Down
Yes
There
Yes
In
Yes
Hold
Yes
Sustain

The last note hangs
above backs
above humid air
above the last
motion
still drifting
back and up over
thighs
breasts
belly
hips
into fingers
into a quiet
where the note
can
still
be
heard

Hail to the Victors Valiant

It was a 5 to 2 victory, baby! Last night we secured early elementary education money for the little ‘uns.

We ended up being the silent majority who finally spoke up. And shook their peach tree.

Totally worth the sleepless nights.

Totally.

On the other hand, I think I need a shower. You shoulda seen me sweatin’ last night…whoodoggie! I still feel all funkified. (Totally unrelated…George Clinton, the Funkmaster himself, has a new cd coming out…mental note…download that suckah….)

The Crimson Permanent Assurance sails out of port today, which makes me horny and happy.

And I will, indeed, attack Sergei this evening with vim and vigor.

Belly Fulla Blues

I hate wintergreen.

Peppermint is lovely.
Cinnamon makes me swoon.
Spearmint bonks me awake.
Ginger kicks my ass and kisses the boo-boo.

But wintergreen…OH, even the mention of the word is enough to make me gag.

It started in childhood.

Doesn’t everything?

I was what the doctors called a ‘nervous child’. I had constant bellyaches, bouts of puking, fever and sweating, and all and mostly around times of stress.

Test at school.
Family crises.
Watching “Sir Graves Ghastly” scary movies and being 100% sure I was going to be bitten by a vampire that night.

It didn’t take much to freak me out.
For my belly to flip-flop and curdle.
For my throat to tighten up.
For me to reach inner claustrophobia.

Every time I moaned, “My belly hurts!” my mom (being a typical mom of the time), would dose me up with Pepto-Bismol.

Which tastes of wintergreen.

After thousands of doses, no wonder I can’t stand the stuff.

I eventually grew out of that phase.
I don’t know how.
Or why.
Only that as I stopped being a little kid, my freakouts stopped as well.
I still got the flip-flop belly, sure, but I learned that cookies helped…and walking outside…and later, in college, that there’s no ailment that beer can’t drown out.
I haven’t tasted Pepto-Bismol in decades.

Tonight there’s a very important meeting.

One that I’ve been anticipating for a year.

On a topic that I’ve fought for.
Researched for.
Pleaded for.
Schemed for.
Emailed, phoned, met, wrung hands for.

It all comes down to the votes of 7 people.

All my side needs is 4, and we are the victors.

Sigh.

My belly…
…is…
flip-flopping
in that crazy
f-r-e-a-k-o-u-t
way
like it used to
back in the day
when I was little and wee
and was afraid to say
I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna go to school today

I’m drowning out the nausea with bubbly soda and lots of work distraction.

Oh, and peppermint.
And cinnamon.
And spearmint.
And ginger.

And later, hopefully, a sip of champagne.

Fingers crossed, y’all….

What Acting Got Me

I did community theatre before the kids came, and was a member of a local actors workshop. It’s been 10 years since I”ve tread the boards, and sometimes I really miss it. Other times…not so much.

Musing over my beautiful cuppa decaf Earl Grey this morning, I made a mental list of just what came out of that experience:

1) I met Sergei while we were co-stars in a play. I had to rehearse kissing and kissing and kissing him. And I saw him almost naked during one memorable brush-up rehearsal. So, of course, I had to marry him.

2) I now have several bookshelves full of plays, scripts, and acting tomes. I reference them from time to time to remember witty lines. Or to marvel at just how GOOD some playwrights are. I love Mamet. Shakespeare rocks. Orton needed to chill. Sam Shepard, yeah, dat shit is dope. That saying, "Art imitates Life" is really true if a play is good. There’s a scene in “Hurlyburly” where the man and woman are trying to figure out where to eat out (“Chinese?” “Yeah, that’s okay” “We can do something else” “Whatever” “But what do YOU want?” “I don’t care!”). Hmmm...where have I heard THAT before??

3) I can tell whether or not that cramp is appendicitis. I played a patient for the medical school staff of Local University, and now I know that pain in the lower right quadrant is your appendix. Elsewhere, it’s probably gas, or crap, or maybe worms from that underdone pork roast you ate, chum. I also know the symptoms of torn cartilage and how to react when being told you have gonorrhea (this was ACTING, people). (Oh, these bits were filmed for the students and teachers to look over later, I'd have 6 to 8 individual students each session…I wish I could see those videos now…a 22-year old kid doesn’t know WHAT to do when someone starts crying and moaning all over ‘em….hehheh…great fun!)

4) I get to scream “I know them!” when one of my old acting buddies shows up on tv, or a regional play.

5) I got to keep the leather chaps and leather mini-skirt from that play I did. I had the leather jacket already. I was bitchin'.

6) I can sound very eloquent when making fun of my managers. (“O that adulterous, that incestuous beast!”)

7) The HR person made me the voice of the company’s “Phone Lady” because she’d seen me on stage.

8) I can fake being ‘busy’ at work. Like now.

Have a great weekend, y’all!

Helpin’ Some Guys

Michael emailed me to ask this question:

What should men in committed relationships get for
their female SO's for Valentine's Day? I just can't
bring myself to give anything out of the usual litany:
candy, picture frames, romantic movie DVD's,
underwear-drawer delicates that are as much for me as
for her. I'd like to get something "meaningful" (as
they say) but still creative. Bonus points for hot.
Help?


Glad you asked, Michael! Yes, it’s true that Valentines Day is fast approaching, and once again, I feel sorry for you guys. Women are difficult to buy for once they reach a certain age (that is, if she’s over 21, cause then she can buy the beer herself).

A heart-shaped box of choccies is nice.
Flowers are nice.
Lacy underthings are nice (although we don’t so much ‘wear’ them as ‘model’ them and then get them ripped off for frantic, mad, hot, wet monkey sex…nuthin’ wrong with that).

But if you want to go outside the typical, I have a few suggestions:

1) Help her get into or continue a hobby. Has she mentioned that she'd like to take an art class, or learn to make jewelry, or become a fantastic Italian chef? Get her a gift certificate to the local community center's learning annex, or a gift card from a craft store, or a cookbook/video set of that Food Network celeb that she's always going on about..."And then Paula Deen made the most unbelievable brownie cake!"

2) Do you have kids? Get her a ring with the birthstone of each of your kids. She'll wear it every day. Doesn't have to be too expensive, jewelry stores love to make that stuff.

3) Get her a massage or a day at the spa. Later, make her dinner. Do the dishes. Feed the cat. Make sure she isn't on her period, 'cause you'll probably, more than likely, get fantastic sex sometime in there. Prolly more than once.

4) Buy some 'Axe' cologne spray and spritz yourself with it. Crawl in bed with her, naked. She will have unbelievable sex with you...oh...WAIT...that's just me. (That stuff is like crack-encrusted-opium. Daaaaaaamn.)

5) If you have kids, send them to the grandparents for the entire weekend. That's usually enough of a turn-on for me.

6) Plant a tree for her. Something that blooms real purdy, preferably red buds or flowers, or something ginormous like a hibiscus. OR buy her an indoor plant, specifically, an orchid. They’re easy to take care of, and when they bloom, they look like sex.

7) An MP3 player. I love mine.

8) Cell phone and wicked good service.

9) If she likes sports, get her tickets to a game, or a team jersey, or maybe an autographed something.

10) Bookstore gift card, coffee shop gift card, and one whole day off. Off work, off kids, off house, off chores. Change the bed linens while she’s gone. She’ll bark like a dog for you.

What say you, people? What suggestions do you have for Michael? What’s the best Valentines Day gift you’ve given or received?

And if you haven’t voted yet for the BoBs, go NOW and vote for Used Hack. Tell yer friends. Anyone who puts a photo of Ron Jeremy on his site deserves yer vote!

A Morning Quickie

Work is killing me, gah! Random thoughts, quickly, before the boss sees me:

1) I call dibs. Newest boyfriend is Chris Garver (and click 'Chris Garver' video), the wise man from “Miami Ink”. Damn, he’s hot. There’s the tattoos, yes, but he’s balding in a yummy way, he has dimples and a gap between his front teeth, nice pecs, long eyelashes over those full eyes, great voice, great ass, a leftie, and he acts like a regular guy. He’s mine…YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM.

2) Possible boyfriend: Greg Behrendt. Comedian. Sergei and I watched him on Comedy Central last night and I laughed my aging white ass off. ‘Cause this dude is my age and wonders aloud if he’s too old to be cool. Which is what I wonder. Every. Damn. Day.

3) G4 had the guy from oneredpaperclip on yesterday. Interesting premise. And he’s Canadian, which I lurv.

4) This freaks me out. USDA satellites spying on farmers fields? What’s next, spying on playgrounds? Old folks homes? IT folks while they blog and pretend to work? (uh…oh….)

5) I’ve found that if I hurry and get ready in the morning, before the kids’ alarms go off, I can disrobe and crawl back in bed with Sergei and spoon for a good 10 minutes. And if the Crimson Permanent Assurance isn’t about to sail (which she is, goddammit), maybe get a little nooky. Now that’s better than a pot of coffee to wake me up.

6) We woke this morning to freezing rain. FREEZING. I skated out to the car. The roads, unfortunately, were just wet, so I'm working. I’m counting on the weather forecast of “4-6 inches of snow tonight” to create a lovely snow day tomorrow. Wish me luck!

The Federal Holiday Blues

(the sound of a blues harmonica pierces the dreary morning, wailing and crying, up and down)

Post office is closed up
(ba da da dum)
And tha gov-a-men’ too
(ba da da dum)
But here I am at work
And my boss don’ have a clue!

‘Cause it’s a Federal Holiday, baby
Why you make me work all day?
(wha waaaa wha waaa wha waaaa wha waaaaaaa)
You bettah, you bettah treat me like da postman, honey,
The day off! With pay!
(wha dee dee wha dee dee wha dee dee dum….bum…bah!)


Yesh. Sitting at my desk. Trying to look like I’m working, but knowing full well that Sergei and the kidlets are eating breakfast, petting the cat, still in jammies, making plans for a trip to the mall, some Playstation, and a new computer game. All cozy and lazy and sunny.

And I’m dealing with stupid marketing folks, with that Schoolhouse Rock song “The Great American Melting Pot” in my head, and a cuppa decaf tea to wake me up. Oh, the Deadlines! Oh the Pressure! Oh, the stinky overnight computer operator!

WAAAAAH!

What are YOU doing today?

(And Happy Birthday, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr!)

Far Off, High, Lonesome, Here and Gone

You get no dirty talk today. Mostly ‘cause I’m swamped, and mostly ‘cause I was up til 2 a.m. working on school board stuff and up a little after 6 a.m., and mostly just ‘cause I can’t give you mad, flailing, sweaty sex talk every day, ‘cause then you’d get bored.

So I’ll wax rhapsodic a bit.

Sergei and I watched the PBS show, “Country Boys” last night, the third of the three-part series. Throughout the movie, the filmmaker chose to heighten the desolation of the rural Kentucky community by showing the trains that run through town, blowing their eerie horns, bound for The Big City, loaded down with coal, loaded down with iron ore, loaded down with car parts, loaded down with calm. Long camera shots of trains on skyscraper-trestles above the “holler”, floating single-mindedly above the decaying trailers, over the acres of land too rough to farm, over the boys who want to leave and yet are tied by their own self-applicated disasters. The train would sound the horn…brooooooooooooop...brrrrooooooooooppppp…and it would disappear, around the bend, around the mountain, leaving behind a trail of steam and a low moan of …ooooopppp….

I woke up this morning to the sound of the train that passes through our town. Too early. Before alarms are woken to awake. While the dark was still sleeping. My slumber interrupted by the faint rumble of steel wheels on steel tracks, and heavy cars bounce-bouncing to the rhythm of mis-aligned rails. And then, the high, distant brooooooop….brrrroooooooppppp…a tinkle at first, louder as the engine approached, then Doppler would Effect and the sound would deepen, like a rough cold in the metal. Brrrooooooooooooooooooppp.

It made me feel safe. Snuggled in my bed. Knowing that while industry moved and food sped to hungry people and the car factory could keep open at least one more week, I could still close my eyes and allow my naked body to be enveloped by the sleep-heat from my dreaming husband. And everything would run. And the engine, humming it’s hello, and then goodbye, was a friend dropping off a missing glove with their van engine running and cranky kids in the back seat…”Hi! Here you go! See ya!” Job done. On to the next station.

Did the Kentucky boys feel the same way I did? Or did the sound of the passing train, the one that didn’t stop in their town, the one that ignored them so completely, just shovel another bucketful of coal into their fire of ‘goddammit, I’ve gotta get OUT of here’.

I dunno.

I do know.

That my train slows down in my town.

And stops to pick up passengers. And freight cars of cars and freight cars of steel parts, and freight cars of things we’re better off not knowing about.

Maybe that’s the difference.

Maybe my lonesome ain't so lonesome.

I think that song "Pink Thing" by XTC really IS about a...!!!

Very busy today (and yesterday) with work and with emergency school board stuff…yet again…so you get Potpourri for $500, Alex.

1) Under “Excuse me, your geek is showing”…today I stood in line with eager anticipation to buy four sheets of these stamps. Which should have come out last Monday and which my post office didn’t have, much to my surprise. And which I forced my post office guy to find today. Four sheets. One for each kid in their baby book, one for me to fondle lovingly, and one to use for special occasion birthday cards and such. I mean, come on, how could you pass these up???!!! My favorite is Frederick, a book by Leo Lionni. If you’ve never read it, you MUST. While the other little mice gather corn and nuts to keep the mouse family alive during the winter, Frederick gathers colors, and words, and when the food is nearly gone, he reminds them of the golden fields, and how wonderful the sun will feel, and gives them memories and hope. It’s really about being an artist. I read this book as a kid, and it’s my absolute favorite children’s book.

2) All the snow is gone, it’s in the 40s, and the humidity is 95%. It’s Michigan in the dead of January. Is this global warming? Or is this Mother Nature’s way of lulling us into complacency and then dumping 6 feet of snow on us in early February? Ma Nature can be a right bitch sometimes.

3) A friend sent me a link to this site. I’m ordering you right now to click the link to “Bring It On Home To Me”, and if you don’t get goosebumps listening to this, I will personally come to your house and jam an IV of ‘soul’ in yer arm, dagnabbit.

4) Boy-child has discovered the joy of sleeping sans clothing. So at least he learned THAT from his parents.

5) Has anyone sent an anonymous letter to the media, ala Deepthroat? I’m thinking of doing that. I’ll need to buy gloves to hide the fingerprints.

6) I’ve had the theme from “Catscratch” in my head all frickin’ morning. I don’t really mind it so much.

7) Question: if a woman took Viagra, would her hmmmhmmhmm suddenly protrude? Just wondering…. Also, went to Wikipedia to get a link, and it directed me here. WARNING: NSFW!! Female genitalia!. Damn! Wasn’t expecting that!

8) Oh, the XTC song? Somewhere here.

I Have a Cooter, Oh Yes I Do….

I want to talk to the ladies today, if’n ya don’t mind. Ladies? Grab a cuppa somethin’ and scroll down. You menfolk…well…you can come along for the ride, as long as you keep your hands to yourself.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Okay.
…
…
Here’s the thing….
…
…
…
Ladies, my ladies, our genetic makeup is such that we have an ‘innie’ cooter instead of an ‘outie’ penis. So be it.

BUT.

Have you ever looked at your cooter?

I mean, with a mirror?

It’s…well…it’s weird.

‘Cause you have to position the mirror just right and focus and squint and hope the lighting is good.

And figure out what stuff is.

Last night, after a wonderful shower and attacking myself with a razor, I took a few minutes to look at that between-the-thighs area.

It looked like a taco-in-a-taco-in-a-rose.

Kiiiiiiind of.

But not really.

I know what it should look like. Books and porn and pamphlets from the doctor. Inserts in the tampon box. “Our Bodies, Our Selves.”

Trouble is, there’s so much stuff down there. I know where the pee comes from, I know where the penis fits, I know the butterfly-fold of the clitoris.

But altogether, it’s overwhelming!

With a penis, you have the shaft, the head, that line down the underside, the balls. Pretty compact. Pretty functional.

But the cooter?

Man. It’s like a Swiss Army Knife of functionality!

Why all the lips? To keep out invading armies of germs? Or to help us flutter skyward? Or just to look like a Georgia O’Keefe painting?

Why is there that little ball thing inside and at the bottom? Or is that just me?

Do lovers really find it attractive, find it sexy, or do they like it because of what they know it does and how it makes you feel and how it makes them feel?

I urge you, next time you’re alone in the bathroom, drop trou and take a look at your little flower.

Un-frickin’-believable!

The Swirling, Sucking Black Hole of January

January + Michigan = Misery

I’m being swallowed by the pit of despair that is post-holiday January. It’s like this every year, mind you, every year we rush through the holidays, flittering hither and yon and back again, like rats with pretty gift bags and shiny shoes, back and forth, up and down, GAR said Steve the Pirate, and finally, after the champagne is drunk and the new year has begun, we settle back into normal life.

And that’s when we realize that there’s no holiday to look forward to, and we really should lose that winter weight, and why the hell is it so dark outside when we’ve passed the first day of winter (shouldn’t the daylight be getting MORE instead of less???).

When I was acting, every January I’d get pissed off and come *this close* to quitting my acting class.

When I wasn't acting, I’d contemplate quitting my job.

Or I’d just go in a corner and shake for a while.

Something about my diet, something about that cup of coffee I had yesterday (after being caffeine-free for a while), something about the dark, something about running the kids around, something about the inevitable unpacking of the backpacks and lunch bags and much washing of clothing and reading of newsletters, sent me into a funk last night. It wasn’t that I was mad at anything or anyone. It’s that my body decided it didn’t want to be with me anymore, and couldn’t find a way to break it to me and hand me my belongings in a cardboard box.

Sergei asked me what was wrong and I couldn’t answer him. As I sat on my bed in a catatonic state after dinner, Girl-Child came in and sat beside me and asked, “Are you okay? Why are you so sad?” And I really had no answer for her. I couldn’t speak. My thoughts were an empty cartoon balloon.

Now, this scared me, as it meant one or more of the following:

1) Depression
2) Seasonal Affective Disorder
3) Extreme caffeine sensitivity
4) Not enough calories (losing the winter weight, folks)
5) Exhaustion
6) Boredom
7) The thyroid meds really aren’t working so well
8) I’m really, truly, going insane

I’m fine this morning. Something tapped my ‘reset’ button overnight and I’m my usual sex goddess/wife/mother self. Might be that 9 hours of sleep I got. Or the haunting dreams that left me confused. Or whatever chemicals were in my brain stem that were peed out. I did pee a lot this morning.

Or, it could be that last night, I fell into a dark, dreary, wintertime black hole.

Several years ago, when my new doctor discovered I had an underactive thyroid (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis), he listed the symptoms for me:

Weight gain
Dry skin
Dry hair
Fatigue
Depression
Sensitivity to cold
Constipation
Muscle cramps
Muscle weakness

I looked at him and blurted out, “But those are the symptoms of living through a Michigan January!”

Which is 100% correct.

BTW, if you do have the above symptoms, esp. you women (because we get ALL the fun diseases), check out this link to Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, and see your doctor.

And wish me luck that I don’t fall into that black hole again. I’m staying away from the coffee pot today. And thinking good, healthy thoughts.

Update: Well, this is just sad. Goddamit, but this man had PIPES!! You'll be missed, Lou.

Deli-cious

We have no good delis in town.

And you’d think in a college town, you’d find at least half a dozen places ready, willing, and able to slap you up a corned-beef-and-swiss-on-rye-extra-mayo-and-brown-mustard-two-dill-pickles-please.

Instead, we have cappuccino places.

Fah.

Yesh, I admit to sometimes cavorting out to purchase a lovely venti latte, and sipping it carefully and territorially.

BUT.

There’s something to be said for standing at a glass display case full of meats and cheeses and lovely hand-cut veggies and warm bread and condiments and requesting from a sweet, smiling clerk, that they very kindly assemble a sammie that would knock the fuzz offa yer socks. And I'm not talking 'bout no Subway sammie, either.

ALTHOUGH!

I did, accidentally, find a place in town that does a deli thing as a sideline, and now it’s making me crazy with cured/processed desire. It’s “World-Wide Bread”, and they do, indeed, make and sell breads from all countries and cultures. (Their nipply brioche makes me weak in the knees.) Last time I was there, I noticed a very small case of deli supplies, and a dry erase board above it with half a dozen suggested sammies. I chose one, happily handed over six smackers, and took the paper bag back to work where I pulled out the BIGGEST sammie I’ve ever gotten at a Midwest deli (made on their homemade wheaty bread), and a bag of lovely salted chips, three napkins, and the most delicious apple I’ve ever seen.

It was hog heaven.

Mmmm…hog…bacon…ham…yum.


(I’m haunted by thoughts of delis and tattoos today…I want more of each…. And my next Floater Boyfriend will be a tattoo artist as featured on television….)

Housekeeping

Finally, fer cryin' out loud, I've updated the static part of this blog (waving hand in "Price Is Right" model pose to your right, ladies and gentlemen).

These uber-cool bloggers have been enrolled in the Mona Buonanotte Site for Daily Clicks:

After School Snack (she's just a witty basket of information and good readin')
Botanical Girl (college life meets real life -- engaged! woo-hoo!)
Bugg (Seattle...sigh!)
Cannot Be Trusted (music, politics, pop culture)
Elliot (SUCH a good writer! tha grooviest cat...I want to tousel his hair....)
Figleaf's Real Adult Sex (Oh, the sex talk...the adult sex talk...I was gonna keep him a secret until Orange blogrolled him, so I guess he's fair game now!)
Gypsy (funny. smart. goddess.)
SVN, prn (my favorite nurse!)

Also, Hard Core Punk Rock got the update, yo.

The "Gone, Not Forgotten" section contains links (functional or not) of folks who've left, vamoosed, scrammed, or disappeared. I miss y'all, and will check back from time to time, just to see if you've reappeared.

The "Geek Lust" section now contains links to Rathergood and Dinosaur Comics.

I've updated "Five Freebie Lays" (after months and months of lusting and fantasizing, I must say), and added "Past Floater Boyfriends". Yes, I know this needs more explanation.

Boyfriends.

Yes.

Okay, here goes.

Ahem.

I'm numbering just because.

1) Five Freebie Lays - Floater - Les Stroud. If you get the Science Channel, you'll recognize him as "Survivorman". If you click the link to the right and look at his face, then back up and click the link to Mike Doughty above it, you'll notice that they were separated at birth. Same facial structure, same hair, same pout. So sue me! "Survivorman" shows Les doing some really out-there stuff, spending a week alone in some desolate location with only cameras, a swiss army knife, and a few items, stranded. And sometimes, if I'm very lucky, he takes off his clothes. AND he's Canadian. Man, I loves me some Canadians! (Brendan Shanahan, oh baby!) I tell you what, if Les were to build me a shelter of pine boughs and find wild berries and nuts and fresh water for me whilst we frittered away (just fritterin'!) a whole week alone, skinny-dipping in a mountain stream, well...I'd just be a walking orgasm. (*More* of a walking orgasm.)

2) Five Freebie Lays - Potential - Alan Tudyk. Okay, yes, I have five 'boyfriends'. But that doesn't mean I can't keep my eyes open for new meat. "Potential" means just that...a few fantasies here and there, but yet to be rotated in. Back in October, I drug the IT guys to a movie, "Serenity". Alan played "Wash", and gar! Sexy! (Oh, gar, he was Steve the Pirate in "Dodgeball", and now do you see why the attraction? Sci-fi! Pirates! Another blonde! Yes! OH YES!!)

3) Five Freebie Lays - Potential - John Saunders. If you're up on a Sunday morning, and, like me, a heathen, you'll find The Sports Reporters on ESPN. John hosts, and he's one smart, funny, handsome man. Big man. Yum. He's got twinkly eyes, and broad shoulders, and his voice is just like buttah on a biscuit...smooth, hearty, soothing. I swear, all I'd need is 10 minutes alone with him...ten.... Okay, twenty. At least. I've gotta see what's underneath that tailored suit....

4) Past Floater Boyfriend: Kirk Herbstreit. One-third of the "College Game-Day Guys". I was never really attracted to blonde men until I saw him on this show a few years ago, then...hubba frickin' hubba! He's really not my usual type, he's too pretty, too sweet, too perky. BUT. Daaaaamn. Now, every year, during college football season, Kirk is my Floater Boyfriend. Every. Year.

5) Past Floater Boyfriend: Jason Statham. A quick in-and-out boyfriend, but he may rotate back in. What is it about tough muscular bald guys that makes my cooter just tingle? Delish.

6) Past Floater Boyfriend: Peter Sarsgaard. I can't find the post where I gushed about him. Just look at his eyes. You'll understand this pick...bedroom eyes...sweet little thangs, oh...my...god....

Well, that's it. I was gonna go to bed early tonight, but HAH!

Wha’ happen?

Well, I’m back in the world again.

So my eyes are telling me.

My butt’s telling me it would be more comfortable in sweats and napping on the couch.

The kids went back to school today, the spouse and I are at our respective jobs, the earth continued rotating on its wobbly axis, and the holiday season is officially OVER. Thank Jeebus.

I think for a while there, I was getting dangerously close to collapsing. Too much, too soon, the work the kids the parties the school board the birthdays the trips the shopping the planning the cooking the eating the shopping the shopping the shopping….FACK! My “To-Do” list was 2 notebook pages long (college-ruled), and I obsessed like I do every damn minute of every damn day. It wasn’t until yesterday that I FINALLY felt ‘caught up’. And where were those ‘vacation days’ I was gonna wile away, lolling around on the couch with the kids, eating popcorn and making endless snowmen in the fresh snow? Gone. Pffffft.

Fack again.

My “To-Do” list is now on a post-it note, 6 items that can be accomplished with phone calls, internet exploration, and one plea to the Roto-Rooter guy.

I stopped eating crap today. Crappity crap crap like sugar and white bread and stuff. I’m working on the most delish salad with tuna and feta and tomatoes so fresh they !pop! in my mouth. For some strange reason, even though I ate literally everything I laid eyes on from November 1 through January 2, this morning the scales said I only gained 2 lbs. TWO???!?!? Yes. I have a feeling that my new thyroid meds are actually !working! now, the glorious au natural pig chemicals finally tweaked my brain (not unlike a harpist plucking a plucky chord) such that my body finally remembers…A-HA!!! I’m supposed to be quick! Yoiks!

Anywho. The wild IT boys are calling me, which reminds me of a t-shirt I saw on G-4 that I must seek out, purchase, and wear: “Talk Nerdy To Me”.

(When the Girl-Child and I played my new Mystery Date game over the holidays, I squealed with rabid delight when I opened the little white door to discover my uber-geek date…Ooh, code for me, you little minx, slap me with sql, convert me to html, you sexy, sexy beast!)