Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow, Tuck-In Style

I’ve been the prime “Tucker-Inner” since the kids were babies. It’s a job I relish, and thoroughly enjoy…the ritual of bedtime, the crisp sheets and snuggling, the quiet darkness wherein I’m met with questions and observations about the world that make my heart burst with selfish pride.

Boy-child, solidly 11, wants to talk about the world. People in his world. Rules and family policy. The other night he asked me, “Not to freak you out or anything, and you don’t have to worry, but at what age should people date?” He’s had Repro Health, so I first made a distinction about “dating” in the elementary school sense (hanging out at the lockers, face-to-face conversation (however stilted and shy), a warm feeling in your stomach) and “dating” in the high school sense (huggingandkissingandlovin’emup). I always have to check myself to make sure I’m not rambling onandonandon, but he never seems to mind.

Girl-child, who’s 8 going on 16, wants to talk about her day, about her friends, and holds my hands and arms and head tightly while I crouch beside her bed, stroking her head, whispering, “Shhh…close your eyes and breath nice and slow.”

Last night at the Tuck-In, Girl-child threw herself back on her bed, arms above her head, and stretched.

“Smell my pits!” she commanded.

“Um…no?” I countered.

“C’mon, Mama!”

Figuring, well, how much sweat can a pre-tween generate, I called her bluff and stuck my nose in her armpit.

“Blech!”, I laughed. “You’re…stinky!”

Girl-child laughed and stuck her nose in the crevice, inhaling deeply. She wrinkled her nose up and stuck out her tongue.

“I should get you some deodorant,” I said.

Girl-child’s countenance changed. Her face went from crumpled-up-stinky-smell to one of pure joy.

“Deodorant? I get to wear Deodorant? Yay! Yay! Deodorant! Deodorant!”

“You want to wear deodorant?” I asked.

“Yes! Yes! Oh yes! Thank you Mama!” I couldn’t have made her any happier if I’d told her Hannah Montana was coming to our house for a sleepover.

We then spent the next few minutes talking about the kinds of deodorant we could buy her, what smells were in the various cans and roll-on tubes (Girl-child wondered if there was berry-smelling deodorant…I said, um, no, people don’t usually like the smell of strawberries shooting out from their sweaty armpits). I promised to buy her some tonight.

Who knew so much happiness could be got from stinky armpits?

The Poetry Friday WORD for Tomorrow is…anything having to do with SWEAT. You may use the word “PERSPIRE”…or “GLOW”…whatever these dog days of summer do to those little glands of yours. Feel free to use this word in your blog post tomorrow in whatever fashion zips your zipper…story, poem, song, photo, macramé wall hanging, bathing suit horror story….

Now I’m wondering if berry deodorant isn’t such a bad idea after all….

Cramming It In

1. So flushtered. Big work project due by the end of today. To-Do lists out of control. 10-hour work days. Summer is more than half over and I haven't accomplished one quarter of the things I wanted to. Gar.

2. I also think I lost my sense of humour somewhere, if you find it, let me know.

3. Question...why is it, when I want to rent a movie, it's either already checked out, or the video store's never heard of it and doesn't know when they'll get it? Conspiracy? Bloody 'ell.

4. Congrats Big Daddy on winning Next Food Network Star last night! You totally rocked it!

5. I had a dream last night that I came to work and ate all the Monday Bagels and Donuts. When I really got to work this morning, I was bummed that I'd have to forsake bagels and donuts for lovely hard-boiled eggs. (Hello Mr. Atkins.)

6. I need more sleep. And more coffee.

Poetry Friday: Summer

Today's Poetry Friday Word isn't a Word. Bah, I'm gettin' tricky on ya, huh? The Poetry Friday, er, Idea for the Week is about Summer. What makes summer...SUMMER...for you? Feel free to expound upon this idea today in your blog post, in whatever form shakes the peaches from your tree...story, poem, photo, lyrical masterpiece, view of your lovely tanned extremities....

Summer to me is food.

It's hot dogs and Mom's potato salad (the best on the Planet, I tells ya) and chocolate chip cookies and lemonade, then the crushing weight of having to wait an hour before I go swimming.

It's stopping at the local Ice Cream Shack and eating a cone, or parfait, or sundae, simultaneously nursing the cooling goodness and snarfing it down to temper the inevitable ice-cream-down-the-arm effect.

It's fruits and vegetables, seemingly endless, that appear in grocery stores, and on tables at work with a "Free!" sign, which I lovingly and hoggingly scoop up and turn into dinner.

It's the smell of barbeques.

It's the smell of shelled peas.

It's the smell of fairs and festivals, elephant ears and french fries, and the Chicken Dinner sponsored by the local Kiwanis.

I must stop now, as the drool is pooling up on the keyboard....

Poetry Friday WORD for Tomorrow...plus food

The Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow is less a word and more of an idea. What is it that is quintessentially summer for you? Is it a song on the radio that reminds you of the summers of no-school-no-job? Is it your favourite ice cream shack opening its sticky white window, ready to hand you a parfait in a plastic cup? Is it pulling out your sandles...you know the ones...broken in and slighty broken, but the most comfortable shoes you own? Tell us what makes Summer...SUMMER. Express yourself in a story, poem, song, photo, recitation of your favourite summer vacation as a kid, slip us a video of you in that bikini....

Last night I made paella. First time. Always wanted to make it but, boy, the ingredient list is just Vast! Chicken, sausage, shrimp, fish, saffron rice, veggies (you can also add mussels, clams, or lobster). I started prepping and cooking at 4:15, and didn't finish until 6:30. I used nearly every pot, pan, and plate in the kitchen. The end result? Good. But not fantastic. Not oh-my-god-this-is-heaven. Not what I expected. I was a bit disappointed. Still in all, a good effort, but really? I could have made 4 dinners with the meat in that thing. It took too long, and by the time the night was over, I'd washed dishes FOUR TIMES. Gar. That in itself is enough for me NEVER to make the dish again. Next time? Next time I'll just throw leftovers together and call it "paella puta".

I did, however, make Gary's Blueberry Cake last night for the Boss's birthday celebration today. It looks and smells lovely. The Guys will fall all over themselves to bow and scrape at my feet, making themselves worthy of a slice. At least, that's my evil plan.

Summer Songs

Some songs will always remind me of summer...lying in the grass at my parents house, the radio on beside me, slatered with baby oil to get a tan, the bees buzzing around me, no school, too young for a job...aw crap, now I'm getting all nostalgic.

You have songs like this, dontcha? Summer songs? That you crank up way effin' loud on the radio?

What are yours?

Here's a couple mine, which I've been singing this morning (and yes, I'm old):


The Beach Boys (who knew?)



Bachman Turner Overdrive:

How I Wish That It Would Rain

I walked out of the front door this morning and noticed a large tree-ish weed had sprouted out of a bush in the front of the house. Mocking me. Then I saw the weeds around Girl-child's marigolds, and the shagginess of the lawn, and remembered the bags of leaves in the back yard that have sat there since last fall (LAST fall...go ahead and say it...I'm a slacker).

I cursed them all.

I then vowed to do yard work when I got home. Against my will.

As I drove the dark streets toward the comfort and coffee of work, a fine mist worked its way over my windshield. Curious, that. Not rain, not quite fog...a mist, something out of a John Carpenter movie, or that dream I had as a kid where I walked in my parents front yard, eating the mist that formed in the dark.

NPR news said it's supposed to rain today. With the possibility of something fun, like hail.

Well, wouldn't that beat the hell out of doing yard work?

I love rainy days in summer. As a kid, it meant I couldn't work in the garden, mow the lawn, or pick up the wormy apples that fell in the orchard. It meant scary movies on television. It meant popcorn...the real stuff...popped with oil in a big pan and topped with melted butter. It meant a nap. It meant everything slowed down, and only the necessities could pull focus. It meant the radio station, the groovy one from Detroit, played sensual, sad Motown classics. It meant we could all take it easy.

I can mow the lawn tomorrow.

Today, it can rain.

Poetry Friday: The Word is OUT

Today's Poetry Friday Word is OUT. Feel free to use that word in your blog post today, in whatever form sugar-coats your cereal...story, poem, photo, rendition of your favourite tv theme song....

The kids are begging to go Outside, so I have a short list today:

1) One year ago today, I had a certain body part taken Out. I do not miss that body part, nor do I miss what was happening to my body at the time. In fact, having that surgery was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Once you hit a certain age, periods are totally overrated.

2) My friend Beth came Out to me Sophomore year of college. We sat on the steps of the dorm while she pulled the words out. It came as no surprise. Later she tried to kiss me. Again...no surprise.

3) Later tonight, Girl-child and I are joining some moms and their daughter for a Girls Night Out. Girl-child insists on singing the Hannah Montana song of the same name. Damn you, Disney Channel...you are the devil.

Poetry Friday WORD for Tomorrow...and some Pork and Beans

Right to it...the Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow is...OUT. There are a variety of situations and contexts in which this lovely word may be used, and I leave it up to you smart folks to use this word in your blog posts tomorrow, in whatever fashion ties knots in your cherry stems...poem, story, photo, YouTube offering, church offering, treatise on the sweetened cereal industry....

Work has kicked my ass lately. Busy? Fack yeah. Matter of fact, last week while I was on vacation, for two days I had to work...it was from home, which was the only saving grace, but still? When I have alone time with Sergei? Work is the last thing I want to do. And I think it's getting to me...I woke up today from a dream about work feeling just ragged...awful, like I had the flu...sat up, put on my glasses, reached to the side of the bed for my nightshirt, and sat there for a minute trying to get my bearings. I looked at the clock. And looked again. 2 a.m. It was 2 a.m., and I was one-hundred-percent-certain it was time to make the donuts. Got naked again, snuggled under the covers, and got nearly three more hours sleep before it really was time to drag my sorry butt out, go to work, and watch YouTube videos.

Speaking of, I finally, Finally, got around to watching the video for Weezer's "Pork and Beans" (which Sergei has been bugging me do forever). Okay, it's teh awesome. It really is. And wikipedia has a nifty list of links and pages to see the original YouTube videos. I had to watch P&B, like, three times, each time squealing at the new thing I found ("Chaaaarlie..."). Weezer is really harshin' my mallow by not letting me embed the damn thing....

Hasta banana!

The Accidental Van Halen Post

Fear struck me hard this morning. I woke up with the Fear that Something Bad Would Happen to the Kids On Their Field Trip Today. As I was packing lunches I feared that someone was lurking outside the kitchen window. Driving to work at 5:45 a.m., there were too many people out...were they innocently walking their dogs and coming home from booty calls, or did they have evil on their minds?

That's what I get for eating szechuan stir-fry before bed.

I started pushing buttons on the car radio...mostly crap on at that time of the morning...and I stumbled across just the thing to ease my ridiculous fears....

Van Halen.

And let me just say this now...Van Halen is ONLY GOOD with David Lee Roth. Um...Sammy Hagar? ur...ur...bleeech...I'd look to you to sell salsa and do beer jingles, not front a rock band. How 'bout that other guy from that other band that took over briefly for DLR? If I don't know your name, dude, it means you suck.

David Lee Roth is the king of kings of Van Halen. His voice will forever be inked in my brain as the late-night crooner of my back-seat discoveries. That hair! That chest! That voice! The ability to jump incredibly high...with a penis in the way!

I cranked up "You Really Got Me" and now I feel so much better. Although I have the urge to crank up "Runnin' With the Devil" and gits me some Boones Farm and some herbage and go parkin' on country roads with my boyfriend.










I also love David solo...mmmm-mmm....



And, of course, the original, the fabulous, Louis Prima, doin' it first:

Today is Sergei's Birthday

My man is a bit older today, and even sexier than when we first met all those many years ago...if that's possible.

Go wish him a Happy Happy.

In honor of his birthday, I gift him with videos of 4 of his Fantasy Girlfriends...I can't remember the fifth.

Happy Birthday, Sexy.








The One That Started It All:

Chicken Catch-a-Story

I had a dream last night that a bunch of us (who “us” is I couldn’t figure out...and I tried)…a bunch of us were driving through a park, during a writers festival. We stopped and congregated around a wooden picnic table, with the task to write Something Epic.

My dream changed.

Luke Skywalker…who looked like Liam Neeson and Hal Sparks love child…was walking down the hall. The camera followed him, questioning him authoritatively.

Camera: Do you know what happened?
Luke: I do. I destroyed the aircraft.
C: Do you know why?
L: I didn’t follow procedure.
C: That is correct. Which procedure didn’t you follow?
L: (silence)
C: Luke?
L: (Smiles wanly)
C: Come, let’s have some lunch.
(Pulls Luke to a table, bids him sit. C hands L a warm, brown chicken leg.)
C: This will make you feel better.
L: (eats, smiles) I didn’t enter the proper coordinates.
C: You didn’t enter the proper…yes. (smiles) Now…let’s dig in. Ah, how I love chicken!
(Camera pulls back to reveal the speaker…a floppy teddy bear wearing a nightcap and nightshirt…voiced by Jason Alexander. The Bear and Luke smack their lips and laugh, the camera pulls back farther to reveal Jason Alexander, who reaches over to the chicken…minus drumsticks…lying resplendent and juicy on a tray…and shakes a wing so the entire carcass moves and shimmies like an exotic dancer. They giggle. “Chicken Advisory Board” graphic pops to bottom of screen.)
(Fade out)


I wrote a chicken commercial. In my dream, as a writer, I wrote a goddamn chicken commercial. And a feverish, nerdy one at that.

I feel so...cheap.

And so hungry....

...and the pursuit of happiness

I'll be out of blogging range til after this glorious weekend, wherein I hope to enjoy some sleeping-in time, some family-time, and more than a bit of sand stuck up my bum-crack.

July 4th always reminds me of this Schoolhouse Rock segment. (I swear I passed high school civics class because of Schoolhouse Rock...I am forever in their debt.) Have a great weekend, everyone!




The Preamble

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

"That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security."