Lit blog

[Angeline]

Sometimes, well hell, most times ... I live in my own world. I don't know how or when it happened but a few years ago it just did. I see, work, kids and cleaning everything ( mmm, mustn't forget the sick part either )...

I often forget there are others out there going through the same crazy ass stuff that I am. That's what I call a reality break. Thank You ladies for sharing your children with us/me. As a single mom it helps to see how other "deal" with "things" , lol ~~

Yup. And you're welcome. If I could somehow make my kids see that everything really is ok in the end: that you will find love and it'll be wonderful and even if it isn't you'll still survive, I'd give my right arm (not saying much cause I'm left-handed lol). But only life can teach them that, so in the meantime I listen and buy the jeans and new shoes when I can.

 

[champagne1982]

Today is day three of winter cold that only those who live next door to the Arctic can understand as well as the Innu and the raven and the caribou. Not many creatures stay north of 66 through December and January, they migrate south, to live here, amidst the boreal forests and lakes. Imagine, someplace is cold enough that this is "moving south" for the winter. I laugh every time I think of it and realize living with sub 40 below weather can be positive when somewhere else is nearing minus 60.

 

[WickedEve]

As God is my witness, as long as there is a can of hairspray and a hot curling brush, I will have the appearance of a full head of hair!

My grandmother lost all her hair in the 1940s. She had "child birth fever." Nanny had no hair, no eyebrows, no lashes -- no hair at all. She entertained thoughts of ending it all but she had children to raise. Alone. The daddy had died. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. I found out when I was a teen. Different women have different problems. It took me years to have children. And now, like my Nanny, my kids' dad is gone and I'm raising them alone. I, too, don't have time to kill myself over hair. My doctor said I wouldn't be like my grandma. My hair will wax and wane. I call it my shedding. This past summer's shedding was the worst. I cried and stopped eating and lost about 30 or 40 pounds, which is way cool!

Now, new hair is growing, according to Honey of the Hut. My hair girl is Honey at the Hair Hut. She knows my hair. Both my hair and I are her clients. She told me about the banker who bought shampoo from her and his hair grew back. "I'll take two bottles!" They'll be here next week. Hey, it's good enough for a banker.

 

[normal jean]

................ftp

 

[WickedEve]

It all became more complicated, starting this weekend. I met his children. It began with stressful, adult arguments and apology flowers, bear roadblocks, Massaki's and crazy hair. I knew I liked the girl when she agreed that we must grill the old lady, with crazy hair. Carnival Cruise lady, racist lady, "I'll decide who is Japanese enough" lady. His daughter is "flippin' sweet" and her jacket is "ghetto fabulous."

Outside the restaurant that Saturday night, outside in the cold, Hugo told me that she approved. "She gave me a high five and told me way to go dad." The boy was easy. He sensed my nutty exuberance and matched it. We had much to talk about.

Even though Hugo had met my children more than several times, and even though the youngest was cool with everything, the 10-year-old continued to pitch a fit. Oh, the hissing and slithering and biting! Oh, the shaking fists, the threats, the screams and the cackling/spinning and falling to the floor! Hugo longed for the quiet and calm of the mummified possum.

I did start this out with the word complicated. I suppose I feel like it's more complicated now. It's no longer just dating, not just fun, not just sex and gleefully disturbing behavior. It is a relationship, and has been one, but now on a new and slightly precarious level. There are talks of taking my kids and his son to Disneyworld! Disneyworld is a family outing. Family. The hissing and screaming ended this Tuesday.

We began Tuesday with dark plans that turned into burning dead-love teddybears and wiping away dust to make room for the Monty Python figures. Then we picked his son up at school and took the sick (maybe, maybe not) boy home. Normal day for freaky people. Hugo followed me home -- an hour's drive on country roads and highway. We took turns flashing each other. I was impressed that Hugo could moon me, driving 65 mph. At my place, we only had 30 minutes until the bus arrived. We used those minutes, sweating and twisting and thrusting and one of us begging for lube. And it was still a normal day for us.

The children came home that Tuesday and our normalcy road away on the dying horse of conniptions. They played soccer in the yard, learned balancing tricks, screamed joyfully, found the big dipper and saw orange planets in the sky. They talked with the French monkey and giggled over toe cheese. They played all evening and into the night with a guy who is a dad. Not their dad, yet he plays like a dad, making me aware that I've just been a mom for so long and that's been good but maybe not good enough. He doesn't want to be their dad and I'm uneasy about him playing with them like a dad. They may get hurt somehow. We may all get hurt.

Today, I had a meeting at the school. It was about the 10-year-old. She's sweet and smart but has some emotional issues. It was our fault -- her dad's and mine. She was only a baby when she screamed and clung to my mom, not wanting to go back home. At least there was a dad back then. Though he left and left and left and then he really left. So we both have issues. We don't want to be left. I will never leave her. But I don't really trust most men. Hey, I know a lot of women don't and I have enough sense to realize there are some terrific guys out there. But when I'm involved with one, well, I'm cautious. Cautious is a good way to put it.

The door greeter at Wal-mart is a neighbor lady of mine. I saw her today and she saw me walking with Hugo, Tuesday. "I saw you with your new man. He's a handsome man. You're such a nice woman. I'm glad you found someone." Finding someone was always a concern of mine. I told her that he was nice. I always tell the best about Hugo. I also told her that I worry about the kids. Men come and go and I don't want them (or me) to be left. He doesn't seem to want to ever leave. He seems to be making sure that I'm his to keep forever. Ironically, I guess that worries me too. It figures...

It's all so complicated and maybe not. Maybe I'm making it complicated and oh, god... my mom just called and her friend wants to know how the relationship is going and is the sex good. What's with older ladies? I told my mom that the her friend wouldn't like our sex. It's too rough. My mom wanted to know if I hang myself or anything deadly and weird. God! Nothing is weirder than my mom asking that! I told her that spreader bars and floggers were part of it but we didn't do anything to bring us closer to death. Then she asked about needles. "People stick needles in themselves!" No. No! I don't do that. Okay, mom, we're boring. We have boring sex. I swear to God.
It is complicated. It really is! Good grief, Mom!

 

[Angeline]

It all became more complicated, starting this weekend. I met his children. It began with stressful, adult arguments and apology flowers, bear roadblocks, Massaki's and crazy hair. I knew I liked the girl when she agreed that we must grill the old lady, with crazy hair. Carnival Cruise lady, racist lady, "I'll decide who is Japanese enough" lady. His daughter is "flippin' sweet" and her jacket is "ghetto fabulous."

Outside the restaurant that Saturday night, outside in the cold, Hugo told me that she approved. "She gave me a high five and told me way to go dad." The boy was easy. He sensed my nutty exuberance and matched it. We had much to talk about.

Even though Hugo had met my children more than several times, and even though the youngest was cool with everything, the 10-year-old continued to pitch a fit. Oh, the hissing and slithering and biting! Oh, the shaking fists, the threats, the screams and the cackling/spinning and falling to the floor! Hugo longed for the quiet and calm of the mummified possum.

I did start this out with the word complicated. I suppose I feel like it's more complicated now. It's no longer just dating, not just fun, not just sex and gleefully disturbing behavior. It is a relationship, and has been one, but now on a new and slightly precarious level. There are talks of taking my kids and his son to Disneyworld! Disneyworld is a family outing. Family. The hissing and screaming ended this Tuesday.

We began Tuesday with dark plans that turned into burning dead-love teddybears and wiping away dust to make room for the Monty Python figures. Then we picked his son up at school and took the sick (maybe, maybe not) boy home. Normal day for freaky people. Hugo followed me home -- an hour's drive on country roads and highway. We took turns flashing each other. I was impressed that Hugo could moon me, driving 65 mph. At my place, we only had 30 minutes until the bus arrived. We used those minutes, sweating and twisting and thrusting and one of us begging for lube. And it was still a normal day for us.

The children came home that Tuesday and our normalcy road away on the dying horse of conniptions. They played soccer in the yard, learned balancing tricks, screamed joyfully, found the big dipper and saw orange planets in the sky. They talked with the French monkey and giggled over toe cheese. They played all evening and into the night with a guy who is a dad. Not their dad, yet he plays like a dad, making me aware that I've just been a mom for so long and that's been good but maybe not good enough. He doesn't want to be their dad and I'm uneasy about him playing with them like a dad. They may get hurt somehow. We may all get hurt.

Today, I had a meeting at the school. It was about the 10-year-old. She's sweet and smart but has some emotional issues. It was our fault -- her dad's and mine. She was only a baby when she screamed and clung to my mom, not wanting to go back home. At least there was a dad back then. Though he left and left and left and then he really left. So we both have issues. We don't want to be left. I will never leave her. But I don't really trust most men. Hey, I know a lot of women don't and I have enough sense to realize there are some terrific guys out there. But when I'm involved with one, well, I'm cautious. Cautious is a good way to put it.

The door greeter at Wal-mart is a neighbor lady of mine. I saw her today and she saw me walking with Hugo, Tuesday. "I saw you with your new man. He's a handsome man. You're such a nice woman. I'm glad you found someone." Finding someone was always a concern of mine. I told her that he was nice. I always tell the best about Hugo. I also told her that I worry about the kids. Men come and go and I don't want them (or me) to be left. He doesn't seem to want to ever leave. He seems to be making sure that I'm his to keep forever. Ironically, I guess that worries me too. It figures...

It's all so complicated and maybe not. Maybe I'm making it complicated and oh, god... my mom just called and her friend wants to know how the relationship is going and is the sex good. What's with older ladies? I told my mom that the her friend wouldn't like our sex. It's too rough. My mom wanted to know if I hang myself or anything deadly and weird. God! Nothing is weirder than my mom asking that! I told her that spreader bars and floggers were part of it but we didn't do anything to bring us closer to death. Then she asked about needles. "People stick needles in themselves!" No. No! I don't do that. Okay, mom, we're boring. We have boring sex. I swear to God.
It is complicated. It really is! Good grief, Mom!

You're getting really honest with yourself about all this. I predict that everything will be ok.

But I'm really posting to tell you that the thought of your Disney World blogs (Wicked Eve does Disney) has me slavering with excitement.

 

[WickedEve]

You're getting really honest with yourself about all this. I predict that everything will be ok.

But I'm really posting to tell you that the thought of your Disney World blogs (Wicked Eve does Disney) has me slavering with excitement.

It will be awhile before I do Disney! lol Though I do want to go back.
What do you think of that mother of mine!?! Do I hang myself? UH! I think she's the one into the really hardcore freakiness.

 

[Angeline]

It will be awhile before I do Disney! lol Though I do want to go back.
What do you think of that mother of mine!?! Do I hang myself? UH! I think she's the one into the really hardcore freakiness.

I cannot imagine. My mother practically had a nervous breakdown when she discovered, 30 years after the fact, that yes I had smoked pot when I was in high school. She stills mentions it occasionally with a look of total disbelief on her face.

Does your dad know she's asking about floggers and spreader bars? Lol. Maybe now you know what to get her for Mother's Day. Would you rather we not continue this conversation.

PS Do not tell your mother I said you should get her a flogger for Mother's Day! I know you!

 

[WickedEve]

I cannot imagine. My mother practically had a nervous breakdown when she discovered, 30 years after the fact, that yes I had smoked pot when I was in high school. She stills mentions it occasionally with a look of total disbelief on her face.

Does your dad know she's asking about floggers and spreader bars? Lol. Maybe now you know what to get her for Mother's Day. Would you rather we not continue this conversation.

PS Do not tell your mother I said you should get her a flogger for Mother's Day! I know you!

She told me to have her a birthday party this weekend. I now know what to buy her.
I think she'll use it on my dad.
Okay, I have study with Hanna. English test tomorrow.

 

[normal jean]

............

 

[WickedEve]

Fat pictures! I have a vintage, metal desk-basket beside my monitor. Inside are lemon gum, a broken lady made in Occupied Japan, small silver frames, a red measuring tape and a series of fat photos from my dark, dark bob bob days. Many of you know that bob bob is the dead ex.

An unhappy woman will find happiness. An unhappy woman -- left at home with babies, no car, to much stress -- will find salty-sweet-crunchy happiness. I'm not sure why I keep those rotund blots of Kodak color. A reminder? A warning? Drink coasters?

"I was being nosey and found your pictures."

"The fat ones? Where?"

"That metal basket on your desk."

"But I was fat in those pictures! Unhappy and depressed..."

"I'll never let you get depressed like that." Well, I bet! I know he wants me happy, and I'm sure he doesn't want me fat.

Last night was a night for confessions and comforting and honesty. Hugo isn't really nosey. He just wants to know me. He tells me that my room is an extension of me. It is my artwork, with bits of me tucked away on shelves, atop the deco vanity, inside the cedar chest. He understands my room, a room I share with him. A room with fat photos and maybe too much plump understanding. Oh, well, he has plumber's butt.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Yesterday a rather frowsy, bewildered woman wandered into the shop. She was off-kilter in that way that implies that the anti-depressants may be at a little higher dosage than perhaps they should.

"Do you sell stones?" she said, looking directly at the, conservatively, 60 square feet of table and counter space crammed with bowls of polished stones.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, we do. Were you looking for anything in particular?"

"Patchouli," she said.

A long pause. "Patchouli is a scented oil," I said, "and we do have that in a number of forms. Would you like to..."

"No," she said firmly, "I'm looking for the stone." She began taking stones out of various bowls and smelling them.

"Um, well. None of our rocks are really, uh, scented... Might you be remembering a different name? There's pyrite, and picture jasper, and peacock rock... or perhaps it was the solid perfume block, in a jar, like one of these?"

"This was a stone, and it was patchouli," she said firmly, continuing to smell pieces of rose quartz and amazonite and obsidian. Each time, she looked disappointed and put the rock back into the bowl.

"Um," I said.

"My daughter and I got one at that store, the Third World or something, three years ago. She loved hers. So I thought I'd get one." (She was referring to Third Planet, a little hippie head shop downtown. Figures. They would carry lots of patchouli...)

"I'm sorry, I'm really not aware of any stones that smell naturally like patchouli. It might have been..."

"No, that's fine," she said, already headed for the door. "I'll just go back there and ask."

Just please don't tell them I sent you, I thought.

 

[normal jean]

....................

 

[WickedEve]

anyway, i was hoping to read an Evie post, but no such luck..

We went to Chuck E. Cheese on Sunday. It started with a forest fire, then Katy got stuck in the hamster tube (whatever in the hell it's called) and the on way home, I think a dog wanted to jump through the window and rip out Hugo's throat. Hanna said the tubes smell like poots. The pizza was okay...
There you go NJ! It's all you're getting for now.

 

[normal jean]

We went to Chuck E. Cheese on Sunday. It started with a forest fire, then Katy got stuck in the hamster tube (whatever in the hell it's called) and the on way home, I think a dog wanted to jump through the window and rip out Hugo's throat. Hanna said the tubes smell like poots. The pizza was okay...
There you go NJ! It's all you're getting for now.

I hope you know how much a adore you. That's all I need for right now

 

[WickedEve]

I hope you know how much a adore you. That's all I need for right now

Ahhh, I love you too, stinky southern sister.

 

[annaswirls]

Scented stones? I never heard of them either, but of course, google has
http://mystonescents.com/index_files/scentedstones.htm

apparently they are the latest rage (I am always the last to find out) and not really stones like the kind she was sniffing

here is a link on how to make them.... get a jump on the market.... next time she comes, start making your fortune

Yesterday a rather frowsy, bewildered woman wandered into the shop. She was off-kilter in that way that implies that the anti-depressants may be at a little higher dosage than perhaps they should.

"Do you sell stones?" she said, looking directly at the, conservatively, 60 square feet of table and counter space crammed with bowls of polished stones.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, we do. Were you looking for anything in particular?"

"Patchouli," she said.

A long pause. "Patchouli is a scented oil," I said, "and we do have that in a number of forms. Would you like to..."

"No," she said firmly, "I'm looking for the stone." She began taking stones out of various bowls and smelling them.

"Um, well. None of our rocks are really, uh, scented... Might you be remembering a different name? There's pyrite, and picture jasper, and peacock rock... or perhaps it was the solid perfume block, in a jar, like one of these?"

"This was a stone, and it was patchouli," she said firmly, continuing to smell pieces of rose quartz and amazonite and obsidian. Each time, she looked disappointed and put the rock back into the bowl.

"Um," I said.

"My daughter and I got one at that store, the Third World or something, three years ago. She loved hers. So I thought I'd get one." (She was referring to Third Planet, a little hippie head shop downtown. Figures. They would carry lots of patchouli...)

"I'm sorry, I'm really not aware of any stones that smell naturally like patchouli. It might have been..."

"No, that's fine," she said, already headed for the door. "I'll just go back there and ask."

Just please don't tell them I sent you, I thought.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Scented stones? I never heard of them either, but of course, google has
http://mystonescents.com/index_files/scentedstones.htm

apparently they are the latest rage (I am always the last to find out) and not really stones like the kind she was sniffing

here is a link on how to make them.... get a jump on the market.... next time she comes, start making your fortune

Yeah, actually my co-owner is the perfumer in the business and she let me in on that when I told her about the nice lady. I only know shiny objects, and she takes care of the Things that Smell Good.

Given that encounter, K has decided to go ahead and start making the "scented stone" things for the shop.

hee hee. That oughta confuse the shit out of people for a while... We'll hear about a whole crowd out digging in the crystal mines in Arkansas looking for the elusive 'patchouli stone..."

but thanks for the link!

bj

 

[annaswirls]

hee hee. That oughta confuse the shit out of people for a while... We'll hear about a whole crowd out digging in the crystal mines in Arkansas looking for the elusive 'patchouli stone..."



bj

now there is a poem!

 

[annaswirls]

stay away from the nature channel!!!! Join me in some mindless entertainment (while I spend hours on the sofa breast feeding.

I am currently addicted to Celebrity Rehab mostly because I am in love with Dr. Drew... good lord do they come any sexier?

For Christmas, this past year, I gave hubby his dream come true, ( well, that is what he said). I bought him a class at the Richard Petty driving school. He got to go to class, drivers meeting and drive a Nascar car around the track at 140 MPH. we did this yesterday....


there were 26 "students" in all and everyone had family there We made it a day, both our girls accompanied us. It was nice. He said it was the best present he ever got and I think he meant it.

anyway, I had a bad day today. left my wallet in my kids car and she went back to school....I was watching an episode of Dangerous encounters on NG channel and it was about snakes. Now, I love them, as long as they are not messing with me, but I had an honest to God panic attack while watching the show. I hadnt had one in years,not since my doc put me on zoloft. it was scary....

anyway, i was hoping to read an Evie post, but no such luck..

 

[normal jean]

...............

 

[normal jean]

...............

 

[WickedEve]

My week-old, apology flowers are still fresh on the kitchen table. I sat them there to go with the apology meat. Hugo is a good man but an occasional Jim Beam butthole. He swears he'll never drink the stuff again -- especially after last night's attitude. When he woke up this morning, he knew he had screwed up. Then he read my emails and he knew he was really screwed! What could he do to fix this problem? First, he shaved his balls. Why? I had no idea why... until later.

Hugo had already sent apology flowers the week before. He knows my love of meat and I even told him, "Next time I want meat!" I knew that meat would arrive today.

The first part of the day was quiet. No calls, no emails, no meat. Don't fail me, Hugo. I took a shower and curled my hair. I wanted to look good for Hugo, who better damn well show up at my house -- with meat.

I walked down the hill to my mom's to drop off a box of junk, so she could check it out before taking it to goodwill. She likes to make sure there isn't something there she could use, like a tupperware lid. A few minutes later, I was back in my house, checking my emails. Nothing. Then I took my schnoodle outside. That's when I found the package on my front porch. It was meat.

I didn't know they had meat delivery around here. Then I saw the SUV driving slowly away from my house. A moment later my cell rang. "There's something for you on the front porch." Hugo drove around the block and parked in front of the house. My man approached me like a boy. I would only allow the bad boy to kiss my nose.

We talked.

Then he cleaned my oven and cooked the meat. Apology meat tastes so good.

 

[Angeline]

stay away from the nature channel!!!! Join me in some mindless entertainment (while I spend hours on the sofa breast feeding.

I am currently addicted to Celebrity Rehab mostly because I am in love with Dr. Drew... good lord do they come any sexier?

I used to listen to Dr. Drew on the radio years ago. I had no idea he was so attractive in addition to being so sane! Handsome and sane are two qualities I love in a man.

Oh and isn't that guy from Taxi just a wreck? (Lol. No pun intended.) I didn't even realize who he was at first. So sad! Yes, I admit I too have watched Celebrity Rehab and even one time--ok twice--My Fair Brady.

My current hawt tv crushola though is Nick Arrojo, the hair guy from What Not to Wear.

I checked his website. Five hundred bucks for a cut and style from him. I'm buying lottery tickets.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

My current hawt tv crushola though is Nick Arrojo, the hair guy from What Not to Wear.

I checked his website. Five hundred bucks for a cut and style from him. I'm buying lottery tickets.

day-um!

o thanks. Like I wasn't already paralyzed with lust today. You have to exacerbate it.

rrrrr.

bj