Writing sample....

Three Bags And One Carry On, The Sum Of My Life

Three mismatched duffels, one red, one camouflage that used to carry my parents camping equipment, and one blue that was actually supposed to be a laundry bag. My carry on is a Makita tool bag that I rescued from the back of the closet because it was sturdy and fairly clean and would hopefully keep my meager electronics safe and useable. They were nothing remarkable, much like what they contained, the sum contents of my 41 years of life on this earth, my clothes, my boots, some documents proving achievement of a college degree at a second rate college, pictures of my children and family, memorabilia of my glory days, and a few books and my electronic lifeline and leashes. The rest of what most people consider their identity, had been signed over to my ex-husband just a few hours earlier as part of a deal we had hashed out that was to allow me and my eldest son and youngest daughter to escape the hell that had been life in Flagstaff over the last 10 years.

The arguments had been epic, loud and close to bloody and ashamedly, I tried to incite him to violence because I needed to prove to myself that the monster I knew lurked in him was either dead or hiding in fear of going back to prison. Much to my surprise he hadn’t risen to the bait, though I had seen the familiar signs of his desire to inflict on me the lessons in pain that he had previously taught me for such disobediences. Prison and time had worn him down, and my jibes and challenges to his abilities to manage the demands of running a household, went unanswered. He claims he could do it, and hopefully he can, but doubts remain, he has never, “manned up” in the past, and the thought of my younger sons being left to their own devices while he either naps of stares at personal ads on Craigslist, leaves me sick with fear, but I have to go, and he has, “Rights”.

My oldest son is weary of the entire situation. He has been shuffled between grandparents, aunt, home and now we are moving to Portland in the hope of establishing a foothold in a new land and building a new life while he is still young enough to enjoy it, but all he wants is some stability, a room to himself, some good acne medication, reliable internet and driving lessons, for me to finally get over the anger and the rage. He is a very easy going kid for a former punching bag. He has forgiven him, and hell, he even jokes with him and shares music and jokes with him about girls, but that’s something I cannot do. That day is forever imprinted in my mind and when I look at him, I see that day when he was being beaten and punched in front of me and I did nothing. Though no, “Long Term” physical damage was done, and my ex was arrested and supposedly , “did his time”, there is time still being served, right here, in my mind, and until my sentence is up, and my son has the life he deserves, the sentence will continue to run.

The decision to leave was made a long time ago, but the ability to enact the plan always met one snag or another; lack of funds, no place to go, lack of understanding of the rights that were afforded by the child custody decree, fear of inciting him to violence beyond what he had been capable of before when he realized that it was being considered. As a former law enforcement officer and with a degree in Criminal Justice, I knew the statistics and the risks that came with making the final break, so when the time came, it had to be decisive and sudden, so that he would not have time to contemplate all the implications, there would be no going back, no changing of the mind, no hesitation, it had to be something that was done with finality and with no room for negotiation, but as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and men often fall to ruin.

The fire that started up in the Schultz Pass just before Fathers Day was not something that I was too worried about, after all, there had been no less than five other fires in the previous week and they had all been extinguished pretty quickly with no loss of life or property and the entire region was on alert, so you couldn’t so much as light a cigarette without the Forest Service wanting to know what your intentions were with the butt,(or so we thought), but then we did not take into account the morons that camped and left fires going in mountain passes that get wind gusts of over sixty miles an hour.

By 11:00 on Fathers Day the smoke was covering the entire front of the mountain, and it had rapidly grown out of control and they were calling for evacuations. My ex had come out to see his kids and I was doing my normal lurk in the back bedroom, waiting for him to leave, when he came back and knocked on the door. “You aren’t going to like what I have to say.” he told me looking like he knew an argument was coming, “But before you get upset with me, you need to come out to the front porch and look at the mountain.” The strong sense of foreboding that gripped me got only stronger as I followed him down the hall to the front entryway, due to the realization that though it was only 3pm, it was almost dark outside and the wind was gusting in its typically strong Flagstaff way. He opened the door in front of me and I stepped out into what looked like the anteroom of hell.

The fire had fed on decades of scrub pine and undergrowth that had built up as a result of constant lawsuits and hassles that prevented the thinning of all the trees killed by the bark beetles, and with the explosively dry tinder to fuel its maw, it had raced out of the pass and up the face of the mountain and extended to the top, raging well beyond the control of the crews that were available to fight it on the ground. The wind was still whipping, creating tornados of smoke and ash, and it looked like a scene from every horror movie about fire I had ever seen in my life. The sound was a dull roar that reminded me of the lions we used to hear off in the distance that were kept as pets at a neighbors ranch, a dull roaring that made my stomach roll with dread and a primal fear of what was approaching.

The first words I could think to say was , “They have lost it. it’s a complete and total clusterfuck.” My ex looked at me like I had made the most obvious statement in the world, and he asked me what I wanted to do. I quickly turned back into the house and told the kids to go and get dressed, pick out a few of their most precious, cant live without toys, and bring them to the living room and put them in a pile by the door. I asked my ex to find a lock, and clear out the back of the van, because he needed to take a few valuables down to the safe storage out of the range of the fire line, and he needed to do it quickly, while I gathered up the rest of the papers and small things. For once, realizing the gravity of the situation, and the fact that since I had been both a cop and a firefighter, he let me lead, and he did what I asked without arguing or giving me a hard time, and he moved quickly. Within 20 minutes we had all the art and antiques and valuables loaded and he was headed to a storage unit, closer into town while I kept preparing the kids and the animals in case we had to evacuate, even though the stress of the whole situation was finally starting to get to me and my Tourretts was making its presence known in fine forms with a wonderful array of twitches and grunts when I couldn’t other wise redirect the urge. I went into what my ex always referred to as,’ “cop mode” as I saw the fire line drop down to behind my neighbors houses, and I realized that it was less than an 1/8 of a mile from my front door, a door that was on a 35 year old trailer house that had lapsed insurance. When I saw the sheriffs department officer rolling towards us in the suv, I knew the evacuation order was coming, but I also knew he was powerless to force me to leave, but I listened to him, got information on the options, and told him that I was planning on sending my ex and children out and that I was sitting tight with my dogs until there was no other option. With the warning that once the order was given, I was not going to receive any other chances, I thanked him and sent him on his way, and turned around to find an angry and livid ex standing right behind me. “What the fuck do you mean you are sitting tight with the dogs? Are you out of your fucking mind? Is this how you plan on killing yourself? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I stepped up to him, toe to toe and I said in a very calm and low voice, ‘ You need to bring it down a notch, you are not my keeper, you are not my husband, and you are not my boss, and you do not tell me what to do. I am an adult that has survived the last 2 years making her own Goddamned decisions while you were in prison, and I have enough defensible space around here that I will have plenty of time to get out if I need to, but you need to take my kids and get them to safety in the shelter, and you need to quit raising your voice to me, I am not your bitch anymore, Ed.”

He stepped back and looked at me and humphed!, “ You are just as crazy as you ever were. Fine!, if you wanna die, die. You would be doing me a favor. Its all a win, I get the kids and the house and I don’t have to put up with you anymore, so I will take the kids and the stuff and we are leaving, but once we are gone, you are stuck, because Im going to have to take the van to get all the stuff in it.” That’s fine, I didn’t expect your friend to come back out here to get you with all this going on anyway, just don’t scare my kids anymore than you already have, they are stressed out enough.” He glared at me for a minute, and I knew he wanted to say more in an attempt to get the upper hand, but there wasn’t time. I told him to get loaded up, take snacks and toothbrushes and to make sure he registered with the Red Cross and just go to the shelter and keep my kids safe while I battened down the hatches and waited out what promised to be a life altering event, one way or another.

Dear Roger: Meandering Along, The Song Is Still The Same

The kids are finally back in school! I may or may not have done a naked happy dance around the apartment to loud and inappropriate music shortly after they both left, but neither me nor the cat are gonna tell that. I have been trying to keep busy and my doings have mainly been walking all over hell and gone as the weather has allowed, applying for every job online that I am even remotely qualified for, and reading, as well as rearranging and and obsessively cleaning the apartment, so as you can tell, I am just a little stir crazy and bored. It doest help that we are hella broke again and pretty much financially cut off from any kind of fun, but we do out best to keep things light and happy. I had to get the kids some school clothes, and due to me being able to cash in some rewards from my old bank account, I was able to get Chance his football cleats as well as his jock and his mouth guard, so he is all set. He got his physical and met his new doctor who is a really cute young chick! After he got over the initial mortification of a young chick seeing him in his boxers, he actually opened up to her and talked to her a little and she was able to get him to discuss some things I have never gotten him to talk about. He will start actually hitting the hard practices on Monday, and I would be a liar if I said I wasn't worried, because truthfully I am terrified, but I cant keep him wrapped in bubble wrap. He has mentioned soccer a few more times and the coach has been nudging him pretty hard,(the guy must know a ringer when he sees him), so I still have hope. He is looking forward to really getting into the singing and he is also possibly getting put into the drama class as of yet! Hes a man much in demand, and though some of the culture of the school kinda freaks him out, he is adapting. He has told me he gets stared at by both girls and boys, and thats a little odd for him, and one girl came up and shoved him off a bench and said,"You are too pretty and your eyes are freaking gorgeous and its freaking me OUT!" he told me he wasn't sure if he was being hit on or if he was fixing to get hit.

His little sister has already made quite the impression in her class and is making friends fast and furiously. She plays with all kinds of kids from all different ethnic groups, and she has commented that a couple of them,"sound different" and that kinda makes me laugh because I do not know why but getting used to hearing the Russian accent up here is the toughest on me for not giggling and I blame damn cartoons. Every time I hear someone speaking with a Russian accent I immediately flash to Rocky and Bullwinkle and its just all I can do not to giggle and say ,"Moose and Squirrel!"Its stupid and immature, but its just and immediate reaction, kinda like some British accents take me right away to certain Monty Python skits and then I am just done for when it comes to talking to or listening to that person. Its funny how certain things and characteristics about people just either creep me out, tickle my funny bone or inspire other more ...interesting reactions from me. I have an absolute weakness for a man with curly hair and dimples. It just makes me stupid, kinda like too much liquor. I end up looking at them like a pup looks a something new and interesting and I just get charmed. They could be a serial killer for all I care and I would just think,'Awww, look at em! Aint he darlin? I just wanna pinch em!" siiiigh. Its truly my kryptonite.

Nothing much else has gone on lately. Im still hopelessly single, not even a prospect of a date. I did get flirted with by a cop, but he didnt follow though and though I smiled and waved back, he just stood there smiling at me like he was frozen in place. I am hoping at on one of my daily walks I might run across someone, but up here in the white-bread suburbs, I kinda doubt I am going to find anyone interesting.

A DIFFERENT FOREST: JACKSON AND 100MONKEYS!!!

A DIFFERENT FOREST: JACKSON AND 100MONKEYS!!!

A DIFFERENT FOREST: JACKSON AND 100MONKEYS!!!

A DIFFERENT FOREST: JACKSON AND 100MONKEYS!!!

Dear Roger;My Sister Claims I Am Adopted, Someday I Wonder

My sister and I are about as opposite as two siblings can possibly be. I dont know if its because she spent so much time with granny and pa and I spent so much time with you and grandma and grandpa, but she grew up being quite the typical Texas fru fru girly girl with the big hair and the make up and perfectly done nails and all the fancy dress, and I grew up wearing jeans and boots with short hair, always mucking about with guns and vehicles and fighting with boys and hanging out doing things that she wouldn't because she might get dirty or muss her hair. We weren't close as kids, in fact we fought like cats and dogs, to the point of broken bones,(3 ribs for her and a finger when she tried to push me onto a water moccasin), so we stayed away from each other as much as possible. She never played sports like I did, and she damn sure made fun of me for being the only girl playing soccer in our town. She was my parents favorite,I knew it because my mom said it one day when we were waiting for a rodeo event I was riding in was about to begin and she was debating weather or not my sis was going to go out for Rodeo queen, mom made no bones about the fact that she thought sis was the prettiest, but she thought I was the smartest,(any wonder Im more than just a little fucked up?) well anyway, we survived that mental fuckery to grow up and endure some pretty horrible events that drew us together .

Either way, we have developed a much better relationship as we have gotten older and we are protective of each other, talking about things in our pasts that no one else knows and that we have to deal with somehow. She teases me to keep things light, and she gets away with harassing me over things that no one else could, including my lack of a social or sex life, and she enjoys rubbing the fact that she married Mr. Perfect/Superman, in my face. I am actually very happy for her, because she is the perfect example of someone who kissed a lot of toads to find her Prince Charming, and he is a rare gem that she treasures and protects unlike I have ever seen her protect in her life. He is her 3rd and final, and I have to say, I wish like hell he had a brother! A man that would marry a woman who had been through an abusive relationship, who had 4 kids, no money, no prospects, and who was skittish as hell, yet he went for it? Siiiiiiighhhh!And hes a good looking, hard working, honest, funny and kind to all the kids and relatives, MAN.

SO, since my sis seems to be an expert on situating hard cases with decent relationships, she has decided to try and help me, though I think shes at a bit of a disadvantage because we are around 1800 miles apart, and I am very set in my ways.She calls me and nags at me about how I am dressing each day. My sis is one of those who gets up each day, turns on her curling iron, and then goes and makes her coffee. I dont own a curling iron. I dont own a hair dryer,make up, heels,or anything like that. I own one dress that I bought from a Russian woman at a yard sale for $2.00, because I thought its kinda cool to have a little black slut dress around just in case. I dont have any heels because I have actually hurt myself wearing heels, meaning I have cracked an ankle and twisted my knee before. I wear boots, or if I am being lazy I have a pair of chucks that I slip on. I have a pair of Adidas running shoes for my heavy training , but beyond that its all boots all the time. I dont even know how to put make up on, seriously, my mom never taught me. My sis was taught by my cousins Rose and Rob, so she is a bit of an expert, but my hair was kept short, and I was a bit of a hassle due to my soccer and baseball and all that, so my mom kept my hair chopped off and didn't bother with teaching me anything like makeup, the one time she used a curling iron on me, she burned the top of ear to hell and gone, so I refused to ever let her near me with it again. I was written off as as a hopeless case when it came to getting me into a dress when I went to my Senior prom in jeans with my camera to shoot pictures for the school paper, (I had gone as a Jr and left early to go get drunk and make out with my boyfriend on an oil lease, thus ditching my dress asap), embarrassing my family and leaving lingering questions regarding my sexual preferences forevermore in the minds of more than a few of the staff at the High School, as if they didn't already have more than a few questions because of my Mohawk, Docs and love of punk rock and muscle cars and propensity for hanging out with boys. What people didn't seem to realize that hanging out with boys should have been proof enough, but oh well.

Soo, my sis and my friend Sus have been on a mission to try to make me more girly and appealing to men. My sis calls and asked me yesterday what I was wearing, because she believes that you ought to be dressed and prepared at all times for the man of your dreams to come knocking at your door," Soo what do you have on ?" uhhh, my fire dept sweat shirt, my cargo shorts, chucks. "Gag!, that rotten old sweater that you have fixed a dozen times and those shorts that hang off your ass?" yeah..."Is your hair at least done?" depends on what you mean by done, I washed it this morning and ran my fingers through it a couple of times. " Are you wearing any jewelry?" well, just my typical stuff...I have a collar on my ankle, got my new Spencer Bell Memorial band on my wrist along with a cuff. " Did you quit wearing the handcuff necklace, you know that really sent off a weird message to guys?", I miss my handcuff necklace, and I think it sent off a perfectly apt message about exactly what I am about to guys. "OH JESUS, I dont really want to know! But its gone, right?" yeah, I left it along with a lot of my other stuff in Arizona. "Okay, what about earrings or stuff like that, do you have anything that doesn't look like you are into bondage?"( I dont answer),"Okay im gonna take that as a "NO", so here is what you need to do, take Chance with you, go to Target or something and have him pick you out some ear rings and maybe a necklace or two." I dont have any money for that foolishness. "Do you have any clothes that aren't black, brown, red, white, or jeans or do you even own a dress right now?" I told her about the slut dress, but that I left my stockings, and garters in Arizona and that I dont have any heels, so she just made sounds like she was trying not to laugh or throw up. "Do I even want to know what you were doing with garters and stocking?" they went with the corset. "Corset?...OH.My.GOD., We need to get together and have a tequila talk party dont we?" well, I left all that in Arizona, so perhaps after my ex finds it and the rest of the stash, there will be something to talk about."You left it?!" yeah, gotta give the guy something to eat his heart out over, the bastard is gonna wonder about what was going on for those two years for the rest of his life once he finds those. "Soo, back to the task at hand, what are we going to do about you, you arent going to catch a man if you constantly look like you could kick the ass of every male that could possibly be interested in you." I dont do well playing the helpless female, its just not in me to look that way, and whats the point of getting all dressed up to sit around the house? " Well what if some good looking guy you have been twittering at shows up at your door?"(my sis is technologically backwards and does not twitter or facebook and has no understanding)No one ever comes by here except my landlord and he is gay, or Sus. Nobody I 'Twitter" with, knows how to find me,im a tweet ninja, and besides, Im a poor white trash scrub in the 'burbs of Portland, and my life is not a romcom. "WOW, you know how to be a buzzkill dont you?" I could tell she was getting frustrated with me at this point, so we started discussing options for my hair which seems to be in a constant state of disarray lately, though its growing like never before. I agreed to not cut it off again in frustration or in mourning,(as long as no one in the family dies again), and she offered some suggestions on how to tame it now that it has oddly found the desire to curl in odd places. I teased her some about becoming a grandma before me and her desire to move to Florida, while I am inhabiting climes further and further North and more and more funky, she just snidely remarked that she is aging gracefully while I have become one of those who seems to desire to forever be the,'Problem child".

Dear Roger; When I Close My Eyes

My life has had some pretty fucked up events occur in it. I have witnessed the worst of the worst when it comes to human behavior. I have seen child abuse,murder,rape,car accidents where body parts were strewn for yards down the interstate, fires where people burned to death. I have handled suicides where the sheer horror of what they did to themselves would make the grimmest minded horror movie director shudder, and I have recovered those bodies and had to make the notification to the family. I have had guns put to my head, a straight razor to my throat and various other places, I have been tortured for the kicks of a sadist who's facial expression never changed as he did the things to me that he did. I have held the hands of people as they died, and I have bagged and then autopsied their remains after finding their bodies that have lain undiscovered for weeks after they ended their own lives. If I allowed myself to close my eyes and think about it, I could replay each and every moment of these events in crystal, clear clarity. But I try not to do that, I push those memories down and I let memories that I treasure come to the surface, and some days those memories are so fresh and so happy, they sustain me through the darkest of times.

I can close my eyes and relive riding with you in that funky brown Pinto down Old Spanish Trail, while you ripped through the gears, reaching 80 mph in a car that shouldn't have gone over 40, and I remember laughing and yelling,"FASTER!!" but I cant remember the sound of your voice, and that breaks my heart. I remember sitting in that cafe with you down near the U of A and we were eating lunch and talking about art and where I was thinking about going to college and you looked tired...I should have known then that time was soo short for us. I remember sitting at the kitchen table in grandmas house and we were looking at some pictures of your art that had been sold a long time ago and some that you were working on, the Gila Monster was just a sketch then and I already loved it. You always inspired me, I remember that and you smelled like spearmint gum and paint.Those memories always make me smile.

I can close my eyes and picture the face of a young man with brown hair and blue eyes and they lean ropey muscles of someone just becoming a man.His dimpled smile and his friendly,open face that never held the look of contempt for me that so many others held. I remember the touch of his hand as he helped me up in gym class one day, the way he looked as he moved while throwing a football and how his brown hair set off his eyes and cheekbones.I remember the way my heart raced and it felt like the world outside the little bubble were in just ceased to exist when he walked into the room. I remember feeling that rush of love and passion and desire with the intensity that only an adolescent heart in the throes of that first, all consuming love can feel.I remember writing his name over and over in my notebook and stealing glances at him in class,hoping for another smile, and the way my heart felt like it just exploded in joy when he would grace me with a casual grin.I remember the white, hot, never-ending,soul destroying, life changing moment when my father so casually announced that he had died in a car accident just down the road from my house. I remember driving past that scene, days later and the scorch marks were still there, for years they were there, I relived it every day...but no one ever knew, because he lived in my memories,perfect and handsome and kind.

My memories of happier times are a little more difficult to come by, but they are there; the memory of a concert hall,filled to over capacity with hormonally challenged teens, all fired up and raging due to the delayed start of the show. Myself and my friends lucky to be front row, center in the crush of sweating, chanting bodies,'OZZY!OZZY!OZZY!" the lights going down and then coming up on stage and the music beginning, so loud that my body vibrated and my heart raced and I yelled and moved seemingly without control, for hours, my friends around me, all dancing and singing and alive.It was a moment in time that lives on forever in my mind, though 3 of my friends are gone.

Another concert, over 20 years later, my children with me and for the first time in 10 years we are safe and free and not worried about being in ,"trouble".Anxious and still worried though, feeling more apprehensive about being out in public, looking around for threats but trying not to be obvious, feeling out of place as a whore in church, but wanting soo desperately to let kids have a good time. Finding the right place, and feeling horrible that we only had $2.38 to buy a single drink and one donut and a bottle of water, but trying to make the best of it, sitting on the bench outside, tired but happy we had made it to the right place and watching as the cars arrived with the band in it. Feeling my daughter tense and jump in excitement beside me on the bench as she sees her hero step out of the truck,she squeezed my hand and her voice squeaked in excitement. Trying to maintain her calm as he walked over to sit on the curb where they were setting up,feeling happy and amazed to be so close to something that has made us so happy through the dark times and feeling lighter and more at peace than I have felt in a decade, all I can feel is my daughters joy radiating all around me, we sit on the curb and embrace the happy as the funky little band of beautiful boys sings songs that we know mostly by heart and we soar along with the music.My memory is sharp of the concert ending and of feeling strong and happy and ready to walk over for the next show, yet...my daughter, she needed more. She wanted to meet her hero, and I knew I had to do it. I remember feeling a quick rush of fear, as I approached him, coupled with embarrassment for wearing that stupid ,"Cougars" shirt that seemed soo funny earlier in the morning when my son suggested it as a joke, and as I approached the young man, I went into cop mode, watching for any micro-gesture or expression change that would suggest irritation or threat or danger to my child, but as I spoke to him, he just smiled and my heart melted. I remember he reached out to her and I didn't flinch,or draw her away, I got my son to take the picture and I remember I thanked the young man copiously for his kindness, and then he thanked me and he reached out and patted me on the shoulder.Patted me on the shoulder...the first time I had had any strange man touch me in over 2 years. I remember my sons gasp as he awaited my reaction, but I didn't, I remember just feeling happy, as if I had been overwhelmed with some weird drug, as we walked away from the show I remember thanking the rest of the band members and one of the other beautiful young men ,Hi 5'ing " my daughter, and I was taken aback by how beautiful his eyes were and how open his smile was, and I remember feeling as if I were drunk on happiness as we made it out of the parking lot on our way to the next show.

That memory is the brightest right now, because my daughter keeps me reliving it, but I have soo many other that help push back the darkness. The memories of playing with Fergus and watching how he slobbered all over my boys and chased them when they would steal his soccer ball. The sounds of Sticky singing along to "Reaper" in the back of the van or in the living room when we did out little concerts. Watching Sticky walk for the first time and hearing him say ,"Mom" clearly for the first time or seeing him walking in line with all his classmates and knowing that he has friends, even though he has Downs Syndrome and some days that makes life hard. Seeing Stubby and him play together on Halo and how their faces look so serious in concentration as they battle and get frustrated with each other . The memories of my boys sustain me right now,because that is all I have of them until things change, but there are soo many of them that they keep me going.

Working on building new memories is not difficult now that we are free. Though soo many of those that I loved are gone,I am working hard to try and get out and meet new people, make new connections and try and break my reclusive habits for the sake of my kids. Chance is constantly on my case about getting out and meeting,"Real people", and he knows I long to make friends that I have things in common with, but I tend to hold back out of fear of seeing them become memories as well. More of my friends are dead than are alive, and that is a hard place to be, perhaps its due to my former career choices, but most of my close compatriots have passed and I am at a loss as to what to do about getting out and meeting new people when I am not sure where to go and how to go about that. Church is not the place for me. God and I had a disagreement with each other when I was 14, and he has held a grudge against me ever since, and due to my stubborn nature, I refuse to be the first to surrender and apologize, so we just maintain a distance. I tried going to church, but when the giant preacher tried to strong arm me into something I was not ready for , it just came time to part ways, so I just use the time on Wednesdays and Sundays when my kids are gone to clean house.

My school has been delayed due to my university not employing anyone to answer phones to let me know if they actually received my paperwork or what my status is or anything else of that nature, so I will be going in Winter instead of Fall, so that cuts off one social opportunity.

The bar scene really isn't my thing, Im not much of a drinker, and I haven't gotten to dance in over 10 years, so I highly suspect that I have forgotten how. Its okay though, we have had laughter and I am sitting here smiling because even as my grumpy older son comes wandering out of his room with his hair all askew, his boxers hanging off his butt even though one of the blinds if open, and he is grumbling at me for having my music too loud, I can remember his laughter as he called me a ,"Nerd" and a,'raging fangirl" last week when I dropped my computer after I got I tweet from an actor that I think simply hung the moon. I remember how my sons face lit up as he teased me and he laughed at my embarrassment. 'Mom, its okay to like a dude, but it would kinda help if it was at least a real dude." and then his laughter as he picked on me for defending the actor as ,"real". These memories push back the horror and the dark and the sad, and they push me to making more bright ones in the hope that maybe, someday I wont see the dark anymore.

Dear Roger; I Got Checked Out! But She Wasn't My Type

We finally got the hell out of the house and ran our errands and did the things we needed to do! It seemed like it took forever for my finances to straighten out, and in the end they were still screwed up, costing me over $200, but at least the ex's past dues got paid again.

I didn't let that get me down though, we got dressed up and we headed out in Sus's car to run the errands we needed to run, and to pick up a few thing s that the kids were gonna need for school. Taking my son clothes shopping is something that is about as much funs as a pelvic exam. We bicker, argue over every decision, and debate every single choice until I am ready to run screaming into the parking lot.I long for the days when he was a cute little ginger haired scamp with ringlet curls and big blue eyes, that were set off so nicely by the darling sweater vests and dockers I dressed him in. I miss being able to dress him up the way I like, I see all sorts of cool fashion ideas that would really set off his best features, but he just scoffs, called them lame or worse and stomps away as if I suggested he wear a dress!Right off the bat he found a display of t-shirts he liked, so he started pawing through them as if he were the one funding the expedition. He emerged with of all things,a Batman shirt, and proclaimed it his hearts desire,he tossed me a t-shirt that was a retro "The Who" concert shirt and said,'Look, a geezer reminder" and then he took off looking at super skinny jeans in bright orange. I ended up hanging onto the Who shirt because it was cool but we argued over the super skinny jeans. I am soo tired of seeing that much of his skinny white ass, even clad in boxers with cartoon characters on them, I am just done and done. We finally compromised on a pair of jeans that weren't quite as tight, and in the normal dark blue, and then he decided he needed a brown leather belt that cost and arm and a leg, so we added that to the stack. As we were prowling through the store, oooing and ahhhing over stuff we couldn't afford, I noticed a woman looking at me, and I knew she was checking me out, but I didn't say anything to my son, I just smiled and kept on shopping, but he is a little more astute about things than I give him credit for because he saw her and as we headed into the mens underwear section, he whispered,"Mom, that chick is totally eyeballing you to death, its freaking me out." I laughed and said yeah, I know...too bad shes not a guy, shes kinda cute. Leaving him speechless for a few minutes was kinda the highpoint of my day.

We went into the underwear section because my son has suddenly decided at age 14, that he no longer wants to wear boxers. He has been a boxers guy since he was 2 years old and threw a walleyed fit when I tried to put him in tighty whities. This all the sudden shift to a different style has me worried, because not only does he want to go to a different style, he wants to go to Calvin Klines,(the really expensive stuff!), that only he and his long suffering laundry doer should be seeing. I started asking him why the sudden shift in desire from boxers with cartoons and such on them, that I can steal and wear as shorts when its hot, to super short boxer briefs that cost over $25 a pair! Who the hell is he trying to impress?He wanted them in colors as well, like red and black! We had quite a conversation about the risks of wearing the wrong underwear and how giggle worthy bikini briefs are deal killers for me, as well as anything silk,(I just start laughing,cant help it, dont know why), and that saggy old tighty whities are also just gross, but boxers are reliable and stable and whimsical and fun, where the ones he wanted just screamed..."Im gonna be doing something that will make my moms hair turn grey", but when I tried to push the topic further, he stuck his fingers in his ears and scurried away towards the shoes. We never did find any football cleats yesterday, and he is actually waffling about playing football now, so I dont know if hes going to follow through and play or not, he seems to be more interested in track and field than football some days, and he is a hell of a runner, even if he does run really weird! The boy keeps his shoulders still, and he doesn't really pump his arms! I have no idea how he was setting track records for the 44o at his school in Texas, but he is shockingly fast and I hate to tell him to change his style, it just looks really funny.

We had a pretty good day yesterday. After we got done shopping, we headed back towards the apartment, listening to the radio and singing along to whatever song came along that we both liked and could agree upon, and when,"Millionaire" came on, we were both belting it out and enjoying ourselves, laughing and just for once, feeling like we enjoyed being together, and as we approached the turnoff to the apartments, he said, "Mom, keep going, lets just drive for a bit and keep doing this, we all need it.", So I drove on down to Powell and decided to see if we could find Powells books.

The drive on Powell was eye-opening! I found out I live in the really white-bread, lame, part of Portland. I wanted to be in the vibrant, culturally mixed, alive, part of the city, but due to the need for good schools and to be near my friend, I decided on Gresham, and its very generic and very Caucasian, Where we drove through yesterday was where I would love to be. I found noodle shops, music stores, Boho little weird bookstores and the people hanging out on the streets looked like people that I would find inspiring for my writing or art. Chance looked around like his eyes could not take things in fast enough.,"Mom! I swear I just saw Harold and Kumar!" I laughed at him but I had to agree as we cruised through some of the more interesting sections.We never found Powells, and due to a missed turn, we ended up in Beverton, but I flipped a uey and we made it back to downtown Portland just as they were filming some new story, and though I didn't recognize any street names, we managed to find the right street to get us back to the bridge, back across into our side of the the city and into Mt Tabor, and Yamhill area. Those are very cool neighborhoods, and I actually ended up in the driveway of one of the biggest houses I have seen since I left Texas,(better street signs would really be nice), but I knew the direction I needed to be headed in so I just kept pointing us that direction, and we eventually found Division again and we made it back to Gresham in plenty of time to unload the stuff before I had to go pick up Sus from work. Chance said he was proud of me," Mom, you never freaked out once, memaw or Susan would have been spazzing and Aunt Trina would have been pissed off and yelling, you were just laughing and looking around,thats really cool." I told him I didn't see the point of freaking out, it was kinda cool to see new places and stuff, we weren't in a war zone, it was adventure and I love adventure.Our biggest issue of the day was our disagreements over music. The boy dissed AC/DC ! He tried to turn down 'Hells Bells" and I almost put him out of the car, and then he whined and moaned over Led Zepplin and The Who as well as Van Halen. We argued over who was the best guitarist ever and he what compromises good music. But he did admit that its nice to have a mom that rocks out vs a mom that doesn't like rock at all, though he does find it a bit disconcerting that I like black metal and am just as likely to have that blasting through my iPod as I am any "Indie weirdness" as he refers to it.

Don't come the cowboy with me

She has to have either been following me around, or she has dated some of the same men as me.

Dear Roger:If My Prince Never Comes,So What? Im Not Settling

Well my writing project seems to be at a bit of a standstill. My muse has fled once again and I cant seem to find the mindset to get back into working on the smut piece that some folks had been nudging me into attempting. I guess I would be more inclined to work on it if I had some raw material to draw from, but its been so damn long since I have had a good trouncing, that I am beginning to forget what that feels like. I haven't even been kissed in so long that I probably would be all awkward and weird about it, like some school girl. My sis and Sus are convinced that I need a makeover, that my lack of the feminine graces is what is putting men off of me, and my son says that its because I look at men like I either want to ,'Eat them, kick their asses, or both" and that is why they scurry away like frightened mice before me.

I dont get where that I am soo scary? I am not a big person! I am quite the opposite, meaning I am short, skinny, pale, and I can get by with children's sized clothes,except in bras...nothing children sized going to work in that department because I do have a chest that men tend to notice first. I have blonde hair, blue eyes, most of my teeth, no facial piercings and I do smile on occasion. I dont growl at people, I try to be friendly, but I do keep my distance. I am literate,not prone to extravagances in either expenditures or liquor. I like some sports,mainly soccer and cage fighting and I have all kinds of skills that could come in handy in a rural situation, such as the ability to hunt down, shoot, skin and cook pretty much anything. I can work cattle and horses, rope, ride,castrate, vaccinate,dehorn, and even trim hooves. My accent only gets strong under stress or anger. I can cook over 6 different ethnic styles and everyone I have ever cooked for has survived and gained weight. I like kids, in fact I have a pack of them, and I have even taught! So what the hell? Why am I so unapproachable? I dont smell bad, I have basic manners and I can and do behave myself,most of the time. I have not picked a fight with a man in months or threatened to kick anyones ass in at least a few weeks, and my glares aren't intentional. But I cannot change who I am this late in the game for someone. I just cant do it. Sus and my sis would cram me into a dress do weird stuff to my hair and nails and put make up on my and expect me to wear heels and go out on some blind date with a church guy/business man with whom I have nothing in common, when all I really want is to find someone who sees me looking at them and has the courage of heart to smile back, walk up and say,"Hey,cool t-shirt! I like that band too, have you been to any shows lately, would you like to go?" Then it would be the start of something with potential.

Dear Roger: Getting the Glitches Worked Out,One Perversion At A Time

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Since I have been sitting here waiting for my knee and shoulder to quit yelling at me for the wreck I put them through, I thought I would spend my time wisely and actually work on learning some things or even writing, but alas, my damn muse fled the scene again, so I was relegated to playing around with the computer and teaching myself how to post links and images and better yet, animated images to web pages!! I have had soo much fun playing around with that, I cant even tell you,(yes, I am a bit of a pervert), but at least I have been entertained and not sitting here dwelling on my knee or shoulder or how broke we are.

I am soo damn glad that this month is almost over! With .52 cents in the account for over the last week, its been pretty fecking grim around here. We are out of bread,cheese, butter, cereal, peanut butter,and pretty much every other damn thing you could think of, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it until Tuesday. No word on a job yet, but I am still looking and the kids start back to school in just under a week so my time will be a lot more open for me to be able to find something without them tagging along. I have been able to keep the kids fed because I stocked up on staples, and I eat very little, in fact I have even skipped days, but I have to be careful about that because if Chance catches on, he gets really angry with me and then he starts trying to skip meals, so last night I cooked some frozen crappy steaks we had been given and I made sure he got a good bellyful of steak and potatoes. Tomorrow things will be looking up and we will walk down to the store for some basics to tide us over until we get to borrow Sus's car.

I am going to be dog sitting this next weekend for Sus while her and my kids go to camp for 4 days. Its some church based thing and I am not going for a few reasons, including crowds making me a bit nervous and all that fun stuff, but I will have money, a car and I will be child-free for the first time in a Looooooog time. I am considering a drive over to Vancouver to check out a few of the nightspots and to just perhaps chase some boys. We will see how things look once our lives get back to normal. Now that my ex cant hit out bank account and drain the funds, life should get a lot better!

I hope the little video I attempted to post works, just dont get too mesmerized, he tends to have that effect on folks.

Dear Roger; I Got Banged, But I Really Didn't Enjoy It

I am glad this weekend is almost over! Pretty sure that I have been cursed with a case of the clumsies, and if I was capable of going out anywhere today, I would be risking life and limb even further than I did yesterday.

We went with Sus and family down to Sweet Home as part of their church based stuff, and I should have gotten a clue what kind of day it was going to be when I realized that not only was it the same day as the Spencer Bell Legacy concert that was going to be live streaming, so I was going to miss most of it including the early 100 Monkey performances, but that my cell phone charger hadn't been plugged in all the way and my phone only had a couple of bars of juice, so if I could get the concert on my phone, it would probably kill it by mid-day. If that wasn't bad enough, then a delivery I was expecting to arrive on Sunday, was actually scheduled for yesterday as well and a bunch of juggling had to be done to get that handled, so it was hassle after hassle and we hadn't even left Gresham!

When Sus came and picked us up, I ended up sitting in the back seat of the Durango and we headed down through Clackamas. Normally a drive like that would not be a problem, but three things were wrong with that little venture, namely; Durango, back seat, Clackamas. The road from Gresham to Clackamas is a twisty, turning, hilly, driving adventure and in a Durango, which can be vomit inducing on a straightaway, its misery. By the time we reached the city limits I was an interesting shade of green and Sus was offering to pull over so I didn't barf in her truck. The boys that were with us were in almost as bad as shape as me, and we ended up having to put down all the windows and she had to slow down on the curves. It was rough!

Soo, we got to Clackamas, picked up a 10 passenger van with seats designed to kill asses, and foolishly letting the boys take the back section of the van, we headed out towards the 5.

During the trip, the boys graciously decided to entertain us with songs from pretty much any weird youtube video you could think of including "A Mysterious Ticking" to the point that I felt I had to retaliate with the Robot Chicken theme, earning the vitriol from all the adults in the van with us.

The trip down was not too bad and I got to see parts of Oregon I haven't seen before, and luckily, other than my sanity being a little impinged upon, I survived intact. We got to the church and I wandered off to look around the grounds, and I found copious amounts of blackberry bushes! Since I normally wear jeans, boots and longer sleeves, I was able to wade right in and pick the bigger, riper ones and pass them back to those who had worn shorts or lighter pants, including Sus and her dad. The boys were roughhousing and stealing berries from each other until they heard Sus's dad say ,"Its a good thing Jen wears boots and all that denim, she can really get up deep into the bush and get the good stuff." Silence fell for about 30 seconds and the implications of what was about to happen flickered across the faces of 3 teen boys,myself, and Sus. Her father is rather oblivious and had no idea the glorious double entendre that he had just given the boys and as I raised an eyebrow at him, (thus resulting in an explosion of hysterical laughter from the boys), he just looked at them and asked,"What? Did somebody get a worm?" I just came back out of the bushes and headed to the van trying not to die laughing each time I looked at her dad for the rest of the day.

We left the church and headed out to just do some touristy stuff and we ended up at a place called,'Green Peter" dam. I have to wonder, were the folks who named stuff up here in Oregon all British? There are more places with names that are giggle worthy up here than anyplace I have ever lived and have to be inspired by all kinds of perversity, you got Couch that is pronounced 'Cooch" and Green Peter? Wouldn't you know, "Green Peter" is where things started to go really wrong for me? We drove across the dam and on reaching the far side, the kids decided to shoot off along the trail, seeing a place to get close to the water, and being after adventure myself, and also being a bit of a worrying mom, I went after them even though I was wearing leather soled cowboy boots. I was doing good until Stevie started getting really close to a sharp drop off over some rocks, and then I was paying more attention to her and not where the hell I was walking, and I managed to step on a part of the embankment that was weak and it gave way, taking my goofy ass down hard, with no warning. I landed on my left elbow and butt cheek, on a rock and my shoulder promptly slipped right the hell out of socket,(it does that every now and then), and then the embankment kept crumbling so I had to dig my right heel in and throw myself back onto my side a little further up the hill and that jammed my left wrist. My sons friend who I call,'Sparky" saw the wreck happen and I could tell he wanted to laugh but he was also a little freaked out. I told him, make sure Stevie doesn't come down here, and you might wanna get back because I may puke when I put my shoulder back in,(I didn't), but it hurt like hell and made me say words that a good little church going boy shouldn't hear. Once it slipped back into place, I assessed the rest of the damage, and I realized that I was pretty wrenched feeling and I was scuffed up, dirty and embarrassed to death, but I was alive and not in the damn cold water, so it was actually a win. I hobbled back to the van, rounding up the kids as we went, and enduring the jokes and comments about the new hole in my favorite dark jeans and the scuffs all over my good boots, including my own sons smart ass comment that if I wasn't wearing boots I probably wouldn't have fallen, to whit I replied, 'No, I probably would a gone in the damn lake because I damn sure cant walk in anything else." I guess I cant walk in boots this weekend either though, because when we got back to town and went to drop off the van, I managed to fall, sideways!, down 5 steps at the front of the church, further twisting the crap outta my knee and wrenching my whole body, so I am feeling all kinds of pain in interesting places. An assessment when I got home revealed a really epic bruise on my butt, a knee that looks like someone took a ball bat to it, a bruised up elbow and shoulder and a left arm that I cannot raise past chest level, so pretty much all I did the rest of the evening was throw myself a pity party.

Did get a bit lucky when I got home, the concert was not totally over and I actually caught the 100 Monkeys last performance and HOLY HELL! It was a scorcher. Chance was sitting out here in the living room, kinda sorta listening to it, and watching from time to time while he talked to his friends online and got things for me. He only listens to me and my stuff with about half an ear most of the time, caught up in his own emo/angsty teen stuff, and he knows most of the song lyrics to the 100 Monkeys songs just because he has heard them soo much since he has been home, but when the song,'Strangers" started up, he turned and looked at me with his jaw just hanging open in shock. The fact that I probably had a similar expression was not lost on him, and when I burst out laughing, he blushed and muttered about the fact that ,"Most normal moms would be freaking out over that kinda song, my moms probably gonna make it her ringtone"(not true) but I did like the raw, directness of the song, and truthfully, it kinda stuck me a lot like seeing a puppy baring its teeth, cute...but you wanna still just roll em over and rub their tummies because you know they are all growl. The song that really got my attention of the night was 'Joygasm". That is the song that is supposed to be their ,made up on the spot, song of the night that the audience gives them the idea for. Young Mr. Rathbone really knows how to work the audience, and he didn't let them down with this song, but what amused me, was the fact the lyrics were kinda wide open for interpretation. I enjoy his showmanship,(the boy moves like water in a hot skillet), and hes brilliant, leaving not only the girls in the audience needing a cold shower, but the boys as well. It was a great show for a good cause, I wish I could have caught more of it, and perhaps next year I will be able to be there in person, unless of course I manage to break my neck falling over air or something.

Dear Roger: Defective Teen Sons,Soccer and Musical Theater

Its been a bit of a productive week around here. It finally cooled off a little so it is not constantly hotter than Satans scrotum around here and we are all a little less cranky, but we are still broke as hell and that has not made our moods much sweeter. Its frustrating to constantly have to tell my kids,"We cant afford it", especially if the it is something like a loaf of bread or a jar of freaking peanut butter! Yea, we have been that Goddamned broke this month! Leave it to me to forget that this is a very long month, and when I paid up all the bills at the beginning,I neglected to allow for the extra week, can you say suuuuck? On the bright side I always try to prepare for lean times and I had extra rice stashed away and staples, so I have been able to cook up some pretty creative meals that the kids have claimed were pretty good. Last night I made rice with some chicken and green beans, sauteed with some leftover squash and garlic. It was weird, but it was food.

We walked over to the kids new schools and got them registered this week, and while Stevies was really easy to take care of, with minimal decisions to be made, Chances was a whole 'nuther ball of wax. I swear I filled out more paperwork for him to go to high school than I filled out to go to grad school! There were 3 different forms wanting to know if we spoke English at home! I felt like answering ,'NO" after the 3rd one and putting in Gaelic just for the pure cussedness of it because of all the hassle. We met with a counselor and Chance was thrilled to find that he can still play football, though I lobbied most passionately for soccer. I just do not get the whole attraction of football, soccer is much more of a pure athletic event and requires you to be in much better condition and if you are an aggressive player,(like he used to be) then you can still work out your stress on the opposing team, but he would rather suit up with all the other meat heads and play football, bashing into each other for small gain. He claims he wouldn't have allowed me to come to any soccer matches of his anyway because I am,"such a soccer-nazi freak" that I would either pick fights or embarrass him by going postal on the sidelines. I just get into the game because I played it, and I played it well and I have a passion for it, and I miss playing it at the team level, so when those who do get to play it, just half-ass it, that makes me a little crazy. I expect a full measure of effort out of him when he goes out for something and I cheer him vigorously when he does, and I guess he finds that embarrassing.

He also decided to enroll in all honors classes as was his right with his levels, and I was proud to see that he didnt attempt to slack off. He also selected theater as an elective along with musical chorus.He has to audition before he gets an actual part chorus, but the boy is constantly singing so hopefully that will come of some good for him. His school has a swim team and a water polo team, and I asked him if he intended on participating in any of those sports and he gave me the most annoyed look," Mom, I have enough hair on my body for two full grown men! If I got into the pool, they would freak out." So I guess that means swim team is out. He is talking about letting his hair grow back out, though he still insists that he wants to get rid of his curls! How the hell he expects to do that on a permanent basis, I have no clue, but I have tried to convince him that women find curls to be irresistible, and he just rolls his eyes at me and says,"Im not into grandmas, I like girls my age and they dont like guys with curls! Im not a sheep, im a man, mom! Im not cuddly, I want to look cool, not like some old dork." Soo, I offered to just shear him bald so he could look like every other little wannabe rapper he seems to listen to now days, and he did not appreciate the offer.

My son has also been talking about ,"gauging" his ears, as in making his ear piercings into these huge holes that are just GROSS! and I swear by all that is Holy, I will end the fool that does that to my kid. Trying to get him to understand that for someone who claims to want to be an actor from time to time, that he really shouldn't put extraneous holes in his face, is like trying to convince him that skinny jeans are a fashion failure. At least right now I have on my side the fact that he is underage for all that kind of insanity and I can keep him from doing anymore damage than necessary. He has the same genetic quirk as me that makes him someone who scars really visibly, and it just would not be a good thing for him to put holes in his face. He goes all emo on me from time to time, proclaiming that he doesn't stand a chance as an actor anyway because he is a nobody from nowhere, with nothing, but I just try and encourage him to keep his heart on his dreams with his mind in the game that is getting the best education that he can get, with college and other options to support himself while he works towards his goals, but that he cannot let himself give up.

I am supposed to take him shopping for football cleats in a size 13 as well as a mouth guard, and most uncomfortably, a cup and jock.When we were looking over the list of stuff to buy, seeing the color drain out of his face was kind of funny, but then again, it wasn't a particularly pleasant thing for me to consider either, I just do not even want to be aware of my sons bits and pieces at this juncture, and according to online research, the cups come in particular sizes, oh bloody hell! He asked me to just give him my card, but last time I did that, he came home with rock t-shirt, and a "I like Boobies" bracelet, wound up on rockstar sodas, giggling over stuff that had gone on at the mall, so that is not even an option. Its times like this, a rent a man or even a reliable male friend who knows about such things as cups, jocks, and cleats could be utilized to help him with these things, instead of his mom, who is prone to asking embarrassing questions or being an embarrassment, simply by her presence. I wish you were here.

Dear Roger; That Muttering Under My Breath Thing? Yeah, You Were Right!

You always told me that if I kept biting my tongue and not saying what was on my mind I was going to get headaches or a heart attack, so years ago I started following your advice and I started saying what I wanted to say, even if it was under my breath or here on this blog, or in various forums,(thank God for web), because not only have I been able to keep my various twitches under relative control, I have staved off a heart attack longer than you did! I fully expected to follow right along in your footsteps and have my first and probably last major heart attack at 35 like you did, but hell, perhaps following your advice has given me some more time to explore what is going on in the world and that is yet another reason I have to thank you. But sometimes my willingness to speak my mind or randomly comment on things comes back to call me to task or even shock me just a bit.

Even though I write and publish in a forum that is available to most of the public, I am actually a fairly private and shy person. I do not often approach strangers because I tend to vapor lock, and if its someone I have a bit of a thing for, its even worse, I mean I literally just kinda become an all over twitching, gelatinous mess. But from behind the comfort of my computer or my pen and paper, I am brave and confidant and a bit of a smart ass, because I dont have to worry about all my little quirks coming out. I dont normally bother people I like, especially the famous that i follow on twit. But yesterday I was a bit morose and I was sitting on my porch just contemplating the day and trying to find a place to cool off when I saw that an actor who is amongst my very favorite actors of all time, was tweeting about a concert he had attended. I dont know what compelled me, in fact after I sent it, I thought to myself,"You goofy heifer, he probably has 10million others harassing him!" and I felt bad, but I thought that my commentary about my dorky son finding the band lame and that perhaps my son should be returned as defective, was funny...at the time. I went on about my business, Stevie was putting bunny ears on me and squawking about spiders being on the porch, my friend was calling me about the kids going to church, and Chance was griping about my requirement that he clean his hair out of the sink in the front bathroom,(seriously, someone sheared a weasel in there), and I almost missed it, but I have tweetdeck and I happened to hear the tone and I glanced down and there it was...he responded to me! Dork that I am, I spazzed, jumped, and dropped my laptop. Thats right, I dropped my freaking laptop, almost fell out of my chair, and Chance claims that I squealed. He came running out to see what the hell the problem was, thinking that a spider had gotten on me and fearing that if I had killed my computer, that he was going to lose his to me, only to find that I was incapable of coherent speech. I stammered for a good minute while we assessed my laptop and I just pointed to my screen. Chance looked at it and asked the typical oblivious, teen boy question,"Who the hell is that and whats the big deal?" followed by, "Mom, you are such a DORK!" accompanied by a look of both pity and dismay, as if he is afraid my dorky/nerdiness will rub off on him. He stomped back into the apartment and said,'I would have been impressed if it was that lil chick that play Alice, now shes do able." Never mind the fact I was completely disturbed that my 14 year old son say the term 'do able" I did yell back at him that at age 14, nothing is do able for him, it completely stunned and shocked me that I had gotten a response. I am so used to just being able to sit here and mutter under my breath or just throw stuff out into the open without anyone ever commenting back, that it totally set me back on my heels that I arbitrarily got a response, much less from someone that well, to be quite honest, I find to be more than a little interesting for a guy thats my age. Soo, I am not quite sure how I feel about that, I know I wont go off randomly tweeting famous people anymore, that just gobsmacked me and I dont think my computer could handle another drop.

Writing has always been my way of venting, of getting off my chest my feelings about what I find to be injustice, or even my commentary on just what is going on around me, a simple testament of my life and what has gone on. I have always been a bit arrogant, and I have never denied that fact. My temperament has always been that of an artist and as you are well aware Rog, us artistic types do not often play well with others, so rather than mix out in the world, I write and share that way, and sometimes I take pictures or draw, though my drawing is not what it used to be. My photographs used to share my view of the world, but without access to a darkroom and an enlarger, I enlarge my world in the written word, changing what displeases me by simply erasing or marking through, or even hitting backspace when I write on my computer, its much simpler and less dramatic than the great artistic bonfire of '91 that my mother has never forgiven me for,where I burned most of my artwork and photography in the backyard, but in a way its just as cowardly. Writing is the one thing that I tend to let myself loose on, and while I may not speak out loud as much anymore, it does help me find my voice, but when someone hears me, it tends to scare the hell out of me, even if they do consider it as a sneeze in a crowd, it was my sneeze that got the,'Bless you" and for a moment someone knew I was there, and that is what my writing does for me, it reminds me that I was here.

I have been invited to join some groups since I have been up here, and while I find it very flattering to be invited to join and participate, I find that my upbringing and my perhaps repressive, public side has me reticent to make the decision to do it. There are parts of my life that I keep private from the majority of those who know me, almost Jekyll/Hyde kind of life so to speak, and sometimes when those start to overlap, its a bit distressing. My reading habits,as well of most of my social networking habits are kept private from my family and my real life friends and when I go to work, I wont share that side of me with my work mates, but sometimes the language of my other life slips into my real life and that makes for some embarrassing moments. Considering that my verbal filter does not work its best at the worst times, I have done my best to keep my mouth shut when I am drug to church or social occasions around church folks, especially since using the term,' Hard limit" in a conversation, realizing what I had just said, freezing, then stammering out ,'Oh Shit" and then just standing there wishing that I could evaporate the rest of the time. I am not very extroverted. I embarrass easily, and I tend to like to be more of a loner, that just doesn't get into the whole fan insanity that surrounds so many scenes, and I mulled over the invites with that thought in mind. While it would be nice to know more people who share my passions for good music, I am just a little to uptight to call myself a "hoor", and thus is the crux of the matter. I was never the groupie type even when I was young and able to run around after random rock stars, and even though the thought of it would be kinda fun in a truly decadent way now, I am just past that part of my life and I would chain my daughters in the basement if they even remotely acted that way. Luckily my eldest daughter is not interested in men or dating until she finishes college, and my youngest, while in love, still equates her love with that of a teddy bear or sock monkey, so I am golden for a few more years, and then I will see about that basement. My eldest son is the one I have to worry about hooring about, though I am not quite sure after what?

I have use of a car, once it gets fixed that is. Sus has generously said that I can borrow her car for extended road trips to Seattle or the coast so I can get out and explore! I have to make sure that the medication I am on isn't going to keep my blood pressure too low to drive, and I have to keep gas in it and watch my lead foot, but other than that, I can finally break out and go! I am planning on hitting Seattle pretty soon, I have been just dying to get out and wander around and even though I would be alone, it will still be an opportunity to stretch out. After all those years of not being able to go and see and be free, this is like having the blinders off and the threat of the whip taken away. Its amazing to have the power to hang up on him and not worry about whats coming through that door.

I have even been considering trying an open mic night with some of my writing, perhaps letting the voice that has only been seen for many years finally be heard once again. I dont do the ,"Cowboy Poetry" anymore, I left it behind with much of the heartache, but I have new stuff that is built out of a decade of shouting into the darkness, so perhaps a brick at a time I need to throw it out at the world.

Dear Roger;Tech Support is Lacking Around Here So I May Hide His Computer

So with all the free time on my hands while I have been cooling my heels at home, so damned broke I cant even afford to pay attention, I have been trying to figure out how to post some of my favorite songs and stuff to my blogs website,(much like many of my fellow blogsters have done), and while I can post them as blog postings,I seem to be too techtarded to be able to post my whole damn youtube playlist of favorites like I wanted to and its annoying the crap outta me! I used to be the family's go to person for all tech questions, I was the one that was up on all the latest things and I knew how to do it all! Hell, I even worked in a computer lab at my college for awhile, teaching kids how to use the internet, but now days I am falling behind. Its like my brain has been filled up with so much random junk, that I have lost all the valuable abilities that I used to have. I couldn't even properly explain to a kid the other day, the meaning of a God damned Sperber essay! That obtuse, verbose, self-important, frog, was freshman torture when I started off in college and I suffered through his crap for over 2 years, and I could not form a coherent thought. I also find myself losing little bits of other things like laws and things that I used to know backwards and forwards, and in a lots of ways it scares me, but I find it annoying more than anything. I read, I write, I pay attention to what is going on around me, and I practice things that should help me stay sharp, but not being able to make a simple playlist? I have tried to get Chance to do it for me, but I dont allow him or any of the rest of my family into my blog, so it makes it a bit difficult, plus the little shit find it funny as hell to tease me about my failings.

I walked to my doctors appointment today, and that was another example of my goofiness catching up with me. I had the directions wrong and instead of being 400 yards away at the closest office buildings, it was actually 4 miles away, and up hill. I had to beat feet to get there on time and I was a bit on the sweaty side because it decided to get pretty damn warm today, and of course it was a nice and toasty walk in jeans and boots with a black denim shirt. I made it on time, but I was sure to mention that I tend to do goofy stuff like that more and more, though she just kinda laughed at me and said that I should probably go back up to the full dosage of my seizure medications, (something I am not wanting to do), though she did not sweat me about my smoking in light of all the crap I am dealing with. She also suggested a medication to help me get over my acne and to perhaps give my libido a kick start, which kinda left me thinking, why bother? I dont have a man, I haven't really put forth a hell of a lot of effort in looking, and I just dont really want to get ripped over the coals of another relationship. I listened to that last song I posted the other night,I mean I really LISTENED to it after Stevie started crying while she had it on with headphones, and she said that it just broke her heart to hear him sooo sad, so after I listened to it, I thought that I spent a huge chunk of my life feeling that way and it absolutely stinks, and its a horrible way to be, and I just dont want to go through it again. I dont have the strength of spirit, at least not at this time. I like looking, cute boys make me smile and flirting is fun, but to actually open myself up to that kinda pain, of actually just being a hollow shell of who I am for the sake of not being alone at least in the physical sense? nah...I have my screen saver and good music to sing me to sleep, I have interesting stories and books to read, and I have people to talk to and movies to watch with cute boys that make me smile, even though they obviously know a little more about the pain of living lies than they let on. I will just be alone, maybe renting from time to time, and happy to not drag my heart across the razor blade.

Hopefully I will get the music thingy figured out, with all the free time I have on my hands I should be able to get it sorted in the next day or two, if I can keep the damn cat from attacking me every time I start working on it.

100 Monkeys - LDF ( Album - Grape 2009 )

The Avett Brothers - I And Love And You

Marc Broussard - Home

Dear Roger: Claustrophobia and My Issue With Personal Space Keeps Some People Alive

My ex knows how to push my buttons, and for the last week he has done that pretty much every damn day, to the point that he had me so angry yesterday that I wanted to go out and just beat the dog mess outta the first fool that crossed me and that looked enough like him to satisfy the itch.

Its not that I have not got my temper under control, I do. But understand, I do.not. have. any. outlets. other. than.writing. I am starting to go a little crazy. I haven't had sex in so damn long that I think my parts have forgotten how things are supposed to work, and that is really damn frustrating. Its been difficult to get out and go running or get in a good workout due to scheduling hassles and having kids making it difficult to sneak out for a run in the wee hours of the morning without worrying about them waking up and freaking out that im not home,(its happened before) so I have been a slack ass, lazy bum lately and the tension is killing me. Not having a guitar around to plink on,even badly, is also a drag. I was working on re-learning how to play, and even though the damage to my hands makes it difficult, I found it soothing to at least try, and I know that Chance felt the same way. The one bright spot has been the goofy little cat we got. He is a royal pain in the ass, and he yells at me and right now he is biting the shit outta my ear, but he is so funny and its kinda soothing to have him just lay up around the back of my neck on the couch and purr in my ear,(right before he bites the crap outta me and then shoots off into the kitchen to yell for something to eat), and he harasses Chance when he tries to sleep on the floor. Seeing him follow Stevie around and grab onto her monkeys and attack them,cracks me up! She tries to make him behave and he just rolls up in her skinny monkey and starts kicking it and biting and making little growling sounds until she shakes him loose by picking it up and running off with it, and then he just sits there looking after her like,'Hey! bring him back, hes got a purty mouth." hes already litter trained and he damn sure lets us know when hes hungry by yelling at us, so I next week we are scheduling him to get fixed and a good check up so he will be set for awhile and then I am going to get him on a food that hopefully will take care of his gas problem, because for a tiny little cat, he can just about clear a damn room, and considering he likes to hang out around peoples heads and neck areas, thats a bit of a problem. The cat has been a good thing for all of us, and a welcome distraction from the bullshit of the ex calling and stressing me pretty much every damn day, but even with little Jasper,(yes, the fecking name has stuck and I still flip Chance crap over it), I still fume every time my phone goes off with my ex's ring tone. Used to be, I would be happy to hear from my boys, but I rarely get to talk to my boys much, instead it is him, either yelling at me or just bitching and complaining about something that he thinks I am to blame for . I did not make him a lazy,shiftless bastard. I did not make him an abuser that found it necessary to brutalize me and my eldest son. My ex does not realize how lucky he is to be alive I think. He hates me for sending him to prison, but the alternative was killing him and I was going to do it, because I am a person very capable of wrath and hate and when he beat my 12 year old son in front of me like a bad dog, I burned with a hate that has not abated. Yes, the courts system dealt with him. Yes, I got him the maximum sentence for the charges the piece of shit county attorney felt capable of pursuing, but, my son did not get justice. My son was called names like,'bastard', "stupid", and other things that no child should hear, he witnessed things that no child should see, and he is scarred as a result of it. All my kids have to live with my anger and damage, and though I am working on it, the end result is, I am still not the mom I should be, and when he calls and verbally abuses me over the phone, and tells me that he isn't providing for my boys that he kept, in the way that they should be provided for, I get angry all over again. I cannot just refuse to take his calls, because he has my two youngest sons, and if I dont take his calls, he wont let me know how they are doing and I wont be able to talk to them. I miss my boys soo badly, and I worry about them every day, and if the courts in Arizona had been in any way accessible to me, I would have taken them and run, but the judge that granted him 50/50 custody of them and refused to put them on the restraining order,AFTER HE TOOK THE STRAIGHT RAZOR TO ME, was still the judge in charge of our custody case, and until he retires in December, I am stuck, but once that bastard is gone, I am filing for a change and I am getting my kids, unless of course he manages to lose the house before then, and if that happens, I will get my boys sooner, but either way, its most likely a damn good thing there is a good amount of distance between us, because something in me shifts when one of my loved ones gets hurt, and my son is still hurting and God help my bastard ex if he hurts one of my other babies, because no one else will be able to.

I was evaluating my tattoos the other day. I have had tattoos for the last 15 or so years and I designed them all myself, and while the original designs had special meaning, one the application, some of them were not done properly and I have to get that fixed. My best tattoo is the one on my left arm, its my feather and I have had it the longest out of all of my tatts. I got it when I lost you, and after I did a lot of research on our family heritage and the meanings of the various feathers. Being that the native blood runs so strong on both sides, I thought the feather was the best choice, and then I went with Lakotah symbolism for great grandma. The feather is split at the bottom to symbolize the loss from a loved one,(since you are gone I am the only one in the family left that cuts my hair to mourn our losses as well), the end is red to symbolize wounded in battle, and the blue beads at the top symbolize my two children that I had at the time, and the bear claw on the leather thong hanging to the side,symbolizes our family clan and you.The rest of the feather is battered and damaged, but pure white that symbolizes that even though many hurts have occurred, I have remained pure at heart. I didnt go into this one lightly and it has always been my favorite and I had a brilliant artist in Yuma do it.The one on my chest is of a grizzly standing in a forest fire, and it has a lot of personal meaning that I dont share, but its meaning has morphed and changed over the years, even though the tatt has stayed the same. The one on my right arm is a shining example of what can happen when someone else controls your life. Its the state of Texas that was being done to cover a poorly done bear paw, and the artist stopped at what he felt was a prudent place to cease because I had a very large area of skin that was raw, bleeding and open to infection if not allowed to heal, so I went home with the plan of going back in 2 weeks and getting it finished. That evening, my ex was pissed at me for being gone for a few hours. It was a stressful scene at the house, and I had taken my bandage off to show him what I had been doing,(he always hated my bear paw and wanted it gone), and while it was uncovered, Stevie, who was 10 months old), grabbed my tattoo with her grubby, poopy hand. By the next morning I had the tell-tale lines of blood poisoning already down to below my elbow and I had a fever of 103. I ended up having to have an iv of antibiotics and the tat had to be scrubbed and debrided like a burn. I was not allowed to go back to get it finished and the scarring is a reminder that sometimes fuck ups cannot be fixed easily, though I am planning on seeing what it will take to get it the rest of the way filled in, now that I am now in control of things. My motto is on my back. I wrote it and I designed it, and the fact that it is in Latin is significant because I love Latin, and my High School guidance counselor told me I was not smart enough to take Latin in high school, so I took it in college, and that is where I wrote my own motto, as a testament to my family heritage and my love of my children. Its ," Ex Animos Venio, Propter Amore Audeo" or "From Courage I Come, For Love I Dare" and it honors the tough as nails, refuse to give up and die, Scot/Irish/Native ancestors who always seemed to end up in the thick of battle with none of the glory, but are the ones that made this country strong.

My other tattoo is a screwed up mess that was started but not finished on my back, of bear paws working their way up my spine, and is a testament to the ability of my ex to raise my blood pressure to points that scare people. Its also one on my "fix" list. But my next, new tattoo is going to be the most light hearted and fun one, and though all my tats are on my upper body, the kids are advocating for me to either put this one on my lower back just above my butt, or on my leg, though I was thinking of putting it on my left forearm or even my right chest.I have to find an artist I can trust though, I didnt have very good luck in Flagstaff because the last guy seemed incapable of grasping what I really wanted, and tattoos are not something that I go into with the thought that they could get removed, I go into mine for life and they are not flash, they are keepers for life that are a part of me that I control and they cover up and incorporat the marks that others have left, in more ways than one.

Dear Roger: Kinks, Perversions and Things That Make You Go Hmmm?

Well this is interesting...a new video with my favorite little musician/actor came out yesterday,(If you wanna see it click on the title to the blog, im too techtarded to link it properly),and being the pervy woman that I am, of course I went on youtube and watched it right away. Yes, I am a member of the musical groups website. Yes, I also pay attention to the fan site. Yes, I am a little pathetic, but damn that boy just has all kinds of devilment behind those eyes and it makes me smile and twitch in all kinds of ways that I thought were impossible after being pretty much numb inside for the last chunk of my life, but anyhow... I went to the video site and I was watching it, and it was actually a promo for a new magazine. It was a kinda behind the scenes of the photo shoot that he did and he was just kinda goofing around while the girls with the magazine set up the shoot, but in one of the scenes, they put some chains and pretended to lead him by a collar and I about fell outta my damn chair! That just did all kinda of wrong things to me and I found it to be the most interesting part of the whole video. What the hell?

I have always been fascinated by the darker side of life, and the edgier side of things. The vanilla lifestyle has never been my cup of tea, and being forced to live it has aged me and made me an unhappy person, but the complications of my life have made any other alternative pretty much impossible, so I have just lived a solitary existence rather than try and indulge in any habits that might fulfill any needs I have had. The one time I shared my desires with my ex,I was called a,"freak" and told that I needed to just get over it, so I guess in a way I did.

Sex has always been a taboo subject around my family and considering where I grew up, thats not surprising. I mean, there was a lot of sex going on, and ,'parking" was a common weekend activity out on the oil leases and back roads of East Texas, but sex education was pretty much,"Dont do it, if you do you are going to hell." and the ever present,"Queers go to hell" ,(hell was the major theme back there) but nobody seemed to really discuss the fact that a whole lot of sex was going on and it took all forms in all kinds of places. My own parents did not talk to me or my sister about sex. I knew absolutely nothing that I didn't learn out of a book and let me tell you, I read some books. But they weren't your typical Judy Blume books that most 12-14 year olds read, hell, I had read those when I was 8-9, nooo...I found and read the Marquise De Sade books like "Justine" and I found them to be fascinating, which was pretty distressing for a kid in the middle of nowhere East Texas. Once I left for college and moved to the Dallas area, my life expanded in ways that I had only imagined, and I had a wonderful few years living with freedom and happiness and a Bohemian sense of recklessness that only should exist in your early 20's. I went to places in parts of Dallas that I never dreamed existed and I met people from all over the world that I took me to elegant parties in mansions and out to dinner in places where the appetizers cost more than most of my meals cost in a week nowadays. I traveled to Houston and attended events that were black tie and I rode in limousines and I lived in elegance and I had a few years of just reckless abandon before the reality of needing to live in the real world caught up with me in spades and I have been stuck in it ever since.

I am at a point in my life where I am stuck. I have responsibilities to my kids because my kids cannot count on my ex for anything, in fact he called me again yesterday to cry and bitch at me because he is" broke, his job sucks, his boss yelled at him, life is hard, he cant afford anything,the boys wont listen, baby sitters are expensive..." he just griped and yelled at me about everything and blamed me for it all. I have a feeling that before too much longer I will end up having to go back to Arizona to get my two sons. I am not sad about this, I had actually been expecting my ex to fail and once he does, it will just make it easier for me to get full custody of my kids and be free of him forever, because I am leaving his ass in Arizona, even if he is living on the streets. I made it on my own with my kids while he was gone, I supported them, and I maintained the home and the family because I knew it had to be done. He is weak, he lacks the ability to endure and overcome and that has always been his failing. He thought he was strong because he was mean and sarcastic and tried to dominate through brutality, but he is not strong and by lying to himself and others, he has really done himself no favors. Being up here with all 4 kids will be difficult, and it will surely mean that I will be alone, but that is just my lot in life at this juncture and I have accepted it, but it doesn't mean that I dont dream and feel and wish that my life had been different and that I could enjoy some of the things that I see.

Ive been doing some sketching and a little bit of photography and more writing lately. My muse is still on the lamb, so mostly its just rambling bits of ideas for stories,(some of them a little perverse), and I may just expand on some of them for the hell of it, because I have found out through some friends of mine that believe it or not,sex sells! hmmm, who woulda thunk it? I am still doing most of my writing on paper, and that is both a blessing and a curse. Its a blessing because I dont have to worry about losing it on my computers hard drive, but then its a curse because I have to keep it hidden from my son because God knows I dont want him reading any of the stuff I write! He already suspects I read some really strange stuff, and I had to enable some really strong security settings on my laptop to keep him from reading anything I might have up,(my screensaver starts after 5 minutes of inactivity and that sends him shooting from the room screeching,'Akkk my eyes, my eyes!!" every time)even though in every picture the young men have their clothes on...(mostly),it never seems to cease horrifying him that I have what I see as a healthy interest in men, be they young, middle-aged, or even a little older than me. He is at that age where moms are not supposed to think about sex, or are supposed to have never had sex,and are not supposed to know anything about sex, and I guess my fairly liberal attitude about it and willingness to discuss safe sex with him in an attempt to keep him from making mistakes that could either ruin his life or kill him, is emotionally scarring him or maybe putting him off it for a while,(one could only hope) though with all the testosterone flowing around him on any given day it is hard to know.

Its going to be a long, dull, weekend around here. I am feeling a little crappy and I am just going to work on some projects that I need to complete for my school program no matter which way I decide to go with it, and I am going to register with a job hunting website to see if I can get any movement off of that resource. I am also going to develop a new physical training program for myself. I have gotten a little lazy since I have been up here, and I havent been working out like I used to and I think that is part of my whole funk. I used to be able to do well over 100 push ups and my endurance and weight lifting capabilities were well beyond what people expected for someone of my size, and I miss being in that kind of shape, so I think I need to get back into it and find my drive once again. Running is difficult with my knee problems, but sometimes pushing through the pain is what inspires me on to bigger and better things, and maybe that is where I will track down my muse again.

Sub Plans

Dear Roger;Rest Stop On the Road Trip Of Life

So this has been a bit of a lazy-assed, do nothing, kinda week. I have sat on my butt around the house and just kinda mulled things over and debated the next thing to do. I have done some writing, I have scheduled doctors appointments, I have made other appointments and I did clean house and we get out and got all the laundry done, but as for actually getting out and going wandering around and just site seeing...nope. I am fighting it, I really am, but the desire to become reclusive up here is really kinda starting to win. Not having two dimes to rub together is a big part of it, and I seem to be stuck in kind of a catch 22 situation where I cannot get out and find a job because I dont have a copy of my resume, and I dont have a copy of my resume because I dont have the money to print it off, and a couple of the jobs I have put in for, are out of reach of the public transport, so I am screwed even if I were to get those. Its a bit frustrating, especially when my wonderful ex-husband calls to bitch at me about something or another and to tell me that he has just been given a truck by a friend of his, so he now has 2 vehicles. I asked him about shipping some of my things up here, first and foremost a guitar and maybe my wok or some of my cooking stuff, and he yelled at me...thats right, he. yelled. at. me. No bit surprise there,that was his standard form of communication, but considering I had just helped him find a sitter, and get a new fridge, he could have at least been apologetic and said,"I really cant right now, perhaps in a week or two.", but no, he fucking yelled at me. There are days that I wish Sus had not made that phone call, and while my life would be either over or vastly different, I would have at least gotten the satisfaction of never getting yelled at by him again.

I dont tolerate yelling, it makes me go from mellow and calm to seeing red, in the blink of an eye and I react very strongly. I have even had to shut off movies or leave rooms when someone was yelling at another person. Its not to say that I dont raise my voice,I do, but its very rare, and what I tend to do is speak forcefully and in a way that lets the person know that I am not fucking around, or as Chance calls it,"Going into cop mode" and I used to do it when I would first walk into a High School classroom. I got that out of the way the first few minutes, let them see that I was a little bit dominant, maybe a little crazy, and that I wasn't scared, and then I would break the ice and get down to teaching. The one time I did break out the full-on, in someones face, yelling, drill Sergent, im going to end you right now, kinda presence at school was when some vato wanna be gang banger tried to front me and he made a gesture like he was pointing a gun at me, but what he did not expect was that I would get all up in his face and toe to toe with him, ready to throw down over it. The teacher in me left the building and the cop arrived code 3. I speak passable Spanish, understand waay more than I let on, and he found out that I can enunciate very clearly at a yell., but I dont like yelling. I prefer the up close and deadly sounding whisper, but in a welding shop that would have been hard to hear.

My son thinks I am an easy read when it comes to body language, and he really couldn't be more wrong. I have trained myself over the years to broadcast the opposite of what I am feeling. This brought up an interesting conversation with him the other day over,"tells" and having a ,'poker face". I took his computer away from him because he was spending way to much time in his room listening to emo music, being an all around grump and because his attitude had gone to that of an entitled shit. We both have our problems, and we have been trying to work through some of them, and with his hormones added to the mix, the computer was the distraction he didnt need to shut me out of any conversation, so I took it, changed the administrator password and told him he was restricted to using it only at the kitchen table when I said, and only for the amount of time I said. So now, I have to log him on and off each time, which he hates, and we hang out together while he is on,which he also hates. He jokingly said that he was going to hack the password, and I told him that he would never figure it out so that he might as well not even waste his time trying , which of course is exactly what he spent his first allotment of time trying to do. He thinks that when I smile or laugh, that I am lying, and what he didnt realize it that it actually was cracking me up to hear how his brain was working as he was trying to puzzle out what I would use as a password!

When I was in law enforcement, I worked in narcotics for awhile. I did undercover, narcotics investigations and I deceived people. I led people to believe that I wanted to buy drugs from them. I led people to believe I was something I was not, and I was good at it. In my classes I studied criminals and psychopaths for the last 15 years and I examined the reasoning and methodology behind their behaviors. I studied microgestures and expressions and I learned how to read people, and I got really damn good at it after the last mistake I made with my ex, and perhaps that is why I am soo cautious about approaching or getting involved with another man, but reading people is something that I work on and I practice on a daily basis, as well as carefully presenting what I want read off of me. When I am out with my kids, I present a,"Do not fuck with me" presence in places that I feel that there might be a risk, because I am protective of my kids, and when I do relax and let the more open and friendly me come out, its still really hard to not watch the reactions of the people around me for rejection and then take that to heart.Its a vicious cycle.

My son kept up his guessing game for quite awhile and got pretty frustrated with the lack of success. I told him that he had to take into account all the different combinations of letter and numbers that meant things to me, as well as word phrases and names, and even symbols, that in 41 years of living, I had acquired a vast amount of knowledge, including phrases in other languages, like Latin, and that he could guess for weeks and never even come close. 'But you smiled when I said that last one mom!"Yeah, son, I thought it kinda funny that you think I would use something a 12 y/o teeny bopper would use as a password, I might think that boy is cute, but as a security device, please, give me credit." He never did get it, never even got close, and his frustration gave way to him trying to negotiate more time with me which led to me actually being able to negotiate things outta him like a cleaned up room for the first time in weeks, so I am going to guard that password with my life.

He starts school in a couple of weeks, and I am so damn happy that he is getting back into a routine, the only thing that is stressing me is that he needs pretty damn near everything. He is growing like a weed and he is so hard on his clothes that they look like rags that even a hobo would reject, including his never pairs of jeans. though he swears that, that is the,'look'. He insists he just needs another pair of chucks and maybe a couple pairs of jeans and a rock t-shirt or two, and socks..God, that boy and socks...lets not even go there, though I still dont freaking understand just what the hell happens to his socks? Is there is sock gremlin that comes in and eats them or pisses on them or just does really foul stuff to them in the middle of the night? I find them in the weirdest places, and often in pieces and I have reached the point that I dont touch them anymore, I kinda treat them like a dog or a cat turd and I pick them up with either a paper towel or a plastic bag and I put them in the trash. He just rolls his eyes at me and claims that I am weird, but let me tell you, I am pretty sure he is the weird one around here.

Sus felt sorry for him since I banned him from using my razor. He had actually started sprouting a pretty decent beard except for two patches right on either side of his chin that looked a bit moth eaten and his distress at the fact he had more facial hair than her husband was making Sus feel bad. She asked my permission, and after receiving permission from me, and assurance that the only thing he would shave with it would be his face, she bought him his own electric razor. He washed their cars for them and did some work around their house for them to pay her back and I know he appreciated it beyond all reason. His skin is really clearing up and its so weird to see the difference between him and the boys he hangs out with at church. he is actually even younger than two of them, but he is bigger, has better muscles and way more hair and just looks more mature. Keeping the older girls away from him has become a bit of a stress, and I am afraid its just going to get worse after school starts, luckily one of the girls that has really set her sights for him lives in Vancouver, and her car is in the shop so she cant get here to try and see him, (as if I would let my son go in a car with some 18 year old girl!)and when school starts he will be too busy. I never thought I would have to worry about my sons virtue, and though there are times I wonder which side he butters his bread on, I do worry, and I dont want him getting involved in anything that he isn't prepared to deal with.

Our cat has been a welcome distraction this week. He is a cute little thing, and though he bites the hell out of my feet and whatever else he happens to be near, he makes up for it by just providing amusement and happiness. I apparently lost out on the name bid and he is no longer,"Daniel", my son and daughter now just call him,"Jasper" and I laugh at my son when I give him the raised eyebrow and he says,'Shut it,mom! thats not funny!" He carries the kitten around cuddled up to his chest or hold it in his lap when he is sitting down, and I noticed that he seems calmer and more at peace with he has it, and he is protective of the little thing, so perhaps it was just the right name for just the right calming influence for all of us.