About Me

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Portland, Oregon, United States
Middle aged crazy, a little on the broken side,been to hell and back and still make side trips into Purgatory to indulge the masochistic side of my personality. I'm Texan,Southern,Over-educated,arrogant, temperamental,oversexed but under-indulged.Chasing after younger men and the happiness that has eluded me for most of my life.Music and literature are my passions.Finally living the dream in my idea of Heaven.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

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.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

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".

Friday, September 3, 2010

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.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

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.