An amazing friend and her awesome husband spent years trying to gain custody of his son. Unfortunately the courts saw him as some sort of villain man while seeing the mother of his son as some sort of natural caregiver simply because she has a vagina. The woman is/was not terribly nurturing, not terribly concerned about the son’s education, not terribly concerned about the serious ramifications that his diabetes held…just all around not the best parent to have primary custody of this intelligent boy. As the boy grew older more and more court hearings occurred, but always the child was given back to the mother, simply because she was a woman. Finally, FINALLY!!!, such travesties happened that the courts were able to see the stable home my friends provided were the best thing for the then 14 year old.
What a difference less than two years makes! Living with them is such a blessing (even if he hates to do chores). I just love this kid now. He is coming out of his shell, joking and laughing. His school work is forced to be a priority, his diabetes is kept in check, he is learning responsibilities, his participation in school plays/musicals is encouraged. It is truly a pleasure to watch him blossom into a young man.
When I was told that he wanted to include me in on his birthday party, I was honored. I mean, we are talking a 16th birthday party…that is big stuff in my book. Nothing could have kept me from this party. I skipped the Pitt blue / gold scrimmage game plus the meet and greet today. Bowling it was.
But I haven’t been bowling in ages. Years ago these friends convinced me to join a bowling league with them. It wasn’t pretty. I am so not a bowler, but there was plenty of beer and tequila at the alley so I figuered what the hell. When my teammates asked what we should call the team, my reply was that they shouldn’t ask me because “I’m just here for the beer.” Naturally they kept “just here for the beer” for our team name and that pretty much summed up my bowling carrer.
However, when I joined that league, I did run out and buy a ton of crap to at least look like I knew what the fuck I was doing. Ball, bag, shoes, little cover thingies for the shoes when you walk away from the clean lanes, towel to wipe the ball, wrist guard, little powder filled bag thingy…the works. Of course this stuff has been sitting forever and a half, but now the 16th birthday is a reason to dig out the ball and head to the lanes again. Wahoooo!
Here is a photo of my fabu bowling ball. Note the engraved “HAHA” on the ball. (My Pinky and the Brain issues go WAY back. Narf!)
You will note that my bowling ball is a lovely dark green. Father of birthday boy is incredibly secure in his masculinity and had no trouble bowling with a very, very pink ball. This is the man who gives himself manicures after changing the oil in his truck and bowls with a pink ball:
How could his wife not love that? (Although I do have a photo of him that he has agreed to allow me to post for a future HNT. I think you will see *ahem* another side to him. Wheeee!)
In my typical style, not a style I like about me, I arrived a half an hour late. They had started without me, as they should have, and everyone took turns bowling when it was my turn. By the time I threw my first ball it was the 9th frame. I threw a 5, then a gutter ball. Ugggggggggh. Come the 10th I threw a 4. Four frikken pins. The another gutter ball. Dammit.
Second game I started with a spare and continued with spares & strikes until the bastards killed our game due to incoming leagues. Booooooo! That game might very well have been a personal best and we were rudely interrupted. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Only saving grace was that meant it was time for cake.
Eventually it came time to open presents. Yay! Only the best part of any birthday party. Here he is reading the card I gave him that has a beagle on his back on top of his dog house looking at the starts and says, “May cosmic bliss come down and scratch you on the belly.” (My favorite card that I love so much that I bought like 20 of them. He was a worthy recipient.)
Because I am terrible with gifts I just gave him a crisp fifty dollar bill. He seemed pretty happy. Although he did score a pretty fucking cool hoodie covered in skulls that I tried to kidnap.
Afterwards we had lots of time to kill while waiting for the kids’ parents to show up to schlep them home. Sometimes I forget what it is like to be a teenager. Those kids are fun! Although the writing on each other with a Sharpie pen probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Birthday boy’s self inflicted nipple tattoos seemed to be the high point for him…
(Small aside here. The writing on his chest says “right” and “left” under each nipple, but the words are not written for him, they are written for the viewer so that “left” is on his right. We went round and round on that one. I say “left” should have been on his left, not the way I view left. Kids! They have to do things their way! Oh how I love the independence of youth.)
One of the kids in our group was wearing a camo shirt that said, “Ha! Now you can’t see me.” I want that t-shirt in the worst way.
Eventually I popped the back of my vehicle and blasted some music. The kids all climbed in and pretended they were dogs. Here is the birthday boy, who was naturally the first one in.
I think the best part of the day might have been the ride back to their house. Birthday boy wanted to ride with me…in the back of the SUV. I sure as shit didn’t care so we popped the glass window open and he waved to all the cars going by. When I was his age we did the same things so I got a kick out of it. Especially when I blasted Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin and we both sang at the top of our lungs.
Great day.
Happy, happy 16th birthday, DW. You are loved.
EDIT TO ADD: Oh my fuck! How outta shape to I gotta be to have my left ass cheek hurt from bowling? WTF??!?!??! Seriously, I just got up to let the dogs out to pee and I shit you not, it feels as though someone punched me in the ass. Man, I gotta get into shape.
This year really seems to be flying by at light speed. Must be all the travel.
So far in 2008 I’ve been to the DC area, State College, Vegas, Cabo San Lucas, (thankfully Orlando got canceled, although I wanted to meet Britt & Adam I was ready to not get on another plane and not miss even more office time), Louisville, Atlanta and Lexington. Tuesday I leave for Atlantic City. And the Friday after that I head to Philadelphia for TequilaCon (yay!). Less than two weeks later I head to Reno (and I am SO ready for the chocolate pudding wrestling…bring it!). There will be a week or two before I go up to the Corning area to do a wine tour with Donnie Van Donnie and his family. Just a few weeks after that I head to Omaha before being done with trade shows until September or October.
And folks wonder why sometimes I just want to vacation here in Pittsburgh! Sheesh.
I really don’t understand how folks who travel more than I do can handle it. There are so many folks that I know who are constantly on the road. It would kill me. And I don’t even have kids to miss.
Although I will freely admit that I miss my dogs desperately when I am gone. Thankfully the kennel they go to is a socialized play kind of place so at least they run around all day and are exhausted enough to not totally hate being thrown in doggie jail overnight.
OH SHIT! I just realized that I need a birthday present for a 16 year old boy. Party starts Saturday at 3. Hmmmm. I have abso fucking lutely no clue what a 16 year old male wants for his birthday. Other than a 16 year old girl or a car, neither of which I can provide. I am thinking money, but have no idea what is appropriate these days. After Britt had the big “how much to spend on a kid’s birthday” debate where I was all about not spending a shit ton of money on parties for kids, I really should have an opinion on this one. Yet I am still all kinds of confused.
Not unusual, I know.
Spring is here, party people. Praise the Sweet Baby Jesus, lying in a manger, because it is seriously about time. That little bastard Punxy Phil is at the root of the cold weather til mid April, I’m sure of it. Wish we would have succeeded in that one drunken adventure when we drove to Punxsutawny to steal the groundhog. (Anyone else know that sometimes Phil lives in the POLICE STATION? Yeah, me neither. Woops.)
My forsythia bush is gloriously sporting her yellow dress, and looking damn good, too. Although I will freely admit that so long as the monstrous thing keeps the dogs in the backyard, I don’t care if there isn’t a colorful leaf to be found. If the boys are contained, I ain’t complaining. It is the little things in life, ya know?
I sit here, outside Thursday evening, when I write this. I left work at a reasonable time and I am in my back yard, wearing nothing but a wife beater tank top and cotton underwear. Where is my camera now? I’m gonna have to get a tripod or something because I can’t have my cousin or aunt always taking pictures of my half nekkid self. (Small aside here: Ever notice that the pretty ones are panties and the grannie ones are underwear? Why? Could be worse, one of the guys I work with refers to his as “underbags.” Yeah, we are a classy place…discussing our undergarments.)
Gotta tell you, though, I am whupped today. I kinda blame Jester for having such a terrific show last night on Blog Talk Radio. The show ended at midnight, but I was so wound up from the laughter that it took me forever to finally fall asleep. I mean, at one point the laptop was shaking so hard from my fit of laughter that I could no longer type in the chat room.
Good news is that I actually get to relax a bit this weekend. Wahoo! No out of town travel for work or pleasure. Just drinks with friends Friday night, a bowling birthday party for a 16 year old Saturday afternoon, a Pitt football scrimmage game at Heinz Field Saturday night and meeting out of town friends for drinks Sunday evening. Monday is taking out of towners to the Pirates baseball game, then Tuesday morning I leave for work in Atlantic City. Back by Friday and I have NOTHING going on that weekend. Yay!
Hilly posted a little slogan generator thing over at her site. Considering all the talk about her doing me instead of Britt in Philly, I cracked up:
Your Slogan Should Be
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Once You Go Becky. You’ll Never Go Back.
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Hehe…once you go me you’ll never go back. That’s funny stuff right there, people.
ENJOY YOUR FRIDAY!!
xoxo
Ok, I am going to do this. For the record, I blame Turnbaby. In Kentucky she kept talking about how much she enjoyed her participation in HNT. She kept encouraging me to try it. And of course she mentioned how good Matt-Man‘s photos turn out. (No shit, Turn…I’ve seen em!)
Did I mention that this conversation occurred while we were in Kentucky drinking Maker’s Mark? Ummm. Yeah.
Well, no good can come out of that much bourbon. Especially once I added shots of it to the equation.
So after Turn left and we walked our drunk asses back to the hotel, I was giggling like a fool and sitting on my bed wearing nothing but a tank top + underwear. And black socks. Sexxxxy, lemme tell ya. Except that I sorta forgot about the black socks. Details are a tad fuzzy, but at some point I think I blurted out “Take my picture for half nekkid Thursday!” And the stupid bitches did.
What??!?!?
Yep, we took photos and laughed so hard that our sides hurt. AC, now known as Tinkle Twat, played director and even went so far as to hold up a blanket behind me for “dramatic effect.” Re, now known as Twinkle Twat, was our photographer. They tried to convince me to lay on my back and hang my head over the edge of the bed, but I could have hurled from that maneuver so that pose didn’t last too terribly long. Thankfully I was instructed to remove the black socks, although certainly not early enough. Sigh. After a great laughing fit, we went to bed.
Saturday we got to drinking again. (No one is surprised, I know. Bite me.) I can honestly say that I don’t know how the photo shoot started that night, but it sure did. We were laughing so hard that it hurt. At some point they told me to grab my ankles. Please don’t ask why, but I listened. Here is how funny I thought the whole scene was:
Yes, that is pure drunken bliss on my face. Pure joy.
So here it is, the full photo, no photoshopping even though Turn offered. After hitting “publish” I am sure that I will want to pull this post back, but what the hell.
Oh boy. Here goes. This is my contribution to Half Nekkid Thursday:
Shots at my age? Stooooopid. But fun!
Calling some guys douche bags can be dangerous, yet also hilarious. Especially when said douche bag admits it, knocks knuckles and then goes back to his table, only to fall asleep within 10 minutes. (Sorry that I don’t have a photo of douche bag.)
When Turnbaby licks you, if you ask nicely she will do it again.
Which reminds me, the horse race was great fun, but the highlight was meeting Turnbaby. She is beautiful and kind and sexy and funny and even said “sugar” for me on command.
The Liquor Barn is the most amazing liquor store that I have ever been in. Like Costco or Sam’s Club. But a vast warehouse of booze. We took photos like tourists. And already are eagerly anticipating the visit next year. They are marked on the map!
Horse races can be fun even if you don’t bet. Although folks around you won’t appreciate your turning horse names into song (“Posse cat, posse cat i love you. Yes I do.” “What’s new posse cat whoa whoa whoa”). I am not a gambler so I just picked a horse and hollered “RUN” as loud as I could. 
When you meet the owner of Maker’s Mark and a Big Muckety Muck with Jim Beam, and when they literally give you the hat off of their head (thanks, Rory!), don’t look like a window licker in the photos that you plan to post to the internet. (How embarrassing.)
Master Distillers are terribly kind with their knowledge. And their bourbon. Plus? Soft lips.
Friday night we met Tim, the hardest working bartender in Lexington. We also me Joe, the hardest working guy trying to get laid in Lexington. (Turn definitely picked a good bar!)
Getting the speeding ticket on the way home (totally deserved…I blew past three or four cops before getting nailed by the fun cop who laughed at us) wasn’t the worst way to end the trip. After all, it is difficult to be sad or mad when wearing a horse hat. Only way it would have been a better experience would have been if I had been handcuffed and bent over the hood of my vehicle. What?!??!!!
I think it is amazing that I am related to women so spectacular that I desire to vacation with them, even if it is only a quick weekend to Kentucky. Tinkle TomTom and Twinkle Twat, I admire and adore each of you. Thanks for being such a huge part of my life. (What?!?!? What??! Stupid bitch, you are a fabulous adult female role model. hehe)
Lots of love,
Twitter Twat
(I love that last photo. When is your birthday? hehe)
I freely admit that there are several “reality” television programs that I love. Top Chef, Project Runway, some American Idol, America’s Next Top model, Amazing Race, Survivor…those are the kinds of programs that I like. I have never watched The Biggest Loser. Tonight I was flipping through the channels and found the Biggest Loser. Haven’t watched it before really, but I am loving this finale. They are competitors, yet so damn encouraging of each other. And that is so fucking cool. I don’t care who wins, I am not invested in these people, yet I think they are all winners not only because of the weight loss, but because of their attitudes. It makes me feel good to see people pulling for each other, helping each other, loving each other. Sometimes I think like a tree hugger twirler. Except that I like deodorant.
While in Kentucky there were many, and I do mean many, bizarre drunken conversations. During one late night booze influenced conversation I was trying to explain to my NOT SO little cousin and our awesome aunt why blogging has been so therapeutic for me. I tried to explain how it truly is possible to call you fantastic folks my friends. Took a few conversations and having NOT SO little cousin Twinkle Twat take nekkid photos of me while awesome aunt Tinkle Twat directed, but I think they are seeing how much you all mean to me.
So when Twinkle Twat decided that her dragon tattoo needed a name, it was a rather easy to convince her that we should take this to the internet. Monday when she had time she took a few photos that do not do this magnificent work of art justice, but they should do for the purpose of this contest.
The winner gets nothing really. Well, they will get the satisfaction of knowing that a gorgeous almost 27 year old is walking around referring to her dragon by the name you suggested. Winner is picked solely by Twinkle Twat. Because she sure as fuck is not the type of woman who lets me tell her what to do, not even if this is my site.
So, without further ado, here are the photos of her gorgeous dragon:
Photos would have been better if done on a real digital camera, but this is what the cellica phone gave us to work with. You can still sorta make out how awesome he is. Even though she gave birth two years ago he held his shape incredibly well. I love how his tail snakes down her leg almost as much as I love him gripping on to her front and back. Most of all I love his face. He looks like a kind and wise dragon, doesn’t he? Ok, I will shut it and let you get to naming. (My submission is George.)
EDIT TO ADD: Re seems to have settled on Grimford. Kiyo is still my favorite, but I was unable to get good ole Twinkle Twat to budge. So, Grimford it is!
(Jerry, in Reno you can use your tongue to help get the chocolate pudding from my heaving breasts after the wrestling match…congrats on winning the contest!)
Not that I can spell sychronicity. Totally had to look that fucker up.
As you have been reading, I have wanted a tattoo for a long time. (This won’t really be yet another post about my new artwork, I promise. Work with me here for a moment.) Since I was 15 or 16 I wanted a pin up style mermaid on a dolphin’s back. Recently however, I haven’t been able to shake the need for the Strong Woman petroglyph.
Mom’s dying hasn’t been easy for me. I really haven’t dealt with it well. Like not dealt with it at all. Not healthy, I know. But I just can’t figure out how to come to terms with it. I still feel like a kid, how can my mom not be just a phone call away with advice? Having a strong woman always behind me felt like it might help me deal with shit.
When my NOT SO little cousin Re and our Aunt C decided to run away to Kentucky for the Maker’s Mark Mile, I will freely admit that Mom wasn’t exactly what I was concentrating on. More like I was thinking of bourbon and boys and horses and meeting Turnbaby and tattoos and is it possible for me to drive 6+ hours without getting a speeding ticket (no, apparently I cannot). At Tattoo Charlie’s all I was thinking of is why does this bastard wanna charge me $100 for a quick black outline that he doesn’t have to create and twiddle dee fuck, this hurts and I can’t believe Re is piercing down there. (Small aside…he dropped the price. Thanks, Gary!)
Brunch on Sunday before the drive home was going well, as full of laughter as the rest of the weekend. Until Re got quiet and mentioned that she didn’t think I realized the signifigance of the tattoo’s timing.
Me: “Huh? Timing? WHAT??!”
Re: “April 12th.”
Me: “So?”
Re: *eyes welling with tears* “Your Mom died two years ago yesterday.”
Me: *eyes brimming instantly with tears as I feel like I was kicked in the chest* “Really?” *almost a whisper* “Are you sure?”
For me, Mom died at Easter. I’m pretty sure it was a full moon. Wednesday into Holy Thursday. Easter moves around on the calendar, but I associate Easter with my loss. A few weeks ago I was fucked up. But for this trip all I was thinking of was ponies on the track running round and round, meeting the lovely Turnbaby, hanging with Re (who will now forever be known as Twinkle Twat) and AC (who will now forever be known as Tinkle Tom Tom).
How on earth could I have missed the two year anniversary of my Mom dying?
Yet how on earth could I have managed to get a Strong Woman tattoo on the same damn day?
Synchronicity. One of Mom’s favorite words.
Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Universe. I love my new tattoo.
The other day I was asking y’all about whether or not I should get a tattoo while on a mini vacation in Kentucky. (Although I have only been here since 1 AM early Friday morning, I spent quite a bit of time with Turnbaby and have found myself uttering the “y’all” phrase entirely too often. Only jokingly in texts have I said “sugar” so I think we are safe. I am still a Yankee. Even my love for Turn can’t change that.) I really appreciated your comments, suggestions and ideas.
You knew that I had already made my mind up, right? Of course you did. So it should come as no surprise that I am posting a photo of my first tattoo.
It went much quicker than I had imagined. Like 15 minutes and done. I was terribly relieved it didn’t take too long because the fucking thing hurt. Apparently I am a pussy and can’t handle pain. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t cry, but I certainly was not thrilled. And it hurt for a while after we left!
Although I will freely admit that it was worth it. I absolutely LOVE everything about having Strong Woman on my right shoulder blade. Can’t imagine a regret. Especially since my NOT SO little cousin and our aunt were there with me. Their presence really helped make the experience special. Not that I can imagine ever forgetting today.
And that is kind of what this artwork is all about. Remembering. Remembering that I can be strong even when I feel that I am at my weakest. Remembering the magnificent women in my life. Remembering my mom. Remembering the feeling I had in Hawaii, where I first saw the petroglyphs. Remembering that someone will always have my back and I will be ok.
I love it.
Thanks to Re and AC for holding my hand while I let Gary at Tattoo Charlie’s make Strong Woman a part of me.
P.S. Speaking of Tattoo Charlie’s, the signed taped to the front door cracked me up.
Yes, I grabbed a few. No, I didn’t need them this weekend. But I shoved them in AC’s purse. Coz who knows when she might need a handful!
Oh, and another P.S.! Stories from adventures with Turn will follow, I promise. But she gets me drunk and then it takes everything I have to get something communicated to Word Press. Story time will have to wait a bit… What??!?!? WHAT?!??!?!
Somehow I survived the day. A day of nothing but Maker’s Mark and ginger ale. Oh, and many Maker’s Mark shots. (What was I thinking? Thank God we eventually remembered to eat.)
My head hurts too much for me to properly post today. I just can’t do it. I’ve got a few photos, but don’t have the strength to get them from the cellica phone to the computer to this space.
Good news is Turnbaby was kind enough to recap the day. Meeting her is the highlight of my trip! LOVE that woman. We’ll try to get her tattooed later today. Anyhow, get yourself over to Turn’s place to see a few photos of yesterday. I’ll do a “real” post when I am not concentrating on avoiding throwing up and when my little cousin quits giving me shit for being addicted to my computer.
You guys are addicting, ya know? Love yinz.
(Sorry for the crappy quality…my little cousin brought a real camera, all I have is my cellica phone camera. When we get back to the Burgh she promises to email me all of the evidence. Which includes entirely too many Half Nekkid Thursday images. Yeah, that’s right. I made my fucking cousin take drunk girl nakey photos. Nope, I am not proud. But it is what it is. Oh…and I was just informed that tonight they wanna get me drunk, straighten my hair and THEN take naked pictures of me. Oh my fuck, what is wrong with my family???!?! hehe)
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