Today my cousin Sarah and I had lunch with our cousin Twinkle Twat. It was a treat to dine with her made even better because her almost three your old son was with us. Bravo was a great choice because of their crayons and paper on the table, plus the waitress was smart enough to bring pizza dough for Aidan to play with. Delicious meal that ended all too early.
We decided to not end the party after lunch, instead heading to Soergel’s in order for Aidan to pick his own pumpkin. Their fall festival is wonderful and has everything from pony rides to a giant bouncy castle to underground slides to hay mazes to tractor drawn hay rides. And more. We had an excellent afternoon, but I wanted to get back in order to watch the 4 PM Steelers game.
Driving back in the perfect fall day (62 degrees and sunny), Sarah and I were chatting away when I considered exceeding the speed limit to pass a slow car. As I started to move into the left lane I caught sight of a state trooper on the left side of the highway, sort of behind some bushes. Instead of passing I drifted the few feet back into the right lane. Too late, he pulled out and eventually caught up to my vehicle, then kept going in the left lane. Got way up ahead of me so we thought he was going after someone who was speeding until we saw him pull off to the left and stop on the shoulder. WTF? We passed the trooper again and eventually he pulled back out, caught up, dropped in behind me and turned on his lights. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Immediately I flipped on a turn signal and pulled onto the right shoulder. The 30 something trooper approached the passenger side as I was reaching across a very pregnant Sarah while rooting in the glove box for my registration. He smiled and started the conversation by saying that he didn’t like the part of his job where he had to be mean. In all honestly I told him that I knew he wasn’t being mean, that my dad was a cop, as was Sarah’s dad, and I appreciated that he was just doing his job. He asked where our dads worked so we both said they each retired from the City of Pittsburgh. Seems my registration was up at the end of August, it is now the end of October, and Mr. I Don’t Wanna Be Mean had already ran my plate so he had to give me a ticket. I nodded in understanding which seemed to encourage Mr. Kindness. He told me to plead not guilty and go to the hearing where he will show up to do his best to persuade the magistrate to find me not guilty because he tries to take care of his brothers’ families. Then he went back to the patrol car to write the ticket. Without even saying a word about me not wearing a seat belt!
Sarah and I were talking and looking at baby stuff she had in her lap, kind of laughing and hoping that he didn’t notice my inspection sticker had also expired. (Yep, I was one hell of a moving violation today. Uggggggggggh. Note to self: register and inspect the damn SUV!) We had barely been alone, maybe less than two minutes, when the cop was back in the window. Kind of scared us that he was back so quickly. Seems he decided against writing the ticket. Didn’t want the trouble. Wha??!?!!! “No, that’s ok. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Just write the ticket.”
He refused. Again I told him that since he ran my plates the powers that be know he pulled me over so he should just write me a ticket. (And fucking quickly, the Steelers game was about to start and I didn’t want to have to speed the fuck home!) Yet he let me go.
On one hand I am grateful because I don’t have massive tickets to pay, yet on the other hand I don’t think preferential treatment should be given to other cops, let alone the families of other cops. BUT, all of that was not what this post was to be about. Nope. All of that reminded me of a story that still cracks me up.
About 18 or 19 years ago my Mom and Dad had separated. It would be an understatement to say that the separation and impending divorce was not friendly. One particularly bad day Mom was speeding while driving right past a city cop. She was overwhelmed and as he stepped to her window. Mom pretty much burst into tears and tried talking her way out of the ticket. She even mentioned being married to a cop. This guy wanted none of it, just her license and registration. He went back to his car, returning with the completed ticket for Mom to sign. As she handed him back the pen she sobbed, “Great! Now I have been fucked by two cops!!”
hehe
Happy Monday.
My Mom collected rocks. If you asked her what she wanted for her birthday or Christmas she would simply tell you to find her a rock…from your yard or from a gem store, it didn’t matter, she just loved rocks. Mom would always tease me that she was spending my inheritance every time she returned from the Shady Side Mining Company with another necklace or stone. I am one of those who never understood a parent doing without so that their kids could benefit from their death, so I encouraged her spending on items that brought her joy.
Fucked up part is that when Mom died I got all of her precious stones and rocks. Now I find myself collecting them. Nothing like what Mom did, but I certainly appreciate them. Although I have a bunch of her pricey pieces, here is one of my favorites:
Mom used it indoors as a doorstop, but I have it out on the railing of the back porch. A quarter of the railing is covered in rocks from Mom. I love how the setting sun hits the Shalom rock. Just about every sunset I am on the back porch, watching my dogs run around like lunatics, and it makes me happy to see that simple rock. (Partially happy because rocks make me think of Mom; partially happy because Shalom is written on it and I loved that my Mom the ex Catholic nun would light Kwanzaa candles and buy a rock with a Hebrew saying on it.)
Saturday I stayed home and did a whole bunch of nothing in an effort to shake this cold. I seem to be winning (yay!!) because my symptoms are easing, so I think I did the right thing. Instead of pumpkin patches and apple festivals, instead of drinks with Doodle and Dang in one of their yards, I did the right thing and stayed home. Pups appreciated it, too…
(that’s my Reillymonster)
(and his dog, Ludo) 
Not a bad way to spend a Saturday. Tomorrow is the neighborhood block party. I might join for a bit, although I doubt it. Seeing as how I was gone for ten days there is a bunch of stuff I need to take care of. And the weather should be perfect. I might need to take the dogs to a remote park for a good long run. (Be realistic…they will run in the woods, I will walk. 
)
Ξ August 27th, 2008 | → 16 Comments | ∇ me, mom |
Thank you. The outpouring of support for yesterday’s post surprised me and I hope you all know how much I appreciate you. The comments were wonderful and truly touching. Each email and phone call blew me away and really caught me off guard in the best of ways. So thank you. Even if “thank you” doesn’t begin to express how grateful I am for all of you and for this site.
I did put my pearl earrings in and wore them all day Tuesday. Even to bowling. Gonna sleep in them, tonight, too. Because I can.
Although I feel that the necklace is too fancy for normal wear and certainly too dressy for bowling. I do, however, think it will make an appearance on Thursday. Gotta love HNT!
Speaking of which, life is too short to wait for a specific day on the calendar to tell me to post photos:
Can you see how big and pretty the earring is?
I will have to get better photos for tomorrow. 
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P. S. Please don’t forget to support the Quitters in your life.
Ξ August 26th, 2008 | → 15 Comments | ∇ me, mom |
Yesterday I mentioned that my Mom went to China with a Triple A tour about seven years ago. I am still blown away that it was SEVEN years ago, but Father Time and I have always fought a bit. The details of Mom’s trip are already a tad fuzzy. I didn’t pay attention enough. Always thought I could just pick up the fucking phone and ask her for a specific if I needed it.
ANYhow, the “19 friends that hadn’t yet been met” turned out to kinda piss Mom off. Turns out it was mostly senior citizens on the trip and they didn’t share the same enthusiasm for wholeheartedly experiencing a different country. Although Mom was around 61 according to the calendar, she certainly had a young open and adventurous mind, so when the group wanted to eat at the McDonald’s in Beijing there was no way in hell that Mom was going to partake in that. She asked the hotel concierge where his favorite restaurant was and made arrangements to get there. Squid, 1000 year old eggs, things Mom could only point at because she didn’t speak the language, Mom ate anything they put in front of her. Granted she didn’t always like everything that she tasted, but she at least tasted em.
The year Mom lived her dream of seeing China, I would turn 30. While halfway around the world Mom found herself in a jewelry store, fantasizing about purchasing amazing jade pieces. The clerk went to the back and asked the owner to come out to help Mom because unfortunately the language barrier was frustrating the clerk no matter how kind Mom attempted to be. The store’s owner enjoyed Mom’s love of his country, her excitement at upcoming planned activities, and wanted her to have the gorgeous green jade, pearl and Swarovski crystal necklace that came with pearl earrings that had captured Mom’s eye. He drastically dropped the price and Mom agreed to purchase the set. As the owner started to wrap the purchase after accepting payment, Mom kept on talking. She told him that she would be giving his spectacular jewelry to me on my upcoming 30th birthday. Questions were asked about Mom’s baby girl and much time was spent discussing me. I don’t know what was said, but I do know that Mom whipped out the ever present photo of me (yeah, I hated that and she loved it). Eventually the shop owner insisted that Mom wait just a moment longer while he went in the back to fetch a present for me.
She cried when he handed her a huge and perfect pair of pearl earrings, saying, “For your baby girl. No charge. Each fifteen year old. Together they equal fit a beautiful 30 year old daughter.”
Oh how I love that set. And hardly wear them. For someone like me who wholeheartedly believes in using the “good dishes” every damn day if you feel like it, who feels that life is too short to not enjoy it, I don’t wear them because I am terrified of losing those precious earrings. They are so special to me. I couldn’t handle not having them, yet they just sit in a box. The one and only time I truly wore the set was to her memorial service and the days that followed. That just is not right.
Something interesting happened on Monday, though. Lisa is going to make me custom made jewelry(!), an anklet and a bracelet, so she asked which of her existing pieces she should base my new creations on. I had viewed a few samples on her site and was drawn to one item in particular so I asked that the anklet be ovarian cancer (that Lisa is battling) awareness in that one’s the style and that the bracelet to be whatever she wanted me to have. In emails Lisa said something about the new items containing agate (Mom collected rocks) and pearls.
I have a feeling that I just may break out my pearl earrings. Today. Life really is too damn short to be kept in a box.
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Mom was a smoking cessation counselor. In her honor, and for my dear friends, I Support Quitters.
So the Olympics are done. I barely watched them, but what I did manage to see was pretty damn amazing. We have such tremendous athletic talent in this country. I do buy into the patriotic everything that I get fed and watching these kids succeed could easily make me swell with USA pride.
What I saw of the closing ceremony was incredible. The months of practice paid off. My Mudder would have loved the show. And the way the announcers kept talking about how wonderful the people of Beijing were to the foreign athletes and tourists would have thrilled her.
Mom always loved China and would defend their culture when I would bitch that too much of our products were made in China. “Buy American!” was always met with her somehow turning the conversation to the wonderful people of China and not politics.
It should have come as no surprise when Mom announced that she was going on a AAA trip to China. In January. She was over 60 and I was terrified for her safety in the middle of winter. IN! CHINA! When I started asking questions about the trip halfway around the fucking world that she stumbled upon in the Triple A newspaper thingy, she had all of the answers, including that she had just bought a floor length down coat with a (fake!) fur trimmed hood to keep her warm.
My favorite volley? “Well, just who do you plan on going to China with?” “19 friends I haven’t met yet.”
I am so my mother’s daughter, no matter how I try to fight it.
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This is most likely an oldie that I hadn’t seen before, and it is so wrong, yet it really hit my funny bone. Yep, I recognize that I was in the mood to laugh. And that Mom, the former nun, would have cracked up at this…
While shopping in a food store, two nuns happened to pass by the beer section.
One asked the other if she would like a beer.
The second nun answered that, indeed, it would be very nice to have one, but that she wouldn’t feel comfortable about buying it.
The first nun replied that she could handle that without a problem.
She picked up a six-pack and took it to the cashier.
The cashier had a surprised look on his face, so the nun said, ‘We use beer for washing our hair; a sort of shampoo, if you will.’
Without blinking an eye, the cashier reached under the counter, pulled out a package of pretzels and placed them in the bag with the beer. He then looked the nun straight in the eye, smiled, and said, ‘The curlers are on the house.’
This weekend I told a someone who knows me very well that I thought I was depressed. He listened to me say that when I get home from work I just want to stay home, as opposed to going out and hooting with friends. As I rambled on about canceling out on weekend parties and desiring to stay home in the yard with my dogs, he smiled and listened. After I said that I haven’t felt the same since Mom passed away over two years ago, a gentle suggestion that perhaps I should speak with a professional was made. And then he threw the knife into my heart: “Perhaps you are just growing up.”
Noooooooooooooooooo! I will NOT grow up, dammit. Often I will tell folks my age (37 thank you very much) because I am thrilled every day that I survived a rather wild youth, but I have always sorta prided myself on the childlike attitude that I attempted to maintain. And yet here he was, smirking a bit at me, holding up the proverbial mirror to me.
I am growing up. Settling down.
Can’t be. I am the one who wants to party until the sun comes up, dammit. I am the one who wants to seek out fun. I am the one who wants to play and laugh and not care what others think.
So what if I own my own home. Who cares if I own my own vehicles. Those things don’t make someone grow the hell up.
Yet he keeps smirking at me. Telling me I am probably not depressed. Telling me that I am one of the happiest people he knows. Through the smile I hear that I should speak to a therapist if I really feel like it, but perhaps I just need to consider that growing up isn’t the worst thing in the world.
What the fuck? Yes it is! I like running wild. I like burning the candle at both ends. (It gives such a pretty light.) I am just depressed, dammit.
And then it hit me. I really do need a shrink. Out loud I said that I would rather be depressed than to grow up. Are you shitting me? I have friends who are seriously dependent on medication to lead a healthy life and here I am saying I would rather have a very real condition like depression instead of admitting I am growing the hell up.
I mean, I have a china closet for fuck’s sake! Not that I have china in it (that crap stays boxed up coz I ain’t using it), but I still have a china closet. Full of wine glasses, Bailey’s Irish coffee mugs, martini glasses, awesome arts festival bowls and a few old cookie jars. But still, a. china. closet.
Sigh.
I have grown up.
Someone send cookies to drown my sorrow. Cookies or tequila. Thanks.
P.S. Steelers are in Training Camp. Woot!
Mother’s Day is difficult when your Mom has died. There is no picking up the phone and confirming plans for the day. I have no dinner to buy, no present to agonize over. Really, nothing was ever enough anyhow. One little present, a few “special” hours one day a year…I mean, how do you thank the woman who dealt with morning sickness, labor pains, dirty diapers, being a single mom, exhausted days of work at her job followed by work at home, a stubborn self during my terrible twos, my rebellious self in my teen years, my living with a man she couldn’t stand and prayed that I wouldn’t marry, my ending a relationship with a man she adored, me lashing out at her during the flood clean up instead of barking at anyone else simply because deep down I knew that she had to love me no matter what…
I miss her. I really, really do. And no matter how much I ramble on here I won’t be able to properly convey the tightness squeezing my heart, the closing of my throat as I try to breathe when the hot tears fall. If only I knew how to get over my feelings of loss, the feeling of being alone even when surrounded by a room full of people who love me. I just miss her. And dammit, I hate that the word “miss” doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling. On one hand I desperately want this feeling to ease, yet on the other I would feel that I was doing Mom a disservice if I ever cease to feel this pain.
May all of you who are able to still hug your moms have the ability to do so today. Even if it is a long distance hug over the phone.
To those of you whose moms have already past, I am so terribly sorry for your loss. Really, I am.
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?!??!?!
I have yet to drown in alcohol, but last night I really tried. On a Sunday! For shame. There will be photos (sorry Truk, not of my naked boobies even though I don’t feel bad because you didn’t vote for mine in Fab’s contest) from one of the parties, but I’m not sure when. Someone forgot a camera and I found it. Late night smiles are fun, right? First I need to find out whose camera it is, then I must make them promise to email me the pictures.
This is my favorite trade show, if I haven’t mentioned that yet. If you have already heard that from me you are hearing it again because right now, at 7 AM, I might still be drunk. That is part of the reason that I love this show so much. The people are amazing and I love hanging out with them. A few months ago I was approached to take over the association of younger folks in the industry. Turned it down again and again before finally agreeing on Saturday to take the position. This group loves tequila and beer. I love tequila and beer and vodka. After drinking vodka from 5 PM – 10 PM I added shots of tequila to the mix. And some beer. Because they were planning on handing me a mic in front of everyone. Damn, public speaking is NO fun. I made my new VP do most of it because the liquid courage got the best of me and I was drunk. Really drunk. Drunk enough to dance. A lot. Oh, and at the end of the night I sang Friends In Low Places with the triumvirate of outgoing association leaders. Holding a mic, in front of the association with friends, I sang. Even though I have sworn to Shiny and Mr. Fabulous that there isn’t enough alcohol in this world to get me to sing. (Here, I’ll say it for you: YOU WERE RIGHT. Feel better guys?)
Ok, more about this party later, in a different post. For now I will say that the problem is hanging out and drinking all night leaves no time for writing. Sorry that I haven’t been around to your places. I’ll get there on Tuesday when I get back home.
But for now I am still here in Atlanta, awake entirely too early. And I need to get my ass in the shower, get on my way to the show floor.
However, before I go, I gotta question for the internet…
I ran into the ex love of my life last night at a party which was held in the Georgia Aquarium (magnificent place…if you have the opportunity to go, do it). We talked for what felt like minutes and hours all at the same time. Really good conversation. He apologized for a lot, I hope I did also, we got caught up. It was truly nice. He was a gentleman and rode with me in a cab to another party, but then was incredible enough to stay in the cab and go away. While talking I mentioned something about my blog, probably because he loved my momma and she adored him. He asked for the site and while I wasn’t sure if I should, I eventually gave him the address. There is no doubt that he’ll find his way here.
So, was it a mistake to give him the ability to look into my life? Will I start to censor myself? When Jester designed this place for me I almost didn’t tell anyone about it. I almost wanted a place to write and write and not have anyone know it was me. Quickly that went out the window because I seem to be a comment whore, but should it have gone out the window last night?
Ok, enough possibly still drunk ramblings. Imma go try to get my act together so that I can work the last day of the trade show. I’ll be back. When I return, I hope you guys have left me lots of wisdom about your friends and family reading intimate details of your lives.
Thanks.
xoxo
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