#30IN30 TWO

I consider myself a great gift giver. That said, this summer alone I've shelled out enough thought & money for all four seasons. It's a bit much. Let's revisit the gift list.

*flexes digits*

Wedding One
Wedding Two
Nephew's birthday
Father's Day (for Dad)
Father's Day (for Hubby)
Dad's Birthday (milestone)
Mom's Birthday (milestone)

And coming soon...

Bestie's Birthday (milestone)
Fidge's Sweet 16
Mom In Law Birthday
Bridal Shower
And yet another friggin Wedding

I'm done y'all. Like really done. So I've found the perfect crossover gift for all ages and occasions AND it's great for both men and woman.

Here goes.

Ladies and Gentlemen I bring you the Butt Face Towel. As I hand them out I shall boast, "You get a Butt Face Towel and YOU get a Butt Face Towel." YES!!! The heavens have shone me the light and the way! I'ont even care if they use 'em or if they dry off themselves off from a freshly dipped shower with the wrong end. This shall be the my special gift to all. A useful gift. A practical gift. A gift that would put a smile on even the most hardened of criminals. Folks from far and wide will open their recycled gift bags filled with leftover shoe box tissue paper and stand in awe of the awesomeness that is the and forever will be the Butt Face Towel.

Why? Cause why not that's why! And I'm exhausted.
 

#30in30 ONE

The netbook is across the room. I have no idea where that slippery little pink mouse with its long USB tail is. My writing desk on wheels is covered with this week's clothing which includes 2 shades of gray jeans. My huge orange leather bag--more luggage than purse--needs a place to rest. And this dust. Dust adorns the purple of my netbook with purpose. Why should I disturb it? I probably won't remember my password anyway. And Dood is still awake. There is a stuffed Sonic and Smurf fighting to the death on the bed I should be in.

Not here. In this corner. Typing. This. I blame the Olympics. 

So many athletes striving to achieve greatness as I look on. I could have been a gymnast if it wasn't for these pesky boobs. I'm perfect the height . Another missed opportunity. I lack the broad shoulders for swimming or the swollen muscles of a sprinter. The Brazilian Butt Lift work out DVDs are lost in a stack of forgotten movies so my Volleyball dreams are also deferred. 

Sharp shooter. I could have been a sharp shooter. 

Dood didn't pass the second go round at swim class. "He's so close. We know he can be a great swimmer. Please continue with Level 2." I don't know how Michael Phelps' mom sat in so many aquatic galleys for so many years. I'm stressed from one summer. But then again he's the most decorated Olympian ever. Is there an Olympic sport for couch jumping? I'm asking for reasons. 

And Fidge. She's almost 16 so there's that. She's also pretty fluent in English so I'll just stop here. 

Sleep calls and I can't tolerate another Olympic Zombie morning from viewing tonight's previously recorded events. Just know that I've answered the call and you've got me for at least 30 days. Peer pressure.You can thank Aliya. 

I'm Not Dead...I'm Living...Kinda

Last week I had a dream that my hubby & I were making love while Morgan Freeman narrated it. The week before I dreamed that Odd Future came out of my attic, burglarized our home, and did a mixtape about it.

I figured it was time to write again.

The leaves have turned and the sun no longer overstays it's welcome. Our summer's dead y'all. And maybe that's for the best. As for my summer there were no palm trees and white sandy beaches. There was no fireworks on the vineyard or a smiley faced mice hanging out near Cinderella's Castle. Nope.

There was me avoiding a lay off when my entire department was let go in another office. There was me training my new manager and co-workers. There was my new manager being diagnosed with not one but two forms of cancer.

There was Dat Dood falling on his face at preschool pushing his front tooth up in his gums. There still is several dental bills. There was a horrible tampon pool incident (don't ask, I won't tell). There was an ant invasion that quite frankly I'm still recovering from. There were phone calls from the principal and guidance counselor at Dood's new school to discuss tantrums and transitions. There was us telling them to figure him out just like we had to (gosh it's only Kindergarten).

There was the beautiful Saturday morning when I took the kids to breakfast, did a little grocery shopping, got the car washed, an oil change, and gassed it up only to have the transmission fail once we got home. There was me having a silent memorial for our car's Bose stereo system (damn I'm gonna miss listening to music in that car). There was my husband wheeling and dealing his way into a new car using our beautiful piece of shyt as a trade in.

There was an earthquake, a hurricane, power outages, and floods. There was a Throne to Watch, i.e. Jay & Bey's baby. A Destiny's Child for sure.

As I predicted life went on whether I wrote anything or not. I admit I miss this space. I miss all of you. So we'll see out this goes. Good thing is I'm not dead...I'm just living...well...kinda.

Marriage Between Love & Love

"I believe that marriage isn't between a man & woman but between love & love" 

~We All Try, Frank Ocean. 

Every weekend I tend to slip into an I-Miss-My-Hubby funk. I hate it. So while I was deep in mid-distraction efforts I came across this piece on Gawker, "Sweet Scenes From Today's Same-Sex Weddings in NY". Let me tell you that I just about broke in two.

This picture right here people. 

Phyllis Siegel (left) and Connie Kopelov (right) of New York City,
the first same-sex couple to get married at the Manhattan City Clerk's office

Can you fathom the length of time that they were together without even the opportunity to wed? Given their age I imagine that they may have had to shield their love at some time in their lives. I picture them making everyone else comfortable in their apartment building--acting more like roommates or sisters rather than lovers. 

And this right here. 

Wendy Torrington (left) & Kimberly Moreno (right)

My word. My girl showed up in flip flops and capris, giving no damns about having a Vera Wang gown, a big wedding party or an orchestra serenading her down the aisle. She simply wanted to do what most of us take for granted. Here that J Lo! And the joy on her face is simply beautiful. Jesus be a Kleenex! 

Let me tell you all something. My hubby & I joke about this all the time but when we got our marriage license no one even checked our IDs!!! We gave no blood sample to prove we were not related. We showed up, paid a few dollars and exited marriage license in hand. It was a bit surreal. To get a drivers license I needed a picture ID and two pieces of mail with my name on it. I took 2 weeks of driving school, a written test to get my permit, drove with the permit for 6 months before I could take my driving test for an official license. But I could have signed Minnie Mouse as my name to get married!!! I guess all that was required was that I showed up with a man. Crazy right?

God Bless The Art

"An artist's goal is not to live forever, it's to create something that will."

We can talk about the stress of fame or the strain of artistic freedom and expression once you've made it. We can talk about demons and pain. We can even discuss addiction as a way to understand the hows and whys of a persons breakdown. I choose not to do this today. I would just like to remind all of us what it's like being a creative type.

There are voices and colors that no one can see but you. There are melodies and sonnets swirling around always a foot taller than you can reach. There are movies that play out in your head so vivid the extras have names--first and last. There's a feeling that no one will ever "get you"...understand your art...know your true intent. You may want to decode it for them but that would be akin to pulling back the curtain on the great Oz.

I've lived in my head so long I don't know real memories from my own creation. My brain is a bad Inception movie chopped and screwed.

No matter the art when it comes...when the muse takes over... it can be the most glorious orgasmic rush ever. When it plays hide & seek behind impenetrable glass. Man...

When you have so much stuff going on that you can't wrangle the art, it's feels like the ultimate fuck. The one thing that could save you becomes the one thing you can't make behave. You can't tell the creation to wait until you have more money or fix the car. You can't tell it to wait until you've gone through rehab or kicked that addiction. You can't tell it to be still until the kids go to sleep. You can't tell the voices to stop waking you up at night.

Art doesn't care. Art doesn't give a damn. Art is a compulsion that you must honor.

God bless the ones who become well known and famous for it. God bless the ones who can manage and keep it flowing through all the stuff they endure. God bless the Beyonces and Kanyes of the world who can't take a vacation without it haunting them. God bless the Lauryns who create but are too afraid to share. God bless the Heaths and the Kurts who let it consume them to the very end. God bless the Adeles who fear expressing it front of others. And God bless the Amys who held on to it tighter than they could their own selves.

"It's not easy to hold on to yourself when others hold on to you"

Amy Winehouse RIP

I'm Having The Hardest Time

I've admitted several times before that I was the last of my friends to join any social network and to spend anymore than a few minutes online for any reason. I've always preferred the company of living breathing people rather than the cold touch of a few key strokes. Sitting and staring at a computer for hours on end just didn't make sense when I could just pick up the phone and see my friends and family face to face. Then I moved farther away from my family. And I worked from home. My social circle soon ended at my front door. Twas lonely indeed.

Somewhere along the road I detoured into Social Network Place and into this thing called blogging. It's giving me new keys to more neighborhoods but I'm not sure if I can afford them.

What I love most about blogging and frankly writing in general are the stories. I consider myself a storyteller rather than a writer/blogger. The stories I've weaved on this very site have been both personal and cathartic, cleansing, endearing and sometimes just sweet and silly. This is the benefit. But there is a down side.

I'm having the hardest time keeping my blogging brain out of the very moments that make life meaningful. I'll start thinking about how I can turn just about anything into a blog post. I take pictures of all kinds of randomness as insurance that it may one day show up in this space. But then I sit to write it out and the private me intervenes and says to leave some things unpublished. So I do. It also sucks when I'm in the middle of a conversation and someone stops and says "you know, you should write about that." It takes me out of the present.

I'm learning that when you're favorite writer/blogger stops writing/blogging  it's not just because they're busy it's because they're busy living.

So that's where I'm at lately. I have numerous updates. Many more stories to tell but I won't force them. They'll arrive in awesome fashion. Until then I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite movies ever.

"Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying"

My Super Cheesy Birthday

So last year I wrote this horrible ode to my horrible history of awesomely bad (except for one) b'earthdays; the aptly titled B'earthdays Were The Worst Days. I think it deserves a re-visit. No really...I'll wait.

********************

Yeah...pretty bad right. I mean...what was my problem? Well I'll tell you. The simple truth is I just wanted a super cheesy birthday party. I yearned for all the things that I missed growing up. I wanted balloons, cake, those birthday blower thingies. Maybe a cone hat and some pin the tail on something or another. I must admit since that awful sour sixteen I've had okay bdays. Just not the cheesy festivity I hoped for.

Pretty much after my last birthday which was full of love and awesome, I went on a save my birthday crusade.  I complained and bitched to anyone who would listen about my need for a cheesy birthday. No one was spared. Strangers and little old ladies in Target trying to buy scrapbooking supplies all got an ear full. I want a super cheesy confetti filled birthday and guess what folks.

I got it!!!


This is what I saw when I walked into my office at work. My awesome dear friend and co-workers got up early (which was a gift all by itself) and decorated my digs with all sorts of cheesy leftover birthday artifacts. It was awesome and I almost cried. It was that serious folks.

And when I arrived home I got to do it all over again oh and I finally got a cake with my name on it. Yes, folks this is the first birthday cake I've EVER had with my name on it.

I know it's super cheesy. And I'm sure you don't understand why beyond gifts, late nights clubbing & dancing that this will go down as my fav bday but I do not lie when I tell the truth. It's like when a celebrity just wants to go grocery shopping undetected and undisturbed. Trade the celebrity for me and the grocery shopping for a super simple cheesy birthday celebration and perhaps you'll get my point. I'm a simple silly girl at heart and nothing says super simple & silly than birthday cake and balloons.

Thanks again to the wonderful JB who listened to me bitch and finally heard me enough to plan the whole work day of cheesy fun!! XOXO And to my hubby. I know it took all you had to get those 2 balloons.  I promise you that it didn't take away from your cool factor.


Have you ever yearned for something super simple and people refused you because they think you're being silly or that you deserve more? How do you convince others that you prefer a hot dog in the park rather than a 4 course meal at some fancy pants restaurant?