Break on through to the other side

Thursday, June 29, 2006

This is it. The final post from the old house. Terrance is taking the modem down in a couple of hours and despite my crying and pleading to Not rip me away from the internet...he is. Prying the modem from my weeping hands.

The Hugh-Manatee!

So, I'm not sure when I'll be able tp post again. It may take a few days for us to get the new network installed ( cause they wanted us IN the country to meet them an all - Geesh!) I may also wander around the streets of Montreal , laptop in hand looking for wireless zones. If you see me, offer me a cup of coffee and point me to a place where I can log on, for the love of St Catherine Street.

I expect High-larity to ensue at customs, as they search our truck and vehicles. Perhaps I will be inspired to re-visit the story of the I-2 pills. I will also tell the story of Terrance turning in his gun yesterday to a VERY suprised New Hampshire police officer who couldn't quite figure out WHY this dreadlocked black man was GIVING him a gun, despite copious explanations.

But now, I have done my yoga and I must shower and take my Prozac...and chinese herbs.

See you on the other side, bitches.

Lessons Learned while packing

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

I can stop buying floss for awhile. You can see by this that both Terrance and I are chronic flossers. We stash it all over the house, and car and in the pockets of coats. (This is So for you E.)

Um. I'm a little "anal" about the shoes. These are just the ones in the boxes.

And here are the J Crew boots, and strappy wedges...

If you no longer own a cassette player, then it is time to give up your collection of cassettes. Yes, I know that these represent the 80's and 90's for you, but let it go, baby, let it go.

Now I must go untangle my bizarre love for saving National Geographics.

Defending my baby

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Well, holy shit. This must be what it feels like when your child grows up to be a mega super star and you're sitting on the couch thinking, "I am WAAAYYYYY more fun. And witty...and intelligent, and better looking, too."

Yeah, I'm talking about True Wife Confessions. The baby blog that could. My little "ha-ha, wouldn't it be funny to open this up to the world?" blog.

And now? Friends, it gets thousands of hits a day. Which is fine. It is what it is - entertainment, for some. But for others? I think it is really cathartic. Cathartic in the way that talking about post partum depression has been cathartic for me. The realization that everyone has issues that we don't talk about. That marriage and relationships are HARD, much harder than most of us ever thought. That over time things build up. Hurts develop. Needs and wants change. The person who you married is no longer the same person, but neither are you.

What has upset me is the "holier than thou" shit that I have seen come up around the entries. Partly, I should stop tracking back in Sitemeter to see where people are coming from. Then, of course, I wouldn't have to read the comments. The "These women are so sad" kind of things. The "Don't they know that communication would solve all their problems instead of posting them on the web, Don't you feel so SAD for them?", "My husband is the best cause he changes diapers and gives me orgasm's every night."

Ahem. Fuck you. You are the future Uber-Mom's and to you, I say again. Fuck you. Keep your marriage and motherhood smackdowns to yourself. Did I mention the fuck you?

I have been with my husband for 15 years. I can assure you all that I - and every other bride on the face of the earth - did not look at their spouse that day and think "Some day I will want to stab you for sleeping through another night of endless screaming of the baby". That some day will come and you think, "Is this it? This is what is has become? Dishes, meals, laundry, getting kids to school, starting over again in the morning."

If every day of your married life is sunshine and joy, than I call you a liar. Or the possessor of VERY good drugs. Or Katie Holmes.

The women who are sending in their confessions don't need another woman's pity. We have enough of that shit from every other corner, and it is just another facet of the woman against woman relational aggression we have been socialized to perpetrate.

They don't need solutions. They are pretty clear about the issue.

They just need a Space. A space to say it , out loud. To set it out into the world and release some of the power from the thought. Kind of like my visits with my therapist. I can say outrageous things. I hate being a mother. I hate my mother. I hate my husband. I sometimes hate my child.

And then, I can get on with it. Once all the dark shit is out, the light can shine in and you can go forward.

That is what I wish for True Wife Confessions. A place to purge the dark so the light can shine in. That is why I want it treated like a sacred space. A therapists office. A place where you can say the things that are eating away at you, so that you can move forward.

And Uber Mom's and Non-Mom's. Stay the fuck out of the sacred space. Until you need it. Then come on in and pull up a chair. We've already forgiven you for not knowing how hard it all is.

Parting is such sweet sorrow...or Not

Saturday, June 24, 2006

4:32 p.m.

"SO LONG BITCHES!" * said as requested by Nancy

4:41 p.m.

Friday Fun with toys..has been postponed

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Cause most of the toys are packed or otherwise engaged. I survived my "goodbye" luncheon. I kept my eyes down on the table most of the time and tried to avoid the fake small talk. I told no one what pathological assholes and fake, simpering bitches I think they are. I did, however, think it.

One...More...Day... which I will spend doing nothing but surfing your blogs on company time. Suck on that, "the Man".

New True Wife is up - keep those a-comin ladies. The ninth edition is almost done, so we're soon to hit 100.

Big ups to Troll Baby, who graciously and spontaneously made those awesome graphics. We all know that I had nothing to do with that, except to say "Hell, yeah" when she offerred them to me.

Em's Dance recital this weekend. Drinks will be in order. I'll keep ya posted...

Saffron Sentries

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

I had acupuncture Tuesday. Once again, it was lovely. I can't tell you all how much more centered and focused I feel after these sessions.

So in honor of my newfound love of acupuncture, I dedicate this post to my transformative experience at the Gates in Central Park in 2004.

I was strangely drawn to this project during its buildup. I would watch the news coverage as it moved from a conceptual idea, to the mounting of the posts, to the planned unfurling of the silk. There was something about this exhibit that called to me.

I saw the pictures of the artists other installments. Didn't do much for me. But this? The color? The scale? The juxtaposition of the saffron silk against New York City in February? There was something fundamentally different about this project. They called,"Come see us, Dawn."

So we did. I convinced my husband that we had to take a trip so that I could see these Gates. I needed to walk among them. I needed to touch the edges of the silk. I needed to stand and gaze upon the miles of saffron in February. My soul needed this.

It was the first thing we did once we got to the City. It was late, a cold February afternoon. As we walked toward the Park, it began to snow. Fat, silent, snowflakes covered our jackets and hats. The Park, and City were oddly quiet. The hush of the streets before a snowstorm, the silence of people trying to get home before it got worse. This was not me, though. I was moving towards a different home. I was walking towards the Gates.

We entered the Park near the Zoo. The wind was whipping the saffron silk, and it made muffled snapping sounds as they flowed back and forth. I held my breath and stood under the first ones, looking up at the silk as the snow fell on my face. I took off my gloves and reached up to touch the silk. I felt utterly alone with the Gates. They welcomed me, bright saffron sentries in the cold, gray, silent snowy February twilight.

I wandered up and down the path, touching each silk as I passed. I watched other people do the same thing, almost as if they weren't conscious of their intrinsic need for prayer. The need that these towering structures fufilled, standing watch over the City.

I walked until my family called me back. They were cold. They were wet from the snowflakes. They wanted to go back. I did not want to go back. I wanted to live within the Gates. I felt utterly at peace, as if my place in the world had been revealed. Unspeakably happy standing in the snow among these structures, a woman in a long brown coat and hat, staring raptly at swirling saffron silk.

I touched the last Gate and returned the gloves to my now raw hands. I looked back at them. "I'll be back tomorrow", I promised, inside my head. And I was.

How to Survive a Heat Wave

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Step One:

Decide that you don't fucking care anymore about your "professional appearance". Decide to forgo cute Mary Jane heels for Birkenstocks all day at the office. Admire your repaired pedicure. Feet swell cause the AC is broken in your office. The all-brick exterior, former mental institution. It gets hot in there. And these are not people I want to see with LESS clothing. Believe me.

Step 2:

Drive home with all windows open in car. (remember - no AC). Get home. Walk into house. Announce "I'm going swimming". Take off clothes as you walk to the bedroom. Change in less than 8 seconds. Walk to lake and submerge yourself. Like a Hippo in the savannah... Have picture taken by child as you yell "Stop touching my camera with your wet hands!"

Step Three:
Come back to house and do Yoga. At least now your body temperature is almost in normal human range, and you'll have to take a shower afterward anyway, so let's roll it all into one. After Yoga (for Abs) and Shower, decide a mud mask is in order. Oh yeah. Imagine this on he Montreal.... Like the rack? Oh yeah, I kept the girls in the suit this afternoon. Although, I have embarrassingly muscular shoulders from the Yoga. Terrance teases me about looking like one of those 'roid body builder dudes with the necks... Let's see who laughs when I crush his windpipe.

Step Four:

Post Yoga mellow. Body cool from the swim and shower, skin refreshed and toned from the mud mask. What could wrap this all up? A less than romantic suggestion from spouse that he "get some" tonight? No Thanks, say me and my muscular neck. How about a cool beverage?

Weeeeeellllll. I could be persuaded. What have you got?

Homemade sour mix? With Mint from my garden? And Vodka? Over lots of ice? In large glass from Redhook Brewery? As a thunderstorm breaks the heat and cools off the air?


The H is O

Monday, June 19, 2006

It's HOT - FUCKING HOT in New Hampshire. Laying in bed at 2 a.m., considering how fucking hot it is and if you can lay wet towels on your body to cool off? Not conducive to getting up on Monday Morning. Neither is the new video game crack that is Harvest Moon - Magical Melody. DAMN YOU CUTE ANIME CHARACTERS!

New True Wife is up. Recruiting for Chapter 7 - Deep Dark edition. And of course, anything else you want to spill.

And I don't mean "Spill" like me spitting my mouthful of water all over myself this morning in the car. Thank god it was water. I am truly a classy lady. But you all already knew that.

When my brain stops boiling, I will have a more "wit it" post. Yes, the leaving off of the "h" was intentional. I'm being "urban", not to be confused with "urbane" - which I can also be - but not right now.

And who ever can give me the reference and context for the title. I am SOOOOO buying and sending you something. A CONTEST. A BALEFUL CONTEST!!!

Friday Fun with Toys...on Sunday

Sunday, June 18, 2006

When the grisly scene was discovered, doubts were raised as to the identity of the murderer.

Was Sleeping Beauty just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was there more to it? And why arrange the bodies on a bed of crayons?

PS - Sorry about the bitchy quality of the last post. I'm fine, Really.

Not so moving experience

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Because I am fated to be the Bitch of Karma, my period arrived yesterday. Not that this, in and of itself, is surprising. No, It is simply because during one of the most stress filled two days of my life, I was pre-menstrual. It SOOOOOO-fucking-figures.

I am home from Montreal. The trip to register Emily for school and show us the new homestead is over.

Here are some handy tips I'd like to pass on to anyone moving.

1. Don't. Hahaha. Moving sucks in a way that I could only previously envisioned during the highest suckitude times of my life. And I have experienced some very high suckitude times. But this reigns supreme.

2. Don't allow your spouse to go and choose the home. Alone. By himself. Yes, this may seem a good idea at the time, cause you don't want to be bothered with the "details" of moving. You really don't want to move anyway, so if you pretend it isn't happening, it won't. This will not play out well to you in the long run.

3. Control your facial expressions better when you see something that is concerning. Like the fact that every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen has not been cleaned. Ever. Or the fact that there doesn't seem to be hot water. Or any electrical outlets in the bathroom. Or the stove doesn't seem to have been cleaned. Or there is No toilet paper dispenser, and the walls are a unique pink and green tile. You should smile cheerfully and happily - AT ALL TIMES. Do not contemplate locking yourself in the outlet free bathroom and crying.

4. When the school charges you 220 dollars for 10 shirts and 2 cardigans and 1 hoodie, you should also smile cheerfully. Because you LOVE your daughter in white shirts and blue pants. LOVE IT! You are all about suppressing individuality into the same kind of ugly set of shirts. WOO-FUCKING-HOO!

5. When, after being lost for a real long time, your spouse finds a restaurant and pulls in, express nothing but Joy. When you order ice tea and are told that it is "Sweet tea" and that is all you can get in Montreal, even though YOU can't drink sweet tea, so you go for water. Then your peruse the menu ( ALL IN FRENCH - which you don't read) and figure out maybe what you would like to eat ( even though you want to cry - cause you just want some tea) and then are told "No, madam, you can not Have medium rare hamburger - all must be medium well in Montreal".

Smile, dammit, smile. KEEP SMILING. You have now entered into some no plain tea,no rare meat eating world where you can't read most of the menu AND you are a day away from your period but don't know it - DO NOT CRY. For the love of all that is holy, do not burst into tears and try to avoid eye contact with the hostile black man staring at you from across the table. Trying to avert your head as you attempt to wipe up the streaming tears with the napkin will also not be acceptable. You are supposed to look HAPPY!!!

6. When getting home at 9 p.m., remember to offer to start cleaning. Do not walk in and try to access the net with your laptop. For it will go badly as you begin to laugh at email and then look up at the increasingly hostile black man who says "Did you even THINK about offering to clean?" as you express amazement and lack of knowledge that you were supposed to be cleaning at 9 p.m.

7. After driving home in the "no air conditioned car, cause someone refused to pay the 150 bucks to have the AC repaired and that someone is not the female of the house" for five hours with non-medicated ADD child and the DVD player with a dead battery, develop a migraine. Yes, a migraine that is most likely a result of the toxic fumes from the poly-urethaned floors. And your period. Have the other person not believe that you have a migraine.

8. Fall asleep after ingesting an Obscene amount of Advil. Wake the next morning with the same migraine. Have to get up and take the non-medicated ADD child to dance rehearsal at 10 a.m. Return at 2 p.m. Have partner who has had THE WHOLE MORNING TO THEMSELVES, act really pissy and irritated at you. Since you weren't here packing. Have that person not speak to you until 6 p.m., but instead walk around glaring and stomping meaningfully. Consider developing real alcohol problem.

9. Clean out your car (commanded by Captain Angrypants) as you begin to plan for your divorce in 3 to 4 years. Realize that you will most likely end up paying support TO your future ex-spouse. Inwardly laugh at that. Realize also that the new neighbor was seriously flirting with you down at the beach this afternoon, even though you didn't catch on for most of it. Yes, it could have been the tankini top. But maybe you are cute still.

10. Make the maple martini with dark rum. Think about what you will tell your therapist on Tuesday Morning and your acupunturist/Chinese herbalist on Tuesday afternoon. Laugh at the fact that you have a "Team" of therapists. Finish address change cards to mail to friends and family

***edited to add -I'm Ok really - it was just that all things seemed to collide in some awful big god damn bang of rotten ness. The place will be fine once it is cleaned and I have gotten settled. My hormones will settle down and i will return to my snarky self. Terrance could have brought me to the Taj Mahal and I would have been all "So much stone? WTF? and these gardens? Who is going to take care of These?"...

Do Not Divert Your Eyes...

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

You pathetic mealworms. It is once again, I, Vlad. You have come looking for the simpering, acupuncture having, chi feeling woman? Bah. I spit in her general direction.

Last Vlad spied her, she was eating a pound of pecans and muttering something about "packing" and "customs". When Vlad thrust his manly visage in front of her, she barely looked up at him, but continued chomping on the 'cans and gesturing with her hands in the direction of her car trunk. Normally, Vlad would have put the woman to death in a most unkind way immediately, but Vlad actually feels a little sorry for the woman. Or maybe it was the pecans she offered me in passing. Although after Vlad accepted this noble tribute of pecans, the woman was heard to giggle and say something about "eating my nuts" as she wandered off. When Vlad discovers the root of this jest, some additional impaling may be in order.

(The woman was just heard laughing again and saying "You said root...")

Vlad continued to leap out at the woman during the evening, often paired with loud "AAAAHHHHHHH" war cries, to no avail. Vlad can only deduce that there is some sort of trip planned, as bags and boxes are leaving the palace. The woman does not look as relaxed as when she went on "vacation", so Vlad is troubled.

Truly, Vlad loves this woman, useless flesh puppet though she may be, and is concerned for her. That is, if Vlad had any human emotions. Which he does not.

Ah. Wait. I hear something. The woman is saying something about "school registration" for the Spawn. Now, in Vlad's humble impaler opinion, the woman would do best to sell the Spawn as a girl bride of the Dothraki, but who is Vlad to tell her what to do? Girl spawn do not need "schooling". Vlad knows, if he fathered girl children - which he does not, that he would have done this Years ago. Ah, the word "Montreal" was just used. Vlad senses that there is a journey in the making for the Woman, the put- upon Dark man and the Spawn. Vlad will humbly guard this castle and make it safe for their return. I feel the need for a bath of the blood of newly birthed lambs. It goes without saying that they shall be impaled.

Meanwhile, Vlad commands you to look HERE and weep, for no mercy shall be shown.


Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Well,I am home. I have been acupunctured.

And may I say, If I was a lesbian, I would have proposed to the acupuncture lady afterwards. I'm serious. I think it's love.

(Let me put a disclaimer out that I have been drinking the maple martinis and damn, they ARE good - and listening to my FAVE Nancy Griffith CD, so let the good times roll, baby)

So, I go to her office. I have had lots of "treatments" and "therapies" in my life. Reikei, Spa, massage, Psycho - I am, if nothing, adventurous. I fill out the LONG ASS questionairre. Man. These Chinese herbalists don't fuck around. They want to knowEVERYTHING.

I walk in, and sit in a lovely sitting area. The natural light is gorgeous and the sun feels amazing. She asks me why I am there.

I burst into Tears. Gulping, sobbing Tears. I tell her all about why I am there. I tell her it is going to sound crazy.

The dreams that started in April, the re-connection with a long absent person in my life, the sadness, the longing, the fear, the desire - my anger at myself for not being in control and hiding these emotions.

I cry and cry. I try to explain that This Isn't Me. I don't behave like this. This is crazy and illogical and doing me no good. That every time this person thinks of me, I get tingles in my limbs, and a pain in my heart. That I love this person, but I can't make decisions for them. I can't help them to know what is right for them, that while I think it may be This lifetime for me, it may not be for them. I have to wait and be silent and that this kills me. I cry, and cry, and cry. I empty myself in her office.

She smiles. She reassures me. She examines my tongue and pulse. She tells me that I have a blood deficiency - a Chi issue. There are blocks in my energy. My liver is overflowing and my pulse weak. My tongue shows "dampness" - there is a fog over my brain.

I smile at her. I know all of this. I am ready.

I lay on her table. There is water flowing and music. She tells me where she will insert the needles - My palms, My feet, My ears, My ribs, My forehead. Am I nervous?

No. I am hopeful. I need this.

She taps the hollow tubes that hold the needles on the spots where she will insert them.

"Take a deep yoga breath in and then exhale."

On the exhale, she taps the needles into the spots. It pinches, but doesn't hurt. She explains that I have alot of emotion blocked around my mid-section,. That explains the pains and the hot spots around my torso. When she taps the needles into those spots, waves of energy flow up and down my spine. It tingles. It tickles. It releases.

I cry a little more, but not much. I lay there and feel the energy move through my body, up into my head. I breathe in and out.

After a while she comes to take the needles out. I feel incredible. She has me stretch. I come to reclining Mountain pose and laugh. She laughs.

"This is me", I say. I laugh some more.

She tells me to be gentle with myself. Drink water and don't be suprised if the energy unblocking does unexpected things.

I am Queen of the unexpected. I expect nothing less. My energy flows out of me and back in. I am fluid again. I have nothing but time. I laugh again.

Meme for YouYou

I'm a So I am ripping this meme off from both Jenn and Jess (and every one else who has done it). I know they want me to have it as my own.
Forgive my absence in the blog-o-sphere. I will be around soon.

I have an acupuncture appointment this afternoon, which I am REALLY looking forward to having. Not to sound too "new age" on all of you, but I have been having this issue where I can feel someone specific thinking about me. It has been happening since April. It's like being jolted with electricity. On one hand, I am thrilled. On the other, exhausted. My grief and longing starts anew every time it happens and I can't, I just can't. Other things need to be attended to at home and work. So, I go to acupuncture and try to close my Chakras to this energy. I need to protect myself, for I am too vulnerable right now. There will be a time for this, but not now. Until then, I do what I hate to do - wait, and watch and stay silent.


I am a bundle of contradictions.

I want unmitigated inner peace and happiness. And flat abs. Sigh.

I wish for the perfect Creme Brulee. I had one once in Quebec City. It was a revelation. Most Creme Brulee's are Awful. Like cold flan with burnt sugar.

I hate crusty feet. And shitty people. And lima beans.

I miss very little. Except in a few rare instances, then I miss Alot.

I fear the unknown. Since everything is unknown, it's a rotten fear to have.

I hear Anna Nalick's CD Wreck of the Day

I wonder where I will be a year from now.

I regret not having my depression diagnosed a long time ago. And taking the med's. That was a good idea I resisted for far too long.

I am not a shy person, but I am an introvert. I talk more when I am nervous. If that is possible, which it is.

I dance with abandon. I love to dance. I'm not fabulous, but I love it.

I sing also with abandon - constantly. And I'm not bad at this.

I cry more easily than I used to. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I make with my hands Quilts. Beautiful quilts and wool rugs. And words.

I write to keep myself sane and to empty my head. It's a busy place in there.

I confuse my right and my left hand all the time. Don't ask driving directions.

I need a home base from which to be tethered. I can do anything from that home, but I need it in order to refresh my soul.

I should not fight every change so hard. Even the good changes, I fight. It's my nature. It's exhausting.

I start a Ph.D. program in August. I'm terrified. I'm thrilled. It's like I'm being let into a secret club, but I'm not sure I know all the passwords.

I finish what I start. Through sheer stubborn force of will, if necessary. When things go unfinished, it works at me until I finish it. Unfinished things cry out for completion. Some may call that obsessive, I call it tenacity.

A New Blog - Cause Two isn't Enough!!!!

Sunday, June 11, 2006

You guys are so inspirational.

It occurred to me how much you ALL love my true wife confessions, so, because I have nothing else to do, I have started a new blog:

True Wife Confessions:

Here's my idea. I put my first two posts up, but many of you WISH you could add your own, but know that you have people in your life who read your blog, or would be upset if they read your "confessions". Now, my husband NEVER reads my blog(s), so I can be relatively fearless about my own confessions.

In the sanctum of "True Wife Confessions", I will take anything that is emailed to me as a True Wife Confession, compile it once a week (my goal is Friday) and post them. My fingers are crossed that I will get at LEAST ten a week.

All email confessions will be held in strictest confidentiality. For real. May Vlad come and impale me if I divulge. Plus, you read #18 right? You are my girls and the girls get the Iron Curtain.

I am going to work on a new email address for just these:

or you can always get me at the

Come on ladies, help me pimp my idea to the other women of the world who want to admit all sorts of things. It will make us all feel SOOOO much better.

And yes, this is open to girlfriends, partners, etc, etc, etc.

Let the Confessions Begin!

Added to say: Every thing will remain anonymous. I am going to cut and paste the confessions in a numbered list (like the first two) - no particular order. This way, the confessions will never be traceable to a person. I will also delete the emails after I transfer the info. I got enough of my own shit to cover up, believe me.Folks can either pimp the new blog on their site - or spread via word of mouth. This is meant to be anonymous for you, entirely.

True Wife Confessions Part II

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Confession #011

Oh yeah, I hear her calling my name. But it’s 2 a.m. and you’re awake anyway.

Confession #012

I was going to leave my hair in the tub drain. You’re right. But I’ll die defending that I wasn’t.

Confession #013

Your chili isn’t that good. Really. I’ve just never had the heart to tell you. Your coffee isn’t either.

Confession #014

I hate dancehall music. I just don’t get the appeal for you. But I have smiled as you have played it for a long ass time.

Confession #015

I love that you have more colognes than I do. I love that the Macy’s mens cologne woman knows your first name.

Confession #016

Yes, I washed the chicken. I have been rinsing the chicken for 15 years. You do not have to ask me EVERY TIME if I have washed the god damn chicken. If my plan were to give you salmonella, it would have happened a long time ago.

Confession #017

I know how much you detest Chinese Art Cinema. So it makes me love you more when you sit through three-hour movies in subtitles next to me, whilst I weep uncontrollably at the beauty of the story. And yes, I DID know that “Farewell My Concubine” was going to be three hours long. I just knew if I told you that, you wouldn’t come.

Confession #018

I will never tell you what my girlfriends and I really talk about. You’re my husband, but they are my girlfriends. Iron Curtain, Baby. And yes, we talk about you. And they know EVERYTHING.

Confession #019

Sometimes you only have to make me laugh to change my mood. It is not a strategy you use enough. Ditto for the shoulder massage. You’d get a hell of a lot more if you took note of this.

Confession #020

I know you didn’t read this card you gave me. You just picked the first one you came to that said “To my wife”. That’s why I quiz you on the sentiment behind the words on the card. To see you squirm.

(Part 1)

More Friday Fun with Toys

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Kill Bill III

"Don't worry Tink", whispered Mulan. "I know a man who will help you. His name is Bill, and to him I am "Taipan", the deadly snake of China. How do you feel about swords? We could use a woman of your talents. We'll call you Harlequin..."

Taking the Long Way

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

I have been enjoying the Dixie Chicks new CD. Now, it may have to do with my rebellious streak and the fact that Wal-Mart refused to sell it. I mean, you can sell "Miss New Booty", but not the Dixie Chicks? I'’ll take the politically mouthy chicks and try to keep my ass in its pants, if it's all the same to you, Wal-Mart.

The first song on this CD is called "Taking the Long Way", and I view it as a summation of my life. I am a classic "long way" taker. Add in "long, and generally more difficult" to the way and it is me, to a tee.

My mother's favorite stories of my childhood involve times when she would try to persuade me that there was an easier, or more efficient way to do things. I would dig in. No. I had a plan and I was sticking to it. Nothing would dissuade me from my plan. No amount of tears or anguish could convince me that there was a different or easier way to accomplish something.

When the Chicks sing about not being able to do it the way everyone else could, that resonates with me. Even as I can SEE the easier way, I can't do it. I can't follow. The times I have tried have been disastrous. Those are the times in my life when I have stuffed my voice, my opinions, deep down and done what I was told. I get sick - physically and emotionally. Then I explode. Just ask my therapist.

"It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself, Guess I could have made it easier on myself, But I, I could never follow.."

It was like they took the words out of my head. My eternal goal is to live out loud. To truly show myself and to make as few apologies as possible. And yes, that is hard. It is a hard road to choose, for it makes you oddly vulnerable, and often very mis-understood. You tend to seem too loud, too opinionated, too exposed, too Much. Encountering someone like me evokes one of two reactions. You instantly love me, or I make you so squeamish that you must run, far away. My compulsion to be authentic, however, is genuine. Don't ask me if you don't want to know my perception of the truth. Once asked, I can't NOT tell you.

The truth isn't pretty. We are all scarred and scared human animals. Exposing those frailties makes you stronger, in my opinion. It toughens that delicate skin and makes you more resilient. The other option, that of living in fear, hiding or indecision, is not one that I can accept. My promise, to myself and to others, is that I will always be real. What I say is the truth of the moment. I am not foolish enough to think that the truth is unchangeable, for it is. However, if I say I love you, then dammit, I love you. No games, no trickery. No agendas.

There are people that I love who live in that trap of fear and indecision. It is terribly hard to watch them struggle through this, as it seems very clear to me that they can choose to step away from this. But they can't. And they don't. And I can't help them. My lesson in this is to watch, and wait and do the thing that I hate most - nothing.

What would happen if all the things we are afraid of everyone knowing about us were revealed? What would we find out? That we all do these things? That we all fear things, and have desires? That we doubt and question? That we have feelings that can't be neatly boxed up? That we aren't perfect and don't live model lives? What if I told you that I deeply doubt my marriage, sometimes? That I sometimes dream of starting over with someone else? Sometimes I have thought about leaving everything behind, that there are people in my life that I will never forgive for the pain (Hi, Bio Dad!) they have brought into my life?

Why, I would say that I am just like everyone else. Just more out loud about it.

Care to join me on the long way around? There is plenty of room, I am a fun road trip companion and I can assure you that each day will be different.

Culinary adventures with Dawn

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

I did not INTEND to post today. For real. Life is HEC-to-the-ick.
But, I spent 4 hours yesterday afternoon being yelled at - In Somali- by immigrant women who were not being paid for their child care services. I am a cool and collected woman, but by the end of that, I was worn out.

So, Terrance and Emily took me out for dinner. I am a sucka for the fine cuisine. And booze. I mentioned the booze, right?

Here is a picture of the menu. Note the classy use of bamboo. Which Emily called "baboon" and I cracked up.

Ah, dear Jeebus. Do you see it? The drink which practically tongued me when I opened the menu? Like, down the throat third base tonguing?

Oh yeah Baby. Here it is...

The Acero Martini. Rum and Maple syrup. Holy Fucking Shit.
And cause presentation is everything, breadsticks with FRESH chipolte mayo.

Have I ever mentioned that we, in my family, are condiment escorts? Like the high class escorts, but escorts nonetheless. We LOVE little dishes of condiments. When someone presents us with Fresh, homemade mayo? Our moaning is worthy of the best food porn.

AND THEN, as if the martini and bread isn't enough? Oh dear holy mother of all things beef, the Carpaccio!!! Sweet heavens above. I LOVE carpaccio. With roasted capers? And fresh roasted french bread? Can you feel my tears of joy?

What? What's that? It's time for another martini? Hell YES!

Mmmmm. Mommy feels gooooood. She begins to wink at her husband. Then this thing of beauty is presented unto her...

Yes, Eggplant so thin, (wafer thin)so crisp, so not soggy and overdone that I believe I heard Puccini actually weep at the perfection of this dish.

I could not finish this masterpiece. I got through maybe a quarter of it and had to stop. That is when the server came to inquire about desert... No. I don't think so, but tell me what you have.

Carrot Cake you say? Carrot Cake that you say is second to none? Based on the quality of the rest of the meal, I will rise to your challenge. I will have a piece of this so called "cake", for I am a seasoned and harsh mistress in the realm of the carrot cake.

OR-FUCKING-GASMIC. And not the first orgasm...but the second wave of orgasm. The "Oh, I couldn't have more pleasure - but wait - holy shit, I can!" orgasm. You know the one. The whipped cream? Homemade and not too sweet, but thick and creamy.
If I could have had a smoke and fallen to sleep after that, I would have been a satisfied and happy woman.

As it is, I think I am going to go grab my husband and reward him mightily for his effort in this meal. Then fall asleep. Satisfied and happy.

Allergies or Meth User?

Monday, June 05, 2006

In New Hampshire, it is Allergy season. Full on, pollen filled, allergy season.

I, while never diagnosed with actual allergies, tend to be congested all the time anyway. Yes, it is a deviated septum, and no, they aren’t cutting my face open to repair it. Screw that. I’ll suffer.

Fun Dawn Fact: In addition to the deviated septum, I have this funny thing in my nose that the MRI and CAT scans picked up. Apparently, I have a little thing inside my nose that acts as a barometer! Just ask me when a storm is coming. Too bad that isn’t a “mutant” characteristic. Human Barometer. Although, I suppose that it would have really limited uses in the whole “X-men” scheme of things. Unless I was to act as Halle Berry’s announcer in every scene – “HERE COMES STORM!”

So, on Saturday morning, I realize I have blown through my stash of Sudafed. Damn, Damn, Damn. And Fuck. Now I will be stuffy until I can get to the store.

After ballet, we drive to Wal-Mart – which is one of the levels of hell. I’m going to guess the 79th level, maybe more.

I stroll up to the Pharmacy to hand over my “Please to give me the Sudafed so that I can breathe” cards. On a whim, I pick up 2 cards. Oh, baby. I am asking for a grand total of 96 Sudafed tablets. I’m feeling lucky. This way I can keep a box at work and a box at home.

I hand the card and my license to the Pharmacy attendant. I ready myself for the eye and biometric scan. I hand over the vial of blood and urine sample.

No, seriously, I smile at the attendant. I say, “Is it OK if I get two boxes? I’m not sure of all the rules in this “Brave New World” of Sudafed.” I maintain my smile and eye contact.

He is not amused. Now he is suspicious. I believe it is in the “Meth Mules” handbook to mention Aldous Huxley. I have given myself away. He stares at my license. I refrain from saying “I know – I can’t be 36 right!? Look at the quality of this skin! `” Clearly my sense of humor is not appreciated by the Pharmacy dude. I maintain my smile, to indicate that I am NOT a meth user, simply by the unblemished quality of my grille. I do floss every day after all.

He hands over the 2 boxes. He says “I guess it is all right – sign there for them”. I sign. I place my license back into my wallet.

What I want to say now to Emily is “Lets go stock up on household chemicals so we can cook these 96 pills up” as I run from the Pharmacy, cackling. But I don’t. I smile as I think it, though.

Mmmmmm, this is the drink I made for myself last night. Mango, rum, cranberry and sliced peaches...

Crossing Over

During Emily's ballet class on Saturday, I heard my phone ring.

Hm. That's odd.

Then I realized that it wasn't my phone ringing, but the 16 year old assistant teacher's phone.

We share the same ring tone. Sean Paul's "Temperature".

I fear I have crossed over from "hip mom who enjoys the music of today" into the realm of "sad old adult trying to remain hip".

Get me with the Funny

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Here is a post that made me laugh. Hard.

Frauleins N's trip to the movie theater to see X men. Now mind you, I went to the opening day matinee of this movie. Me and a large crowd of young men who will not see real live lady bits for a real long time.

She reminded me of why I regard 80% of the population balefully.

Big ups to Fraulein. And if you need more laughing, read her story about her brother AJ which remains, to this day - one of my all time favorites, because then she has AJ TELL the story.

Impressions of a Thursday

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Choco-Nilla coffee sounds really nasty, but is surprisingly good – all things considered. Those Dunkin Donuts folks are crafty, and yes, they are just my type.

Wellbutrin. I have decided to part ways with you, Big Welli. It’s been a good coupla months, but it was not meant to last. Me and the ‘Zac? BBF. Now stop fucking me up and move on out of the system, K?

I really like this Anna Nalick CD, I can’t say Why exactly, but I do. And my re-discovered Ben Folds Five (self titled) CD. Oh and the Beastie Boys Best of CD? Rocks my fuckin’ hizz-ouse. Or at the very least – my basement.

Will I ever really wear those orange tweed 3 inch heels? I mean, enough of a chance to cart them with me to Montreal? I know, right? Orange tweed – Dawn! With a shiny patent leather orange heel? This will have to be weighed heavily. Chance to attain shoe/outfit nirvana – or very real chance that you will never wear these. A question for the ages.

I hope my scrumptious new laptop gets here soon. I ordered it this weekend. Mama’s got a new toy, and this one doesn’t vibrate, but DOES have a huge ass screen and a kickin sound card…and lots of other features. Yummy.

June bugs. Honestly, you are not going anywhere by buzzing against my screens, except to skeeve me out mightily. Go do your June bug thing elsewhere. Please. Cause when I flick you away from the screen, you only come back and start buzzing again. Where are the damn bats when you need them? Makes me want to buy some non-organic pesticide and start spraying shit.

Oil delivery man…you scared the shit out of me at 7:15 a.m. this morning. Once again, I was coming out of the shower and you were opening the door to leave the bill for the oil. Thank god I had procured a towel, prior to the shower or once again the ta-ta’s would have had yet another unplanned viewing. Perhaps my boobs think they belong to Pamela Andersson and are trying to get out more.

New babysitter neighbor girl. Apparently, flashing a $20 in front of you at 8 a.m. to persuade you to watch my kid after school works miracles. I have child care for tomorrow afternoon!! Then I told you had you been able to do it today, I would have given you both $20’s I was holding. I have a feeling you will be clearing your schedule in the future in case desperate Mommy Warbucks shows up again.

Maybe power flexibility Yoga WASN'T the right session for you at 10 p.m. last night. That forward pigeon pose may have dislocated your hip. And now here you are, in 3-inch heels, hobbling down the hall.

I really, really love Bad Batz Maru. And the fact that I have my own chopsticks in my desk. This confirms for me my "I rock" status.

HAHAHA Old Man in the Bitchin Camero who passed me on the double yellow line and then had to stay right in front of me for the REST of the drive home. I have used my Camera phone to mock you on my Blog. You are now officially my bitch, although I am pretty sure that the "dumbass motherfucker" I yelled as you passed shocked you a little. I may look like a demure "professional" woman, but you are woefully wrong.

The Lupines are starting to bloom, and I love the way water looks on their leaves after it rains...

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