cozy nights indoors · I Wanna Hold Your Hand movie · tattoos · The Beatles

I showed you the fronts of my legs, so let’s take a look at the backs of them, shall we?

I had a really good night last night. I ran some errands during the day, one of which was picking up some firewood because it was finally spitting snow here in central Ohio. I thought to myself–what the hell is the point of having a fireplace if we never have fires?!

Am I right, or am I right?

So I had a roast and potatoes going in the oven, we had some lovely drinks of the alcoholic persuasion to choose from, and now we had firewood. The stage was set for a kick-ass evening.

Bill made the fire and both the kitties curled up near it.

I even went so far to bump this whole perfect scenario up a notch by selecting movies to watch as I sprawled in front of the fireplace too. The first flick to pop into my mind was a classic from 1978 that I’ve seen a million times but not recently–

A little cinematic gem called I Wanna Hold Your Hand starring Wendie Jo Sperber, Pam Allen and Eddie Deezan. Have you ever seen it? It’s about a crew of kids taking off for NYC in February 1964 to find their ways into the Plaza Hotel to meet The Beatles. It’s basically hilarious and a super-cute little movie. I’ve always liked it. I relate to Sperber’s character Rosie who loves and wants to marry Paul. I bet a crap ton of women can probably relate to Rosie.

Wendie Jo was so funny. ❤

Here she is as Rosie, moments away from the Beatles taking the stage on the Ed Sullivan Show.

I have felt like this a few times in my life. And it’s one of my favorite ways to feel.

So I Wanna Hold Your Hand was popped into the dvd player and I lounged on the floor in front of the fire with a pillow under my head and my kitties nearby and I watched the movie again. I thought to myself–when I was a 13 year old girl, newly infatuated with the Fab Four, all I ever wanted to do was listen to their records, read books about them, or watch shows about them or write stories about them. I LOVED them. Last night I felt rather thirteeny and it was lovely.

A perk to being 52 as opposed to 13 is you can do pretty much whatever the hell you want when you want. And that’s always cool.

I thought about asking my husband to take a picture of my two relatively-new tattoos on the backs of my calves last night, but I didn’t get around to it. I was thinking it would be cool to share them on my blog and my Facebook.
Well, this morning I got on Instagram and my friend who did the tattoos posted them on his account. I was like–hey, that guy read my mind!

Let’s take a look, shall we?

File tattoos under “cool things you can do when you’re grown up”. ❤

Tattoos done by Matt at Thrill Vulture Tattoos in Westerville, Ohio. 🙂

These here are my George and Ringo tattoos. I love ’em. Here Comes the Sun is my favorite song ever. Helter Skelter is also a good time. When Paul plays that live and I’m there to see it, I basically lose my shit. In a good way.

I shall finish this post by showing my two other Beatles tattoos I’ve had for awhile because, you know, I gotta be fair.

John self portrait (also by Matt) ❤

This next one I’m going to share is the first Beatles tattoo I ever got. Also by Matt. I told him I dreamed of having a Hofner bass on my arm. I’ll never forget when I went in to the shop that day to get it done and he showed me the sketch he made. I was SO EXCITED. It was even better than I could have ever imagined. But that’s what I’ve come to expect with my tattooers.

I have a lot of tattoos, and I am not going to lie–this one is one of my favorites.

A thing of beauty ❤

I hope you enjoyed this little peek at my skin and glimpse into my love of The Fab Four.

One things is 4 sure–

A love like ours will never die as long as I have them near me. ❤

chronic pain · pelvic floor dysfunction · Red Hot Chili Peppers · spirit animals · tattoos

The Snake and the Sparrow

Hi.

How are you?

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything here, so today I said to myself…what the hell. I was uploading pics to use here when I came across a cool shot of my legs after I got them freshly tattooed a year ago. I thought–I’ll tell the story of my snake and my sparrow. People will be dying to hear about that. Right?

But first, let’s hear a song from the Red Hot Chili Peppers album One Hot Minute. How about this one. It reminds me of the time my sister and I went to see RHCP because we mainly went to see the opener Foo Fighters. This was in 1999. We got to the venue when over the speakers came the announcement that Foo Fighters would not be preforming because Dave Grohl was experiencing a health issue. Pretty sure he had a stomach virus thing. We were so bummed, but on we went to enjoy the show. Our seats we had purchased that day were clear up like in the 5th to the last row. Way up there. It was actually scary climbing and descending those stairs. Which we did often because my sister drank 5 beers throughout the night. She would look at me and go, “I want another one.” and I’d go, “you want another one?” and she’d go, “yeh.” So there we would go, holding hands, to get more beer. It was fun.

So at one point that night, Flea sat on his amp with his bass and sang this song and my sister and I laughed and laughed.

Enjoy.

https://youtu.be/BXJjBo_u3WM
Okay, on to the tale you’ve all been waiting to hear.

So remember back in late 2017/early 2018 when I was amazingly sick with fucking pelvic pain? Of course you do. I talk about it a lot here. When I actually talk here. Anyway, during that horrific time, I tried all kinds of things to help myself feel better. One of the better things I did was get massages from my friend Rowynn. She’s also a hypnotherapist and we did some of that work together too. She really did try to help me figure out what the hell was going on at the root of my pain and she did help me immensely.

One time while she was working on me, I had a very clear vision of three-headed snake snapping at people who were trying to take advantage of me or be mean to me or screw with my pretty much nonexistent boundaries.

See? Even then, before I knew I had TMS or even knew what TMS was, I knew my repressed emotions were playing a part in my pain. Hell! They were what caused the pain!

Anyway,

The snake I saw is a symbol of protection and wisdom.

I ended up getting a rattlesnake tattoo on my right leg. My friend Matt did it. It’s awesome.

The snake has also come to represent my pain which was centered in my tailbone. Something upset me or stressed me out? My tailbone hurt. Bad. I couldn’t sit for any length of time. I had such pressure there that it felt like my entire ass might fall out all the time. Sometimes it would burn. Sometimes it would buzz. It always scared the hell out of me. It took me a long time to figure out I needed to listen to what my pain was trying to tell me.

Rowynn will still ask me if I’m struggling with something—what’s your snake saying?

A little while after I was introduced to my rattlesnake, at another appointment with Rowynn, I had a clear vision of a little sparrow sitting in the doorway of a cage looking back and forth like it was thinking to itself—“can I really just fly the hell out of here now? I’m free to go?”

That vision was a wake up call. Like—all the shit that has ever held me back–is gone. Even the old me, who was constantly searching for ways to make everyone else happy, while all the while pretty much ignoring my own wants or needs, was gone. When I endured that pain, I isolated myself. I ignored everyone in my life with the exception of my husband and kids and my one friend Rowynn. I had to. I couldn’t deal with my pain AND having to deal with other people.

It was a very hard but educational time. I changed so much.

That little sparrow looking around at the open sky made me cry. I also envisioned her taking off. And that was very inspiring.

The freedom to do or don’t do what I want and for who I want! Even the freedom to just really be myself. With no apologies whatsoever.

I am the sparrow.

Soon after that vision, I got a sparrow tattoo on my left leg. My friend Naomi did it. It’s awesome.

When I got the sparrow done, I explained to my tattooer buddies…

The snake means

*Leave me the fuck alone!*

The sparrow means

*I’m getting the fuck out of here!*

So there you have it. The story of my snake and my sparrow. Two bad-ass spirit animals, if you will,

always with me in my mind and on my legs.

Tattoos done by Naomi and Matt at Thrill Vulture Tattoo in Westerville Ohio ❤️

bl5
grown children · motherhood · sons · wedding

WEDDING DAY APPROACHETH (cue reflective mom posts)

Our son is getting married in October. He and his fiancée have been engaged since last July. They dated for years before that.
Just yesterday I booked hotel rooms near the wedding venue for myself and my husband and our daughter. We also booked the wedding suite for the bride and groom.

Next Friday is the bachelorette party. Next Sunday is the bridal shower.
I just came up with a killer idea for some songs to dance to with my son at the reception in front of all the other guests.

As I listened to the music choices via Alexa last night as I cooked dinner, I had to laugh and cry.

I love the woman he is marrying. I know they are going to be together forever and they’ll have the kind of relationship I have with his father.

There’s nothing I want more for my children than for them to be happy and to have best friends to spend their lives with.

But buddy, I know I am going to cry when he and I dance together. Not just happy tears, but also tears for missing the boy he used to be.

I wished for that kid ever since I was just a little girl. I knew I would have an Andrew even when I was only 7 years old.

Anyway,

He is a grown man now in love with his Audra.

And that is one of the best things ever.

But sometimes with all of these wedding plans going on all around us, I’ll look at him and this is what I see…

anroo

 

anroo2

anroo3

anroo4

anroo5

boundaries · pelvic floor pain · physical therapy · unwelcome proselytizing

Pelvic Floor Salvation

It’s been a long time since I’ve suffered with that pelvic pain I can’t completely get out of my mind. That was such a horrible time in my life. Sometimes even now, if something gets me really upset, I’ll feel slight irritation down there and know I have to address what’s bothering me to make it go away. I’m on top of it now. I know exactly what it is, why it is and what it takes to make it better.

 

But also, to this day, there are things that happened to me while I was going through all of that shit that still bother me.

 

I feel like sharing one that I think of more than I wish I did. It really bothers me. That’s why I still think about it from time to time. I also think of how I could have handled it differently when it happened. It makes me wish I could go back in time (minus the pain, of course). Or I wish I could go today and tell the person responsible how it made me feel.

 

I’ll get to the point.

 

When I was in horrific pain, I was so scared. I was genuinely terrified every day. All I wanted were the answers to what was happening to me and why it was happening to me and how I could make it go away.

 

When I finally found a good new gynecologist and she finally really listened to me about what was going on, she got me in with a physical therapist right away who specialized in pelvic floor pain. I was so relieved. I felt like I was finally going to get some real help.

 

The therapist was nice at first. I had such high hopes she was going to heal me. I had no idea how the exercises she taught me would end my pain. I did know that massaging the muscles down there might make it stop. I was ready to do anything and everything just to feel normal again. I was SO SCARED. As in–shaking all day and all night. Panic pretty much all the time. I could not get myself under control.

 

One time at one of my earlier appointments, my therapist asked me when she realized how panicked I was if I was a Christian.

 

My heart sank.

 

Great, I thought. Here we go.

 

I’m not and I told her so. I am pretty sure she had probably never had anyone admit that to her before. Lucky me…the crusade to not only help alleviate my physical pain also became an attempt to save me from eternal damnation.

 

From there, she asked if she could pray for me. I was so uncomfortable with that request, but I was so desperate for her help. I said okay. I figured if I gave in, I could keep the peace and we could work together toward my healing. The ride home from therapy that day, I called my husband and told him about it. My pelvis was on fire.

 

For the rest of the time I went to therapy, she would frequently talk to me about God and Jesus and church and all that. I really liked her as a person and I believed she was doing her best to help me feel better. But I really hated when she pushed her religion on me. She invited me to her church for Christmas. She texted me Bible passages. She talked about angels while she was doing her therapy on me.

 

As time went on and I didn’t get better, I realized this person had no idea how to really help me grasp what was happening to my muscles or why or how to stop it. In fact, she suggested crazy shit like my pelvis was still in “birthing mode” (how? I gave birth decades ago) and that my 25-year-old episiotomy scar was pulling on other muscles. She suggested I never exercise any more than doing the therapy moves she gave me as homework, to sit on a special cushion all of the time (really? for the rest of my life?), she had me sitting on that cushion while driving my car with a towel rolled up in the small of my back (again–really?!) and she also told me not to have sex with my husband till she thought I was well enough to.

 

I figured out despite all of this stuff she was telling me that the real key to my getting better was probably doing all the stuff she told me not to do. I also figured out that I needed to address personal shit that bothered me so much I clenched my pelvic floor.

 

Who knew you could clench your pelvic floor!? I had no idea I was even doing that.

 

Anyway,

 

One night, while I was in my room doing the therapy homework, she texted me a song she loved that she said made her think of me.

 

It was a song called Come to the Table.

 

It’s a song about being a sinner with shame. Come to the table. Hang with the savior and his bunch of human screw ups who need redemption.

 

I listened to it and I got so pissed. I knew she was trying to be nice, but I had reached the end of my patience with the proselytizing. You know, that lady had no idea why I’m not a Christian. She never asked me about that. She wasn’t interested in hearing about the long path I traveled to get to where I am spiritually. All she cared about was that I wasn’t like her.

Do you know how irritating that is?

Physically, I wasn’t feeling better either. In fact, this overstepping of hers and my ignoring my own boundaries made me feel WORSE.

 

Though she was way out of line, looking back on it now, her actions helped me link my pain to not expressing my true feelings.

 

So there was that. I guess she did help heal me in a roundabout way.

 

By this time, my confidence in her was quickly disappearing.

 

Not long after that, I decided Bill and I would give it a go in the bedroom just because I had been so sad for so long and I missed my husband and our old life. I thought one night–fuck that lady’s advice. And you know what happened? Everything worked and everything was just fine.

 

That was the beginning of the end of my depending on that lady for help.

 

I remember when I informed her we successfully had sex. The look on her face was priceless. She acted happy, giving me a high-five. But I could tell she was irritated I disregarded her advice.

 

I was still dealing with pain the best I could. My pain had interestingly shifted to my tailbone (not fun, believe me). I told her I was going to start seeing a chiropractor in addition to coming to her. She didn’t like that either. She said she would rather I didn’t because if I got better, we wouldn’t know if it was because of her or the chiropractor. I was like–I don’t give a shit who gets me better, as long as I get better!

 

It was right then that she and I stopped working together.

 

It was a weird ending. Someone who was previously so concerned for me no longer wanted to help me if I wasn’t going to obey her.

 

Even though I was scared to be without her “help”, I thought–Fuck this.

 

Amazingly, from then on, life took a turn for the better.

 

It was when I took back my power (in so many ways!), found a different therapist who didn’t pray for me but instead told me that my body was not jacked up (I told her it was)–she told me I was just going through a hard time and I could heal myself, that I got BETTER.

I discovered expressing my true feelings is IMPORTANT. I discovered having and keeping boundaries is IMPORTANT.

 

The cherry on top of this story is that my old therapist reached out to me again weeks after we parted ways (I knew she would). She had new crazy-ass ideas how she could help me. Maybe it was my bladder that was messed up?

 

I wrote back and told her I was recovering nicely and no thank you to anymore of her help.

 

Ha. I hope she had to wonder why God would let her down when she tried to save me.

 

All this rehash to say:

 

I wish I could go back in time and say NO when she first asked if she could pray for me or that I could go see her TODAY and tell her that her actions were really inappropriate. But you know she wouldn’t believe it. And really, what would I stand to gain from doing that anyway?

 

Besides personal satisfaction.

 

Happily, I can report that my pelvis no longer painfully blows up at the thought of her or the time I wasted with her. My pelvis never really blows up over anything anymore, really.

 

And that’s thanks to no contribution from her or God.

 

It’s all me, baby.

canine epilepsy · dog · losing loved ones

Our Penny Lane

Our dog, Penny Lane, passed away on April 1st.

She was only 3 years old.  She was such a smart and pretty girl.

And we loved her so much.

Penny was very much her dad’s dog. They shared a special bond since she was just a pup. Her favorite part of any day was when he would get home from work.

Her epilepsy was uncontrollable. The “worst case of canine epilepsy” our vets had ever seen. She was on every medication we could give her. There was nothing else we could do. At the end, she could not stop seizing. She could not fall asleep without waking with another seizure. She was literally exhausted.

And she was sad.

That we could not tolerate.

There’s not much else left to say about a dog that was loved so very much and fought for and still lost at way too early an age.

Our house is ridiculously quiet now without her and we are very sad.

She is the last dog we’ll ever have. Epilepsy has scarred us, but

Nothing will erase the wonderful memories we have of when she was having her good days

and just being

Our Penny Lane.

First picture ever taken:
January 2016

Last picture taken:
March 2019

Me n my girlfriend  💕

Easter · Easter Bunny · romance · tiny story

Don Juan Easter Bun

The Easter Bunny squeezed through the narrow aisles that now plagued his home. He could hear 2 girls fighting on Jerry Springer on his tv across the room but couldn’t see them because of about a million colorful plastic eggs piled high on the floor and furniture.

Bunny felt sad. He knew those chicks were probably ripping each other’s wigs off. And he was missing it.

He smooshed himself between a mile high pile of boxed Peeps and his kitchen counter. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a can of Spam and cracked it open. Then he pulled his Lucky Strikes and a lighter out of the pocket of his ratty blue terry cloth robe.

The smell of chocolate bunnies and jellybeans in his home overwhelmed him, so as he chomped away at the block of meat and sucked deeply on a cig, he made sure to enjoy the hammy smoke scent sensation as it temporarily hung in the cramped air around him.

Every Spring, Bunny experienced stress to the Nth degree. Sometimes he wished he had never gone into the family business and taken over for his dad. But the old man needed a replacement, none of Easter’s siblings wanted the job, and God knows he spent his entire life just trying to get an ounce of his father’s approval.

So now, once a year, he had the hell of candy prep and one night world-wide delivery to contend with.

He was tamping his cigarette out on the counter next to hundreds of cartons of malted milk ball eggs when he heard his overnight guest attempting to come down his stairs.

“Easter?” she called out. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, babe,” he replied.

He heard all kinds of rustling around and muttering of swear words as his lady love walked the crazy candy maze.

Finally she popped into view.

Mrs Claus was pulling her sweater close around her shoulders, her weird little elasticized hat and eyeglasses askew. She straightened the glasses and looked at Bunny.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “How much candy do you have in this place anyway?”

“You should be used to this kind of thing,” Bun said. “There’s a lot of good little kids out there, I guess…the little bastards.” He lit another cigarette.

Bunny and Mrs Claus looked at each other. In the background they could hear the people on tv cheering “Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!”

They smiled at each other.

“Would you like some Spam?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Cigarette?”

She shook her head again.

“Candy?” He held his arm out like one of those models on The Price is Right.

She laughed out loud.

Bunny cocked his head and smiled. She sure was pretty for an old broad. He liked when she laughed like that. He made a mental note to bump the chocolate rabbit in her Easter basket up a couple of ounces. He didn’t care if her old man noticed. He hoped he did.

“I gotta go,” she told him.

“Hey, I thought you might like to stay and help me assemble a couple million baskets of candy today,” Bunny suggested.

Mrs Claus looked at him like he was insane.

“Like I don’t get enough of that kind of crap at home!”

Bunny walked to her and pulled her into a hug.

“I was just kidding,” he whispered before he kissed her one more time.

Even though he kinda wasn’t.

The two of them wedged their ways to the front door. Before she left, he handed her one of those plastic toys that have a suction cup on the bottom that you stick on the floor and press down so it pops up into the air after a second or two. The character on top of it was in the shape of a bunny.

She took it and smiled at him then walked to her snappy red Mazda Miata parked out front.

And Bunny shut his door, turned on his big bunny heel, and promptly tripped over a bushel of Cadbury eggs in his hallway trying to make his way back to the kitchen to finish his Spam.

grabbing happiness when you can · KISS · Prozac · regular life

Typical Life Shit and the Hottest Band in the World

Hi hi. Happy Saturday and all that happy horse shit, dear reader friends.

I’m coming off a two week stint where our dog experienced breakthrough seizures and medication-induced pancreatitis so unpleasant we thought about putting her down AND we helped our daughter move into her new apartment.

Our dog Penny has stabilized once again and is back to being her playful crazy pig-like self (what a relief!!)  and our daughter is all situated and happy as a clam in her adorable new home (sweet!)

So even though the past few weeks have been stressful beyond measure, I decided to add to the fun and finally go off my antidepressant.

Why not? Let’s just go for broke and see what happens is what I figured.

I started taking antidepressants in 2017 when I had pelvic floor dysfunction and I truly believed I would never be well again. I tried all kinds of the drugs and enjoyed the weird side effects of each and finally I landed on Prozac which I was able to tolerate. The medicine helped, I am not going to lie. When I bumped up to the 20 mg a day, I found myself no longer bothered by much life threw at me. It was a complete change for someone who had been previously bothered by lots. I never knew I was so…emotional?

Is that a bad thing, really?

Apparently it can be, I guess. Anyway, Prozac leveled me out for months. It also robbed me of feeling any emotion–happy, sad, angry, you name it. It was all gone.

I didn’t like that part. In general, I enjoy the ability to feel things–especially happiness or excitement.

You know what else about taking Prozac sucks for me? I gained weight. Like, 30-lbs-in-one-year weight. This, for an always healthy normal weight person like myself, was depressing in itself. I was the heaviest I’ve ever been in my whole life a few weeks ago at my doctor check up to renew the prescription for my antidepressant. I told my doctor about my concerns and we lowered my dose to 10 mg a day.

That lasted a few weeks. I felt my emotions kinda coming back.

Last Tuesday, I thought–fuck this. I called my doc and asked how to stop it altogether. Which I did starting right after I called. She said it was perfectly all right to just stop taking it and that I might feel a little edgy but it would be okay.

I kid you not–I’ve lost 6 pounds in the span of 2 weeks (I started working out again too, so there’s that) and my gut is finally going away. My husband told me last night–I can tell a difference.

I can too. And it is one big ass relief!

As for my brain, I can feel it shifting, if that makes any sense. It’s odd, but also kind of interesting. I’m tired too. And hot a lot of the time. But I am not concerned about these things in the least. I know it will all pass and I’ll get through it.

You know why?

Because I beat fucking scary pelvic floor pain and if I can do that, I can do ANYTHING.

Not a whole lot scares me anymore. And it’s not due to the consumption of pills. So here I go again on my own. (Whitesnake. Not the hottest band in the world, but still good)

Pill free.

I’ll let you know how this turns out.

Here’s my other news story I want to share with you today.

Tonight my husband and are going to see “The hottest band in the world”–KISS. And I am basically living for it!

I first fell in love with KISS when I was a little 10-year-old girl at the shopping mall with my mom and sister waiting in line to go see a movie. Probably something like Benji (ever see those movies? They will fuck up your mind. Jesus, the tears I shed over that little dog!)

As I waited in line, I eyeballed the record store across the mall and in the doorway I spied a new record album cover that had a picture on it that beckoned me. I asked mom if I could go look at it and she let me.

This is the pic:

genie

 

I was like–WHO in the hell is this!? I was simultaneously horrified and enthralled. I was kinda scared of this guy, but I also wanted to know more. And I was definitely down for listening to the tunes!

I got that record–KISS Alive II–not long after and what an experience it was for a kid like me. Up until then, I had been listening to pop music and storybook records. Alice in Wonderland. Wizard of Oz. Osmond Brothers. Bay City Rollers. I was a huge Monkees fan. (Davy was my very first big ol crush).

KISS was not like any of that stuff. They were the first rock and roll band I really liked.

They were fucking cool.

I felt grown up picking them to listen to.

I remember my older sister accusing me of not really liking them. Like hell I didn’t!

I also remember my dad buying me a magazine with KISS pics in it when he went to get a Pittsburgh Press paper for himself at a local bookstore. The cover had Gene sticking his tongue inside a daffodil flower. I was kinda like–ew, gross. Some of the pictures inside the mag were rather risqué as well. I don’t believe Bernie had any idea what he had purchased for me. But I loved it nonetheless.

I had this poster on the door of the room I shared with my little sister. I was slightly disturbed by the blood on Peter Criss’s head. Poor kitty man. And look at Gene. Damn, he was always so scary.

poster

I continued to love KISS all through my high school years. My first boyfriend, who ended up being a total nut-job and abusive (another story I probably won’t tell), was a big fan. We used to listen to them all of the time. I remember when the album “The Elder” came out. A lot of people made fun of it, but I thought it was excellent. You know what song totally still rules to this day?

This one–

Now, besides this evening, I have only seen KISS one other time live. This was during the Lick It Up tour 4000 years ago. I remember being there with my friends from high school. Sure, the guys had taken off all their make up. (WHY? remember that epic moment on MTV?! I do!)

We had so much fun at that show. The moron I dated before and had broken up with was there, a few rows behind us, acting like a damn fool hanging and swinging on the rail. I was like–what the ever-loving fuck, you idiot.

God, I hope I don’t see his face tonight. He still freaks me out to this day.

Over the years I have become a wife–the awesome guy I married has always loved KISS, too. This is a plus in my book, of course. And I became a mom. I’ven been too busy to spend money and time going to see KISS concerts.

As luck would have it, the “End of the Road” tour is in town.

And now that we’re older and a little better off and our kids are all grown up, tonight my husband and I have a date!

My husband–AKA the cutest guitar player I’ve ever known–has never seen KISS live.

That’s gonna change 🙂

I think I’ll even paint my face for the occasion.

My favorite KISS guy has always been Paul Stanley, so guess whose face I’ll try to duplicate. I mean, if I muster up the bravery to actually go through with it.

What kind of 50+ woman paints her face to go see KISS???

Me?

me paul

10 year old me would be so proud.

Talk to you guys again soon.

In the meantime don’t forget to

Rock and Roll All Nite and Party Every Day!

xo 🙂

better choices · Jesus · LGBT · little stories · love

A Morning Scroll

Jesus polished off his jelly doughnut and took a swig of Celtic Grog to wash it down.
His taste buds tingling, he couldn’t help sinking back down into the cozy comfort of his king-sized bed.
Deciding that maybe he’d go back to sleep for a smidge, he picked up his phone and clicked the Facebook app to check up on the morning’s posts before he did.
He scrolled through the typical stuff:
Mary, his mom, posting private messages for him on her page because she still had no concept how to use messenger and she probably never would…
Jesus clicked the heart button anyway.
Noah posting pictures of his cats AGAIN…
Jesus clicked the heart button.
Satan’s 50+ pictures of himself shredding on his guitar last weekend at some suburban bar…
Again, Jesus clicked the heart button.
And then, the Methodist church bragging that they had bolstered their bans on same-sex marriage and allowing the LGBT community to become pastors.
Jesus read that one again. Then he read some comments from people praising the decisions.
“Those people are so stupid,” he thought to himself.
He sat up and took another sip of coffee and reached for a Kool and his lighter.
Blowing the first inhalation out and feeling his muscles relax a little, he opened his messenger and tapped his dad’s profile pic.
“I see the Methodists are taking a giant leap towards destroying their church for good,” he typed. “I know it’s all part of your Master Plan for the human race, but damn if it isn’t tough to watch unfold sometimes.”
He hit send.
Taking another drag of his smoke, he kept scrolling to try and cleanse his mind a little.
“Oh god yes,” he thought to himself as he came upon the clip of Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga singing Shallow at the Academy Awards. He, like everybody else not living under a rock, had already watched this 1000 times, but it was so delicious. He loved it. And holy hell, that smoking hot ending when Jack and Ally cuddle on the piano bench and stare into each other’s eyes?
Jesus couldn’t help himself.
He hit the heart button once again.
He knew, just like all good people do, that hitting the heart button as often as you can

is always the better choice.

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Brick Tamland · rewiring lamps

She lives!

My husband and I found ourselves at Home Depot today at 6:45 am. Bill armed himself with the materials to rewire our antique mall lamp. We had the stuff home and started the coffee brewing by 7:15.

He had some difficulty running the new wires through the lamp, but he threaded the lamp wire with a long piece of wire and persevered and got ‘er done. Once that was fixed, he finished the rest of the set-up. Turns out there are two sockets and one of them just doesn’t work. No matter, though. New lightbulb installed, shade dusted off, lamp plugged in, switch flipped on and

TA-DAH!

 

Look at that thing, will you?

I’m in love, I tell ya. She is absolutely perfect.

I love my husband for doing all these projects for our home. I love him for the guy he is too, of course. But you know what I mean.

I believe weatherman Brick Tamblan from Anchorman sums up my feelings about this particular moment in my life with an eloquent quote from that epic movie.

(You movie aficionados know it’s coming)

😊

Endless Love · redecorating · roller skating · winter

A Cold Winter Morning Hello

Good January morning, my friends. How is everyone doing? Well and happy, I hope 😊

I guess quite a few of us are in for a winter wallop this weekend. My husband and I are supposed to go to our future daughter-in-law’s roller skating birthday party Sunday and I’m really looking forward to it.

I haven’t been on a pair of skates since my daughter and I used to frequent the homeschoolers skating days. That was like 15 years ago. I’ve always loved roller skating. I used to be quite the little roller boogie princess back in the 1970s. I’d put on my blue athletic shoe skates…

THESE! Exactly like I had! Those skates were SO COOL.

skates

and I’d go down to the basement, crank a K-Tel record and go for it in that confined concrete-floored space. I could go forward, backward, with one leg out, and spin around and around and around. I wasn’t an amazing ice skater, but buddy, I could roller skate.

I hope I still can–the skating forward part (never mind the rest!)–without busting my ass. Falling down after age 50 is not very amusing and I try to not do it. Anyway, I hope the ice and snow don’t screw the party up for us. I love winter–I really do, but like everyone else who lives where it sometimes snows, there are days I still want to get out there and go do stuff.

I even have plans to wear my sequined beret as I glide around the rink. I think I’ll mostly be getting down to tunes from my kids’ younger days (aka the 1990s), but in my heart, I’ll be back and doing my thing circa winter 1978.

I’m cranking the tunes in my room as I type this and I feel ancient and like a kid at the same time.

Interesting combination.

Keep your fingers crossed we make it out to celebrate, okay? I’ll post pics of the magic and merriment come next Monday 🙂

Let’s say the weather goes ahead and fucks everything up and we’re stuck at home. Over the past couple of weeks my husband and I have been updating our house a little. Mostly the kitchen. A previously gray wall is now a pink color called “Rose Hue” and the light fixtures that were original to the house have been replaced with crystal chandeliers.

I now have not one, not two, but count ’em–three chandeliers in my kitchen. And no, it’s not a necessarily big kitchen, but you guys, I am telling you–it totally works.

Something you need to know about me: I love me some crystal chandeliers. And various other light fixtures as you’re about to find out.

So we’re changing the vibe in the house from “post-childrearing chaos downshift to neutral minimalism” to the “hippies live here” theme I’ve dreamed of ever since I was a young girl and I drooled over the home in the movie Endless Love starring Brooke Shields.

I found this little article about the house when I Googled it.

https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=web&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwjKuLHN0vjfAhWW0YMKHWLfCt4QzPwBegQIARAC&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.realtor.com%2Fnews%2Funique-homes%2Fendless-love-long-island-mansion%2F&psig=AOvVaw1qezE-ICpbdKklWmBdrjK6&ust=1547946068007178

1.7 million dollars. No wonder I like it.

I told our kids the other night about my Endless Love/Brooke Shields house inspiration and my husband goes:

Honey, they don’t know Brooke Shields.

I asked them if they did. They were like–well, kinda?

Oh god, I am such an old woman. I automatically assume everyone knows the trivia of my youngers days. But hey, Brooke is older than I am (just a little) and she and I are still kicking ass, right?

They don’t know Brooke Shields. That is kinda sad, isn’t it?

Jade Butterfield. So damn pretty. Just like her house.

jade

Anyway. Whatever.

A few days ago I was poking around our favorite antique mall and I came across a lamp exactly like one I have been dreaming of for awhile and in search of for not a horrible price. BOOM. There is was, right in front of me! I didn’t purchase it because I wasn’t sure Bill would like it, and I wasn’t sure if I should spend the money on it. I left it at the shop and it instantly bothered me knowing damn well that most times if you see something at the antiquery that you want, you better snatch it up or someone else will before you eventually go back to get it.

I told Bill yesterday I was going to go buy it. I had to. My brain wouldn’t let it go because I knew that lamp would be perfect for the rest of our days in our family room. I went to the mall, picked up the lamp and that caught the attention of another shopper who admired it with me. That’s when I noticed the cord and plug. What ripped up messes they are.

Long story short, my husband and I went back to the mall to purchase it last night. That beauty wouldn’t have lasted through this weekend. I know this for a fact.

All this to say, this weekend Bill will be learning how to rewire a lamp.

Here she is, standing in the very spot I found her. I snapped her pic hoping she would be ours.

 

Keep your fingers crossed she gets up and running. You better believe I’ll post pictures of that come Monday too!

I’m off for now. Got a call from my daughter and we’re off to lunch together. That’ll be a nice way to kick off the weekend.

I’ll leave you with this picture I took this morning of the front door to our home. I made the wreath with little lights and, what else, blue crystals from a necklace I repurposed. The wreath symbolizes the stark beauty of winter and the glittering promise of the return of the light come February 2nd this year, otherwise known as the pagan festival of Imbolc.

Pretty, huh.

Crystals and lights and colors and coziness and contendedness and the hope that there shall be some roller discoing.

Sounds like a good time, doesn’t it?

Happy Weekend, folks! ❤

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