Dear people trying to sell me your house:
First, let me say, I know your pain. Having recently sold my house, I realize that one must take it on the chin. It is a buyer's market out there. So please, just bend over and get it over with.
We are all adults here. We have to realize that a real estate transaction is just a transfer of property. A house is just a property. No more, no less. A property you devalued by your crappy interior decorating choices.
Which is fine. Go ahead and crap up your house. I care not. Unless I like your house. If I like your house and you crapped it up, then I get angry. Because if I likes your house, I've already claimed it. And that means you fricked up my house. Which makes me angry. Grrrr...rrr..
You don't want to see me angry.
This kitchen right here, this makes me angry.
There is no cause for two tone cabinet doors. Ok simmer Ms. Hulk, ehh..I mean Mrs. Hall, simmer . . it's gonna be ok . .
Then there is this:
That is from a house I have personally been through. Their reckless and somewhat insane use of color has devalued the house. Cheap ceiling fans... crown molding made of plastic . . . ok simmer... simmer Ms. Hulk. . I mean Mrs. Hall...
Now, I understand everyone has their own sense of style. But, when selling your house, you don't matter any more. You or your cheap ceiling fans. Or painted doors in every room.
That's right, you don't matter anymore because the house is not you. It is property you are selling. Your personal sense of style is making people throw up. And delaying the sell of your house.
I'll give you a minute to mourn that fact.
See now, doesn't that feel better, having a sad? And it's not so bad. Even though you used SHOWER CURTAINS AS WINDOW TREATMENTS IN THE LIVING ROOM doesn't mean it's over.
I am still looking at your house. Still thinking about buying it. I promise I can try to look past your white trash taste. AND UTTER FAILURE AT YOUR DIY UPDATES.
But then you give me this.
Are you trying to hurt me?
I mean, that fireplace is just magnificent. All those shades of brown. And hard wood floors?!!! Those lovely hard wood floors! Then you pick the one color that would fight with that fireplace. AND fight with the floors.
You choose a CRAYOLA BLUE!! You realize that is just nasty right? RIGHT??!!!
So now I am forced to envision my lovely tush, planted on my RICH DARK BROWN, LEATHER, lazy boy couch, NEXT TO THAT GLORIOUS FIREPLACE!! Only my fantasy is being effed up cause I would have to repaint everything.
Why FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY!!??? Why do you make this harder than it needs to be? Why don't you clean up your stupid decorating and do it right before you sell your house.
You are all morons. From the bottom of the cake.
ok simmer Ms. Hulk . . ehh, I mean Mrs. Hall . . . simmer . . . . calm down . . . it'll be ok . . .
Wait. Did I just . .
Wait, what is this?? Wait do I see WALLPAPER BORDERS??!!!!!
SHE HULK SMASH!!!!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
If you want to marry me, here's what you'll have to do:
You must learn how to make a perfect chicken dumpling stew.
And you must sew my holey socks.
And soothe my troubled mind.
And develop the knack for scratching my back.
And keep my shoes spotlessly shined.
And while I rest you must rake up the leaves.
And when it is hailing and snowing
You must shovel the walks & and be still when I talk.
And-Hey-Where are you going?
by Shel Silverstein
Some eight years ago, I went to a graduation party with Mr. Hall. I had graduated with my bachelor's degree in nursing. Mr. Hall had moved up to my tiny college town, all to support my dreams. All to support me.
He had moved in about halfway through my four year program. The day before I graduated, he asked me to marry him.
The graduation party was small but mighty. There was a cluster of us nursing students, all spent. Nursing school was, by far, the hardest thing I have every been through, in my entire life. It broke a few of us. I had at least one meltdown per semester. It was usually in the form of an ugly snot bubble cry, always in front of professor. Hyperventilating, snot bubble cry. Like clock work, at the end of each semester.
I didn't realize it at the time, but Mr. Hall was there for me in so many ways. He payed for the apartment, he cooked, helped fix my car and cleaned the cat box. He volunteered to be my first patient. I practiced taking his blood pressure, listening to his lungs, checking his reflexes, and palpating his abdomen. He helped me choose an excellent stethoscope.
And that night, when we were done with school, we went to the graduation party. I was so happy. We were engaged for one day. I found myself looking at the ring every 20 minutes. It was almost involuntary. One time, I walked into a wall while looking at my ring. Plain just smacked right into a wall. All because I was gazing at my left hand.
I remember the music pumping. Us laughing. And then he stood up and started to dance. And I followed. We did the bootie shake. Bumping butts and being silly. I was laughing so hard. I remember thinking, I can't believe this is going to be my husband!
I still can't believe my luck. :)
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
My life is getting in the way of my blogging. I apologize for the dead fish Wil.
So! Let's begin today's post!
I see human intelligence like a multi-tiered cake. (four tiers). Each tier has a ratio of people to level of intelligence. With each ascending layer, there are fewer people but more intelligence.
In the bottom layer, there is a multitude, nay, a critical mass of yokels, God's special people and Brett Favre. The next layer contains college graduates and owners of small successful businesses. The top layers include Einstein and the Steven Hawkins types. mmmhhhhhmmmm caaakkkeee......
On a good day, when I am rested, and the kids have not busted my brain to bits, I am in the third layer. Most days however, I am the second layer, near the top. Which is good. I don't want to be in the forth layer. Ever.
That being said, with a bit more intelligence that a yokel, yet not on the Einstein level, I lack a large amount of social judgement.
Basically I have a hard time figuring out what is normal and what is just odd.
CASE IN POINT:
Whilst looking through the photos on my husband's cell, I found a few of me. Only- I wasn't aware he had taken them. They were shots of me, um, well, there were naughty shots. Shots of cleavage, shots of me bending over, shots of my tush . .
They were taken while we were out and about with the kids. Whilst wearing my white latex dress.
Just kidding there folks. That's not my kid.
They were funny because I am so oblivious. I had no idea he had taken them. And there were only a few. Not like reams and reams or anything. But, they are undeniably naughty.
It's weird to think my husband takes peeping tom shots of me. He hasn't hidden them, I mean, he knows I look through his cell phone photos and could have easily hidden them from me. So!
YOU MAKE THE CALL!
Is this creepy husband behavior, er no?
Leave your call in the comments :)
Next on YOU make the call: Is this video sexist, er no?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
It is high time to change things over here, at La Blog De Senora Hall. Come see the purple colors. They are soothing.
Time to change what I am these days, when I feel what I feel about selling my house. No more posts about it. Yesterday's was the last. I am tired of hearing about it. It's a fact that selling my house is a harsh and often unfair process. It requires me to be passive and still.
Unfair and harsh are part of life. Nobody ever said life was fair.
Thus, I am now presented with an opportunity. This time of wait and want is a chance to thrive. Thrive by breaking open my unrelenting and unrepentant Pollyanna nature. All of this- is a chance for me to breathe. To strengthen my skills of still. To be passive and just let it all happen.
Who I am and how I deal with things is a template. I am the standard operation procedure from which my children learn how to deal.
So let's back up and take a look at the big picture. beep beep beep . .
Yesterday; when I was driving the kids to the park, I reached into the back seat. I began to tickle my son's bare, chubby knees. He laughed, giggled and shrieked. Then I felt him pushing my hand. I thought he was pushing it away.
Then, Mac became quiet. No longer responding to my tickles. He is behind me so I couldn't really see what was going on. I could hear him wiggle and murmur. He was concentrating.
Then I felt it. He squished it into my palm. It was small, wooden train. It's the train he always grabs for as we head out the door. It's the train he sleeps with. The train he would take a bath with, if I would let him. He was sharing it with me.
Then Mac says, "Mommy plays train!!"
This is what it's all about. Everything else is just a distraction.
This right here.
Have a good weekend everyone. Get out and enjoy some sweet corn! It's best this time of year :)
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
There are lots of houses on the market.
Some of them are called character homes. This is real estate language for 'older' and charming home. Think hardwood floors, pocket doors and ornate details. Looking through these homes online is making me feel better than the houses I actually walked through.
I have found one that, if it were here right now, I'm marry it.
But, the sale of our house has hit a snag. It's resolving and we are still on track to close the sale in the first week of September.
Again, selling one's house is a bit like prison sex.
Now that it is resolving my mind is wandering and looking over images that make me all googley moogley.
Very soon, we will be out of this cage. In our new house. Complete with a lush and vibrant milieu.
Oh yes, it will be done . . . .
The Killers - Mr. Brightside
Monday, August 17, 2009
Slyde is a blogger who enjoys swimming in the nude late at night. In his own pool. He got caught a few nights ago, being all nudie and swimming. It was a very funny post.
This is not Slyde. This is Alan Moore. He created The Watchmen. He looks exactly like I thought he would.
Before we begin, I must confess I knew very little about Mr. Moore or The Watchmen before I watched the movie. And I still don't.
I had seen about 2 minutes of a profile of Mr. Moore, produced by CBS Sunday Morning. I had learned that Mr. Moore was an Anarchist and not just for show. Which is important to understand as we examine The Watchmen.
Anarchy is a political philosophy. One of many.
I have dated a number of guys who were very much into their political philosophies, both left and right. The degree that they were devoted to their philosophy was in direct proportion to how much of an asshole they were. For example, if the guy was only slightly devoted to the left or the right, he was only slightly an asshole. This is important to know about me, as I examine The Watchmen.
Moore appears particularly devoted to his political ideology. Thus, I imagine he is very much an asshole. I can guarantee he has had at least 2 divorces in his life time. Betcha ten bucks. Lemme go check. YEP. Divorces.
Luckily, Moore has some awareness of what he is. Luckily, he made a comic book about it. That's what The Watchmen is. Moore's person drawn and quartered, hung out to dry. It blends his political and personal narratives. Which makes for awesome fun.
NOW-on to the movie itself . . .
Here's a quick summary: The Watchmen are a group of Superheros that began somewhere around WWII. Members of the group eventually died off, went crazy, were killed or just faded away. Here is what they looked like when they called themselves the Minutemen.
They were replaced by a new group of Watchmen.
However, the new group of Watchmen had an original member in their midst. His name is The Comedian. He's not very funny though.
Here is his insignia. This will be important later.
Their task in the film, as with all Superhero movies, is to save the day. All while Moore displays and works out his personal demons through the various superheros comprising the Watchmen. Again, great fun with this film.
My favorite character in all of this, and the one I believe is closest to Moore himself, is Rorschach. (That's him, right up there). Get it? Rorschach. Rorschach is man deeply stewed in morality. Which, in theory, is nice. It's nice to know that he has a moral compass, feels the need to create a utopia from this world. It's nice, but not really practical.
Rorschach narrates the film much the way DeNiro narrates Taxi Driver. Going on and on about filthy streets and whores. Inwardly, he rages against evil. It turns his meat and bones into a tough, jerky like substance. He becomes unyielding, unbendable and uncompromising.
Rorschach without the mask.
It also turns him into an violent asshole. Which he acknowledges in one scene. He apologizes for being so hard to live with to his friend. Warmed my heart that scene.
The problem that Rorschach struggles with, is that evil can never be done away with. There is a duality of good and evil in everything. Which brings us to this character. The Comedian.
Again, The Comedian is a carry over from the first group of Watchmen. He has good and evil pouring out like sunshine. He is without clear boundaries or intent. It is muddled and never quite clean with him. He is evil to further good. Which is funny. Not funny ha ha, but funny as in ain't that a bitch.
His daughter is this woman.
She is an ingenue of sorts. With a jonez for powerful Superhero men. Which is why she leapt at the chance to date this guy.
Dr. Manhattan is the most powerful of the lot. Bending time and matter to his will. He is also the most emotionally disconnected of the group. Which makes sense. The ties that bind people to others, what makes us feel love and close to each other, is knowing how finite life is. This guy is immortal and has absolute permanence. He has to work to make things precious, to see miracles.
Such disconnect eventually leads her to disconnect from him. She leaves him. They fight about it, while on Mars. I was tickled and enraged by this scene.
They sound like they are in a session with a couple's therapist. She says, "I need you." and "You have no idea how that makes me feel." And he says, "If I say I am sorry will you stop crying?" And "You just can't see it from my perspective."
He is not listening and worse, he's placating her. It is a subtle form of bullying in this scene. Then, he started using intellectual double speak to invalidate her feelings. She has her heart out, asking him to love her, asking him to see the miracles she sees all around her. Then he says, "Miracles are, by definition, meaningless."
I really wanted to punch him during that scene. Just haul off and clock him until a tooth fell out. Then I realized, "Oh yeah, I stopped dating assholes a long time ago." It's ok now, I don't have to feel like that anymore. Just because there is evil doesn't mean I can't thrive in my world. A world were miracles and wonders never cease.
In the end, their goal becomes realized. The world fits back together again. But this time, all the pain and misery of life is no more. Which is very different than any other Superhero movie. Most Superhero movies have the hero save the day and then save it again when a new evil pops up. But this time, the day is saved forever.
Which is funny considering the title of it all. One would assume that The Watchmen are Superheros that watch over us. Taking care of us little people. They are Superheros after all. But they aren't watching over us.
Their job is tending to the gears and switches of good and evil. To keep everything working in harmony so time can keep marching on. They are the Watchmen after all.
Which is funny. Not funny ha ha, but ain't that a bitch kind of funny.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I had never heard of Harry Belafonte before I saw him on the Muppets a few years ago. I was watching the show with my daughter.
No joke there.
I can very well say it has changed a large part of my life- the music of Harry Belafonte.
I DARE YOU to watch these and not have your hips wiggle!! :)
Here "Jump in the Line from Beetlejuice"- my kids enjoy the lady sawed in half. And my daughter says, "What is happening to his head?"
Coconut Woman says Coconut Candy will make you feel Dandy!
Here is the best song from that episode. It explains the origin of life itself, using muppets.
Thank you Mr. Belafonte, for making my hips wiggle and my kids giggle with joy.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Three areas to discuss in the Manning up of Mrs. Hall
1. The House:
Selling a house is not a linear process. Until I sign the closing papers, I can't be sure about anything. It's a bit like poker, you can work the stats on how to best play but in the end, it all depends on the cards you are dealt. And how you play your hand. It's not really fair and it's painful. But, in the end, there is really no choice.
Or as Mr. Hall says,
"Selling the house is a lot like prison sex".
(do yourself a favor and NEVER GOOGLE THE TERM 'PRISON SEX', TRUST ME)
2. My tolerance for suckage and ability to give
By all accounts, I am a spoiled woman. I have my needs taken care of and am well loved. Dealing with pain, frustration and separation from my husband has been tough. Single motherhood, no matter how fleeting, is tough. It is suckage incorporated.
When things get tough, I get kind of selfish. Thus, I have been neglecting Mr. Hall. I actively put a stop to this about a month ago. I consciously increased my tolerance for pain and actively sought to make him happy. To ease his pain.
Or as Mr. Hall says,
"I really like how you are attacking me lately, and the extra massages and such. . . see, that's all I need babe, and extra goodness with you being on top again."
3. My Go-Go Girl skills
Something broke open last night, inside my head. I took the wee Mac on a bike ride, with him in a kid seat behind me. I was really huffin and puffin. I realized that since I have have kids, especially during the summer, we rarely stay indoors. We are always going someplace or doing something.
This is the polar opposite of my upbringing. In fact, my parent's sit and watch their 888 inch flat screen tv with their 8000 channels every day. I use to have the biggest jonez for TV. Then I married a man who downloads a lot and I became selective. Now, I don’t have time to watch nothing. And the kids, they can't sit long enough to watch anything I want. They only have eyes for SpongeBob.
So I go. And go. And GO GO GO. And I love it!!! I never want to go back to a sedentary life. Never want to have a life without adventure, even it if is taking a walk around the block. And it doesn’t even phase me anymore, the huffing and puffing, the taking of two children on my own, out into the wilds of local parks and bike rides.
I could leave this office right now, pick up the kids and drive to Vegas without even packing. It would be no problem what so ever. Wouldn't have to plan or make lists or research or worry or obsess. Because I can do anything and go anywhere.
I can GO GO GO!!!
I am more free than I have ever been lately.
Manning up indeed.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
It happens every time when I get my eyebrows waxed.
I lay down on a table, close my eyes and relax my hands. I deep breathe and repeat the word "bird" over and over in my brain. It is a mantra to relax me.
Yet, every damn time, it happens.
First, the girl takes a cotton ball and smooths the hair with rubbing alcohol. Then I see her stirring the wax with a popsicle stick. I close my eyes. I feel the warm, hot wax coat my lower brow. It grips the skin and I feel tugging while she smooths it on. Then she takes muslin cloth and smooths that down, pressing hard with her index fingers.
At this point my eyes have teared up. Only my eyes are shut, so the tears are gunky and gluey. My eyelids are cemented to my eyeballs.
I try not to flinch but my whole body jerks. I pry open my eyes. My gluey tears spill out like a bucket of hot baby oil was kicked over.
This is repeated RIP!!!
times to finish waxing the brows of Mrs. Hall.
It's embarrassing. And despite my deep breathing and mantras IT JUST KEEPS HAPPENING!! I mean, it's not that painful. I have no idea what the hell my deal is with this.
And the women that wax my brows? They often have a look of horror/concern on their faces. And I try to explain, that really, I'm just a wuss. A scaredy cat. No cause for alarm.
The woman last night, she didn't react this way. She just smiled gently. And she was really kind. She wiped my tears and said, it's ok, we are almost done.
It's ok, we are almost done, she said.
And when she painted my toes, she was really kind. She spent a good 15 minutes creating little flower designs on my toes. She didn't hurry or linger. It was just the right amount of attention. Which is the hard part for me, during these appointments. The attention.
It is most difficult during the pedicure. While tending to the toes, the women often massage the foot/lower leg. I have to consciously relax during this. Massage has a paradoxical effect on me.
It tenses me. gaaahh... touching .... gaaahhh... stranger ...... And I don't want to appear LIKE THE FREAK I AM WHO DOESN'T LIKE MASSAGES so I just really try to stay calm and nice. And quiet.
Above all, I try to stay quiet. Which, considering she didn't really speak English, was not that hard.
But, when I was tearing up during the wax, it set off real sadness. Real tears on the inside. I think she sensed that and was really nice to me. Not nice in a 'I'm doing this for the tips' kind of way but really nice. She took care while she tended to me.
Then I came home and was really nice to Mr. Hall. He was playing one of his favorite computer games, Left 4 Dead. Which involves killing Zombies. I gave him a thorough scalp, neck and shoulder message. All while he killed Zombies.
Lots and lots and lots of Zombie killing to be had in that game.
This game is a group type game. Each player is part of a team. You log on and join in. It is very interesting listening to the chatter of other players, hearing Australian or German accents. But, you work as a team, going around killing zombies, helping bandage each other up when somebody gets shot.
Helping each other out is essential, you can't survive any other way.
Mr. Hall speaks softly while killing scores and scores of Zombies. It's like he's in a meditative trance. He really must like this game. After all, the entire time, when chasing and shooting with his hands on the keyboard, he kept making sex faces. The kind of faces he makes, well, the kind of faces he makes while being very nice to me ;)
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Let me introduce a woman who blends both the smart and the heart.
The Righteous Babe, Ms. Ani Difranco.
When Mr. Hall and I first lived together, we rented the lower level of a house. It had a gravel driveway. This was about 8 years ago.
i heard the sound of your bike,
as your wheels hit the gravel,
then your engine in the driveway
After the long days of nursing school, I would scurry home. I would pull into the driveway, getting all excited when I saw his Red Ford Taurus SHO, all perfectly parked. We took care of each other in that apartment. Learning to live together, learning how to be man and wife.
and i pushed through the screen door
and i stood out on the porch
thinking fight, fight, fight
at all costs,
At that time, I was crawling out of my feral skin. I was very wild and manically driven to become a nurse and a wife. I was chubby and needy. There was a marked lack of thought when I acted and spoke. He weathered a lot of my wild, unthinking outbursts.
but instead i let you in,
just like i've always done
and i sat you down and offered you a beer
and across the kitchen table
i fired several rounds,
but you were still sitting here
when the smoke cleared.
A year past. The day before I graduated as a nurse, he proposed and we married soon after that. Then we moved two hours away. We briefly stayed a new apartment and got pregnant. Then, we bought a house. We bought the house just two hours after seeing it. We loved it that much. Our hearts were bursting.
That house has proven to be trouble.
and oh, oh,
let me count the ways
that i abhore you,
and you were never a good lay
and you were never a good friend
but, oh, oh, what else can i say...
i adore you
We are coming to the conclusion of that house. Someone has loved it enough to see past the trouble and buy it. And I thought I was ready. We signed the 'accepted offer' papers and drove to Kinkos this morning, to fax the papers. We parked, Mr. Hall killed the engine. And then, out of nowhere, I started sobbing. I don't want to leave that house. My heart is breaking. And my head, my head is not listening.
Yet, here we are. Time to move.
all i need is my leather,
one t-shirt and two socks,
i'll keep my hands warm
in your pockets
and we can use the engine block,
and we'll ride out to california
with my arms around your chest,
and i'll pretend that this is real
'cuz this is what i like best,
We've looked through so many goddamn houses up here. I am tired. We have to choose a house to breathe life into. Only we are hemming and hawing. Picking and choosing. Which is making our pain grow deeper.
All of the sudden, what took us two hours the last time around is threatening to take weeks, months, or even years. If our hearts won't let us, we have to choose with our heads. Let our hearts begin to heal.
and you've been juggling two women
like a stupid circus clown
telling us both we are the one
Mr. Hall talks during the open houses. He talks to me, other people who are looking, to the agents. He carries a tiny, bright flashlight and examines things. He exhausts the real estate agents, explaining design flaws in engineer speak. He uses a blend of circular logic and salesmanship. I stand beside him, listening to the way he weaves the web. Drawing the agents in, preparing them for the lower price we'll offer.
Only we haven't offered anything yet. And I leave each open house a little sadder. And sadder still.
and maybe you can keep me from ever being happy,
but you're not gonna stop me from having fun.
so let's go before i change my mind
i'll leave the luggage of all your lies behind
'cuz i am bigger than everything that came before
It's time to shut this off now. Time to break up with it all. Stop wishing the past will come back to life and start being here, with what is. Time to plant the seeds that will grow roots.
The last time I saw Ani Difranco, I was six weeks pregnant with Pancake. Six weeks. Not even pregnant enough to turn the stick blue. I had no idea what was growing, what was coming. But, it turned out bigger and better than anything that came before.
Just like the new House of Hall.
Gravel by Ani Difranco *
Click here to hear the song live.
* I want to apologize for the bootleg quality here. Let me just say Ani Difranco doesn't MAKE videos and all her songs on the web are bootleg. AND all the women that go to the shows are mouthy and loud. AND she often plays her songs AT WARP SPEED cause she's a hyper person. So, this is the best I could do. Anyone want to make a video for me? :)