dummies in the ditch

ENUFF with the melodrama of last day's post!!!



I use to get upset when my otherwise calm and kind husband would laugh and point and say, 'another dummy in the ditch'.

I mean, it's kind of mean.


but, I got to thinking, and I want to say to all the cars out there


We all live in this state, I know because no one has out of state licenses.


I know because I checked.


Snow, sleet and icey road conditions are do not qualify as a surprise


FOR ANY OF US.

so please, get off my ass, I can't see your headlights for goodness sake.


and stop acting all bad ass in your geo metro.


and if you don't, I will be forced to laugh and point, at you

the dummy in the ditch.

and now, if you'll excuse me, It's gonna take a while to get to work.


after all, I can only go 20 miles on the highway.


drive safe everyone

Reading through the past

This is not me at age 16-19, but, close enough

This is a long post, long enough I am leaving it up all weekend. It's good though. Trust me.

Last weekend, we did a lot of sorting and tossing at our house. In the middle of our fury, I found two boxes.

The first box contained the following:

2 years of letters from my high school boyfriend (we had dated four years total)

3 sealed enveloped of my color treated hair (treated by first dying it jet black then applying bleach-the end result being a coppery orange)

1 specimen container housing six pieces of body jewelry (five rings and one post)

1 letter from my mom, basically kicking me out of the family (four angry pages long-I told ya'll she was nuts)

In this post, I want to discuss the letters from my high school boyfriend. His name was Brian. We wrote back and forth after he left for the Navy.Let me summarize the content of the letters here- from his point of view.

He had joined the navy after graduating high school. The goal was to help him develop self discipline and provide opportunity. He had a girlfriend at home, her name was Holly. He was 18, she was seventeen. They had been dating about a year or so when he left.

The letters were hard to write at first. Well, he had a hard time keeping up with Holly's letters. They came two or three times a week. Plus, she sent tapes of herself talking, magazines and all sorts of crazy stuff. She was a little demanding, asking for more mail from him.

There was a lot happening, on his side of things. Lots of tests and training. For the first time in his life he was trying to achieve something. He was studying for exams, going to bed early, and learning how to make hospital corners. Plus there was the PT tests. He was getting in shape for the first time. And his long hair, the mullet, it was all short now. Don't laugh he said.

He had a rough time expressing himself, at first. Putting his emotions out there, onto paper, was hard. He started writing more of a journal, then sending that to her. After that, it all seemed to flow.

He counted how many friends kept writing him, how many people kept in contact. He realized who his real friends were. He got lonely, bored, missed home and his girlfriend. Pride developed in his test scores, the best in his life. He met other people on the base, didn't really bond with anyone though.

Then his girlfriend when to college.

There was a shift in his thoughts. He began to think about moving in with Holly, maybe getting married and having children. Holly didn't have the same thoughts. She wrote about joining the peace corp. She didn't want to get married or have children, ever. He didn't feel she ever listened to him. When he asked what she thought of the latest letter he sent, she would say, I don't remember what you wrote.

This made Brian mad. Her letters were becoming less and less. And she kept writing about this Sam guy. He met Sam, while on a one month leave. He reminded Brian of himself. a younger Brian. A quiet guy who kept to himself, who struck out at anyone who might get near. And if that person was still around after the first strike, then that person might be allowed in.

During that same leave, he noticed Holly spending more time with her friends than him. This pissed Brian off. He took leave to be with her for the most part. But he ended up spending more time with his friends instead. And she spent more time with Sam. This pissed Brian off because he hadn't seen her in forever.

It was obvious that their relationship had changed after that. After that she started seeing other people. And she wrote to him about her new relationships. Which he thought he would be cool about, but really, it kept him up at night. He hated getting her letters now. Especially since she only wrote him after he wrote first. He hated that most of all.

He wrote hate a lot in the last few letters. He wrote hate like this:

HATE!!! HATE!!!! HATE!!!

Needless to say, there was not a lot of contact after that. After that, I moved to a big city for my year abroad.

I have been thinking about going back in time, about what I would say to both those kids, Holly and Brian.

To me, well, I wouldn't say much. Really, I would not say one word. I can't articulate why, but, I just wouldn't.

To him though, I would say a hell of a lot. The first thing I would say was, WHAT THE FUCK!!! ??? When we first started dating you, I asked you to stop doing drugs and drinking, and you said you did. But now I know that you didn't, you just stopped telling me. AND I KNOW YOU ARE THE ONE WHO GAVE ME CRABS!!! And you must have cheated on me, because I NEVER ONCE CHEATED ON YOU!!!

And seriously Brian, grow a pair and stop letting your girlfriend push you around. I mean, you spell woman---womyn—in the letters. All because she is some crazy women's libber. Blah.

Epilogue:

Sometime, right before this blog, through the magic of the interweb, I found Brian again. He is married and has a little boy. He says that his wife, well, she saved his life.

He was shocked that I am married, and for eight years, with two kids, no less. And the job I have, psychiatric nurse practitioner, well, that's a shock too. We emailed a few times after that. But, the email eventually petered off.

We have almost nothing in common. I am not sure we ever did. In fact, I think I never saw him at all; I was so wrapped up in myself. Those letters he wrote paint a very unflattering picture of me. Which is good really. Those underlying traits are still there. I am ashamed of this, what I was in those letters. It's good to humbled though, good to know what my evil looks like.

And knowing that makes me a better person. After all, the better I recognize the former crazy self, the faster I can run the other way.

Either way, it is good to know he has a stable life. Good job. That he is Happy.

As for the second box, well, that is for another post.

Shrinkage and the double w

The double w is much cooler than saying Weight Watchers, I think.

Regardless of what I call it, I am back in its folds, surrendered once again.

And sure nuff, two weeks in, five pounds gone.

It's not really magic, this program.

Basically, it works under a system of points. The points can be thought of as dollars. I get 20 dollars/day to spend on the food I eat. After I eat, I enter the food into the log and viola! I see how much things cost.

It is a process of cutting through years of bullshitting myself in less than 2 seconds flat.

Instant truth I tell ya. And sometimes, the truth ain't pretty.

For instance, let's look at these staples from the Mrs. Hall diet:

*One three musketeer's bar-6 points

*One mac donald's egg mc muffin with sausage-11 points

*One serving pancakes from a restaurant-9 points

*Spaghetti with meatballs and tomato sauce-16 points

Ponder that for a minute. Again, you get 20 points per day. This program introduced me to the idea of spending wisely, of getting the most for every penny I spend.

Sure, you get an extra 35 points, waiting in the background that you can spend throughout the week.

But still. Holy good God, what was I eating before?

After a while, I can't help but feel there is a conspiracy out there to keep me and the rest of America chubby. The more I look, the more I see. It is fascinating and irritating all at the same time.

But, this is the state of American fast and cheep cuisine. The food is all swaddled in blankets of fat and salt. This trains me to crave fat and salt. But, I am now saying, in the politest possible way, fuck you.

Fuck you stupid fatty food.

I am much better than all of it. I am a bonifide babe after all.

Thus, I am learning, relearning and growing.

For instance:

*Egg muffin, better'n eggs, wide slivers of sharp cheddar cheese and- 6 points

*4 Kashi pancakes (from their mix), smuckers sugar free syrup (delicious btw), and a touch of I can't believe it's not butter -7 points

*Spaghetti prepared healthily -5 points

*And that three musketeer's bar? Well, that I still enjoy, only about once a month.

See that, all of this means something. Means something less I mean. And when things are less, they matter more. My food is tastier and sexier. It's true.

Now, one can gain points by exercising. Which is the next part of all this. Well, the next part is to implement consistency in my exercising.

Cause dammit, the shit of it is, now that I have lost five points, my daily point allowance went down to 19.

Grrrr……! It is frustrating, letting go and giving in to the system. It is a matter of dropping huge chunks of pride from my ego.

I think I need a drink.

And hey, a cosmopolitan, why that is only four points, WEE HEE!!!

Word association: Honey

Time now for another installment of word association where a reader suggests a word and I post a post based on that word. Feel free to suggest a future word in the comments.
-----------------------------------------------

Word associated: Honey

Word suggested by: oh, you know who you are


-----------------------------------------------

I am writing to cheer myself up.

Cheering oneself up can be a difficult task.

It is like comedy writing. I mean, anyone can write sad stories. I mean, tragedy is everywhere. Thus, writing sad stuff is like shooting fish in a barrel.

Humor can be more difficult because it requires a certain willingness to part with the indignancy of having been wronged.

Dang, that's a good line eh? Just thought that up, right now.

So let me part a little.

Breathe


I am a puddle of honey at the bottom of an empty coffee mug. Amber solid and sparkle fluid at the same time. I grow ceramic feet and hop to a warmer spot, under the midday sun. As I warm, the whole mug will become fragrant and intoxicated with the convalescing sugar. I get warmer. I get bubbly, all silly thick with sloppy joy.

Now I just need some tea to swim around in.



Amazing this, I feel so much better already. :)

The art of sucking it up

I have been too busy lately. The ideas for my posts haven't been allowed to germinate properly. As such, this post might be a disjointed post. Maybe that is just as well, my posts are like essays half the time. I need to mix it up more.

so

Last night was one of the roughest nights of my parenthood. Both of my children tested the boundaries in very age specific ways.

My daughter is in gymnastics. She is one of the younger kids there and it is her first class. I sit on the bleachers and watch her struggle. Add to the fact that she is six, well, she doesn't have many coping skills. In other words, when she can't do cartwheels or tumbles the way the other kids do, she gets all sobby and snot bubble. The teacher does temper this a bit. She acknowledges the beginning of tears and urges her onwards. Pancake responds to this.

This is not my daughter, but close enough for our purposes here :)

Then, more then once now, when class is over, she makes a beeline for me and trys to lets er rip, snot bubble wise. Seeing your child struggle and fail absolutely sucks. I know there are ways to prevent this whole process. I could let her quit gymnastics, I could give her candy or premedicate her with xanax.

Or---I could have her keep going. Which is what I am doing. She doesn't struggle every class and she is making gains. I acknowledge that it is hard and frustrating for her, I tell her it's ok to feel angry and sad, but she needs to suck it up a little. Having full on meltdowns is no good, she's a big girl now. So we practice, her and I, learning how to deal with it all. And not giving up.

After all, what else does she have to do, watch more spongebob?

Then there is the little man in my life, Mac. When you are two feet tall, life is centered around very simple needs. Toys, food, bath time, snuggle while watching Wall-E, chasing the cat . . . Only I am starting to stand in the way of these things. I stand in the way of food from the pantry while I am making dinner. I stand in the way of bath time until he puts away his toys. The toys was last night. He had absolutely no interest in cleaning up.

And last night I finally admitted that he knows better. Yay see, when toddlers don't want to do something, they often act dumb or temporarily lose their hearing. I can buy it, I mean, he's little and very cute. But, he has figured out all the child safety locks and is basically potty training himself. Also, according to his teacher, he always is "such a good helper" during clean up time. The boy knows what he is doing. So, I teach him with time outs.

It was very rough last night. He fought the time out for thirty minutes. I kept having to put him back on the naughty step. All the while he was screaming and snot bubble. These very primal ways of expressing himself, these trigger all my mommy instincts. I kept my cool though, no snot bubbles from mommy.

And I held firm. And after a time out he did indeed put his toys away.

I called and told my husband all of this. He said, we are truly blessed. And if he was there, he would gladly take on all the burden.

He is right, we are very very blessed. And when we get settled, I will divide the discipline duties once again.

This is all of us, all sorts of love and crazy hair in the morning. :)

Best air guitar player gets ten points

This weekend, like last, I find myself at the house I own. The house without my parents. Pancake and her daddy, Mr. Hall are here. Mac is back up north. With aforementioned parents.

We are furiously sorting, tossing and cleaning. All sorts of things are running through my head as I sort through the life we built here. All fodder for posts.

But, the faster I work, the brighter the light becomes. The light at the end of the tunnel that is.

So!

Sit back, enjoy some tunes, and

the best air guitar player gets ten points!



Van Halen - Hot For Teacher
Uploaded by Dan_of_the_Land

My mother in law, wine yeast and a storage shed

This was on my "Daily art" desktop calendar.
It is called "The Worship of Venus" by Titian (1488-1576)
All sorts of chubby cherubs up there ;)

Last weekend, Valentine's weekend, we moved the bulk of our furniture up here.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I am telling you people, at the end of next month, we can put our house on the market. The house should sell easily enough. Our house is in a seller's market. (Read: big city everyone loves, economy good) Getting a house up here should be easy. It is a buyer's market up here. (Read: not such a big city and well . . .)

AND THEN THE HEAVEN'S SHALL OPEN UP AND GLORY DAY, GLORY DAY, A THOUSAND VIOLINS WILL BEGIN TO PLAY . . . .

All sorts of chubby cherubs will fly around, strumming tiny little harps. . . .

Meanwhile, I was tickled by this exchange that took place while my husband was dissembling our couch that looks like this:

That is a big bastard of a leather lazy-boy couch. Somehow, my husband unscrewed a bunch of things underneath and separated it into manageable pieces. It is not moveable in the solid chunk form.

It required some effort, this separation, what with the twisting and hunkering, all while the couch was tilted above him.

I know because I read to him from my Sephora catalogue while he worked.

GAWD!! I love the Sephora catalogue. I mean, the way they describe the items just blows me away. I mean, listen to this description (of face cream):

. .. Willowherb, a unique anti-irritant, helps to prevent sensitivities while wine yeast and marine complex combat against environmental damage. The combination of jojoba leaf, a powerful antioxidant, with Burdock root, silica powder, and other effective ingredients refine pores . . .

"Huh, wine yeast, huh. Well, can you shine the light over here?" says Mr. Hall in response.

(It was my job to hold the light btw, I am not completely useless :)



And there is this description of hand cream:

Enriched with 20% Shea butter, this super-creamy balm penetrates quickly to protect, nourish, and moisturize the skin. Honey, almond, and coconut oil are blended with Shea butter to create this unique and extremely effective moisturizer

LORD HOWDY! I mean come on, doesn't it all sound so dreamy? This Sephora catalogue, it is mentally uplifting.

I love the catalogue so much that I took it to dinner with my mother in law that night. Because I still feel tense around his family. And I just don't care anymore, I don't care about being tense anymore. And I wanted to continue reading my sephora catalogue.



And I tell ya, it's better than wine, this stuff. I was so relaxed during dinner as I read through the descriptions of the products. Ya see, I just don't care anymore. I am done trying to figure out my mother in law. Done being angry at the past. Done trying to figure out why she does the stuff she does. She was there that night. Really there. And all lovey dovey with Pancake. And that is all that mattered.

Either way, our glorious couch is 0.5 miles away from my work, tucked in a storage shed. It's best friend, our dark cherry wood sleigh bed, is nestling right beside her.

I see the light at the end of the tunnel people. I hear the angels tuning up their violins. And my queen size pillow top mattress? Oh, it's in their too. Happy to be near me again. Patiently waiting for us to snuggle again.

The care and feeding of Mrs. Hall, a testimony

This is a long post. It was sparked by my rejoining weight watchers and receiving a compliment by an elderly gentleman on Sunday. Come with me now, as I testify.

I can't quite trace where it began, but somewhere along the line, I became unaffected by my appearance. I can tell you that concern for one's appearance was not encouraged where I grew up. Too bourgeois.

There was also the issue of my intentional separation from others. Of course, this began around age 15. I used my punk and feminist energy as a tool to slice others out of my life. It is rather liberating, shaving one's head, running around all crazy thrift store clothes. Looking all feral and Bjork. Again, I was beholden to no one. It is a power, this punk. But, it is a false power. A power to push away, to divide, a power rooted in the devil of selfishness and anger.

This type of power attracted the appopropriate people. Mostly thugs, confidence men and psychopaths. They had no prospect or way of sustaining a place in my life. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had created a complete and self-reproducing chaos. Which was part of my plan, to be a total anarchist. After all, if no one is in your life, you have no laws, no rules of engagement. There was no love there, no caring, no grace of God.

Eventually, my need for isolation faded. And I found this man, this Mr. Hall. I quit smoking for him. During our first week of courting no less. I began to feel his love. I began to heal. And I shed so much weight, so much anger and chaos. I felt the power of love, I began to strike the devil down.



I feel whole these days. This allows me to dress and behave like a full grown and attractive woman. This attractiveness, this care of and tending to what I look like, is healing. It is changing me. I use tools to further my pretty. These tools include a wonder bra, a heated eye lash curler, stylish clothes, and weight watchers. They are powerful, these tools. As powerful as the hand of providence. Can I get an Amen ladies?

This is where the rubber hits the road, so to speak, in this post. After all, all this talk of my outside means something very real, to the inside of me. And the inside of me, had a triumph recently.

Last Sunday, I went out for pancakes. I put on make up, intentionally. I did look good and smiled a lot. While we were waiting for our table, a gentleman of 70 years sat beside me. "I thought sitting next to you would improve my appearance" he said with a wink. He was resplendent in his pastel driving cap. His camel hair coat and wing tips were most fitting for a man of his vintage.

I was tickled by all of this. I did not feel automatic danger. There was no automatic bristling of my bones.

I was further warmed by the fact that his wife (also in her seventies) and their kids and grandkids were milling about. This is a nice man, I thought, paying me a compliment. And I received this as it was intended, warmly.

And I feel secure with all this healing. I feel the power of who I am. And now it's my turn to spread the good word. To shout out the joy of pure health.

I am healed Lord! Hallelujah! I CAN WALK AGAIN!!

The art of supplementation

My son is ferocious, I mean look at him.

Lately, he has developed an stunning allergy to kisses. He arches his back and howls when I sneak a kiss. He swats his puffy hand at the imprint and yelps, "NO KEESE, NO KEESE!!" And I don't care, I can't help but kisses and noogle his cheeks. I mean, come on!

So, we have started a system that I began when my daughter became allergic to the kiss. We touch fingers, ET style, and do finger kiss.

And when he asks for something (juice, sammich, pbs kids) I say, KISS first! and he kisses, without the howl. He leans in, all ferocious and makes a large smooching sound.

MHH-WHA!

hee hee.

Ya see, it's all about the art of supplementation.

hee hee heee.

Mr. Hall Picks a song for Valentine's Day

Stick shifts and safety belts, bucket seats have all got to go,
when we're driving in the car,
it makes my baby seem so far . . . .



Happy Valentine's Day Everyone :)
xoxoxo

The story behind the banner

The photo in the banner, as well as my profile image, is of me and Mr. Hall. After all, without him, this blog would have a different name, so I felt it only proper to include him.

Both photos were taken at a yearly Easter gathering. The gathering takes place on a farm that belongs to Mr. Hall's cousin. There is no better place than a farm for 15 kids to run around, going crazy, hunting for eggs. They love it. I have pictures from every year.

As far as the photo, it is one of 7. Mr. Hall and I are sitting on a lawn chair, on the deck of the house. I don't like any of the photos though. When this photo was taken, I had yet to discover the wonders of make up, so I look very tired. My roots are showing and my eyebrows need waxing. Plus, Mr. Hall well, he doesn't photograph the way I want him to. Ever.

You see, Mr. Hall is a very attractive guy. What with the strong jaw line, chin dimple, excellent cheek bones and manly forehead. And his eyes are startlingly blue. He is, by all accounts, a hottie.

It wasn't always so. When I first saw pictures of him as a teenager, I didn't recognize him. During his teenage years he wore coke bottle glasses, Napoleon Dynamite style. His mom dressed him about 10 years behind the times. Thus, his style was that of the 1970s. His wardrobe could be best described as brown, gold, weird polyester patterns, ill fitting, and dear god what is that? 1970s clothing. And his hair, well, the seventies weren't kind to hair.

When he met me, his sister had a tighter grip on him, clothing wise. He also had switched to contacts. The yuck was cast off and dear God what a hottie.

Maybe this is why he took to me, who by all accounts was positively feral at the time. Maybe this is why he is so kind, so nuturing, so sure of himself. He survived life looking very different. And really, this affects a person. He still doesn't see the hottie he is.

Either way, this is why he doesn't photograph well. His inner voice still says, no no, don't smile, don't relax. And he tends to distort his face for funny effect. Which pisses me off. I mean, come on! Jeff, you are a hottie and dammit start photographing like it. I take pride in my hot husband!

So no, me no like the photos.

Until I started to notice where his hands were. hee hee. Mr. Hall enjoys touching my tush. I never noticed that in the photos before. The man is always, very subtly messing with my tush in the photos. hee hee, he likes me. ;)

That is why I have cut the best part and now it's my banner. :)

O-and that thing in my hand, well, it is part of a bubble blowing gun. These things are pieces of junk. They are brought out every Easter gathering. The kids love them. They chase each other around, blowing bubbles.

This is a bubble blowing gun

Because children can't be bothered to blow bubbles anymore

unless the thing dies, which is always does :)

The inside of one for all who want to know how it works

But, again, pieces of junk. They break and stop working easily. And that thing in my hand is part of the gun. I prol'l opened one up trying to fix it.

SO NOW YOU KNOW!!!

and don't we all feel better knowing.
After all, knowledge is POWER!!

:)

Have a good weekend!!

Getting off the crazy train

Woman on a train

Photographed by Bruce Johnson AKA Lotus-7 His blog is here, more of his photos here

Thank you Bruce :)

My favorite episode of the Simpsons is the one where Lisa decides to become a vegetarian. At the beginning of the episode she is at a petting zoo, gently petting a lamb. Later, at dinner, her mom serves lamb chops. She looks at the lamb chop and it transforms into a lamb. It speaks in a lamb voice.

"Don't eeeeaaattt meee Leeessa"

This triggers thoughts and feelings in Lisa. She begins to think of the lamb as a worthy creature and feels nauseous about eating it. A fire is lit in her belly.

She looks up at her family around the dinner table. She sees Bart and Homer. They are fighting over a lamb chop. They are fighting in the way dogs do, by biting onto the meat, snarling and growling while twisting their heads back and forth. At this point, she fully realizes where she is and what she comes from. Lisa Simpson comes from meat-eating savages.

She stands up, knocking her cartoon chair backward, arms thrust down at her side, fists in tiny Lisa Simpson balls.

"THAT'S IT!!" she blurts out, "THAT'S IT! I'M OUTTA HERE!!" And she storms out the room.

Which I have done, in my noncartoon life. I had left where I came from. It was an act of rebellion and anger. Of my own righteous thoughts and feelings. My thoughts included thinking I was nothing like my family, that I was better than that. I though there is a different way. My feelings were hurt and anger about many things. Mostly though, I was hurt and angry that they never saw or accepted me. They still don't. They still suck.

These thoughts, I realize, may not be entirely reality based. After all, in the throws of being hurt and angry, rational thought is not always possible. I factor this in as I work through the next step.

Nowadays, I find myself back in the belly of the beast. Back where I came from. I am living with my parents. And if there was one thing I could have done to prevent it, I would have. This includes cutting my left arm off. Yet here I am, at least for a few more months.

All my triggers are swollen in this house. Black thinking clouds swirl around me. Overeating urges tug at my sleeve, begging to start up again. My intolerance of obligation and discomfort steadily sounds an air horn. My numbness is growing and I haven't fought it much. But most of all, the anger is getting twitchy. I am starting to slam and bang.

But. I'm a grown up now. Fully formed. My life was created as an experiment to produce my own happiness.

I cannot underestimate how much I have created, how much I am. I have this awesome husband who loves me to bits. And these kids, these kids are so golden. And I have achieved so much in my work life. All good, all in the service of others. I've created a life unlike my parents. It is a tremendous and mighty life.

My experiment is now cemented into who I am. This is where I start the next step.

There is no doubt there is unhealthiness and disquiet with my parents. At this point, my kids find all the disquiet kind of funny. Like slapstick comedy.

I am teaching myself, and the kids, how to live with this for now. That even though there is unhealthiness in their midst, we can be who we are. We can still thrive and be joyful.

As for me, I am shutting off the anger, shutting off the unease. I don't have to fix anything over there, their ugliness can stay were it is. It's not my responsibility to take care of them.

Their pain is not my responsibility. And if I feel angry, irritable or snarly, I can calm down. I can deboard the crazy train. After all, I got off a long time ago.

ZOMBIES!!! Oh, how I love me some zombies

(The left click button also functions as virtual Viagra, go ahead click and see)
Check out the movie star names ;)

B.E. Earl has notified his readers of the best use of 45 minutes ever. Or 20 or 10 or 5 minutes, depending on how fast you work.

well, not the best use, but pretty damn close.

go ahead now, give it a try, you know you want to. CLICK HERE!

Then, send me the results:

butcher(dot)hollow(at)gmail(dot)com

Will post all sorts of Zombie love when I receive them.

The new skill of shushing on shrinkage wednesday

Ironically enough, I am not a big fan of Bjork. Well, maybe I haven't heard the right music.

I am not sure how Jeff figured it out, but he did. After all, he is quite handsome and gainfully employed. Plus, he is very charming and self assured. And so nice. He had his pick of thousand girls. Yet, he choose me with singular purpose. He figured out who I was before I did.

When he met me, I wore my hair like Bjork, was about 165 pounds and required a lot of care. Let me tell you the level of care I once required. Lord help me, here goes.

When we were dating I would visit his house on the weekend. I would bring my dishes. My dishes people.

So he could put them in his dishwasher.

Despite the fact that I had a communal kitchen across from my dorm room.

It boggles the mind, this event. It boggles my mind because it made perfect sense to me at the time. And he saw this, that it made sense to me. And he didn't run for the hills. He saw that I was capable of much more than I was. And for the most part, he didn't say much about who I was or how I operated. Well, except for the hair.

Babe, he said, the tail pipes gotta go, they are not attractive.

He also suggested there just might be a better way to eat. Exercise might be something I could do once in a while. He was gentle about it. Never pushy, never mean. Just gentle suggestions once in a while. Suggestions that we could be different, we didn't have to get fat like everyone else in this state. And I fought it like a cat trapped in a cardboard box.

But, that was ten years ago. My overall healthiness has waxed and waned. I have better getting better all along, with a few set backs here and there. A few weeks ago, I figured out what has been holding me back from permanent change.

My thinking. My inner voice. My own talk.

Again, I can over think things to the point where I can't move. Paralyzed by my own voice.

So, on Sunday, I learned how to shut the hell up.

When I had the chance I bolted for the gym. I worked it like no other. All that yoga has prepped me for pushing beyond my comfort zone. I was prepared to ignore and extinguish the tiny doubting voices, the murmurs of self consciousness and the blathering on of freight.

I can honestly say, don't believe everything you think or feel.

The tailpipes, I must agree, were not attractive :)

Me and the wee pancake :)

New things about me, all week

I have decided to completely turn over a new leaf.

Odd expression, turning over a new leaf. I mean, what the hell does that mean?

Well, for me, it means no longer dipping my toe into the pool of self pity. No longer wading in the ocean of my discontent. No longer swimming in a sea of spiraling negativity.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

I am just bursting with crazy right now. grrrrr . . . . . .

Ok, so obviously a lot is behind this post, this crazy. And yes, a lot is tied to a lot in my life (as it stands right now) and it you are new to the blog well, sorry I just can't get into it right now.

Feel free to look around though, if you are new. Or no. The posts labeled Mr. Hall are nice. There is sometimes sexy bits. The Salyma Hayek posts have helped keep a marriage together (ok maybe that was an exaggeration :)

Wait, what was I talking about?

OK

SO

I am done being negative. Done feeling morose and laden with sadness. Well, the degree of this type of thinking and behaving was never that prominent. But still.

I see a life long pattern of absolute soul sucking self pity and spiraling negativity playing out before me every single day.

And yes, this is my parents' life. The well from which I sprang. They are fat, sad, and angry people and they irritating the fuck out of me.

So, this is what I am leaving. If not physically, then mentally.

I am outta here, GOING GOING GONE!!!

Yet another in a series this week of permanent changes.

Oh-you'll see . . . . .

Childhood Milestones not listed in the guidebooks

This image is what came up when I googled "breastfeeding tattoo"

So cool no?

"Childhood or Developmental Milestones" are what health care providers look at when determining the health of a child. They are somewhat predictable and age dependent. They include such things as rolling over, walking, potty training or sleeping through the night.

We are very blessed that each of our children have hit the milestones right on target. They are both very smart and emotional reactive. They exude all the magic of being a kid, all smiles and chubby cheeks and ferociousness climbing on monkey bars. We are so grateful for this.

Yet, when I was reading over this post, over at Slydesblog, I couldn't help but think that there are milestones that are not listed in the guidebooks. And here is a small list

Miraculous Milestones not listed in the guidebooks:

By Mrs. Holly Hall, mother of two kids (ages 6 and 2)

1. The first time the child sits through a DVD

Once my daughter began to crawl about, pull to standing, and toddle around, it was then my life became a game of "chase me-chase me."

"Chase me-chase me" are what children are all about. Again, having children means constantly engaging and directing their energy. Which takes a lot of energy.

But when they can sit down, and sit still for at least 45 minutes while watching a movie, HOLY LORD, HALLELUJAH!!

Manna from heaven!!!

Speaking of which, my daughter achieved this milestone at age 13 months, the movie--Nemo. The line 'manna from heaven' is from that movie.

Our son, well, he achieved this goal only recently at about 20 months. He is very energetic, our boy. Kind of like a pinball :) The movie--Wall-E. He has a crush on Eva



2. Making it into the bucket

The body of a child can be quite the fluid dispenser. Part of a child's learning process, as they develop, is learning how control the outgoing fluids and well, more solid things. This is what potty training is all about.

However, there is another miraculous milestone directly related to this.

About a year ago, when my daughter indicated she had "jelly in her tummy that needs to come out", I sprang into action like one of those tennis ball fetchers that hover and wait during the tennis matches. I fetched a bucket, towel and rain poncho.

I kid, I kid.

Well, not really. but, moving on . . . . .

However, to my ABSOLUTE DELIGHT, the girl made it into the bucket.On her own volition. AND THEN GLORY BE!!! She rose up, went to the bathroom, CALMLY BRUSHED HER HAIR BACK, and made it into the commode. My jaw hit the floor! Eyes welled up!

To this day I am all misty about it. I mean, what can I say? I am still filled with pride over this.

3. Getting the idea of a time out

For the most part, kids understand much more than they can verbalize. At first anyway. This leads parent's to make comments like, "Oh, he's too young to understand". Also, kids also have the ability to switch on what I like to call, "the dumb face". It looks like this. But, if you scan the face, you can note a subtle smile in the eyes, an impish turn of the mouth. Thus, the dumb face can disguise the naughty face.

If you don't catch it, instructions such as, "Sweety, stop pulling the cat's tail" or "Honey, stop ripping pages from that book" or "Sweetheart, stop climbing into the refrigerator" are repeated over and over and over. I cannot tell you how batty it makes me, repeating things. BATTY! BATTY! BATTY!!! ABSOLUTELY BONKERS!!!

Ok, then, moving on . . . . .

It stops the day a parent says "Either stop or time out". And when the child twitches at the words 'time out', well, GLORY DAY!!!

And while the task of putting a very feisty two year old on a time out is taxing, and very hard at first, eventually it becomes route. Eventually . . .


When I think of who much energy I pour into these children, how much I give to them, I find myself so grateful. So grateful they are here, so happy I am their mom. I love you Mac and Pancake. I could not ask for better kids. :)

Holly has left the building

This month's Playboy acknowledges the changes that have occurred with Mr. Hefner and his trio of girlfriends. It is an unmistakable goodbye to Ms. Holly Madison.

I saw a recent piece on Ms. Christie Hefner, Hef's daughter on CBS Sunday morning. She is an interesting woman. Whenever I see or read about her I am impressed with the Playboy organization and how vast it is. I am impressed of how she is continuing her father's vision. In Las Vegas, there is a giant hotel/ casino that carries the Playboy name. There is all manner of merchandise too. And while the depth and breadth of the Playboy enterprise is not as it once was, it still appears mighty. All of this sprouted from one very creative and clever man who started out as a cartoonist. He built the magazine from nothing.

It is now fifty five years old, the magazine. As such, the editors decided to change the format a bit. The layout is a bit more modern, more color, less structure. It is by and large a very heady magazine. There are impressive essays about all manner of things including politics, the current war in Iraq, and sex in our modern society. There was a recent essay on the use of the word 'fag' and what that means in today's society. Any in-depth discussion of language is something that appeals to me.

None of this would be noticed, at least not these days, without the girls. The girls are central to the purpose and meaning of the magazine. It is rather simple yet brilliant idea, photographing women without their clothes. Yet, like most things, it is only as powerful as the people involved. There is great care put into the girls and the photographer's art.

Mr. Hall and I have discussions about the girls photographed, about the lighting, the poses, the make up and set designs. I have always found the pictures to be soft yet potent. I have always found the women to be posed in an evocative yet natural way. Some of the celebrity layouts are lacking, but then again, it takes a certain amount of talent to be a nude model. Comfort in one's skin and the ability to let her own sparkle shine through.

Of all of the things I read, the magazine is something I look forward to each month. It is a relaxing exercise to review the photos and puts me in a sensual headspace. The essays and articles get me all fired up, sending my thinking into overdrive. A good read indeed.

That being said, this month's photos of Ms. Holly Madison just about destroyed me. She is photographed this month like she has never been photographed. They are truly amazing. I can say that in one of the photos, she laying on her back, heaps of platinum blond curls, ruby slippers, a blue checkered dress resting under the slippers, her skin milky stark. This photo stopped my breath and made my heart ache. She really did love Hef and her life at the mansion. She wanted to be his wife, have his babies. This was her home for seven years, that was house, and that was her man, her world.

However, it must have been a bit like Kansas, a small world onto itself. In the end though, she needed to leave, to seek her own way, to follow the yellow brick road and see where it goes.

This post is about Lost and/or

If you have NOT watched this week's Lost, git out of here--RIGHT NOW!!!!

The central issues I blogged about, whilst drunk, still stand. Each one of the Losties is on my short list. I find it hard to root for anybody except Desmond, Hugo, Locke and maybe JUST MAYBE Sawyer.

But, this is the problem with a long narrative type show, like Lost. In order to keep things interesting, the writers must move the plot along. This is usually done one of two ways, 1. character development 2. plot development. Lost is a blend of both. Which is great. Except every time a character develops, well, it is a result of some moral failing. They can be a bunch a dickweeds sometimes.

The plot advances are centered around a magical land of yore, AKA the island. Which in all honesty, I have a hard time following. But, I don't really care. I mean, doesn't Hawaii look so beautiful? We went to that island, Maui. Some of the places the characters have been, Mr. Hall and I have been. That trip was awesome, filled with all sorts of hotel sex.

Wait, no, I was talking about the show.

I think last season the show became very bloated with characters. I am glad to see a bunch of them developing nosebleeds. Weeds out the weak ones. I have never from DAY one enjoyed the man who sees the ghosts.





The red head (look up, she is right there) was cute but, must all the women be all science-y and tight and emotionally thin? It seems to be an archetype now a days in most movies/tv shows. When the character is a doctor/scientist/lawyer or what have you, she usually has incredible smarts but the huge emotional baggage that is evidenced by her display of being all badass and stand offish. GRRR!!!

YES KATE I AM LOOKING AT YOU!!!!


Again Kate, noone was there when you got off the plane because you have not made yourself available to anyone. Please fix this before you die an old lonely woman.

Wait, where was I going with this?

Well, I can't remember. Jebus. So, let's end with my personal connection with one of character's on lost.

For about ten years I had a best friend. Let's call her Sarah because that was her name. We bonded my first year in college and stayed together off and on for the next ten years. It was a bad relationship. She was downright mean and would rip me a new one every 6 months or so. She would accuse me of all sorts of selfish and ugly things. Some of them I actually did.

We were both daughters of emotionally unstable moms and didn't quite know how to forge a healthy adult female friendship. We were kind of like tiny carnivorous dinosaurs in that way. I did love her though. Not in the lesbian way. But the, she was my maid of honor at my wedding, but now I have no idea where she lives and this is kind of bittersweet and a relief at the same time kind of way. Chicks are so complicated, jeez!

Anyway, she was a woman of science and art, just like me.

She was in a band once, a band that booked gigs. She's a doctor now.

The band name . . . . . .


Faraday


Named after the same scientist that this character is named for. She was in this band a full 10 years before this show came out



Man he looks like a weasal huh? I do not trust the Faraday.

well, any thoughts on last's night episode can be left in the comments

HB2ME BTW! I am now 33 :)

Wednesday's Shrinkage and Word Association: Elevate

"Chocolate Moose"-get it? (hee hee)

This week, it's a twofer.


Update on the health efforts and word association. (if you would like to leave a word to be associated with, please leave one in the comments :)

(Apologies for the length.)

Word associated: Elevate
Suggested by: James

The word elevate is a nice one. It makes me think of lifting or raising up. Which leads me to the word 'ambition'. Which I never thought applied to me.

Yet, there is evidence to the contrary.

When I decided to become a nurse, I knew I would become one. Yet still, I was a lazy student. I worked hard, learned what I needed to learn. And somewhere along the line, "nurse" was cemented into my DNA.

As such, when I went back to become a nurse practitioner, I found myself in the same pattern of learning because it was required to learn. There was passion for nursing, but not for most aspects of learning.

Until . . . . . .


I steered my attention to psychiatric nursing. I was lit up with such fervor I could have powered Las Vegas. And it was hard, switching to psychiatric care. Psychiatric nursing is like no other type of nursing. Completely foreign to me. I struggled and stumbled at first. A lot of struggle and stumbling. But dammit.

Failure was not even remotely possible. I absolutely knew I had the chops to thrive and grow in this field of nursing. I worked very, very hard. And then, I worked even harder. And here I am, a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. Not too shabby.

This was my first brush with ambition, seeking to elevate myself.

Before this, I think of how it came about that I met Mr. Hall. I remember wanting to become a wife and a mother. I opened 'yahoo' personal ad. I scanned the other ads like job applicants. This is one of keys to the successful marriage before me. Picking the absolutely right guy.

And then my kids. I know the exact hour they were conceived. When I was given the green light, I tracked my ovulation in all the ways one can. It has been the only time in my marriage when I've had to wake my husband up, rouse him from a dead sleep even, to get the job done. Twice a day at times. Honestly, I overpowered his libido. This was unheard of before or since. But, once the green light apears again, well, it's on.

And now, I seek to elevate my health. My next goal is to tap into my ambition. I have already used some to learn how to cook. Really cook. With spices and everything. I am learning how to chop, sauté, mix vegetables and sauces. I am learning how to use spices to give my dishes flavor that lingers and loves.

During all of this, my mom is being a shithead. Well, sometimes. She rolls her eyes, makes comments and generally displays her disdain for the way I cook. She feels it is a rejection of her. Which it is really. Well, not her, but the fact that she was 253 lbs at my wedding. My kids will not know how that feels.

Now, let me pull back. The goal of working out. I must use my passion to get there. I can visualize the results, know they are completely achievable. And fucking get out of here and kick some ass.

The blogless BadgerDaddy, he speaks!

This is not the profile image of BadgerDaddy. He does not have one, yet.

(PSST-Before we begin, at the end of this post is a question for everyone who reads this blog)

Ok-so-Ya'll know about the interview experiment right?

If no, it goes like this: one blogger interveiws another, the questions/answers are posted on the appopriate blog, readers of that interview request to be interviewed in the comments, they are interviewed, they post their answers on the appropriate blog, etc etc . . . on and on. And again, if you would like to be interviewed, please indicate that in the comments. :)

BadgerDaddy was interested in being interveiwed, but alas, he has no blog. But does that stop Mrs. Hall??!! HECK NO!! I still interviewed him and here are his answers. They are quite interesting. He uses the word 'titwank', which I promptly added to my vocabulary!

The interview of the Blogless BadgerDaddy

By: Mrs. Holly Hall

1. What is your favorite piece of clothing and why?

There are so many answers to this. Exercise kinda clothing, I have a pair of Skins compression tights which I love, and they look ridiculous on me. I like wearing them when running, people don't know what to make of it. I have some lovely football shirts too, some of which were gifts that I'm very fond of. Oh, I have a great pair of socks too, made by brasher... They're amazing.

To be honest though, I don't pay much attention to my clothes, to my wife's chagrin - she thinks I should be showing my arse and thighs off more. I could always go trouserless, I guess.

Actually, writing about her has helped me realise what my favourite article of clothing is. It's two, actually; we did the Vegas half marathon the day we got married, and the souvenir shirt from that is pretty special. And we had t-shirts made for the wedding itself, as a souvenir, and my 'The Groom' t-shirt holds joint first place.


2. How many push ups can you do?

A few. With someone on my back, I can only do maybe three or four, depending on how heavy they are. In one go, I can comfortably do 30 to 40; if I get to take a break between sets, I can do absolutely loads!

3. What did you think of Prince Harry's scandalous tape released recently?
He's young, but that's no excuse for being an absolute titwank.

4. How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Would that I knew what a woodchuck was. This, then, is guesswork. My guess is, very little. The woodchuck in my imagination is very self-aware, and after chucking just a small amount of wood, he begins to wonder 'why?'

5. Why did you stop blogging and erase the archives?

My first blog was exceptionally candid, and was for the wider world, not the narrow one around me. When that was 'discovered', I actually moved house; being pointed out once in the street is quite enough. The second blog, the last one, was never as much fun. I worried about it being found, as I had moved back to my home town, and in the interim I had got married and taken on a stepdaughter. I didn't want her or my lovely wife getting any shit because of me and my sense of humour.

I do miss blogging, but I wouldn't do it again while I live in this town. Fresh eyes and new experiences make blogging fun, and my life here is affected very strongly by history, and it's just not the same. I couldn't have written about the last six months without mentioning my in-laws, for example, and if that had been read about, it could have caused even more trouble than I caused on my own.

As for deleting the archives, the temptation to start again would have been too great if I'd been able to look back at times when I had mildly amused someone, once. Ah, those glory days. Well, glory day.

Also, and this is a major part of it, I found that most of my energies were going in to work and blogging. I'd like to get a few novels started and see where they go; there's no way I'd do that if there were a blog running as well. It seems, internally, to be an either/or scenario. So the blog had to go, and I still haven't started because I've got too much work on... Ho hum. But by the end of February,

I'll have something rolling and we'll see what happens.

Enough of my burble. Thanks for the questions.

x

BONUS QUESTION (AND EVERYONE WHO READS THIS, FEEL FREE TO ANSWER TOO-IN THE COMMENTS):

How often do you read my blog, what do you like/dislike? (I've stopped keeping track of visitors so I am just curious :)

I stop by your blog reasonably frequently - you're on a live bookmark, so I see new posts. When I have time, I even read them! There's no right, wrong, good or bad with blogs, because they're so personal. The ones I dislike are the impersonal ones - what's the point?