Bands I've broken up with: Tori Amos

Tori Amos used to be a big fat moon in my nighttime sky. My daytime sky too. Her songs spelled out my story for quite some time.

Her music happened to me during my year abroad. Again, it was long, naked and punk year. Again, I was nineteen. I was so happy that year. I giggled and giggled most every day. But, it was a solo project. At least at first.

One day, I looked through the personal ads to find a friend. There was a quirky ad that read "looking for a rude girl for a rude boy with eclectic tastes". A bouncy and giggly message was left at the beep. On the other end was Rob.

hello Mr Zebra
can I have your sweater
cause it's cold cold cold
in my heart heart heart
Ratatouille Strychnine
sometimes she's a friend of mine
with a gigantic whirlpool
that will blow your mind

Dating him was fast and fun. He introduced me to a whole other world of men. Men that played rugby and went to bars. Men that danced to ska, wore braces and drank shorties. I fell deeply in love with him. He was the first gentleman I had ever dated. He would open doors and speak softly.

His love of music was impressive. He made me mix tapes that were beyond compare. I found one the other day. He always used a black sharpie to neatly write out all the song and band names. He would even come up with clever titles for the mixes. His touch was always personal.

It felt so avant garde, dating him. So new and other worldly. I had never known anyone like him.

He was a wee bit older than me. Something like five years. I didn't realize it, but I wasn't showing him anything all that new. It was just new to me.

Let me repeat that. I was not new to him. This was a new experience, not being considered so unique, so different. It was the first time I felt normal, among my people. It was like finding a member of my tribe. Maybe I am not so different after all.

nothing gonna stop me from floating
nothing gonna stop me from floating

On every date, I would bring him little gifts from the dollar section at Walgreens. Little items with symbolic meanings. One time I brought him a soap box so that he would also remember to stand on it and speak his mind. It was a blue plastic soap box, but he got the idea anyway.

When we were in bed, we would share twixes, his favorite candy bar. I would keep my tights on for him because at that time, I didn't shave my legs or under arms. Stroking my thighs with the tights was more tactically pleasing.


Look I'm standing naked before you
Don't you want more than my sex
I can scream as loud as your last one
But I can't claim innocence

Feminist inspired hygiene issues aside, he was very charmed by me. I feel deeply in love. So much so that when we talked on the phone, i heard whispers. I want to marry this guy, they said. I told him this. He said he loved me too. He was cautious though, at least that's what I thought he meant.

I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Our courtship was interrupted. Rob was in the army and went to serve in Bosnia. That soap box came in handy, it was a travel soap dish after all. We exchanged letters. He wrote about the devastation. How the area where they were stationed was the former site of the Olympics. Now it was a bunch of bombed out buildings. Him and his Sargent use to chuck oranges, breaking the windows.

He would tell me about the locals who had no idea how to make sandwiches for the "Americans". They would just throw a raw fish (complete with bones and scales) right on a bun. Tasty.

At that time, stateside, my love for Tori Amos grew unchecked. I had seen about four of her concerts at that point. I swam under her music, not coming up to breathe for another two years. I was obsessed. To this day I can here two notes from her first three albums (Silent All These Years, Under the Pink, Boys for Pele) and I can still sing any song, chapter and verse. All the lyrics here are from those albums.

All that emotional turmoil, all the things I was feeling was fodder in her songs. However, with each album, she began to lose control of the reins. Her music grew to be blathering. It became repetitive and lost it's meaning.

This was the problem with me too. I had no structure to who I was. My heart was formless and gushed without forethought. I was nowhere near a place of monogamy. Which was the one thing Rob had asked me for.

Ginger is always sincere
Just not to one man

I cheated on Rob, while he was in Bosnia. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for this. He knew about it before I told him. Things were obvious at that point.

found your writing on my wall
if my hearts soaking wet
boy your boots can leave a mess

He broke up with me. There was nothing dramatic about it, he just turned around and walked away, not weeping. But his hurt was overwhelming. My heart felt stomped on by his big army boots. And yes, it left a very big mess. I was a very big mess.

I spent an entire year in mourning. Twelve months of feeling so sad, so hurt. It was horrible. Serves me right. I still dated other people though. LOTS of people. Too many people. They all saw the hurt. My heart was still with him.

boys on my right side
boys on my left side
boys in the middle and you're not here
boys in their dresses
and you're not here

We would talk during this time. Rob was the kind of guy who made it a point to stay in contact with people he loves. He pursued my friendship despite my efforts to shut the door completely. Being with him was painful, I still loved him so much. He was a gentleman and let me heal.

no one's picking up the phone
guess it's me
and this little masochist
she's ready to confess
all the things that i never thought
that she could feel

After a while, things began to warm. I took a greyhound bus to Chicago to see him.

The inevitable backslide occurred. I remember siting across his lap. He was sitting up, facing me. We were in bed, waking up. I remember pontificating about my future. What was the next step? I could move down to Chicago and be his girlfriend. But, no. That wouldn't be right. He readily agreed.

I didn't realize it, but at the time, he never invited me to move in. He didn't call attention to this fact. He was a very kind man.

I had decided that my next step was to go to nursing school. Which I did.

I will always regret how I hurt Rob. How careless I was with his heart. I still ache when I think about it. Serves me right.

But I had to leave Tori behind. I had to eventually break up with her and her band. Too much drama from too much freedom.

I still have all of Rob's letters from his time in Bosnia though.

There is no way in hell I am going to read them. Maybe in ten years, but not now and not anytime soon.

I can thank him though, he was the first real man I dated. It was a good lesson to learn, what it is to be respected and heard. He never quite understood me though, but even I didn't understand me at that point. Never quite had a handle on me. That would be Mr. Hall's future job.

We kept in touch after I started nursing school. He did meet Mr. Hall. In fact, he took the very first picture of Mr. Hall and I. They liked each other, bantered about their respective time in the Army. Rob even stood up in our wedding. The last I had heard from him, was when I was pregnant with my daughter. I still miss him.

Take care Rob, you are an awesome guy.

hello Mr Zebra
can I have your sweater
cause it's cold cold cold
in my heart heart heart
Ratatouille Strychnine
sometimes she's a friend of mine
with a gigantic whirlpool
that will blow your mind

Mr. Zebra is one minute and 34 seconds long.

Take a listen, you already read through the lyrics ;)

Let's open our hymnals to the book of RuPaul, chapter 2 verse 1

It appears my pledge of slowing down the posts was pure B.S. Honestly, it appears I just can't help myself.

Well, oh well, I am putting this up to help lighten the place up after the previous post. :)

Let's discuss the difference between men and women.

Specifically, let's discuss the expression of femininity versus masculinity.

The Yin and Yang of RuPaul

I've been watching a bit of RuPaul's new show, "Drag Race". Such fun having cable!

First, let me say how much RuPaul meant to me as a teenager. When I was a young, artsy and isolated teen, stuck in a one horse town, I heard about RuPaul. I saw his video, read articles. And I cannot tell you what it meant to me, hearing all of it. I didn't quite understand what was happening, but RuPaul helped me figure a lot out. And, as role models go, RuPaul was one of the best. And if she is reading this right now, and really, why wouldn't RuPaul be reading Mrs. Hall? THANK YOU!!

About two years ago, I purposefully sought to become a real woman. I started wearing make up and dressing nicely. At first, it was a disaster. I had no effing idea what I was doing. Plus I was cheap so the make up I bought was absolute crap. When I did start to see a glimmer of fabulous, I felt like a drag queen. It felt unnatural and agitating.

This was all out of proportion of course. But try telling that to a very scared 29 year old, opening up places she had nailed shut a long time ago.

Again, I went to the words of RuPaul for guidance.

When he is in full drag queen regalia, he is six foot 8, wearing pancake make up and gigantic hair. His inspiration comes from women, however, he is not a female impersonator. No woman looks like this honey.

I have gotten a lot better at it, wearing make up. My kids' baby sitter helped me, A LOT. She was the one who introduced me to Sephora. The more I express my feminity, the prettier I become, the more powerful I feel. Being a babe is akin to growing 50 feet tall.

All I have to say is heated eye lash curler and mascara. Try them and your life will be changed.


This part of becoming a woman, well, this part I have no trouble with.

Again, let's listen to the kind and lovely words of one Miss RuPaul. He gave an interview once, that when he dressed in drag he felt fierce beyond compare. But, it is just part of who he is, the drag is just an extension.

AND THAT IS THE GODDAMN KEY TO ALL OF THIS

However we express who we are, gender will always be a factor. And when I am full on female gorgeous, it is just an extension of what is inside.

Self-Potrait by RuPaul

And let me leave you this, from RuPaul

"Your fabulousness is YOUR responsibility"

Damn straight girl, damn straight !!

And let me say that when the wee Pancake and I dance to this song, we do indeed sashay AND shante!

Exchanging emails on the crazy

This email exchange took place recently between me and my husband.



jeff(mr. hall)-

I am not sure if my parent's are coming up this weekend. They kind of freaked out after their initial offer of help. Well, my mom freaked out. She said she doesn't know if she wants to go, she promised her friends she would go to breakfast after all.

She also said she and my dad are not getting along well. This is true. They are really kind of fighting in that passive aggressive ugly way. My Dad's natural tendencies of assholery are becoming unbridled. And when I am not there they have no control of Pancake and her antagonism of my Dad. She likes to poke at him, get physical. This upsets my Dad who does what he always does, yell and get loud.

Which I mean, we both know what is going on there. They have no control over her for a reason. They spoil her and don't enforce any rules. And she is a child.

But, despite this, I am fighting the urge to sort of blame myself for the ill feelings and communications between my parents. I mean, I do stir things up and I am starting to temper some of this. But, when I am hurting, like I was the last couple of days, I really just withdraw from them. I take me and the kids in another room. Take care of me and mine.

This has not let my mom feel supported. She sits alone with the HGTV and my dad swears downstairs.

And I thought we all had a breakthrough yesterday, when I started crying, asking for their help with packing up the house this weekend. And they did offer. But, it was short lived.

Basically, after I started the kid's bath, my mom was kind of crying on the couch. My Dad was down stairs. She was saying, "I don't want to go, your dad and I are not getting along." And she started crying harder and said, "I just can't take this anymore, between your Dad and Pancake and you guys living here." And I left the room. I just don't have the energy for that kind of thing.

I did approach her later, and basically said it's ok if they don't come, you and I will be ok. That I didn't mean to start a big drama by asking for their help.

She said I didn't start anything by asking. That helped. But, as is her usual, she didn't want to talk about it. I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!! I am sure when I get home tonight it will be just fine, she'll be all happy and chipper, like nothing happened. I am glad I am not the only to see these goddamn moodswings. I am glad you see them too.

Which is fine really. I mean, I feel fine. I let out some hurt and sadness. They listened. And they continue to fail miserably at what I need. But they listened and gave me a bit of sympathy.

And that is all I needed cause DAMN!! I feel sooo much better today.

I feel energized and ok with the looseness of all of this. I mean, there is no list, no time line. Progress is slow and sputtering. But, it's happening. Bit by bit it will get done.

I love you and am so glad you are my husband.

Yay us!!!

:)


()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
to which he responded
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()


L- I was all like ugg when you mentioned bringing both parents anyways. Diminishing returns et al. You just come down with the kids. We’ll get some stuff done while they play. Kid’s museum. Family time away from your parents. I’m only going to work tue-thu now generally. Bring minivan without third seat so we can pack it up for return trip. Things will be fine babe. We just need to keep clear heads above the chaos. It’s not so bad really. Just hard when we are drained of energy to start. LU and you’re the best.

. . . . . and that's is why I am married to mr. hall . . . . .

Rebuttal from Mr. Hall (he speaks!!)

Mr. Hall offers a rebuttal of the post entitled, "I once shoved Mr. Hall in art museum". He also provided the graphic.

"Red square" Kazimir Malevich 1913

"As usual, there is a journalistic slant in your recounting of events. FIRST of all, you didn't shove me, you punched me in the chest. Then, those photos you have, I don't disagree with some of that is art. It was the stupid red square that you didn't post a photo of. "

So there ya go, the other side of the story. Have a good weekend all!

Too much yet not enough

I've been having a long think about things.

Do you realize that for every post I post there are four or five other posts that I don't?

That's a lotzza posts.

I write because I am a writer. All I have to do is open the spigot, just a little bit, and whamo. There is a thrill to all this, to putting all my work out, right now. And there is no editor, no one to tell me what or how to do all of this. It's like being in a candy store.

This lends itself to being too much and not saying enough. Which compromises the goal of this here blog. The goal of adding something artsy, marital and original to the conversation. And that's what this is, a conversation.

At this point, I want to focus the conversation inward, to me and my family. This is why I changed all my profile information. This blog will be a documentation of me and mine. My heart, my mind and my family.

Lots of fodder.

So-this is my challenge. I will trim the posts to twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. Mondays will a more lengthy post. Fridays will be shorter and funner. Only the best writing goes here.

That way, ten years from now, there will be only the best to read. And it will be very manageable.

I will tell less and show more.


SO-speaking of too much



Let me leave you with a clip. This clip is something that I have absolutely no words for. I mean, honestly, I saw this and I was



gobsmacked.



I just don't have the words here.


What can I say about my ongoing obsession with the Girls Next Door. Best to just ride with it I suppose.

This clip has a commercial in the beginning, but wait, it'll come.



Leave the comments about the clip. Please, comment away :)

I stole something today

ahh, sin. yes, lovely sin. breathe it in people, breathe it in :)



I stole something today. It was a completely premeditated theft.

Ya see, I have what is called the mirena IUD (click here-its the one on the right). Which is fabulous by the way. So very very faboosh!! For those who don't know, the IUD goes is an intra-uterine-device that keeps a women from conceiving. It goes here (click here). I believe it may be the most perfect birth control.

Really, it is the perfect birth control. It requires ZERO effort on my part. Well, I had to remember to make an appointment to get it placed. So easy this appointment. Having it placed involves the same procedures and equipment as any other gynecology appointment. There is the gown, the foot rests nee' stirrups but gimme a break they are what they are and a speculum. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. It is a sigh of relief that can begin a total of five years worth of birth control. I've had two now. Again, FABOOSH!!

Getting it removed though, well, that was a bit um, disappointing.

Ya see, getting pregnant is a very exciting time in a marriage. All sorts of hyper and enthusiastic sex. It is pure and primal. And the love, oh the love. After all, that is what sex is for, making babies. All sorts of hyper and enthusiastic love gushing back and forth.

It was a disappointing contrast between what we felt and what we were doing. I mean, to celebrate and start the process of gushy baby making, to celebrate the sexy marital love, we booked an appointment to have my mirena removed. It was disappointing, basically Jeff went with me to something very much like a pap test. (Oh you know you want to click here)

Jeff whined that there were no good magazines to read, just two year old copies of ladies home journal.

Well what did you expect, I say, this is the women’s health clinic.

It was very anticlimactic.

Then we went to Hawaii. Was all sorts of fun. Some four weeks later, I was pregnant with Mac.

In my past, I was meticulous about conceiving. I can tell you the very hour each baby was conceived. I know because I tracked my ovulation like a crazed stalker.

No more I say, no more! This time, in present day, we will let nature take it's course. Or I will anyway. It will be as natural as possible. Jeff and I will be in charge of the entire process from beginning to birth. Starting with the withdrawal of my mirena.

It started today, at a routine doctor's appointment.

THAT’S RIGHT!!!

I swiped a plastic, disposable speculum. It was sterile and sealed hermetically in a clear plastic bag. Swiped from the middle drawer under the exam table.

Put in my totebag and brought it home. It felt tender in the tote bag, like a puppy. It's now tucked in my undie drawer, waiting patiently. When I see it there I comfort it. I say, patience my love, it'll be soon, very very soon.


Yes, yes, it is all very good.

So very, very twinkly good.


Amen I say, amen.

So THAT'S what drunk feels like!!

Today is Friday and dammit, I have so much. But, gonna hold it in, let it germinate.

I can say I have started experimenting with alcohol. I enjoy one cocktail a week. So far I have tried a few jack and cokes (gave me a headache every time), one or two orange juice with vodkas (too many calories) and one chocolate martini.

DAYUM!!!

So----chocolate martinis then.

Holy good Lord!! So THAT'S what drunk feels like!!

I ordered it as part of my ongoing experiment. It was very tasty. Then I felt my lips go numb. And I couldn't stop giggling. I felt all floaty and busty. And really really sneaky. I felt fabulous. Then my cheeks started to hurt from all the happy smiling. But it didn't matter because my face started to go numb. Still giggly though. hee hee. And there was much flirting between me and the Mister. The kids weren't there, it was like a date!

I must say, it was a happy night, the martini night. I must remember to harness this power of martini goodness for the appropriate times. And perhaps only have half of one. After all, when Mr. Hall and I got home, other things were numbed. That's no good. But yeah, martinis gets 2 thumbs up!

By far, the best cocktail I have had is rum with diet coke. Tasty, fun and only 3 points. Well, the points (aka calories are) questionable. I mean, I bought a 'jigger' to measure the booze out. Only there is two sections to the 'jigger' (see pix below). Which side is the 'jigger' measurement?



Ah nuts, does it really matter?

I didn't think so ;)


O-BTW- I am now two pounds form my goal weight. Cause I rock!!!

here's hoping you have a swinging weekend!



UPDATE: HEY CHECK OUT MY NEW PROFILE (THE LONG VERSION)!!! SWEEET!! AND WTF, WHY DOESN'T THE STUFF THAT NORMALLY SHOWS UP ON THE RIGHT SOMETIMES MOVE TO THE BOTTOM OF MY BLOG? HUH.

take care!!!

What I will miss cable when I move. I will miss the stream of super family shows the most.

One of the superfamilies shows, is called 18 and counting. This would be the Duggar family. They have 18 kids. They had them one at a time and support themselves via rental properties, farming and living within a church community. It works, their system.

Note the ankle length denim skirts, NOTE THEM!!

This show, it calls to me. I see a lot of our family in their family. There is a loving husband and wife, their life is focused on the kids, they are relaxed and self-sustaining. They have 'conservative' values. They have a life focused on God.

It all looks very nice, warm and inviting. And I follow along with them, on their journeys, via the LCD screen. They look like very happy people, all sorts of squishy family love.

This positive experience is always interrupted though. It's those damn ankle length denim skirts the women wear. Like a fly caught in a window pane, buzzing spasmodically-but not dying. THAT is what those skirts feel like, to me.

This garment is part of their religion. I think there is a passage in the bible somewhere that says women shall not use the clothing of men. Or, women should dress like women and men like men. This is why most of your fundamental Christian women wear the long, ankle length denim skirts. And white anklet socks. And white keds.

It irritates me to no end. I can fly into a psychotic rage if I linger too long with my thoughts on the matter.

Ya see, to truly live the life they lead, to truly dissolve yourself in the culture and faith of their community, I would have to omit certain areas of my life. Truly, I understand where they are coming from, why they shun modern society. There is a lot of disagreeableness out there. All sorts of sin and in congruency with what they value, what I value. This is why they shun movies with violence and sexual content. Why nekkid nekkid is reserved for the marital bedroom. That is not to say they look with shame onto sex or love.

In fact, they have very healthy way of understanding sex and love. There was one episode, when their oldest son got married, where the father gave him some absolutely wonderful advice about sex. He basically said women need nurturing, they need to be cared for, throughout the day, to feel loving. Communication is so important, women need to talk about things and include details most men find unnecessary. But the husband needs to listen, to show her his love.

Men are much different, he said. Men basically have on and off switches. It is up to the man to slow down, understand the wife's needs and support her. Then he gave him a DVD/Book that outlined the practicalities of sex, the importance of touching, looking and exploring their sexual bodies. Mex is wonderful and a gift to each other, as husband and wife. A gift from God.

Husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Hall, on their honeymoon

Of all the sex talks I've heard about, this was by far the most moving, the most valuable for that young man. And he was very young, eighteen in fact. His bride was also eighteen. And this is where it gets complicated. They, the kids, were not only virgins, but they had never actually kissed each other.

Whoa.

The thing is, is that some of what their life is about, is very true. For me anyway. There is so much joy to be had when you strip your life of peripheral influences. There is so much out there to distract and numb ourselves. For example- the 800 cable channels my parents have. All of it pretty much useless. And heavy on my senses. I will be glad when it is gone. I also shun most modern devices and gadgets. Not because I don't want them, but they numb my brain.

Yet as I walk through this life, focused on my family, focused on a greater purpose, I still value some of the evil out there.

Like art in all it's forms. Women centered art is the best. I can't help but truly enjoy a good Playboy or indie art project celebrating the beauty of women. These women, for the most part, are smiling, happy enjoying themselves. This is women folks, beautiful and enthusiastic and not wearing any clothes. So how do I reconcile all of this? Being drawn toward a pious life yet appreciating such sin?

The other Holly in her swan song pictorial

Here's the thing, being aware and in tune with high concepts such as spirituality, religion, morals, all of this is based on the duality of existence. If you recognize good, you recognize evil. However, it is impossible to ever separate one from the other. EVER. Good and evil are inexorably tied to one another there is no separation. No versus, just channeling the different energies.

And so, basing one's life on exclusion or omission of all that is evil is to deny life. So by all means, let me know God's love, feel the good word, raise my family focused on the greater. And let me see God's beauty. Let it calm and inspire me to share the happy and joy it makes me feel.

It's all part something greater than me. Something that I am not separate from but thriving in. It's all good, all solidifying, all reinforcing the joy I feel while being who I am.

Sadly, no matter what, I will never ever understand or accept ankle length denim skirts. Dear Lord, no. No no no. This will be my sin.

Now go forth and sin no more good people!

Daddy- as viewed by Pancake

"Daddy, when you come here, why do you take care of things?"

My daughter says this after recieving a five minute warning to finish up her breakfast. She has been sloooowwwwllly eating for about twenty minutes at this point. (Daddy comes up every weekend as we relocate to a new city).

I peak my head around the corner, curious about what she means by this.

"What do you mean Pancake, that Daddy takes care of things?"

She doesn't say anything. She is thinking, using her six year old logic and understanding of the situation.

"Well, Grandma lets me watch tv when I am eat breakfast and Daddy says no." she says.

You can tell she is not upset by this, just sort of stumped by it. Well, she is irritated, I mean, who doesn't want to watch a little Spongebob while eating cereal?

"Daddy is full of rules sweetheart. Daddy thinks about things. " He says this without any doubt in his voice.

And it is true. He is a Daddy who keeps everything in line. And I cannot wait until all the rules and routines and OUR ways of parenting are back in place. And it will might be hard for the kids, adjusting to life without cable, tvs in every room, corndogs for dinner. But there is no doubt how much they are loved, how much we care for them.

le sigh

Tonight I will be looking at a house. And the process of putting everything back into place-will begin in earnest. :)

Good Sunday Morning to you!

I set my alarm a little early to wake before the kiddies. Had my waffles and coffee before they woke up.

Poor Mac, he has to deal with girl hand me downs.

At eight oclock am, Pancake and Mac came wobbling out of their room. All messy hair and rubbing eyes. "Tired", Mac said plainly and then plopped on the couch next to me.

Pancake launched into this diatribe,

"I dreamed it was night and I went to gymnastics and then I wanted to go to the basketball class and when I was in basketball class they wanted to do swimming moves and I changed my mind and wanted to go back to gymnastics and said I would come back when I was done."

She took a breathe and did some more eye rubbing and snuggling on the couch. Adjusting the blankets around the three of us. "Then Mac started to spin around in the room like TEN TIMES and got in my bed and sat on my head. It was morning then."

I flipped on Spongebob and breathed in the little kid fragrance. A few minutes went by.

"Can I have some waffles please?" says the Pancake.

"WAAAFFFLLESS!!!!"

yelps Mac, who in one solid motion jumps from the couch and heads towards the kitchen.

"Sure little people of my life, It'll be right up, you want strawberry or blueberry?"

It's gonna be a good day every one :)

Happy Sunday :)

They did kill her after all

Has everyone heard that two of Anna Nicole Smith's doctors (one being her primary care doc and one being her psychiatrist) and her main man Howard K. Stern have been charged in with her death? Well, you have now.

And

I am really shocked about the whole deal. But not for the reasons you may think.

For those that are new, I am a psychiatric nurse practitioner. I have the power to prescribe medications including the ones that resulted in Ms. Smith's death. I remember reading through the list of meds that she was taking when she died. They included multiple pain medications and benzos (anti-anxiety/muscle relaxants) and a few hypnotics (medications that make you sleep).

I was not shocked at her medication list.

I have seen lists like that many times. It's called polypharmacy and it is very common in the United States. Sometimes, people demand a lot from medication. They can demand that it fix everything that upsets them. Somes, people also have underlying addictions to alcohol and other drugs and when they try to sober up, they seek out prescription meds to fill the void. Some are not willing to take no for an answer.

I have a lot of experience with this. And I say no. Which RESULTS IN THIS POST.

But, I am one of a million prescribers out there. Not all of us are such high minded folks. No pun intended.

When the addict won't take no for an answer, they will find another prescriber. Sometimes they will see two or three prescribers, often using different clinics, different pharmacies, all to fill their addiction. They will seek care under different names. That way, the pharmacies won't catch on. Other addictive behavior includes lying to the prescribers to get early refills, saying things like, "the pill bottle was in my coat and i gave my coat to good will" or "it was in my pants and I washed it" or "it was in my car and my car was stolen". All bullshit addict talk. All bullshit addict game playing. All sad and part of the problem.

I have been a nurse long enough to see this kind of addict behavior a mile a way. Which is good, as I am not part of the problem. I am part of the solution.

Yet the doctor and the psychiatrist that tended to Anna Nicole? There is no way they did not understand what they were doing. Which was killing her. And they were doing it for greed and personal gain. And I am shocked people. Shocked they were charged. Noone calls out prescribers for polypharmacy. We all kind of sigh and pass it off.

I really think I have become too complacent with all of this. With seeing the laundry lists of multiple meds. I need to be more vigilant with my patients' care. Call attention to medication lists that will kill them. Either way, I hope the doctors get the chair.

It's a good thing the doctors were charged. Maybe that will help all of us pony up more. Be better at what we do, which is help people.

Let me end with another blogger's summary of the incident, which is supurb. It is from the site, What Would Tyler Durden DO? http://www.wwtdd.com/ It sums it all up just fine.

Anna Nicole Smith died on February 8, 2007, at the Hard Rock Hotel in Hollywood, Florida, from an overdose of the sedative chloral hydrate combined with three different types of the sedative benzodiazepine. Her autopsy said her death was not homicide, suicide, or natural causes. Unfortunately for her lawyer Howard K. Stern, the autopsy doctor is not a cop, and the cops make a frowny face when you give a drug addict barrels full of psychoactive drugs whose primary function is to slow down the central nervous system.

Flashback Friday: "Marriage and Sex: Observations on the male sex drive"

Can anyone come up with a better name than "Flashback Fridays" for when I reprint older posts because I love them so and they would like to be shown off again? :)

As I weave my sexuality back together, I can't help but envy Mr. Hall. Or men in general. Apparently, all it takes to become aroused is consciousness. And if they are near the one who reciprocates the love, then it is unbridled, this arousal. This is especially true for Mr. Hall.

There was an incident, about six years ago, when I was about four months preggos. Chubby, but not obviously pregnant. Pregnancy induced horrible cystic acne. Short boy hair cut (don't ask). Still throwing up. Mr. Hall and I had spent the day at a water park. Me being chubby, horrible cystic acne and short boy hair cut. I felt fugly. And when we got home, he began chasing me around. What the hell?, I thought. Can't you see me? What has gotten into you? And he said, "I've been staring at you all day, I just couldn't wait to get home."

That is when I realized---my husband has permanent love goggles on.

Some five years and two kids later, it remains much the same. Saturday was a day of filling sippy cups, braiding hair, mowing lawns, laundry, blah blah blah domestic bliss blah blah. And we fall into bed. And the chasing begins in earnest. What the heck? I think. And I ask, "What was so arousing today? Was it something I wore? " I mean, I do look good these days, what with the 35 lb weight loss. And I cannot say enough about the wonderbra. But no, none of this was the ticket. Although it does help, he said.

"It was just being around you, sorry it's not more complicated", he said smiling.

My husband is awesome. I need to follow this lead. To be aware of how much he is to me and all the places he excites me. Letting the love flow around me at all times. Not just when I let it. Hee hee. Married sex is fun.

Have a good weekend everyone :)

Holy Prophesy Batman!

Again, last weekend was spent cleaning out our house, sorting and tossing. Getting it ready for sale.

So much was unearthed in terms of records and recordings of our past.

One of the boxes, all about my failings as a girlfriend is documented here.

There is so much stuff, so much to blog about!! It'll come soon enough.

For now, let me just say, I felt a little cold coming on before we started sorting and tossing. And all this sorting and tossing was done in a very drafty, cold and wet house. As a result, I have been very sick. Also, I have struggled for two days to get my voice back.

I'm all squeaky like one of those munchins from the Wizard of Oz and tonal like the Brady kid when his voice changed. Which is funny to my patients as I ask them,

"ARE YOU HAVING ANY SIDE EFFECTS FROM THE MEDICATION?"

And I am screaming this, only it is coming out a croaked whisper. They laugh as I struggle to talk. Fun times had by all :)

Maybe I should take a day off.

Nah, screw that, they won't get my precious precious sick days. No, no!! Those are to be used for fun! Besides, the voice is 25% back. And I feel fine . . . (denial of a mother . . not taking care of self . . ) REALLY I'M JUST FINE!!! :)

My precious precious . . . .

Ok so, the BEST FIND THIS WEEKEND!!!!!

A box of correspondence that contained emails Mr. Hall and I exchanged when we started dating. We met online and lived about 2 hours apart for the first year or so of our relationship. Lots of email was flying back and forth. I will wait to read them. They will be savored slowly.

I did find a card I gave to Mr. Hall the night before we got married. It is a greeting card and has cheery greeting card stuff on it.

But, what I wrote, well, holy shit!! Take a look!!

"Jeff-tomorrow I will be your wife and officially Mrs. Hall. And I will strive to live up to the gloriousness of that name!!!

Love-Holly"

Dang!!!!

Guess I have always had a thing for that moniker, Mrs. Hall. And yes, I have indeed lived up to the gloriousness. :)

Please leave a message after the beep . . . .

Daddy (Mr. Hall) and the wee baby Pancake


We are at the house we own, sorting tossing, getting it ready for sale. The posts will have to wait a bit :)

Thank you for everyone that is helping me develop a reader's favorite corner by letting me know some of your favorite posts. And thank you and you and you for reading what ever you read-thank you again :)

Keep 'em coming!!! Lots of room in the Hall Hall of fame!!

In the meantime, THINK SUMMER!!!

COWABUNGA MAN!!

Pick your favorite post, not your nose!

Earl, the Verdant Dude himself (click here) has reached his 500th post. It took him about four years.

I have been blogging for about 9 months now, I am up to 246.

Jesus.

I am a bit scared to see how big this blog will be in four years.

And what the heck did I do with all of it BEFORE I started Mrs. Hall?

Well, sent long emails a lot. Well, I still send long emails, sorry about that ;)

But, I am thinking that I need to spiff the place up a bit. Create a space for reader's favorites. To help the newbies see the best and brightest of Mrs. Hall.

SO BY ALL MEANS

In the comments-let me know which post you liked a lot-no need to strain your brain for the title or exact content-just a general jist should do the trick!

OR-and I just thought of this-tell me one you absolutely did NOT like. hee hee.

And the reward? Well, I'll do an indepth review of your blog and exhault it's virtues here!

HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND AND ONCE AGAIN,

WE REALIZE YOU HAVE LOTS OF CHOICES IN THE BLOGOSPHERE, THANK YOU FOR FLYING AIR HALL!

The real story about the spank from Mr. Hall

Since this appears to be the week of Mr. Hall, perhaps it is time to tell the real story of the time Mr. Hall gave Mrs. Hall a spank. This story, sort of a fib/metaphor based on the real story.

This is the real story of the spank.

Pancake must have been about eight months old. That means were married about eight months +nine months (17 months total). A very young marriage indeed.

We planned a getaway to Las Vegas. It was my first time there. Very happy and giggly was I. I danced around a lot, pretending I was Vegas Showgirl with a fancy headdress. Things changed about three days before we left.

I began to endlessly worry about two things:

1. Making sure Mr. Hall mailed something the Saturday we were to leave. I can't remember why it had to be mailed THAT Saturday, be it absolutely had to be mailed THAT SATURDAY!!!

2. Arriving at the air port two hours before our flight. This was the national, post 9-11 recommendations for all who travelled via air plane. TWO HOURS!!!

My obsession with these items grew steadily and unchecked during the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday before our departure. Obsession. I was kind of like a parrot, repeating my instructions over and over.

"Make sure we wake up in time, we have to get there two hours ahead of time. And make sure you mail that thing!!!"

The Saturday morning comes. Mr. Hall gets out of bed about 1 hour and forty five minutes before the flight. I am livid. I hover like a bee, crazily buzzing. Telling him over and over and over, we have to get there, we are already late.

I can still see him at our old computer desk. Printing out our flight confirmations. Sipping coffee and ignoring me. Putting the thing that needs to be mailed in an envelope. I am livid but silent. I march away in a silent huff.

I take the luggage, put it in the car, start the car, come back in, he's still sitting there.

NOT DRESSED!!!

I get his clothes, put them next to the computer desk. He dresses.

Then, he looks right at me and says, "huh, I think we have to stop and get stamps so we can mail this."

A brick of dynamite goes off in my chest. I am reeling.

I push in front of him, my back is to him, my hands have grabbed the envelope.

"MOTHERFUCKER!!" I spit through clenched teeth.

That’s when he spanked me. It was a quick, swift and surgical smack. Right on the kisser. It hurt and I buckled.

We didn't talk the entire 2 hour flight to Vegas. I was pissed beyond belief.

When we touched down, we finally spoke.

Turns out, a lot of my anxiety and obsession was unwarranted. The thing that needed to be mailed, didn't need to be mailed that Saturday. And the airport we left from, well, it's a little airport. And we only had carry on bags. And we only lived about 5 minutes away from the airport. We got there about 30 minutes before the flight and that was plenty of time.

Of course, all my anxiety could have been diffused if Mr. Hall had helped me understand the reality of the situation. But, the more I obsessed and got bossy, the more he shut down and said nothing. Which only made me get more obsessed and bossy.

The final straw though, was the swear. We have a strict policy in the house of Hall against swearing and negative words. Even before we had kids we promised to elevate our communication above the use of foul language. Also, swearing is a pet pea with Mr. Hall.

He, to this day, regrets the spank. I regret the spank. Well, not really. It broke up a pattern of communication that was beginning to cement itself in our marriage. It gave us cause to pause.

And I am glad to say, there has not been a spank before or since. Unless requested of course. (and really, I don't request it, I mean, jebus, that hurts!!)

The secrets of Mr. Hall

On a long, late night drive, I was trying to think of things to talk about with Mr. Hall. We had three hours to go and the kids were fast asleep. We had been married about 6 years at that point. All told, eight years together.

I usually try to play 'word association' but this is no good. My husband traffics in logic and concrete connections. There is no looseness to his thoughts. Silliness maybe, but no looseness.

So I asked him to tell me something he had never told me before. He agreed on the condition that I go first. This was really hard. I talk a lot (surprise) and really hold nothing back in terms of my personal stuff (even bigger surprise). I had to dig super deep to find anything he didn't already know.

I can tell you what I said, but if you wait long enough, I am sure it will come out here, in the blog.

Then, he proceeded to tell me a secret. And I was gobsmacked!

Turns out, Mr. Hall has all sorts of private things he doesn't tell me. It's not for the lack of asking mind you, I ask him all sorts of things. He kind of filters his own information, decides what he wants to verbally communicate and what he can express in other ways. This is not a conscious process.

Everything he feels or experiences doesn't always translate into words. Or maybe they are held in a holding tank, waiting to be turned into words, then diverted to other areas in his body. Either way, all of this leads to secrets he has from me.

Which is crazy really. I mean, I am his wife. We have been married over eight years at this point. It drives me a little crazy thinking there are pockets of him I do not know about. And I know crazy.

Then I realize.

I know all about him, I can tell what he is thinking by the way he is breathing. Even with my eyes closed.

He demands so little of me to make him happy. Words are just small part. There are so many non verbal ways to affect him. I practiced this on Sunday.

He was crankily and tiredly eating his lunch while the kids were crankily and tiredly eating theirs. I was cranky and annoyed. We had been stuck in the house, all getting ready for a nap.

I felt an overwhelming urge to change his mood. I wanted him happy. No amount of pleading, chanting or gentle cheerleading would make a dent. But, he did end up feeling very chipper very soon after. All accomplished without words.

Mel Brooks is a goddamn genius

This is Mel Brooks with a busty lady. GENIUS!! I don't know what movie this is though.

"The Producers" is a film that saved my sanity when my husband was overseas. And to this day, the kids very much enjoy the movie. Of course, they haven't seen all the movie. But, the parts they have seen, well!!! It was a gay old time had by all.

This is Max Bialystok. He is a swindler and a schmoozer.

This is Leo Bloom, an accountant who is unhappy.

Bloom has dreams of becoming a producer and having lunch at Sardie's every day.

He is also Max Bialystok's account. Max pounces on Leo, drawing him into a scheme to make a million dollars by producing a Broadway play. But, it must be a flop, an absolute disaster. Leo agrees! And their off!!!

Max raises the seed money by swindling old ladies. GENIUS!!

The look for a horrible play and even worse playwright. They find a playwright who loves Hitler. The playwright is nuts but undeniably earnest. He has written a musical called "Springtime for Hitler" as a loving tribute to his hero. Max becomes excited, people will be so offended at the play they will turn away and the play will be a flop. It's all coming together.

Uma Thurman joins the fun as German eye candy, singing and talking in broken English with heavy German accent. She becomes Leo's girlfriend. The most genius part of this character is towards the very end, when she is singing one of the last songs. Her accent, just briefly, every so slightly . . . . fades . . . just for a second though (wink wink).

Max and Leo consult a choreographer and costume designer to add flair to Spring Time for Hitler." The man above is his common law

assssssssssssssssssssiiiiiissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssstant.

Sometimes, Pancake and I hiss our essess when we are being silly.

again GENIUS!!!

This is the costume designer, he ponders the whole thing, he stops, looks ill. He is having a stroke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . of GENIUS!!! He has visions of the play, everyone decked out in feathers and tiaras. He vows to keep it gay, keep it gay, KEEP IT GAY!!

Genius!!

My daughter laughs at this shot. "That man is silly wearing a dress! "

again, GENIUS!!!

At the end of this scene everyone breaks out into a conga line.

And at my house, at random times I will yelp--CONGA!!! and Pancake and I will Conga. oh yes, we conga at the house of Hall. GENIUS!!!

The crazy yet earnest playwright was to play the lead role, but he broke his leg. The flaming gay choreographer takes his place.

And so, the play that was to be serious, lapses into satire and dammit, it's a hit!!

This causes trouble for our heroes.

They get jail time. And naturally produce a musical in there. The ending is quite good. I loved it all, really I loved this film.

And to think I never really wanted to watch it. Two years before I saw it, I saw a PBS documentary on the making of the cast recording of the Broadway play. I learned the basic plot lines there. I did purchase the cd and really loved it. So, I thought, no need to see the film, after all I had heard the music so many times.

I was so very very very very very very very very wrong.

Mel Brooks is a genius on so many levels I can't bring myself to list them all.

Just know, that man, is a goddamn genius.

Now you, you reader of Mrs. Hall, tell me what your favorite Mel Brooks film is.

and always, keep it gay, keep it gay, KEEP IT GAY!!!!

CONGA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!