Friday, July 31, 2009

I present to you, the healing powers of Van Halen

the best air guitar player gets ten points!

Van Halen - Hot For Teacher
Uploaded by Dan_of_the_Land

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Missing money and twitching all over (big NEWS!)

Mr. Hall was paying for dinner the other weekend. He opened his wallet and made a frowny face.

"My wallet, it stays so full. I am so use to you scooping out the money. Taking all my tens and twenties." He sighed.

This apartness, this living two separate lives during the weekdays, it's starting to wear us down.

but. wait.

this post will not be about that.


wait for it.

wait for it.


We have offers on the house people.


Now, if you'll exuse me I going to start twitching with excitement and maybe get all watery eyed. And when we close the house and buy a new one ..


I'll be all snot bubble cry and hire a mariachi band to celebrate properly!

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Ask Mrs. Hall anything: Questions about Van Gogh and Xeroxing body parts

Bruce Johnson asks Mrs. Hall the following:

Can Xeroxed body parts really be considered art, why or why not and what are the ramifications? Would van Gogh have used a xerox? Would Picasso have enjoyed a scanner?

one: Yes, xeroed body parts can be art. But. It would have to be done in such a way that the body part is undeniably the artist and the image itself- undeniably a xerox copy. Thus blending both man (or woman) and machine. In this way, the muse would be satisfied and heard. Tall order for such a project. But, I have faith it could be done.

Ramifications? None. Mechanically reproducing images is done all the time through the art of photography. The Xerox machine is like a camera. Only slightly more challenging to use.

two: Van Gogh would not use a Xerox. The man was poor as dirt. He could not afford a Xerox machine. Plus, being poor, he was transient. On the move a lot. Xerox machines do not fit in suitcases.

Also, his muse didn't speak Xerox. Ya see, all those letters from Van Gogh, the 6000000000000 letters he wrote to his brother Theo, of which I am reading through, explain his muse. I am know now his muse very well.

I believe the prolific letters are a result of a condition called hyper graphia. He wrote non stop, sparing no detail. He wrote without structure. However, despite the relentless nature, his muse speaks dominantly.

She calls attention to all the details around Van Gogh. The color of flowers, the tinder of church bells, the warmth of the sun, the delicate interaction between others. He was enamored with it all. Kind of like Frankenstein peeking into the cabin. Talking to the little girl. Being exposed to everything as if the first time.

Also, the craft of painting. This drove him. He compared himself to his fellow painters. The process of painting, physically laying paint on to canvas. This fueled his muse.

three: No, Picasso would not have enjoyed a scanner for art. For other purposes maybe. He had a certain machismo type aura. He was a ladies man. His muse lived in his um, nether regions I believe. Unlike Van Gogh muse which shone light on the earth around him, Picasso's muse oggled women. A lot of women.

Again, Picasso's muse was a bit of ladies man.

This painting below is of one of his lovers. And again, his muse was given voice through paint, brushes and canvas.

In short, for Van Gogh and Picasso, a Xerox lacks the visceral appeal of standing in front a canvas, brushes and paints at the ready.

Working the painting like a red headed stepchild so that their muse will be satisfied.

Next on Ask Mrs. Hall:

Are you a fan of Pink Floyd yet?

Asked by Earl the wandering cat herder


Ask any question you like and get an answer from me, an expert on most everything.


xerox/scan a body part and email it to and let me judge it to be art/not art :)

And please, let's keep all images sent to Mrs. Hall attractive. :)

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

This is what I am going to do tonight, and this is how I will do it

  • The girl's at the office decided that 'we' should all go and see a show. Ya know, us women of the office. The show? Menopause the Musical: A hilarious celebration of women and the change.

  • Now, I am no where near the menopausal age, I just work with women that are. I have always worked with ehem, wizened women near the change of life age.

  • I'm going. Going out to dinner with the group too. We are going to a cheesy Italian place for the early bird special. Again, I am the youngest in the office by at least 15 years.

  • I am going because I am sad and in the dumps. I am going because I am woman of accomplishment. I make goals and plan to accomplish things. I have accomplished a master's degree, becoming a psychiatric nurse practitioner. I have been fabulously married x 8 + years, have two awesome children who are more fabulous than I could have ever wished for. I am blessed beyond belief.

  • I am use to getting what I want because I plan and achieve what I want to.

  • Then there is this: I am selling my house. There is a large amount not being able to control, plan, fix, work, break down brick walls by sheer force of will, or make it happen by grit of my teeth. So. I. am. stuck. in. here. Which is kind of like limbo.

  • And my husband, he says, babe, it'll be ok, we've had 15 or so people come and take a look and it's only been on the market for a week. Trust me, he says. And i trust him and I am so sad that my sad is making him sad.

  • so, hear me know!!!

  • I will go to that show and that dinner. I will leave the goddamn sour puss face at the office. I will laugh, smile and enjoy the hell out of the overcooked pasta and weak tomato sauces. I will deny the sad and the sour and my pretentiousness, and, as god as my witness, have an awesome time!!!!

  • I will go to that show and enjoy all the low rent humor and laugh my fucking ass off even if I don't get the jokes because I am full up of my estrogen and suffer none of the 'change of life' consequences. Menopause is nothing I know about. But I will laugh so hard my pee just might come out. A little anyway.

  • I won't just fake it like when I saw the Vagina Monologues. (google it, I can't right now-at work an all) That show wasn't really funny people. Just sayin'.

  • I will not worry about the kids tonight. I will not worry if my parent's are tending to them properly. Or feel guilty or make them make me feel guilty about having them watch the kids. This will be the first time I will have them baby sit since I moved back home. One time in 8 months won't kill them. I will not be home after work but arrive home at around 10.00 pm. Way after their bedtime.

  • I will carry but not clutch my cell phone.

  • I will steal this time, grind it into my bread so that I may feast on the feasts of queens, complete with roast beast!!

  • or Italian sausage, which ever comes first :)

Wish me luck!!!!

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Down Diggy

I seem to be favoring rather aggressive videos these sunday mornings. yet.

here it is.

The motorcyle jump in the beginning.


It's all in good, and all in fun

now git in the pit and try to love someone!

Friday, July 24, 2009


ok about a dozen people have seen the house, three more scheduled this weekend.






breathe, breathe, breathe . . . .


(for my daughter and me ;)

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Somebody get me a DRINK!

Alright look. I don't want to write this, but dammit, here it is.

I've been fighting a bit of a depression lately. Feel no pity for me! I see the sadness for what it is. It is me having stayed way too long in the basement of my parent's house. And missing Mr. Hall and all.

So I count my blessings, get out as much as possible doing things with the kids. Sticking with weight watchers, doing yoga. Crying when I need to, feeling sad when I need to. Celebrating the weekends with untold fervor. Yet, the cloud, she grew bigger. But, at least I have a name to my shame.

And the name is this:

Every day I come home to a house that is not my home. My husband two hours away. Everything sticky with yuck and tension. My asshole dads exits to the basement. I leave with the kids and return around 7.30. Bath-bed-book and songs for the kids. Then, I go downstairs. Wake up at 6.30 and start it again.

Things have thawed a bit with my mom and I. Her vacation helped a lot. My Dad? Still and asshole. But he hides in the basement, so yeah, good for everyone involved.

Then, in the last two days, just about everything has changed.

I started reviewing how this all came about. I graduated, this time last year, with a Master's Degree in Nursing. This enabled me to become a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner.

Now, I graduated in a town that was surrounded by TWO MEDICAL SCHOOLS and FOUR SCHOOLS OF NURSING. This alone limited the job market for such a new nurse practitioner.

Then, that word in front of nurse practitioner, "Psychiatric", limits things further. There are not a lot of jobs in mental health. Most health care organizations really don't expand or fuel their money into the mental health department.

Ya see, most health care organizations are profit based. A patient comes and the organization is reimbursed by the patients insurance company. This reimbursement is based on what type of appointment and or procedure is performed.

For instance, if the patient gets a hip surgery, they get a lot of money from the insurance company. Hip surgeries are expensive. Seeing a hip surgeon is expensive. CHA-CHING!!! My visits with patients, being a nurse practitioner, and doing what we do, just talking, this is not that expensive. cha- (no ching). This reimbursement covers the cost of salaries and running the place.



Realizing this helps me. It really lifted my spirits to think of this yesterday. Because coming here is NOT MY FAULT. I needed to find a job and here is the BEST JOB IN THE WORLD.

Thus begins my basis of my happy.


Hey, are you still awake? Sorry to bore you with the background of American medicine...

The house went up on the web yesterday.

wait for it

waaaaaaaaait foooorrr iiittt . . . . .

We have had six people come and take a peep. And this is just the first two days.

I realize that these six people could be looking for nothing.


this is what hope is.

And now my task has gone from killing the black cloud of depression


Holding down the spiraling of manic happiness i am starting to feel.

Spiraling Hope.

Because one thing leads to another and having the house up for sale means people are looking and when people look they will love and when they will love they will put an offer in and then we get to accept it and then we get to sign papers saying here take this house and then




I can't say it.


wait. gotta dab the eyes here. hold on.


Then we can buy a new house and all of this

all of this

will be gone.

I am literally vibrating with hope. Need to keep it level. Steady now, stteeaadddy. . . .

I have to hand this over now. To God.

because no matter what or how I feel right now, right now I have no control beyond making my hope and happy grow. And right here, right now, having this kind of hope means everything. :)

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

How to attract women and keep it that way

This is Hunter Parrish, an actor from the show "Weeds." He is a young guy, can't be more than 23. I am a fan of the show. I haven't been able to watch this season yet. I have been reading the episode summaries though. They can be found on the most excellent and useful website Television Without Pity. The writing on that site is above and beyond. It is the cat's pjs. Trust me, you want to go there. Pack a lunch though, you'll be a while.

By all accounts, Hunter Parrish is an attractive guy. But, he hadn't attracted me until recently. The character he plays, "Silas", started out as an attractive but needy young man. He pulled stupid stunts like using a pin to punch holes in his condoms. Trying to trap his beloved. Bonehead.

Somewhere in the third, maybe forth season he mans up a bit. He stops being a pansy and starts to assert himself. Not aggressively, just assertively. He starts to carry himself like he is something. Starts to look people in the eye and speak clearly. He begins to read the body language of women he is attracted to and responds in kind. This is when his character began to interest me. It wasn't the blonde hair or the abs of steel. That is just window dressing. What really attracts women, is something unrelated.

Ya see, men can be very attractive. Even if they are butt ugly. It's matter of confidence or alpha energy. This can be hard to come by. I really feel for guys in this respect. Women hold the keys to the kingdom. It can be daunting for men, trying to negotiate through the jungles, being a nice guy. Women are wiley and complicated creatures. I know, I am one.

With all that being said, I do believe Mr. Parrish is on to something here. He has the swagger, the smile. He knows he's got something. He owns who he is. But, he is still a kid. He lacks seasoning. It's a good beginning though. All he needs is a little time to strengthen the skills of being a man. Because women like dating men. And what we see here is the glimmer, the very roots of what is to come.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

"He had it coming"---A Sunday Morning video

This video has a bit too much violence and

half naked women inmates for

such a fine Sunday morning.


there it is.

take care of the women in your life.

you just never know . . .

don't worry folks..there was no harm done to Mr. Hall in the making of this post :)

Van Halen is ROCKING my world!

What is wrong with you people? Why didn't anyone tell me about Van Halen? Why didn't anyone take the 14 year old me, slap me upside the head and say



Maybe it's better this way.

Hearing their music nowadays, is like hearing it for the first time.

And it's cheering me the hell up.

And rocking my world!

Take a listen, shut down the advert in the beginning to really enjoy the show.


What else can you people tell me about this band, this Van Halen ;)

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

The NSFW type poem----all kids avert your eyes

Fuel for my husband

The racing stripes and pale blue flames
Etched on your long black caddy-
Light me like a fire cracker.

Your square squat hands grip the wheel-
Loosely through the straightaway,
Tighter round the bends.

Stray strands of hair whip at my face-
Undeterred by my dark, cat eye glasses.
Without warning, flashbacks surge through me.

The heavy of your chest pushing on mine
The dense of your arms crushing my shoulder blades
We tighten and near the end, I can’t quite breathe

With a slight twitch of my head-
The consumption retreats,
leaving me saturated and sore.

My voice cracks and swells, you lean in-
I whisper over the motor's loud growl
All this fuel I give, it’s all yours.

This poem was inspired by this song (mostly)

Finishing my back story and asking Mrs. Hall anything

It's been four days since my last post. Must be some sort of record.

I have a post I'm working on in the background. Several actually. I am still working on the pictures you sent. There is one picture featuring a long and hard fought for kiss, one picture with a little boy in a batman mask, one with a woman wearing cheap shoes on cheaper carpeting. Although I don't believe the actual woman to be cheap. Then, there is a dog porn photo. All being worked on people, but these things take time. If you rush the miracle worker you get lousy miracles.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, xeroxing my boobies. Yeeaaahhh, that story completes pretty much all of my back story. I dare say the bulk of my entire history is already written here. I still have bits and pieces of to tell. But I think I'm done tell you what was and how I came to be me.

Which is good, I honestly get tired of telling my back story. I strive to be original. This is bit difficult given where we are. Introspective writers abound in the bloggerhood.

That is not to say this blog is ending. Oh no, no. I am still living and this blog is helping me document all my wonder. My facebook page helps me document more children centric things. But here, I present all the slices of the Mrs. Hall pie.

That being said, in between the writery posts, I want to put breezier posts out there.


Ya see, I can put out at least two paragraphs on any topic in 15 minutes. Without breaking a sweat. So I am looking for fodder for these short bursts.

So go ahead. Ask me a question.

Consider this an oracle.

Ask anything really, like how many clowns can really fit into those tiny cars? Or, what the weather is like today. Or how do I change a tire? Or, if you want to go to a different level, ask me about the dress I wore on my wedding day, why I call this blog Mrs. Hall or how many children I really want to have.

go ahead ask.

And then look forward to next Monday's post. It'll be called

"The Amish Moms of Las Vegas"

It's damn good writing too!


Sunday, July 12, 2009

What have we learned about Mrs. Hall? A quiz!

It's been a long week people. Having this much fun is exhausting ;)



Then get back to work people! Those toy trucks aren't going to push themselves around! And don't forget to make the 'vroomm vrrroom' noise! Works better that way. :)

Friday, July 10, 2009

Cleaning offices, Art, Madness and the letters of Vincent Van Gogh

While recovering from being hit by a car (for details click here), I worked as an cleaning lady. Basically, I cleaned offices. I set my own hours, often starting 2 am. It would take me four hours to do the work and most of the office people arrived at 6 am. I was about 20 years old. I had a lot of freedom.

I was really nutty back then, being alone was best. Again, I was recovering from a significant brain injury. (details here if you wish). This one time, whilst working late at night, I xeroxed my bare chest on one of the copiers. The paper got didn't come out. I had to pry open various drawers and doors to yank it out. I still have that copy in my personal files. The image is distorted. The paper is wrinkled and smooshed from being caught in the machine.

I would also clean a garage/car fix it shop. They had a pinball machine in the way back. Never played though. It was a huge warehouse type place. Really dusty and semi slick with grease.

That being said, one time, I was almost late for my two am shift. Because of this movie.

It details the last 60 days of Vincent Van Gogh. Now, I am not a huge fan of Vincent. I like him, just not in that way. I enjoy his thick use of paint, the explosions of expression on canvas.

But, it lacks figures or people in his paintings. He was poor man, thus, very little money for a model. He used himself alot. Which leaves the viewer with a rather stern impression of the man.

Beyond that I don't have much to say about his art. Again, art that attracts me the most-- has people in it. Landscapes and such don't really do it for me.

That being said, it was a very good film. I didn't catch the ending though (again, I had to work.) It was one of my first peeks into a life gently pulsing with mental illness.

Mental illness is now my full time job. Obviously, it is of interest to me. Also of interest, autobiographies. Another interest? Art. Which brings me to this book. It has all three.

This book contains Vincent's letters to his brother Theo. Theo was a caring and supportive brother. There was a lot of love between the two. They died six months apart. That says volumes.

Anyway, the letters are long and sometimes rambling. (I know, I know- pot calling kettle black and all). But fascinating all the same. Will do a post on this. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, I eventually watched the whole thing with Mr. Hall. Of note during this viewing, a scene between Vincent and the prostitutes. He enjoyed the company of these women. It is gentle, these scenes.

Achingly gentle when I think back. The very memory catches my breath. Vincent was a solitary and isolated man. But he had love to give and wanted to be loved. Even if he payed these women to love them, it was love all the same.

They say when men ring the bell to the brothel, they are really looking for God.

Sounds about right to me.

Have an arty weekend! :)

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

That's when the beatings started

If you are regular fan of the Blog de Senora Hall, you know how I feel about the mister. I lurve the Mister Hall with all my heart. I remember our first conversation on the phone, which lasted something like 5 hours.

During the first half hour I said, "You're such a brilliant thinker." I was gushing. Embarrassed, I tried to take it back. But, it was out there. I was smitten. I had gushed. No takesy backsies.

I had never encountered anyone like Mr. Hall before. He is all man. He is very strong and powerful. With a blend of thoughtful, caring and thorough love. As you can see, I still gush. Almost nine years of marriage people. He still rings my bell.

However, as a result of his thoughtfulness and the care he takes with everything, he moves at a slower pace than me. I am a warp speed kind of girl. Again, I have the ADD brain. I actively attend to this, find ways to slow myself down. I try to sleep well, eat well and do my yoga. But, under stress, everything speeds up. Including my thoughts, emotions and actions. I miss details and get snappy. And bossy.

The bossy stems from being a faux single mom right now. I have had a few stints as a single Mom already. Mr. Hall has been over seas twice during our marriage, about four months each time. During those times, like now, I slip into Robo Mom mode. I am very focused on giving the kids a very normal and calm life. Making sure everything is taken care of and making sure they are happy, warm and having fun. Which is what we usually do are parents. I just do all of it when he is not here.

This requires a lot of energy.

As a side effect, my focus becomes very narrow. I start to neglect myself emotionally. Basically, I shut off. Not to the kids though, they get love and hugs. They get snuggles, cuddles and tickles. I shut off to everyone else. Mr. Hall included.

But, this time of single Momdom is different then before. He is not overseas. Mr. Hall shows up on the weekends. During the weekends, I am knocked clear out of my Robo Mom mode. I have to shift everything -my thoughts, my actions, my way of communicating.

Sometimes, I'm not so good at it. I have to remind myself that he is not my 'helper'. He is not someone I can assign tasks and boss around. I need to ask nicely and be loving about things. After all, he is my partner. Someone who needs care, who needs my love. Who needs me.

Which is hard for me to understand sometimes. He is such a strong guy, so much of me is taken care of by him. To hear him needing me, to hear him say uncle, is to admit that he is not indestructible. And it calls attention to how self centered I can be.

Case in point, last Sunday morning.

I was sitting at the computer, planning the day. Exhausted, puffy eyed and twitchy. I was figuring out where to go with the kids. It needs to be a place that can entertain both a six and a two year old. I was planning how long it would take to drive there, coordinating the drive with nap times, planning what we needed to bring (clothes, diapers, snack etc).

Meanwhile, the kids were loudly playing in the next room. Half of my brain was in that room, hovering like a fly on the wall, picturing what was going on. Keeping a third eye on the them. My brain was all hyper yet fuzzy.

Then I hear a holler from the kids. It's not an emergency holler, more of a 'she snatched my toy' or 'he hit me' holler. I want to intervene and stop the yelping. I am trying to plan the day. Robo Mom Mode.

I say to Mr. Hall, who is laying on the bed, eyes closed while he half dozes, "Hey, can you check on them?" I am bristling and most likely, whining.

He says, "Their fine babe, we can hear them just fine. I could use a back rub though."

That's when the beatings started.

"GAAAH!!!!" Says I, "GAAAHH!!! JUST CHECK ON THEM!!! JUST DO IT!!! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT IS LIKE HERE!! What goes on during the week!!!" I cross the room, fists all clenched, cheeks all red. I realize how ridiculous I am though. I do have a slight smirk.

I straddle him and do that girl pounding on chest thing. Funneling the irked energies. We start to wrestle. He is a very adept guy. I am pinned in under 2 seconds. I am giggling a little. Starting to cry though. Soft sob.

I'm all wrapped up in his arms and legs on the twin bed. He is soft and strong. "Do you have a list of things you can do on the weekends? Places to go and such?" He exudes calm.

"No! I am just figuring it out, figuring out where the zoos and parks are in this city. You have no idea babe, you have no idea how much energy this takes. I am barely keeping up with things. No energy for 'lists.'"

I am sobbing softly. Over tired and spent. Exhausted from living this life up here. Living with my parents became unbearable

two months ago.

They love the grandkids, but don't offer any sort of hands on help. But they do love the grandkids. And they tolerate me. But, they are not fans of Mrs. Hall by any stretch. They do not have my back.

We underestimated the work it would take to get the house ready for sale. We underestimated toll it would take on both of us. Mr. Hall has been doing it all. He is only one guy. Working 70 hours a week. We should have hired people to help months ago. We have help now though. He is only working two days a week now.

So all of this single mom crap, it is turning chronic. And it is getting harder to turn to Mr. Hall for help. Harder to give him help when he asks for it. We are off in our rhythms.

That being said.

The house is now listed.

Which is the second of many steps of making this right. The first step is pealing back my isolative tendencies. We need to get through this together. Which means reaching out to him, giving him backrubs.

Because taking care of him is taking care of me. Which should, with any luck, reduce the beatings.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Half naked French women and Coco Chanel

Fashion, if done right, is an art form. The artist uses cloth and thread as their medium. An artist's wares become the sound of their voice or the color of their hair, an extension of their inner world. Their art is like a set of self made finger prints. Innate yet unique. Belonging to only one.

Let's examine the finger prints of one Mademoiselle Chanel. First, there is the classic quilted purses.

Before the classic quilted purse, there was the original Chanel suit- seen here on the former First Lady, Jackie Kennedy. Take note of the pill box hat. My mother wore a white pill box hat, complete with floor length veil- on her wedding day.

Also seen on the Mrs. Michelle Obama, our current first lady.

Now, let's take a peek behind the designs. Examine the inner wold of a woman born August 19, 1883. She was born in a poor house to workers who did not read or write. The record keeping was primitive to say the least. Adds to the mystery.

She was orphaned at some point, her mother died of tuberculosis. Her father went to work to help raise his seven children. Her formative years were in an Abbey, learning to become a seamstress. Let's take a look shall we.

Interesting reading through her back story. Imagining a life of abject poverty in a cold Abbey in France. It was at the Abbey she learned how to work with cloth and thread. Taking patterns and then making clothes. Clothes are something that touches our bodies every day.

She left at age 18. That is when her real life began.

Her first life was hidden from view when biographers began to examine things. The primitive record keeping helped her. She purposefully hid her background, making up her story of being raised by spinsters and coming from American Wealth. She lied about where she came from. Lied because she came from poverty. Which was seen as a moral failing. A ugly scar to be covered up.

Note the pearls. Mademoiselle Chanel believed that women should always have white to frame their face. And white cuffs to adorn their wrists. Always.

It's all there though, the utilitarian upbringing, the straight sculpture of thought. The lines in her designs can be dizzying if you stare too long. It is her voice though, matter of fact and sure footed. That is her up there. Born 1883.

This woman built an empire beyond her wildest dreams. It is all very fascinating. Even more fascinating now that this woman is playing her on the screen.

Oooh how I love French women and French films. Again, in my list of top ten films-there is only three. So far anyway. I am movie snob. So this movie, Amelie, this has all the elements that make my heart go pitter patter.

It was playing in the background as I was laboring with my son. I could go on and on here . . . but, it can wait for another post. Something to discover later. :)

I have never been to France. But I imagine it is just bursting with everything I hold dear. A veritable explosion of artist life. And the beauty of it, well, it may very well destroy me when I go.

But for now, I will watch this film. Complete with half naked french women. Take a look :)

And now I'm off to dream lots of dreams, growing my own inner world. And splashing on my favorite perfume.

Which is FAR FAR better than the Number Five by the way.

Life never smelled so sweet.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Peaches and Screams


Visited two nature preserves, walked the kiddie trails. Went to a park (where Mac tricycled and Pancake increased in roller blading skills), went to a local raceway, watched drag racing with REALLY LOUD dragsters. Watched a bunch of fire works. There was a carnival, kids went on their first roller coaster. SCREAMED THEIR LITTLE HEADS OFF! Big smiles plastered across their faces ;)

Much more though too.


one of the best parts of this weekend- was the eating of peaches on the porch. Awesome juicy summer peaches! So yummy these peaches, so yummy the Pancake exclaimed-



and thus, we have one of Pancake's favorite songs :)

The presidents of the united states of america - peaches

On a side note, the wee Mac did not sustain any injuries during our adventures. SCORE! This is an accomplishment, because he is a toddler who toddles and knows no fear. In his wee two and half years he has had stitches twice and just got over a black eye. A big, fat, black eye that had his eye swollen shut for two days.

He is all boy :)

Here's a song for him :)


What'd you do this weekend? :)

Friday, July 3, 2009

You're so hot that I melted

Feel much better today. Went to one of those quick nail places-the kind that are in every strip mall. Got my toes, nails and eyebrows done. I didn't realize how much work needed to be done. I mean, my girl kept making frowny faces as asking me "Why you no come once month? Why so long you no come here?"

Cause in those type of places, everyone is Asian and English is a second language. And everyone is seemingly related. They seem to be family run places complete with thier kids running around.

Which was a bit of an issue, the kids. Two of them had these action figures (spider man and wolverine) they were talking into. Which was interesting. I thought they were pretending that they were talking to the action figures.

Then I realized that they were walkie-talkies. Cool. But, the kids must have been doing something wrong cause my girl began to holler at them. From across the store.

Then, she turned to me. And with a tounge blade dipped in hot hot wax, she proceeded to rip the hell out of my eyebrows. She gave a smug, self satisfied look when she was done. Bit of an attitude that one.

They look fabolous by the way. And my TOOESSS. All cute and nicely done. Fills me with all sorts of yummy and happy. They even have a tiny flower design :)

All because Mr. Hall is here. Loving me and giving me all sorts of freedom.

It's healing having him here.

Can't wait for when it is real.


let's hope this one doesn't have commericals. But, i can say it's much better than yesterday.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

This video may very well kill me

Mr. Hall comes here for the weekend tonight. This separation got old a few months ago. Then it became almost comedic in it's absurdity. Now it just fucking aches.

So, let's listen to this, pour a huge glass of wine and well, do what one does while listening to such a song and drinking wine.

sorry if there's a commericial or something.

"Lucky" Official Video With Colbie Caillat

don't worry. better song tomorrow ;)

The difference between one and two tattoos

I have two, maybe three tattoos. One is a coverup so I'm not sure if that counts as one or two. The stories behind the tattoos are not worth typing. There is no grand or sweeping anything behind them. Just a kid, figuring stuff out, getting tattoos. I was hard and pretentious, everything had to have deep meaning. I was not a fun person. So if you don't mind, no need to revisit the days of being a hyperintelligent and self punishing hard ass.

Now, these days, I find it amusing, the tattoos. The coverup is a beautiful purple flower. It is a specific and original design intended to disguise the tattoo underneath. But, let me tell you this, if I knew that I would someday be a professional, an upright citizen, and productive member of responsible society, I would have never gotten the tattoo. Go ahead, ask why.

Go ahead, you can ask. You can ask anything really ;)

I have to coordinate all my outfits with it. All my fashion choices revolve around this tattoo. I have a thousand cardigans, a thousand 3/4 sleeve shirts, and a thousand shrugs to cover the tattoo. As far as tops outside of work? Well, my color choices are limited to coordinate with the permanent corsage I wear. Purples, pistachio greens, blacks, turquoise are my palette. Which is great. I look fabulous in all of the above.

My favorite cardigan from my favorite photo post, "Wifey"-go ahead click, Mr. Hall looks quite the hottie in that post :)

I got the cover up in a six hour session. All done in one day. Tattoo shops usually open at like 12 or 1 pm. Inconvenient for the working Mom. I had to put the girl in daycare and book a babysitter for a few hours afterward. Told the babysitter I was getting dental work done. Mr. Hall was overseas on business and I was fed up with my old tattoo. The time had come to take care of it. So that's what I did in one marathon tattoo session. Pancake was 2 years old.

That paragraph up there, that is 100% pure Mom.

Beyond that I don't really have much to say about it. Except this.

I grew out of the body piercing/jewelery part of my life. Mr. Hall removed the last of the jewelry with a pliers in a hotel room. We had been dating for about a month. I felt it was time to let go of that part of myself. So, I got naked and he was very gentle. It's a sweet memory.

But here's the thing. I am not sure I've grown out of tattoos. But there is a difference between one and two tattoos. One purple flower is well, coordinate-able. Two is different. Especially the one I am planning.

The first step is making contact with a tattoo artist. Just like the other tattoos, I will bring an idea and sketches to the tattooist and have them filter it through their imagination. Then, they come up with a sketch. I am usually blown away by the artistry. They are artists I let them take my idea and fly with it. Then, I hold my nose and plunge in.

Another tattoo is calling me people. I need to be careful though. Right now I am all discombobulated emotionally. Also, I am impulsive by nature. But, I say this, nothing would be done until the end of August. Plenty of time to discuss the design with the tattoo artist. Plenty of time to lose the urge.

And then, when the time comes, maybe then I'll answer the call.

Not sure who this dude is but he keeps calling me 'sister'

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